The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[piosenniel]

Elora's post

The Fourth Age was filled with both promise and uncertainty when it first began. Much of the familiar past had left Middle-earth’s shores, never to return. Some lamented the past at its departure. Much beauty, wisdom, strength and courage passed with the Wise whom set out for the undying lands from the Grey Havens. Some filled their spirits in the space the Wise left behind, looking forward to a new future that they would help shape. Some were eager to forget the past. Great evil had fallen at great cost. The shadow would be shaken, but it would take time.

And there were some who sought to cling to that past, the dark as well as the bright.

Middle-earth was gripped by renewal as the Age of Men came. Towns were rebuilt, lands settled after long abandonment enforced by Sauron. Change is never easy. Realms were forged anew. Gondor had a King and Queen after so long without. New grass sprouted green on the scorched fields of Pelennor with the Spring. Order spread out from the seats of mortal power. Osgiliath was slowly cleansed. Minas Ithil, forever tainted by Mordor’s occupation, was sadly and reverently taken down and laid to rest.

Orthanc regained its splendor, as did Minas Tirith and Meduseld. The Shire, shaken to the core, slowly settled back into peace. Yet nothing was as it once had been. The past remained as it was – past. The changes and marks of the cataclysmic war could not be entirely blurred by new growth and optimism. Lothlorien lay still and empty, now as immersed in the stream of time as the lands around it. Mirkwood turned inward. Dol Guldur was dismantled. Imladris, where those who had not departed mortal shores lingered, became more remote than ever before. The King’s protection of the Shire ensured no Big Folk found their way into at least that corner. Discontent bubbled in Umbar, Harad and Rhun still.

The future was not entirely certain, nor becalmed. The people across the lands wished for peace and forgetfulness. Celeborn, along with the new kings Elessar and Eomer, put their full backing behind cementing the new peace and order within the land. Orcs that teemed in the Misty Mountains and infested Mordor still had to be seen to. They were not the only darkness that lingered behind in Sauron’s wake. His net had been cast wide and those in his service were many. Saurman was not the strangest bedfellow after all.

With the Rangers, the Elves, the Riddermark and Gondor now largely unopposed, optimism was high that that which remained could soon be put to final rest. Dwarves slowly spread their influence through the Misty Mountains. Orc, goblin and troll numbers dwindled. They had no benefactor now. Mordor was a land where the full force and weight of Gondor rested over. Pit after pit of horror and evil was thrown open and cracked like an overripe melon. It split beneath the force, and slowly melted away.

The discontent further south proved more difficult to overcome. There was another thing that proved stubborn. Not all had been done when the Wise left. Behind them, entrusted to those that remained, was another task. Justice had not come to all. Of all allies of Mordor that somehow escaped destruction, one of the chiefest remained at large. Enigma, riddle, aberration, her name was Naiore Dannan and she could not be permitted to continue.

The Wise reluctantly disclosed what little they knew of Naiore Dannan. Elf, she was, and in the service of Sauron she had been since the Second Age. Kin to Galadriel, little else was to hand apart from one inescapable fact. Naiore Dannan remained at large and continued to elude capture. Alive with her was a malevolence of intent too strong to allow to continue. The hunt for Naiore Dannan continued to little avail. It crossed borders into lands known and otherwise. It reached after her, finding shred of trace every now and anon. After 12 years of the Fourth Age, the search came as did she to an inn.

Here is set down the final telling of this sad tale. At the Forsaken Inn, a day’s ride from Bree on the edge of the Wild, it took the unlikeliest gathering of all to begin what could not be done in a hunt that had stretched through two ages. There is found Lespheria and Amandur, Elf and Ranger in turn and both tied to Naiore in vastly different ways. Benia, a woman from the troubled south, lies in the keeping of another troubled soul named Kaldir, a Ranger too but fallen in the darkness. He watches, intent on quarry who has on her head a handsome price. His quarry is Vanwe, unclaimed and hereto now forgotten daughter of Naiore Dannan, a secret she closely guards for fear of her mother's evil falling upon her and those around her.

Yet the hunter and the hunted can be one and the same. Kaldir himself is watched, by Gilly whom suspects Kaldir in Benia’s disappearance. The hobbit is not easily trifled with. Neither is Hanasian, a Ranger like Kaldir, left not fallen. He nears the inn as another watcher of Kaldir waits nearby. On her head is the highest price ever set, by Dwarf, Man or Elf. On her head rests also such atrocities that would give even the Wraiths pause for regret deep in their undead souls. In Imladris, one who has felt and survived her shadow lingers also in the watchful keeping of his Elven kindred.

The Forsaken Inn, where the beginning of another ending unfolds, is peaceful in the summer morning light. The innkeeper was busy looking over the common room’s empty tables and chairs before breakfast. Fimbriel nodded in satisfaction and sought the kitchens. It would be a thirsty day, if she guessed the morning’s mist aright. The arrival of travelers looking for something to slake their thirst and a place to rest from the midsummer heat would not be too far away.

[piosenniel]

Nerindel's post - Lespheria

The midday sun shone through the open stable doors as Léspheria finished packing her white elven mare. Turning towards the doors and shielding her sharp elven grey eyes, she watched the tall figure of her friend as he scanned the road beyond the courtyard. She recalled their first meeting, the young ranger had been sent to the halls of learning in Rivendell to meet with his new tutor, but on entering the halls and seeing only her he had winked mischievously and asked if she knew were he could find the master of the halls. She managed a weak smile as she remembered Amandur's apparent embarrassment, as she informed him that she was to be his tutor.

He must have sensed her watching for at that moment he turn to face her, a warm smile playing on his lips. Léspheria kept her smile as she walked towards him, glad that the great war had not adversely effected him as much as it had so many others. "I am almost ready to leave, all that is left for me to do is to inform the good lady innkeeper of my departure," she told him, looking in the direction of the inn that had been her home for the past two weeks. She slowly drew her gaze from the inn and returned to Losseserme's stall, the mare snorted impatiently, as she let Léspheria lead her from the stall to the hitching post outside. Amandur joined her and together they made their way back to the inn.

(1)"Amin dele ten'Vanwe!" The elven words slipped off her tongue before she realised that she had said them aloud. "Don't let it worry you, I promise you that I will look out for the young woman's well being as long as my task keeps me here!" Amandur reassured her. She nodded her thanks, glad that he had chosen to keep his watch for Naiore in the inn and not abandon it for her sake.

Amandur pushed open the dark wooden door and held it open for her, "I will wait for you out here!" she nodded and went inside alone. The common room of the forsaken inn was already busy and alive with conversations and the occasional burst of laughter, the dark corners held hastened whisperings and those wishing no other company than their own. Léspheria determinedly made her way to the bar were Fimbriel the auburn haired Rohirrim innkeeper was rushing backwards and forwards filling tankards for the many thirsty patrons, who had chosen to stop in and quench their thirst on this hot midsummer afternoon.

Léspheria raised her hand to catch the innkeepers attention, Fimbriel looked her way and signalled that she would be with her just as soon as she could, while she waited her eyes roamed around the room, The kitchen door swung on squeaky hinges as Rowana Brandybuck hurried back and forth bring lunch to the inn's hungry guests and Amarantha Willow weaved expertly around the tables mopping up spills and refilling empty jars. Léspheria suddenly felt a pang of guilt that she would be leaving when the inn was so obviously busy, But just then she again felt the pain in her left shoulder, reminding her that her brother needed her help more.

As she struggled to focus her mind so she could block out her brothers pain, she noticed something else. "Amarantha, has not Mrs banks or her exotic friend come down for lunch today" she asked gently grasping the young hobbit woman's arm as she passed. Amarantha quickly scanned the room, then shook her head "No! Miz Léspheria I have not seen either one all day, but it has been a might busy today" she shrugged apologetically. "Thank you Amarantha, Miss Nightshade did mention that she was planning to leave, maybe they left early." Amarantha nodded reassured and went back to her work. Léspheria was not so sure, but before she could think any more on this puzzle she heard someone speaking to her "And what can I do for you this fine afternoon" Fimbriel beamed as she brushed a few stray auburn hairs from her face.

"I am afraid that I must take my leave of your fine establishment, my brother is injured and I must go to him at once" Léspheria sadly told her. Fimbriel's smile faded and was replaced with a look of genuine concern "I'm sorry to hear that, of course you must go to your brother, is there anything I can do?" she asked sympathetically. "No, No, I have everything I need, I gave my room key to Vanwe and ask her to hold the room till my return, my journey requires haste, so many things had to be left behind." Fimbriel nodded, then the pair said their goodbyes.

As she left the inn she saw Amandur waiting next to her mount, he helped her up then taking her hand in his he whispered softly, " Ride swiftly and be careful!" "As always!" she assured him. She then turned Losseserme and set off at a slow trot until she came to the rear of the inn, she had decided that she would go south-west through the downs. She gently bent over and whispered into the mares ear, (2)"Vanne linte!" Losseserme then broke in to a fast gallop; they speed across the downs and did not stop till nightfall.

Under the eaves of a small wooded area not far from the Greenway Léspheria made her camp, after eating a meager supper she lay down on her bed roll and looked up at the stars, The watcher as always twinkled brighter than the others and as she watched it she could not help thinking on the puzzles that the past three days had revealed to her. The first being the appearance of Vanwe who seemed to be a puzzle in herself, her face was that of a criminal who was much sought after by men and elf alike, but her deep blue sapphire eyes, revealed that she was the daughter of one who remained under the protection of her people. Vanwe had unknowingly revealed that they shared the same bloodline, confirming her suspicions that Naiore was the missing name in Finarfin's family tree, something that her brother and her kin had chosen to keep from her, although she could not yet figure out why?

Her thoughts then drifted back to the southern woman, Benia and her hobbit friend, Gilly and their lack of presence that morning, she only hoped that they had taken her advice and left the inn in secret, Both herself, Vanwe and a ranger named Hanasian had tended Benia after a rather nasty fall, Vanwe had treated the woman’s sprained ankle, revealing to her that they also shared the gift of healing. She only had to reduce the swelling and bind it. Vanwe's raw talent was impressive. But on leaving the southern woman to her rest she had seen another ranger who had introduced himself to her earlier as Kaldir, he watched the room with great intent. The southern woman was not the only person that she sensed the ranger was interested in, later that same day she had caught him spying on Vanwe, which he denied when she confronted him, she had guessed that Vanwe would have often been mistaken for her mother and she had been determined that it would not happen again, not while she could prevent it!

Kaldir's lack of emotions had made her suspicious of his intent, but his words had revealed that she had been right to be concerned, "she resembles an acquaintance of mine from the South. I was curious to learn her name to determine if it was she. I was hesitant to approach her directly as the last time we met was under, how shall I say it? Less than optimal circumstances." Sudden pity had lead her to lower her sword and let his reasons pass, she realised that he was yet another victim of Naiore's malice. Strong emotions had surfaced unbidden as he spoke, ones revealing much pain and hatred, emotions that Léspheria feared to explore having felt them strongly through others. First in her own mother and then in Vanwe's father and now this ranger!

Léspheria slowly closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep, the memories of the emotions she felt from all those who had encountered Naiore Dannan, plaguing even her dreams.

[piosenniel]

Nerindel's post - Amandur

Amandur stood at the door to the stables of the Forsaken inn scanning the area just beyond, Léspheria's hesitation before entering the stables had lead him to believe that she had sensed something or someone in the wooded area surrounding the inn. It might be only an animal or another guest, but considering the nature of his quarry and Léspheria's abilities he thought it best to be mindful. 'Once Léspheria has left I will take a better look' he thought to himself, sighing as he realized that he would not be going with her. 'she had been right, the kings rangers may have put the young elf woman's life in danger by following her trail, in the hopes that she would lead them to her mother, and he now felt that it would be wrong to leave the young woman to such a fate, even if he felt that Vanwe may prove a problem later on.

He knew not how the elf woman felt about her mother, he knew she looked for her, but for what reason he knew not. Would she protect her mother regardless of her crimes? blinded in much the same way as Menecin, by love or the hunger of it from a mother who abandoned her. Yes! That may be it, Vanwe's longing for motherly love may be why she is looking for her. Interesting, but it may indeed prove problematic when it comes to capturing Naiore.

Amandur then felt Léspheria's gaze on his back, he turned towards her smiling warmly. "I am almost ready to leave, all that is left for me to do is to inform the good lady innkeeper of my departure," she smiled as she walked towards him. Although she smiled he could still hear sadness in her words as she gazed in the direction of the inn. He then watched as she lead her horse from the stable to the hitching post outside the inn. He followed her quietly. "Amin dele ten'Vanwe!" Léspheria said quietly. Amandur stopped and looked at her; it was not often that she used her own language when not among her own kin. Seeing her obvious concern he promised that he would look out for Vanwe's well being, while he could. She seemed reassured by his words, so he gently opened the inn door for her, "I will wait for you out here!" he said wishing to keep his watch. She nodded and went inside.

Amandur wandered back over to the hitching post and casually leaning on it he continued his watch, thinking about the events of the past month as he did. It was now a month since he received word from King Elessar that the criminal Naiore Dannan had been seen heading north. Elessar had requested that he travel to the inn and meet the elf ranger Lóthaniel Denfëa, who would tell him more. He had actually met Lóthaniel just outside Bree about two weeks later, His old friend had been glad to see him and told him everything he and the other rangers had learnt, the discovery that Naiore had a daughter and their belief that this daughter would lead then to the illusive Naiore. Lóthaniel had then explained that he had other business to attend to and would not be accompanying him to the Forsaken inn. Lóthaniel spoke at length about his families connection with Naiore and how Léspheria knew only little, He had been taken aback by the fact that they had kept this information from her, and had argued that she should be told, Lóthaniel had disagreed, he feared that the same fate that befell their mother would also befall his sister. He had reluctantly agreed not to say anything to Léspheria, but he strongly believed that she would eventually find these things out for herself and he had told Lóthaniel so!

The Kings orders were to capture Naiore and bring her to Minas Tirith for trail, there was also a bounty but Amandur was not interested in such things, he wanted only to see this criminal brought to justice. So after leaving Lothaniel he had gone straight to the vicinity of the inn. He had made camp just beyond the wooded area that surrounding the inn and for the past two weeks he had been watching it and waiting to see if Naiore appeared, but nothing had he seen or heard of her in that time. The message from the King had also said that there was other rangers in the pursuit of this elf, but he had seen none that he knew until the previous night, when he had observed his good friend Hanasian lying under the stars with Vanwe. He had wondered if Hanasian was one of these rangers, he hoped so. The next morning when he had seen Hanasian leaving the inn, he had intended to stop him and find out if what he hoped was indeed true. But he heard a scream that he had immediately recognized as Léspheria's and his concern for the elven lady had lead him into the inn to see if she was all right.

Before he could finish his thoughts Léspheria emerged from the inn, he helped her onto her horse then gently taking her hands he bade her "Ride swiftly and be careful!" "As always!" she assured him. He watched her until she was out of sight then he wandered over to the tree's to see if he could find out what Léspheria had sensed, he found disturbed earth and broken twigs, but they could have been caused by anyone, he was just about to give up his search when he heard something! He crouched down behind one of the tree's and watched as the tall figure of the ranger who had help him to take Léspheria to her room after her fall that morning, emerged from the trees nearest the stables, as Lothaniel looked at the good side of the rangers scared face he was sure that he knew this ranger from somewhere, but he could not think where! He watched as the Ranger entered the inn, then he got up and sighed "Well Amandur there is nothing here!" he then walked back towards the inn. He stopped just before the stables and gave a long sharp whistle; the Stablemaster gave him a curious look. But after just a few minutes a tall black charger emerged from the forest, halting right in front of him. "He is beautiful," the stable master whistled. "Yes, he is" Amandur laughed patting his old friends neck, " I would think that he is in need of fresh hay and something to drink," he chortled handing the reigns over to the bearded man. "I will see to it right away!" the man smiled leading the charger into an empty stall.

Amandur then realised that he too had not eaten all day, so he headed towards the inn to see if he could gain some supper and maybe even a room. "The whispered conversations may even reveal some new clues" he chuckled to himself.

[piosenniel]

Ealasaide's post - Benia

Bound wrist and ankle, Benia Nightshade lay in the darkness of the abandoned cellar. Despite the skilled healing efforts of the two elves back at the inn, her sprained ankle throbbed under the tightness of the rope. Kaldir, the bounty hunter who had seized her out of her bed at the inn, had been gone for hours. She had already begun to wonder if he was ever going to return. Half of her mind hoped that he would. She would hate to starve to death, alone and forgotten, in the empty cellar. The other half of her mind hoped never to lay eyes on him again. She knew he meant to kill her. Why he had not done so already was a mystery to her.

Thinking back, she remembered how he had brought her to the cellar and dumped her rather unceremoniously on to the dirt floor. From there he had dragged her over to a wooden chopping block, where an axe already waited, but, instead of chopping off her head or hands as she had expected him to do, he had simply given the tribal tattoos on her hands a long stare in the flickering candlelight. Then, inexplicably, he had kissed each of her palms and left, taking the axe with him. She had not seen him since. The candle he had lit when they arrived in the cellar had burned out hours ago. Now, whether he came back or not, Benia had the feeling that she had come to the end of her life. Either way, she was waiting to die. Whether the end came quickly or slowly seemed to be all there was left to determine. The ropes that bound her were strong and the knots, like iron. She knew there would be no wriggling loose.

Shifting her legs to a slightly more comfortable position, Benia pondered the last several days of her life, thinking about the mistakes she had made. The trip to the Forsaken Inn had been a foolish and sentimental thing to do in the first place, and, since arriving there, she had done nothing right or sensible. Actually, in retrospect, she realized she had thrown caution to the wind nearly from the moment she had first crossed the inn's threshold. With that in mind, she had to admit that it was no surprise to find herself in her current predicament.

The worst part of the whole scenario was that she had not only endangered herself, but involved her friend Gilly, as well, which was - to her mind - unforgivable. Benia sighed. She hoped desperately that Gilly was well on her way back toward Bywater and safety by now, not hanging about inviting more trouble. She blamed herself for Gilly's involvement. If she had just not written that letter inviting Gilly to meet her there at the inn, none of this would have happened. Gilly would be safe at home with her family in Bywater, and Benia, herself, would be going about her own business miles away from the inn. There would have been no ill-fated songs, no sprained ankle, and, most of all, no bounty hunter.

She was sure the song was what had summoned the bounty hunter out of the wilds, like a genie from a bottle. She had made the mistake of letting herself get too comfortable in the warmth of the inn's common room and, not only bursting into song, but bursting into song in the most conspicuous way imaginable... in the language of her own nearly extinct Haradrim tribe, complete with finger cymbals. In the darkness, Benia blushed from her own foolishness. She might as well have just burst into flame. It had been no coincidence that the bounty hunter had appeared the very next day. She was sure of it.

The sprained ankle, too, was as much her own fault as anything else. If she had just watched where she was going instead of worrying so much about where the bounty hunter was, she would have seen the pewter tankard left on the stairs. As if that wasn’t enough, she had pretty much sealed her own fate by sending the kind Ranger, Hanasian, who had helped her after her fall on the stairs, on that ridiculous errand to Bree. In all reality, he had been her only protection. As soon as he had gone, the bounty hunter had made his move and the next thing Benia knew, she lay tied in an empty cellar, waiting to die.

She sighed again and was just closing her eyes to try to sleep when the sound of a firm step on the floor over her head jolted her awake. She struggled into a sitting position and edged away as best she could from the narrow staircase that led upward to the abandoned blacksmith’s shop. There was a click and a slide of a bolt, followed by the creak of stiff hinges as the trap door opened over her head. Straining to see through the darkness, she could barely make out the tall shape of the bounty hunter descending the stairs. He carried a small bundle which he set down beside her. A few seconds later, a fresh candle flickered to life. Benia’s amber eyes struggled to adjust to the light as the bounty hunter knelt beside her and untied her wrists. When he had finished, he moved away to take a seat on the stairs.

He nodded toward the bundle he had left on the floor beside her. “I suggest you eat,” he said quietly.

Startled, Benia did as she was told and reached for the bundle. She had not eaten in over twenty-four hours, but it was not until she smelled the rich aroma of Aldarida Boffin’s cooking that she realized she was famished. Even so, she hesitated before taking even the first bite. She turned a curious gaze toward the bounty hunter, who only smiled his peculiar one-sided smile, the candlelight casting his scarred features into sharp planes of dark and light.

“It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking,” he told her, guessing her unspoken question. “I suggest you eat it.”

Benia did as she was told. Even though it was just a cold supper of whole grain bread and cold chicken, she couldn’t remember when any food had ever tasted so good. Watching Kaldir from the corner of her eyes as she ate, she saw that he was simply waiting for her to finish. His sword remained sheathed at his side and there was no sign of an axe. Even the chopping block lay where he had left it. Finally, she gathered her courage to speak.

“If you mean to kill me,” she asked. “Why do you bring me a meal?”

“Perhaps I don’t mean to kill you just yet.” Seeing that she was finished, he rose from his perch on the stairs and gathered the empty crockery back into the bundle. “You’ll need your strength. Can you ride?”

Benia nodded.

Kaldir did not answer immediately, but picked up the rope and retied her wrists, even tighter it seemed than before. “Then we leave on the morrow,” he said at last, casting barely a glance at her bare feet that lay partly visible under the hem of her dress. Without any further explanation, he took up the bundle of now-empty crockery and departed back up the stairs.

Alone in the candlelight, Benia listened as the trap door creaked shut and the outside bolt fell into place with a decisive click.

[piosenniel]

Ealasaide's post - Kaldir

As Kaldir slid the bolt into place that sealed his captive, Benia Nightshade, into her cellar prison, he frowned to himself. Why couldn’t he kill her? There was a hefty price on her head in the south, as there was for any of the remnants of the Painted Sand tribe. He didn’t even need to deliver her alive. Since the Painted Sand people had the peculiar custom of tattooing their women’s hands with clan markings and tribal symbols, all he needed in order to collect the bounty was her hands, salted, mummified, or however he cared to deliver them. When he had abducted her from her bed at the inn the night before, his intention had been to make short work of her. He had even pre-stocked the cellar with an axe, a pound of salt to preserve the hands, and a heavy chopping block. All remained unused and Kaldir found himself facing a fresh set of problems, not the smallest of which was what to do with the southern woman now that he had her.

Stooping to pick up the bundle that contained her used supper dishes, he made a noise deep in his throat that sounded something between a grumble and a growl. If he intended to take her with him, he would have to find a horse for her and some shoes. Having taken her from her bed, she was barefoot with nothing heavier than a cotton dress to protect her from the elements. He would have to find a way to obtain her belongings from the inn. The sprained ankle made the horse a necessity. Of course, she could ride double with him, but he was afraid he would find that a touch too distracting, especially for the journey he had a feeling he was soon to undertake. As it was, he had difficulty pushing the image of her dark amber eyes and shining black hair out of his mind. Having her on the same horse with him would be a disaster. He would get a second horse.

Or he could let her go, just leave her in the cellar to her fate. Kaldir thought about it as he walked back through the darkness toward the inn. That would be the simplest solution, the obvious thing to do, that is if he did not go ahead with his original plan and kill her already. Her hobbit friend would no doubt find her well before she managed to starve to death. Mrs. Banks seemed like the determined type. Nonetheless, he found himself continuing to waver over what to do with Miss Nightshade.

Approaching the inn, he slowed his steps. He was growing annoyed with himself for his own indecision. The problem was that he felt a connection to Benia, as thought she had something to do with him on a fundamental level. He wasn’t sure what that something might be, but, if he were to destroy her, he would never know.

He would get a second horse. He would return Cook’s dishes to the inn, settle his accounts, and then seek out Cobhan Tupper, the local gypsy horse-trader, and negotiate or threaten him into a decent price on a passable mount for the girl. Stopping just outside the inn grounds, Kaldir gave his head a quick shake, as though trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. The whole situation was crazy. He should just go back to the cellar and do the deed. When she was gone, that would be the end of it. No more haunting images of smooth brown skin and long-lashed eyes. She would be nothing more than a commodity in a bag, to be turned in for a price. Finally, he nodded to himself but the expression in his pale eyes was bitter and hard.

Pushing the thought of Benia out of his mind, Kaldir stepped forward into the inn’s yard. The grove of trees that lay on the far side of the inn from where he stood reminded him of his more pressing concerns. First of all, there was Vanwe, the young elf lady upon whose head lay a substantial price, placed on her by the Haradwraith village that had been foolish enough to lose her, the daughter of Naiore Dannan. He had almost managed to capture her several times earlier in the day, but each time found himself waiting, instead, for a more opportune moment. She was impulsive and quick, but clearly frightened of her own shadow. He could use that fear against her, but really didn’t think he would need to. She had a tendency to bolt suddenly out of rooms where there was the relative safety of other people to go off by herself, where she became - for him - a sitting duck. He was confident that it was just a matter of time before Vanwe joined Miss Nightshade in her cellar prison. Or, rather, took her place. Then, soon after, he could begin the long journey south to return Miss Vanwe to her village.

But he was troubled by the presence of the other, the one he had taken to thinking of as The Watcher in the Woods. It was a familiar malevolence that he had sensed there that afternoon, one he knew well from long experience. But could it really be she? He had no desire to go creeping about in the darkness to find out, but, come dawn, that was exactly where he intended to go. It would make sense for Naiore to be there. After all, the daughter was there, why not the mother? He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck as he cast one more glance across the yard toward the gloom and mist between the trees. He had the distinct feeling that she waited for him out there between the black tree trunks, a dark presence with unfinished business. The long-smashed bones of his face began to throb. He had some unfinished business with her as well. Daylight would be there soon enough. He would find out then if Naiore had indeed come to the north.

Stepping across the threshold into the cheery warmth of the inn’s common room, Kaldir made first for the kitchen where he dropped off the crockery from Benia’s dinner. Then, he returned to the common room, where by chance or fate, the first face to catch his eye was that of the horse-trader himself. Always one to follow his instincts, Kaldir took it as a sign. He joined Tupper at his table.

"Greetings, you old horse thief," he said pleasantly, taking the empty chair at the horse-trader’s elbow. "Have you any horses to sell?"

Cobhan Tupper looked up in surprise, then a grin spread across his swarthy, whiskered face. "To an old scoundrel like you? Of course.’ He took a long drink from his tankard. "What happened to that big gray stallion of yours? Did he finally die of ill humor? I believe I still have a hoof print in my backside courtesy of that evil-tempered beast."

Kaldir smiled wryly. "You shouldn’t have tried to steal him." Raising his hand, he signaled to Rowana Brandybuck for an ale. "He’s stabled outside."

"A fine animal! Would you be interested in selling him?"

"No. I’m only interested in buying."

[piosenniel]

Hilde Bracegirdle's post - Gilly


Eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the evening gloom, Gilly came to a stop behind the thick trunk of an ancient and sickly tree, it’s dark leafless branches uplifted, casting a claw like silhouette against the sky. The hobbit shuddered involuntarily in the cool dew-laden air. At the edge of the village sparse trees, disfigured by a seemingly desperate search for firewood grew among the derelict buildings, reminding Gilly of the refuse left on the shore after a great storm. Disagreeable confusion. It reflected her own weary state of mind.

Before Gilly the object of her attention, Kaldir, an ominous presence in the rising mist, walked purposefully through the darkness, disappearing into the shadow. A flood of panic swept the hobbit along as she swiftly ran to follow this quarry. She could not afford to lose sight of Kaldir. He was her best chance at finding Miss Nightshade. Her only chance quite likely. And she must find her. Quite foolishly she had not told anyone as of Miss Benia disappearance last evening. It had been her wish to have gained Miss Léspheria’s council, but seeing her in such distress in the morning she was fearful that Miss Benia’s assailant might have attacked her as well, and did not wish to bring her further suffering. So she alone tried to piece together what exactly had transpired. It was obvious to her that it had not been the lady’s own volition that had taken her out of the window at the inn, but rather a man or less likely an elf that had forced her to take this undignified exit.

Who this person could be was a matter Gilly had pondered tirelessly, coming up with two suspects and one possible accomplice. The chief suspect was the man she followed, a ranger with a rather menacing disposition, who had lately arrived at the inn disrupting the calm of Miss Benia and Gilly’s visit rather much like a horse stepping in a still puddle. Nothing was clear. Their ease was taken from them completely when he had unceremoniously posted himself by the stair leading to the quarters Benia and Gilly shared. And he had been possessed of a stealthy sort of aggression and a confidence that the hobbit found most convincing. But this morning, when she found that Miss Benia had disappeared in the night, Gilly was dumbfounded to find Kaldir still about the inn aiding the elf Léspheria. It just didn’t fit. If not Kaldir then who would have done such a thing?

The other figure who featured in Gilly’s internal debate was Hanasian, another ranger who had come to Benia’s assistance when she was injured while seeking the sanctuary of her room, away from Kaldir. Though initially wary of any ranger, Gilly found herself weakening in her resolve regarding Mr. Hanasian’s case. But then, had she not seen him speaking late last evening with the strange southerner Vanwe, and quite close to Benia’s open window? She perhaps, would have heard of the price for bringing down a member of the Painted Sand tribe. Then again, all these three might be in league with one another. After all Hanasian apparently was on familiar terms with Kaldir. Or then again it could be someone Gilly had not spotted. She began to feel dizzy again, faint with hunger and weary of the circle her mind was describing.

Gilly’s thoughts turned outward once more as Kaldir passed through the door of one of the abandoned structures. She heard a low metallic scrape as a bolt was drawn and wondered if Benia might indeed be found alive in this very building. But perhaps it was the nest of thieves. She must be cautious.

After a pausing a few moments Gilly followed Kaldir over the threshold, desperately hoping that the ranger wasn’t poised just inside the door, waiting for her. A deep voice faintly could be heard beyond a heavy wooden door. And there, A female voice!

Planting herself in the deepest of shadows in the empty room, Gilly began her vigil, knowing herself no match for a ranger, she must needs wait until he departed again before she could effect Benia’s release.

Thinking back over the last few weeks, it seemed ages since Gilly received the letters that initially disrupted her otherwise peaceful existence. The first being from her sister-in-law the contents of which in effect was politely discerning if her family could move in with Gilly’s while relocating back to Bywater. Sylvia had been of the growing opinion that Brandy Hall was no place to bring up children and if hers were to be taken as examples of that region’s youth Gilly was inclined to agree. And the vague reference in regard to the purposed end of their stay she had found quite trying.

And again, the very next day the postman had delivered a second letter addressed in a rather flowing decorative script. This from Miss Benia Nightshade. Gilly had fondly recalled the slight, kindhearted lass with large amber eyes. She had had no word from her since the days before the war and slowly had come to fear the worst had happened to the dear girl and her family. They had been like green leaves blowing about before the wind in those pre war days, just one step ahead of the storm brewing in Harad. Indeed that is how they had become acquainted, Gilly pleading their case to her father until he agreed to shelter them on his small farm until the danger of their southern pursuers had past. But that chapter had long since been closed. Miss Benia had grown to be a fine woman albeit to Gilly’s mind a bit outlandish to set eyes upon. Still she had her father’s wit and fortitude alongside her mother’s appearance, and it proved a pleasant combination.

In her letter Miss Nightshade had relayed that she would be in the area near Bree and would like to see Gilly again if Gilly could manage to find her way there. She would be staying at the Forsaken Inn. The hobbit in hindsight regretted ignoring the misgivings she had upon reading the name of the inn, but at the time she had feared bed bugs and stale toast rather than the exploits of bounty hunters such as the one she now found herself trailing. (That had changed quickly upon her arrival). And at the time she was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing Miss Benia again, so much so as to press her husband Carl to agree to the journey.

Carl had accompanied Gilly as far as the inn before turning toward Archet to stay with distant cousins. He had arranged to meet Gilly in a few days time for the return trip home. Meanwhile, Miss Nightshade had promised to keep a watchful eye on her friend, keeping her out of mischief. Never before had she seen the Brandywine let alone crossed over the Greenway, and the hobbit felt herself ill at ease as well as excited. Accordingly, she had had a sense of apprehension even amidst her marveling at the sights and curious ways of her fellow guests, some few of which brought to mind once again the ill treatment she and Carl had received at the hands of Sharkey’s men, and was rather sad to learn that Benia’s troubles had not ceased after the war….

Gilly woke suddenly to the sound of footsteps ascending the stair. She couldn’t have been asleep over long for it was still mercifully dark in the room. Of this Gilly was grateful, for at the door there soon appeared Kaldir’s dark form hurriedly shooting the bolt home before stepping outside and across the road. The hobbit sat silently counting to what she thought was a large number before allowing herself to race to the cellar door. Heart racing as she unlocked the door, Gilly found it an awkward task descending the steep stairs with Jack Nightshade’s sword strapped to her back, and stumbling down the last few she called, “Miss Benia! Miss Benia, are you here?”

“Yes Gilly, I am. Just over here my friend, see here in the corner,” came a soft reply. “But you should not have come to visit me today. Carl would not be pleased to hear that I had taken you to such a place as this!” Benia gave a dispirited smile. “You must go directly, for I assure you the ranger will not be long gone!”

“Oh no Miss Nightshade, I will not go. I mean to get you out of here. Ach, now who would go and tie you up like this? As if you would be causing harm to anyone!” Gilly came forward to free Benia using a small knife, but her friend stopped her and looked her in the eye.

“Gilly, please listen! You must go now. Kaldir will be back and we will both be trussed up like this before we have gone a mile if we leave now. If you truly wish to help me, go back to the inn and gather my things bringing them here. I will need my boots to travel any distance quickly, and a think we shall gain a good lead if we wait until the ranger goes to fetch his horse as he plans tomorrow.”

“Then I will do as you ask, but please take my knife while I am away. I would feel better for your having it.” She paused thinking the plan through. “Am I to go with you then?”

“I won’t have you stay here, for Kaldir to toy with!”

“Then I suggest we head for Archet, Carl is there and will be able to help us.”

“Very well, just hurry and be careful.”

Gilly made her way up the stairs again, bolting the door behind her before slipping out into the night. She fairly ran to the inn, climbing the vines to enter Benia’s room though the open window. Collecting the few things her friend had left, she put her meager handful of pocket money on the table hoping that it might cover the cost of their stay, before throwing the rucksack out the window and climbing down after it.

Soon Miss Benia would be safe again, and she and Carl would be on her way back to Bywater. Very soon this would be only an unpleasant memory, but it could not be soon enough for the tired hobbit.

[piosenniel]

Snowdog's post - Hanasian

It was a cool, cloudy night when I approached Bree, and though I had made good time from the Forsaken, something bothered me in my leaving that place. For there was Vanwe, admitting to be Naiore’s daughter right there before me, and the long night of words filled me with an intensity that said to my bones that she was near . . . very near . . .

I decided to encamp just north of the road in the thick growth of the Chetwood, not far from the gates of Bree. For surely my arrival will be more welcome at the first light of day than at the deeps of the starless night. I unlimbered Blackveil and let her wander as she does, always staying close it seemed when we were out in the wilds. Though it were not so here near the city, for the King’s men had long since made travel from Bree to Rivendell safe, there still was the old cautions among many of the order of Gatekeepers of Bree. And yet, as always, Blackveil was my eyes and ears as I rested. But tonight’s sleep was not that restful... for I drifted into dream...

It was Year 5 of the return of the King, and two shabby Rangers, me and Farasan of Ithilien, were on the move in Dorwinion, silently acting upon a tip. The lands were still barren but new signs of life were blooming in the spring as fresh vineyards were planted in the year after the War. The rain was hard and on the third straight day, and we approached the small house silently in the sounds of the storm. Farasan had become a good friend of mine since the war, having slain that ratty little orc that had keyed me with a poisoned arrow and was about to shoot. But Farasan’s movement was not quick enough to kick the raging Variag who charged in upon me, and I turned his blade with my own. But I did not see his other blade, the short black one that bit into my side. It glanced off a rib after penetrating the leather vest and fell to the ground as I slashed at him, but the wound weakened me and I fell. Farasan had turned to face more raging men of Khand and did not see me fall, but later he found me in the aftermath as I tried to stand. Farasan had served long in Ithilien under Captain Faramir, and was not too pleased to be caught in the White City running a message when the war closed in on him. He was newly married then, and surely Faramir had this in mind when he gave him the order. A good man Farasan was and a great fighter, and our friendship began that day of meeting on the battlefield, brothers-in-arms. Yes, a good man he was, though his mind did wander to his wife and young child now, living anew in the fair woods of Ithilien.... He should not have been on this mission....

... Ready to make a move, for there was little movement in the house, and in hopes we had Khazûl, Naiore, and Varicar, three of what we called the Remaining, inside. A cadre of ten archers of Ithilien were about the house ready to shoot, and were in waiting in the darkness. Surely none would get away alive. The kid from the winery was sure they would be here, and through the day as the house was watched, it appeared he was right.... but still there was that shadow of doubt inside....

...The door burst into splinters at the kick of my foot, and likewise the back door from Farasan’s foot, and in we rushed. Varicar lay dead in seconds as Farasan’ sword fell upon his neck, and Khazûl jumped up before me in surprise. I stepped toward him, but he charged hard... harder than I expected. Little did I know that Naiore was behind the huge former Easterling army commander, and as he stumbled into my sword, skewering himself and pushing me back into the doorframe, Naiore turned and let fly a knife toward the charging Farasan. Deflecting it with his sword, he saw not the second knife Naiore pulled from Khazûl’s belt, and she buried it deep into his throat. I stood in pain and anger after pushing the dying Khazûl from me, and letting fly the Variag knife at the fleeing Naiore, it took hair from her and embedding into the doorpost as she fled over the top of the dying Farasan. It was almost instantly that I heard arrows slamming into the house as the archers tried to take down the fleeing Naiore, and I would have pursued her if I thought I wouldn’t be mistaken in the driving rain. But I paused and knelt by Farasan, pinching the knife in his neck in hopes of stopping the bleeding. But it was to no avail as he gasped his last words to me...

... I rode slowly, another horse in tow, and the spring gardens of Ithilien were in bloom. I came to the stately home of Farasan, and I stopped and dismounted as Hannah emerged in smiles... smiles for the return of her husband... her husband had returned to her, but not as she wished him to...and I thought of Naiore, his slayer as she eluded the arrows in that dark, rainy night. Maybe I blamed myself for his death? But the thought was interrupted by the sound of that laugh.. the same one I heard seconds before I blew in that door...

I jumped awake in a sweat! Standing and shaking, seeing the face of Hannah change from pure joy to pure sorrow... my side ached where I was wounded in the war, probably some from laying upon that wily pinecone, probably some from the memory of the war... I quickly looked about in watch as was custom of Rangers to see if danger was near, and seeing I was outside the gates of Bree as the sun colored the straggling clouds over the Misty Mountains pink I turned to Blackveil who wandered up nearby.

‘Ready to go girl? They will want to stable you in the city. Maybe I will walk from here and meet you tonight when I return?’

Her nudge of my shoulder was partly in check for my sanity after my troubled sleep, and partly in thankfulness of my not taking her into a city. That stable by Laketown suffered much from her temporary confinement. With a swish of her tail she was off into the trees, and I cached my belongings I would not need in town.

The town of Bree was a nice place, though tales and rumors were rampant there. A tip from Bree was not worth its cost in ale to get it, for it would be a yarn spilled from a local or a visitor from the Shire, but if one looked at those who came and went from other parts, there could be some information gleaned. I knocked upon the South Gate just as the sun peeked its way over the distant horizon and below the clouds. The seemingly eerie golden light spread about Bree Hill as the keeper opened the gate. Yes, friendlier times it was in these years of the King, for it was only at the whim of the gatekeeper if he wanted to open the facedoor to ask of business. It was not uncommon these days for them to open the gate right off.

"Good morning sir" He said with a tired smile. He was the morning gateman, and was still waking up. A voice behind him asked me,

"What is your business so early?"

‘I am here for the day, to re-supply and rest.’

I didn’t like his demeanor as he was a bit grumpy. But then he was just off his night watch at the gate.

"Hanasian I know you better than that. You come to smoke and drink and gamble, and maybe..."

‘No, I am here as I said, for I will be on my way ere you work again. But maybe you could tell me something.’

He looked at me with a half smile and said, "What?"

I looked around and then said,

‘Maybe you could tell me where the Nightshades could be found?’

He was silent, but as we walked the road together he said,

"Sure, one of the boys does smithing. Has a place just a thousand feet south of the Pony by the draw in the hill."

I thanked him as he turned for his house, a yawn slid out as he waved goodbye, for he would go to find sleep, the nocturnal type he was.

I walked the road toward the Pony, and people tall and small were beginning to stir this fine summer’s day. I nodded to a few though most ignored me, and it was soon I was before a smiths shop.

‘Hail sir Nightshade?" I said to the young man who was stoking the fire of his forge. He looked up at me and straightened.

"That be me." he said, though he looked suspicious at me for knowing his family name.

‘I bring word from one who claims kinship. She stays at the Forsaken and goes by the name of Benia...’

And elder man had come out of the house when he heard his son talking, and he said gruffly,

"Spawn of Jacks I reckon. Word was a comin’ for I felt it. What is she to you? One who caught your fancy for a night?"

I was taken aback somewhat by his words, but replied respectfully,

‘She is one who sings beautifully, as a nightingale upon the quiet waters Mirromere. She wanted word to be brought to her kin that she was delayed in arriving. I assume you were expecting her?’

He crinkled his face and turned away from me. "Maybe, but why did you not escort her then?"

‘It was not her wish.’ I replied, sensing all was not well between the lines of the family. I went on, ‘She has word of one of her mothers kin, and said you, of her father’s kin could get word to them.'

He turned and said,

"You delivered word, and I thank you for my part. Will there be anything my son can help you with??"

He was eyeing the exotic black knife on my belt, the one which wounded me in the fields of Pellenor. I could see this getting colder, so I turned and said,

‘No, just delivering the message as requested.’

I needed something to drink! it was too early for ale, but the tea from the Pony smelled good. I stopped in for a hearty breakfast and tea, and then to the mercantile to trade and barter for some good parchment paper and inks and quills, and other goods. Surely I would relax a bit, then I would be back on my way to the Forsaken. Yes, leaving was not the thing to do, but for this instant when I saw a dark, wild looking fellow who I had intentions to meet. He came to trade away some vegetables he had grown, and I could tell he was nervous. He was from Dunland, for I had met him before, and by the passed word of the wanderers toward the Forsaken, he had let me know he had knowledge.

I slipped him some of the pipeweed I had acquired and he looked at it, and after taking it he looked about and then to me, whispering,

"I have seen her! The one you seek!"

I looked at him with a doubtful gaze, for many have told me this, and many times they were close, but never on the mark like that night in Dorwinion. He leaned toward me and said,

"Near Tharbad where they are re-building the great bridge, the river is a hard cross, and one so sought by the Kings men such as she could not ford by the city. She crossed Dunland by my fields! I was near the River Greyflood when she swam it! About ten miles west of the city! It is low since the warm spring melted the snows, and the rain has been little but for the one summer storm."

I looked at the wall. Yes, she stirred it up in Rohan quite a bit, always seem to get clues of her there. I decided his information was worthy for the most part, and gave him the rest of the pipeweed. It was the wild stuff from Rhun, and I would keep the Farthing smoke I just got. He was happy and I went outside to sit and smoke. It had to be Naiore, from what he said, and her movements were usually concealed well. But sometimes poor farmers are not seen, or not thought of as being worthy of having to be concealed from. For even one as wily as Naiore must weary of hiding her every move. But where would she go? Could she be here in Bree? Try to infiltrate the Shire? No, would stick out sorely among the Halflings...

I lay against a tree trunk and smoked and thought, writing again parts of what I called the Annals of the Dúnedain Rangers, when thoughts again drifted to my dream of the morning and then to that day... my hand dug out of my pocket a leather pouch, one not much different from the one he had of Vanwe’s. I opened it and let slip out of it the lock of hair. The hair my knife took that fateful night... I was not thinking the other night or I would have given some of this hair to Vanwe, since she sought her mother.... That was it! Maybe Naiore sought her daughter? Hanasian, you old mossbrain! Surely she was making for the Forsaken, for she must of had word of her daughter! Besides, why linger here when I could see again Lady Benia Nightshade and hear her sing once again? But Vanwe was the key . . . and I am here...

I stood and stashed away my pipe, parchment, quill, ink, and the pouch with Naiore's hair and made way for the south gate. Blackveil will be grazing, but would know to come at my call when I retrieve my cached gear. I had to make time back to the Forsaken, and it was still morning, I could make it back by nightfall.

I was silent as I rode, Blackveil could sense my urgency. I rode through the day as the sun westered, and a stiff westerly wind drove the air about me cooler, pushing the warm southern summer air back. A squall line of clouds built high in the sun, and their dark undersides belched streaks of rain and an occasional lightning bolt as the differing airs danced up their storm. My thoughts turned to Vanwe and the talk we had of Naiore. How could I tell her that her mother slew such a good friend, leaving a child fatherless and a mother widowed? Did she already know? She will learn of Naiore’s ways, soon enough. I approached the Inn as the sun dropped below the horizon, turning the lands an eerie dark, with the tall clouds sunlit still in the east....

[piosenniel]

Elora's post - Naiore

The afternoon shadows grew lush and long, reaching further a field as the Sun made her way into the West. Naiore watched the darkness stretch and grow around her with pleasure. With the night would come other things and she had been waiting long and driven for. She remained still and at relative ease in the embrace of a shadow cast by the ancient bole of a fig tree. It loomed massive over her, surrounded by the adjoining woods that carpeted the land around the inn she was watching.

Some may account it a pleasant place. For Naiore, it was a land of failure and frustration, a wretched place and she had little love for the tree or anything else that lived within its bounds. She was difficult to see, enfolded as she was in twilight darkness. Her inky leathers bore the stains of hard travel. Mud daubed her boots, all but obscuring the delicate silver stitching tracing vine tendrils up her boots. Her hair was no longer smoothly braided. Unearthly golden wisps escaped to graze her cheek on the lifting breeze of a midsummer afternoon. Her state and presence gave rise to a great many questions, the answers to which Naiore did not greatly care to entertain as she cast a simmering glance towards the Forsaken Inn.

Rangers, cursed scions of Numenor, had pushed her hard through the wilderness. She had managed to elude them, her skills tested as they had not been in the past 12 years. Still, although she was for the moment safe, she was far from pleased. It grated to be sitting beneath a shedding tree encrusted with mud. She should, right at this moment, be running in free abandon further to the north. She should, as she sat in darkness gathering her wits and thoughts, be bringing a new tide and era to a land that had escaped the harsher ravages of war. She should, by all rights, be at the pinnacle of power, all the might of Mordor at her back.

Naiore flicked a braid back over her shoulder, its golden weight added to the other seven that hung long to her waist. Instead, she had been cheated of all that should have been hers, even the small prize of the Shire. Rangers and her own people conspired to hem her in and bring her down like an animal. They would take her, bound hand and foot, to face justice as the ignorant liked to call it. There was no justice in this world. There was no love either. No softness, no compassion, certainly no valour or glorious. Those who sought it were fools, nothing more. If anything, two ages spent in the turmoil of Middle-earth had taught her that. The much vaunted values of her kin and the infant cultures that clambered noisy and brash at its feet were lies. They deluded themselves. There was only death, fear, pain, woe, suffering and one other thing. Revenge. That was all.

She who saw the truth and in doing so mastered both it and the world around her, she who had held such power in countless lands, mastered terror and was mistress of the hounds of war and hell, sat in a cold wood. Even had she tried for the Havens to seek release from these mortal lands, she could not penetrate the bristling ring set in place by Elessar around the Shire. His name curdled in her mouth. Twelve years spent running from a beggar king of mortal descent to come to this!

Naiore raised starlit grey eyes to the darkening sky. In them was the long tale of her years. A sadness so heavy it could suffocate her was allowed to surface for air as she glanced at the sky. Then cold anger and revenge settled in and pushed the tiredness away. She looked at the inn, considering it once more. Her face was impassive, as often it was, carved elven beauty remarkable even amongst her own kin. Her face had beheld horror untold, she had wrought it with her own hands, for reasons few could understand. Now she sat waiting for an incipient snare to spring, dirty and desperate but not without her pride. She wore that like armour. It had gotten her through before this day.

The Inn was glowing with firelight in the early evening. Her gaze shifted to the stables, where it was said her daughter worked. Naiore could see no sign of Vanwe just yet, but her sources were adamant. They well knew the price their lies would earn them. It was a difficult death at the hands of a Ravennor. Naiore’s reputation was not conferred to her without merit.
Somewhere was a Ranger too, one she knew. She had expected to find Kaldir skulking in the forest. Such acts were not beneath him as they were her. The presence of both Kaldir and Vanwe was not a coincidence that could be ignored. She should have killed the whelp when she was born, unwanted by-blow that Vanwe was. The idea that some long buried maternal instinct prevented her was laughable. Only the perilous consequences of a lack of restraint keep her silent. Rangers were about, though not as thickly here as they were further West.

Vanwe should be well south, in the desolate Haradwaithe, kept with the goats and the barbarians Naiore had left her with. The fact that she was not had left and survived the journey north and eluded capture told Naiore much. The fact that Vanwe was known to be tracing her told her more. She would be a woman now, grown and no longer a helpless babe. There was no telling the danger she was. Perhaps, Naiore thought, she could use Kaldir to put an end to Vanwe and her threat. She could see to Kaldir after that.

But the fallen Ranger would need to be pushed, if only to see past his immediate mercenary loss in Vanwe's death. It remained to be seen if she could achieve that. He had proved difficult to break, those years ago. Kaldir was a rare challenge, one she had enjoyed then as she soon hoped to.

Naiore waited out the twilight. Travelers were still straggling in to the inn. Vanwe would appear. She worked in the stables, assisting a man who was no real threat for the likes of Naiore. Kill Vanwe and Kaldir, attempt again to push north without a tail, and see if bloodshed could not find the Shire after all. She was without any other purpose, and she would pursue this with a breathtakingly singular will that proved stronger than steel.

The Free Peoples could not hope to contend with her. Sauron himself had never truly conquered all of her heart and soul. Menecin neither. In the face of all she had endured and perpetrated throughout the wars of the Second and Third Age, rising time and again, ceaselessly vigilant in her quest for knowledge that had consumed her life, achieving the death of her daughter and Kaldir was nothing but a light aside.

Perhaps, Naiore mollified herself, one of them held what she looked for. Perhaps they could tell her from where fear spawned. It was unlikely, but possible. She held to that, for it made the ignominy of her failure in recent months to reach the Shire, her fugitive life since Sauron's fall lesser. How they would have laughed to see her reduced to such a state provided they escaped her with the facility to laugh intact within their bodies and souls. She could endure a rough night and hard travel if it meant the achievement of all she had endured and suffered for.

Whilst her riddle of fear circled in her head, Naiore watched from the trees. She needed but the slightest opportunity to begin, and she had tired of idle waiting and ceaseless flight. In the depth of night, she would strike. Snare Vanwe, lead her away and draw Kaldir after her… and then when both were dead and no longer able to scheme against her, she would no longer have the inconvenience of a bounty hunter to hamper her north ward’s push. The lanterns of the stars began to spring into life as Naiore maintained her watch on inn, pondering who had found sent Vanwe north. Elrond’s son’s mayhap? Celeborn? A contemptuous smile curved her lips as she pondered her kinswoman’s husband. Yes, Celeborn of Doriath would do just such a thing. She would see to it that much ruin came of his impertinence.

[piosenniel]

Elora's post - Vanwe

… The water dripped in a regular ceaseless rhythm throughout the day, the night and the day. It was broken up by the scratching of rats in the straw, perhaps a wet and hacking cough nearby or a croaked song that had taken possession of a man’s voice and raised it like a tattered flag of insanity against the reality of the bars. Torchlight flickered fitfully against slick and dark stones as through the flames resented their presence, free as they were from the bars but locked in damp darkness. They would come by regularly, sometimes relighting torches that had rebelled and gone out. Some brought hard bread that was passed through the bars. That marked the beginning of another day. Sometimes it was water. That marked the night. It was race to claim bread or water before the rats did.

In that bleakness, a spider spun a silken web in the far corner of her cell. The strands caught the intermittent torch light, tiny gems caught in the web to dazzle unwary observers. It would float in the icy blast of wind that raced down the passage every time the outer main door would open. Then the sound of boots would start, counter tempo to the dripping water. There had been a lot of boots on the stone one morning after the bred had been pushed through the bars. The tiny jewels in the spider’s web became fiery with torch light that they had brought with them. She remembered that. It was beautiful, even if everything else was not and she had smiled faintly in that grimness to behold it.

The men had golden hair, like hers in many respects and yet not. It fell thickly around their shoulders, sometimes braided. Her own was a more delicate shade, lighter in weight and smoother in texture. Some clutched helms under their arms. Their torches glinted off mail. It was not as fair as the spider’s web. She remembered a saying as she took in their grim presence. Silk was stronger than steel. She looked into their faces and wondered about that.
One of them had produced a large iron circle. Many keys jangled discordantly from it. He fitted one to the lock at her bars.

The others stepped back, hands tightening around sword hilts that jutted from their belt encircled hips. She looked back up at the spider’s web as the door creaked in protest at its opening. Two men stepped through.

“On your feet,” one roughly ordered in Westron. He glowered at her. She did as she was told.

“We need more light,” the other one spat over his shoulder. Men slowly stepped closer to the bars. They held their torches out, reluctant to cast light on those within. She was struck by the realisation that they did not really want to see what they thought they were going to.

“Move but a muscle and you die,” intoned the man who had first spoke. She believed him. The other renewed his grip on his hilt, swallowed hard and stepped forward. He tipped her chin up, his fingers hard and rough against her skin. She stared blankly ahead, not daring to breathe. She heard movement, the sound of paper being unfolded.

“She is reported as claiming her name to be Vanwe,” he said. Doubt was in his voice, tempered also by suspicion and a dangerous anger that could flare brighter than any torch at any moment. Vanwe could smell it. She knew its scent well.

“Perhaps it is so, Farald. Look at her,” urged the man who held her chin so tightly.
“I’ve seen that face often enough,” the other replied heavily. She heard the paper bunch in his fist.

“Then by what sorcery did she achieve this?”

She saw two faces crowd her vision. They peered at her in silence. One shook his head as the other released her chin. She sagged back at the sudden change in balance, recovering quickly. A curse hissed in the silence, and somewhere else someone laughed blindly to fill the hole that insanity left in his mind.

“Silence,” roared one of the men in her cell. He cast her another glance. She lowered her eyes and mentally withdrew. If the anger came now, it was best she was not here. She knew what that glance meant. It was best if she was far away when it started. It was easier.

“It is not her Farald,” the other said.

“You had best hope that it is not,” Farald spat. He turned on his boot heel and stalked from her cell.

“What about her,” a man called after him.

“She can go. If I find her again, she’ll not fare so well. Rohan has had more than it’s share of the wider world and its Elves.” His voice floated back down behind him. There was a blast of air as the main door was opened. The men followed him, boot steps filling the prison's sagging emptiness once more. One remained by the open door to her cell.

“I would be swift, were I you. This is no place to dawdle with the doom of Rohan on your head,” he said. He walked away, a slow and measured tread. She watched him open the main door and pull his helm on. He had reports to make. Naiore Dannan was not in custody as they had thought. Those who already readied the gallows would have to wait a little longer. After 12 years and centuries of suffering, a little longer is both an instant and an eternity.

Vanwe ran then, the wind at her heels. She ran running fast, past grass and trees and village. Faster and faster, away from Rohan who nearly hanged her in mistake. Away from Umbar and the slave galleys where soldiers had nearly sold her when their error in her identity was known. North, where her mother had gone it was said and perhaps where her father was buried. Mirkwood, loomed ahead of her. It would be an arduous task to avoid those within it…

“Vanwe, have you found that cider yet?” The innkeeper’s voice called down into the cellar from atop the stairs. Vanwe started from her reverie, blinking at the bar of torchlight that shone golden on the earth floor of the dark cellar. She gathered her wits, pushing the cobwebs of unwelcome recollection aside.

“Yes,” Vanwe responded as she made for the stairs. The innkeeper smiled in relief. Vanwe had been gone so long in the cellar she had started to worry. With a shake of her head, she returned to the common room which was starting to fill with the rapid onset of evening. Vanwe reached the top of the stairs with a final shiver that slide down her spine. She looked over her shoulder, back into the darkness of the cellar and then firmly shut the door on it as she shut another in her mind. No more memories, not tonight, she resolved as she too returned to the common room.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Vanwe said as she handed the cider to the innkeeper. Busily filling waiting cups and placing them on a tray, she shook her head and shot Vanwe a brief smile.

“I thought something was wrong, is all. Go have some supper. You look pale. Have you eaten today?”

“No,” said Vanwe though she meant to deny that anything was wrong. She was but a wandering Elf, nothing more, no past, nothing.

“I thought as much. Quickly, sit before Cook sees you and I’ll fetch something from the kitchens as soon as I see to these.” The Innkeeper hoisted the tray of mugs and pints and whirled off. Vanwe passed crowded tables where Men and Hobbits spoke or ruminated in silence. There were no Elves tonight. At least she would not have to avoid them. There were Rangers though and that was unsettling. Rangers were only slightly less enthusiastic in their pursuit of her mother than the Rohirrim. Choosing a quiet and unoccupied table, Vanwe sat with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

Lespheria had left the key to her room in her keeping. Vanwe played with it absently upon the table top, wrapped deep in her thoughts once again. It had been months since she ventured north and she had found nearly nothing. Her mother was not here and neither was her father. Perhaps those who whispered of their deaths were right after all.

“No need to look so sad, Vanwe, have some wine.” Vanwe looked up at the Innkeeper’s kind smile as she set the wine glass down. Then she was off again as a table full of Men called for ale. Oh, Vanwe said inwardly as she stared at the glass and then at the key, there was need. Here she sat, alone and no closer to the truth and her family than she had been when she set out from the South. It was possible that they hunted her even now. They had done so all through Gondor and Rohan. Their wrath at her flight would break upon her shoulders and back, and all for nothing. She had failed.

As Vanwe sat faced with the vast pointlessness of her life, she felt the weight of another’s gaze upon her. She dared look up to find a Ranger, not Kaldir nor Hanasian nor Amandur, considering her closely. A sliver of fear lanced through her and her hand closed over Lespheria’s key. She looked sharply away again and withdrew inwards. The urge to flee to Lespheria’s room and hide was strong. Her brow furrowed and she rested her head on one hand. Elsewhere in the room someone laughed loudly. The door opened and closed.
Vanwe looked up in time to see Hanasian walk through the door, the road clearly upon him. He had come back, as he had said he would. Her heart was glad for that. His alert gaze combed the room as he took in his surrounds. When it swept over her, the Ranger would only have seen the long golden curtain of her hair as her head rested once more on her hand. A small flame of hope had sprung up within her, though. Hanasian had spoken of her mother under the stars and he had said he wished to speak with her upon his return. Perhaps he held what Vanwe needed. He had returned. It was a sign that not all was lost. Perhaps he knew something she could use. If nothing else, he was a friendly face. In the Sea of Strangers she was surrounded by in the common room that too made her glad.

Kaldir wished her only for the gold on her head. Of that she was certain. Amandur suspected her of the same incredulous crimes laid at her mother’s feet. Lespheria had left with the morning. Hanasian was the only other person who knew who her mother was and was neither suspicious or a bounty hunter. The night did not seem so large or alone now. Vanwe set down the key and sipped at her glass a little.

[piosenniel]

Imladris' post - Maethor

Maethor slowly reigned his eager stallion and lingered in the shadows of the forest. The Forsaken Inn loomed like a great shadow, ominous in the eerie light of the moon. Maethor shuddered...great evil was here, lurking in the shadows. He considered the quest that had led him here, the mission to pursue the elf Naiore. He shuddered again as he thought of her, the elf that had run with Sauron. It seemed impossible that a member of the Fair Fold would sully herself with such evil.

Naiore had harmed many, tortured even her own kind. Maethor remembered Kaldir, the ranger whose spirit she had tried to break. Maethor snorted in disgust. Kaldir had indeed lowered himself to the ranks of bounty hunter, yet he was a Dunedain...he was a brother yet.

It was a night laden with memories. Memories of evil times, of darkness that still needed to be routed out of the happy lands. The Shire...his blood turned chill as he realized that Naiore had probably wished to spill blood in her wrath of vengeance upon this fair land. Curse her, that elf woman. Maethor laughed aloud, suddenly, at the Hobbits...the Hobbits that had been (and are still) ignorant of the evil in the south. Even though viewed as a scallywag among them, Maethor loved the little folk and he could not bear to see Naiore harm them and their land.

At the memories, dull hatred took possession of Maethor's mind as he slowly dismounted and tied his stallion, Nair, to an old hitching post. Creeping softly, hiding in the shadows, the ranger made his way to the door and opened it. Hanasian and Amandur should be there in the room. Maethor peered about him, trying to distinguish the figures of men in the thick fog of smoke as he sought for the two rangers.

[piosenniel]

Everdawn's post - Avanill

Avanill restrained his horse from further movement than was necessary. It was true that the pair looked a formidable team when out on the open road, Avanill pitied his victims greatly. The Forsaken inn he chimed to himself. “Ah yes, I should think it has been time enough for the people who owe me, to pay me back. Has it been due time for them Amathalay?” he asked the grey horse who seemed to stamp his hooves in approval.

“So do I.” Avanill replied and dismounted the animal. And remembered his mother, the formidable bandit, Atantri’s parting words to him. “It has come time mother, I must journey north.” Is what he had said gathering up his weapons, seeing standing before him the tired form of his thirty six year old mother Atantri. “So soon? You are eager my son, and that may get you into trouble in the future. Remember that.” She said as she handed him his cloak. “Not if you have taught me well.” He said back to her. “That is what I fear most. I can offer you one piece of advice that will see you through all of your years, even when I am gone.” Avanill stopped dead, and listened eagerly, as he always did when his mother spoke.

“Trust no one. I would be dead ten times over if it were not for this instinct. You owe no allegiance to anyone, not even to me, you are your own person. The days of old with our companions of the bandits are near over, if it is your choice to deal with them, make it be that you trade to Mordor. There is still resistance there, and a will to pay high prices for goods.” Avanill had kissed his mother on the head and left with the grey horse whom his mother used to ride in her days of terrorizing Pinnath Gelin, and whom she had named Amathalay, after a traitor her friend killed saying “It is a name only fit for a horse.”

It had been a long ride for Avanill on his old but sturdy and intimidating steed, but he had been here before. His mother was right, he had been dealing with the bandits of Pinnath Gelin, but he had not guessed that she was so close to the truth, his company did take goods from the bandits and sold them in turn at a higher percentage to outlaws in Mordor, to name one in particular, Naiore. Yes she paid high prices for Avanill's goods, and it was common knowledge that the king's men were after her.


It was his black market trade which had brought him here in the first place, on his way further north. “Hello Sir” came the voice of a man from the stables. Avanill turned around to see him, “Dervorin, if it isn’t you. Last time I saw you, you owed me a debt!” said Avanill cheerfully. “I uh… I paid you back, begging you pardon Avanill.” Said Dervorin, slightly alarmed.

“Of course you have!” Avanill chortled, “Not to hold a man’s debts against him of course…” he trailed off and walked closer to the man. “… you fail to pay me on time again and I will have your head-“ Avanill paused when two decent looking men came into the stables, to which Avanill changed his time immediately, “And yes, my mother is fine.. how is your family?!!” the men left shortly after Avanill finished this sentence, which prompted him to go back into threat mode. “Fine” muttered Dervorin. “Well…” began Avanill leaning closer again, “they wont be next time, understand?” and without waiting for an answer, Avanill turned on his heel and entered the inn leaving only his horse and the swish of his cloak in his wake.

[piosenniel]

Elora's post - Menecin

The stars were perhaps their most beautiful in early morning. Menecin had remained sleepless through enough nights to make such assessment with certainty. Imladris was peaceful. He was not. It was an irony that never failed to shred what little grip he had on lucidity. The rage and grief twisted upon itself a little tighter. It never got tight enough to stop.

If he stilled, he could hear the breathing of those that watched. As he studied the clear morning sky, he wondered not for the first time what they watched for. They were waiting for the storm to break loose. He knew it for he saw it in their eyes when they thought he was not watching. He never stopped watching though. To stop would be to surrender to the dark fog that sinuously seeped into every thought and dream.

Beside him lay a lap harp. He had left it out all night, instead of covering it from the cool air. A harp such as this deserved better. This harp had played with Maglor. Maglor himself had overseen its construction, had plucked it's strings. Menecin plucked at a string himself. Maglor had gone mad. He had watched it unfold before him. Another irony that did not escape him. He was following in Maglor's steps, but he had taken no terrible oath other than to love her.

Her face was carved upon his memory, as was her voice and her scent. He could feel her upon his skin still. Menecin's eyes closed, the ache rising. She was there, just beyond his touch. No evil was in her that could be seen. Yet her actions were filled with such malice of intent. The rage sharpened and the grief. She was there but was lost, as was he. Adrift in pain, the world shattered by love, vast gaping wounds in his spirit that did not heal. Neither did he die. Even in her pain there was no mercy.

"Perhaps a song to welcome the day will grant what succor sleep did not this night, Menecin."

He could not keep the bitter smile from his lips as he struggled to keep what raged within him in abeyance. The savagery must have shown in his spahhire eyes. It was a brutal light that was revealed to one of the many who watched over him.

"There is no more music," he snarled in reply. The expression of shock was to be expected. Menecin saw it too often to expect anything less. He drew himself back, sealing off his senses. A few short hours, when night was done and the day not yet begun, he allowed himself. He would awaken within him, undead, unalive, in the transitory hours of each day. He would float. He had been brought to anchor by the Elf who had watched him through the night.

Menecin unfolded his tall frame, clad in the customary finery of a skilled bard who had performed remarkable feats of bravery and courage. Wisdom gleaned from three Ages in Middle-earth blended with his distress, making him dangerous to any and all, including himself. He turned, and walked unhurriedly back towards the chambers they allotted him at Imladris. Their comfort was barely noticed by Menecin. All was hell.

Behind him, in the eastern sky, day's blush had begun. The stars winked out, one by one, and he withdrew into himself. The startled Elf trailed him, wary and concerned with the bard's beloved harp cradled carefully in his arms. Menecin closed the door to his bedroom firmly. The Elf found the harp's aged and battered case and gently placed it into its wardship. He straightened, looking at the wooden door that sealed Menecin away from the world.

As many had done before, he shook his head in sorrow. A hint of the bard's formidable passion and greatness had emerged, only wracked with anger. All of it was brought about by one woman, her name no longer spoken. Her bounty price was the highest ever set. No trace of her though, apart from the trail of ruin she left scattered through the lands. For her, he suffered. The Elf seated himself at a nearby table and inked the quill that waited.

Next to the date, he recorded his observations.

"No change, no glimpse of relief, only rage."

His quill hovered a moment and was then set aside. He did not add the other comments that filled his head. Instead, what he did record was the latest on a page filled with similar comments. Books spanning decades, hundreds and thousands of years, contained the same dreary pattern. How anyone endured such torment, refusing to believe that she was indeed what she was known to be, defied imagination. It would have been better that he did not survive. Sometimes, it is best if the healers fail.

The Elf rose once more and stoked the small fire in the grate to warm the room for the next who would watch Menecin. Within his room, Menecin sat disconsolately with his thoughts and attempted to free himself from madness that always loomed and never swooped to relieve him of self-awareness. He longed for it with a need that shamed him.

[Snowdog]

Hanasian enters the Forsaken Inn:

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

It was getting pretty dark when I approached the Forsaken Inn, and I was tired from the day which had started early in Bree. I had done what I promised Lady Benia Nightshade, and now I was back. I watched the lands as I approached the Inn, for the air had a strange but familiar chill to it.

The trail of smoke stretched above the old building before a wisp of cool summer breeze from the north took it south. The rumble of thunder from the faraway Misty Mountains subsided as the darkness fell over the lands, cooling the heat of the day. The chill air won this day's battle, but the dissipating high clouds that shone silver in the rising moons light spoke of another hot day tomorrow.

I slid off Blackveil and took a satchel and bags from her. She would run free without a burden this night, and with a nod and a smile from me she grunted and was off up the grassy knoll behind the Inn and stable. I carried my load the last several hundred feet to the Forsaken and paused outside before entering.

A chill blew over me, and though the breeze was cool, this was one that I had not felt for at least 7 years... my eyes squinted and I looked about the place, and all seemed to be in order. The porch roof that sloped down had shadowed me from the moon, and the din of talk and such came from behind the door. I walked to the side edge and looked about; my eyes followed the horizon slowly north of the road where the grassy hillocks were broken by trees of alder and willow. They were spread out for easy passing, and the tall grass danced in the breeze around them. I looked northeast, in the direction of the Midgewater some miles away, and it looked as it had always. Yes, all appeared on order, but it did not feel right to me. I leaned against one of the posts that held the porch roof up, and wondered for a moment what all this post could tell over the years...

I finally pushed the door open and the sounds grew immediately louder. I stood inside for a moment and looked around at the faces there. It was only a couple days when I was here last, but it seemed so long ago. I looked to my left where the bar stretched out of the wall and ended openly in about 20 feet. A gap between its end and the wall that led straight down the hall to the lower floor rooms was only about five feet, and the traffic of the maids and servers from the kitchen sometimes crowded through with near accidents being avoided at the last second. The staff here had been at a long time, and seemed to know every inch without looking.

Just inside the opening to the hall, there was a stairwell that led up to the right, turning as it did to the left and through an archway to the upper hall, where the larger and nicer, and should I say, more expensive rooms were. But this Inn had seen its better days. The sound of the creaking, worn floorboards could be heard at times through the din of the Inn, and the two large log supporting beams that stood in the middle of the common room floor stretched high to the roof beams, for there were no rooms above the Common Room in this Inn. They all stretched out toward the back. About the floor there were a herd of small tables, each with a brood of rickety stools gathered about, with every one speaking of times past by the carvings that had been left through many of nights revelry through the long years.

The Inn was seeming unusually crowded this night, more so than when I left days before.... the heavy odor of ale and thick aroma of pipeweed being burned, making the room hazy and grey... but the air seemed different, and so I looked at the folk who were there.

A few folk stood along it with their evening beverage in hand, though one had nothing and was ordering. Maethor! I recognized him right off from the sound of his voice as he ordered, and he sensed me, for he looked over his shoulder and I nodded once in greeting. I then looked over the common room and I saw who appeared to be Lady Vanwe, her head down and her hair splayed about. I fingered the pouch I had in my vest pocket, and I thought a bit of that day long ago... Yes, I would give her some of that which I have of Naiore's.

But there would be time for us later. I didn't see Lady Nightshade, but then her ankle would probably keep her from moving too much. She was most likely upstairs talking with Gilly the Halfling, and a slight smile came over me. To have such friends! I would call on her later and see how she is, for my mind again drifted to Farasan, and that day... I need to have an ale.

The fireplace was against the far wall from the door, and it made the two rooms behind it on the lower and upper floor prime ones in the winter months. But tonight the fire was burning low, for the heat was not needed. Its only purpose was to keep a steady supply of water hot for teas, and that which the cooks needed. But the best tables were near it, and so it was I found myself sitting, leaning the old chair to the wall so I could watch the room. Maethor carried two tankards towards my table, and I knew I would owe him at a later time, but still I could not shake the aire I felt since arriving. I kicked out one of the chairs and Maethor set the tankards on the table and went to sat, but my eyes were ever searching the folk. I wonder where Vanwe is? I would like to see her again, and . . . But I had not told any of it save Vanwe, in hopes to finding a clue.

Step could be heard, the sound of heavy boot on well worn wood stairs, and soon one turned and eyed the common room. It was Amandur, and he had sprung for a room upstairs! I waited for his gaze to find me, and as Maethor sat, I lifted my tankard toward Amandur. He too nodded slightly... it was a silent way of the Rangers to greet in public, for the secretive and dark paths the Dúnedain had taken for so many years of darkness made it so, and the fair words of the brethren meeting again would wait for a time when they were alone.

Amandur walked over, and as Maethor turned to see who I was looking at, I pushed out another of the old chairs, this time on my left, for Amandur.

'Hail Amandur!' I said in a low voice not much audible over the din of the crowds' voices. Maethor too mouthed a word of greeting, and his arm went out for a maid to bring refreshment for our newest arrival.

I shed my satchel and bags by the hearth and wall near my chair, and too the blanket and my cloak which covered it all. I stretched my bare, sun-darkened arms a bit my black leather-clad legs straightened under the table. It had been a long ride to and from Bree. I felt again that chill and I again felt the pouch in my vest pocket. I looked first to Maethor, then to Amandur, and leaned forward as I set my tankard down on the table and said in a slight whisper,

'She is near, I feel it!'

[Imladris]

As Maethor strode dreamily towards the bar, his dark eyes fell upon a maid, and he could tell she was an elf. He froze and stared at her: he had never become used to their beauty, and always he would stop and watch them in awe. The years in Rive -- no Imladris, he hastily corrected himself, had been wonderful years of young beauty and wonder. He sighed happily as he watched her and murmured part of the elvish lay of Nimrodel a she watched her. The elvish language...what a fair thing it was.

Vanwe lifted her head and Maethor, jerking himself to the real world of the grungy inn, realized that he must have been gawking and, turning so that she would not see his crimson face, he turned again to the bar and began to order an ale. Plopping some coins upon the counter, he felt a presence, a friendly presence, enter the room and, turning, he saw that it was Hanasian. He nodded in greeting and said, "Excuse me. Make that two ales, if you would." He smiled at the woman behind the counter and saw that Hanasian had taken a seat at a table.

"Hanasian. I was expecting to find you here," he said quietly as Maethor joined the aged Ranger and looked at him admiringly.

Maehtor saw Hanasian raise his tankard in greeting to another and Maethor silently nodded his own welcome when he saw that it was Amandur. Motioning a serving maid to fetch another ale, Maethor gazed at Amandur as the ranger, too, joined himself and Hanasian. Maethor felt his blood chilled as he heard Hanasian whisper, "She is near, I feel it!"

Maehtor's spirit plummeted as he heard the awful words. He could only mean Naiore. Sipping his ale, he murmured, "Are not the rumors false? Is she truly an elf maid?" It couldn't be true. What elf would turn to evil?

The two rangers nodded and Maethor's spirits crashed through the floor as he pushed his tankard away. "How do we know find her?" he sighed, twiddling with a raveling thread from his cloak.

[Elora]

Naiore

So many Rangers! Still, it would get no easier, not now that the hornet's nest had been stirred. Naiore welcomed the fall of night proper as it sank over the lands. The hours would pass soon enough. Vanwe's lodgings were in the stables. She has to come out soon enough. There was a moisture in the air. If she waited long enough, she would have the confusion of fog to add to her allies this night.

Naiore stretched muscles that had remained in position for long hours already. No outward sign of impatience did she give. She was a creature of discipline and formidible will. She could wait until the small hours of the morning to float in with the foggy tendrils and snatch up Vanwe. Then, when she had her bait, she could unfold from there. Kaldir, for example, would fall into her lap.

The very thought of that brought a smile as cold as it was perfect to Naiore's lips. She could finish what she started there. Leave what was left to be found. The shock of that discovery would be the first footsteps of the terror that would unfold, a terror she would bring. They would know, before the end, all too well why such misery was brought to them. The dreams of freedom and peace would be shredded. There were no such things and those who had destroyed her life would learn of it at her hand.

Naiore's mind circled back to the Rangers. Kaldir was only one, likely isolated too although the brotherhood of Rangers is hard to gainsay. What of the others... some were experienced and some were not. They were but mortal men, though... no match for her skill,blinded and bound by their delusions of honour.

Rangers were not the only presence at the inn tonight. The fog would not be her only ally. True, she could trust the fog more than she could the contraband thief... but then she could have use of him also if she was to get beyond the immediate surrounds of the inn. She had to make for Bree, and she would need supplies.

There were many hours before Naiore would strike and she was not idle. As she waited, still as a graven statue, her mind raced and wheeled through such twists and turns that her old Master would haven been well pleased. A sense of melancholy rememberance tempered her thoughts, sharpened by anticipation of what was to come, the new future she would carve out.


-----------------------------

Vanwe


As with most evenings, the sinking of the sun brought many through the Inn's doors. Outside at the hitching post a row of horses newly arrived waited to be installed into their accommodations for the night. Inside, the guests saw to their needs. The kitchen was busy and the bar was hopping. Fimbriel was filling ale tankards and glasses with admirable flair and efficency.

Vanwe could also see the heads of the two hobbits as they weaved from table to table. Aramantha carried platters of food that she gazed at longingly as she dropped each one off. Rowana juggled tankards and mugs with remarkable ability. Vanwe glanced at her barely touched glass and sighed. Devorin materialised in the press at her table.

"There you are," he said with a grin. "It's a busy one tonight!" He took a seat opposite her. "I've seen to the latest arrivals, Vanwe." Vanwe felt a flush of guilt, for it was she that was the assistant. She opened her mouth to apologise and found it waved away before she gave it voice.

"You can sort the horses out at dawn tomorrow," Devorin said obligingly. There was a tension in Vanwe's gaze that troubled him, yet she nodded.

"The very least I can do is find you some ale," she offered.

"Now that is something I will not deny," Devorin said, leaning back in his chair and glancing around at the Rangers. Something was afoot. Before he could question Vanwe further, the Elf was on her feet and heading towards the bar.

"Finished your wine already Vanwe! Lucky I remembered to water it this time," Fimbriel's quipped as Vanwe appeared behind the bar. Those waited renewed their orders for ale and the like at the sight of another. Vanwe started filling tankards and glasses dutifully.

"Devorin would like some ale," she replied over the din, or rather through it with her distinctive Elven voice.

"I'll bet he would, but I'm too busy to wait on him hand and foot tonight!"

"I said I'd bring him some," Vanwe said, setting a foaming tankard down in front of a Man. She ducked away from his gaze as he thanked her. No need to risk being recognised as her mother.

"Shy thing,' she heard him mutter. Yes, better he think her shy than her mother. How is it possible to be that evil. It could not be, no.... Vanwe belatedly realised that Fimbriel was speaking to her.

"- Drop these off on your way. Rowana is run off her feet and see if they are wanting food as well."

"Which table," Vanwe had to ask. Fimbriel looked in askance at her and motioned towards the table that a gathering of Rangers sat at. Vanwe swallowed hard.... it would be walking into the lion's den with no more than a tray and some ale to defend herself with. Amandur's questions unnerved her. He suspected her of something, she knew it. He reminded her of others, of Rohan sometimes. There was also the other Ranger she did not know but had been staring earlier. Hanasian... he was there, true enough, and he knew something of her that the others did not. But what was her word under the stars compared with his brethren.

"Are you sure you're alright, Vanwe?" She blinked and nodded uncertainly. Fimbriel passed her a tray with tankards for the table of Rangers and Devorin. With no alternative, Vanwe picked up heavy feet and made her way back through the room. First she went to where Devorin sat at his ease near the heart.

"Perfect," he breathed as she passed down the tankard. "Any chance of some food to go with it." Vanwe nodded and attempted to return his smile. Devorin had no idea what she was, who she was... but he trusted her nonetheless. With all these Rangers about, he may come to regret taking her in as he did. Assistants who are taken for questioning by the King's Rangers are not the most suitable employees.

With that thought in her mind, Vanwe turned to the other table. A lion's den... They were in close conversation that faltered as she neared. It was important to behave normally, Vanwe knew after her experience, but such things are impossible. Hanasian and Amandur both glanced up at her, and the other Ranger turned about. Questions, so many questions, and she could not answer them and did not even believe what few answers she had herself.

She set down the tankards onto the table. They seemed overly loud to her hearing, eyes averted.

"I can also bring you food if you wish. Cook has prepared dinner. We have a lamb stew with fresh vegetables and some soup from lunch still - pumpkin I believe. Fresh bread, honey and cheeses also.

Is anyone hungry?"

Amandur was studying Vanwe like a hawk and the impulse to dash away from table and inn was strong. She could hear her heart thrumming in her ears. Hanasian's hand drifted to his vest pocket, expression thoughtful and grave also. It was as Vanwe had thought. He knew of Amandur's doubts. She wished to wail that she knew nothing of her mother save that her mother could not be what they all said she was. It could not be!

Vanwe then looked at the Ranger she did not know. Curiosity seemed to be in his gaze. Of all the tables, why did Fimbriel ask the stable assistant to take the order from this one? As soon as she had done this, assuming she was not arrested on the spot, she would take Lespheria's key and go to her room. If they were to come for her, Haradians or Rangers, then they would look for her in the stables - the one place she would not be!

Vanwe's thoughts turned deep within her, a fatigue rising for she was tired of running. Yet, for the Rangers that sat at the table they saw only an Elf who waited for their orders and hoped they would wave her off.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

After procuring a room Amandur went upstairs to his room, the innkeeper had promised to send someone up with his supper. On entering the room he had went straight to the window as requested it afforded a good view of the wooded area to the side and rear of the inn. The moon cast an eerie glow over the wooded area sending shivers down his spine.

A loud knock on the door drew him from his watch. He opened it to find a rosy cheeked young hobbit woman standing in the hallway holding a bowl laden with lamb stew and two large crusty slices of bread and butter. "thank you!" he smiled carefully taking the plate from her. "will there be anything else sir?" she enquired, "No, that will be all thank you." The young hobbit nodded and hurried off down the hall.

Amandur sat by the window as he ate his supper, watching the steady stream of people coming and going from the inn, his eyes drifted to the downs in the direction that Léspheria had rode out on that morning, he wondered were she was and what she was doing. He found himself feeling glad that she was not here, he know how much it pained her to felt the negative emotions of others especially pain, maybe Lóthaniel was right to keep the truth from her. The sudden canter of hoofs and a loud whinny brought his attention back to the area surrounding the inn. Hanasian he whispered seeing Backveil galloping up the grassy knoll.

Pushing his plate aside, he made his way down stairs, His dark eyes scanned the smoky common room trying to locate the Ranger. He soon found his sitting at a table at the far end of the room. Hanasian raised his Tankard in silent greeting, Amandur inclined his head slightly and walked towards them. Hanasian was not alone Maethor was with him , Hanasian pushed out a chair on his left and Amandur sat on it as Maethor acquired him an ale.

Amandur leaned back in his chair and took out his long grey wooden pipe and pack it with some Southlinch he had acquired in Bree, puffing gently as he light the weed, once lit he turned his seat slightly so he could rest his feet on the lower bar of the empty chair beside him.

'She is near, I feel it!"

Amandur sat up at these words nodding his agreement, he now felt that Léspheria had felt Naiores presence in the vicinity of the inn and the disturbed earth among the trees had been hers.

"Are not the rumours false? Is she truly an elf maid?" Maethor muttered from beneath his tankard, Both Amandur and Hanasian looked to each other and shook their heads "no the rumours are not false, An elf maid by all accounts to look on but I've see the pits of the revennor, the unspeakable horrors she inflicted on her own cousin and many more besides" Amandur sighed, as the vision of Léspheria's mothers broken body filled his mind. He took his pipe from his mouth and took a long drew of his ale in the hope to wash away that vision.

"How do we now find her?" The younger ranger sighed

"By keeping a watchful Eye on...." he stopped as Vanwe approached their table and set down three fresh ale's. He studied her face as she asked them if they would like anything to eat.

"I have already eaten and can strongly recommend the stew," he smiled as he leaned back on his chair and draw on his pipe, blowing smoke rings into the air as he waited for Hanasian and Maethor to order or decline the offer and let the elf woman return to her chores.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Night had not long since fallen when Rauthain drew near his stopping point and taking pity on the horse had dismounted, walking along side the animal for several miles before reaching the Forsaken Inn. There he had hoped to rest the horse for a time before continuing the long circuit from here to Bree, then up to Fornost and finally the Ettenmoors. This small village was well known to rangers and he could ask no further of the beast, though it would have pleased him more to have been in Bree by this time.


Reaching the noisy and brightly lit Forsaken, Rauthain led the weary stallion to the well. Taking rope in hand, the creak of a pulley could be heard through the rising mist as clean water was drawn up from the depths below. Splashing the water into a shallow basin from his kit, the ranger set it before the horse, patting the proud neck before returning to the tie up the well’s rope.


Though a raucous noise could be heard from the inn, the stable yard was still as Rauthain took the reins and crossing to a grassy dell, drove a peg in the ground tethering the horse until his return. “Rest as well as you may,” he spoke softly to the animal. “We’ve a long ride yet, and the worst of it at the end.” Then after stroking the mud-speckled shoulder, Rauthain left to join the noise of the Forsaken.


Opening the door he took stock of its denizens, looking in particular for any from more southerly regions that he could gain tidings from. There were several other rangers in the room, at least three of whom Rauthain was well acquainted with. Shifting his gaze he noticed the long silken gold hair of an elf woman. And as she turned her head Rauthain’s heart became as ice, for she revealed a striking profile that he had once seen so many years ago. It was as if Naiore Dannan herself were causally serving these rangers. But the mannerisms were altered, the proud coolness striped away. Surely this elf had not been the basis of the report he had received? For anyone having had the misfortune of Naiore’s attentions could see plainly this beauty had no malevolence behind her eye.


Requesting food and drink of her, Rauthain considered her closely before he turned and caught Hanasian’s gaze. Raising his tankard slightly and with knitted brow he cast a quick sidelong glance at Vanwe, before joining the three.


“This is an opportune meeting!" he spoke in low tones. "Little did I understand that I would fall in among friends when crossing this threshold. I thank the horse that tired when it did, else I should have missed such a welcome sight!” And smiling broadly Rauthain produced a pitcher of ale and began refilling the group's tankards. “To our continued health and that of our liege!”


"Aye, to the King and his rangers!" came the reply.


The aging ranger set down his empty tankard and settled in his chair, occasionally looking past Amandur and Hanasian, his mind returning to the question of Vanwe.

[Snowdog]

Hanasian in the Forsaken Inn:

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

I could see my brethren eye Vanwe in various suspicious ways, for the likeness was great. But I could still see the face of Naiore as she grinned at me, sacrificing her cohort upon my sword. And how she looked as she took down Farasan... It is no doubt that much has been done by Naiore to countless others, each affecting scores of others.

I smiled at Vanwe as she stood as if frozen, a nervous shaking I could detect as we considered her and her words. It was Amandur who broke the ice as he recommended the stew. I replied to Vanwe,

'Aye miss, the lamb stew with some cheese and bread will do, thank you.'

A look of a guarded relief came over Vanwe, and soon Maethor, who also had just arrived at the Inn, requested some fare as well. Rauthain was fresh off a ride, and ordered as well, and Vanwe seemed somewhat relieved she could turn away from the table. I watched her turn and walk away, thinking of our converse a couple nights ago, and knowing she holds the key to finding Naiore. My bretheren considered her as well in their own ways, but for the moment after Vanwe's departure from our table, only the words of our meeting was heard between us. But in our minds we thought of Naiore, and the likeness that Vanwe held of her, and each of us watched her in a guarded stealth of surveillance, with the exception of Maethor whose back was toward her route about the common room. But he studied our eyes one at a time, reading on his own that which his mind spoke of our thoughts which our eyes gave away.

I sipped again my tankard now that Rauthain had the foresight of getting a pitcher of the heavy ale, and I spoke quietly of her,

'She does look like Naiore, but she is just an elf-maiden who works here. She is young in the accounting of years of elves, only being I would guess as old as a single generation of the Dúnedain. Naiore is an ancient elf, though I would not use the term maiden in her reference. Vanwe spent time in the south, and has recently returned north. I believe she knows of Naiore, and may be kin, and in fact may be tracking her as well, though I think it is only, as it is for most of us, due to an evil inflicted by the Ravener.'

I did not let on right now that she was indeed the daughter of Naiore, for I feared their reaction. But I would let them know once we were away from the Inn.


The aroma of Amandur's pipeweed caused me to reach for my own pipe, and I tamped a pinch of the Southfarthing leaf I acquired in Bree. Leaning over to fish out a twig from the kindling box by the fire, I then jammed it into the simmering orange coals in which the dry stick ignited. I lit my pipe and drew some, and held it over to Amandur who was looking to re-light, and soon or table was amidst a thicker cloud of smoke. I then said in response to Rauthain's toast,

'To the King!'

No, I did not toast ourselves as the others did, for it was true we were Dúnedain Rangers who served still the King, but since the war some stayed in service as I and my brethren here, but some did not. I also knew my mission....

My mind then thought of Kaldir, and I knew that Amandur knew of him as well, for he was the one who first met the five of us near the North Downs in 3009 of the last age. It was five who returned from Raven Falls upon the upper Mitheithel. Our party was seven when we rode out, I being then a young Ranger on one of my first extended rides. It was hard to return without Kaldir or Elendir, and worse yet was we knew Elendir was slain, but we did not find Kaldir's body. So it was a calloused joy that I found him here, not the man I knew and rode with for a short time then, but alive. But darkness filled his eyes, and rightly so seeing how he looked now.

'You know I saw and talked to Kaldir here a couple days ago.'

I said to Amandur as my pipe burned itself out. I had been puffing in thought for a bit here, remembering. He looked at me, and I nodded.

'I didn't recognize him at first, but later I spoke and it was he. He don't look too good. I believe he hunts bounty, and seemed to be interested in ....'

I broke off. I thought now of Benia, and the fact she was not here, or Kaldir, or Gilly for that matter. I boiled in concern, though I knew the mission was to find Naiore. I could not allow harm to come to the fair woman whose voice sang to my memories of my days away south. There was something in the air alright, and it was not good. I again sipped my still-near-full tankard and looked about. The folk there seemed the regulars, and some travelers who could not make it to Bree proper and the fine accommodations of the Prancing Pony, and the shadier ones who usually gravitated here to avoid the scrutiny of the King's Constable in Bree. I looked at one who seemed shady who stood at the bar(Avanill), and I knew this Inn had changed little since the King came to power. But their business was their own until it crossed the line of lawlessness, right now, I wondered of the Lady Nightshade so I could pass to her news of Bree, when Vanwe came balancing a large tray with hot stew and a loaf of sourdough and some cheese...

[Imladris]

Maethor watched the elf maid with the fair hair depart to bring the stew and he noticed with some concern that the other three rangers opposite him watched her closely as she wended her way towards the kitchen. Puckering his brow slightly, he wondered if she was Naiore herself for he had heard of the beauty of the Ravennor. No it could not be, he said to himself sharply. He had neither seen nor felt malice in her mien. Maybe she was kin.

He jumped slightly at the mention of Kaldir...the man who had turned to bounty hunting. "Yes, Kaldir does hunt bounty," Maethor said softly, answering Hanasian's trailed sentence. "It is grievous that, though he has kept his life, he has turned to such distasteful ways." He sighed, but visibly brightened when Vanwe brought the stew. Nodding gently at her, he dipped his spoon and played with the chunks of meat that bobbed enticingly upon the surface.

Glancing at each ranger in turn, Maethor said, "I felt a presence in the woods tonight...as if the forest were holding its breath or as if something tainted the air."

[Elora]

Vanwe

Vanwe steadily loaded up the tray with the ordered meals. She had gotten most of the way. Now to deliver them and find sanctuary in Lespheria's rooms. Fimbriel and Devorin could manage without her, surely, for she was of little use to any as it was. Rowena passed the last plate to her, the golden, ripe cheese upon on.

"Wouldn't do you no harm, Vanwe, to try some of this yourself." Vanwe nodded but said nothing on the matter. She was not hungry and what was one missed meal in light of everything else? The Elf still found it hard to understand why Cook and the hobbits had made her food their concern. It was a mystery, one of many here in the north, and it would not be settled tonight.

She collected the tray up, pushed back through the crowd and returned to the table of Rangers. Again conversation faltered. Silently she set out the contents of the tray, transferring plates, cutlery, food and the sunny napkins of the inn onto the table.

"Sirs," she said with a carefully deferential tone so as to give them no further quarrel. She was almost done and she would not trip on her escape from the den over her incivility. She had learnt it the hard way in the south and could not forget it now. It was beaten into her very bones.

She managed a small smile for Hanasian and another for Maethor who did not seem as hardened in his thoughts and unspoken questions. Amandur, though, his questions frightened her with her lack of answers. His questions and her answers had led her into prisions dank and infested before this inn. Questions meant bars on a cage, and there was a grimness of purpose within him that startled her. Rauthain she did not know what to make of. Instead, habitual caution guided her to ensure she made as little impression as possible.

Tray all but empty, Vanwe dropped a curtsy and moved as quickly as she could to the nearby table of Devorin. She unloaded the rest of the tray quickly. He caught her wrist easily.

"Whoa there," he said as though she were a skittish colt, "Where is yours?"

"I have things to do first, Devorin. I have to check Lespheria's rooms. She asked me to watch them for her and I have not checked them all day," Vanwe tested his grip a little frantically as Amandur realised she had spoken Lespheria's name with interest.

"I have to go, please," she said. Such boldness to her employer would have seen her beaten for her temerity. Inwardly she braced herself for what would follow as he frowned up at her in surprise. Devorin realised the extent of her unrest and released her swiftly.

"Go then, Vanwe, no need to fret. The sky is not falling." Vanwe stepped back in relief with the now empty tray in one hand. Oh, but there was need to fret! If only the sky was falling! The inn was bursting at the seams with Rangers and one even knew who she was! Devorin did not know, he cold not know.

Instead, Vanwe turned away. She cast a glance at the four Rangers as she sped past as quickly as she could without appearing to run. That would only feed suspicion. Rowena very nearly had to duck as Vanwe tossed the tray into the kitch on her way past.

"Where are you going," Fimbriel called after her retreating back. Devorin materialised at the bar in search of another ale. Vanwe had sped off before he could ask another of her.

"She's off to Lespheria's rooms. Something about checking them," he said, shaking his head in mystification. Up the stairs, Vanwe fitted the key to Lespheria's lock with fingers that seemed to rattle a little. When she heard the lock click open, she burst through the door, shut it and leant against it. There she paused, to listen for footsteps on the stairs or floorboards. The dull roar of the common room filtered up through the floor faintly.

Four Rangers! Four of them! All below! Rangers were as dangerous as the Rohirrim. She remembered how they had sat ahorse on a ridge, watching her eerily as she raced out of their grasslands into the north. She remembered his face as he inspected her own, filled with disgust and repugnance for who he thought she was.

Vanwe washed a clammy hand over her face and moved to the small hearth to light it. No trace of Kaldir yet, or Benia or Gilly either! Vanwe's mind all but hummed with possibilities. The Rangers were going to arrest her. Benia, Gilly and Kaldir were going to take her back to Harad.

The fire slowly grew into small life, and Vanwe sat on the floor before it, alone and small in the long shadow of her mother. Not for the first time since setting out, she asked herself what she thought she was doing. What could she achieve? All this way for what: arrested by Rangers, captured by hunters, or to find her mother really was as they said she was and her father really was dead.

In the quiet of Lespheria's room, a tear slipped free. That was all she allowed. Tears were of no avail. They had watered the sands of the Haradwaithe and changed nothing. Slowly she stood, smoothing crumpled and worn skirts and walked to the windows. She stood there a long time, staring at the night, until she finally drew the drapes. Then she sat in the chair and tried to think.

Yes, there were four Rangers down there, but one at least had word of her mother and that was why she was still here instead of fleeing into the wilderness long ago. Hanasian had said he would return and he needed to speak with her. She risked all this for his tidings and fear would not drive her to throw it all away now. Besides, if he wished to arrest her he had missed his opportunity during that night. They had both slept under the stars.

Unless he went for aid to bring me in... yet what danger am I? Vanwe held up her hands before her face. Urchin, dispossessed, beggar... there were infants of greater peril than she.

Amandur, well he had seen her heal Lespheria. Maybe that hasty revealation of her skills would stand her in good stead a little longer. Still, he watched like a hawk did Amandur and all too often she felt she resembled a mouse, squeaking and scurring hither and thither, whilst under his gaze.

As for Kaldir... maybe he would not be so bold with Rangers about. She could only hope. Certainly, she had to make sure she gave him no opportunity. Perhaps she would sleep in Lespheria's room tonight. She'd use the chair and not her bed, so as not to cause offense to the elegant Elf Lady who had entrusted her with the key.

Her wits had gotten her this far. Time to trust to them again, for she nothing else. As for all that it would come to, well it was not possible that her mother could be that evil. It simply was not. The tales of Naiore couldn't be true and if that was so, then perhaps her father wasn't dead also. Vanwe pulled out the tattered scrap of paper and read their names.

"Naiore," she sounded softly, her mother's name, and "Menecin," her father's. The threading of her pulse abated a little as she sat in the chair in Lespheria's rooms, safe. A note of longing hung in the air after her voice faded. Vanwe drew her feet up to her chest in the chair and looped her arms around her knees.

It would all be well. She would find her mother, and she would not be evil, and her father would be alive. She would not be arrested nor would she be dragged back to the hell of that village. It would all be well. She had risked too much for it to be otherwise. In Lespheria's rooms, Vanwe was allowed to will it so at least within those four walls until the outside world pressed in on her once more.

And noone knew she was there, apart from Devorin, Fimbriel and perhaps Amandur. Vanwe rested her head upon her knees and closed her eyes to see the future how she wished it to be. The key that she had left in the door peeped through the lock to watch her dreamy smile take shape before the hearth. The paper had been set aside, and now she held a small length of braided leather thong.

She would never go back. She would find them. She would not be taken and she would prove all that had been said to be wrong.

Menecin


Elrohir sat in his father's great library, famed throughout the lands, in the latter day sanctuary of Imladris. His brother stood nearby, eyes roaming over the report Elrohir had given to him upon arriving. Elladan spoke the words aloud, echoing those that had leapt into Elrohir's memory to fix themselves there.

"...sightings of Naiore Dannan," Elladan said gravely, looking at his twin over the report. Elrohir closed his eyes for a moment and wished not the first time that the White Council had dealt with this remnant of woe before leaving.

"Elessar Elf-stone said he expected as much in his last missives. Eomer of Rohan claimed she had been sighted as well," Elorhir said calmly. There could be no arguing with this.

"That may well be, brother, but knowing that makes none of this the easier," Elladan muttered with characteristic spark as he resumed reading the report. It went on to details where she had been sighted and by whom. Some were even to give a rough description.

"The Dunedain reported indications that someone or something was attempting to pass the King's Ban into the Shire. Have been so for months now.

What interest would Naiore Dannan have with Hobbits," Elladan went on to ruminate. The pride of the Ravennor was well known to those familiar with her handiwork. Triffling with Hobbits seemed uncharacteristic in the least, if one neglected to consider two relevant pieces of information.

"Who was the reason for Sauron's downfall... and the Haflings are not the onlt thing of interest to her here in the north." Elrohir set down his goblet, too unsettled to consider more wine. Elladan crossed the library and took a seat by his brother.

"Those who care for him say his moods are blacker than ever. Could he know something, do you think?"

"Who can tell what Menecin knows now? Not I, not our father.... not even the White Lady could tell," Elrohir lapsed into silence, brooding the matters a little further. "Where now are the Dunedain?"

"Last report has them throughout the northernmost fences, those that did not go south to deal with Umbar's unrest. Scattered through the wilderness, which is where she is also.

Word needs to be gotten to them. Aragorn would give much to see Naiore Dannan brought down. We all would," Elrohir replied.

"We can send word, but methinks the Rangers will learn of this by other means. We need also to look to our own borders, and Menecin."

The brothers bent their heads to discuss the details for an hour, after which Elladan strode out of the library on his way to see it done. Elrohir was left with the report, the empty library and the spectre of the past hanging in the dancing light of the fireplace. Not even his father would have known how to proceed with such a one as she, Elrohir reckoned. It was a thought of little comfort.

He rose and soon his bootheels echoed over the tiles of Imladris as he saw to the guard over Menecin. If Naiore Dannan was in the north, they would be on their guard for her should she strike. And strike she would, for Naiore Dannan could no more withhold from action than she could renounce her evil. As he walked, a song written long ago by Elven standards, echoed in his head. It was of a maiden, fair as the dawn over the forest, beautiful and distant as moonlight on the waves. It was said that it was sung of Naiore Dannan, Lady of the Swan, a title she still claimed in bitter humour.The hand that had penned it, the voice that had sung it, was said to be that of Menecin. As Elrohir neared the preternaturally still area that Menecin now abided in, it was hard to credit that his voice had ever lifted in song and that Naiore Dannan had ever been so glorious. Yet, Galadriel had said it was so.

Sauron's reach was long, from beyond the nothingness of the Void, the Everlasting Dark, even now. Elrohir knocked quietly upon the door and slipped in to speak with the guard concerning vigilence.

Menecin, who rarely slept, listened in the darkness of his mind and room and smiled. He knew she would come back.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur nodded his greeting to Rauthain as he joined them and as the others gave their orders to the young elf woman, he pondered how much they each knew of their quarry and if like he they knew Vanwe's relationship to Naiore? He watched the elf maiden over the lip of his tankard as she left to prepare his companions fare.


Hanasían's quiet words drew him back to his companions and he listened as he spoke his thoughts regarding the young elf. His head nodded were their conclusions matched, but as he spoke of Vanwe being but kin to Naiore he turned slightly and studied the ranger, a slight crease of the lines by his eyes told him that Hanasían indeed knew the truth of Vanwe's relationship to the criminal they sought, turning back he saw Rauthain and Maethor taking in all that was spoken, bringing him to the conclusion that neither one had meet Naiore or they would have guessed the truth of Vanwe's heritage, he knew only the truth because the elven twins Léspheria and Lóthaniel had chose to share it with him.

'And in fact may be tracking her as well, though I think it is only, as it is for most of us, due to an evil inflicted by the Ravener.' puffing thoughtfully on his pipe he contemplated these words, he knew she was tracking her mother for that is how he came to be here, he thought to show his message from their kin and king to the others, but something in Hanasían's voice conveyed a personal evil and not just the numerous wrongs she had inflicted on many of the peoples of middle earth, causing the message to remain tucked in his breast pocket.

As he drew again on his pipe he realised it had gone out during his ponderings, But Hanasian was at hand with a re-light, Puffing at the re-lit pipe he nodded his thanks and raised his tankard as Rauthain toasted the health of their king.

"Aye, to the King and his rangers!" he said, thinking of those who had gone southwest to deal with the orcs that escaped their net and now infested the blue mountains, the same orcs who some how managed to capture one of their captains.

'You know I saw and talked to Kaldir here a couple of days ago.' Amandur looked up to see Hanasían addressing him, and as he continued the vision of a thin blood soaked man wreathing on the soiled floor of one of the cold dark pits of Mordor, flashed into his mind. The ranger had been beaten and tortured so bad that they had not a first been able to tell if it was man or beast, let alone one of their own, only after the man had spoken cracked words in their Adûnaic tongue had he realised who he had found. Oh! you old fool, he silently berated himself, looking at Hanasían and Rauthain in turn he put the rangers old face and name together. 'How could I be so blind,' he thought to himself as he chewed on the end of his burnt out pipe.

"Yes, Kaldir does hunt bounty," Maethor's words interrupted his thoughts and he turned to listen what his young friend had to say

"It is grievous that though he has kept his life, he has turned to such distasteful ways."

Just then Vanwe appeared balancing a large tray with hot stew , sourdough and an assortment of cheeses, Amandur watched as she silently set the table, placing steaming bowls of stew before his companions, he noted the small smile she afforded Hanasían and Maethor and her lack of eye contact with him, 'hmmm, I have frightened her with all my questions' he thought as she hurried away. But Maethor's words brought him back to the table.

As he listened to the other reply to the younger rangers word he heard someone speak Léspheria's name, glancing round he saw that it was Vanwe who had spoken the elf woman's name, then he remembered that Léspheria had given her key to Vanwe for safe keeping. A look of concern crept upon his face as he saw that the stable master gripped her arm, but he relaxed as he let go at her request. The young frightened elf cast them a glance that only he had seen then sped up the stairs.

He smiled as he turned back to his companions, He was now almost sure that Léspheria had given the young elf her key so that she had somewhere else to hide if she needed it. Although alarmed that she hide from them, he thought it wise that she was in the relative safety of the inn rather than alone in the stable.

As he again listened to the conversation at the table he heard Rauthain say he couldn't beleive that Kaldir had turned bounty hunter.

"I was there!" they all looked to him with curious eyes, sighing he continued "I was there when Kaldir was found! Myself and a few of our kin chose to venture into Barad-dûr and search it's foul pits killing those who lingered and freeing any prisoners we found. It was here that I found Kaldir, though I did not know it was him until just now, he was in a bad way his entire body soaked in his own blood that we thought he would not last the night, but he did and we got him to Gondor. When I returned from my task in Mordor and inquired of the man we had left in their keeping they informed me that as soon as his wounds had healed he had left and I have heard no news of him till now." he paused for a second to ascertain their reaction then continued,

"I too spoke with Kaldir briefly, this morning in fact. But with the elven lady Léspheria taking a fall from her horse I did not put name and face together until you mentioned him" he said looking at Hanasían.

"Have you seen him since!" Hanasian asked concern furrowing his brow. Amandur thought back.

"Yes!" he finally said "I saw him from my room window as he left the inn with Cobhan Tupper!"

"The horse thief !" Maethor exclaimed,

"Maybe he needed a horse?" he shrugged, wondering why Kaldir would be meeting with that scoundrel. He also wondered if he knew that his tormentor was near, through Kaldir's tormented rantings of adûnaic words when they had first found him, Amandur had made out but Two words... Naiore Dannan!

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain savored the ale and company in the silence of the contented, passively listening to the words of his colleagues. It had indeed been a long time since he had been able to sit at table with such a group.
He deemed it would be a long while until he was like to again, and so determining, he made the most of it gleaning what he could and enjoying what he might.


The explanation Hanasian had offered regarding the elf, he accepted without remark, although these calming words raised more questions in the old ranger’s mind. And catching sight of Amandur’s apparent interest, Rauthain wondered if there might be more left unspoken. Pursuing it no further for the present, he did not give voice to his suspicions, but rather lett his gaze wonder from table to table, listening absently until the name of Kaldir was mentioned.


Hanasian had been saying he was at the inn and had talked with him also, not recognizing Kaldir at first. But how should this be? Surely Hanasian would have recognized the man after spending months in the wilds with him, one of only a handful of men. No, Kaldir was dead, though his body was not recovered.


“Kaldir is dead,” Rauthain declared aloud echoing his inner line of thought. “Tis some trick of necromancy that would divert our purpose.”


But when Amandur told of the discovery of the tormented ranger in the very bowels of Mordor, Rauthain relented asking Hanasian if Kaldir spoke of his life before Ravenfalls.


“The exchange was too brief,” Hanasian replied, not wishing to touch upon the matter of Kaldir’s watch on Miss Nightshade.


Excusing himself, the old ranger walked outside and lighting his pipe leaned against the wall pondering this news, it’s sting weighing heavily on his heart. At last bestirring himself at the thought of a horse thief about, he went to check on the stallion he had tethered in the dell.


Rauthain thought it strange that he had not and did not feel the presence Maethor had spoke of. He felt only the pain of remorse…and dread prospect of seeing Kaldir again.

[Everdawn]

Avanill had entered the Inn which was crowded. In many a corner sat dark dangerous looking men, osme he knew, others he did not. After nodding several times to the men he knew, Avanill settled at the edge of the bar. And there he took from a small box, a small glass bottle containing a shiny red powder.

Almost as if he had called, another man came and stood beside him. "Avanill?" he asked in a gruff voice. "The very same" he answered in his usual casual tone, his blue eyes not moving to meet the man. "Well, is that it then?" the man asked turning his attention to the bottle in Avanill's hand.

"Yes, the petals of the Simbelmynë can be lethal when combined with other things. I made it myself, a pinch is enough to kill any man, or any man's beast." Avanill handed over the bottle while the man placed a large amount of coins on the bar in front of him. Avanill's eyes glinted at the sight of the gold. "Are you an apothecary then sir?" the stranger asked.

"Partly" Avanill answered befor the man left as though he was not there in the first place. "Well that was an earning" he sighed to himself before sitting down at a table not so far from the door. Avanill never made it his business to learn what his goods were used for, that way he could never be accused of knowing of a crime. Most of the time Avanill got away with supplying his trade, and any man who dared tell the authorities usually lost his tongue. Its not that he was a violent man, Avanill was clever and the penalty if he was convicted of trafficing was high.

What came next was that Avanill was alerted to the appearance of several simarly clothed men, dark and well armed who sat together, and Avanill got hte feeling that they were well travelled. At once his breath was caught in his throat. Rangers. He had previously had run-in's with rangers, but at no time was there bloodshed. He knew better than to get off side with that kind. They were stout and sworn to protect the roads and were loyal to King Aragorn.

Avanill was not usually troubled by them, he was not a rpime threat. He often went in the guise of being a trader or messenger. Avanill pulled his hood over his head and sat waiting until the opportunity would arise that he would find new business or a room for the time being.

Avanill looked back around the inn. There were elves as well. Avanill snorted under his breath. The fair race indeed, but even an elf can be evil and have a soul which is ugly he reminded himself. The first tales he had heard of the elves were told to him by Atantri, his beloved mother. She had been very young then, her brothers had taken her north (she had been friend to the rangers then) and in the woodlands they had met a company of elves passing to the Grey Havens.

Avanill had also had his meetings with elves. The most dangerous had been the servent of Sauron, Naiore. Dark were the days when Avanill slipped into the realm of Mordor, though it had been taken by the forces of good. Avanill had not side in that. He would be well kept no matter what the outcome had been.

Then came the words from the table of the rangers, mostly unhearable, but once the spoke, "Naiore" Avanill's head snapped. No, why would she be around here?he thought quickly and then was confronted by an elf maid. Avanill raised his eyebrows. "Ale sir?" she asked. For a moment the young trader thought it was indeed the Mordor elf. "No" he said quickly, and the elf walked away. My word! Does the blood of Naiore flow elsewhere? he wondered.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

After a pint and a brief conversation in the common room of the inn, Kaldir departed with Cobhan Tupper to take a look at the horse trader's stables. To hear Tupper tell it, he had the finest selection of horses in all of Middle Earth, exceding even the stables of King Eomer of Rohan. The reality, Kaldir well knew, was considerably different. Usually Tupper had a few scrubby cart horses and pack ponies with the occasional good horse thrown into the mix by chance, a lucky win at dice, or theft. Kaldir knew better than to ask Cobhan Tupper where a horse came from. The odds were strong that he really didn't want to know. Besides Tupper would lie, anyway. There were ways, of course, to get the truth out of him, but what was the point?

Kaldir cast a sideways glance at the horse trader, who stumped along on his left, swinging a lantern at his side.

"I've got a lovely little mare," Tupper was saying. "A golden bay. Beautiful coat. Only three years old!" Kaldir made a mental note to check the mare's teeth. "She'd be perfect for your ladyfriend."

Kaldir gave him a sharp look.

"Uh, prisoner!" Tupper corrected himself. "She'd be the perfect little horse for your prisoner. Gentle as a lamb."

Kaldir nodded, letting the horse trader carry on with his sales pitch, but only half listening. His thoughts had returned to the Forsaken Inn and the likely presence of Naiore Dannan. He had a feeling that if he wished to carry out any of his plans, either to capture Vanwe for the bounty or to seek revenge against Naiore, if she was indeed present, he would have to move quickly. A number of Rangers, his own former brethren, seemed to be gathering at the inn. He had a feeling that it was not purely by chance that they had chosen to gather there, especially not with the presence of Amandur. Rangers of his standing with the court in Gondor rarely hung about in the wilds. Amandur would be there for a reason. As for Hanasian, Kaldir's old comrade from the battle of Raven Falls, he represented a little more of a question mark. During their conversation of a day or so earlier, Hanasian had implied that he, too, was a hunter. A hunter of what and for whom? Kaldir had a strong suspicion of the answer. And Hanasian would not be working alone. King Elessar always sent his men out in teams... which would explain the arrival of the other two rangers, Maethor and Rauthain. He wondered if the team was complete now and if they had any idea how close their quarry was. Either way, Kaldir intended to get there first. He knew Naiore better than any of them. And he knew what she was capable of.

Kaldir stopped and looked back over his shoulder toward the inn. So many familiar names among the Rangers gathered there. He had a feeling he had known most of them...before. Reaching back into his damaged memory, he tried to place them. Hanasian, he knew. Amandur, he had no personal memory of, but had heard of him much in the time since the War. Nonetheless, he had a feeling that they had met. He just couldn't remember how or where. As for the other two... he would need to see their faces. The names on their own meant nothing to him.

Turning his attention back to the matters at hand, he found that Tupper had stopped a few paces ahead of him on the road and, lantern raised, was watching him closely. Seeing Kaldir's eyes on him, Tupper's shrewdness evaporated quickly to be replaced by a syncophantic smile. Kaldir let a slight smile curl on the good side of his face in return, but the smile failed to travel as far as his pale blue eyes. He knew that Tupper, the old bandit, given half a chance would cut Kaldir's throat in a second if he thought it would be to his advantage. Then he would go back to the inn and steal his horse. This time, Kaldir did smile, but only to himself. Tupper was a rank opportunist of the worst kind. And completely predictable. They finished the walk to Tupper's place in silence.

Arriving at the stables, Kaldir followed Tupper from stall to stall as they looked at the animals Tupper had available to sell. As it turned out, the mare Tupper had spoken of on the walk over was pretty much as Tupper described her. She was a little older than a three year old, closer to five, but quite sound, Kaldir discovered as he examined the animal from nose to tail. She would do quite nicely for Benia. There was also a pack pony that interested him, a shaggy little creature of non-descript color who was a little on the thin side, but would no doubt fill out with a little fresh air and feeding. He would also need tack for the two animals. It was time for the negotiations to begin.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia watched as Gilly climbed the stairs and closed the trapdoor behind her, leaving Benia alone again in the light of the candle the bounty hunter had left burning. Once Gilly had gone, Benia turned her eyes toward the flickering light only to see that the candle had burned down to a nub and was soon to go out.

"Oh, be careful, Gilly!" she whispered to herself. She had no idea where the bounty hunter had gotten off to, but, wherever it was, she had a feeling it was not terribly far away. In fact, he might be back at any moment. In afterthought, Benia wished she had let Gilly at least untie her, but was grateful Gilly had left her her little knife. At the time, she had been more concerned with keeping Gilly out of the clutches of Kaldir. Although she had said nothing to Gilly about it, she remembered clearly the sound of Kaldir's voice as he bent over her bed in the inn, his hand pressed firmly over her mouth, "If you cry out the first one through that door to be slain will be your friend, Gilly," he had growled in a low, forbidding tone. She had known at once that he was not one to bluff and that Gilly's life was in danger. She would not be responsible for Gilly's death.

Resolutely, Benia tested the knots that bound her wrists behind her. The rope was strong and the knots as firm as iron shackles. She wouldn't be untying them. If only she could work them around to the front, maybe she could cut through the ropes themselves with Gilly's knife. Rolling over on to her side, Benia stretched as far as she could and, with a good deal of effort, managed to slide her bound wrists over her hips to behind her knees. There she got tangled briefly in her skirts before finally being able to slide her bare feet through the circle of her arms. Her shoulders felt as though she had nearly dislocated them in the process, but she breathed a sigh of relief. She now had at least a fighting chance at freeing herself.

She found Gilly's knife in the pocket of her skirt and wedged it tightly between her feet. Her sprained ankle throbbed, but she ignored the pain and began to saw at the rope that held her wrists. She missed her own dagger, the one Kaldir had taken from her back at the inn. It had a longer blade and was always carefully honed to a fine edge. She had received it and its silver and lapis lazuli inlaid scabbard as a gift from Qirfah, the wife of the Painted Sand chieftain, when she had been formally recognized as her mother Benia the Fair's daughter and a member of the Painted Sand tribe. To lose it pained her greatly, but Benia put the thought of it out of her mind. She had larger troubles than just a lost dagger, although it did bother her to think of such a fine thing in the hands of a hunter like Kaldir. But she would have to let it go.

She blew a stray strand of black hair out of her eyes as she worked at the rope. It was a good little knife and sharper than she had expected, knowing that Gilly kept it more as a tool and kitchen utensil than a weapon. She was making slow progress through the thick fibers of the rope, but she was making progress. She paused to reposition the knife, listening for any sound from above that meant the bounty hunter was returning. Satisfied at last that there was nothing to be heard but the usual creaking of an old empty building, she returned to her work. A half hour passed before finally the last strand of rope popped apart and her wrists were free. She allowed herself a quick smile, nearly the first one since the time of her capture. She flung the cut ropes aside and, taking the knife in her hand, began sawing at the ropes that bound her feet. The night was passing quickly. She had to be out of the basement when Kaldir returned.

[Elora]

Naiore

Oh, now this was an interesting thing to behold indeed. Naiore watched the reddish glow of a lantern bob along silently. Within it's scope was one man she did not know and another she knew well indeed. She had tested him thoroughly before. Full lips curved into the first general smile of pleasure of the day.

Kaldir, I remember you. Without so much of a muscle twitching, visions unfolded from her long and ancient memory. A man twisted and writhed in pain, a great deal of it arising from his physical injuries. However what had fascinated Naiore was the ephemeral internal pain. It was that which scarred deepest of all. Kaldir had proved himself unique in that respect in the pits.

Any man could bleed. It was a crude and unsophisicated manner of unknitting their strength. Naiore allowed it only when her time was short. It weakened their resolve, their strength diverted to keeping life within their ruined bodies and opening their souls to her. She could reach and seize the fear and the pain, complicated and silvery things, to see what she could see. Rage, desire for life, desperation... all fruits to open to see what lay within.

Yet Kaldir had proved remarkably resilient and had fought her on a front that most Mortals crumbled on. He fought her for his very spirit with a ferocity that was refreshing, challenging and startling. She had not been able to reach his boundaries, impudently interrupted by the "Free Peoples" of Middle-earth.

Naiore's keen sight marked the evidence of their encounter upon his face. Yes, it was him. She'd fought hard for this one, recognising his worth. Managed properly he would have been of great use. The orcs saw only Man-flesh and ruin. Sauron's wroth had been great when news of the carnage she unleashed upon them reached him, and she had been summonsed herself to explain. But when she had explained Kaldir's remarkable strength of spirit, in a Mortal Man no less, Sauron had understood and she had been questioned no longer.

Afterall, had not Naiore seen such strength before and aided him in selecting the wraiths. Her abilities and senses were unique. Let the Eldar work on the Younger and see what would come of it. She would have discovered much had she been allowed the time. Naiore extended her senses carefully around her... wariness was everywhere. No surprise that, with Rangers at every turn.

One even stood on the porch of the Inn, smoking and boldly staring at the night. How he would have started if she had emerged. One thing to think she was near, another altogether to discover she was. Naiore's gaze switched back to Kaldir and the other man, a thief.... Tucker, she made out. Another interesting fact to tuck away. She'd appropriate a mount later, from the thief. Let him wail about the theft.

She'd have to wait still, though the impulse to take Kaldir back into her tender mercies was strong. With the Ranger standing on the porch, he'd have the others out and she'd have Kaldir but not Vanwe. Besides, it seemed Kaldir had company from his negotiations and she had no way of knowing the manner of his companions. Patience was the key, it was her chief weapon. Discipline, preparation, patience: those things made her formidible. No orc to go dashing wildly out waving sword and screaming blood thirstily for flesh was she.

So Naiore remained where she was still as night drew on. Already the trees had started to don their wispy misty robes. It would not be long now and already much was falling into place. A horse thief to supply mounts, willing or no, Vanwe and Kaldir to gather up like a bountiful harvest. Barrold in Bree with his safehouse to stow away in. Cover of night and fog at her disposal.

Her fullsome smile remained fixed in place. Spirit in and out beneath the noses of the Rangers. Still, why where they here... where Vanwe was? Her daughter would pay a heavy price for her treachery. Naiore's eyes travelled up to the window that her daughter had gazed out of. A heavy price that she would collect in the small hours of this night.

[Imladris]

Maethor watched Rauthain depart and sighed inwardly -- and shuddered. Kaldir...Maethor had heard the story before, but it was still unsettling. He continued to play with his soup, broodingly, as his thoughts turned to what he had said to the other aged ranger, Rauthain. Frowning, Maethor tried to analize what it was he had felt. It was as if a shadow had thrown itself over the sun, he thought slowly. He nodded. Yes, that is what it had felt like.

Maethor sighed and wished that he spoke as well as he wrote. When he wrote, the words flowed from his pen easily, and he wrote what he meant. But when he spoke, the words he used were clumsy, ungainly, and awkward.

Rising, he said to Hanasian, "I will return shortly. Nair...I must see if he is comfortable." A smile crept into Maethor's eyes as he spoke of his stallion. Nair was a noble beast and Maethor glowed with modest pride as he thought that he had indeed trained the spirited stallion well. Crossing to the stables, he saw that the trough was full of fresh water and that the manger was full of oats. Rubbing Nair behind the ears, he whispered a song he was composing into the patient ears of Nair.

[Snowdog]

Snowdog's post

I gave a nod to Rauthain as he stood from the table, draining his tankard and setting it down with a thud. The thoughts of each one at this table stewed nearly as long as the lamb meat in the fine stew I had hardly touched. I worked on eating it as I thought of which course to take here, and before any meaningful decisions came my way the bowl was empty. So too was there no more bread or cheese. It had been awhile since I really ate a good meal, days in fact, before I left for Bree.

The telling by Amandur of his finding of what was left of Kaldir sent a chill through me. What if I had known more and tried to find him at Raven Falls? Why did Elendir take us, only seven of us, so far into the rough lands? Reckless it was! But he was an elder captain, first serving under Chieftain Arathorn and.. and my father Halasían! Kaldir and I, we were young, and we trusted our Captain...

And now he hunts bounty, and runs with horsethieves. But such was the terrors of Mordor and that of Naiore in those days. It is a miracle his mind and body withstood it for 10 years!

The talk and thoughts of Kaldir caused me to gaze quickly about the common room. I did not see him, his fair side or his foul. Nor did I now see Vanwe, and still no sign of Lady Benia or Gilly. There was one who seemed shady in his demeanor, and he greeted another and my instinct was to check for my pouches. A quick move of my hand as I sat down my half-empty tankard told me they were in order. Of course if I had been well drunk, I probably wouldn't have noticed. A parting glance at the two told me they were making a shady deal of some sort, and I noted that his glance toward us was deflected as if he wished we weren't here. I thought of busting it up, but then, this was afterall the Forsaken Inn...

""I will return shortly. Nair...I must see if he is comfortable."

Maethor's words broke my mind's thought stream and cut short my attention on the two traders, and I smiled and nodded as he parted. A fine horse was a Ranger's best friend, and in a pinch a lifesaver! And the bond between them can be stronger than an Elven tri-corded rope. I never did tell him of how I aquired such a horse as Blackveil, who will not allow any to ride her save me. Even when I wish her to carry another, she will only do it reluctantly and under protest. A mind of her own she has, and I am sometimes thankful for that.

Amandur had been raiding my cheese and bread, and that after he ate earlier! I knew I didn't eat all that! He too was in thought of our course of action, and I said,

'We will have to pursue any leads however minute here, for it seems a critical juncture this time. The air is chilled with her, and so we must be diligent.'

I sipped once more my ale, but the taste of it was not right anymore. Not that it was the brew's fault, but when my mind had such burden on it, drinking was not in order. I sat it down on the table and stood, asking Amandur,

'What room is yours?'

"The end of the hall, door on the right... why?"

he muttered, knowing that I intended to use the floor this night for whatever rest I may gain. But mainly because I wished to pass news from Minas Tirith which I had carried with me since I last saw King Elessar. I was sure he had some of his own, and so it would be best talked of behind a solid oak door.

'Ok, I'm taking my wares there for the night...'

My eyes burned grey as we looked at each other, and he knew I had something to tell in private. But anyone who may have been watching us as would only sense it was a simple converse...

'...and I have to check on a friend I left here two days ago. She hurt her ankle and wasn't moving about too well, and I haven't seen her or her friend all night.'

He shook his head slightly, acknowledging my silent words, but looking like he was responding to my words. He had a slight look of one-upmanship on his brow if he too wasn't burdened with thoughts of his own.

I headed for the hall opening, dodging a serving maid who twisted and turned about, me, another patron, a table, and one of the inconvienient posts. She did it all with a tray of full tankards held high above her head. She was good at her work!

My boots pounded their cadence up the stairs, and as the din of activity in the common roon faded, I paused at the top and looked at the door which was Benia's room. My left arm held my cloak and satchel bags as and I tapped on the door with my right, and I whispered,

'Miss Nightshade?'

The door echoed only silence, and so I tok the forward move and opened the door. The darkness told me all I needed to know. She had left, and Gilly as well. I knew Gilly didn't feel comfortable with me talking with her friend, and maybe the request to go to Bree was so they could get away unnoticed? No.. not Miss Nightshade... there was something amiss here, and though it didn't stink of Naiore, it was not right... besides, I wanted to hear Lady Benia sing again.

I pulled the door shut and went on down the hall, noticing a key in a door. I hesitated. The sounds from behind it were that of one in thought, and the whispered words of Naiore and Menecin drifted to my ears. It was Vanwe, and I thought of tapping and seeing her. But sometimes one needs to be left alone, and besides, am I going to look into every room on the upper floor? I will speak with Vanwe in time, but now I need to drop my load.

I got to the door and realized I didn't get the key from Amandur. It explained his slight look I noticed when I left the table. I smiled now. I set down my bundle and took out the Khandese knife and worked the hilt. Out came a sharp needle, used to poison their enemies in close combat if they have a chance. A stealth weapon I had no use for in its original purpose, but it did come in handy at times. I slid it into the keyhole at an angle, and with a few twists of my wrist, the door opened. I have been a few times thankful to that old Khandese trader I had met at the Desert Inn in Pelegir when I waas there. he showed me this particular use of this "weapon".

I sat my things by a chair that sat by a small hearth. It was a nice room, but still small for the prices charged in my opinion. Looking out the window of the dark room shown a silvery light of the moon illuminating about 4 feet of ground fog that collected in the draws. the chill air gathered there, and the stars and moon were indifferent to it as they made their courses through the sky. It had been some time since Midsummers Day saw the waxing of a full moon, and if Radagast were around, he would surely have some words of wisdom to say about it.

Yes, the night was beginning to grow long. I shook off thoughts of travels past, and the trail long I have kept vigil on seeking Naiore. I would see to getting Vanwe that which she would want in the morn, for I would be up at the early sunrise. Tomorrow would be indeed long....
_____________________________________________

Nerindel's post - Amandur

As Hanasían made his way from the common room, Amandur re-lit his pipe and collected his thoughts, there was much to tell and much he hoped Hanasían would reveal to him. His hand went to his breast pocket and pulled out the neatly folded parchment, Elessar's message revealed very little only that others where also on Naiores trail and that if he could he should join with them. But in Bree Lóthaniel had told him much and this he would share with his brethren.

Deeming that enough time had passed since Hanasían's departure he rose from his seat and made his way up stairs, he paused at Léspheria's door, remembering his promise to her to watch over Vanwe while he remained at the inn. She will be safe tonight at least he thought as he continued on to his room. He grinned as he turned the small brass handle and found it unlocked,

"The key was not needed then my friend ." he laughed as he closed the door behind him.

"No" Hanasian replied a wry grin on his face as he fingered the Khandese dagger he had used to open the door.

"You wish to know what I know of both Naiore and Vanwe," he whispered grimly as he walked toward the window.

"Only recently have we discovered that Naiore had a daughter, The elven ranger Lothaniel and a few of the kings men were patrolling the road to Belfalas when they heard rumours that an elf fitting Naiore's description had be seen in the area, they picked up the trail and Lothaniel became concerned when they found out that their quarry inquired about the elven bard Menecin, who is protected by the elves of Rivendell. They caught up to their quarry in Firien wood as she rested by the Mering stream. Lóthaniel being their scout on this journey had been the first to see their quarry. At once he knew they had made a mistake, the elf was younger than Naiore and her demeanour was not that of the Revennor of Mordor, also their was one major difference.. her eyes were that of her fathers, an elf that Lothaniel helped to protect. They immediately fell back and sent messengers to King Elessar and Lord Celeborn, telling them of their discovery." Amandur turned from the window to look at Hanasían, he looked up as Amandur paused, waiting for him to continue.

"When they learnt that the young elven woman was searching for her mother they decided to stay on her trail hoping that the daughter would lead them to her mother. But in Rohan they lost her trail. They realised that Vanwe was heading north so they went on to Rivendell with Lóthaniel, thinking to continue the search for Naiore in the north after replenishing their supplies. But this did not happen at this time Skaikrish an orc Chief, who somehow managed to escape from Mordor and lead a band of orc's into the Blue Mountains." Amandur looked at Hanasian as though contemplating his next words.

"I do not know if you remember Captain Halwain, he was a friend of your fathers... well his wife was killed By Skaikrish when he escaped through Ithilien. On finding out that Skaikrish was gathering an army in the Blue mountains, he took a scouting party to find out what the orc was up to, but none of them returned! Lóthaniels orders were to travel with the rangers and pick up the trail of Naiore, but with this change of circumstance, Lóthaniel and the rangers were sent to the Mountians With Halwain's daughter, to try to find the missing rangers and investigate if Skaikrish posed a threat. Like Lóthaniel I feel that the orc chiefs sudden boldness at this time is not coincidental."

"I also believe that Naiore is nearer than we believe, Lady Léspheria of Rivendell is able to read the emotions of others and this morning she sensed someone in those woods!" he said again turning to the window and looking down on the moonlit trees.

"When I searched the area there was no discernible footprints but the earth was disturbed, but any of the inns less than reputable patrons could have caused this." he sighed not truly believing his own words and waited for Hanasían's insight.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

A large and twisted root appeared to have grown during the night from the old tree by the blacksmith’s shop. But if one looked closely at the knobs and bends, the form of a hobbit could be discerned, crouching in the darkness at the tree’s base. It was nearing the time of night, approaching dawn, when birds begin to cry out, calling to the sun. Gilly felt she must do something and quickly.


Since her return from the inn she had seen no sight of Kaldir and felt that surely he must have reached the cellar before she was able to return. It had been an awkward business for the hobbit, trying to transport Benia’s bag, boots and sword. Not so much that they were heavy, but cumbersome and being so, she had resorted to hiding the rucksack and weapon on her way, returning with only the boots in hand. She hoped that she would be able to find the rest again when the time came, but that was a little importance to setting her friend free.


And now as daybreak grew close, she felt she could wait no longer for a sign of Kaldir’s whereabouts, but had to attempt to enter the cellar a second time or lose the night’s advantages. So gathering her courage and silently opening the door of the abandoned shop, she moved as quickly as the darkness allowed through it, at last coming across the trap door in the floor.


Pressing her ear against the floor, breath stirring the dust and dirt in front of her, she stifled a cough as she listened. The only sounds to be heard, muted and soft. As she slowly slid back the bolt, the hobbit suddenly grew alarmed while trying to identify the noises. A loud crash followed by hurried footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Gilly’s stomach turned inward, as she frantically scrambled for a place to conceal herself. She felt an overwhelming spinning sensation with all the fire and anger of Orodruin unleashing itself in her long empty belly. To her horror, her complaining stomach began emitting loud whines of protest just as the trap door began to open. In panic Gilly curled in a ball hoping to squeeze herself body into obedience, but to no avail. Low rumbling filled the room as the hobbit held her breath waiting for the inevitable hand or blow or cold touch of steel….

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Inside Cobhan Tupper's grimy little kitchen, Kaldir and Tupper faced each other across a rickety expanse of plank tabletop. Kaldir had leaned back slightly in his chair and watched Tupper with what could easily be described as a total lack of interest. Tupper, on the other hand, was still a little too full of the inn's good ale, and, consequently, a little too full of his own self worth. He wagged a thick finger in Kaldir's direction.

"You have to pay a man what's right," he lectured the bounty hunter sternly. "That's a good little mare...cost me a good little fortune. I expect a good price for her."

Kaldir's eyebrow on the unscarred side of his face raised slightly as the shadow of a smile curled on the corner of his lips, but he said nothing.

"And you want a saddle, too? And bridle?" Tupper shook his head. "That will cost you, my friend. A well-made saddle is hard to come by in these parts." He dropped Kaldir a sly wink. "Of course, I don't need to tell you that." Finally, he leaned back in his chair, a broad smile creasing his flushed features. "But I'll make you a deal. Because you're my friend... two hundred gold pieces for the whole package!" He opened his hands in front of him and grinned as though he had just offered Kaldir the greatest deal in all Middle Earth.

Kaldir's smile broadened, but his pale eyes glittered in the lamplight. "Ah, Tupper," he said quietly, drawing the words out as he pushed his chair back from the table. "You strike a hard bargain." He rose to his feet. "But since you're my friend --"

There was a deafening crash as Kaldir flung the table out of the way. He moved forward with the speed of a striking rattlesnake and, before Tupper knew what was happening, he was pinned against the wall with the iron grip of the bounty hunter tight around his throat. The point of a dagger pricked his chin. "Since you're my good friend, Mr. Tupper, you might give my terms a listen as well."

Tupper clawed at Kaldir's wrist, but nodded.

"In exchange for the bay mare and whatever tack I need, how about I forget the rumor I heard of a traveling merchant being slain on the east road? I believe he was riding a bay mare."

Tupper shook his head frantically in denial.

"No?" A pinprick of blood appeared at the point of Kaldir's dagger. "Suppose I look at the underside of the saddle I saw out there in the stable. What name would be scratched into the leather? It wouldn't be Tupper, now, would it?"

Again, Tupper shook his head, but a look of defeat had come into his dark eyes.

"Would it be Avondale?"

Tupper looked as though he was going to cry, but he gave Kaldir's wrist a light tap. Kaldir loosened his grip.

"Anything you want," gasped Tupper, smiling weakly. "What's a little gift between friends? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Right, Kaldir?"

Kaldir smiled and lowered the dagger. His right hand released its grip on the horse thief's throat. "What's a little gift between friends. That's right." He stepped back and began to sheathe his dagger. "There's also a pack pony that caught my eye. A little dun-colored creature in the far back stall."

Tupper began to object, but when Kaldir rounded on him again with an icy fire in his pale eyes, Tupper took a step back, raising his hands defensively. "He's yours! All he does is eat and crap in his stall, anyway." He touched the spot of blood on his chin with his index finger. "You're welcome to him."

They made their way back out to the stable to conclude their business, with Tupper grumbling angrily all the while. Kaldir kept a casual eye on him, but could tell by the defeated stoop to the other man's shoulders that there would be no more trouble from him. Kaldir regretted having to use the methods he had used in order to get what he needed, but he hated even more the idea of paying a king's ransom for a stolen horse. Eventually, he would do what he could to see that the dead merchant's belongings were returned to his family, but, in the meantime, they would do nicely to fulfill his requirements of the moment.

Leading the two animals by the reins, Kaldir returned to the inn to collect his own gray stallion, Nico, as well as the remainder of the supplies he had left in storage at the inn. Soon it would be light and the new day's work would begin in earnest. Kaldir squinted into the east and saw a faint light just beginning to touch the horizon.

[Elora]

Naiore

Naiore slipped soundlessly through the trees away from the inn, however that which she led was not so light of foot. The gelding snorted reproachfully at her as she dragged it further. The trees were too thick to ride it away from the stables. Damn, she was running out of time. She had to retrace her steps and erase their tracks and be back in position by dawn!

Vanwe had not appeared during the night, safely ensconsed in that upper floor room. So Naiore had used her empty hours to better prepare under the cover of the night. The stable was far from secure. Devorin had snored, a considerate indication of his location and state of alertness, as Naiore had raided the Inn's gelding from it's stall.

It wasn't the fastest creature she had ever set eyes upon. Certainly it was no match for the tribute Mordor had waged from Rohan. The brown horse was strong though, wiry with stamina and resilience. Plus, it wasn't a Ranger's mount. It had been a sore temptation to hamstring those horses, but the furore that would ensure would make her life more difficult again.

After some time, Naiore and her purloined gelding reached a thick grove. It was a tangled, inhospitable mess. It was also her erstwhile home. She located her concealed entrance, carefully removed the brush and led the horse in. Within was her pack, sitting against a knarled tree. There was water too, by way of a sluggish, bracken stream that wandered on its way to some festering marsh. Naiore tied the horse to an overhanging branch and departed, taking care to replace the brush carefully.

The woodcraft of Elves was not easily defeated. Swiftly, she set about altering tracks. She worked feverishly, bent to her task. When dawn did announce its presence, streaking the sky rose, Naiore only narrowly managed to slip into the relative safety of her vantage by a slim margin.

The inn was still quiet, so too were the stables. Naiore lifted her water bottle to her lips and took a long, considering sip. One more day in this place, that was all. If Vanwe did not emerge, she would go in and get her. Not all the forces of Elves and Men would stop her in this!

Vanwe could not be allowed to fall into their hands. Her daughter was too dangerous to hand across to her foes. Rangers circled her like wolves... they knew, curse them into the darkness! A cold light of fierce rage and determined survival took up in Naiore's starlight grey eyes. She lowered the water bottle, replaced the stopper and settled in for another long stint.

One more day and Vanwe's doom would fall.

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

Vanwe

Devorin groaned, blinking sleepily and then rolling out of his bed. Scratching a stubbled chin, he wandered through the stables. Had it not been such a busy night, the empty stall would not have been so clearly apparant. Devorin lurched to a halt, peering at the stall and casting back in his mind. Yes, Déor should be there. Devorin frowned at the puzzlingly empty stall.

He blinked at the ground at his feet. In the soft soil were Déor's tracks, his shoes distinctive and familar to the Stablemaster, and a set of footprints. Devorin squatted, peering at those. A woman's if he guess aright, glancing at their slender outline. An Elf's too, for they were light.

Vanwe, bless her, must have taken Déor out to stretch his legs. It had been a while since the gelding had been riden. He smiled at the prints and the mysterious Elf he'd taken in as an assistant. True, she was like no stable hand he'd ever heard or come across, still he would not be without her. Straightening, Devorin turned and went back to his lodging to do something about shaving. Cook hated him appearing for breakfast unwashed and unshaved.

Vanwe awoke in Lespheria's rooms with a shuddering start. Her skin was clamy and the room was dark and empty. The very inn seemed crouched and waiting in that stillness. Vanwe straighted from where she had slumped in the chair. The fire had gone out long ago. She ran her hand through sleep mussed hair and the mist of dreams she had emerged from, glancing around her strange settings until she recalled where she was. The nightmarish blend of Harad, Umbar's prisons and the Rohirrim faded slowly.

The drapes for Lespheria’s windows were still drawn, blocking the lightening dawn. Vanwe arose to pull them apart as she recalled the evening’s events and the plans she had formed. A small knot of uncertain tension hung low in her stomach. Aside from that, she seemed calm and still. It did not seem as natural as the pre-dawn stillness of the scene before her.

She turned back to the table that she had rested her head upon during the night, and the small scrap of paper that lay upon it. In the uncertain light, Vanwe read it more from memory than from sight.

NAIORE:

Do not mention her name in Harad, anywhere!

Umbar is watched by Men of Gondor. She has not been there for a long time, and her house is abandoned. The soldiers are vigilant and fell...

Vanwe recalled their intense questioning of her after they sighted her on the docks. With their black uniforms, with a silver tree and seven stars, they had leaned over her and they did not believe her at first. Umbar had been the first of a series of valuable lessons. She'd avoided Minas Tirith assiduously as a result.

No sight of her in Dol Amroth. Thieves say she is gone north and will not speak further.

Speak not her name in Rohan! Even the sight of her face is enough to bring their bright spears. Terrible tales... can't be true...

She went north and has not returned south. They wait for her.

She is not on the roads.... the wilds of the north?... what is the Shire? Where are Hobbits? She died in Mordor? Menecin killed her?

There was another question that had since been scratched out: What are Rangers? Vanwe had learnt that asking her questions in the northern wilds.

MENECIN:

He is dead - died in battle... Naiore killed him... he killed himself... he is alive but hidden by the Elves (most dangerous of all)... he died in Mordor.... Mordor is broken and many soldiers are there now - seven stars and silver tree. Stay away! He went to Valinor.... where is Valinor? Ships.... Umbar does not have ships to go to Valinor. Neither does Dol Amroth

It was a patchwork of questions and snippets, but she'd recorded each one painstakingly. Some contradicted others, some were blatantly untrue. Most Vanwe had come to after much struggle. Certainly, word of an Elf of her description asking about ships to Valinor at Umbar and Dol Amroth had created a stir.

Vanwe stared at the paper and wondered if any of it was of assistance to Hanasian. Perhaps it was. It was all she had to give him in return for his help. She needed his help, and she had little of consequence to trade for it aside from that paper, 3 meagre coppers and her own abilities which were far from impressive.

Vanwe set down her notes and crossed to where a bowl held water and began to splash it over her face. She needed a clear mind, not one fogged by questions, vague doubts and unwelcome memories. Besides, Hanasian may be more minded to aid her if she looked not quite so crumpled and worn. She peered into the mirror and sighed. Afterall there was only so much water could do.

Her mind turned then to how she could manage to speak to Hanasian without the others. Shaking out her skirts, Vanwe collected the piece of paper and folded it back into the pouch that hung at her hip from the belt. She then crossed the room and opened Lespheria's door. The hall was empty this early. She'd need an early start if she was to do her work and find time for other, more important things.

First order of business was to bring down that basket of pots that Cook had asked for. It sat in the attic. Vanwe closed Lespheria's door and pocketed the key, startled that she had left it in the door! Shaking her head at her absent mindedness, she made for the attic in the still early morning. Cook had asked for the pots yesterday. Vanwe fancied that she would not appreciate any delay and so the sooner the better.

The attic door creaked slightly as she opened it and entered the store room. Rows of boxes and baskets filled the attic. It was simply a matter of locating the one with the pots and pans. Vanwe left the attic door open as she set to her dusty task.

[Imladris]

A soft, yellow ray of sunlight splashed onto Maethor's face and pried his eyes open. Yawning, the young ranger looked about him and realized with a start that he was half covered with straw and laid upon the floor but a few paces from Nair, who was absently chewing on some oats and staring mournfully at him. Clambering to his feet, Maethor stretched, surprised that he had fallen asleep in such unlikely quarters, and began to scratch Nair's ears. Taking a soft brush, he began to groom the mighty stallion, talking softly in Elvish all the while. Patting him affectionately on his rolling shoulder, Maethor stepped from the stall and peered about him. The stable was empty of humans, but the horses stood contentedly in their stalls...except that one horse was missing. Maethor frowned uneasily. Kneeling before the forlorn stall, he saw the footprints of both horse and the person who had taken him away. He followed them until the faint path led to the grove of trees. Here he stopped and, after a brief meditation, decided that the best course would be to tell Hanasian and Amandur.

He returned to the Inn and asked Amandur where Hanasian was, and, after hearing the answer, Maethor said, "A horse is missing from the stables. A woman's delicate footprint is beside the marks of the horse."

Without waiting for Amandur's response, Maethor sprinted up the stairs, and coming across Hanasian, said softly, "I do not know if this is important, it may be nothing, but a horse was taken from the stable in the night or in the early morning."

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Having at last managed to saw through the rope that had bound her ankles, Benia pushed herself carefully to her feet. The candle had flickered out some minutes earlier, plunging her back into an inky blackness. Putting her weight solidly on her strong left foot, she stood for a long moment in silence, listening for any indication that the bounty hunter had returned. When she was satisfied that she was alone, Benia hobbled across the dark floor in the direction of the staircase, her amber eyes squinting into the darkness. She found the banister with her hand and, after first testing it for sturdiness, put her full weight against it and began to work her way slowly up the stairs.

She had gotten no farther than the third step when she heard the unmistakable sound of the trapdoor bolt being drawn stealthily back. Certain that Kaldir had returned after all, Benia scarcely breathed as her hand closed tighter around the hilt of Gilly’s knife. The trapdoor cracked open. She felt behind her with her injured foot for the next lower step, intending to back down off the stairs where she might better defend herself, when she felt something lightly brush her face. Startled, she threw up a hand to flick it away and, for the second time in nearly as many days, lost her balance and landed with a crash at the foot of the stairs. The trapdoor slapped shut.

Benia stared up the dark staircase toward the closed door as the muffled sound of scurrying footsteps filtered down the stairs then stopped. It most certainly did not sound like Kaldir. Emboldened, Benia pulled herself back to her feet and, once more, began to work her way to the top of the stairs. When she neared the top step, she reached upward and pushed cautiously against the closed door. The rusted hinges creaked easily open.

Encouraged, she pushed the door open and hobbled up the last few steps to freedom.

Poised like a doe at the edge of a strange meadow, she listened closely for any indication that the stealthy intruder was still there. Then, she heard the distinct low rumble of a growling stomach.

“Gilly?” Benia called in a loud whisper.

There was a thump, then a small shadow rose from the jumble of dusty, broken furniture that clogged one end of the small room. “Miss Benia?” Then, “Oh, bless me and keep me, it is you! My goodness, you gave me a fright!”

Benia smiled broadly. “Me, as well, you know! I didn’t know who was bumping around up here. It could have been anyone.”

“Lucky for both of us it wasn’t that Mr. Kaldir,” Gilly rejoined with a smile of her own. “For a minute there I thought my empty stomach was going to be the death of me!”

Benia laughed. “I did hear it. But -” she cast an uncomfortable glance at the dim light growing in the eastern window. “- we must make haste. He said we would depart at dawn, so he could be back at any moment.”

Gilly nodded her agreement and, without another word, handed Benia her boots. As Benia sat to put them on, Gilly told her of her trip back to the inn and of how she had stashed Benia’s sword and rucksack in a nearby hedgerow. Benia listened in silence, grimacing only a little bit as she worked her boot on to her injured foot. Freed from the coarse pressure of the ropes and supported by the sturdy leather of her boot, Benia’s ankle felt remarkably better than she had expected. The healing hands of the two elves, Lespheria and Vanwe, had indeed worked wonders.

“Can you walk?” asked Gilly, concern showing plainly in her face even in the dim light, as Benia carefully regained her feet.

Benia nodded. “I think so… for a bit, anyway.”

“Then, we should go at once. Lean on me, if you need to,” Gilly told her. Then, the two of them made their way silently out of the old building with Gilly leading the way into the fresh air of the waking dawn.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain woke up in early morning, and though he had a few more hours to sleep, he found that he could not. Thoughts of Kaldir and Naiore haunted him in those bleak morning hours, more than just phantoms of the past, but specters to be dealt with in the very close future. It wasn’t the first time that his ease had been stolen by these same since Raven Falls. Indeed there had been many times that they had been subject of a wakeful night’s pondering. Reliving that day in his mind’s eye, and afterwards…afterwards approaching Elendir. How he had regretted the conversation!

Lying in the dell, he could hear the hiss of a horse being lead through tall grass. An early traveler, he thought to himself. Or a horse thief! He smiled at the last thought for he knew that with so many of his brethren about, few thieves would risk their lives today. Besides, horse and traveler seemed to be going at a leisurely pace, but still he took note of it.

As for his plans, things had changed considerably. He had thought to obtain a fresh horse last night and push on toward Bree, but finding his comrades apparently sharing the same topic of interest; he decided that it would be far more productive to join with one or more of them than work independently. And better too to stay for a night or more and look after the horse. Rauthain rose slowly and headed for the stables. As long as he was here he may as well clean the both of them up!

[Elora]

Vanwe

This will take all day! Vanwe sighed as she opened the latest in a growing tally of dusty boxes and found some clothing. A creamy linen blouse greeted her as she peered in, the fabric fine in comparison to her own rough clothing. She closed that box and moved onto the next.

Bent over the container with her back to the door, the sudden sound of Fimbriel's voice surprised Vanwe.

"Oh! You're here..." the Innkeeper said, a frown of vague confusion furrowing her brow. Vanwe, feeling very like she had been found in a place she should not be, started to explain as quickly as she could.

"Cook asked for the extra pots last night and I have not yet fetched them for her," she said. The sound of running came to her from further down the hall, and a door opened and closed. Fimbriel glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Maethor as he darted into a room.

"Rangers..... the pots are over there," she replied, pointing to the far corner. It would have indeed taken Vanwe all day to find what she was looking for.

"Devorin told me that you had taken Déor," Fimbriel said absently, gaze falling on the series of boxes that Vanwe had been inspecting. "Have you found anything interesting," she asked, eyeing Vanwe closely.

Vanwe shook her head energetically. "I've not taken anything, I swear it!" She nearly tripped over her own words in her enthusiasm. Fimbriel waved her respone airly aside.

"Well you should have. It's an outrage that Devorin hasn't seen to this sooner, but then he is a Man and knows nothing of how difficult it is to do yard and stable work in skirts." As Fimbriel had spoken she had crossed room to a nearby box.

"Somewhere around here, if my memory serves, is a solution that that.... Ah, here it is!" She prised open the box and started removing the clothing Vanwe had seen before. She first picked up the shirt and held it against Vanwe, appraising with a critical eye.

"As I thought.... looked Elvish to me when I packed it away last summer. Take this too, and this, Vanwe? Hold out your arms!" Vanwe did as she was told, mystified at first and then thoroughly perturbed at what was happening. Fimbriel continued to speak as she added the last items.

"Disgraceful, having you walk about in a dress that looks like it would distintergrate on a puff of breeze. Why, you must have patched that at least six times! And all the while there is clothing here, gathering dust!"

Vaanwe almost disappeared behind a cloak and a gown of deep red. When Fimbriel rearraged the clothing, she saw the Elf's alarmed mien. "Whatever is wrong, Vanwe!"

"I can't wear this! I only have 3 coppers!" Never mind that what she was wearing had been stolen. Her cheeks were flushed with shame. Fimbriel's kind face took on a stern authority.

"You can and you will. Now, go change and bring that old dress of yours down with the pots. If it survives another washing, we can use it for rags." Fimbriel fixed Vanwe with a close glance and let it rest until she reluctantly nodded. Satisfied, Fimbriel turned and headed back for the kitchens.

"I've a good mind to straighten Devorin's manners for not seeing to this sooner. His own assistant, for love of Rohan!" The innkeeper shook her head and left Vanwe to consider the impending disaster. These clothes were not for her. They were far too fine for one of her station. And Fimbriel had given her breeches! Breeches! Vanwe had learnt that woman are never to wear men's clothing. If they found her, they'd beat her to within an inch of her life for that alone!

Her heart sank a little as she picked up the pots. With the inappropriate clothing that was not hers draped over the top, she returned to Lespheria's room, left the pots by the door and fitted the key to the lock.

It was not right, but she was caught. Disobey Harad or Fimbriel.... a disgrace, she had said. Vanwe peered in the mirror at herself. Yes, it was definately Elvish gear, the short tunic breeches of green suede finely embroidered. Vanwe belted her distinctly mannish belt back on and pulled on her similiarly mannish boots. She barely recognised herself. For starters, the clothing fit far better than her dress had.

Vanwe picked the worn garment up from the floor with a sigh. She needed to somehow find a way out of this clothing before her only other option was shredded to rags. She needed to speak with Hanasian somehow, dangerous as that might be. She needed to stay out of Kaldir's reach and in the midst of all this, aid Devorin with the horses. Something seemed afoot there.

Why would she have taken Déor? Stealing clothing was one thing, thieving horses was quite another. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder and felt faintly absurd as the full drape of her shirt sleeve moved with her. Stealing clothes was indeed bad enough. This day was not going to be an easy one for a whole host of reasons.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

All was dark, but shadows of evil things passed just beyond reach. On the cold damp floor was an elven female, her hair colour unrecognisable through the blood and muck that clung to it, her fair features streaked with blood. "Where does fear spawn?" a cold but beautiful voice whispered. Damaged elven grey eyes darted around the black cylindrical cell searching for its source but the voice seemed to move as though circling the room.

"This is not you!" the prisoner cried hoarsely into the darkness.

"Hahahaha!" the cold laughter echoed around the room,

"Still you deny what is before you!" the cold voice mocked.

"It is not you it is HIM ! the elven prisoner roared drawing her sword and facing her tormentor,

"And I shall release you from his deceitful spell" her sword swung but cut only through the air.

"Fool he holds no sway over me, my choices are my own" the velvety voice boasted behind her.

"No! " the prisoner screamed wheeling around, again her sword slicing through only the dark air, the weight causing her to stumble.

A burning bored through her side and she again fell deeper into darkness only to be pulled back to life, shrouded in her dark prison faced with that which she denied.

"Where does fear spawn?" the voice whispered again,

"Oh dear Eru please let this end, if not for me for my daughter." the prisoner silently prayed.

"Where does fear spawn?" the voice yelled again, delivering a sharp blow to the prisoners abdomen.

"You shall never know the answer too that which you seek!" the prisoner replied spitting fresh blood from her mouth onto the face of her tormentor, then again sharp pain arched her back.

Léspheria's eyes snapped open, the early morning mist surrounded her shaking and sweat drenched body and Losseserme stood over her nickering lightly with concern, "It' s ok.. I'll be alright in a minute" she whispered to the mare absently, her thoughts still very much on the dream, never before had she dreamt of her mothers torment, yes the prisoner must have been her mother, she thought. The emotions from her mothers year of torment had almost killed her and if it hadn't been for the love and care of her brother, her father and her kin it may have broken her completely. The emotions still plagued her dreams, but she had learnt that while she held to love hope courage all the good and true emotions she could control the painful ones. But never before had they administered themselves as a dream, what did this mean? she thought silently.

Slowly she rose, rolling up her bedroll and attaching it securely to the back of her saddle, the small fire she had made had long died but still, almost instinctively she kicked it out. She was still a little shaken when she mounted the mare, so Losseserme went at a slow trot, continuing south-west skirting the boarders of the Shire until Léspheria urged her on to a faster pace.

The midmorning sun was drying the dew when she heard hooves in the distance, she dismounted and pressed her ear to the ground, just one she whispered mounting again. "There that hillock she said directing Losseserme to the hill. Raising her hands to shield her eyes she looked out from the hillock. yes! just one, ridding at great speed. she whispered to the mare. As the rider drew nearer she use her gift to sense his intent.

"Ed' i'ear ar'elenea! Ta Sorlas Dînmahtar!" she exclaimed guiding Losseserme towards the fast approaching rider.

"Aaye, mellonamin!" she greeted him as he pulled his dark charger to a stop before her.

"Hail, Lady Léspheria" He panted "I have been riding Three days to deliver this message to you " He continued pulling a vellum scroll from his saddlebag and handing it to her.

"Then you know not that my brother was wounded yester morn!" she informed him as she took the scroll from his hands.

"If what you say is true my lady, then I must make haste. For delivering this message is not my only task this day. I am to bring reinforcements, It seems that Skaikrish has been busy since his arrival at the mountains, the foul orc has some how managed to gather a small army." Léspheria did not miss the disdain in his voice as he spat the last line.

"Léspheria, do not worry for your brother, I am sure he will be fine, after all Halwain and his daughter Fawain are with him," Sorlas smiled laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"So Halwain is free!" she asked slightly surprised by this revelation.

"Yes! you did not believe that Skaikrish could hold our Captain for long" he laughed.

"No, but nor would I believe that one as stupid a Skaikrish could gather himself an army!" she sighed.

"You think much like your brother my lady, he too believes that someone else is using Skaikrish to keep us from our watch of the Shire and the newly established north kingdom. But Skaikrish and his army is to much of a threat to be ignored, so I will be meeting reinforcements outside Bree and bringing them with me to quash the delusioned orcs plans." Sorlas informed her grimly.

"Then I shall keep you no longer my friend." she replied sensing his worry for his friends. He nodded his thanks and spurred his charger, "Namarie Arwenamin" he cried as he charged off towards the greenway.

Léspheria looked down to the vellum scroll in her hands, sighing she slowly broke the wax seal, opening it out and read the hastily scrawled elven words;

Léspheria,

I hope this finds you well, I have much to ask of you, but first I must plead with you not to come if anything happens to me, I assure you sister that the rangers and Fawain are quite capable of tending any wounds I may sustain.

As you are aware, I hoped to be returning to the inn by now, But Skaikrish has gathered himself an army. Our simple rescue has now escalated into a threat far greater than simple revenge. I am now of the belief that the traitor Niaore is behind Skaikrish's sudden boldness, but I do not believe she is here, I think she used the fool to draw the rangers away from their relentless pursuit or maybe even to expose the Shire and the northern kingdom!

As I am sure Sorlas has told you he is meeting reinforcements from Annúminas, Skaikrish is a threat that we just can't ignore, but the pursuit of Naiore will not be abandoned. Even as you read this Amandur keeps watch for the traitor! I am sure you have meet the young elven female who our kin hopes will be Naiore's downfall.

Léspheria sighed heavily as she read, after meeting Vanwe she had hoped she could prevent any more pain from befalling the elf maiden, but she had to admit that they could be right, Vanwe could be the key to finding Naiore. She did not like the thought of using the young woman as bait and if she didn't have to, she wouldn't, she thought as she read on.

Sister for long myself and the elves of Rivendell have tried to keep you and this Traitor from meeting, our reasons I cannot explain here, but the more we try to keep the truth from you the more they seem to be placed at your feet, so that now I believe that this task was meant for you. I am truly sorry that this burden should be placed upon you, but you are not alone.

Amandur and a few other rangers continue the pursuit, you should join with them. This counsel only I give you my beloved sister; Naiore has learned from the deceiver of our fathers kin, be mindful of her false words and her manipulations of the truth!

Love

Lóthaniel

Léspheria read the message several times before rolling it up and slipping it into her saddlebag. "Well my friend, it seems we will be returning to the inn sooner than expected," she sighed patting the mare's neck. "Sorlas is right, Lóthaniel has Halwain, Fawain and soon the soldiers of Annúminas" she said trying to reassure herself . She took one last look southwest towards the mountains, then spurred Losseserme back towards the inn.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Hanasían and Amandur had gotten very little sleep that night and as the sun shone through the now open window, Amandur turned to Hanasían telling him that he was going to tack his horse, he also suggested that they plan their next move regarding Naiore. Lifting his tack he made his way down stairs, on reaching the common room he lifted two red shiny apples that sat in a bowl on the end of the bar. He had just bitten into the first one, when Maethor strode into the inn.

"Where's Hanasían?" he asked Amandur earnestly, stunned and his mouth still full of apple he just indicated up stairs.

"A horse is missing from the stables. A women's delicate footprint is beside the marks of the horse." Maethor continued as he made for the stairs, but Amandur did not follow him he went straight to the stables, to his relief Kalloruvi was still in his stall, he gave the charger the second apple, hung his tack over the stall door and looked about for the empty stall.

Kneeing down he examined the light foot prints, yes! Maethor was right a gelding by the looks of the hoof prints, had been removed by an elven woman, but not Vanwe!, he thought looking out towards the trees. As he looked out he saw Rauthain enter the stable.

"What is it he whispered crouching beside him to have a look. "A horse was taken from this stall during the night or early hours, by an elven female!" he told Rauthain tracing one particular print.

"hmm, This may be nothing, but I was awoken by the sound of an early traveller leading a horse through the tall grass of the dell." Rauthain told him.

"Hmm... maybe," Amandur sighed looking back to the elf print.

"It may only be Vanwe's foot print, she works in the stables." He heard Hanasían tell Maethor as they entered the stable.

"It's not Vanwe's!" Amandur said lifting his head to regard the other two. "Look!" he said indicating the only full foot print, "an elven woman's boot made this print!" Amandur told them, but seeing their confusion he went on, "Vanwe's boots are not elven, nor are they a woman's I'll wager."

"Here!" He said moving over to the loft ladder, "this I would say are Vanwe's prints, still light but larger and with a different tread."

As he waited for them to respond, he wondered why she had only stole a gelding with so many stronger mounts in the stable, She hasn't got what she came for yet he reminded himself, They would have to be ready.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir was riding out of the inn’s stable yard on his own horse, leading the two he had obtained from Cobhan Tupper the night before by the reins, when he glanced back over his shoulder and saw the group of Rangers beginning to gather at the entrance to the stable. They seemed to be examining the ground and speaking together in low tones. One of them pointed toward the woods, where Kaldir had sensed the presence of Naiore Dannan the day before. The stable master had mentioned something to him in passing about how a horse had gone missing in the night. Subtly, Kaldir had glanced at the track on the dirt floor and noticed the small, feminine outline of an elf lady’s boot. Surely, the missing horse was the work of Naiore. Vanwe, the stable master’s assistant, left an entirely different print. Kaldir smiled grimly. The stable master had no idea how lucky he had been not to awake at the wrong moment.

“Naiore’s getting ready to make her move,” Kaldir muttered to himself. He dug his heels into his horse’s flank and the great animal leapt forward, the two new ones close behind. The Rangers, his own former brethren, would not be idle for long. To pick up Naiore’s trail ahead of them, he would have to move quickly. He would have to collect Benia from where he had left her in the deserted cellar some blocks away, then circle around and enter the trees from the far side. That way, Benia would not be seen by anyone at the inn, who might interfere or ask too many troublesome questions. Also, he had a feeling Naiore’s focus would still be centered around the inn, at least, so long as Vanwe was there. By flanking Naiore, he might fare better against her in a confrontation. It was by far a better strategy than walking straight toward her across the inn yard, anyway.

But, he had no illusions about the confrontation, if it happened, either. Naiore would be about as easy to capture as a wily, old dragon. Maybe she couldn’t fly or breathe fire and brimstone, but what she could do, given the tiniest of opportunities, was equally bad. Cobhan Tupper had been painfully easy to subdue. Naiore would be nothing of the kind.

He rode toward the abandoned blacksmith’s shop and Benia’s makeshift prison at an easy gallop. He should just let the poor woman go, he thought to himself as the gray shape of the empty building appeared at the end of the street ahead of him. In the pursuit of Naiore, he needed to be fast and, more than anything else, completely focused on the task at hand or it could mean his life. Benia’s presence would just complicate things. Slow him down. But he still found himself completely unwilling to turn her loose. A wise decision or not, she was coming with him. His instincts told him that she had something, somehow, to do with the situation and how it would all end, that she had some, as yet unknown, role to play in it all. She had to be brought along.

He would just have to adjust.

Kaldir dismounted outside the leaning, gray wood walls of his temporary lodging and tied the two horses and pack pony to the rusty hitching posts outside. Already, before even entering the building, he had a vague notion that something was amiss. A spike of anger shot through him as he caught sight of the open trapdoor that led to the cellar. Then, he began to laugh.

“It seems my little bird has flown the coop,” he said aloud. Careful not to disturb any of the tracks left in the dusty floor, he walked to the mouth of the trapdoor and looked down. Cut bits of rope lay in a forlorn pile in the dirt at the foot of the stairs. A single set of slender bare footprints were visible in the dust on the side of the stairs closest to the banister. His own foot prints, coming and going, marked the centers of the stair treads. On the floor, just outside the trapdoor, was the single small footprint of a hobbit.

“Well, well, well,” murmured Kaldir. “Mrs. Banks.” Moving slowly, he followed the trail of the women's footprints to the door on the eastern side of the building, noticing that Benia's prints were now made by booted feet. He could tell by their spacing that she still limped, but that she was walking without assistance. They couldn't have gone far.

[Elora]

Vanwe

The kitchen was filled with the bright light of morning when Vanwe entered, arms filled with the large basket of pots. Her slender form belied the strength built over years of long labour. She set down her burden in the place Cook pointed to.

“At last! I’ll need these if this rush is to keep up,” the matronly woman exclaimed. “Rowena, see to washing the attic off them. We’ll need them for the evening meal.” Rowena, however, was busy gawking at Vanwe, who stood uncomfortably near the pots.

“She looks like an Elf!” Cook nodded impatiently, back to both as she saw to the eggs she was scrambling for breakfast.

“Yes, yes… Vanwe is an Elf, Rowena, though until know you’d be forgiven for mistaking her for a will-o-wisp until now.” Rowena giggled merrily until Cook bestowed a stern frown upon her curly head. “The pots,” she prompted. Rowena sighed theatrically, giggle fading and eyes rolling and set to her task. Cook then turned her attentions to the Elf.

“As for you, sit! You’ll eat at least one meal, lass.” Cook’s wooden spoon indicated precisely which chair she was to take up and Vanwe did so. Fimbriel breezed into the kitchen as she folded herself into the chair.

“Oh, now that is much better,” she beamed at Vanwe. “Shame we can’t do anything about those boots of yours. Maybe next time a trader comes through we can find ones made for a woman's foot instead of a man's. Has Devorin been in for you yet, Vanwe?” Vanwe swallowed and shook her head. She coloured again during the discussion of her mannish boots. Between her shoes and her breeches, if Kaldir found her Vanwe was doomed. What's more it seemed the Stablemaster really did think she’d taken Déor.

“Well then you can help me. Now Cook, I won’t let her get far and you’ve already told me she missed lunch and supper at least three times this morning. Vanwe, could you please set out the chairs around the table? The guests are already about and they’ll be down before long.”

Vanwe stood as Fimbriel shot her a grateful smile, and left to do as she had been told. The floor was freshly swept, chairs perched atop the tables waiting to be set out again. In the kitchen conversation continued on, ranging from lunch and supper menus to occupancy and the larder. The commonroom was empty and quiet, and Vanwe moved to the nearest table and began unloading the chairs. Through the window, she could see Devorin moving the horses to the pasture. That was her job. She was sinking further and further with the stablemaster. She moved a little faster onto the next table, eager to finish the task given to her by Fimbriel so that she could set things straight.

The sun had climbed a little higher by the time she had set the last chair in place. Vanwe surveyed the empty room from a warm puddle of sunlight. Then her gaze fell on the bowl of apples. Having missed lunch and supper the day before, Vanwe's reaction to the sight was immediate. She had soon crossed the empty commonroom, perched on a stool by the bar and worked her way through a ripe apple.

Apples were a luxury that were rarely come by in the heat of the south. Vanwe was almost as fond of them as she was of honey, another newly discovered delicacy of the north. As she ate, her long legs swung on the stool and her eyes wandered out of the window. Outside, she saw two rangers talking by the entrance to the stables. Amandur was one, and the other was one she had seen last night but did not know his name.

Half eaten apple held in one hand, Vanwe's brow furrowed. Maybe they had heard of Déor and that Devorin suspected that she had taken the gelding. That left her little time if it were so. Vanwe twisted on her stool. She did not know where the other Rangers were, but she was running out of time if she was to catch Hansian before she found herself pinned by yet more questions.

Aware that her plans of the night before hung by but a shred, Vanwe slipped off her stool and started up the stairs in search of Hanasian. Fimbriel breezed out of the kitchens to find the tables set up and any trace of Vanwe vanished. Devorin bustled through the door of the inn.

"Is Vanwe here," he asked in a harried tone.
"She was a moment ago," Fimbriel replied.
"We've a horse missing then. When you see her, send her out to me will you? That gelding can run like the wind when he has a mind to. We'll need to get after him quick, and the sot who let him loose." With that, Devorin collected an apple from the rapidly dwindling supply on the bar and left again, chewing hard. The sort of person who stole horses was the sort of person who brought Devorin less amicable side.

Upstairs, Vanwe walked through the hall, wondering how she'd find where Hanasian was staying and hoping that she'd not trip over Kaldir or yet more Rangers. Taking a guess that he may have stayed with Amandur, and knowing that Amandur was outside, Vanwe mustered up her courage and tapped on his door.

"Hanasian," she called softly, "Are you in there?"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

“Ah this is much better!” Gilly sighed as she helped Benia through the wood. “Fresh air, new day…. I’ll tell you Miss Benia; I’m not so good at waiting. No more than I used to be, but I was sure that scoundrel had to have been down there too! And here I waited nearly too long!”


“No matter,” Benia said soothing her friend’s anxieties. “We are both no worse for it, though I dare say that we shouldn’t speak much until we are further from this place.”


“Ah… yes,” Gilly murmured nodding in agreement. And as she walked she imagined herself Benia’s walking stick, for when crossing over stream or rock or fallen tree a delicate tattooed hand would come to rest upon her shoulder as Benia steadied herself. It was remarkable how well she was getting on despite her ankle, though Gilly feared that Benia’s boot might not come off easily after their walk.


Finally, having come to a long hedgerow hard by a lonely road, Gilly bid her friend to sit by some the large rocks there, while she searched for the stowed bag and sword that she had hidden there in the night. She appeared again after much rustling and good-humored threats against the shrubs, carrying the sword and dragging the bag behind her like a child dragging a pull toy. “I’m sorry Miss Benia,” she apologized. “I simply can’t carry it, I’ve no strength left!”


“Come,” Benia said simply, taking the rucksack and sword and hobbling over beside the hedgerow to sit down. Patting the moss beside her she said, “Sit here for a moment.” The hobbit obeyed watching the desert lady as she opened her bag. “What was it your mother used to say? ‘A full stomach lends ballast to the heart’, wasn’t that it? I think that at present we both could do with some ballast, don’t you agree?”


Gilly smiled at the mention of her mother, and the old days. Benia had used to tease so about how much Gilly ate, saying she was like a bird always looking for food. And Gilly’s mother never did understand how the Nightshades could eat so little and yet remain healthy. It was the subject of many a good-natured argument in the Burrows household.


Benia pulled out bread and figs, raisins and an apple, setting them on Gilly’s knee, while she herself settled on a small piece of bread. “Eat!” she said. “You will fell better for it! And then we must press on with all haste.”


The hobbit eagerly complied with the request, both out of hunger and fear of Kaldir. She was trying to figure where to go from here -she didn’t know anything about Breeland- when she realized that surely Benia would know the way to Archet. “So we are off to Archet then?” she ventured. “I don’t know more than the name myself. Do you think you could get us there Miss Benia?”


“Yes, I know the way.” Benia smiled. “But we can not go by the roads. And not all of the way is wooded. It will be hard traveling for a hobbit and her injured guide.”


“Then we had best be off!” Gilly said returning the smile and stuffing the remaining food in her pockets. Together the two made their way away from the hedgerow and the road, deeper into the woods.

[Elora]

Naiore

Eyes glittered with cold hatred as they tracked the doings at the stable. Kaldir departed with three horses. Naiore supressed a growl and considered further. He had glanced into the woods also. The damned Ranger had companions to be sure, the two extra mounts told him that.

Her attention swivelled back to the Rangers in time to see the older one point. Her teeth bared in barely contained frustration. She would have to be swift if she was to snatch Vanwe in time and already the Rangers were sniffing about like querrulous terriors. Sniff too close and they'd lose more than their noses. Her patience was rapidly coming to an end.

Naiore's gloved hand tightened around an inky hilt as the Stablemaster shot off towards the inn as though someone had set his breeches alight. She watched him disappear through the door and her grip relaxed. Mayhap he would bring her quarry out with him. When he appeared unaccompanied by Vanwe, Naiore summonsed what little tolerance she had left and remained still and silent.

Time was thin. The skirmishes would be advanced by now and she needed to be at Bree. Skaikrish had been more than eager to set out when she had struck this bargain, and here she sat in a tangled wood squandering the diversion the fool orc had thrown at her feet. As Amandur and Rauthain studied the tree line, Naiore came to a swift conclusion.

She had to be on her way to Bree by mid morning at the latest. with utmost stealth, Naiore stood and began ghosting on silent feet between the trees. The forest was dark, the sun not yet sufficiently high enough to cast all the shadows back. Naiore had long selected this vantage out. She moved to it now should the Rangers decide to venture in rather than simply stand, point and stare.

It was slow and deliberate work that she executed painstakingly. The reward for such diligence would be great... the north at her feet when all was said and done, and perhaps an answer to the question that had started it all Ages now past. With the defining riddle of fear held in the forefront of her mind, Naiore was in position and poised to act in an instant.

All she needed was for Vanwe to venture out from the inn and it would begin to draw together, this finely woven net.


Menecin

A soft tap sounded at the door shortly after dawn. They knew now that if he slept during the night, he would be awake by now. If he slept... Menecin made no reply, wrapped in his own night of sorrow, pain and betrayed rage. The door cracked open to admit one of the many who watched him.

"Menecin," came the soft question. The one who was to answer did not here it. The Elf who had asked it made out the shape of the bard by a window that overlooked the swaying fir trees. He was rocking slightly, absorbed in something he saw out that window within his mind.

"Menecin," the Elf said a little more certainly. Again no respose. With care, for the bard was unpredictably dangerous, the Elf stepped through the door and left it open judiciously should he need to make a swift escape. Elrohir's tidings had sat heavily upon his shoulders all through the night watch. He had been wrestling with this for hours now and there was no easy way to tell Menecin. Only, that he had to be told.

"Menecin, word has reached me of something that may interest you," the Elf began. There was no interruption to Menecin's rocking. Back and forth he swayed as though he were suspended from the roof. Once he had been suspended from a roof, and he had looked not upon fir trees but the beautiful face of the woman he loved - loves - loved.

"Menecin, you have kin within these lands." Again there was no response. The concept of kin had lost meaning long ago, but the Elf was not to know this for he could not look into the shattered, jagged mind of Maglor's once pupil.

"You... have a child." The rocking stopped and the halting statement seemed to resound. Menecin did not look away from the window, but he was so still as to seem to soak up all around him.

"A daughter... you have a daughter," the Elf finished, warily watching the bard with one hand on the door. Slowly Menecin's shoulders began to shake. The Elf stared, shocked at the presence of a reaction. Did he understand? He took a step forward, towards Menecin and then another.

Yes, his shoulders were shaking, but why. After a third step his watcher soon discovered why. Menecin was laughing, silently and without mirth or sanity. Black anger was stamped on his features and he laughed like he was possessed, mad. Then, with blinding speed, he twisted around and whipped his face towards the other.

His watcher instinctively recoiled away as Menecin crowed, "A daughter! A daughter! She took even that!" His laughter had dissolved now into howls of rage. The Elf scrabbled back for the door as the depth of the abyss in Menecin's soul opened before him. He slammed shut the door and locked it for good measure, breathing hard. The sound of furniture splintering leaked through it.

"A daughter!" Menecin could be heard cackling and sobbing in turns as he savaged his room. His turmoil was too great to keep locked within. The Elf stood by the door, tears bright in his eyes. Slowly, the bard subsided in his attack, as did his ruined laughter. But the sobs continued longer still. Menecin sank to the floor amid the debris of his sanctuary/cell, unfeeling beyond this latest outrage. She had taken from him even his child. A daughter...

Outside his door, his watcher looked up in profound sadness at the appearance of another drawn by the disturbance. "He knows," Elrohir said, more statement than question. With a sigh of sorrow and lament, the other nodded. Elrohir withdrew, and made his way back to his father's library.

Her own family, her kindred, all of Middle-earth and the one who had loved her resolutely through all that had passed... and now her own child. Would Vanwe, lost, prove to be as fell as her mother or ruined as her father? The echoes of this seemed to stretch into forever, through generations of Elf and Man. Or would Vanwe prove to be something else entirely and work her way free of this web of sorrow?

No sooner had Elrohir gained the library did an Elf appear with urgent tidings. Skaikrish was on the move once more. Elrohir found himself turned once more to the stuff of battle and struggle and away from matters of healing, the same conundrum of his father before him.

"Marshal a sortie of 20 warriors and set out to reinforce the Dunedain. We can spare no more." Elrohir watched the Elf depart. No more if we are to hold back something far worse than rabid orcs... but would all the warriors of the once proud Elven kingdoms be of avail when this evil comes from within our own? It was another question of late, the answer to which Elrohir had little liking for.

Collapsed on the floor of his room, Menecin drifted in living memory... a daughter! Would she look like her mother? An Elf maiden swayed and danced upon the golden sands of Belfalas. A daughter!

[Snowdog]

Hanasían - The early morning before dawn:

Amandur had shown up in the room a bit later after I did, and I was drawn out of the semi-dream, semi-wakened swim through thoughts and considerations. His words about all that went on in the Blues, and the seeming boldness of Skaikrish there was a sign that Naiore stood behind it. Yes, it was a hard choice to take parties too small to deal with the evil at hand out into the wild, and surely Halwain did not expect to find such evil that time. I started to think of my own father Halasían, and the fact his wherabouts or resting place reamins to this day unknown, for he disappeared without a trace after me, my sister, and my mother were safely to Rivendell, a place he would not enter. I looked about as I stirred an ember into a small flame in the small hearth, and I looked up at Amandur and said,

'Yes, Naiore is nearer than any of us originally thought. I talked with someone in Bree, not always reliable but usually when its important it holds true, that he saw one fitting that of Naiore's description cross the river west of Tharbad. My gut feeling is sehe is here now.'

"You had thoughts speaking in your eyes, Hanasían."

Amandur said after looking back out the window. I looked at my satchel and said,

'I am not sure what orders are out to you or the others, but I know what was told me when I was in Minas Tirith. King Éomer and Lord Faramir of Ithilien has convinced King Elessar that the capture of Naiore should be by any means necessary, and that the usual protocols does not apply in this case.'

Anamdur looked out the window and nodded, for we all had for the most part knew this already, and some in their search for her were employing methods that would be considered unsound. But the pain that Naiore had spread through Rohan and Ithilien were so that even the Lords seemed to agree. I bent down and slid out an oilskin wrap, with King Elessar's, King Éomer's, and Lord Faramir's seals inscribed. Inside was a scroll stating such that I had spoken, and Amandur read it and handed it back.

' It is strange...' I said as I stowed the scroll again. 'strange that some of the methods which Naiore is guilty of is that which could now be used in her capture. But surely the honor of men will prevail.'

Amandur maybe wasn't sure what I was saying, but it didn't matter. From what I had learned of my father from those that knew and served with him, it was this very same greying of the boundries that had gotten him into troubles. But I knew I had to be ever more focused.

"We will have to decide how we will track and find her."

Amandur said as he went to relax, again bringing me back from thoughts that haunted my mind. I moved my bundles and lay upon the floor, deciding to get some comfort before the dawn as we spoke of what our moves should be. I suggested I take Maethor and we sweep the north side of the road toward the north and east, checking for sign toward the Midgewater or the thick Chetwood east of Bree, returning to the end by the evening.

'If she gets into the marshland or the wooded lands, it will be most difficult finding, let alone following her. I doubt she would return south, for I know my cousin Frea and some riders from Rohan watch dilegently to Tharbad, and our bretheren Dúnedain Silgeleb and sons watch the windy southroad at Andrath. She avoided that way coming up here, besides, my gut says she will go to Bree or eastward.'

Amandur put his hand to his chin as he thought, and I to stretched out for a bit.

"More will be revealed as the light of day comes, and that is ere a couple hours away." Amandur said, "We will have words with the others in the morn."

I silently agreed, and closed my eyes as my head rested on my satchel and I lay upon my blanket. The floor was hard, but it was at least smooth and without rocks, so I did fall into broken dreams for a short time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning and daylight:

The light of the blue sky grew in its intensity out the window, and I stood, leaning against the window sill watching the silver if the ground fog, having rested little. Amandur stirred and was up quickly as well. He wanted to tack his horse, and before he opened the door, I said,

'We wont have to do much tracking, for she has come to us. Here at this Inn this day, there is Vanwe, daughter of Naiore, and also nearby is Kaldir, whom Naiore had run of in the days of Mordor.'

Yes, its there before me now, and so it was this day.

'Be careful my friend.'

I warned as he left. The silence in the room held me, and the chill of the night before was there in me though I knew she was nere now. My cares for Miss Nightshade would have to wait, but I had a gut feeling that Kaldir knew where she was. I stood and gathered my bundle, and headed out.

I met Maethor at the top of the stairs, and he excitedly spoke of a missing horse from the stables. We were down the stairs quickly and Amandur was nowhere in sight. He would be investigating it already, and we headed out into the mornings chill and first rays.

'Maethor, it might be we will take a day to search well the lands going east and north of this Inn, but we should see what all took place last night. I believe she is close.. very close... so be ever alert my friend.'

Amandur had isolated the tracks in the fog-moistened dirt that was well churned. I mentioned that an Elven woman, Vanwe worked there, so I wanted to be sure of these treads. I saw another reletively fresh set of tracks going out and to the road and turning east on it.

'Three horses, one with burden went this way. But it loks legitimate.'

I spoke of them, thinking it held a clue to other things in my mind, but as the sun warmed and the fogg ran ti hide in the last shadowy places before fading in the already growing heat of the day, I looked at the trees as I whistled out the birdcall Blackveil so loved. She came within a minute, and she was looking well in her friskiness.

'Be calm girl, there is much bustle about today.'

I secured my satchel and blanket to her, and patted her to go across the road for a bit. I needed to return to the Inn to grab something to eat.

Stepping in the door, I saw the place alight with talk of the stolen horse, and I looked about for Vanwe as I made my way to the bar. I took one of the last apples and took a bite, waving off any hot food for the search is beginning. It was then I saw Vanwe turn out of tehe stairwell, and she seemed down. I stepped in front of her, and pointed down the lower hall and she turned and stepped back some.

I stood before her, gazing a hard stare in the eyes of the daughter of Naiore, and for a moment nothing was said. But quickly I held up my pouch, and reaching in I took half of the hair.

'This is your mother's, and I meant to give it to you ere nights ago. But things sometimes move quickly, as they are now.'

I knew I would not be here long, for the trail was hot, and even a hot trail of Naiore's has a way of becoming cold quickly.

'An elf-woman took a horse from the stable in the night, and stealth was their forte, for none was heard of it even though many were alert. Many think it was you, but my bretheren and I know it was not. You watch yoursteps for she is near.'

With that I turned to leave, pocketing the pouch and heading into the common room for the door of the Inn. Vanwe stood in the lower hall, looking at the lock of hair...

I knew she would use it to search out her mother, but more and more, with the disappearance of a horse and its seeming elven thief, it may be that Naiore was seeking her daughter. Maybe searching trail is not necessarily needed, but searching out the ways old and new would be. It was time for she was close....

[ September 12, 2003: Message edited by: Snowdog ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain had forgotten the items that he had needed from the stables after the missing horse had come to his attention and the discussion that followed. Hurriedly picking them up he rejoined Amandur, as he was ready to leave the stables. “But why should an elven maid steal the inn’s horse unless she needed to leave quickly?” Rauthain questioned, pausing just inside the stable door. “Perhaps we should see if the inn keeper could be of help in this regard.” But looking to Amandur he could see that he was lost in his own thoughts and had not heard him. Rauthain gently lay hold of Amandur’s arm looking into his eyes as he turned around. “There is more here than is being spoken of. I can see this. Perhaps we are seeking the same ends, perhaps not. That is for you to tell. I am on furlough, but pursue the matter of Naiore Dannan, as it is of private interest to me. Having said this, I place myself at your service, Amandur, if you should have need of me. For I feel you also are seeking the Ravenor and I should be glad be of help.”


Before Amandur could answer, Dervorin bustled by, muttering to himself as he readied a pair of horses to be let out to graze. The two rangers entered the stable yard, taking up the subject of the missing horse again as the stable master led the horses past them. Looking back toward the inn, Rauthain saw that Hanasian was returning. He turned to Amandur once more. “I will be staying here through today at least.” He bowed slightly and left, just before Hanasian approached.


Alone once more, Rauthain brooded over the familiar bearing of the man he had observed earlier in the morning. Rauthain was not able to see his face, but saw only his back as he led two other horses away. Not the missing gelding, but a bay mare strangely saddled with no rider, and a smaller animal. His instincts told him to follow, but he was unsure if Hanasian, Amandur or Maethor would be there when he returned and so was of divided mind.

[ September 13, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Imladris]

Maethor slowly made his way towards the stables and examined the tracks again. They were so faint...just like an elf. He leaned over and admired the light foot print of the elf woman beside the heavy tread of the horse. He smiled gently as his fingers gently trased the horse's print and he looked with admiration upon the barely perceptable print of the elf's.

Standing and brushing his long sandy hair from his eyes, he gazed about him...watching Amandur and Rauthain examining the prints and gesturing vaguely towards the grove of trees. Turning, Maethor scrutinized the grove and shook his head in puzzlement. It looked so cheerful now with the sunlight glinting from its leaves and its branches dancing sprightly in the wind. Nothing of the ominous mood seemed to hover about the trees now. Of course, one one could know what evil lurked under the fair light of the day.

Maethor noticed that Rauthain had departed from Amandur and was standing some distance away. Maethor slowly approached him and tried to remember if he had seen him before. His face was sad and full of distress. "What is it, friend Dunedain?" he asked. "What troubles you?"

[Elora]

Vanwe

As Vanwe had stood before Hanasian she had come to the realisation that she had been too late and had lost what little trust he may once have had of her, if any. The Ranger passed her a lock of hair, saying it was her mother's, and a grim expression had haunted his features. She took it, stunned, for it was the only thing of her mother's that she had ever beheld in her life. His words fell upon her still, and Vanwe struggled to attend them, gazing at the hair in her hands.

"Is it truly," Vanwe said in a wondrous voice as she felt the hair in her hand. There was no response. Vanwe looked up and discovered that Hanasian was already striding away. Things move fast... She had meant to give him her notes in hopes that they may be of more use to him then they had been to her. With a sigh, Vanwe glanced back down at the hair. It was so like her own in colour and texture and Vanwe had been different all of her lonely life. Her heart was drumming loudly within her as she stared at it. On a whim, she pressed it to her nose to see if it held her scent, but found that gone. Still, this had been part of her mother once and now she had it!

She could have danced for joy, but instead she spun about. Even though Hanasian was not there to hear it, Vawe spoke in a voice filled with gratitude and joy, "My thanks, Hanasian, for keeping this for me. You make my long road worthwhile now." Had he been there, Hanasian would have had to contend with an Elf who flung her arms around him.

"Hoy Vanwe!" Vanwe started from her reverie and looked up to see Devorin marching towards her. She wrapped her hand around the lock of delicate golden hair and tucked her hands behind her. It was a private thing that she did not yet wish to share.

"I've been looking for you all morning! Some scoundrel has let Déor out of his stall and the devil has bolted." The Stablemaster was bristling with anger.

"It wasn't me," Vanwe said quickly, eyes wide. She had never seen Devorin so ropable before and it was a shock to see him so now. He looked like the Men of her village, she thought. She had been careless to neglect to remember how fearsome Men can be when angry. Devorin waved her denial aside with rampaging impatience.

"I know it wasn't," he muttered direly, "I don't need a Ranger to tell me who steals horses. I need your help though," Devorin said. Vanwe scooted forwards, his hand propelling her from between her shoulderblades. As they left the inn, Vanwe hurriedly tucked the lock of hair into her pouch.

"Déor will either have stuck to the trail or taken cover in the woods," Devorin said. "I can take the trail, but I'll need your clever eyes in the woods." Vanwe paused... Watch your steps, Devorin glanced at her and saw the uncertainty in her face.

"Vanwe, I need your help. I don't trust anyone here. I don't know who set Déor loose and there's been more and more horses stolen as the days pass. Please. This is important... Déor is important." Vanwe looked into the Stablemaster's face, unsure of what to do. She'd never been asked or pleaded with to do her duty before. His concern was clearly marked in his voice and expression. Devorin, who had taken her in and given her a roof, food and safety was now asking her for her help.

Vanwe nodded her head. "Of course, Devorin, of course." He smiled gratefully and resumed his rapid stride towards the stables. There the Rangers stood examining the trail and speaking in low voices that stilled as she and Devorin neared. He paid them little mind, his concerns lying with a horse he had taken with him when he left Rohan in search of forgetfulness.

Vanwe glanced at the Rangers who in turn examined her and followed Devorin into the stables. Already the Stablemaster had saddled his horse. He checked the bit and girth straps one final time, a stream of words coming from his lips as he did so.

"I'll check the road to Bree as well as Great East Road. I need you to check the surrounding woods. Déor won't go far into Chetwood or the Marshes, so stay close in case he comes back. You'll need to be quick to catch him and he may very well try to give you the slip."

Vanwe nodded all the while. Devorin paused and smiled. "Canny creature... he loves carrots. There's a sack of them in the back of the stables."

Devorin led his mount out of the stalls and swung up into the saddle. From that height he looked down at Vanwe's upturned face.

"Thankyou Vanwe." She smiled up at him and then stood back. Devorin raced out of the stables and curved towards the road leading to Bree in a cloud of dust. Vanwe turned and located the sack of carrots, extracted a few and decided to take the back door out of the stables. Hanasian had said the others thought she was the horse thief and she didn't wish to disappoint Devorin by having her search for Déor delayed by their questions.

She shut the back door quietly and slipped into the woods on light feet. Eyes bent to the ground for sign of a horse, she soon found some clue further in the trees. Pulling an old orange carrot from her pouch, she found it had become tangled with her mother's hair. Vanwe paused, tieing the lock together with the length of braided leather she also kept and dropped it back into her pouch.

Sighting the trail, Déor's hoof print clear on the springy soil still moist with dew, Vanwe proceeded on with the caution that had helped her slip through unnoticed in all sorts of dangerous predicaments. A hobbit would be impressed with her stealth. Head bent to her trail, Vanwe followed the weaving trail through the morning light and shadows.

Back in the kitchen, Cook was muttering dire imprecations upon Devorin's head and Vanwe's. "Look at these eggs! Spoiled for a runaway horse!"


Naiore

Naiore started in surprise when she saw Hanasian depart from the inn and then return. His face was familiar, although she had never seen it in daylight. Another reunion, she thought. What was better was that Vanwe soon materialised in the company of the stablemaster. Her daughter was wearing new garb, paid for with coin she had earnt by betraying her mother to the Dunedain.

Still, the reckoning could begin now and not before time. Devorin raced past the Rangers on horse back and Vanwe slipped out the back door shortly thereafter. To Naiore's delight, her daughter walked straight into the forest, as yet umarked by the Rangers at the front of the stables.

She watched her wary daughter cast about, as though she were looking for something. Steadily, Naiore worked her way closer. Her daughter paused, hands busy in her pouch and head bent. A knowing smile curved Naiore's lips. This would be so simple. She had waited for good reason afterall.

Vanwe's fingers were busy lacing the pouch shut whilst still holding a carrot as Naiore moved closer still. Her daughter did not have the opportunity to see an arm encased in midnight leathers reach for her from the shadows. A cold hand wrapped around Vanwe's mouth before she could make a sound in the watching forest. Naiore pulled Vanwe back against her with certain force. Her voice whispered in Vanwe's ear in an almost hypnotic cadence, so like Vanwe's own and so very different.

“But a sound, Vanwe, and it will be your last. Understand?” Naiore waited until Vanwe nodded. Swiftly, Naiore searched her daughter for weaponry. Aside from the paltry belt knife at her hip, there was nothing. The worn leather of the belt snapped with the forceful search, Vanwe held in an iron grip and surprisingly passive. Then, with her mouth still muffled, Vanwe found herself dragged in another direction.

Woods crowded close around them and still Naiore moved. The Ravenor was all but flowing, strength and power rolling from her with every move as she negotiated the misty woods. It was some distance hence that they stopped. Naiore released Vanwe and her hands moved at her hip. Vanwe crouched low to the ground, staring up at the woman she had striven to find all her life, one way or the other. Her mother was hard to make out, black as she was from head to toe. Hanasian had been right. She was here. It was like looking into a mirror, and not.

“Mother,” Vanwe said uncertainly in the early morning hush. No sooner had she spoken did she find a dagger at her neck and Naiore bent over her. Grey eyes, intense, Vanwe noted absently, fear trembling through her.

“Value your life,” Naiore inquired with a pur. Vanwe nodded, large and wide sapphire eyes darting around the small clearing she found herself in. “Then never make me repeat myself again. I ordered you to be silent.” Swiftly, Naiore pulled away the brush and pulled Vanwe through the opening. Catsing her stunned daughter on the ground by the stolen gelding, Naiore soon had more satisfactory arrangements in place.

From her pack she withdrew bindings. Vanwe's feet Naiore left untied, but her hands she bound and added a gag to her mouth. Hauling her pack over one shoulder, Naiore wrestled Vanwe onto the gelding and mounted behind her. With a bootheel to Deor's flanks, they rode out of the small hidden place and continued on through the trees.

"You will learn to heed me, daughter, for I did not come all this way and wait through the lonely hours of the night for your rebellion to bring capture upon our heads."
They were Naiore's last words for some time, a cold and silent presence at Vanwe's back. Shock sat over Vanwe at the sudden and fearsome meeting with her mother. Dully, she watched the trees thicken still more as they gained Chetwood, pondering the few words.

A realisation dawned to her. Her mother had come for her, and waited for her. She feared the Rangers also! Unable to study her mother's face for any hint, Vanwe contemplated her bound hands and the reality of her mother's presence. Stubbonly she clung to the thought that her mother had come to fetch her at last, after all these years. She felt a little warmer the longer she thought on that.

Naiore's mind too was busy. She contemplated how much of a lead she had and how much ground they had to cover to circle around Archet and come to Bree from the western entrance. But that was not all. In front of her arose a sense of... affection? Vanwe had been complacent whilst shocked, but Naiore knew that would wear off. The emergence of this warmth surprised her, but also offered a great deal of possibility. The Ravenor wore a cold smile of triumph as she rode on.

[ September 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Maethor slowly approached saying “What is it, friend Dunedain? What troubles you?” Indeed what was troubling him? He had never spoken of it before. Staring down the road leading away from the inn, he searched for words before speaking.


“A lesson hard learned perhaps…an unwitting betrayal of a brother, resulting in great unhappiness…..”


Maethor looked questioningly at the old ranger, “Betrayal? If unwitting, is it then betrayal? Surely the term is too harsh.”


Looking then into the eyes of the younger man Rauthain said, “ I think you know me not Maethor, though I have seen you in Rivendell. Your instructors spoke highly of you there, a promising student of lore and fine arts as well of the skills of a ranger. You have truly won their affection. But that was many years ago and you have changed greatly in appearance as so, I deem, have I.” Rauthain grinned, stroking his grey mustache. Your memory does not fail you. We were not introduced, and for many years now I have been keeping watch in the fringes of the north. But look, there is Hanasian going back to the inn. Perhaps we should all breakfast, for it may prove an eventful day with little time to eat.”


As Maethor turned to join Hanasian, Rauthain explained that he had some things to attend to before joining them. He meant to see to horse in his charge, but instead circled round searching the ground for any overlooked marks, and upon reaching the back of the stables he found Amandur similarly occupied.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

I watched Rauthain's back as he left thinking on his offer of assistance, It hadn't occurred to me that he may not there on orders as was I and Hanasían. My gaze then fell on Maethor as he went to join the older ranger, 'Is he here also by circumstance?' I thought to himself, 'It is of no matter, both will be needed if we are to finally put a stop to this lingering shadow!'

"She is ready and may even now be planning to make her move!" I told Hanasían, my eyes showing that I spoke of Vanwe, Halfiríen nodded his agreement and I saw that he to was ready to leave and take up the hunt, for that is how I saw it, Naiore had lived two ages and avoided capture by many, she would not make this an easy task, we would have to be vigialent.

"Searching the ways old and new maybe our best option!" Hanasían suggested, I nodded my agreement, but I was curious to see where the geldings prints would lead. But I paused in my thoughts as Vanwe passed with the stablemaster, Deverion I think was his name. They seem in great haste, as would any stablemaster who learnt that a horse in his keeping had gone missing, I was relieved when only the stablemaster galloped out of the stables, I had feared that Vanwe would have joined him in the search, making Naiore's intent all the easier.

"We leave on the hour then?" I said to Hanasían "I will take Rauthain and search out the old ways towards Bree and the Chetwood," Hanasían then told me that he would take Maethor and search the ways north and east.We nodded to each other, our eyes convaying warnings of caution, then Hanasían turn and made his way to the others.

I returned to the stable to finish staddling Kalloruvi, the charger stamped it's foot impatiently! "We will be leaving soon, my friend," I whispered, Checking all the straps one last time. Securing my saddlebags and bed roll, I lead Kalloruvi from the stable to wait across the road with Blackveil. Then my cauriousity getting the better of me and time to spare, I went back to the rear of the stables to follow the tracks into the grove, but on reaching the trail I noted anothers prints, Vanwe's I realised and they followed the geldings.

As I looked up I saw Rauthain approach, "I wish to follow this trail, It looks like our young elven stable assistant has followed the geldings tracks into the grove and your assistance would be much appreciated, my old friend," Rauthain nodded his assent and we followed the trail into the trees that flanked the rear of the inn..

As we tracked, keeping my voice low I told Rauthain, what I had learned from Halfiríen the previous night, I also told him of the goings on's in the blue mountains and our belief that Naiore was behind the orc chiefs sudden boldness, I paused and regarded the older man as I told him of Captain Halwain's Disappearance, then going on I told him what I knew of Vanwe and her relationship to the Revennor of Mordor.

I crouched to the ground as the trail became embrioled with the light imprint of another more delicate elven print, "Naiore!" Rauthain surmised, looking to me for conformation. I nodded as I traced the drag lines made by Vanwe being dragged away, but I noted also that there had been no struggle, they had stood for a minute or two before Naiore dragged Vanwe away, I surmised from the disturbance of the earth.

"We can no longer afford to wait!" I told Rauthain as I rose.My foot brushed something in the mossy grass, I bent down and picked up the belt I recognised as the mannish one that Vanwe wore, "She now has what she came for and will be on her way, we must make haste before the trail turns cold!" I said showing him the belt, Rauthain agreed and with all haste we returned to the inn. Giving Hanasían Vanwe's belt we told him and Maethor of our find.

Once all was told Myself and Rauthain mounted our horses and took up the trail from where we had left it and headed more or less Northwest towards the Chetwood.

[ September 19, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Elora]

Naiore & Vanwe

The trail had been clear of any sign of pursuit for some time before Naiore dared halt. A clean snatch, she dared hope. As she had riden behind her daughter, Naiore's mind had been swiftly turning. Vanwe was a curious puzzle of emotions: confusion, alarm, an undercurrent of fear and something utterly unexpected - hope. It was this hope, bright and strong, that opened up a host of possibilities. Naiore had not the chance to examine them now, not on open trail. But she certainly would do all she could to keep these possibilities alive until she reached the relative saftey of Bree.

She swung down from the gelding and urged Vanwe to dismount after her. Her daughter complied, the fear surging as she attempted to read her mother's blank, serene face. Above her gag, large blue eyes were open windows. Naiore barely needed her abilities to read Vanwe's emotional state.

"Stand silent and still," Naiore commanded. Vanwe nodded, uncertainty causing her to glance about. Hanasian had warned her to watch her steps but what danger was she in? According to the tales, she was as good as dead. But Vanwe was not convinced the tales were true. Afterall, her mother had said that she had come and waited in great danger especially for her. Besides, if the tales were not true, then her father also was alive!

Naiore slung her pack from her shoulders and delved into it. Vanwe studied her mother in the better light. She looked fearsome indeed, inky leathers and finely wrought black mail. For Vanwe who had grown up surrounded by fierce warriors, she could see that her mother wore expensive gear. The worksmanship was exquisite. Naiore did not look like a bloody handed, mad murdering demon.

She was heavily armed. Indeed, Vanwe had never seen a woman so armed with swords and daggers. But then, how many times had Vanwe wished for the protection of weapons on her road... Naiore soon straightened with a vial in her hand. It was a small bottle, firmly stoppered and sealed with wax. Naiore tucked it behind her baldric and turned back to where Vanwe stood like a frozen rabbit.

Naiore's expression changed as she walked towards Vanwe, becoming intent and focused. Vanwe shivered as her mother's grey eyes came to life and seemed to peer through her. Her hair swayed in its thick braids, the same pure colour of the hair that Hanasian had given her. That lock of hair lay in her pouch, dropped in the woods near the inn.

"Not a sound," Naiore said as she reached for her daughter. She reached behind Vanwe's head to untie the gag. Vanwe nearly broke that order when her mother's gloved hand sank hard on her shoulder as she turned her fierce gaze onto the trees around them. Vanwe had heard nothing, but Naiore listened intently. Then she turned back to her daughter and took out the vial.

Breaking the seal and unstoppering it, Naiore pressed it to her daughter's lips. “Drink,” she said. To her mild surprise, Vanwe did so. Naiore watched Vanwe relax as the stimulant took effect.

Her eyes glazed a little, Menecin’s eyes. Naiore waited just long enough to be certain and then undid the bonds around Vanwe’s wrists. “There now, isn’t that more comfortable daughter?”

Vanwe nodded, brow furrowing as her senses started to weave about. Vanwe smiled at the solicitous tone of voice from her mother. “Yes, mother,” she replied in a disconnected voice.

“We have a long way to go today. Let’s get started, Vanwe.” Obedient, Vanwe nodded once more. A desire to obey and please emerged. Naiore smiled in triumph. “Quickly now, mount” she said turning to collect her pack and sling it back over her shoulder once more. When she turned, she found Vanwe sitting upon the horse. Naiore’s smile was bright as they moved off on the trail again.

With nothing but bedraggled ruffians half starved, on the run from Elessar’s “justice” to contend with, this was proving easier than she had expected. Vanwe’s inexplicable emotional state, combined with the mind numbing, body strengthening infusion only made it smoother sailing. As they travelled, Naiore gave thought to the potential Vanwe had.

Provided she remained ammenable, Vanwe could be used to achieve much. Vanwe could get her into the Shire, and bring her Kaldir. If she strengthed this maternal bond she would not need to continually dose her with the expensive infusion. Mordor’s downfall had made most useful elixirs all but impossible to get at reasonable prices. Naiore had only a small store with her, depleted by the necessity of use in order to get this far. With an ally blinded by the strongest love of all, that of a child for its mother, who had both their bodies and their minds at their disposal, Naiore’s opportunities expanded with each passing moment.

That she would not have to expend precious coin on purchasing more of that infusion was the cincher. From time to time, Naiore spoke to Vanwe. She fed her daughter what Vanwe wanted so badly to hear. It would lodge in her hazed mind and strengthen that bond. Others she had served with upon a time would have laughed long and hard at the sight of the Ravenor in full gear feeding her daughter sacchrine words of endearment and care. But there was a good reason why Naiore lived still and they consigned to mouldering defeat and ignominious graves.

"Often I have thought of you, Vanwe and never did I think I would ever find you again," Naiore said. Vanwe murmured something indistinct. It was not untrue. Naiore had often given thought to her daughter's whereabouts and possible threat, which is why she had left Vanwe lost in the South. She had not anticipated that her daughter would slip free, but now that she had, perhaps there was yet a gain to be made of her daughter's incipient treachery.

Vanwe's head sagged forward, long fair hair falling like a curtain around her face. But her body remained upright. Naiore would have to ration the elixir so that it would last until she reached Bree.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

Léspheria's hair whipped behind her as Losseserme sped her back towards the inn. During the ride Léspheria's thoughts had been on Naiore, Her last visit to Gondor had been about this Elf, both King Eomer of Rohan and Lord Faramir of Ithilien had impressed upon the King the need to use what ever means necessary to capture this criminal, When asked what decision the Council of Elves in Rivendell had come to, Léspheria informed them that the council had agreed, but she pressed upon them that if it could be helped there would be no kinslaying, and Elassar learned in their ways and histories, had noted and understood their concern.

Léspheria had agreed with the Elven Council that Naiore had to be stopped, but Disagreed when they spoke of sending out elven trackers to find her and bring her to Rivendell to stand trail before her own people, she had spoke out against this, she knew there was some among them, especially of the houses Finarfin and Malgor who would take matters in to their own hands and Menecin what of him, who could tell what he would do if they met again! She had reminded the Council of the price they had paid the last time the blood of their own had been spilled, but the Council angered by the young ambassadors sore reminder of their past argued that Naiore was the problem of the elves and should be dealt with accordingly, but just as she was about to give up trying to dissuade the council of their folly the Elven Twin's Elrohir and Elladan came to her aid.

They too believed that as most of Naiore crimes where committed against the race of men, her Fate should be left up to them. As they spoke Léspheria sensed that the twins like her, also did not wish to have the blood of one of their own on their hands. But they did press upon her that if Naiore was to come to Imladris they would be forced to protect those within.

As she got nearer the Greenway her thoughts turned to Vanwe, she was concerned for the young elf's safety, even though she knew that several Rangers, Amandur among them where at the inn, but something in her subconscious seem to tell her that the presence of a few rangers would not stop Naiore from retrieving that which was hers. She also recounted what Vanwe had told her regarding her life in the harsh lands of the Haradwaith, It saddened her to think that one as gifted as Vanwe should be treated so ill and abandoned by her own mother.

The emotions that she sensed from Vanwe where often ones of longing, like those of a lost child, waiting to be found. This now worried her slightly, would Vanwe see passed her own preconceived notions of her mother to see who she really was, the Revennor of Mordor! But she too had at first found it hard to believe that one of her kind would be capable of such heinous acts, as those that Naiore was accused of. But now that she knew that Naiore had been her mothers tormentor, she did not find it at all hard to believe.

It was mid afternoon by the time they reached the Greenway again and Léspheria Decided that she would make for Chetwood to call on an old friend. Tallas was an old man who made his home in the southern reaches of the Chetwood, he is difficult to find by those who do not know of him. But He studies apothecary, and some how manages to stock every herb and tincuture imageable, he is also knowledgeable and know's much of all the lands of Arda. It is said that he was once a ranger and Léspheria having traded with him on several occasions believes this to be true, for never is it known for Tallas to trade with less than honourable folk.

Léspheria feeling that she would need to replenish her supplies before aiding the rangers on their hunt, turned Losseserme more to the north and they sped toward the southern reaches of the Chetwood.

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Everdawn]

Late night had passed into late morning, and Avanill had spent the whole time at the inn in the corner with his books about him writing endless passages of orders.

It had not surprised him that one of the horses had been stolen. He highly doubted that it was his. That horse is the most horrible creature one oculd ever meet. he though to himself smiling as people talked about the incident. That stableman probably forgot to tie it up and blamed it on a thief.

Then Avanill came across some information he did not expect. Whispers of a female elf who had stolen the unfortunate animal. He was growning increasingly nervous from all the talk of Naiore. Many poeple had wandered through his path these days speaking of the elf who had come north. Avanill did not know what to believe, he was the kind of man who would believ when he saw, and what he had seen was enough to set his blood chill, that elf was a little to familliar than his liking.

Slipping quietly out of the inn, Avanill recovered his horse, Amathalay from the stable who snorted a greeting. "Yes, good day to you!" he cried and saddled him.

I would have liked someone to just try and steal you... would have woken the entire inn eh? That would have been a sight to see. And without delay Avanill rode off on the road.

A day from Bree and i am not late. Business calls, infact i may have to kill a man or two this very evening.he thought to himself. Bree was one of the most notorious parts of the north for being in his debt. And Avanill did not take kindly to those who did not pay.

Though young, Avanill was no stranger to these crimes. His mother had let him kill three in her debt in Minhiriath, he was fifteen. Avanill's memory still was stained with the last words of the last man.

"Mercy Atantri, let us live! We gets it to ya!"
"Mercy, i know not the meaning of the word, i fear you forget who I am Mr Orgilan. Do you not know that i am mean and i have no mercy. Let me introduce you to my son, Avanill." His mother had said throwing the man at his feet and laughed.

"A fine boy Atantri."
"Aye, a fine boy, he does his mother's bidding. He does not like it when his mother is harshly done by, as you have now. Kill him son, do me proud." and that was it, Avanill slit his throat there. The rest of the bandits had cheered him on.

"Ashes to ashes" Avanill sighed as he rode, a slight smile crept across his face. It was only a manner of hours until he reached his destination.

[ September 15, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthatin

Amandur and Rauthain’s course was slower than they had hoped, losing the trail and having to double round to pick it up again. Rauthain’s mind ran to the words that Amandur had spoken, as he studied ground and branch. He wondered how long Naiore had held sway with the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Surely since before the war. This would explain the repeated detailed reports from captured orcs of Kaldir’s grisly death in the heart of the mountains, when it appeared now that he had indeed been transferred south to become a trophy and plaything of Naiore’s. They may have had an interest in keeping the truth from emerging or perhaps like him, the foul creatures believed this to be true, for few were they who returned from such a journey. He struggled to push the thought of Kaldir’s arduous march to Mordor out of mind, and hoped that a similar fate would not befall Halwain.


The bright morning was waxing humid and hot under the trees, the insects droning loudly among them when Amandur halted. Reining in his horse, Rauthain dismounted. “See, they have stopped here,” Amandur said motioning to the other. There in front of them were two sets of footprints lightly impressed upon the ground.


“No sign of a struggle’” Rauthain commented, looking over his shoulder as if he expected someone to appear out of the dense undergrowth. It was encouraging to see the young elf maid’s boot print there clearly marked. She was yet on her own feet. But time was ever important and the ground was growing hard in the heat of the day, but was not dusty enough to hold information.

[ September 18, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia and Gilly had been traveling northwest across the open countryside for the better part of an hour and a half. The going was difficult, but the shadows of Chetwood loomed close ahead of them. Even though she could feel her sprained ankle beginning to swell again within the confines of her boot, Benia quickened her steps. If they had any hope at all of eluding the bounty hunter, she and Gilly needed to reach the forest. Once there, Benia had hopes they could loose Kaldir amongst the intertwining deer trails. Having spent a large part of her childhood in Bree, she knew Chetwood well. It was their only hope.

Pausing, she glanced back over her shoulder in the direction of the road. What she saw, caused her to suck in her breath sharply. There were figures approaching at a fast pace, and, from the look of them, it was one man and three horses. The man was on foot, leading the three horses on a tether. He moved at an easy jog...and he was following their trail. It was the bounty hunter. Benia turned back in the direction of the forest and saw that Gilly had not noticed her stop and was still making steady progress toward the trees. Benia decided they had no choice but to try to run for it. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle, Benia picked up her skirts and threw herself into a run.

“He’s right behind us!” she called, catching up to Gilly. “Run for the trees!”

Benia saw Gilly’s mouth drop open for an instant, then the middle-aged hobbit lady began to run as well. For Benia, every step brought her a sharp stab of pain, but she ran for all she was worth. Then, she heard the sound she dreaded most, the thud of galloping hooves. She threw another quick glance over her shoulder and saw that Kaldir had mounted his gray horse and was gaining on them at an alarming rate. She knew there was no way she was going to make it to the trees before being overtaken. When her ankle abruptly gave way, nearly causing her to fall, she decided she had to stop running. After all, he didn’t want Gilly. If she could just slow him down long enough to allow Gilly to reach the shelter of Chetwood, maybe Gilly could get away.

“Run!” she yelled again at Gilly’s back. Then, turning to face the bounty hunter, Benia drew her father’s sword from the sheath on her back.

Kaldir closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Stopping some feet away, he reined the horses in and dismounted from his stallion. Benia backed away from him slightly, holding her sword at the ready.

Almost casually, he flipped his cloak back over his shoulders and drew his sword.

“Are you sure you want to cross swords with me, lady?” he asked.

Benia said nothing, but continued to hold her ground, her sword at the ready.

Kaldir stepped forward and touched his blade to hers. “En garde, then, my lady.”

“Please keep running!” Benia silently willed Gilly, not daring to take her eyes off the bounty hunter for a second. “Keep going when you get to the trees and don‘t look back!”

Kaldir’s pale blue eyes locked with Benia’s amber ones as the two of them circled each other. Every once in a while, Kaldir’s sword gave Benia’s a light slap, which Benia parried, then returned to the ready.

Noticing the hint of a smile in his eyes, Benia felt suddenly angry. He was toying with her. For what purpose, she was sure she didn’t know, but if it bought time for Gilly, she would play along. Steeling herself against the jolt of pain that would soon come screaming up from her ankle, Benia moved forward and aimed a solid slash at Kaldir’s legs. He parried the blow easily and let her come back to the ready.

She was in so much agony from her ankle now that she balanced precariously on one foot, unable to place any weight on the injured foot at all. Biting her lip against the pain, she watched as Kaldir’s blade again brushed hers. When he made his move, it came so quickly that she barely had time to raise her sword to parry the powerful slash as it fell toward her shoulder. She blocked it, but the counterblow he landed immediately afterward knocked the sword out of her hands. It landed with a clank amongst a cairn of stones some feet away. Stepping back, her ankle gave way and she fell in a heap on the ground. The next thing she felt was the tip of his sword against her throat. Benia looked up at him defiantly, her eyes blazing with an amber fire.

“Kill me, if you’re going to,” she said quietly. She dared not look away from him, but, all the while, she couldn’t get the thought of Gilly out of her mind. She hoped that if she got the opportunity to steal a peek over her shoulder toward the forest, she would see nothing but empty meadow grasses with the shadow of trees in the distance.

[Snowdog]

I rode out from the Forsaken Inn thinking that Amandur and Rauthatin could handle the tracking. I tried to convince Maethor to ride ahead and join them, for I had another idea. I will ride directly to Bree, and there I will wait and see if that who I sought would come. I set out heading west on the road, and as I rode out of sight from the Forsaken, I heaved a sigh.

[Imladris]

"Maethor," said Hanasian, "you must join the other rangers, Amandur and Rauthain, and aide them in your search. I must go to Bree."

"Let me accompany you," said Maethor. "The road to Bree is a long to journey alone."

"You will aide us better with Amandur and Rauthain," Hanasian urged, swinging astride his horse. He nodded slightly at Maethor.

Maethor furrowed his brow and said, "Namarie, Dunedain." Hanasian took the road west quickly and soon disappeared from Maehtor's sight. The young ranger heaved a sigh: he would miss Hanasian. A sad smile appeared on his tanned face and, brushing a stray strand of brownish black hair, he looked about for Rauthain and Amandur. They had followed the gelding's tracks, he suddenly remembered as he quickly strode to the grove. They had found the fair leather belt of Vanwe.

A print of elven boots was upon the ground, and Maethor leaned over them and saw the heavy boot of Vanwe being dragged to another set of horseprints. Frowning, he saw that the horse would have to bear two riders instead of one. His blood chilled as he envisioned the fair Vanwe in the cold and cruel hands of Naiore. Of course, he mused, if Naiore really was her mother, surely she would be kind to her own daughter. She could not be that cold and hearless. A great sadness fell upon his heart as Maethor crouched over the prints, his eyes glazed as he tried to imagine why Naiore could have alligned herself with the Shadow.

He quickly pushed the thought from his mind and began to follow the gelding's prints and smiled with pleasure when he also caught sight of the imprint of the two rangers. Sprinting lightly over the green grass, he quickly caught up to them and said, "What news, friends?"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly had been quietly trying to compose a walking song, occupying herself in such a way with the hope of not becoming overly distraught or anxious. Rather a hard thing to do, for as time progressed Benia was favoring her leg more and Gilly was becoming single minded in her determination to reach the Chetwood, as her friend referred to it. The open country they were now forced to traverse was no place for them to be when trying to remain hidden from view, and Benia was forced to pause frequently.

So the hobbit’s song reflected this, being not so much about the mice and rabbits and birds of prey that she wove into her rhymes, but about the uncomfortable urgency of being hunted by something altogether unpleasant. Benia was the rabbit, of course, stopping to look around and listen, quick and alert. Gilly, was the field mouse, small, not stopping to look left or right. She had long since given up stopping each time with Benia, knowing that her friend would be beside her again in no time at all, and by so doing she found she could maintain a relatively steady pace and meter.

But as the forest grew closer, Gilly’s thoughts began to construct themselves as verses of victory and homecoming, relief and reprieve for the hapless creatures populating her song. And it was at this very moment that Gilly’s hopes were dashed as she heard the fast moving rustle of Benia’s skirts and her proclaim the arrival of the hunter. Gilly turned around wide eyed in time to see Benia, face flooded with pain running full tilt toward her shouting “Run for the trees!”

Squinting with open mouth, and peering into the distance, the hobbit could make out the form of the bounty hunter as he swung himself onto his horse. Wasting no time, Gilly hitched up her layers of petticoats and bolted for the forest. If she were caught, she reasoned, she would no doubts be killed or worse, as she would bring no price for him, but rather would be a burden. If she were to escape though, she felt he would scarcely bother to risk Benia’s departure by looking for a small hobbit that was on foot.

“Run!” she heard Benia voice again further behind her.

Benia on the other hand did bring in revenue and apparently needed to be delivered alive to Harad, for Kaldir had already had ample time to dispose of her if that was what was called for, Gilly reasoned. So he would have to make the long trip south with her if that was the case. Plenty of time to organize a proper rescue. Perhaps she could make her way to Archet on her own and get help there, or turn back to the Forsaken to see if the ranger Hanasían could be of help.

Upon reaching the cover of the underbrush at last, Gilly allowed herself to turn around. As she did she saw the bright glint of raised swords in the distance, and after a moment the slighter of the two figures fell to the ground. Immediately the woods and grassland seemed to have grown strange and oppressive as the hobbit stared in disbelief. She felt so terribly alone; unable to aid her friend who, the hobbit assumed, was grievously wounded with only her murderer beside her as she lay dying. The helplessness of the situation bore home to Gilly. Overcome with grief, hunger and exhaustion she threw herself down sobbing into her bundled skirts.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

As I crouched to the ground examining the trail, I took thought as to where she would heading, Naiore's trail was not an easy one, it twisted and crossed and even went back on itself several times, It seemed to suggest that she was heading north-east towards Archet or maybe even Combe, but what interest would these small villages be to the Revennor of Mordor, No! I thought darkly, she is leading us on a merry dance and will enter Bree with the cover of darkness and from the north side I wouldn't wonder.

"She's heading for Bree!" I said raising from the ground, Rauthain cocked an eyebrow and I could see that he too had seen that the trail was heading north-east, but before I could explain the thud of hoofs on the fast drying ground could be heard away behind us.

"Hanasían, Maethor!" Rauthain asked dubiously, as we both turned to face the direction of the ensuing thud of hoofs approaching fast. My hand went instinctively to the hilt of my sword, but I did not draw. There was but one horse and not two, as should be if Hanasían and Maethor approached. But to my surprise it was Maethor and without Hanasían.

"What news, friends?" he asked as I released the grip of my hilt, "And I was going to ask the same of you!" I replied gesturing at Maethor's lack of riding companion.

"He has gone on to Bree" the young ranger sighed. "Hmm good!" I said to Maethor's surprise but before he could speak I went on, "As I was telling Rauthain, I believe Naiore and Vanwe are heading for Bree!"

"You where also going to tell me how come you to this conclusion, when the trail clearly heads in the opposite direction!" Rauthain laughed and I could see in his eyes that he had already come to the same conclusions.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on!" Maethor asked a little frustrated.

"sorry friend," I said patting his shoulder in a brotherly manner "It seems like Naiore thinks to lead us a merry dance, making us believe she is heading towards Combe or Archet, but I believe she will make for Bree, she can't hope to out ride us on the gelding she stole from the Forsaken inn, especially as it bears two."

"But can't horses can be acquired in both these villages!" Maethor questioned,

"Yes, But the people that the Revennor of Mordor would associate with are more likely to be in Bree, but you are right! That is why I think you and Rauthain should continue following her trail and I will ride back and enter Bree by the south gate, With luck I should get there before she even draws near." I replied evenly, Both Rangers nodded their agreement and I mounted Kalloruvi.

"Be careful, friend!" Rauthain warned, holding to my reigns, "Like wise," I nodded to both rangers, then with all haste I headed back towards the south gate.

As I rode I thought of Hanasían, what did he think he was up to going off on his own! then it occurred to me that he may be thinking to quiz a few of our rather untrustworthy friends. I pulled a rather tattered looking parchment from the pocket of my breeches, and scanned the list of suspected criminals that the rangers kept an eye on. 'Barrold Ferney!" I grinned, he would sell his own mother for a price if she was still alive! Yes! he would but worth a visit and a few others besides, I thought returning the list to my pocket.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*


Léspheria

After several hours hard riding Léspheria reached the eaves of Chetwood on the northern side of the east road. She dismounted and lead the white mare into the woods, curling ferns brushed her boots as she walked lightly across the mossy ground and small gold and white flowers seemed to hug the roots of ancient trees. The sweet smell of herb's and wild flowers reached her nose as she deeply inhaled the forest air. An old grey squirrel shrilled loudly as she passed by the tree in which it had made it's home and the scurrying of unseen feet could be heard from within the brush, even the insects that buzzed about did not seem to take away from the tranquillity of this place.

Léspheria confidently lead Losseserme among the many crossing paths and when wisps of grey smoke could be seen away north-west she turned left and continued until she came to a small clearing. A small silver stream ran through it and it seem like the trees parted to let it pass, even with the sun low in the sky the glades beauty seemed to shine. Letting go of Losseserme's reigns she gentle patted the mares flank, whinnying lightly the mare wandered over to the stream to quench her thirst from the days ride. Taking an apple and one of Ms Boffins Honeycakes from her pack she sat against an old brown oak and ate, smiling as she thought of the middle aged hobbit woman who was forever scolding herself and Vanwe for not eating enough. Once finished she took a short draw from her small leather water skin and listened the melodies of the birds in the trees as she walked down to the stream to retrieve her horse.

"It is long since any of the fair folk have wandered these woods." a softly almost woody voice spoke from beside the oak she had just left. She stopped and smiled as she recognised her old friends voice, "Nae saian luume' Hodoer!" She gently replied as she turned to face him. He was a lot older now than when they had first met, but he looked no different from how he had on their last meeting, His greying hair sat about his seemingly frail frame and his grey beard was tucked in the old worn belt that sat about his shabby woollen robes, he supported himself with a knarled dark wooden staff, But despite his appearance his gentle grey eyes which held the wisdom of his age, also burned with an unexplainable youthfulness.

"Come!" he smiled, gesturing for her to follow, not waiting he turned and began walking back woods. Léspheria whistled softly and Losseserme followed her as she hurried after the old man.

"A shadow remains!" the old man whispered and a shiver ran down Léspheria's back as the leaves of the trees shook as if in answer to his words, she had not even realised that she had stopped until she felt a frail hand on her arm, As his gently grey eyes looked into her she sighed and nodded her head, "That is why I am here, I need your help my old friend." The old man nodded sympathetically and they continued on in silence.

"Well, we are here!" he said gesturing to a small ring of majestic oaks. Hidden within sat a small wooden house, which even her elven eyes had not perceived until he pointed it out.

"Stay close!" She whispered to the white mare as she followed Tallas through the green and brown wooden door. A small copper kettle whistled over the fire in the dimly lit room and the musty smell of the dried herb's that hung from the rafters reach her nose. On a small oak table by the south facing window sat two earthen ware mugs and a platter of fresh bread and cheese.

"Are you expecting someone?" she said indicating the set table.

"No, not anymore" he grinned leaning his staff against the fire place and using a near by cloth to pick up the hot kettle and carefully set it on the table.

"well! do you plan to stand there all day or will you join me for tea" he laughed indicating the vacant chair across from him. Removing her bow and sitting Léspheria's eyes fell on the shelves that lined the length and breadth of the north wall, various vials, jars and bottles sat neatly upon the shelves.

"So how can this old ranger, help the Lady Léspheria of Rivendell?" he asked sipping at his tea.

"I need to replenish my supplies, " she replied looking up to the herb's that hung from the rafters. Tallas did not follow her gaze, instead he studied her troubled eyes.

"A shadow of darkness entered these woods this day !". Léspheria's eyes widened as she slowly lower head to regard him.

"When!" she sighed knowing full well of whom he spoke.

"Mid-afternoon and she was not alone." Léspheria's heart sunk as Tallas described Vanwe.

"I almost thought I was seeing double, both alike but not!" he continued raising a questioning eyebrow. But when she did not reply he answered himself "The Bard?" She shivered slightly recalling her last encounter with the tormented elf, but she nodded all the same.

Tallas slowly rose from his chair and pulled out a small bundle that had sat upon one of the numerous shelves and handed it to her, "I think you will find all that you require!" he said placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, nodding she put the package into her pack and finished her tea.

She was not surprised by the old mans foresight for she had sensed long ago that he possessed it and knew not to ask questions regarding future events, for the future was ever changing. But she now sensed that something troubled him. "What is it by old friend?" she asked her brow creasing with concern.

"Ah!" he grinned "there are no secrets to be kept from the lady Léspheria, I knew your mother, infact I had occasion to aid her as I do you now!"

"Yes I know that my mother also pursued ..... she sighed placing her head in her hands as a fresh flash of memories filled her mind. Tallas placed a concerned hand on her shoulder, "It will pass" she whispered weakly

"Your mother believed that Naiore had been taken over by Sauron!" he went on as Léspheria raised her head, "But she was wrong!" Léspheria exclaimed sadly. Tallas sighed and nodded, but secretly he was glad that Léspheria saw this.

After a few moments of silence Tallas spoke frankly "What will you do when you find her?"
"bring her to King Elessar for judgement!" she replied frowning slightly. Tallas nodded to himself, a warm smile formed on his ageing features as he regarded the elf woman before him.

After finishing the bread an cheese Tallas offered her, she thanked him for his help and hospitality and she rose to leave, he walked her to her horse.

"Go carefully, your foe is a dangerous one! but your gift gives you an even footing, do not be afraid to use it!" He counselled her as she mounted Losseserme. she gave a reassuring nod and Losseserme sped her off to where Tallas had told her he had spotted Naiore and Vanwe.

[ September 18, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Everdawn]

Avanill had rode into Bree a lot sooner than he had intended, the lack of trading along the road had made for swift riding. He slowed his horse to a walk an entered the township.

The people of this town had a large amount of respect for him, and he knew it. Anything he felt he needed in Bree, Avanill knew he could get.

Avanill had thought it a little strange that he had not been stopped on the road. He travelled the well used one, avoiding all the twisting, secrative routs the other bootleggers usually used. Travelling on the open road usually made him immune form any questions by law abiding folk. The seldom came near to him.

Avanill liked the thought that he scared people. It was true he looked older than he was, but his horse added to the effect. Slowly he dismounded his horse. The creature tried to pull away from him. "Behave!" Avanill spoke in a harsh tone, Amathalay snorted.

" Stable, stable, stable, ah! here we go!"he said to himself and paid Amathalay's bed for the night. Standing outside the driery surroundings he sighed to himself and looked across the street. Now that is a place run by a deamon. he laughed. Barrold Ferney, thinks he can dabble in my trade, i give him a run for his money.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

As Amandur rode off through the tall trees and the muffled sound of his horse’s hooves grew faint, Rauthain was ill comforted at Amandur’s departure. It brought with it chill memories. But this day they were in pursuit of a single highborn elf and her apparent captive, not the retreating orcs of the mountains. Amandur will arrive in Bree, the ranger told himself though his heart harbored doubt. And as Maethor and he rejoined their horses, turning once again to the task at hand, he considered that they might also overtake Naiore before she reached Bree. Two rangers against the Ravennor of Mordor, it was fewer than he should have liked.

Long shafts of sunlight pierced the leafy canopy over their heads, falling on rock and the green creepers that grew round about. This place seemed still, bereft of anyone but themselves. Only the threading trail spoke differently. If Naiore hadn’t the gelding it would have been difficult indeed to follow this trail let alone find her. She had retained her freedom through no mere chance, but rather skill and deception.

“It is many miles yet to the villages, and heavily wooded ,” Maethor said swinging up onto his horse. “This elf has chosen an ideal path, for after reaching the edge of the wood she might confuse her tracks more easily by blending them with the townsfolk and travelers to Bree.”

Rauthain knew the younger ranger was right. Naiore would have to leave the Chetwood at some point no matter what direction she wished to travel and that is when she would be most vulnerable to a sighting. Archet or Coombe were the most natural places for her to attempt this, though he doubted that these fair and strange folk would go unnoticed in the rustic villages, unaccompanied as they were. He was sorely tempted to leave the trail and ride on, waiting for them to arrive. Yet he did not want to risk that she might be headed instead to the caves south of Fornost or over The Greenway north of Bree and to the Barrow Downs, and thus miss her entirely.

“You speak rightly, Maethor. I too feel she may have the villages in mind, but in the meanwhile we must be the wolves following behind at a distance and dancing the ‘merry dance’ that Amandur spoke of.” Rauthain suddenly broke into a broad smile as he spoke and winking added. “But we are both fine dancers, are we not? And persistent too in our attentions!”

After another mile or so, the trail lead into a small stream and did not emerge again on the other side. The two rangers entered the water and following upstream each examined one of the banks as they went. It proved a long while before Maethor called out that the gelding’s tracks had appeared again and the rangers followed them as they headed to the southeast. Coming to a place of tangled undergrowth, Rauthain swung down from his horse, crouching low to see the signs more closely. “We are not far behind now, Maethor! See, they have dismounted here. And what is this?” he said picking up a small crescent of pale wax and handling it to the younger man. “It seems our quarry has use of some physic!”

“If we only knew its purpose,” Maethor said handing the wax back to Rauthain. “But we had better not delay if we are drawing near. It would be better to overtake them before they get to a village.”

Rauthain nodded, but feared for the young man and tarried a bit longer than needed.

[ September 21, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

"Kill me, if you are going to," said Benia, gazing fearlessly up at Kaldir from where she had fallen when her injured ankle gave way. Her dark amber eyes burned. The bright morning sunlight sparkled off the silver spangled chain that ran from her earring across her cheekbone to the stud in her left nostril. Looking down the blade of his sword to her face, Kaldir noticed absently that the kohl around her eyes had smeared and begun to come off. She looked so much younger without it. Smiling slightly, he stepped back and sheathed his sword.

"I have no intention of killing you," he said almost pleasantly. "I told you as much in the cellar last night." Leaving her on the ground where she lay, he walked over to where her sword had landed when he had forced it from her grip. Retrieving it from the cairn of stones, he gave a quick glance down the blade before laying it in the grass a goodly distance from where Benia could reach it. It was an excellent quality weapon, nicely weighted, with a sharp and carefully maintained blade. It shouldn't have surprised him that a Painted Sand woman would have such a sword or that she could handle it as well as she did despite her bad ankle. After all, the Painted Sand people were a warrior tribe. Nonetheless, he found himself amused by it and even a little bit disappointed that she was injured. He would have enjoyed truly testing her skills.

Some other time. For the moment, there were too many other things to worry about. For one thing Naiore was probably already on the move.His guess was that they were making for Bree, where Naiore undoubtedly had some underworld contacts. It would be better to catch her before she reached Bree, but if he missed her, he could wait. He had been waiting twelve long years for a chance at revenge. A few more days or weeks wouldn't hurt.

And then there was the matter of Mrs. Banks. After Benia had stopped and drawn her sword, he had seen the hobbit still running for the shelter of the forest. Kaldir turned and squinted toward the trees. Knowing what he did about her loyalty to the desert woman, he figured she wouldn't have gone far. Rather than constantly having to keep one eye open for her, he decided it would be far easier just to catch her, too. After all, he had a mount for her already in the little pack pony, who was just hobbit sized. He could redistribute the supplies later to make room for her when they made camp. As it was, dealing with the two of them was a little too much like trying to keep two kittens in a basket. As soon as one was accounted for, he'd find the other one creeping around underfoot.

"Let her go." Sitting up now, Benia had followed his gaze in the direction of the forest and guessed at his thoughts. "She is of no value to you," she said urgently. " Please let her go."

Ignoring her pleas, Kaldir walked over to where she sat. "Give me your backpack and the sheath for your sword."

Benia complied, but continued to plead for Gilly's safety as Kaldir sheathed her sword and examined the contents of her pack. "Let Gilly go back to her family. She means you no harm. She only meant to help me."

Kaldir gave her a skeptical glance from under his eyebrows. Finding no weapons in the rucksack, only food and clothing belonging to Benia, he walked back over and dropped it on the grass beside her. "Empty your pockets. Turn them out so that I can see they are empty."

Again, Benia did as she was told. She could see her own dagger in its silver and lapis inlaid sheath tucked already in the side of the bounty hunter's belt. Regrettably, she handed over Gilly's little knife as well. She had forgotten to give it back when the two of them had fled the old blacksmith's building. Now it, too ,was the property of the bounty hunter. Kaldir gave it scarcely a glance before sliding it into a pouch on his belt. Carrying Benia's sword, Kaldir walked over to where the little pack pony grazed and strapped the sword to the pony's back. Then, he took something out of the pack and came back in Benia's direction. When she saw what he carried, her heart sank. It was a set of iron wrist shackles and a very solid-looking padlock. Kaldir slid the shackles on to Benia's slender wrists and clicked the padlock shut. She wouldn't be sawing out of those, nor would she be getting up to run away. The pain in her ankle would immobilize her nicely for the brief time he was away. With that thought in mind, Kaldir left the horses to graze freely on the meadow grasses as he turned and strode toward the edge of the Chetwood Forest. He had already located Gilly's fresh footprints among the grasses and moved confidently along her trail.

"Gilly!" Benia called out behind him. "He's coming! Beware!"

[ September 24, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia watched in horror as Kaldir turned and began walking along Gilly's trail through the tall meadow grasses toward the wood.

"Gilly!" She called out. "He's coming! Beware!"

Careful to keep her injured ankle from bumping the ground and giving her a fresh jolt of pain, Benia rose up on her knees and watched the bounty hunter's back vanish into the shadows of the trees. She looked around wildly for a weapon or any way she might go to her friend's assistance, even in a small way. The only thing to catch her eye was the hilt of her father's sword, tied in its scabbard to the back of the little pack pony who grazed with the other two horses some twenty to thirty feet away. Quickly gathering a handful of clover and fresh green grasses, she began to crawl toward the animals. The going was awkward and difficult as the ground under her was littered with small, sharp stones that dug into her knees and threatened to tear her skirt. Before going very far she stopped and held the handful of grass and clover out in the direction of the horses.

She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and called out to them softly.

All three horses raised their heads and looked at her curiously, then the gray stallion snorted authoritatively and stamped his hoof. He snorted a second time, then went back to his grazing, followed by the bay mare. The pack pony continued to stare at Benia with long-lashed brown eyes.

Benia glanced over her shoulder toward the woods, and, seeing and hearing nothing, went back to trying to draw the pony over to her. "Hi, Pumpkin!" she called out in her happiest tone of voice. "Come here, sweetie! Come taste this wonderful clover!" She held out the handful of clover. The pony took a few steps in her direction, then stopped and extended his shaggy head trying to determine what she had in her hand. Apparently seeing that it was just clover, which was already plentiful in the spot where he stood, the pony lost interest immediately and went back to grazing. Benia dropped the clover. If she was to have any hope of helping Gilly, she would have to think of something else. Looking around again, her eyes fell on her pack. Eagerly she crawled back to where Kaldir had dropped it once he was satisfied that it contained no weapons. It did contain something she could use...apples.

Reaching into her pack with her shackled hands, Benia pulled out the reddest apple of the three that remained uneaten and held it out toward the pony. "Pony!" she cooed. "Look what I have for you! Would you like an apple?"

The pony raised his head again and, seeing the apple, trotted eagerly over. Feeding him the apple, Benia grabbed the strap to the pony's pack saddle and pulled herself up to balance carefully on her uninjured foot. She closed her hands around the hilt of her sword, intending to draw it from the scabbard, then stopped. What exactly did she plan to do next? It wasn't as though she could go charging into the trees, sword drawn, to Gilly's aid, when she could scarcely even walk. Instead, she untied the rope that tethered the pony to the bay mare and pulled herself up atop the pack on the pony's back. Then she drew the sword from its scabbard and, clucking softly to the little animal, began to ride slowly toward the woods. There were still no sounds from Gilly or the bounty hunter.

The longer the silence continued, the deeper Benia's fears grew that something awful had indeed befallen her friend. She hoped that the silence meant only that Gilly had managed either to flee or hide successfully from the bounty hunter, but the fact that the bounty hunter had not yet returned bothered her. She hoped that it meant he was still searching for Gilly, but the hope was all she had.

[Snowdog]

It was something people told me my father would do, going off suddenly in directions unplanned and unsuspected. But surely since the trail of Naiore was seen going towards and through the Chetwood, then surely there was only one reason, to gain Bree in an unsuspecting manner. So I would be there before her, and will have eyes out for her arrival in the villes about Bree.

But surely more worked on my conscience than Naiore, and if Vanwe was with her, then who is to say it was forced? She wanted afterall to find her mother... I felt the pouch and belt, and as I took a rest hidden beside the road I examined the contents. a few coppers, and the note with the bits Vanwe had written. I dropped a few silvers in the pouch, and a note of my own, that maybe she would get. And if so... yeah, it was a longshot.

The sound of a rider making fair time toward Bree was heard, and I lay low in the scrub north of the road. It was not too far from where I slept a couple days earlier on my way to Bree for Lady Nightshade. Well hidden I was, and Blackveil stood in the shadows of the trees silently as the rider passed. It was the trader from the Forsaken. He would pedddle his wares at Barlimans I presume, but I would remain concerned about that.

It was what happened next that had my mind taken. I could see afar to the south of the road a rider moving at speed over the open grasslands that were southeast of Bree. I mounted Blackveil and made straight across the road to meet them. I was approximatly 1000 yards beyond the road when he noticed me, and his hand raised as did mine. It was Dúlrain, one of the bretheren who was watching the South Down for sign of Naiore. We slowed and met in a draw between grassy ridges, now out of sight to any but one who rode or walked down through it.

I dismounted silently, and he did likewise, with an expression I had not seen in a long time. I was first to speak,

'What news do you carry so swift?'

He looked at me as his hand went to my shoulder,

"I saw one moving slow, toward the lone lands. He was old, but still fit for one so, and as I approached he seemed to disappear. I searched long and found nothing, but when I decided to depart, I saw him in the setting sun. He gave the wave of friendship, but as soon as I started for him, he again vanished, and I could not follow his sign in the darkening skies. But I can say that he appeared much like you, though aged and grey, and I left there then. I could not chase another day one who appeared as a shadow in the day and a siloette at night, but for the glimpse I had at sunset."

I settled him and offered him drink of some water, and he took it thankfully. He then looked at me and said,

"I am sure it was your father Hanasían, the age would be right, though no good description is known well among us since its been so long any has seen him."

'Yes, he has been presumed dead for many long years, since before the war. But I have to find out if what you saw was he.'

I looked southeast, and I knoew it would be a hard ride. I would be abandoning the search for Naiore, that which I had done for so many long years. After much thought and silence but for the grass in the hot breeze, I spoke.

'You will have to go to Bree. There you will be instructed as to the current status of the pursuit of Naiore. She is close, and Amandur, Maethor, and Rauthain are fast upon the fresh sign of her track. I was to go to Bree and set watch for her, for surely all sign said she would go there. You must do this for me. Take this and ride with speed to Bree, and there at the Prancing Pony will you meet in due time the others. I will ride to the Lone Lands, and in days ahead, with the favor of the vala, we all will meet again.'

He looked at the belt and pouch and without question he stowed it in his cloak.

'It belongs to a fair elfmaiden named Vanwe, daughter of Naiore.'

With that and all I could tell of the search, I mounted and headed straightaway to the southeast. I made for the east end of the South Downs where there was a sighting of one who may be my father. Dúlrain quickly mounted and with a wave he was to the road and making speed toward Bree...

[Imladris]

Maethor closely examined the piece of wax that Rauthain had handed to him and sniffed. There was but a faint fragrance that was slightly intoxicating, but the ranger could not distinguish any particular herbs. “If we only knew its purpose,” Maethor said handing the wax back to Rauthain. “But we had better not delay if we are drawing near. It would be better to overtake them before they get to a village.”

The older ranger remained silent and studied the tracks intently, his eyes fixed upon the ground and Maethor peered into the sky, watching wisps of clouds flutter upon the breath of the slight wind. He breathed deeply and whispered to Nair in Elvish explaining what they had found. He took a hunk of bread from his saddle bags, broke it in half, and tossed a part to Rauthain, who caught it with ease. “When I was young I lived in Imladris,” Maethor said quietly as the two rangers mounted and continued the hunt, “and the elves taught me much. I heard of Naiore but only recently…I suppose that she was not mentioned because of…of…what she did,” Maethor said evasively, trying not to let the horror of her deeds register in his face. “Why did she do what she did?”

“She wished to know where fear spawned. That is the question she asked her victims before she ended their misery and slew them.” Rauthain said as he dismounted and made sure of the trail. “She was always fascinated with emotions, and particularly fear. Pain intrigued her as well.”

Maethor remained silent and thought of his days in Gondor after the defeat of the Shadow. He wandered among the noble city of Gondor, the city which had withstood the might of the enemy. Some of the architect was in ruins, but that was only a dim and vague memory in his mind. The recollections of the suffering in the Houses of Healing is what haunted his mind when his thoughts turned to them. In them, he had seen the sufferings of the innocent, of the men of Gondor. The grief that had been in their eyes, their mourning for loved ones who were laid to rest in eternal slumber, the strong men who moaned in pain from their many wounds. Maethor wondered who could take pleasure in such horror, in such wretchedness. The elves were a healing race, they did not purposely inflict pain. “I wonder how Kaldir withstood it,” he said quietly. “I had not realized he had endured so much torment.”

Rauthain nodded silently and said, “It has left him scarred forever, in more ways than one.”

Maethor nodded and gazed about him, at the trees that stood in solemn nobility, the birds that flitted freely in the air, the lush scent of crushed flowers and herbs under the heavy hooves of the horses. The bright sunlight streamed from the firmament above oblivious to the lurking shadow of darkness that journeyed before them.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Once Kaldir had entered the shadows of Chetwood, he had only to hear the muffled sounds of weeping to know that Gilly had not gone far. He followed the sound only a short distance along a deer trail before finding her collapsed in a thicket and sobbing into her apron. Crossing his arms across his chest, Kaldir leaned one shoulder against a tree and watched her for a moment, waiting for her to notice his presence. After all, he had heard Benia shouting warnings from behind him to her friend up ahead. Surely, Gilly had heard them.

Apparently not, he decided after another moment had passed. Totally absorbed in her grief, Gilly didn't seem to have heard anything. Finally, Kaldir sighed.

"Come, come, Mrs. Banks," he said with just a trace of impatience. "Your friend has come to no harm."

Gilly stopped crying and raised a tear-stained face to look at him in alarm.

Kaldir pushed himself away from the tree trunk he had been leaning against and took a step toward Gilly, who seemed to have turned to stone. The only indication that she hadn't was the occasional soft sniffle.

"Let's go," ordered Kaldir, gesturing toward the deer trail and the meadow, but Gilly didn't move. Instead, she continued to stare at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Kaldir walked over behind her and picked the hobbit up by her elbows, setting her on her feet.

"Gilly?" It was Benia's voice. To Kaldir's surprise, it sounded remarkably close by. Startled, he looked back down the deer trail, and there she stood, balanced precariously on one foot and holding her sword tightly in her shackled hands. Just beyond her, he could see the non-descript brown coat of the pack pony. That explained it. She had somehow managed to get ahold of the pack pony.

At the sound of Benia's voice, Gilly came back to life. She would have bolted back down the deer trail to where Benia stood except that Kaldir caught her firmly by the back of her dress, right between the shoulder blades. Gilly struggled mightily, nearly ripping the back clean out of her dress, until Kaldir hooked his free arm around her waist and lifted her completely off the ground.

"ENOUGH!" he roared.

Startled, Gilly stopped struggling. Kaldir turned his attention to Benia. "Drop the sword," he ordered. When she didn't comply immediately, he released his hold on the back of Gilly's dress and drew his dagger. Seeing the steel of his blade so close to Gilly's ribcage, Benia dropped the sword and took a careful hop backward.

"Good." Kaldir nodded. He set Gilly back on her feet. Leaning over, he growled in her ear, "If you give me any more trouble, I'll gut you right here. Do you understand me?"

When she nodded, he pointed back down the trail toward Benia. "Walk." Gilly did as she was told and scurried back down the trail toward Benia with Kaldir close behind her. When she reached her friend, the two hugged each other like children, watching as Kaldir, again, picked up Benia's sword. He was angry, both at himself for taking so much trouble over these two, and at the two of them for being so stubbornly determined to elude him. Even so, he found that the more they fought him, the more determined he was not to let them go. It was beginning to be a matter of pride.

He stalked over to the pack pony and pushed Benia's sword back into its sheath, then whistled for Nico, the gray stallion, who trotted over immediately followed by the bay mare, who was still attached to the gray by a rope tether. It was time they stopped fooling around and found Naiore's trail before it went cold. The elfwoman was capable of moving like a dark phantom through the landscape. If he hoped to pick up her trail, it would have to be done before nightfall. Otherwise, all the traces would vanish and she would become like a ghost again. He had a feeling she was on a roundabout route that would take her to Bree. If he was correct, then all he would have to do is continue north along the edge of Chetwood until his path intersected hers. Recognizing her trail when he found it would be the hard part, but he was confident that he could do it. There was an oddity to the stolen gelding's footprint that he had noticed back in the dust of the Forsaken's stable, where one side of one of the horseshoes was malformed. If he could find a clear print of it, identification would take no more than a glance.

Turning his attention back to his current prisoners, Kaldir brought the bay mare around and, with a gesture, instructed Benia to mount her. Once Benia was firmly in the saddle, he turned toward Gilly, who was watching him with a look of dread on her face.

"You ride with me," he said, pointing her in the direction of the gray horse.

Gilly shook her head. "Oh, no, begging your pardon, Mr. Kaldir," she stammered. "I couldn't possibly... he's so big..." But her objections trailed off abruptly as she caught sight of the black anger rising in his face. "Well, I'll need a leg up," she finished meekly.

Kaldir ended the discussion by picking her up and depositing her into the saddle like a sack of meal. Nervous as a cat, Gilly grabbed the saddlehorn with a white-knuckled grip and held on. She and Benia exchanged curious glances as Kaldir tied the pack pony back on to the tether with the other two horses. Then he tied Benia's pack to the back of the pack pony and, taking hold of the tether, began to lead all three animals north along the edge of the forest. He jogged along on foot, his pale eyes criss-crossing the ground, searching for the place where Naiore might have entered the wood. They had traveled for quite some distance this way when Kaldir abruptly stopped.

The prints of a number of horses, probably three or four of them, led into the forest there. Dropping the tether, he walked slowly back and forth along the side of the new trail, studying the confusion of prints for one with a malformed shape. After a moment, he hesitated and bent down for a closer look. There in the rich dirt of the forest floor just to the right of the trail was a clear copy of the hoofprint he had first noticed in the stable. He had found Naiore's trail. Having satisfied himself that it was the hoofprint of the stolen gelding, he turned his attention to the other prints on the trail. Three large horses, from the look of it, all iron-shod, and a fourth with the delicate unshod hooves of an elven horse. Two of the shod horses continued on into the forest after Naiore, while the third turned south. Kaldir was surprised that he had encountered no one riding southward that morning. Whoever it was must have made a wide loop to the east and returned to the road. The unshod elven horse seemed to have arrived later than the others, as its prints overlapped all of the others. The faint and dainty shapes made by an elf's boots were also present, skirting the path, as Kaldir himself had done, their owner no doubt studying the tracks as he was now. The prints were very fresh.

"No doubt Amandur and his lot," grumbled Kaldir. He had wasted barely a half an hour playing chase with the desert woman and her friend, but it had been enough to put him at a serious disadvantage. If he remained behind the Rangers in the pursuit of Naiore, he knew he would be wasting his time, and his role in the unfolding events would be relegated to little better than spectator. Finding Naiore in Bree would be a challenge, especially what with Benia and Gilly to contend with, but, provided the Rangers had not closed in on Naiore already, it would be his only opportunity to regain the advantage he had lost that morning. Otherwise, he might as well pack it in and head for Harad with Benia.

Returning to the horses and his two prisoners, Kaldir swung himself up easily into the saddle behind Gilly. Since there was obviously no more need for stealth or careful tracking, they could move more quickly now. The trail the others had taken was open and wide. They rode for Bree at a gallop.

[ September 24, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Elora]

Barrold Ferney

“I’ll have no more trouble from you tonight, Barrold Ferney!”

Barrold waved off Butterbur and his stern warning with an obscene gesture, stumbling for the door before he was tossed out of it. He pushed out into the cooler air of night muttering about stale beer and stupid innkeepers who didn’t know any better than to cross the paths of the likes of him. The streets of Bree were quiet and dark. A group of boys ran by, steering a wide berth around Barrold. They were already late home. No sense incurring more trouble by inadvertently jostling the town miscreant.

Barrold’s conversation with himself shifted to the matter of another who had crossed him. She had kept him dangling in Bree upon the promise of more work for some years now. More to the point, she had promised to return two nights ago. Barrold didn’t wait on noone, didn't take anyone's orders, or so he told himself.

Still, it was only around 10pm and there he was weaving his way home far earlier than his habitual time of vacating the inn, assuming he had not been tossed out prior to 2am or so. If his feet picked up speed as he gauged how late it had gotten, for fear of her arriving and finding him out drinking again, Barrold ignored it.

“Maybe thish time I’ll sell ‘er to 'em Rangersh,” he slurred as he lurched through the dilapidated door of the ruin he had claimed as his very own palace. It was a farm house, the occupants long since dispatched to early graves towards the end of the War of the Ring. Barrold had told the people who asked after the original inhabitants that they had left seeking peace and safety in some distant place. Since that time, he had taken up residence and it was a house of ill-repute. If a horse was stolen, the Shiriffs came looking for it in his ramshackle, lopsided shed. If someone had their house burgled, they searched Barrold’s appropriated house for the missing goods. If someone went missing, they thought about whether Barrold had been observed doing any midnight gardening of late. One glance at the tangled overrun gardens suggested that he was about to be planting geraniums by moonlight.

For all that, Barrold tumbled through his doorway and into the dark grimy kitchen blithely. On account of his latest client, Barrold had not been stealing horses, household goods nor planting things that had had the life snuffed out of them by moonlight for far too long. He’d been good, for Barrold Ferney that is to say. In his own castle, Barrold was king. He had nothing to fear. Noone had been sniffing around him and noone would be waiting for him with tricky questions that required careful dodging and side stepping. He was the master of this domain.

The kitchen was without light. The windows were too dirty for starlight or moonlight to make any purchase against the murk. When he found that his kitchen answered his statement of mostly false bravado, Barrold nearly fell backwards, weaving in the dark with his arms windmilling in a search for balance. He found it with a sudden thump as his rump located the grimy kitchen floor.

“You had best hope the Rangersh,” the kitchen cooly mocked, “Have improved in their craft then. For otherwise, I would return find you Barrold Ferney.” Barrold, who had a curse shaken from him as he took an impromptu seat on the floor, sullenly scowled about at the dark kitchen.

“They’re here, y’know,” he said with a surly voice that was sour with too much ale. “I do know, and so am I. Ware, mortal, so that you remain so also, upon my departure.” Barrold knew the threat in the velvety voice was not idle. He’d seen but a glimpse of what could be unleashed by the owner of the voice. His belligerence remained but he decided to give over on the current argument and switch to something where his ground was firmer, and not quite so perilous.

“You’re late,” he said to Naiore Dannan. Drunk as he was, Barrold was not so far gone as to be incapable of recognising the voice of the Ravennor of Mordor.

Naiore

In thinking that pursuing any argument with Naiore Dannan, Barrold revealed his foolish and reckless nature. The day had been long and tiresome, Vanwe becoming more and more incapable of supporting her weight as the elixir tooks its terrible toll on her strength. For the moment, though, Naiore brushed it aside. Fool that he was, Barrold Ferney had his uses yet and so Naiore indulged the man.

“The Rangers,” she repeated with chagrin, hoisting the unresisting weight Vanwe’s limp form. “They’ve tracked me all through the Wilds.” Barrold chuckled at her displeasure. “I wonder how amusing it will be when they come acalling upon you,” she snapped. Barrold’s laughter dried up. Naiore could make out the outline of the man as he sat on the floor. “I thought I told you to remain out of sight.”

“I got thirsty,” Barrold replied. “A man’s gotta drink.” Naiore left it at that outwardly. Not if he is dead, she thought as she adjusted Vanwe’s weight again. Barrold’s eyes had been slowly adjusting to the dark for some time now, and he was able to make out where she stood. With the small comfort of that knowledge, that the Ravennor was not a sorceress who had mastered the art of invisibility, he clambered to his feet.

“Who’s that,” he asked suspiciously, peering at Vanwe now that his sight was improving.

“The Queen of the Reunited Kingdom,” Naiore replied impatiently. “She needs to be kept securely until I leave.” Barrold peered closer still, unsure of whether it really was who Naiore had said it was. He knew enough to know that Naiore nurtured a contempt for all associated with the Heirs of Elendil and that she was capable of the most astounding acts. It was not impossible that Arwen Evenstar was indeed propped by her.

"What's wrong with 'er," he asked. Arwen's head lolled on and angle and it looked as though she was dead. Naiore couldn't possibly pay well enough for him to harbour the murderer of the Queen as well as her lifeless corpse. Alarm flared within him that Naiore found amusing and tiresome as well. The man was a fool, a dangerous fool.

Rather than explain how the exlir robbed strength to give fleeting endurance and compliance to Barrold, Naiore dismissed his question with the barest of answers. "She's tired is all. I think you should be able to manage her like this."

Barrold sidled closer, Naiore sensing easily the spark of prideful anger.

"i'll manage 'er alright," he boasted. "I'll watch 'er for ya." He tucked his thumbs behind his belt and puffed out his chest. Before he could name an additional fee for the service for his close attentions to her daughter, Naiore intervened. She had other ideas for Vanwe just yet before she resorted to that.

“I have other things for you, Ferney. For now, find a room for her and make sure she’ll stay in it.” With that, Naiore passed her daughter to the man and let him make his way up the creaking stairs. “Never met no queen before,” Barrold said with Vanwe’s form draped over his shoulder.

In the kitchen, Naiore suppressed a shudder of revulsion for the filthy state of Barrold’s house. She unslung her pack but not her weapons, dusted off a seat, and folded her weary frame into it to await Barrold’s return. Her head bowed, Naiore’s senses were far from idle. They were trained on Barrold, who was a tinder box mix of dangerous, malleable instincts. Violence, hatred, greed and lust blended together in this man.

When the time came, Naiore would enjoy pulling him apart piece by piece, sundering his illusions of control so that he finally understood how pitifully small he really was in comparison to the true masters of darkness. For now, though, she had to watch him carefully. One false step and he could bring it all unstuck. Barrold was a liability that Naiore would deal with once she had wrung all use from him.

That was why she trained her senses over him as he secured her senseless daughter, another liability that she would see to when the moment came. She needed both Vanwe and Barrold intact for the time being. Satisfied that Barrold would not become innovative with his instructions, Naiore turned her mind to other matters.

She needed to dispose of the gelding, acquire new mounts. Vanwe would need time to recover, and she would use that to further gull the foolish child. She needed supplies in order to push into the Shire and information. Barrold could be used for all that. He knew who to contact for what supplies, horses. foodstuffs and other more exotic things. Also, he made it his business to know who was sniffing about after whom.

Then there was the matter of finalising her strategy for the Shire. Vanwe could make all the difference in penetrating that defensive ring. But once Naiore was in, she needed to be able to act swiftly. Perhaps Barrold could aid her there... he would not be adverse to some bully and terror campaigns. Saruman had found him useful in the past for that. Perhaps Barrold could find her more men too...

She needed Barrold more than she cared to admit. But how to win his loyalty beyond gold. What were his other vices. In that dark kitchen, Naiore smiled, becoming coldly beautiful as only a Noldorin noblewoman could. She would offer him Vanwe. Women were Barrold's weakness, his demon other than greed. Never mind both would be dead before she had to deliver on what she promised either one: Barrold his desires and Vanwe the love of a mother.

That made it all the sweeter. Naiore's hands had wandered to the silken cord she carried with her always, her only companion through the long years aside from her need for that single answer. The garrotte looped and sinuously snaked between her hands as she waited for Barrold to finish his task and return for further instructions.

Again her senses wandered over the man's twisted emotional presence. Yes, Vanwe and more gold would suit Barrold nicely enough indeed.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

As Léspheria reached the spot that Tallas had told her about she searched the ground and found the heavy boot prints of three rangers, two following the elf tracks and the other she recognised as Amandur's headed south-west towards Bree, She grinned as she came to the same conclusion he had. Mounting Losseserme she made to followed Amandur's trail, the tracks were fresh a few hours at most she guessed, she would catch up to him in Bree.

The sound of horses disturbed her thoughts, quickly she dismounted and gently slapped Losseserme's flank sending her into the forest ahead, she would return when called. Lespheria pulled up the hood of her cloak and melted into the trees. The three horses where not going fast so it would be several minutes before she sighted them, closing her eyes she pushed out her senses to feel out the mind of the riders, two women one most definitely hobbit but both afraid for each other, there was a third! she could sense a man, but it was as if a mental wall stood in her way, she guessed immediately who it was and pulled her senses away, this wall was not stable and she did not what to be in his mind when it fell, back at the Forsaken inn she had felt some of what was trapped behind that wall and it was not pleasant.

She opened her eyes as Kaldir came into view leading the horses that bore his prisoners and their gear. She watched as Kaldir stopped and swooped to the ground examining the tracks as she had done. She held her breath as his head came up and looked in her direction, but when he returned to his prisoners, she silently thanked the weavers of Lothlorien who had made the cloak she wore. With a heavy heart she slipped away, she was loathed to leave the southern woman and her hobbit friend in the clutches of the bounty hunter, but she was not yet ready to face Kaldir, after all he had survived Naiore and not many could make that claim.
A lump began to form in her throat as the thoughts of her mother returned, but she swallowed hard forcing it down. He was on Naiore's trail they would meet again and she would see that his captors were freed, she thought as she ran lightly through the woods.

After about twenty minutes she gave the soft coo of the native wood pigeon and within minutes Losseserme returned to her, she mounted and kicked hard, the elven mare snorted then swiftly bore Léspheria towards Bree. It was dark when she reached the south gate of Bree, "Who's ere ?" a gruff voice called behind the tall wooden gates, "A traveller seeking rest and some what to eat" she answered airily. "Tis a Lady! open the gate!" she heard the muffled mumbling behind the gate, "My deepest apologies, mam" A red faced young man said as the gate slowly opened. "No apology needed," she smiled, as she rode passed him.

Slowly she made her way toward the Prancing pony, but as she passed the stone farm buildings she sensed again the presence she had felt briefly in the woods surrounding the Forsaken inn, she stopped and looked towards the farm houses, using her senses to try to locate the darkness she felt. She felt sure she was close to locating its source when suddenly she sensed that which she was seeking could feel her intrusion and was fighting her, "It's her!" she muttered breaking the connection and going with all speed towards the inn, she had failed to locate her but at least she know she was near. This was no comfort to Léspheria, as this was another encounter that she was unsure she was ready to face, but at least she could let Amandur know that she was here!

She rode Losseserme through the archway to the courtyard of the Prancing Pony and swung off, handing the reigns to the hobbit Stable hand who held his hand out to take them, then she made her way to the common room to find Amandur, if he was there!

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

As night fell, Rauthain became restless and seeking conversation to ease his burdened mind, again spoke of their quarry. “It is no wonder that the elves have not spoken of Naiore. I expect it is as much caused by who she is, as what she has done, twisting life upon her stony will. Highborn and heartless she is, an aberration, dark and unfathomable as a pathless cavern, loving, nay reveling in the dissonant themes that started before the awakening of time. Perhaps this to is why she allowed herself Menecin, for he could express his pain as fully and eloquently as no other, and she could examine the sinister beauty of his suffering like exquisite tracery, fine running tendrils through his life, eroding his strength. For her passion lay not with him, but in the crushing of his spirit for her cruel interests.”

The two rangers lapsed into a long silence, before Rauthain began.

“But where does fear take root in the fearless, Maethor? This is what I have wondered. Kaldir was dauntless and through this very trait fell victim to the Ravennor. We knew him, Hanasían, myself and a handful of others, for we were there the day he was lost.” Rauthain stopped as he realized how true this was. For though he now knew Kaldir to be alive, the ranger he had set out with many years before had never returned.

“That day, as we were making our way along the Mitheithel, we fell among an ambush near its headwaters, at Raven Falls. It went badly for us and we lost one of our number early on. But this had served to enrage our band the more, and we fought fiercely. Before long we had pushed the orcs back into the crevices and folds of the mountains. Kaldir was in full pursuit and followed the enemy further than I dared go. So I turned back to look for the others. Two were unaccounted for in the end. Kaldir and Hanasían. Hanasían we found dazed and near drowned by the falls when we returned.” Rauthain paused.

“I had watched as Elendir, our captain, stood at the base of the falls taking in the situation and planning what course to follow, but he was greatly agitated, knowing the full weight of our mission, and was reluctant to delay further. So we buried our dead and pushed forward expecting Kaldir to catch us up, for he was an estimable ranger, wary and full of stealth, not reckless in his decisions, and I had just seen him with no more than a scratch upon him.”

“One day and then two passed with no sign of him. After finally reaching the battlefield and fighting along side our beleaguered brethren in the north, we repeatedly had word from our captured enemy that Kaldir had perished. In the end, I chose to believe them.”

Rauthain breathed deeply, adjusting his cloak and baldric as he rode with Maethor along side. “So now I search for the one who has a greater share in Kaldir’s outcome. Orcs alone could not have bent his mind so, but the training of the Dark Lord and the knowledge of one they call the Ravennor who was brought to bear against him.”

“But I have spoken too much and you grow weary listening to an old man's regrets.”

“It is a large burden you bear, Rauthain” Maethor acknowledged. “But the decision to leave Raven Falls was not yours to make. Your captain would have accounted for Kaldir’s skill before ordering you onward.”

Rauthain did not answer, but was lost in his own thoughts, he was at the Mitheithel once again watching Kaldir disappear from sight, and than speaking with Elendir at Falls in the grey dusk. 'He will find us again,' he heard himself say. 'He will be alright, on his own, for no harm has come to him in the fray.'

Rauthain remembered how after the third day Kaldir’s name was never spoken. And how Elendir assumed full responsibility for the outcome. It was never brought up between the two of them again.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

They made camp after nightfall against the west face of Bree Hill, about a half of a mile north of the North Gate into Bree. Looking around, Benia knew the spot well. Her father's family had used the spot for years. Located in a crevice in the side of the hill, the campsite was protected on the east and south by Bree Hill. On the north and west, an overgrown wall of bushes and long-thorn brambles concealed it from the view of casual passers-by. A well-used fire circle occupied the north end of the clearing, while a hollow against the side of the hill offered shelter for the horses. She watched from the back of the bay mare as the bounty hunter dismounted and led the horses through the hidden entrance into the clearing.

Once the horses had been secured in the rear of the campsite, Kaldir lifted Gilly from the back of the gray horse and set her safely on the ground. Benia thought she saw Gilly's shoulders relax visibly as soon as her feet touched the earth. Then Kaldir turned his attention to Benia. Holding the horse by the halter to keep her steady, he held his free hand out to Benia to help her dismount. Benia glanced down first at the shackles on her wrists, then at his outstretched hand. Then she dismounted without his help, landing rather heavily on her injured foot. She bit back a gasp of pain and turned her face away so that Kaldir would not see how badly her defiance had hurt her.

Gilly, having heard Benia's sharp intake of breath, stepped up and grasped Benia's hand. "You can lean on me," she whispered as Kaldir withdrew his proffered hand. Benia nodded and gave her friend's hand a squeeze.

The two of them stood side by side near the horses and watched as Kaldir went about the business of setting up camp. Noticing that he paid them scarcely any mind, Benia relaxed slightly and took the opportunity to look around. She couldn't see much in the darkness, but remembered that there was an old log around somewhere about the size and shape of a small bench. She needed to sit down. Pulling Gilly with her, she hobbled in the direction in which she thought she would find it, and, after only a few steps, she saw its dull shape rise out of the gloom. Sighing, she sat down heavily. Stomach rumbling loudly, Gilly plopped down beside her. They both glanced nervously at the bounty hunter, who was occupied at the moment with building a small fire in the fire circle.

"You don't suppose he will let us eat anything, do you?" asked Gilly under her breath.

Benia shrugged. "I hope so," she whispered back. "I'm famished."

"Where do you suppose he's taking us?"

"I imagine he's taking me to Harad," answered Benia softly, a deep sadness creeping into her voice. For a moment, her mind travelled back to the blowing sands of the desert, its harshness and its beauty. She not been there in a few years. Ironically, she had been just preparing to return there on business of her own when the bounty hunter had intervened. Now, she would still be making the journey south, but not to bring aid to her mother's people. Now, she would be going there to die.

“There are still those who would pay well for the capture of one of my tribe," she continued, a faraway look in her eyes. She remembered the tales her mother had told her as a child so clearly that at times she almost felt that she had been there. The stories of her tribal history were not merely history lessons. They were memories, passed down in her blood from mother to daughter.

Sitting there in the flickering light of the new campfire, Benia could almost hear the sound of her mother's voice. In the years before you were born, her mother's voice said in its soft desert dialect. Sauron sent emissaries to recruit new followers to his standard. Our tribe and one other refused. We fought the Eye. Our chieftain and many others were slain. After that, our new chieftain, Ahmad, openly defied the forces of the Eye. He rode against them at every opportunity until finally our numbers had so dwindled that we were forced into hiding in order to survive.”

Remembering, Benia smiled sadly. She had met her chieftain on only a few occasions. He was a tough, battle-scarred man, approaching sixty now, but wise and canny as an old lion. Now she feared she would never see him again. Or his kind wife.

She looked at Gilly, then nodded in the direction of the bounty hunter. “I imagine this man is taking me back to those who would have all of my tribe destroyed. Sauron may be gone, but this man is still doing his work for him," she finished bitterly.

"But what he plans to do with you," she added after a moment. "I seriously can’t imagine.”

Gilly nodded philosophically and pressed one hand to her midsection in a vain attempt to stifle the loud growling of her empty stomach. “I guess I will find out soon enough,” she sighed. “If I don’t starve to death first.”

Benia nodded. “Perhaps he means to let you off in Bree,” she suggested hopefully. “We are barely a half mile north of the north gate.” She stopped abruptly as Kaldir approached them from across the clearing. Behind him a pot already bubbled on the fire, giving forth a pleasant herbal smell. This time, rather than offering Benia his hand, he merely bent over and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her over to the fire where he set her down rather unceremoniously on a blanket. Not knowing what else to do, Gilly trailed behind them. Made bold by her hunger, Gilly leaned over to look into the pot and was most disappointed to see only a few long leaves simmering in water.

“Kingsfoil,” she murmured, in spite of herself. Weeds. The man really was out of his mind.

“Athelas leaves,” countered Kaldir gruffly. “Give me your foot.” The last sentence was addressed to Benia, who, for lack of any alternatives, cautiously extended her foot. With surprisingly gentle hands, the bounty hunter pulled Benia’s boot off and unwound the bindings the elves had put on two days earlier. The leg was still badly swollen around the area of her ankle bone, but the bruises had taken on a yellowish tint, which meant that healing had begun. Benia studied his scarred face as Kaldir removed the pot from the fire and bathed her ankle in the warm, pleasant-smelling water. The pain began to subside almost instantly.

Kaldir glanced up at Gilly, who still stood over him, watching closely as he dressed Benia's ankle. “Well, make yourself useful,” he said curtly. “There’s bread, cheese, and some other things on the pack pony. Bring enough for the three of us.”

“Watch out for the gray horse,” he added as Gilly began to move away. “He kicks.”

“And bites,” muttered Gilly, remembering well the bite the bounty hunter’s gray horse had delivered to her backside not even two days ago. She was sure the teeth marks were still there in a circle of little black bruises. She gave the gray horse a wide berth.

As Gilly moved away and Kaldir began to put the bindings back on Benia’s ankle, Benia decided to try pleading again for Gilly’s freedom. After all, if the bounty hunter cared enough about Gilly's well-being to warn her about the horse, perhaps he could be convinced to show the hobbit some larger form of mercy. At least, she had to try. She leaned forward and caught the bounty hunter’s hand between her own shackled, tattooed hands.

“Leave her here in Bree,” she whispered so that Gilly wouldn’t hear. “Please. I won’t give you any more trouble. I promise. Just let her go.”

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

Kaldir

For a fleeting instant, Kaldir glanced down at their intertwined hands, then disengaged himself from her grip. If he did as Benia asked and released Gilly she would no sooner be out of his sight than she would be putting together a rescue team and taking off into the wilds after him. He had always thought of Mrs. Banks as the determined type and, now that she had proven him right, she would have to live with the consequences. She would have to come along for awhile, anyway, at least until he could find a suitable place to leave her where she would not cause him any more trouble, but not come to any harm either. After all, her only sin had been loyalty. He stood and moved away from Benia without even bothering to answer her, which he could see by her face was answer enough. Her expression which had been so open and hopeful a moment before closed like a flower under a cold wind. Her hands dropped limply into her lap.

Turning away from her, Kaldir looked over toward Mrs. Banks, who seemed to be having an argument with the pack pony. Her arms loaded with bread, cheese, and apples, she was trying to refasten the drawstring of the pack, while at the same time trying to fend off the pony’s attempts to bend his long neck around and steal an apple. Leaving her to it, he walked back to the opening in the bramble hedge that led out of the hidden campsite into the open. He needed to go into Bree. He had contacts there that the Rangers wouldn’t have, the kind of men who would know if someone like Naiore was about. They were the kind of men who stole horses and trafficked in poisons, who knew better than to cross him, but whose loyalties lay only to themselves and their own greed... the kind who would be easy prey to a manipulative creature like Naiore. But he would have to go alone. Turning again toward the campfire, he saw that Mrs. Banks had finished her tussle with the pack pony and was back at the fire with Benia, her haul of food laid out on the blanket beside her.

“Eat,” he said, gesturing to the food. “I have to leave for awhile.” Taking a coil of rope from the back of his belt, he bound Gilly tightly around the ankles. Benia, he bound around her legs, just below the knees, sparing her the additional pressure against her injured ankle. He needed her mobile as soon as possible. “But I won’t be far,” he added. giving each of them a stern look. “If I have to waste my time chasing you again, things will go ill for you. I’ve been patient so far, but no more.”

Once both women had nodded their acquiescence, he turned and walked away from the campsite. It would be quicker to go by horseback, but he did not intend to enter Bree by the gate.

[ September 26, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Elora]

Barrold


Barrold slung the alleged Queen over his shoulder with a wide grin. He’d take care of her. She did not even move nor murmur on the way through the lower floor of the farm house and out the side door, no matter how roughly he treated her. Barrold gave over his exploration once he came to the cellar doors. The hinges were surprisingly well tended, oiled to keep them from screaming alert every time he opened them.

Beneath was a dusty space that Barrold had used for similar purposes in the past, his business in ransoming one of his more entrepreneurial and successful operations, Barrold turned into it. It had no window, being a cellar still. The holding room was roughly 9 feet by 6 feet in size, and contained a mat, a bowl, and rope.

Having already picked up a spluttering candle from a table by the kitchen door, he set it down carefully in one corner. It’s uncertain flame danced over the earth walls and the thick beams that supported the earth roof. Onto the mat and far less carefully he tossed down the Queen. She was Elf, alright, but that was where Barrold’s expectations ended. She had fair hair and bore a striking resemblance to Naiore. Barrold squatted by her motionless form for a closer look.

This was no Queen! Strider’s wench had dark hair, or so those they spoke to had said. With a grunt of disappointment, he set to work on her hands and feet. Soon both were well bound with the roughly twisted rope. Her eyelids did not so much as flutter during this, and Barrold was by no means gentle. His handling become worse as he contemplated how he had fallen for Naiore’s trick. Queen! He’d have to pull her into line, but not before she paid him in full.

He bent close to check that the Elf breathed still. Then Barrold collected the candle, climbed the stairs and closed the cellar doors after him, plunging the narrow, stuffy place into unbroken darkness. Air only came in around the door, which whilst did not neatly fit the frame, was sturdy nonetheless.

He stumped back through the house, candle in his hand, ready to take up Naiore’s trick with her. “She’s no queen,” he charged as he entered the kitchen. Naiore had her head bowed, in her hands. “She’s one of yours,” he added. Naiore’s head snapped back and she levelled a gaze upon Barrold that froze the tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“In that alone she is queen to the likes of you, mortal, beggar though she is.” Barrold’s reply was nothing more than a stutter. Naiore let him twist in her gaze a moment longer, terror beating within his heart as the moment stretched. Then, as sudden as Naiore had seized him she looked aside, at a dirty window.

“Is she secure?”
“Yes m'Lady,” Barrold replied, shaken by the savagery he had seen in Naiore and recalling all he had seen and heard about the woman who sat at his table. “Tied her neat as a hog. Are you planning on ransoming her,” Barrold asked, trying to ingratiate himself with her. Naiore sighed heavily.

“She is my daughter,” she replied as if reluctant to give him even that morsel. Barrold made a sound of admiration.

“I never thought of ransoming my own family,” he said with growing appreciation dripping from his voice. “Just knocking them off,” he added with a moment’s thought. Naiore shot a glittering gaze at him.

“In your stables is a stolen horse. Dispose of it. Then return for further instructions. There are matters for us to discuss, work and payment for your services.” The discussion apparently over, Barrold took his cue, knuckled his forehead and saw to it.

He left Naiore to consider the brush of another's mind, a mind that was familiar and yet not. Barrold had gold, reward and profit on his mind. Added to those heady thoughts were grandiose plans of finally bring Naiore Dannan off her high horse. It was about time, as he reckoned it, and there was no Mordor, no Sauron not even Saruman to stop him.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly was ravenous. Encouraging her friend, they both began to eat the foodstuffs that Kaldir had the foresight to provide. Grateful for anything to calm her raucous stomach, it was only the second meal for the hobbit in as many days and accordingly she was feeling quite weak. Though a hot supper would have done much to soothe her nerves after riding half the day on a beastly horse with a beastly man - who had recently threatened to disembowel her - poised directly behind her back. All day she had been thinking of Benia’s knife resting in his belt, wondering one minute whether she could reach around and grab it and the other whether it would mean her death. The hobbit had been painfully aware that the man - so close she could feel his breath on her neck - could end her life on a whim, and her children would go motherless. So she had been good, though the tears kept rising to her eyes at the thought of her family.

“Do you suppose Benia, that he might have meant the third portion for us?’ Gilly now questioned. “No never mind, it wouldn’t do to have the man angry with us now would it? But I could use a bit of real food, and you could too, by the look of you. I don’t suppose now, that I could induce that horse there to bite through these ropes?”

“What do you have in mind Gilly? I don’t think it would be wise to strike out again though we do have the horses now,” Benia added glancing at the long faces just beyond the circle of firelight. “And if we were to do so, we would do well to wait until the ranger’s guard is relaxed and my ankle well mended.”

“Don’t worry Miss Benia. I heard the man. I aim for us both to stay alive, if that is what you’re worried of.” Then speaking in lower tones, “If I were to find a way out of these ropes, do you think you could help me back on with them, later maybe?”

“I don’t know, I am lacking somewhat in hand movement,” she answered holding up the iron shackles that encircled her wrists, “but I surely would try my best. What have you in mind?” she asked again.

“A little nourishment that is all. He can’t be dragging around a half starved hobbit now can he, nor her half starved friend neither!”

This surprised Benia, for she felt the food had been more than ample and was contented with it. “Don’t risk it friend. Kaldir is likely close by and I don’t relish the thought of seeing my good friend killed before my very eyes!”

Becoming quite serious, Gilly looked Benia in the eyes. “Don’t worry Miss Benia. As I told you, I do aim to keep us alive, that includes me too, you know!” With that Gilly hopped to her feet and awkwardly went repositioning herself near the fire. Drawing out a stick she carefully began to burn through the ropes about her wrists. “Is there any water to be found around this place?” She questioned Benia who watched her as she worked.

“There is a small brook quite close, on the other side of the fire.” Benia said gesturing north. “It is fed by a nearby spring and the water there is good.”

Gilly eyed the brambles. “Very well.” She commented under her breath, breaking the last strand of charred rope. “That is the first order of business then.”

Peering into the vessel that Kaldir had removed from the fire, she fished out the long leaves from it, laying them carefully out on a rock in the fire circle. Then emptying it of the remains of the infusion, Gilly went off in search of fresh water. When she returned, she had found the stream and her apron’s pocket was bulging with all manner of vegetation that she had picked by the moonlight.

Stirring up the fire, she placed a few thick sticks on it before placing the water in it’s midst. Once more Gilly raided the saddlebag, giving wide berth to the grey stallion, and pulled out some salt cured meat from the ranger’s stores, and from Benia’s bag a potato and ladle. The hobbit tore the thin strips of meat into bits before putting them in the pot, but having no knife (and Benia’s sword was gone too) she put the potato in whole. Then settling by the fire she examined the contents of her pocket to see them in better light. There were ramps and all sorts of herbs she had learned to eat during the war, quite a fine haul considering the campsite appeared well used. If only she had more salt and her knife. Tearing them up as best she could she cooked them down into a fine hot meal. Only the potato was left half cooked as Gilly scooped some of the rest into a cup for Benia and took it over to her.

“Here you go Miss. It takes more than cheese and cram to keep a person going! Just sorry there’s not more salt to it. But it should help and will heal your leg faster then that there fancy water, I should think.”

Benia took the stew with thanks, and smiling at her friend’s homely ways, watched as Gilly tottled back to take up the ladle and help herself. The hobbit didn’t eat much and left the whole potato to finish cooking in the pot.

After they had both eaten their warm peppery tasting supper, Gilly took the cup and ladle down to the stream and having washed, returned them to their proper place. The vessel containing the rest of the stew and now cooked potato she placed in a cooler part of the fire, throwing on more wood.

With the charred remains of the rope in hand, she went over and sat on the blanket tying her ankles close, but not so tightly this time. “That is better!” she sighed. “Now I feel as though I have eaten…I hope our host enjoys it as well as I have. And if he thinks we are trying to poison him, perhaps he will induce us to have a second helping. Either way is alright, so don’t fret about it, but let’s see if we can get me done up again!” This was a task easier said than accomplished, and in the end the rope was sliding off the hobbit’s wrists if she did not clutch the ends with her thumbs. “Oh bother!” Was all she had said before sliding off to sleep, and Benia sat alone, alert in the moonlight with the softly snoring hobbit beside her.

[ October 06, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Imladris]

Rauthain and Maethor rode in silence, Maethor musing upon the account that Rauthain had told him. He glanced at Rauthain and saw him staring at his horse’s mane as he wandered the paths of memory. “It was no fault of yours he was lost,” he said softly. “None could have known he was yet alive. Do not blame yourself.”

Rauthain said nothing and his head remained bowed. Maethor remained silent for a moment and then said, hesitantly, “Fear, to me, is not spawned, it does not come to the braveless and dauntless such as Kaldir. It is a part of us, woven into our soul, integrated into our nature.” Maethor frowned as he pondered. “Where there is evil, there is fear. I wonder if fear is a form of the revulsion of evil.” It was an intriguing question, Maethor thought.

Maethor could feel the power of his stallion as Rauthain and he trotted along the faint trail Naiore had left behind. He rode bareback, as he loved to feel the rolling muscles and the hidden power of Nair, the power and energy that could instantly be erupted into fierce fury, or released in colt-like playfulness. Maethor did not truly ride in the elven way, however, for Nair wore a soft leather bridle. The braided reigns passed through silver rings, engraved with elven runes, and rested lightly and easily in Maethor’s hand. Maethor wished he could have rode Nair in truly elven fashion, with neither saddle nor bridle, but after he had suffered a few tumbles, courtesy of Nair’s fiery and flighty temper, and the gay laughter of the elves, he had reluctantly conceded to the necessity of a bridle.

Dropping the reigns, Maethor reached into his saddle bag and withdrew his small whetstone that nestled naturally in the soft hollow of his palm. He leaned over and withdrew a simple knife from his leather boots. It was relatively plain, and without adornment save for an etching of the white tree of Gondor upon the blade. Gently he passed the stone across the blade in a small circular motion, cringing at the rasping sound of the knife being sharpened. Peering at the blade, he rolled his dark green sleeve up to his elbow, spat on the exposed arm, and swept the knife smoothly and swiftly barely above the skin: a smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he saw that the finely toned edge had easily shaved the hairs upon his arm. Returning the blade to its hiding place, he did the same to his other knife that was in his other boot and to the dagger that hung at his belt.

“Look, Maethor,” Rauthain said, pointing. “It is Bree.”

Maethor looked at the pleasant village, its cluster of houses, the merry lights that laughed in the enveloping arms of the serene darkness. Silver stars glistened in the light of the moon, crickets sang their songs, fire flies flitted elusively in the night. Maethor’s hand snatched at one of the flickering lights and, carefully uncurling his fingers, a luminous green light was seen crouching upon his palm. He smile and murmured a word or two in elvish as he released the fly and watched it dance away into the shadows of a nearby tree.

[Everdawn]

Avanill had collected several debts that night without a single limb being lost, his money bag now was heavy with gold. Maybe now my mother will let me buy another bloody horse!Avanill thought amusingly

One that can get me places faster... Ah! no, it would upset her. I suppose the animal isnt that bad, after all it served her well enough... It was true, everytime he thought ill of that animal it made him feel guilty. He looked up at the moon high in the night sky and stood for a minute in the middle of the road. An old man was watching him from the shaddows of his verandah.

"You allright mate?" he asked, his words slured by the absence of several teeth. Avanill turned his tall frame to see who the voice was. "Yes sir" he replied. The old man stepped out of the dark and into the moonlight. "Marcello!" exclaimed Avanill now seeing the old man. "Avanill? Oh my! You are a big lad now arent you! How long has it been?"

"Four years old friend, i am almost twenty one now." He said proudly. The old man nodded and held onto Avanill. "Last time I saw your mother was when she ran into trouble with those Gondorians, must have been eight or so years ago now. Tell me lad, what are you doing in Bree?"

Avanill frowned. "Business, surely you have heard of the most successful blackmarket trader in Middle Earth then?" The old man laughed, "Aye, now i think about it, i have. Come i have something then that will intrest you."

The old man beckoned him inside his hut where the old man took from the cupboard a bottle holding what looked like water. "This is water from the Enchanted River in Mirkwood, it is a powerful sleeping potion." Avanill laughed. "Aye, and who went to the elven realm to collect it?" Avanill smiled. The old man laughed. "Twas an elf lad, You can have it for thirty pieces of gold, sell it for one hundred on the market." Avanill lay the gold on the Marcello's table and after parting ways he was out in the street again.

Im a pushover arent i? he laughed ot himself and put the bottle inot his bag. Now for a drink.He walked several blocks before he saw the familliar sign of the Prancing Pony. He doubted that he would find trouble there that night.

[Elora]

Barrold stiffled a curse as the gelding yanked his arm back and nearly our its socket. He was still too close to earshot just yet. Still he favoured the wretched, stubborn gelding with a fierce snarl. The gelding's temper did not improve nor did his disobedience diminish.

"May that dammed woman rot in hell," Barrold muttered as he yanked Naiore's stolen gelding on. It was late, the moon sailing high now and almost at it's zenith. He was tracing a quiet path towards the Barrow Downs at Naiore's urging and had decided to lead the gelding rather than ride it. It would be quieter, or that was what Naiore had told him.

The gelding, however, was not cooperating. Barrold was used to horses behaving badly around him. He rarely got along with the stupid animals. Plain and simple, horses hated Barrold and he returned the favour fivefold. As a result, he had been sawing and tugging at the reins for nearly over an hour now as he attemped to sneak around Bree to the fringes of the Barrow Downs.

More than once, Barrold had thought to simply tuck the horse into someone else's stables. What would Naiore know of it if he did? If the gelding bit him one more time, he'd gut it. That much Barrold knew. The only thing that kept him to his word was greed.

Naiore had laid out a princely reward for his assistance. Gold, of course, but even more. A fiefdom over the Shire. He'd drain that coddled, soft land dry. Wine and pipeweed, fresh food, hobbits to see to his every whim. And then there was her daughter. Only the highest of mortal men were permitted an Elf of his own and Naiore would give him her daughter. She was no queen, but the connection would increase his stature immensely nonetheless. It wasn't as if he'd have to marry her either. As a Fief, he could do whatever he pleased and Barrold knew quite well what pleased him.

So, he'd tug at reins and dodge the hellion's teeth and send it off to be eaten in the evil lands of the Barrow Downs. He'd run about the following morning, seeking the supplies Naiore had listed. He'd accompany them too, when they left. It would be too hot in Bree to remain. Perhaps he'd have a chance to roll the Prancing Pony before he left.

Barrold's face split into a greasy grin as he thought of Barliman's takings added to his own coffers. During this time, Barrold had crossed the final distance from Bree to the Downs. Beneath the moonlight, the treeless expanse rolled away, eerie and still. A queasy ball of fear knotted in his stomach. With a sense of malevolent justice, Barrold tugged the gelding's bridle free.

"Now who will 'ave the last laugh then, eh?" With a mighty slap on the gelding's rear, he sent the horse skipping away. It did not miss the chance to attempt to catch his shins with it's back hooves. Barrold aimed a kick at the gelding and the horse wasted no more time on the pathetic man. With an angry whinny, it was off. The Barrowdowns was better than Barrold Ferney, night or day.

Barrold watched the horse flee, bridle slung over his shoulder. He'd ditch that in a midden heap somewhere. Let the Rangers dig around in that filth if they want to find it, or venture into the Downs themselves. Barrold fancied the sight of Rangers up to their elbows in muck or nervously walking between the haunted Barrows. He chuckled roundly to himself and tucked his thumbs into the waist of his trews.

The gelding now seen to, Barrold was not keen to head straight back to Naiore. For all that she promised, he little liked her company. There was something distinctly unsettling about a woman who was as much death as Elf in close quarters. Barrold didn't much care to admit it, but she scared him, she knew it and she enjoyed it immensely. He spat, expelling the sour taste in his mouth and sighed.

"Who does she think she is now anyway? Sauron ain't here to protect her. Noone has to bow to Naiore Dannan nomore. She lost with the rest of 'em." He rubbed a hand over his bristly chin and glared resentfully at the Downs as he muttered to himself.

"Could go find me some more ale and celebrate my good fortune, and there'd be nothing she could do to stop it. Roll a few shops too. They've gotten fat since she tucked me away." The thing was, Barrold knew there was plenty Naiore could do to stop him. He'd like none of it, that was sure. He kicked at the ground and spat again.

So he wouldn't go to the inn nor rob the shops that had been accruing their income without his pilfering for a month or so now. But he would linger out here instead of obediently running home like a whipped cur. Barrold decided it was time he gave thought to his first edict as a Fief and now was as good a time as any to do that.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

All conversation ceased as the two rangers drew closer to the village, and though the night was bright, they had struggled to find the gelding’s track among the foot traffic along the road. The way was well used by persons and livestock and it soon became a hopeless business, the nearer they came to the surrounding fields and houses.

Stopping by the gate, Maethor and Rauthain talked quietly among themselves in the empty road. Only the watchman and another sitting by the gate observed the quiet exchange. Rauthain, handing his reins over to the younger man, pulled out his pipe and tamping in a generous helping of aromatic Southlinch, strode up to this watchman to ask for a straw to light it. The grey haired ranger stood talking with the keeper and his companion while Maethor lead the horses in through the gate and waited for him just inside of it. The hour was getting late, but the street beyond was not quite as deserted as it had been outside of the village. A few people walked here and there, infrequently choosing to break the hush of the evening.

When Rauthain rejoined Maethor, he wore a troubled expression. “She apparently has not entered by this gate,” he remarked, sweeping the avenue with his glance.

“There is naught we can do until daybreak,” Maethor lamented. “Perhaps she was missed in the press of farmer’s wives returning from selling their goods at market. A man’s eye is known to wander at such times
and the need for a gate keeper to be alert has waned greatly over the years.”

“Yes? So much so that the Ravennor of Mordor could past though Bree without notice?” Rauthain muttered in irritation. “It would be shameful to us all to grow lax in our guard against such evil. We should all be vigilant from Ithilien to Harlindon to the Iron Hills and even the Shire. From the Elessar himself to the smallest child we should remain watchful! For though the head is gone it’s members still corrupt, abasing that which should have not cause for worry.”

Maethor could see the frustration behind the old ranger words, and did not argue. He himself shared deeply in it, but did not lose hope of finding Naiore or of claiming a better future for his people.

“We should make our way to the inn then, to see if the others have arrived. By chance they might have some tidings to cheer us.”

“I would surely welcome good news!” the older man said, his gloomy expression quickly melting at the thought. “But you go on before me. I would check the other gates before the night grows too old, and will meet you there before we set off again, if no sooner.”

Maethor nodded getting up on his horse. “Do not tarry overlong or I shall think you have found what you are looking for!” Rauthain smiled at this.

“A favor though, I would ask Maethor, before you take leave of me. Would you take my mount with you to the inn? Juta is his name, and I would that he should get some rest even though I do not.”

“With pleasure,” Maethor replied taking the reins again from the old ranger’s hand. “Until then.”

Rauthain stood watching as Maethor turned making his way toward the Prancing Pony.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

I stopped about two hundred yards from Bree and dismounted, I wished my passing to go unnoticed, so I removed anything that would mark me as one of the kings men, tunic, bracers, even the brooch that clasped my cloak I replaced with another more common place one, I then took a dried piece of rabbit pelt and wrapped it about the grip of my sword and secured it with leather thong as to disguise its make and Numanorean long swords where not common place and only now wielded by those of the Dunedain. My elvish dagger I slipped into the rear of my belt and my bow I slipped into my bedroll, hanging my quiver securely to Kalloruvi's saddle. The charger to was a give away to my heritage he too would have to remain hidden, but I knew that my loyal friend preferred to be free than cooped up in a stable and he would wait for my return, so I gently patted his flank and he made his way back into the cover of the woods to wait my return.

Not Taking the road I entered Bree using secret ways known only to the rangers, it was dusk and the streets were fairly empty, the lawful traders had all shut up shop long ago and the unlawful ones would soon be about, my first port of call would be the pony, A fountain of information if you knew were and how to ask! I smiled as the familiar welcoming sight of the Prancing Pony came into view, many a time had the inn served as a place for him to rest and recover and a valuable source of information, pulling my hood over my head so as not to be recognised I climbed the steps to the inn and entered the busy smoke filled common room, narrowly avoiding a collision with the short, fat, bold headed innkeeper, I grinned as I watched him Bustle about with trays laden with mugs of ale, as he passed I picked one up and made my way over to the shady corner to the left of the blazing fire, where sat someone I was familiar with, Toby Longholes, a pick pocket and petty thief, at my approach the slender (well as slender as a hobbits can get!) hobbit tried to leave, but with a firm hand on his shoulder I convinced him to stay!

"I haven't done anything!" he exclaimed as I sat beside him, "I never said that you had?" I replied eyeing him suspiciously. "Then what do you want with me!" he snapped irritably, "Where is Ferny?" I asked calmly, taking a draw of my ale, "How should I know, I thought your lot killed 'im!" the dark haired pointed faced hobbit answered pretending that he thought I was asking for old Bill Ferny.

"Do not take me for a fool, you know exactly who I speak of!" I said prodding the hobbit thief with the point of my knife under the table, Toby flinched as he felt the knife at his gut, "You have just missed him I swear! Butterbur kicked 'im out!" I knew that if Butterbur had kicked him out then he would not return to the inn this night and I did not know which of the hundred or so stone houses was his, " hmm but maybe you do" I thought aloud turning back to Toby Longholes, the hobbit gulped. "which is Ferny house?" I asked, "I don't know, no-one does!" he panicked, sweat dripping off his brow. I relaxed my knife and took another draw of my ale, it was evident that what he spoke was true or at least part true! "You will tell me at once if you hear of Barrold trying to acquire anything unusual!" I whispered threateningly, but the hobbits greed got the better of him, "And what is in it for me!" the hobbit retorted. scowling I answered "5 gold and I will not run you in to the sherriffs!", "10 an' we have a deal" Toby chanced putting out his hand, I did not take his hand but reluctantly nodded my head in agreement. "Well, on you go!" I exclaimed as Toby made to finish his ale, the Hobbit quickly rose and scurried out of the inn.

After a few moments I too made to leave, but as I reached the door I was pulled to one side, "Hail! old friend" the voice whispered and I turned to see Dúlrain, he gestured for me to sit. "I know who you seek and I am here to help if I can." I was glad to see him but a sad look in his eyes told me he had more to say, "I rode here to deliver news to Hanasían of his father and now I must inform you that he will not be continuing this hunt with you, but he wishing you all success and sends me in his stead, I hope I will not disappoint!"

"Never my friend!" I said, patting his shoulder, "Though Hanasíans parting is a sad loss, I believe that finding his father is something that he must do and your services will be much needed in the days to come."

"So, you don't think she will come quietly!" Dúlrain asked sarcastically, I laughed at his dry wit "No! I think not." "I see you had words with young master Longholes, does he have news and how much did he charge for it?" Dúlrain continued casually, "ten" I laughed, "You must have given him quite a scare!" he laughed in reply. We laughed some more and shared some ale, before Dúlrain took out his pipe and offering me some of his weed he said "Come friend it is time to share what news we have of our quarry and the young elf maid that Hanasían spoke of," at the reference to Vanwe he laid the belt and pouch Hanasían had given him on the table and lighting our pipes, adding more smoke to the already hazy common room we shared what news we had, it seemed that Dúlrain had travelled some what with Hanasían and the rangers of Ithilien as they pursued Naiore and he knew the crimes she had committed, although like myself he had not been personally affected by this woman he had seen those who had and sought justice on their behalf.

With our tankards emptied and our pipes burnt out we decided that we should call on some of the other less desirable inhabitants of Bree, to see what new we could coax from them, but as a lifted the belt and pouch I became curious as to what the daughter of Naiore carried within. Slowly I opened the pouch and emptied the contents on to the table, there was little within 3 brass coppers, a piece of leather tong, a few scribbled notes and tangled within all was strands of blonde hair.

"Naiore's" a soft elven voice answered for us, I recognised it right away and swung round in my chair, "Léspheria...what....why...but I...." I couldn't think where to began but she answered for me, "A messenger turned me back this morning, things go ill in the mountains and reinforcement have been sent for, I believe also that Lords Elladan and Elohir will send archers when they receive word, if they have not already, but as for me I have been sent to aid you in your pursuit if I can," I was suddenly struck dumb, things must be ill if Lothaniel's only option was to send Léspheria after her mothers killer, he had been adamant at their last meeting that this should never happen, for what reasons I was not entirely sure, but he had been set!

It was Dúlrain who broke the silence that followed, "Amandur! are you not going to introduce me to your mysterious friend?" "oh! of course" I laughed shaken out of my thoughts, "Dúlrain this is the Lady Léspheria of Rivendell, Léspheria this is Dúlrain of the Dunedain" As Léspheria lowered her hood, Dúlrain took her hand and kissed it lightly it is a pleasure to meet you at last Amandur has spoke oft of you and your work in the courts, but never of your immense beauty, She felt Amandurs surprise and knew the latter was not true, grinning politely she nodded her head in thanks and they sat back down examining the contains of Vanwe's pouch and I explained to Léspheria the events since we parted.


"So she believes her father is dead, sad though that is in my heart, I believe that at the moment this is a good thing, I do not think Naiore would have any reservations at striking at the heart of her own people to get to Menecin" Léspheria sighed heavily, already I could see that this task weighed heavy on her mind, but as she looked up I smiled, even though I knew she sensed that I felt different.

"So, who or where is the Revennor of Mordor's latest target?" Dúlrain asked grimly, "All the signs point to Annuminas!" I replied thinking of the troubles in the mountains, but something did not sit well in my mind. "No" Léspheria interrupted "I believe that the orcs are a diversion and Naiore plans to strike at the very people who caused her fall from power!" "The Shire!" myself and Dúlrain gasped at Naiore's audacity.

"And Vanwe?" I asked, "I think Vanwe's preconceived notions of her mother are interfering with the truth of who her mother truly is, but Naiore I believe will not be able to keep up the appearance of the loving mother Vanwe wishes her to be for long, she will let her true self show sooner or later!" Léspheria told us, but as she finished I saw her gaze wander to the door.

"What is it" I asked. "She is here, somewhere in the village, I sensed a dark presence as I passed the Farm houses to the south of here" she answered distractedly. I paused think what to do next, but if Naiore was here Rauthain and Maethor would not be to far behind, "The rangers Rauthain and Maethor will be here shortly, I think we should await their arrival then decide what next to do!" and when both Dúlrain and Léspheria nodded their agreement, I rose and acquired food and refreshment for us and the others who I believed would follow shortly.

[ October 08, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Elora]

Vanwe

The scent of damp earth filled her nose. Only distantly, faintly did she heed it. So tired that she ached, Vanwe drifted in a dark far more oppressive than that of the cellar she lay in. Her wrists and ankles were cruelly bound, but she knew only that she was tired... and somewhere deep within her very, very afraid.

The elixir she had taken at her mother's bidding was an unwholesome thing. It had stripped her of strength so much so that by mid afternoon she had been unable to even hold her head up or keep her saddle. She recalled her mother's hissed imprecations and warnings of what would come if she fell, but she could barely move a muscle to heed her.

She remembered also the honeyed words that followed closely on the heels of the threats. Words were a tangled mess that spun dizzily around as she drifted. She was cold and she shivered, wrists and ankles chaffing against the rope. Nothing made any sense, not her recollection or mind, nor what her body screamed at her in protest.

Yet, Vanwe had not survived harrowing years in the Haradwaithe without some measure of resilience. Perhaps an hour passed, or even five, yet she did manage to struggle back to the cusp of awareness and she clung to it as she had done so before, after beatings. The effort to open her eyes brought a soft sigh of profound exhaustion from her to hang in the empty cellar air.

It was all dark, not so much as a sliver of light. She was trapped! Trapped! This was worse than the cells of Gondor and Rohan! Terror welled up from deep within her soul. Hanasian's words bubbled up with them, warning her in the dark. Then her strength crumbled, having wrung all she had to come even to that point, and she fell back into the nothingness with Hanasian's words, Lespheria's voice and her mother all circling around and around and around until she knew no more.

Vanwe had not managed to even move an inch. Had she known that she would not be able to so much as lift a finger for another 12 hours, perhaps she would have found a way for one scream. Likely it would not have been able to make it's way through the cellar doors. In the dark, Vanwe sank to the bottom of an abyss so deep, created and waiting for only her by the foul elixir made first in Mordor by her own mother.

In the house, Naiore raised a brow, for she had felt the mad surge of terror and confusion of her daughter as keenly as she had felt the brush of the other's mind. She steepled her fingers before her and thought. Vanwe would need a great deal of convincing, yet the seeds were well planted now and could bear enough fruit to be of use. Another thing occured to Naiore. Vanwe was strong indeed to have been capable of even that. She should have lain in the smothering embrace of deep shadow for many hours further before being able to even open her eyes. Lastly, Naiore had to wonder who else had sensed her daughter in that brief, blazing moment.

Barrold had best return soon. They could not remain long now. Naiore drew out a dagger and needlessly began to tend it's wicked edge as she contemplated how to best use events at Annuminas to her advantage. Between Barrold in the south and the orcs of the north, she could be well on her way to establishing a new dominion, the kind she had never had whilst in Sauron's service.

But it all hung by a thread. She held the weapon they would use to stop her, and she was quite a weapon. Barrold had to deliver in order for Naiore turn Vanwe against them and Barrold was overdue. If she had to go out and pull him out of a store he was raiding, she'd extract her due from him in another way.

[Imladris]

Maethor quickly vanished into the gloomy shadows of darkness, eyes fixed on the ground starying at the numerous prints that were trampled on each other. It was like a tangible riddle with neither ending nor beginning and prints were hopelessly lost in the confusion. "Much like life," Maethor thought as he followed, seeking for a sign of the gelding or the faint print of an elvish maid -- fiend, he corrected himself dully. He knew that Vanwe wore the boots of a man and did not wear the fine clothing of an elf.

He skulked amongst the shadows, looking for a horse that carried two riders, or any sign that an elf was near. A crash of glass jerked his head to the side and he saw a drunken man reel from a room and collapse in the gutter. Maethor sighed in some annoyance and, carefully and cautiously making his way towards the man, saw that the liquor had knocked him out cold. Maethor uncorked his deerskin flask and emptied the warm, stale water onto the face and quicly disappeared into the shadows as the man gasped and looked about him, muttering jibberish in his confusion. "Better a shock than lying in the gutter like a swine," Maethor muttered as he saw that the inn was actually the Prancing Pony.

Quickly he entered and waited as his eyes adjusted to the merrily lit room. Amandur should be here, as well as Hanasian...a smile crossed his face. Maethor was fond of the old ranger and -- there they were. Amandur and another. He eased his way through the crowd and listened sorrowfully as he heard of Hanasian's departure. And then another elf lady slipped up to the pair and whispered of Naiore.

"The rangers Rauthain and Maethor will be here shortly, I think we should await their arrival then decide what next to do!" Amandur said.

"Then you have not long to wait," said Maethor with a smile. "Rauthain is busy checking the other gates to see if our serpent has appeared elsewhere since she was not seen in the eastern gate. I have glanced about the streets, looking for suspicious activity and, alas, I have seen nothing." Maehtor's smile faded as he drew a chair to the table and flopped into it, his dagger making a slight clinking sound. He ran his fingers through his hair and said, "Well met, Dulrain. I am Maethor and a I plead your forgiveness for not introducing myself sooner."

[ October 01, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

When Rauthain entered the Prancing Pony he found Amandur and Maethor sitting with an elven maiden and another ranger who Rauthain had not met before. The ranger noticed Amandur had changed his garb and the group sat in the half shadows behind the brightly lit hearth of the common room. Rauthain bowed slightly to the lady before taking a chair from an adjacent table and drawing it near.

“Rauthain, we have been joined by two others of like interest. Lady Léspheria of Rivendell and Dúlrain, also of our brethren.” Maethor greeted him. “Now that our numbers are filled we can decide upon our course!”

“What of Hanasian?” Rauthain ventured. “Has he arrived also?”

“Hanasian has bid me to take his place in this company, for he has had to depart hastily upon receiving word of his father. I know that he did not give up this matter easily, but could not have decided otherwise. I am Dúlrain, and I will do all in my power to assist in his place.

“I for one am obliged to you,” Rauthain said. “For we can use all the help we can get. We track a wily creature to be sure, and tracing her steps has proved difficult indeed. I am Rauthain,” he said bowing slightly to him before taking his seat.

“So what have you found at the gates?” Maethor inquired. “You seem a good deal better, as if your mind has been eased somewhat.”

“Please excuse me Maethor, we had come so close in our chase, the possibility of losing the trail altogether due to the carelessness of a watchman overwhelmed my sense of propriety.” The ranger’s eyes glittered as he smiled at Léspheria. “But what is more interesting is that our lady no longer has possession of the gelding. I have traveled as far as The Greenway and found it’s distinctive mark on the far side of the road leading toward The Old Forest. It appeared to be unburdened and had a large and roughly shod boot running along side it. I say running, for it looked as though horse and companion were not overly fond of each other. No other sign have I had in north or south.”

“So our friend has had dealings already in Bree,” Amandur murmured.

“And is in likely need of a horse if she would travel on from here,” Rauthain added.

“Bree is not a large place, but it has it’s holes and hiding places and persons of dubious character, who would be willing to harbor such a one at a price,” Dúlrain commented.

“And chances are she will choose a local contact if she would arrange on onward journey, for how can one bargain for provisions while holding another captive? Surely the merchants would see something amiss.”

“But we don’t know Vanwe’s mind at this juncture,” Rauthain stated. At this Lespheria remained silent, listening to the stream of ideas passing before her.

Rauthain, remembering the circlet of wax that they had found in the Chetwood wondered to himself if Naiore might indeed have an ailment requiring medicament. Perhaps he should investigate the local herbalists. If only they knew what tincture she had made use of. “There used to be a shiftless relative of Bill Ferny still in these parts. What of him? Perhaps he could be persuaded to name some of his associates.”

“Barrold,” Amandur interjected. “Barrold Ferny. And it seems that we have missed him as this is apparently a haunt of his, but he was not worth the trouble for his money this evening and Butterbur has sent the staggering fellow out early.”

“Do we know where he stays now?” Rauthain questioned.

“Somewhere on the eastern fringes of town, I recall.”

“Then we had best head there as well, for I know no better time to interview a man than when he is staggering, though it try our patience!”

“We must find the place first, And I don’t believe it common knowledge.”

The conversation lapsed for a time as the rangers pondered their next move. But for now Rauthain contented himself with the fact that Naiore was close by and had not been successful in eluding them this day at least.

Getting up he walked over to the fire and relit the remnants of pipeweed that had gone out earlier that evening. Settling back down again he was prepared for an evening discussing their stategy and tactics should they find Naiore's whereabouts more nearly.

[ October 02, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

Léspheria listened thoughtfully as the Ranger named Rauthain told of his findings, she continued to listen to the stream of ideas passing before her by the four rangers and as Rauthain rose to go light his pipe Lespheria noticed she had been fingered the small carving of the swan that had been in Vanwe's pouch and now as she looked at it she saw the love and care that had gone into the intricate piece, as she traced the finely carved lines her thoughts drifted back to Naiore and the farm houses, she had not sensed Vanwe and this bothered her somewhat, but she was not yet willing to believe that Naiore had disposed of her daughter so soon, she would break the young elf's spirit before killing her, it was her way... Menecin, her Mother and perhaps even Kaldir were proof of this.

Her hand went to the length of braided leather, which was tangled with Naiores soft golden hair, Léspheria recalled the night that Vanwe had opened up to her and disclosed that she ran away from a people who feared and hated her, she had told her a little about the hardship she had faced, forced to live with people who reviled her, in the harsh Haradian waste. looking at the leather the full extent of Vanwe's hardship came to her, how ironic it now seemed that Naiore's hair should be bound to Vanwe's own reminder of that hardship, one placed on her by her own mother!

Carefully she put the swan and the braided leather back into the pouch, replacing also the small belt knife, the carrot and the 3 copper coins, she carefully closed it. As she tied it to her own belt she used her senses to see if she could locate Vanwe, she pushed tentively not wishing to brush Naiore's mind,she felt sudden frustration at not being able to locate the young elf, but as she was about to give up she suddenly sensed a weak, confused and fearful mind, she pushed a little harder to be sure. "Vanwe is still alive, but is confused and frightened!" she said raising her head to look at the others, "I have sensed her, it was brief , but she is still in Bree."

Léspheria was suddenly conscious of the patrons of the inn staring at her, and her sharp elven hearing caught some of their words... "Tis an elf I tells ye" "What does it want here, thought all their kind left these lands?" she heard two men by the bar whisper, "Aye they have adventures, an' fight great battles, they say!" "Aye! but they all left after the war,why do you suppose she's 'ere and with those rangers an all!" a table of hobbits whispered.

She had made a mistake in lowering her hood,not many elves entered bree, if any at all and now all would know that an elf had passed through the inn this night, she silently cursed herself for her lack of cautiousness.

"We should search the farm houses and soon!" she whispered to Amandur, eager to get away from the staring eyes.

[ October 04, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Elora]

Naiore

Naiore bent to shift the stones by the kitchen door of Barrold's dilapidated house. She would dally no longer in his kitchen. With Rangers surely about and Barrold's notorious greed, lingering would only lead to an easy collar. They would be coming, of that Naiore was sure. Insticts honed over ages told her that. The presence of a familiar mind and then Vanwe's surge only confirmed it. Barrold had his instructions and there was no need to sit idle any longer. Naiore had never liked Bree.

Now unburdened by haste or the weight of another, Naiore made use of all her Elven stealth as she left the farmhouse behind her. Let the Rangers attempt to track her. They would not find so much as a bent blade of grass. Light footed and with the woodcraft of her kin and thousands of years of experience, Naiore moved beneath the moon and stars to the safer refuge of the many nooks of Bree Hill.

She had a number of bolt holes, each selected for their vantage and defensibility. The one she chose now was remote. The entrance and surrounds were stony. Noone could approach, especially Men, without her hearing them. It was high, offering a view through the tangle of low shrubs that concealed the entrance. But best of all was the fact that should any manage to track her, the stones would offer no trace of her passing. She had retained Elvish dress customs for more than simply their aesthetic qualities.

Naiore smiled as she stood in the entrance of the shallow hole in the hill. Just over the way, Hobbits nestled comfortably in their holes. Imagine if they knew who shared the hill with them. Lights of Bree's houses below winkled in the night. Then, she turned her back and entered the hole. Content and at home in the night, Naiore settled down to await dawn, Barrold and her daughter.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir entered Bree from the north. He passed like smoke through a little known hole in the great hedge and moved silently through the sleeping town, keeping to the shadows and watching closely any who still walked the streets. The most activity, of course, was in the vicinity of the Prancing Pony, but Kaldir did not choose to enter the inn. He was more interested in the traffic outside the boundaries of the inn yard. For a brief time, he watched the outside of the inn as the usual assortment of travelers, drunks, and tradesmen made their comings and goings, but seeing nothing there that interested him or spoke to him of Naiore's presence, he moved on.

He had not gone more than a block away from the inn in the direction of the eastern gate when he heard the approach of two men coming up behind him. Noting that they were as yet unaware of his presence, Kaldir melted away into the shadows and listened. The voices of the two men were familiar: one he recognized as belonging to smalltime thief and pickpocket, the other as belonging to one of the town bullies. Both men's names escaped him for the moment, but Kaldir was not interested in them. What interested him was the topic of their conversation. Someone called Ferney. Both men were quite drunk and leaned heavily on each other for balance.

"I'd still like to know where that Ferney's got off to," muttered the pickpocket with a drunken slur. "'He got tossed from the Pony afore we could get there. I was a-countin' on him, y'know, to get us a bit o' action."

"He's cut us out," answered the bully. "I know he has. He's had somethin' major coming on for days. I could see it in his eye. He's cut us out."

"Bob down at the pub said he saw him leading a horse outta town. Gelding. No saddle or nothing."

"He's cut us out," growled the bully again, but Kaldir had heard enough. He waited until the two men had stumbled away down a side street, arguing amiably about the best way to get their revenge on Ferney for ditching them, then he stepped into the street. Using the light of the moon and the few streetlamps that still burned, his practiced eye scanned the confusion of footprints approaching the eastern gate for any indication that the gelding with the malformed shoe had passed that way. Unseen by the gatekeeper, Kaldir slipped over the gate and out into the darkness beyond, his eyes still scanning the earth. He traveled a fair distance toward the southwest, in the direction of the Barrow Downs, but the dim light did nothing to aid in his search for Ferney's trail. Finding nothing, he was just about to turn back toward Bree, when he heard the heavy crunch of a man's footsteps approaching out of the gloom, angry muttering accompanying each step. Concealing himself in the shadow of a large boulder, Kaldir waited and listened.

"Who does she think she is now, anyway?" grumbled the voice. Kaldir recognized it instantly. Barrold Ferney. He had had some business dealings with Ferney in the past, mostly having to do with information that could be bought for a price, or fugitives whose locations could be given up for an even bigger price.

"...ain't here to protect her... bow to Naiore...lost with the rest of 'em." Kaldir watched as he rubbed his chin and glared back over his shoulder to the west. "Could go find me find me some ale..."

The grumbling went on as Barrold made his way past Kaldir back in the direction of Bree, kicking the earth and spitting generously as he went. Kaldir trailed him for awhile, hoping for another mention of Naiore, but there was none. Finally, Kaldir decided to make his presence known to Ferney. He would be far more likely to learn something he could use in conversation with the man than by trailing behind him and listening to the stream of disgruntled rubbish Ferney spewed on his own. Kaldir left the trail that Ferney had been following and, cutting across the open ground, emerged a few yards ahead of him on the trail.

"Greetings, fellow traveler," Kaldir said pleasantly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. One could never be too cautious when approaching vipers like Ferney in a dark and lonely place.

With a surprised grunt, Ferney halted instantly. "What? Who's that? By garn, you should know better than creeping about in the dark like that. Good way to get yourself killed." He started walking again, toward Kaldir still, but Kaldir could see that Ferney's hand had gone to the hilt of his dagger.

"Come now, Ferney," answered Kaldir. "Is that any way to greet an old associate? You've given me some excellent information in the past. I'd hate to see our association end badly out here in the middle of nowhere."

Ferney hesitated again. The moon had earlier gone behind a cloud, but now it sailed forth and bathed the two men in a silvery light. Ferney's eyes narrowed as he recognized the Ranger's scarred features. Then, he smiled a rather oily smile.

[Elora]

Barrold

"What makes you so sure I know anythin'?" Barrold eyed Kaldir suspiciously, scanning the shadows around him for any who may be listening for him to trip himself up. Barrold kept a firm grip of his dagger and scowled at Kaldir.

In the moonlight, the former Ranger was a sight to be reckonned with. Kaldir was unsmiling, but then Barrold had not yet seen him smile over the years.

"I've been very community minded," Barrold added for the benefit of his imagined eavesdroppers. Kaldir raised his brow at the squinting man.

"Indeed, with family visiting and all," Kaldir said in a mild voice. Barrold did not miss the emphasis in his statement.

"Perhaps," is all Barrold offered as he stooped to pick up a handfull of stones. Deliberately, Barrold threw the pebbles into the shadows, one by one, listening intently for the sound they made when they landed. Satisfied that Kaldir was not setting him a trap with authorities, his speculative mind kicked into action.

"You know 'ow it is with family. Work never stops," he said with a grin that Barrold supposed was more friendly than it actually appeared to be. He dropped his hand from his dagger in a show of good faith, as good as one could expect from a Ferney, and inspected the Ranger.

"Haven't seen you round these parts for a while. How's the bounty business doin' these days?" Barrold had a few aims in mind as he smiled a gap toothed grin at Kaldir. The first was to determine why the bounty hunter was here. The second was to determine how much was on Naiore's head, if Kaldir happened to mention it. The third, Barrold always a man of ambitions, was how much he could stand to make if he robbed Kaldir and lived to tell the tale.

"You could tell me, Ferney. You've a pretty prize already, I guess." Kaldir made no move to drop his grip on his sword hilt. Barrold's expression closed into a well practised blank one.

"Maybe I 'ave, maybe I 'aven't," Barrold said as he rocked back on his toes. A nasty thought occured to him at that moment. "Blimey! They ain't lookin' for me are they?"

Kaldir chuckled humourouslessly in reply. "Now why would they be after you, Ferney? You've been very community minded of late."

"Yeah, that's right," Barrold confirmed for good measure. Kaldir was not done yet though.

"Curious that... your recent good behaviour. Who would order you to lay low that you would heed... family?"

Barrold was caught between caution and greed. Kaldir was a bounty hunter and Barrold could acquit himself of Naiore without having to do it himself if he handed her across. He could keep the daughter too, without having to do anything. But then, Naiore had proved herself able to survive hopeless odds. If she survived Kaldir, then she'd come back for him.

Barrold cleared his throat nervously and spat to one side.

"Like I said, I got family visiting," he said warily. It wasn't a lie. He did have a family of sorts visiting. Barrold had to wonder what Naiore was worth to the bounty hunter.

"What it to you?"

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

Toby left the inn cursing "blooming rangers an their meddlings, just how does he expect me to find Barrold this late!" two drunk voices soon stopped his curses, "Oh! no Bartle an' Tom," he groaned finding a barrel to hide behind, "That's all I need, those two moaning in my ear." he held his breath as the two men passed, they where drunk and his sharp hobbit ears picked up the topic of their conversation, "well, well, well, so Barrold is up to something and without good old Toby, well we will see about that, perhaps the rangers will pay more if I give them Barrold," but as he plotted, he noticed another marking Tom and Bartles words.

He felt himself shake as he recognised the bounty hunter, Kaldir that Barrold sold information to, he remembered how terribly scarred his face was and the terrifying temper the hunter had, a chilling shiver ran down his back as he remembered being pinned to the wall by the same bounty hunter when he thought that the hobbit had double crossed him, and for once he hadn't.

"What in the great dark abyss am I doing!" he thought as he found himself silently following the bounty hunter, "10 gold pieces and maybe more if they are after the bounty hunter!" he reminded himself. Keeping to the shadows he followed the bounty him through the town and out the south gate. His face hit the dirt and he held his breath as the bounty hunter crept into the shadows a short distance away, it was then he heard Barrold muttering and cursing someone named Naiore, the name meant nothing to him, some fancy woman he thought then silently laughed it away, who in arda would fancy Barrold.

He watched as Kaldir silently stalked Barrold and was impressed by his cunning as the bounty hunter went ahead and pretended to be coming from the opposite direction, he then had to bite his tongue as one of Barrolds stones landed inches from his nose. He continued to follow them as they made their way back to town, making sure to stay at a safe distance, but not to far away that he could not soak up what they were saying.

'ha! community minded my backside, Toby scoffed silently'

"Hmm family! None of Barrolds family would spit at him never mind visit, no He must have a new lodger, perhaps that is who the ranger seeks," he thought rubbing his hands together, greedily calculating how much he could get from the ranger for all three. Greed had won over Toby's fears and he cautiously and silently continued to follow the two men.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Amandur

"We should search the farm houses and soon!" Léspheria whispered to me, seeing her anxiety and looking at our group, I nodded my agreement. "We should split up, our number is drawing attention!" I said using my eyes to discretely indicate the many patrons that sat about whispering and looking in our direction.

I pulled a small roughly drawn map from the inside of my tunic and pressed it open atop the table. " Léspheria and I shall leave, first and make our way to the south side of town, Here!" I whispered, pointing out the spot on the map. "Then shortly after, Rauthain! you and Maehor can begin the search from the north, here or here! Dúlrain can you scout out the surrounding area."

Dúlrain nodded, grinning broadly, "And if I run into Master Longholes?"

"Remind him of our agreement and set him in my direction!" I laughed.

Then with a short bow to my companions I offered Lady Léspheria my hand and together we left the many whisperings of the inn behind, we crossed the courtyard to the stables and I watched as Léspheria paid the stable master and led the white elven mare from the stables. "I saw not Kallo in the stables" she whispered, "Ah! you know how much he hates to be cooped up!" I laughed lightly, "Will Losseserme permit two to ride her for a short distance ?" I asked more to the horse than it's master. The mare whinnied lightly dipping its head once, "I think she has given her assent." Léspheria laughed, her light melodic laughter warming my heart as it always did.

After helping Léspheria to mount I pulled myself up behind her, I was barely up when she whispered something in elvish that I didn't quite catch and Losseserme galloped through the archway and down the great east road toward the farmhouses that littered the foot of the southern side of Bree-hill. As we approached the south gate Léspheria slowed Losseserme to a gentle walking pace and we turned and made our way towards the grey stone buildings, It was late and most of the buildings sat surrounded in darkness, but a few still had light spilling out of their windows.

We dismounted, Léspheria Whispered something to the mare and it trotted off towards the east side of the hill. "Well let us see if we can find some sign of our quarry," I grinned gesturing for Léspheria to join me, I watched as she stepped forward stooping to the ground and searching the well walked street hoping to pick up some distinguishing mark among the many criss crossing boot and hoof marks, her face looking serene as she concentrated on the paths leading to each of the stone buildings. "Nothing!" she whispered and I heard a hint of fustration in her voice, "Perhaps we have missed them, if Naiore and Vanwe have gone on foot no amount of searching will reveal their light steps!" she continued woefully.

"No! do not despair my lady, she came to Bree for a reason and maybe if we find out why? it will bring us closer to finding her?" I said trying to reassure her. "Now lets try the next street" I whispered gesturing to the next row of farm buildings.

Together they silently continued searching the roads and yards of the south side of Bree.


*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Léspheria

Léspheria was relieved when Amandur nodded his agreement , she listened as he told the others his plan, once the plans were agreed she took Amandur's offered hand and rose from her seat, "Be careful" she whispered nodding to them in a farewell gesture.

Once in the courtyard she went to the stables to fetch Losseserme, The mare had been fed, watered and groomed, "A fine beast, gentle but stubborn as an ox" laughed a warm voice behind her, Léspheria turned to see the stable master, "I pray she caused you no trouble" she answered softly, "Not at all, just weary of strangers, as well she should!" the man answered cheerily, "But once we talked she let me brush her coat a bit, didn't ya girl" he continued patting her flank gentle. "Then I thank you, she was in much need of some grooming, how much do I owe you?" Léspheria urged, " 2 gold for the rent of the stall and lets say the grooming was my pleasure, never have I seen such a beautiful mare" he smiled warmly.

Pulling Three gold coins from her pouch she handed them to the stable master, and bid him farewell. Once back with Amandur in the yard she mentioned that she had not seen his horse in the stable, though she knew the spirited charger preferred to roam free when not needed. She smiled as Amandur asked if her mare would bare them both. As Losseserme dipped her head in agreement Léspheria laughed "I think she has given her assent."

"Linte!" she whispered once they where both mounted and Losseserme galloped of down the east road, she slowed her to walking pace before they reached the south gate and turned east towards the stone houses.

"lelya hir Kalloruvi" (go find Kalloruvi) she whispered to the mare as they dismounted, then joined Amandur "Well let us see if we can find some sign of our quarry," he said and stooping forwards she began to search for clues.

After searching the road and paths leading to the farm houses, she rose her head "Nothing" she whispered frustratedly. "Perhaps we have missed them, if Naiore and Vanwe have gone on foot no amount of searching will reveal their light steps!" she continued woefully.


"No! do not despair my lady, she came to Bree for a reason and maybe if we find out why? it will bring us closer to finding her?" Amandur said trying to reassure her. "Now lets try the next street" he whispered gesturing to the next row of farm buildings.

Léspheria comforted by his wise words smiled and followed him on to the next street were they again silently searched for signs of Naiore and Vanwe's passing.

[ October 08, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

"Like I said, I got family visiting," said Barrold warily. "What it to you?"

"What's it to me?" echoed Kaldir mildly. "Nothing at all." His pale blue eyes watched Ferney's every gesture. The man seemed nervous, not skittish per se, just edgy or rather more edgy than usual. "They boss you around then, do they?" he asked.

"Who?" asked Barrold. "My family? Yeah. Always telling me what to do." He cast a sideways glance at the bounty hunter. "Be glad when they're gone," he muttered and spat again, this time at a flat stone in the path. He missed.

"How glad?" asked Kaldir, his voice taking on a slightly harder edge.

Barrold hesitated again. His eyes narrowed shrewdly. To Kaldir, he seemed to be mentally weighing his options. For a fleeting instant, Kaldir thought the man might actually sell Naiore out, but the moment passed. Barrold guffawed loudly.

"I thought you weren't interested in my family!" he snorted. "What's they ever done to you?"

More than you could even imagine, thought Kaldir to himself, but he said nothing. The eyelashes of his left eye flickered slightly as a stab of remembered pain passed through his shattered cheekbone. He let a grim smile touch the unscarred side of his face. From the corner of his eye, he caught a small shadow moving behind them to the side of the road. He had noticed it once before as he was leaving Bree, but had written it off as probably nothing more than a stray dog. But the movement now seemed intentionally stealthy. It would bear watching. Whoever it was, he was too small to be anything other than a hobbit or a child.

"You know your friends are wondering why you cut them out," Kaldir said to Barrold after a moment, changing the subject. It wouldn't do to have the shadow that followed them knowing too much about his business. For all he knew, it could be a spy of Naiore herself, keeping an eye on Ferney to make sure he did what he was told.

"Friends? What friends?" demanded Barrold. "Cut 'em out of what?"

Kaldir shrugged. "I couldn't tell you their names, but I believe they are a pickpocket and a bully by avocation. It seems to me they were upset about a horse."

"Vicious brute," muttered Barrold. "They didn't get cut out of nothing." Kaldir noticed that while Barrold tried to seem unconcerned, he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the Barrow Downs at the mention of the horse, confirming for Kaldir his suspicion that Barrold had indeed ditched the stolen animal.

By then, the lights of Bree had come back into view. Kaldir decided that he had learned all that he could from speaking with Barrold Ferney. Now all he needed to do was watch the man. Barrold Ferney would lead him to Naiore. If she wasn't holed up in Ferney's own house, she would be somewhere nearby. As the two of them approached the gate and gatekeeper's lantern bobbed into view, Kaldir edged off the road. He took his leave of Barrold Ferney with a wave of his hand, which Barrold acknowledged with a nod and a large blob of spittle launched in Kaldir's general direction. It missed its mark, which made Kaldir smile again to himself. Barrold was no mental giant, but he was smart enough to know how to miss on purpose.

Once Barrold Ferney had re-entered Bree through the gate and disappeared, Kaldir turned and looked for the owner of the shadow. The moon had again gone behind a cloud, so it was a moment before his eyes made out the small dark shape against the craggy landscape. Kaldir walked straight toward it. There was a fraction of a second in which the shadow was motionless, then it leaped straight up in the air in alarm. Whoever it was hit the ground running and scurried frantically away into the darkness. Briefly, Kaldir considered giving chase, then thought the better of it. He had already been away from his prisoners, Benia and Gilly, too long. Knowing them, they would be leading him on a merry chase again if he left them too long to their own devices. He would check on them and get them ready to travel, then find Barrold Ferney again. Having known Ferney as long as he had, Kaldir knew most of Ferney's haunts. He would not be difficult to trace.

The problem would lie in locating Naiore before Amandur and his bunch found her. He had seen them and their horses in the vicinity of the Prancing Pony. They, too, were close on her trail.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Soon after Léspheria and Amandur had taken their leave, Maethor and Rauthain also rose to leave the whisperings and comforts of the inn behind. It had provided a brief and welcome rest to the rangers who now turned north, to search the streets of Bree. Splitting up, they worked, silently moving through the alleys and side streets, mere shadows passing between the sleeping households. All was quiet in the late night air. Only occasionally was it broken by a light seen flickering in some cozy room, or by the sound of a distant hound.

Meeting up once again where the road left town to stretch beyond it, the two rangers turned south once more, traveling together this time on the eastern fringes of Bree. The fields were rich and plentiful in the northern part of that quarter, and the thriving farms were tidy and well kept. No sign was seen of the buildings Léspheria had described at the inn, or of any nefarious characters that might provide direction of one sort or another. Clearly Barrold did not reside here, but if Naiore were skulking about it would have proved a trusting and ideal hiding place.

The rangers rode on as silent as the night itself, listening to the sounds of the evening for the hint of any untoward happening. As they continued south, Bree hill encroached on their left and they came to a crumbled and rugged spur where the land grew poor and farmhouses poorer. Stones of every size were scattered throughout fields and farmyards. Here they saw an ill kept and weathered building hard by the roadside that may have fit Léspheria’s description. It appeared dismal and grey in the moonlight. The door, framed by a tangle of spider’s silk clotted with insects, shone with a faint glint at its head. Upon inspection Rauthain found that a sizable chain passing though large iron rings in the door and it’s sturdy lintel had caused this anomaly of light. A great lock was hanging from its links.

Circling around he noticed that the few narrow windows were shuttered despite the heat of the summer evening. “What is this? It seems no one is at home at this late hour,” Rauthain said lifting the lock and letting it fall again. “Must have a king’s ransom concealed in here by the size of this lock!” he joked sitting down on a large stone near the doorway. “This has been a long and unfruitful evening for us, has it not?” he said sighing. “I must rest but a moment.”

“Rest as long as you need, Rauthain. For you will need your strength should we have some fortuitous encounter.” Maethor replied, sitting down in the shadow of the structure.
“And what then, when we do catch the one we seek?”

“I believe we must put that question to Amandur, but I would imagine that she would needs be brought in chains to the south to face her judgment, though truly I know not what part the elves would have to play in it. “ Then he added heatedly, “Perhaps she will have a kinder judge than me, choosing exile for her in some isolated place, though that would not be advisable! I would that she were lowered into the lowest of locked cells, a pit black and forgotten, a dark and brilliant gem buried deep in the earth, speaking her words into darkness…but mine is not the decision.”

“Neither is it mine.”

“Onward then.” Rauthain stated getting to his feet again. “ We will never get far in this endeavor nor learn of its outcome if I sit here all night.”

The night was indeed waning quickly, as Maethor and Rauthain made their way back to meet the others, hoping that they had some new findings to share.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

For a long while Avanill had sat at the Pony, bored, restless adn hungry for the night to pass. It was then that he began to spot the rangers. "Bloody rangers" he muttered. "I can't live with them, and it seems the public can't live without them, or so it seems." he chuckled and checked his debtor's book looking around every now and then, to see that more rangers had joined their table.

"Lawks lads! What time of the year is it? Ranger season in Bree-land! bloody bad for business ill tell ya." he spoke to the empty space opposite him. He got up from his place and decided to try his potion he had acquired form Marcello, and to get kicks under the noses of several rangers.

Swiftly he picked his first victim. A older looking man, who sat at the bar. Foreignerhe supposed, "Gondorian?" he sat beside the man. "Evening my friend" he said good naturedly, the man returned his greetings and after quick conversation, new ales were ordered. "No allow me!" chimed Avanill taking the drinks from the waitress and with quick hands, he emptied a small amount of potion into the man's ale when he was not looking.

Avanill leant back on his seat, satisfied that Marcello was right after all, one drop and the Gondorian was out like a light. "Thankyou my good man! I think youve had quite enough tonight!" Avanill laughed loudly slapping the man on the back as his figure was slumped on the bar. Avanill also noticed the Gondorian was wearing a very large diamond on a ring on his finger. "I think ill be having that as well." he muttered pulling the diamond free of it's claws. After exhausting his attention on the man who was now asleep, he left and returned ot his table.

No sooner was he seated that he saw an elf with the rangers. "That is indeed strange." he said staring in her direction. "An elf in Bree, nay and elf in the Prancing Pony, With Rangers, now dear Avanill, do you take yourself for a fool? Or do you sense that this is more than just a social gathering between old friends?" he asked himself curtly.

There had been rumours flying around between folk that the servant of Sauron was in these parts, he had heard evidence of it in the Forsaken Inn. "I wonder?..." his mind began to wander. "No... couldnt be... could it? Naiore, in these parts?" Avanill's mother Atantri had supplied to the elf in darker days, and she had always said to Avanill to take care and not to delve into her business. The core rule of his business, he never got caught up in his client's business.

Now throughly confused, (or whether it was too much alcohol) he gathered up his things to leave. He slung his bag onto his shoulder and went back down the streets towards the stables he had left that wretched horse, Amathalay, and that was on the east side. It was a rough part of town, but who could say what part of Bree wasnt rough? None though, would give Avanill trouble, for they knew of his influence in these parts.

There was no moonlight at the moment and Avanill cursed at it for not being so. Then walking again he noticed someone coming towards him. He could nto tell at first who it was, but as he approached, Avanill knew full well who it was. Barrold Ferney.

He could hardly mask the lines of laughter which appeared on his face, and he was now thankful the moon did not show. He straightened himself up to his full height. "Ferney!" he called as he approached him. It was no secret that Avanill overshaddowed Barrold in business, but Bree was his town and Avanill was but a frequent visitor, and to some extent Avanill was jelous of this. But also is it known that Avanill is a perfectionist, and trade to him is a skill, not a cheap craft as Barrold preferred it to be. Now what shall we see? he laughed inwardly.

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes


"Oh heck! he knows I'm here!" Toby panicked and without thought and driven wholly by fear he jumped up with a start and started running, after a short while he realised that Kaldir was not following and stopped, placing both hands on his knees and panting heavily, he began scolding himself, "you fool of a Longholes, what are you thinking spying for rangers, if either Barrold or the bounty hunter found out they would string you up for sure and what good would the rangers gold be to you then!" he spat on the ground and slowly drew himself up, "they would have to catch me first" he chuckled, "Perhaps there is profit to be had from both sides " he grinned greedily as he made his way back to the gate.

Toby moved swiftly down the familiar streets, towards Barrold's place, intent on selling the ranger out to his villainous colleague, perhaps Barrold would be mad enough to rid him of the rangers constant interference in their business, but as Toby rounded the last corner he scrambled backwards. Sitting outside Barrold's less known hideout where two tall, dark hooded figures, "Blast and darn it, there is more of them he spat! What in Arda is that old cur up too that he has three rangers looking for him," he groaned, quickly he changed his direction and heading towards the inn. "Perhaps he will test Butterbur's patience by returning there" he chuckled.

It was about an hour before he eventually caught sight of Barrold, he had an advantage over the rangers he knew the location of Barrold's usual haunts, he was dismayed to see that he was not alone, even in the darkness of this moon less night his hobbit eyes could make out the second figure, Tall and wrapped in a calico cloak, "Oh great! Avanill!" he groaned trying to remember if he had any outstanding debts with the dangerous young man. "No, no, I definitely paid him" he thought walking towards them.

But as he rounded the conrner he stopped short his eyes wide with surprise!

[ October 13, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia had not meant to fall asleep, but the combination of the quiet, the fire, and Gilly's good stew had lulled her into a light slumber. Or maybe it was the relaxing effect of the herbs the bounty hunter had put on her ankle that had pushed her over the edge. Or the fact that she was bone tired. Or maybe it was all of it. Either way, all Benia had intended to do was close her eyes for a moment, but when she awoke, she knew a good bit of time had passed. The fire had died to an orange glow and the first hint of silver was evident in the eastern sky. The bounty hunter had returned.

Still feigning sleep, Benia watched him from under her lowered lashes as he knealt down beside the fire, his pale eyes taking in the details of the scene. First, he reached over and picked up the long leaves of kingsfoil that Gilly had fished out of the cooking pot and laid to dry on one of the stones of the fire circle. After smoothing them carefully, he folded them and returned them to a pouch on his belt. Then he opened the lid of the cooking pot where Gilly had left the remains of the stew. Benia held her breath. He would know in a glance that the stew had not been made entirely from the supplies they carried with them. Bound wrist and leg, she knew there was very little she could do to protect Gilly should Kaldir reach for his dagger, but she tensed herself to cry out at the very least.

Gilly's untying herself the night before and running off to fetch herbs and potatoes for a stew when the bounty hunter had left them with plenty of perfectly edible fare, had upset Benia considerably. She had thought it a silly and reckless thing to do, and for what purpose? Food was food. As long as one was fed, what difference did it make whether it was stew or bread and dried jerky? She knew what bounty hunters were capable of. Life was cheap to the likes of them. Benia had lost her mother and almost lost her father to bounty hunters. To lose Gilly, too, and over something so silly as a stew, would be more than Benia could bear. Her heart hammered in her ears as the bounty hunter and bent and smelled the rich aroma of the stew.

Instead of drawing his dagger, Kaldir replaced the lid on the stewpot and stared intently at the ground in both the direction of the horses and the exit from the campsite through the bramble bushes. Then, he leaned over and touched the charred ends of the rope that Gilly had rewound around her wrists but, being unable to retie them, had left hanging before dropping off to sleep. Gilly still snored softly, unconscious as to how closely death hovered over her sleeping form. Benia drew in her breath, waiting for the moment when the bounty hunter's evil temper flashed into action. His eyes were hidden for the moment in the depths of shadow, so she watched his hands. Having finished examining the rope that draped Gilly's wrists, he sat still for a moment with his hands resting idly on his thighs.

Then, to Benia's amazement, the bounty hunter actually chuckled. He sat back on the heels of his boots and laughed to himself. Benia's amber eyes widened in surprise. Seeing her watching him, Kaldir smiled a wry, one-sided smile and picked up the stew pot.

"It's amazing," he said softly, rising to his feet. "What a talented chef can do with a bit of dry bread and cheese." With that, he turned and, carrying the remains of the stew, walked to the edge of the campsite and began to eat.

Benia stared after him, not knowing whether to laugh or be frightened. It could be that he was genuinely amused, or it was equally possible that he was the type to laugh first only to slit their throats a moment later. Nervously, she reached out with her shackled hands and gave her friend a nudge.

"Gilly!" she whispered. "Wake up!"

[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor swung his leg easily across Nar, his stallion, and contemplated what had come to pass. Lespheria had sensed Vanwe, the beautiful elf-maid he had seen in the Forsaken Inn. He wondered vaguely what Naiore had done with her, if the Ravennor of Mordor had harmed her in any way. A chill seeped down his spine as he thought of the vial he had found: though he knew little of Naiore, he had heard enough to know that she was creative in her devices of pain. He tried to recall the faint scent he had had a brief whiff of, before that too escaped in the naughty wake of a wandering breeze.

The plod of the hooves of the horses grew into a comfortable steady rhythm as Maethor's thoughts untwined themselves in his mind. He doubted that they would ever find Naiore, for hadn't she run wild for these many years? "We were so close," he murmured to Rauthain, "we followed her tracks here to Bree, and now she has vanished as the morning mist."

Rauthain remained silent and Maethor glanced anxiously around him, rebuking himself for following his thoughts so closely instead of the one they hunted. He wondered why it was so easily to become distracted from the task at hand.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

“Gilly, wake up” Benia whispered, nudging her friend in the back. But the hobbit in her slumber did not understand the urgency in her voice until she had risen, like a bubble in the water, to that condition of wakefulness which Benia’s second attempt to rouse her sleeping form had in fact registered on her sluggish brain. One eye opened to take in her surroundings. Blearily she recognized the profile of the bounty hunter looking into the cooking pot close by the remains of the fire, his scars thrown into sharp contrast in its orange glow.

What have I done! Gilly thought in panic, remembering her exploits of the night before. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do, but now with the dawn breaking and a full night’s rest she saw only the folly of her actions. Stew was one thing, but cold stew, quite possibly burned was quite another. And feeling the odd pressure of the rope under her cheek, and the freedom of her wrists she realized that her bonds had come loose. Horrified, the hobbit tried surreptitiously to tighten them up once more.

“Mrs. Banks,” the bounty hunter said distinctly. Without looking up from the vessel, he slowly withdrew a dagger from its sheath. Gilly could sense Benia stiffen behind her, as her she obediently sat up.

“Yes sir,” She replied, hardly able to utter the words.

“Do you remember what I spoke of yesterday or shall I refresh your memory?” he said taking the dagger and spearing the potato that rested at the bottom of the pot.

“Oh no Mr. Kaldir! I remember,” Gilly said nervously finding her voice. “It was a wrong thing do, but I was so hungry and I thought you might like something hot to eat too. But I had no knife, you see. Or salt and I’m hoping it didn’t get burned, what with me falling asleep. That was careless, I’m sorry…but I stayed here didn’t I and there is Miss Benia. I didn’t create no trouble. Did I?…I did go back into your stores too, but I didn’t touch nothing else I swear…”

“Silence woman! You will wake the dead with such prattle even before my dispatching you. Get up,” he commanded rising to his feet. “Come stand before me.”

Gilly got to her feet and firmly grasping the rope around her wrists with her thumbs, awkwardly jumped over to Kaldir. The bounty hunter grinned slightly at the comical sight.

When the hobbit had stationed herself before him, Kaldir still holding the dagger, took hold of the rope at Gilly’s wrists with his left hand and sharply pulled on them. They slipped easily to the ground leaving a burn on the hobbits wrists. Gilly stood wide-eyed and shaking.

“Pick up the pot,” the bounty hunter instructed her, and as she did as she was told he assumed a firmer grip on the dagger.

Benia gave a sharp gasp and the hobbit stood up to see what had startled her friend. Surprisingly, Kaldir squatted down in front of her and cutting off the knot, unbound the hobbit’s legs.

“I see that you have learned your lesson quickly. Do not cross me Mrs. Banks!” he said. And pointing with the tip of his dagger at the red bands on Gilly’s wrists, “Let that be a reminder to you. Now go, take this vessel to the stream and wash it, as I see you know the way. I will expect you to return, for we must be leaving shortly.”

Gilly, pot in hand, quickly and silently disappeared behind the brambles and once there broke into a beaming smile at her small victory.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain had finished his pipe and ale, giving Rauthain and Maethor a comfortable head start before he too stole into the night. Pulling his cloak tight about him he mounted his horse, Dir and rode out of the inn yard, to begin his search, but what he hoped to find , not even he was sure. Many times they had come close to catching the Revennor of Mordor and each time she had managed to evade capture!

The only sounds that could be heard on the empty streets was the soft clip clop of Dir's hoofs on the dry earth, the occasional stray cat prowling the hedgerows. Every now and then Dúlrain dismounted and examined the ground for some clue, but the ways were well trodden, making it impossible to distinguish one track from another.

Stopping at each of the gate houses he speak with the watchmen, enquiring if they had witnessed anything unusual this night, but apart from the questions of rangers nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. Tipping his hood and bidding them a quiet watch he continued on his patrol.

As he continued he thought on the effect of lady Léspheria's presence in the inn earlier, surely the tongues would have been wagging if another two elves had been seen in town, But then again Naiore did have an uncanny way of keeping a low profile, so low sometimes it seemed like she just disappear. For nearly twelve years the rangers had pursued Naiore and always she slipped through their fingers.

"Not this time!" he whispered heatedly spurring Dir on, intent on making a second sweep to be sure he had not missed anything.

As he again approached the south gate he found the prints that Rauthain had spoke about, he then attempted to track them back to their source, he followed them, leading Dir behind him, but not being as experienced at tracking he lost them when they became entangled on the numerous cart, horse and cattle, tracks near the farming area of town.

Frustrated he remounted his horse and went back to his patrol, but just as he was about to round the next corner, he stopped hearing a familiar grumbling. "Toby Longholes!" he grinned as the hobbit rounded the corner, groaning the hobbit abruptly stopped, turning about and quickened his pace in the opposite direction.

"Now! now! Master Longholes there's no need to be rude, I only want to speak with you" he laughed pulling Dir infront of the hobbit.

"Ha!" Toby spat "The last time I spoke to you I ended up spending two weeks in lockholes!"

"Oh, your surely still not sore about that, after all you did try to part me from my purse, I thought that a few weeks in lockholes would improve your manners, but perhaps I was wrong and it was not long enough?" he said raising a suspicious eye brow and drawing his sword.

"Alright, Alright, you win!" Toby cried throwing up his arms, "What do you want to know?"

"oh, no, not me." The ranger grinned "I believe you have an agreement with a friend of mine."

"tsk! I should have known that he would not be alone," the hobbit grumbled.

"Lets go" Dúlrain laughed sheathing his sword and hoisting the hobbit on to Dir's back, infront of him.

A thin line of light was breaking the horizon as Dúlrain and his small companion reached the inn. "Hail Friends, I have brought a visitor!" he laughed. But as he approached he could see by their grim expression that they had not found anything of their quarry.

Amandur nodded approvingly to him then turned and hammered on the door of the inn, Dúlrain handed Toby into the care of Rauthain and Maethor , then he dismounted and went to join them. After several minutes an irritated innkeeper opened the door.

"My apologies, good sir, my name is Amandur, a ranger of King Elessar,"

"Ah! Strider, fancy him bein' a king an' all, what can I do for you good sir's?" he asked brightening slightly.

" A quiet room in which I might speak with my companions in private, would be helpful " he smiled.

Nodding, Butterbar gestured for them to follow, he lead them a short way down the passage, and opened a door. "Here is the Parlour!" he said "I hope it will suit, Excuse me now. The morning is a busy time for an innkeeper and his staff, if you should need anything ring the hand-bell, and Nob will come, If he don't just ring and shout!" and with that he turned and left through the door.

Rauthain and Maethor guided Toby to a stool and urged him to sit. "I will go keep watch for sign of Bree's other visitors!" Dúlrain told the others, careful not to reveal to much to the loose tongued hobbit. Amandur nodded, the warning of caution marked in his eyes, giving Toby a last grin and a curt nod he went to retrieve his horse.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

After their fruitless search he and Léspheria met up with Rauthain and Maethor to find that they had fared no better, so they headed back towards the inn. They had just arrived when they were greeted by Dúlrain and he had found Toby Longholes, nodding approvingly to Dúlrain he walked up to the door of the inn and knocked hard on it. After speaking with Butterbar and acquiring a room in which they could speak in private, Dúlrain had volunteered to keep watch for their quarry.

Pulling one of the chairs from the white clothed, round table he placed it infront of Toby and straddled it, resting his arms across its back, Rauthain and Maethor instinctively took up position behind the increasingly nervous hobbit, though he was trying hard to hide it, he also felt Léspheria standing at his right shoulder.

"Now! Master Longholes, what news have you?" he asked in an authoritative tone.

"Gold!" The hobbit spat, trying to sound confident.

Taking the agreed amount from his pouch and setting it on the nearby table, so the hobbit could see it, but not touch it he repeated his question. Toby thought for a moment looking at the gold, then nodded slowly.

"I saw Barrold speaking with a Bounty hunter, named Kaldir.." that was interesting but Amandur kept his face expressionless, "And what did they discuss?" he asked.

"They spoke about family that Barrold had staying with him," Toby went on, looking about to the rangers to see if that made sense to them.

"And did this Bounty hunter seem interested in Barrold's guests?" Maethor asked keeping the same expressionless composure.

"Yes! he did, though he pretended not to be." the hobbit told him, irritated that the rangers had guessed the truth of Barrolds guests.

"Anything else?" Amandur asked. "Hmm I can't quite... Toby began but stopped abruptly as he felt a knife at his throat. " The price is high enough!" Rauthain whispered in his ear.

"Alright! Alright!" he squealed "Barrold also met with the bandit Avanill, But I swear I didn't hear any of their conversation!" Amandur nodded to Rauthain and he removed his blade re-sheathing it.

" Now Toby you are going to tell us were we can find Barrold?" Amandur said sternly.

"I told you before, I don't know where he hides!" Toby yelled, beads of sweat started to gather on his worried brow.

"He's lying!" Léspheria sighed, breaking her silent contemplation of Toby's words.

"No! that was not part of the deal!" the hobbit panicked starting to rise, but Rauthain and Maethor, laid their hands on his shoulders pushing him back down.

"You WILL show us where Barrold holds up!" Amandur commanded, "And if I refuse!" Toby spat.

"Then I'm sure we can find a nice cozy cell for you in the lockholes!" Maethor grinned, using his dagger to lift a large heavy pouch from within Toby's jacket, "A bit large to be a hobbits, wouldn't you agree" he said showing the evidence to his companions.

"Alright!" Toby snapped snatching back the pouch, "I'll show you!"

Aware that Dúlrain had not yet returned, Amandur asked Maethor if he would go look for him, The younger ranger nodded and left at once. Mean while Amandur pulled out his map and showed it to Toby, together he, Lespheria and Rauthain, quizzed the hobbit some more regarding the location of the house and what they may find inside.

[ October 12, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Elora]

Barrold

Barrold was by no means only faintly relieved that he had managed to slip away from Kaldir with his limbs and head still attached. Meeting the bounty hunter at night, especially this night when he had already been unnerved by another malevolence, was not something Barrold had enjoyed.

As he trudged back through Bree, considerably more cautious after bumping into Kaldir, he tossed the man's words about. They were fancy words too. What was an avocation? Barrold scowled, feeling very much like he was having circles run about him but folk that were too lofty for their own good. If he had to guess, and he did, avocation meant jobs.

There were a few pickpockets in Bree, as well as those that passed through like pilfering breezes. As for bullies, he was the king pin and if there was a bully about in his territory, he'd best step carefully. Barrold was in no mood to be professionally biddable or generous. Had he not encounted Kaldir, the gelding's circular bite mark that had been left on his rump had disposed of any scant generousity left in Barrold's spirit.

If it was Avanill that was about, poaching his game again, then it couldn't have come at a worse time. He had his hands full with Naiore. Turn your back and someone would usurp you. That was the lesson that Barrold had taught his cousin Bill. Barrold took a circuitous route back through Bree as he fumed and pondered. Sitting at the back of his mind was yet another deeply unsettling question. What business was Kaldir about, and Naiore for that matter?

Barrold had the sinking feeling that the ground had suddenly become very slippery, and he did not much like it. Consequently, when Avanill himself called out in greeting from the darkness, Barrold was in a temper indeed.

"Oi," he objected as he cast a furtive glance around the shadows, "Watch it!" His voice was a hiss as he cautiously neared Avanill. The last thing he needed was a spying Ranger to swoop down and collar him thanks to Avanill's racket. He levelled a nasty scowl at his competitor.

"Business slow and nothin' to do?" Barrold was in a perverse temper, to say the least, his tongue sharpened by the events of the night.

"Nothing is slow here tonight," Avanill countered knowingly. Barrold swore plainly and shockingly. Avanill was onto his game alright. It'd be easier to kill him and leave him for the Rangers, but that would only make it hotter in Bree. Rangers swarming over a local murder would likely enrage Naiore, who never seemed to understand matters from his perspective.

"I don't think you know what you're talkin' about," Barrold tested as he grabbed time to think about what to do. Avanill cut his delaying tactic short.

"You're wrong, Ferney, if you think you can manage this alone. It's your death, though, and she'll make it interesting. That you can be sure about. I wonder what she finds interesting?" Avanill was fishing, but Barrold could not know that. As far as he was concerned, the whole world was drawing in around Naiore and he was caught. He started in alarm, shivering in the night as he pondered what the Ravennor of Mordor might consider to be an interesting death.

He couldn't much trust Avanill, but he understood the man far better than he did his "client" as Avanill called such folk as Naiore. There was one inescapable truth. Avanill was right. Barrold knew he couldn't handle this alone. Naiore wanted supplies and Avanill was good at getting things that were hard to find.

There was the sound of a scuffle in the laneway that brought Barrold's feverish thinking to an end. He grabbed Avanill's elbow and muttered, "Come on then, if you really want in."

Avanill snatched back his arm in open annoyance and disgust and closely followed him the last distance to his house. Barrold flitted with the experience of one used to avoiding notice. He was far from graceful, but nonetheless was effective in reaching his dilapidated house without any further interruption. He stopped by the collapsing gate to check the stones. One was moved sure enough. Barrold breathed a faint sigh of relief.

"What," Avanill demanded in a hushed voice, uncomfortable with following Barrold anywhere.
"She's gone to ground and we have the place to ourselves," Barrold muttered as he straightened and continued on.

Avanill paused at the threshold to Barrold's filthy kitchen. Barrold plunged straight in.

"If you're afraid of shadows, you should go home now, boy," Barrold called back. Avanill's face twisted in anger and he entered warily to follow Barrold deeper into the house. He found the scoundrel in a hallway that led from the other side of the kitchen. Barrold had struck flint to light a tallow candle that gave off a faint but reassuring light.

"If this is your idea of ambush," Avanill started. Barrold favoured him with a mocking grunted laugh and shook his head.

"This, boyo," he said with emphasis on the young title for the younger competitor, "Is my idea of a business deal. She's too much for you to handle by yourself, in case you were wondering. We have a lot to sort out before dawn."

Barrold stepped to a hall cupboard and removed a battered pack that he had stowed weeks ago, anxious to be on his way to make his fortune once Naiore made good on her plans. He slung it over his shoulder, collected the flint and motioned for Avanill to follow him once more before he snuffed out the light.

Avanill trod light as a cat on a griddle as Barrold made his way back out the house again. Barrold's head swivelled back and forth as he scanned the old night shadows. There wasn't much time left to get sorted. Happy that they weren't watched yet, Barrold darted to the cellar.

It stood some distance from the house, built long ago by the original occupants who liked to store their supplies close to the stables where they unloaded their wagon. It was a brambled overrun area now, but Barrold knew he way through the mess very well, for he had been using the cellar to store other things for years himself.

Avanill stood, nervously watching, as Barrold pulled open a door, waved Avanill on and then followed himself. In the darkness of the cellar, the shutting door seemed absolute. Once again, the spluttering tallow candle was ignited and the bare, bleak space was revealed. Barrold dropped his pack with a thunk and waved at what he had kept in the cellar on this night.

"You won't believe this," Barrold started, "But that there is Naiore Dannan's daughter and she plans to use her to take the Shire and sack it."

Avanill took in the prone, unmoving Elf who lay in a corner, astonished to see the same face as the Elf from the Forsaken Inn. Barrold unfolded the job, according to him.

"If she's anythinh like her mother, I reckon Naiore could do it. Imagine, two of 'em. She don't want the booty, just the Hobbit's atonement as she calls it. The rest is left to me....

You help, no tellin' what you could get. A nice parcel of land, taxes... protection payments... but we need things."

Avanill's mind was racing.

"What things?"

"The usual," Barrold said with a smile of false ease. "Food, drink, horses... poisons. I here you're the man for that sort of thing. Not my area of expertise," Barrold said in a fleeting bid to be magnaminous. Now that Avanill had seen Vanwe, he needed the man to agree to help.

Avanill levelled a plain stare at Barrold.

"She's not dead, is she?" Barrold shook his head.
"No, but check for yourself if you like."

Avanill crossed the cellar and watched Vanwe for a moment. He prodded her with the toe of his boot, and it seemed that she moved as if in a deep slumber. "So I get you things and you cut me in?"

"Aye, you help me and I'll cut you in, lad. You won't find a better scheme. And Naiore has bigger plans once she has the Shire. We'll be the two who she comes back to when she expands," Barrold said, recalling Naiore's own inducements and her sketchy reference of orc activity elsewhere. "Take you a long time to make the same sort of profit in business. It's a rich pot, fitting for those as is bold enough to take the risk and stand up to claim what could be ours."

Barrold fell silent, awaiting Avanill's reply, thinking about how best to dispose of his body if he turned him down. Whilst Avanill considered matters, Barrold recalled Kaldir once again. He had his bully, but who was the pickpocket? Dawn was coming and he needed to be away with Vanwe and things organised else Naiore would not be pleased.

[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor disappeared easily in the shadows and began to make his way to the eastern gate of Bree. “So much time wasted upon the reluctant hobbit,” he said, not bitterly. “Not that I can blame him in a small way,” he continued to muse as his eyes flicked to the faces in the meager crowd, seeking for Dulrain, “he was probably frightened like a rabbit encircled by wolves, except that‘s probably too strong of an analogy. Too bad he’s a thief and a scoundrel, and I really shouldn’t feel sorry for him. Stupid blighter, trying to keep the elf hidden.” Maethor took secret pride in the thought that if he were a scoundrel and up to no good, he would have the sense to turn Naiore over to the rangers who sought to bring her to justice -- he hoped. But one never knew the twisted mind of a ruffian.

Toby had mentioned Kaldir, and that rather surprised him, though Maethor knew it really shouldn’t, considering that the former ranger was now a bounty hunter. He wondered what Kaldir would do if he found the woman who had caused him so much pain: kill her outright, or bring her to justice?

A putrid smell made him realize that he had managed to bring himself where things were in disrepair and the buildings had a slightly disreputable air. The roofs sagged, the wood was rotten, the windows were smashed, and fragments of glass littered the streets. A dog whimpered and limped towards Maethor, his brown eyes filled with fear and endured pain. Crouching over the animal, Maethor stroked his bony head and saw that his fur was crawling with lice busily scurrying about their parasital business. Running his hand down the leg, where scars of former battles laid, Maethor saw that a piece of glass was imbedded in the paw; gently he pulled it out, crooning words, both in Elvish and in the Common Tongue, softly as he bound it with a strip torn from his black cloak. He rummaged in his pockets and regretfully saw that he had no meat to give the poor cur, who now fondled eagerly at his feet before darting off into the darkness of a nearby, dreary alley.

Guiltily, Maethor continued swiftly onwards, impatient and frustrated that he could not find Dulrain. It was as if he, too, had disappeared from the village. A cold shudder passed through him as a thought, dark with fear and horror, slipped unbidden to his mind: maybe he had found Naiore and she had slain him, just as she had done to so many others? Quickening his pace and sick at heart, Maethor continued to search, determined to find him, though his fearful imaginings played and toyed with him.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir watched as Gilly's brown head bobbed out of sight through the opening in the bramble hedge. It had been a calculated risk, giving her the freedom to run down to the stream on her own like that, but it also served another purpose. It was a test. He needed to see exactly how far his dominance extended over her, to see if she could be trusted. So far, he admired her gumption. She was a courageous little thing, even if she was a bit foolish. He had always heard that hobbits were made of tougher stuff than they appeared, and it interested him to see that it was true. If she could be trusted to do as she was told, Mrs. Banks could be of great use to him. As for her friend...

He turned and looked at Benia, who sat before him, bound and shackled on the ground. He still had not made up his mind what to do about her. She was courageous, too. He remembered the way she had looked the day before when, unable to outrun him, she had turned and drawn her sword. Especially with her injured ankle, she must have known that she would never have stood a chance against him. If he had been inclined to kill her, she would be dead. Yet her eyes had shown no fear. In fact, he remembered being struck by the stern beauty of her as she turned to face him, the sureness of her movements, the determination in her face. She had looked to him like the princess of some tragic Haradrim romance, the way the morning sun had made the silver spangles of her facial jewelry sparkle like diamonds against her olive skin. Stubbornly, he turned away from her and made his way back in the direction of the horses.

She was a distraction. No. He shook his head. She was a bounty, and one for which he would be handsomely paid, nothing more and nothing less. It was unfortunate that he had come across her just as Naiore had made her appearance, complicating a pursuit that would have been difficult without the extra baggage presented by her and Mrs. Banks, but he had no intention of letting them go. He would just have to find a way to work around them. The first problem was Bree.

Based on his conversation with Barrold Ferney, Kaldir believed that Naiore was still in the vicinity of Bree, if not still within the town's walls. Ferney had a history of trafficking not only in hot merchandise, but in fugitives as well. She had probably gone underground into one of Ferney's various hiding places. He knew most of them from past dealings with Ferney, some with Ferney's knowledge, others without. He would have to search them one by one until he found a trace of Naiore's presence. He would start with Ferney's house, though that was the least likely place, and from there move on to the other rat holes, caves, and deserted buildings that Ferney made use of, starting with the ones Ferney did not know he was aware of. The desert woman and the hobbit would just have to come with him.

Kaldir began redistributing the supplies of the pack pony between the three horses, as Mrs. Banks would now have to ride the pack pony. It would raise too many eyebrows for a respectable-looking hobbit lady like Mrs. Banks to be seen riding double with the likes of him. She, in fact, both women, would have to seem to be with him of their own accord. Otherwise, he could expect no end of complications and interference once they entered Bree. As it was, their presence with him might generate a few whispers, but whispers were acceptable. Interference was not.

Recalling something he had heard back at the Forsaken Inn, he pulled Benia's rucksack from the back of the bay mare and carried it over to where she sat. Unfastening the drawstring at the top, he rifled through the contents. "You are known in Bree, are you not?" he asked abruptly. When Benia nodded, Kaldir continued. "You have family there?"

"Yes."

"Will they be looking for you?"

She hesitated a moment as though weighing her options, trying to decide how much he knew or might have heard. Finally, with lowered eyes, she shook her head. "No."

Kaldir nodded. Then, finding what he was looking for, he drew a folded piece of dark green cloth from Benia's pack and laid it on the blanket beside her. It was her headshawl and veil. He saw her cast a quick glance at it, but she made no other reaction. Kaldir put the rucksack aside. Then, kneeling down beside her, he reached behind her knees and untied the rope that had bound her legs. "How is your ankle?"

"Better," she answered softly.

"Good." He handed her the veil. "Put this on.” He walked back and lashed the rucksack once more to the back of the bay mare. When he returned, leading the three horses, he was pleased to see that Benia had risen to her feet and donned the veil. It was the sort that completely covered her in drapery, leaving only a panel of fine mesh for her to see through. Of her actual person, only the end of her long black braid and her tattooed hands were visible. At first he considered having her wear gloves to conceal the tribal tattoos, but decided against it. As ordinary Breefolk were generally shy and leery of foreigners, he was counting on her foreignness to help keep them at bay. The tattoos could only help.

But, Mrs. Banks, on the other hand... where was Mrs. Banks? He was just beginning to get annoyed again, thinking that this time he really would disembowel her and leave her for the vultures, when she reappeared through the opening in the bramble hedge, toting a spotless stewpot. Seeing his expression, she stopped short and held the gleaming pot up in front of her. Her dark eyes flitted from Kaldir’s scowling face to the fabric-shrouded figure of her friend and back. “It-it was a horrible mess, Mr. Kaldir,” she stammered. “The sauce all cooked to the bottom of the pan. I had a dickens of a time getting it clean with no soap or hot water or anything.” She paused and raised the pan a little higher. “But I finally did get it.” Her eyes traveled again from Kaldir to Benia to the three horses and back again. “Are we leaving now?”

Kaldir nodded. “We are indeed.” He walked over and, none too gently, snatched the stewpot out of her hand. He wanted to smack her with it, but restrained himself, as smacking her would serve no purpose other than to make him feel better. It would no doubt only make her more troublesome. “We are going into Bree. Get on the pony.”

With a good deal of hesitation and misgiving, Gilly did as she was told. Once she had mounted the little pack pony and Benia had been installed on to the back of the bay mare, Kaldir reached into the breast of his shirt and pulled out a small key on a leather thong, which he inserted in the lock that secured the shackles on Benia’s wrists. Looking up into the mesh panel of her veil, he turned the key in the lock and removed the shackles.

“I can’t take you into Bree in shackles,” he said calmly. “That would raise far too many questions. But I expect both of you - ” he cast a sharp glance at Gilly “ - to stay close to me and do as you are told. If you don't, if you try to get away, things will be so much the worse for you. I don't have the time to play any more games and I know lots of gruesome ways to kill you. Do you understand?”

When both women had nodded their acquiescence, he nodded again and swung himself easily into the saddle of his gray horse. He glanced up at the ever brightening sky. It was market day and Bree’s gates would be open now. They could enter town with the market day crowd and scarcely even raise an eyebrow. Still scowling, he kicked his horse forward and led the way out of the hidden campsite into the open, the two women following close behind. The old wounds in his face had begun to throb again, which put him in a foul frame of mind, but he was used to the pain. Mentally, he pushed it away and rode boldly toward the northern gate into Bree.

As he had expected, they passed through the gate with a couple of farm families who had come in from their outlying acreages to attend the market. Kaldir and his companions, Benia in particular, received a curious glance from the gatekeeper as they passed, but no questions were asked. Their horses hooves made a steady clop-clop-clop on the cobblestones as they passed.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill leaned against a nearby wall. The candlelight flickering over the body of Vanwe and his own face frowning as he stood deep in thought. He knew well what profit his mother had made form Naiore during the days when Mordor had risin, she had become a very wealthy woman, still he knew what an elf like Naiore could do to him should he not be able to get her what she wanted.

On the other hand, the promise that Barrold had made him was too good to pass up.
Then again, he could be taking me for a ride.he thought before turning once more to Barrold and breathed a heavy sigh.

"Couldn't you at least give her a blanket or something!" he said looking once more at Vanwe. "Its cold tonight, and I know if I were thrown down here by you, id be cold as well. Now Barrold I know kidnapping and holding hostages isnt my profession either, but at least be civil!" Barrold just laughed at him. "She'll be right lad, wont feel a thing!"

"Still..." muttered Avanill taking from his bag a spare cloak and wrapping it around the elf. "Nice girl that one, you should be nicer to your hostages Ferney! Even if they are Naiore's." He stood tall once again and looked Barrold sharply in the eye.

"What makes you think I want land, protection taxes... anyway, how do i know you are telling the truth?" he questioned. "Simple lad, some extra income may make you wealthy enough buy a town like the one your mother lives in, make yourself mayor, You could pay bail on all you criminal friends, become the most successful trader in Middle Earth, maybe even... you could go into becoming a proper merchant, if it suits you."

Barrold had a good point, there were many old friends, bandits, from the old days of Pinnath Gelin that he would like to see out of the prisions and workig for him. And if he helped Barrold this once, he may be able to enterprise into running his trade from all over Arda at once. After all if Barrold was going to double-cross him, he could always kill him, simple as that.

"All right Ferney, ill help you, previded that if anything goes ill, 'tis on your head." Barrold seemed relieved, Avanill felt that he may have gotten into something deeper than he had intended.

"Where is our elf friend Nairoe hiding anyway?"

[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Whether Toby feigned ignorance in map reading hoping to extract an additional fee for leading them to Barrold was uncertain, but it was evident he did seem to know where the place was. And though he was of marginal help, they were able to get a fair idea of where to look. Of course, they did not let him realize this in their quizzing, but with the skill of many years practice kept him guessing.

Circling around, Rauthain picked up the gold piece from off the table and extending the shiny coin to Amandur between his long fingers declared, “I think we had better let Barrold come ask our assistance if a bounty hunter is after his family. It would be less trouble. This hobbit knows nothing.”

Watching his prospects apparently diminishing the hobbit grew animated. “You are a lying cheat!” he hissed. “I’ve told you what I know! We struck a bargain!”

“You have not told us all you know,” Rauthain replied calmly walking back to Toby. “Can you think of nothing else?”

“I’ve told you enough!” Toby countered while racking his brain for more details, and coming up short. “Some thing is up, I tell you!”

“How do you gather that?”

“Well you folks are here, ain’t ya? And Barrold is in a foul mood, sulking around ignoring his colleagues.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“You know, like when you have a “spare” horse to be gotten rid of, if you don’t want to sell it yourself there are plenty who do it for you with only a small commission.”

“Are you saying that Barrold had a horse for you to sell?” Rauthain asked.

“Not no more, it’s gone. He just sent it off, at no profit to anyone.”

“That doesn’t sound like our Barrold, why would he do that?”

“It must be a woman at the bottom of it, why else would he lose his business sense and cut out his friends, though I can’t imagine no one taking up with him.” Toby said feeling no harm could come from his speculating. “He was cursing someone named Elenore or Lennore or something when I first spotted him.”

“Ah, so you are a disgruntled colleague looking to stir up trouble?”

Toby remained silent.

Rauthain pleased with the information but with sober aspect, handed the gold piece over to the hobbit, who snatched it up greedily. “Let it not be said that the king’s rangers are cheats, for even when this informer knows nothing Amandur has still paid handsomely. Think of it as compensation for your missed business opportunity.”

[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

By the time Dúlrain had located Dir in the stables and re-tacked him the sun had peaked the horizon, the roads where already starting to get busy, bakers; delivering fresh bread, Traders opening their stores and travellers making ready to continue their journeys.

He rode through the streets casually, looking for anything or anyone suspicious, but still he saw nothing. During his second sweep he passed the baker again, this time his stomach growled hungrily, he grabbed one of the warm crusty rolled and toss the baker a small copper coin. Taking a large bite his eye caught sight of something unusual.

A Mysterious veiled woman was riding down the road he was on, he was not the only one looking her way, the soft veil and the tattooed hands marked her a Foreigner in bree 'a woman of the south?' he mused. The breelanders although they stared made a point of moving out of her path. She was accompanied by a tall stranger whose face he could not see under his hooded cloak and a respectable looking, middle aged hobbit woman.

As they passed Dúlrain smiled warmly and gave a courteous nod to the two woman, a silent good morning he had perfected in his youth, he almost gasped as he saw the scarred face of the male rider as he past. As he watched them ride on he noticed the hobbit woman affording a quick backwards glance. Something in her dark brown eyes told him that all was not as it seemed.

His thoughts suddenly reeled, what if the veiled woman was the one they sought and the Hobbit woman was her prisoner, a means to enter the shire maybe? they were nearly out of sight, he had to decide quickly what to do, looking back to the inn he decided that by the time he went back the veiled woman and her companions would be gone, so dropping the roll and taking up his reigns he discreetly followed the three riders.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

As Amandur and Rauthain poured over the map with the hobbit thief, Léspheria sat in quiet reflection, Naiore may be a villain but she was still an elf, from what she had heard it was clear that Naiore displayed both the best and worst traits of their kin, and had had centuries to perfect the skills required to elude any pursuer, their task was a difficult one, but Naiore no longer under the arm of the deceiver as her mother once believed, she was being hunted by those she had wronged, perhaps yet she may be forced into acting rashly, but perhaps not! sighing quietly she rubbed her temples and thought on Vanwe.

The young elf had just begun to find a place in life as the Forsaken inn's new stable hand, she was forging friendships, with the staff and Léspheria had felt that the young elf was beginning to find peace and acceptance, when her mother and her pursuers decided to turn up, pulling her violently from that new found peace and forcing her to be once more alone in the world, the irony Léspheria thought, was if Naiore had only stayed away this pursuit would have failed even before it began, for she believed that with friends and a new felt sense of belonging Vanwe would have remained in the inn.

She recalled the sense of fear and confusion she had sensed earlier, it was brief and fleeting but it seemed to her that Vanwe may have been disoriented to have projected such emotions so randomly, it was a miracle that she had sensed them at all! but she had and now she would have to make some sense of them, At least she knew one thing Vanwe was alive and of this Léspheria was glad. 'Perhaps the Maternal instinct that had caused Naiore not to dispose of the child as an infant still remain,' she pondered silently 'or perhaps she sees the potential of Vanwe's talents and thinks to manipulate them for her own purposes!' the second seemed more likely to her, given the nature of Naiore 'she would reven her own child!' she concluded in disgust.

To find Naiore she would have to think like her, this is what Tallas had meant when he told her not to be afraid to use her gift, for she did indeed fear to explore the darker emotions, Fear; hate; anger....etc, things that her quarry used to get her way in life, so what people would she use to instil these emotions in Vanwe? As she looked up to see Rauthain cleverly inciting the hobbit to reveal more than even he was aware he knew, a new thought came to her ' Naiore would certainly use the rangers pursuit against them were Vanwe was concerned, it was possible that Vanwe's fear of them might be beneficial to Naiore's plan, as for the two villains it may be that she is merely procuring less traceable good from them, or perhaps she thinks to bring them along to instil yet more fear into the young elf, making her more manageable?

Léspheria rose from her seat and began, unintentionally pacing back and forth, 'now where would she hide?' she thought closing her eyes and putting herself into Naiore's position, 'I am being pursued by rangers, and perhaps a bounty hunter seeking revenge, I have the added burden of a prisoner, but must procure supplies, what do I do?' she thought to herself, ' I would have set something up before snatching my prize.. yes I believe she would have done this too, then when I arrived I would call on my supplier, but I would not remain long with Rangers on my tail...hmm but what of Vanwe,' she mused what would I do with her, surely not leave her in the keeping of villains, no I would hold her up in some hidden place I had sought out previously, she sighed again causing Amandur and Ruathain to look her way, but she paid them no heed her thoughts preoccupying her. 'With all the holes and woodland surrounding Bree she could be anywhere, by the time they searched them all Naiore and her companions would be long gone.

But as Amandur and Rauthain made plans and readied themselves to leave a sly smile crossed her lips, perhaps this Barrold is not as careful as Naiore and his house will provide some hint of her/their intent. Just then she saw Amandur look at her, his expression one of quiet concern and puzzlement, then she realised how unlike her the sly smile would have seemed to him, she gave him a reassuring smile her eyes letting him know that she would explain later.

[Elora]

Vanwe - early dawn

Vanwe’s muscles screamed in protest, shaking her from the last vestiges of sleep, if sleep it could be called. Her recollection was uncertain. She remembered her mother and the warning of Hanasían. She recalled the distant and indistinct memory of sunlight through leaves and a horse. She remembered also fatigue so heavy she thought her bones would break beneath its weight.

With a moan from her cramped muscles, Vanwe attempted to make sense of the world around her. She was thirsty like she had been walking through the desert beneath the hot sear of the sun. Her wrists and ankles burnt when she tried to move them. Vanwe struggled to understand. The light was murky and she was in a place she did not recognise, what little she could make out of it.

Dust lay thick in her throat and she coughed as she struggled to move. Something lay on her and in her fogged state she struggled against it like a moth weakly batting its flames against the impossible lure of a candle. The burn of the rope only worsened. Vanwe took in a shocked and shuddering breath when she realised it was the familiar burn of roughly twisted rope that bit at her.

“Harad! No!” Her voice was a bare whisper of horror. A sense of empty desolation rose within her, hollowing her out from within. From long experience, Vanwe managed to master her struggles. It would only hurt her more to persist, something that would please them no end and she would deny them whatever she could. She shifted as best she could, her muscles still waxen and rebellious as though they would not heed her commands. It was still hard to see. The scent of earth was everywhere. They had buried her, she thought, but they would be back. Else why bind her? The cruel minds of these Men she understood all too well. Vanwe sank back into darkness, clawing against its pull and failing. She fell into an abyss of memories of a village in a sandy, hot place...

When light streamed in like a fallen, blazing star, accompanied by the sudden shock of noise, Vanwe started. She had no idea how long it was since she last woke. This time, she willed herself to be still and to wait. Boots crunched on the earth after descending stairs. She could not be certain how many, but she knew it was more than one Man. She braced herself for the wind-weathered voices that had haunted her throughout her life. Sun tanned faces would appear shortly, eyes dark with anger, and then it would begin. She had found a way out before. She would again. It was the only thing Vanwe could reassure herself as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

“Well now, she’s awake,” a male voice said in Common. He did not have the accent of the Haradwaithe.
“You sure? She still looks a little… unwell…”
“She’ll ‘ave to be well enough as we can’t wait no more.”

Vanwe found herself dragged upright without warning. Rough hands clenched around her as though she were a rolled carpet. The sudden wrenching was agony that Vanwe clenched her teeth against. Her head spun and her sight was still poor. When the Man set her on her feet and her knees buckled, she felt herself toppling backwards without anything to cling to.

“Here, be careful with her,” the other man admonished, checking her fall. She had no choice but to sag into him. His arm supported her as he commented to his companion, “I don’t think she’s ready yet. She won’t be walking far just yet.”

“Garn boyo! What do we care if she walks or if she’s carted over the back of a horse?”
“I think we’ll need a horse.”
“Curse the wench, and you! I ain't no horse and you'd best be findin' us some quickly before the mornin's done,” the Man replied as he noted Vanwe sag in the other’s grip. Her head fell back and the fading voices of the two men fell off the edge of her comprehension and into gibberish which also faded in time.

When Vanwe was lifted and settled over the protesting Man's shoulder, she was lost from awareness once again. But not for long...

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

As they rode into Bree, Kaldir led the way, followed closely by Benia and Gilly. They held the horses as much as possible to a steady but quick walk, slowing only when necessary due to the increasing foot traffic in the street. Subtly, Kaldir kept a close eye on his surroundings as well as his companions. So far, the two women had done as they were told and kept their mounts just off the flank of his own horse. The three of them, a peculiar bunch to be sure, had attracted a number of casual stares from the various shopkeepers and passers-by, but so far no one had attempted to speak to any of them. Only one individual had caught his eye as a possible problem.

They had been riding past a baker's shop. The man had been standing outside eating a hot roll and had nodded to Benia and Gilly. He was a Ranger from the look of him, which had caught Kaldir's attention. He wondered if this man were not somehow attached to the group of Rangers led by Amandur and Hanasian, with whom he had had a slight run-in at the Forsaken Inn on the subject of Benia Nightshade. He was convinced that they were now on the trail of Naiore Dannan, just he was, but one could never predict when one or another or his old brethren would take it into his head to be chivalrous and run to the aid of a lady in distress. If this man knew of Benia's circumstances, then he might have an interest in interfering. As Kaldir rode past him, he spared the Ranger scarcely a glance, but, when he reached the end of the block, he looked back and saw the Ranger still watched. Kaldir increased his speed slightly and made a turn to the right into a side street.

The side street he had chosen was more of a back alleyway between two rows of shops. By contrast to the main street, there was very little traffic, just the back doors to the butcher, the green grocer, a dry goods dealer, and a few others. The way was narrow with a slight dogleg to the left just past the dry goods shop after which it ran another hundred or so paces before hooking back into another busy thoroughfare. Kaldir led the two women as far as the bend, then looked back. Sure enough, the stranger, now on horseback, appeared in the mouth of the alleyway.

"Stay here!" Kaldir growled at Gilly and Benia. He turned his horse and trotted back in the direction of the stranger, who, in turn, had ridden a few paces forward to meet him. Holding the reins in his left hand, Kaldir lowered his hood and flipped his cloak back over his right shoulder in order to free his sword arm. He raised his right hand in greeting as he neared the stranger.

"Greetings, friend," he said rather blandly, but his pale blue eyes narrowed, sizing the man up. There was something familiar about him that Kaldir couldn't quite identify. He tried to search his fractured memory, but found that the information he sought lay somewhere beyond his grasp. He studied the man's face. "I can't help but wonder why you follow us."

The stranger nodded and returned a pleasant greeting, his grey eyes gazing past Kaldir toward the women. "Curiosity, sir," he said, smiling. "It's not often that we see such a mysterious creature as your companion this far north. Comes she from Harad?"

"Far Harad," answered Kaldir.

"It must be quite uncomfortable under all that fabric. Hot, I would think," continued the stranger in a conversational tone. Kaldir noticed that he, too, had freed his sword arm from possible entanglement in his cloak.

"She prefers to travel veiled," Kaldir explained patiently. It occurred to him that he might have miscalculated in having Benia travel completely veiled. He should have chosen a shorter veil from her pack, one that would at least reveal her eyes. With Naiore about, he should have expected that a fully-veiled woman would attract the attention of Rangers. "Though I can't imagine what the relative comfort of my wife would have to do with you. Sir."

"Dulrain of Westernesse. At your service."

"Camlis of Gondor," Kaldir lied smoothly. "At yours. My wife's name is Ailayla."

"Pretty," commented Dulrain. "And the hobbit?"

"A Mrs. Tunnelly from Archet, if you must know. She is someone my wife met there last week. She needed an escort as far The Shire. Since we are heading in that direction and it pleases my wife, I saw no reason why we shouldn't provide her company."

"I see." Dulrain nodded, but his expression had changed. Rather than looking rather casually in the direction of the two females, he now studied the unscarred side of Kaldir's face. A haunted look had come into his eyes. Deliberately, Kaldir turned the scarred side toward him.

[ October 15, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Elora]

Vanwe

The light was brighter still when Vanwe’s eyes opened a third time that day. The smell of a sweaty back filled her lungs and her head spun. She was upside down, with a shoulder pressed into her thankfully empty stomach. This time, her eyesight adjusted. The ground was lurching away beneath her. She was being carried by a Man who struggled over the rough ground of a wooded area.

Where am I? Vanwe’s heart began to race. The Man who carried her slung over his shoulder was muttering unhappily in Common Speech.

“How far is it, then,” he called testily ahead of him.

“A mile or so yet,” came a response from somewhere ahead of the man.

“Better be soon, as this one’s not getting’ any heavier and her ladyship will be wantin’ us right quick. You’d think she’d a carted this sack of lead herself but no-ho!”
“What are you complaining about? A jaunt through the woods on a sunny day with a fair Elven lass on your arm…. I mean shoulder. Wouldn’t be often you’d get the chance to toss women about, Ferney.”
“If you spent more time thinkin’ about this Tallas of yours and less time about the tavern wenches you’re used to, boyo, we’d be there already!”

The Man paused in his muttering to readjust Vanwe’s weight on his shoulder. The result sent his shoulder slamming into her stomach. Vanwe twitched beneath his hard grip, squirming. The Man stopped and wrestled her down. For a long instant the two squirmed and tussled, Vanwe grimly silent and the Man grunting and cursing.

"What are you doing," another man asked as he looked on in amazement. Bound hand and foot, Barrold was still struggling with Vanwe as though she were a slippery eel. He caught her under his arm and then finally dropped her on the ground with a oath. He scowled at her from beneath a heavy and sweaty brow and then at the Man who had asked his question.

"Can't 'alf tell whose daughter this one is." He gestured at Vanwe who was presently trying to get some weight beneath her. His companion's reply was light with laughter.

"You're about as good with her as you are with all the ladies. Why don't you take the rope off? That might make her more friendly."

"Why don't you just set her loose whilst you're at it, boyo? She's fixin' to leave, make no mistake." With that the Man bent and took her chin between his fingers and peered into her eyes. He swivelled her head so that the younger Man could also see.

"See what I mean?" Apparently mutiny was clear upon her as the younger Man nodded sagely when he saw.

"Well sort it out, Barrold. We have a ways to go yet." The Man called Barrold scowled at the other.

"Don't recall takin' orders from you, Avanill." Nonetheless, he did release her chin. Vanwe worked her jaw against the lingering pressure of his grip. Barrold straightened and pulled a dagger free of his belt. He leant towards her with it and Vanwe twisted away urgently. She heard the one called Avanill laugh.

"All charm and style with the women," he chortled. Barrold made a grab for her wrists and pulled them and Vanwe back towards him and his dagger.

"Now we’re awake again, Princess, you can do your own legwork. Nothin' too fancy though. You hear me? Nothin' that might make me and Avanill 'ere think you was escapin' or bein' difficult,” Vanwe stared up at the stranger, momentarily unsure of what to do aside from run for the hills. Barrold lifted his dagged and Vanwe tugged away again.

“Hold still, wench,” he roughly ordered before setting his knife to the rope around her ankles. He sliced it off and pulled her up to her stinging, burning feet by the rope binding her wrists. Vanwe swayed a little as she fought to keep her feet. She’d need those to run.

“We’ll move faster now,” the Man said to Avanill as Vanwe swayed precariously. Brandishing the dagger before her, he leaned in threatening, “Walk nice and quiet now, Princess, and I won’t be needing this.”

"She's looks real quiet to me. The stench of your skin would of had me yelping a half hour ago," Avanill stated baldly.
"Take it from me, they don't stay quiet for long... not women,"

Barrold waved his dagger close to her nose and then pricked her arm through her sleeve to make his point. Vanwe watched him sheath it, threat rolling from him in great waves. The Man stank of violence and Vanwe knew that stench well. Still holding the rope at her wrists, he wrenched her forward and forced her to stumble after him, wrists and shoulders aching with each tug on the rope.

"Let's get goin' then. Point the way to Tallas, boyo. The sooner we're there, the sooner we can dump 'er back on 'er mother. Never was interested in playin' nurse maid."

Avanill sketched a mocking bow, and after effusive praise for the gentlemanly manner in which Barrold "escorted" a lady, set back to his task. Vanwe was soon ostensibly alone with Barrold, and the violence that seemed to roll off him in waves. She watched the trees as they passed and she remembered. There may have been trees instead of sand, but this Man was as bad as any of the rest.

Then, as now, she had two choices: escape or wait for a lingering death at his hands. She turned back to scanning the trees. She had already made that choice the night she stole, quiet as a sand mouse, over the dunes.

Perhaps it was not so bad, Vanwe mused as Barrold dragged her forward. Perhaps she was not so far from the Inn afterall.

"Quit yer daydreamin' and watch where yer goin'. I ain't doin' all your work." Barrold sharply pulled the rope between her wrists and Vanwe was pained enough to favour his back with a rebellious scowl that furrowed her brow and set mutinious fires burning again in her blue eyes.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

As he followed, the three strangers suddenly turned right into one of Bree's side streets, he paused momentarily throwing back his cloak freeing his sword arm, an instinct born of years of caution, then taking his reigns in his left hand he urged his horse forwards towards the opening. At the mouth of the alleyway Dúlrain was again forced to pause as the male rider looked back towards him.

Taking a few paces forward he watched as the rider lowered his hood and in a fluid movement that only a trained eye would notice, he flipped his cloak over his right shoulder freeing his sword arm as he raised his hand in greeting, very clever Dúlrain thought as the man brought his horse to stop across his path, Dúlrain glanced past him to the veiled woman in the distance wondering why if this was Naiore she had sent this man back and not come herself.

A rather bland greeting drew his attention back to the rider, "I can't help but wonder why you follow us." the rider enquired, after nodding and returning a pleasant greeting of his own, his gaze drifted back to the two women, "Curiosity, Sir," he smiled honestly. "it's not often that we see such a mysterious creature as your companion this far north. Comes she from Harad?"

"Far Harad," the rider answered comfortably

"It must be quite uncomfortable under all that fabric. Hot, I would think," Dulrain continued in conversational tones, looking at the woman wondering who or what was hidden beneath the full veil of the haradwaith, when a shorter one would have been more normal for this time of year. But the rider explained patiently that she preferred to travel veiled.

'I bet she does', Dúlrain thought dryly.

"Though I can't imagine what the relative comfort of my wife would have to do with you. sir." 'Wife!' Dúlrain thought looking from the veiled woman to the rider before him, noting the hint of annoyance in his words Dúlrain lightened the situation by introducing himself, but as the rider introduced himself, his wife and the hobbit woman explaining how she came to be in their company, Dúlrain for the first time in their meeting met his eyes.

He felt his own eyes widen in disbelief, as he thought he looked upon a ghost of his past. How can this be? he thought studying the unscarred features of the man who had called himself Camlis, the pale ice blue eyes were unmistakable, but as the man before him deliberately turned his unscarred side away, a million question entered Dúlrain's mind,

Where has he been?

what happened to him?

why have I not heard word of his survival?

why would he lie to me?

Why was there no recognition in his eyes? and why would he be travelling with Naiore?, But perhaps this is some kind of trick to distract me, this is not possible I... I..., I what he scolded himself silently, I found not body! only a torn blood stained cloak and his sword, something I believed that only death would part him from.

As brothers we live
As one we fight
In the service of our kin, we will remain true
never defeated while together we stand
when in need, one will always find the other!

Guilt gripped Dúlrain as the oath he and Kaldir made as youths came unbidden to his mind, where was he when his friend was in need of him, he was grieving a death that was not so!

Dúlrain was hard put to remove his gaze from the man he now believed was Kaldir his old childhood friend, brothers in all but blood they had been, but now his friend looked on him as one looking on a stranger.

Realising that he was finding out nothing he decided to change his tactic to a more direct one, "I am searching for a dangerous criminal and your wife hidden under her veils drew my suspicion, I have no interest in a woman from the south, but I need proof that she is not the woman I seek" he sighed regretfully, but his hand shifted to the hilt of his sword, least Kaldir refused his request.

He silently preyed he would not and that the woman was not Naiore! What he was doing was dangerous he knew, but he had to know if his old friend was in league with Naiore!

[ October 17, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill was having a rather strange day indeed. First, Rangers, and now Naiore. What have you got yourself into Avanill? he thought silently in his mind.
"Let's get goin' then. Point the way to Tallas, boyo. The sooner we're there, the sooner we can dump 'er back on 'er mother. Never was interested in playin' nurse maid." Avanill snorted at this. "Cant imagine you being a nurese-maid either Ferney" he muttered keeping well the look of laughter from his face.

Then unable to hold it any longer he remarked, "I am quite astonished at the way you handly these elven types Ferney, Quite the Bree-land gentleman, bound and shackled and dragged along." Avanill was not in favour of the way Barrold was treating this woman, be her daughter of Naiore or no. She was still a woman.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Barrold snapped at him again as Avanill walked slightly ahead. "Im waiting for youto catch up." he replied glancing at the surrounding landscape. "And while we are talking, Id like to know, what exactly do you need?"

" A bit o' everything, poisons, sleeping draughts, well boyo! Your the one who knows this stuff, get goin'!" Avanill frouned. "I see... Well i already have a sleeping draught, Tallas will have everything else, i just hope i have enough to pay him..." Avanill's voice trailed off as he kept looking around the woods. "Who says your going to pay him?"

Avanill spun around. "What! Your going to rob him? An old man? Have you lost your mind? Not even I would rob an old man."
Barrold grunted at him. "But you would find good reason to kill an old man who may find himself in your debt."
Avanill was now angry. " That is different! There is something very, very wrong with you Barrold Ferney... Dont do that!" he yelled as Barrold violently tugged Vanwe along, so that her knees almost buckled beneath her. He walked past Barrold and took the rope from his hand and held it himself.

"You dont give her trouble, she wont give you trouble." Avanill remarked, Barrold stepped away, "You aint kidnapped many people before boyo, leave this to me." Avanill frowned. "Ill take her for now, plus we're here." he jestured to a shack which had revelaed its self at the edge of the wood.. "Shall you talk or shall I?"

[ October 17, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Nerindel]

Tallas

Darkness, fades and three strangers approach, two men and one woman, as the picture clears it becomes apparent the woman is an elf, fair of face, but eyes brimmed in sadness and sorrow.

Darkness returns, then clears once more, Clash of swords ring through the forest, the elf maids eyes close, silver tears trickle down her pale cheek.

The wood stands silent, the elf woman now before him he lowers his sword and falls to his knees, whispered words for her alone, then realise from this life!

Tallas' eyes snapped open, "So it is come." he whispered "I am ready!" he smiled raising from the wooden chair he had fallen asleep on, looking for the last time at the sun rising above the trees, Smiling as the light warmed his age ravaged face, Death was his gift for his long years of service in the name of all things good and he was more than deserving.

Their where no preparations to make, he had no regrets, no wrongs to mend and no loved one to leave behind and his friends though he knew they would mourn would also honour his life in songs and tales long ere he was gone from the world, "Tallas the old, father to all" he laughed wistfully, Remembering the elven twins Léspheria and Lóthaniel giving him that title.

As he wandered the ways of the woods that had been his home in this life, the grass, flowers, trees, animals and birds all seemed more alive to him than ever before, closing his eyes he breathed deeply soaked in every ounce that some memory of it would follow him onto his next journey.

Once returned to his hidden home he propped his staff by the wall, close to hand and sat himself down on the old wooden rocking chair by the door, it squeaked quietly as he rocked it back and forth, waiting for his visitors to arrive....

[Elora]

Barrold

Barrold switched a dubious stare at Avanill to the shack ahead. He did not exactly know what to trust Avanill with. His concern for Vanwe's comfort had been most incongruous from the start. Besides, Naiore had promised her to him. Then again, Avanill knew about this 'Tallas' and Barrold didn't. He hesitated as he weighed up the greater risk. Then, he pushed Vanwe towards the younger man.

"Just you remember who she belongs to, boyo." Vanwe managed to right heself with the customary grace of her kindred. Avanill was slow to take custody. Once he was sure that Avanill had her in hand, Barrold left some instructions.

"Keep an eye on 'er. I'm gonna take a look about first. And you, Princess," he said to Vanwe in a low growl, "you'd better be here when I get back." With that, Barrold started to pick his way through the undergrowth. If Avanill had created a waiting snare with some hired swords, then Barrold would see to it. Feeling very pleased with his craftiness, Barrold slunk about and left Avanill and Vanwe together alone.

Vanwe stared at Avanill and then pulled as far away from him as she could, until the ropes between her wrists tugged. She was coiled, quiet. Opportunities to escape came but once. She'd have to take it when it arrived and get it right or face the consequences of not being there when Barrold returned. Her eyes combed the trees around them, as if looking for a hole to slip through.

"I'm sorry about Barrold, Vanwe," Avanill said conversationally as he inspected the Elf he held onto. Her wrists were chafed and raw, the faintest hint of blood starting to show from all the pulling of the rope. "I wish I could somehow take these off," Avanill said thoughtfully. Vanwe turned large eyes back to him for a moment and then dropped them.

"I don't think you'd be troublesome if we treated you well, would you?" Avanill peered at her as if waiting a reply. Vanwe looked solemly back, silent still, and waiting, waiting for that one opportunity. It would come, surely it would, and she would find the Forsaken Inn and help there. Of course she would. Without a reply to his question, Avanill dropped it and looked about the wood himself.

"He'd better not blunder too close, else Tallas will sense him. He's a canny old man." Minutes passed and nearby a smooth boulder perfect to perch upon soaked up a patch of morning sunlight. Avanill decided that if he had to wait, he'd do so comfortably.

"Let's sit, shall we," he suggested politely as though it were a request. Once seated and with nothing else to do, he posed some more questions to Vanwe. Light banter as to her name, hobbies, even a jest. All of it was met with silence and the occassional return of his gaze with her wide blue eyes.

"You sure are a quiet one," he commented dryly. More minutes passed, Avanill steadily becoming more and more uncomfortable with the idea of sitting on a rock, out in the open, whilst Barrold had disappeared and Rangers were about... with the incriminating evidence roped and in his custody what's more.

His booted right foot started to tap impatiently. It was then he felt the first sting of an ant bite. Absently, he swiped at it with his free hand. It was soon followed by another and another. Avanill looked down at his boots with a start and saw that ants were busily invading. With a yell, he reached for them to tug them urgently off.

It was then that Vanwe uncoiled and burst off in an explosion of desperate speed. Her only plan was to run in the direction leading away from Barrold and Avanill. Avanill spun and lunged to catch her and narrowly missed by a mere fraction.

"Hey," he yelled, stamping his feet back into his ant infested boots.

"Oi," a second voice bellowed. Barrold returned just in time to see the long blonde hair of their aforetonow prisoner fly through the trees. Avanill was on his feet and racing after her as Barrold took off as well. Barrold paused only to shoot Avanill a murderously angry glare before he yelled ahead of him, "A mistake, Princess!"

The threat was enough to send surges of terror through Vanwe, but all she could do was run, blindly, and hope. And that she did, as though her very life depended upon it, for it did. Tears of desperation silently streamed down her face as she sprinted, whipping through the trees and grabbing branches, plunging headlong for as long as her strength would hold out. One trip, one stumble, could bring her undone.

Behind her, the sound of pursuit followed like a nightmare that refuse to heed the clarion call of dawn and wakefulness. Escape or die...

[ October 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

"I am searching for a dangerous criminal and your wife hidden under her veils drew my suspicion. I have no interest in a woman from the South, but I need proof that she is not the woman I seek," the stranger, Dulrain, sighed regretfully. Kaldir noticed that the man's hand moved subtly to the hilt of his sword, but the gesture seemed less a threat than a precaution.

"I can understand your suspicions," answered Kaldir. "But you may rest assured that they are groundless. You may have a peek at her, if you wish." He turned his horse and began to ride back in the direction of Benia and Gilly, keeping an peripheral eye on the stranger. Dulrain, his sword still sheathed, cautiously followed.

"Amongst some of the more remote tribes of Harad it is a sin punishable by death to look upon the face of another man's wife," Kaldir continued pleasantly. "Fortunately, I am not a tribesman, myself." He glanced back at the Ranger behind him. He had felt a surge of possessiveness flash through him at the thought of actually showing Benia's face to the man, the strength of which surprised him. Nonetheless, it amused him that the Ranger suspected him of harboring Naiore, when he, too, sought to capture her. As for Benia, Kaldir was rather enjoying the charade of calling her his wife. It had been a convenient lie, but finding the actual words on his tongue, he found it clarified a great deal for him about why he had been unable to harm Benia, when his initial intention had been to kill her. He wanted to keep her with him.

With that thought in mind, Kaldir casually shifted his hand to the hilt of his sword. If this man wanted to take her from him, he would have to fight for her.

"Mrs. Tunnelly of Archet," he said to Gilly, as his horse and the horse of the stranger drew up to the place where the two women waited. "May I present Dulrain of Westernesse." Kaldir gave her a stern gaze that dared her to defy him in his lie.

Gilly smiled nervously. "Mrs.-Mrs. Tunnelly, that's me," she stammered, casting a sideways glance at Benia. She was no good at lying, let alone lying to cover up a lie. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dulrain. I'm from Archet, myself..."

Dulrain delivered a polite nod in her direction. "- and Lady Ailayla, my wife," finished Kaldir, cutting Gilly off before she had the chance to babble her way into a blunder.

"Greetings, Dulrain of Westernesse," came Benia's soft voice through her veil. She bowed to her horse's neck.

"This gentleman is seeking a dangerous criminal, my dear," Kaldir continued, addressing Benia. "He wishes to look upon your face to satisfy himself that you are not she. Would you be so kind as to raise your veil?"

"As you wish. Husband." Benia bowed again. Holding the reins of her horse in one tattooed hand, she used the other hand to raise the dark fabric of her veil far enough that the stranger could get a clear look at her face. Once he had seen her and nodded, she lowered it again.

"Satisfied?" Kaldir began to ask, but the question died on his lips. He had caught sight of a second sword that the Ranger wore at his side. Instantly, he recognized the pattern of interlace that decorated curve of the distinctive double hand guard, the crest of the leaping stag at the base of the blade. He looked hard at the sword, then again at the face of the Ranger. Dulrain. Suddenly the name seemed more than familiar to him. He knew it. He knew him. Or he had known this man in what he now thought of as his previous life.

Involuntarily, Kaldir closed his eyes, lowering his head. He flinched under the onslaught of disconnected images that suddenly flooded his mind. His father. Smiling, handing him the sword. Too heavy. Can't lift it. Another boy. Smaller than him, younger, with black hair and gray eyes. Dulrain. As brothers we live...never defeated...Older now. Strong. One will always find the other...Orcs. Alone. Surrounded by them, a crushing blow. Pain. Where is the sword? Ripping pain... Instinctively, he raised a hand to his face, but stopped the motion halfway there, clinching his fist, digging the nails into his palm. He had to regain control. Taking a deep breath, he forced the memories away, pushing them back down into the darkness. As brothers we live...

"No," he growled deep in his throat. When he raised his head again, his eyes burned with a savage determination. That is not the sword. This is not the same Dulrain. One will always find the other. No. He gave his head a sharp shake to jar loose the memories that struggled to retain a toehold in his mind. Recovering, he looked quickly toward his companions, only to find all of them staring at him, Gilly looking frightened and the Ranger Dulrain, looking surprised and concerned. Benia was turned toward him, but he was unable to see anything of her expression through the veils. The Ranger spoke first.

"Are you all right?" he asked, leaning forward.

Kaldir nodded. "A lingering illness," he responded harshly. "Are you satisfied that my wife is not the one you seek?"

"Yes," answered Dulrain cautiously. "I see now I was mistaken." He paused. "If you are not well..." he began, but Kaldir cut him off abruptly.

"It is nothing."

"Then, I will leave you good people to your own affairs," concluded Dulrain, but Kaldir recognized a trace of doubt and misgiving in his voice. He cursed himself for his own weakness, yet found his gaze returning again to the sword. Just as the Ranger was turning his horse to go, Kaldir called after him:

"The second sword you wear at your side... how came you by it?"



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

Benia

Benia hated the veil Kaldir had selected for her to wear. It was stiflingly hot to wear, with the additional discomfort of being hard to see through. Communicating was a near impossibility, as well, unless she wanted to shout her comments to Gilly. Between the increasing street noise and the muffling effect of the fabric, Benia felt cut off. She wished she had thrown the thing away months ago. She had never worn it voluntarily, and had only kept it out of sentimentality for the customs of the desert, preferring instead the shorter, lighter veils that only covered the lower portion of her face. For keeping her isolated, the heavy fabric was almost as effective as shackles. The bounty hunter had known what he was doing in selecting it, but she decided that if she ever got away, she would take the thing and burn it.

She rode along behind him, fuming to herself. She barely paid attention as the three of them, herself, Gilly, and the bounty hunter, made the turn into the side street. She would do as she was told. Follow the bounty hunter. Ask no questions. At least for the moment. The time would come when she - no, they - could either move against the bounty hunter or elude him.

"Stay here!" ordered the bounty hunter and, turning, rode back in the direction they had come. She turned her horse and watched through the mesh of her veil as Kaldir approached another man who had followed them on to the side street. She could hear the sound of voices as the two men spoke to one another, but was unable to distinguish the words.

"If only we'd had some oleander or belladonna..." she sighed.

"What?" asked Gilly furtively. "Oleander and what?"

"Belladonna," answered Benia, loud enough where Gilly could hear her and, hopefully, the bounty hunter could not. "Nightshade. Like my last name. They're poisons. If only we'd poisoned the stew..."

"Oh, Benia..." Gilly sounded upset. "Not poison. A sleeping draught, yes, if only we'd done that, we'd be free now and on our way back to the Shire, but poison! I don't know that I could live with that."

Benia turned to look at Gilly through the mesh of her veil. Smiling, she said, "I don't know that I could live with it either, in the long run, but I would like to be alive to find out."

"You don't still think he means to kill us, do you?" asked Gilly, furrowing her brow. "I mean, he's had ample opportunity, but he hasn't done a thing to us other than a bit of rope burn." She glanced down at the raw red bands on her wrists. "What do you suppose he's up to now?" she added, nodding in the direction of the bounty hunter and the other man.

Benia shook her head. "I don't know. But I imagine we are about to find out," she concluded as Kaldir turned his horse and the two men rode in their direction. She listened as the bounty hunter introduced her and Gilly to the stranger as Mrs. Tunnelly and Lady Ailayla.

"Greetings, Dulrain of Westernesse," she said softly and bowed to her horse's neck when it came her time to speak. A Ranger. She studied his face through the mesh of her veil. He had a kind face, handsome in a well-traveled sort of way. If only she or Gilly could communicate with him, perhaps he could help them.

"This gentleman is seeking a dangerous criminal, my dear," continued the bounty hunter. "He wishes to look upon your face to satisfy himself that you are not she. Would you be so kind as to raise your veil?"

Benia bowed again in her best imitation of the submissive women of the deep desert. "As you wish," she answered. "Husband." Holding her reins in one hand, she raised her veil with the other, being sure to keep a fold of fabric between herself and the bounty hunter. When the Ranger bent forward to see her face, she decided to take a risk.

"Please," she mouthed the word. She had intended to add, help us, but hesitated as her eyes met the gray eyes of the Ranger. She felt her face flush under his frank stare, and, surprised, dropped her eyes. By the time she recovered herself and moved to speak again, she saw that the bounty hunter had repositioned himself to where he could see her as well. Her opportunity gone, she realized she would have to let it go with a mere please. The Ranger nodded, and, disappointed, she lowered her veil back into place.

Glancing at the bounty hunter, she was startled to see he had gone suddenly pale, seeming to retreat somewhere inside of himself. She watched as he lowered his head and fought some inner battle, finally clinching his fist, almost physically wrenching himself back to the present. Glancing to either side, she saw that Gilly and the Ranger watched him as well, the Ranger looking decidedly troubled. There was another brief exchange of words between the two men, and Benia's heart sank as the Ranger turned to go. He had not understood.

Then, Kaldir called out to him: "The second sword that you carry...how came you by it?"

She looked and saw that the Ranger did indeed carry two swords. Her hands clinched in her lap as he turned his horse and came back.

[ October 19, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

When Amandur and Rauthain had finished with their preparations, Rauthain slipped away, leaving the parlor to hail Nob, who had not yet answered the bell. When he returned he carried a small tray with paper, pen and ink stand which he placed before Amandur. Taking up the pen, Amandur composed a hurried note to Dúlrain describing whither they were heading, and after signing it, he penned a small sketch of a portion of the map before him.

The hobbit, cocking his head, tried to read the message, but finding it written in Sindarin sat back in his chair again, eyeing the rangers with mistrust. “I’ll gladly show you the way myself,” he offered shrewdly. “Of course I’d expect to be compensated for putting myself at such risk. Ferny would not likely be happy with me if he finds I was persuaded to lead you there.”

Toby Longholes truly had an interest in helping the rangers to find Barrold Ferny in the midst of some shady business and was banking on his removal from his current dominance in Bree’s more seamy society, depositing him preferably behind a solid locked door. That would take him down a peg or two, teach him to not discount his fellows, and fill Toby’s pockets as well, giving the hobbit a better chance to expand his own influence beyond petty thievery. Ferny always was a volatile, unpredictable factor and Toby would not be the only one to feel unburdened by his premature “retirement”. There was the risk though; that all would not go as planned and Ferny would discover who helped the rangers ferret him out. This Toby preferred not consider too closely, knowing that if it went awry he could make his way to the Shire where Barrold could not follow him. There were advantages to being a hobbit, and knowing that the king indirectly protected him in his treachery, Toby found quite humorous.”

“I would not have it any other way Master Longholes!” said Rauthain folding the small map again, as Amandur dried and sealed the message. “Though I will not say the price for your service until we have seen success.”

Before Toby had the chance to protest, a sharp knock was heard at the door. Léspheria opened it admitting Nob. He was out of breath and carrying some additional small items, one of which was wrapped in leather. “Excuse me my lady,” he managed, passing her to set the things down on the table. “I have your horses ready out in the yard.”

“Thank you Nob.” Amandur said picking up the folded note. “Perhaps you would do one more errand. We are expecting two more of our brethren to come looking for us here, Maethor and Dúlrain by name. If you would give them this, it is quite important and you and your master Butterbur should keep a sharp look out for them, for they should see it as quickly as possible.”

“Yes Sir, I will tell him straight away.”

“It’s not to wait until after the morning rush!” added Rauthain.

“No Sir,” replied Nob vanishing out the door. The others followed close behind him down the narrow hallway and out into the yard. Two horses stood hitched by the door and a third, stately and black, came shortly after at Amandur’s bidding. “You will be riding with me,” Rauthain informed the hobbit gesturing to a brown stallion with an unkempt black mane and tangled tail.

“Much obliged,” Toby replied in sarcastic tones “I thought as much. I shall stand out like the beacons of Gondor on that beast.”

“Would you stand out any less on a nobler steed, glossy and well kept?” Rauthain laughed. “Up Master Longholes, we must help poor Barrold Ferny’s family escape a bounty hunter as you said, and bounty hunters are to my experience early risers!”

Rauthain helped the hobbit on to the horse before mounting it himself. But he grew distracted as they made their way through Bree using only the side roads at Toby’s urging. The mention of Kaldir’s name had not been lost on Rauthain and that he too might be seeking out Naiore troubled him. To what purpose would Kaldir look for her unaided? Bounty? Not likely, such a bounty would carry a high personal cost. Or revenge? Maybe. But there was also the chance that she could yet have a hold on his will. This, distasteful as it was, became forefront in Rauthain’s mind, for if Naiore had a plan in the north, having Kaldir in her grasp could prove useful, for there were still many rangers who would welcome Kaldir back as a brother should he be convinced to leave his current way of life.

At last the group approached a lonely and ramshackle farmhouse surrounded by various outbuildings, which the hobbit had indicated as Barrold’s. Leaving the horses behind a rocky rill they silently closed the last distance on foot, Rauthain pulling the reluctant Toby along with a firm grip on his sleeve.

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Imladris]

Maethor

“Oh, drat, where are you, Dulrain,” Maethor murmured quietly to himself as he leaned against the wall, his shoulder nestled in a comfortable hollow in the rough stone. The bones of dead vines were enwrapped in the dark crevices between the mortar, the dried roots were littered at the base, ants wound their way around the roots, and wandered into a trampled green verge forest of weeds nearby. Puckering his brow with some puzzlement, he leaned over the crushed weeds and discovered a faint trace of a foot print. “Dulrain,” he whispered as he recognized the print. Crouching easily he crept along the edge of the wall, keeping his eye upon the elusive footprint which soon led to the gates, and was promptly lost within the crazy mosaic of other footprints. Maethor glared at the convoluted tracks and muttered, “Blast.” Squinting into the golden sunlight he said softly, “Did he go out the gate or --” peering into a muddy puddle lingering after a summer rain, “or did he stay in the town?” A pony’s hoof landed with a splash in the muddy puddle, sending a small cascade upon the crouched form of Maethor. Wiping the grimy water from his jaw, he added, “What are actually the chances of my choosing the right path?” He glanced again within the town where the rats scampered within the shadows and where the hobbits laughed, or outside where the grass laughed gently under the soft caress of the breeze as it skipped over the dells? Shaking himself, he stood up and walked briskly through the gate, waved jovially to the warden and cried, “Good morrow!”, quite forgetting that the morning had long since passed and turned into noon.

Maethor breathed the clean air and decided to make his way towards the woods, hoping to come across Dulrain’s path again. Despite the easiness and relaxation of the day, Maethor became a trifle uneasy and he saw no hint of the path. Still, Dulrain was a range, and could easily hide himself if he so wished.

Entering the gallery of trees, Maethor brushed his hand against the green moss that clung tenaciously to the rough bark and sang,

“Green were the trees under the entrancing sunlight’s beam,
Merrily laughed the jolly waters with gilded sliver gleam,
Here my lover waited under the woodlands bower,
Her hair was soft and golden like the Mallorn flower
Her eyes were as blue as the glorious firmament above,
Sweetly our touching lips spoke of our young love.
Yet now, she sleeps, shackled by the cruel cold hand of Death --
Alas, I did not hear her murmured dying breath! --
Pale, her slender form an ivory stature hidden in the ground.
‘Twas I who left her to slay the orcs that in this land abound.
And as she waited for me, she languished in her wretched misery,
Whilst I frolicked with the crimson flow by the blood-stained sea.
Did I hear her silent cry, heed the beckon of the tears the pled for me
As she prayed for the Valar’s blessing upon her bended knee?
Nay! Others were my comrades -- she in my thoughts she was ever present,
The sword drank the blood of spawn, yet her memory made all things pleasant.
Slowly she faded, as she pined for me, and then she died for me,
Accompanied to the brink of the grave by her misery.

The grievous melody fell from Maethor’s lips and he wondered why such a sad tale had crept to his tongue to drape the morning with their sabled robes. He found himself near the Chetwood, and said aloud, “Bother! Dulrain never would have come this far. It’s near old Tallas’ place --” Maethor smiled fondly for he had heard of the old man -- “and I don’t think that he is quite her sort.” Turning, he heard a mad crash through the brush, and saw a slight form come tearing from a grove of trees. He saw that her hands were tied, and that she clutched them to her chest, as continued to run, weaving her way through the trunks. He heard the shouting of men echo under the gallery of the trees. The maiden was near him, her eyes were filled with terror as they met his own. She swerved away and stumbled upon a root, but Maethor caught her in his arms and righted her to her feet.

She was an elf and Maethor started as he recognized her as Vanwe from the Forsaken Inn. Her golden hair was awry, her face scratched by the cruel twigs that had clutched after her departing form. The angry shouts of men, the vile oaths that stained the air, reached their ears, and grasping her gently yet firmly by her wrists, Maethor swung around and hastened to the west, trying to make a circle around the men and loose them from the fairly obvious trail that Vanwe had left in her wake. Maethor made several clues, pointing them to a fake path, but couldn’t quite do it properly because of his haste.

After some minutes, Maethor led the elf into a quiet circle of trees, enshrouded by shadow, and said, “We can rest here awhile -- a very short while,” he added with a gentle smile. Guiding her to a nearby stone, he motioned for her to sit and he himself crouched upon his heels and gazed into her eyes. They fluttered downwards and Maethor remembered that her hands were still tied. Withdrawing a silver knife from his right leather boot, he held her hands within one of his and proceeded to cut the ropes that bound them. The knife had been but newly sharpened, and the old ropes fell with a but a few strokes. He saw that her wrists were chaffed sorely. Taking his waterskin, he poured some upon them and said, “We must make hast, my lady. Alas, we do not have time to make a proper poultice, but we can do that at the Prancing Pony. Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the woods. “I am Maethor,” he added, realizing he had failed to mention his name.

The woods were silent, not even the trill of a bird broke the ominous mood. Stopping, he listened and whispered, “Do you hear anything?” Vanwe shook her head and Maethor hurried on and, still in a whisper, asked, “From whom were you running? Your mother?”

Vanwe shook her head and answered softly, “No. Scoundrels named Barrold Ferney and Avanill, treated my with a little more kindness.”

“Ferney?” asked Maethor with some annoyance. “That is a shame that he missed the meeting with our friends.”

“Your friends?” asked Vanwe curiously.

“Amandur, Lespheria, Rauthain,” Maethor began, and stopped. He had distinctively heard the crack of a twig; he felt Vanwe stiffen. Swearing quietly to himself, he drew his knives and began to roundly rebuke himself for not paying more attention. “Naiore wants you still, doesn’t she?” he asked Vanwe, as he wondered why the thugs would want anything to do with a fair young elf maiden.

A young man sauntered easily from the brush and Maethor raised his knife and said, “Stop and leave now.”

Raising his hands, the young man said, “No need to be touchy now. I don’t mean any harm.”

“Avanill,” Vanwe whispered.

Maethor peered quietly at Avanill and then to Vanwe. It seemed strange that the maiden in his song resembled the elf so closely: a chill premonition shadowed him: what if the same fate befell Vanwe? Resolutely he turned back to Avanill: he seemed tricky enough, but Vanwe had said that he had treated her a little more kindly. Maybe he didn’t like seeing her captured and tied -- what decent man would? Yet Avanill wasn’t technically a decent man. Maethor searched for a weapon upon him, and found none. “Where’s your friend -- accomplice?”

Avanill snorted in disgust and said, “Why should I care? I don’t like kidnapping people -- it ain’t my trade.” He paused, and added, “I…uh…have a grudge against Ferney, so I’ll just walk away and let you go.”

Maethor narrowed his eyes swiftly and glanced at Avanill. He was not telling the truth but that was clear. “Maethor!” Vanwe, cried as a hurtling mass crashed through the underbrush and bore him to the ground -- his dagger flew from his hand and landed with a soft thump to he ground.

An oily hand grasped eager for his throat, dirt was sprinkled in his eyes as Maethor gasped for breath: the man reeked of garlic and onions which also in part was the cause of Maethor’s lack of air. The ranger heaved his elbow into the vagrant’s stomach villain’s stomach and the rogue fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Planting his knee on the man’s chest, Maethor lunged for his dagger in his left boot, but Avanill, perceiving his intent, kicked him, sending Maethor sprawling upon his back. In an instant, he was upon his feet, dodging punches from Ferney, barely grimacing as some found their mark. Blood flowed freely from his mouth, and he saw dimly that Avanill was pouring a liquid onto a piece of cloth. Ferney, charging like a mad bull, pushed Maethor like a slender reed to the ground, and swiped at his face with Maethor’s knife which he had found on the ground. The blade curved against his forehead, but flung his arms up, knocked the knife from Ferney’s hand and heaved him to the ground. As Ferney climbed to his feet, Maethor curled his leg behind Barrold’s knee, jerked Barrold’s feet out from under him, and punched him down. Leaping astride him, he grabbed the lapels of his beggarly coat in his clenched fist and said, “Tell me where Nairore is, you bastard!”

Barrold only gurgled in reply.

“Where is she!” he asked again, punching him in the mouth.

“Why don’t you find her?” he gasped.

Maethor was about to reply, when a cloth was shoved up his nose. His senses fled, and overpowering darkness engulfed him as he fell senseless to the ground.

[Elora]

Vanwe

Vanwe stood, forgotten it seemed, as the three men clashed. Desperately she cast around her for anything of use. Rocks, branches, anything! Barrold was pinned and Maethor, the Ranger from the Inn, was extracting answers from him. Vanwe's hands throbbed still with the surge of blood back into their circulation. Yet they siezed around a good sized stone. Vanwe straighted, flinging hair back from her face to clear her sight.

"No!" Her cry of denial was futile. The stone she threw at Avanill sailed past him as he bent over Maethor and thudded softly in the undergrowth past them. Maethor struggled and then slumped, Avanill heaving the Ranger off and Barrold spitting and growling. With a hand proferred to help to his feet, Avanill pulled Barrold up as Vanwe went in search of another stone.

She had it raised as Avanill turned to her, Barrold spitting blood and dirt behind him to clear his mouth out. The kind expression on Avanill's face was but a cold memory now. He held his cloth still. Barrold was breathing hard behind him.

"Told you it were a mistake, Princess," he wheezed unpleasantly. Vanwe's gaze flicked between the two men and to Maethor who lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving and senseless. It occured to her to drop the stone, turn and run like before. With her hands know free she could move faster, even if her legs did tremble with fatigue. But it was different before.

"What have you done," she demanded accusingly as her senses drifted towards the prone Ranger.

"I don't see as how you're in any position to ask questions," Avanill replied softly as he stepped forward. Yes she could run now, and abandon this Ranger. Was he dead? She did not know! Had he died? Noone should die for her! She did not even know his name. Only his face did she vaguely recall, from the inn. He had been at Hanasian's table, she remembered, and he had smiled kindly towards her. She recalled that too, as she stared at his blank face, stricken.

Vanwe looked up at the stone in her hand and then back at the two men that stood, closer still now.

"What you planning to do with that? You only have one and there are two of us..." Avanill's voice remained soft and dangerous. Vanwe's arm remained aloft in a vain hope to stave them off a little longer. She had to somehow aid the Ranger whose name she did not know. Her senses quested out further for him and she remained rooted to the earth.

--------------------------------

Barrold

"I'll take care of the wench this time," he spat at Avanill. His jaw ached abominably and he had lost more of his precious few teeth on account of the Ranger, Avanill's lapse and the Elf who stood frozen with eyes unfocussed. One long stride and he had a hand wrapped around her wrist and her arm pulled savagely around and behind her again. The rock he forced from her hand.

"Got more rope," he asked flatly as Vanwe twisted. His patience snapped when she attempted to send her knee into his stomach. He lifted his hand and sent a stunning blow spinning across her cheek. Her head snapped to one side with the force and Barrold grunted.

"Shoulda done that before," he said, accepting Avanill's rope from him and securing her hands whilst she still struggled to pull her wits together. From the way she managed to hold her voice, he gagued that she was familiar with this sort of encouragement. Barrold was rough this time, even by his standards, as he cinched tight the last knot.

He let her weight sag to the ground, her head drooping and his hand print livid against her cheek. There was one more thing to take care of.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly to Avanill whose brows rose in surprise. "I woulda been able to look after meself and all," Barrold asserted quickly. Avanill nodded amiably, pleased to have something owed to him by the other. He stowed that knowledge away with his bottle.

"I'll let you do the talkin' at Tallas' place," Barrold added.

"We'd best get started," Avanill said. "There'll be others about soon, I'll warrant, and she's pulled us off course some. But not by as much as she may hope to have." Avanill scowled at Vanwe, who remained lax as she gazed strangely at the Ranger.

"Right-o then," Barrold said, hauling Vanwe to her feet. She clenched her teeth against the pain. He paid her no heed. "After you, boyo."

They moved with as much haste as they could, dragging Vanwe after them. She twisted at first, struggling to get a glimpse back at the Ranger. Once Barrold had levelled another blow at her, she staggered after them, dazed for a while.

By the time they regained Tallas' small lodgings, she was silent and panting with exertion. Her flight had caught up to her. Avanill and Barrold crouched for a while, watching for any more surprises the day would bring them. When none seemed forthcoming, Avanill stood and moved out. Barrold followed near by. He paused to divest himself of Vanwe, making use of one of the many nearby trees to lash her to it, before rejoining Avanill.

Vanwe, Avanill and Barrold could all hear the repetitive wooden creek, like a chair rocking.

"Tallas, Old Man, come out! We wish to... trade with you," Avanill called. At a faint sound from the tree, Barrold spun and sent a murderous glance to Vanwe. Once again, she seemed possessed of a raw desperation and she strained at the rope.

Barrold drew his dagger and hissed to her, "Be still, Princess, or I'll me other ways to pin you there." Avanill shot Vanwe a glare and then repeated his call.

"I said, come out Tallas. We wish to trade with you!" The creak continued and then stilled. When Tallas did not appear shortly thereafter, Barrold's hackles rose. He leaned in to Avanill and whipered, "We'll 'ave to deal with this one my way, boyo."

At the tree, Vanwe felt a black despair rise. It was born of exhaustion and the grief that already one may lay dead. The dawning horror that she was about to witness the death of another this day hung heavy over her. She sobbed, a soft and broken sound of grief, and pulled again at the ropes. Blood now thickened around her wrists and her head pounded. Her legs and lungs burnt with their exertion, but try as she might she could no more tear her eyes away from the scene before her than she could tear herself from the tree.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur looked at Léspheria raising a questioning eyebrow seeing the grey mare standing patiently by the hitching post outside the inn, "Perhaps Kallo was too elusive?" she grinned but the light glint in her eyes told him that she thought otherwise, he gave a sharp whistle and sure enough the black stallion walked proudly in to the court yard as if he was waiting his call.

Once mounted he followed behind Rauthain and his hobbit passenger, through the streets of the small town they went silently, Amandur and Léspheria covertly looking for anything suspicious and for sight of Maethor or Dúlrain, "Dúlrain" he sighed under his breath, in all his thoughts of late he had forgotten the old bond between Dúlrain and Kaldir, and now it troubled him.

"What troubles you, my friend?" Léspheria asked concern laced in her words, "It is a matter I should have dealt with before now." he sighed heavily keeping his eyes on the road least she see his guilt. "Kaldir?" she urged softly, "No! Dúlrain." he answered turning his head to catch her puzzled look. "Dulrain holds a bond stronger than mere friendship with Kaldir, Brothers in all but blood." he explained "But why should this trouble you, Dúlrain seem a good man and...." but before she could finish Amandur cut in "He is not yet aware that the ranger lives, never mind that his friend has forsaken his path and chosen that of a bounty hunter!" Nodding her head and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder she whispered gently "You have to tell him, he is a good man I'm sure he will understand." "Perhaps you are right and I underestimate my young friend." he smiled reassured by her wise words.

But suddenly he felt that he would rather, Léspheria did not enter the villians house with them, if something was to happen to her I... but his thoughts stopped as she looked his way, her soft smile filling his heart, "Léspheria " he whispered "when we reach the house will you please search the yard for clues of our friends while Rauthain and myself deal with Barrold!" she nodded but he could see that his choice had wounded her and as she looked away they said no more.

Finally reaching an old ramshackle farmhouse, they dismounted, leaving the horses behind a rocky rill and silently closing the final distance on foot, without words and the merest of glances, Rauthain dragging the hobbit behind him made his way to the back of the house, while Léspheria began searching the grounds and various outbuildings. Unsheathing his sword he banged on the door, "Open up in the name of the King!" he hollered, but hearing no answer he kicked open the door, to the rear of the house he could hear Rauthain do like wise. Cautiously sword raised he began searching the house, every closet and cupboard but to no avail. "Nothing!" he sighed coming down the old creaking wooden stairs.

As he entered the kitchen he saw Rauthain crouched on the dirty floor, "Look!" Rauthain said hearing his approach and indicating the prints on the floor. Crouching next to him he nodded his head "so they were here." "one light elf, one heavy footed man," The older ranger informed him., but no sign of the elf maidens print, either Léspheria was mistaken and Naiore has already rid herself of that burden or they carried her, "But why would they need to carry her?" he mused out loud.

"Amandur! Rauthain!" it was Léspheria's voice from outside that interrupted their thoughts, glancing at each other they made their way outside to see what she had found, for the moment forgetting master Longholes who stood nervously watching their every move

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Léspheria

Once they reached the farmhouse, Léspheria began to search the yard and outbuildings, leaving the rangers to enter the house itself. She crossed the yard occasionally stooping low and inspecting the various boot prints on the ground, quick inspection of the outbuildings suggested they were empty, but she was taking no chances, slowly unsheathing her sword she carefully pushed open the door to the first building and stepped inside.

It was dark and the only light came from the open door, as her eyes adjusted she could see that the dust lay heavy as though the building had not been used in years, an old plow lay rusting in the centre of the room, but as she searched she found things that just did not belong, fine silver cutlery, a pair of matching candle holders and an assortment of fine jewellery, obviously stolen! she thought. Finding nothing to aid their course, she moved on to the next building, but again she found nothing.

Just as she was moving on to the last building she found something unusual, two sets of foot prints leading to a tangled mass of thorns, then heading out of the yard towards the road, one set heavier as if carrying a load, going back to the thorns she carefully pushed them aside with her sword to reveal a door, "Amandur! Rauthain!" she cried back to the house, but with out waiting for them to come she opened the door.

Before her was a dank, dark and musty smelling cellar, cautiously she followed the foot prints inside, until they stopped at a disturbed area of dust, kneeing down Léspheria traced the outline of the disturbed dust with her hands trying to figure out what could have made it, suddenly a thought occurred to her and she lay down on the ground curled up as if cold and afraid, yes the same shape she thought horrified as the coldness and darkness of the small room became more apparent to her.

She was just getting up and wiping the dust from her cloak and skirts when the two rangers arrived in the door way, "What is it ?" they asked together, "Vanwe was in here and some time this morning she was carried away by two men, their trail leads back towards the road," she told them, but her thought were with Vanwe and the fear and confusion the young elf must be suffering, a sudden anger welled in her and she found herself swearing that if either of the two men injured the elf she would..... "Léspheria!" Amandur whispered his brow creased in concern.

"Yes, I'm just coming" she said startled out of her thoughts, but as she passed Amandur she sensed he was still concerned, "I am sad of heart, but will be better once we find Vanwe safe and well," she smiled weakly. "Where is our hobbit friend?" she asked noting his absence.

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[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill stood in silence as he let Barrold take care of the elf. His face now blank and his deep blue eyes had gone cold now. The young man was not one to be crossed like that, not by someone he had shown good will to. It was one of the things which made him a formidable man, he was not openly violent, but cool and collected, only at the moment of striking did he show his terrifying colours.

He let Barrold take care of Vanwe this time, and he did not watch as Barrold roughly tied her. It was no longer his concern, what Barrold wanted to do with his elf, he could and Avanill would no longer speak for her to him, he did not like having his kindness thrown into his face.

Avanill walked slowly ahead of Barrold and Vanwe, wrapping his cloak around his tall figure as they went. Eventually the returned to the shack where in Tallas dwelled. I will not harm an old man. he repeated to himself over and over.

"I said, come out Tallas. We wish to trade with you!" The creak continued and then stilled. When Tallas did not appear shortly thereafter, Barrold's hackles rose. He leaned in to Avanill and whipered, "We'll 'ave to deal with this one my way, boyo."

Avanill kept his sword at his side and his dagger in its place at his side. Behind them the elf was sobbing, Avanill half turned his head. "You have brought this upon yourself." he muttered quietly.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain was relieved when his old friend agreed to let him look upon his wife, but still he remained cautious, it could still be some kind of trap! he thought to himself, watching his old friends back, he wondered what had happened to him. Kaldir talked pleasantly regarding the customs of the remote tribes of the Haradwaith and Dúlrain couldn't be sure but he thought he heard an edge of warning in his voice.

'Perhaps I was wrong and in my eagerness to find some clue of Naiore I perceived more than there was' he thought silently as Kaldir or Camlis as he now called himself introduced him to his companions, Dúlrain nodded politely to each in turn as they spoke greetings to him, then he watched the veiled woman as Kaldir explained and relayed his request to her.

"As you wish. Husband." she bowed, Dúlrains hand had cautiously sifted back to the hilt of his sword, as the veiled woman, Ailayla gripped her reigns in one tattooed hand and slowly used the other to raise the dark fabric of her veil. Slowly Dúlrain bent forward to get a better look at the woman's face. He sensed the woman's lips move but he found he could not stop himself from staring deep into her dark amber eyes, never before had he seen a woman so beautiful as the one before him, even when she lowered her eyes he found himself studying her olive features, only the sound of the horse beside him shifting brought the attention of the others back to him, 'What am I doing? this is my friends wife !' he silently scolded himself.

He nodded once and deliberately turned away from the woman to face Kaldir, "Satisfied?" his old friend began to ask, but his words trailed as he involuntarily closed his eyes and lowered his head. Dúlrain's brotherly bond instantly returned and concern mark his tanned face and with each flinch his brow creased more. He could not see his friends face but knew he must be reliving some old pain.

"No!" came a deep almost feral growl, then Kaldir raised his head, Dúlrain was surprised by the savage determination in his friends eyes. "Are you all right?" He ventured, leaning forwards.

"A lingering illness," was the harsh reply. "Are you satisfied that my wife is not the one you seek?"

Slightly taken aback by his harsh tones Dúlrain moved back and replied cautiously, "Yes. I see now I was mistaken." He paused still worried for his old friend. "If you are not well..." he began but Kaldir cut him off abruptly, assuring him that he was fine.

"Then, I will leave you good people to your own affairs," Dúlrain said, he was disheartened that his friend did not recognise him and he felt that something was being kept from him, but he had other business that he should be attending too, so he turned to leave.

"The second sword you wear at your side... how came you by it?"

Dúlrain halted at Kaldir's words, Does he remember something! he thought as he looked down at the sword by his side, slowly turning he looked Kaldir in the eye and answered....

"It once belonged to a loyal, brave and just young ranger, brothers in all but blood we once were." he smiled weakly, but as he continued the smile fell "But he was lost at Raven falls over twelve years ago, all I found of him was his blood strewn cloak and the sword that I believed could only be parted from him in death."


Dúlrain then slowly slid the sword from its sheath, holding the hilt and laying the blade across his left arm he held it out towards his friend. "If he asks it of me I would gladly return it to him." he whispered giving Kaldir a knowing look.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly found herself alone, though Benia was close by. It was a strange thing to see her all swaddled in the heat as though she were just another stranger journeying though this strange town. All that betrayed her presence were the narrow tattooed hands, the rest of her countenance fully shrouded on this hot summer’s day. Gilly was downcast recalling only a few short days ago, how artfully her friend had sung, those same hands mesmerizing the commons room at the Forsaken Inn with finger cymbals. They held no trace of joy now.

Anxious should Benia be overcome from the heat, the hobbit kept a nervous watch, ofttimes glancing over to her friend. More than a wall of fabric seemed to envelope her, as the group plodded along. She wondered if she also was guessing that this hunter had spared them only to collect his bounty here in Bree instead of in the south as they had assumed. And what then would become of this lady of the Painted Sand clan and a useless hobbit? Gilly sighed trying to rein in her imagination, which seemed to erode the ground from under her feet.

Take it as it comes, she lectured herself. No possible good will come of growing maudlin now!

Looking back once more, the hobbit saw that the ranger who had earlier acknowledged them with a nod had followed them into the side street where Kaldir now walked before them. He had noticed too, ordering them to stay further up the alley as he turned to ride back and address the man. Straining to hear what was said, Gilly watched as Kaldir spoke; perhaps it had some bearing on her future. But the market beyond had grown busy and the sounds of it traveled up the street overshadowing their words. It was Miss Benia’s muted voice she heard, mentioning Oleander and something she could not make out.

“Oleander and what?” she questioned, hopeful that perhaps her friend knew the name of this ranger, though Oleander seemed an inauspicious name.

“Oleander and Belladonna….If only we had poisoned the stew.”

“Oh Benia!” Gilly cried. She couldn’t bear to think of Miss Nightshade resorting to murder no matter what the origin of her name might be. She must be truly distraught to consider such things. And surely a knife would be kinder, or better yet some potent sleeping cordial. “I don’t know if I could live with that,” she stated apologetically.

“I don’t think I could live with it either, in the long run,” Benia went on, looking at Gilly through the darkness in front of her eyes, “but I should like to live to find out.”

“You don’t think that he means to kill us do you?” the hobbit questioned. She did not trust Kaldir in the least, but he seemed vastly different from the men Gilly had seen about the Shire in Otho’s day. They had been a selfish and petulant lot. This Kaldir seemed certainly hard, cold, but there was something buried within him, a quality that his crude existence had not extinguished.

Just then, both men turned and rode up to them. Gilly didn’t understand why Kaldir was making introductions, false as they were. But seeing Kaldir’s hand move to his sword’s hilt as he pronounced her Mrs. Tunnelly, she played along as best she could, almost calling herself Mrs. Belladona Tunnelly, in her confusion, before lapsing into a familiar greeting. Thankfully, she was cut short as Kaldir introduced Benia as his wife, asking her to show Mister Dúlrain her face to prove that she was not someone Dúlrain was seeking.

Involuntarily, Gilly thought of the Bywater market’s fruit stand, where the shop keeper will hide the best produce, and will only bring it out to be considered when asked, or maybe for some special customer. The hobbit began to wonder if this might be the one from whom Kaldir meant to collect his bounty and the introductions a mere ruse, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that yet another ranger would dabble in such trade.

Gilly watched as Kaldir examined Dúlrain’s face, closely gauging his reaction. The bounty hunter had been about to remark when the hobbit noticed he suddenly halted, and closing his eyes, his head bowed forward grimacing as if pain. She thought that the ranger had done something to anger Kaldir, for when he raised them; his hands were formed into fists, and Gilly feared lest Kaldir strike the man. But regaining control rapidly, the bounty hunter shook his head, looking darkly at his companions with teeth clenched.

Dúlrain, quick to offer assistance was swiftly declined, Kaldir dismissing it and firmly diverting the conversation back to the matter at hand. Seeing that his help was not welcome and now being convinced of the draped figure’s innocence regarding Naiore, Dúlrain politely began to withdraw from their company with some hesitation. Gilly was looking at Benia who was quietly watching him depart, when she heard Kaldir ask a curious question about the sword at Dúlrain side. Benia hands moved to clasp one another, and Gilly began wondering if she had missed something vital.

As she turned back, Dulrain was drawing the sword, holding it out for Kaldir to see. It flashed fine and well cared for in the morning light. I thing deadly yet somehow beautiful.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Dulrain slid the sword slowly from its scabbard and, laying the blade across his left arm, held it out toward Kaldir. "If he asks it of me, I would gladly return it," he whispered.

Kaldir hesitated. His eyes narrowed as his mind was again assaulted by a flashing montage of images and sensations, none of them clear this time. The memories overlapped each other like pictures painted on glass. The colors bled, lines bent and melted into each other, creating monsters of the ordinary, nightmares of the mundane. The clarity he had felt moments earlier receded, leaving him confused and angry. The man before him no longer seemed so familiar, the sword, tainted. They had left him to die. He should have died. Kaldir looked hard at the gleaming blade of the offered sword. Perhaps it was he himself who was tainted, rather than the sword. It should only have been parted from him in death.

For a long moment, Kaldir's eyes met Dulrain's. That Kaldir, the one who had once wielded that sword, no longer existed. Naiore had killed him. The body, the fragments that had survived, did not deserve to carry such a weapon, especially not when its only purpose would be revenge. When Naiore had been destroyed, then, maybe, his soul would be cleansed enough where he could seek out this Dulrain again and try to resurrect something of the past, but until then? Until then, Kaldir belonged to Naiore.

He shook his head. "Your friend is dead," he said softly. "Do not give such a thing to a ghost."

Dulrain opened his mouth to say something else, perhaps to protest, but Kaldir silenced him with a raised hand. "Keep it in his memory," he added and turned his horse to go, driving Gilly and Benia ahead of him.

[Nerindel]

Nerindel's post - Toby Longholes

It was not part of Toby's plan that he would enter the farmhouse with the rangers, he thought that leading them to the house would be dangerous enough, but as The older ranger pulled him towards the house he tried to pull free, "Now wait just a minute I agreed to show you Barrold's house and now I have!" he cried angrily.

"And we're just supposed to take your word for that, eh" Rauthain laughed "Come on, master Longholes," he said pushing the hobbit forwards.

As the ranger pulled him to the rear of the building, he found himself nervously casting his gaze over every dark corner and brush, as if at any moment Barrold would jump out and throttle him for his treachery. Entering the house an finding no one home did not to elevate the fear and doubt swelling in his mind, Toby tensed at every screech and creek the old house made as they passed through, his mind envisioning the numerous ways which Barrold would think of to repay him his treachery. It took all the will power he could muster not to cry out and run like a frightened colt from the house there and then.

"Think Toby!" he muttered under his breath, "he's not here but he soon might be, so as soon as these rangers are distracted you can get yourself out of here!" he grinned looking at Rauthain's hunched back as he knelt on the kitchen floor to examine something, as the ranger examined the floor Toby quietly inched back towards the door, but froze as the other ranger called down the stairs that he had found nothing. He reminded quiet as Amandur joined Rauthain to look at what ever the older ranger had found.

His chance finally came when the elf woman called to the two rangers, who in their haste had forgotten about all about Toby, but this suited him fine, the minute the rangers were gone he stealthily stole himself from the house and ran up a forgotten dirt path that lead to the road at the rear of the farm, careful to make sure no one had seen him leave, he didn't stop running until he reached the base of the hill.

Toby sighed with relief and began to climb the hill to his small hobbit hole, then changed his mind, 'what if someone had seen him, what if they told Barrold!' he panicked. "The Cave, The Shire," he reminded himself, then grinning at his cleverness he headed for the small cave where he hides his bounty and supplies should he need them. "Yes, I will get supplies and use the grace of the king to lie low for a while, " he chuckled.

As he approached the small dark cave he reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a medium, rather worn looking leather money pouch, then grinning with satisfaction he tossed it in the air and caught it, "I wish I could see the look on that rangers face when he realises this is gone!" he chuckled pleased at himself. It had been all to easy to unclasp the pouch from the rangers belt as they rode together and the fact that the rangers thought were elsewhere only added to the ease. "Serves him right!" Toby laughed. Then taking a quick look about him to see that no one was watching, he entered the cave.
_____________________________________________

Hilde's post - Rauthain

When Rauthain had rushed in, the air in the kitchen hung hot, thickly reeking of mold and rancid fat. Pulling his sword from its scabbard he fixed his eye on the hobbit who remained on the doorstep. Toby noticing the grey-eyed ranger glaring at him in silence, became acutely conscious of his resemblance to a hawk prepared to strike, and reluctantly stepped just inside the threshold. “Stay here until I return.” Rauthain said, before leaving to thoroughly search the other rooms at the back of the house. When he once again entered he saw Toby still hanging by the door casting furtive glances toward the trees at the foot of Bree Hill. He seemed obviously distressed by Barrold’s absence and his proud demeanor had melted into a kind of smug excitability Rauthain found patently irritating under the circumstances. The hobbit seemed like a taut bowstring, with no telling where his barbs were aimed.

Dropping his gaze to study the floor, the ranger saw familiar tracks mingled with his own: the foot of Naiore, and those of the man who had loosed the horse, Barrold. Another recent set was there that he did not recognize, a man’s. “Look,” he began as he heard Amandur descend the stair and approach from the hallway. “One light elf, one heavy footed man, and another man.” He said gesting to each one in turn. “This is Barrold’s, the same as at The Greenway, with the gelding’s marks.”

Amandur stood awhile in thought. “But why would they need to carry her?” he mused aloud. Rauthain guessed of whom he spoke, also wondering that there was no other evidence of the daughter to be found. Then recalling the bit of wax found in The Chetwood he began to understand what might have happened to Vanwe. But how did this other man bear on the plan? He need not have been involved in Barrold’s exploits, Rauthain thought to himself, but is perhaps an only some caller ignorant of the weight of Ferny’s entanglement.

“Amandur! Rauthain!” a woman’s voice hailed them. The two rangers looked up at each other, it was Léspheria, calling from the yard. Without delay they and strode quickly over to the thorny brush where a small door opened in the earth. Just inside Léspheria stood brushing the dust from her clothes, her sword lying upon the ground.

“Vanwe was in here and sometime this morning she was carried away by two men. Their trail leads back toward the road.” Picking up the sword, she sheathed it while speaking.

The earthen cellar was musty, and Rauthain found it hard to breathe as he stooped to see the ground. Though the dirt was soft and fine, very little was there to discover beyond a curled imprint at the elf’s feet. Vanwe, if she had indeed been there, had not
stirred much from her resting place. The ranger rose anxious to check the trail that Léspheria had found leading to the road. And as he passed through into the yard again, he heard the elf threaten harm to those that would arm Vanwe and then Amandur’s whisper soft and short behind him.

The prints once found, proved to be that of Barrold and the second man. Still they bore a burden, Vanwe no doubt. But the mark of a lighter foot was not to be seen. Rauthain was troubled. A decision needed to be made and he feared he knew which direction their hearts leaned. Vanwe was still captive, but Naiore remained elusive and now apparently separated from her daughter. They could no longer hunt both at once.

Turning round he saw Léspheria emerge from the gloom of the cellar. “Where is our hobbit friend?” she asked noticing his absence.

“Ah, it appears Master Longholes has run off and without his reward!” Rauthain said looking over his shoulder, and reaching for his money pouch, which he found missing. “He was with me in the house and had been rather restless at the time, standing in the doorway to watch the yard and blocking its light. No matter, for though a better sentry there could not be, I doubt much that he would think to give warning before saving himself. But his job for us is done, still I think it wise to leave this place before he causes more mischief. Already it seems he has helped himself to my purse, though surely he picked the wrong ranger to rob, for it is heavier with memories than ought else, pitifully small wages for such daring! Nary a gold piece was there, but a fair bit of copper. I shall have to teach Master Longholes to be proper guest next time rides with a ranger for I shall sorely miss my flint and whetstone!” Rauthain sighed.

Then addressing Léspheria, “I think Lady Léspheria, that you would make a right good ranger, for you have found much of interest today, and I dare say you have a courageous heart as well.” A gentle smile rose on Léspheria’s features. “But we must now decide which course to take, to follow Vanwe on the trail we see before us, or to continue after Naiore with no trail. But that is our errand.” Rauthain looked at both of them, his rough face telling of concern.

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

[Elora]

Naiore

Hobbits can move with astonishing stealth. However, the stony ground was a match for even a Wraith. Such had been Naiore's reasoning in the selection of her retreat where she presently awaited the return of Barrold.

She'd not squandered her time alone. A few hours of rest before dawn had done wonders, even if it was snatched with one eye warily open to catch any wandering hobbits, or Wraiths. The morning Naiore had spent going over her pack. Her many years spent travelling far and quickly had resulted in her efficency. She still carried the bulk of her weaponry.

Most of the implements of her skill had been left behind at Minas Morgul and Barad-Dur, though not by her choice. Had she been able to, she'd have taken a few cleverer pieces with her. Still, Naiore was able to take a moment to examine what she did have. Daggers all rested safe and well in their sheaths, well oiled and as finely balanced as the day she first took delivery of them. They were a rare handicraft, and she well recalled their origin.

The Man who had so obligingly travelled to trade for the set of eight and fetched them from her kindred had died with a look of eternal shock upon his face. She'd gone easy on him, for he had done her a service. It was much easier to take them from him on his road back to whatever mannish warren he was on his way to than it would have been to get at where they had resided with their craftsmen.

Many years had slid past since that theft, but the daggers retained their integrity yet. Her garrot was also examined for any hint of wear or thinning. Naiore carefully passed the silken strands through her hands that morning, using the light and her keen sight to check them. Silk was stronger than steel, an irony that was far from lost upon her. She coiled it tenderly and stowed it. Then there was the matter of the food, clothing and consumables.

Food and consumables, tinctures and poisions and the ilk, Barrold would shortly supply. Naiore took a glance at the sky. The oaf had best appear soon or he'd rue forcing her out to track him down. She turned to the clothing. It was a poor shadow of her habitual finery. One piece only had she been able to retain, a violet silk that seemed to shimmer with the gathered light of all the dusks of the Ages. Over that sat some of her heavier pieces, leathers and a corsolet of fine, ebony, steel mesh that was bundled in a once proudly worn inky cloak.

Not the rags of Wraiths for her, she recalled. She would sweep through those dark halls, garbed as finely as any Elven lady throughout the lands, opulent wealth would gleam from her throat and wrist. Such jewellry was now mostly spent. The Girion Emeralds, the rubies and opals, the diamonds. All gone, except the sapphires, but Naiore had no interest in ever looking upon those gems ever again. They'd also been left to be found by whatever scion of Gondor's rabble happened through her former chambers at the conclusion of the war.

As all this passed, Naiore unpacking and then repacking her possessions in the midst of thick memories, the sun wheeled overhead. Absorbed as she was, Naiore was not beyond the presence of reality. She was far too disciplined to slip into nostaliga whilst on campaign. Inwardly, her senses were poised should she detect that familiar presence. Alert as she was, she could already sense a twisting pain, shadowed and a memory now, or so she thought.... a memory that she too shared. Kaldir....

As Naiore's deft fingers tied her pack shut, the unmistakable sound of feet on the stones without carried faintly to her. The Ravennor paused, eyes now sharply intent, for a moment. Then she burst into swift action, breaking her seeming suspension. By the time Toby Longholes had ventured into the mouth of the cave, Naiore was ensconced in a shadow nearby.

She watched the hobbit with eyes narrowed in thought. He was wary, it rolled off from him in great waves, and he was excited. About what? Naiore had chosen to conceal herself close to the entrance so as to make the most of penning this intruder into the cave.

He carefully stepped past, and Naiore felt a surge of hatred gripped her. Such folk were the chief instrument of her present predictament. His eyes darted about, adjusting to the dimmer light within the cave. Her garrot was in her hand, ready as she heard him say in his light, clear hobbit voice, "Serves him right."

Naiore paused a moment longer, sweeping the immediate area for any other hint of a Ranger or other companion. When she found none, she smiled. In the darkness, it was a symbol of perfect elven beauty, as she rose from where she crouched with smooth grace.

"Justice is a slippery creature to manage."

Toby, to his credit, whirled quickly at the sound of her musical voice. Naiore had pitched it low and quiet, and she met the hobbit's astonished mien with her own serene expression. Toby's gaze wandered up to her face. Naiore could see him piece the separate facts together.

Each time his brow quirked, Naiore felt a corresponding desire to tighten her silk around his neck. Quirk, the black leather that encased her from heel to throat. Quirk, the silk in her gloved hands. Quirk, the baldric and sword that peeked over her shoulder. Quirk, the pale blonde hair famed of her family bound into plaits. Quirk, the Elven features in peaceful repose. Quirk, starlight eyes that held no hint of warmth.

"Oh," he managed to say.

"To whom do I have the pleasure of extending the hospitality of my dwelling?" Naiore's question bore the culivated modulation of one born to nobility. Toby's eyes simply widened, if that was possible. They were already saucers in his pale face. The Ranger's pouch dangled all but forgotten in his fist and his gaze flicked to the light shining behind her from his route of escape.

"I must insist you remain, to keep me company, for the moment." Naiore took a fluid step closer to Toby, garrot still ready. It had been so long since her garrot had drunk from the cup of death.

"Naiore Dannan, I am named, Lady of the Swan. I would very much like to know by what you are called, and I am accustomed to getting that which I seek." Naiore was coiled in readiness to strike at the merest twitch. Her senses screamed to be allowed the release to taste and search for her answer.

Fear eddied through the hobbit, he radiated with it. Perhaps he knew from where fear spawns.

[Nerindel]

Tallas

"Tallas, Old man, come out! We wish to... trade with you," a mans voice called over the creek of his old chair, but still he rocked back and forth, a slight grin curving his lips and his hand gripping the staff at his side.

"I Said, come out Tallas. We wish to trade with you!" the voice cried again this time with a slight edge of annoyance, "well it looks like I'm to go to them," he grinned. As he rose from the chair he rocked it so the creaking would continue long enough for him to reach the tree line a short distance away from the direction of their calls.

As he circled behind the trespassers he heard, "We'll 'ave to deal with this one my way, boyo" and the soft sobs of a woman, silently stepping out from the trees behind the two villains and beside the young elf he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and as she looked up, her eyes glistening with the sadness and fear he had seen only in his dreams, he smiled, his kind eyes sympathising with her plight, then placing one finger gently to his lips, silencing her, he turned and let out a polite cough to catch the attention of the two men who where studying intently his home.

"Now what's the meaning of disturbing an old mans rest!" he said sternly, leaning hard on his staff as the two men whirled round. The darker of the two men cast him a dark menacing look while the other remained calm, speaking before the other had chance too.

"My apologies Tallas, we seek only to trade with you," he bowed courteously, the words slipping of his tongue effortlessly, like a snakes hiss, Tallas thought to himself.

"But what would an old man have to trade that might interest two young men such as yourselves?" he said acting surprised at such a request.

"Enough!" the second man bellowed, earning him a sharp look from his friend, no accomplice Tallas thought seeing The swarthier man return the look. "Are you going to trade with us or not?" he growled his temper raising.

"What do you have that an old man would need?" he smiled looking the two men up and down, then turning his gaze to the elf woman. "What about her! can she cook and clean? I am getting on in years and could use someone to tend my house," he smiled kindly looking down on her.

"No! she's mine!" the darker man growled placing himself between Tallas and the elf woman, the old man passively stepped back, noting the slight jerk of the mans arm, as if he slid something to his palmed hand. "Then you have nothing to trade with!" he said sternly. "We has gold!" the man answered impatiently. Tallas lowered his head and laughed, "You don't understand" he said looking up at the two villains, a threatening gleam in his grey eyes.

"Wait, now I'm sure we can work something .... " Anavill began as Barrold glared angrily at the old man, but he was abruptly cut off, "I gave you the chance to do the right thing in releasing the elf to my care, I do not treat with ruffians and scoundrels, you shall have not while I still drew breath!" he threatened.

"That's fine with me old man!" Barrold hissed and Tallas quickly shifted his staff across his body as an object left the ruffians hand, the knife imbedded its self in to the wood of the staff just at the old mans chest, "Very nice," he grinned impressed "Now my turn, " and before Barrold could react and quicker than one would expect the old man to move, he hit Barrold hard under the chin with his staff and with the same momentum swept his legs out from under him, then hearing the other mans sword being drawn from its sheath he gripped the staff with both hand, twisted the top and pulled out a long thin flat bladed sword of is own, the two swords rang as they connected and Anavill pushed hard to lower the old mans hand, Tallas looked him in the eyes and whispered, "Your father would have been ashamed of you, if he was alive!" but there was no malice in his words only pity, but as Anavill faltered at his words he used the staff in his other hand to hit the younger man hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling backwards.

As the two men struggled to their feet, he quickly pulled the still imbedded knife from his staff and threw it so it struck the tree the elf woman was tied too, just below the ropes that bound her and with a smile in her direction he turned back to meet his fate.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

"Your friend is dead," as softly as the words were said they rang loud in his mind, some part of him maybe but not all surly! he hoped desperately. As Kaldir continued Dulrain opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by his friends raised hand. "Keep it in his memory," Kaldir told him then turned to leave. As Dúlrain's head fell resigned to let his brother remain but a shadow of his past, his eyes fell on the narrow wooden carved whistle that hung round his neck, he used it to call Dir in time of need, but perhaps now it could aid another, he thought.

"Wait!" he called, pulling the strong leather cord that held the whistle over his head, as Kaldir turned back to face him , he smiled "If you will not take what is rightfully yours, then take this," he said tossing the whistle to his friend, who caught it instinctively. "I made and oath to that friend that even death cannot break, so if ever you find yourself in need, blow once and Dir will lead me to you, this oath I now extend to your wife and her friend also," he said bowing graciously to both women, then turning back to Kaldir, he whisper "If in need one Will..! find the other," he emphasised. But Kaldir merely nodded and turned his horse to leave.

Dúlrain watched till the three companions disappeared round the bend of the narrow alleyway, hoping that pride would not prevent his friend of old from using his gift if the need arose, but there was hope that if he did not use it then perhaps his wife would, the memory of her beautiful eyes filled his thoughts, but checking himself he shook them away and returned to the task at hand, he still had to check again with the gate wardens, before returning to the inn, where he would tell the others of his surprising encounter.

Still he could find no sight or sign of their quarry and his attention strayed now and then to Kaldir and his wife, perhaps it was best if he left his friend to his new life one as husband rather than the lonely life of a ranger, he sighed then again if I found one as beautiful as she I might too be tempted to give up this lonely trade, then scolded himself for indulging in flights of fancy, it is things much worse, I fear, that have pulled him from his old life not the beauty of his wife, but perhaps she is his strength in dark times, her eyes held a quiet strength, he thought smiling involuntary.

"Hail master ranger, you missed one of your brethren, he passed through sometime ago, seemed to be looking for something" the gate wardens words pulled him from his thoughts and he approached the gate, "What did this ranger look like?" he asked wondering If one of the other had found something.

"A lithe man clad much as yourself, with brown or maybe black hair and a coppery brown complexion, very well mannered I remember" the guard called down to him.

"Maethor," he laughed, remembering the courteous welcome he had received from the man at the inn, "The mans name is Maethor, how long since he passed?" Dulrain asked.

"Several hours now sir," the guard answered, at this Dúlrains brow furrowed slightly, if he was scouting like him he should have returned by now, concerned he thanked the warden and searched for sign of the ranger.

A slight way down the road the rangers boot prints veered left towards the woods, once in the woods an explosion of heavy boot prints mixed together, he made out Maethor's print, joined by a lighter companion, their prints showed that they ran, and the second heavier print were made by those who pursued he reasoned. Picking up his pace he followed the prints till he came upon signs of struggle, then turning he found Maethor lying still on the ground.

Oh, no! he thought, quickly dismounting and running over to Maethor's body, to his relief the ranger was breathing, he searched carefully for any sign of a wound, but there was only bruising and the faint sweet smell like crushed almonds, Sleeping draught perhaps he thought, as he searched for the root that would wake his fellow ranger, he came across of few broken teeth, at least he got in few good punches he laughed, then went back to his search.

Finally finding the plant he required, he drew his belt knife and dug into the ground revealing the root, cutting about and inch of the root he quickly covered the remainder and went back to Maethor, waving the exposed root under his nose. Coughing violently Maethor woke up.

"Vanwe!" he cried as he sat up.

"I'm sorry friend, she is not here," Dúlrain said shaking his head.

"What happened? why where you out here?" Dulrain asked, helping the still drowsy ranger to his feet.

[Imladris]

Maethor

“I feel lousy,” Maethor said with a slight laugh, holding his head. Staring at Dulrain, he grinned and said, “Now you show yourself. I have been looking for your for quite some time, but you disappear as easily as shadows flee the sun. I came across your tracks by the wall and followed them until they disappeared (following your example, I’m sure), and there guessed that you had left the city a short distance -- a guess which proved wrong,” he added ruefully, touching the cut across his forehead gingerly. “I ran into Vanwe,” he said softly. “She was in trouble, running from a man named Avanill. He distracted me while Ferney charged me from behind…I tried to get him to tell me where Nairore was, but Avanill sent me into a sleep with some kind of drug, I suppose.” He sighed sadly. “Where are the others?” he asked absently. He wondered what had happened to Vanwe, whether she was in any harm or pain. "No sign of Vanwe?" he asked.

Dulrain shrugged slightly and said, “No sign of the elf. But I left them as they interrogated Toby Longholes.”

“He proved very uncooperative,” Maethor said, somewhat dryly. “But, in the end, he gave us some information…very little information. I was sent to look for you before they were finished with him. Actually, everything’s still a bit hazy, if you know what I mean. That’s right! He said he was going to show them Ferney’s house…wherever that is.”

“We must return to the Prancing Pony,” said Dulrain.

They soon reached the inn and found that their friends had gone. Slowly making their way to Butterbur’s station at the bar, Dulrain asked, “Did our friends, the elf and rangers, leave you a message for us? I am Dulrain and this is Maethor.”

Butterbur furrowed his brow, stopped for a while with two ales in his hand, and said, “Not that I can remember. Of course, with things such a bustle around here, it might easily have gotten lost.”

Maethor rubbed his temples wearily, wishing desperately they had a more reliable host. However, he smiled gently and said, “Do you remember when they left?”
Butterbur shrugged and began to scurry towards a table with loud men, Maethor and Dulrain trailing behind him. “Now I don’t recall them exactly leaving.”

“If they didn’t talk to you, who would they have talked to,” asked Dulrain.

“No…no, you did order an ale,” protested Butterbur to a disgruntled guest. “Their memories are shorter than a pig’s tail,” he said, “and just as twisted.”

Maethor smiled and said, “If they had left, would they have spoken to Nob?”

“Nob? Yes, perhaps so. Hey, you!” he shouted to a hobbit hand, “fetch Nob!”

Nob soon scuttled in, his round face red with exertion or excitement, or both. “Were you given a letter for either Dulrain or Maethor?” the young ranger asked, yawning slightly. He was still feeling drowsy from the drug Avanill had given him; his jaw ached and he was still musing on Vanwe's fate.

“Here it is!” Nob said excitedly. Maethor, reading that the Sindarin script addressed it to Dulrain, handed it with mock gravity to the ranger. Tearing the seal, Dulrain quickly scanned it and said, “Let’s go to Ferney’s house.”

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

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir caught the carved wooden whistle by reflex and closed it in his fist.

"...if in need, one will find the other," Dulrain vowed, but Kaldir only nodded in response and turned his horse to go. It was a childish oath, made by children in another lifetime. What loyalty did this man owe to him? And what loyalty did Kaldir owe to this Ranger? This man was one of those who had left him for dead, was he not? Kaldir had been in need that day at Raven Falls, yet no one had come to his assistance. And for three years after that when his mind and body had been pushed to the very brink of insanity and death, no one came. Finally, when someone did come, it was Amandur and a team of strangers. No one had even identified him as one of their own until Kaldir himself had managed to whisper a few cracked words in the Adunaic tongue. They were the last words he had spoken for weeks, perhaps months, afterward. He had been in such a shattered state in those days that words - in any tongue - were beyond him.

"If in need, one will find the other..." Kaldir murmured to himself. Just words. He almost tossed the whistle aside, but instead, on an impulse, looped the leather thong over his head. The past was gone. For fifteen years now, he had lived purely in the moment, but the whistle, like the sword, represented something he had once possessed and lost...

He would keep the whistle. For the moment.

Having gotten rid of the Ranger, he turned his attention to the business at hand. The morning was slipping away. He would have to move quickly if he intended to check Barrold Ferny's hideouts for a sign of Naiore, especially since Ferny had a lot of hidden places around Bree. Checking them all would take time. Originally, Kaldir had planned to drop by Ferny’s rundown house in the southern end of Bree first to see what could be found, but now? He glanced up at the sun, which was mounting rapidly higher into the clear sky. Now it would be a waste of time. Ferny was a scoundrel of the deepest dye, but he was not a fool. Neither was Naiore. She was as clever and cagey a creature as she was cruel. If she had ever been at Ferny’s house at all, she would be well clear of it now.

Kaldir decided to change his strategy. Since he had come into town by the north gate, he would begin in the north and work his way south through the town and across Bree Hill. Then, if still nothing of Naiore had been found, he might drop in at Ferny’s house for another chat with Barrold. That is, if he was at home. Kaldir smiled grimly. The second chat would not be quite so friendly. He kicked his horse and moved ahead of Gilly and Benia as they re-entered the busy street.

“Stay very close to me,” he ordered them as he passed. “Not everyone in Bree is so polite as Mr. Dulrain. The individual we seek would be quite happy to use your hides for new saddlebags.”

He thought he saw Benia nod under her veil, but Mrs. Banks looked decidedly unhappy. Nonetheless, both women fell in obediently behind him. They rode only a short distance before Kaldir made a turn into the weed-choked yard of a long abandoned wine-shop and dismounted. Choosing his steps carefully so as not to disturb any existing prints, he examined the ground on all sides of the door and under the windows. Finding nothing, he gestured to the two women to dismount and follow him.

“We’re going inside,” he said and, taking the dagger from his belt, forced the lock on the door. It fell open with a rusty groan. Still holding his drawn dagger at the ready, Kaldir pushed the door open and entered.

“Oh, my!” sighed Gilly behind him. “This place could sure use a good cleaning.”

Dirt, broken furniture and garbage covered the floor and the broken countertop. Kaldir looked past the counter to the room where great flasks had once held some of the finest wines in the area. After the shop had closed down, smugglers, Ferny chief among them, had installed hinges and made false fronts on most of them, using the flasks as temporary stashes for their ill gotten goods. Now the flasks stood empty, the false fronts hanging open to reveal nothing more than a thick layer of dust. The shop had not been used for sometime, by smugglers or anyone else. Kaldir sheathed his dagger.

“For whom do we search?” asked a clear voice behind him. Turning, he saw that Benia had come into the shop behind Mrs. Banks and removed her veil. A tense mixture of anger and fear burned in her amber eyes.

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

“T…T…Toby L…Longholes" he managed to stammered, his throat dry and hoarse from fear, he could feel himself shaking under the gaze of her sharp cold eyes, eyes that clearly marked the danger he was in. 'Well done Toby! Out of the frying pan into the fire!' he thought coldly. This was the person Barrold had been cursing just before he met with Kaldir and obviously the one The rangers where searching for, it all suddenly fell into place, making him feel more miserable than he thought possible.

He knew nothing of folk outside Breeland, a choice he now consciously regretted, oh! Yes, he had dealings with men other than those of Bree but he never much cared for the news of other folk unless it of course affected him directly. However, of elves he knew nothing only what fireside stories told, a wise and wondrous fair folk he recalled and until today, he had never met any. Now he had met two and within hours of one another, ‘not good’ he thought bitterly. Although this one was fairer than the other was and had more of a regal air, she terrified him. The one with the rangers had not spoken to him and when she did look his way, it had been with a kind and sympathetic eye. Which at the time he had bitterly resented, but now he half wished he were back at the inn under her soft gaze, Rather than under the murderous look of the elf before him. He felt trapped like a rabbit in its burrow and a sleek fox that would take pleasure playing with him if he tried to make for the opening blocked the only exit.

He could feel her taking measure of him and he shuddered slightly, He thought hard, he had to think of something before she decided that he had seen too much for her to keep him alive. "Y…y…you..." he began weakly, but then coughed hard to harden his resolve "You are Master Ferney's guest are you not?" He gulped and flinched involuntary as her hand pulled taunt the silk tread in her hands, "And what makes you think that Mr Longholes!" Her soft melodic voice still carried a hint of threat. "Err, I… I..." he stammered again, then he remembered the pouch in his hands, "I just passed Ferney's place, crawling with rangers it was," he exaggerated, "I figured he had a new guest if they were snooping about," he continued making sure the disdain was apparent when he spoke of the rangers.

"you are acquainted with Barrolds business!" she asked her eyes narrowing, making him again shiver, "I am aquatinted with his trade, I... err come across things that he might sell for a profit and on occasion I... eh watch things for him and tell him of things that he might be interested in," he explained.

"Thief and spy then!" she hissed mockingly, This made the hairs on the back of his neck raise and his boldness returned, "I'll have you know I proved an excellent spy for Barrolds cousin Bill during old Shark’s hold of the Shire and if it wasn't for the return of that... that.... Master Baggins and his busybody companions...” he spat heatedly, and then remembering his situation, he restrained his anger, and went on casually.

"Anyway you have not asked how I reasoned that you were their intent” he grinned proudly, but dropping it at her sharp impatient look. “W...well there was more than Rangers snooping about, there was one of your kind! A woman well armed and searching just as intently if not more so than the rangers. When I passed they stopped me and asked if I had seen any foreigners in town, but when I informed them that I had not they went back to their meddling. But I caught a few of their words, your name not the least.” The last was of course a complete fabrication but he was confident that he had pulled it off convincingly.

"This elf what did she look like?" Naiore commanded

a little surprised by the question, he had to think for a moment while he recalled how see looked, "She was tall and slender, with a noble bearing about her, her hair unlike yours was long and dark, but sunlight showed that it was flecked with gold. She did not speak but her grey eyes felt like they looked right into my heart.” He shivered as he recalled the woman’s unnerving gaze back at the prancing pony.

"Oh! and she had an exquisite silver brooch clasped at her pale neck, expensive it looked, the detail extensive, a tree of the likes I've never seen before flanked by a silvery crescent moon" he added as if just remembering its beauty and value.

The elf seemed to be deep in thought but as he shifted his footing uncomfortably, she shot him a look as if daring him to move that she could pounce. So instead, he sighed miserably and slumped to sit on the cold floor, waiting for her to decide what to do with him. The thought that Barrold himself might be joining them did not escape his mind, he could only hope that he was not seen at the house or that Barrold came straight to his guest without returning home.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

The hobbit had been relieved to be on the move again; relieved that no argument had broken out, and relieved also that Kaldir had not yet passed them on to anyone else in Bree having a worse disposition. It bought them precious time.

No mistake, Gilly thought Dúlrain had seemed pleasant and decent enough. And if she could, she would have willed him to see through the veneer of the bounty hunter’s words. It was a strange thing to witness the exchange between them. Still she was trying to make sense of it, as they entered the thoroughfare again. Dúlrain had spoken of the sword’s owner as a fellow ranger, loyal, brave and just. At first the hobbit thought that Kaldir might have slain him, but she saw no vengefulness in Dúlrain’s kindly grey eyes. Instead he had tried to show the sword to Kaldir, with whispers too soft for the hobbit to hear.

Kaldir, making no move toward the offered blade had held Dúlrain’s eyes for a lengthy time before declaring softly, “Your friend is dead, do not give such a thing to a ghost. Keep it in his memory.” If Gilly hadn’t the “pleasure” of the bounty hunter’s acquaintance, she would have thought he was referring to himself. But Kaldir was certainly of flesh and bone, and his daggers real, as she had discovered over the course of the past few days. Dúlrain had also given a pledge to help Kaldir in the form of a necklace, a marvelous whistle to call help to one’s side, before parting their company. Perhaps the sword had belonged to Kaldir’s brother and thus Dúlrain felt kindly disposed to him. That would fit, Gilly reasoned. Most families have a black sheep or two, though Kaldir was more near wolf than sheep to her mind.

“Stay very close to me,” Kaldir commanded them as he rode around taking position in front. “Not everyone in Bree is so polite as Mr. Dúlrain. The individual we seek would be quite happy to use your hides for new saddlebags.” Gilly frowned at this. Why should he warn them, as though he cared what became of them? Was he to collect bounty from the person he was seeking? Gilly sincerely hoped not. If she was to become a servant, she hoped that it would be to someone who would not feel better served by a new saddlebag than a capable hobbit. No it must be some other prize he sought, else why warn them except to protect his future profit.

Leading them to a storefront long abandoned, Kaldir gestured them down in order to follow him inside. Deftly unlocking the door, he pushed it open. The room was in a state, to say the least. “ Oh my!” Gilly uttered upon entering. “This place could sure use a good cleaning.” By about a half dozen of the most industrious of hobbits, she thought to herself. Lifting up the edges of her skirts she waded through the garbage and bones strewn about the floor, searching for a place to stand. Behind her Benia entered, lifting off her veil. It was the first time since they had broken camp that Gilly had seen her friend’s face, and that face spoke volumes to her accustomed eye. Gilly watched timidly as Benia, her jewelry flashing along her cheek approached Kaldir. “For whom do we search?” she asked simply. Gilly was taken back at the bold question. She saw Kaldir turn to search those kohl rimmed eyes.

[Elora]

Naiore

Oh, she longed to drink in the hobbit's wretched fear. It had been so long and she had been denied this small quenching of a far deeper need for too long. The flash of defiance would only make the morsel a little sweeter. He slumped on the floor, a messy puddle of hobbit, right there to be taken. Perhaps he would squeak... perhaps a desultory struggle and then he would be gone...

By a tendril of restraint, Naiore withheld. Toby Longholes watched her hands draw the garrot taut and then relax. Instead she waved him to a nearby stone with a gracefully aloof gesture.

"Please, sit Master Longholes. I do detest mess." The measured modulation of her voice sounded as though she were a lady in the gleaming halls of her King, not a Ravennor in a cave near Bree. Naiore hated clutter. Toby dragged himself to the indicated perch and huddled miserably. Still, he was not as subdued as one may think. He calculated and connived, Naiore could feel the shape of his cunning move through his discomfort.

She took a steadying breath as her own thoughts wheeled.

"And so you are an associate of Barrold Ferney, Master Longholes. He has found satisfaction in your services in the past?"

"Yes.... no better than me," Toby replied with more than a hint of stubborn pride. He shifted again, uncomfortable beneath the weight of her relentless stare. Without a word, Naiore started to coil her garrot. Toby was flummoxed and she could sense his uncertainty.

So, Lespheria is about, and with the Dunedain rabble no doubt. Soiling herself by association with such mortal refuse of a failed nation washed up by unhappy circumstance when their mettle failed. A fierce flash of anger lit Naiore's gaze, betraying her ancient hatred for Gondor. Stowing her silk at her hip, where it would be ready, Toby found himself delicately positioned next to the Ravennor as she took a nearby rock and curled her lithe form to sit upon it.

"Did the Rangers also have satisfaction of your services, Master Longholes?"

Toby stammered as he fished about. Naiore's lips curved into a knowing smile. She placed a long fingered hand gloved in black on his shoulder lightly. He stilled, mouth drying further and swallowing any words he may have caught.

"No need to answer, Toby. We both know the way of such things, do we not?" Toby nodded and shook his head, unsure of which answer would best behoove him and the sinking feeling that none would. Naiore ran a light finger down Toby's cheek and then withdrew, her face once again dangerous serenity.

"Tell me, who else have you seen in Bree of late, Master Longholes?" She fixed a cool gaze on Toby squarely, filled with the certainty of a reply. Toby's brow furrowed as he wondered what she would want to hear as well as how to zip past her into the open. Both were knotty conundrums.

He cannot be permitted to leave now, and he will soon realise it. Strip him of all value and leave his body here... or mayhap he has some future use... What better than a Hobbit for entry to the Shire...

Toby was listing a string of local names, none of which interested Naiore in the least. Her patience wore thin and it showed in the way she cut across his stream of ridiculous botanical names that were the fashion in these rustic lands.

"I care not for those to whom you owe money or those who owe you money, and well you know it. Perhaps you would be interested to learn that those who disappoint me seem to be cursed with unfortunate ends that would make the hairs on your toes curl, Master Longholes. Hardly the topic of polite conversation."

Naiore spoke casually, as though discussing the weather or grain harvest. Toby shivered and watched her cock her head and smile strangely, almost as if she were tempting him with something.

"Those who please me are well rewarded for their service and wisdom. Few are able to reward as handsomely as I, and that is no idle boast.

"Perhaps you have observed something of interest to me recently. I do hope so."

Toby knew that somewhere in there was a threat. She seemed to wear threat like a mantle, and he didn't much like her smile either. Still... rewards... maybe there was a way in on Barrold's rich scheme. If so he'd have to make the most of it before the Man appeared to put an end to it.

"I... I saw Barrold talking to someone last night," he ventured. He found himself rewarded with an expression of genuine pleasure and warmed to his task.

"I will be rewarded,"

"Amply, good Master Longholes. I am as good as my word." Incongruous as that was, a Ravennor as good as her word, Naiore meant it. Naiore listened intently as Toby unfolded his tale of Kaldir. When he was done, the cave was silent. He dared a furtive glance at the Elf by his side and regretted it. She was fell and dangerous, no matter how big her purse was. After a time, Naiore broke from her musings.

"You've done well, Master Longholes, and I am pleased. I can see why Barrold retains your services. A master spy indeed. 'Tis fortunate we met for I can well use your remarkable talent for observation."

Alarm blossomed in Toby renewed as it became obvious he was not about to part company with Naiore any time soon. She shook her head as though fondly waiting out the intemperate objections of a child.

"Really, Master Longholes, you did not expect me to send you off with Rangers looking for you after having seen me? One of your professional standing should know better." Toby heaved a miserable sigh.

"Such glumness when you are set to become one of the most powerful and wealthiest Hobbit ever! You are a mystery indeed. Fascinating."

Naiore's voice was drily amused as she stretched her long legs and settled in.

"No, I'm afraid you'll be sharing my company yet. You have two choices and you would be advised to ponder them well. Prove yourself of use and I will keep you with me. Prove yourself useless or trouble and I will leave behind your lifeless remains. Alive and rich, or dead.

The decision is yours, Master Longholes."

With that, Naiore fell as silent as the stone she sat upon. She settled with the ease of her kindred to let time pass her by, awaiting Barrold's return.


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


Barrold

Barrold was not idly tarrying. Indeed, Tallas was giving him much more trouble than any old man had any business being. Grim and surprisingly strong and wiry, it was like trying to subdue a snake. Tallas could twist and strike with his staff with blinding speed and painful accuracy.

Still it was one man against two. Fight as he did, Barrold had enough of such stoushes to know that sooner or later they would put an end to him. Wheezing after earning Tallas' staff to his sternum, Barrold gasped, "Enjoyed that, I 'ope old man."

He circled warily with Avanill, who seemed unusually fierce and preoccupied at the man's jibes. Then with an shout of animal murder, Barrold lunged forward with his dagger reaching for Tallas' blood just as Avanill sprang into action. The two men hit Tallas hard, and they tumbled to the ground with a thud that sent dust and leaves spraying skywards. Sunlight flashed off daggers raised and suddenly dropped, bright gleams of death reflected, first clean blades and then bloodied red.

The knot of men crabbed across the ground, hands clawing and feet kicking, grunting between clenched teeth. It was wildly chaotic, atavistic struggle beneath the woodland trees. In the dappled light, life was being ruined but not quietly and not without a struggle. Across the ground they lurched, towards a tree that bore a prisoner whose horrified gaze was torn between Tallas being stabbed before her and the dagger he had given her.

She had been able to saw through some of the rope, but when the first dagger strike met Tallas' flesh, she had sagged in horror. Her healer's senses of injury and pain were being torn as surely as Tallas was. Desperation had her teeth clenched against the sensations of death and violence. With a snarl, she stowed the dagger beneath her tunic as best the ropes would allow and launched herself as best as she could, untrained and untutored, towards the murderous knot of Avanill and Barrold as they stole Tallas' life from him.

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

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill's deep blue eyes narrowed, his face was twisted in fury. "You know nothing old man! My fahter did not know of me and i am gald! If he were alive after escaping Atantri's wrath, no sooner would i learn his name than take his blood myself!" he yelled at the body which lay limply, covered in blood on the ground.

The cold rage which had filled his body for the short time, began to subside. He bent to wipe his dagger on the grass, still breathing heavily. "Allright Boy?" Barrold asked, sitting catching his breath as well. Avanill nodded, frowning.


He noticed Vanwe standing, watchign them with cool horror in her eyes, Avanill waved his dagger in the direction of the body, staring her in the eye. "He deserved to die!" Vanwe began to weep. "Becuase he spoke of your father? You both killed him!" she wailed.

In one quick stride Avanill reached her and grabed her head with one hand. "You have no idea, my father would have betray my mother to her death!" his voice was low. "Thats enough Avanill!" came the shouts of Barrold. "Leave 'er," Avanill threw his dagger down onto the ground, and sat, now completely calm, dwelling on deep thoughts.

"Now, darlin' Dont want another outburst like that, or who knows what that man wil do to yeh." He heard Barrold speak to Vanwe. He couldnt care less. Once his anger had subsided, Avanill removed his bloodsoaked shirt and placed it in his bag, the took a new one out and put it on.

How did he know? Did the old man know Atantri?he thought before turning ot Barrold. "Ferney, I think it best we get what we need before someone turns up."

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As they left the ranger Dulrain behind and rode back into the traffic of market day Bree, Benia found her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. On one level, she was deeply puzzled by the exchange that she had witnessed between the bounty hunter and the gray-eyed ranger, while on another level, she was stunned by the strength of her own reaction to the stranger. Shrouded again in the heavy fabric of her veil, she allowed the bounty hunter to push past her on his gray horse and take the lead again as they re-entered the main thoroughfare. His warning, something about staying near him and new saddlebags, was mostly lost to her in the muffling effect of the veil and the competing street noises, but she nodded anyway. Let him make new saddlebags of her skin, if that was what he was about, but it would not be without a fight.

She reached up under the veil and wiped a bead of sweat from her hairline, replaying the scene from the side street in her mind. What had happened there, she was not sure, but it had been apparent to her that the two men had some sort of connection to one another, perhaps in the past, that the ranger had wished to pursue. The bounty hunter had not. She could tell by the way he held himself. Unable to hear most of what had been said, she remembered the way the bounty hunter had paled at the sight of the other man's second sword and refused to touch it when offered it. She wondered if that sword had been responsible for some of the scars borne by the bounty hunter. Yet, throughout the encounter, she had seen no malice in his eyes. Anger, yes, but it seemed an old, cold anger, one more of long-standing resentment than of hatred or the desire for revenge. As for the other man...

She felt a slight flush rising again in her cheeks as the memory of his gaze on her face washed over her. Her disappointment when he had turned and simply ridden away had been fierce, but, she reminded herself, he had left them the whistle. Granted, he had left it in the charge of the bounty hunter, but his offer of assistance had been made not only to Kaldir, but to her and Gilly as well. She wondered if Dulrain would raise a sword against the bounty hunter if she or Gilly were to summon him. Based on the scene she had just witnessed, she found herself unable to predict him, one way or the other.

The one thing she did know was that in that instant when Dulrain's eyes had first met hers, a charge had passed between them. It was that charge that had caused her to blush and momentarily loose her purpose. Regardless what the connection was between Dulrain and the bounty hunter, she felt that, in that instant, she had forged a connection with him as well. But which would prove stronger? Unlike the bounty hunter, this man seemed kind and just. If he was the ranger that he appeared to be, then in all likelihood, he was not only brave, but rooted in the paths of righteousness. After all, was he not one of the king’s own brethren? She knew better than to hope for the love of such a man, but if his regard or even his pity were offered, she would accept it. She and Gilly could not defeat the bounty hunter on their own.

She watched Kaldir’s broad shoulders as he led the way into the courtyard of a deserted shop and dismounted. Her heart sank when he gestured for her and Gilly to dismount as well. She was a little more familiar with Kaldir and cellars in empty buildings that she would have preferred to be. She hoped he didn’t intend to tie her and Gilly and leave them in the darkness, hungry and alone, as she had been back in that cellar near the Forsaken Inn. She didn’t think that she could bear it again. Hesitant to go anywhere near that evil-looking building, she watched as Kaldir drew his dagger and deftly forced the lock. The door swung open and he stepped inside. Filled with misgivings, she dismounted and followed Gilly into the filth of the deserted building. Stepping lightly at first, Benia was delighted to discover that her ankle had improved greatly. It scarcely pained her at all, so that she was able to walk with only a slight limp. A new hope surged through her.

Ahead of her, Gilly made a remark about the mess.

Benia smiled and, heartened by the improvement in her ankle, decided to take a chance. As the door swung shut behind her, she reached up and removed her veil, watching the bounty hunter closely as he gave the place a cursory search. The sudden thought that perhaps he was on the trail of yet another bounty to add to her and Gilly rose abruptly in her mind. She felt a flash of anger. Surely, it wasn’t another of her mother’s tribe that he sought. She knew that a small group of Painted Sand people had been traveling in the direction of Bree. In fact, before her unlucky fall on the stairs back at the inn, her plan had been to join up with them and travel south with them to the desert to assist in an important matter regarding another of her kinsmen. But her fall and subsequent encounter with the bounty hunter had changed all that. Since the bounty hunter had found her, it did seem reasonable that he would know about them as well. She must not allow them to be captured, too.

Not knowing what else to do, she stepped forward and asked the question in a calm, clear voice. “For whom do we search?”

Sheathing his dagger, Kaldir turned and gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Not one of yours, if that’s what troubles you, my lady,” he said finally, ignoring the fact that she had defied his order and removed her veil. “Our quarry is far more worrisome that a stray tribesman or two.”

“Then, who?” she asked stubbornly. It was easy enough to deny that he sought any of her fellow tribesmen, but, in order for her to believe it, she needed to know who the true quarry was. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gilly glancing worriedly back and forth between them.

For a long moment, the bounty hunter did not reply. Instead, he walked to the grimy window and with a corner of his cloak wiped clean a spot large enough to allow him to see the yard where they had left the horses. Satisfied that the horses were still there and waiting in good order, he returned his attention to Benia.

“Someone you may have heard of,” he answered, a bitter smile twitching on the corner of his lips. “It’s unfortunate that you happen to be with me now that she has surfaced, but since you are, I suppose you have a right to know. Her name is Naiore Dannan.”

Benia felt the blood drain from her face. “Naiore...” she echoed breathlessly. She reached behind herself and gripped the doorknob for support. She had heard tales of Naiore Dannan. Stories of her horrible and relentless cruelty were whispered throughout Middle Earth. In some circles, her name was spoken with nearly the same dread as that of Sauron himself.

“I see you know of her.” Kaldir leaned one shoulder against the window frame.

Stunned, Benia nodded. “But why do you seek her? She’ll kill you. She’ll kill all of us.”

“Because I have a score to settle with her,” Kaldir answered bluntly. Pushing himself away from the wall, he walked to where Benia stood. When he reached her, she half-expected him to strike her for her insolence, but, instead, he reached out a hand and touched the silver chain that traced a shining line across her cheek. “She stole something from me that no one has the right to take,” he said by way of an explanation. His icy blue eyes bored into Benia’s. “I intend to take it back.”

“What-” Benia started to ask, but the bounty hunter had already moved away.

“Put your veil on, “ he ordered her gruffly. “We have work to do.” He pushed past her out the door to the courtyard and the waiting horses, but as he passed she heard him murmur something else:

"I wasn't always the monster you see before you."

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

[Elora]

Barrold

Avanill ignored the disparaging glance that Barrold tossed in his direction upon receiving the younger man's directive. He seemed distracted, and not by Vanwe's disorderly conduct either. Barrold stowed away some names Avanill had let fall in the scuffle into the dim recesses of his cunning mind as he made a show of brushing the dirt off his tunic.

Avanill had already changed his shirt. Barrold studied the front of his own. The meals of a good month could be seen, along with evidence of other handiwork. The latest was simply that. Not his first and nor his last, Tallas' blood would fade to a rusty dull brown stain just like the rest of them had. Done with his cursory homage to personal cleanliness, Barrold stowed his dagger, having had the foresight to clean it on his shirt first.

He ambled inside and peered around the old man's shack.

"Cosy," he observed as he looked about. When Avanill did not immediately appear inside, Barrold kicked the packed earth floor and shouted irritably for the boy.

"Oi! Get in 'ere and earn ya keep boyo!" A draft of suspicion crept over him and he returned to the door to glare out of it at Avanill, just in case he was busying himself with Vanwe. Avanill wasn't, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't. Barrold Ferney breathed more suspicion than air, which was just as well given his occupation.

"I'm coming, old man!" Avanill's reply was testy.

"'Ow am I gonna know which is what... all these bottles and most of them useless probably..." Avanill shouldered past Barrold into Tallas' home and started gathering bottles. Barrold saw him open one and sniff it experimentally before replacing the lid and dropping it into his pack.

A glance back out to Vanwe confirmed that she was still there. He could see the tears upon her face from here. She was staring at the bloodied crumpled man like a hawk.

"You! No trouble, Princess. You know what 'appens when you don't do as you're told. Tallas there, had ee of come out as we asked him to, all nice and proper, wouldn't be so indisposed as to bleed all over the place. A terrible mess, that..."

With a chuckle, Barrold turned back to the shack. Avanill's pack now jostled bottles together.

"Is it what she wants," Barrold asked with some anxious enthusiasm.

"She?" Avanill looked up from his consideration of what seemed to be powdered something or rather and frowned at Barrold. "Ah, yes... I think she'll be pleased... well pleased in fact." Barrold smiled, because that was good news. Lightened of spirit, he set to raiding Tallas' supplies of foods. He had as good a larder as he did range of odd plants and fungus stored in funny bottles.

When the two men emerged, their packs were considerably heavier. They eased them onto their backs and crossed to where Vanwe slumped in the ropes. Her head was bowed, but as they got closer, she lifted her head enough to fix both of them with sapphire eyes as cool as ice under starlight.

"Now, no trouble, Princess. I don't have time to entertain you now like we did this mornin'." Avanill wrapped a hand around the hilt of his knife. They stepped around Tallas' body.

"He's dead," she said in a voice that was as close to a growl as Barrold had ever heard. He chortled roundly, slapping his thigh in his amusement.

"You 'ear that, boyo! She's right smart, this one." Avanill only smiled, if it could be called that. Vanwe said no more. Barrold unknotted the rope and started to uncoil it from the tree. He came to a frayed part, a neat fray he was forced to admit, a precise one. He paused, studying it closely. He looked closely at Vanwe. She seemed worn somehow, wearied. Maybe she was stronger than she seemed to have frayed the rope with her struggles.

"Hurry Ferney," Avanill urged, interrupting Barrold's turning thoughts. He resumed his work and soon they were on their way. Vanwe trailed behind them on a short length of rope which pleased Barrold at the opportunity to yank on the rope and drag her forward.

"Where're going," Avanill asked, conserving his breath for a hike.

"North Gate, or near abouts," Barrold reply, savagely yanking the rope. He heard Vanwe's lunge to keep her balance. If she was tired, maybe she'd trip. A few bruises wouldn't be too much damage, and it wasn't as though she hadn't earnt them.

"That's an hour away, at least," Avanill protested. Barrold merely shrugged and dragged suddenly at the rope again. There were some games that he would never tire of.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain quickly scanned the note and set the sketched map to memory, "Let's go to Ferney's house," he said passing the note back to Maethor, that he too could read it. As they waited for Bob to bring Maethor's horse from the stables, he turned to see Maethor gingerly rubbing his aching jaw, "You fared well my friend, at least we know the elf maiden is alive and Barrold has a few less teeth," he quipped, but a small trace of guilt laced his voice. His reunion with Kaldir could have easily cost him another friend, silently he thanked Eru that luck seemed to be with him or her, but the feeling that he had now let down two of his brethren did not pass.

Just then, Bob brought out the rangers stallion, Maethor mounted with ease and the pair rode in silence, each with his own thoughts. Dúlrain, could not stop thinking on the words of his old friend, your friend is dead! However, he was not and Dúlrain knew he had failed his friend, breaking their oath and he could not tear the guilt from his mind, "he should hate me,” he whispered "I failed him!" he sighed heavily, drawing a puzzled look from his companion.

"Are you all right?" Maethor asked concerned, but Dúlrain pushed the thoughts aside and grinned at his companion "It is I that should be concerned about you my friend" he laughed lightly, "How are you feeling?"

"My jaw still aches a little, but the Drowsiness is beginning to lift... I... am still worried about the elf maiden, she was clearly terrified of her captors." he sighed.

"Have heart my friend, if they took the trouble to retrieve her, they must have some need of her..." "Or they fear Naiore enough not to let her go!" Maethor cut in, Dúlrain nodded his agreement ruefully and they went on further in silent reflection.

"You weren't the only one to meet a pretty lady today," he smiled trying to lighten the mood, "Oh, so that's where you were!" Maethor laughed raising an eye in mock surprise.

"Oh, it was nothing like that!” he gasped, “She was the wife of an old friend,” he quickly explained, but his cheeks flushed feverently regardless.

"When I first saw her shrouded in the heavy veils of a southern woman I thought perhaps it was Naiore..." he paused suddenly not wishing to tell of finding Kaldir alive until they where all together, for surely they would all wish to know that their Brethren was alive after so many years. "But as she revealed herself I knew my mistake." he continued and without even realizing he began to describe the southern woman to the ranger. “Her Kohl lined eyes made her large dark amber eyes stand out under her long lashes. A silver chain that ran from her left ear across her olive cheek to her left nostril only added to her beauty.” He smiled turning back to his companion.

"Your friend sounds like a lucky man to have such a beautiful wife.” Maethor grinned, stirring uncomfortably in his saddle. Dulrain again thought of Kaldir and guilt gripped him yet again, he could not deny that he had felt something as the woman had held his gaze. However, she was his friend’s wife. Therefore, what ever he had felt would just have to remain a pleasant memory.

"Yes, he is" he replied smiling, glad that at least his friend was not alone in what ever ailed him.

The two rangers fell into light and casual conversation as they continued towards Barrolds house. They checked their horses at the rill with the others and dismounted to see their fellows conversing in the yard of the old ram shackled building.

"Come friend" he smiled, "let us see if our friends have fared any better." some of his good hearted and confident nature returning.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Léspheria

“But we must now decide which course to take, to follow Vanwe on the trail we see before us, or to continue after Naiore with no trail. But that is our errand."

Léspheria could feel Rauthain waiting for one of them to answer, and as she looked up from her thoughts, she could see concern in his broad face, from the corner of her eye she could see Amandur deep in thought, considering what course to take. Léspheria could see no other course but the one before her.

"Naiore has gone to great trouble and at great risk to herself, to retrieve her daughter, I do not believe she would give that prize up so readily!" she exclaimed taking both rangers in her steady gaze.

She could feel Amandur's surprise as he followed her reasoning, only days ago had she been angered with Amandur's revelation that the rangers were using Vanwe to find Naiore. "If we follow Vanwe's captors they will inevitably lead us to Naiore." Amandur spoke to Rauthain, and she nodded her agreement, as the older ranger looked her way.

The damage had been done Vanwe was already in danger and by following this trail they may yet be able to free the young elf from her captors, "it is better this trail than none at all" she pressed seeing the hint of doubt in Rauthain's pale grey eyes.

"Then it is settled, as soon as the others return we will follow the hired hands to their mistress." Amandur stated, then almost as if on queue Dúlrain and Maethor walked briskly up the path towards them.

Léspheria lightly stepped aside allowing the rangers to rejoin their brothers. Her gaze strayed eastward towards her valley home and she wondered if the elves had yet told the unstable elf that he had a daughter. A part of her hoped that they had, “a little light in his darkness,” she whispered softly into the warm easterly breeze. However, a bigger part of her feared that the elf might just forsake his kin’s protection and go looking for the child. She sighed heavily; none could tell what went through the mind of that one? A genius on the edge of insanity, she thought wearily.

Turning back she lightly caught up to the four rangers, frowning slightly when she saw the blackish/blue bruising along Maethor's jaw, "What happened!" she asked, searching her satchel for the appropriate oil to relieve the ache and reduce the swelling.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Naiore Dannan? Gilly didn't care for this turn of conversation, and though she had never heard the name until now, judging from Miss Benia's reception of the news, and considering the grave manner in which Kaldir spoke, this Naiore did not seem someone she cared to meet. If only she and Benia could stay in the wine shop until Kaldir came back from his miserable errand. She didn't suppose he would accept her word that they would stay until he returned, but hoped that somehow any additional unpleasantness could be avoided.

And why the bounty hunter would even consider carting around three, she could not fathom. He did not seem keen on it, so why then? Particularly when their future companion was infamous, by the sound of it. She must bear a far greater price than a half-caste straggler of a proud but dying clan. Not to say that Kaldir appeared interested in wealth. Hadn’t Benia still her adornments? And Gilly’s small knife was the only item he chose to remove from the hobbit’s possession.

The hobbit saw Benia list backward, as if pushed by the force of a phantom tempest. "I see you know of her," Kaldir said observing Benia steady herself.

The southerner nodded slowly, "But why do you seek her? She'll kill
you. She'll kill all of us."

"…I have a score to settle with her," Kaldir stated, approaching Benia.
"She stole something from me that no one has the right to take. I intend to take it back."

Struck by an urgent desire to hide, Gilly eyed the casks about her, their round hinged lids she found vaguely comforting in her distress and she longed to climb inside one, disappearing from sight and Kaldir's recollection. But it wouldn't do to leave Miss Benia alone to face such a grim trial. And she saw that this scarred man would not allow them to withdraw at this point. “Put your veil on, we have work to do.” He gruffly commanded Benia as he pushed past her and out the door. Benia watched him go with a bewildered expression.

As soon as Kaldir cleared the doorway, Gilly rushed over to her frightened. “Are you well, Miss Benia?” she asked, her thoughts running in leaps and jumps. She felt as though she could no longer breathe.

Benia turned to look at her as though waking from a dream. “Yes,” she said distantly.

“Miss Benia, you must tell me who this Naiore is so that I might be prepared when the time comes. How does that Kaldir fellow expect us to defend ourselves when we haven’t a weapon between us!”

A sad smile upon her lips, Benia picked up her veil. “I’m afraid even Jack Nightshade’s sword would be hard pressed in a fight against the Ravennor of Mordor, and there is little that can be done to prepare for her. She is a fell elf, noble by blood yet was highly esteemed by Sauron. Cruel and cunning, many have wished for death that knew her.” Then shrouding herself once more in the dark folds, she placed her veil over her head, and stepped outside. Closing her eyes for a moment, Gilly summoned up her courage before following her.

Trailing Benia out into the yard, Gilly looked to the west. A ridge of dark clouds rimmed the horizon, like blue mountains set at the edge of the sky. Rain was coming, she thought, fervently hoping it would pass to the north. The horses stood patiently waiting. Walking over to her pony, Gilly noticed that Benia's leg seemed to be getting better, and she was now able to pull herself up onto her horse seemingly without pain.

Clutching at bags and packs, the hobbit tried to hoist herself onto the pony. She felt fortunate that it was a docile creature, putting up with her clumsy scrambling that occasionally threw it off balance. But in the end she gained her seat without assistance, and felt the happier for it.

[ October 30, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor cursed himself as he heard the trace of guilt in Dulrain’s voice as he dropped the offending hand that had been rubbing his jaw. It was, after all, only a mere beating: others had been hurt worse and complained less.

Dulrain seemed disturbed and Maethor asked gently, “Are you all right?” He noticed pointedly that Dulrain, though he laughed, had not answered the question. Deciding not to press the issue, Maethor wondered what could have disturbed him. As the young ranger wondered, he looked about him and saw that the ethereal blueness of the sky, the sky that lifted sorrow from the heavy hearts of men. Bright sunlight streamed from the firmament below and bathed the town in the glorious brilliance: the iron that bound the milk pails glistened in the light, windows glittered brightly, a rainbow shimmered delicately as it spanned the droplets of an overflowing water jug. The world was deceptively bright and cheery -- oblivious to the eidolon of evil that hovered malignantly within the peaceful town.

Soon they reached Ferney’s wretched abode. Maethor glanced at it, wrinkled his nose, and, humming a dreary tune of his own composing, said,

Here lies the dirt of swine,
The stench of sound decay.
Here dwelleth the realm of grime;
I advise we make haste away!”

“I’ve heard better,” Dulrain remarked wryly.

“Naturally, good sir, you have,” returned Maethor airily. “ ‘Tis hard to think in such a dung heap as this, and I am not the best poet,” he added with a smile.

They saw Rauthain, Amandur, and the elf Lespheria hurry to meet them, Lespheria crying out, “What happened?” as she rummaged for her healing oils.

“Stay your hand, Fair Elven Maiden!” Maethor laughed as he pushed her hand away. “Save your herbs of healing for those in more dire straights than I.”

Quickly, Maethor told his story, telling how he had met Vanwe and how the two ruffians had beset him and, much to his chagrin, had left him cold, probably because of some sleeping drought Avanill had made him breath.

“If we follow the tracks of Vanwe and Ferney and Avanill,” Lespheria said, “then they should lead us to Naiore.”

“Hopefully,” said Maethor, a dark glint entering his eye as he thought of the elf.

Together they journeyed back to the fortress of the woods: the woods that held many secrets within. They came across Maethor’s tracks and presently soon fell in where he and Vanwe had precipitously fled. “I should have led her back towards Bree,” he said softly to himself, “instead of rushing headlong into nowhere.”

Dulrain looked at him sympathetically and said, “Usually the best course of action opens itself to us after it is needed.”

Maethor nodded glumly in reply and followed the path, his eyes fixed upon the ground. Before, he had had little leisure to observe the beauty before him and even now all he could see were the little dimples and ruts of the forest earth, the briars that grasped after his leather boots with their wicked thorns, the weeds that straggled among the roots.

“It appears that they lead towards Tallas’ place,” said Lespheria, concern mirrored in her eyes. Maethor had never heard of Tallas before, but he was obviously much beloved, for the same alarm passed over the faces of the others. “We must hurry,” Lespheria said, quickening her pace.

As they hastened on, Maethor stooped and cried, “The tracks split!” Indeed: the heavy trod of the scoundrels veered sharply from the main path.

Rauthain bent down and said, “It appears they went forward and then retraced their steps,” he said. “Here is Vanwe’s,” he said pointing.

“Lespheria and I shall go ahead to Tallas,” said Amandur quickly. “The others can follow this new track.”

As the elf and ranger hurried along the first path, Maethor, Rauthain, and Dulrain plunged into the forest following the new trail. The forest rustled with woodland spirits as the rangers passed like shadows beneath their boughs.

[Elora]

Naiore

After what seemed to be an intermidable stretch of time to Toby, Naiore broke from her silent stillness. She leant towards him to whisper at him the invective to remain silent and exactly where he was. "Not a muscle moves, Master Longhole, or I will know of it." Toby started to nod, and then given the fell fire of her eyes thought better. Satisfied that her hobbit guest would remain where he was, inspired towards obedience by fear, Naiore got to her feet and moved to the mouth of the cave.

Her bow was unslung and an arrow nocked at her side, ready to fire, before she came to stand still. The afternoon shadows had started to creep over the land. Like a statue, she watched. Toby, who had heard nothing, was left to wonder a good while. There was barely even a breeze to disturb the day as far as he could tell. His bravado, ever an opportunistic creature, started to stir. Naiore simply cast a singly long stare over her shoulder.

The tip of the arrow shifted a little, and his bravado fled to somewhere safer. Naiore returned her attention to events outside of the shadowed cave. After that, it wasn't long before Toby could hear what Naiore had sensed. Naiore marked where Barrold broke from the undergrowth and moved uphill towards her cave across the open stony ground. He was not alone. So it was that the thief-come-extortionist-come-kidnapper-come-murderer-come-spy was met by the sharp, cold tip of an arrow held at the ready by the Ravennor of Mordor.

Avanill, whom closely followed Barrold, stopped behind his shoulder. Fatigue ebbed through them all and she could sense the aftermath of excitment. They had not had a quiet day. She heard Barrold mutter to Avanill from where she stood.

"Remember now, you won't find better paying work anywhere else these days. Raise your hands. She just may shoot you where you stand if she thinks she might like to. Yes, like that, so she can see you're not armed. Leave the talking to me, so as I can introduce you properly.

You need to know how to talk to these sort of customers if you want to collect your reward."

Avanill raised his hands, peering ahead and making out the dimmest outline of Naiore. Indeed, Naiore inwardly drily concurred. Satisfied that Avanill had his hands raised, Barrold started forward with considerably more caution. He pulled on a length of rope. Naiore scowled in the shadows at that. It would undo all the work she had lain down with Vanwe on the way to Bree. Barrold would pay for such clumsiness dearly.

"I've got your supplies, all of them, with some help from my colleague," Barrold said as soon he was confident Naiore wasn't going to shoot them. Indeed, she had lowered her bough and stood with one hand wrapped around a long, curved dagger of exquisite design.

"This is Avanill," Barrold started.
"I know who he is. I know your mother." Naiore inspected Avanill long and hard. "Get inside quickly. You are late, Barrold Ferney." It was clear from the note to her voice, that Naiore was ill-pleased. Barrold lumbered past her, pulling Vanwe after him. Naiore felt her daughter's confusion swirling with fear and anger and something far more ominious. A steadfast, stubborness was there also. Avanill followed Vanwe in. Both men set down their heavy packs, which Naiore ignored as she pulled her dagger free.

In a swift stroke, she sliced through the rope at Vanwe's wrists and unravelled the bonds. Caked in blood, dried and fresh, her skin was raw and broken. Vanwe flinched from the blade. "Sit, daughter," Naiore urged as gently as she could. All her work ruined by this clumsy brute.

"I trust you have brought something suitable for this." The iron of her command was clear. Barrold looked blankly at Avanill, who bent to retrieve a purloined bottle. Naiore had outstretched a hand without so much as glancing, such was her expectation of compliance. Avanill placed the bottle in her gloved hand and stood as clear of her as he could. A viper ready to strike, she was, and as unpredictable he sensed.

Naiore busied herself with the contents of the vial and Vanwe's wrists. With her back to both men, head bent over her work, she uttered another command, "Report."

That, evidently was what Barrold had been waiting for. The floodgates opened.

"I recruited Avanill for his expertise with some of the more exotic substances you were requiring," Barrold started. Naiore wondered how long his attempt to speak well would last. It was surely an effort for him. She was correct in her unspoken assessment.

"We had a spot o bother with yer daughter on the way to get them supplies... but after a short delay we were back on track."

Naiore finished her tendings and stood once more, a hand on Vanwe's shoulder should the girl run. She clearly wished to sprint for all she was worth now.

"If you call that a report, Barrold Ferney, I think I have overestimated your skills for this assignment."

"Vanwe escaped," Avanill quickly cut in, recognising his chance to sell his own skills. "We gave chase, but not before she had found a Ranger." At that Naiore went very still, coiled. Barrold took an unconscious step backwards but checked that when Toby squeaked in alarm further back in the cave.

"What're you doin' 'ere, rat?" Toby stammered his innocence.
"III wwwwwwas aaaasked tooo bbbbbby Hhhhhhher Llllllladyship!"

"Indeed. Which Ranger?" Naiore imposed her will on the exchange and forced it back to topic.

"Maethor, I believe. Your daughter knew him, I believe," Avanill said.

"It was Maethor.... you killed him as you murdered Tallas." Vanwe's accustion throbbed with grief and anguish. Naiore felt the aching muscles of her daughter's shoulders tighten beneath her hand.

"Tallas," she repeated quickly. Her voice was smooth but her grip tightened. Vanwe fell silent.

"Yes, Tallas. Was he that donated your supplies, Lady Dannan," Avanill finished urbanely. His mother had instructed him well. When Naiore said nothing further, Barrold and Avanill bent to show her what they had made off with. Naiore interrupted them.

"Leave your packs. We will inspect them later. Toby, on your feet. We must move now."

"Now," protested Barrold, "I've been walkin' all day without any rest!"

"You'll walk now because of your work today, Barrold Ferney. A simple task I gave you, and you return with my daughter barely on her feet, a dead Ranger and Tallas, Elf friend and ally of the Dunedain for many long years, also dead. If you are so intent on lingering here, perhaps you'd care to join them?"

Naiore's voice had become soft, dangerously so. Her gaze shifted from Barrold, who fell silent, to Avanill, who nodded. "Come, Vanwe. We must flee before the hawks settle on us." Naiore guided Vanwe to her feet. Barrold and Avanill resumed their packs upon their shoulders. Toby shook in a corner, hoping he was forgotten for the moment.

"We will talk, tonight, Vanwe. Know only that I am ill-pleased with today's events. Will you come with me? I do not wish to leave you here for the Rangers to find. They will be fierce now that two of their own number have been victim of such violence." Vanwe nodded hesitantly, and Naiore had to content herself with that. Suspicion and doubt warred within Vanwe against her longing for family. Naiore waved a hand vaguely in Toby's direction.

"You too, Master Longholes." Toby started forward with the growing conviction that Naiore did not use the title Master to conveny any regard or respect. A quick scan with eyes and senses outside of the cave was all Naiore could afford with Lespheria about somewhere as well.

The odd party, two Men, two Elves and one Hobbit, set out then. Naiore led, moving like water over the ground and then through the cover of the brush, drawing Vanwe after her. Toby followed, head pivoting about with the expectation of disaster falling upon him at any moment, including from behind where Avanill and then Barrold took up the rear.

After some silence, Barrold and Avanill were left with something to ponder as Naiore's voice floated down to them as light as silk on the air.

"Tonight, good gentlemen, we shall discuss the Elf-friend and matters pertaining to our venture." Barrold swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat so that it joined the queasy mess of his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure why, only that Naiore was not at all happy.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill had been unsure about how exactly Naiore was going to react when Ferney announced his presence. This worried him a great deal, and it was not much in this world which worried him, that was for sure.

He and Ferney as well as the elf Vanwe came to a cave, where in the fading light, Avanill's spine was struck with a chill. It was Naiore, it was true that he had seen her before, but on very few occasions. He raised his tired arms, whilst ferney spoke the formidable elf.
"This is Avanill," Barrold started. Avanill almost snorted.
"I know who he is. I know your mother." Naiore inspected Avanill long and hard.

He had expected so much. His mother Atantri made a lot of money trading from Ithilien to Mordor in the dark days of old. A far cry form her notorious image of 'the Bandit of Pinnath Gelin' as some had come ot know her. It had been there that his mother had made a huge prophit from the servants of Sauron and passed on all her contacts to Avanill when he came of age. He owed much of his respect which he got from clients to his mother, it was really her name they feared than his, and he was still greatful.

There were many parallels between the nature of his mother and Naiore, both were hard women, smart and dangerous, but Atantri had been more cunning, smart enough not to choose sides in the hard days. Both had offspring, though Avanill was glad that his mother was warm enough to raise him with love and respect. Somehting which Avanill doubted Naiore felt for Vanwe. Pitty he thought, They could have been quite sucessful together...

After the men had relayed their story to Naiore they were off again. Avanill was not so much troubled by his bags, his physique was strong which meant that he could go on for hours with the heaviest of things. Though he did think that he missed his horse Amathalay. ... Wretched creature... Which he had left in Bree. No matter, they wont move the thing, if they know what's good for them... he told himself.

Further along the way Naiore stopped "Tonight, good gentlemen, we shall discuss the Elf-friend and matters pertaining to our venture." The opportunity could now arise that Avanill could discuss the matter of payment. He was not just doign this out of the goodness of his own heart.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur's Black charger was hard put to keep up with the elven mare as they rode with all speed to Tallas' forest home, He could see by the tenseness of her lithe frame and the eagerness with which she rode that his elven friend was worried about their old friend. He too was concerned, Tallas is a good man and friend to all of the dunedain, there are not many he has not aided in times of great need and not always directly. The old man was not as fragile as he appears, Amandur recalled a time when as a young ranger he had questioned how an old man could help them, Tallas with lightening quick reflexes had disarmed and sent him to the floor before he even had time to react.

Amandur grinned, If Ferney had went there, then he would have not had an easy time getting what he was after, Tallas would have seen to that! But Barrold was not alone he reminded himself and no matter how wily the old man was he was still but one man and against two young ruffians, he could not hope to win a battle with those odds, he thought grimly.

Several times, to avoid a nasty fall from his mount he ducked low in order to avoid the low hanging branches. Approached the ring of oaks that marked the old mans domain they slowed their horses to a brisk walk, stopping as they passed under the eaves of the oak boundary. Silently he slipped of his horse and unsheathed his sword. Léspheria did like wise, but he could see by the serene expression on her delicate face that she was trying to locate their friend through his emotions.

"Anything?" he whispered as he quietly came up beside her. "No" she whispered sadly. "Alright, I'll go this way…” he said indicating that he would flank the house to the right, "And you go that way," he gestured for Léspheria to search the other side.” We will enter the house together if we find nothing out here!" He was just turning to go when he felt Léspheria's gentle touch on his arm. "Be careful," she whispered, her eyes conveying the strength of her meaning. "And you my Lady!" he nodded, then he turned and began his cautious scouting of the area about the right side of the old mans house.

He weaved in and out of the trees searching the ground for signs that Barrold and his companions had come this way, but alas, he found nothing. He shifted his attention to the house, the brown and green wooden door was wide open and the rocking chair on the porch rocked back and forth in the light breeze, creaking eerily. Amandur shivered, the warm summer breeze had suddenly turned cold.

"Amandur!" his head jerked up, it was Léspheria and from her cry he could tell that something was wrong, sparing no further thought for the house he ran in the Direction of her cry.

Entering a small clearing, he could clearly see sign's of battle, but there in the midst next to one of the large oak's sat Léspheria Silver tears running down her face and splashing on the grey head that she cradled in her lap. "He is dead!" she said mournfully, The grief in her eyes reflecting his own, but he let no tears fall he had to be strong for her, his pain would be hers also and he could not bear to burden her with more than her own. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and spoke softly, "we will see to our friend, then see to all else," As she nodded her assent, he sheathed his sword and gently lifted the body of his old friend and carried him back towards the house.

He lowered the frail looking body onto the ground, and went to look for a spade. On his return he saw Lespheria bend over the body, she seemed to be rubbing some kind of oil all over his body, it had a sweet smell but he had no idea what it was, also beside her he saw a pile of clothes, a silvery silken material and a sword, all of which he had never seen before. As he drew nearer he saw, that the wooden handle of the sword matched the old mans staff, but as he looked at the staff, he could clearly see that the staff and sword had been one.

Taking off his cloak and tunic, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began the ominous task of digging his old friend’s grave. As he toiled he could hear Léspheria’s soft lament and it seemed to him that all the animals and birds of the forest mourned also the old mans passing. Even the trees shook gently adding their voice to her gentle lament.

By the time the grave finished, the lack of sleep and the aches in his muscles showed heavy on him, he pushed the weariness aside and climbed out of the hole throwing the spade to one side, and mopping his brow on his shirt, he made his way back to Léspheria. She had stopped her lament and was now chanting softly, prayers to Illuvatar and the Valar he assumed.

He also noticed that the old man no longer wore his blood stained clothes, but a sea blue tunic with fine silver detail. His eyes widened with awe as he recognised the detail, a silver swan and ship, a mark of nobility in Dol Amroth. However, clasping a long dark cloak about his neck was the many-pointed star of the Dunedain, much like his own. His brow furrowed in puzzlement a Dol Amroth noble that was descendant of Numenor, he had not even noticed that Lespheria had stopped her chanting and was looking at him.

"I found them in a chest under his bed," she answered in reply to his unspoken question. He then watched as she lifted a silver circlet and delicately placed it atop his grey head. The front of which was wrought in the likeness of the silver swan ships of old that were said to have been used by the elves of Lothlorien. "He must have done my mothers kin a great service for them to have imparted a gift of such beauty," she whispered, a gentle loving smile marking her fondness for her old friend.

"He is ready, it is only fitting that he should be honoured as the noble he truly was!" Léspheria whispered as she laid out the silvery silk, as she did he recognised it as the long silk drape that had once belonged to her mother. "Are you sure?" he whispered laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him smiling, "Yes, I believe he did her a service once also." Then together they gently laid their friends body on the silk and taking up either side, they carried him to his final resting place.

After lowering their old friend into the grave, they lowered their heads in a mark of respect. "Farewell and safe journey, old friend." Amandur whispered in the ancient tongue of his people. "May Illuvatar smile warmly upon his faithful servant." he heard Léspheria whisper in the tongue of her people. Tears of sorrow rolled of the elf maidens cheeks as Amandur slowly filled in the grave and it is said that ever after there grew small white tear drop shaped flowers were her tears fell for her old friend.

After filling in the grave, Amadur gently guided Léspheria back to the house. However, on entering a great anger filled him. The once neatly stacked shelves lay in disarray, some half torn from the walls. The table was up turned, the dried herb’s had been pulled from the rafters and trampled on with out care or thought and anything the villains did not want or need had been smashed and broken. Glass crunched under his feet as he walked further into the room.

"Barrold and his friend will pay for this!" he said through gritted teeth, all but shaking with the anger at this injustice. “I will see that they are locked up in the deepest darkest dungeon and the key tossed into the sea, Death is too good for them.” he spat. Then seeing Léspheria’s horror, he wished he had not spoken his thoughts aloud.

"I'm sorry, but Tallas deserved more than this!" he whispered indicating the carnage around them. "Yes, he did but words spoken in anger will not change anything. He was a seerer and likely as not he knew his time was near.” she retorted sternly. He had words ready for reply but swallowed them at her stern words and merely nodded his understanding. She was right Tallas would not have wanted his death avenged, but still he was a ranger and he would see that Barrold and his accomplices paid for their crimes in a Gondorian prison.

As Amandur looked back to Léspheria he saw her searching through the debris, "What are we looking for?" he said coming up beside her. "Tallas often took notes and records of events and problems others needed solving, I need to find these, they are too valuable to be left forgotten." she told him still sifting though the wreckage, Nodding his head Amandur helped her to look.

He watched her delicate almond shaped eyes widen in horror as they lifted a felled pine book self to discover that the books that had been left had been destroyed. All but one a small thick leather bound book. It unlike the others had a thick layer of dust about it as if it had not been touched in years. It was so dirty that they had almost over looked it. He watched as Léspheria gently blow away the dust to reveal the gold lettering on the front.

'Valaindon'.

He heard the gasp escape Léspheria's lips, but as she tried to open it, the catch would not budge. "Let me," he offered taking the book gently from her hands and search for a locking mechanism that he might pick, but there was none. "It must be sealed with the old magic of your kin," he sighed handing it back to her. He was slightly surprised when she slipped it in to the hidden pocket in the folds of her skirts, "We have not the time to ponder over Nolderin seals, when I was here yesterday I noticed several Mithril bound tomes bearing the device of Rivendell, these are missing. Amandur puzzled over what this could mean, "Barrold is greedy he probably saw their monetary worth, and thinks to sell the mithril covers!" he reasoned.

"Perhaps!" she sighed, wiping the creases from her skirts as she rose, "lets hope he covets their worth enough to keep them from Naiore!" he heard her whisper as she headed for the door. "Menecin!" He whispered catching up to her, she nodded her affirmation, but he could tell there was more on her mind.

"Léspheria,” he said his voice filled with gentle concern, she stopped but did not turn. "There are very few left of the once great house of Finarfin, The halfelven Children of Elrond and Celebrían, who have all chosen the mortal life, myself , my brother and two others."

"Naiore and Vanwe!" he gasped.

Lespheria nodded and continued walking, but she went on… "We are all that is left of that once proud house, the rest are either dead or have left these shores for the undying lands as is their right, Forsaking Naiore and her treachery. I believe that Naiore would not think twice about ridding herself of all ties." she sighed sadly.

"What madness do you speak?" Amandur gasped, "She would not get even within a thousand miles of Queen Arwen!" he said confidently, though he was full aware that she had avoided capture in those lands also. Léspheria gave him a weary smile, "Perhaps you are right, and I worry about nothing, the Shire is her course at present and we should direct our thoughts in stopping her from destroying the peace of our small friends.

"We will ride until nightfall then make camp it is unlikely we will catch up to the others tonight," he said pointing to the quickly descending sun that gave an orangey hue to the mid evening sky. Mounting their horse's they swiftly rode back to where they had left the others and picking up the trail they followed their friends and the villains with their hostage that they pursued.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Léspheria


"But we must now decide which course to take, to follow Vanwe on the trail we see before us, or to continue after Naiore with no trail. But that is our errand."

Léspheria could feel Rauthain waiting for one of them to answer, and as she looked up from her thoughts, she could see concern in his broad face, from the corner of her eye she could see Amandur deep in thought, considering what course to take. Léspheria could see no other course but the one before her.

"Naiore has gone to great trouble and at great risk to herself, to retrieve her daughter, I do not believe she would give that prize up so readily!" she exclaimed taking both rangers in her steady gaze.

She could feel Amandur's surprise as he followed her reasoning, only days ago had she been angered with Amandur's revelation that the rangers were using Vanwe to find Naiore. "If we follow Vanwe's captors they will inevitably lead us to Naiore." Amandur spoke to Rauthain, and she nodded her agreement, as the older ranger looked her way.

The damage had been done Vanwe was already in danger and by following this trail they may yet be able to free the young elf from her captors, "it is better this trail than none at all" she pressed seeing the hint of doubt in Rauthain's pale grey eyes.

"Then it is settled, as soon as the others return we will follow the hired hands to their mistress." Amandur stated, then almost as if on queue Dúlrain and Maethor walked briskly up the path towards them.

Léspheria lightly stepped aside allowing the rangers to rejoin their brothers. Her gaze strayed eastward towards her valley home and she wondered if the elves had yet told the unstable elf that he had a daughter. A part of her hoped that they had, “a little light in his darkness,” she whispered softly into the warm easterly breeze. However, a bigger part of her feared that the elf might just forsake his kin’s protection and go looking for the child. She sighed heavily, none could tell what went through the mind of that one, a genius on the edge of insanity, she thought wearily.

Turning back she lightly caught up to the four rangers, frowning slightly when she saw the blackish/blue bruising along Maethor's jaw, "What happened!" she asked, searching her satchel for the appropriate oil to relieve the ache and reduce the swelling.

Léspheria pressed the mare hard, her worry mounting with every powerful stride. She could sense Amandur hard at her heels, his concern also mounting. Lespheria knew that Tallas was not as frail as he appeared and would put up a good fight if pressed into it, but against two young men, she could not be sure the odds would be in his favour. However, if they had Vanwe with them, she knew that he would not stand by and do nothing; it just was not in his nature as it was not in hers.

With this thought in mind she urged the mare on more "Asca, Losserme sermo-mma anta amin" she whispered and with a delicate snort the mare obliged, Léspheria leaned low to the mares neck to avoid the low hanging branches as they sped on.

As they approached the ring of oaks, Losserme instinctively slowed to a brisk walking pace and stopping as they cleared the great trees. Léspheria slipped silently from the mare unsheathed her sword; she reached out her senses trying to locate her old friend, but to no avail. "Anything?" she heard Amandur whisper as he came up beside her. "No" she whispered sadly shaking her head.

She listened to Amandur's plan and as he turned to leave, a deep feeling of concern for his safety flared within her. She put a gentle hand on his arm, "Be careful," she whispered. "And you my Lady!" he replied, giving her a understanding nod he set of into the trees, she watched him for a second, She knew Amandur's feeling for her, but she had never returned them, afraid that her feelings were but a shadow of those she had felt once before.

She turned and began her own search, quietly moving in and out of the trees. Before long, she found Tallas’s boot print in the soft dirt. She could tell it was his because slightly to the right was a small round indent where he had leaned on his staff. She quickened her pace as the way also revealed Barrold’s heavy clumsy boot prints. The second man was a bit lighter on his feet but still his print was visible in the soft dirt. From the drag marks in the soft earth, she could tell that the elf’s captors had dragged her at some point.

She raised a puzzled eyebrow, from the tracks; it seemed that the villains had come first and that Tallas had come on them from behind. She hurried on, stopping and crouched to the ground as she came upon a small clearing. As her hand rested on one of the oaks she felt an unusual grove in the wood, frowning she turned to examine it. Vanwe had struggled to free herself from a rope that bound her to this tree, she reasoned, tracing her hand across the rut made by rope cutting into the trees bark. Vanwe she thought dropping her head sadly, as she did her hand slipped from the rut and she felt something else, her head snapped up and she stared at the small vertical cut just below the rope burn, "A knife perhaps?" she whispered. She sprung to her feet and began searching for Vanwe's prints, "Perhaps Tallas was able too...." but her words stopped abruptly as she caught sight of a grey head in the grass directly ahead of her.

"Amandur" she called, as she ran to the old mans still form, not even aware that she ran the same path Vanwe had, she dropped to her knee's next to her old friends lifeless body, all thoughts of Vanwe and her captors vanishing in her sudden horror. "He can't be dead!" she muttered lifting his grey head to her lap and checking for any sign of life. She placed a gentle hand on his cold hand and shuddered as she felt nothing from within him, "No," she wept gently cradling the old man's grey head in her lap. "He is dead!" she said mournfully, looking up as Amandur approached. He Placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and she trembled slightly at his touch, "We will see to our friend, then see to all else," he whispered softly.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she nodded her agreement. Picking up the old mans staff and sword she silently followed as Amandur picked up the frail looking body and walked toward the wooden house. He lowered the body to the ground just outside the house. After Amandur had left she, knelt down beside the lifeless body of her dear friend. She had not noticed before but there was a peaceful smile on the dead mans lips, “He knew, this was his time!” she whispered in astonishment. "You were a great man, my friend and we will honour you as such," she gently whispered brushing a lock of grey hair from his peaceful face.

She quickly stood up and went inside the house, she hardly took notice of the destruction in the two-room house, she had expected as much. Instead she looked for fresh attire for her friend, she would not bury him in his blood stained clothes, finding only one other woollen robe that was in much need of repair she sunk down on the bed sighing despairingly, the wooden bed was the only thing in the house not up turned.

As she sat the heel of her boot hit something hard, she jumped up and lifted the over hanging blankets to look underneath and there under the bed sat a dusty old wooden chest, she carefully pulled it out, there was no lock so she opened the lid, it creaked through lack of use. Her eyes widened as she lifted a well cared for elven circlet from the chest, and as her hand gently traced the silver swan ship that adorned the front, she wondered what service he had rendered her mothers kin that they would bestow such a gift on him? Carefully placing down the circlet she lifted out a pale sea blue tunic, "Dol Amroth" she whispered in awe as she looked upon the fine silver detail. These are clothes of nobility she mused, lifting out a pair of richly woven breeches. Also within were leather boots, a belt and set of leather bracers. Last of all she pulled out a long dark green cloak, her hand lovingly caressed the pointed star of the dunedain. “So I was not completely wrong, he was part Dunedain,” she mused.

Lifting the bundle of fine clothes she made her way back out side, kneeling back down beside the still body of her old friend, she pulled off her pack and pulled out a long silvery silk drape that once belonged to her mother and placed it next to the bundle of clothes. She then opened her herb satchel and searched for an oil to cleanse his body, as was the custom of her people. Once the sweet smelling oil was found she carefully undressed him and cleaned his wounds, then rubbing some of the oil between her fingers she began to gently massage the oil over her dead friend’s body. As she delicately embalmed the body, a soft lament came to her lips.


In Chetwood fair, keeping watch
Majestic oaks stand tall and proud,
The wind joins a soft lament,
Their boughs softly weep their loss.

Gentle warrior, a master of words.
Healer of time and father to all
Always giving and never wanting.
His memory will live long in our songs.

The birds of the woods sing their lament.
The creatures of the forest weep in their sorrow
the deer, the noble stag bow in respect;
never again will he walk their path.

Battles fought, long roads walked,
wisdom sought and given.
Friend of the elves.
Brother to men.
All will lament his passing.

In the valley of elves, Imladris fair
voices will rise to honour his name;
In Gondor proud the horns will blow,
another warrior has passed away.
Dol Amaroth will weep for
another lord lost.
But his deeds recounted will amaze and delight.

In Chetwood fair, did he fall
Even in death, true to his heart?
Injustice he saw, so justice he sought.
In forests, green he held his belief

Elven fair, brimming with sorrow
tied and bound no hope of escape.
His fate foretold, but his heart still true.
Stood his ground and faced his foe.

Lightening quick, with grace and light.
He fought for her freedom
but alas out numbered but not out classed
our silent warrior yields to his fate.

The battle lost, our hero defeated
in death his kindness not forgotten how knowing his end he valiantly stood
to meet the men who would be his end.

For the true daughter of the swan.
Did he forfeit his life
that a mothers lies would open her eyes
a kind act remembered, to kindle some hope.
When despair threatens to smother and choke.

Surrounded by majestic oaks our warrior sleeps
never again to grace this world
his deeds remembered and never forgotten.

Tallas Telacor, protector of the free.

by the time she had finished her lament, she had redressed her old friend in the attire fitting who he was and who he had be come, She then closed her eyes and began chanting prayers to the Valar and Illuvatar, asking them to grant him safe passage to the afterlife.

"Rest my friend, you had done more than most and are more than deserving of the gift reserved only for men" she whispered gently kissing his forehead.

When she looked, up she saw Amandur looking puzzled at the old mans clothes, "I found them in a chest under his bed," she told him, and then lifting the delicate circlet, she placed it atop Tallas' grey head. "He must have done my mother kin a great service for them to have imparted a gift of such beauty,” she said, smiling on her old friend fondly.

"He is ready" she whispered lifting and laying out the silvery silk, "Only fitting that he should be honoured as the noble he truly was!"

"Are you sure?" she heard Amandur ask above her, in reference to her mother drape. She looked long at the corpse of her old friend and Amandur laid a gentle hand on her shoulder when she did not answer. Smiling she raised her head to him, "Yes, I believed he did her a service once." Amandur then helped her to lift the body of their dead friend on to the silk, and then taking up either side, they carried him to his final resting place.

After lowering his body and saying their farewells, Amandur slowly started to refill the earth. The sudden realism hit Léspheria like a wave, so that all she could do was bow her head and weep, she would missing her old friend dearly.

After a time that she could not recount, Amandur lead her gently back to the house. Once inside the extent of the damage became apparent to her. They had come after his potions she thought disdainfully. She then looked to Amandur in horror as he described what he would do to Barrold and Anvanill when he caught them. At her look, he apologised, stating that their friend deserved better. She agreed with him, but chided him for his angry words.

It was then that Léspheria remembered the Elven tomes she has seen the day before, she began searching the debris, "Tallas often took notes and records of event and problems others needed solving, I need to find these, they are to valuable to be left forgotten." she told Amandur when he asked what she was looking for. Together they lifted an old pine bookshelf. Her eyes widened as they fell on the destroyed papers and books. The tomes were missing, as she had feared. However, just as she turned to leave her eyes fell on a small dusty leather bound book. She picked it up and gently blew away the dust, gasping as she read the name on the cover.

‘Valaindon’

She immediately tried to open the catch, but it would not budge. “Let me,” Amandur offered taking the book from her hands, but he to could not open it. "It must be sealed with the old magic of you kin" he sighed handing her it back. Léspheria wondered if she really wanted to open something that had been sealed by the ancient runes of her people, even if it was her mothers. Therefore, she quickly slipped the book in her pocket, offering Amandur a quick explanation.

"When I was here yesterday I noticed several mithril bound tomes bearing the device of Rivendell, these are missing!" she informed him "Barrold is greedy he probably saw their monetary worth, and thinks to sell the mithril covers!” Amandur reasoned.

"Perhaps!" she sighed, wiping the creases from her skirts as she rose, "lets hope he covets their worth enough to keep them from Naiore!" she whispered as she headed for the door. "Menecin!" Amandur whispered catching up to her, she nodded absently, but other questions now filled her mind.

"Léspheria,” she heard the ranger call his voice filled with gentle concern, she stopped but did not turn. "There are very few left of the once great house of Finarfin, The halfelven Children of Elrond and Celebrían, who have all chosen the mortal life, myself , my brother and two others."

"Naiore and Vanwe!" she heard him gasp.

Lespheria nodded and continued walking, pausing only to pick up Tallas sword/staff, but she went on talking as she walked, "We are all that is left of that once proud house, the rest are either dead or have left these shores for the undying lands as is their right, Forsaking Naiore and her treachery. I believe that Naiore would not think twice about ridding herself of all ties." she sighed sadly.

"What madness do you speak?" Amandur gasped, "She would not get even within a thousand miles of Queen Arwen!" she could hear the conviction in his words, but had not Naiore evaded capture many times? Léspheria gave him a weary smile, "Perhaps you are right, and I worry about nothing, the Shire is her course at present and we should direct our thoughts in stopping her from destroying the peace of our small friends."

"We will ride until nightfall then make camp it is unlikely we will catch up to the others tonight," he told her pointing to the quickly descending sun. She lashed Tallas's staff to the back of his saddle, and then pulling on her pack, she mounted Losserme.

They rode swiftly, but Léspheria found herself looking to her friend wondering if the feelings she felt for him were real, He looks so much like Avendur, she thought to herself. Avendur was one of Amandur's descendants. As a young man the ranger had protected Léspheria, when she had came to the aid of her brother and father at the battle of fornost in the year 1975. Then afterwards he had helped her to tend the wounded. She had fallen in love with his gently kindness and his fierce loyalty to his friends. Another way in which he and Amandur where alike, how could she be sure her feelings where for Amandur and not who he looked like.

As Amandur stopped, he looked back at her, she smiled, she could feel how he felt about her, it washed over her like a warm ray of sunshine, but it would be wrong of her to return his feelings without knowing the truth of her own. "They went is way," he said, then mounting his horse they set off again.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

"I wasn't always the monster you see before you," Kaldir said softly as he pushed past Benia into the courtyard. In that instant when he had stood over her, his fingers touching the silver chain that graced her satin cheek, he had very nearly leaned over the few inches that separated them and kissed her. She had been so close, the enchanting kohl-lined eyes, so hypnotic. The only thing that had stopped him was the knowledge of her feelings toward him. That and the presence of Mrs. Banks, but even he understood that fear and revulsion were hardly the emotions upon which he could build a courtship of Benia, or even a seduction, for that matter. So, he had wrenched himself away, falling into his usual pattern of gruffness and anger, but this time it wasn't without a stab of bitterness.

"I wasn't always the monster you see before you."

He had not intended to say anything else to her, but the sentence had popped out on its own. He needed her to know that he hadn't always been the abhorrent creature she saw before her. Perhaps if she knew that...

He let the thought trail off unfinished. Whatever Benia Nightshade thought of him, in that instant, he had also come to the decision that he was taking her nowhere near Harad. The tribesmen who had offered him the bounty on any Painted Sand people he happened across would kill her on sight. He would not allow that to happen, but he was still unwilling to let her or Mrs. Banks go free. Whatever his original reasons for keeping them were, he had noticed that now, for some strange reason, the two of them had a calming effect on him, soothing the sharp and jagged edges of his mind. True, keeping track of them was like riding herd on two kittens, which had irritated him no end at first, but now? Now, he knew that, despite their more troublesome qualities or even Miss Nightshade's charms, he needed them.

He walked across the small courtyard to where the horses waited and swung himself easily into the saddle of the gray horse. There was something about the mere presence of the desert woman and the hobbit that kept the worst of the memories and flashbacks at bay. True, he had had a difficult moment back in the side street when Dulrain had offered him his grandfather's sword, but it had never taken him completely out of himself the way the flashbacks had in the past. He had been able to fight his way through it fairly quickly, and he credited that ability to the presence of his two companions. He didn't understand the why, but, if that's the way things worked, he wouldn't argue. Particularly not with Naiore so close. If he intended to take on Naiore Dannan, he would have to have all of his faculties intact. If he lost control for even a second, that silken garrote would find its way back around his throat. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Benia and Gilly were finally coming out the door of the wine shop where they had dawdled for a moment after his exit. Benia was veiled again
and Mrs. Banks looked thoughtful but scared. No doubt Benia had explained about Naiore. He waited silently as the two of them mounted their horses, noticing, too, that Benia's ankle seemed to have improved greatly. That was good. She would be less vulnerable now. When they seemed settled onto their mounts, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and led the way out of the courtyard. They had a lot to do and much ground to cover before they could call it a day. He squinted toward the horizon. Storm clouds hovered dangerously low in the west like a bruise against the blue of the sky. With the wind blowing steadily to the north, he hoped the storm would ride the wind past them into the northlands. Rain, especially a heavy one, would destroy Naiore's tracks. If that happened, it was possible that he would never find her again. He quickened his pace.

As the afternoon sun shifted gradually across the sky, the rains never arrived. Kaldir, with Gilly and Benia in tow, searched a series of Barrold Ferny's little hideaways. Some had been used recently, others had been empty for quite sometime, but all showed evidence of Ferny's questionable housekeeping standards. They reminded Kaldir more of troll holes than anything else.

The last one he intended to search in the northern part of the town, the one that he had been putting off, was a cave high up on Bree Hill. More a stronghold than a hideaway, the cave sat atop a steep and rocky incline and was accessible by way of only one path. That path led upward across a wide expanse of open ground. It was the ideal location for a last stand on the part of the occupants of the cave, but, if the occupants had any kind of skill with a bow, it was almost impossible to attack. Turning his small party in the direction of the cave, Kaldir frowned. He should have looked there first. It was exactly the sort of place that Naiore would choose to hole up in.

At the foot of the trail, Kaldir dismounted and studied the ground. A lot of traffic had passed that way. Bending close to the ground, he could distinguish five distinct sets of prints. Two men, two elves, and...a hobbit? He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Banks. Well, hobbits did have a way of turning up in unusual places. He remembered the small shadow he had seen the night before on the road outside Bree as he had had his little chat with Barrold Ferny. In retrospect, he wished he had given chase. He was fairly certain now that it had been a spy of Naiore's.

Turning his attention back to the trail, he saw there were several comings and goings, but the top set of tracks seemed to be leaving. He looked up the hill. He had missed them. The question now was whether to go all the way up as far as the cave or to follow the departing tracks back into Bree. His guess was that they would make for the Northern Gate. It was not only the closest, but the least carefully watched of all the gates into or out of Bree. Where they went from there was anybody's guess. Finally, he decided that while searching the cave would spend precious time, it would still be prudent to do so. One never knew what clues such a place might yield.

Leading his horse by the reins, he led the way up the steep path to the place where the underbrush ended at the base of the rocky slope. He turned to Gilly and Benia and bade them to dismount.

"Take off your veil, Miss Nightshade," he said to Benia as the two women dismounted. "You will need your eyes and your ears. The one we seek has been here and she is no longer alone. We must be cautious. She may have left others to guard her back."

As Benia removed the thick layer of fabric, Kaldir reached into the pouch on his belt and extracted Gilly's little knife, which he pressed into the surprised hobbit's hand. To Benia, he handed her own dagger as well. Following Benia's glance to her sword which had been lashed to the back of the gray horse, Kaldir shook his head.

"No, my lady," he said smiling. "You must make do with just a dagger for now."

Turning once more to Mrs. Banks, he told her to wait at the edge of the undergrowth with the horses. If anyone approached, she was to cry to out or whistle loudly, something to warn them up ahead. Then, she was to leave the horses and hide. Miss Nightshade would come with him. He took a small elven-made bow from the back of his horse and nocked an arrow to the string. He was ready.

Cautiously, Kaldir stepped out into the open. His eyes scanned the area surrounding the mouth of the cave for any sign of movement, but there was none. Only stillness. He moved slowly forward up the path with Benia close behind him. When they reached the mouth of the cave, they found it both deserted and undefended. Kaldir lowered his bow and stepped inside.

Unlike the other locations they had searched that day, the smooth stone floor of the cave had been swept clean, leaving no footprints for him to study... further evidence that Naiore had been there. Knowing her affinity for tidiness, Barrold must have cleaned the place out for her in advance. But they had left some debris. Bloody ropes lay on the floor, their knots still intact, their ends severed by the stroke of a very sharp blade. Beside them lay an empty vial. Kaldir picked it up and sniffed it cautiously. He recognized the smell. It was an herbal oil, something used in healing. Someone, undoubtedly the individual who had been bound, had been treated for his or her injuries. Vanwe, perhaps. He couldn’t see Naiore taking the time to treat the injuries of a scoundrel like Ferny.

Placing the bottle back where he had found it, Kaldir turned to go, but stopped at the sight of Benia. She stood just inside the mouth of the cave, her dagger still sheathed in her hand, but a look of deep sadness on her face as she stared at the cut and bloody ropes. Kaldir took her elbow and guided her out of the cave and back down the slope to where Gilly waited with the horses. When she glanced back, he shook his head.

“Whoever it was has been treated for her injuries,” he told her. “If Naiore wished her dead, we would have found not ropes but a body.”

“Who do you think it was?” she asked.

Kaldir shrugged. “My guess is your friend from the inn, Miss Vanwe. She is none but the daughter of Sauron’s Ravenner. But, of course, it is only a guess.”

Benia nodded, her eyes dropping to the dagger in her hand. By then, they had reached the horses and Gilly.

Following Benia’s gaze, Kaldir closed his hand around her hand that held the knife.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

That Barrold and this other man might seek out Tallas vexed Rauthain. No good would come of it, and he worried for his friend. Tallas would not willingly entertain such guests and he judged that Barrold was spurred by fear should he should fail to succeed. It was not good odds for the old man. And this trail leading away from his enclave bode ill. It was good that the lady Léspheria with her healing, had gone to the familiar ring of oaks, for chance was that her skills were needed there.

Barrold’s destination had also helped to support in Rauthain’s mind the idea that in pursuing Vanwe they might come upon Naiore. But still he was uneasy and harbored doubts. Naiore had taken them through the Chetwood and he knew her to be artfully misleading. While it was true that she had taken great lengths to recover her daughter it was also true that she had plainly witnessed Vanwe surrounded by a number of rangers beyond what was customary for the Forsaken Inn. It would be a small thing for her to understand that the maiden was being watched. What better deception than to use this against them now, a decoy to lure the rangers way from her true course. Not letting her go, but with Ferny’s help, coaxing them off the path and yet retaining her daughter. He could not consciously let Naiore to slip though their guard.

The grey haired ranger looked up, his hair falling away from his broad face. There, bald and orange in the lowering sun was the crest of Bree Hill, a fine vantage point. The tracks leading them ever up its side. He began to grow impatient, wishing to gain the view from its heights. “What is it Rauthain?” Dúlrain ventured perceiving his disquiet.

“I had thought that we may gain time if we could espy our quarry from the hill or an outcropping such as this,” he said waving his hand toward a high knob of stone close by. “I am reluctant to by chance loose Naiore to the darkness by following this meandering way.”

“What of Vanwe’s plight?” Maethor questioned. “Is she not also deserving of our attention?”

“Yes, to be sure,” Rauthain said brushing aside the question. He did indeed desire Vanwe’s freedom, but not at the risk of loosing her mother. It wore on him deeply the more time passed. Finding Vanwe saved only one, finding Naiore countless others. “But are not many more served by concentrating solely on the capture of Naiore and not becoming distracted from our mission?”

“By finding Vanwe, we find Naiore, it is one and the same,” Dúlrain said. “Have patience, we shall not let up until she has been brought to justice. But if it will quell your anxiety, climb to see what you may, you will find us easily enough when you are satisfied. For you speak as one consumed. What lies so heavily on your heart that you should be so?”

“I am growing older, brother, and have much to atone for. This pursuit has taken on a personal cast for me, of which Maethor is aware. I seek to avenge the memory of one of our brethren, who should by rights never have fallen into her net.” He pulled his reins toward the slope, his horse cautiously beginning the steep ascent. “But I must make haste so as to find you again before night fall. Do not worry,” he said. “I will not be long.”

As Rauthain departed Dúlrain’s words reached him. “Of who does he speak? I know of no ranger that has become prey to the Revennor?”

“Rauthain was at Raven Falls the day the one called Kaldir fell into her long reach.” Maethor answered. “He is no longer a ranger now, but a bounty hunter that roams these parts of late. They say he was at the Foresaken the day before I arrived, no doubt after some quarry of his own.”

Rauthain wished he had not overheard the conversation, it awoke again in him the cold darkness haunted by his memories. As the sun grew red at the edge of the sky, Rauthain spurred his horse on to try to outpace them.

[ November 01, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As Benia and Kaldir returned to where Gilly waited with the horses, just inside the cover of underbrush, Benia's mind churned. She had spent most of the afternoon deep in her own thoughts, riding when the bounty hunter said to ride, dismounting when he said to dismount. For the most part, since leaving the empty wine shop, she had been almost grateful for the veil. It had afforded her the privacy and isolation she needed to think. There were so many things she needed to think about, not the least of which was the bounty hunter himself.

He must be mad, she decided, dragging her and Gilly on this fool's errand of pursuing Sauron's own Ravenner. And for what purpose? What could Naiore Dannan have possibly taken from him that would justify suicide? Or murder, if one included herself and Gilly into the equation. It was madness.

She was still turning this thought over as she and the bounty hunter scrambled back down the steep path to where they had left Gilly. She had seen the bloody ropes on the floor of the cave, and remembering the shackles that had bound her own wrists not twelve hours earlier, felt a flush of empathy for the individual who had worn them. The bounty hunter said that the blood likely belonged to Vanwe, the elven assistant to the stable master of the Forsaken Inn, but Benia found that hard to believe. What would a creature like Naiore want with little Vanwe? Vanwe, in the brief moments that Benia had interacted with her, had seemed so kind and vulnerable, so touchingly eager to please. The very idea that the slender elf might be the daughter of Naiore Dannan, she decided, must be further manifestation of the bounty hunter's delusions.

She wondered what Gilly thought of it all.

Remembering the dagger in her hand, Benia glanced down at it and tightened her grip around the hilt. Could she be quick enough to strike out at the bounty hunter? All her life she had been taught that madness was more to be pitied than censured, but if she could at least disable him, then perhaps she could not only save herself and Gilly, but save him from himself, as well. As though reading her thoughts, the bounty hunter closed his hand around hers that held the knife.

Holding her hand in an iron grip, he bent and laid his bow and arrow down on the ground beside him. Straightening, he raised Benia's hand with the knife in it up between them. With his free hand, he unsheathed the blade.

"What were you thinking, my lady?" he asked almost kindly, looking past the wickedly sharp blade at her face. "Would you strike at me?"

Gilly, who had been waiting anxiously by the horses, stirred to the side of them. She took a timid step forward and began to speak, but was shushed sharply by Kaldir. The hobbit closed her mouth again.

Benia studied the bounty hunter's ravaged face. The eyes seemed cold and determined, but clear. Sane. She hesitated and cast an anxious glance at Gilly.

"Well?" asked the bounty hunter. "I asked you a question."

When Benia still did not respond, the bounty hunter placed the point of her blade against the base of his throat, in the hollow just above the clasp of his cloak.

"Do it," he ordered her. His hand still held her hand and his gaze never wavered from her face. She saw a small bead of his blood appear, dark and glistening, at the tip of the dagger. Staring at it, she shook her head.

"No."

"Miss Benia..." whispered Gilly somewhere to the side of her, but Benia found herself unable to look away from the scarred face of the bounty hunter. It was clearly a test of some kind, but she couldn't tell what answer he was looking for. The one thing she knew was that she could not look into a man's eyes, mad or sane, and kill him in cold blood. She shook her head and tried to withdraw her hand from his grip.

Finally, he let it go. Without another glance at her, he stooped and picked up the bow and arrow from where he had laid them on the ground.

"Come, ladies," he said, taking up the reins of the gray horse. "We mustn't tarry any longer. They've gotten a good start on us." He slung the bow over his shoulder and cast a glance into the west where the sun hovered low on the horizon, like a fat spider, head down in her web. "We need to be well clear of Bree by night fall."

Benia, still speechless, stared first at the naked dagger in her hand, then at Gilly, who stared back, wide-eyed, her own knife ready in her hand. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Benia startled as the sheath to her dagger landed on the ground at her feet.

"Move!" barked Kaldir.

Immediately, Benia bent and picked up the sheath, sliding the blade into it in a single motion. She and Gilly both hurried to mount their horses and follow as the bounty hunter led the way back down the path toward the more populated part of town. In her haste, Benia forgot to put on her veil, but the bounty hunter seemed absorbed in his own thoughts and made no comment. His eyes studied the ground as he walked, leading his horse by the reins.

They made directly for the Northern gate and, by the time dusk settled over them, they had left Bree and re-entered Chetwood. The tracks of five individuals - two elves, two men, and a hobbit - laid their course before them. Benia worried where those tracks would lead before it was all over.

[ November 03, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Elora]

Vanwe

They walked for hours, at a rapid pace too. The rigours of the past day rode upon her shoulders. Still, if there was one thing Harad had given her, it was the strength to endure. Her sense of direction was confounded though. She had no idea where they were. It was plainly not the Forsaken Inn, but how she came to be here and leave the only home she had ever had was a mystery to her. A frightening mystery to be sure.

Instead of spooking herself, Vanwe forced her mind to what she did know as they charged on into dusk. The sun was setting on her right, which meant they were roughly making north. They were back in the forest again.... the forest where Maethor and Tallas had died. A chill hollowed her out and she felt her mother's hand take her upper arm and urge her onwards. She picked her slowing feet up and resumed her mental catalogue.

The inn was nowhere in sight. She had found her mother though. She did not know what to make of that. Vanwe took her time to study her mother as she jogged slightly ahead of her. Was she nightmare? Was she simply desperate? She did seem to be hunted. Vanwe could recognise the sense of being quarry, hounded across time and distance as she knew the shape of such things within herself. How long had she been running before she reached the inn? Months? She had lost track, unable to count and remain free.

Behind her, Vanwe could hear the heavier breathing of Barrold and Avanill. That was incentive to keep up her pace. There was a Hobbit also, who studied her sidelong. Naiore noticed Vanwe's attention and shot her a keen glance that broke her attention. Through the dusk and into evening, Vanwe jogged along, struggling with half memories, nightmares and longings that had defined her existence from her earliest memory.

When they stopped it was night proper. Toby collapsed, puffing and rubbing his feet. The Hobbit looked perfectly unhappy, and Vanwe well understand that. Her mother sent Barrold and Avanill off to gather wood.

"Only dry wood and no greenery, mind you." The two men went off, Barrold grumbling about being told how to gather wood when he'd been doing it since he was a child. To Toby, Naiore tossed instructions to gather kindling and remain within sight. The Hobbit heaved a heartfelt sigh and got to his feet. Naiore watched him like a hawk would a mouse. Toby seemed beyond any escape attempts. The danger was too real and he was simply too tired. He listlessly gathered kindling.

Through this, Vanwe had stood very still and quiet. Her arms and legs trembled, but she had learnt that remaining quiet is important if you want to live. Her mother turned, living night herself in the black embrace of her strange leathers. She strode towards Vanwe, long braids swaying. Despite her fatigue, or perhaps because of it, Vanwe had the ridiculous notion that this was the first time she had seen anyone with the same hair as hers. The realisation should have made her heart leap with joy. She'd been searching and enduring hellish torment for years for such a sight. Instead, her heart seemed to pain her.

"You are tired. Will you sit? There is much we must speak of, you and I." Unsure of whether she sat or collapsed, Vanwe nonetheless sank to the ground. She bowed her head, a malestrom of emotions that conflicted and fired within her spinning with giddy speed around and around and around... like a sand storm.... like the ones that howled from the desert like demons... her mother was a demon they said... was she... do demons tend wounds... people make mistakes... did Hanasian err in his warning or had the mistakes been made by her mother.... she was so tired.... and cold... sleep.... curl up and sleep... rest.... don't fight.

"Vanwe, how is it that you come to be here?" Naiore's voice was soft, velvety as she exerted what influence she could over her daughter. Vanwe was a storm, barely contained. The power was breathtaking but still untutored, for her daughter sucuumbed a little. Vanwe felt her head bow further, heavy. Fingers lifted her chin and then hands cupped her cheeks. Her eyes were closed, and her head was spinning... a sand storm.

"I came looking for you," Vanwe whispered with a faint voice. There, there was that aching longing. Naiore smiled a little in the darkness. With a swift graceful move, she gathered Vanwe to her as though she would a child. Vanwe barely knew what was happening. A voice, smooth and musical sang and whispered to her through the whirling storm.

"You have found me, my child, and never shall you loose me again." Vanwe felt the chill of her clammy skin grow, seeping through her as her mother crooned to her a lullaby. Elven it was. Vanwe had never heard such a thing. It was beautiful. It was hers! This is what she had wanted to hear as a child! She shivered and drew closer. No matter how close Vanwe pulled to her mother, the chill would not abate. She was so tired she drifted through it, not knowing the truth would find her in her dreams...

Naiore

She could feel her daughter's body slacken in her arms, but the powerful chaotic tumult of her daughter's emotions and senses barely abated. Naiore eased herself away from Vanwe carefully, wearied by the effort it had taken to contain Vanwe. Far safer to garrot her now, as she slept. Naiore stood looking down at her daughter. She would barely know what happened and were she able to marshall her abilities she cannot possibly stop me. She is too green and raw.

Toby's return with an armfull of kindling intruded on Naiore's thoughts. He set it down and ventured a question. "Who is she?" Toby nodded towards Vanwe's sleeping form.

"My daughter," Naiore replied in an odd voice. My daughter, sent to kill me by my foes. My daughter, whom I will use in my own way without mercy. My daughter, whom I will dispose of by passing her onto that oaf, Barrold. My daughter, who could have been beside me had not I been cheated of my life. And so, I will cheat her of hers, for that is the way it must be. But not before I have taken everything she has to give. Not before I have taught her that the world is unforgiving and cares for nothing and noone.

"I can see the resemblance," Toby replied. Naiore barely heeded him. She turned away from them both, staring at the stars. Those same stars had blindly danced in the sky when it began. They had shone through the horror and the darkness. They had shown no compassion the many times she had begged for release in the wild and forgotten places. There is no release to be granted and her path was before her feet unchanging.

She would use and then effectively kill her own daughter. Barrold would not be kind to Vanwe. Naiore knew that eventually, he would kill her in a fit of drunken rage. Naiore was no orc. Somewhere, in a place she rarely visted and kept walled off, that realisation tore at her. But there was no mercy. She was not released. It was this or death, brought to heel by the rag-tag remnants of her folk and the gangrel mortal realm that now had inflated itself through the lands.

She had not endured years of torment and deprivation for such an end. Toby was left in silence until the two men returned and dropped the gathered wood with the kindling. Avanill organised the branches and kindling and coaxed a fire from it. They sorted through their newly obtain provisions for the evening meal and soon had that underway.

Naiore seemed distant and fey by the firelight. Barrold, Avanill and Toby each watched her warily. There was an ancient light in her eyes, starlight from many many years past. There was pain too, terrible pain. But most of all, there was rage, tightly coiled and twisted around formidible reason. Once their evening meal had been consumed and Toby busied himself by moping up any leftovers in true Hobbit fashion, Barrold broke the silence.

"What's wrong with 'er?" he jerked a thumb to where Vanwe lay in the flickering light, hair spread over the ground and her chest rising and falling evenly in sleep.

"Nothing that is your concern, Ferney. She is not given to you yet." Naiore's rebuke was sharply delivered across the fire. Barrold twitched but held his peace.

"She gave us some trouble today," Avanill said. There was a coldness to his voice, impassive. Naiore recognised it well. Vanwe was no longer a person. Her resistance had changed Avanill's view of her in that regard. She was chattel now, and chattels could be disposed of easily.

"Tell me of the Ranger you killed," Naiore redirected.

"We didn't kill 'im. Avanill knocked 'im out with some goop on a rag. Not before I got a good few in, though," Barrold corrected. He smiled, his lip still swolled and cracked. Evidently, so did the Ranger, Naiore mused to herself. Instead, she turned back to Avanill.

"A receipe of my mother's," he said, refusing to add more.
"Your mother is a wise woman, Avanill. I hope, for your sake, you have a share of that. Mother's are not to be triffled with." Naiore glanced vaguely in Vanwe's direction. Barrold added, "Especially not this one," in what he supposed was a murmur.

Raising his voice, he reached for his pack. Avanill copied his movement. Whilst Avanill reviewed the more exotic goods he had taken from Tallas, Barrold struggled to pull something larger and heavier from his own. Naiore's eyes widened in shock, a single elegant blonde brow arching high in her smooth forehead at the sight of the mithril bound volumes.

"Avanill can tell you what herbs and plants he took from the old man. We found this too. Dunno wot it is, but thought you might wanna take a look at it or somethin'." Having fought it clear of his pack, Barrold tossed one volume across to Naiore as though it were the annual rain records of the Shire. Naiore caught it and shot Barrold a look so severe and replete with promised harm that even Toby scuttled back a measure. Barrold did his best to be more gentle with the second one.

"Were there others?"
"Yeah, but I coulnd't fit 'em all in me pack with all the other stuff you said you wanted." Naiore hissed with displeasure as she ran her hands over the smooth cover of the tome.
"Tallas most certainly is dead then." Barrold paused, scowling in his turn. "I said he was before..... you callin' me a liar?" Avanill paused what he was doing and looked up in time to catch Naiore's expression settle into dangerous serenity.

It was like a mere, deep and mysterious, that expression. A mere that could drown you, pull you under and suffocate the life out of you, never loosing its beauty.

"And if I were, Barrold Ferney, what would you do?" It was almost an invitation. The feyness had doubled. Naiore sat very still, thrumming with the itch to spill Barrold's blood. Release, even so small, would be like freedom of a sorts. Barrold's insticts kicked in then and informed him that he was on the cusp of a plunge from which he would not rise.

Unhappy, but silent, he returned to lifting the second tome free to cooly pass to Naiore. With both volumes in her possession, Naiore struggled to resume control and reason. When she had won, a battle she always did though it was harder now than it ever had been before, she fell into the familiar comfort of commader.

"We will strike West tomorrow. Once we have cleared the Barrow-downs, we will move southeast and use the fringes of the Old Forest for cover. There are many strange things which if we pass through may waylay those who follow.

"Once we're in the Shire, we will move on Buckland. They won't expect us, nor our particular type of war. With Buckland dealt with, we'll be free to move on the Mayor in Hobbiton, by way of Tookland."

"How do we get into the Shire," Avanill asked keenly.

"My daughter," Naiore smoothly replied. The facade of calm was thin tonight.
"Her!" Barrold's disbelief was obvious.
"Of what help will she be?" Avanill was a little more cautious.

"Little enough if you two continue as you have today. She will help me willingly, because I am her mother and some bonds cannot easily be set aside." Avanill, who himself understand such a thing, nodded. "But, should she manage to throw that aside, I have ways to enforce my will."

Barrold nodded at that, for it was something he understood.

"And we have Toby who will prove invaluable, won't you Master Longholes?"

Toby nodded firmly to be sure there was no doubt.

"What war will you make," Avanill asked dubiously. "Five people do not an army make."

"Have you ever heard of a Ravenning, Avanill," Naiore asked mildly, eyes bright with something it was wise not to look at for long. Avanill shivered and Barrold swallowed. "I have little use for armies. They are an encumberance, slow, unweildly, and expensive to feed and arm."

"Then why do you need me," Toby asked. There was a quaver in his voice, and he really would have preferred to be silent or asleep like Vanwe was. Naiore's gaze turned on him and he felt sweat bead his hairline.

"I need those quick of wit and light of feet for information. I have heard there is no better than you for such things. Am I misinformed?"

"No," managed Toby. He breathed in relief when Naiore looked away, catching the glint of brief amusement. Toby struggled to reconcile two images. One was of a mother, holding her child, tenderly, Toby thought, so gently. One was of a... demon. She was like a dragon, beautiful and terrible and deadly.... but she didn't smell like a dragon. Apparently dragons stank. Even if she did, he wouldn't be saying so to her face. Whilst Toby thought of dragons and Ravennors and Elves, Naiore turned back to the two Men who sat across the fire from her.

What she yearned to do was read the volumes. What she yearned to do was run free, unhunted and unhindered. That was not to be. She would have to wait still longer yet. Vanwe stirred in her sleep, breathing something unintelligible before settling once more.

"Avanill, I will need you to help me mix some ungents and infusions that we will require over the coming days. Also I have... reinforcements... waiting for word of our sucess. They will hold off any move from the south to free the Shire from our hold. For now, all we have to contend with are Rangers and the Shire.

"I will take the first watch. You and Avanill can decide who takes the next two."

Naiore ran her fingers in a caress, almost, over the top cover of the books she held in her lap.

"Anything further to discuss," she added.

"Reward," Barrold immediately furnished.

"You may take half the spoils of the Shire upon capture, to divide between you three as you see fit, and anything ongoing is your own to distribute as you wish amongst yourselves," Naiore said listlessly.

"That's.... generous of you, Lady Dannan," Avanill said suspiciously. Naiore levelled a direct gaze at him. He had a sharp mind.

"I have little interest in their spoils, Avanill," she said levelly. What did interest her was unspoken in her clear, grey gaze. Avanill withheld asking her about it. Such things were not discussed at night. "If you wish to see any of your booty, you will do nothing to impede my plans. That includes my daughter. Set a hand to her and I'll take that hand and more in my own turn. Any further questions?"

Barrold shook his head, rubbing the wrist of the hand that he had used to strike Vanwe with during the day. He shot a resentful glare at where she lay now but said nothing. "I'll take second watch," he said. With that, he relaced his pack, drew his coat about him and settled down with his back to the flames.

Naiore studied Avanill and Toby in silence, waiting them out.

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

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain had meant to share his news with his fellows as soon as they were together, but their business pressed them on. It will keep for camp, he thought as they rode back into the Chetwood.

The realisation that the tracks lead to the old man, Tallas' forest abode sat ill in his thoughts, pushing his encounter with his long lost friend to one side as they quickened their pace. "The tracks split!" Maethor suddenly cried. Dúlrain's concern for the old man intensified, he dismounted and crouched down next to Rauthain to examine the tracks. This does not bode well he thought to himself. The tracks bore no sign that either villain was injured. He knew that their old friend would not welcome the likes of their kind to his door.

Amandur quickly informed them that he and the elf woman Léspheria would ride on to Tallas' and that they should continue following the trail before them, he watched for a moment as Amandur and the elf sped off through the trees, hoping that the elven woman would not need to use her healing skills at the old mans place. He then turned back to the trail before them.

Dúlrain rode at the back of the trio as the trail lead back to Bree, it then turned sharply to mount the side of the hill, they dismounted several times to re-examine the trail, which seemed to meander endlessly upwards. As he turned to regard the lowering sun he saw disquiet in the older ranger as his gaze cast towards the top of the hill.

"What is it Rauthain?" he ventured bring his horse along side the older man. "I had thought that we may gain time if we could espy our quarry from the hill or an out cropping such as this," His grey eyes followed his hand towards the high crest of stone nearby. He turned back as the older man conveyed his reluctance to lose Naiore. He too had to admit that this path was long and winding and yet no sign of their quarry had they seen, Naiore had used this tact before to deceive and elude them, but before he could rely that he felt the same, Maethor spoke up...

"What of Vanwe's Plight? Is she not also deserving of our attention?" Dúlrains head turned to regard the other ranger there was a silent conviction in his eyes. He thought on the elf maiden as Rauthain brushed aside the question.

Those that Naiore had used before to elude them were of no value to her, expendable, Is her own daughter really that expendable, would she risk her daughter falling into the hands of her enemies, No he did not believe this was so, Barrold, Avanill most certainly, but not the daughter that could be used against her! Dúlrain reasoned.

"But are not many more served by concentrating solely on the capture of Naiore and not becoming distracted from our mission?" Rauthains words pulled him from his thoughts and he regarded the ranger thoughtfully.

"By finding Vanwe, we find Naiore, it is one in the same," he answered evenly. "Have patience, we shall not let up until she has been brought to justice. However, if it will quell your anxiety, climb to see what you may, you will find us easily enough when you are satisfied, for you speak as one consumed. What lies so heavily on your heart that you should be so?" he continued seeing his companions disquiet grow.

His thoughtfulness turned to confusion as the ranger spoke of atonement and of a ranger once caught in Naiore's grasp. He was not aware that one of there own had fallen prey to the Revennor, but Rauthain’s words of atonement struck a cord in his own heart. No more words did he hear, instead he found himself gazing down on the village of Bree wondering were his brother was now. He too had much to atone for; Kaldir’s scared face and memories were a bitter testimony to how he had failed his old friend. Inhaling deeply he turned back to see Rauthain ascending the hill.

"Of whom does he speak? I know of no ranger that has become prey to the Revennor?" he asked Maethor as he continued. The younger rangers words struck him hard and he pulled hard on his reins causing the proud stallion to snort indignantly, turning to regard the departing back of Rauthain, "He is right he does have much to atone for!" he muttered bitterly.

"What do you know of what happened to him and how long has it been known that Kaldir was alive?" he asked turning back on Maethor, ignoring his stunned look, he felt betrayed if these two knew how many more did? Moreover, why had none thought to tell him that his brother was alive?

"It was said that after the battle of Raven Falls, Kaldir was spirited away by the orcs to their master’s strong hold of Barad-dûr, where he remained unbeknownst to us until Amandur discovered him in the wreckage of that same fortress." Barad-dûr...Amandur...Dulrain felt like a knife had been plunged into his heart. "Are you alright?" Maethor asked as his companions face pale with pain, “I’m fine!” he snapped, “What else do you know?” he asked waving the concerned ranger away. He listened as Maethor told him of the many rumours regarding the ranger turned bounty hunter and the part they believed Naiore had played in changing the ranger’s spirit.

Dúlrain's eyes welled with renewed guilt, pain and regret, but then an anger long forgotten welled within him. The Rangers of raven falls had convinced him that his brother was dead. Finding Kaldir's sword and bloodied cloak by the banks of the river, they reasoned that the ranger having been mortally wounded must have fallen into the rapids and been drowned. Dúlrain had not been so convinced, not easily was his friend parted from his grandfather’s sword. Were he killed or wounded, the sword would have surely gone with him. They had pandered to a young ranger’s denial he thought bitterly. They had continued with him for a time, none of them believing that Kaldir had survived, until only Hanasain had remained. "I feel your grief my friend I too wish he was alive." the memory of Hanasain's sincere words did little to abate his anger, Dúlrain had searched for a time after that alone but eventually in his despair he gave into their reasoning and abandoned his search.

Dúlrain looked down to see his hand wrapped tightly about the hilt of Kaldir's sword, "They are all as guilty as Naiore.... as am I he muttered angrily, his grip tightening that his nails dug into the palm of his hand drawing blood. Reluctantly letting go of the hilt he unfurled his hand looking despondently at the small trickle of blood that ran across his palm. Images of Kaldir in the dark pits of Barad-dûr, enduring the torture of the Revennor of Mordor assailed his mind along with ones of Kaldir torn and broken praying for his friend to come as he once promised he would.

Kaldirs hand clenched again.” I have failed you my brother, but on my blood I promise that I will not rest until I have seen that this monster has paid for what she has done to you.” his words were no more than a whisper but his conviction burned in his eyes like a raging fire. All the mirth in the ranger’s eyes had gone, consumed by the flames. Presently unaware, if Maethor was still with him or not, he continued on stopping only briefly to re-examine the tracks as they passed by the hobbit holes and on to a more isolated section of the hill.

Dúlrain stopped as the tracks appeared to lead to a small dark cave, dismounting he lashed his horse to the branch of a nearby tree, cautiously his drew his sword it was then that the presence of Maethor returned to him as he felt the ranger do likewise. Unlike his companions, he was not experienced in the art of tracking and the jumble of prints leading to and from the cave confused him.

"Maethor, I require your keen eyes! I see our three friends enter here," he said pointing to the trail leading into the cave. "But look here and here, how many friends does the Revennor have?" he asked pointing to two different set of tracks leaving the cave. He watched wearily as Maethor carefully examined every print.

"She was here!" Maethor suddenly exclaimed as he examined again the first set of prints, "Vanwe and her captors are with her," he sighed, "Look here!" he said pointing to a small bear foot print of a hobbit. "Master Longholes!" Dúlrain spat disdainfully "Then we must make haste she will already know we are close," he reasoned making for his horse, but pausing at Maethor's hesitation.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently "You did not ask me about the other tracks!" Maethor answered cautiously, "What of them, we know which way Naiore is heading and that is what matters!" he retorted returning to his mount. "They are Kaldir's and two companions," Maethor whispered gently. Dúlrain stopped dead in his tracks and slowly looked back.

"So he is ahead of us.” It was Rauthain returned from his errand. Dúlrain shot him a sharp look but let Maethor explain what they had found. As they spoke, he followed Kaldir’s boot prints inside, only his wife had followed him inside. The hobbit woman, Mrs Tunnelly had remained outside. As he looked down at the southern woman’s delicate boot print Maethors words of earlier came back to him. “They say he was at the Forsaken the day before I arrived, no doubt after some quarry of his own.” A shiver ran down his back, was this woman and his companion his quarry? He wondered. However, immediately he shook the thought away. No, who would have a bounty on such a beautiful young woman, her eyes full of kindness and...His thoughts stopped abruptly as he recalled that the woman had tried to mouth something to him. “Please...she had said please!” he gasped in horror and disbelief.

"Who did friend?" Dúlrain turned to see Maethor a torch held out in front of him, looking at him expectantly.

"The woman I spoke of earlier, "he answered reluctantly, he paused then added, "She was with Kaldir." he sighed resignedly.

"You saw him today!" Rauthain asked urgently coming up behind Maethor. Dúlrain's eyes narrowed with resentment. "YES! And if anyone had thought to tell me my brothers bitter tale I may have been able to dissuade him from this madness," he knew this was not true but he was angry.

"I too have only recently learnt of his survival," Rauthain calmly replied

But Dúlrain's anger was not to be abated so easily, "You abandoned him to his fate, you are as guilty as the one we hunt!" he yelled bitterly, counting himself guilty in that charge. Sharply pulling his eyes from the ranger he stalked towards what little light was left of the day.

"Toby is no more than a snivelling coward, under questioning of the Revennor of Mordor he would spilled his guts, she knows we are near and the number of our company," he called back. "Come! Master Rauthain We may yet be able to atone for our crime!" he said coldly as he left the cave.

Pushing his sword harshly into it's sheath, he mounted his horse with half a mind not to wait for his companions, but he stayed his mount long enough to see the two rangers exit the cave, "I will scout ahead" he told them, taking up his reigns "Yah! Yah! He called urging the stallion on, stopping only once the others where out of sight.

He cursed himself for letting, his anger get the better of him, but he regretted not a single word, it was true! He and the others of Raven falls had abandoned Kaldir to his fate. It was their fault that Kaldir was the man he was today. His anger again began to swell, but defiantly he bit it back. He dropped from Dir to examine the road he was now on, luckily, he was still on the trail and it seemed to be heading north towards the gates, which made sense to him, as this gate was not so heavily guarded as the others. He remounted Dir and followed the tracks to the gate, where he reluctantly waited for the others.

[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor gazed with concern as Dúlrain galloped away in a stinging flurry of kicked stone and dust to scout the path ahead; it was as if he was pushing them away in disgust: leaving them behind because they had hurt him wrongfully. The anger that had flared from him was almost frightening and Maethor himself was confused. Why such anger about one who was thought to be dead but proved instead to be alive? He shook his head, his tangled hair brushing against his face as he sought to solve the puzzle. Did Dúlrain know Kaldir before the ruining of the Ravennor? Of course they had, for he had called him brother. Yet, Maethor had not known that Kaldir had had a brother -- of course, Maethor knew very little of Kaldir anyway. Frowning, Maethor turned to ask Rauthain if he could solve the riddle for him, but his face was forbidding and impassive: as if he was deep in memory and sorrows of the past. His eyes seemed to glint with guilt and occasionally his eyes strayed to the road, as if he was thinking of Dúlrain.

Sinking into his own muses, Maethor wondered how he could have heard of the Ranger turned bounty hunter, when Dúlrain had not. It had been some time ago, from a friend who had known one of the Rangers who had overheard one of the ones who had gone into Mordor mention it. Maethor snorted scornfully: it was brutally ironic that he, a virtual nobody in the realm of the rangers, should know before one such as Dúlrain.

Turning his thoughts to Vanwe, he wondered what Naiore could want with her. A weapon perhaps. It grieved him to think of her chaffed wrists and the terror that had reflected from her limpid blue eyes. She had escaped once before, he mused, maybe she can again.

Dúlrain was awaiting them further ahead of the paths and Maethor could still see a storm rage within him. Deciding the best course would best not mention a word about Kaldir, Naiore, Amandur, or the Falls, he said, knowing that it would not allay his grief, “I am sorry, friend.”

[Nerindel]

Toby

Toby shifted uncomfortably under the elven woman's gaze, unable to bare the weight of her sharp, studying eyes any longer he turned his back to the fire and lay down thinking to get some rest, but sleep evaded him. He tossed restlessly for several minutes trying to get comfortable, and then giving up he lay on his back staring up at the stars, contemplating all that had been said after supper.

She is insane he finally concluded. Every Breelander hobbit knew the terrible stories told about the wrights that roamed the downs. He pulled his cloak tighter about him as a cold chill ran down his spine at the mere thought. Then there is the old Forest, tales say that the forest is alive and it attacked Buckland once trying to get over the Hay, driven back only when the hobbits lit fires in the area now aptly called Bonfire glade. Even if they were to survive the downs and the forest, they would still have the Bounders and the masters of Buckland to deal with. Toby snorted indignantly at the thought of Masters Brandybuck and Took, it was largely due to them and Mayor Gamgee that, old Sharky had failed in what this Ravennor, what ever that was? Though he really did not wish to know, the look on Barrold and Avanill's had been enough, sought to do.

He had underestimated the resilience of the hobbits, especially once roused, as most big folk did, they are gifted with being generally undaunted in the face of bad situations, something Toby was aware that he sorely lacked. However, this elf was no different from the old wizard overconfident in her own abilities, he thought disdainfully. Nevertheless, she seemed more dangerous than the old wizard, her serenity and feyness sat ill in the pit of his stomach, he shivered again. Glancing about the camp, he realised that he would not be able to escape them, but he would not permit the indignity of being locked up or killed by the stuck up hobbits of the Shire. He sighed heavily, resigned to the fact that he had no other choice but to help this elf woman, who ever she was.

This feeling was all to familiar, it had been the same when old Bill had forced him to spy on the Shire for Sharky, He would just have to be as careful as he had been then, only a few had known his part in that misadventure and most of them had not survived. Toby grinned at his own cleverness then went back to thinking about the bounders, the two elves and the men would not get within bow shot, without his help... he stifled a satisfied grin and inconspicuously slipped his hand to his dagger, as he heard one of his companions walking about, none of which where to be trusted. His body tensed like a wound spring ready to strike should one of his companions think they would be better rid of him.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

When he returned Rauthain found Maethor and Dúlrain studying the signs inside the mouth of the cave, speaking of a woman and of Kaldir. “You saw him today!” he said astonished, reining in Juta who skirted and reared reflecting the Rauthain’s eagerness.

“Yes!” Dúlrain replied in a voice thick with resentment. “And if anyone had thought to tell me my brother’s bitter tale I may have been able to dissuade him from this madness.”

A wish , thought Rauthain. “I too have only recently learned of his survival.” He was struck in this outpouring by Dúlrain’s use of the phase “my brother”. He said it not as one would speak of his fellows, but in an impassioned way telling a stronger bond. He had heard Kaldir himself speak of a brother once in the same manner. So long ago it seemed, when the evenings were long and harsh and the men in his band would warm themselves with tales of lore or of homes left behind. But Rauthain remembered also the day he had arrived on the threshold of Kaldir’s home, finding only a lonely and aging father with no one to bring him comfort after hearing the ill news Rauthain delivered, the last hope of his line had been lost at Raven Falls, and so he had stayed with him for a time, recounting Kaldir’s courage and valor.

“You abandoned him to his fate, you are as guilty as the one we hunt!” broke in Dúlrain’s charges, as he turned his back to face fading light at the cave’s mouth. The bitter words fell on Rauthain more painfully than blows. A resonate pain tore him as Dúlrain gave voice to the accusations so deeply embedded in his own heart. He had truly abandoned Kaldir to his fate, more so then even Dúlrain imagined. And his black guilt had laid the cornerstone of misery. Rauthain’s head trembled slightly in the torchlight.

“Toby is no more than a sniveling coward, under the questioning of the Revennor of Mordor he would have spilled his guts. She knows we are near and the number of our company. Come! Master Rauthain we may yet be able to atone for our crime!” Dúlrain called coldly as he stalked out of the cave. "I will scout ahead."

Rauthain willed himself to look at the ground and examine the prints there. He could not afford to brood on his failings when he could see his recompense so near. He must remain focused. Feelings no longer mattered. The tracks were a muddle of horses and boots at the cave's mouth, with what seemed to be Toby's interspersed. Trying to commit the new shapes and gaits to memory, he felt them slip from his awareness as his thoughts clamored, demanding attention. There was Dúlrain's stride leading to where his horse had been. And there another's, Kaldir's, intermingled with a woman's leading to another cluster of hooves and again a hobbit.

Kaldir is following Naiore with two others, he remarked to himself. He had seen a small group leave the hill and pass through the northern gate from atop his perch on the hillside not an hour earlier. At the time he had thought them a man, woman and child from his vantage point, but he now recognized the dapple stallion and the man as those he had seen at the Forsaken Inn. So we are all on the same mission? he mused. Or is he merely seeking out his mistress, the Ravennor.

Maethor by his side, they made their way quickly to the northern gate, Rauthain looking only occasionally at the tracks left by Dúlrain's horse, for he was lost in his thoughts. Coming upon horse and rider waiting for them, Maethor approached Dúlrain cautiously, wishing to comfort him in his grief. "I'm sorry, friend." He said softy as they drew along side.

Dúlrain nodded silently, a fire still smoldering in his grey eyes.

"We are all sorry," Rauthain added. "This thing should never have happened but for mischance and faulty judgment, though it is more than lamentable to see of the tragic result of a moment’s mistake."

“A moment’s mistake? You speak as though he was a cloak that had been let drop along the roadside, an inconvenience. You had made a choice to turn your back to him, never again hoping in his survival! Everyday you made that choice.”

Never again hoping in his survival, Rauthain’s mind echoed. Was it true? He looked sympathetically at the younger man and placing his hand on his shoulder he said, “You are the one Kaldir called brother.” It was a pronouncement and recognition of the pain they shared. And Rauthain caught his eye as if to say he understood.

[ November 06, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly noticed Benia’s hand tighten around her knife as she eyed Kaldir. Remembering their conversation in the alley she became genuinely alarmed. What exactly did her friend have in mind? Were Benia to try anything now she knew they would have no chance, unless she were to manage to injure Kaldir gravely indeed. Somehow that seemed unwarranted to the hobbit. She reckoned the bounty hunter had been treating them rather well for being held captive. Other than the odd threats of death and stern demeanor, he had provided food and horses and now thankfully she had been given her knife back! In view of Kaldir’s immediately apparent goal she would sorely regret having her only defense taken away through her friend’s miscalculations.

Not to say she herself hadn’t been tempted to flee and find some hiding place when the two had left her to watch the horses, but once given a task she took care to do it to the best of her ability, dependability being a source of pride for her. Also she could not bring herself to leave knowing that even if she did reach help she would be unlikely to find her friend, Miss Nightshade again.

A rather absurd hope was forming in her mind that if Miss Benia and she were to somehow find a way to assist Kaldir in his pursuit of Naiore, perhaps they could win their own freedom. Were bounty hunters such bad people that you could not strike an honest bargain with them? She supposed one could tell a “good” bounty hunter from a “bad” one by what sort of people they chose to track down. Unfortunately Kaldir, having pursued Miss Benia, weighed in heavily on the less desirable side according to this theory.

The hobbit saw Kaldir catch Benia’s hand in his and after laying down his bow raise it so that the well honed knife was poised between their faces.”

“What were you thinking, my lady?” he asked menacingly. “Would you strike at me?”

“Ach!” Gilly muttered, “Now she’s gone and done it!” Rushing up to the towering ranger she gingerly attempted to smooth things over when Kaldir cut her off abruptly with out so much a word.

Standing silently beside them, she saw their eyes engaged. Miss Benia not looking defiant, but rather studying the ice blue eyes. After a moment she faltered glancing anxiously at the hobbit.

“Well?” Kaldir prompted. “I asked you a question.” Gilly looked awaiting Benia’s response, but the desert woman remained mute. The hobbit jerked her chin toward the man, trying to signal her friend to answer anything, just answer.

Kaldir pulled the knife toward him placing the tip against his throat, the tendons of his hand pulling taut his bronze skin as he enclosed Benia’s hand in his. Her eyes became fixed on the knife resting in the hollow there. Shaking her head she finally uttered “No”.

Gilly saw that a drop of blood shone at the base of the bounty hunter’s neck. “Miss Benia…” she whispered reaching for her own knife. She could not understand what was happening before her. Benia again looked upon the his face and tried to pull her hand away. After a moment’s hesitation Kaldir released it and walked away as though nothing unusual had happened, bidding them to hurry so that they might leave Bree. But the two stood planted in shocked silence. “Move!” Kaldir shouted tossing Benia’s sheath to her.

They quickly resumed their places and began the descent into Bree and onward to Chetwood. Once they were deep among the trees Gilly urged her pony on until she rode next to Kaldir as he walked. Taking some bread and dried fruit from the packs the pony carried, she handed them to the ranger who accepted them from her hand, with thanks.

“You know Mr. Kaldir,” the hobbit said quietly, “there is no harm in her looking at you now is there?” It wasn’t exactly the straightest truth, but near enough. Still she continued, hoping for the best. “I’ve never known Miss Nightshade to go around murdering people and such like, no matter how angry I’ve seen her. Don’t you go worrying yourself about that. If you’d like, I can have a talk with her, and tell her not to stare too much, if that is what troubled you so.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Banks” Kaldir said. “But look, here is something that might interest you. Look at these tracks and tell me what you see.”

“Oh Sir, I don’t know the first thing about rangering! They all look a jumble to me.”

“What about this one here?” The bounty hunter said pointing to a bare footprint in the dust.

“I suppose it might be a hobbit’s, but why this Naiore would travel with a hobbit I’m sure I don’t know! And why a hobbit would travel with her as well! But then again why would a bounty hunter for that matter, keep a hobbit in tow.”

“Perhaps the halfling may prove useful to her.”

“Ach no! I hope not if she is as bad as she is. She would be a terrible mistress, shouting night and day '...bring this, polish that, not that diabolical instrument the other one you half wit!' A poor hobbit would know no peace.” She had hoped to make him smile, but was on the wrong side to mark his expression.

“Perhaps she keeps him to drive her mad with incessant chatter.” Kaldir said distractedly.

“Yes, there’s that too…” Gilly said quietly before dropping back beside Benia. Reaching into the pack again she offered some food to her friend. “Please eat something Miss Benia, she said earnestly. She was sure Benia must think her quite foolish and maybe she was. Sighing she wished that they could speak freely. What had happened at the cave was of great concern to her.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill sat with his back to the fire, and to the others. The more he htought about what he had gotten himself into the more his stomach began to ache with anticipation and dread. The young man reached for his bag which contained all the poisons etc that he had acquired form their friend Tallas.

Slowly he began to blend herbs and potions of different sorts. He lay out an array of bottles before him and shuffled over to the fire, placing a billy upon the flames which contained a deadly poison which when boiled and added with the right ingredience would produce an energy potion.

Evidently he became more confident and almost forgot that there were other people there. Avanill was proud of his abilities, Apothecarictic activites were among the few things which his mother had not taught him,l he had supplied her himself to clients of hers until she retired form her craft. He grinned to himself as the potion sizzled down into a thin white powder. He then noticed the others watching him.

"Poison? or Provision?" he asked Toby off-handedly, the hobbit seemed stunned and unable to answer the question. He nodded at Avanill, "It can be both, might test it to make sure it works... would you like a drink Toby?" he asked. "No Avanill!" he remarked uneasy. "Of course not, Do you think id really kill you like that?" Toby sent a look of horror in his direction. "Yes!" Avanill shook his head and laughed at the same time. "Well, my friend, your probably right, Yes, i would kill you like that, if you owed me money." he paused like the young man he was and sat back from the fire. "I dont remember it so well, but whatever it was you ordered a lot and were two weeks late with payment."

Avanill could see Toby flinch from his place. "Would you look at him Barrold! scared as a rabbit, I tell you fellas, im not the worst of my house you know..." he trailed off and watched the stars. After a short while he turned to Barrold, "Why did we kill that old man Ferney, what did he really do to us which was that wrong?" Barrold snorted "Nothing he wouldnt 'av done to us boyo, Id think you are a darn sight dangerous when you are provoked m'boy, why'd you get so worked up?"

Avanill had forgotten about what Tallas had said. "Nohting, it was nothing," he muttered to Barrold and returned once more to staring at the sky. He thought about Naiore's reward, but would it be enough to buy his friends out of the jails in which they were captured? This was only one of the reasons that he agreed to this venture, his friends were good men, sure they were involved in black market trade, but was it such a crime really? Avanill thought not but raised and checked on his potions so that they were ready for Naiore for the morning.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

"Please eat something, Miss Benia," Gilly said, reaching out to Benia with a handful of dried fruit from her pack. Benia glanced at the food and shook her head.

"No, thank you, Gilly," she said softly. "I'm not hungry." They had been riding for over an hour since leaving Bree Hill and still her hands shook. She couldn't get the image of that single glistening bead of blood at the bounty hunter's throat out of her mind. He had given her the opportunity to kill him and save herself, but she had failed the test - as she knew she would every time if given the same test over again. Still, it wasn't the knowledge that she could not slay a man in cold blood, even to save herself, that made her hands shake so, but more the frightening reality of the bounty hunter himself. In that moment when he had held her hand in his and with his own strength pushed the point of her dagger into his skin and drawn blood, she had caught a glimpse of the man behind the scarred veneer. She knew in that instant that he was not mad. What she saw behind the bounty hunter's facade was a man so angry and driven that he knew no fear, a man who had been so brutalized that pain or the spilling of his own blood no longer affected him.

This was a man who had already been to the bottom of the abyss. In a way, he was like a walking dead man. All that had been warm or beautiful in him had been shattered, leaving behind only a molten core of anger and fierce determination, but she could see the fragments of what had been broken were still there, winking at her like splinters of glass through a layer of ash. That was what made her hands shake. He terrified her, yet, at the same time, she longed to reach out to him, to try to make him whole again.

"Please, Miss Benia," Gilly's voice broke through her thoughts. "You haven't eaten anything all day. Even Mr. Kaldir would have a bit of fruit."

As though coming out of a dream, Benia turned toward her friend. Gilly had ridden ahead and talked to the bounty hunter, hadn't she? He had not threatened or rebuffed her either, at least not that Benia had noticed. Perhaps they did have a hope of reaching him. She smiled suddenly. "Did he, now?" she asked.

"Only a few pieces of dried apple," answered Gilly. "But it was that much more than you've had. You'd feel so much better if you would just have a bite to eat."

"I suspect you're right," Benia said at last and took the fruit from the hobbit. She put a small handful of it into her mouth and, as she chewed, watched the bounty hunter's back as he jogged ahead of them. It was fast growing dark and his form was little more than a shade against the darker shade of the forest.

She felt torn. On one hand, she wanted to flee from him and get as far away from him as possible, yet her softer side counseled her to stay, to see if there were some way she could coax his shattered soul back together again. She had always been a sucker for a lost cause, the bird with the broken wing, the half-drowned kitten. Granted this man was as far from a half-drowned kitten as a wolf was from a field mouse, but she could sense the void that surrounded him, his lack of connection with anything but his own anger. He needed a soft hand to draw him back from the abyss. On the other hand, though...

On the other hand, she couldn't get the face of the other man, the ranger, Dulrain, out of her mind. She had only glimpsed him for a second, yet she found him constantly on the edge of her thoughts. She wondered how he fit into the bounty hunter's story, if he was a friend or a foe. Remembering the charge that had passed between the ranger and herself in that brief second that their eyes had met, she flushed again and looked at her hands. In the semi-darkness, the tattoos stood out against her skin like brands. She knew that he was well out of her league, what with her being a mere half-caste with one foot in Bree and the other in the deserts of Far Harad, while he was one of King Elessar's own brethren, but she hoped to cross paths with him again. Just to see his face, to see if that charge would connect them again, was all she wanted. Thinking back to the moment when she had raised her veil, she suddenly frowned. Why had he not reacted to her plea for help? Perhaps he had not understood. If she or Gilly or even the bounty hunter blew the whistle he had left with them, would he come? She looked again at the bounty hunter's back. It was a good question.

Turning to Gilly, she smiled again. "Thank you for making me eat. You were right. I do feel better."

"Troubles always seem less troublesome on a full stomach," answered Gilly with a gentle smile in return.

Benia wondered if that was an old hobbit saying from the Shire, but, instead of asking, she nodded in the direction of the bounty hunter. "When you were talking with him a minute ago, what did you say?"

Gilly shrugged. "Nothing much. I gave him some food and he showed me the tracks we are following. There seems to be a hobbit traveling with this Ravener."

"A hobbit!" echoed Benia.

"Yes, a hobbit," confirmed Gilly. "I can't imagine why, unless he's a prisoner and she's making him go along. She doesn't sound at all like the hobbit sort, if you catch my meaning."

"I do," answered Benia, nodding thoughtfully. After that, she fell once more into silence. The darkness had settled around them like a fog. Up ahead, the bounty hunter had stopped walking and was waiting to the side of the path for them to catch up.

"It's time we stopped for the night," he said, as they reined their horses to a halt beside him. "We'll make camp here."

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

[Elora]

Naiore

Naiore withdrew, taking the mithril bound tomes with her, and left the Men and Hobbit to their chatter. She bent over Vanwe, who moved restlessly. She could sense that Vanwe's consciousness was a turgid, rolling stream barely held in check by her earlier action and the exhaustion of the day. It was troublesome and Naiore sighed pensively as she watched her daughter's eyelids flicker.

The options were little to Naiore's liking. Apply force, and she would loose Vanwe's willing cooperation. Things would go harder then. She could lie, though the idea was unappealing. Perhaps she could slip through words without having to directly engage in spoken deceit. It was one thing to know Vanwe craved a mother and quite another to know how to use that craving to its fullest potential before she destroyed the tool that Vanwe was.

Still, Naiore had deciphered knottier puzzles in the past, Vanwe's father, for example, and she would do so again. With only that thought and the awareness that for the moment her trained and honed discipline outweighed her daughter's strength, Naiore straightened to her full height. She swept an impassive gaze in a serene face across the camp. Barrold and Avanill were preoccupied and Toby seemed intent on making himself as small and unnoticeable as he could.

Satisfied that all was in order, Naiore withdrew to a vantage that afforded a good view about their camp area. In time, the camp still. Barrold's snoring came and went regularly. Avanill continued his work. Toby curled into a tight ball and slept as best as he could with one eye open. Naiore, for her part, sat in the darkness as though she were made of living night itself. Only the flicker of the dying fire gave her movement as the flames shone in her pale golden hair. On her lap lay the silver books, large and beckoning to her.

It was not until Avanill retired for the night that Naiore at last succumbed to the lure of the stolen books. She set her senses to range about the camp. If any approached, she know of their emotional presence long before she would see them with her keen Elven sight anyway. That done, Naiore studied the locks that Tallas had used to secure the two books.

"Cunning old man," she muttered quietly to herself in the tongue of her youth. There was noone about to raise a brow at the Quenyan language that fell from her mouth. Adding fuel for the fire, Naiore began to work at the locks. The stars above watched on as she brought to bear all the Noldorin ingenuity that was her heritage upon the locks. As it was, it took nearly half an hour to pry them loose. Naiore heard the light click and extracted the delicate tipped dagger that she had been using to pick the lock.

It was a rare piece, Noldorin and invaluable. She inspected the tip for damage and stowed it away, her concern for the contents of Tallas' locked books outweighing her love of such exquisite pieces of craft. She added more fuel, took a deep breath and let her gaze fall onto the first page.

The books were of vellum, smooth and creamy to the touch. Upon them, a flowing script in the Tengwar mode of Beleriand curled over the pages. It had been long since Naiore had beheld the ancient writings of her kin and at first she smiled a rare, true smile to see them now. All her own books, written in Tengwar, had been destroyed with Minas Morgul and Barad-Dur, years agon now.

Her smile was beautiful and illuminary, creating a glimpse of what it was that so beguiled others in earlier days of innocence. It soon faded as she poured through what Tallas had read. It was a history, in astonishing and revealing detail of Finarfin and his descendants. It described names, children, spouses. It told of deeds and battles fought, from the First Age onwards.

It was, in short, a record of Naiore's family. In that alone it was remarkable. Few such accounts remain. It's detail, accuracy and completeness was astounding. Naiore read quickly, as ever she had. Names leapt off the page, snagging her interest. As she progressed, her smile grew cold and then faded.

Naiore slammed shut the first book breathing rapidly. Her fingers shook a little as she withdrew the dagger again and set to work on the second lock. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. When it sprang open, she cast her dagger aside and tore open the mithril cover to resume reading.

The sight of Naiore Dannan unnerved so was rarer than the book she read or the dagger she had used to pick its lock. When her true fate had come to her people's knowledge, much of this information had been erased. Her parent's name and lineage, for example, had been removed from her. In many records, she did not exist, such was the shame. It had suited Naiore well. It was not always a good thing for her descent to be common knowledge and she had worked equally as hard to conceal it over the years.

But here, right before her eyes, it was all laid out. Parents, cousins, kindred through the generations. Names of the past, some victims and some not, and names of the future. Léspheria was a name of the future that was linked to the past. Galadriel was a name of the past that always had given Naiore a moment's pause when she heard it.

But that was not all that Naiore read in Tallas' books. Tallas had managed to set down a telling, of sorts, of her affairs. Some of it was conjecture, crimes she had committed and crimes she had not. She was startled at how much Tallas had been able to sort through. Some of the accounts she had thought were not known to any but her and Sauron. How Léspheria came to escape her attention also alarmed Naiore. Her mother she had dealt with thoroughly, Naiore well recalled.

That had been early in her career, at a time when Naiore had thought her true nature still unknown to her kin. She was wrong. It suggested that there were other things she was mistaken about also, a concept that inspired true misgivings within her. Naiore could not even begin to guess at what though, until she nearly dropped the book at the mention of another name.

Menecin

Had any in the camp been awake, they would have witnessed an uncanny change in Naiore's demeanour. Gone was the cold, tightly disciplined facade. Gone was her impassive serenity. Gone also was the guise of power and control. In this, Naiore was at the mercy of Tallas' account of an Elf named Menecin.

Her fevered reading skipped back and forth from word to word, as if unsure that what she read was truly written there.

"Menecin! Kuila? Laa! Ta na raika! Furu! Laa! (Menecin alive? No! It is wrong! A lie! No!)

"Im uya hanya." (I do not understand.) Doubt and uncertainy were notes in her whispers. That she even spoke to the night was a measure of how shaken the Ravenner was. She backtracked through what she had read. It told of Menecin's sucess at last, after long searching through hundreds of years, in finding her. It told of what happened, and it was as Naiore recalled it except in one, crucial aspect. Menecin was alive.

Naiore re-read the passage three times, searching for some subtelty in language and expression that she had missed, shaking her head as she bent over the pages. Naiore paused, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers over her mouth in shock and dismay. Menecin had survived her leavetaking of him.

Ai! The danger of such as he, knowing what he knows now! It was all that she could do to keep from wailing at the uncaring stars. Fearful and pale, Naiore pressed on and the muttering in Quenyan continued.

"Nev qualin, serke, mi Imladris… (Near dead, blood, in Imladris… )

"Maile ten unquale…nwalyaello suule… orme an..." (Lust for death, tormented of spirit, violent to…)

Her fingers paused their trail underneath the words, brows knitted, and then Naiore pressed on. The rest was an account of Menecin's state of insanity and barely contained violent rage. He had terrifying periods of lucidity, it was said, unpredictably coming and going. The account moved on after that, but it held little of interest compared with her discovery.

The fire had diminished and the movement of night creatures had become steadily more prevalent as her watch wheeled on.

"Curse Barrold for leaving the third," she muttered at the outline of the Man beneath his cloak, snoring blissfully. It was perhaps another hour before he startled awake. Naiore sat in the night, the fire mere embers now, as he struggled to sit up right. No sooner had he managed to do so did he hear a terse command.

"I will take the second watch also," Naiore said tonelessly. Barrold yawned and sank back to sleep, too fogged to question Naiore's generous offer. Naiore remained where she was seated, the two mithril books piled beside her, studying Vanwe with all the intensity of a hawk watching its dinner.

Is Menecin behind your appearance, daughter? It could surely be no coincidence, Vanwe's escape from the South to arrive here just as Naiore was making her long overdue move. Neither was it a coincidence that Rangers crawled through the lands like vermin. Sent from Imladris, where Menecin lived.

But what to do, if anything? She could still move against the Shire, ahead of her foes as she was. She'd have to contend with Imladris though, if she did that, and they'd come after her from behind. Menecin only made Imladris' threat more potent. Who else knew her better than he? He knew who she was and what she had become. He knew her capabilities. And Vanwe could be his poisoned gift that would bring her undone. Lure and bait.

As Naiore sat and pondered, she was minded of the hunted and the hunter. If she was hunted, there were two options. Run, or hunt them in her own turn. Chasing after Rangers one by one through the wilds was far from wise. But, strike at Imladris, where the greater threat lay...

And use the means of her destruction against the ones who would see her fall. The Shire would wait. It would only topple the easier without Imladris to aid it. The Rangers would easily be dealt with also, Imladris decimated. A plan, formed of cold revenge and hatred for a cloying past, took shape within Naiore's mind as the night passed.

[ November 11, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain’s first instinct was to shrug off Rauthain’s sympathetic hand, but as the older man caught his eye, he saw understanding and a reflection of his own guilt and pain. He lowered his head ashamed that he had thought himself above all others in grief, but the pain was too deep for an apology after all if Rauthain had guilt it was founded as was his own. Without a word he slowly turned his horse and began following the trail before them, he felt the others follow; they rode silently for a time speaking only when they dismounted to check the new direction of the trail.

"They went into the woods !" he puzzled when the trail suddenly veered towards the trees, "Why?" he questioned aloud, as he again examined the prints, not those of Naiore and her companions but the hoof prints of Kaldir and his two companions. He could vaguely hear Maethor and Rauthain as they debated Naiores possible cause for change in direction, but Dúlrain was lost in thought as he looked to the darkness of the tall trees. He was in there somewhere a shadow in the darkness a ghost he had called himself, would he really be able to take on The Revennor of Mordor on his own. Do I even know who he is anymore?

Shaking his head sadly he turned back to the others, "we must make camp the horses are tired and I for one have not slept for several nights," not that sleep will come easy this night he thought wearily to himself. "Soon there will be little light in which to follow the trail and torches will only alert our quarry to our presence," He went on seeing Rauthains reluctance, but when the ranger finally nodded his assent the three of them lead their horses under the eaves of the forest.

Putting Dir's reigns into the hands of Maethor he went ahead to scout out a suitable place to make camp, the wood was eerily silent as he moved with ease in and out of the trees and deep brush, it was not quite dark, so he kept a cautious eye. He soon found a spot were the trees thinned just enough to allow for a small camp, but giving adequate cover if needed. He quickly made his way back to the others, and then led them to the modest clearing where they set about seeing to a small fire and some supper.

After hitching the horses and putting oat bags over their noses, He dug a small pit for the fire and filled a small kettle while Maethor went to find something for supper and Rauthain collected the firewood, he then built a makeshift spit, with which to hang the kettle and the rabbits that Maethor soon returned with.

After a supper of roasted rabbit and hot tea, Dúlrain drew Kaldir's sword and examined it against the light of the fire, many orcs fell on this ancient blade in the name of its true owner. As the blade gleamed in the dancing light of the fire, he remembered Kaldir's apparent pain as the sword had stirred memories of old, if the sword did that what would the sight of his tormentor do.

He felt the others looking at him and the sword in his hands. “It’s Kaldir’s,” he whispered without looking up. Instead, he reached into his pack pulling out his wetting stone, “It has taken many orcs in memory of its previous owner,” he continued, spitting on the stone and running it carefully down the edge of the blade. One stroke after another, each slightly heavier than the last, as if he were trying to remove some invisible stain. "But it seems tainted now!" he explained feeling their concerned gaze.

Its vengeance sorely misplaced he thought coolly. Looking up and taking both rangers into his gaze he told them his mind, "I am not willing to let him fall into her grasp again, but nor will I try to stop him from trying to retrieve that which she has clearly taken from him! So if our paths should cross know now that this is my set and I will not waver from it! We can not afford to keep things unspoken; she will use it against us."

He replaced his stone and rising he sheathed Kaldir's sword, "I will take first watch, who should I wake first?" he asked forcing a smile to try lightening the mood after revealing his convictions.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

As darkness descended, Kaldir found his pace slowing as it became increasingly difficult to follow the trail of Naiore and her four companions. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Mrs. Banks had retreated once more to her place beside Benia, who rode several paces behind him. He looked again at the ground. He could either light a torch, continue on and risk missing something, or he could stop for the remainder of the night, giving the horses, not to mention his companions, the chance to rest. They had come to a wide place in the trail with a small clearing off to the side which would afford them ample room for a small encampment. Would Naiore stop for the night? If she was traveling by foot with a weak or wounded companion, he considered it likely that she would. If that was the case, then he would not lose too much time by stopping himself. He paused and waited for the two women to catch up to him. Looking at their faces, he could see that they were exhausted.

"It's time we stopped for the night," he said, as they reined their horses to a halt beside him. "We'll make camp here." He was tired, too. It had been roughly three nights since he had slept and, while he was able to exist a long time without sleep, he found himself flagging a bit, as well. He would have to sleep soon or his mind would begin to wander. He couldn't afford to have his reflexes slowed by lack of sleep with Naiore Dannan so close by. At least, he knew now that he could trust the desert woman not to try to knife him in his sleep. When he had held her dagger to his throat and ordered her to kill him, he had not felt even the slightest hesitation in her hand, nor the slightest movement toward him from her. She had tried to pull her hand and the dagger away. That was good. Even the smallest hesitation would have landed her back in shackles for the night, but her obvious aversion to the sight of his blood had told him more clearly than words that she was not a killer. Neither was Mrs. Banks, for that matter.

Turning, he watched Benia dismount from her horse. With a nervous glance at him, she led the mare into the clearing and removed her rucksack from the horse's back. She was so beautiful. Only a fool would hand her over to some brutal Haradrim tribesman to be beaten or killed in exchange for a mere handful of coins. She deserved better. Catching himself staring, he pulled his gaze away from her and looked around for Mrs. Banks, who had also dismounted and was busily rummaging through his supplies, no doubt in search of something edible for dinner by hobbit standards, which were considerably higher than his own. Sighing, he knealt and began to clear a spot for their campfire. At the moment, what he wanted more than food or anything else was a few hours' sleep.

Once a small fire had been built and burned merrily away in the fire pit, he unsaddled the three horses, bringing their packs in close to the fire. Then, wrapping himself in his cloak, he found a place on the edge of the clearing where he could sit comfortably with his back braced against the trunk of a large oak. Catching the hobbit's eye, he beckoned her over.

"Mrs. Banks," he said quietly once she stood in front of him. "You and Miss Nightshade have the first watch. Cook what you wish from my supplies, but do not leave this clearing...not even for a sprig of basil. If any of Naiore's minions are about, it could be the worse for you. If you hear anything or even think you hear something, wake me. Remember there are five of them and only three of us."

He smiled at her with the good side of his face. "Bear in mind, I am a light sleeper."

Gilly nodded gravely. "Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Kaldir. If even a twig snaps, we'll wake you."

"Good." He watched her back for a moment as she made her way back to the fire. Then, he drew his sword and laid it across his lap, his hand resting on the hilt. The last thing he saw before drifting off to sleep was Benia seated on the far side of the fire from him, combing the tangles out of her long black hair.

[Imladris]

Maethor

Dusk fell softly upon the three rangers as they entered the woods, and they were soon forced to make camp. It annoyed Maethor that they had to wait until the morn left her light, but he knew that there was no other way. Besides, Dulrain had not slept for several nights, Rauthain looked weary, and Maethor’s body ached as well.

He watched Dulrain dig a fire pit and said, “I’ll find something good for us to eat.“ Creeping into the woods as he looked for something that would make a suitable supper, Maethor thought of the events of the past day. So much had happened, so many secrets had been revealed, and yet there were still riddles to unravel. Naiore herself was the riddle, actually: she was very much like a serpent: cunning, slippery.

Eventually, he came upon a brace of conies with soft mahogany fur, which he killed and skinned. He considered saving and treating the skins, but decided against it, thinking that they would be too much in the way and would too much time. Looking about him, he saw in the dim light a patch of parsley and some sweet green onions. The parsley smelled sweet and, plucking a few leaves, he crushed them between his fingers and he rubbed the green powder generously upon the slippery raw meat of the rabbits. Digging up the onions, admiring the pearly orb that glimmered in the moon’s light, he cut them into small chunks and imbedded them into the rabbit, for flavour.

Making his way back to the fire (which he noted had been made with dry, seasoned wood so that no smoke would betray them), Maethor tossed the rabbits to Rauthain and said with a smile, “If we are to eat in grievous times and are to sleep upon the hard earth with the stones burrowing holes into our backs, we might as well eat as good and tasty a dinner that we can muster.” The ranger had not roamed the outskirts of the Shire for nothing: he had learned quite a few cooking tips from the hobbits he had chanced to encounter.

He watched sympathetically as Dulrain sharpened the sword that had once been Kaldir’s. He wondered vaguely what Naiore had done to him, if she had left physical marks or had made emotional scars. Maybe both. He shuddered at the unpleasant thought.

"I will take first watch, who should I wake first?" Dulrain asked, standing.

“Wake me,” said Maethor quietly.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

“Mr. Kaldir says we’re to take the first watch and keep our ears open,” Gilly called to Benia as she went to the bags to unpack the cooking gear. She gave the dapple-grey wide berth out of respect for its teeth and the stallion in turn watched her carefully, bending his neck to better observe the hobbit’s activities near the fire with its large eye. “What are you so interested in horse? There is naught in here for you, and we can’t live on grass now can we? Really now, quit your staring, its not polite!” She had voiced the last bit a little louder more for Kaldir’s benefit rather than Miss Benia’s, though one might never know what sort of lessons Miss Benia might have missed growing up. She had always had seemed well mannered enough to the hobbit.

Taking her work over to the further side of the fire, she settled herself near Benia who sat combing out her tresses. “Mind you don’t get hair in the supper,” she admonished cheerfully, the promise of a hot meal buoying her spirits even though she puzzled over what she was to prepare with out benefit of water or choice of herbs.

“More food?” Benia said, and having deftly finished plaiting her hair, she threw the long thick ebony rope over her shoulder again, and watched the fire.

“Aye, more food and I could do with a cup of strong tea, but it seems that must wait for a time.” Gilly pulled her knife from the deep pocket of her pinafore and began peeling and cutting apples, letting the chunks fall into the vessel resting in her lap. Pausing suddenly she looked at her knife as if seeing it for the first time, and leaning sideways until she was midway to the ground, she peered around the fire holding her hand up to her eyes to shield them from its glare. There she could just make out the form of Kaldir, still propped against the bole of the tree, the soles of his boots splayed in a slack angle, eyes closed. Grabbing a flat stone she began rubbing first one edge and then the other of her knife against it. Looking again around the fire, she checked to see if Kaldir had moved.

“What is this you said about staring Gilly? It is rude, is it?” Benia said clutching the hobbit’s elbow with a worried expression.

“He’s sleeping,” Gilly whispered.

“He appears to be sleeping,” Benia quickly corrected her. “What are you doing?”

“Just sharpening my knife,” the hobbit explained. “It doesn’t want to cut though skins. It is not as sharp as yours.” Gilly looked passed the fire toward the bounty hunter as she spoke.

“Mine will not willingly cut though this skin either,” she declared, her voice barely audible. “It was his hand that drew blood not mine. How else would I still be alive?”

“Then he is a mad man,” Gilly said taking up another apple.

“Surely not mad, but something more troubling. As if he dwells beyond the far boundaries of pain somehow, like one who has died and yet lives through sheer will.”

Gilly kept working, as she struggled to grasp Benia’s meaning, but found it beyond her ken. “ I don’t know why any of us are alive,” she said finally. “All I know is that I want it to say that way, and if it means being a friend to a bounty hunter in the meanwhile, than that’s alright. Maybe he’ll think twice before carting you off to Harad and maybe I’ll live to see my children again. It’s all I can hope for. But he has treated us better than I would expect and I don’t think that he is so keen to pass you off or else he could have sold you to someone else in Bree at a lesser price letting them collect on your bounty, before pursuing this Naiore. Bree must be fairly crawling with black hearted foreigners and goodness knows we must be a millstone round his neck!” Gilly leaned forward to place the pot of apples and potatoes and dried meat in the embers and lifting a large stick she tapped the lid knocking some glowing coals on top. “Of course he might have some other plan for us that I can not guess, but it does not feel like an evil one.”

The two friends sat in silence before the fire.

“Gilly, I can’t see you as a friend to a bounty hunter. What would Carl think?” Benia said at last.

“Being a friend of one doesn’t mean becoming one yourself, does it? If that’s the case I think Carl will understand, though I’m not so sure about his mother.”

[ November 12, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

Night had fallen by the time they reached the cave to which the trail leads. Amandur had rode on to a bluff higher up the hill to see if any sight of their quarry could be seen, leaving her to search the cave. Outside the trail criss crossed in a mingle of foot and hoof prints, but from what she could make out, she could see that three groups had already passed, Naiore and her entourage, including the small feet of a hobbit. Toby perhaps, she mused, The Bounty hunter and his prisoners and then the rangers. Slipping her pack from her back she opened it and pulled a wooden torch from it then using her flint and tinder she carefully lit it and cautiously stepped into the inky darkness of the cave. The soft glow of the flames danced against the walls casting eerie shadows, but paying them no heed she ventured further, the trail was much the same as outside, but she had come across some rope and a seal to some kind of bottle.

Examining the rope, she saw the red staining of blood and a clean cut. Who ever it was, that was bound by the rope was now freed of this bond. But which prisoner had it been she mused, Vanwe or Benia…? She carefully stowed the rope in her pack, then picked up the red seal and raising it to her nose she gave it a cautious sniff, here was a hint of a smell that she was familiar with , she carefully ran her finger along the edge of the seal and dabbed her finger to her tongue tasting a sticky residue. "A healing potion!" from the south she thought as the distinctive taste of southern spices hit her tongue, she had never been south but she recognised the taste from the wine the ambassadors of Rhun often brought with them to the court of Gondor.

She then crouched down to examine the various prints on the dusty ground, trying to ascertain which prisoner had been cut loose, it was difficult, but she finally managed to find the unusual tread of the southern woman's boots and it went not near the rope, so the prisoner had been Vanwe she reasoned. She knelt there for a long while silently considering if this was a good sign or not. Vanwe's hands might be unbound but was her will? She sighed heavily and without realising, she had wound the rope and stowed it her pack.

"Find anything ?" she turned to see Amandur calling as he dismounted his horse, "Yes, they were here!" she answered lifting the torch and making her way to the exit, she then described what the various boot prints had shown her and about the rope and the healing potion. "Kaldir was here before the rangers," she finally said handing him the torch that he could look for himself. A few minutes later, he returned nodding his head in agreement with her assessment. "What of you, did you see anything from the bluff?" she asked expectantly, but he shook his head grimly, "No nothing!"

His brow suddenly furrowed as he knelt over a set trail of kicked dust, "What is it?" she asked seeing him studying the ground thoughtfully, "It might be nothing, but Dúlrain left here in haste." He told her pointing to the dusty trail, "You don't think he would have gone after Kaldir?" she asked her brow now creased with concern. He shook his head still frowning "I don't know... Perhaps... but I don't think he'll find him, well not the friend he remembers." She watched him thoughtfully, as he silently rose and remounted his horse.

"We will follow the trail a little further then we will make camp,” he told her as they moved off from the cave. Nodding her understanding, she followed, Losseserme's reigns in one hand and the lit torch rose in the other.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Amandur

About a mile after passing Bree's north gate, Amandur paused looking up at the night sky, the stars winked in and out as dark formless clouds passed blocking out the light of the waxing moon. He then looked left and right deciding was best to find cover for the night. To his right stood the inky darkness of the Chetwood, still and silent and to his left lay scattered woodlands and gentle rolling hills. Looking back to the tracks, he decided to make their camp just under the eaves of the Chetwood in a spot still shadowed by the hill.

He built a pit fire, big enough to give warmth, but small enough not to attract unwanted attention in the deepening darkness. The dry wood cracked as it burned and he watched over the flames as Léspheria filled a small pan with water to make a soothing herbal tea, that he knew would dispel their weariness and ease the knots in their aching muscles. They had not bothered to hunt for supper it was late and they would have to rise early, before dawn if they hoped to catch up to the others. Their task at Tallas’ had kept them long from Naiore’s trail, he found himself wondering if this had not been her mind when she had sent her minion’s to kill the old man, but he abruptly shook them off as foolishness.

He looked up to see Lespheria smiling down on him, in her hands, she held the tea, and some salted meat and a piece of waybread. He took the offered food and gestured for her to sit next to him. With a curt nod she sat. He watched her for a moment, her dark hair waved in the mild north-easterly wind and her pale face glowed in the light of the fire as she sipped on her own tea. He had not realised how much he had missed her when he had went to Annúminas, until now! She looked up from her tea and looked at him concerned, but before she could speak, he smiled and turned back to his food.

He could feel the tea relieving his tension with every sip, and the waybread filled him up more than the tough salted meat, venison he thought though he could not be sure through all the salt needed to keep the meat fresh. Once finished and feeling refreshed he offered to take the first watch, she nodded and he waited for her to fall asleep before moving off to the edge of the camp. He climbed one of the tall trees so he could watch both the camp and the area surrounding it, then settled in for his watch, his bow knocked but loose, it paid to be cautious, especially considering the nature of their quarry!

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia watched as Gilly placed a pot of apples, potatoes and dried meat into the embers of the dry wood fire the bounty hunter had lit before retreating to a far corner of the camp to sleep. She thought for a moment about what Gilly had said, then smiled.

"Gilly," she said at last. "I can't see you as a friend to a bounty hunter. What would Carl think?"

"Being a friend of one doesn't mean becoming one yourself, does it?" countered Gilly. "If that's the case, I think Carl will understand, though I'm not so sure about his mother."

Benia laughed merrily, for the first time in days. She was trying to picture the stir it would create in the Shire if Gilly and Carl were to invite the bounty hunter over for a dinner party. While she had never met Carl's mother, she could just imagine the look on an elderly hobbit lady's face at the sight of such a person as a guest in her son's home. After a few seconds, however, her expression sobered again.

"I imagine Carl's mother wouldn't think too highly of me either."

Gilly looked surprised, then shook her head. "Now, Benia..."

"No, it's true!" Benia shook her head sadly. "I must look quite the black-hearted foreigner. Even my father's family seems to think so." She paused and stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt. "They would probably be relieved to learn that I had been dragged back to Harad by my hair."

"But-" she smiled suddenly. "I'm not with out my usefulness." She walked over to where Kaldir had left her pack on the ground and, after rummaging around for a moment, came back to the fireside with a small, octagonal wooden box in her hands, which she gave to Gilly. Then, giving the gray horse a wide berth, she retrieved a water skin from where Kaldir had left his belongings. "I give you water and tea."

As Gilly opened the wooden box and breathed in the exotic aroma of black Haradrim tea, a contented smile spread across her face. Immediately, she filled an additional pot with water from the skin and set it in the fire to boil.

Returning to the fireside, Benia sat down again. As she and Gilly waited for the water to boil and the food to cook, Benia found her gaze drifting repeatedly in the direction of the bounty hunter's sleeping form. Looking at Gilly, she nodded in his direction. "Seriously, Gilly," she whispered. "What you said earlier about being his friend...what did you mean by that?"

She was thinking of her own impulse to reach out to the bounty hunter. When Gilly said that Kaldir had treated them well, better than expected, she was right. After all, he had given them food and horses, and no longer kept them bound or shackled in any way. He had even given their weapons back. It was all very strange behavior if his intent was to kill them or sell her into the hands of hostile tribesmen. Perhaps Gilly was right that he had another plan in mind for them. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to involve mistreating them, at least not at the moment.

When Gilly didn't answer right away, Benia continued. "I was thinking, too, that it might serve us well to befriend him. That is, if he will allow it. I've never seen a man so in need of..." she trailed off, shaking her head helplessly. "In need of I don't know what. But, perhaps if we helped him, we could earn our freedom."

Gilly nodded sagely. "That's exactly what I had in mind."

In her turn, Benia nodded as well. "He seems to like you," she added. "By that I mean he speaks to you. With me, he always seems angry, as though I have offended him somehow." She shrugged, remembering the gruff way he had spoken to her for the majority of the day. "Perhaps it is my appearance and he is not fond of the Haradwaithe. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe if you made some effort to speak with him, we might make some headway.”

Benia noticed a small frown crease the hobbit's forehead. “He watches you,” the hobbit lady said. “I’ve seen him do it.”

Benia smiled. “Well, I do represent cash for his coffers, after all. I suppose he is watching his money, but the way he barks and growls when he speaks to me, I don’t think he likes me much.”

Gilly looked thoughtful, but didn’t argue. “What should I talk to him about?”

Benia gazed into the fire. “I don’t know...food? Tracking?”

“I think he thinks I talk too much as it is,” sighed Gilly. “Maybe we should give up trying to talk to him and concentrate more on just being helpful. You know, cooking dinner, cleaning up, keeping watch. That sort of thing. It does seem to please him when we cooperate with him.”

“That’s true,” agreed Benia. “Maybe he just wanted some servants, eh?” For an instant, she almost believed that of him, but then she remembered the confrontation at the cave and knew it wasn’t true. Whatever he wanted of them, it went deeper than mere servitude.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain sat by the flames watching the younger man as he cared for the familiar sword. He marked from beneath his lowered brow, the concentration with which Dúlrain examined and improved upon the tapered edges, by fire's light grinding out the imperfections and dark memories held there. So the heirloom had been hallowed by spilling the blood of the orcs, and by Dúlrain's hand delivered vengeance upon the people of those who had torn it from its master's grip. Glancing at Maethor he hoped in passing that at least this ranger should by some chance escape such a bitter calling as that which linked his two companions. Perhaps Kaldir had been right to resist his father's plea to marry, for the ties of friendship and love had brought sorrow home to many a stalwart ranger before the end of the Third Age. Then a solitary life had seemed the best shield, though one difficult to take up.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, Rauthain saw that Dúlrain now held the sword and considering the two others spoke earnestly. "I am not willing to let him fall into her grasp again, but nor will I try to stop him from trying to retrieve that which she has clearly taken from him! So if our paths should cross know now that this is my set and I will not waver from it! We can not afford to keep things unspoken, she will use it against us."
Rising he sheathed Kaldir's sword. "I will take first watch, who should I wake first?" he said with an attempt at a smile.

"Wake me," Maethor said quietly.

Despite his weariness and the fine meal Rauthain found that he could not sleep. He longed to be moving again, closing the distance between them and those they followed. This unease he found heightened by the presence of Kaldir, an unknown factor in the play of events and living reminder of Rauthain's own failings, the very catalyst who had sparked this single minded drive.

Now pondering Dúlrain's words, he lay on his back trying to decipher his own course in the dark hours of the night. And finding no relief he stood and sought out Dúlrain who sat outside the glow of the dying fire. Rauthain moved to stir up the embers, but Dúlrain stopped him. "Let it be Rauthain," the dark haired ranger said, "there may be unfriendly eyes close by."

"Have you seen anything amiss?" he asked. Dúlrain shook his head as Rauthain sat by him. "Tonight you spoke wisely, Dúlrain," he said. "We can not afford to keep much unspoken, it is true. I have thought much on what you have said and feel that I also must declare my position for we may come to cross-purposes unexpectedly. I am plagued by the thought that Kaldir may yet be in Her grasp, and what then? I have sworn to pursue the Ravennor and if Kaldir is under her sway I will not stop even should he be placed before me. But if he seeks her undoing, as do I, then I will help him even if it means my death. My aim is for Naiore and no other, for while Kaldir may prove beyond our hope, Naiore Dannan is not beyond our justice." Remembering then to whom he was speaking he added, “It is but a slight possibility that such a thing should arise, but be forewarned I long have been fighting and know little of healing, though I do not wish harm to come to him.”

“Let us hope we will not be called upon to make such decisions,” Dúlrain flatly. “Go and rest now while you may.”

Rauthain left him then and lay waiting to be called to watch.

[ November 14, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Elora]

Naiore

The night was still but Naiore's mind and heart raged in an icy coldness that shone from her silvery eyes. Avanill stirred, rolling upright from where he had been sleeping, wrapped in his cloak.

"Is it third watch yet," he asked in a voice still slurred by sleep.

"It is," Naiore replied with precision. She unfurled herself as Avanill stretched, scrubbed sleep from his eyes, yawned and got up to find a place where he could watch. The Ravennor, First in her Order as marked by the eight braids that fell down her back, stalked across the camp to where Vanwe lay with her eyelids flickering. Without a sideway's glance to Avanill, Naiore bent and seized her daughter by her shoulders and dragged her upright.

Vanwe's eyes fluttered open in confusion and alarm at the sudden movement, sagging a little in her grip. Naiore's eyes narrowed in confirmation that Vanwe had been struggling against the hold place upon her the evening before all night. As her blue eyes, Menecin's eyes, focussed on her mother's face, Naiore smiled. Panic sheered through her daughter at the sight, Naiore noted with satisfaction.

Yes, it was as she thought. Vanwe was working with her father and feared she had been discovered. Still, the panic was not enough. Naiore marched Vanwe a short distance to where a spreading alder tree was. She threw Vanwe down hard against the bole of the alder and fluidly crouched herself.

Vanwe scrabbled backwards, blocked by the tree, as Naiore reached a gloved hand forward. Tenderly, almost, she stroked away delicate strands of rare golden hair from her daughter's pale face. Vanwe's eyes were wide and round, locked on her mother and slipping over Naiore's shoulder to where Avanill had perched on a vantage.

"Daughter," Naiore purred in a velvety voice.

"Mother," Vanwe returned in a soft and shaking voice. Naiore smiled again, still smoothing and stroking her daughter's hair. Behind the outward mask, there was no softness. The Ravennor was beginning. Without a warning, Naiore delved sharp and brutally into Vanwe's skittering consciousness. Beneath her gloved hands, her daughter's body stiffened in shock, pain and alarm. A broken moan slipped free. Naiore let it go, unheeded.

"We will know each other now, daughter," Naiore crooned in a singsong voice devoid of all sentiment. A cold sweat had broken out upon Vanwe's brow and her skin had become clammy. She was shivering, her jaw locked to prevent her teeth from chattering. Naiore felt her attempt to muster the strength to push her from her daughter's mind.

"Yes, please do," Naiore sighed with longing. She felt Vanwe slam against her, hard, desperate, futile and so very very strong. A tidal wave, it would have been, had she the training. All Vanwe had was desperate fear. Tears glistened in her sapphire eyes.

"No," Vanwe moaned even as she tried to tear her mother's presence apart. Naiore felt the resolve falter. Her daughter did not have the training. She did not have the wisdom and lore acquired over two Ages. Most of all, her daughter did not have the instinct to harm. Naiore's hands clasped Vanwe's face, a hand on each cheek, as she bent closer. Naiore could hear her daughter's ragged panting and felt her jolt as she savagely ripped past Vanwe's resistance deeper still.

Naiore tore through layers and layers of memory and emotion, ripping apart everything, heedless of the pain and destruction. She crouched like a wolf, still and lithe, over Vanwe who twisted, kicked and sobbed. Avanill, forgotten for the moment, had third watch. It would include witnessing a savage interrogation by the First Ravennor of Mordor upon her own flesh and blood, her daughter.

The air was laden with fear, pain, loathing and rage. Naiore rode through it, lunging deep into her daughter's soul where she unturned every thing. Avanill could not see the faces of either Naiore or Vanwe. He could see Naiore's back. He could see Vanwe's feet and legs as she struggled to elude her mother's terrible grip. An outstretched hand flexed and clawed in unimaginable suffering.

There would be no blood. The only injuries would be those she inflicted on herself to escape. But the pain and horror of having your mother rip apart your very soul without hesitation or compunction, her implacable inhuman rage boiling through you... there are greater horrors than crude, messy physical torment. Naiore was a master, an artisan of such things, and she brought all her subtle, sophisicated mastery to bear now. Nothing would be left unturned. If Vanwe was an agent of Menecin and Imladris, Naiore would know of it by dawn. Much could be done in a few hours if it had to be and necessity drove Naiore as ever it had...

Vanwe

The bark of the alder gouged through her hair and the clothing at her back. Splinters drove beneath her nails and at her palms as her hands scraped over the ground and tree roots. Her mother's fingers were like icy coals upon her cheeks where they rested. Frigid heat raged through her. She twisted and kicked, futile as it was, for she had no other voice for the pain of this horror.

Vanwe felt her mind coming undone. She had tried to stop it. She had tried to cast her mother out. Her mother.... she could not do it. Her mother.... visions and memories lanced through her. All the years of Harad, thrown up, relived again and again, her mother there now and doing nothing to stop the terrible things. Watching and making it happen again and again, no matter how she reached for her and pleaded for it to stop.

Her heart was pounding, galloping insanely. She felt hot tears course down her face...

The night was cold that night. The goats offered her warmth and she had nestled down amongst them in the animal shelter. She had felt their coarse fur and soft stomachs around her. Sometimes they would bleat softly or kick in their dreaming. She remembered hearing the gate to the enclosure open and close. A goat had bleated in its sleep at that. Footsteps, heavy ones, crunched on the stony ground. They drew nearer. She could see feet in the gap between the ground and the rickety side walls.

A shape bent in the open doorway, blocking the night sky. The stars were very clear in the desert, sharp and precise. He sniffed, she remembered that through the pounding of her heart. It was hard to make out his face between the darkness and his beard. He stood there for a long time and then he had come in. The goats had bleated more sharply, woken by his feet kicking a way through where they curled on the ground.

"You stink," he had snarled in revulsion when he had found her. The only doorway had been blocked, she remembered. She had only the corner of the shelter to go. His hands had been hard and calloused, she remembered. They twisted the skin and the fabric of her simple robe when he seized her. She remembered how he had hit her so hard that her ears had rung and the shadowy interior of the shelter had wobbled.

Then, she remembered that she didn't remember anymore. She wasn't there anymore. She was gone. He wasn't kicking her, grunting with the exertion. He wasn't tearing at her. She wasn't there. He wasn't...


Except he was. She remembered now. All the detail and clarity of that horror and all that had followed it was hers now. He had not left the animal shelter until the early hours of dawn. By then, all the goats had fled and milled about in the yard, anxious and fretful. When he at last left her, she remembered wishing she was one of the stones on the ground in the shelter, where she could just lay there and not be seen. Instead, she had to come out. Another day, she had things to be done.

She had to go about her work, head bent. She had to ignore the whispers around her, the marks of that night livid on her skin for many days. She remembered it all and she cried in horror within herself for with this new memory came her mother. Her mother let it all happen, again and again....

Vanwe was dragged through memory after buried memory repeatedly and without mercy or reprieve. Encased in nightmare, living and breathing it, through Avanill's third watch beneath her mother's interrogation. After each memory, her mother's voice whispered in her mind.

"Where does fear spawn, daughter? You know, do you not? Have you no answer for me? Perhaps you will tell me for whom you work? Who sent you? Do not attempt to lie, Vanwe. I will know."

"Noone, noone, noone, noone, noone, no-," she would keen in her mind

"Perhaps another memory will help you remember."

And then it started again with those words from her mother.

[ November 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill had hardly slept upon the ground that night. His mind was to pre-ocupied with thoughts of the past days. What did i think i could do? I am in further than i intended to get... The sooner this is over the sooner i can get what i came for.He rolled over form where he was sleeping. The sky was not as littered with stars as it had been on other nights.

Avanill had taken interest in it then,That all their ancestors were watching over the living, it was one of the tales his mother had told him as a boy, at leasat when she was home. Atantri had left her son for months at a time when he was a boy, and he stayed with his grandmother at her inn. When he was thirteen, Atantri returned and took him with her, but she was still young then, she had been only sixteen when she married his father. He did not know the correct circumstances under what this affair was arranged, only that his grandmother was not interested.

Months later, Atantri was betrayed and slew her husband, before her seventeenth birthday, she bore a son, who was Avanill. He had always been close to his mother and respected her for bringing him up instead of leaving him to die. And he never asked any questions.

He turned back over and was surprised to find Naiore sitting across from him. "Is it third watch yet," he asked in a voice still slurred by sleep. "It is," Naiore replied with precision. He understood that no other words than that had to pass.

In the quiet of the night (accompanied by the snores of Barrold Ferney) he went to check on the small array of potions and powders sizzling and cooling on the embers of the fire. He noticed that Naiore too had moved, she had taken Vanwe, rather harshly. Avanill riased himself from him knees and stood straight, his dark blue eyes widened in wonder.

Maybe its a mother daughter thing... no Avanill couldn't be, no mother treats her daughter like that, no mother...he followed them for a while, not far enough that it could be said that he was following. What met his sight in the coming minutes was horror to him. Avanill could not quite tell what Naiore was doing to her daughter, except that he oculd tell it wasnt nice. Though Avanill on the surface felt that Vanwe probably deserved what she was getting thought that deep down she was the victim.

Its her own fault!he told himself. If only she had obeyed us, we would have been very civil, nice even. And i dont like having my good deeds thrown back into me face, as far as im concearned, Barrold can do what he likes with Vanwe, and so can her mother, who am i to interfere in matters of the family.
he nodded to himself, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the guilty feeling from his shoulders. A cold shiver chilled his blood as he watched the two elves and finally turned his back on them, and stared at the sky.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir had fallen asleep with his back braced against the trunk of a large oak, his sword drawn in his lap. The last thing he had seen was Benia beside the fire, combing out her glossy black hair, the firelight sparkling off her silver jewelry. But neither sword nor beauty had proven able to protect him. Sleep had come upon him suddenly, dragging him down like an undertow into the nightmare realm. The corners of his mouth twitched downward as the torment began anew. The orcs closed in upon him with their whips and cudgels raised, yellow fangs flashing as they laughed at his pain. They had dragged him from where he had fallen at Raven Falls all the way to Mordor, a living spoil of war for the Master. He was not to be slain, but they could toy with him as much as they wished. And toy with him, they did. As he twisted in raw agony, their raucous laughter grew only louder. They were hungry. They wanted man flesh, but this one was not to be eaten, so they drank his Numenorean blood. Never enough to deplete him. Only enough to weaken him. If this one died, they would discover for themselves the true meaning of agony. The Master promised it. So they kept him alive.

In Mordor, the orcs were joined by Men, slant-eyed southerners with more than a trace of orc in their lineages. They came bearing fire and ingenious, insidious devices that burned and tore at his body. Even the orcs ceased their laughter when these ghouls appeared to drag him away from the back-breaking labor of the slave dungeons to wreak their horrible will upon his flesh. Kaldir’s body twitched against the oak as he relived the blow that destroyed his face. The reek of black smoke and his own burning flesh filled his nostrils. By reflex, his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. But the worst was yet to come.

Naiore. The first time he saw her, he had thought her a dream or a hallucination. His wrists were shackled behind him, and the shackles looped over an iron hook that dangled from the ceiling by a heavy chain. He had been left to hang in the smoky darkness of the torture chamber, shirtless, with his bare feet suspended nearly eighteen inches above the ground, his shoulders slowly dislocating from the weight of his own body. Blood dripped from his ears and eyes. By that time, he scarcely spoke. She came through the door like a vision, her elven beauty so serene and unreal, clad in a gown of the finest silk, her golden hair glowing in the hellish torchlight. She walked over to him and laid an icy hand against his face.

"Is this the one?" she asked.

"Yes," a voice answered behind her. "He resists us with a strength we’ve never encountered."

A cold smile curled on her lips. "He is a man of Westernesse, is he not?"

"He is."

She laughed melodically, and, with a touch that was almost a caress, pushed the dark hair back from his face. "Hello, Dúnedan," she purred, looking into his eyes. "Are you acquainted with pain? Perhaps you can tell me where fear dwells..."

"YOU KNOW, DO YOU NOT? HAVE YOU NO ANSWER FOR ME? PERHAPS YOU WILL TELL ME FOR WHOM YOU WORK. WHO SENT YOU? DO NOT ATTEMPT TO LIE, DÚNEDAN. I WILL KNOW." Kaldir jolted awake, the sound of her voice ringing in his ears, her icy touch lingering against the shattered bones of his face. Leaping to his feet, he raised his sword and spun twice, searching for the owner of the voice, the hand, but the only image to meet his eyes was that of Mrs. Banks, huddled by the fire, clutching a tin cup between her hands and watching him with wide-eyed confusion. Kaldir lowered his sword and turned once more, searching the darkness and surrounding trees for a glimpse of the Ravener. Seeing nothing, he finally sheathed his sword and moved in the direction of the startled hobbit lady.

He was still slightly disoriented. It had all felt so real.

"What is it?" whispered Gilly. "Is everything all right? Should I wake Miss Benia?"

Shifting slowly into the present, Kaldir shook his head. He could now see the slender shape of Miss Nightshade curled in a blanket just to the far side of the hobbit. With her cheek pillowed on her arm, she was sleeping soundly.

"No," he said, at last finding his voice. "It was nothing. A dream."

Gilly bent and put her cup aside. "Well, that’s relief. I must say you gave me a start, leaping up the way you did when it had been so quiet all evening."

"My apologies, Mrs. Banks."

"Perhaps you’d feel better if you had a bite to eat and a spot of tea. Miss Benia’s brought along the most wonderful black tea," Gilly continued, retrieving a pot from the orange embers of the fire. "The stew's a touch salty, but not having the right herbs, I’m afraid there wasn’t much I could do about that, but it’s thick and warm and would do a body good. Will you have a bowl, Mr. Kaldir?"

Absently, Kaldir nodded, his mind still trying to bridge the gap between past and present, dreams and reality. "Have I slept long?" he asked. When he initially sat down, he had only intended to doze for an hour or so, but the position of the moon above the trees told him he had slept much longer.

Gilly handed him the pot containing the remains of the stew. "I’d say we’re well into the third watch by now, Mr. Kaldir."

He nodded. "Again my apologies, Mrs. Banks. I had no intention of sleeping so long."

Gilly shrugged good-naturedly and followed the stew pot into his hands with a steaming mug of tea. "Really, I don’t mind. Like I said, it’s been very quiet and I’ve had a lot on my mind. I hope you don't mind I told Miss Benia to go on to sleep."

Distracted, he put the stew pot aside and took a sip of Benia's strong black tea. Without thinking, he raised his free hand and touched the scarred side of his face. A chill still lingered where Naiore's hand had lain. Her presence had been so real, her voice so clear. And near. Instinctively, he scanned the surrounding darkness yet again.

"Mr. Kaldir?"

Slowly, he turned and looked at Gilly. Still with one foot in the nightmare realm, he saw her with startling lucidity, the kindness inherent in her dark brown eyes, the silvery whisps of gray that shimmered in her light brown hair. But, on the ground beside her, a new edge gleamed on her little knife. He bent down and picked it up.

She watched him nervously as he turned the knife between his hands.

"Tell me, Mrs. Banks," he said at last. "How is it that a hobbit of the Shire would have such a close friendship with a woman of Harad?"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

“Tell me Mrs. Banks,” he said after examining the newly sharpened knife. “How is it that a hobbit of the Shire would have a close friendship with a woman of Harad?”

“Yes, it is odd, isn’t it?” Gilly said, wishing he would put the knife back down. Somehow she couldn’t quite think straight while he held it. At last she blurted out, “Mr. Kaldir, pardon me, but I really can’t piece my thoughts together with you holding that knife so, not after last night by the cave. But if you are curious about it just ask plain and I’ll tell you. I sharpened it so that I could use it better for cooking as well as fend off the company you are looking for. It will probably just put a hole in my pocket for all my trouble." Kaldir looked at her with narrowed eyes and Gilly could not tell what he was thinking or even if he had heard her, for his face betrayed nothing. “Really now Sir, no harm’s come to you while you slept, has it?” Kaldir wiped his wrist against his scarred face, a frown flickering briefly across his features. To the hobbit’s astonishment he handed the blade back to her.

“The dream?” she asked, placing the knife out of sight and quickly pouring him another cup of tea.

“What of it?”

“Nothing,” Gilly said not wishing to intrude on his thoughts. Best to get his mind off of it though, and she began to wonder if it were wise to tell him about Benia and herself, as he had asked. On one hand it didn’t seem a good practice to tell a bounty hunter about such things even if it had happened such a long time ago. It was a good deal more personal than a conversation about tracking like Miss Benia had suggested. But on the other hand maybe he would treat her friend less harshly if she could present her in what she would consider a more favorable light. And then again he didn’t seem to take to kindly to unanswered questions.

“ So how did Miss Benia and I become such fast friends? There’s a story!” she said avoiding the man’s stare. “Though I would hardly call her a woman of Harad even if she looks it. Well yes, she sings like a desert bird now and again, but she is only half so, her father being from here abouts somewhere.” The hobbit hazarded a look at Kaldir to see if she could see a reaction in him, but he seemed to be looking inward and so she felt a bit bolder. “Her family really didn’t fit in nowhere except the Shire were we all didn’t know about the troubles in Mordor until there was no missing it. That is were I met Miss Benia and her family, in the Shire.”

The hobbit paused, thinking Kaldir no longer interested. He sat at the fire with his eyes closed and the warm cup held pressed against his face. “That must have cause no little uproar from what I know of hobbits.” He said unexpectedly, turning to look to her.

Gilly laughed, “It would have had they knowed about it!” She winked at the bounty hunter and explained, “ That Jack Nightshade, he was a clever one, he got them in and my family hid them on our farm. You see it was all in secret”

“Could they not stay here?”

“I imagine with Old Jack toting around a Haradrim wife and little one, they probably thought that he was up to no good, a spy or something, gone over to those rascals down south. But it weren’t like that, Miss Benia’s mother came from good folk as didn’t take to Sauron, so no matter where they went no one was happy with them, not even the Nightshades I don’t reckon, and they always had folks like yourself trying to catch up with them, begging your pardon. Not exactly the kind of company most would like to have about.”

“Hmm…,” the bounty hunter murmured.

“She doesn’t mean to be rude Sir, really. She got a kind heart, just the way she’s grown up that makes her a bit unpredictable. But you can't blame her for that.” Gilly couldn’t help but wonder if Kaldir ever asked himself why a person should have a bounty on their head. Then clasping her hand to her mouth wide-eyed she recognized that even though this man looked a ranger she had no knowledge of where his sympathies lie. She had naturally assumed that he was on the side of the rangers in the War, but it didn’t make sense his chasing Benia and Naiore. Perhaps he was actually friendly with the Haradrim.

“What is it, Mrs. Banks? You look alarmed.” He said languidly.

“Might as well jump in with both feet if I’m to drown,” she said. “I just realized that here I’ve been rattling on and I have not any idea which side you fought on during the War. Please tell me your sympathies didn’t lie with the Dark Lord, or I may have just as well slit my own throat and Benia’s too. Oh what a thought!”

[ November 18, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain's watched as Rauthain resumed his place by the slowly dying fire; the older mans words fresh in his mind. But he felt confident that although Naiore had taken much from his brother, she had not truly possessed him, he was always the stronger willed of both of them and that he lived when so many that had crossed Naiore’s path had not, only strengthened his belief that he was not under her influence.

Kaldir had every opportunity to rid the Ravennor of one of her pursuers, but he did not. Some of the friend that he remembered remained, albeit shattered fragments. No, he pursues her, of that, I am certain. He thought bolstering his convictions. He watched cautiously the tree line through the orangey glow of the fire. An owl screeched somewhere in the darkness, but all was still, the beauty and peace seemed a distant reality to Dúlrain. his gaze fell on his companions, did they like him long for an end, the war was supposed to end with the downfall of Sauron and the return of the king, but still they fought those who refused to give in to the new age, the age of men. Dúlrain was tired, but he could not give up on hi Kings Wish, peace, true peace throughout the reunited kingdom and beyond.

Yes he tired, he longed to wander these lands not as a hunter, but at a more leisurely pace, taking the time to appreciate its simple beauty, perhaps even finding some peaceful corner were he could take a wife and raise a family, without fear or worry. He laughed at his own fancies then rose to wake Maethor for his watch. Waking the younger man he reported that all had been quiet, then drawing his sword and laying it next to him he lay down and drifted into an uneasy sleep, filled with memories old and new, finally ending with the image of the southern woman, their was something about her image that drew him into a more restful slumber.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Amandur

Several hours had passed uneventful, the only sounds being the usual nocturnal actives of the forest, a soft moan caught his attention, he crouched balancing on the bough of the tree the string of his bow taunt in his hand, his eyes quickly sought for the owner of the moan only to realise it had come from the camp! Léspheria! He thought wildly scanning the camp were he had left her. She was still there but her body twitched and convulsed under the light of the fire, her sudden scream, threw him into action. Throwing his bow over his shoulder he leapt from is perch, drawing his sword as he ran the distance between the trees and the low burning fire. his eye wildly search for an unseen enemy, turning round once and convincing himself that they were along he dropped his sword and knelt down beside her, taking her hands in his right hand and pressing the back of his right hand against her forehead.

She was burning up, though her hands where clammy and cold. He fumbled with the water skin attached to his belt and in his frustration and hurry, he pulled it free snapping the leather strap that held it in place, but he paid it no heed. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out an unused handkerchief, soaked it completely in the still cool water and then placed it delicately upon her brow. Her delicate elven features contorted into an image of shear pain. She was fighting some kind of battle that he could not see; he only prayed that she was winning.

'What ever ails you my love, you can defeat it! We can defeat it!' he whispered kissing her forehead as he removed the chief to wring it out and soak it once more. When he had returned north, he had thought to ask her to come with him. But, although he knew she cared deeply for him it always seemed that she held back, or perhaps he was just wrong and she did not feel for him in the same way. But he loved her and there was nothing in the world that would change that, he would just have to deal with it.

Just then her eyes snapped opened, 'We must leave at once, Vanwe is in trouble' but before he could argue, she rose to her feet, he too had rose, just in time to catch her as she stumbled. 'in my pack ... miruvor' she whispered hoarsely, he gently guided her to her pack and searched through it till he found the small glass phial, he quickly unstopped it and held it to her lips, she took a few sips then pushed the phial towards him.

'You have not slept, you too must drink!' she urged him gentle. he nodded and took the phial after he had taking enough of the liquid to drive away his tiredness, he helped her to her horse, he could see that the pain still lingered so he did not press her for answers, but set about removing any signs that anyone had camped here. Once satisfied he mounted his horse, nodding that he was ready. Léspheria he could see was still had thing weighing heavy on her mind, so he moved slightly ahead to pick up the trail, it was not as easy to follow as before and they moved slow in the darkness, though it will not be long until morning he thought, looking at the low moon between the trees.

He turned to make sure Léspheria was still behind, but her usually bright warm face was now serene and emotionless, Hardened! He thought he had seen it happened to so many of his brethren, especially during the war, but to see it on the face of the one he loved tore at his heart. However, perhaps this was the only way. He thought sadly turning back to the trail.

From the faint tracks of the rangers ahead, he guessed that if Dúlrain and the others rested till dawn, then he and Léspheria should catch them up sometime the next day, but already the tracks of Naiore and her companions were being lost as the dusty trail turned to springy moss and long grass.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Léspheria

After finishing her tea, Léspheria had drifted into a relaxed sleep. She breathed heavily as she leaned against a large dark fir high in the valley of Imladris, thrill and excitement coursing through her, revitalising her. She laughed as she heard a young elven boys’ melodic singing.

Seek you high,
Seek you low,
Seek you near and far,
In the hills and in the trees
Seek you everywhere!


She chuckled behind her hands as the dark haired boy who was her brother drew near, a broad grin spreading across his face as he heard her chuckle. She tried hard to muffle her excitement as Lóthaniel inched closer and closer to the tree the young female elfling hid behind. However, just as he was about to leap behind the tree and startle her out, she gave an excited squeal and ran laughing out of his reach. Running head first into the arms of her mother, a second later her brother too found himself caught in her loving embrace. 'Caught you both!' she laughed lightly, and then the three of them laughed heartily together.

The laughter suddenly changed the softness gone, cold and empty, the trees, valley, the two merry children all gone, black stone encircled her like a tomb, no not her she shuddered recognising the scene. 'He will fall and what then cousin? where then will you find the answers you seek ?' her mothers voice was calm and unemotional, though her pain tore through Léspheria like a raging storm, as she fought to control her mothers surge of emotions, she heard Naiore's velvety voice, 'why from you my dear cousin!' she whispered gripping her cousins head firmly in her hands.


'Now cousin if you will not give me the answer I seek, you will tell me how to break the defences of our kin in Lothlorien!' she whispered in her mind, 'No!' her mother said through gritted teeth, you shall have nothing more from me.' Naiore squealed with excitement 'good cousin, resist I would have it no other way, but remember who is the stronger!' Léspheria felt herself scream as the intensity of the intrusion increased.

No, this was no longer a dream, wave after wave of fear and pain washed over her, the vision faded and only the assault of emotions remained, and she could feel her muscles spasm with the ferocity of the intrusion. She struggled to rebuilt the defensive wall Galadriel had taught her to build, the same wall that had saved her life when she first encountered the bard Menecin, she pulled happy memories from her life love, friendships, loyalty, hope...


'Where does fear spawn, Daughter? Léspheria's horror shattered her defence and a tidal wave of uncontrollable anger took its place, long years of pent up anger and hatred flooded from the dark prison in her mind. ' Faarea! (Enough!)' She commanded. ‘I will not let you do this to another of our blood kin! pulling all the control she had left she rebuilt the wall pulling every good memory she could, hoping that it would be enough. Pushing her memories of the growing friendship, she and Vanwe had briefly shared at the forsaken inn to the forefront in the hopes that some of the emotions would strengthen and protect Vanwe from her mother’s onslaught.

Léspheria's eyes snapped open to see Amandur knelt over her a cold cloth held to her forehead, his brow knitted with worry and fear. 'We must leave at once, Vanwe is in trouble' she told him frankly, quickly rising to her feet, she stumbled as the wall she was struggling to maintain drained her physically, but Amandur was there to catch her. 'in my pack ... miruvor' she whispered hoarsely, he gently guided her to her pack and searched through it till he found the small glass phial, he quickly unstopped it and held it to her lips, she took a few sips then pushed the phial towards him.

'You have not slept, you too must drink!' she urged him gentle, once he had drunk she instructed him to help her to her horse, he did all that she asked with care and haste but still his brow knitted with concern. As she watched him fill in the fire pit and hide all traces that they had ever been there, she felt a surge of warmth, which only increased as he mounted his horse and came up beside her. With a silent nod, that he was ready, they continued on into the remainder of the night, hoping to gain some distance on their quarry, perhaps even to catch up to the other rangers.

However, Léspheria had no delusions, she knew that her rush of anger would have betrayed her, giving Naiore warning that she was near, if in fact they were near at all, her sharp eyes scanned the passing tree lines for signs of impending danger. She now had to put faith in that Vanwe was strong enough to survive her mother and that she saw the strength in the emotions she had tried to share with her. Her only fear was that Vanwe would not see these emotions within herself, the friendships she had made and the people she had touched with her kindness, Fimbriel, Devorin, Benia, not all saw the evils of her mother in her fair face.

She too would now have to be more careful, although her faith in her emotions could be her strength it could also be her weakness. Naiore would now know this and would not hesitate to use them against her. Her gaze fell on Amandur’s back tall and straight as he rode following the weak trail. A silver tear roll down her cheek, she did love him and she always had, but the realisation pained her, for now more than ever she would have to hide her emotions for him, least Naiore use them against her.

Using the techniques taught her by her kin she drove all thoughts bar one from her mind, closing it to any that may think to pry, her face now serene and calm devoid of emotion. One thought only in her mind… That it must end!

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

"Might as well jump in with both feet if I’m to drown," Gilly said. "I just realized that here I’ve been rattling on and I have not any idea which side you fought on during the War. Please tell me your sympathies didn’t lie with the Dark Lord, or I may have just as well slit my own throat and Benia’s too. Oh what a thought!"

Kaldir laughed softly. "Relax, Mrs. Banks. Had I been allowed to fight, it would have been on the side of the king." He lowered the hot mug of tea from where he had been holding it against his face and took a sip. "I was a guest in Sauron's dungeons for the majority of the War, if you must know."

He rose to his feet and stretched his back. Due largely to the ministrations and gentle chatter of the hobbit, the dream was finally receding. He no longer saw the world in the surrealistic detail of the nightmare realm. And the touch of Naiore's hand no longer lingered against his face, though the silken threads of her voice did still hang in the back of his mind like a black widow's web. He knew that the dream had been just that, a dream, but he also knew that it had been something more. Naiore was not sleeping.

He nodded toward Benia's still form. "Jack Nightshade sounds like a clever man. Why does he not protect his daughter? I am not the only wolf about."

Gilly shook her head. "Oh, Mr. Kaldir, Jack Nightshade's been dead nigh on three, four, years now. Miss Benia says he never did get over the loss of her mother."

"What happened to her?"

"She was killed, begging your pardon, Mr. Kaldir. She was killed by bounty hunters."

Kaldir's face darkened as he turned and took a long look at the sleeping face of the desert woman. To think, the mother had been murdered by bounty hunters, and he had come so close to murdering the daughter himself. And for what? For nothing more than the fact that the wrong blood ran in her veins. The wrong tattoos adorned her hands. And she had no one to protect her.

He cast a quick glance at the hobbit. No one, that is, except Mrs. Banks.

"She's lucky to have you," he said abruptly. "We should all have such loyal friends."

"That's kind of you to say, Mr. Kaldir," protested Gilly. "But I can't say as I have been much help to her."

"You're here, aren't you?" he asked. "I'm sure that's of inestimable value to her." He paused and a bitter smile passed across his scarred face. "Believe me. I know of what I speak."

While he would never wish the torment he had endured during his imprisonment on even an enemy, much less a friend, he knew how much easier it would have been to endure had he not felt so forsaken by his brethren. They had left him to die. Perhaps he would have been better off running with a band of women and hobbits. Smiling to himself at the mental image, he bent and picked up the stew pot he had set aside a few minutes earlier and lifted the lid, smelling the rich aroma of apples and stewed venison. Gilly held out a spoon.

Taking it, he thanked her. "Now, Mrs. Banks," he added. "It's time you got some sleep. We will have a difficult day tomorrow. I will stand watch for the remainder of the night."

He watched as the hobbit settled down into her blankets, then, taking what was left of the stew with him, moved away from the fire to a place near the horses where his back was protected, yet he could command a full view of the camp. If they had any hope of catching up to Naiore before she reached the Old Forest and the Shire, they would have to increase their pace on the morrow. Following her tracks, he saw the direction in which the Ravener was heading and guessed at her intentions. Hobbits of the Shire had destroyed the one ring and Sauron with it, leaving Naiore's ambitions in ruin. She would have her revenge, the king's edict notwithstanding. He had decided to say nothing of his suspicions to Mrs. Banks, however, until it became inevitable. The Shire was her home.

As for Benia Nightshade... what to do about her? He frowned darkly. With her strikingly exotic appearance, she was not the sort to blend easily into backdrop of Middle Earth. Without the protection of a husband or father, it was amazing to him that she had not already run afoul of bounty hunters and been hauled back to Harad or worse. If he were to set her free, how long would it be before another of his kind found her? Knowing what he did of his profession, he decided her prospects were not good. He would very much like to keep her with him, but if he did, it could not be as his prisoner. She would have to stay willingly. If she could do that, he would be more than happy to take on the role of her protector.

The question he pondered through the long, dark hours of his watch was how to get her to choose to stay.

[Elora]

Naiore

In the dim light of early morn, Naiore abruptly stood. On her face was carved a smile of pure delight and utter darkness. At her feet, her daughter slowly curled into a protective ball, breathing laboured and pained. Naiore disregarded it utterly, staring into the grey light with her lips curved.

I know you, she mused, I know you now. I have your name and your kin. The Ravennor lifted her arm and stared at her wrist. Gloved in ebony leather, she seemed to gaze at the skin beneath. Or, rather, at the blood that ran through the veins beneath her skin.

"Léspheria," she whispered the newly discovered name. Léspheria was kin. She was nearby and she and Vanwe had some sort of bond. With a startling suddeness, Naiore spun on her heel and walked back to the camp. Her gait was lithe. She was on the hunt and the glory of it filled her senses and fired her blood.

Avanill, who had been uncertainly watching, started upright as he marked her approaching him. She waved a pre-emptory hand at the man, dismissing him with terse command.

"Break camp. We move out now." Naiore bypassed Avanill and walked to where the two mithril tomes sat on the ground. She collected one, opening it's covers wide. The sound of ripping pages broke the dawn. Without compuction, Naiore tore every last page from the first and then the second volume. The mithril covers she tossed aside without interest.

With a bundle of vellum and parchment, Naiore crossed to the all but cold camp fire. Swiftly, she stirred it into life. A thick smoke rose upwards as she started to feed it the pages. Barrold, shaken awake by Avanill, coughed and complained noisly.

"What's the hurry," he belligerantly muttered. Naiore ignored him too. Page after page, steadily she fed the contents of the tomes into the camp fire.

"It's makin' too much smoke," Barrold went further to say. Scrubbing his eyes and shaking his head, his gaze settled on the destroyed mithril books. An exclamation of dismay shot out of his mouth.

"'Ere, those are valuable," he protested.
"A scholar of ancient tongues, Barrold Ferney?"

Naiore had not looked up from the now raging fire. Barrold shifted uncomfortably all the same.

"But them's mithril, ain't they?"
"Take the covers if you can think you can sell them, Ferney. It matters little to me."

Barrold seized upon that opportunity and scooped up the covers. Avanill scowled with discontent and buried himself in his own preparations. By the time Naiore had burnt all the pages of Tallas' records, the group was ready to move.

Barrold shouldered his pack, the mithril safely tucked inside. As far as he was concerned, you never know who might be wanting mithril and it was powerfully rare to find in these days. Avanill shouldered his own wealth, the array of bottles, herbs and powders he'd taken from Tallas' store. Toby uncomfortably tried to remain unnoticed, watching the telltale plume of smoke rise into the lightening morning sky. Vanwe remained where Naiore had left her under the tree, curled in on herself.

Naiore collected her pack, crossed to the tree and dragged Vanwe to her feet. Her daughter was drenched in sweat, pale of face, hands and feet dirty and bloodied in her struggle. Naiore's lips curled in distaste and she pushed Vanwe forward ahead of her. Vanwe somehow managed to find her feet after some weaving. Her shoulders were slumped and her head bowed. She met noone's gaze. Toby stared at her, alarm marked on his hobbit features.

Without a word, Naiore led off, Vanwe's arm in her hand and her daughter struggling to match the rapid pace. Barrold, Avanill and Toby trotted along behind. Swapping glances at each other, Barrold and Avanill both confirmed that they were heading in the wrong direction. Yet, it was Toby who ventured a comment.

"This isn't the way to the Shire," he said in his high, clear voice. Naiore came to sudden standstill and she pivoted, bending to bring her face inches from Toby's.

"It is not, Master Longholes. Have you anything else to say?"
"If we were goin' to take the long way' round, you shoulda kept that horse of yours," Barrold muttered. The prospect of a full day of rapid walking with a heavy pack was not an appealing one. When Naiore straightened to direct her attention to Barrold, Toby heaved a sigh of relief.

"There has been a change. We will make for Imladris first and the Shire later." Avanill frowned whereas Barrold opened his mouth to object.
"Yes, Master Ferney," Naiore asked in a dangerously soft voice. Barrold recognised it in an instant and changed tack with remarkable mental agility.

"What's wrong with 'er," he said as he nodded at Vanwe.
"Nothing that is your concern." With that, Naiore resumed their path through the wilds towards Rivendell.

For nearly two weeks, days and nights passed with only more and more questions. Naiore had become increasingly forbidding. Each night and each morning, she took Vanwe aside and did things that the other three did not wish to consider. It turned even Barrold's stomach.

What also sat uneasily, was their growing proximity to Imladris. It was hardly a place any enterprising merchants such as Barrold, Avanill or Toby wished to be anywhere near. A growing discontent travelled with the group. For Naiore, the days and nights were filled with many things.

Her plans for Imladris and Menecin, the pursuit she knew followed and further work on Vanwe filled her time. When at last they set up camp in the woods north-east of Imladris, Naiore forbade any fire as she had for the past 3 days. Barrold made no secret now of his discontent and sat dejectedly on a fallen tree. Thrice he had come to open conflict with Naiore and thrice he had been forced to conceed to her will. That such things rankled and festered within his breast, Naiore both knew and could little afford to trouble with.

The matter of Menecin and Imladris was too close at hand. She chose to dispatch Toby, whose quiet Hobbit feet were virtually silent in the woods, to scout around. Toby had proved adept at such things and had marked the position of those who pursued... two groups. The sun was fast sinking as she sent the Hobbit off. Leaving Barrold and Avanill to sort out the matter of a cold, dark evening meal, Naiore collected Vanwe and led her aside.

Night and day for two weeks, her daughter had both submitted and defied her. Vanwe had no defences equal to her mother's skill and her memories of torment flailed at her. So too did her feelings of abandonment and longing. But Vanwe did not once admit to being in league with anyone, not Léspheria nor Menecin. She was on the cusp of a darkness that she teetered upon. Naiore knew it, for she knew her craft well. She could push Vanwe over before she built the skills to resist. But she could also use Vanwe in other ways and it was that which occupied Naiore's mind now.

"Sit down," she said to Vanwe as she unslung her pack. Vanwe obeyed with habitual meekness. The rules of survival that she had learnt in Harad, submit and live, were hard to shake now that Harad lived in her mind once more. Obedience was ingrained her and had, thus far, lent Naiore a distinct advantage.

Naiore rifled through her pack in the failing light, pulling at last a well wrapped bundle free. She unpeeled the covers and held up a gown of such beauty that Vanwe stared to see it. It was a gown of nobility, such as that worn at court. Vanwe had never seen such a thing. Folding it over her arm, Naiore sat beside Vanwe.

"It has been hard, these weeks," she began. Vanwe turned her head aside and merely nodded.
"Difficult for you and I both." Naiore did not lie. For all of Vanwe's obedience, she had proved impossible to break on the matter of her allies.
"Why did you leave Harad, Vanwe?" Naiore's voice was deliberately gentle.

"To be free, to find my family," Vanwe replied as she had many times now. Naiore sighed, a carefully timed response. Vanwe looked back to her mother.

"The bonds of kin rarely leave us free, daughter," she said with wistful sadness.
"There are some yokes that we bear full willing all the same." Vanwe's statement held many things, including a growing awareness. Naiore glanced at her daughter and then at the gown draped across her lap.

"Then you would know of your father," she said slowly.
"Yes," Vanwe replied eagerly and fearfully both.
"He gave me this gown," Naiore said. That too was true. Menecin had it made and given to her when they were newely betrothed. It's delicate mint silk sheen had reminded him of the leaves that shone upon her hair, he had said, when first he had beheld her. Vanwe was staring at the gown in new surprise.

"He is near, your father, very near."
"Is... he alive," Vanwe asked with a trembling voice.
"Yes," Naiore said simply and there began her plan. Vanwe sat in silence as her mother told of how he was kept prisoner by other Elves. She listened in anguish as Naiore told her of his distress, of the torment of captivity. Vanwe knew a measure of that so very well. By the time Naiore had finished, night had fallen and a half moon had risen above the horizon.

When both returned to the main camp, Vanwe wore her mother's gown. Her hair was clean and brushed and her face was both grave and alight. Barrold sat back on his heels, stunned at the sight. Toby's return to report on the location of the two groups of pursuers prevented Barrold from saying anything.

Vanwe took her seat, head held high and mind filled with the sad knowledge of her father's unjust captivity and her intent to free him. Naiore sat, curled in her leathers with her braids slickly falling down her back and demanded a report from Toby.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill had the most uneasy night that he could remember in his short life. He had not wandered far from the site where he had watched Naiore, the scene had perturbed him. Which Avanill had never become weary of before. He was used to Savagery, it was a part of his life, he had always been exposed to violence and murder, but it had not changed him.

He wondered why he was so ill at ease when he had whitnessed Naiore and her daughter in the woods. It was the same feeling he had when he killed for the first time. Atantri had looked up at her son. Its safe ot feel wrong my son, it's what makes us human...But this was different, Neither Naiore of Vanwe were human, but elves.

Avanill waited long until Naiore came from the woods, "Rav-" he bagan addressing her, but she waved him away, like a servant. Careful who you do that to again Lady Naiore... he noted in his mind.

Avanill had gathered up his belonnings as he watched Barrold scald his fingers retrieving the Mithril books, he had been in a solemn mood for hours, and he did not see how a few more hours would change that.

As the company started to travell Naiore led them in the wrong direction. Rivendell. Were going to Rivendell. Barrold questioned the Mordor elf, but Avanill kept his mouth shut. She must know what she's doing. And so he tolerated the road which the elf lead them.

In the two weeks of travelling that followed, Avanill spoke less than usual, instead etching thoughts and a inpending sketch of thing which might follow, should Avanill be forced to take precarious measures, should Naiore fail to hold up to her word. This was something which Avanill always made allowances for, and something which had ended the lives of many clients who failed to pay Avanill for his 'help'.

Naiore's attitude towards them had changed drasitcaly. Avanill thought it was probable that the cause was the pages of the book Barrold had salvaged from Tallas place. Anyhow, Avanill did not favour it one bit.

[Elora]

Menecin


"Sinome niss! Sinome niss!" (Here in this place is she) cried a voice made hoarse by use after long silence and a great many other things. It cracked and then strengthened, a shadow of it's bardic richness, a ghost like its owner. Menecin thumped at the door, sliding down it this time, moaning the same chorus as he had for days now.

In the journal, his appointed warder wrote "Nightmares" again in a column that had the same entry written three times above it. One entry for each day of Menecin's violent unrest. The bard had not taken food or water, nor slept, since it began. If he was not pounding at the door, he was throwing himself and anything else within his reach at the secured window. On the second day, his warders had heard the dischordant and sorrowful sound of a harp in a case being flung in Menecin's attempt to break free of the darkness that possessed his mind and spirit.

They had not been able to gain entry to his room in order to gague the extent of damage. All they could do was hope that the rare and beautiful instrument that had been given to him by Maglor, having one of the fairest voices in all Middle-earth, had not been ruined. There was silence now, for Menecin sat with his back against the door and his head bowed against his knees, his aching mind in strife and pulsing within him.

The warders glanced at each other. Was it the eye of the storm? Was there anyway to tell with Menecin. The gentle tap at the outter door was nearly lost when the din from within resumed. The outter door opened to admit Elrohir just as the sound of something wooden splintering ripped through the air.

The warders rose, bowing in deference and casting gravely concerned faces at the door.

"No change then," Elrohir said solemnly.
"No, my lord. He has not taken food nor drink nor rest for three days now."

"Sinome niss! Sinome niss!"

Elrohir shifted uneasily at the sound of Menecin's voice cracked and then burst out again.

"Will the door and windows hold," he asked. The warders nodded.
"They have done so in the past. Surely he must tire soon, and any damage can be repaired."

"Would that it was as simple always," Elrohir sighed before he turned and slipped out of the room. Menecin was now crying his mantra out. Elrohir rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to wipe the image of the once great Bard standing in his room, body rigid as he screamed into the emptiness.

His steady tread took him through the peaceful gardens that his father had founded. They gleamed in the half moon, the music of stream and fountain softening the edge of tension in the air. He stood by one smooth, cool pool that gathered water and starlight alike, and pondered. Was she really here? Or was Menecin merely in the grip of another black fugue? With a sigh, Elrohir shook himself from his musings and pushed on. He would take it up with Elladan as soon as his brother returned.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

After his turn at watch, Rauthain readied his horse in the darkness. As he had confided to Maethor and Dúlrain in the hours after dusk, he wished to start out before daybreak gaining a few leagues before the sun rose and he could be seen more readily. The trail had grown difficult the further they traveled from Bree and they had been forced to trust heavily on instinct, which thus far had not been proven wrong. But Rauthain had urged that they spread out, planning to meet from time to time and share what they had found on their paths, joining company again if they could in the evening, and as they drew nigh their prize. And so he prepared himself to go.


"Perhaps I will regain my whetstone today!" Rauthain called in jest to his two companions as he mounted his horse.


"If you do, give Master Longholes our regards." Maethor returned with a grin.


"That I shall," he said turning Juta's head away from camp and setting off. They had come across a long set of the hobbit's prints heading back toward the west only this last morning. Curiously the footprints had doubled back again near the ranger's stopping point. Their Toby had become spy, and Naiore must be close now to direct such incursions. Rauthain guided the horse in the direction that he had seen the prints leading before the evening had over taken the rangers.


He felt strangely free and unencumbered under the stars in the early hours this morning, as if he were further north again, deep in the Ettenmoors. Marking the stars he gauged his time and direction. And after roughly two leagues and the sun showed promise of its return in the east, he heard the sound of soft conversation among the breezes blown about the mountain's feet. A woman's voice, a few words and no more.


Sliding noiselessly down from Juta, Rauthain crested a misty hill and keeping close to the trees he crept slowly down the other side stopping midway at the sight before him. Dressed in a southern manner, a woman stood folding a blanket at the foot of the hill; speaking gently to the horse she fastened it on. Beyond the woman a hobbit milled about picking up pots and spoons in the gloom and trundled off into the mist toward the rivulet that Rauthain could hear in the near distance. He recognized the three animals strung together, but could not move from his place compelled to observe in silence as the familiar form of Kaldir appeared carrying full water skins over to were the horses were tethered. Gently resting one hand on the woman's back to draw her attention, he passed her the skin that she then tied upon her horse. “Thank you,” she said quietly and Kaldir turned his attention to the dappled stallion beside her.


Rauthain stood transfixed under the boughs of an alder tree, still and unblinking in the grey dawn. The woman, having finished attending to the horse, looked up and into the face of the timeworn ranger. He saw the surprise register swiftly on her fair features as she reached back to touch Kaldir’s sleeve.


Emerging in an instant from among the horses, Kaldir advanced menacingly toward the ranger, unsheathing his heavy sword with one fluid gesture. Rauthain felt an unbidden surge of pride and approval at the quick response. Kaldir had not lost his keen reflexes, nor it appeared his memory of Rauthain, for his face was dark and brooding in recognition as he drew closer.


Suddenly gone was the strong brow and high cheekbones of the proud well-formed ranger of Rauthain’s memory, and before him the visage of a man ill-used, his appearance as if made of mottled wax that had been let drip down his side of face unhindered by bone or beard. It was as if a well-crafted instrument had been crushed under foot, still bearing the prominent marks of perfection long spoiled. Rauthain’s hand moved instinctively to rest on the hilt of his sword. “Kaldir…” he uttered half to himself and half to the long years that separated them. “Long have I beheld your countenance in my mind’s eye and long have I thought you dead, your frame resting hidden in the dark passages under the Misty Mountains.”


“Many of late have wished me dead to be sure, and many a dark day I too have longed for such relief. But there are some few who would have helped me when life was yet precious and yet did not. Some few in whom I placed my trust and who failed me in great need. And one who knew of my peril and yet turned away.”


“I am that one, and own it utterly and more beside, but it was folly, a madness that overtook you that fateful day, and I misjudged sorely your circumstances.”


“Madness to catch Cidreth’s assassin?” Kaldir questioned, a fierce light flickering in his eyes. “For I slew the orc that dared bring him down and many more beside, before I thought my time had come, all the while expecting you to round the corner to help tip the scale in my favor. I would that you were mad enough to find me that day or even the next week or year. But I had been cut off, forgotten. I was dead, buried alive beyond remembrance in the pits of Mordor.”


Rauthain struggled to quell his raging mind. “But we had detailed reports of your demise…” he said as if to himself, and remembering Hanasian and Dúlrain he leveled his gaze at Kaldir and spoke firmly and distinctly so that Kaldir might not mistake his words. “I must bear all blame and no other, for I had great confidence in your abilities and counseled Elendir to move on, unaware of your ordeal. For this I am grievously troubled, though I can not presume to make amends.” Then lowering himself down on one knee, Rauthain touched Kaldir’s boot bringing his fingertips to his lips in a sign of respect and submission, while ever conscious Kaldir’s gleaming sword close by his shoulder.


This man does not speak as one held subject to the will of another, he thought as he rose again, but as one fully wronged. Still Rauthain would not allow that he be fooled through the weakness of his own conscience, and looked with a critical eye for some sure token of the man’s relationship to his tormentor.


“I too am seeking Naiore,” he said softly, “in the memory of the one I failed.”

[ November 24, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Lowering himself down on one knee, Rauthain touched Kaldir’s boot bringing his fingertips to his lips in a sign of respect and submission, his gaze slipping only once in the direction of Kaldir’s gleaming sword close by his shoulder. "I too am seeking Naiore," he said softly, "in the memory of the one I failed."

Looking down at the old Ranger's bent head, Kaldir felt a surge of emotion, part anger and part pain, rise up inside of him. A raw confusion of memories stirred up by the man's face battled to gain a foothold in the dark underside of Kaldir's mind, but he pushed them all down and away from him. All but one. Raven Falls. This was the man who could have tipped the battle in his favor. This was the man who might have prevented all the torture, the years of mind-bending pain. This was the man who had turned his back on a comrade in need. Kaldir had the fleeting temptation to lop the fool's head off where he knelt. Instead, he slapped the old ranger's shoulder harshly with the flat of his sword.

"Get up," he snarled. "You'll find no forgiveness here."

Rauthain fell slightly off balance with the force of the blow, but regained himself quickly and rose to his feet, his open hands raised in front of him. "I cannot presume to make amends --" he began again, but left the sentence unfinished as Kaldir raised the point of his sword level with Rauthain's throat.

"No. You can’t." Kaldir’s pale eyes glittered dangerously as he studied the lines of the other man’s face, looking for signs of the weakness that had made this man retreat when valor had been so critical. He could feel the long-mutilated muscles in the scarred side of his own face twitch with restrained fury. "You can’t begin to make amends. You mention seeking Naiore in the memory of one you failed. Well, unless you have failed others besides me, I release you from that task. I don’t need your acts of contrition. May you wear your guilt like a shroud."

Kaldir paused for only a second, then his blade flashed out, flaying open the side of the older man’s face. "Wear that in my memory," he said coldly, watching as the dark red blood spilled from the fresh wound down the side of Rauthain’s face and on to the shoulder of his cloak. Kaldir turned the scarred side of his own face toward him. "As I wear this in yours."

Lowering his sword, Kaldir turned to go. Over by the horses, he could see Benia Nightshade and Mrs. Banks where he had left them, watching the exchange with wide, nervous eyes. Completely motionless, the two of them looked like a pair of statues.

"Kaldir!" Rauthain called behind him.

Kaldir swung around again, his sword at the ready, half-expecting to clash swords with Rauthain, but found that Rauthain had made no move toward him. He had not even tried to staunch the flow of blood from the slash to his face.

"What of Naiore?" the ranger asked softly.

"Naiore and I have unfinished business," answered Kaldir. "It does not concern you or the king or anyone else."

"It is folly to take her on alone. She has others with her, helping her."

"Two men, a hobbit, and another elf, to be precise. Your point?"

The old ranger nodded in the direction of Kaldir's companions. "You are one man, traveling with two females, who, if I may say so, do not look to be warriors. You would be sorely overmatched." He lowered his voice. "I have in my company two good men: Dulrain, whom you know well, and a young ranger by the name of Maethor. We, too, seek Naiore. If we were to ride together -- "

Kaldir shook his head. "No." He sheathed his sword with a decisive motion. "You go your way and I shall go mine. Whoever bags the viper first --" He stopped abruptly, his attention captured by a black plume of smoke rising over the trees to the northwest. "Be blessed," he finished distantly.

The smoke lay in the direction that Naiore’s tracks had been leading them. What was she burning? The bodies of her companions? He let a grim smile play on the corner of his lips. Whatever it was, it meant that she was moving. They had tarried too long. If they hoped to gain any ground on her, they would have to depart quickly and at once. Turning, Kaldir gave Rauthain a terse nod in good-bye.

"Good hunting," he added on an impulse. Then, moving with new resolve, he went quickly in the direction of his companions and the horses. When he glanced back, he could see Rauthain still standing there, watching thoughtfully.

"Let’s move!" he growled sharply at Gilly and Benia, putting Rauthain out of his mind. "If there’s anything you haven’t packed from the night leave it." He swung himself into his saddle. "We’ll have to make do without it." He watched as the two women scurried to mount their horses, then, digging his heels into the flanks of the gray stallion, took off from the campsite at a gallop, his companions close behind.

He followed the smoke plume, not minding the tracks on the ground. He already knew where they would lead. In just over an hour of hard riding, the three arrived at the source of the smoke plume. Kaldir dismounted and examined the fire pit. Charred scraps of vellum still smoked in the ash, their surfaces covered in elegant Quenyan script. The tracks beside the smoldering circle, he noticed, were made by the delicate boots of an elven female. He had guessed correctly. Studying the other prints filling the site, he determined that his earlier accounting of Naiore’s companions was still correct. He was also pleased to note that they still traveled on foot. He could still overtake them before they reached the Shire. If he guessed correctly, they were only an hour or two behind Naiore.

But Naiore and her companions were no longer moving west. Kaldir studied the tracks leaving the campsite, then cast a thoughtful glance at the remains of the bonfire. They were now moving eastward. His first thought was that something in those writings must have changed Naiore’s mind. What it was, he had no clue, but if she was going east, then he would go east as well. Calling to Gilly and Benia to follow, he remounted his horse and embarked eastward into the rising sun, the tracks of five individuals mapping his course out before him.

As they traveled, Kaldir kept his horse to a walk, dismounting frequently to check the tracks, to make sure that none of Naiore’s companions had left the course or doubled back. Nonetheless, they made good time. Riding across country, they skirted the Midgewater marshes to the north, then passed between the Weather Hills on the north and Amon Sul on the south. By the afternoon of the fifth day, still following Naiore’s lead, they crossed the Great East Road and entered the Lone-lands. By then, he knew, they were on a direct path toward Imladris.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

The remainder of the night worn on slowly, Léspheria remained silent and slightly withdrawn, as Amandur lead the way, stopping only to pick out the weak trail as they moved steadily onward. The light of his elf companions torch not giving enough light to distinguish the many fading prints, Forced him to light another, after this they made good time and with the growing light of dawn he felt confident they would catch up to the others soon.

Dismounting to check the trail, and stretch his weary muscles, he crouched down to again study the clues in the blanket of green, each bent and crushed blade showed that others had passed before them, two light footed elves, two men, one hobbit and six riders, as before. "Kaldir still travels with his guests in toe! With my kinsmen not too far behind," he said as he heard the soft clip of Léspheria's mare draw near, he turned to see that she had Kalloruvi's reigns in her hand and was looking at something above the trees, he lifted his head to follow her gaze, and then he too saw the tower of dark smoke.

"Naiore?" he asked, "Perhaps" she answered absently still looking in the direction of the smoke plume, "Then let us go see!" he said taking his reigns and swinging easily atop the black charger. Giving a sharp dig to the stallions muscular flank, he galloped off in the direction of the smoke, Léspheria slightly behind.

Several hours had passed since their first sighting of the spiralling tower of thick dark smoke and now it was all but pale wisps in the morning sky, he slowed the dark charger, stopping a short while later. He dismounted and studied three sets of hoof prints, they were fresh only hours old, cautiously he silently drew his sword, holding it ready, he heard Léspheria pull an arrow from her quiver, the bow made no sound, but he knew she would have it pulled back and knocked in readiness. Leaving the horses, they quietly drew near the camp circling to make sure no trap lay in wait, finding tracks at the other side of the camp; he conceded that it had been abandoned for some time.

Sheathing his sword he walked to the centre of the camp. Léspheria passed him and he saw that her bow remained taunt. He quickened his pace to keep up as she hurried towards the fire pit. The fire was out but the pit was still warm. He watched as she stooped and picked up a scorched piece of Vellum. She looked at it for only a second then thrust it into his hands, causing the chard edges to crumble, and then she stalked off. He watched as she crouched to the ground and ran her gloved hand gently across a faint print.

He then turned back to the Vellum she had pressed into his hands. Most of the fine Quenyan script was indistinguishable; he lightly blew on it, in a vain attempt to remove some of the ash. Still only, a few words remained recognisable... Menecin...Rivendell and near the bottom of the scorch page was Léspheria's name. His eyes widened and he looked up to regard the elf , she was now crouched beneath a spreading alder and as he walked toward her, he saw her now ungloved hand delicately stroking the knarled bark, her face a wash with sorrow and pain.

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she stiffened and rose quickly turning away from him, since waking from her nightmare, she had hardly spoken two words to him and now this, "If I have some how offend, please tell me, but for pities sake do not torture me with your silence!" He saw her freeze, and then slowly she turned, raising her still bare hand to his face, his stomach knotting at her gentle touch. "You could never do wrong by me, my friend. But I will not give her a weapon which she could use against me and neither should you ... do you understand?" she whispered softly, her eyes showing the sorrow in her words. He stared for a moment then resignedly nodded his understanding.

"She heads for Imladris, My priorities have now changed!" she told him, lowering her hand, pulling on the green leather glove and retrieving her bow. "I must leave at once!"

"But what of the others?" he exclaimed calmly. However, by the set on her fair face he could see that she meant to go on alone, "No!" he said shaking his head. “Naiore is out there and she is not alone, if I have guessed right she now knows who you are and that you are here, she will be expecting you to warn your kin, you will be sorely out numbered, even I would not take those odds!” his voice remaining soft, but stern as he aired his concerns.

"Then what would you have me do! Stand by and wait for her to break the sanctity of the last safe refuge of my kin!?" she retorted, "No...", but before he could answer further a soft crunch drew their full attention, in one quick fluid motion, he turned, his sword drawn and his eyes scanning the camps perimeter, searching for the source of the sound. Beside him, he could feel Léspheria do the same, holding his sword in readiness he called out in a strong commanding voice "Show yourself!"

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Léspheria

.As they rode Léspheria's thoughts were ever bent on Naiore and Vanwe, every now and then she looked down to the gloved hands that gripped her mare's reigns, staring through the soft green leather and the pale skin to the warm blood within and each time a shiver ran down her spine. She knew they were of the same kin, Vanwe had said as much without knowing, back at the forsaken inn and in her dream her mother had called Naiore cousin, but was the bond that strong.

She had felt Vanwe's fear and pain as strongly as she had her own mothers, and it was taking all her will and strength to block out the continuing torrent of emotions, but she had felt Vanwe's resistance unrefined and raw yet powerful. At the same time, she struggled with her own emotions, the fear that groped at her soul always threatening to drag her into despair, the hate and anger she felt towards Naiore that could lead to her doom, her love for Amandur and her kin, which although it strengthened her heart, could be used against her...

Naiore is so strong how can I hope to stop her with only a handful of rangers at my side. If the lady Galadriel was still here then perhaps... her thoughts trailing as a familiar screech pulled her back to her present surroundings. They had come far in such a short time and Amandur had stopped again and was crouched a short distance away examining their trail. As she looked around to discern her position, she heard the screech again, it was a comforting sound that she heard often when her path in life lead to an unmarked juncture, but as usual when she looked up their was no sign of the bird that acted as her guide. But this time as her eyes rose skyward she did see something, not a bird but a thick black spiralling tower of smoke several hours ride north-west she reckoned.

A sign, she mused as she urged Losseserme forwards, picking up the reigns of Amandur's dark charger as she moved towards the diligent ranger, but she could not keep her eyes from drifting to the spiralling tower, was Naiore toying with her or had one of Naiores companions left the sign? She found herself pitying the fool who would make such a mistake while in Naiores Company.

"Naiore?" she heard Amandur ask, "Perhaps?" she answered absently, there was still the possibility that the Rangers had lit the fire, though she thought none of them fool hardy enough to let it smoke so, unless in need of help. "Then let us go see!" Amandur said as he took his reigns from her hands and mounted the stallion, she nodded to his back, then dug her heel into the mare's flank and galloped slightly behind the dark charger toward the dark sign in the dawns growing light.

After several hours hard riding, Léspheria following Amandurs lead slowing her mount to a gentle walking pace. The smoke had died and they again had to rely on the faint trail. After studying a fresh set of prints Amandur cautiously drew his sword, slipping silently from Losseserme, she readied her bow and followed him until they could see the hasty remains of a camp. using hand gestures Amandur gestured that they should circle the camp before entering, without word or sign that she understood she turned and silently slipped away to scout the left side of the camps perimeter.

The Tracks on the other side veered east instead of continuing west as expected, looking eastward, Lespheria became more anxious to examine the camp, as soon as Amandur appeared and concluded that the camp was empty, he sheath his sword and walked forwards. With her bow lowered but the arrow still knocked, she stalked past him straight to the smouldering fire pit. Moving the ashes with the toe of her boot, she found what she had expected; deftly she stooped and picked up one of the scorched pieces of vellum. She needed only one glance at the fine Quenyan writing to confirm her fears; she goes to Imaldris to finish what she began.

Thrusting the page into Amandur's hands, she turned and searched the ground for Naiores fine boot print, finding it she crouched to the ground and studied it for a second, had not Vanwe wore the heavy male boots of Gondorian make, their prints would be indistinguishable, but as it was the light print fainter than the rest was undoubtedly Naiore's. She back traced the prints to a spreading alder, but as she knelt to examine the spot her heart sank, blood stained the grey bark and strands of golden hair clung to its coarse surface where Vanwe had obviously struggled to escape her mothers grasp. Removing one of her gloves she delicately stroked the surface...There must be some way that I can stop this! She thought sadly. However, if Naiore were heading to Imladris, she would have to leave Vanwe in the clutches of her mother, to get to her kin before them, but if the opportunity arose, she would help Vanwe if she could.

She stiffened as she felt Amandur's comforting hand on her shoulder, standing she turned away from him, she had to remain focused and what ever feeling she had for the ranger had to remain hidden, for his safety if not for her own. "If I have some how offended, please tell me, but for pities sake do not torture me with your silence!" She froze where she stood his word tugging at her heart and crumbling her resolve, sighing and focusing what resolved was left she slowly turned and raised her still bared hand to his face.

"You could never do wrong by me, my friend. But I will not give her a weapon to use against me and neither should you, do you understand?" She whispered softly, seeing her own pain mirrored in his dark hazel eyes. He studied her for a few moments that burned in her very soul then he resignedly nodded his understanding. Pulling away and slipping on her glove, she told him of her need to head straight for Imladris, to warn her kin.

He objected to her going on alone, "Then what would you have me do! Stand by and wait for her to break the sanctity of the last refuge of my kin!" she retorted hotly, but before he could answer, they both heard a soft crunch. Lifting her bow and pulling back the string, she turned and scanned the perimeter of the camp. She held her bow ready as Amandur ordered who ever was present to show them self.

[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor whistled softly to himself as his dark eyes darted across the path, seeking for even the slightest sign of their cunning prey. A wind breathed gently past him, leaving the homely smell of smoke in its wake. Maethor sniffed deeply, his senses tingling with pleasure. Raising his eyes to the horizon, he frowned as he saw a tower of smoke swell on the horizon, black waves undulated in the midst of the tower, rippling upwards, clouding the blue sky. Little plumes of grey wisped away and fluttered lightly away, before dissipating before the breath of the wind.

That was far too much smoke from an ordinary camp fire. Maethor frowned worriedly as he furtively cast his eyes about him. A trick of Naiore? A stray spark from a latent fire? A burning homestead? He shrugged: either way, he would have to go and see if any were in danger.

With a soft hiss, he withdrew the knife from his right and boot and, crouching near the ground, he crept slowly towards a small thicket. Stopping, he saw that the smoke floated from behind a clump of bushes. Leaves, long deceased from autumns passed, created a crackling carpet littered with several twigs. Maethor glared at the troublesome, noise making agents and wished that he had been better able to learn the legendary light footedness of the elves. He smiled wanly as they had finely given up teaching him.

Urgent voices came to his ears and, frowning, Maethor continued his creeping while trying to distinguish the words. A crunch. Of course. He had been going so splendidly and then he made a noise. Holding his breath, he waited to see if the people had heard. “Show yourself!” a low, powerful voice commanded.

Snorting, Maethor flopped to his stomach and, craning his neck, saw the elven boots of a woman. Beside her was a man. He sighed. “Show yourself!” the voice repeated.

Maethor stopped -- the voice was vaguely familiar, but did not have the stink of Ferney nor the careless tone of Avanill. It actually sounded vaguely like Amandur’s actually. Rising to his feet he said, grinning, “Mae govannen, Amandure and Lespheria!”

Maethor listened in silence as Lespheria and Amandur showed him the burnt mithril books that mentioned a man named Menecin and Lespheria herself. “What has she to do with Menecin?” he asked.

Lespheria briefly explained their relationship, ending with: “She tried to kill him long ago and failed. Now she has learned that he is alive and is going back to finish a job she started long ago. I must leave now! I cannot risk the sanctuary of Imladris being broken.”

Maethor’s face was pale as he digested what he had heard. He shuddered as he thought of what Naiore had tried to do to a lover, how she had tortured him, tried him. “It is too dangerous,” he said. “We should wait for the others and regroup with them.”

“That could take too long!” she protested.

“It would be a betrayal to the others,” Amandure said, “as well as dangerous for you. What would stop Naiore from harming you? The fact that you claim kinship to her?” he snorted disdainfully.

Maethor nodded. After some more arguments and logic thrown from both sides, Lespheria finally conceded to join them and they journeyed to the prearranged meeting place together.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

“The fool!” Rauthain said has he watched Kaldir spur his horse, disappearing from view. “Even the Great Worm of Morgoth had his weak spot and so do you, as well as the Ravennor. I’ll be bound she knows yours like the back of her very hand, my friend. But this you must have learned well in your captivity.”

Frustrated, Rauthain drew his sword and vent his anger upon the undergrowth. He had been hard pressed to stem the tide of temper and reflex that had risen within him. This for Naldir’s sake, as well as for his son Kaldir’s, for he would not willingly fight Kaldir unless circumstances demanded it of him. Of course , he thought, grinning gravely as he clutched his shoulder, it might be good to keep out of sight for the time being . The bounty hunter knew now of his presence and having dismissed him with no more serious hurt gave Rauthain a small hope, though it was true he seemed less than happy to greet him, but this was only to be expected he told himself. Kaldir had made clear what thoughts had dogged him.

The bloodied ranger shook his grey head as he turned to look for Juta. Perhaps this unfinished business Kaldir had spoken of was not what it seemed. He had not given the token Rauthain had been looking for but left him wondering still if Kaldir might be able to carry out his own justice. Whatever the case, he would not be alone for long, though he may think it.

Finding Juta wandering at the back of the hill, Rauthain led the horse to the stream, letting him drink deeply in the cold rivulet as the ranger poured water over his own face, grimacing. The flow from the wound beginning to lessen somewhat still dripped red, streaking the left side of his face. And after rummaging through his saddlebag the ranger withdrew a cloth and small dirty piece of folded parchment containing a powdered root. Juta watched as Rauthain pressed the powder into the laceration pushing it well under the flap of skin to prevent fever from setting in.

The horse sniffed his cheek and snorted at the acrid dust, turning his head away to gaze across the stream. Rauthain patted the strong neck with stained fingers. “Perhaps, this bitterness also holds healing, eh Juta? Though I should be loath to meet Kaldir again and receive such a harsh treatment regardless of the curative effect. Ah no matter, I see clearly it must be done until the pain of it has diminished. But I have dallied over long.” Mounting once again, the ranger spurred his own horse, keeping well clear of Kaldir’s group for the time being.

By early afternoon he found signs that Amandur and Léspheria had also passed this way and began to follow them. He was pleased to see later that Maethor had joined the group as well, and made haste so that he might catch up with them before darkness fell. Steadily toward the east he traveled, coming across them late in the day. And hailing them warmly he approached, glad for their company in his troubled state of mind.

“Ah friends! How is your hunting?” He said smiling as he walked up to them. Then seeing their serious expressions his voice softened. “What tidings have befallen you that you have become so grave? Is the lass still well?”

“There have been signs of fierce struggle,” Amandur began.

“And Lady Léspheria has determined that they heading for Imladris and Menecin, so that Naiore might finish what she had begun in him.” Maethor explained.

“I have concerns also for those few heirs of Fingolfin that remain on these shores. My kin....” the elf added. "We by good fortune found an abandoned campsite that had brought these many things to light."

“This is truly bad news. If only this shadow would pass over these lands like the darkness of night, leaving all untouched,” he sighed.

“But what has happened to you Rauthain?” Léspheria questioned. “You have been hurt.”

“Yes hurt,” echoed the ranger, bringing his hand up to touch his cheek. “It seems that though the tree was kind enough it’s branch held a grudge against me! Rightfully it injured me, for I have damaged it as well,” He said forcing a weak smile to his lips.

“Come, let me tend to it,” the lady offered walking over to retrieve her satchel.

“Thank you, my lady,” Rauthain said following her, “I have applied my own crude medicine such as I carry, but would be much indebted to you for your skill.”

Taking ointment in hand Léspheria began ministering to the ranger, and noticing the wound’s cleanly cut edges she paused searching Rauthain’s grey eyes. Seeing that she had guessed the nature of it, the ranger raised his index finger to his lips and then opening his palm signaled her to wait. It was not something he could speak of now. And he could see in her sad and piecing gaze that Léspheria’s heart had pressing burdens of it’s own.

[ 11:14 AM November 28, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain followed the fresh tracks of his companions leading Dir by his reigns, the hem of his cloak was torn and stray nettle leaves clung to his leggings. His sweep west then north had revealed nothing but vicious thorny bracken and knee high biting nettles. He had returned east to see if his fellows had had better luck than he, and it seemed they had, he found sign that Amandur and the elf woman, Léspheria, had joined them. He remounted his stallion and hurried to find what news they had.

A heavy air greeted him as he entered the camp of his companions. They where deep in conversation, but as he approached they all looked up. "Dulrain, it is good to see that you are well my friend." Amandur said gesturing for him to join them. Friend! He though harshly as he sat, remembering his old captains betrayal of faith. Quickly Amandur filled him in on what had already passed since their last meeting. The death of Tallas, the missing elven tomes, the signs of struggle at Naiore's camp, the burnt tomes and the Lady Léspheria's fears regarding Rivendell.

"And now we must decide which course to take, to ride straight to Rivendell to warn the elves or to stay on her trail and try to take her into custody before she can get near the last house?" The older ranger finished.

Although the news of Tallas's death had saddened him, he could not quench the resentment he felt towards Amandur, "And what of Kaldir? Not once has anyone mention him, he too seeks Naiore!" At his sharp words, the company all turned to face him, but his eyes locked on Amandur.

"Yes I know that he lives, no thanks to the man who found him in the very bowels of hell itself, but by chance in the streets of Bree." Dulrain spat dryly, still looking at his old captain.

Amandur's eyes softened and he nodded resignedly. “Of that I am truly sorry, but until recently I was not aware that the ranger we found in Mordor and the Bounty hunter was one in the same. You must understand that the man we found in the pits of Barad-dur was badly injured and unrecognisable under his own blood and the filth of Mordor. We only found that he was one of our own when he managed to mutter a few words in the old tongue of our ancestors. However, when we asked his name he could not speak. We took him to the halls of healing in Minas Tirith, but the task of bringing the last remnants of the dark one to justice kept me away. When my duties finally allowed me to return the ranger had left and the healers told me he had lost most of his memory, but had insisted on leaving as soon as he was able. With no name I thought no more of it, until we met again in the Forsaken inn but even then I was uncertain."

Dúlrain listened as Amandur spoke and lowered his head in shame as he realised the ranger had not deliberately kept the knowledge from him as he had thought. "Surely you do not blame yourself for Kaldirs capture?" Amandur asked concerned. "You did all you could, I was there remember. When the news came that Elendir's Company had not reported in, myself and our company were hard pressed to keep up with your flight. We could have got there no sooner, my friend." Amandur said trying to comfort him, he nodded but still he felt he had failed his old friend. Had he gone on the mission that took them to Raven fall, and not gone with Amandur's company north into the Ettenmoors selfishly seeking vengeance for his fathers murder, Kaldir may have never fallen into her hands.

"We can do no more for Kaldir unless he asks for help; our concern is Naiore and what course we should now take?" Amandur said taking them all into his steady gaze. Dúlrain nodded at Amandur's logic reasoning and listened as the others continued to debate their course.

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Léspheria

Léspheria rose to stretch her legs, the debate was long and she had listened carefully to everyone's arguments and counsels, offering some of her own. Both Rauthain and Dúlrain where set on staying on Naiores trail, they both seemed to share a deep sense of guilt and failure, this troubled her, but they offered sound arguments for their case, Amandur also thought it wise that some of them stay on the revennor's Trail and agreed with their counsels.

Just then Amandur voiced his own decision," I also will ride to Imladris, it may be that if we can get far enough ahead we can block her path." Léspheria was on the verge of protesting when Maethor also rose "then I too shall go, I have spent many years in the company of the elves and feel obliged to warn them of the danger that approaches and prevent Naiore's passage if I can."

"Then it is settled, we three shall ride with all haste to Imladris, to warn the Lords of Imladris of Naiores approach, While Rauthain and Dúlrain continue to follow the Revennor and her companions." Amandur concluded, the rangers all nodded their agreement, "we shall sup then be on our way!" The Rangers then broke and set about preparing a hasty supper, from their supplies.

Léspheria regarded the rangers thoughtfully as she sipped on the strong herbal tea that Maethor had brewed, he now sat with Amandur discussing the quickest route to Imladris, while Rauthain and Dúlrain sat across from each other, the flames of the small fire holding their steady gaze, as each was lost in his own thoughts. "Do they hold any answers?" she whispered, taking another sip of the hot tea she cradled in her hands. At her words the two rangers looked up with puzzled expressions, "The flames do they hold answers?" she repeated nodding to indicate the fire they had both been intently studying.

Dúlrain was the first to catch her meaning and laughed, "Nay, Lady, But some of my questions perhaps you can answer?"

"If I can I will," she smiled.

“Maethor mentioned that Kaldir was now a Bounty hunter, something which I am having a hard time to believe. As the man I remember was a loyal and righteous member of our brethren, but he also mentioned that, he was at the forsaken inn pursuing a quarry of his own. At first I assumed this was Naiore, But as I think on our encounter in Bree, the nature of his travelling companions worries me! A Southern woman and a hobbit woman do not seem the most likely of companions to take on this most dangerous hunt?" he sighed shaking his head.

Léspheria smiled sympathetically, " I met your friend, during my stay at the forsaken inn, Were he showed a keen interest in two young women that I had befriended, Miss Benia Nightshade a woman from the south and the elf maiden Vanwe, we even exchanged words regarding his interest in Vanwe!"

"Vanwe I can understand, she is easily mistaken for her mother!" Léspheria nodded agreeing with his assessment, "But this Miss Nightshade... why would a bounty be on her head? And who is the hobbit woman Kaldir called Mrs Tunnelly and what is her part?" Dúlrain asked his brow creased as he tried to reach for answers on his own.


"The first part of your question I can answer!" Amandur said as he and Maethor rejoined them. "After the fall of the Dark one emissaries were send south with the offer of peace. Some of them returned with news that there were tribes in the dessert of Far Harad who had refused to ally themselves with Sauron. They paid dearly for their choice, it is even said that the dark lord sent their own people against them! Now they are few and scattered but even with peace now in those lands some still hunt out these few tribes people as traitors and bounty's are set on them, it may well be that the woman of whom you speak is from one of these tribes, were her hands painted?" She nodded with Dúlrain remembering the intricate floral pattern that adored the woman's hands and wrists,

"Then this woman I am afraid is but another of his bounty's." Amandur finished regretfully.

Léspheria nodded in agreement and answered the rest of Dúlrain's question, "Mrs Tunnelly, I expect is Benia's friend Mrs Gilly Banks and it is her strong friendship and fierce loyalty that has lead to her becoming caught up in this misadventure. But do not ask me how it is that such an unusual friendship has come about, for that I do not know."

Dúlrain shook his head sullenly, she could see that this news was hard for him and that something else still troubled him, but the night was pressing on and she wished to be out of the woods before the end of the night.

"Well my friend’s darkness draws around us and if we wish to get a head of our quarry we should not delay." As she stood so too did those who were to be her travelling companion's, Amandur and Maethor.

"Namaarie ar quel fara, melloneamin!" (Farewell and good hunting, my friends) she bade Rauthain and Dúlrain as she and her two companions mounted their horses. Amandur and Maethor also bid the rangers farewell, “It may yet be that some of what has been done can be undone, if our faith in our friends is strong enough.” she smiled taking both Dúlrain and Maethor into her steady gaze. Then they turned and hurried eastward.

Léspheria had hoped to ride all night, but it was not to be, late into the night she found herself beset with Naiore’s attack on her daughters mind and was force to stop. They made camp at the edge of the woods and the rangers took it in turns to keep watch, as she fought to block out the pain and torment. Her parting counsel to the two rangers struck her, as they had to put faith in Kaldir, she too would have to put faith in Vanwe, if she was to reach Imaldris before them.

Once the attack had stopped and she had gotten a few hours rest they set off again, they headed eastward at a fair pace, stopping each night as Léspheria trained her emotions and strengthened the wall that blocked out Naiore's assaults on her daughter. Naiore was also somewhere ahead so they were careful not to get to close. Skirting the north edges of the midgewater marshes then turning south east to pass between Weather hills and Amon Sûl, They reached the East rode by the afternoon of the fifth day. Once on the rode they picked up their pace and made good time following it to reach the last bridge by the end of the second week.

"We are being followed!" Lespheria thought aloud, as they drew near the bridge. "Where?" Amandur asked not looking round, as to alert their shadow. "To our right, but who ever it was has only stayed long enough to get our position!" Both Amandur and Maethor swung their mounts and went to investigate.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Over the course of the five days that carried Benia, Gilly, and the bounty hunter east and into the Lone-lands, Benia found herself with a lot of time to think. The bounty hunter had relaxed considerably the farther they got from any towns, his manner growing decidedly more civil. He gave her back her father's sword and, more importantly, no longer threatened her or Gilly with imminent dismemberment or disembowelment. He even went so far on occasion as to engage one or the other of them in conversation. Usually the topic was either the local flora and fauna or a brief lecture on the finer points of tracking, but every once in a while he embarked on a tale of the olden days of Middle Earth, long before the War of the Ring. As fond of a good tale as the average hobbit, Benia enjoyed those very much. When he chose to speak in something other than threats and monosyllables, she found he had an excellent way with words.

Once, too, as she had ridden alongside of him as he walked, leading his horse, he bent down and casually plucked a strand of wild morning glories from the side of the trail. Without a word of explanation, almost absently, he handed them to her. She braided them into the mane of her horse, and they stayed fresh for most of the day.

As the journey progressed, she also found herself thinking of him less and less as The Bounty Hunter and more and more as simply Kaldir, almost forgetting that this was the same man who had abducted her out of her bed at the inn in the middle of the night and forced her to abandon her own plans in order to accompany him on what she was beginning to think would be his final journey. As the old ranger had said back in that odd encounter just before they left Chetwood, taking on Naiore alone would be folly. All she could hope was that Kaldir would come to his senses before they actually caught up to Naiore Dannan. Otherwise, she was sure they would all die horrible deaths.

As she rode near Kaldir, she noticed her eyes straying more and more often in the direction of the carved wooden whistle hanging on the leather cord around his neck. The old ranger in Chetwood had said that he traveled with Dulrain and one other. If only Kaldir had accepted the ranger's offer to ride together. Not only would she feel better about her and Gilly's chances of survival, but to see Dulrain again! She felt her pulse quicken ever so slightly at the thought of his kind face and clear gray eyes. Even so, he couldn't be far behind. If she could just get her hands on the whistle...

As luck would have it, on the fifth day out of Chetwood as they crossed the Great East Road, the pack pony that carried Gilly developed a limp. They stopped on the edge of the Lone-lands for Kaldir to examine the hoof. As he bent to pick up the pony's foot, the whistle swung forward on its cord, getting in his way. He tucked it into his tunic out of sight, but when it swung forward a second time a few minutes later, he pulled it off his neck and tossed it to the ground several feet away. Seizing the opportunity, Benia, who had already dismounted from her horse, edged over and surreptitiously picked it up.

Seeing her, Gilly raised her eyebrows and nodded subtly in the direction of Kaldir. Benia pursed her lips and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head no. Palming the whistle, she concealed it in the cleavage of her dress. Now all she had to do was hope that he would not remember he had discarded it.

She watched nervously as Kaldir extracted a small, sharp stone that had wedged itself between the pony's hoof and horseshoe. Having re-secured the shoe with a new nail and a small blacksmith's hammer from his pack, Kaldir had Gilly lead the pony in a small circle so that he could check the pony's gait. When he was satisfied that the limp was indeed gone, they all remounted and continued riding. Benia relaxed as Kaldir never looked for or asked about the whistle. For the next several hours, they rode quickly across the open ground, making rapid progress. When Kaldir abruptly slowed, it was only mid-afternoon, hours before the time they usually stopped to make camp. He seemed preoccupied by some tracks that had crossed their way a short while earlier.

Since seeing them, Benia noticed his expression had grown progressively more and more dark and threatening. His pale blue eyes scanned the horizons fore and aft as though he was looking for something or someone specific. Finally, he reined his gray horse to halt.

"We'll camp here," he said abruptly. The site he had selected for their camp lay halfway up a shallow hillside. Shielded on three sides by some vicious-looking black briars, it offered the best protection of anything Benia had seen since entering the desolate territory of the Lone-lands. She dismounted and began to remove her pack from the back of her horse, but stopped when she realized that Kaldir had not dismounted. Nor had he entered the campsite. He was still looking fixedly back to the west in the direction from whence they had just come. She looked at Gilly who shrugged in bewilderment.

Noticing them watching him, Kaldir walked his horse over to where they stood. "Don't make a fire," he instructed them. "There may be orcs about."

Benia and Gilly exchanged a frightened glance.

"The tracks?" asked Benia.

Kaldir nodded. "It was a small band of them, only four or five at the most. They were moving Northeast toward the Ettenmoors, though I can't imagine what business they would have there. My fear is that they were either messengers or scouts for a larger group. I’m going to ride back and see what I can learn from their tracks.”

Unconsciously, Benia’s hand reached for the whistle.

“Keep your wits about you,” he added. “I shan’t be long.” With that, he wheeled his horse and galloped off.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” sighed Gilly as they watched the trail of dust rise under the departing hooves of the gray horse. “There may be orcs about, so he leaves. And here I was looking so forward to a nice cup of tea.”

The hobbit looked so desolate and depressed that Benia actually smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be back. They are probably old tracks and the horrible creatures are miles away.” She walked over to her horse and took her sword and scabbard down from the saddle. Buckling them into place around her slender waist, she shrugged. “But we might as well be prepared.”

Pressing the hilt of her own dagger into her friend’s hand, she saw that it was almost a short sword for Gilly, and would constitute a much more effective weapon than Gilly’s own knife should events come to a fight, which she sincerely hoped they wouldn’t.

Gilly smiled ruefully. “While I appreciate the gesture, Miss Benia,” she said, tucking the dagger into her pinafore. “Wouldn’t it be smarter just to hide?”

Benia laughed nervously. “That’s Plan A. The weapons are in case it doesn’t work.”

“Oh, well,” Gilly nodded. “I guess we should have a second plan at that.” Then looking around the stark campsite, she sighed. “I guess it’s another cold supper.”

[Elora]

Vanwe


Vanwe sat in the darkening hollow that was their camp in numb silence, reeling inwardly. The days since they had left Bree, and nights, had been darker than anything she had known in her life before now. Dark, cold, dry, chill, deadly... And now she found the brilliance of hope at the news that her father was alive almost glaring in it's intensity. Her mother, it seemed, wished him freed from captivity. Yet, Naiore held her captive in a fashion, did she not? Perhaps not... Vanwe only knew that her mind was a malestrom that she could not navigate safely with her mother so close by.

Distantly, she heard her mother order the Hobbit Toby to report on his scout's findings. Vanwe tucked her innermost thoughts away, including the wail of despair that seemed to well up from within the deep cracks of her soul. She knew enough to know that her mother may use such things to hurt her... but not why.

"There's some Rangers," Toby said uncertainly, knowing well by now Naiore's intense hatred of such men.

"How many and where," Naiore impatiently pressed, knowing the Hobbit dissembled out of fear and lacking the wherewithal for a more civilised or gentle approach. Barrold and Avanill sat in a brooding silence nearby. Naiore had little time for them also. As her mother questioned Toby on the exact nature of the party he had observed, Vanwe sank inwards in the small opportunity she had.

The ruin of her mother lay throughout her. Vanwe could feel and sense the damage that had been done. Again, the question of why flailed at her painfully. She tucked it away. She had no time for it, and questions like that seemed to make it go harder when her mother came to her as she did, morning and night. Vanwe cast a surrepticious glance at her mother and felt about cautiously. If she was careful, she could do little things to ease the pain within without her mother knowing.

After learning that there were three Rangers and an Elf nearby, her mother snapped upright with a look of thunder upon her face. Vanwe froze, fearing that Naiore had sensed her. Then the rage was replaced by something more terrifying. It was the serene mask that Vanwe knew only too well.

"Remain at camp and light no fire," Naiore ordered as she strode into the trees. Vanwe closed her eyes in relief and resumed her work. The confusion, pain, betrayal that warred within her lent nightmarish memories a new and twisted life. There was little harbour against that, save the few precious memories that had no darkness threading through them. Vanwe's mind moved from Lespheria's gentle smile of friendship to Hanasian's soothing voice as they had spoken through the night under the stars.

There she lingered, drawing strength a little, ignoring the other three that remained at camp with her. Then, her memories betrayed her and shifted to the fuzzed recollections of her mother's voice, soft, a horse's rolling gait beneath her. Hanasian's warning echoed through her. Why? Vanwe had no answer.

Restless, knowing that to linger on that question would only hurt her more, Vanwe seized upon her new knowledge. Her father was alive and captive. That was why she would do as her mother had asked. Vanwe knew captivity in its many forms. In the few moments that Naiore was absent from the camp, Vanwe found a measure of lucidity.

It ended with her mother's sudden return and the din of a crow cawing raucously. The sound was eerie, and Vanwe was not the only one who felt her hair rise. She dropped her tentative healing, knowing she had barely managed to scratch the surface of the pain her mother had wakened within her, with a flush of guilt that was almost as bad as the refuge of her mother's softer words.

Barrold cheated Naiore of making any mention of her daughter's flushed cheeks with his sudden, uneasy outburst.

"What's goin' on 'ere? Why're we sittin' in the dark in this..... place." The man cast a suspicious glare at the surrounding trees. Naiore's reply was brusque, for all the horror it held.

"I'm seeing to the necessary additions to ensure sucess. Do you honestly think you, Avanill and Toby are up the the challenge of breaking Imladris' defences and subduing those within."

The laughter that shimmered in Naiore's voice made it clear what she thought.

"What makes you think we're going to attack Imladris for you," Barrold countered belligerently.

"Nothing," Naiore replied smoothly with a hint of dire threat, "Precisely why I am arranging assistance I can trust, in a fashion, to do my bidding."

"Who are you sending for," Avanill asked, clearly unhappy with the danger of being dispensible.

"You shall come to know them well enough when they arrive," Naiore said. "Time has come for us to discuss what is to be done.

"Imladris shall come to know of our presence, but not too soon if I have my way. Whilst we strike with the main thrust of my forces, Vanwe shall retrieve that which I have come for.

"Is that not so, daughter?"

Vanwe nodded, lifting her downcast gaze to her mother's and then to the rest of the group.

"I shall," she simply replied.

"An what might that be," Barrold interjected.

"My father," Vanwe replied, shaping the word with a some disbelief. She looked at her mother who was as still as a statue.

"Father," Barrold exclaimed.

"There is nothing further to discuss," Naiore said firmly. "For now, we wait and maintain our cover. I will deal with the nearby Rangers, and the Elf, in my own way. We move once the forces arrive.

"Until then, remain on your guard and be ready. I will watch through the night."

With that, Naiore stood and once again disappeared in the spreading night. Toby huddled where he was, plainly unhappy. Barrold stewed nearby, Avanill clearly displeased. Vanwe ignored the repeated glances that Barrold directed to her now and again, and turned her attention once more inwards.

She found herself enveloped in the fury of the past days, struggling to remain beyond its reach. If she was to survive, she had to master this pain so that her mother could not use it. Perhaps Naiore could come to respect her in time, if she showed strength. She was to meet her father, who until earlier this night had been dead to her. Another with a link to her mother that went deeper than associates and foes.

Thowing herself away from the howling pain of the constant Ravening, Vanwe forced herself to think instead of the Rangers. There was more pain, as she thought of the one who had died at Bree in defence of her, and of Tallas also, and anger. Confusion lapped at Vanwe. Rangers had always represented a danger to her. Yet Hanasian had been a friend and now she found herself hoping that they would not come to harm. What of the Elf that travelled with them?

Questions swirled around her futilely as she sat in the darkening forest waiting.

[Imladris]

Maethor

The journey to Imladris had been delayed by a tortured attack upon Vanwe’s brain that had caused Lespheria to stop. Maethor shuddered as he saw Lespheria’s face drawn with pain and sorrow as she shared the mental assault. How could a mother torment her daughter so? Maethor thought with a shudder. Her own flesh and blood?

As they journeyed, the attacks became less seldom or else Lespheria was growing stronger against them: Maethor was not sure which. With downcast eyes, he remembered the fleeing, terror stricken elf he had rescued in the forest and wondered how any could harm such a fair, exquisite creature. Pain, wickedness -- it was inescapable. Though the dark lord had been destroyed and many of his minions had been hunted and their spirits departed from Justice’s blade, Maethor knew that even when those affiliated with the Shadow had long ago ceased to live, evil would continue. It was the fate of the world, it seemed. Sickness would haunt it always, the plague of selfishness would manifest itself in various forms, even in a creature so unlikely as a hobbit. Who knew what scum buried itself beneath the mountain’s roots to creep out under the cover of night to spread their poison across the land? Who knew the dark, hidden thoughts of those who walked the land?

Maethor swallowed and realized that a sore throat had managed to find him. He shrugged. It was mere cold, nothing more. Sickness…disease. Even Rangers had their faults, he realized, guiltily thinking of his own failings. Turning his brown eyes upon Lespheria, who sat in the flickering fire light, battling the emotions that violently assailed her, he realized that elves were a pure race. He remembered his lore and history and saw that elves were like pillars of strength seldom falling.

As they journeyed, Maethor gazed upon the distant Weathertop with wonder. Once he had climbed the rugged sides of Amon Sûl and had see the green land, decked with the garland of Spring, spread below him. The pleasant memory was interrupted with the neek breek of the midewater pests. “Drat you insects,” he muttered good naturedly to them as he slapped then absently.

After two weeks of traveling, they reached the last bridge upon the East Road. “We are being followed,” Lespheria said, gesturing to the side. “To our right, but who ever it was has only stayed long enough to get our position!"

Glancing at Amandur, Maethor wheeled Nair and clipped to the bushes. After a bit of searching, Amandur waved Maethor over and pointed to a pair of prints. “They look like a pair of hobbit feet,” Amandur said.

“I believe the tracks belong to our friend Toby,” Maethor added with a grim smile.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Looking around for a suitable hiding place for “Plan A”, Gilly felt it rather hard luck that they should run the risk of meeting orcs in such an inconvenient landscape. It was like trying to play “hide and seek” at Lilly Smallburrow’s house when she was young. There was simply nothing good for them to hide behind. And then there were the horses. Kaldir had obviously picked the best spot to conceal all of them, but she would feel better if the beasts were to lay down so that there heads might not be seen above the briars.

Taking the reins of her pony, the hobbit gently pulled down on them. “Come on, you poor silly thing,” she pleaded. And then pulling again with all her weight, the pony merely bowed its head and caught the tatting on Gilly’s collar between its teeth. “Oh no you don’t!” she admonished, rapping it lightly across the nose, releasing herself.

Walking over to Benia she looked forlornly at the ornate handle of the dagger at her waist. She had never had to trust to a weapon in her life thus far, and wondered how at her age she would manage it if the orcs were to attack them. For that matter she had never even seen an orc, but felt she could certainly identify one if she saw it. She hoped so anyway. And had hoped also that she would not freeze or faint in a pinch. A large knot began forming in her stomach, as she sat down. “A cold supper….” She repeated again.

Actually, she didn’t feel much like eating, but wondered how she could make their provisions a bit more palatable for Kaldir and Benia. Perhaps as a treat they could finish off the last of the cheese before it got too moldy. That might brighten their spirits. Getting up again to check the its state, she walked over to the horses and once there forgot why she had gotten up. She tried pulling down on the reins of Benia’s horse, with no result.

“Miss Benia,” she cried. “Is there no way to get these horses to lay down? I thought that orcs may know that briars don’t bloom horse heads for blossoms in the summer, as handsome as those horse heads might be. And I certainly don’t want them to come over here abouts to pick them for a sweetheart.”

Benia laughed grimly and quickly coaxed the animals down, to calm her friend. “If orcs do wander close by, these horses will be up again in a moment. Most likely that is how we will know they have arrived,” she sighed. The hobbit then ceased pacing and taking the reins from Benia plunked herself down between the animals.

“Then I will stay here to keep them put,” she said with determination.

“Oh Gilly really, there’s no need! The brush is high and thick enough I don’t even think an orc as tall as a ranger would see them, should there be such a one! Besides I don’t see as that is the safest hiding place for you should the horses become frightened.”

“All the same I’ll be staying here, least ways till Mr. Kaldir gets back or the horses won’t have me no more. But you go on Miss Benia, and make yourself comfortable like,” she said trying to sound cheerful. “Won’t you tell me some stories of your father? I should like to hear again about Rohan while I’m sitting between my two friends here. To pass the time, maybe. They had their trouble with orcs there too, and not so long ago, I reckon. Perhaps I can take courage from your stories for I’m feeling a ways unsteady and I don’t mind saying it.”

[ 10:03 PM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill was becoming increasingly more conscious of the dangers and happenings around him. The young man was deeply troubled by the fact that they were not going towards the shire. In all his years he had never trusted a client or anyone for that matter, why would he start now. Naiore was after all a servant of Sauron, and bitter at his downfall. He began to accept the illusive facts behind the truths of their involvement with the elf.

That night Avanill confronted Ferney when Naiore was gone form the camp. “Was this your idea of a joke, Ferney?” he asked, his voice hard and cool. Avanill would have found it very easy to kill him in an instant had he said yes.

Though Ferney looked at him bewildered. “Do you think I knew she’d take us to Rivendell Boyo?” he said in a rushed whisper. “I don’t want top be here anymore than you do, all though it could have it’s advantages…”

“What possibly could be of use to you in Rivendell?” Avanill frowned “Elf treasures would most certainly be cursed, or protected.” He sighed and shook his head.

Ferney took a step towards him, “Not having second thoughts are you mate?”

“Ive been having second thought ever since we left Bree, ive been having second thoughts ever since we took Vanwe, Ive been having second thoughts ever since we killed Tallas, so why on earth would I be having second thoughts now?” Avanill was angry. “What im trying to say is, I think something is going to happen, and whatever happens I know that we among the others will be caught in the middle of it. And what of these new additions, she speaks now of attacking Rivendell, I do not fight for anyone but myself, and only then do I kill people who wrong me. No elf has ever done harm to myself or my family, I have no quarrel with them. She never spoke of this to us at the beginning, so I say there is more which is not being spoken of.” Avanill lowered his head and was deep in thought.

Barrold nodded agreeing, “What do you suggest we do?”

“At this point in time, I have no idea. What ever happened, at the end It will be every man for himself agreed?”

“Agreed.” Barrold yawned and in his head Avanill smiled.
Every man for himself, as always.

[Elora]

Barrold

Under the pretense of tiredness, Barrold turned away and missed Avanill's smile in the darkness. He leant back, stretching out into a comfortable position of recline, arms folded behind his head, and made a show of appearing relaxed. Behind his closed eyelids a different theme played.

Toby fidgeted nearby, reaching for his pack and some food.

"Keep quiet, my hill rat," Barrold said in a hard voice through the night. Toby's reply was to crunch on an apple. Barrold shifted again, until he could survey Vanwe from beneath lowered lashes. She was hard to make out in the darkness, yet she did not completely disappear in shadow. What light there was lingered in the fall of her hair and the drape of her gown. It was silk, Barrold guessed. What other treasures Naiore carried with her was an interesting source of speculation.

Rumour had it that Naiore had once been wealthy in a way that only those who served less morally demanding masters could become. Yet, he had seen little sign of it. She seemed to have ample gold and silver to pay for things, and her gear was worth a prince's ransom alone. Every man for himself, eh?

Naiore's weapons and gear were valuable in their own right. Perhaps she had other little trinkets tucked into her pack along with the dress that Vanwe wore. It was plainly elvish in fashion, fancy compared to women's clothing that Barrold was more familiar with. No rough cotton or hession, no rope there. Silk, embroidery delicate, beads too, perhaps precious stones. Without getting a closer look he couldn't be sure, and Vanwe would probably yell if he tried to rectify that.

Barrold's mind greasily moved on. What else did Naiore have of value? He knew the answer to that, but did he dare? If he did, he would have to act before these reinforcements arrived. He'd have to get the location of the Rangers from the rat and slip away long enough to put that information to good use. Avanill, Toby or Vanwe might give him up to Naiore, by choice or otherwise. Still, if he could get away just long enough to impart Naiore's location and plans, collect the bounty and leave others to gather up this rag tag group, he'd be close to as wealthy as he wished to be. Maybe he'd be able to collect some of Naiore's other possessions, including her daughter.

Barrold sighed, throwing various ideas about in his head, feigning sleep and listening to Toby work his way through an apple and then start on a piece of smoked meat.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain sat by the fire feeling old and worn as he watched the flames hiss, drifting over the black wood. At the center, such intense heat and tremulous light, the wood greyed, and turning to dust, was spent. Long years of strength gone in so very few moments, so terribly few. He was tired.

It was good to sit for a while, feeling it’s warmth on his face, losing some of his thoughts to it. The day had seemed longer than its accustomed allowance. Indeed, it appeared to have stretched back many unfortunate years for both Dúlrain and himself. For Rauthain had been following the conversation closely as Amandur had soothed Dúlrain’s conscience, explaining his own part in Kaldir’s misfortune as well. At many points in the discourse he had longed to get up and leave their presence, for it seemed too much for him to bear, playing heavily upon his mind. But instead he had turned inward, struggling to set his thoughts on clearer matters. News of Tallas death added more fury to the storm brewing in his heart and to his conviction that they must not risk losing Naiore’s trail, but must try to overtake her before she could approach Imladris. Through her too much harm had come to too many. But the odds would not be in their favor once the others had rode on ahead. Just two of them then, left against five. He would have preferred that they had a larger number, but it was not to be helped. And what of Kaldir’s own search. Could he be counted upon if their paths happened to converge? The ranger glanced at Dúlrain, thinking how to better their chances. Not tasting the supper that was before him.

The hobbit, he reasoned, might be easily caught if he strayed from the rest, and might even be dissuaded from her employ now that he had time to savor Naiore’s style. But still that would leave four. And it was his fervent wish that no one ranger should be drawn away to face Naiore alone, for her insight might prove disarming and her words treacherous. Many there were who had found their doom in her silken speech.

“Do they hold any answers?” he heard a soft voice whisper. Taken back by her words, he raised his face to see the Léspheria standing by the fire, cradling a cup of tea. “The flames, do they hold answers?” she repeated looking at the two and nodding toward the fire.

Quickly catching her meaning Dúlrain laughed, “Nay Lady, But some of my questions perhaps you can answer?”

“If I can I will,” she smiled.

Rauthain listened with renewed interest as Dúlrain asked of Kaldir and the traveling companions he had accompanying him in Bree. The same it appeared, that he himself had seen earlier. And though Amandur joining in had offered sound reasoning regarding the southern woman’s place in Kaldir’s train, it did not seem to fit the few moments Rauthain had seen them together. He knew of bounty hunters, and those that were successful did not hazard to indulge in more than limited civility toward their captives. Kaldir was successful, but what had witnessed from the hillside seemed a glimpse of a more temperate link.

Still it was reassuring to know that this Miss Nightshade was not from a tribe that had been aligned with the Dark Lord, though he found it distasteful Kaldir would seek the bounty held for such a one.

Sheltering these thoughts in his heart, he rose with Dúlrain as the others prepared to depart. "Namaarie ar quel fara, melloneamin!" (Farewell and good hunting, my friends), Léspheria called as she swung easily to the saddle. Amandur and Maethor also bade them farewell. "It may yet be that some of what has been done can be undone, if our faith in our friends is strong enough." Léspheria held them in her gaze for a time, smiling before she urged her horse eastward.

Left alone, Dúlrain and Rauthain stood watching the others vanish into the landscape. “I have quite recently seen Kaldir with the woman and hobbit you described,” Rauthain spoke as they watched. “And to my eye they could not have hoped to be caught by any other bounty seeker than this new Dunedain variety. For they seem unusually hale and well cared for,” he said to ease Dúlrain’s mind. “In this at least Kaldir has not changed. He takes meticulous care of those left in his charge.”

“Yes, of this trait I am well acquainted,” Dúlrain acknowledged searching Rauthain’s expression, his eyes finally resting on the ranger’s wounded cheek.

Remembering then his hurt, Rauthain turned away and began gathering his few things before they too left this place. He did not yet care to speak of his own rough treatment at the hands of Kaldir, and hoped that Dúlrain would not question him, for he had trusted it was not exemplary of the man. “Let us also make haste before the light fails.”

“How came you by that wound Rauthain?” Dúlrain asked pointedly, noticing the ranger’s self-consciousness. “It is new and it is even. Why are you reluctant to speak of it?”

“It was though my own folly I received this. Should a man speak of his own folly willingly?” Rauthain responded.

“But what have you done that would earn such a mark?”

“Perhaps it is what I have not done,” he said softly, straightening up. “But then again, it is perhaps what I have done,” he nodded.

“Speak plainly,” Dúlrain insisted.

“By Kaldir’s hand I received this, as I see you may have guessed. Though I do not think it typical of him even now, to smite a friend.”

“Then you say you are not his friend?”

“I say he does not call me friend nor brother, though the truth be otherwise.” Rauthain confided. “ I happened upon their group in the mists of the morning, and though it was the first time I had beheld his face since that day at the headwaters of the Mitheithel, I have no doubt that he has cursed mine a source of great disappointment through these many years.” Rauthain paused in thought. “You said in Bree that by abandoning him to his fate I am as guilty as the one we now seek, and you were right. I have suffered greatly for it and now I have been branded also, so that I may never forget. Do not judge Kaldir harshly by the choice he has made, or me by my past. ”

“So you did not part on good terms.”

“I have lost many in life that I hold dear: wife, son and countless friends. But I lost Kaldir because I held his skill in too high regard; in truth I lost him because he never let me know of any imperfection. I do not intend for it to happen again. And unless he has become a minion of Naiore’s, Kaldir has a friend whether he wants me or not. Amandur said that we could do no more for him unless he asks for help, but I do not agree. Kaldir will never ask. He would die alone first.”

With that the ranger strode off to his horse, not having the heart to speak further.

Dúlrain stared after him for a time before he too made ready, in the silence.

They made good time while the light lasted and even into the night when they risked torchlight.

Several days they continued without seeing any others, but always following the footsteps of those who passed this way ahead of them. By the time they had reached the Great East Road the pony they followed was showing signs of a stilted gait and soon afterward the tracks become muddled. Stopping there, Dúlrain and Rauthain rested for a while hoping that they might gain fresh news from any traveler that happened along the road, but finding none, they entered the desolate Lone Lands.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:42 PM December 08, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Upon arrival back at the location where the orcs' trail had crossed his, Kaldir dismounted and studied the ground. He ascertained quickly that there had been five of them, traveling at great speed. Deciding to follow the trail for at least a short distance, he remounted his great gray horse and rode along the heavily trampled way. Ahead in the distance, he could see a black mass against the dull brown ground. As he neared, the mass split apart and took wing.

"Vultures," murmured Kaldir, spurring his horse forward. By the time he reached the place where the vultures had been feeding, he noticed that the course of the orcs' path no longer led into the northeast. From the point where he had joined it, the trail had made a steady, though subtle, curve until it led almost due east. Arriving at the place where the vultures had been, he dismounted again. The vultures had been feeding on a very large, very dead orc, who had been run through the chest with an iron pike. Kaldir circled the area, studying the tracks, all the while speaking softly to himself.

"This one stopped...wanting to go north... the others reluctant. An argument... he was slain suddenly. The remaining four..." he turned. The tracks took a sharp turn to the south. "The remaining four went south."

He hesitated. If he were to proceed on the trail of the orcs, that would leave Benia and Gilly vulnerable for that much longer. If he went back, he would still not know what the orcs were about at broad daylight on the open ground. His worry was that they were on a straight course to intercept Naiore. Finally, he decided to follow the trail only a short distance farther before breaking off and returning to the campsite where he had left his companions. He had used the campsite many times in the past and knew how to reach it from the east. If the orcs continued southward, they would soon be out of the area and not of any concern to him. If the trail turned eastward again... well, that was another issue entirely.

Kaldir squinted into the west. The sun was sinking lower in the sky. He would have to move quickly if he hoped to be back in the camp by the time darkness fell. Remounting his horse yet again, he started forward along the trail at a trot.

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

Benia

Benia was troubled in her heart. Gilly wanted to sit at the back of the briar-rimmed campsite between the horses and tell stories, but Benia felt restless and reluctant to sit still. Unable to concentrate, she found herself completely at a loss for stories. Finally, with an apology to Gilly, she stood and walked to the edge of the campsite. Late afternoon was upon them and still Kaldir was nowhere in sight. Her shadow stretched out before her as she stood at the opening to the campsite and gazed into the east. She hoped the orcs were far distant and only a few minutes' wait would bring the sound of the returning hoof beats of the bounty hunter's horse. The longer she waited and watched, however, the more troubled she became. He had been gone far too long. Perhaps he had been ambushed and taken. Unconsciously, Benia shivered and closed her hand around the hilt of her sword.

Behind her, Benia could hear Gilly talking anxiously to the horses, who seemed suddenly restless. Despite Gilly's best efforts to calm her, the bay mare struggled to her feet, snorting nervously. Benia felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She saw the first orc at the same instant he caught sight of her. As his head crested a small rise some fifty yards distant, Benia's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she froze. She had never seen an orc before, though she had heard many tales of them. The black and befanged visage of the orc was far more frightening than anything she had imagined. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on her sword.

"Gilly!" she hissed as soon as she found her voice.

The orc turned and said something guttural behind him and three more heads appeared. Benia looked around wildly for any sign of Kaldir, but found nothing. She startled as Gilly touched her elbow. Looking down at her friend, she saw that Gilly already held Benia's dagger drawn in her fist. Her dark eyes were wide with fear.

Finding that the four orcs had already begun to close the distance between them, Benia drew her sword, but she knew in her heart that fighting them would be futile. All four of them were huge with curling yellow tusks and bulging muscles. Clad in black armor, each carried a pike or an axe. She could perhaps hold them off with her sword for a short while, but a sword was hardly a match for well-handled axe. Neither she nor Gilly had any armor or even a shield. Behind them, the horses stamped and snorted with fear.

"The horses..." Benia whispered, watching the orcs advance. Reaching into the neckline of her dress, Benia withdrew the whistle Dulrain had given to Kaldir back on the street of Bree. Dulrain had said that all one had to do was blow the whistle once and his horse would lead him to them in their moment of need. Kaldir was gone, but Dulrain had extended the offer to her and Gilly, too.

"Oh, Benia, the whistle!" she heard Gilly whisper.

Without hesitation, Benia raised the carved wooden whistle to her lips and blew with all of her strength. The sound that came forth was a clear note, closer akin to the chime of a bell than the shrill of a whistle. Behind her, the horses calmed noticeably. Fear filling her face, Benia dropped the whistle. Surely it wasn't loud enough for Dulrain's horse to hear! She and Gilly were on their own.

Her hands shaking, Benia stepped forward to meet the orcs head-on. She had already decided that she and Gilly would not be taken alive.

"Halt your advance!" she called out in her most commanding voice. She raised her sword. "You have no business with us!"

The orcs sniggered amongst themselves and continued forward. One of them, the largest of the four, took the lead. On his head, he wore a jagged helm. He raised his axe.

"Wave your little sword, pathetic creature," he roared at Benia in the common tongue. "You're no match for Lugburz!"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:22 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

After entering the lone lands Dúlrain and Rauthain made good time, both being familiar with the undulating scrub lands they easily followed the tracks of those before them. Patrolling the lone lands had been his prior charge and for six months he had patrolled every inch of these desolate lands, his confidence showed as he took to scouting ahead, even leaving the trail to check that none of their quarry had diverted or doubled back, but never staying away long enough to leave his companion unaided.

It was on one of these scouting's, late in the afternoon when Dúlrain found something that made his blood burn, "Orcs!" he cursed seeing the familiar heavy prints of the creatures that were the bane of his life, first stealing his fathers life then carrying away his friend and brother into the throws of the very one he now followed . The careless trampling of the orcs drew a course northeast. "The Ettenmoors!" he spat remembering the orc chief who had dared to wear his fathers sword, a mighty blade of Arthedain, that now hung at his side. Dúlrain curbed his hatred and the strong urge to follow to see what mischief they were and forced himself to turn to study the tracks before him.

Dulrain sighed at the irony as he failed to untangle the mass off trampled prints. Tracking and patience had always been Kaldir’s strong suits, although he was ever the cautious one. He lacked the patience of his friend, ‘you will never decipher the tracks if you cannot hold your patience long enough to take the time to unlock the secrets they hold?’ Laughing at the memory of Kaldir's ever-exasperated words he pulled himself back into the saddle of his mount, "Come on boy, time to go back and see if the old man can't decipher this maze of prints."

But just as they were turning the horse banked and turned it's head eastward, the stallions ears pricked listening to something he could not hear, a short snort and a stamping of the horses front hoofs indicating the direction of the sound, then turning into the east wind he heard it a faint but gentle note carried on the breeze. "The whistle!" Dulrain gasped and Dir shook his dark head. Without any further thought, Dúlrain kicked the dark brown stallion into a gallop letting it lead the way.

A short time later, the same easterly wind bore a foul smell and the distant ring of weapons clashing, with added haste he spurred Dir on. "Argh! Orcs!" he cursed, as they mounted the peak of the next hill. Four, all clad in the inky dark armour of their kind, Kaldir was not in sight only the southern woman and her friend, both tiring from the assault. Dropping his reigns and pressing his knees tighter to the stallions sides he drew his bow, Dir slowed slightly anticipating his rider’s action, then taking an arrow from the quiver that swung at his side, he quickly knocked it pulling the tension on the bow. From were he was and the distance between them, he figured he could get at least, two shots, before the bow would be of no use.

Allowing for his rhythmic bounce in the saddle, he trained his bow on the first of the pike bearing orcs. At the sound of the charging horse, the creatures spun round their pikes in hand, as Dúlrain had anticipated. He loosed the arrow before even the first orc was fully rounded and without waiting to see the arrow strike the stunned creature through its left eye, he was knocking another. Dir banked right to take him across the path of the second pike wielding orc, who was now charging towards him, he let the second arrow fly. "Damn!" he cursed as a sudden gust knocked the arrow off course, embedding it into the creatures right forearm, but it slowed the creatures advance long enough for him to drop the bow, and draw Kaldir's sword.

"Gurth gothrim Tel' talant!" (Death to the foes of the fallen!) He cried swinging the sword as Dir charged toward the now injured orc. The gleaming weapon rang as it connected with the raised pike, the force of his blow ripping the heavy weapon from the creatures injured arm. As the stallion swung round to charge again, he swung his left leg over the animal and leaped down from his saddle. Advanced on the wounded orc he saw that the creature now held a dark and vicious looking serrated blade. He matched blow for blow with the creature ignoring its sneering taunts, until he caught sight of Benia out of the corner of his eye. The woman’s sword arm was wavering, and he saw that it took her slightly longer to dodge the axe swings of the lead orc. As he parried another blow and dodged left, he saw that the hobbit woman had lost her weapon and was doing her best to keep out of the other orcs reach.

His eyes narrowed and his hatred of these creatures focused, he thrust hard, the ancient sword piercing through the orcs armour to it's abdomen, "I can no longer play with you!" he growled at the surprised orc, pushing the dying creature from his blade. He turned to see Benia defiantly holding up her wavering sword in both hands to in an attempt to fend of the two orcs menacingly advancing on her, the hobbit woman was now standing aside her just as defiantly her dagger somehow retrieved and held high. He raised Kaldir's sword and sprinted the distance, "Noooo…!" he cried as the lead orcs axe knocked the woman's sword from her hands.

The orc turned just in time to block his thrust, the heavy axe blow batting the sword easily from his hands, using his agility to his advantage he ducked avoiding the back swing and rolled out of reach, pulling his fathers blade from his belt, gripping it firmly in both hands as he rose. "In the name of the king I order you to halt and desist!" he commanded.

"Grr, a filthy ranger" the second orc sneered, but the first just laughed mockingly "Lugburz serves no filthy ranger king!" it growled swinging its axe towards him. "Good then I break no laws in killing you as an outlaw of the crown!" he sneered back, blocking the axe blow with the Arthedain broad sword and pulling upwards to expose the orcs torso. However, as he moved in to strike he felt a sharp blow to his right side. He had no time to discern what had happened as the lead orcs axe arched high above his head. Nor did he hear the women’s cries, or see the hobbit woman rush forward burying her dagger deep into the second orcs side as it rounded its axe for a second strike, earning her the back of its black hand across her face. Gritting his teeth he managed to raise his sword in time, but it now felt like stone in his hands, another wave of pain shot through his side as the heavy axe blade connected, but defiantly he fought through it struggling to hold off the powerful downward thrust of the axe. Gritting his teeth he pushed off the axe and managed to kick the orc backwards, breathing heavy, sweat now stinging his eyes he held of against the orcs blows each one growing less heavy as the orc also tired.

The orcs axe arched again and this time although he blocked the blow the force brought him to his knees and the back swing caught him under the chin throwing him backwards and causing him to loss the grip of his sword. As he struggled to his knees, thinking he had again failed in his duties, his gaze drifted to the southern woman as she crouched over her bruised hobbit friend, but their eyes meet for a fleeting second, soft and fearful, glistening like jewels....Jewels! He thought remembering the small companion sword at his waist, bringing a satisfied smile to his face. Still crouched his hand tightened about the jewelled hilt; slowly he drew it holding it out of sight, as the orc leader stood above him. "Is that it? Is that all you have ranger?" it jeered at him. However, Dúlrain kept his head bent feigning defeat. All the while listening, but not to the orc sneers and boasts. But for the rush of air as its axe rose into the air. When it did, Dúlrain struck, thrusting the jewelled companion sword upward through the chinck in the overconfident orc’s armour. Letting go he watched as the orc stared in disbelief at the offending weapon, the axe slipping from its hands as it fell.

Ignoring the pain, his hands searched for a sword. Finding a hilt, he tightened his grip and forced himself to rise. as the last orc charged towards him shouting something in its guttural tongue, dark foul smelling blood spilling from its wounded side, Dulrain raised the sword and cried “For Dalrin and Kaldir!” and with the last of his strength he thrust the sword into his enemies abdomen. Breathing heavily he pulled out the sword, nodded to the two women then fell to his knees, no longer able to suppress the pain.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir had only followed the orc trail southward for a short distance, when it took another sudden buttonhook turn, this time back into the west. Raising his head, Kaldir looked into the setting sun and realized with mounting horror that the orcs were now heading directly for the campsite where he had left Mrs. Banks and Benia Nightshade. Taking a firm grip on the reins, he kicked the gray horse into a full gallop. When the dreaded sounds of clashing metal reached him through the thunder of his horse's galloping hooves, Kaldir drew his sword and urged the gray stallion faster.

As he grew nearer, he could see a fierce battle raging between a dark-haired man and two orcs. Two other orcs already lay dead. Mrs. Banks and Miss Nightshade were visible as well, doing their best to aid the man as they could. As the third orc fell, the man took severe blow to his side.

"Faster!" urged Kaldir into the ear of his horse as he leaned low over the horse's mane. "Fly, Nico!" The horse responded with a fresh surge of speed, but Kaldir feared it would be too late. The man already seemed to be faltering as the orc drew up to deliver his death blow. But the blow never came. There was a flash of jewels as the man struck suddenly upward into the orc's torso. The orc staggered backward and fell. Kaldir pulled his horse to a halt and leaped to the ground just as the stranger crumpled to his knees. Kaldir recognized him only as Benia rushed forward, catching the man in her arms as he lost consciousness.

"Dulrain!" he murmured. Seeing that all the orcs were dead, Kaldir sheathed his sword and walked to where Benia crouched over the prone figure of the ranger. When he saw the carved whistle swinging on its leather thong around Benia's neck, he understood. She had called for Dulrain in her moment of need and, as promised, he had come. How strange, yet how fortunate, that he himself had been so careless with Dulrain's gift, thought Kaldir, remembering for the first time how he had tossed aside the whistle earlier that afternoon and simply forgotten to pick it up again. Perhaps it had been fate. Whatever it was that had made events unfold they way they had, Kaldir decided that he would not allow Dulrain to die for it.

If it had not been for Dulrain, Benia and Mrs. Banks would already be dead.

Reaching Benia, Kaldir helped her in laying Dulrain out comfortably on the ground. The wound would have to be treated at once.

"Is he dead?" Gilly asked softly from behind him. When Kaldir glanced up, he saw a ugly bruise beginning to darken on her cheek. She would have a black eye to match it before the evening was out.

"No," he shook his head. "He lives, but we must act quickly so that the wound doesn't fester. Find what wood you can and build a fire."

Taking off his cloak, he folded it into and pillow and pushed it gently under Dulrain's head. Benia, her face streaked with blood and dirt from the battle, had already begun trying to clear the clothing away from the mouth of the wound. Kaldir caught her hand. "We'll need water. Bring one of the skins from our supplies." She nodded and did as he told her, but he could tell that it was only with deep regret that she left the side of the injured man even for a moment. When she returned and delivered the water skin to him, he noticed her hand close immediately around the hand of Dulrain as she knelt once more beside him. Her lips moved softly as she murmured something to herself, a prayer perhaps, in a Haradrim dialect.

"The wound is deep," he heard himself reassuring her as he examined the wound. "But the edges are clean. There is no sign of poison. It will be painful for a while, but he should recover." Using the water from the skin, Kaldir washed the area of the wound carefully. Dulrain stirred, murmuring something undecipherable. Kaldir leaned forward as he repeated it.

"For Dalrin and Kaldir!," whispered Dulrain, his eyelids fluttering as he swam back into consciousness. Instinctively, his hand moved in search of a weapon. Benia interlaced her fingers through his, stilling his movement.

"Shhh..." she whispered, smoothing his hair with her other hand. "You are with friends."

Kaldir noticed Dulrain's body relax as his gray eyes met Benia's and stayed there.

"Talk to him," he told her. She nodded, but rather than talking, she began to sing. In a soft voice like the voice of a nightingale, she sang a lay of the desert night. As it was in a dialect Kaldir had little familiarity with, he was unable to understand more than a few words here and there, but those words evoked images of a silvery moon and softly blowing sands. It was a sad song, something about loss and a maiden's unrequited love.

To his surprise, he felt a mouse-gnawing jealousy at the back of his heart that she would choose such a song to sing. Denying it, he pushed the jealousy aside. The wound must be treated. By then, Gilly had come back with a pan of hot water she had heated on the small fire she had managed to build with little more than sticks from the bramble bushes. She watched as Kaldir extracted the long, slightly used athelas leaves he had used outside Bree to aid in healing Benia's ankle from the pouch on his belt. From deeper in the same pouch, he came up with some fresher ones as well. He deposited all of them into the hot water where they soaked for a moment before he bathed Dulrain's wound with the sweet-smelling brew.

"When I'm finished," he said to Gilly. "You might try bathing you face as well. It will help keep the swelling down."

Gilly looked surprised and raised a hand to her face. "Oh, yes, that ol' orc did give me quite a walloping, didn't he?" she said. "I was so worried about Mr. Dulrain here that I hadn't given it a thought.

As Benia completed her song and began a new one, Kaldir finished with the athlelas water, which he handed back to Gilly. Then, after retrieving a clean shirt and a few small vials from the pack on the back of his horse, he returned to Dulrain's side and applied the contents of the vials, healing oils, to the wound, which he bound with strips torn from his spare shirt.

He leaned across to Benia and touched her shoulder. "He should be moved now. Into the campsite and near the fire." Benia nodded and stepped back, in order to allow Kaldir to move Dulrain . As Kaldir bent down to lift him, Dulrain stayed him with a raised hand.

"No," protested Dulrain. "I can walk."

"Tomorrow you can walk," answered Kaldir. "Tonight you rest." Without giving the ranger any more time to object, Kaldir lifted him and carried him the short distance to the fire. Setting him down, the bounty hunter smiled with the good side of his face. "And it's a good thing you can walk tomorrow. You weigh a ton."

Dulrain laughed weakly, but paled and broke off abruptly as a jolt of pain took him.

"Where's Dir - my horse?" he asked, recovering.

"He's fine," answered Kaldir. "I will see to him now. You rest." Kaldir started to go, but paused at the mouth of the briar hedge and came back. Bending down, he caught Dulrain's hand in a firm grip. Looking into Dulrain's eyes, he nodded.

"When in need, one will always find the other," he said softly. "Thank you. I owe you their lives." This time there were no troubling flashbacks, no flashes of distorted, disjointed memory. Kaldir remembered.

Releasing his brother's hand, Kaldir rose and left the campsite. There were horses to be seen to and orc bodies to be dealt with if they didn't want a host of scavengers to be upon them by daybreak. For him, the evening's work was just beginning.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly


The gusting breeze that had accompanied them through the barren landscape, carrying with it the grit and dry heat of summer, began to loose strength as the afternoon waned. Even so Gilly still struggled valiantly to keep the fire alive. It would be night soon enough and if any scavengers were to smell death in the air, she wanted to know about it, and that preferably before they had had a chance to trouble the wounded man. No pitch black listening for noises in the night. But this fire was a smoky pitiful thing. The wood she found had all been poor and green, more scrub than proper fuel.

Looking up to measure the dark curling smoke that rose above them before being carried to the east, she saw that two carrion birds had begun describing a slow circle above. “Ack, now there is a cheery sight,” she muttered to herself. “If only they knew it was the orcs who lay dead perhaps they wouldn’t be so eager to visit us. Nothing sweet about that lot.” Watching them wheeling overhead, she thought fleetingly about the life she had brought to an end that day. It was strange but she had felt no remorse, not so much as hint of guilt. Thankfully, there had been no question of what needed to be done and no time to think about it. The ranger had been in need and she, by a stroke of fortune, had been able to assist him. And this not a moment too soon.

She looked at Dúlrain as he sat by the fire, Benia close at hand. The life that illuminated his kind eyes had been so close to being cut loose from the circles of world on their account. She would not forget it.

Getting up stiffly, the hobbit walked toward the entrance to their nest among the briars, whispering to Benia as she passed, “I’ll just look to see if I can lay in some more sticks before evening comes. If I don’t return soon send Mr. Kaldir after me, you can tell him I’ve run off if you like,” she winked. “I think I might have need of him if there are any more orcs about!”

Overhearing her Dúlrain spoke quietly, “It is not likely that you will see any, Mrs. Tunnelly. By all reckoning it was a small band. And if there are more, they are not yet near.”

The hobbit shot Benia an unsettled look at the mention of the name Tunnelly. “Oh sir, you may call me Gilly if you’d like, and I thank you for the comfort as well as the saving of us! But I should be trying to comfort you,” she said avoiding his glance. “And if I can, I will make you something special for supper if you feel you can manage it. But first I must find go have a look see what delicacies might be had in such a place as this.” Then addressing Benia she said, “You take good care of our friend here for me won’t you Miss Benia? I think rather highly of him for saving our lives and wouldn’t want any harm to come to him now!”

“Yes, of course I will Gilly,” Benia assured her friend as she moved to tend the fire in the hobbit’s absence.

Satisfied that she could safely leave her two charges. Gilly emerged from their hiding place and began scouring the bluffs for herbs and firewood. She could not see Kaldir anywhere, but heard the dull clack of stones from behind a ridge downwind from their camp. She was deep in thought puzzling over the two men as she went, and what to do if their guest insisted on calling her Mrs. Tunnelly. She supposed that she might get used to it, but still she found it disturbing. Mrs. Tunnelly was friends with bounty hunters and killed orcs and chased after Naiore Dannan, but Mrs. Banks raised her boys, keeping house in Bywater and tatted by the fireside in her spare time. She wiped away the small tear that found it’s way to her bruised cheek.

“Who has done this to you? And why are you weeping?” she heard a voice say softly. Looking up she saw, grizzled and birdlike, the ranger who Kaldir had seemed so angry with, his eyes brimming with concern. “Am I too late?”

[Everdawn]

Nerindel's post

Toby

After reporting to Naiore Toby huddled himself against the bowl of a nearby tree, but he could find no comfort. The closer they got to this place Naiore called Imladris , the more uneasy he had become. With the revelation that she was bringing reinforcements, which should have abated his anxiety, he found it only increased it, bringing the dawning that they where now dispensable. He had no doubt that if things went awry she and the others would leave him to his own fate, without a second thought.

He fumbled about in his pack for something to eat, food always helped to calm his nerves enabling him to think clearly. "Keep quiet, my hill rat," Toby turned at Barrold's hard words and narrowing his eyes he crunched hard on the apple, but as Barrold shifted he leaned back against the tree, "Hill rat!" he snorted indignantly, "Least I'm no murderer!" he mumbled to himself. Staring hard at Barrold’s back.

As he chewed through the apple, he thought about their pursuers. Dúlrain had now joined the Bounty hunter Kaldir and his two female companions, one of which to his surprise was a hobbit. A ranger that Toby was acquainted with, he kept his thoughts on this group, although he feared the bounty hunter, he knew the ranger Dúlrain was a just sort. When the ranger him thrown in the lock holes for thieving, he had made sure that the judgment was fair and fitting with his crime.

Casting a scrupulous gaze over the others, he wondered if some reward would be placed on Barrold and Avanill for killing the old man, Tallas. Moreover, if he could use their crimes against them, after all he was a victim of mere coincidence, a prisoner of his fear and had committed no crimes that would warrant his death! Perhaps during one of his scoutings he could secretly treat with the ranger. Then his gaze fell on Vanwe and he shivered, not from the chill night air, but from the images of Naiore's assaults on her own flesh and blood, if she did this to her own what evils would she bestow on someone who betrayed her?

However, as he looked at the young elf, he felt himself pitying her. The first time he witnessed Naiore’s brutal treatment of her daughter he had been physically sick. Never before, had he seen the like and he found himself several times after fighting the urge to cry out for Naiore to stop, his cowardice the only thing keeping him in check. Before he even realised what he was doing he had lifted his water skin and was walking towards Vanwe.

At his approach she looked up, he shivered violently as her serene expression matched that of her mothers. "Here you should drink something," he fumbled holding the skin out to her, but her blue eyes just stared at him blankly. "It's just water,” he said taking a drink to assure her. "You should keep up your strength!" he whispered looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else could hear him. Hesitantly she took the skin and drank deeply, with what were the beginnings of a smile on his lips he turned to leave, but stopped as the elf spoke.

"Thank you."

He did not turn back, but those two little words stirred emotions in him that he thought were long dead, killed when he had betrayed his fellow hobbits and listened to the honeyed promises of old Sharky, now so long ago in his memory. Guilt, pain and regret soon followed. After the scouring of the Shire Toby had only helped himself. but this night Vanwe’s words had made him feel good and as he lay down to sleep he resolved that if he should happen on one of the rangers he would leave some clearer clue for them to follow, that they may save the young woman from the fate her mother was shaping for her.

_______________________________________________

Everdawn's post

Avanill

If there was ever a time in his life where Avanill had been in regret, there ne’er was a time then now. Avanill had doubts on whether Naiore was going to raid the Shire at all, rather than break some war against Rivendell and the elves who still dwelled there. It was not what he wanted. Avanill told himself every night why it was that he had agreed to Barrold’s venture, and that was what gold was left for it.

Avanill had no wish to become some Lord of The Shire, where Barrold might. He had friends form the days of old who were unfortunate enough to be caught delivering goods to the servants of Sauron when at last the shadow was defeated. An event which he was too small to remember. His friends were just like him, free agents belonging to no greater kindred other than their own, and like them, it Avanill’s conscience had been eclipsed by his own greed and it had landed him in a perhaps dire strait.

There would be no way for him to back out now, for it would be Naiore who would surely hunt him down and kill him, and he knew this well, how else had she been able to evade the soldiers of Gondor and the rangers of the north for so long? If he were to escape what would he then do? Go to the rangers which were trailing them? Perhaps. He would have to think harder about it.

The nights were filled with broken sleep, and Avanill was beginning got become more weary about those who tracked them. However this night was one in which he slept soundly.

“Avanill, my son!” he looked up, now he was in a room not out in the open, across the way was his mother, she stood straight, a look of dreaming on her face.
“Mother!” cried Avanill stepping forward, but his mother raised her hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice cool like Avanill’s, he could tell that she was angry.

Avanill bowed his head. “Im sorry mother.” He muttered. Atantri stared at him.

“What have I told you? Never get involved!” he voice hardened and her eyes narrowed. “You disobeyed me, and all I have taught you.!” She stepped up to him until she was looking up at her son. “You are just like your father!” Avanill felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, he glanced down and there was a knife embedded in his flesh, the sickening sight of blood came through his shirt.


Avanill jerked awake with a cry. He checked his stomach. No Blood. It had been a dream. “Good Evening, Your Radiance.” Came the gruff voice of Barrold Ferney under the light of the moon, Naiore was nowhere to be seen and the others were in a depp sleep. “What’s got you in a twist boyo, someone trying to kill you in the night?”

Avanill shook his head. “No, just a bad dream, is all.” He was still shaking. and a lot of bad dreams to come ill think

“Is all?” laughed Barrold handing him a flask. “Whiskey, to soothe the dreaming beast, take some Avanill, ‘Till make you feel better and put the fire back in your belly.” Avanill took it gladly and drank it dry. “I feel your pain boyo.” Said Barrold observing this, “Been a long time since either of us had a good drink, or a good sleep.” He said rubbing his back. “Though, when we take the Shire- “

“If” corrected Avanill his eyes now alert.

“Why you say that? Come now, You know it’s just a detour.” Barrold shifted uneasily.

“Do you really think that Naiore of Mordor really means us well? What can we offer her in the end, im just a Black Market Trader and you, well, no offence Barrold, but your not the sharpest knife mate. Do you really think that She will give Vanwe to you? Lawks! I would have the nerve to rescue her than see her condemned to a life with you!.” Barrold did not know whether to be offended of whether he’d began to suspect the same things, but either way, Avanill knew he had a point. “Its only a matter of time before we are done away with. Mark my words Barrold and be prepared.”

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain felt like he was in the throws of a beautiful dream and if he never woke, he would at least be contented. Her song striped away the defences of his heart and held him in its spell; even if he did want to turn away, he was sure he would not be able. He knew not the words that she sang but the emotions of the song could be heard in her voice and seen in her amber eyes. It was a sad song and he knew that if a tear were to escape her tender eyes, his heart would break. However, tears did not fall and she began to sing another, squeezing his hand reassuringly as his body tensed with the application of the healing oils, but still his eyes stayed with her, her song soothing and comforting him through the pain.

However, the dream ended with the song as Benia turned to Kaldir, who was now telling her that he should be moved nearer the fire. As Benia stepped back, Kaldir bent down to lift him. Out of stubborn pride he raised his hand to stay his old friend, "No, I can walk," he protested, But Kaldir would hear none of it, which made him smile; Kaldir had never given into his stubbornness.

"It's a good thing you can walk tomorrow. You weigh a ton." Kaldir said smiling at him, he laughed weakly, happy to see that his brother had at least not lost his sense of humour, but broke off abruptly as a jolt of pain took him. He then thought of Dir, if not for the horse he would not have found them, But Kaldir reassured him that the stallion was fine and that he would go see to the horse now. As Kaldir walked away, he closed his eyes, to wince away the pain in his side, but opened them abruptly as he felt someone grip his hand tightly. Kaldir looked into his eyes and nodded.

"When in need, one will always find the other,"

"Thank you. I owe you their lives."

Kaldir's words were soft and heart felt like the brother he remembered, He had not expected such words after seeing how Kaldir's resentment had so marked Rauthain, but now in his heart he could see the old Kaldir fighting his way slowly back through the shattered mess Naiore had left. As he watched, Kaldir leave the campsite he wondered if Naiore's cruel torment still went on in some fashion and if Kaldir was the one to kill her, would she not win, Burying his old friend anew in hate and anger.

As the dark form of Kaldir disappeared into the night, Dúlrain looked about the camp until his eyes fell on the two women he had saved. Benia was helping the hobbit woman to soak her badly bruised cheek. He frowned trying to puzzle how and when the woman had acquired the bruise when last he had looked she had no..... then it came to him the orc that had struck him had a deep wound to his side, but hadn’t died instantly as he would have with a sword thrust. No, it must have been the hobbit and her dagger. His eyes widened in wonderment, he had heard that hobbits could be most valiant when needed. He glanced down at his side and vowed never to forget her selfless act, for if not for her, he would surely be dead.

He tried to sit up but only incurred another burst of intense pain, "You should not move" a soft voice whispered above him, he smiled as he looked up to see the southern woman sitting down beside him, "how are you feeling?" she asked her kind and gently eyes reflecting her concern. "Better for seeing that you and your friend are safe and well" he smiled. "But I should like to sit up if you would be so kind as to help an injured ranger, my lady?" he tried to laugh but ended in a grimace as another pain shot through his side.

"I will help you but only if you promise to be still and rest that you can heal properly," she whispered anxiously. Seeing her genuine concern, he nodded and let her gently sit him up. "That was a dangerous feint you used Master Dúlrain, but convincing, I almost regretted my decision to blow on your whistle."

"Dúlrain, please just call me Dúlrain, and to be honest it was not all feint," he confessed. “Had not the moonlight lit up your wondrous eyes like jewels in the night I might never had remembered the jewelled sword at my hip. for never before have I had the need to draw it.” but before she could reply Gilly came up to her and he heard her whisper something about looking for more sticks for the fire and to send Kaldir if she did not return thinking she would need him if more orcs were about.

"It is not likely that you will see any, Mrs Tunnelly. By all reckoning, it was a small band. And if there are more, they are not yet near." he quietly reassured her.

"Oh sir, you may call me Gilly if you like, and I thank you for the comfort as well as the saving of us! But if I can, I will make you something special for supper if you feel you can manage it. But first I must go have a look see what delicacies might be had in such a place as this." However, before he answer and insist that she should go to no trouble, Gilly had turned to her friend,

"You take good care of our friend here for me won't you Miss Benia? I think rather highly of him for saving our lives and wouldn't want any harm to come to him now!" He smiled as Benia assured her friend and moved to tend the fire in the hobbit's absence.

"Off course!" he scolded himself "Mrs Gilly Banks and Miss Benia Nightshade" he whispered remembering Léspheria giving him their true names at least a week past now. As he looked up, he saw Benia look at him surprised that he knew their names. "My apologies, my lady Nightshade, but I believe we share a friend in Lady Léspheria of Rivendell and it was she who gave me your true names."

"Léspheria is with you?" she asked looking out into the night, "She was but alas she, Amandur and a young ranger named Meathor have hastened on to Rivendell." he whispered. He could see Benia trying to puzzle out how the elf would be in the company of those hunting the Revennor of Mordor.

"Léspheria was sent to help us track one of her own kin, but I rather think she is more concerned in finding and helping the young elf Vanwe, than in capturing her mother and now that Naiore heads for her home in Rivendell, she hastens to warn her kin." he answered for her.

"What else did Léspheria tell you?" she whispered lowering her head so as not to meet his gaze. "Yes she told me of my friends chosen profession, but you should not judge him for it, he was not always that way. Dúlrain proceeded to recount a number of adventures and misadventures he and Kaldir had shared in their youth, how they had grown together to become fine and loyal rangers, but as he came to the point were they had been separated he stopped and turned to face Benia.

"So how is it that such a sweet and beautiful desert rose found herself so far north as to have been snared by a misguided ranger and forced into this hapless adventure?" he asked changing the subject and losing himself again in her exotic beauty.

[Imladris]

Maethor

“The little rat must have been spying on us,” Maethor said almost good naturedly as he swung himself upon Nair’s back as they trotted to where Lespheria was waiting. A trace of worry shadowed his face, however, as he realized the imminent danger they could be in from Naiore. If the elf knew where they were…his thoughts trailed off as Amandur described what they had found and expressed his own fears upon the subject.

The Last Bridge was near and they soon trotted over it, the horse’s hooves ringing upon the stone. The moss grew plentifully in the the small ravines of the stones, and some were slimy from the spray of the River Mitheithel that rushed mournfully under the three arches that spanned the broad river. As they cantered over the bridge, Maethor smiled and his spirits lifted: they were nearing Imladris, the place he would eternally call his home. Sadness took him, though, when he thought of the reason of their journey there: to warn the elves that Naiore made her way there.

They entered the Trollshaws and Maethor stared about him with growing discomfort. Beech trees towered above them and the leaves of winter’s past laid in drifts against the trunks of the trees. A stillness haunted the land: not a bird sang, not a breath of wind summoned the living leaves to dance to his merry tune.

Through the many long years of living in Imladris, Maethor was well acquainted with the story of Bilbo Baggin’s trolls. The young ranger shuddered at the memory, and fervently hoped the no torog would come their way. They had enough to deal with without the nuisance of trolls.

Lespheria reigned her mount quickly and sat erect. “Naiore is near,” she whispered.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:16 PM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Looking out toward the east from his vantage point on the bluff, Rauthain was dismayed by the sight he saw. A light colored horse and rider traveling quickly across the horizon, dipping from view and rising again as it crossed the hilly terrain. Kaldir! he thought. And where is Dúlrain? For his fellow traveler had been gone for some time now.


Rauthain felt a sudden flood of dread and alarm course through his veins, as he urged Juta to make speed toward the horizon. His trepidation increasing along the way, as he saw the spiral of gathering birds in the distance. Death was close by, but whose or what's he longed to discover. An ambush maybe? Forbid it to be the work of the Ravennor!


Racing to close the distance, Rauthain saw the unmistakable tracks of orcs as the ground disappeared beneath him. He urged Juta to go still faster, unsheathing his sword, the wind already whipping about them. The horse responded, opening a hidden wellspring of strength, galloping over the hillocks until wet and flecked with foam. As he neared a place marked by a diffuse glow, Rauthain bid the horse to slow again, for the silhouette of a small scrabbling form was to be seen a short ways off. It appeared to be the same hobbit that had been lately traveling with Kaldir. Seeing no one else about he made for figure.

She was alone and weeping as he approached, a large bruise across her cheek. "Who has done this to you? And why are you weeping?" he asked softly. "Am I too late?"

Gilly looked up quickly wiping the tears from her eyes. "No sir, not too late, even if the fighting is done,” she said, "for no one has perished except for our attackers, though one ranger lays quite wounded beyond the briars."

"Kaldir," Rauthain said looking at her anxiously in the dim light. "Is he alright?"

"Oh why yes, Mr. Kaldir is fine. That's him making that racket, what with his burying the foul orcs that attacked us. It was Mr. Dúlrain whats hurt, and hims what saved us too!"

"This same ranger and I are traveling together.” the Rauthain exclaimed. How badly injured is he?"

"He took a right nasty blow, he did. But he's spoken of trying to walk already. So I'm not sure exactly how deep it goes."

"By the Imperishable Flame, let’s hope it is not deep at all. And you? How came you by that black bruise?"

"By an orc sir, though I dare say he got the worst of it."

"And there was one other with you, the dark haired women. Is she also unharmed then?"

"Yes sir, she is tending to Mr. Dúlrain just over there," Gilly said pointing toward the ruddy glow. "You're not to worry now, he is in good hands."

"I do not doubt it, but if you will excuse me madam, I would go to see him."

Rauthain led his horse over the hillock and spying the other animals gathered there hidden in a low spot, he left Juta among them, before walking toward the briar enclosure. Seeing Dúlrain in rapt conversation he turned aside and following the sound of stone upon stone he skidded down the shifting dirt and rock that lead to the base of the escarpment. There in the light of two torches stuck in the loose soil was Kaldir glistening with sweat as he worked at building a cairn over the carcasses of the dead orcs.

Picking up a large stone at his feet Rauthain carried it over and threw it on the growing mound. Turning he found another to add.

"So the old man has learned some new ways?" Kaldir sneered without looking up. "You've left off leaving your fellows behind?" Rauthain paused making no reply, and letting the barb pass, continued his search for stones. "Or have you merely come like a carrion foul to glory in Dúlrain's success?" Kaldir said pressing him further.

"Truly I have not," Rauthain said heatedly, finally breaking his silence, "nor have I ever. But then Dúlrain is no fool taking pointless risk. There were lives in peril. But tell me how fares he? I have spoken with the hobbit, but not Dúlrain for he seemed engaged in a pleasant conversation with the lady of the desert and I would not interrupt such a sweet tonic."

Kaldir looked Rauthain in the eye at that. "It is a deep wound and serious, though there is no sign yet of poison. We need the skill of a healer."

His thoughts turning to Léspheria, Rauthain said "We must by all means take him to Imladris, were there are yet many who are of great skill. One of our companions who is practiced in the art has already gone on ahead saying that Naiore is headed there."

"I have seen this myself. There is much for us to gain by making haste for that fair place."

"But can Dúlrain ride?"

"We will know more tomorrow. He has a strong spirit and can bear much, this I know. But I would not ask it if it would endanger him." Kaldir admitted, his tone softening.

"Agreed," Rauthain said nodding. "Still one of us should keep to the trail. Naiore could double back again and vanish once more from our reach.” He broke off for a moment not wishing to leave the trail, but ever conscious of Kaldir’s desire to find Naiore. “Perhaps you should do this," Rauthain said cautiously, "And I would lead Dúlrain and the women directly to Imladris."

Kaldir grew silent for a time before answering slowly. "No Rauthain, you keep to the trail and I will see Dúlrain and the others safely there."

[Elora]

Naiore

"Man's blood," Naiore said icily as she materialised through the early morning fog. Those before hunched and swayed, fingering hilts that had already seen action. She could sense their longing for it, recent conflict lying noisome in their hideous thoughts and emotions.

"And you've lost four of your number," she finished, swiftly tallying the orcs that ranged before her.

"We found trouble," one hissed in a harsh and fell voice. She applied a deathly cold gaze to him and the challenge dropped away, for the moment. Behind him, the others watched. They always did. Loathe as she did such creatures, orcs, they had their uses.

"You are late. I gave no order to engage." Her only reply was a growled snarl.

"Who was it," she inquired.

"A man," the leader replied in a cringing voice now, whining and wheezing before the spectre of beautiful death. He had not expected this.

"There was a woman too, and a hafling," one of the others supplied. Rage moved like frost through Naiore. The one who had spoken noted the flare in her silvery starlight gaze and grinned fiercely. He had done his homework before setting out on this lark. Kaldir's party had a woman and hafling in it, Naiore well knew from her time spent in observation. She knew that much only, due to the distance she had to keep. Kaldir was canny, and she knew his wiles well, very well. She had contented herself with tasting his dreams and watching only, well aware of the peril of even that. It was a thrill, it was part of the hunt, and now this orc had robbed her.

An equisitely made sword sliced the cowering orc, cleaving twisted life from him. She lifted the bloodied point at the one who had furnished the details and fixed her gaze fully upon him.

"Did he die," she asked serenely, deceptively, deadly.

"I do not know, Lady," it replied, dropping its gaze to the now soiled grass and earth. Naiore considered matters an instant longer, bent and wiped off the blood from her sword on the fallen orc and sheathed it once more at her shoulder in a move so swift it seemed to bend the air around the blade.

"There will be no further distractions. I give to you man-flesh and elf-flesh. 'Tis yours for the taking. I give to you death slow and lingering should you fail me. 'Tis also yours for the taking. The choice is your own."

She spoke calmly to the crowd that leant forward. They were clearly orcs of the Misty Mountains. A great many gazed skyward in the growing light, fearful of the sun.

"There are Rangers nearby. You may have them for your sport as you please. Leave any elf-women you find, unspoilt, for me to deal with. Have your sport otherwise. We will fall on Imladris once the Rangers are dealt with. We attack at nightfall."

"Who will join us, Lady," the new leader croaked.

"I will," Naiore replied and in her gaze they saw battle terrible and places now forgotten and fell. They saw the dark magnificence that was Barad-dur, that once she had glided through in silks and velvets as beautiful as the dawn. The fog was steadily burning off with the rising sun, and there was no need for more questions.

"You will find cover for the day and meet me here at nightfall. Dispose of that well," she added, flicking a gloved hand at the orc carcass. Naiore turned and melted into the trees as she heard the ripping of flesh and the fearsome sound of orcs feeding. With fortune, she'd be rid of the vermin come Imladris. The Elves would take out a good many before they fell and she could deal with the remnant easily enough. For now, they would swamp the Rangers and deliver her Lesphéria. That irksome battle would come with nightfall and she had much to prepare before then. Naiore stalked like a shadow back towards her camp set the other pawns into motion.

Vanwe

Vanwe lowered the water bottle from her lips and held it in her hands. Toby's kindness had startled her, and warmed a corner of her soul despite the desolation inside. He had settled back into place again, and she wondered what she could do by way of return. She had started to rise, to return him his water flask when her mother emerged from the trees. Vanwe froze in her place, fear thudding through her and hiding the water bottle in the skirts of her mother's dress that she wore.

Naiore strode across the camp, where Barrold watched from beneath slitted eyelids and Avanill restlessly stirred, to stand before Vanwe.

"It is time, daughter," she cooly announced. Vanwe rose from her seat, water bottle carefully held in a fold of the luxuriant silk skirt. The clearing was grey, morning light filtered.

"You know what to do," Naiore said. Vanwe nodded, replying "I do, mother." She spoke with a confidence she did not feel, yet quashed her uncertainty before it leaked out and betrayed her.

"Then go." Uien nodded gravely and cast a glance around the camp sight. Barrold and Avanill now openly watched, both men suspicious and uncertain. Her blue gaze passed each by in turn, wondering what company she would next find, if not death. In silence, Vanwe made her way to the edge of the clearing, passing by Toby. As she dropped the water bottle onto the soft bed of pine needles, her mother hailed her. Fear again blossomed within her heart as she turned back, the silk of her gown whispering with her movement.

"Remember, do not be seen and return at once. Do not tarry on your path, if indeed you be true of word and heart." Vanwe felt her hands clenching within the long wide, pearl encrusted sleeves. Again she nodded, delicate blond hair falling foward. Relief that she had not brought disaster on Toby for his kindness warred with rage and despair. Vanwe turned once more, gazing at Toby with pleading for him to flee, and made her way on the path her mother had set before her.

Would she prove true or not? Vanwe no longer knew what the truth was, or who she was. She walked in silence, a lone Elf maiden, through the trees towards Imladris and her father.

Behind her, in the clearing, Barrold protested as he watched her graceful form be swallowed by swirling fog that clung stubbornly to the trees and branches.

"Where's she off to, then?"

"That is no concern of yours, Ferney," Naiore replied with clear warning. Already her sword had drunk. She fancied cleaner blood than that of orc and it would help take the edge off the coming battle.

"I think it is. We 'ad a deal!"

Naiore was across the clearing and her dagger pressed uncomfortably against Barrold's throat before Avanill could find the hilt of his dagger. His fingers curled around it's security just as Naiore crooned,

"Leave that be, Master Avanill, if you wish to be." Death thrilled through her as Barrold tried to swallow around her dagger tip. A crimson jewel of blood appeared and Naiore smiled with longing.

"No oathbreaker am I! Do you say otherwise, mortal?"

"No," Barrold managed hoarsely. Naiore's dagger remained.

"Vanwe will return and you shall have that which you desire in good time. I know what you want... I can taste it, hear it, see it, feel it. All in good time."

Barrold watched Naiore's lips shape the words and wondered deep in his heart what it was he wanted. Gold, yes, power also... death too? She would be pleased if that was the case. Fear howled through him like a banshee and Naiore's eyes flared with pleasure. She smiled, wet her lips and pulled back.

Barrold was gasping as though he had just ran a race as Naiore unfolded herself.

"You would do well to prepare yourselves to break camp by nightfall. My allies have arrived and there is work to do this night."

"What work," Avanill unsteadily asked in a voice that found its legs by the end of his brief question. The exchange between Naiore and Barrold, so close, was disturbing to watch.

"Knife work. We strike at the Rangers that have been following us, as reported by good Master Longholes here. Be ready to move as soon as dusk falls."

With that, Naiore settled into place and began fishing out pouches she carried in her light pack. She added clear bottles, which she unstopped and began a painstaking process of measuring out powders. It would take most of the day to prepare her tincture for Lesphéria, but it was worth the effort and the process would soothe her. Naiore loathed the wild disarray of battle and the scent of it unsettled her more than she was prepared to allow herself to admit.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:36 AM December 30, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As Benia listened to Dulrain recount a series of adventures and misadventures he had shared with Kaldir as a youth, she found her heart warming to him and to the often silent and forbidding bounty hunter. She glanced out into the darkening night in the direction Kaldir had taken, thinking over the things Dulrain had said. So, Kaldir had not always been as he was when she ran afoul of him. What was it that Kaldir himself had said to her back in the deserted wine shop in Bree? I wasn’t always the monster you see before you.

“No,” Benia whispered to herself, gazing into the darkness. “You weren’t, were you?” Turning her attention back toward the wounded Ranger at her side, she smiled as Dulrain broke off his narrative and faced her.

"So how is it,” he asked. “That such a sweet and beautiful desert rose found herself so far north as to have been snared by a misguided ranger and forced into this hapless adventure?"

Benia laughed. “Hapless misadventure, to be sure!” She shrugged. “To be honest, I was born with only one foot in the desert. Only my mother was of the Painted Sand. My father was a Bree man.” Sensing Dulrain’s interest and forgetting her usual reticence regarding her own history, Benia launched into the tale of her mother’s flight from Harad all those years ago and her subsequent capture by the Rohirrim horse patrol that had led her eventually into the arms of Jack Nightshade. She told him of her own birth in the desert of Harad and her family’s subsequent return to Rohan and Eriador where they were hounded by bounty hunters. When she reached the part in the tale of how Gilly had played a role in saving them from pursuers in the Shire, Dulrain laughed softly.

“I should have known!” he said, looking out in the direction Gilly had gone in search of firewood. “They always say that hobbits are made of tougher stuff than they appear. She’s quite the heroine, isn’t she?”

Benia nodded solemnly. “To me, she is. And my dearest friend in the world. The only reason she is here on this little adventure is that she refused to let me fall into our friend Kaldir’s hands without a fight.”

Dulrain nodded, his grey eyes studying her face. “Has Kaldir treated you well?”

Benia cocked her head to one side and thought for a long moment. “Yes, he has,” she answered finally. “To be honest, I can’t figure him out. I think when he carried me away from the inn, he intended to kill me, just as my mother was killed for a bounty. Something stayed his hand - I don’t know what - and, since then, he hasn’t seemed particularly interested in parting company with us, either amicably or otherwise. Oh, he used to threaten us quite regularly with disembowelment and all sorts of unpleasant things, but, in actuality, he has never so much as slapped either of us on the wrist.” She paused. “Well, he did give Gilly a rather nasty rope burn at one point but I think it was more to make a point than to do her any injury.”

“Unusual for a bounty hunter, wouldn’t you say?” asked Dulrain.

“I would certainly say!” interjected Gilly, coming around the edge of the briar hedge with a bundle of dry sticks in her hand. Adding a handful of them to the fire, she walked off in the direction of the packs and began dragging out an assortment of cooking implements. “I’d also say these hills are fairly crawling with Rangers. Did you know I ran into another one of your ilk? He rode up as I was collecting wood.”

“He’s the one Kaldir had words with in Chetwood a few days back,” she added to Benia.

“An older fellow? With a wounded face?” asked Dulrain. When Gilly nodded, he smiled. “That would be my companion, Rauthain. We were traveling together. Did you happen to see where he was off to?”

“Oh, he went to find Mr. Kaldir,” answered Gilly. “I reckon they’re having words again by now.”

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

Kaldir

Kaldir had been working for some time stacking the dead bodies of the orcs at a safe distance downwind from the camp, then building a cairn of stones over the top of them. He was surprised to be joined by Rauthain, who appeared out of the darkness to lend a hand. Tired and irritable to begin with, the sight of his old betrayer made Kaldir snappish as well. He let a few harsh comments fly without even looking up from his work. The old Ranger, on the other hand, seemed to be in a more magnanimous frame of mind and let the barbs pass without response, merely asking after the well-being of Dulrain. Before long, the subject turned to the direction they should take from where they currently camped.

Kaldir was not surprised when Rauthain suggested that they make straight for Rivendell in order to put Dulrain as quickly as possible into the hands of the Elven healers who still resided there. In fact, Kaldir had already come to the decision that they would do just that before Rauthain ever entered the picture. What did surprise him was Rauthain’s suggestion that he, Rauthain, take not only Dulrain, but the two women as well, and make for Rivendell by road, leaving Kaldir to continue along Naiore’s trail through the Lonelands alone.

Kaldir grew silent for a time. "No, Rauthain, you keep to the trail and I will see Dúlrain and the others safely there," he answered slowly, placing the last stone on top of the cairn covering the dead orcs. While he felt strongly that he should bear the responsibility of getting Dulrain into the Elven Houses of Healing himself, he was also quite loathe to hand over the women into Rauthain’s hands and watch as they all rode happily away into the sunset. In short, it simply wasn’t going to happen. He had carried them with him too far simply to hand them over and wave them good-bye. Even as much as he disliked the idea of abandoning Naiore’s trail across the Lonelands, Kaldir disliked the idea of losing Benia so quickly even more. Naiore represented Death, but Benia, to him, meant life, possibly even a future. If he let her go now, that future would never materialize. Scowling darkly, he shook his head.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, pushing past Rauthain in the direction of the campsite. “You can’t have her.”

Rauthain’s hand caught his arm. “Who, Kaldir?”

Kaldir looked down at the gloved hand on his arm, then smiled slowly with the unmarred side of his face, his pale eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Do you think I speak of Naiore?” he asked quietly. “Do you think I serve a new mistress?”

“Do you?” asked Rauthain.

Kaldir laughed and twitched his sleeve out of Rauthain’s grip. “Who did you serve when you left me to die? Ask yourself that. When you have an acceptable answer, then you may question me.”

“I served my king and my captain. I made a mistake that I have regretted sorely for many dark days since,” answered Rauthain calmly. “That is the only answer I have for you or will ever have for you. But now, before I release my friend and compatriot, wounded and vulnerable as he is, into your hands, I must know. Do you serve Naiore?”

Kaldir’s eyes narrowed. “If I did, do you think Dulrain would still breathe?” He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Do you think I would let you walk away from this meeting alive?” He drew his sword six inches above the top of the scabbard. “Do you think I would not be working her will even as we speak?”

Rauthain stepped back and placed his own hand on the hilt of his sword.

The two of them remained in a standoff for a long moment before Kaldir shook his head and slid his sword the rest of the way back into the scabbard. “I would sooner cast myself into the fires of Orodruin than serve that Elven witch,” he snarled at last. “May she be flayed alive sooner than she see another dawn.” With that, he turned and walked back to the camp, leaving Rauthain alone in the darkness behind him.

When he arrived back into the warmth of the campfire, Kaldir found Gilly and Benia seated on either side of Dulrain, all of them sharing in a pot of stew. Gilly was talking - as usual - telling some long, involved tale of old happenings in the Shire. When she saw Kaldir, she broke off abruptly. He bid her to continue with a gesture and retreated to a quiet spot a short distance away, where he could keep watch, not only for intruders but on what was happening within the camp as well. He was pleased to see that Dulrain was eating well. It was a good sign for his quickly regaining his strength. Rauthain entered the camp and joined the group by the fire a short while later. Kaldir listened as Rauthain told the others of the plans for the morrow, of how Kaldir would escort the group back to the road and speed them on toward Rivendell, while Rauthain would remain behind to continue in Naiore’s tracks. Kaldir was pleased to notice Benia’s smile in his direction.

The next morning, they broke camp early and, as planned, Kaldir led all but Rauthain back to the road. The old Ranger was last seen riding slowly into the east, his hooded head bent, his eyes focused on the ground and the fading tracks before him.

Although they had to stop fairly frequently to allow Dulrain to rest, Kaldir and his company made good time once they reached the road. Dulrain was stronger than Kaldir had initially hoped. They reached Rivendell by the end of the fifth day’s ride. Arriving late in the evening, they made their camp just outside the boundaries of the fair realm. They would approach the elven refuge in the morning.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill did not want to wonder where Naiore had been exactly. But he did sense something which he knew he did not like. He did not like the way in which Vanwe left the camp, so secret, in such a way which made Avanill nervous. Was some unknown evil waiting for her in the dark? He suspected not, though he did wander whether Naiore would risk the safety of her own daughter. After all, he had seen the wrath of Naiore himself as she used it on her daughter.

Barrold then said what Avanill had not the courage to do. And Naiore now held a blade to his throat. So now is the beginning? he wandered as he reached for his dagger, he may have to defend himself. He thought it would be easy enough, against a woman, but he doubted whether he could withstand her elf powers. Evidently it was not fast enough.


"Leave that be, Master Avanill, if you wish to be." he stayed still and breathed deep. It was then that Naiore informed then of a task. Attack the rangers. The young man was unsettled by this, but he knew he was as good a fighter as any, after all thats how he gained his success.


Then as if a light had gone on in the dark a thought came to him, perhaps, if Ferney is willing, the chance may come to turn on her. No that would be too dangerous. but for him time would only tell.

He spent the whole day in a uneasy limbo though he did not display it on the outside, though he sat silent by the fire forming some unknown liquid and he tended it for hours. Until he put it into a bottle and back into his bag. Then he sharpened his sword and adgger and readied himself for the coming encounter.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly was more cheerful than she had been in quite a long time, with the threat of Naiore overshadowed by the prospect of spending a few days in Imladris, of which she had heard a good many fine things. It was tempting to feel as though this bizarre adventure was shortly coming to an end. Surely Mr. Kaldir wouldn’t insist on Miss Benia’s accompanying him any longer only to hand her over to some wretched stranger who meant her harm. She could no longer believe it of him. Though in truth, he seemed quite loath to leave her at all. And since Mr. Dúlrain had joined their little group, Gilly had noticed a certain introspective quality overtake him as he watched her friend tend to the injured ranger. He was looking less like a wolf, than one of the more alert patrons of the Green Dragon who sitting alone by the hearth, enjoying a bit of Old Toby was taking in the unfolding events around him. Though he was by no means off his guard, and the hobbit would swear he still slept with one eye open, and both ears for that matter. It sent a chill though her as she recalled the nature of their initial acquaintance.

Mr. Dúlrain too seemed as contented as could be expected, and had taken the last five long days quite stoically, giving no complaints, though at rare times he hesitated, as though his pain had found him again. But at least he had the distraction of three others to pass the time until he could take a proper rest. And at least she liked to think that she might be of service in that regard as she had racked her brains for the more obscure and interesting tales she thought suitable for a ranger. Oh how she wished she had paid more attention to the ramblings of her oldest relations in those hot summer evenings when she found frogs and fireflies by far more interesting than their frightening tales of wolves! It would have stood her well now.

Finally setting herself down after the camp had been established and all was in order, she timidly ventured to ask the question that had been on her mind since she first found that they were heading for the Last Homely House. “Do you suppose,” she began in a meek voice addressing no one in particular, “that one might be able to send a message from Imladris to say Archet or Bywater?”

“I should think so,” Dúlrain said gently, astutely guessing where the hobbit’s thoughts led. “Certainly to Archet if not as far as Bywater, though from what I hear they have a high regard for hobbits in Rivendell and may find away to pass a message on as far as the Shire.”

“Oh that would be good then,” Gilly said smiling. “Poor Carl must be beside himself, and the children….” She trailed off looking down at the ground.

“Now Gilly, Carl knows you well enough after this many years to know that you would not abandon your family on your own account,” Miss Nightshade offered.

“I know, I know,” the hobbit said quickly. “But they no doubt think me dead or worse. And if I don’t at least get word to them I shall wish I were, once Mother Banks gets hold of me! And to be truthful, I don’t wish that they should grieve me as gone when I’m living yet. There’s something spooky in it, and it is too cruel to let them think it. So I should like to send word to them…if I may, that is,” she added looking toward Kaldir who nodded in her direction saying, “Yes, it would be good to send word for your own sake and theirs. Surely it would reach Bywater, though I do not know what lay in store for us in Imladris or how soon such a message could be sent, for I believe a storm might be brewing”

Gilly looked up at the clear, but darkening sky saying quite happily, “Then I shall send it as soon as we reach there and before the foul weather sets in, for I am composing it even now and shall have it finished before we arrive.”

Benia looked at Kaldir concerned, with her deep amber eyes catching the somber expression he wore as he looked away, once again silent behind the wall of his own thought.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur lead Léspheria and Maethor cautiously through the forest, it had been agreed that they would continue on the straightest route leading them to the ford, once across they would take the stairs and alert the elven guards that secured them and the wooded slopes before continuing on to the last homely house. Amandur's thoughts were ever on Toby and every now and then he broke away to see if he could catch Naiore's spy, but since entering the trollshaws there had been no further sign of their small shadow, this concerned him. What plan is she concocting! He wondered silently as he looked out into the uneasy stillness of the forest.

Glancing back, he saw Maethor shift uneasily in his saddle, the usually cheerful ranger also seemed unsettled by the haunting silence, his merry tune an attempt to hide his discomfort, but the younger ranger remained alert keeping a close eye on his surroundings. Confident that Maethor would be ready for what ever Naiore threw their way he shifted his gaze towards Léspheria. Her eyes remained on the road ahead, her serenity adding to the haunted ness of the woods, but a stray ray of sunlight pierced the thick canopy lighting her graceful beauty.

Since breaking from the other rangers, Léspheria had distanced herself from him and Maethor, focusing on controlling the pain of her young friend and her own emotions. However, as much as he tried he could not do like wise, instead when he looked on the elven woman a sadness gripped at his heart. He feared that once all was done she would be but a shell of the woman he loved. But as he looked at her fair face, he now wondered if it came to it would she strike down one of her own kin, even to save her own life. Turning away he realised he already knew the answer and he also knew that he would not let any harm come to her even if it meant forfeiting his own life.


They rode through the night and into the morning, stopping only briefly to rest the horses and take some lunch, by mid afternoon they were back on their way and by early evening they could hear the crisp clear sound of the river Bruinen as it ran its course to join the Mithiethel.

"The Ford!" Maethor exclaimed looking to Léspheria hopefully, but she shook her head, guessing his thought. "That protection faded after the one ring was destroyed and..." but she broke off abruptly her hand reaching for her sword.

"Orc's" she whispered But seeing her actions Amandur and Maethor had instinctively drawn their weapons and where searching the darkening tree line, listening for the slightest sound of their enemies.

"Quick, to the ford!" Amandur ordered, slapping Lespheria's mare with the flat of his blade, before she had the chance to object, "Keep tight!" he cried back over the thunder of hooves to Maethor as they galloped towards the Ford.

Behind him, he could hear the orc's crashing through the trees. "We can't let them cross the ford!" Maethor cried, a stern determination set on his usually gentle features, Nodding Amandur reined his horse and turned to face the oncoming enemy. Léspheria too started to turn.

"No, go on" he cried back to her

"You are out numbered!" she retorted and for an instant, he saw a flicker of fear and genuine concern in her gentle grey eyes.

He smiled, "All the more reason for you to go and get help, the arrows of the Elves would even the odds!"

"Go!" he said more urgently, seeing her hesitation and hearing the orcs closing the distance they had gained. Reluctantly she conceded and took flight over the ford. Amandur pulled up beside Maethor and the pair dismounted, sending the horses to wait on the other side of the ford.

"No heroics we hold the ford for as long as possible, crossing if they get too many." Maethor nodded his understanding.

Standing on the bank of the river Bruinen, he sheathed his sword and raised his bow and knocking a green fletched arrow he whispered, "Are you ready, my friend?"

"Death to the foes of Imladris!" he cried loosing his arrow as the first of the orcs came within bowshot.

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

Toby had looked up as Naiore returned and strode across the camp to her daughter; he held a gasp as he saw Vanwe quickly hide his water bottle in the fold of her skirts. He listened uncomfortably to the exchange between the two women, lowering his head before Vanwes grave gaze could reach his. He was suddenly ashamed of his cowardliness and all that he had become.

A soft thud next to him made him look. A little to his left in a soft bed of pine needles sat his water bottle, but as he began to turn to look at Vanwe, Naiore's chilling voice hailing the young elf made him stop. His heart pounded, fearing that Naiore had seen the bottle drop, but as Naiore went on, he relaxed slightly, looking up as Vanwe turned once more to meet his gaze, her large blue-eyed pleading with him to get free. He watched as she turned and disappeared into the tree line,[/i] again he lowered his head in shame.

"I think it is we 'ad a deal!"

Toby looked up fearfully at Barrold's sharp words; Naiore crossed the distance between her and the villain with frightening speed but with no lack of grace. Toby found himself scrambling backwards as the elf pressed her dagger to Barrold's throat, he edged even further as without even so much as a glance she ordered Avanill to stay his hand. Toby's hand subconsciously went to his own throat and as he glanced Avanill's way, he swallowed hard seeing the usually cool young man looking so unsettled.

As Naiore dealt with Barrold he realised that he once again was going unnoticed, slowly he edged backwards, silently lifting his water bottle and tying it to his belt when his hand found it among the pine needles, but never taking his eyes off the encounter unfolding before him.

"You would do well to prepare yourselves to break camp by nightfall. my allies will have arrived and there is work to do this night." at Naiore's words Toby had silently pulled on his pack his mounting fear of what was being said the only thing stopping him from thinking about what he was actually doing.

"What work," Avanill asked airing one of the questions whirling in his terrified mind.

"Knife work! We strike at the Rangers that have been following us, as reported by good Master Toby here." Toby froze as she pointed in his direction, he closed his eyes waiting for the elf's wrath to consume him, when it did not come he slowly opened his eyes. Distrust had caused the others not to take their gaze from Naiore and as the revennor turned from the two men Toby took advantage and stole silently out of the camp.

As he backtracked to where he had last seen the Ranger Dúlrain and the bounty hunters company, Naiore's words echoed in his mind, We strike at the Rangers that have been following us, as reported by good Master Toby here! She had spelled his crime out to him, he may not have dealt the finally blow but their death's would haunt him as did the memories of those hobbits that had been lost during Sharky's occupation of the Shire. He gripped his dagger tight and close to, his chest as he hurried on, it would not be long before Naiore noticed him gone and he wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Dulrain

The first few days journey from the lone lands had been more painful than he was willing to let on, but the company stopped fairly frequently to allow him to rest. He was glad of the pleasant distraction of the two women. He was almost certain that there was no goings on in the shire that Mrs Banks was not aware of and on the occasions that he had to fall back to hide his discomfort from Kaldir and the tender concerns of Benia, he quizzed the hobbit woman for as much information she was willing to share about her friend.

By the fifth day, he was feeling stronger and the pain was decidedly less. Although the company was pleasant, he remained alert. He could not shake the feeling that they were being watched, but he was disinclined to worry the women without cause. Therefore, he kept his guard until the opportunity arose for him to inform Kaldir of his concerns. That night as they made camp he quietly shared his concerns with his friend. Kaldir nodded concurrently silently relaying that he too had had the same feeling of being watched, "The hobbit, Toby?" he mused aloud.

"Perhaps" His friend answered causing him to regard his friend with concern, Kaldir's eyes were skyward and drifted to the darkening of the trees ahead, and Dúlrain saw a look that he remembered a look that told him without words that he should remain vigilant. He silently went about setting up camp with the others smiling warmly as Benia came to check how he was doing. But as she tenderly checked his bandage, his heart ached, over the passed five days he had noticed a great many things the least being a growing bond between his newly found brother and this wonderfully kind and beautiful woman. If he was truthful to himself, he had noticed something back when they had first met back in the alley in Bree. However, until now he was never sure if what he had witnessed was part of the deception Kaldir had conceived to avoid suspicion. but as they journeyed together he could not help but see the effect the woman had on his friend and he often caught Kaldir looking at the woman through the flames of their camp fires as he, Benia and Gilly exchanged stories from their past. Benia had even convinced Kaldir to join them, though reluctant to share anything he had been content to listen.

His thoughts were broken as Benia's soft words reached his ears, "is something wrong?" she asked her soft features broken by a crease of worry, it was then that he realised that he had been staring at her, "No, nothing that should worry you, my lady" he smiled. "I apologise for causing you concern, just a young ranger and his foolish musings.” he looked deep into her eyes a last longing look. However, as she smiled, he took her hands in his, he felt her tense and saw her eyes fall to her hands, he longed to ask her if she loved or could love him, but he loved his brother too much to take his lifeline away, so in stead he gently kissed her hands. "Thank you" he whispered, and he meant it he had so much to thank her for, giving Kaldir something to live for, blowing the whistle that he could prove his loyalty, her kindness and so much more that she would never know.

He gently released her hands as Kaldir and Gilly rejoined them, they sat in silence for some time. It was Gilly who finally broke the silence. She timidly inquired about being able to send a message from Imladris to her family, who would undoubtedly be worried about her. Her simple question had been a good and timely distraction. He gently assured the hobbit woman that she would be able to get a message to the Shire once they reached Rivendell.

"Yes, it would be good to send word for your own sake and theirs. Surely it would reach Bywater, though I do not know what lays in store for us in Imladris or how soon such a message could be sent, for I believe a storm might be brewing."

Although Gilly mistook Kaldir's words he had not and as he glanced Benia's way he saw too that she had understood, her concerned gaze falling on the sombre ranger. He turned away and a pang of pain tugging at his heart, he rose suddenly restless and walked to the edge of the camp. "Were you going?" Dúlrain stopped and turned to see Kaldir looking at him questioningly, "I grow restless and thought to see if I can find our shadow" he laughed grimly, trying to hide the pain that caused him to look for some solitude.

"It would be foolish to venture out alone; if we are this close to Imladris then she too is near!"

Seeing concern in Kaldir's warning he relented and sighing heavily he nodded and made to return to the camp, but Kaldir's hand on his shoulder stopped him, "What troubles you my friend?" Kaldir asked sensing his young friend’s unrest.

"Do you love her?" he asked before he could stop himself , his gaze again on the woman and her hobbit friend, but he quickly recovered by throwing his friend a knowing grin hoping his friend merely believed he was trying to change the subject. He regarded Kaldir as he looked at Benia as if considering his answer, but it never came, a snap of dry twigs somewhere behind them drew there full attention.

[Imladris]

Maethor

His jaw set, Maethor drew the bow to his ear and aimed carefully at the bushes. Long had it been since he had crossed blades with an orc, but he had not forgotten their cruel leers, the beastial eyes, the snarling mouths, the bubbling drool dropping from their fangs. He closed his eyes, offering himself up to the Valar as he drew his bow.

Amandur was speaking with Lespheria, but he heard them only distantly -- as if he was in a dream. A robin launched himself from a tree as he heard the lumbering orcs; a butterfly fluttered her violet wings upon a blade of grass; a lone bee rummaged within a flower seeking for pollen; the ford’s waters rippled over the pebbles. It was as if it sang of all the things that had passed before it, of the wonders it had seen.

The first orc crashed through the underbrush flourishing his crude iron sword. “Death to the foes of Imladris!” Maethor cried as he loosed his arrow. The orc fell dead, pierced at the neck. But they kept coming as a grotesque flood, their snarling mouths contorted in grim glee. When a bow was of no more use, Maethor, with a savage cry, withdrew the hidden daggers in his boots and lunged at the nearest orc, slashing his throat. With the backstroke, he plunged the blade into the gut of another.

Whirling around, he clashed blades with an orc with bulging muscles and an ugly scimitar bathed in blood of bygone victims. Sparks flew as the blades screeched. With a twist of the wrist, the orc wrenched his weapon from the parry lock and lunged towards Maethor. The young man blocked the blow with his other dagger, but the orc flicked it out of the way sending it skipping through the grass. With a grunt Maethor drove his blade forward, but with a curse the orc pushed the blow wide. Their blades glinting in the sun, they parried for a while. The chant of battle rang through the trees. Sweat streamed from Maethor’s brow. The scimitar slashed his eye. Blood poured from the wound, impeding the ranger’s vision. A fist rammed into his stomach, and Maethor fell to his knees. The orc knocked his last dagger from his hand, and kicked him violently in the stomach. Maethor flipped around and clenched the orc’s legs in his arms, jerking him off his feet. As the orc tumbled to the ground with a snarled course, Maethor flung himself upon him and began to punch the brute’s face.

The orc put his grimed hand upon Maethor’s throat and squeezed, his claw-like nails burying themselves into Maethor’s flesh as he tightened his hold. Low laughter, cold as darkness’ shadows, rang in Maethor’s ears as he struggled for breath. His eyes became shot with blood and they rolled violently as he struggled to pry the finger‘s from his throat. Dimly he saw the orc’s other hand groping for a sword that lay near by in the bloodstained grass.

The elves would come. With a struggling gasp, Maethor glanced towards the ford. A rainbow shimmered in its waters.

The orc’s fingers enclosed upon the blade. With a savage growl, he swung it upon the ranger’s neck. Maethor’s head rolled upon the ground and the orc, pushing the corpse aside, rose to his feet, a twisted smile of glee upon his face.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Traveling swiftly through the lone lands, Rauthain was immersed in the hunt, solely intent on the trail and the unraveling of it. This was his longing, his chosen work, and he was much relieved that Kaldir had opted to see the others to Imladris, though he would not be completely at ease until he saw Dúlrain well again. Strangely enough, he found he trusted Kaldir had been speaking the truth and would deliver the ranger to Imladris in safety, holding no known bond of fealty to the Ravennor. Though he still did not trust how Kaldir might react once she was before him, flesh and bone, no longer a specter of dark memories, but a more immediate, tangible presence.

But Kaldir had been acting strangely in the eyes of the old ranger. He did not bear the stamp of a bounty hunter so easily now, his disposition noticeably more agreeable since he had last seen him, and the willingness to leave the trail for Imladris was unexpected. Perhaps he recalled his former self when seeing Dúlrain in need, his affection for his “brother” pulling him up from the isolation he had chosen for himself. For while the bounty hunter in truth waned, the ranger of the past could occasionally be seen flickering disjointedly behind his stare. The pale and steady stare that had not changed, though in the intervening years many detestable things it had beheld.

Surely it was not the woman, Miss Nightshade, engaging though she was, who incited this departure. Rauthain had but lately observed his friend’s attention to her soft form as it moved, reflecting the fire’s light. Had he now allowed himself to consider such a bittersweet pleasure when he had been adamantly opposed to such indulgence in his youth? Then he had allowed the matter to bring a lamentable parting between father and son. And now that his father was no longer alive to witness this change of heart and Kaldir himself had little to offer but a life of pain, mourning what might have been, now would he choose to pursue his affections? For though his aspect grew lighter, the grave nature of his experience no doubt left their imprint deeply upon him.

The old ranger smiled, shaking his head. Truly, Kaldir more than any, would benefit from such a tender alliance. And it was sore overdue him, though he would do well to hurry, for it appeared that the desert woman’s charms were not wholly lost on Dúlrain either.

But even given this turn of events, it remained a puzzle that Kaldir had entrusted him with this task he now was set upon, for it needs must be of great significance to him, finding Naiore. And Rauthain was now singlely upon her path, mindful that he should not stumble upon her company while lacking more strength than his own arms could provide.

These thoughts were the only distraction he allowed himself, for he went quickly while he might, and did not rest while the sun watched his course. The trail was old. It had been long since these regions had seen rain, and the dry grass held a confusion of paths from many weeks. But still traces could be seen to distinguish among those animal inhabitants of the wilderness that crisscrossed his path, and that of those he was seeking.

At long last he reached the Hoarwell and trudged heavily through the cold water, leading Juta across its shallows, to enter the Trollshaws from the south. Once again coming to the East Road he crossed over, following the trail as it disappeared into the maze of ravines leading north.

Rough and tangled as the sloping landscape became, his progress slowed so that he began to regret good Juta's company, for the horse frequently faltered, and had to search for good footing, lest he become injured. And just as Rauthain began to wonder if Naiore had indeed not been headed for Imladris, but rather for some other place and he would be left alone to note her bearings while his fellow rangers waited in vain for a sign of her arrival, the trail turned east once more. Upon which time he also noted to his dismay, indications that a sizable band of orcs had of late filed though the ravines, no doubt to escape the eyes of those who watch the mountains, and they too where headed east. It did not bode well, and Rauthain was perplexed fearing now for the safety of the fair mountain outpost and that of his friends.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia had spent her entire life in hiding in some form or another and, part and parcel of this, involved keeping her emotions hidden from the world as well. Her mother had taught her ever since she could remember that in order to survive in the world, she would have to learn the secret of the veils. There were real veils, Benia's mother had explained, the ones that hid the Painted Sand women's faces from the world, but there were also the invisible veils, the ones that concealed their hearts. She had listened to her mother's words and, over the years, learned to hide her feelings behind layers of fine but invisible fabrics. Looking at Dulrain as he moved about setting up camp, Benia longed to rip the veils away from her heart and throw herself at his feet, to keep or discard her as he wished.

When she had first laid eyes on him in Bree, she had been struck by the kindness and the underlying courage in his grey eyes. She had felt a shock of recognition then, too, as though she had known him in another time, some other life, and was for the first time reunited with him in this one. Now she owed him her life. And, over the past five days that he had ridden in their company, she had come to another realization, as well. She had fallen in love with him.

Knowing that he was far too high above her socially even to hope for his returning her feelings, Benia had hidden away her love as best she could under the tenfold layers of veils and contented herself with befriending him and tending to his wound. She knew the cut to his side pained him greatly, and she admired the stoicism with which he handled the pain. She only wished she could do something to take away that pain, to heal him and bring him back to his full strength. But they would be in Rivendell soon. The elves would take care of him.

"If only there were something..." she murmured to herself. Then, noticing that he had grown pensive, stopping in his work, she moved in his direction.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, her brow creased with worry. The last time she had changed the dressing on his wound, all had seemed well. Surely, it wasn't growing septic now.

Dulrain smiled at her. "No, nothing that should worry you, my lady. I apologize for causing you concern. Just a young ranger and his foolish musings." He looked deeply into her eyes and, for a fleeting instant, Benia nearly did throw all caution and decorum to the wind. She nearly did take his hands and place them against her heart, letting all the secrets that she concealed there pour forth, but at the last second she dropped her eyes. When her gaze fell on the tribal tattoos that marked her hands, she tensed and pulled the unseen veils closer around her. He could never love a foreigner like herself. Even if he could, she could only bring him grief... the way her mother, through no fault of her own, had ultimately brought her father to grief and an early grave.

Hiding her heart, Benia smiled gently as Dulrain raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. "Thank you," he whispered, releasing her hands as Gilly and Kaldir rejoined them.

Her emotions in a whirl, Benia barely heard it as Gilly broached the subject of sending a message to her husband back home in the Shire. Gilly was worried that Carl might think she had come to harm. Hardly knowing what she was saying, Benia offered a few words of comfort, that surely Carl would understand that Gilly would never have left her family on her own account. Thank you? The conversation continued on, and eventually both Kaldir and Dulrain rose and left the warmth of the fireside. Benia watched them go, still feeling the press of Dulrain's lips against her hands. The look in his eyes when he kissed her haunted her. Could it be possible?

She startled as Gilly touched her tightly clasped hands. "Is everything all right?" asked Gilly quietly. "Your hands are shaking. You haven't taken ill, have you?"

Benia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then, she smiled at her friend. "I'm afraid I have just a little bit. It's probably just a touch of fatigue."

Gilly gave her a long, contemplative look, then nodded slowly. Gilly's expression told Benia that she had witnessed the exchange between her and Dulrain, and, if she did not know the full truth, she suspected it. Gilly patted Benia's hands. "Don't worry," she reassured her softly. "He will be fine. It will all work out in the end."

“Will it?” asked Benia sadly. She gestured in the direction of the two men. “Look at them. They know there are wolves about.”

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

Kaldir

"Do you love her?" asked Dulrain, his gaze lingering in the direction of Benia Nightshade and Mrs. Banks. A split second after the fact, he threw Kaldir a light-hearted, rather knowing grin, but the effort came too late. Kaldir had already seen the look in Dulrain's eyes. He frowned slightly and turned a thoughtful stare of his own in the direction of the two women.

Did he love her? It was a fair enough question, but Kaldir hesitated over whether to lie or to tell Dulrain the truth. The days when truth was instinctive lay long in the past. Over the last fifteen years he had gotten into such a habit of useful prevarication that the truth came out only with an effort. There was a saying they had in the deserts of Harad - he wondered if Benia knew it as well - that the truth is dangerous thing. One should be careful in doling it out, especially when it could expose a weakness. And now, with Naiore so near, was not the time to be exposing weaknesses. Even to Dulrain.

Kaldir did love Benia, at least so far as he was capable of it, but that knowledge would remain with him for the moment. It was not the time to speak of such things. He could sense that Naiore was very near. His sleep, when he got any, was tortured with dreams, and his waking mind had begun to fracture again. Naiore's voice threaded through his thoughts like a poison, keeping him ever on edge, his hatred of her at times being the only thing armoring him against her and the ever present past. Only the presence of his companions kept him from turning aside from the road and following her deadly voice to her lair. Whether he managed to kill her or she finally destroyed him no longer mattered to him. One must happen or the other. It was the only way in which his soul could find peace. If he managed to live, only then could he allow himself the luxury of pursuing Benia Nightshade. Only then would he have a chance at becoming whole.

He started to give Dulrain an evasive response, but the words died on his lips as the dry snap of a twig just beyond the bounds of their camp pierced the silence. Kaldir's body tensed, but he made no obvious movement in the direction of the sound. By the sharp expression that had come into Dulrain's eyes, Kaldir could tell that his brother had heard it, too.

"Our spy?" whispered Dulrain, scarcely moving his lips.

Kaldir nodded, his pale eyes narrowing. "Distract him," he whispered. "I'll catch him from behind." Then, he added in conversational tones for the benefit of the spy. "Have you got any more of that Longleaf left? I smoked the last of mine yesterday."

Picking up on the scam, Dulrain nodded. "In my pack. You'll find it back by the horses."

Kaldir thanked him and walked casually back in the direction of the horses. Dulrain watched him go, then, very deliberately began to pick up firewood, working slowly in the direction from which they had heard the snapping twig. At first there was silence, then a second, softer crunch of dead leaves. Dulrain continued in that direction, moving just quickly enough to keep the intruder preoccupied with him so that Kaldir would have time to move in from behind.

Kaldir passed the horses and entered the woods without a sound, his boots finding purchase only in the soft earth. Leaving the camp, he made a wide circle that arced back abruptly in the direction from which he and Dulrain had first heard the twig snap. Through the trees, he could see Dulrain casually picking up firewood as if he hadn't a care in the world. Motionlessly, Kaldir waited as his pale eyes scanned the woods between him and Dulrain for any sign of the intruder. It was a few moments before he saw him. The little rat had concealed himself well. He was nearly under Dulrain's very nose. Kaldir drew his dagger and, choosing each step carefully, closed the distance between them. He was very nearly upon him, when the intruder suddenly turned with a start and tried to scramble away. Kaldir shot out a hand and caught the hobbit tightly around the back of the neck. He placed the point of his dagger against the struggling hobbit's ribcage as Dulrain dropped the armload of sticks he had gathered and leaped forward, his own dagger in hand.

"A single sound and you will be a very dead hobbit," growled Kaldir, tightening his grip on the hobbit's neck.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:45 AM January 13, 2004: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Elora]

Vanwe

A robin startled up from the canopy of trees, in turn starting Vanwe as she walked on the soft carpet of pine needles. The hem of her dress was wet still from the Ford. She paused, gazing skyward and struggling within herself. It was hard to slip past this net that seemed to roll over her mind, like a fog so dense she could barely breathe through it. Her mother's hand was in it. She knew that but so thick was the mist that she could barely stir herself about it.

The sound of a man's voice shouting behind her and the scream of something fouler still dragged Vanwe about to stare back down the way she had come, towards the Ford. The call of the alarmed robin fell back to her, a distant echo. She frowned and started back down her path. To her credit, she got one whole step back the way she came before her mother's evil muzzed her once again.

Out of the dim shadows nearby loped a twisted shape. She could smell it's rank scent. It stopped, this nightmare creature that she had never seen, and bared rotting fangs. In a hoarse, rough voice that was more growl than words, it said "Elf flesh," and grinned at her.

Vanwe was rooted to the spot. Death was before her, holding a notched scythe of dark iron. It yawned at her feet. Another nightmare joined it. It flicked her a hot gaze of blood lust and cuffed the first roughly about it's mangled ear.

"Not for us that one. Later, maybe, if we are good..." With a corrupted laugh, the two lumbered off towards the Ford and Vanwe was alone again amidst the pines. Her mother's hand was in this, she stirred again through the nausea that roiled in her stomach. Vanwe fell to her knees, gasping after her first encounter with orcs. Waves of disgust broke over her and she screwed her eyes shut.

The compulsion to go on fell heavy on her, beating at her, forcing her head to sag with the weight of its blows. Vanwe endured, on her knees, but her strength was not up to this after all that had passed in the two weeks before and well had her mother known it. It was scattered to the four winds.

There was evil in this forest, and she was enmeshed in it. With a soft groan born of exhaustion, Vanwe got to her feet and there waved uncertainly. With effort, she turned back and stared at the unknown path before her. To her father it did lead. That was true, was it not? She could not rely on her mother to tell her so. There was only one way to determine if he was there. It was to go see for herself, and if so set him free.

Vanwe took a hesitant step forward and the compulsion throbbing in her skull eased a bare fraction. There was evil in this forest and perhaps her father could help. Yes, she thought as she took another step. Then another thought came to her. Her mother may even now watch, may even have seen her falter and turn back. The idea sent shivers down her back as her mother's words sounded in her memory through the fog.

"Tarry not, stray not, or woe will come of it daughter. Keep to your road and your family and you shall not regret it."

Vanwe took up another step and another, glancing fearfully at the trees on either side of her path and continued away from the Ford and towards her father's prision, a place called Imladris. Filled with foes, it must be a fearsome place indeed, but she would find him. She had to. That was a compulsion of her own making and it beat with her heart as she walked through the day.

Naiore

The forest quivered with the shock of blood spilt and Naiore straightened. A fearsome expression of wrath was carven on her features and her gaze was silver fire as she looked in the direction of the Ford.

"We move now," she commanded in a voice that was a lash of cruel whip. She gathered her pack onto her back and unhindered two curved swords from her back. Then, she glanced back to the others in the camp to ensure they heeded. Barrold looked rebellious but shouldered his pack nonetheless. Avanill avoided her gaze. Toby.... Toby was nowhere to be seen!

A curse as ancient as it was dire slipped from her lips in High Elven. Not even the beauty of that language could conceal its intent. Barrold shivered involuntarily. Naiore pinned Avanill with her anger.

"The hobbit, where is it," she demanded hard.

Avanill shook his head slightly, as if he found it difficult to move beneath the weight of her sudden rage. "I....do not.... know," he gasped hoarsely.

"Probably ran off," Barrold said morosely, a tinge of jealousy spreading through him. Naiore struggled with the competing force of her emotions and the absolute need for logic. The conflict danced across her face for a terrifying instant as all her future closed in around her with cloying defeat. Then, even more alarming, came the serenity that Barrold and Avanill had seen all too often. Her path was clear.

"You will find the treacherous stoat," she informed Ferney, "and Avanill shall aid you. You will find him before sundown, and you will bring him to me.

"You will not disappoint me." Naiore wore a mysterious half smile as she calmly and firmly set out her instructions. Barrold blinked at her in confusion and then at Avanill. Naiore's smile remained as the two men studied her in return.

"Wot, now," Barrold asked.
"Bring him to me by sunset," Naiore repeated softly.
"How will we know where you are," Avanill asked warily.
Naiore smiled lushly at him and raised a brow in amusement.

"Oh, you will find me, be sure of that. Do not have me look for you."

With that, Naiore turned her back on the two men and moved off. Her pace was rapid, fluid and flowing and soon the trees had her as they had swallowed her daughter earlier.

Barrold scratched at his tangled, greasy hair, partly to relieve the itch and partly to aid his labourious thoughts. A greedy, speculative glint light his expression.

"Come on then, lad, let's find the rat." With that, Barrold crossed to study Toby's light tracks. "I think he went this way," he said after a moment of consideration. That way lies our saftey, and a tidy reward too, he thought to himself. With a backwards glance at Avanill, Barrold started off. This could work out better than I thought, if the boy stays behind or follows the Ravennor. Barrold frowned at the ground as he struggled to read Toby's tracks. Tracking had never been a strong suit for the man.

Naiore moved unrelentingly towards the Ford and the battle which had begun overly soon. With the two men no longer encumbering her, she could be rid of more hindrances this way than by her earlier arrangements. What matter if Barrold and Avanill got caught in the blood spilling, Toby too of course. Once she had Imladris she needed none of them, and Imladris was falling faster than she had anticipated with the orc's early strike. Even now, Vanwe moved towards Imladris and carried doom within her. Naiore smiled as she loped towards the Ford.

The Ravennor had adapted to circumstance and re-asserted her control once again. Her future could not be denied her. Now, it was the matter of the Rangers and Lespheria. The sooner that was dealt with the sooner she would have Menecin.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

Léspheria leaned low over Losserme's neck as they flew over the ford, "the stairs" she whispered pulling the reigns in their direction. Over the splash of the mare’s hooves in the shallow water, she could hear the crash of the orcs as they without regard broke through the trees trampling all under their dark feet, their guttural cries making her haste all the greater. Reaching the stair she quickly dismounted, without watching the mare head off to take another path to the last house, she ascended the stairs, her light steps noiseless on the stone steps.

A sudden cry from below made her look back, Her chest heaved heavily as she saw some of the orcs raising their weapons and cheering, one of the larger orcs held something aloft in his hands. She squinted to see what prize he held only to wish that she had not. She felt herself go numb as she realise that the orc held aloft a human head, But who's? She thought sadly. Shaking off the numb feeling, she looked about for any sign that Amandur or Maethor was still alive. She faltered slightly as she saw Amandur trying to fight his way to where the triumphant orc stood, both with relief then with guilt as she realised that she was glad that Amandur lived.

From her position halfway up the stairs she could see that Amandur was struggling, the orcs would soon surround him and he too would be lost, she desperately looked between the ford and the top of the stairs, she would not make it back to him in time, he had asked her to bring help. The wall of self control that she had been painstakingly perfecting over the past fortnight suddenly crumbled at the thought that she would loss Amandur in this way so close to her home, a silvery tear escaped glistening on her pale cheek. "No, it can not be!" she defiantly whispered taking a deep breath and straightening to hold herself proudly.

"Orqur! I'Orqur nantenna me!" (Orcs! The Orcs are upon us!) She cried up the stairs then drawing her sword, she flew down to the stairs, praying to Ilúvatar that the elves had heard her warning.

Amandur's situation was not improving so she acted quickly, keeping her eyes on the orcs, she began reciting the spell that once protected the river, Although she knew the protection had been broken with the unmaking of the one ring she hoped the Orcs know and fear the elven spell. As her clear voice cut above the sound of the ford, a deep gravely voice cried, "An elf witch!” It worked the orcs hesitated some even stepping back and searching the far bank for others. She cast a quick glance to Amandur; he had taken advantage of her diversion and was running for the other side of the shore.

The orcs hesitation did not last long, "She's alone" their leader laughed, "Kill the ranger and bring me the elf," he ordered. Realising that the deception was over and that she had bought Amandur the time to flee she descended the rest of the stairs to help him. Throwing out her hand she helped him ashore, he was pale and his dark hair clung to his face, he also clutched at his right arm and she could see the dark red blood staining his ripped shirt.

"Maethor" he whispered hoarsely avoiding her gaze as he stepped onto the bank.

"I know" she replied sympathetically, she knew he would blame himself for the young ranger’s demise, but there was no time to reassure him, the orcs were fast at their heels.

"Come, we must get to the stairs!" she urged, he glanced back to the pursuing orcs then defeated nodded his assent.

Black feathered arrows skipped dangerously close, taking a cursory glance backwards she saw that some of the orcs had halted their advance and had now drawn crossbows and large crude looking bows. As they reached the stairs she could see a second group of orcs before them, they had obviously broke off and crossed the river further up stream.

"I Hope their aim is as crude as their bows!" she whispered trying to emulate Amandur usual wit in such circumstances. However, the ranger said nothing, looking distant and withdrawn. However, as he too saw the second group of orc a sudden light and determination came to his eyes, he lifted his sword defiantly and Léspheria feared he would charge straight amid the close advancing orcs but instead he held his guard and slowly backed up the stairs.

"Naar!" (Fire) Lespheria looked up to see a hail of arrows descend upon the startled orcs.

"Noro lim, noro lim mellonea!" (Fly, fly friends)

"Fintár!" Léspheria laughed recognising the elf captain's voice. She pushed her sword into the chest of an orc who had tried to grab her, then pulling it out she and Amandur ascended the stairs as the orcs scrambled to defend themselves from the ensuing volley.

As she reached the top she looked down to see the chaos below. But as she looked, she was sure she saw a dark lithe figure flit between the trees on the far bank of the ford. "Naiore!" she thought aloud, a few of the archer nearby looked at her puzzled, but ignoring their confused looks she strode towards the tall fair haired elf captain.

"The lady of the swan is behind this attack!" she bluntly informed him, his pale eyes regarded her and he thought on her words, she then followed the elf's gaze as he took in his patrol.

"We are but a scouting party and not large enough to hold of against the lady's host, but the alarm has been raised and help should arrive within a few hours, but this news must be relied to our lords at once." Sadness laced his words and Léspheria knew he had resigned himself to order his men to remain until reinforcements could arrive.

"We will go quickly and ... "she began but Amandur interjected "No, I will stay and help if I can."

"But you are hurt?" Fintár frowned eyeing the rangers blood soaked sleeve, as Léspheria stared.

"It's not deep," he answered, more to assure Léspheria than the elven captain, she smiled and turned to the captain, "He has a good bow shot and I fear I would have to drag him from the battle, we lost a dear friend and comrade to these foul creatures."

Fintár's frown faded and he nodded his assent and understanding, "I am sorry for your loss, may I ask the name of your friend."

"It was Maethor" she sighed, and Amandur turned away.

"Then I am truly sorry, for Maethor was well known and liked among our people, his gentle song will be sorely missed in the halls."
After a short farewell, Léspheria continued on alone, the echo of battle following her along the main path and drowning out the soft lament of the birds. The setting sun held not its exquisite wonder, but reminded her of the blood that would be spilled this night in their fair realm, a place of Sanctuary Tainted by Naiores malice, with that thought she hurried on towards the last house.

[Elora]

Naiore

The orcs were scattered in disorganised tatters through the trees. Naiore came upon drifts of two and three, spread through the pine forest and angling towards the banks. None could answer her who had given the command to attack and the pressing desire to slaughter them where they stood beat hard within her skull. But there was bigger game afoot than her own need for release.

Those she came across, Naiore sent in the direction that the other group of Rangers had been sighted, but Toby and the orc scouts. She did not need an unchecked foe descending upon her flank or rear. Besides, they were two men, perhaps three, depending on which report she listened to, with one woman and a hobbit. In short, easily dispatched once the Rangers were dealt with, and it would get the rabble out from under her feet for the real quarry she was after.

The roar of the Branduin shivered through the air as Naiore approached. A flight of arrows hissed and thwaked in bole of tree and orcs. For their part, the orcs jeered raucously. Naiore's concern was with the source of the Branduin's raised ire, and she stood on the far bank. Naiore crouched in the cover and an ancient pine, it's age seeping through her as she leant back against it's trunk. It was ancient, but she was older still and she tossed it's weight of years aside.

Still clutching swords in both hands, Naiore lashed hard, fast and perfectly on target towards the "elf-witch" that had raised the river against them. She directed a savage melange of pain, fear and doubt. Then she moved further, seizing upon her instinct honed over Ages of Man and Elf to attack.

Léspheria's mother had suffered long. But the hardest blow was her mother's realisation that she had been betrayed. Well, Naiore recalled how she had felt, for she had sensed also. It was that memory, aching, twisting, rending, tearing, fracturing the bonds of kinship, family and friendship, that Naiore directed at Léspheria now. Naiore had the satisfaction of feeling her attack nestle in before Léspheria slammed hard walls of defence against her.

Wearing a perfect smile of cold death, Naiore straightened. Calling in black speech, she commanded the orcs to press forward whilst they could.

"Strike! Shields up, cross the river, you maggots. Strike or feel my fury!"

The orcs responded with a shriek that shattered the sky and gathered on the banks under the refuge of their shields. The barrage of arrows from the other bank faltered for a moment, the archers and commanders alike recoiling in disgust and horror at the sound of the Black Speech of Mordor polluting their minds and the air around them.

"MOVE!" Naiore's voice hardened into a single command that resonated with compulsion. Orcs in the front of the group complied by stepping forward. Naiore, meanwhile, kept well back. From her vantage she could see what was happening. From her vantage, this battle would not fall into chaotic melee. She would not have her senses enveloped and swallowed by battle lust and the need for blood. From her vantage, Naiore could keep her head.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Why must they speak in secret? Gilly wondered as she noticed Dúlrain and Kaldir discussing some matter in private, glancing back at the ladies. And what would they be speaking of exactly? Whatever it was, it seemed to concern them, judging by their looks, and she hoped that they would have the courtesy to consult with Miss Benia and herself if they were about planning their future. Perhaps they too had noticed how the long journey had worn on her friend’s nerves. She was in such a state her hands were all atremble! But to have suddenly become so delicate a woman hardly seemed possible. Something else was at work here, and the hobbit suspected that her friend’s abundant concern for her patient might lie at the root of it. She had all the subtle signs of having developed what in Bywater was referred to as an “attachment”. And most likely was worn out from emotion rather than the hardship of the road.

Gilly looked at her friend searchingly, half afraid of what lay behind those fetching eyes of hers. For she had seen that Benia wasn’t the only one to have an attachment, and more than gratitude shone in the salute that Dúlrain had so freely given. But then Kaldir too, seemed to have harbored quite a soft corner for her friend in his own peculiar way, and she dared not think of how he might take this turn of events. Perhaps this was the storm he had eluded too, though he had not seemed threatening, but rather gloomy, and she had puzzled over the words at the time.

Still Benia was her friend, and she did deserve such a man as Dúlrain -though the timing of this blossoming affection left much to be desired- she would stand by her, come what may. Though thinking back to the side street in Bree she felt quite sad fearing it might bring pain to Mr. Kaldir. And truly, she did not wish him any sadness at all, or to betray the trust he had bestowed on them.

“Don’t worry, he will be fine. It will all work out in the end,” she said patting her friend’s hands and trying to reassure herself as much as Miss Benia.

“Will it?” asked Benia sadly, gesturing to were the men stood. “Look at them. They know there are wolves about.”

“Wolves!” Gilly exclaimed, shocked out of her ponderings, as if one of the furry brutes might leap at them that moment. “Though I suppose I should have guessed there might be such things here about,” she muttered under her breath as she tried to get hold of herself once again, but looking at Benia’s expression she saw such was on the wrong track. “Then again, I don’t suppose you might mean the four-legged variety.”
Before Benia could answer a sharp snap was heard in the woods outside their camp, and all froze for a brief instant. Gilly’s hand went to her belt and looking down she quickly regretted that she insisted on giving Benia her dagger back.

By the time she looked up again, Kaldir had disappeared, but there was Dúlrain collecting firewood, completely at ease. It must be nothing she decided relaxing again. But when Dúlrain had nearly assembled an armful of wood he suddenly dropped the lot and leaped into the woods. It struck Gilly as exceedingly odd and she was just about to shout after him when she heard the low growling voice of Kaldir quite close by say “A single sound and you will be a very dead hobbit.”

Gilly froze, wondering if it might actually have been Kaldir’s mind she heard snap a few moments before. And so she was quite confused when both Kaldir and Dúlrain appeared from the wood guiding a bedraggled hobbit before them at knifepoint.

And if that weren’t enough, this hobbit looked vaguely familiar. But what was he doing skulking about sneaking up on people? She wouldn’t have associated with someone like that. What utterly shameful behavior for a hobbit! And where could she have seen him before? Not the Forsaken Inn, she would have remembered easily that far back. It must be from before. Quietly and methodically she gazed at his face with narrowed eyes trying to figure who he might be, and peeling back the years of her life, to see just where he might fit in. At anyrate he wasn’t a wolf. How strange this talk of wolves when she had just been trying to remember how those old tales went about their invading the Shire! That’s was it, that is where she had seen his face before, though he had a mite more mature frame than he did in those dark years. He wasn’t a wolf, not the four legged kind, but he was as good as one, for he came with the dark days in Bywater, and left with them too, now that she thought of it.

Suddenly self-conscious, she realized that if she could place him, he too might place her, and so she made an attempt to appear more unconcerned, hoping that she had changed enough that he might not remember her as the young wife of the shopkeeper whose shop was set ablaze.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:55 PM January 13, 2004: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

The smell of burning wood and low voices told Toby that he was drawing near to his quarry, "Well I've found them, Now what eh?" he muttered to himself, "If I just stroll into their camp that bounty hunter will be on me like a fox on a hare, there's no doubt. No! I think I will wait a see if the opportunity arises for me to speak with the ranger alone." Slowly he moved about the bushes looking for somewhere to hide, but always keeping an eye on the activity in the camp.

'Snap!' Toby froze holding his breath as a dry twig snapped under his feet, but to his relief no one in the camp seemed to stir, looking about he found a niche in a small group of bushes and hunkered down to observe the group.

"Have you got any more of that Longleaf left?" he heard the bounty hunter ask Dulrain.

"Ah Longleaf!" he signed longingly, patting his pocket to find his own pipe thankfully still intact, "What I wouldn't give to fill my pipe right now!" he muttered under his breath. As Kaldir went towards the horses to retrieve some of Dulrain's pipe weed, Toby wondered if the ranger might come near enough for him to catch his attention. He watched as the ranger began collecting firewood and as luck would have it he was working his way close to was the hobbit was hiding.

Toby was just about to catch the ranger’s attention when he noted that the campfire was full ablaze and that a stack of firewood sat next to it. So why is he collecting more? He thought to himself, dawning came to him and he suddenly he looked around, the bounty hunter was nowhere to be seen, blast! He panicked, turning with a start as he heard a slight rustle behind him. As the bounty hunter loomed over him he tried to scramble away, but Kaldir grabbed him about the back of his neck, he struggled until he felt the sharp point of Kaldir's dagger at his side.

"A single sound and you will be a very dead hobbit," Kaldir growled in his ear, tightening the already firm grip on his neck. Toby would have vigorously nodded his understanding if he could but instead he remained silent.

"Well, well if it isn't Master Longholes, A little far from homes aren’t we!" The ranger Dúlrain jibbed, levelling a finely crafted jewelled companion sword at his chest.

"Aye and I wouldn't be if it weren't for you and that other ranger!" he blurted out, suddenly angry at the way he was being treated, after all he had come to help them.

"And just how do you come by that conclusion master Longholes?" Dúlrain asked raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Well if Amandur had not tempted me with his gold and you hadn't kept me to his request, I would never have been at Ferneys house with a troop of rangers in broad daylight with goodness knows who watching. I would not have had to find somewhere to hide until things blew over and Ferney’s temper simmered down. Then I would never have run into Naiore and been forced into this madness,” he retorted in one long breath.

"She's insane! I tell you."

"You think so!" Kaldir hissed in his ear, sounding less than convinced by his claim.

"So why are you spying on us then master Longholes, if you are an unwilling party?" Dulrain asked his tone indicating that he was not just talking about this instance. Toby paused for a second to contemplate his answer, though it was not hard found.

"To stay alive,” he said simply, sure at least the bounty hunter would understand.

"Thought you not that one of those you observed would not have killed you if they caught you!” Kaldir sneered

"Yes, but at least your retribution would be swift and sure, not the lingering torment that would await me at the hands of the elf lady." he felt Kaldir tense at his words but he said nothing.

"So what would you have us do now master Longholes, although my friend here may wish to wring your neck for your misdeeds, I am a ranger and bound by laws and as grievous as your crimes are to me and my friends, they do not warrant as swift and deadly retribution as you think!" Dúlrain looked at him pondering what to do.

"Do with me what you wish, I likely deserve as much, but know this I came here to tell you of Naiore's plans!" but even as he spoke his eyes searched the forest as if wait for danger to suddenly set upon them.

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Kaldir growled dragging the now startled hobbit into the camp. He kept his head bent wish to avoid the judgemental look of the two women especially the hobbit who looked somewhat familiar now he got a closer look at her.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Roughly, Kaldir dragged Toby Longholes into camp by the scruff of the neck. Knowing the hobbit to be a recent associate of Naiore Dannan, Kaldir's first instinct had been to cut the scrubby little beggar's throat where he had found him and leave him to bleed out, alone amongst the criss-crossing tree roots of the forest floor. He might have done as much, too, if he had been alone, but the presence of Dulrain and the two women demanded a more moderate course of action. Instead, he hauled the little traitor into camp and deposited him in an awkward heap a few feet from the fire. Even so, he kept his dagger at the ready. A single false or threatening move from the hobbit and Kaldir's dagger would find its mark.

"I came here to tell you of Naiore's plans!" repeated Toby miserably. He sat in a sullen lump, his face turned carefully away from where Benia and Gilly sat nearby.

At the sound of Naiore's name, Kaldir felt the battered side of his face twitch noticeably. He still wished he had killed the spy on sight, but there was a chance he could prove useful to them. Kaldir pushed aside his more murderous impulses and looked down at Toby with a glacial silence.

Dulrain sheathed the ornamental sword he carried and, kneeling down, leveled an even stare at the prisoner. "Then, tell us. Why is Naiore targeting Imladris?"

After casting one nervous, sideways glance at Kaldir, Toby turned his attention to Dulrain. "Someone named Menecin is there. She's after Menecin."

Kaldir and Dulrain exchanged a glance. They knew who Menecin was, but neither of them had been aware of his presence in Imladris.

"How does she intend to reach him?" asked Dulrain, his expression growing dark.

Toby shrugged obstinately, his eyes searching the soon-to-be darkening woods beyond the campfire, as though half-expecting the Ravenner herself to come striding out, brandishing her two curved blades. Kaldir gave him a quick, none-too-gentle kick. The dagger edged closer toward Toby's face.

"Speak!" ordered Kaldir. Darkness would be falling soon. If Naiore planned to make her move against Imladris, it would no doubt come at dusk or shortly thereafter. To his memory, she had never been a creature of the light.

Toby flinched and looked petulant, but answered. "She has friends with her. I think she plans to use her daughter, too, but I don't know how."

"Vanwe," said Kaldir for Dulrain's benefit.

Dulrain nodded. "I am aware of her," he said quietly.

Toby aimed a defiant look at Kaldir. "She's sending her friends after you, too. I heard her. She knows you are here and she means to kill all of you."

"No thanks to you, I'm sure," answered Kaldir dryly. Beside him, Dulrain straightened.

"We should warn Elrohir and Elladan," he said to Kaldir. "She mustn't be allowed to attack Imladris by surprise."

Kaldir nodded his agreement. "We may be too late," he added as the silence of the evening was abruptly shattered by the hoarse cries of orcs, followed by the clash of swords echoing through the woods from the direction of the ford.

"Orcs!" exclaimed Dulrain. "We must go to Imladris' aid!" His hand rose to the hilt of his sword. Kaldir watched as Dulrain began to ready himself to ride into battle. His own first inclination was to join Dulrain and ride together with him against the orcs in defense of Imladris, just as they had in the old days before the lingering darkness had descended over his heart, but a quick glance around the camp told Kaldir that now was not the time. There was Toby to contend with and, of course, the safety of Mrs. Banks and Benia to consider. He had nearly lost the two of them to orcs back in the Lonelands, but for the efforts of Dulrain. He had no intention of leaving them vulnerable again. As for Toby Longholes, Kaldir knew he could settle the hobbit's hash once and for all in a matter of seconds, if it came to that. Even so, he considered it likely that the elves would have a use for him. They would all be better off making a dash for the safety of the last homely house.

Dulrain, too, for that matter. He had been grievously wounded in the skirmish with the orcs in the Lonelands, then been forced to ride five days without proper rest or the attention of true healers. For him to ride into battle in his condition would be tantamount to suicide.

Turning to Toby, Kaldir pointed the tip of his dagger directly at the hobbit's nose. "Move an inch and you will indeed die a swift and sure death. I kid you not." Leaving the hobbit to consider his options, Kaldir caught up with Dulrain as he saddled his horse. The sound of Elven bowstrings sang through the dusk.

"Our best course would be to break for Imladris by another route," he said quietly.

Dulrain turned, looking first at Kaldir, then in the direction of the ongoing battle. "Our brethren and our allies are in trouble. We must go to their aid."

Kaldir's icy blue eyes narrowed. "And what would you do to aid them? Die? You are in no condition to fight."

Dulrain turned on him, his gray eyes flashing angrily, but Kaldir could sense his hesitation. He continued. "The hobbit says Naiore has sent orcs into the woods for us, as well. Would you leave Mrs. Banks and Miss Nightshade to their mercy? We must take them and ride as quickly as we can for Imladris. Odds are we will still have to fight our way through. I know of but one way into the Elven refuge.”

Dulrain's hesitation deepened. He looked over Kaldir's shoulder in the direction of the two women and, for a brief instant, grew very still. Then, he nodded. “The stair.”

Kaldir nodded. “The stair. We can cross the Bruinen north of the ford, and, unless things fare worse for our Elven allies than I hope, we can ride south along the canyon wall to the stair, most of the way under cover of the Elven archers.”

“Gaining the stair will be the dangerous part,” said Dulrain quietly. “Naiore will be centering her forces there.”

Again, Kaldir nodded.

“I suppose there is no other way,” said Dulrain, his gaze drifting again in the direction of the women.

“The only alternative I can see is waiting here until the orcs find us, which is hardly an alternative to my view,” answered Kaldir.

“To mine either,” rejoined Dulrain. “We should ride at once. Hopefully, we can reach the stair before it is overrun.”

Without another word, the two of them moved into action, saddling the remaining horses and readying the group to depart. Benia and Gilly did their part and, Kaldir was amused to note, the hobbit, Toby, had not moved an inch. He still sat in a lump where Kaldir had left him, but his bright eyes followed the activity attentively. Kaldir approached him, leading the gray horse by the reins.

“You ride with me,” he said sternly, picking the hobbit up and placing him on the back of the saddle. On an afterthought, Kaldir reached up and took the hobbit’s knife away, pitching it into the smoldering remains of the fire. He didn’t know why he had not noticed it before. “You hinder me in any way and I shall have your head,” he added pleasantly. “Do we understand each other?”

When Toby nodded, Kaldir swung himself into the saddle in front of him. He nodded to Dulrain and the company took off from the campsite at a fast trot, with Dulrain in the lead, followed by Benia, then Gilly, with Kaldir and Toby bringing up the rear.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:38 PM January 14, 2004: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Noting as best he could, where he was, Rauthain had given up the trail and headed with all speed south and east. And though he keenly felt the weight of the decision, he had made it easily, choosing not to be blinded by the enduring shadows of the past, but to finally live, taking action without being governed by their far, demoralizing reach. Even as he felt his own life a ruin of former times that itself lingered overlong in this new age, when seeing the new and subtly wrought changes in Kaldir, he began to hold the spark of hope for a better future. And so he went.

As the sun lowered in the sky, he came upon two orcs traveling back down the ravine ahead of him, arguing as they wandered. As fortune would have it, they had not noticed him yet, so close upon their heels, for he stayed in the deep shadow of the western side of the crevice.

Bow at ready he moved, positioning himself and let fly a quick succession of arrows, piercing one of the orcs well, before the other could locate him amidst the brush. As the first slowly gave way to his injures, the second spotted him and raising his crude weapon, charged half-blinded by the slanting rays of the sun.

Throwing his bow well behind him with his left hand, Rauthain drew his sword with his right, cursing Toby as he did so, for well he knew his blade dull. And his rage spent upon the brush had done little to help matters. But what he lacked in edge he hoped to overcome by strength, and so gripping his sword with both hands he fought until a chance opening, when with all his might he leveled a blow hitting the orc along his shoulder and sent him hopping sideways to regain his balance.

Then the orc showing a wicked grin advanced, rushing at Rauthain, who saw that his adversary perceived his dilemma and grew all the more reckless for it, quickly bloodying the old Ranger’s arm and shoulder. Fending off the orc as well as he might, he bided his time assuming a more defensive posture until the orc became over confident and another opportunity presented itself. This time aiming the flat of his blade at the temple, Rauthain struck the fiend knocking him to the ground, where upon he ran the creature through, hastening it’s death.

As soon as it lay quite still upon the ground, Rauthain bend over the lifeless figure and reaching in the pouch at the orc’s belt, relieved him of the blood red whetstone that lay hidden there. Loath as he was to take such a foul stone off the corpse, covered as it was with black runes he did not understand, he did not wish to revisit the scene he had just experienced though his own misguided principles. And so he took it and also the sword, which had wounded him, before continuing in the ever-deepening evening.

Traveling down the ravine, following a small stream that ran along the center if it, Rauthain rode in the night, ever impatient for some sign of the others and ever cautious of what might be found along the way.

[Elora]

Vanwe


The daylight's hold over the trees faded, submitting to the press of oncoming night. She walked in twilight, half-awake and half-asleep, the trees thinning around her. Elsewhere was the hue and din of battle. Terrible creatures screamed death and blood, but that was elsewhere. The compulsion was within her, beating with her heart. Each step forward made it stronger. Any attempt to step back brought howling agony upon her. Vanwe had learnt that herself, hunched and shuddering in the pine needles on the occassions she had thought to turn aside.

Now, she was blank, empty of all but the compulsion to walk on. In time, the trees surrendered to gardens, perfect artistry of tree, flower and grass. Even water heeded the aethestic demands of the gardens around her. Her kindred lived here, something that should have filled her with a fear great enough to send her back into the safety of the trees. Her arms hung by her side as she walked through the outter gardens of Imladris, into the heart of the Last Homely House of the West. Into the heart of those who had left her to rot in the South.

That sense of abandonment, rejection only fed the compulsion. Her mother had used all her subtle talents in its making. She had sensed her daughter's feelings of betrayal by kin and family she had never met, and so Vanwe only walked on, past the fountains and gardens.

Her feet found smooth, wide and shallow stone steps that led up to another terrace. The music of water danced nearby. Imladris was empty, she dimly thought. Noone was here. She stood by the first building she had seen, a small cottage with intricate trellis work over the window and turned about. Surely a guard, a sentinel, a watcher should have seen her by now. At a loss as to where to go and the compulsion building, Vanwe glanced up at the stars with a trembling gasp.

Menecin

She was here. He had heard the comings and goings of Elves all day. She was here. She was coming. This was no nightmare, no phantasm of his broken mind. She was here. Menecin sat on the floor, his back against the wall, weary and cowed beneath the weight of this reality. The locks had rattled into place an hour ago, precautions. Against what? That he would get out, or she in?

There would be no rest, no safety, nothing whilst she lived. Menecin drew his hands over his wan face and pushed his sagging frame upright. On hand against the wall to support his weight, he staggered to the window, tripping over the wreckage of his room, heeding not the ruin of furniture about his feet.

With a moan of despair, he leant his brow against the glass of one of the panes of his window, one of the few unbroken panels of glass. Dusk had come to Imladris, and the night that would follow would be eternal. He dragged his eyes up from the floor to gaze upon the benign peace of Imladris. It sometimes soothed the trouble of his mind and dreams.

A strangled yell, hoarse, tore free from his throat as he looked upon what stood in his gardens. The fall of silken pale hair, unearthly gold turned silvery with the fading light. She was here. Here!

Menecin reached through the jagged gaps in the window for the trellis, wrapping his bleeding fingers around it, shouting wordlessly. She turned, at the sound of his voice, and looked in his direction. His keepers leapt up in confusion beyond his door, and one started out.

Menecin's alarm also drew the attention of a passing cadre of Elves, who swerved in their path to come to his cottage. She stared at his window, as though she could see through the trellis to him and Menecin felt his voice constrict in his throat.

He watched a the cadre of archers hail her, and she turned towards them. The profile of her face was clear now. So like hers, and yet something else, something more that was not. He watched her spin in alarm, like a fluttering bird seeing a cage come towards it. She spun into the care of one of his keepers. Menecin watched her being taken away, unwilling and twisting back to stare at his window.

He remained silent, tears coursing down his face. She had come, but not the one he had expected.

"Oh, my daughter," he grieved as he watched her escorted away, dragging now at the hold of her guards, fighting, shaking her head, until he could see no more. Menecin spun, hurtled across his room and crashed into his door.

"It's not her! It's not her!" He raged into the wood, thrashing wildly. "It's not her!" His remaining warden opened the journal and added his notes whilst the other sought Elladan urgently.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill was quiet as both he and Barrold had left Naiore in the woods in the growing dark.

“Now where is that little rat run off to.” Barrold growled striding several paces being Avanill who kept up a steady stride. Avanill took his time in answering. His mind was filled with his own thoughts. This is going to get worse before the end, he thought,I can see it
He stopped and turned to Barrold abruptly.

“My guess is that he has gone to the rangers.” he said in his trademark cool steady voice, “If we go to him now, im certain that we will get caught. Or besides that, he had surely told them of us by now.” It seemed now to Barrold that Avanill had evolved again somewhat, but this only meant that his mind was made up, Avanill had another plan brewing in his head,

“Whats Naiore going to say? What’s she going to do to us? We áve to kill the little brute now.”said Barrold hitting a tree with his knife. He clearly was not too happy, and he was not reassured by Avanill’s now brooding mood.

“Yes” said Avanill “We will have to kill him. But not before Naiore has her chance to do something about it.”

“Boyo, that’s why she sent us”Barrold remarked looking him in the eye, “Is you allright Boy? You seem-”

“Disturbed? Indeed my friend, im not facing a positive outlook on the events which seem imposing to us, if only there was some way of knowing.” Avanill began walking again but now he was looking at the canopy of the trees. He thought it was best that he did not reveal the bulk of his plans to Barrold, after all, Avanill was and always had been a one man show, he had gotten himself out of worse situations before. not much worse mind you

he reminded himself. Now he turned back to Barrold who was beginning to become weary of him “Heres what im thinking, If we follow Toby, we walk to our deaths, understand. I think that either we tell Naiore that we Killed the little hobbit, or we found him hanging by the neck in the woods, or that the rangers had him and we didn’t want to go after him.”

Barrold was shocked, “What and go back and say “look sorry Your Ladyship, but we couldn’t be bothered to recover the hobbit lad from the rangers“, even though we have killed more people between us than probably any company of rangers. No thanks Boy, but I would leave that news to you.”

“Speak for yourself Barrold, I only kill those who owe me and don’t pay, in a way I am cleansing the county of criminals and cheats. Im an honest man Barrold, as hard as it is for you to believe, and im a gentleman. Either way Id rather go back and tell Naiore, because im pretty sure that if she tried an attack of arms id be able to kill her myself , but she had her elf magic, she used it on Vanwe a while back. Id rather die than have that used on me Barrold, theres too many people I need to protect.”

“Well, you sure helped me murder Tallas in a hurry.”said Barrold intently, which caused Avanill to snap and turn sharply to face him, his eyes still cool and as cold as his voice.

“That was different Barrold, that was not supposed to happen. Something happened to me when-” Avanill hesitated.

“When he mentioned your father,”finished Barrold.

“Let me tell you why it’s set me off, the mention of that vile man makes me mad, no matter who it is who mention’s it. Your just lucky I did not harm you. Let me tell you story Barrold, it’s a story about a young woman, she happened to be a trader, who married bandit she thought she was in love with. He made her betray her ranger brothers to him and he killed them This man took her band of faithful followers from her and then he told her to go. With no family, no home, nothing! He was going abandoned her, but she was strong And in front of his men she killed him, for her honour, for her brothers, for her future and for the baby he never knew she was having. That noble woman was my mother, and I rue the day that man was born.” Avanill was now in the same dark mood which he had been in after he had killed Tallas. “That man Tallas just said the wrong thing, had he said nothing, he would have lived.

“Nobility boy, ain suiting to people like us, it’s the prize that makes us determined, Not the spirit of it, remember that.” Avanill was surprised to see a rare moment of wisdom in his words. Avanill nodded.

His mind was now made up. He would abandon their little femme fatale, Naiore to her doom, which he knew was coming sooner than later, and leave Barrold to what ever side he should choose to be on when the time came. He had survived these years because he was smart, after all, it was a trademark of his house. In his mind he scanned the interior of his bag, there were seven different concoctions which he had made the week before, sleeping draughts, temporary paralysis, fatal poision, one which made the drinker go blind, and two different kinds of potion which came in powder form and poisoned the victim’s blood. Avanill did not want to kill Barrold, that would be too low.

“Barrold” he said slowing down. “I need a drink, let’s stop for a while. Now I look at you, you look as though you could use one too.” Barrold seemed relieved that it was Avanill who had said it and put down his things beside a tree.

"Lets see what youve got then Avanill."he said

"Whiskey, Its one from my grandmother's Inn, very tasty, a little different though if you ask me."he said taking a small phial of the paralisis potion and mixing it into the alcohol. He offered it to Barrold who took it without question.

"It does taste strange Boyo, not wrong there, arent you going -"Barrold stopped dead and fell to the floor. The potion had kicked in. Avanill bent down to survey him.

"Im sorry about this Barrold, I really am, but im not going to be dragged down with the rest of you when the end comes. Im just not going to let that happen. This is only temporary, so your not going to die. Im telling you now, that you wont find me when im gone, it's what i do best, understand? You can tell Naiore that i dont want any part of this anymore, but you can also tell that manifestation of evil that sdhe need not worry about me telling people of her wearabouts or of you even. You can have my share of her money and riches now, and Vanwe, heaven forbid you will treat her well should you get out of this. Very deep down Barrold, you can be a good man, if you'd only try. I hope we meet again some day."He started to gather up his things with the motionless Barrold sitting silently beside him. "You only have to stay like that for around half and hour, by then ill be long gone."he started walking away when somehting stopped him in his trackes,

“And just you remember Barrold, don’t think of me towards the end, ill be thinking of myself, right?” he was still cool as ever, but a slight smile was caught upon his face.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As the sounds of nearby battle echoed through the camp, Benia rose to her feet. She could see Kaldir and Dulrain engaged in serious discussion near where the horses were tied. She was unable to hear most of what passed between them, but Dulrain seemed anxious to go, while Kaldir appeared to be arguing against it. Stepping around the fire, she took a few steps in their direction, her fingers closing around the carved wooden whistle, her only token of Dulrain. She had yet to return it to his hands and still wore it on a leather thong around her neck.

Suddenly, Dulrain looked over Kaldir's shoulder in her direction and, for a brief instant, their eyes locked. The ranger went very still. Then, just as abruptly, he broke away, his attention returning to Kaldir. The two men spoke softly for a moment more, then the two of them began to work quickly at saddling the remaining horses. Benia turned to Gilly and the other much-bedraggled hobbit that Kaldir had just dragged out of the woods and dumped by the fireside. In a strange sort of way, she sympathized with the new hobbit, having been hauled out of the Forsaken Inn and dumped on the dirt floor of a deserted blacksmith's shop by Kaldir in much the same fashion, herself. Kaldir's threat to the hobbit not to move an inch also rang familiar to her, but she did not doubt for an instant that the bounty hunter would make good on his threat if the hobbit was to give him any trouble. Even she had to admit, the new fellow had an extremely shady air about him.

She turned to Gilly. "It seems we are leaving," she said, barely loudly enough to be heard over the din of the not-too-distant battle. Gilly nodded, rising herself. Ignoring the presence of Kaldir's new prisoner, who continued to sit quietly on the edge of the fire circle, the two of them returned to their packs the few things they had taken out in preparation for the evening in camp. Benia buckled her father's sword into place. She was just reaching for her lapis inlaid dagger to return to Gilly, should she need a weapon, when she saw Dulrain had already approached Gilly, his jeweled side sword in his hand. She watched as the hobbit lady and the Ranger exchanged a few words, and Dulrain buckled the sword around Gilly's waist.

When he had finished speaking with Gilly, Dulrain turned to Benia, his face grim. "We ride for Imladris at once," he said calmly. "We may have to fight our way through, so be prepared. Kaldir and I will do our best to shield you -" he turned to Gilly "-both of you! But you must be prepared to fight."

Benia nodded, exchanging a nervous glance with Gilly as the two of them followed Dulrain to their mounts. Within seconds, they rode out of camp at a quick pace, with Dulrain leading the way, followed by herself, then Gilly, with Kaldir bringing up the rear. Looking back, Benia saw that Kaldir rode with the newcomer balanced precariously on the back of his saddle. The gray horse half-reared and surged forward as Kaldir shouted, "Go! Quickly now!"

Benia turned and faced front again, urging her horse to stay closely on the flank of Dulrain's mount. Noticing that Dulrain rode with his sword drawn, she drew hers as well.

They had not gone far when they encountered the first orcs, three of them. They leaped out of the woods from the left. Letting Dulrain pass, one grabbed the bridle of Benia's horse. The other two closed in on Kaldir in the rear. Benia swung her sword fiercely in the direction of the chink in the orc's armor between the shoulder and helm, but she missed her mark and the blade glanced harmlessly off the orc’s plate armor. Ahead of her, Dulrain wheeled his horse and came back, his sword raised. He did not miss his mark and the orc crumpled headless to the ground in front of her.

Looking back, she saw that Kaldir had dispatched his two as well. His face sprayed with black orc’s blood, he had a hellish appearance. She saw nothing but death in his pale eyes.

“Ride!” barked Kaldir, and the company moved forward again. Benia could already hear the sound of the river ahead of her.

The next group of orcs came at them from both sides, striking first at Dulrain in the lead. She saw him feint to one side to avoid the swing of an orc’s axe. Then his blade flashed out. A different orc fell dead. She kicked her horse forward and swung her sword at the orc who had aimed the axe at Dulrain. As the blow severed the orc’s arm below the shoulder, he turned on her shrieking. With a grimace, she ran him through the throat.

“For Harad,” she whispered. Behind her, she could hear Gilly shout out, “For the Shire!”

In a matter of seconds, seven more orcs lay dead. Dulrain, again, turned his horse in the direction of the river. They rode swiftly now, at a full gallop toward the deep, swift waters of the Bruinen.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:30 PM January 20, 2004: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Maethor's death still weighed heavy on Amandur's mind as he watched the tall slender figure of Léspheria slipping away into the ensuing darkness to warn her people of her Cousins intent. A disparaging sigh escaped his lips as he turned to take up his post along side the elven archers. Had he been wrong to try to hold the ford? Had he lead the young ranger to his end? The image of the jeering orc holding aloft his young friend head made him shiver violently.

"Are you alright mellonamin?" Fintár asked his grey eyes creased with concern.

He nodded that he was fine, and lifted his bow too continue his barrage on the orc's, but deep down the seed of doubt had been planted and he wondered if it had not been folly to think that he could ever protect his elven love, when he could not even protect his own kinsmen.

Suddenly the dark speech of Mordor cut through the night air, breaking his despairing thoughts. The harsh language of Mordor had not heard in middle-earth since the fall of Sauron. Even the elves faltered, recoiling in disgust and horror at the sound of the black speech polluting their minds.

"Gurth gothrim lye!" (Death to our foes!) The elven captain cried out above the dim of orcish cries, pulling his command from their recoil and launching them into action. The archers resumed their volley. However, with the orcs, now being directed by Naiore many of the arrows skipped harmlessly off their enemies raised shields.

"Galadtal! Lintal! Tula sinome!" (Galadtal! Lintal! come here!) he heard Fintár call and immediately two lithe, fair-headed elves turned from their position and approached their captain, he could not hear what they discussed but suddenly the two elves nodded, then sprung away in opposite directions.

"There are two more patrols like ours; I have sent the swiftest and light-footed of my company to find them. it is likely that they will have heard the din of the orcs and already hastens this way. but I have given orders to have the two patrols turn aside and flank the foul creatures; hopefully they will not know what is going on until we have them completely surrounded.” Fintár informed him, seeing his puzzled expression.

"Wry grins formed on his lips as he saw were the elven captain was going, their arrows were almost spent and were proving ineffective against the orcs black metal shields. Fintár was about to give the order to draw weapons and charge at the orcs, but they waited patiently for the creatures to draw a little closer.

"What of Naiore?" he whispered, "this attack is obviously some ploy or diversion that she can pass unseen!” Fintár nodded his agreement, "but Imladris will not be totally deserted, we can only hope that Léspheria gets there first." Finar replied his sharp eyes still firmly fixed on the advancing orcs.

"She will!" Amandur whispered confidently, remembering the elven woman determination. He drew his sword ready for Fintar's command to attack, then remembering how much Maethor had loved this fair realm calling it his home, he resolved not to let his death have been in vain.

"Sii'!"(now!)

As Fintár gave the order they leapt forward blades drawn assailing the orcs with a fury not seen among the elves since the last alliance. Amandur decisively swung his sword across the throat of the first orc then filled with new determination he pressed forwards with the elves battling in the memory of Maethor and the young ranger’s love of this fair land.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Finding herself again in the confides of a cell, again mistaken for her mother, Vanwe did what she usually did when finding herself in such situations; she withdrew into herself and waited for her captors to realise their mistake. However, the image of the elf behind the trellis window haunted her, adding yet more fuel to the compulsion that Naiore set deep within her, it threw her mind into turmoil, from which she could find no rest.

Locked in this turmoil and unrest, she barely noted the coming and goings of her warders, their questions audible but indistinguishable she sat cowered on the wooden floor, her arms hugging her knees close to her chest, but even that brought her little comfort. A small silvery light fell at her feet, drawing her sapphire eyes slowly upwards, she did not hear the gasps of the two elves who for the past hour had been trying to get answers from her, and they saw the light of another in their care in her eyes! Nor did she note their sudden change in questions as they tried to ascertain her name and her reason for being here, when orcs where attacking their very borders. she just stared at the silvery moon beam grasping to it like her own glimmer of light... her father was alive as was her mother, she would come for them!

The two elves soon gave up their questioning and left, Leaving orders for food and water to be brought to the elf. They also ordered her watchers to inform them if there was any change or if she decided to speak. However, she did neither and the food now lay cold and untouched.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+


Léspheria

Darkness began to fill the valley as Léspheria hurried across the stone bridge, the moonlight reflecting off the clear waters of the Bruienen, gave a silvery glow to the hidden haven. Léspheria did not stop to admire its beauty but made her way through the gardens to the last homely house. As she passed a small cottage to her right she faltered a torrent of emotions assailing her sensitised mind, raising her hand to her head she looked up to the broken window of the cottage, from within she could hear Menecin pounding on his door and yelling at his guards.

"It's not her! It's not her!" he raged

Shaking her head sadly she moved on, the bard was prone to violent outbursts and bouts of denial regarding Naiore's treachery, so she thought no more of it. However, even as she dismissed Menecin's denial the memory of Naiores attack at the ford came back to her. The elf had assailed her with her mother’s most painful emotions; Léspheria remembered them well having endured her mothers torment at the hands of the Revennor. Her mother’s realisation that Naiore had betrayed her was the worst of all, that knowledge had broken her mother’s strong spirit.

As she pushed open the large wooden doors and stepped into the house, her weariness and despair began to ebb away. She determinedly made her way down the ornate hallway, But the usual laughter and song that greeted the weary traveller was not to be heard. The halls were silent and elves hurried back and forth some with messages and guards preparing to defend their homes! Léspheria turned to her right and found herself greeted by two guards that stood before the doors of the main audience hall. Each clad in gold plate and bright helms covered their dark heads.

"Lady Léspheria, it is good to see you well!" one of the guards said greeting her and as she looked at the guard, she saw that it was young Lírëvaire; the young elf lived up to the name given him, Song weaver, and wrote some of her most favourite pieces. It surprised her that he now stood guard in front of the great hall.

"Temporary I assure you!" the young elf laughed seeing her confusion, "Every man was needed when the orcs attacked" he continued the bright smile fading into a disheartened sigh… she place a comforting hand on his shoulder and with effort the elf smiled nodding his thanks.

"Now I must speak with our lords at once on an important matter!" she told him urgently

"Of course my lady" he replied pushing open the doors to the great halls.

She stepped confidently inside, there were several elders and councillors within, and on the dais sat, Elladan and his brother Elrohir paced restlessly behind him, the Lords were in deep conversation, which stopped abruptly at her entrance.

"My Lords" she said with a respectful dip of her head, "I bring grave news!"

"Master Tallas is dead!" there was a moments silence then hastened whispers spread through the assembled elves, stopping abruptly as Elrohir spoke.

"This is grievous news indeed, but I must ask what of his tomes?"

"They were taken and destroyed by Naiore," she answered grimly.

"So she knows that the bard lives?" Elladan sighed looking to his brother.

"Yes my Lord, I believe the orcs are her doing, a diversion so she can get to him!" at the mention of the disgraced elf of the house of Finarfin, a heavy silence filled the room, until Elladan finally spoke.

"Come you must tell us everything!"

"Even if something seems unimportant you must share it!" Elrohir added offering her a seat.

Léspheria took the seat and began to retell her pursuit of Naiore, starting from her letter from Lothaniel.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly had been just about to protest to Misters Kaldir and Dúlrain, that Miss Benia and she really should have some say in what was to happen to them, when the distinct ringing sound of clashing metal found its way through the night air and to their group. It gave her great pause to hear that fighting was near. So much so, that she quite forgot her complaint, and wondered exactly who might be fighting whom and to what purpose. And despite not knowing much about these things, she did gather that it sounded frightfully close, and reminded her again that she had naught but her knife to protect herself and her dear friend. Though Miss Benia did have her father's sword. She thought to ask the dagger of her again, but after having witnessed the struggle Dúlrain had had with the orcs several days ago, she was loath to strip her friend of any advantage.

Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, she realized, for Dúlrain came forward with a fine short companion sword in his hand and entrusted it to her saying, "It is light and a of a proper size for one of your kind. Please take it to use in your defense, Mrs. Banks."

Gratefully accepting, Gilly hoped that some skill might also come with the sword the ranger buckled at her side. And giving him a low curtsey she said with gravity, "I am much indebted to you sir, for you kindness!"

"I am much indebted to you, also," the ranger replied. "And may this blade serve you well! For I am proof that you can strike a commendable blow at need. But as you know, to do this you must have a weapon."

"And such a beautiful one too…Thank you, sir!" the hobbit murmured, looking at it appreciatively.

Then turning to Benia, the ranger explained, "We ride for Imladris at once. We might have to fight our way through, so be prepared. Kaldir and I will do our best to shield you. Both of you,” he added, looking again to Gilly. “But you must be prepared to fight," he warned.

Benia and Gilly looked at one other nervously, wondering what was in store for them, before taking to their horses. Gilly on the small pack pony rode along side Benia, as Kaldir hurried them, shouting from behind. Toby was at the rear sitting behind Kaldir on the great grey horse of his. Out in front, Dúlrain spearheaded the group.

They had gone a short ways and before she knew it, orcs seemed to be popping up, out of the ground, in the darkness, assaulting them. But the wave was quickly broken and three of the creatures soon lay dead on the ground, before Gilly had even a chance to raise her sword. A loud command to ride was heard as Kaldir drove them faster through their peril. Though sounds of unrest still filled the air from the distance before them.

If Naiore Dannan had raised this many orcs to her cause, the hobbit thought, and if she were indeed to attack even Imladris as these men now seemed to think she might, truly what was to keep her from the Shire also. For she had been headed toward that region and had seemingly changed her route only on some unforeseen whim. Orcs in the Shire! It must never happen, never! Gilly had had enough of tyrants in her day, and she swore that she would do all in her power to keep it from happening again.

As a second wave broke upon them, Gilly dug her heels into the pony and shouting “for the Shire!” leveled her blade at a rather sickly looking attacker on her right. Dispatching him after a few mishaps, which almost cost her pony, she looked around to see if there were more that needed to be felled. But catching sight of Kaldir, her heart wavered within her. He had an unnatural expression on his face that made her fear him once again, though she now considered him a friend. Quickly looking around for Dúlrain, she saw that he was headed for the river, with Benia close behind, and pulling her horse in to line behind them, she shouted over her shoulder to the bounty hunter. “To the river Mr. Kaldir, it’s the river! We are almost there!” before galloping down the hill after them.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill was now struck by a new fear. Had he made the right decision? He was not entirely sure. All he wanted to be sure of was that he stayed alive. Breathing deeply he trod his way through the underbrush his sword drawn and alert. His thoughts were with Naiore, he wondered exactly what it was that made her choose Barrold and himself, and after the violent display of elf power on Vanwe he wondered what would become of her. Surely being this close to Rivendell the elves would be able to help her, maybe by now Naiore has already begun her fall. he thought slowing to observe which way he was going, steadily he headed down a ravine.

Avanill was not a tracker so it was a surprise to him when he was surrounded by three orcs. “Fantastic” he muttered as he drew also his knife. these are the ones Naiore gathered he said to himself. “I thought there would be more of you.” He said to them but they did not answer instead coming at him. Avanill was ready for them though, surprise attacks were something his mother had trained him for, since he was a boy. All he had to remember was stay calm. The first orc came at him from in front while the second came from behind. Avanill in swift movements cut the throat of one. Avanill being young, had strength was on his side, he knew this and used it to his advantage, impaling the second but not before the third leapt onto his back and cut him across the shoulder. With one yell he flipped the orc over his shoulder and promptly beheaded it.

“Stupid sods.” He muttered. “What if I had still been in Naiore’s side?” shaking his head he sheathed his knife before noticing the nagging pain of his shoulder. Avanill pulled the material of his shirt enough so that he could see the crimson of blood appearing. He sighed and gathered up what had fallen to the ground during the scuffle and continued down along the ravine


It was then that he saw the figure of an older man coming towards him form the opposite direction. Avanill stood still, there was no use in him hiding, for the other man had seen him too, he had grey eyes, Avanill couldn’t help thinking how much like blade steel they looked in the fading light, and after surveying him for a minute Avanill realised the weather beaten man to be a ranger. so much for a clean getaway . Still holding his sword he bowed to the man as a sign of respect.

“Are you going to attack me?” the other man asked, standing his ground.

“Why? I have no quarrel with you sir, so indeed, quite the opposite. Some orcs have already taken my edge for a random scuffle away in a hurry” His voice was cool and calm as he sheathed his sword. a ranger would not attack an unarmed man who has stated he does not want a fight he thought daringly and moved a step closer. The older man did not move.

“What is your name and what purpose do you have for being here.”

“My name is Avanill son of At-“ he stopped, he thought perhaps that the mention of his mothers name would make the ranger suspect to his background.

“Avanill son of Atoren, as for my purpose of being here, it was to kill Naiore, and Barrold Ferney. He has killed some men whom I hold in high esteem, not to mention my sister. As for killing Naiore, she has taken something close to me and corrupted her. So much that she fears me” He stopped, and a rush of pain came over his face, from his back. He was quite pleased with the story he had spun on the spot. “My predicament is quite complicated.” He finished.

“The our plight is somewhat the same, we both seek the death of the elf.” The older man “My name is Rauthain”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Traveling down the ravine, Rauthain saw something move in the silver light ahead of him. It did not appear to be an orc, but displayed rather the more fluid progression of a man, one who was traveling alone. In the dimness the ranger thought perhaps it was Maethor, sent on some errand to locate Naiore in this maze. For the man wore dark clothes and bore some little resemblance to him from the distance. But as he neared, Rauthain recognized he was also younger, and wondered how he might happen to be caught traveling though the Trollshaws at night when a band of malevolent orcs was aboard. And of the unwelcome host the man was undoubtedly aware, for even now his weapon was at ready, as he threaded his way through the valley.

Still Rauthain had his misgivings regarding the bare blade, and its bearer’s disposition, and watched with interest trying, to judge his intent, as he made his way closer. The traveler had stopped and waiting upon Rauthain’s approach he bowed respectfully to the old ranger as he guided Juta closer.

Rauthain questioned the stranger, stopping before him and saying, “Are you going to attack me?” for though he had greeted him, he still held sword in hand.

“Why? I have no quarrel with you sir, so indeed, quite the opposite. Some orcs have already taken my edge for a random scuffle away in a hurry,” he stated calmly as he finally sheathed his sword, taking a step closer. As he advanced, Rauthain caught sight of a shining gleam running down his shoulder, and cocking his head slightly as he looked him in the eye, asked, “What is your name and what purpose do you have for being here?”

“My name is Avanill son of At-“ he hesitated, “Son of Atoren…” And as he went on to declare his purpose to be of similar nature to Rauthain’s, though of a vengeful turn, the ranger looked down at the ground marking the man’s boots, as he listened. Narrow they were, distinctively so.

Slowly looking up again, he saw an expression of pain cross this newcomer’s face, mingling with the confusion of sharply contrasting shadows that lay there. “Our plight is somewhat the same, we both seek the death of the elf. My name is Rauthain,” the grizzled man announced.

“Well met then Rauthain, and good hunting to you. But if you will pardon my haste, I would be on my way,” Avanill said lightly, going to pass the other in the darkness.

“Ah, but I see you are injured,” the ranger observed, swinging down off his mount to further discourage his departure. “I have some simple medicine in my possession that has served me well, if you would care to make use of it.”

Looking at the ground, a grin rose to Avanill’s lips. “I also have certain medicines in my possession, but this wound does not require what I carry. Thank you no, I will be alright soon enough.”

“As you wish,” Rauthain replied. “But I do insist that we travel then together, for this is no night for a wounded man to be roaming here, and you are headed the wrong way if you seek those you speak of.”

The younger man paused in thought for a moment before speaking. “Then by all means, I will follow your lead, such is my fortune to meet with a ranger who might redirect my steps to Naiore!”

Rauthain smiled at this, guessing that Avanill’s true desire was to leave the Ravennor far behind him. For even in the darkness the ranger saw by his boots and bearing that this was the second and unknown man he had been following for so many days. And he could only speculate on his reason for abandoning her train.

But the ranger also knew that he would in the end need all the strength he could gather against her, and wagered this one would fight along side him rather than face Naiore’s wrath at his defection alone, in the coming days. He also had hope that in trying to prove the sincerity of his story, this man might prove easier to keep a watch on and possibly become an asset rather than the inevitable liability a prisoner usually ripened into. He would still bear a careful eye, to be sure, and the ranger would be careful also in his speech, not to betray his suspicions, at least until Imladris was reached, and he could be properly treated.

But for the present, Rauthain did not care to tarry any longer. And though he felt it more urgent to join his fellow rangers in Imladris, than to pursue Naiore directly, he did not speak of his plans to Avanill. Instead he headed for the ford saying, “Come then and let us see this thing through!”

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

"To the river, Mr. Kaldir, it’s the river! We are almost there!”

Kaldir heard Mrs. Banks calling to him and, turning, saw her wheel her pony and charge down the hill after Dúlrain and Benia, who had already gotten a good distance ahead. Knowing that he should not allow the company to be separated, he turned his horse to follow. With the hobbit, Toby Longholes, still clinging to his back like a terrified limpet, Kaldir kicked the gray horse into a gallop. Even so, by the time he caught up to the others, they had already reached the riverbank and dismounted.

"I will be a dangerous crossing," Dúlrain said grimly as Kaldir drew up to the rest of them.

Kaldir nodded and dismounted.

"Crossing?" echoed Toby doubtfully as Kaldir lifted him off the back of the horse and placed him on the ground. Then, seeing Kaldir's black expression, the hobbit nodded meekly. "I know, I know," he muttered under his breath. "Another word and you'll cut my throat and throw me over the falls." He sat down and, putting his chin on his fist, stared bleakly at the fast current of the river.

Kaldir let a brief shade of a smile touch the corner of his lips. How right Toby was! He had been hearing Naiore's voice and the Black Speech of Mordor as she urged her forces onward in their assault on Imladris in his mind for some time now. Unable to shut it out, the sound of her voice put him in an edgy, murderous frame of mind. All he needed was some sort of impetus, and he would be more than happy to silence the treacherous little blighter forever, whether he might be of use to the elves or not. Turning away from Toby, he reached into his pack and extracted a coil of rope, which he took a long look at, then tossed to the ground in disgust.

"It's too short." He had cut off of it one too many times in making bindings for one prisoner or another. It would never reach across the river. Seeing the questioning looks from the others, he threw up one hand in frustration. "I had hoped to run a safety line across the river to aid us in crossing. My rope will never reach."

"Use mine. I'm sure it will reach," answered Dúlrain immediately. He turned and pulled a deceptively thin coil of rope from the pack on the back of his horse. Kaldir recognized it instantly as being of Elven make. He nodded gratefully.

Looking around for something to anchor the rope, Kaldir pointed to a large boulder near the water's edge. It was almost as though it had been chiseled for exactly that purpose, as one end tapered to a narrow width, where it was notched deeply to prevent slippage. "We'll tie one end to that boulder. I'll find something to secure the other end when I get to the other side." As Dúlrain tied the one end of the rope to the boulder, Kaldir took the other end and tied it tightly around his waist. Once it was secure, he turned and remounted his horse. "Use what's left of my rope to secure everyone to the safety line before they enter the water," he told Dúlrain. "There should be enough left for all of you."

Dúlrain nodded, joining Kaldir again at the water's edge. "I'll feed the rope out slowly as you cross," he added, taking up a coil of the Elven rope.

Kaldir nodded and smiled at him with his one-sided smile. "Here's to a watery grave," he said cryptically. He nudged his horse forward into the current. Dúlrain said something in response, but Kaldir was unable to hear it over the rush of the water. The depth of the river increased rapidly. In a matter of several feet, Kaldir had entered the full force of the current, which flowed around him with an icy swiftness. One false step on the part of the horse and the two of them could easily be swept away and over the falls. Sensing this, the horse balked, but Kaldir urged him forward. The river bottom dropped off sharply, and, the next thing he knew, both he and Nico had been carried some feet downriver as the horse began to swim. Kaldir struggled to keep both his grip on the horse and his own head above water. Finally, the horse's hooves gained purchase on the river bottom on the other side and surged forward toward the far bank. As they emerged from the current, Kaldir looked back and saw that Dúlrain had already prepared Benia to follow him. He dismounted quickly and, leaving Nico at a short distance from the water's edge, began to untie the rope from his waist. Once he had finished, he secured it firmly to the base of a large tree trunk. Then, holding tightly to the newly placed safety line, he waded back into the river up to the waist. He signaled for Benia to move forward.

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

Benia

When Benia arrived at the river bank and dismounted, her heart sank at the sight of the dark water and fast current. Surely Kaldir and Dúlrain did not intend for them to cross there. It would be madness. When Kaldir joined them a few moments later and began to make preparations to do just that, she swallowed hard and looked around for Gilly. She found her friend also staring at the fast-moving water but with a look on her face that was closer akin to horror than mere dismay.

"Oh, Miss Benia," whispered Gilly, barely audibly. "I can't cross that river. I shall be killed here on the bank by orcs sooner than go into that water."

Benia looked from Gilly back toward the two men just in time to see them exchange a few words. Then, with a rope securely tied to his waist, Kaldir rode into the thick of the current. She sucked in her breath sharply as the swift water took him and his horse. The only things visible to her on the bank were the shapes of their heads, struggling to stay above the surface. Unconsciously, she reached out and grasped Gilly's hand.

"They are rigging a safety line for us," she said quietly in an effort to comfort Gilly, not entirely sure that she was comforted herself. "We shall be fine. Neither Mr. Kaldir nor Mr. Dúlrain will allow anything untoward to befall us. They have taken good care of us thus far."

Gilly said nothing, but on looking at her, Benia could see that she was not convinced. Partly to encourage Gilly and partly just to get it over with, Benia gave Gilly's hand a final squeeze, then let go and approached Dúlrain, where he stood on the riverbank feeding out rope to Kaldir.

"I'll go next," she volunteered. "What do I need to do?"

Never taking his eyes off of Kaldir, Dúlrain gave her careful instructions on how to cut a length from Kaldir's rope and attach one end to her waist, the other to the safety line that would soon stretch across the river. "That way," he concluded. "If the current takes you, we shall have a way of getting you back. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Benia answered and did precisely as he had explained. Then, she mounted her bay mare and rode back to where Dúlrain still stood. By then, Kaldir had reached the far bank and was signaling for her to come. Dúlrain checked the knots she had tied that secured her to the safety line, tightened one, and then smiled up at her.

"Be brave. We shall make sure you get across safely."

"Thank you," Benia answered and tried to smile back, but found herself unable to manage more than a nervous grimace. Casting one final glance back at Gilly, she rode into the water. The cold hit her like the collapse of a stone wall. She gasped and grabbed tightly on to her reins. Seconds later, she found herself totally submerged as her horse lost her footing and began to swim. Benia panicked and struggled toward the surface, water rushing into her mouth. As her head broke the surface, she began to cough, but never for an instant let loose of her reins. She thought that surely she would drown as the horse swam on and on. Then, suddenly, she felt the firm grip of Kaldir's hand on her arm and heard his voice in her ear.

"You're safe now. Ride for the bank."

Still coughing, she kicked the mare forward and rode for the bank for all she was worth. When she had reached the safety of dry land, she turned looked back. Kaldir still stood up to his waist in the river on her side, while Dúlrain had turned to face Gilly. Her heart sank as she saw Gilly shake her head and take a step backward.

"C'mon, Gilly," she murmured. "You can do it!"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

“It no use Mr. Dúlrain, I can not swim and will surely drown if I try! Perhaps if I stay here I can hide until the orcs have passed, and then…and then…. Oh, I don’t know what then!” she said looking out over the Bruinen to see Kaldir help Benia’s stumbling horse out of the current. Benia’s hair was streaming as she coughed and looked back over to the far bank. Gilly shook her head and took a step backward, suppressing a strong urge to bolt fast and far away from the swiftly moving water.

She glanced back to see Toby, leaning against the rock that held the rope, watching the exchange.

Once he saw Benia was safely on the other side, Dúlrain turned to the hobbit. “Now Mrs. Banks,” he said calmly. “ I do not know what you may have heard of Orcs, but they are also skilled huntsman. If you were to remain here I should not like to have to face your family, who will have been worried over you. It would be far better for your children to learn that their brave mother crossed the swift river Bruinen, trying to help save Imladris, then that she was taken by orcs, and slain. For even if by chance, you were to drown you would have had died nobly. And though there is no shame in being captured by orcs, it is hard news, and it does something to the persons that have lived to hear such tidings.”

Looking again to Toby, he winked at her and walked away down the bank a bit, throwing a stick into the current and watching it float quickly down stream.

Gilly did not answer, but closed her eyes frowning. He was right of course, but she had this overwhelming fondness for breathing at the moment. She seemed to be able to think of nothing else as she tried desperately to picture the boy’s faces, and Carl.

Dúlrain gave the hobbit a few moments before folding Kaldir’s rope to cut off another section. Getting down on one knee, he tied it securely around the hobbit slim waist. “Kaldir and I are here Mrs. Banks, we will not let you drown. And do not forget I am indebted to you. If you remain here I will be obligated to remain also, to defend you against the orcs, regardless of their numbers.”

Gilly’s eyes opened. “Oh no Mr. Dúlrain, you can’t! Not with your side!” She pleaded shaking her head.

“I would have no choice.”

“Then I also have no choice,” she whispered, her brow still knit with concern. “Or face the possible that guilt. What must I do?”

“Ride your pony across,” the ranger said nodding toward the pack animal close by. “Soon after entering the river the pony will start swimming. It will be strange, and he will be deep in the cold water, but do not be alarmed, just do not let go of his neck.”

“I can do that, I think,” Gilly finally said.

“Can you hold your breath?” Dúlrain asked.

“Yes.”

“If the water starts to go over your head, hold your breath. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” she said in a far away voice.

“Come then,” he said bringing the pony to were the hobbit stood. Wincing he picked her up and set her on her perch. “Do not forget, Mrs. Banks, hold on!” he reminded, leading the animal down the bank just upstream of the safety line. Slapping the pony’s rump to start its descent into the river, the ranger quickly returned to the safety line, pulling it taut.

Gilly’s eyes went wide, as the water steadily and rapidly rose up the pony’s legs. She felt panic springing up from deep inside her as it began to rise up her own legs as well, lifting her skirts until they rested like a flower around her waist. Pushing them hurriedly under the water, she grabbed the horse’s neck, clinging to the poor creature as though it were life itself, and watching as her small wooden tatting shuttle bobbed to the surface and floated quickly away, dragging a small piece of her handiwork with it.

As the ranger had warned, the pony soon began to swim in the frigid water and the hobbit was pushed off by the swirling current, remaining like a green streamer hanging from the pony’s neck, the rope tethering her to the safety line tangled round her foot. As they reached the center of the river the current grew very strong, too much so for the pony to keep pace. And it slowly passed under the safety line and began to drift down stream. Still the hobbit tried to hold on, her sodden skirts now over her head and she was more or less stretched taut herself, between the poor pony and the safety line, her rosy cheeks puffed out like two balloons. For she couldn’t breathe, her head was face down in the water as the pony’s neck slipped from her grasp and she blindly found the reins, which slipped quickly through her fingers.

Cut loose from the horse, Gilly disappeared under the water, and opening her eyes saw only green dimness around her. She began frantically pushing her palms toward the surface, but found she was only dragged deeper in the freezing water. Suddenly, she felt a tug at her waist. Kaldir’s rope! Grabbing it, she pulled herself along its length until she surfaced, sputtering, quite close to where it looped over the elven rope. Holding on to it for dear life she coughed trying to regain her breath. Shaking the water from her eyes, she looked around, her feet remaining pointed downstream.

She could not see the pony, but Benia and the bank were getting closer. Dúlrain had unloosed the rope at his side and he and Kaldir were struggling in tandem against the current to pull Gilly in like some big green fish. Kaldir had once again entered the river, straining to maintain his balance while keeping the rope taut and pulling the hobbit nearer.

Seeing that Kaldir meant to deliver her from this ordeal Gilly began propel herself along the safety line toward him, quicker than a cat under similar circumstances. Soon she found the current less strong and she could just touch the bottom of the riverbed, the sturdy form of Kaldir just a few yards away. Stretching out his long arm, as she drew closer, he caught hold of the hobbit who was shaking uncontrollably. Settling her in the crook of one arm she buried her face in his chest repeating, “Thank you Mr. Kaldir. Oh, thank you,” grateful for the strong arms that kept her above the waters.

Bringing Gilly and the rope’s end back to the bank, Kaldir deposited the hobbit with Benia, and tying off the rope again, he moved down stream to where the pack pony had emerged sodden, upon the bank.

“Miss Benia, I surely thought I was dead,” Gilly said softly. “I thought I’d never see my family ever again.” Then remembering that Benia’s parents were no more and that she had always had to face such dangers, she cried silent tears as Benia embraced her, and tried to calm her trembling friend.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain and Toby

Holding the fine elven rope taut in his hands, Dúlrain kept a watchful eye on the frightened hobbit woman. As she rode deeper and deeper into the dark water, His breath caught in the back of his throat as the pony passed under the safety line and began drifting down stream, dragging the poor hobbit woman face down with it. Seeing that Gilly was in trouble he moved quickly to where the rope was anchored, glancing back across to Kaldir, he saw that his brother had guessed his intent and gripped the rope with both hands ready to take the strain.

"What are you doing?" Toby screamed his dark eyes wide with terror as he saw the ranger’s hand moving to untie the knots that secured woman's lifeline. Ignoring Toby's panic Dúlrain continued to work at the knots, determined that the woman should not drown.

"She'll drown if you loose it!" Toby frantically yelled now upon him, pulling at his arms trying to prevent him from his urgent task.

"She'll drown if I don't!" he snapped pushing the hobbit forcefully aside.

"I must feed the rope so Kaldir can pull her ashore,” he added with a sigh, seeing that Toby was genuinely concerned. Finally understanding, the hobbit nodded and hurried to help the ranger undo Kaldir's well-tied knots.

With the rope securely in both hands he slowly began feeding it into the water, feeling the pull of the strong current he dug in his heels and worked against it to keep the rope taut as Kaldir worked to pull Gilly ashore. Dulrain sighed with relief, as a small dark head broke through the waters surface, coughing and spluttering, but alive! even Toby found himself relieved that the Shire woman lived, but she was not yet safe, still fighting against the current and the burning feeling in his hands as he let the rope slowly slip through them, he continued to feed Kaldir his end of the rope. His wounded side now ached from the strain but gritting his teeth, he bore the pain until Mrs Banks was safely in Kaldir's care.

Seeing Kaldir passing the hobbit woman into the gentle care of her friend, he relaxed somewhat knowing, the hobbit woman was again in safe hands. As Kaldir secured the rope his end, Dulrain began hauling the rope so it would once more be taut for one last crossing. However, as he turned to re-anchor his end to the rock, he saw Toby's pale face frozen in abject terror, staring at the moon's silvery reflection in the deep dark water.

"Toby, help me tie of the rope!” he called, trying to distract the hobbits attention. As if in a daze Toby slowly did as he asked, but as they rechecked the knots he suddenly bounced up, "No I can't I just can't!" he wailed backing away.

"You can and you will Mrs Banks could!” Dulrain replied sternly grabbing the hobbits shaking shoulders.

"No I couldn’t possibly hold my breath that long!” he cried shaking his head, Dulrain sighed heavily and spoke frankly to the hobbit. "What other choice do you have Toby? Sit here and wait for Naiore to find you? Do you think she will be any less merciful than the river? "On hearing his options Toby shook his head vigorously and looked across the black expanse to the far side, "No, that one I never want to meet again, you are right it would be better to die at the hands of the river than to suffer at the hands of that elf. I'll do it Mr Dulrain I'll do it, just tell me what to do."

"Hold on to me and do exactly as I told Mrs Banks, do you understand?" As Toby nodded his understanding, he cut the last of Kaldir's rope in two, tied one end securely about Toby's less than hobbit like waist and with a wince helped the hobbit onto the back of his horse. He then tied the remaining length about his own waist and leads Dir to the bank were he mounted, securing both safety lines to the elven rope.

With a quick nod to the others on the far bank, he urged his horse into the icy water. A few feet in the full force of the river hit him and he felt Toby's terrified iron grip about his waist, bring a sharp pain to his wounded side, but gritting his teeth he urged his horse on, holding tight to the reigns, so as not to be swept away by the current. Suddenly the river bottom dropped off sharply and they began drifted down stream, as Dir struggled to swim to the far bank, Kaldirs rope burned at his side as the current tugged relentlessly. At first he felt that all the fires of mount doom had been set loose upon him, but it quickly melted into nothingness as the icy waters numbed his injured side, he felt nothing not even Toby's iron grip.

Suddenly remembering the hobbit tethered behind him he glanced back, his own head now barely above the water. However, Toby was nowhere to be seen. Quickly struggling against the current he wrap one hand about Dir's reigns and twisted back reaching for the rope that held the slight hobbit to the safety line, His head sunk under the rushing water as he grabbed at the hobbits rope and struggled to pull him to the surface. After a few minutes struggle the pair came up coughing and spluttering as Dir’s hooves finally found the river bottom on the other side, and as the horse surged forwards Kaldir took hold of the stallion’s reigns, guiding the horse to the bank.

"I swear that if we ever make it to this Imladris alive! I will never steal another thing!" Toby gasped between coughs.

"I shall keep you too that! Master Longholes!" Dúlrain breathlessly grinned as he passed the hobbit down to Kaldir.

"I wasn't serious about a watery grave you know!" his brother frowned, but despite himself Dulrain laughed, "But I was serious when I said not today! The icy depth of the Bruinien is not our fate, but next time you can take the hobbit!" With a laugh Kaldir lead the horse out of the water and onto the bank.

"Check that he is alright, he got quite a scare back there" Dulrain said to Kaldir, indicating the shaking hobbit his brother had just deposited on the bank.

"And so did we!" came the gentle concerned tones of the southern woman and her hobbit friend.

"My apologies ladies, but I could not let him drown. He may be a scoundrel and a nuisance, but he is not evil. I believe he merely took a wrong turn at a cross roads in his life, if you understand my meaning.” as he spoke he looked to Kaldir out of all of them he would surely understand the cost of Toby’s wrong choices. However, to his surprise Mrs Banks went to comfort the bedraggled hobbit.

But as he watched Gilly crouched next to the shivering form of the hobbit, the numb reprieve of the icy waters suddenly subsided causing him to lurch forwards, his hands clutch at his side as he slowly slid from his saddle, the volcanic fires threatening to tear his side apart as he held on to Dir's neck for stability.

"Dulrain are you all right?" Benia asked concerned as she saw the colour drain from his face.

“I’ll be fine in a minute, the water took it out of me a bit,” he lied trying to smile assuredly but as Benia rounded the horse her gently eyes went wide with horror. “Kaldir!” she exclaimed alerting the other ranger to her alarm. However, as she hurried towards him her face drawn in fear he followed her gaze down. The rope, still tied to his waist, and the hand that held his side were soaked in blood, his blood!

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia was still holding Gilly tightly around the shoulders, speaking to her softly and trying to stop her from trembling after her difficult river crossing, when she looked across to the far bank just in time to see Dúlrain and Toby ride into the dark waters of the Bruinen. Her body tensed as she watched the current take them, the hobbit's head suddenly disappearing under the water. Sensing Benia's sudden distraction, Gilly looked out over the water as well. Both of them watched as Kaldir, still waist deep in the river, grasped the safety line with both hands and, putting his full weight behind it, pulled the rope taut.

As Dúlrain's head briefly dropped below the surface, Benia loosed her grip on Gilly and moved swiftly toward the water's edge. Two heads broke the surface of the river, both man and hobbit, coughing and sputtering as they fought for air.

"Benia!" cried Gilly behind her. "Don't go too deep! Your skirts!"

Looking down, Benia saw that she was already up to her knees in the dark water. If she went any further the current would surely seize her skirts like wind into a sail. With no safety line, there would be nothing Kaldir or anyone else could do to save her from being swept downstream. She stopped, scarcely breathing, and watched as the horse with its two riders continued to struggle against the rushing force of the water. After what seemed to be an eternity, the brown horse's hooves seemed to find the river bottom. As Dir surged forward toward the bank, Kaldir caught the reins and guided the horse in. Benia turned and ran back toward Gilly and the others, nearly weeping with relief that they had all made it across.

She listened happily as Kaldir and Dúlrain exchanged a few bantering sentences about Toby, but her joy and relief evaporated quickly when Dúlrain suddenly lurched forward, holding his injured side. "Dúlrain, are you all right?" she asked as he slid slowly from his saddle. His face had taken on a deathly pallor.

"I'll be fine in a minute," he answered lightly, trying to smile. "The water took it out of me a bit."

"Oh, no..." Benia whispered to herself, coming around the side of his horse to where Dúlrain stood. Her amber eyes went wide with horror as she saw that his side, his hand, and even the length of Kaldir's rope that had secured him to the safety line were all soaked in his blood. "Kaldir!" she called out as she hurried toward Dúlrain, her face drawn in fear. "Kaldir - now!"

Seeing that Dúlrain was maintaining his feet only by holding on to the neck of his horse, Benia rushed forward and caught him in her arms, faltering only slightly as his weight shifted from the horse's neck to her. Within seconds, Kaldir was at her side. He cut the tether that bound Dúlrain to the safety line with his dagger. The bloody rope fell to the ground. Then, sheathing his dagger, Kaldir looked around for someplace he could take Dúlrain where he could be at least somewhat sheltered. Orcs were already beginning to gather on the far river bank. He scowled as an arrow broke the surface of the Bruinen about ten feet from the waterline.

Catching Benia’s eye, Kaldir shook his head. “You will have to do what you can for him for the moment.” He gestured toward the far side of the river with a tilt of his head. “We must act quickly.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Benia watched as Kaldir reached out and gave Dúlrain's elven rope a sharp tug. It fell into the water, the knot on the far bank having obligingly given way. To prevent the orcs from making use of it, he rapidly reeled it in.

Holding Dúlrain, Benia felt increasingly helpless as Kaldir attended to other matters like the rope, and not to Dúlrain's wound. She knew he had no choice - all of their lives were at stake. He had to see to their defense first. After all, what good would it do to see to Dúlrain's wound and staunch the flow of blood, only to have them all instantly slaughtered by orcs? She would have to take care of Dúlrain herself, just as she had taken care of her father's wounds on more than one occasion in the past. She pressed her bare cheek, the one without the spangled chain, against Dúlrain's face and, placing her lips against his ear, spoke to him softly.

"Come, my love," she said calmly as a black arrow pierced the water only a few feet from where they stood. "You must walk with me now. Just a little way. There is shelter ahead in the trees." Turning, she took most of his weight across her shoulders as she guided him toward the thin fringe of trees that separated them from the sheer face of the rock cliff that rose ahead of them. He nodded and began to walk, but his steps were slow and unsteady. Benia could tell that he was holding on to consciousness by nothing more than sheer determination. Behind her, she could hear Kaldir barking instructions at Gilly and Toby, that they were to get up and make for the trees at once. Glancing back, she saw that he had his own and Dúlrain's horses by the reins and was running in pursuit of Gilly's pony who had wandered a short distance upstream. Her own mare was barely visible through the darkness, far up on the bank among the trees. Ignoring all of this, she continued guiding Dúlrain steadily toward the trees.

"Just a little farther, my love," she whispered as another orc arrow skittered harmlessly across the stones to their right. In a few more steps, the two of them would be safe among the trees, and out of the range of the orcs' arrows. His hand tightened around hers whenever she spoke, though he said nothing in response.

Benia no longer cared if Dúlrain knew the true depths of her feeling for him. Her mother’s warnings about hiding her heart from the world no longer mattered to her. Dúlrain’s lifeblood was seeping away through the gash in his side. All that mattered to her now was saving him, stopping the flow of blood from his body before it was too late.

As she reached the shelter of the trees, she was joined by Gilly, who helped her to lay Dúlrain comfortably on the ground in a bed of dry leaves. At the sight of the blood, Gilly shook her head. “Oh, my,” she murmured.

“Give me your pinafore,” ordered Benia. “I haven’t the time to get anything from my pack.” Gently, she opened Dúlrain’s shirt and pulled it aside to expose the gaping mouth of the wound. Dúlrain faded from consciousness.

Gilly nodded and did as she was told, taking off her wet pinafore and handing it to Benia, who first wrung it out, then wadded it into a knot and pressed it against the gash. “Pressure,” she said, only half to Gilly. “Pressure will stop the bleeding.”

Gilly nodded and continued to hover helplessly at Benia’s shoulder. A second later, she was joined by Kaldir, who had handed the reins of the horses over to Toby with the admonition that he make himself useful. Kaldir was bleeding now, too, from a gash on his upper arm, having been grazed by an orc’s arrow. He leaned over Dúlrain’s unconscious countenance. “How is he?”

“Unconscious,” answered Gilly.

“How’s the bleeding?”

Benia moved the soggy pinafore aside for an instant and looked at the gash. The flow of blood did seem to be slowing. “I think it’s stopping,” she answered cautiously.

Kaldir nodded. “Good. We must move at once.”

Benia looked up, her amber eyes flashing. “No. It will kill him.”

“It will kill him if we stay. The orcs have found us and it will be only a matter of time before they figure out a way to cross the Bruinen. Put a fresh binding on the wound. We ride at once for the stair.”

Benia pushed the blood-soaked pinafore into Gilly’s hand and rose to her feet, tears rising in her eyes. “He can’t possibly ride and you know it.”

Kaldir’s icy eyes narrowed. “He will ride if I have to carry him in my arms. Now do as I say or get out of the way. His life and all our lives depend on it.”

Benia felt Gilly’s hand lightly touch her wrist. “He’s right, Benia. Mr. Dúlrain said much the same thing to me on the far bank. Kaldir will take care of him. Won’t you, Mr. Kaldir?”

Kaldir nodded. “As if his life were my own. Now, move.”

With shaking hands, Benia knelt and ripped a few strips of cloth from the hem of her dress. Between the three of them, Kaldir, Benia, and Gilly lifted Dúlrain and, taking the strips Benia had ripped from her dress, tightly bound the blood-soaked pinafore into place. Within moments, they were all mounted again, this time with Toby riding behind Benia on her bay mare. She took the lead, while Gilly rode behind her on the little pack pony. Kaldir brought up the rear with Dúlrain’s unconscious figure propped heavily against him on the front of his saddle. He led Dúlrain’s horse by the reins. Keeping as close as possible to foot of the cliff and under the thin cover of trees, they rode as quickly as they could manage toward the south and the staircase that would gain them admittance to Imladris.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

As Léspheria took, the seat set for her and the Lords of Rivendell dismissed all their company, but six tall, fair and noble looking elves, all that remained of the high council of elves. She thought back to the beginnings of her journey, recalling her first encounter with the elf maiden that so matched her mothers reputed beauty. However, even as she remembered the young elves resemblance to descriptions of the betrayer of elves, she remembered the fearful glances and the warm smile when on the rare occasions it broke through her deep emptiness and sadness. The kindness and eagerness to help those around her, all traits that where her own and that she hoped Naiore had not stripped from her.

As she looked up from her musings, the gathered council waited for her to speak. she began at the Forsaken inn retelling her meeting of Naiore’s daughter, The bounty hunter , Vanwe’s untrained gift, the arrival of Amandur, The request of her brother, her many meetings in Bree, the discovery of Tallas, and then the journey eastward. Leaving out for the moment the painful memories of Vanwe’s mental assaults by her mother and the memories Naiore choose to assault her with and that she knew that Naiore was the one responsible for her mother’s torture and eventual death.

She then told of their crossing of the ford, pausing painfully as she told of Maethor's demise, their was a moments silence as all in the room silently prayed for the elf friends mortal spirit to find it's way to Illúvatar's gentle embrace, then she continued to tell them that Fintar with Amandur held the stairs waiting for reinforcements.

"They have already been sent," Elrohir assured her seeing the concern etched on her face.
With a slight nod of understanding , she waited patiently as the council discussed and debated all they had been told, the twins at one point drew together and whispered in secret, "Then our assumptions are true!" she heard Elladan whisper to his brother as she strained to listen to several different conversations at once. "But the reluctance to eat or speak does not hold well!" she heard Elrohir reply, his high brow creased in a contemplative frown. Of whom do they speak, she wondered, as she ignored the other conversations and concentrated on the voices of her lords, but just as she thought they were about to answer her question the large doors of the hall swung open.

All heads turn! A flustered guard hurried towards the dais. Without regard for the others in the room, the guard sunk to his knee and bowed before Elladan and Elrohir. "My Lords, his temper has risen and he threatens to break down his door, I do not know how much longer we can hold him!"

"We shall come at once!" Elladan answered, Elrohir nodding his agreement. As the two Lords rose to followed the guard, Léspheria rose also, realising that they spoke of Menecin she wish to help, perhaps she could quell his anger with news of his daughter.

"No, Léspheria you have had a hard journey and should rest," Elrohir gently counselled. but even as she began to protest Elladan came up behind his brother, “It may yet be that your skills will be required before this night is over!” he added with a faraway look in the direction of the ford, where they knew the battle to hold the stairs raged on. "We will speak again when this matter is resolved," Elrohir assured her. With a resigned sigh, she nodded and watched as the Lords of Rivendell quickly followed the guard from the hall.

Behind her, she could hear the council breaking up and preparing to leave, agreeing to ravine once the matter of Menecin recent fit of madness passed. As they slowly departed, she caught parts of their conversations, mostly concerning the bard and his sanity. However, a few discussed the nature of their foe, how it was a bad day when an elf brought orcs to Imladris.

With a heavy sigh she followed them from the hall and made her way silently along the ornately decorated passages, till she came to the central stairwell of the house, The stairs spiralled upwards to the bell tower and on the walls surrounding the stairway where the detailed paintings of great battles and historic events involving their people. Slowly she climbed the stairs to the first floor where she followed the east passageway to her room. She paused shortly trying to remember when last she had seen the interior of her room, but as she opened the door and stepped inside she saw it was just as she left it, several dresses hung on dressmaker’s dollies half done and the pine writing desk, littered with books and papers that waited to be attended too.

As she drew further into the room, she heard whispered voices and running water and as she looked round, she saw steam escaping from the adjoining room, with the thought of a warm bath to relaxing her aching muscles, she moved towards the two elf voices, but she stopped abruptly as she caught the topic of their conversation.

"They say that it is an elf that has brought this trouble upon us, Meril!"

"Oh no it can't be, you must be mistaken Terphil, surely no elf would ally himself with orcs!" the older of the two elves replied.

"It's true but its a female not a male, I overheard one of the guards saying that they had caught her outside the Bards cottage and that now at this very moment she is held in a cell and refuses to speak, even to our lords!"

Léspheria gasped as Menecin's ranting’s came back to her, 'It's not her!' Had he seen the guards take their prisoner? Could it be that they held Vanwe rather than Naiore in the cells? She had to find out! Turning quickly she fled from the room, flew down the stairs and out towards Menecin's cottage. Even from the garden, she could hear the bard’s wrath, but it did not slow her hurried pace, entering the building, she ascended the stairs and burst in to see several guards attempting to bolster the door against the bards attempts to knock it down. The twins looked up from their debate and looked at her questioningly.

"You must let me speak with him!" she exclaimed, staring determinedly at the door and the guards that barred her way.

"That is a request that we can not in all good conscious grant, he is again in the grips of his darkness and your safety could not be guaranteed." Elladan answered calmly.

"No! I believe he knows what I fear, that you have his daughter not Naiore imprisoned in our cells." She rebuked sharply turning to face her Lords.

Elrohir sighed heavily, "Regrettable as it is, we already know this to be true, but she refuses to talk to us or even eat the food we send to her!"

"We are not to know what hold Naiore has over her daughter and what lies she has fed her." Elladan continued.

Léspheria looked between the door and the twins, she could see their dilemma, but Vanwe did not deserve this treatment from her own kin, if she went to the elf now she may loss the tentative friendship they had begun to form, but as she looked again to the door holding the enraged bard she saw a way.

"Let him try!" she whispered.

"No!" Elladan answered adamantly, But Elrohir looked to the door contemplating her words.

"We cannot be sure what he would do!" Elladan pressed.

"But isn't it possible, brother that perhaps together they could over come what ever hold Naiore has over them, I too am reluctant to put such a bold reminder before him, but it may be the only way." Elrohir said to his brother.

Reluctantly Elladan nodded his agreement and Léspheria slowly walked towards the guards that struggled to hold the door, they looked at her then to their Lords, who nodded indicating that they should let her pass. Raising her hand to the door she spoke clearly but softly, "Menecin, it is Léspheria Denfëa, may I speak with you?" The cries and pounding persisted so she continued, "I am the daughter of Valaindon, and I believe you and she were friends?" The pounding stopped as the elf within fought to remember where he had heard that name before or so she assumed.

Slowly she opened the door, broken furniture littered the floor and artwork lay torn from their hangings, she cautiously stepped inside, but suddenly found herself pinned against the wall, the twins and their guards surged forwards. "No!" she said calmly with a wave of her hand, her heart raced as the bard studied her face and his unstable emotions tugged at the mental barrier she had in place, but she did not think he would harm her intentionally.

"It's not her!" he screamed in her face.

"Vanwe, her name is Vanwe," she whispered, the bard’s eyes softened and his hold relaxed as he stepped back mouthing his daughter’s name. Tears fell down his cheeks, "Vanwe" he said looking to her for answers.

"Come!" she whispered softly, leaning forwards and offering the elf the support of her arm. "I think she would like to meet you," she offered warmly, as the Bard hesitated, then nodding Menecin slowly took her arm and she guided him from the room. Elladan nodded approvingly as he came to the bards others side, and behind her she could heard Elrohir ordering the guards to see to the repair of the bards room, then he too followed them from the cottage and together they took Menecin to his daughter.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill lingered in front of Rauthain and his horse for a while, contemplating whether he had done the right thing or not. But all he knew at present was that he wanted to go home, way south in his homeland of Minhiriath.I hate to admit it he thought as he stood before the ranger, but I should have listened to my mother And now a feeling of shame passed over his brow, after all she had taught him, and the fact that she had lived for so long in his line of work for Avanill to go against everything Atantri had said was all in all a Blasphemy against her.

In his mind, Avanill hoped Barrold was having better luck with Naiore, he smiled at the thought of Barrold struck dumb under the tree. Now that was certainly the mark of Atantri, and her son had taken up her signature way of escape. And he would have been fine, if it were not for the ranger. If it had not been for Rauthain, Avanill would be out of another fight. It was true that it would be easier to kill him, but Avanill was not like that. Why should he kill this man who has done no harm to him?

Now however, it seemed that Avanill had dug a hole deeper for himself, now he had said that he was in pursuit for Vanwe and that Barrold had killed his sister. Avanill figured that he would be able to get away with most of it, now that it was that he had no malicious intent upon any of Naiore’s party, or even Naiore herself. He did hope, however, that if he was discovered, they would no find out about Tallas. At any rate, they could not convict him. There was no evidence to suggest he had even killed him. It would be Vanwe who would be the undoing of him, though Avanill could argue the influence of Naiore.

The more he thought of it the more Avanill began to worry, but he was cool of character and did not show it easily. Presently though, Rauthain had begun to move, and Avanill followed. “Ranger, shall you have the elf’s blood or shall I?” It was a demure comment but spirit lifting all the same, he drew his sword again and followed the ranger and his horse.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

“Come then and lets us see this thing through,” Rauthain said, tugging on Juta’s bridle. But Avanill did not move, as if he would be an obstacle to the older man.

“Ranger, shall you have the elf’s blood or shall I?” he said coolly, unsheathing his sword as though she might be found at the next turning. It was indeed an interesting question, and Rauthain found himself thinking fleetingly of Kaldir. Perhaps it was right that he should not be the one to find her and risk further harm. Perhaps this was the way for an old man to make his final recompense, though the chance of success seemed increasingly slender.

“Know Avanill,” he said staring in the direction he would go, “that as one of the King’s rangers, I am bound to capture the elf and bring her to face the King’s justice, if at all possible, though my heart speaks differently. For if she were to be mortally wounded I would be far from unhappy, though it would likely be unwise to release such a ruthless feä from its fleshy cage so that it may inhabit this land forever. But for either course, she must first be found,” he added after a moment, looking then deeply into the other’s glittering eyes to see what might be hidden there. “And I reckon that we are not too far behind.”

“Let us not delay anymore then,” the younger man said, “and I will follow your leading, that I may not confuse the trail.”

**********

Slowing, they came near the point where the ground rose again and emerging from under the trees became a grassy slope, running down to the water's edge. The ranger had long since discovered among the heavily trampled ground, the light and delicate step that he had first seen at the Forsaken Inn. And smiled to himself that he should have stumbled across these fresher prints by chance. Straining his ears to listen, so that Avanill might not catch him unaware, he could hear also shouts and the muffled sounds of a skirmish in the distance, steadily rising over the sound of the river. Rauthain stopped and turned to speak to his fellow traveler.

"Why do you stop?" Avanill queried.

"To warn you. Here are the very footprints of Naiore," he said, "and so we may soon need to decide this matter you broached earlier."

"Naiore has been here?" Avanill muttered to himself, his eyes searching the hopeless confusion of prints at his feet. "How long since she has past though this place?" he asked of the ranger.

Rauthain unsheathed his sword and pointing to a spot close to Avanill's boot said, "See, this is where she has walked, some hours ago."

"You are very sure then?"

"I have been following her since before she passed through Bree," the ranger said. "One learns to recognize these small traces after a time. But let us make ourselves useful now and hurry."

Rauthain made his way toward the edge of the trees, being careful to place the horse between himself and Avanill, and keeping his pressing concern for the others to himself. But upon emerging from the wood, signs of struggle were everywhere evident. And they were forced to skirt around an orc who had fallen in their path, an arrow protruding at an odd angle from his neck. Soon finding also footprints of Léspheria, Amandur and Maethor, Rauthain increased his pace through the field until he spied a heap of green and black among the darkened grass, between two fallen orcs.

Hurrying to the spot, so near the water's edge, he scattered the birds gathered there in the morning light, and was overcome by the painful recognition of the sundered body of his friend. His anger welling up inside of him so that must keep moving, he got up immediately and began casting his eyes about, looking for the raven-haired head, and finding instead the slender knives strewn in the grass. Picking them up he laid them with the body.

Disregarding Avanill's steady gaze, he walked in a heavy, nigh haphazard manner, ranging across the grass until he came upon what he sought, and taking the head gently in his hands, he returned to the body, asking Avanill's help. Together the men dragged the stiff form to a little hollow among stunted trees that lay well above the high water mark of the river Bruinen, and lay it there.

Not this one, Rauthain thought, again and again. Not the one for whom he had held such hope! Now he was gone to his doom, and had not to have lived to see better days.

"I have became a caretaker of the dead of late, and death surrounds me," he said with a grim smile to Avanill. "But the wind shall not pass over these bones laid bare. Nor shall the sun see them. I hope that you might excuse me that I might cover them, before we cross the ford. For by the sound of it, I may not be able to accomplish it afterward."

And Avanill climbed upon a grey standing stone and sat watching as Rauthain covered the body, once more building a cairn marking the passage of Naiore through these lands. Choosing the larger stones by the river's edge, the ranger gazed across to the steep and slippery bank at the other side of it, and the dark shapes moving there. An arrow soon landed at his feet. Staring at the black-feathered shaft, he saw a small wooden shuttle bobbing in a pool of still water beside it and picking up the simple tool he wondered at it, quickly slipping the sodden thing with its trail of green in his pocket, before setting off to complete his sad task.

After the body was fully covered, Rauthain signaled to Avanill that he was ready to continue, and the younger man slipped easily off the boulder he had been sitting on. Together they walked to the verge of the water, and viewed the orcs on the other side.

Crossing over to Juta, Rauthain removed the orcish sword from his saddle, choosing to brandish it rather than his own blade, and swinging into the saddle before readying his bow, he addressed Avanill. “I think sir, that today you might have the honor of spilling the Ravennor’s blood, if you are still willing. But go on ahead of me so that I might defend your path with my bow. And do not let fear grow in your heart, for if any other shall approach you, I will ride them down, until such time that I am also too heavily embattled. Go now.” He finished, raising the bow.


Rauthain watched expectantly, to see which way Avanill would turn. If he were to refuse Rauthain could easily drive him forward into the river, but if he were to head for the far bank perhaps with some luck he might draw Naiore out from her hiding place with the ranger’s bait, and her wrath lead to her undoing. It was a slim and hopeless chance, but Rauthain’s own life he now counted for little and she would have little time to ensnare them with her guile, having no doubt resorted to more traditional weapons in the fray. It was as good an opportunity as any, Rauthain thought as he started toward Avanill and the river.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Driving Benia, Toby, and Gilly ahead of him, Kaldir rode as quickly as he could in the direction of the staircase that led into the Elves' hidden refuge of Imladris. Dúlrain's unconscious form weighed heavily against his chest and shoulder, but he refused to let it slow him more than was absolutely necessary. Ahead of him, Benia Nightshade, who rode with Toby on the back of her saddle, turned frequently to look back, but it was not Kaldir whose progress she was checking. It was always Dúlrain’s face that her amber eyes sought, Kaldir noticed. He felt a twinge of pain as he remembered the way she had looked at him just a few minutes earlier when she had turned on him, practically accusing him of trying to kill Dúlrain, when all he was trying to do was save them all. There had been more in her face than simple concern for a fellow traveler. Kaldir knew at that moment that he had lost her.

Frowning, he dragged his eyes away from the glossy black of her hair, as she rode on in the lead of their small group. He could see that she and Mrs. Banks had already drawn their swords. Even Toby Longholes carried Benia’s long dagger in his hand. Kaldir knew that his own sword was blocked from his reach by the presence of Dúlrain’s prostrate figure, but his dagger was in easy reach. Or, if it came to that, he could draw one of Dúlrain’s two swords and fight with it, but his movement would be sorely hampered by the presence of the other man. Kaldir set his teeth. He would just have to hope that the sounds of intense fighting that grew louder with each step they took toward Imladris would be confined still to the far side of the river. In fact, it would be their only hope. They could never fight their way through as they were.

In the lead, Benia suddenly reined her horse to a stop, throwing her sword arm up as a signal for the others to stop as well. Still leading Dúlrain’s riderless horse, Kaldir rode up beside her.

“What is it?” he asked.

She nodded in the direction of a small grove of trees directly ahead of them. “I saw movement in the trees.”

“Elves or orcs?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Elves, I think, but I can’t say with any certainty.”

“I saw it, too,” chimed in Gilly from behind. “It was a just a shadow of a movement, but someone is definitely waiting under the cover of the trees.”

Kaldir nodded, his gaze flitting from Dúlrain to the trees and back. He was just trying to decide what to do next, when Dúlrain suddenly stirred, murmuring something about the river. The pale lids flickered over his grey eyes. Kaldir reached up and gently slapped his cheek. “Wake up, brother,” he said quietly. “We need your help.”

“Help,” echoed Dúlrain softly, his eyes opening. “We must help Imladris.” By reflex, his hand reached for his sword. Kaldir caught his wrist.

“Not yet,” he said gently. “Perhaps we shall fight for Imladris in a moment. But for now, I need you to get back on your own horse. Can you manage it?”

Groggily, the ranger nodded. “Dir will carry me well. We have been through many a battle together.”

“Good.” Kaldir nodded and drew the brown horse up beside his grey one. “He’s here now. Can you get from Nico to Dir without dismounting?”

Dúlrain nodded. With considerable effort and Kaldir’s help, he moved awkwardly from one horse to the other. On taking his place in Dir’s saddle, Dúlrain instantly bent low over the horse’s neck, his breath shallow with pain. Benia rode up beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She whispered a few words to him that Kaldir could not catch, but Dúlrain nodded. In a moment, he raised his head. Seeing that he seemed all right for the moment, Kaldir nodded. Then, he drew his sword and wheeled his horse in the direction of the trees.

Gilly rode up beside him. “Mr. Kaldir, what are you doing?”

Kaldir looked down at the courageous hobbit lady’s face and, seeing the concern there, smiled his one-sided smile. “I’m going to see who awaits us in the trees. If it is elves, it shall be our deliverance. If it is orcs, I should be able to hold them off long enough for the rest of you to make your escape. Ride back in the direction of the falls. It will buy you time. Do not stop if you see me fall.”

“But-” Gilly began to protest, but Kaldir silenced her by raising his sword.

“Cheers, Mrs. Banks!” was all he said as he turned and trotted in the direction of the trees. Looking ahead, he, too, caught the faintest trace of movement amongst the heavy shadows. Even with the moonlight, it was too dark to make out whether it was orcs or elves who awaited him. He scarcely breathed, listening for the twang of a bowstring, as his horse’s hooves carried him closer and closer to the wood.

Suddenly a shadow rose up from the ground nearly under Nico’s feet. The horse half-reared as a firm hand caught the bridle and a clear voice called out in the Elven tongue, “Halt! Who seeks to pass?”

At the first hint of movement, Kaldir raised his sword to strike, but upon hearing the voice, he lowered it quickly, knowing that more than one Elven bow waited with arrow nocked to the string within the shelter of the trees. “Kaldir of Westernesse,” he answered quickly. “I have with me Dúlrain of Westernesse and two hobbits of the Shire. The fourth is a southern woman.”

“Imladris is under attack,” answered the elf. “What business have you here?”

“One of our number, Dúlrain, has been grievously wounded by orcs. We seek the aid of your healers.”

At that, another shadow broke from the trees, his hand raised in a signal for the archers behind him to hold their fire. “I am Rinmar, captain of the guard. You say you travel with a Dúlrain of Westernesse?”

Kaldir nodded. Moving very slowly so as not to seem threatening, he sheathed his sword and pointed back to where his companions waited. “He awaits with our other companions. He desperately needs the attention of your healers.”

Rinmar nodded and with a gesture summoned a handful of other elves from their places of concealment to retrieve the rest of Kaldir’s party. “Dúlrain is a friend of mine,” he said to Kaldir. “It grieves me to hear of his being wounded. We will, of course, do everything in our power to get him to the Houses of Healing as soon as we can, but we may find our way barred. The orcs have crossed the river and assault the very doorstep of Imladris. Our plan is to flank them and drive them back across the river. Have you any amongst you who can fight?”

“Only myself,” answered Kaldir. “I put my sword at your disposal.”

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Dark hair clung to his face, blood, filth covered his hands face, and clothes, his shirt and tunic ripped where orc blades had breached his defences, but none of his wounds were more than superficial and did nothing to slow his attack! Amanda hew down orc after orc, Stepping right out of the path of his current attacker, he thrust out his left hand burying his Elvish dagger deep into the creatures exposed left side, just under its raised arm. Then without waiting to see the creature fall, he pulled out the dagger and raised his sword arm to block the strike of the next orc. As he pushed the creature’s spiked mace upwards, he brought his dagger across and slit the orc’s throat. It stumbled back dropping its mace and grasping for its bleeding throat, its eyes wide with fear. Amandur thrust hard and drove his sword through the dying creature’s chest putting it out of its misery.

Finding a momentary reprieve, he climbed up onto a nearby ledge and looked around to assess the battle. As he had feared the orc’s having out numbering Fintár’s patrol were steadily pushing them back and still there was no sign of reinforcements. Searching the battle below he found Fintár pulling his elves back to a more defensible position, leaping from the ledge dagger and sword still in hand he ran towards the Elven captain’s position. Cutting down any orc’s that strayed into his path, he was just reaching the rocky bluff when a large ugly orc stepped in front of him blocking his path.

Amandur's eyes narrowed with contempt and his teeth gritted as he recognised the orc captain who had held aloft the head of his young friend. He raised his sword meeting the downward thrust of the creature’s scimitar and pulled his dagger across to strike. However, the orc chief anticipated and batted his left hand wide. Therefore, he stepped back and right pulling his sword from the orc’s pushing blade, coming behind the creature as its own force sent him stumbling forwards. Nevertheless, before he could strike the creature found his footing and met his blow with its scimitar the metal rang as the two blades repeatedly clashed with neither fighter scoring a hit. As Amandur parried another strike from the orc, he was glad of his vambrace’s as the scimitar glanced of his leather and plate wrist defences. As they clashed again Amandur pushed forward, the orc did likewise, their faces now mere inches from each other, the stench from the creatures warm breath was almost unbearable, but he continued to push.A grin came to his face as the orc’s sword arm began to waver. However, his grin was short lived with a growl the orc chief’s large balled fist smashed into his face sending him stumbling backwards. He rolled out of the path of the orcs fast descending blade and slashed his sword along the creature’s right leg as he rose. Ignoring the blood streaming from his broken nose, his dagger blocked the orc chief's enraged counter.

"I will squeeze the life from you like I did that other ranger!" the orc captain sneered thrusting his other hand out to grab for his neck, but Amandur switched, pushing back he brought up his sword to lock with his creatures jagged blade and thrust his dagger into the brutes side.

"I don't think so!" he gasped, kicking the brute back as it loosed it's iron grip to look down at the weapon still protruding from it's side. Then with a quick lunged he ran his sword through the creatures abdomen. However, the stubborn creature refused to give up and die, grabbing the hand that held the blade protruding from its stomach so it could not move. It growled raising its scimitar and swinging it level with the ranger’s neck. Amandur tried to pull his hand free, but seeing the raised blade he decided to try and dodge the blow, he pulled left and ducked the orcs blade missed it's mark, but with the dying orc still holding his sword and hand he lost his balance and fell backward pulling the large orc down atop him. He heard the crack as the force and weigh of the finally dead orc broke the arm still held fast to the hilt of his sword, he gasped as the hilt pressed on his chest under the orc immense weight.

Struggling he managed to push the brute off using his free hand. Then catching his breath he pushed himself up and grabbed for the dagger that still protruded from the orc side. standing he tested the weapon in his right hand, but the sharp pain told him that it was no use, so he sheathed the elven blade and went to retrieve his sword. Just then, another orc seeing that he was defenceless charged at him. Realising that he would never retrieve his sword in time, he awkwardly pulled out his dagger using his left hand. However, it was not need, as the advancing orc raised its axe to strike its eyes suddenly widened and it fell forwards, dead! It was then that he heard the whistling of arrows all around him and the panicked cries of the orc's as the tried to flee, but Fintar and his patrol leaped forwards from their defensive position hewing down those how still advanced. Kicking over the orc chief's corpse, he pulled free his sword and went to join the elven captain.

"Glad to see you are still alive!" Fintar called in greeting as he buried his elven sword deep into the side of a fleeing orc.

"And lucky to be so, your friends arrived just in the nick of time." he answered, slicing his own sword across the back of another orc, the pair fought back to back, till Amandur caught a instant glint out of the corner of his eye. Quickly finishing off the orc before him, he moved round so that Fintar now faced were he had seen the glint like light on metal and he now fought the elf’s orc.

"What do your elven eyes see back there in the trees?" he cried over the clash of weapons.

"A dark shadow, a fleeing orc perhaps" the elf replied peering into the darkness, Amandur sighed as he lunged at his attacker, for a moment he thought it was Nai…, "No! Wait, it's an elf, it’s hard to make out her outline, she must be dressed in black, but her weapon is defiantly elvish, no orc could weld such a weapon." Fintar called breaking his thoughts. Gritting his teeth, he swung his sword burying it deep in the orc's side and spun round to go after the elf woman, but Fintar stood in front of him blocking his way.

"Do you think you would win a fight with this elf the way you are?" the elven captain asked looking at the rangers bloodied nose and broken arm,

"But I just can't let her get away!" he protested.

"She is defeated her allies are retreating, let one of the elf patrols pick her up" Fintar continued calmly.

"And if they don't and she slips passed them as she has so many other pursuers, what then?" Amandur asked grimly.

"Then my friend at least your arm will be mended and you will be in a better position when you finally apprehend your fugitive." Fintar answered placing a reassuring hand on the mans shoulder. Amandur nodded conceding to the elven captain’s words, he was right to go after Naiore in his current state would be folly. His frustration showed as he kicked a nearby orc corpse.

"Come my friend, there is still fighting to be done before we can return home!" The elf captain grinned, pointing back towards the stairs, where a large group of orcs still stubbornly tried to push forwards. As they ran forwards towards the main battle, he saw horses, four, no five the fifth flanked by several elves.

"Friends of yours?" Fintar asked looking towards the riders.

Amandur strained to see, but as they got closer, still he saw the distinguishable scarred face of Kaldir, fighting off his attackers. The hobbit woman and the other woman must be the ones that both Léspheria and Dulrain had spoken of. In front of the woman brandishing a dagger, he was surprised to see Toby, but who is the other rider he thought.

"I know of them, the ranger also seeks Naiore, I must speak with him, he my have news of Rauthian and Dulrain who followed behind." Fintar nodded and the pair headed towards the rider hewing down any orc that crossed their path.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly eyed Toby Longholes with some unease as he sat wielding a dagger so close to Miss Benia. Miss Benia’s very own dagger mind you! But Mr. Dúlrain had expressed some confidence in him, and a ranger’s intuition was not to taken lightly. So Gilly tried to hold her tongue, but still kept a watchful eye on him, and rode just a little behind her fellow hobbit, lest he attempt to disappoint them all.

True he had seemed quite rattled at the crossing, as she herself had been. And despite all the damp and distress, had received her quite cordially, as she attempted to cheer him. She had, in fact, confessed that she was thankful that she did not have to bring home to Bywater the news that she had been witness to the end of Mr. Toby Longholes, as many her friends had pinned their hopes on him in those days when he lived in the Shire, where perhaps unwittingly he had stolen a few hearts as well. And on occasion would still mention him too, when things weren’t going well with their husbands. Toby had become the mysterious and handsome lone wolf in their minds. A foreign hobbit who had slipped into town, eliciting all manner of speculation on his marriage prospects, and then disappeared again without a trace, leaving Gilly to suffer through her friends’ broken-hearted wistfulness.

She had never quite understood their romantic draw to the sharp featured stranger, who seemed to prefer the company of the town’s malcontents and agitators more than its more respectable denizens. It had certainly done little to encourage a better opinion of him at the time. But never mind, those black days lay far away and they had more immediate troubles at hand.

Fortunately Mr. Longholes seemed to be up to showing a little of his worth by the look of him, and that she did find most encouraging, indeed. She even dared to hope that there might be more than a base metal under his tarnished reputation; something just a bit nobler than he had thus far let on.

She sighed as she thought how far removed from their past two hobbits could be, and how they both appeared to be so much changed. It was as if this travel and the fast moving river had ground off the well-worn veneer from life, and spit them out to stand dazed on its far bank. Of course saving one’s one skin is impetus enough to help in battling orcs. But she too had had to change, steeling herself to do whatever was necessary to help see her friends as well as herself safely to Imladris, and there hopefully find an end to Naiore. A sad rag-tag lot they were, only Kaldir seeming to have the will to press on.

Searching for her pocket and the smooth comfort of her tatting shuttle, she was reminded that both pocket and shuttle were now were gone, as well as her knife, which she imagined had sunk in the river. And her pocket, along with the pinafore itself, the material of which was bought in such seemingly frivolous times, had been called upon to serve as a much-needed dressing. Pressed tight against the ranger’s side it was serving a far better purpose than it ever had, staunching the flow of life’s blood that had seemed to leave it’s host only too willingly, rendering Dúlrain so very pale that he had began to look as though his fine features were carved of some type of warm hued marble. It frightened her.

Poor Mr. Dúlrain, so brave. It hardly was right that he should be suffering so, and when that vile elf who had wronged so many could still walk about. And there also, Miss Benia, so distraught and in her own pain which she once more concealed. And though it broke Gilly’s heart to see, she wanted so desperately to be of some help to them. For certainly she would have been lost long ago without their having guided her through this unfamiliar land. Seeing that she risked growing melancholy, she plucked herself up, and willingly closed her mind’s eye, that she might better see what was around her. And glad she was of it too, for at that moment something caught her attention under the trees. Benia had seen it too and sitting tall in her saddle reined in her horse giving a noiseless signal to stop, as she studied the boughs before them.

In a moment Kaldir road up beside her, and after a few hushed words, helped his comrade to regain his own his own mount, before turning Nico and his attention to the shadowy grove ahead. Drawing his sword, he started in the direction of the trees, alone.

Alarmed, Gilly urged the pack pony along side the great grey horse as it made its way. “Mr. Kaldir, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to see who awaits us in the trees,” he said with a smile. “If it is elves, it shall be are deliverance. If it is orcs, I should be able to hold them off long enough for the rest of you to make your escape. Ride back in the direction of the falls. It will buy you time. Do not stop if you see me fall.”

“But-“ Gilly began.

“Cheers, Mrs. Banks!” was all Kaldir said as he raised his sword and departed. Gilly was shocked and followed dumbly for a short distance. She would never leave if she saw Mr. Kaldir fall. How could she, when all he seemed to have in this world was Dúlrain, who himself seemed beyond their care? How could he think her capable of it? She would not simply let a pack of orcs have the man without a fight from her, no matter how short lived that fight might be. Even small and fragile insects can deal out death and why should she not too bother those who might harm to those she counted as her friends?

Quickly looking over her shoulder to Miss Benia and the others, she too held up her sword and saluted them before turning to follow Kaldir, already under the shadow of the trees. If there were orcs Mr. Kaldir would not defend their group alone, she vowed. Galloping across to were Nico stood motionless, Gilly was relieved to find that it was indeed elves that they had glimpsed moving among the deep shadows, and Kaldir now spoke with them.

As Gilly quietly approached, she heard a tall elf asking Kaldir if there were any among his group who could fight. The Ranger answered that he was the only one and offering to join in the battle he put his sword at their disposal. Riding up then Gilly felt awkward, not knowing if she might offend them, but swallowing hard she blurted out, “Please sir, I could also help if needed, for the Shire as yielded more surprising things in the past than a housewife brandishing a sword, and I would be honored to help defend both my fellow travelers and Imladris.”

All eyes looked toward Kaldir questioningly. And seeing that the elves deferred to him, Gilly also sought for his answer. Turning to address the hobbit, the man spoke most gently to her. “While I value such an offer Mrs. Banks, I would propose that you might be of more benefit to your companion Miss Nightshade and Dúlrain, as they make their way to their refuge.

“But you are also my friend sir,” Gilly declared, “And I would not see you hurt, and without me there to aid you.”

“Then as my friend, I will entrust you with all that I value. Do not put yourself in harm’s way, but encourage them as you might, for I will count on you to help deliver Dúlrain safely to Imladris, and I think Miss Nightshade may require your aid in accomplishing this.'“ And seeing Gilly’s crestfallen looks he added, “It would give me much peace of mind to know that such a tenacious guardian was with them on the way.”

“This I will do, if I cannot fight along side you,” the hobbit conceded reluctantly. “For the rangers have long protected that which I hold most dear and I would willingly return the favor. Though in my heart I fear that I may not see you again.”

“You will see me again,” Kaldir said. And thus the matter was decided.

Quickly, Kaldir and the elves made their way to where Dúlrain remained barely seated on his horse, Benia’s amber eyes scanning the terrain for their enemies as they again moved toward the stair. Gilly could see the disfigured forms of the orcs moving toward them in the confusion, but always Kaldir or one of the elves struck them down or carefully aimed arrows brought a lethal rain upon them before they reached the center of the knot, where lay Dúlrain.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill sighed. He was getting deeper and deeper into the mess that he himself had helped to create when all that he really wanted to do was escape. He could tell that Rauthain did not trust him, and Avanill did not blame him for a second.

A thought flickered through him for a second, a slight fear at the possibility that Naiore was over the river. He stood by while Rauthain recovered a body from the water. Avanill did not pay much attention to it until he saw it directly.

“Well, that’s certainly not good, an end, but what an end indeed! He must have killed many orcs before meeting his end.” Rauthain said nothing, though he did look angry, Avanill decided to hold his tongue.

After a while Rauthain looked in his direction where Avanill had been staring at the figures on the other side of the ford. “I think sir, that today you might have the honor of spilling the Ravennor’s blood, if you are still willing. But go on ahead of me so that I might defend your path with my bow. And do not let fear grow in your heart, for if any other shall approach you, I will ride them down, until such time that I am also too heavily embattled. Go now.” Avanill hesitated, his stomach dropped. He could kill some orcs easily enough, but with only one bow defending his path? Madness he thought.

His face hardened. “Fine.” He said gruffly. “I will be honoured to kill the wench and Ferney..” he added as an afterthought. This was definitely not his day. Avanill had one thing to his advantage, he was a remarkable good swimmer and in no time he had crossed. The orcs had seemed to miss him in the crossing so they were surprised to see him hop out and draw his sword. He cast a look back at Rauthain who had already started shooting orcs, before starting a slaughter of his own.

It was only a small group of orcs and though Avanill’s shoulder was slashed, he still tore through them relatively easily. So far he had seen no sign of Naiore, which was good for him, he had intended to get away from the carnage before he was consumed in it, but fate it seemed had other plans.

[Everdawn]

Barrold Ferney

Ferney knew that he shouldn’t have trusted the boy, he was after all his rival, no matter how good-hearted he appeared to be. Barrold could do nothing but stare from where he lay, slumped at the bottom of the tree, even his mind was not working properly.

Darn Boy! he cursed, more angry at himself than Avanill, he should have known better. He could feel pins and needles returning to his feet and hands. Now he could turn his head. He was glad, at least that Avanill hadn’t lied and left him for dead. Lying was not Avanill’s style.

A while longer and Barrold was fine again, he searched for things that Avanill may have left, there was nothing. How was he going to explain this to Naiore? Barrold began to think that Avanill had had the right idea.

“Righto boyo” he said to the wood, thinking that perhaps Avanill still lingered to see what he may do next. “Ill let you go, but mark my words; if she come after ‘yeh, ain no one going to save ‘yer then.” He shook his head and turned back to where Naiore was camped, only to remember that he was still short of Toby. Cursing he returned to the beaten track and continued on his way, groggily swaying as he walked.The things im gonna do to that runt when I come across him he cursed inwardly falling down into one great heap and struggling to make his way upright once more. “Ill kill him!” he shouted.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

It pleased Rauthain that Avanill crossed the river after only a slight hesitation, and without any further persuasion from him, deftly gained its far bank. Though the ranger had marked a certain sense of resignation as he spoke of pursuing Naiore and Ferny to the death. He lacked the enthusiasm one would expect from an avenger. And happily, he also lacked the glimmer of pleasure one might see had he been purposefully drawing the ranger into a trap. Rauthain felt comforted seeing that his suspicions thus far appeared to be correct. Avanill had not left Naiore's service under the best circumstances, but was acting more as a man impressed into duty having little by way of loyalties.

But now defending his charge, Rauthain rapidly depleted his quiver, pausing only to swing his bow over his shoulder again as his horse struggled to crest the muddy bank. Once more on level ground he raised the orcish blade he carried, and bore down on the great orcs, steadily working his way toward Avanill's position. Avanill meanwhile remained constantly engaged. The young man was a fine swordsman Rauthain judged from the corner of his eye, but that swordsmanship could just as easily be played out against his own skill and he was doubly glad that his ward had risen to the task.

But as the two men were so occupied, a guttural cry broke out echoing across the river, and Rauthain turned back, his horse rearing. A large contingent of orcs was streaming rapidly out of the north following the western bank, the spearhead of which had reached the ford and was eagerly closing in. Seeing Avanill had spied these newcomers also and now fought off his opponents with urgent intensity, the ranger kicked Juta sharply and charged, scattering the remnants of the young man's opposition. Wheeling the horse round, the grizzled ranger extended his arm, saying, "We must make for the stair or we will be too easily extinguished." Grasping the hand offered him with his own bloody arm, Avanill swung up behind the ranger, and together they bolted hoping to find a more defensive position on the stair, but instead the enemy's numbers grew thicker, and in the distance they could see a knot of activity moving hard by its entrance.

Rauthain slowed, wavering in his decision, for there seemed no harbor for them. And as he scanned the terrain near the stair he spied a bare outcropping not far from it. On that lonely outpost a dark sentinel stood, slender and clad in black mail, her two curved swords flashing red and her hair golden in the sun. She stood for a moment, silent and regal, coldly observing the bloodshed below before quickly vanishing again under the cover of the woods. Rauthain twisted around to see if Avanill had seen this fleeting presence as well, but upon turning saw instead the oncoming tide of orcs from the river. Springing once more into action, he again headed for the stair, and as they drew closer the mournful sound of a horn rose above the fray The assemblage quickly unraveled with a ground swelling of terror at the well ordered advance of the elves, its thinning bulk expelling orcs in every direction. Chiefly they fled seeking another passage to the safety of the mountains, but some rushed back toward the ford. The confusion grew and the riders soon were caught between the two converging groups. Still aiming for the passage to Imladris, Rauthain faced the fleeing forces. For as they began to meet them, the great orcs passed them by, having no thought but to break through and save themselves from the encroaching elves in the chaos, and thus spread their confusion to their newly come comrades. And so Avanill and Rauthain passed through with only a few challenges, as though they were nearly invisible to their enemy, and at length come to a the spot where the elves still fought the remaining creatures they had encircled. Joining in the fighting the riders fought beside the elves at the foot of the stair.

[Nerindel]

Menecin

He had a daughter, what would he say to her? He posed this question over and over in his mind as he silently let the dark haired she elf led him through the still gardens and to the front steps of the last house of the elves. He paused on the porch, as the sound of distant battle could still be heard and he looked back briefly wondering were Naiore was in all this.

"Come concern yourself not with distant battles, Vanwe is your concern and she will need you as much as I believe you need her," the elf at his side whispered, with a heavy sigh he pulled his weary gaze back to her and nodded. He stopped then, seeing her fully for the first time "You look so much like your mother!" he exclaimed. She smiled and nodded but not without a glimmer of sadness behind her grey eyes. Turning back to the house, she led him inside. Along the ornate hallways until they reached the central staircase that led to the first floor and the bell tower. However, they did not ascend these stairs; instead, they turned left following another passage, then left again to a flight of stairs that descended below the house. They stopped before a large heavy looking oak door. Elladan knocked hard upon the wood, almost at once a small hatch opened, and an elven guard peered through, in the next second, he heard the locks click open and watched as the door swung silently open.

"Any change?" Elohir asked, "No my lord, she is still the same." was the guards simple reply.

"She has not eaten or drunk and will speak to no one." Elladan explained seeing the bards puzzled frown.

As they stepped further into the room, he felt the elf at his arm tense, he followed her gaze towards the nearest cell, his heart pounded at the sight before him bent on the floor her gold spun hair hiding her lithe form, was the elf he had seen from his window... his daughter! As Elladan ordered her guard to open the door, he felt Léspheria let go of his arm and hurry forwards, to kneel beside the huddled elf. He froze in place as he watched Lespheria help Vanwe to her feet. Watching the concern etched on her face and the care with which she helped Vanwe. For an instant, he thought he was looking on Naiore and Valindon, before... he stopped suddenly in his thoughts as the young elf lifted her head and he found himself looking back into his own eyes. Clear and deep yet filled with so much pain and confusion, that it pulled at his fragile heart and the urge to hold her and tell her that it would be all right grew within him, even as his own fractured mind told him it was not, that Naiore was out there and likely looking for both of them.

Suddenly the elf before him faltered, weather from exhaustion or shock he could not be certain. However, instinct drove him forward and he caught her, if not awkwardly, in his arms. Her head nestled into his shoulder, her soft hair brushing his cheek and he tensed as fractured memories of Naiore, his Naiore assailed him. Nevertheless, he determinedly pushed them aside, this was not Naiore, she was his daughter, something else that Naiore had taken from him, but now she was here.… As he looked down on her silken hair he realised that she was sobbing, slowly he pulled her to arms length.

"You must tell them your name and your reason for being here, my daughter!" he gently told her.

"My name is Vanwe," she answered through parched dry lips, looking around he saw the untouched cup of water, reaching for it he urged her to drink, which she slowly did.

"She told me that you where a prisoner here and sent me to come get you out!" Vanwe sobbed breaking down before him.

"Oh! My dear child what has she done to you?" he whispered sympathetically, "tell me everything, no matter how bad you think the telling will be." He then listened with a mixture of horror and anger as Vanwe retold the events of the past few weeks, with Léspheria adding the parts yet unknown to the younger elf.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

He saw her. At first it was just a shadow at the corner of his vision, but the shape of her was unmistakable. He turned his head and there she was, standing alone on an outcropping of stone, watching defiantly as her well-ordered assault crumbled before her eyes into chaotic retreat. A second later, she was gone. Kaldir froze, his sword halting mid-stroke as a wave of tremors swept through his body. His grip loosened and the sword nearly slipped from his hand. Naiore.

The orc he had been fighting sensed weakness and sprang forward, his yellow fangs bared. His sword cut a wide arc in the direction of Kaldir's throat. Coming to his senses at the last second, Kaldir dodged hard to his right. The orc's blade missed its mark, slashing Kaldir's shoulder instead. Blood burst from the wound, but Kaldir scarcely felt it. With a determined grimace, he tightened his grip on his sword once more and, as the orc struggled to regain his balance, he forced the blade home. It lodged fast between the orc's third and fourth ribs. As the heavy orc fell to the ground, Kaldir was pulled from his horse, landing in a heap on top of the dead orc. He wrenched his sword free and struggled to gain his feet, his eyes irresistibly drawn toward the shadows into which Naiore had vanished.

He took only a step in her direction before a sharp stab of remembered pain ripped through his mind. He faltered and dropped to one knee. He was on his knees, his arms bound behind him. She stood before him. He kept his face and eyes averted but she would not have it. Her silken fingers gently traced a trail across his face, which was still whole in those days, then her fists closed tightly around handfuls of his hair.

"Look at me," she hissed, wrenching his face around. Still, he kept his eyes averted from hers. She uttered a short order in the black speech and instantly the lash of a whip bit into his back. She stepped back as the lashing continued. Kaldir lurched forward, bent nearly double as his carefully structured defenses failed him. The sword dropped from his hand.

The lashing continued until he lay on the ground, his face pressed into the damp stones of the dungeon floor. The skin hung from his back in bloody strips. Naiore's fist closed again around a handful of his hair. Lifting his head, she spoke to him softly.

"Look at me," she purred. "Are you afraid, Dúnedan?" This time, he complied, his eyes meeting hers in a gaze of pure hatred.

"Tell me," she whispered, smiling. "Where does the fear spawn?" His body tensed as her mind invaded his, ripping violently through the layered tapestries of his memory and thought. "Where?' she whispered between clinched teeth as her mind continued to push and probe through the deepest layers of his being. He had never felt such intense pain his life, but still he fought her. Struggling to close off whatever he could of his mind from her, waves of tremors broke across his body. Blood dripped from his nose and ears...

Kaldir blacked out.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Slowly the procession made its way to the crevice that bore the broad stone steps leading to the elves’ hidden refuge. At which point Dúlrain was carefully lifted from off his mount. The commander quickly placing the injured ranger in the care of two under his authority, who began transporting him away from the immediate danger of battle. Leading the riderless horse as well as her own, Benia followed behind them as they went, and directly after her Gilly picked her way amongst the horror that littered the battlefield.

Still clutching Dúlrain’s companion sword, the hobbit could not take her eyes off the ground in front of her. It seemed so very unreal that such things could still befall the free folk in this age, and the few remaining elves still loose their lives to the violent discord that seemed to echo though Middle Earth. Men too, struggling to establish peace, ended up embattled to do so. And embattled by what? One single elf, albeit a surpassingly dangerous one, and a pack of her foul cronies whose sole glory was in the shadow of their own appetite?

If only she could talk some sense into Naiore. Of course Gilly knew that it was an absurd notion, and she herself would no doubt shamefully burst into tears at the very least, but she couldn’t help thinking that the elf’s parents must not have known the merits of a stout wooden spoon when dealing with willful children. Or perhaps they knew it too well. How else could an elf have developed this deeply cruel and unnatural flaw?

Remembering again the trials that Mr. Kaldir must have suffered, Gilly glanced back toward where he fought alongside the fair folk who held the remaining orcs attention while Dúlrain was taken up. At first she could not see him as her eyes searched the confusion. But then as she squinted, a kneeling form she spied between the shifting combatants. To Gilly’s horror, she saw that that it was indeed her friend and that he bore a similar pained expression as she had first seen in the streets of Bree.

Without giving thought to herself or her charges, the hobbit left the pack pony and the safety of the procession to Imladris, rushing headlong into the fray. Dodging this way and that to avoid the sparring enemies, she reached her former captor’s side, just as an orc raised his blade to finish him off, as if some wounded animal were left on the field. Enraged, Gilly ran thrusting the point of Dúlrain’s sword between the lacings of the creature’s leather armor, shouting, “His life is his own, and neither you nor your mistress will have it of him!” The stout orc swatted this pest as she withdrew the sword, lofting her several feet, so that landing on her back she found she could not breathe. Clutching the gaping wound, the orc turned to avenge its own murder, and Gilly feared that she too would die today. Indeed the orc loomed quite close before it fell to its knees at her feet, and thankfully collapsed.

When Gilly returned to Kaldir, he appeared in a trance, his shoulder bleeding profusely. “Oh Mr. Kaldir!” she exclaimed looking anxiously around for help. “What a time and place you have picked to have a spell!” Seeing that there was no other to help, Gilly gently cupped Kaldir’s scarred face in her hands, bringing it to face her own. “Look at me,” she said firmly, as if speaking to one of her sons. “We must get you out of here. Tell me Mr. Kaldir, can you stand at all?”

But Kaldir’s stare was disconnected, unfocused, filled with pain and hatred. He was someplace faraway; someplace he seemed to care very little for. And as the hobbit searched his eyes, they seemed to dim, and his body slackening, slipped to the ground beside her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rauthain

Avanill and Rauthain fought at one another’s side, as much so that Rauthain could see that his partner did not have a hand in any mischief, as to defend each other’s back. Juta had wandered away quite some time ago, leaving the two men to work their way to the stair on foot. Given the distractions he encountered, Rauthain was following Avanill as carefully as he could, but stopped short when he saw an odd sight. There on the field was a lone hobbit crouched over a still body. Tears were in her eyes as she tore her petticoat to bind up the figure’s wounds.

As Rauthain drew closer he recognized the woman, and felt dread at discovering the identity of the person to whom she ministered. And as he approached he did indeed see that it was Kaldir who appeared lifeless at her side. Coming to stoop beside her, he quickly checked for a sign of his friend’s condition, before addressing her. “So we meet again, you with tears in your eyes,” he said smiling kindly at her. “And me thinking I was too late!” Gilly shook her head, sniffing as she put the final knot in the bandage.

“Be of good courage madam, this one has a strong heart and you will not loose him so easily. It would take more than this scratch to snatch his life, but I fear some older and deeper wound has come to bear.”

“I see that also, but in any case he must be taken away from this place sir, or he will not live. Already an orc has tried to destroy him.”

“Yes, the orcs would like to destroy all of us, no doubt. But where would you have me take him?”

“Not too far, just to the stair, sir.”

Now it occurred to the ranger in passing that in carrying out this needed action, one that lay close to his own heart, he could no longer keep watch over his charge, Avanill. And he would hardly be surprised if the young man took it upon himself to find Juta and make a hasty escape to where ever it might be that he wanted to go. Which would be bad in itself, for he should be held to judge for his part in the Ravennor’s plans, but also because Juta was not Rauthain’s own horse. And the older ranger dearly wished for the help of either horse or Avanill in conveying the limp weight of the tall and well-muscled Kaldir. Resigning himself to the inevitable play of events, Rauthain labored to lift Kaldir over his shoulder

“Then to the stair we go,” he said, and staining under the heavy weight, and following the swift hobbit through the battlefield, feeling regrettably like a large and slow moving target.

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

Toby looked straight ahead as the procession steadily made its way towards the hidden refuge of the elves, wondering if he would be any safer with them, than he had been with Naiore, after all she was one of them. Just then, they stopped at the broad stair that would lead to his salvation or his imprisonment, which he was yet undecided. He watched as the ranger Dúlrain was carefully lifted into the care of two tall dark haired elves. His brow creased with genuine concern as the ranger winced with pain, he found himself deeply concerned for the man’s well being, this ranger had showed him compassion, several times, even when he knew, he was not deserving of such acts kindness.

“Do not worry for your friend he is in good hands, “ a soft voice lamented beside him, turning he was meet by the soft grey sympathetic eyes of one of their elven escort, “ Our healers will see to his wounds.“ the elf smiled reassuringly. As he looked into the depths of the elves eyes he saw sincerity and comfort, not cold lifeless serenity, like he had seen in Naiore’s the few times he had dared to look at them, even then it had been brief, for he had fear that if he looked to long or hard he would loss himself to madness. The elves words had comforted him in more than one respect; with an awkward smile of his own he nodded his thanks.

Looking down he saw the dark bloodied dagger in his hand. The woman he rode with had given him it and he was thankful that she had. for although the bounty hunter and their elven escort had fought off the majority of their attackers several had managed to slip through and he had been forced to fight or fall foul to Naiore’s allies. Even though his circumstances were, grim he was not yet ready to die and certainly not at the hands of these foul creatures, so he had fought, albeit rather awkwardly wedged in front of the southern woman. As he stared at the dark blood that stained the weapon he remembered with growing discomfort the ease with which the blade, no he had taking his attackers life!

Pulling his eyes away, he looked back to the battle behind them. It was then that he saw the hobbit woman, Mrs Banks break from their group and rush headlong and rather foolishly, he thought into the ensuing battle. “What is she doing!” he muttered, “she’ll get herself killed!” he hesitated for a moment looking between the hobbit woman and her southern friend who lead her mount beside him, but seeing that the southern woman was already burdened with concerns for Dúlrain, he decided that there was nothing for it, he would have to go after Mrs banks himself. Turning he broke from the safety of the elven procession and dove headlong into the battle, weaving in and out, dodging orcs and elves alike.

“Mrs Banks!” He called frantically after the hobbit woman, but she could not hear him over din of battle. It was then that he saw the cause of the hobbit woman’s rash actions. “The bounty hunter!” he frowned looking between the two. Oh no, he thought as he watched with mounting horror as a large orc stood over the bounty hunter ready to strike, but to his surprise and abject horror Gilly ran forwards thrusting her sword between the lacing of the creatures armour. “Gilly!” he cried as the brute backhanded his attacker, sending her into the air, he ran forwards his dagger readied to aid the stout hearted woman, when to his dismay a dark figure stepped before him blocking his path, looking up he saw the yellow fanged grin of the orc blocking his way. With a gulp he stepped back trying to steady his shaking hand as he brought his dagger up to defend against the creatures downward blow. The creatures hammer met his dagger and the force sent him staggering backwards. However, before he could bring his dagger back to bear, the orc used his momentum to slap him hard sending him to the ground. As he shook of the groggy feeling, he saw the creatures hammer falling towards his face, with a frightened squeal he rolled out from under the blow and jumped to his feet. “I’m coming Mrs Banks!” he cried as he charged, plunging Benia’s dagger into the orc exposed flank.But to his horror, the orc continued to turn, with the dagger still protruding from its flank. He was suddenly frozen with fear as the creature raised its black hammer, he closed his eyes waiting for death, that he was sure would follow.


Hearing something whistle above his head, he opened his eyes. Thwack… Thwack… Two green fletched arrows protruded from the creature’s chest and neck and wide eyed it crumpled to the ground dead. Toby spun round looking for his saviour, a tall fair-haired elf, with bow in hand nodded. Relieved to be in one piece he laughed and nodded his thanks, before turning back to find Gilly, to his relief she too was on her feet, but she was not alone a broad shouldered man with greying hair was bent over the bounty hunter.

“What were you thinking running into battle like that, we are hobbits not tall strong warriors?” he chided as he reached the woman, but his stern words were lost as he noticed the new bruising forming on her already bruised face.

“Mr Kaldir was in trouble!” she answered as if that was enough.

“B… but he’s a bounty hunter, he would not have done the same for you?” Toby frowned not understanding.

“And the same could be said of you Master Longholes, yet you are here.” She replied simply.

“Eh… err… well.” he flushed averting his eyes. “Well if you insist that he is worth saving I will help if I can.”

As he turned to ask the grey haired man how he could help, he almost jumped back with a yelp as he saw familiar piercing grey eyes looking down, a long narrow nose at him. “Eh… err… Mr Rauthain I didn’t recognise it was you,” he stammered.

“You know each other?” Gilly asked surprised.

“Hmm, yes we have met; I believe Master Longholes has something that belongs to me!” Rauthain answered looking at him knowingly. “But never mind that just now, we have to get our friend to the stairs.” Briefly, Toby looked from the injured bounty hunter, to Gilly, and then nodded.

“What do you need me to do?”

[Everdawn]

Avanill


Avanill recovered Juta for Rauthain as he carried the man over his back. For a moment he was stuck between hopping up on the horse and riding away and helping the ranger with his friend. For the first time in his life, Avanill was nervous.

The opportunity had arisen for him to make his get away. Everyone who was at the scene was attending to this man Kaldir. Avanill froze, it was the same man whom he had discovered speaking with Barrold on the first night in Bree. “It’s a small world” he muttered from Juta’s side. He took a second to look about him, there were multiple enemies, but the landscape was nothing but serene, however bloodied it’s waters were becoming. It was now that he had realised that he had come a long way from the various Inns and the underworld which he had frequented all of his life. It was true that Atantri had raised her son in a good environment of his grandmother’s inn but it was inevitable that some part of her would want him to carry on her doings. After all, it had taken her hundredth dance with death to decide to give away her trade.

All in all, just how beneficial was his trade to him? Sure Avanill could provide for his family, but Atantri with all her legacy would not permit him to do so. He had a small fortune, a vast knowledge of pharmacy, and a horse he hated. But along with his comfortable earnings, came his multitudes of enemies; those who endeavoured to kill him if he did not get to them first, his countless murders, a fear that one day his mother’s enemies may find his mother and the possibility if ever he became lazy that he would be caught by the authorities.

Was this an honourable life? He had never thought about it until this instant when he was under attack and fetching a horse. No, and helping Naiore- was he mad? Deep down he had always known that they were doomed before they began. Right now though, he did not know whether or not she had the upper hand, and this beautiful place was being bathed in the blood of impure beings.

Presently he pulled at Juta’s bridle to make the animal come. He saw Rauthain with Kaldir slung over his shoulder. For the first time in a long time his conscious spoke to him. And what it said was to make a decent man of himself and start repaying for all the hurt and corruption he had caused throughout his life.

“Rauthain!” he called. “Let our friend Juta help us with your mate!”. But Rauthain was not alone, with him were two hobbits, and one of them was Toby.

“Well, well, well.” Chimed Avanill, “Indeed it is a small world.”

[Nerindel]

Naiore

Like a deathly shadow, Naiore silently moved beneath the shadows of the ancient trees. Her curving blades brought a swift death to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in her path. Both fleeing orc and pursuing elf fell beneath her rage, as she cut a path away from the failing battle. The orc’s now having served their purpose she left behind to face the swift retribution of the elves. She had not honestly expected these loathsome creatures to breech Imladris’ defences, but she had expected them to make short work of her pursuers, but being as incompetent as they were stupid they had failed even in that. “Five! I handed them five rangers and they kill but one!” she reeled, slicing through another orc who had the misfortune to find itself in her path. At least they had bought Vanwe the time and distraction needed to reach Imladris unhindered but even that reassuring thought brought no solace the enraged elf.

For several miles, she cursed the orcs and their failings, and then her anger turned to those who had betrayed her. “Toby Longholes!” She spat contemptuously. She had witnessed the hobbit in the company of Kaldir, knowing that the snivelling creature had warned the ranger of her plans. But even as she cursed not having killed the rat when he had first stumbled into her lair, her anger turned to the others of her company it seemed that the hobbit was not the only one looking to save his own neck. Avanill also raised his sword against her, allying himself with her enemies. Then there was Barrold, no sign could she find of the villain and she expected that he had tucked his tail between his legs and ran like the coward she had suspected he was. She would make them all pay for their treachery and they would learn the true meaning of pain!

By the time she reached the northern reaches of the forest, she was exhausted both mentally and physically. Several ages of discipline and control, crumbled under the realisation that the treachery of Toby and Avanill could be her undoing, Should they inform the elves of Vanwe all would be lost. Desperately she looked around trying to figure out what to do. She suddenly felt lost in a sea of emotions, alone with questions so long ago conceived still unanswered. “No!” she spat defiantly “I will not give into despair, I still have Vanwe. Menecin will watch as I rip the answers I seek from our daughters mind, and then I will rid myself of both of them,” she hissed desperately trying to grabble for some sense of control. “Then I will deal out death to those who have hindered my course. “

Looking out on the lowland hills that lay to the east she decided that she had no choice but to wait and see if her compulsions still held within her daughter. Grasping to her sullen resolve she set off into the edge of the wilds heading steadily eastward towards the pine forest that sat above the last hidden refuge of the elves.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir's eyes flickered open then closed again as he struggled back into consciousness. Someone, he knew not who, had lifted him and was half-carrying him across his shoulders, Kaldir's feet dragging limply across the stony earth. His mind still caught somewhere between waking and the world of nightmares, he tried to find his feet and walk for himself. Even as removed from the waking world as he was, he could sense that whoever carried him was either man or elf. Whoever it was hadn't the foul stench of an orc. Clumsily, he began to place his feet one before the other, trying to keep pace with his rescuer. His head still lolled weakly forward as his mind tried to find purchase in the waking world.

"Wait!" a familiar voice called out to one side of him. "I think he's trying to walk." In response, Kaldir's rescuer slowed slightly, allowing him the time to land his steps evenly. Kaldir's eyes flickered open again. By reflex, his hand reached for his sword. It was gone.

It took him a moment before he could place the voice. Finally, it came to him. "Mrs. Banks?" he murmured. How came she to be in Mordor? Only he wasn't in Mordor. That had been the dream. Naiore. He had seen her. This was Imladris and he had seen Naiore. The jolt of adrenaline that hit him as he remembered where he was wrenched Kaldir abruptly back into a foggy consciousness. Only half-aware of what he was doing, he pulled away from his rescuer and drew his dagger from the sheath on his belt. Naiore had to be stopped. Looking around, he saw the world in surreal detail: the battlefield, the grim faces of the elves as they pursued the fleeing orcs back across the river... but everyone, including himself, seemed to move with a nightmarish slowness. He could see Mrs. Banks take a step toward him, her hand stretched out. A ranger - his rescuer, perhaps? - threw out a hand to restrain her.

"Let him be!" the ranger said to her urgently. Kaldir turned toward the voice. It was familiar, too, as was the face. Trying to clear his head, he gave it a quick shake. All it did was dislodge a sharp jolt of pain that caused his eyes to water. Raising a hand to his face, he took a step backward and nearly fell over the body of a dead orc. Awkwardly, he regained his balance and turned again toward Mrs. Banks and the ranger. There was another with them as well, a hobbit, who again looked familiar, but Kaldir was unable to place him. Mrs. Banks shook off the restraining hand of the ranger.

"Mr. Kaldir," she called, only loud enough to be heard over the din of the ongoing battle. "It's me! Mrs. Banks, remember? Wherever you've been, you're back now. We've got to get you to the stairs." She took a step forward. His eyes fixed on the jeweled sword in her hand. Where had he seen it before?

Dúlrain. And Benia. Where was she? He turned and looked in the direction of the stairs. Slowly, reality began to settle back into place. He could see Benia Nightshade halfway up the staircase with a still unconscious Dúlrain and a small party of elves, who were both defending and helping them in their slow progress toward the entrance to Imladris. Lowering his dagger, Kaldir let out a long breath. It was coming back to him now: the river crossing, the meeting in the grove with the elves, the fighting. He turned a sharp glance at the hobbit who stood behind Mrs. Banks. Toby Longholes. Kaldir noticed he still carried Miss Nightshade's inlaid dagger. He had been surprised when she had given it to the hobbit to use, but, so far, it had not seemed to be a mistake. He let his attention shift to the ranger.

Rauthain?

By then, Mrs. Banks had reached him and her small hand closed around his. "Mr. Kaldir?"

He looked down at her and nodded. By then, their party had been joined by yet another man, this one leading a horse by the reins. As the newcomer engaged Toby Longholes in a short conversation, Kaldir sheathed his dagger. He still felt strangely weightless and detached from his surroundings, but at least things were beginning to make sense again. He gave Gilly's hand a squeeze, then released it.

"We should make for the stairs," he said quietly, knowing that they were all still vulnerable, largely because of him. "Where are my horse and my sword?"

When Gilly shook her head, he reached down and took the orcish blade from the dead hand of the orc he had nearly tripped over only a few minutes earlier. As for the horse, Nico could take care of himself. Woe be unto the orc who tried to ride him. He would find the horse later. He gave a curt nod of thanks to Rauthain and, guiding Gilly before him, turned in the direction of the stairs.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

The time was fast approaching Menecin thought, and Naiore’s mind turned once again to him, now that she knew he had lived. And he too craved with all his being to go to her, to put an end to what she had begun in him, silencing forever the clamor that beat incessantly in his mind. But long gone were those days when she would take interest in his nightmares or make a show of pity. Now she loomed a both loved and detested figure presiding over every fragment of his waking thought, stealing from him even the peaceful solitude he had once found in his art. For every impulse was tainted by her imprint. He, in his naiveté, had not believed their venture, their mutual interests would end badly and that she, continuing to pursue their darker paths, would emerge from it so depraved. But listening to his daughter’s words he yet again was shown the essential truth of what his love had become.

Menecin, holding at bay the chill anguish that gripped him as he learned of Vanwe's recent suffering and his unwitting part in it, took up her hands still clutching the cup, and long searched the hauntingly familiar eyes as he traced his own heart’s whisperings. Glancing quickly at the others who crowded in the small room, his sad piercing eyes returned to the girl. “Neither you nor Naiore Dannan can free me, nor Lords Elladan or Elrohir, I no longer hold hope of it." The rich voice grew hard as it took a fierce edge, "But mark my words daughter, though you are here in this cage now, you are free. Do you understand? - You must resist, you have to resist…” he trailed off weakly.

Vanwe shook her head almost imperceptibly and Menecin sighed. No she did not understand, not yet, not fully, and seeing the girl's confusion, he softened, stroking her fair hair gently. No this was not his Naiore, this was an innocent sent to torment him, his own flesh twisted and sent to deepen this already hellish night. Would Naiore not stop? Would she then corrupt her own offspring for her satifaction? He rose as he began to weep silently, turning his back so that his daughter might not see his bitter tears or the depth of his pain. Yes, she would do this. Well he knew her hunger far surpassed her great beauty…and in her serenity there was no peace. No peace.

He could hear as Valaindon...no, no…it was now Léspheria who spoke in hushed tones to the girl, his child. He suddenly felt worn, and a renewed burst of sorrow brought with it a chill in his heart that soon swept over him, until his body trembled. He was alone, yet he was not. “We must resist,” he murmured, blankly staring at wall, as though he would see through the stones there. “I promise you I will not loose you Vanwe, though I myself am lost."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

"We should make for the stairs,” Kaldir said quietly. “Where are my horse and my sword?” Gilly shook her head. To be quite honest, she had forgotten about the few meager advantages the man had, and reprimanded herself that she should be so careless as to lose track of them the moment he most required her help.

But rather than trying to restore them to his possession, Kaldir reached down behind him and took up the weapon of a fallen orc that lay there. Giving a short nod to Rauthain he turned again to the hobbit, who with furrowed brow, stared past him to the grey ranger, as if she would ask one more favor of him. His attention now diverted, Rauthain did not see Gilly’s worried look.

A little unsteadily, Kaldir turned the hobbit around, gently guiding her and toward the place where she had left Benia and Dúlrain’s company. “That is a fine brand you carry,” he said to distract her from her concern. “Be sure to wipe it clean.”

“It is Mr. Dúlrain’s,” she said softly, turning her wrist to examine the bloody blade in her hand as she reached the stair.

“Yes, I know.”

“I’ve made quite a mess of it, haven’t I?” she said picking up the edge of her torn petticoat and wiping the blade clean.

“I do not think that he will mind,” Kaldir said. “When we reach Imladris I will show you how give it a new edge and oil it well before you return it to him.”

“Thank you sir, I would be grateful if you would. And I will take good care of it meanwhile.” Gilly lapsed into silence for a long time after that, thinking of Dúlrain and hoping that his wound would heal, so that the companion sword might again be of use to him. She had never seen Miss Benia so distraught, or the ranger look so bad. It was good that her friend had gone ahead with the injured ranger.

Steep the stone steps were, and broad enough so that an elf leading his horse might gain entrance to Imladris. And being wide, many there were who hurried past them as they climbed into the cover of the pines, without their having to make way for those who still defended the passage.

The hobbit’s unease returned to her. She had hoped that Rauthain might follow close behind, incase Kaldir should loose his footing. To tumble down this long flight would surely land one in poor condition, and she with only bruises, found it difficult to climb them. She feared that Kaldir with his hurt might grow faint again, or that he might be touched by that other malady that seemed to plague him. But the set look had begun to return to his scared face, and the dark fire had rekindled in his pale eyes. Something seemed to be troubling him apart from the stairs.

Once reaching the apex of the ridge the stairs began the lengthy descent that meandered along the side of the deep valley. With the battlefield behind them, the traffic on their path lessened and Gilly wondered if they might find Miss Benia, or at the least catch sight of her. Soon all would be put right. The elves would find this Naiore - and hopefully she and Kaldir would not - and send the wicked one very well bound to King Elessar, Mr. Dúlrain would have the care he needed, and she wagered that Miss Benia, Miss Vanwe and she would at last be free to go on their own way. But she did wonder what Kaldir might do. Return to collecting bounties? Oh, he would not go back to such a thing! Would he? She tried to put the image from her mind as she vividly recalled the formidable presence he had cut at The Forsaken Inn. Unfortunately, he was certainly good at that trade! Had he changed so much then? Or had she been the one who had been transformed? Wasn’t he after all still pursuing people, and here she was cleaning blood off a borrowed sword on her torn petticoat, and traveling in the company of a bounty hunter. And yet she still felt to be in many ways the same person, only now in the strangest of circumstances.

Looking back at Kaldir as they traveled now among oak and beech trees, she saw that he was looking rather grim. Perhaps sad to loose his horse, she thought to herself. Actually, she too had no idea where her pack pony had gotten to and hoped it followed Miss Benia’s mare as it had for so many miles. Suddenly a smile rose to her lips, as she stifled a laugh.

“What is so amusing, Mrs. Banks?” Kaldir spoke behind her. “I could use some levity.”

“Oh Mr. Kaldir, I just had the funniest notion! Mr. Longholes had asked Mr. Rauthain if he could help in removing you from were you lie on the field. I just imagined what would happen if he sent him after that great horse of yours!”

“That would be something to see,” the man grinned. “But how would you know that of my horse? Have you tried to lead him away?”

“No sir! I swear!” Gilly declared turning crimson. “It never entered my head, sir. But I must admit I had a rather rough introduction to him at the Foresaken Inn, just after Miss Benia…well, just after Miss Benia disappeared.”

“So you might know how his water bucket was destroyed and the door to the stall damaged.”

“I confess, I don’t think he was very pleased to make my acquaintance,” Gilly said laughing as they proceeded and the sound of water could be heard.

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

Toby’s eyes widened with horror as the Bounty hunter regained consciousness, pulling away from Rauthain and drawing his dagger on them. Stepping back, he saw that the ranger restrained the hobbit woman as she tried to reach her… friend. This Toby just could not figure out, how was it that a hobbit of the Shire would befriend herself to a bounty hunter. Bill Ferney and Old Sharky had told him that he would never be accepted by the Shire hobbits, that they would always look down their nose at the Breelander hobbit as they would any outlander. But here was a hobbit from the Shire not only befriending an outlander but being genuinely concerned for his well being, no wait, she had even saved his life. Toby’s head reeled, at how easily he had been manipulated, and that that same manipulation had remained with him for so long. Even as he looked at the hobbit woman and the bounty hunter, he wondered if he could ever repent his scoundrel ways and return to the Shire. Just then, the bounty hunter’s unfocused gaze fell upon him making him shiver uncomfortably, forcing him to lower his head and stare at his hairy feet.

However, as Gilly pulled free of Rauthain’s restraining grasp and stepped determinedly forward to speak to the bounty hunter, he found himself moving to place himself behind her, in case the Bounty hunter should forget the woman’s friendship. Only relaxing when Kaldir finally lowered his dagger, but as he watched the hobbit woman grasp the Bounty hunters hand, her face etched with concern and sadness, he remembered why she had seemed so familiar on their first meeting. The image of the burning building and the young hobbit woman standing outside crying as she watched comforted by her husband as their lively hood burned to the ground came to his mind. It had been his fault that the house had been torched; he had reported to Bill that the shopkeeper had been keeping food from the sheriffs and distributing it to the rebels. Turning away to ashamed to look at the woman further, he wondered if the woman too could place him, how could he repay such a debt.

He gulped hard as he looked up to see Avanill walking towards them, frowning in confusion as he realised the he and the ranger, Rauthain were already acquainted. All the same, his grip tightened around the hilt of the dagger the southern woman had given him. His eyes narrowed with suspicion as Avanill addressed him. “A small world indeed!” he muttered contemptuously, placing himself between the hobbit woman and the young rogue. But as Kaldir and the hobbit woman moved towards the stairs Avanill placed a firm hand on his shoulder, “If you know what’s good for you Master Longholes you will hold your tongue!” he warned in a low threatening whisper, giving Toby reason to wonder what lies the rogue had spun Rauthain . Toby shrugged the young mans hand aside, and then hurried to put some distance between them.

He continued beside Rauthain in silence, watching the two unlikely friends as they walked together ahead of him. Their sudden laughter brought a confused frown to his brow. Toby would never have called any of his associate’s friends; in fact, he could not remember the last time he had a true friend or if he even had experienced the kind of friendship he was now seeing before him. Surely, she would remember one that had so wronged her, he thought. Still she had shown him kindness and even comforted him after the harrowing crossing of the river. Toby pulled his free hand down his tired face; there must be some way I can repay my debt to this woman. The Realisation that most of his life had been wasted pained him as deeply as though the dagger in his hand had been plunged in to his heart, perhaps if I help this, woman the pain will ease, he thought desperately trying not to give in to the despair that was filling his mind.

“How comes it that a respectable woman of the Shire should fine herself in the company of a Bounty Hunter?” He sighed, turning to Rauthain hoping the ranger held the answer he sought.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Amandur

As Amandur and Fintar pressed towards the stairs, they found their way hampered by fleeing orcs, many of which just ran straight passed them, intent on leaving with their life’s, But several seeing the wounded ranger as an easy target made the mistake of raising their weapons against him. However, with the elven Captain covering his vulnerable right flank and his sword now starting to feel comfortable in his left hand, they soon made short work of their attackers. The remainder of Fintar’s patrol soon rejoined them finishing off those that were fleeing.

As the elven captain spoke with his patrol, Amandur looked around. Bodies of both orc’s and elves littered the once green banks of the river staining it in a deathly mixture of black and red. His eyes scanned the surreal scene before him, searching for his companions. Only the elves remained searching for survivors among the dead, several elves began the foul task of piling orc bodies for burning and others attended their own dead. Turning back to Fintar, he saw that the elf was in deep conversation with another elven captain, “Rinmar!” He exclaimed. The elf turned with a grinned and the two clasped arms in friendly greeting.

“It is good to see you well my friend,” The elf said pulling back as Amandur winced with pain, “Well alive at least!” he laughed

“And you my friend,” Amandur answered returning his friends grin. “Per chance have you seen any of my company?” Amandur asked, hopefully. “Three… no two Rangers!” he wavered remembering Maethor’s premature death. “Rauthain and Dúlrain?” he pressed.

“Dúlrain I have seen, he is badly injured and is at this very moment being escorted to the last house, for healing, but he was not alone. Another ranger Kaldir of Westernesse, a southern woman and two hobbits also accompanied him, but I know not this Rauthain you speak of. But my patrol did report seeing two men aiding in the battle, perhaps one of these was your friend!” Rinmar answered.

“Perhaps,” he answered distantly, looking again towards the stair. The rider he saw surrounded by elves must have been Dúlrain, but how came he to be in the company of the ex-ranger and where was Rauthain? He contemplated these thoughts for a moment before Rinmar interrupted. “Our friend will soon be in good hands, you need not worry.” Amandur shook his head, turning back to his elven friends.

“Yes the Lady Lespheria is also in Imladris,” he told them.

“Well there you go, with the lady tending him he will soon be up on his feet again.” Fintar added

“But it looks like you also could use the tender care of the healer!” Rinmar said, looking over the rangers injuries. “This arm is definitely broken, come I have to take my report to our Lords, I will accompany you to the house.” Amandur nodded his assent, then after bidding Fintar and his patrol farewell he and Rinmar made their way to the last homely house.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

As Rauthain led Juta and advanced on the stairway beside Toby, he looked past the lithe form of Avanill in front of him, to Kaldir and Mrs. Banks walking on ahead. The tall man appeared in a proper mind now, though the ranger could not be sure if the pressure bearing down on his former compatriot's mind might not be increasing rather than subsiding as he neared this eventuality, and his concern that Kaldir might yet be directly influenced by the one he sought was renewed. He could see it would not fair well for the hobbit should Kaldir loose his self-possession, and he wondered that she should accompany him gladly when he had so gravely threatened them just moments earlier.

In his ears still echoed the words he had spoken to Dúlrain beside the dying campfire. He would not let Kaldir stand in his way of finding Naiore. He had set himself upon this long since, and yet now he found his resolve again wavered. Had he not caught sight of her on the hillside and yet tarried among his companions? And even though he now had Toby Longholes and Avanill along side him to see to Imladris, was not the Ravennor the more ominous threat to peace. Not only to the peace of the west but he now realized she continued to threaten his own calm as well as Kaldir’s.

"How comes it that a respectable woman of the Shire should find herself in the company of a bounty hunter?" Toby sighed, breaking into the ranger's thoughts.

"How does a ranger become a bounty hunter?" Rauthain mused. "Providence? Misfortune?" He stopped speaking for a moment considering the question more fully, as they traced the path cut in the stone face. "So she is from the Shire, is she? I had imagined her of Bree stock," the ranger began, again focusing on the slight lady in green, so at ease in Kaldir's presence. "Why do you say the Shire?" he questioned, after some thought. "Has she spoken to you of it?”

“Yes, she had in passing mentioned it. I suppose she thought it only polite to.” Toby replied, looking more at the cut stone in front of him than his fellow traveler.

“I had reckoned her to be a long time friend of Miss Nightshade's, for fast friends they would seem, but if what you say is true I cannot imagine how that may have come to pass. And indeed that very friendship I deem is what drew her into Kaldir's company, though I do not know how Miss Nightshade figures with him. I had at one time thought them both captive, but as you see it does not appear to be so,” Rauthain frowned. It seemed almost as though Kaldir himself was the captive, and not necessarily of the two women he had held in his train, though they did inexplicably seem to merit his good will. But rather he was still captive of a past that could not be altered, as Rauthain also felt himself to be. Naiore still had Kaldir bound to that dimly lit world of her making, though surrounded now by the beauty of Eriador, he could not see it.

“Captive? To the bounty hunter?” Toby questioned, evidently surprised.

“It does not appear so”, Rauthain repeated. "But I have told you these things freely, and now it is my turn to make a request of you, Master Longholes. I would ask that you return that which you borrowed of me, the squirrel skin pouch that was at my side as we rode to Barrold's place. Your little feat of daring nearly cost me my life and I would have my flint and whetstone, though you may keep the copper, it means little to me. And you had earned it."

“I do not want your money, it was only a spiteful urge brought on by your treatment of me.”

"I do not believe you intended such a dire outcome, and so will not hold you accountable for this, but it is a hard thing to strip an old man of the tools of his trade," he scolded.

"Here, here is the pouch with nary a haypenny missing," Toby exclaimed searching his pockets to produce the slim purse. "I do not want your coins."

"Ah this is a surprise!" Rauthain said, his eyes glinting in his amusement. "I had supposed I would have a greater struggle and had not expected you to surrender it so readily!"

"My heart is not in it, and I am sorry if it has caused you as great a trouble as you say."

"Then there is no more to be said. But truly it is a good thing you had not met me at the time or I may have been carrying a hobbit skin pouch today! But I have managed well enough as you see, and have borrowed a few things, though I made quite sure their owners no longer needed them," he said tying the purse back on his belt. "I see you have mended the cut strings as well."

Removing from his belt the whetstone he had gleaned from the fallen orc, he grinned as he presented it to Toby. "Here, to show my goodwill you may keep this as a memento."

Toby took the stone and studied the odd runes, "It is a strange gift!" he said. And not knowing what to do with it, he slipped it in his pocket.

“I have found many strange things on this journey,” Rauthain said pulling a shuttle also from his belt and squinting at it briefly, he placed this too in his pouch. “ And I expect I will see many more before it is though.”

[Everdawn]

AVANILL

The debonair trader kept his eyes upon the ground. He was not glad that he was surrounded by rangers, or the fact that Naiore was near. A strange clam passed over him though, the calm that came from making up his mind. He would stay true to his own oath this he hoped would bring him salvation, but no matter what fortunes the future would bring, either way the young trader knew he would have a challenge.

The new companions who came were strange indeed, a hobbit woman, who was referred to by Rauthain as Mrs Banks, as well as Kaldir the bounty hunter. Avanill recognised him from Bree and was sure that he had remained innominate enough for him not to be noticed.

He had not until now thought again of Toby, it was the excuse of finding him that had given Avanill his chance of escape. So it was with mild consternation that he had looked upon the hobbit.

Avanill sent a sideways leer to Toby, looking at him with the same look that made him formidable; as a player of poker may give when he was in possession of a royal flush, the kind that no man could tell what thoughts were looming behind his eyes. Avanill would have to be very careful of what he said, one slip and he would damn himself.

Presently he was lost, he could see that the bounty hunter and Rauthain as well as Mrs Banks were further ahead. “If you know what’s good for you Master Longholes you will hold your tongue!”, yes he reasoned that would do for now. It would give him time to think.

He began to think what Atantri would think of her son. No, Atantri would not be pleased. Everything he had learned as a boy was not in order now. His business, his life, his ideals meant nothing now. Everything that mattered was bringing down the elf. And who knows, All he needed now was by some act of fortunate serendipity, to run into Naiore alone and his life was forfeit.

Still leading Juta for the ranger, Avanill had followed the company and was greatly impressed by the beauty of the landscape, but something lingered around them and he took no second guess in saying that it was the presence of Naiore.

The mention of Barrold in the other’s conversation struck a chord with him. Though none would know it. He wondered whether he should peak of him to them and tell them of how he came to be here. He was distracted by the same eerie feeling inside his mind, which caused him to draw his sword slowly. He caught the eye of Mrs Banks seeming alarmed at the sudden violent movement. Avanill nodded at her. “Not to worry Ma’am, my mother always told me that I should have a steady hand waiting a surprise attack- ” he cut himself off immediately, realising what he had said, any mention of him being Atantri’s son would be another fatal move “From my brothers, I mean… they were older than I and very rough…”

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir
At Gilly's prompting, Kaldir thought back to his brief visit at the Forsaken Inn, his run-ins there with Hanasian and Lespheria, his relentless stalking and eventual abduction of Benia Nightshade. It seemed a very long time ago, even though, in actual fact, those events lay not even a month in the past. Nonetheless, the world seemed a very different place now. Strangely, upon entering Imladris, he felt almost like a ranger again. The single-minded anger and resentment that had driven him so fiercely for years had subsided within him to a mere undercurrent. He knew the change was largely owing to the presence of his companions over the past several weeks: Gilly, Benia, Dúlrain, and even, to a far lesser degree, Rauthain. He felt a kind of connection to them all that he would not have believed himself capable of feeling, even so recently as a month prior.

He looked down at the orcish blade in his hand. Perhaps it was time for a change in his life. If so, he would have a good many bridges to mend before he could return to the society of his brethren - if that was the course he decided to take - not the least of which would be with Rauthain and Amandur. Over the years, he had allowed, even encouraged, so many bonds to be broken. Ahead of him, Gilly laughed merrily.

“I confess, I don’t think he was very pleased to make my acquaintance,” she said, speaking of her introduction to Kaldir's horse, Nico, back at the Forsaken Inn.

"I don't think he is ever pleased to make anyone's acquaintance," answered Kaldir mildly. "Unless whoever it is arrives bearing a bucket of oats or a brush and a curry comb. To be honest, I'm surprised you didn't come away a pair of hoofprints embedded in your backside."

"I did come away with a set of teethmarks," admitted Gilly. "In my backside."

Kaldir laughed drily. "Then I'm not surprised. Every once in a while, the ornery old fellow even takes a snap at me." He paused and looked back in the direction of the staircase. "Even so, I should like to get him back. He and I have been through quite a lot together."

"I can imagine," answered Gilly. She, too, turned and looked back toward the battlefield and the fading sounds of fighting. It was mostly over now. The orcs had been put to flight, and the elves had begun to go about the sad business of seeing to their wounded and collecting their dead.

Still looking back, past Rauthain and the others who followed, Kaldir hesitated as a rush of light-headedness swept over him. Closing his eyes, he raised his left hand and rubbed his forehead over the bridge of his nose, where a headache had begun to take root. Naiore was still out there somewhere, not terribly far off, if he knew her at all. He still intended to catch her if he could and collect the revenge he was due, but, for the first time, he felt a nagging doubt that he was up to the task. After all, had not the mere sight of her just made him swoon on the battlefield like a timid milkmaid? He frowned darkly. Perhaps it was just the shock of seeing the Ravenner for the first time after so long that had made him react so. He would have to assume it was that. Otherwise, how could he force himself to go on? Next time, he simply must not be so weak.

Kaldir turned and, with Gilly beside him, again moved onward toward the last homely house. Ahead, he could see Amandur and Rinmar, the elven captain he had encountered in the grove, mounting the front steps. Amandur seemed to be favoring one arm, which made Kaldir remember suddenly the blow he had received at the hands of the orc he had been fighting when he first caught sight of Naiore. He looked down at his own torn and blood-soaked clothes, noticing that the bloodstains had already begun to dry a rusty brown around the edges. He had gotten so accustomed to the notion of pain, that he had not even noticed the stubborn, throbbing ache that had set in across his shoulder and upper chest. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it had been the loss of blood that had made him lose consciousness on the battlefield, rather than a passing weakness of mind. It was a comforting thought, but Kaldir instantly recognized its falseness. To delude himself with such niceties could only lead to failure and death where Naiore was concerned.

"A scratch," he murmured.

"What's that?" asked Gilly at his elbow. He looked down at her and noticed that a fresh bruise was rising on her cheek in nearly the same spot as the one that had recently healed, which she had received at the hands of the orc in the Lonelands.

"It looks as though you've taken another blow to your face," he said, kneeling down beside her to take a closer look. "It's not too bad," he added. "I don't think the bone is fractured, but you should be more careful. After all, gallant mistress, you don't want to end up looking like me. Perhaps it is time you hung up your sword."

Gilly looked doubtfully between Kaldir and the jeweled sword in her hand. Then, she shook her head. "Well, I don't know... with all these orcs about..."

Kaldir laughed. "They will be gone soon." His pale eyes grew serious. "Once their mistress has been dealt with, there will be nothing to keep them here. When that time comes, should I still be breathing, I place myself at your service to return you safely to your husband and home."

"After all," he added, rising again to his full height. "It would be only right as it is by my actions that you find yourself in these circumstances at all."

Gilly seemed about to respond to Kaldir's words, when her attention was suddenly drawn away by something happening on the walkway behind him. Kaldir turned in time to see that the unfamiliar young man he had first noticed with Rauthain and Toby Longholes on the battlefield had just drawn his sword. The three of them had come up behind him and Gilly as Kaldir had paused to examine the bruise on Gilly's face. Noticing the hobbit lady's eyes upon him, the young man rather glibly rattled off an explanation for his actions that sounded reasonable enough on the surface, but Kaldir heard something in the undertones of the fellow's voice that set his instincts as a bounty hunter on edge. The young man was lying. Why?

Narrowing his eyes, Kaldir studied the newcomer's face.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

So much had passed since the arrival of her father that Vanwe found herself both physically and mentally drained, a thousand questions played in her mind, and she struggled to find some semblance in which she could begin to put words to the conflicting and confusing thoughts running through her mind. Her fathers firm but gentle hands drew her from the confusion of her tired mind and she held his gaze with a little intrepidation as he looked long and searchingly into hers. a little fear surfaced as she saw the years of pain and despair held within his sapphire eyes, but she could not look away, her heart feeling impassioned to her fathers grief, only he would understand the depths with which her mothers lies tore into her heart. She followed her fathers eyes as he glanced at the others gathered in her small cell, wondering what part they each played the sorry events of past and present that some how encapsulated her family. Then she listened as her father spoke.

“Neither you or Naiore Dannan can free me, nor Lords Elladan or Elrohir; I no longer hold hope of it.”

A deep sadness glistened in the blue of her eyes, though she did not fully understand the depths of his words, the despair in his words ached at her heart. His rich voice suddenly took a hard fierce edge, which frightened her a little.

“But mark my words daughter; though you are here in this cage now, you are free. Do you understand? - You must resist, you have to resist…”

She looked longingly into his eyes for more, what did he mean resist! Resist what, her mother, her captors! She shook her head regretfully; she did not understand so many questions yet remained unanswered. Her confusion must have shown on her face, for her fathers features softened and he stroked her hair gently, she closed her eyes accepting his comfort, no, needing it. However, as her fathers hand drew away her eyes opened, and she saw him rise and turn away, confused she turned to the only other face in the room that knew.

“This is hard for him also, not till this day did he know that he had a daughter, and to find that Naiore would keep this from him, then send his daughter to bring him to her is a bitter pill to swallow.” Lespheria whispered as she put a comforting arm about her shoulders. A new guilt crossed Vanwe’s mind, had her mother used her solely to torment her father?

“You are exhausted it has been a long night perhaps….” her elven friend started to say, but she stopped her, “there are still question that I need …” she began.

“Shhhhhh, I promise, that if I hold the answers to the question you need answered I will give them to you willingly, but first you must rest it has been a long night… for all of us.” Lespheria said turning her head to indicate her father and the tired slump of his broad shoulders; she was just about to nod her agreement when her father again spoke.

“We must resist,” he muttered without turning. “I promise you I will not loose you Vanwe, though I myself am lost.”

Vanwe slowly rose and walked towards the turned back of her father, now understanding that he spoke of her mother and her compulsions, so much pain was there in his words that she felt the need to go to him. Putting her hand on his shoulder, he turned. She simply nodded, needing no words to rely that she understood some if not all his words, though in her heart she prayed that some day he would find some semblance of peace, for she refused to give in to the conception that she was to find her parents only to realise that they were already lost to her.

The hushed voices of the other elves drew her and Menecin’s attention, it looked to Vanwe that they were quietly debating something, seeing her gaze one of the two lords stepped forward, inclining his head in simple greeting.

“I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my name is Elohir and this is my brother Elladan we are the lords of this house,” the elf lord said indication his brother and the house they where in.

“We ask that you forgive us our mistake and allow us to make amends by inviting you to be our guest?” Elladan continued coming to his brother’s side. Vanwe was slightly taken aback, so used was she to her captors sending her swiftly on her way after learning their mistake. She nodded her head in way of thanks, not sure what to say, but knowing that she would like get to know her father a little better if she could.

“Very good then it is settled, Lady Léspheria will show you to one of the guest rooms so you can refresh and rest if that is your want,” Elladan smiled warmly.

“Our home is your home for as long as you chose to remain with us.” Elohir added graciously, and then turning to Menecin, he informed the bard that his cottage was being attended and that he too would have to take a guest room until the damage was repaired, the bard said nothing but nodded his understanding. Then Léspheria stepped forward and offered to show them to their rooms.

Vanwe followed beside her father as Léspheria lead them through the ornate hallways and up the wooden stairway, Vanwe could only look in awe at the depictions of great battles and historic events that covered the walls. Lespheria named a few but would not go into much detail, saying only that those stories were better heard in the hall of fire, narrated by storytellers or sung by the bards. Finally, Léspheria stopped them in front of an intricately carved wooden door.

“This will be your room,” Léspheria told her, opening the door and gesturing for them both to enter, and as she looked around, she heard Léspheria indicate to a door that led to an adjoining room that was to be her fathers until his cottage was repaired.

Léspheria then excused herself, “I am sure you have much to talk about, I will just be down the hall fourth door to your left should you need anything.”

“Léspheria…I… “She began undecided weather she wished to ask the elf’s part in this or to thank her for her help. However, Léspheria just smiled and nodded that she understood, promising that they would speak more once they were all rested.

Now alone in the room with her father, she was not sure what to do or say. He stood at the open balcony window looking out over the gardens of Imladris, she hesitantly walked up beside him there were a few questions that came to mind but the pain she had seen in his eyes made her hesitate, but she knew only he could answer her questions. So standing on the balcony of the guest room of the last homely house looking out over the calm serenity of Imladris, with her father at her side she hesitantly asked her question.

“What was she like? …I mean she wasn’t always the way she is now… was she?”

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

After leaving Vanwe and Menecin to get some rest, Léspheria retired to her own room. She slipped off her pack and removing her bow and sword, propping then against the wall next to her bed. The bath that her attendants had filled was now long cold, and as she delicately ran her long fingers across the cold water, she thought of the others at the ford. Her kin who would insure with their immortal lives that the creatures breed in mockery of their people would never breech the sanctuary of the last homely house. The faithful Dúlrain, Rauthain and Amandur, who she knew would also forfeit their lives if it meant the protection of others, just as Maethor’s short life had been forfeit. However, no comfort was there in these thoughts, she wondered over and opened the large glass balcony windows, stepping out on to the ivy laced balcony she rubbed a weary hand across the back of her neck trying to relieve the sudden tightness of her muscles.

Her gaze turned in the direction of the ford and she found herself hoping, no praying that Amandur was still alive and would soon return to her. She suddenly realised that he had been her strength on their journey, a journey that had cause her to question herself something she had never before felt the need to do. Both her kin and her own family had strived to keep her from knowing her link to Naiore, What did they fear? All her life she had been inquisitive, asking many questions. Most of her youth was spent in the vast libraries of Imladris and Lorien, then when she had exhausted both she took to travelling with the rangers and learning their ways and looking for more answers. Even her healing abilities had intrigued and fascinated her at first and she was always willing to try new methods and explore how the body work, but that had ended abruptly! As an apprentice healer, she had found a small bird it was badly injured and very near death, she could feel its pain and work feverently to heal the creature, but everything she tried failed. She could feel the small bird slipping from its mortal bounds, but not peacefully, as she had naively believed all mortals went, but with pain and anguish. No longer able to stand the torment of the creatures suffering she placed her hand on the bird’s small chest and using the healing skills she had been blessed with, she stopped the small-feathered creature’s heart from beating. Even know after so long she remembered how easy it had been and even now, it terrified her as it had then. Is this what they feared, that she too would fall into the inescapable dark path of Naiore or even worse that she would fall to Naiore’s will… like her mother? The sudden realisation made her weak and she held to the balcony for support, suddenly she felt Vulnerable and alone, there was no reminders of all the good she had accomplished in her life, their was no comforting words or bolstering affirmation that all her efforts where for the right reasons, she was alone with her doubt.

Her head slowly lifted and she gazed westward through tear filled eyes, for any sign of the others, for any sign of Amandur. She had been wrong to shut him out, had it not been for his strength, his subtle reassurances and even his love and friendship she might have not even made it this far. She at least owed him the truth of her heart, but even as she thought these words, doubt again caused her to question if her need would endanger his life unnecessarily.

“It is the Ranger?” A voice quietly asked behind her. Surprised that she was no longer alone, she turned. Making to bow quickly as her eyes fell on Lord Celeborn, but he stopped her and lifted her head gently in his hands. “I heard your account and could not help but notice the pause and the heaviness in your voice each time you spoke the ranger’s name.” The elf lord went on sympathetically. Léspheria nodded and then turning back to face the west she whispered softly.

“I do not deny that of late I have not been able to control my feeling for him as I should.”

“As you should” Celeborn frowned, “What is it that you fear? The long dark years after his death spent in perpetual grief and mourning or that he will die and you will not?” he pressed watching her face for the slightest hint of what troubled her mind. At his words she turned, she had not even thought of that eventuality, concerned only with the present. She contemplated his words for and moment then answered thus.

“No, strangely enough I do not fear that eventuality, however I do fear that in revealing my heart I will bring him only pain and suffering.” As truthful as her words were they still stung at her heart and again she turned away.

“Naiore!” Celeborn sighed and a hint of weariness entered his voice. “Ever has the lady of the swan been a thorn in our side, She does not only doom herself with the murder of her kin, but she ruins those she leaves behind, Menecin, Vanwe, your mother. Would you let her too be the ruin of you?” he asked his voice dropping to a mere whisper.

“Yes if it meant that he would be spared!” she replied without hesitation.

“And what then? What would he do? Do you really believe he would do nothing?” Celeborn countered calmly.

She did not need to ponder his words for her heart told her what Amandur would do, “He would go after her alone if need be.” she whispered, lowering her head in resigned affirmation. “Then what am I to do?” she whispered turning as he lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Celeborn shook his head sympathetically, “I can not decide for you but this counsel I do offer, If he loves you as much as you do him, Naiore will know it, he has not the ability to hide his feelings, nor do any of the others you travel with. She will use anyone of them if it suits her purpose and not just against you, though you pose the most threat to her. Think on this before you make any decision and know that what ever you decide the blessing of the Elves goes with you.” Smiling he placed his hand atop her head and then after a slight nod he turned and left, leaving her to ponder his words.

Léspheria turned, hugging her arms close to her chest as she looked to the west thinking on Lord Celeborn’s kind counsel, but before she could come to a conclusive decision, she heard the sound of horses and looking down she saw several elven riders and among them a face she recognised, one not elven.

“Benia!” she whispered, but as the riders neared the house, she saw that they carried a wounded ranger, but not Amandur his hair was to dark. Quickly she lifted her herb satchel and hurried down stairs, passing the guards set at Vanwe and Menecin’s door. The riders pulled up at the door and she ran towards the wounded ranger, the elf carrying him gently lowered him into her arms. She quickly assessed his wounds and asked two of the elves to help carry him to the halls of healing.

“What happened to him?” she asked Benia as the woman hurried to the ranger’s side.

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

Dúlrain

Dulrain drifted in and out of consciousness his mind replaying events of his life, from his hard but life affirming child hood to the enigmatic experiences of his adolescence and beyond to the loss of his father and the anger and vengeance, which drove him into the mountains, to avenge his father death! Then his loss of Kaldir and the long years spent in hopeless search. The loss of the only family he knew at the hands of orcs had almost driven him into the darkest pits of despair, only his reluctance to believe that Kaldir could have fallen foul to orc had kept him going. He also remembered how when that hope had failed he had immersed himself in his work, so he had no time to dwell on the loss and his feelings of failure and helplessness. His memories then turned to his hunt for Naiore, the finding of Kaldir after so long believing him dead, killed at the hands of the orcs at Ravenfalls, the meeting of Mrs Banks and Benia Nightshade.

“Benia…”

He called her name in a moment of conscious thought. He felt her hand squeeze his but his eyes would not focus, but he did not need them for he could remember every contour of her exotic face. Her rich amber eyes that gleamed when she smiled and her dark braided hair he could even hear the gentle tinkling of her facial jewellery as they moved in the gentle summer breezes.

Slipping again into unconsciousness, his thoughts drifted to Kaldir and their journey through the down, ending in the question Kaldir had not answered ’Did he love her?’ He had asked the question already knowing in his heart the answer, but he had needed to hear it from Kaldir’s lips.

“Kaldir!” He cried out, again regaining consciousness.

“He loves her! She can never be mine!” he muttered between shallow breaths, no longer aware if he was conscious or not.

He felt cold and his body shivered violently, despair crept into his heart. If he could not hold her and let her know that he would protect her until the end of their days, professing his undying love, perhaps it would be better for all if he died here and now. For he could not deny his brother this chance of happiness. He saw how the woman affected Kaldir drawing out the poisons of Naiore, to reveal the ranger he once was. He loved them both and that love so deep and unyielding pulled at his heart.

Eleven words like song filled his head and he no longer heeded his pain and despair, the sound like calming waters soothed and calmed his restless mind, blanketing all conscious thought and letting him drift into pleasant dreams of golden glades and silver voices raised in light and merry song and laughter.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

It was so quiet there, the room open and airy, in sharp contrast to his crowding thoughts. The sun rays that slanted through the trees giving dappled illumination to a vast garden that flowed below the balcony and down toward the river, in imitation of the peaceful tranquility of Illuvatar’s thought before the existence of Arda, a harmony now only to be gained though years care. Wild but trained, the view looked as though the verdant grounds might have happened there by chance. But Menecin had seen that it took great skill to achieve this balance, the appearance of a natural state that should have come artlessly, and had been more readily near the mark in earlier ages. And it took work to tame the abundance that would threaten it, so unlike the wild fragrant beauty of Ithilien to the south.

It had been many years since he had last been in those lands that rested between the Anduin and the Mountains of shadow, when his long searching had ended there, and he lay broken upon the red stained rocks and wildflowers that drew their life from a deep cloven torrent below Henneth Annûn. The flame of his hope snuffed out as his life drained away, like a candle that guttered, leaving his mind as shattered as if she had crushed the bright mirror of it under her slender boot, when she turned and left him for dead. Menecin clenched his fists, as the familiar sickening storm rose in his heart once more, and causd him to desire violent action, to lash out and through his rage dispel the intensity of these disjointed memories.

“What was she like?…I mean she wasn’t always the way she is now, was she?” Came a voice soft and hesitant, as if the breeze itself whispered to him. Menecin clutched the balustrade firmly as he struggled to quell his fury and piece together an answer to the simple question. But he could not. He had thought at one time that he had known the answer, but it would not now be reconciled to his experience and what he had been told.

He studied the young elf that stood beside him in the doorway. So striking she was, and echoing her mother’s grace. Like a young sapling grown in the shadows hints of its future strength and beauty. What could he tell her? He did not wish to damage her, nor yet to encourage a destructive curiosity.

Her mother had been a spring breeze to him, dancing through the tall pines and upon the sandy shore of Belfalas, cool and clear and inspiring. It was then he had first come to be fascinated by this elegant and uncommon one, who clothed in choicest raiment, sought not the trappings of court, but to know of the deeper themes of life. And uncovered them with keen intuition and insight, as if her eye had been trained to discern between the fine underpinnings of life and the result those forces brought to bear upon those around her. Then she had delighted him with her continual discoveries and revelations.

“What was she like, you ask daughter?” he said turning once again to the trees. “She at one time was like the ocean, the surface of its great depths sparkling brightly in the sun. Deceptively calm and peaceful she was, and beautiful. But like the sea, she harbored hidden and treacherous currents that would drag a man under so that he might be carried away, to despair of ever breathing again.

“No Vanwe, I do not think she was always the way she is now. In early days, when she still explored the extend of her gift; she had not yet begun to dedicate it to the evil pursuit she now follows. Something changed in her path. At first I thought it Sauron who held her thrall to his purpose, as Morgoth his master had enthralled so many before him, and so I fought to discover your mother’s whereabouts to release his hold on her. But found only that she was not as I thought, and she would now have her plunder, violating even those who held her dear. Killing them also if it suited her ends. So it happened to Léspheria’s mother your kinswoman, and so I fear it will be also for you if you return to her. She knows the effect of her searchings. And I deem she views this ruthlessness as a sign of strength. I will not hold you here by force,” he said letting go of the balustrade to face her again. “But I pray thee, do not go back. It is a warning I give from experience, and the one thing I am sure of in this constant night.”

“Then there is no hope of a change? That she might become again as when you spoke of the early days?” Vanwe asked looking hopefully up into her father’s face.

Recognizing this delusion, Menecin overcame his own deep impulse and recited that with which he ever reminded himself, that which he knew to be the truth. “No, some great flaw is in her heart from the time her making to achieve this disposition, and to think otherwise is grave mistake.”

And so they stood silent for a time glancing out over the balcony to the healing garden below, and did not speak of the travelers and fighters who could be seen in the distance slowly returning to Imladris after defending her from the one of whom they spoke..

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur and Finmar had just reached the house when the sound of laughter made them turn. a short distance from the house he could see the ex-ranger Kaldir holding conversation with a hobbit woman who he could only surmise must be Mrs Banks, pleased too was he to see Rauthain not to far behind, Toby also was still in their company, but with them was another, a young man he was not familiar with. Seeing his contemplative frown, Finmar asked if something was wrong.

“I am not sure,” he answered absently, studying the stranger’s movements. The depth of his stride and the lack of bounce in his light but sure steps, it reminded him of one of the sets of tracks he had been observing over the last several weeks. However, without seeing the tread of the man’s boot he could not confirm or deny his suspicions. Two men he knew had been in Naiore’s company and it seemed too coincidental that this young man should appear at the same time as Naiore attacks Imladris.

“Was the young man in Kaldir’s company when you met?” he asked the elf captain, still watching as Kaldir and Mrs banks seemed to wait for the others to catch up.

“No, nor was the other ranger, only the two periannath.” Rinmar answered following his gaze.

“The ranger I know, his name is Rauthain and he travels with my company, the young man though I am not familiar with, though I have an idea who he might be,” he informed his companion, his eyes narrowing into a distrustful scowl.

“Will guards be needed?” the elf frowned making to reach for the fine elven blade at his hip.

“No, my friend, at least not till I can be certain that my suspicions are founded.” Amandur answered placing his hand atop the elf’s preventing him from drawing his blade.

“I will have to inform my Lords about this stranger, am I to say he is in your charge?” Rinmar asked turned to face Amandur to be sure the ranger understood that all responsibility would be his, but Amandur did not turn, he simply nodded his understanding and began to walking toward the company approaching the house. Rinmar shook his head, then turned and entered the house to deliver his report.

“Hail, friends!” Amandur greeted as he approached, Kaldir gave a curt nod of his head in acknowledgement, Rauthain returned his greeting, Toby shifted uncomfortably as was to be expected, but the stranger remained indifferent.

“And just who might you be I wonder?” the hobbit woman asked eyeing him suspiciously.

“My apologies Mrs Banks, I forget that we have not been formally introduced, my name is Amandur, I also am one of the Kings Rangers and friend to Lady Lespheria, with whom I believe you are acquainted, she will be most please to hear that you are here safe and well, “he smiled.

“Miz Lespheria she is here!” the hobbit woman exclaimed. Amandur nodded, “Oh Mister Kaldir Miz Lespheria will be able to fix up Mister Dulrain, like she did miz Benia back at the inn!” said the hobbit woman with a little relief.

“The Healers of Rivendell will be able to fix us all up,” he laughed, indicating her own and Kaldir's injuries as well as his own.

As he spoke with the hobbit women the others passed them and mounted the stairs to the last house, as the stranger passed by he glanced down and sure enough, the tread left in the soft ground match those he had been following for several weeks. His distain showed as he looked up at the young mans back.

“Will you excuse me a moment Mrs Banks?” he hastily apologised and without waiting for her to answer he strode forwards towards the stranger, the image of Tallas’ cold body, the body he had to bury, again rose fresh in his mind. But before he reached the young man a firm hand gripped his right arm, and he looked up to see Rauthian. No words passed between them, he could see from the rangers eyes that he too knew or at least suspected that the young man had been in Naiore’s company and that he wanted to wait till the others where safely inside, before confronting him. Amandur nodded reluctantly and Rauthain released his grip, but he continued to keep a suspiciously close eye on the young man.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly could see now that she would indeed be in need of Kaldir’s help and protection if she were to find her way home again, as well as to provide some sort of convincing proof for her neighbors that she had indeed traveled to Rivendell, and not merely disappeared from Bree in order to play some cruel joke. And she had wanted to thank Kaldir for his kind offer, but then Mr. Kaldir could not go as far as Bywater, and what a shame that was. Not only because it meant she would have to do the convincing on her own, but because she had the notion to cook him a grand meal after all this was over, a fat roast with potatoes and mushroom gravy, maybe raspberries and cake and cream, to both thank him and try to tempt him a bit with the more domestic life she thought he needed. Perhaps if he were to have a steady, kindly home, even if it was not his own, he would not feel the need to go around toting folks away from theirs, scaring them half to death with his rope and his scowling.

But as she picked through these thoughts of hers, trying to find an appropriate way to say “Yes please that would be very nice of you, and thank you very much. And would you mind kindly repeating to my dear husband what you just said then about it being your actions what’s landed me here?” when she heard a long slow metallic scrape ending in a tang that made the hair of her neck stand on end.

Looking back, the young man who accompanied Rauthain, approached them with sword drawn and frowning. For a moment Gilly thought that he meant them harm, but seeing her surprise the man quickly nodded at her. “Not to worry Ma’am, my mother always told me that I should have a steady hand waiting a surprise attack - from my brothers, I mean - They were older than I and very rough….”

“I think I could learn summat from your mother then!” the hobbit said clutching the yoke of her dress in alarm and wondering what manner of man this might be. “Dear me, you’ve given me a fright! I can only hope my own boys never warrant such a warning. And if they did I surely would never give them a sword such as you carry or there’d be naught but hams and briskets all the way to Hobbiton!” She turned to Kaldir for reassurance, but found he had grown serious again and she wondered what he was thinking as he studied the other man’s face.

Reaching out, Rauthain put his rough hand on the man’s back. “Avanill, though it is wise to be alert to the danger that surrounds us, I do not think the elves of this place will respond well to guests entering the heart of their land with drawn swords. It is a place of knowledge as well as healing. See there?” The grey ranger squinting, pointed further along their path toward where it opened upon a green sward that was divided by a swift stream. “This is Karningul and just over that narrow bridge is the house we seek. You may just barely make out the steps of it from here. ”

Gilly quickly returned her sword to its place at her side. “Mr. Avanill, is it? If you don’t mind my saying so, it looks as though you could do with a bit of healing yourself. I’m sure that should any of your brothers find you here, we all would help protect you,” she reassured him. “Will you put away your sword?.”

“Yes,” Rauthain agreed. “If those who would do us mischief where to overtake us, be sure will all fight along side you!”

Avanill slowly slid his sword back in its scabbard, looking not so much at those around him, but seeing another who fast approached looking as though he too had fought hard in battle, for his hair was damp from sweat and he held one arm close upon his belt as he walked. “Hail friends!” this man said soberly as he quickly advanced. Gilly looked from face to face to see who it was he addressed, and curiously only Rauthain gave voice in reply, Kaldir merely nodding. Toby who had looked relieved to see Avanill’s blade sheathed, now looked uncomfortable again with this addition to their group. Not sure what this meant exactly, and what Toby might know of him, she eyed the man with suspicion. “And just who might you be I wonder?” she questioned him when he drew up.

The man apologized introducing himself as Amandur, a ranger and friend of the elf Léspheria who had seemed so kindly disposed toward Miss Benia and herself, when Kaldir had appeared threatening at the Forsaken Inn. “She will be most pleased to hear that you are safe and well,” he said smiling. Surprised as the hobbit was, to find he knew her name, she was overjoyed to find that the Lady Léspheria was here also! Such a comfort she had been helping Miss Benia’s ankle so, and hopefully she too was well, for when Gilly had last seen her she had appeared quite distressed.

“Miss Léspheria, she is here!” the hobbit fairly shouted in her happiness and relief, “Oh Mr. Kaldir, Miss Léspheria will be able to fix up Mr. Dúlrain, like she helped Miss Benia back at the inn.”

“The Healers of Rivendell will be able to fix us all up,” Amandur laughed. True they were a sore sight and in need of rest, Gilly thought as she and Amandur watched the ragged band pass them by on their way to the bridge and the steps.

“Will you excuse me a moment Mrs. Banks?” the ranger said distractedly, moving off to follow the rest. Gilly saw him catch up to them quickly, and Rauthain draw up beside him. Remembering the words Avanill had spoken and not wishing to be left behind, the hobbit quickly hitched up her skirts and ran lightly over the soft green grass to the stone bridge and over, passing by her fellow travelers and waiting on the stone steps for them to catch up again, wondering where Miss Benia and Dúlrain might be now, and if her friend might might know already that Lady Léspheria was here also.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As they arrived in front of the great house, Benia saw Lady Léspheria rush out to meet them, carrying a satchel of herbs with her. She felt the tension she carried in her shoulders relax slightly at the sight of the healer, but still Benia could not cease to be afraid for Dúlrain until she knew within her heart that he would recover. Dismounting, she watched as the elves of Dúlrain's escort delivered him into the Elven lady’s arms. Hurrying to Dúlrain’s side, Benia found one of the Ranger’s hands and folded it tightly between both of hers.

“What happened to him?” asked Léspheria. The elf’s gray eyes took in the ranger’s wet, blood-soaked clothing and the makeshift bindings that had been ripped from the hem of Benia’s skirt with a glance.

“He was wounded by orcs in the Lone Lands some five days hence,” answered Benia softly. “Kaldir did his best to rush him here, but the way has been rough. We were forced to cross the river just above the falls. I fear it may have been too much for him.” The hint of a sob found its way into Benia’s voice. “Please say you can help him.”

Léspheria gave Benia a searching look, which made the southern woman feel suddenly self-conscious, crouched there on the ground in her torn, muddy dress, the kohl smeared around her eyes. Under the gaze of the beautiful Elven lady, she felt more like a mongrel than ever. A hot flush rose up in Benia’s cheeks, but her grip on Dúlrain’s hand only tightened.

“Benia...” murmured Dúlrain, his eyes flickering open for an instant before landing on Benia‘s face and closing again.

Léspheria’s gaze softened.

“He’s lost a good deal of blood,” she said gently. “Until I remove the bindings and take a close look at the wound, I cannot know how badly he is hurt, but he is strong. If he could make it this far, I’m sure his chances are good.” Reaching out, Léspheria touched Benia’s wrist. “Fear not for him, lady,” she added more softly, her voice strangely touched with emotion.

Benia nodded and, feeling hopeful for the first time since Dúlrain’s collapse on the riverbank, reluctantly released his hand as two elves lifted him to carry him to the halls of healing. She jogged along behind them as the two elves moved swiftly through the great house that had once been home to both Elrond and Queen Arwen Evenstar, but the beauty and wonder of the place was lost on Benia as her only thoughts were for Dúlrain. Ahead of her, she could hear him muttering and crying out on occasion in what she could only assume was delirium, once calling out clearly for Kaldir. A few minutes later, she heard, “he loves her...”, then “...never be mine...” Her dark eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Just then, the elves bearing Dúlrain turned into a softly lit room, where they laid the injured man down on a waiting bed. Léspheria, who had been walking a few steps behind Benia as they moved through the halls, slid past her now to a table near Dúlrain’s bed and began to lay out the herbs from her satchel. Neither wishing to leave nor to get in the way, Benia hung back against the wall next to the door, watching nervously as the elves who had carried Dúlrain began to cut the bindings away from his wound. Hugging her elbows, she slid down the wall until she sat on her heels, her long, black braid pulled forward over her shoulder. Her dress still wet from the river crossing, she shivered, feeling suddenly very cold and very alone.

Benia had never been in the presence of many elves in her lifetime and certainly had never experienced any place like Imladris. She had been so focused on getting there for Dúlrain's sake that she had not given any thought as to what would become of herself when the time came. Now that Dúlrain had been safely delivered in to the hands of the healers she had sought, she found herself feeling very intimidated and overwhelmed. If only Gilly were there with her.

Gilly! Benia realized with mounting horror that she had been so intent on saving Dúlrain that she had simply ridden off and left her best and dearest friend in the world to her fate on the battlefield. All she could do was hope and pray with all the strength in her heart that Gilly had made it into Imladris unharmed. If anything ill had befallen the little hobbit lady, Benia knew she would never be able to forgive herself and would carry a burden of guilt for the rest of her life. And Kaldir, too... Remembering the way she had behaved on the riverbank toward him, Benia felt a spike of shame. She could see now that it was through his sheer determination and bravery that any of them had made it even as far as the stair, yet she had had the nerve to turn on him and fairly accuse him of trying to murder Dúlrain. She remembered the expression that had flashed across his scarred face as the words left her mouth. She might as well have driven a knife into his chest. If only he could find it in his heart to forgive her. She had been so frightened.

Reaching up, Benia brushed a single tear from the corner of her gemlike eyes.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

In the gentle glow of the softly lit room, Léspheria arranged the herbs that might be need to aid in the Ranger comfort and recovery, to her left a young apprentice healer appeared with a basin of salty water in his hands and a fresh towel draped over his arm. She washed her hand thoroughly in the solution and once dried she replaced the towel over his arm, holding him gently in place that he did not leave at once.

“Please bring warm towels and dry clothes for the lady,” she whispered in the young elf’s Silvan tongue, indicating with a slight incline of her head the southern woman who sat shivering against the wall by the door. She let go of his arm and smiled appreciatively as the elf nodded and went at once to see to her request.

Turning back to her patient, she saw that the two resident healers of the halls had already begun to remove the ranger’s blood soaked clothing. As she joined them their faces looked grim, “There is a lot of blood,” one whispered to her as she carefully removed the blood soaked bindings, but she said nothing and concentrated on the task before her. The wound did not trouble her as much as the growing unrest in the young man’s mind. He was tethered on the edge of an emotional precipice torn between choosing life or death, the wound she could heal but if he gave up on life then their would be nothing she could do, she knew she would have to work fast before he made this choice.

As they cleaned the wound, she began to chant softly, hoping that the calming effect of the ancient spell would belay his unrest and dispel his despair. Her gaze strayed momentarily to the southern woman as she felt the emotions behind the rangers despair….Love! Unyielding and unbridled, but not just for the woman who had brought him to the house, another kind of love played a part in this ranger’s precarious state of mind, one of friendship and fierce loyalty and the two threatened topple him over the edge.

He would willingly choose death rather that hurt either one! She suddenly realised as she examined his wound. It was deep but not beyond her skills to heal, however there was clear signs of infection, likely from the freezing waters of the Bruinen, but to her relief the bleeding had stopped, stanched by his companion’s quick thinking and tight bindings. With her realisation of the rangers mind her need for urgency increased, she would require help, but no other healer remained in Imladris who had the skills she would require to help her save this young man‘s life… except one!

Looking up she spoke hastily in silvan to the nearest healer “I need you to bring me the young elven woman, Vanwe she has same skill in the healing arts as I do. I will need her help if I am to save his life!” The healer nodded his understanding and she quickly informed him where the elf woman could be found. She did not wait to see his hasty departure, but turned to the second healer and instructed her to prepare a simple poultice that would fight the infection and dissolve harmlessly once the wound was closed. By this time the young Apprentice had returned and was offering Benia warm towels and dry clothing, but feeling her gaze upon him he turn, then with her eyes and a slight incline of her head she let the young elf know that his assistance was needed. He quickly turned to the woman letting her know that he was needed then quietly slipped up beside her and waited for her instructions.

“Do you know how to make herbal infusions?” she asked the apprentice, wiping a cooling cloth across the rangers sweat drenched brow.

“Yes my lady, I have been instructed in that skill.” the young elf answered at once, as he turned to lift a fresh basin of cooled water and bring it to her.

“Good, then I need you to make a simple infusion of Syzyium aromaticum and Matricaria Chamomilla.,” she instructed him, as she again dipped the cloth into the cooled water.

“Cloves and chamomile?” the apprentice frowned confused, “Yes! Like I said simple, but very effective,” but seeing that the young elf still did not understand she continued to explain briefly. The cloves will fight the infection and relieve his pain and discomfort, while the Chamomile will soothe his nerves and hopefully break his fever.” The apprentice’s cheeks flushed with apparent embarrassment, as she remained him of the healing properties of each ingredient. “At once my lady,” he hurriedly replied, backing away to do her bidding.

“Stay with us my young friend she whispered,” as she placed the damp cloth on the rangers forehead.

She then turned to the table and opened the draw on it’s under side, wherein she found a sharp needle and some horse gut which she would need to close the rangers gapping wound. She carefully threaded the fine thread through the eye of the needle then held its tip carefully over the orangey flame of a nearby candle. As she did this, the female elven healer returned and applied the freshly prepared poultice to the wound, and then knowing what was to come next, she leaned across the ranger’s chest holding his arms tight, in a restraining manner.

Taking a deep breath she removed the red-hot needle from the flame and gentle holding the wound closed she punctured the needle through the living flesh to make the first stitch. As expected the ranger regained consciousness and screamed out in pain, but she pressed on ignoring his cries, not even noticing the return of the first heal as he hurried to help his colleague restrain the struggling ranger. Only when she saw Vanwe’s familiar hands helping her to hold the wound close did she look up, nodding appreciatively then returning to finish of the stitches.

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

Vanwe

Vanwe stood with her father looking out over the tranquil gardens of Imladris, his words wore heavy on her heart, but they revealed to her the truth of what she had so verdantly tried to hide from herself. Naiore could never be the mother she longed for her to be and giving into that delusion would only bring harm to those whom she would hold dear, she could see that now. But neither could she find it in her heart to hate the mother who had abandoned her and sought to destroy those who had once held her dear. Turning her head she regarded the worn features of her father, lines carved through years of pain and torment marked the fairness of his long face, and his eyes held an agony that he had for so long suffered alone. Vanwe’s hand hesitantly reached out finding that of her fathers, her instinctual precedence to heal his hurts giving dominance over her doubts and fears. She knew in her heart that she could never completely remove his pain and she would not try. But perhaps she could share his burden or at least distract from its pain, wrapping her hand about his and leaning her golden head on his shoulder she whispered,

“No longer are we alone father!”

He did not speak and she did not need him too, contented for the moment that he had not pulled away as she feared he might. As she rested her head on, his shoulder and looked out again over the gardens of her kin a strange but pleasing calmness filled her, easing for that moment the troubles of her heart. They had found each other and for that, at least she had her mother to thank.

A loud sharp knock broke through the serenity of the moment causing her to start, quickly regaining her composure she turned towards the door, “enter!” her father called letting go of her hand and starting towards the door. A tall dark haired elf, robed in earthen tones hastily entered the room, on seeing Menecin the elf paused; he had obviously not expecting to find the bard.

“My apologies, my Lord” he quickly recovered, bending respectfully. “I look for Miss Vanwe, Lady Léspheria informed me that she could be found here.”

Vanwe cautiously stepped out from behind her father, “I am she,” she answered wondering what this elf could want of her, experience had taught her to be wary for often people wanted what she could not give. As if sensing her in trepidation her father addressed the elf.

“And for what reason would a healer of Imladris seek my daughter!” The elf started slightly at the accusation in the bard’s eyes, but remembering his need for haste he turned to Vanwe and continued.

“The Lady Léspheria seeks your help, a ranger lies in our halls mortally wounded and she asks if you will come.”

Surprised Vanwe looked between her father and the healer, “I..I don’t know how I can help,” she answered unsure of herself and her abilities.

“Are you not a healer?” the elf asked confused.

Vanwe regretfully shook her head “No, I am no healer, I have on occasion healed minor injuries, mostly on myself and on small animals, but nothing to the extent of which you speak. I do not know how my limited ability can be of any help.”

The healer smiled warmly, “Any ability is a help my lady. If the Lady Léspheria believes you can help then it must be so, for not readily is she wrong in such matters , will you come.” He pressed motioning towards the open door. Still unsure of what help she could provide she nodded and followed him out of the room, pausing only briefly to look over her shoulder at her father, it gave her a little comfort when he nodded indicating that he would follow.

Entering the hall of healing Vanwe paused allowing her eyes to adjust to the soft light, her eyes going wide at the surreal scene before her. On the bed lay a man, a ranger she had been told, but she did not know this one, his deathly pale skin glistened with feverish sweat, and even from the door, and she could sense the wrongness of his injury. Looking up from the ranger, she saw Léspheria, she held a needle in the flame of a candle her gentle face lined with care and concern. An elven woman then moved to restrain the injured man and she felt their guide brush past her as he too move to help restrain their patient, in an instant she knew what Léspheria intended to do, she still did not know how she could help but she did know that she had to try. Quickly she placed her hands around the wound gently pressing the two side of the deep wound together, nodding uncertainly as Lespheria smiled at her appreciatively.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Wiping the lone tear from the corner of her eye, Benia watched attentively as Lady Léspheria washed her hands in a basin brought by one of the other elves and prepared to begin the treatment of Dúlrain's wounds. She scarcely noticed as the elf who had brought the basin slipped from the room, listening instead to Léspheria's soft chanting, frustrated that when they spoke amongst themselves, the healers spoke in their own Sylvan language, which lay beyond Benia's understanding. Even so, she found herself inching away from the wall and closer to where the healers worked, unwilling to leave Dúlrain entirely in their hands, regardless how wonderfully capable those hands might be.

"My lady," said a voice softly in the common tongue.

Benia turned and saw that the young Elven apprentice who had earlier left the room had returned bearing an armful of towels and dry clothing.

"Lady Léspheria thought you might be in need of something warm and dry to wear," he continued, offering her an Elven-made dress of deep green silk and several thick towels. "The towels have been heated by the fire."

Benia took them gratefully and bowed her head in thanks. "You are too kind," she murmured. "Please thank Lady Léspheria for her generosity as well."

The Elven apprentice nodded, but before he could reply was called away by Léspheria. Swiftly, he made his excuses to Benia and slipped into his place beside the lady at Dúlrain's bedside. Hugging the warm towels to her bodice, Benia watched as one of the assistant healers leaned across Dúlrain's chest to restrain his arms, while Léspheria heated a needle in the flame of a candle. Then, Léspheria bent forward and, using the red hot needle, began to sew. At the ranger's first cry of pain, Benia felt her body tense. She tried to steel herself against it and let the healers do their work, but as his cries continued, his body straining against the restricting hold of the assistant healer, she found she could not remain unaffected. When a second assistant joined the first in holding Dúlrain down, Benia could no longer bear it.

She put aside the bundle of towels and clothing and rose swiftly to her feet.

"Stop it!" she cried. "Please stop."

Léspheria paused and looked up, her fair face etched with concern. "What is it?" Beside her, another elf who had joined Léspheria only a moment earlier hesitated as well. Benia was surprised to recognize Vanwe.

"You're hurting him." Benia said softly, her amber eyes meeting Léspheria's gray ones with a steady gaze.

"I'm sorry," answered Léspheria gently. "But it can't be helped. The wound must be closed."

"Yes." Benia nodded. "But not like this." She reached out and took hold of one of the assistant healers' hands. "Let go of him."

Clearly doubtful of Benia's intentions, the assistant hesitated and looked warily toward Léspheria for instructions. Léspheria nodded, first to one assistant then the other. Both of them released their hold of the ranger and stepped back. Vanwe and Léspheria remained in place, Vanwe's long, dextrous fingers still holding the gaping wound closed as Léspheria waited, the needle poised in midair.

Moving past them all to the head of the bed, Benia smoothed Dúlrain's black hair back from his face. His breath was still coming swift and shallow from the pain, but at least he had grown still. Casting a reproachful glance at the two assistants, Benia bent down and pressed her cheek against the side of Dúlrain's face, her lips nearly brushing his ear. His skin burned.

"Can you hear me?" she whispered, laying one of her tattooed hands against the far side of his face. She reached out with her other hand to find his hand where it rested on his chest.

He nodded weakly, but at the touch of her fingers on his, closed his hand around hers in a grip so tight that her eyes watered.

Careful not to wince, Benia closed her eyes, continuing to stroke the side of his face gently with the fingertips of her other hand. "That's good," she continued, barely loudly enough to be heard by Vanwe and Léspheria. "I'm going to tell you a story now, but first - " she paused to kiss the side of his face just above his ear. "But first we must take care of the pain."

When he nodded again, Benia went on. "We mustn't fight against the pain. That only gives it power. What we are going to do is accept it and let it go. Are you ready?" She waited for him to nod once more, then opened her eyes, giving Léspheria a significant glance. Understanding, Léspheria nodded as well and communicated with a look to Vanwe that they would continue to wait. Lowering her eyelashes once more, Benia turned her attention back to Dúlrain.

"You and I are all alone," she said in a soft and soothing tone. "We stand on the edge of the Great Sand, near a well that was once used by my people but that is now running dry. On our hands, we wear heavy gloves, like falconer's mitts. We are going to collect the pain now, every jagged shard. As you draw it up and release it from your body, we gather the pieces together until they form a ball that sparkles in the sunlight like an orb of broken glass. Outside of you. Can you see it?"

"Yes," breathed Dúlrain, his eyes still closed.

"We take the pain and we place it on the goatskins that we have laid out on the sand between us. We wrap the skins around the pain in many, many layers until the jagged edges can no longer be seen and we bind it up in cords of the softest silk. And, taking the bundle, we lower it into the cool darkness of the well. The pain is moving away from you now."

"Yes..."

"There is a slab of granite, lying in the sand nearby. You pick it up and place it over the mouth of the well. Together, we take a piece of white chalk and, with your hand over mine, we mark the granite with a rune that will keep the pain trapped in the well. It cannot follow you."

"Cannot follow..."

"We smile at each other and walk toward our horses." Benia opened her eyes again and gave Léspheria the slightest nod. Responding in kind, Léspheria prepared the needle to continue its work. "We've been riding all day," Benia whispered to Dúlrain. "Deep into the grasslands, leaving the Great Sand behind us. The pain is very far way now."

Dúlrain gasped sharply as Léspheria's needle pierced his flesh again. His body tensed, but he did not cry out.

"The pain is very far away," repeated Benia. The ranger relaxed slightly. The side of his face continued to press tightly against hers, but he no longer struggled against the ministrations of the healers. Benia felt a tentative relief as somehow, between the growing affects of Léspheria's herbs and the hypnotic flow of her own voice, his discomfort waned. She continued with her story.

"It is nearing sunset and the sun's rays paint our faces orange. The mountains ahead of us glow with a soft rose pink. There is a spring ahead in the line of trees that separates us from the mountains. Smelling the water, our horses whicker and dance..."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

It was after the elves had shown them to the place where they might be quartered among those young rangers who still trained under their tutelage, Amandur and Rauthain set about trying gain word on Dúlrain's condition, insisting that Avanill come with them. Yet without pause the rangers had found Toby a companion when he showed a slight reluctance to join them, the hobbit for his part, looking visibly relieved to see the three men start off down the path toward the main body of the house without him.

But going along the winding path through the rhododendrons and great banks of ferns that rose beside the way, Rauthain suddenly taking hold of Avanill's arm pulled him off the path toward a grotto overhung with wild roses, indicating Amandur to follow. The young man sharply jerked his arm away and went to reach for his sword, but Amandur had already drawn his weapon, and with his left hand placed it at the fellow's throat. "Steady," Rauthain admonished in a whisper. "We have already had enough bloodshed for one day, and I have seen that you are both worthy opponents. No, we are not here to spill blood, but to speak of one whose blood was spent among the circle of oaks in Chetwood." Rauthain lowered his chin and looking out from under his brow gazed into Avanill impassive face. "My friend and I, think you know of whom I speak. We know in truth, Avanill, son of …Atoren, did you say? Your feet have betrayed you."

The young man drew himself up and with his chin held high, quickly assessed his position.

“Do not contend with us, it would not be to your advantage, I assure you.” Amandur advised coldly. Then turning, he addressed the old ranger. “Let us escort him now to Elrohir and Elladan, and gather their counsel on where he might be kept until we might deal with him.”

“You speak well Amandur, but how shall we deal with him, for Tallas was highly esteemed by our brethren?” Rauthain sighed.

“And was quite brutally murdered.” Amandur added.

“Sadly yes. But as I was saying, there is not a wandering ranger in this land who would not wish to have Tallas avenged, myself among them,” Rauthain admitted. “So you see your life is forfeit Avanill, the rangers on one side and Naiore on the other. For even if you did not escape her company without leave, as I suspect you did, after your stay with us in Karningul, she will no longer trust her pawn, but will doubtless seek to sacrifice it at the earliest opportunity. I can truly say that I am glad I am not in your place.”

“I do not live life haunted by fear, nor do I choose to now,” the young man said proudly.
“Yet there are times when it is hard to lay such possibilities aside.”

“It is better to leave the matter to the elves or at least leave him for safe keeping until we return from our hunt, and can transport him together with Naiore to suffer the King’s judgment.” Amandur mused. “He will be quite safe here both from rangers and from escape, though I do not know if they might have room, for many orcs of rank were captured today.”

“He will just have to live alongside them in his captivity,” Rauthain said simply. “I see no other way.”

“But there is another way,” Avanill said, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps I can show my worth by being of service in your endeavor.”

“What help can you be, except to provide a sharp knife when dispatching us in our sleep! We have enough to mind, without you on the trail.” Amandur said sheathing his sword. “No, I do not think we have use for you, nor will we strike a bargain.”

“Truly, my freedom would be profitable for you, for you will need to subdue this ravennor once you have caught her. And though you bind her with the strongest elven rope, you cannot constrain her mind,” he paused to gauge their expressions. “I have witnessed her talents sir, and what she is capable of. You would not stand for long against her, but would come to a point where you yourself would gladly cut her bonds and free her.”

This struck a chord in the old ranger, and he knew in his heart what the young man said would prove true given time. “But if we ask it of them, the elves would provide us with the assistance we require.” He replied, knowing full well that Imladris could ill afford to spare its guards to accompany them.

“It is a long way to Gondor, and ample opportunity for her to work her damage upon us. I had in mind certain preparations and compounds, the production of I have some mastery of. These would render her quite helpless.”

“Can not the elves furnish these things also?” Amandur said, dismissing the thought, “and at less risk to us.”

“Yes, they might have something akin to what I speak of, but I have in reserve some potent ingredients, even the elves would shun. Too strong or unstable, and some others too risky but still widely used in areas the elves do not tread,” he said with a sidelong glance at Amandur. “I have come by them only by chance and by my family’s close contacts. You will find them very effective drafts, found nowhere else in the west but on my person. They would dull the Ravennor’s mind such that she would walk in a dream, not able to focus her thoughts, but still she could walk. She could travel long distances without being bound. See here are my stores,” he said opening the satchel at his side, pulling out packets and unwrapping carefully stored vials. Then turning to Amandur he explained, “I would not mislead you in this, for my own life is at stake and perhaps more than that. But do not underestimate my value to you, for strength and armaments alone will not bring Naiore to face the King.”

“You may well be right, and you have thus far been of great assistance, but we also must consider that you might misrepresent your skills and loyalties. Not to forget also your part in the murder of our friend Tallas. But were we to agree, and you play us for the fool, as I live,” the old ranger declared, “my anger would lay heavy on you! And should you turn against us on the road, it would be my great satisfaction to chase you like a fox and repay you.”

[Everdawn]

Avanill nodded, it had been the conversation he had been dreading. It was hard to tell exactly how he felt from the outside, no one ever could tell what that boy was thinking; however, on the inside Avanill was rampant. Would he tell the truth? Would he leave some to chance? He regarded the two rangers with caution before making his final decision. After all, he did want to redeem himself, and yet he wanted to live.

He chose his words before speaking, “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know how I am connected to Naiore. You have no idea what ive been through and you have no idea what went on at Tallas place. Don’t be so quick to think you do, it is deeper than you think.” Avanill paused and watched the unsure reactions of the rangers.

“I can see form your stance that you do not want to hear an explanation” noticing the hostile stance of both rangers. “You must hear me out. I only became involved because I wanted revenge. Not only on Naiore but on Barrold as well. The elf, had dealings with my family a long time ago, she was responsible for their deaths, for that she must die. And Barrold, murdered by sister. He murdered Tallas to, I tried to stop him, but there was nothing I could do. I was waiting for the right moment to kill them both, but I saw that Naiore was planning something bigger that would not give me that chance. She wants to take over the Shire. She did terrible things, things that made me want to throttle her graceful throat on the spot if ever I could, but I had to keep my cover, I am not a stupid opportunist, if you have seen the things that I have seen this past weeks… You have no evidence that I was involved in killing Tallas, you only know I was there. You will find no blood upon my clothes and no remembrances of his home save the drugs I bought from him before Barrold went wild.”

Avanill knew he had a point. “Toby will still not know of my venture of vengeance, so well it was that I kept it. I only wanted to restore my family honour; can you blame me for that? Can you honestly take me away for trying to save my sister, that girl’s good name? Trying to save Vanwe from Naiore- and not to mention what she did to Vanwe…” He raised an eyebrow.

“I imagine that she is safe now though, thank the Valar. Don’t worry about my betrayal good sirs, I give you my word, it will not be broken, besides if I wanted to escape I would have done so by now, I come from what you fellows would call ‘good stock’. Arrest me if you will, but Eru be damned if you will lock me away and take my revenge away from me!”

[Nerindel]

Léspheria and Vanwe

Lespheria could feel the hypnotic suggestion of Benia’s words course through the mind of her patient. Along with the pain it also seemed to lessened the darkening gloom that hung so heavily over his heart, then at Benia’s silent instruction she reheated the needle and continued too carefully stitch the wound close, all the while marvelling at the effectiveness of the southern woman’s tale. Finishing off the last stitch she tied it off and cut the remaining thread free, then placing the needle on the table she took up a small vial of pungent smelling oil and gently rubbed it over and around the stitches.

“To stop any external infection and to reduce the swelling,” she whispered seeing Vanwe’s curious expression. Replacing the vial she took Vanwe’s hand and placed it gently over the wound, she watched as the younger elf’s brow creased in a mixture of fear and apprehension. It seemed somewhat strange to Vanwe that she was being asked to use her limited healing skills, when she was so used to being discouraged from such acts, usually by the vicious sting of a southron’s whip.

“Do you feel it?” Léspheria whispered putting her own hands above the rangers wound. She watched the young elf take a deep breath steeling her for the task at hand, and then Vanwe slowly closed her eyes leaning in slightly towards the injury of their patient. Her delicate face etched in deep concentration as she used what she could sense to put together a clear picture of what was happening below the surface of the flesh.

“Yes!” Vanwe answered opening her eyes with a look of concern, “He is bleeding inwardly, and there is a tear deeper than that which we have already tended.”

Léspheria nodded that this was so, “I need you to locate the memory within the tissue and repair the tear. Do you think you can do this?”

Nodding hesitantly Vanwe again searched out the wrongness but after a few seconds shook her head frustrated, I can’t focus the blood is too much and too fast!”

Léspheria also reaching out her senses to find the memory contained within the living tissue also felt the fast seeping of the escaping blood. A cold chill settled on her heart, she knew exactly what she had to do. She had to use the one part of her skill that she feared to explore, there was no choice if she did not act the ranger would surly die.

“Lespheria!” Vanwe’s gentle voice laced with concern forced her to look up.

“I can slow the blood flow,” she whispered. “This will allow you to heal the internal wound, unhindered.” Not completely understanding Vanwe nodded watching as Léspheria moved her hands to rest just above the ranger’s heart.

“His breathing will shallow a little more; do not be concerned it will not be for long.” Lespheria whispered to the other healers, who looked at her bemused. Never before had she revealed that she could do what she was now about to attempt. Closing her eyes, she reached out her senses locating the large and powerful muscle that was the ranger’s heart. The pulsating rhythm of the heart drummed in her head, loud and fast. Focusing all of her concentration, she steadily worked to slow the rhythm so that the blood flow slowed enough to allow Vanwe to heal the tear. With Dúlrain now breathing lightly, she felt Vanwe attentively begin the healing process.

Once Vanwe had manipulated the tissue into a state of repair, she slowly released her control allowing the heart to regain its regular rhythm, then moving back to Vanwe they both worked together, With Lespheria gently guiding, instructing and encouraging the younger elf when they needed to use their skill in a different way. With the internal bleeding stopped and the tissue steadily mending itself, she removed her hands nodding to Vanwe to do like wise, “He will be alright?” Vanwe asked. Léspheria smiled, nodding her head, confident that the ranger would be out of bed in the next few days.

“He still has a fever, but the apprentice will soon bring an herbal infusion that will hopefully break it,” she informed Vanwe. “Ah! Here he comes now.”

Taking the towel the apprentice offered, she wiped her hands then taking the warm cup she moved towards Benia, laying a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder she indicated that they needed to raise his head slightly so that he could drink, Benia nodded her understanding and with Vanwe’s help they both tenderly raise the mans head. “You must try to drink this, it will break the fever and help you to rest,” she told Dúlrain and when he nodded weakly, she pressed the cup lightly to his lips and he began to drink.

As Benia and Vanwe gently lowered the rangers head and made him more comfortable, she carefully instructed the other healers what was needed for the rangers after care. Turning back, she noted that Benia still wore her damp clothes and that her forehead now glistened in the soft candle light. Making her way over to the woman who so tenderly watched over the ranger, she lightly placed her hand on her forehead causing the woman to start. She was warm, but no fever had set in. knowing the affects of remaining in cold wet clothes for so long she turned and whispered something to one of the healers, then turning back to Benia she spoke softly.

“He will be fine, his wound is mending and the infusion will help him to rest. You should change out of those wet things and try to get some rest yourself.”

Just then, the assistant returned with a warm cup of herbal tea and offered it to Benia. “The tea will keep the chill off and help to relax the tightness of your muscles from the long journey!” she told Benia as she hesitantly took the cup, her dark eyes straying back to the now sleeping ranger.

“He will be fine, someone will be with him at all times,” she soothingly assured her.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Now that the others had all been led their separate ways, one guest alone remained standing planted in the corridor, stubbornly resisting all attempts to show her to a place where she might refresh herself, or change out her cold and mud rimmed clothes. Gilly was persistent in trying to convince those who had been assigned to ministering to the newcomers that she really and truly needed to see with her own eyes, that Miss Benia had indeed made it to this outpost. And a tall graceful elf, who thus far had succeeded with much effort in drawing the hobbit only a few yards down the long winding hallway, grew perplexed, when much to her dismay her guest refused politely to go any further until she was given directions to the 'infirmary'.

"I am sorry, dreadfully sorry really," Gilly apologized, her voice echoing along the empty hall. "But I won't set at all easy until I know how Miss Nightshade is getting on. And I really wouldn't forgive myself if I were fuss with being all clean and comfortable while my friend is fretful, and Mr. Dúlrain so seriously hurt. It would not be right now, would it?"

So it went for quite some time, until at last the elf conceded, quickly taking the resolute hobbit along a series of corridors, and coming near an open doorway from which voices could be heard, gestured for Gilly to be quiet as they approached the room. Stopping short of the threshold the elf told her softly that her friends were inside and must not be troubled until the healers were done with their task. It would be better, she urged, if Gilly were spend this time making herself ready to greet them. Nodding her understanding, the hobbit took a few steps forward, and catching hold of the doorpost peered inside. There in the room were indeed Miss Benia and Mr. Dúlrain. At least it appeared to be Mr. Dúlrain, for her friend was bent low over him obscuring his face as she spoke gently into his ear, and the ranger in turn clutched her expressive hand in an ivory grip, as if she were life itself. But they were not alone. The two elves that she had met at the Forsaken Inn, Miss Vanwe and Miss Léspheria, were working diligently on Dúlrain wound, while two others stood by ready to assist them.

Gilly saw that this was no moment for her to interrupt, and the elf had been right to suggest that she leave them be until they were finished their work. But still her heart plummeted at the sight of the flurry of activity. She had been so joyful to finally reach Imladris, but now uncertainty crept back over her as she realized that even here Dúlrain was struggling.

Turning back to her guide she signaled that she was willing to go now, and soon found herself in a quite room with a basin of water and a rag, trying to scrub off the grime that had gathered, and that the river had not washed away. It seemed a long time since she had been alone, and the stillness was loud to her ears, with only the noise of the stream in the distance and her own heart beat. Soon after bathing, as she worked to smooth out her tangled hair before tying it up again, she was grateful when the lady returned bearing a child's yellow frock and petticoat for her to wear, so beautiful and fresh, smelling of lavender. Gilly thanked her profusely, feeling them too precious to wear, and asked if she might have a needle and thread to begin repairing her own clothes before returning home. Green thread she asked for, if she might have it, for she had lost her own. But taking up the hobbit's ragged garments, the elf smiled at her indulgently, explaining that she would wash them first and bring the requested items later, and then disappeared again, leaving Gilly in solitude.

It was not long before the hobbit grew restless, and left the quite repose afforded by her room behind its quietly closed door, and went off in search of some paper and pen to write the letter to her husband. And wandering the hallways looking someone to help her, she became distracted by the beautiful gardens that lay about the house. Stepping lightly down the stairs in her long gown, she thought to investigate the grounds for a little while and calm her nerves before sitting down to the matter of writing. And investigate she did, for quite some time. Enjoying the many paths and green niches she strayed exploring all she came to until at last she found small low structure with many rooms nestled among the brush, and a hobbit sitting cross-legged on the edge of the front step, a wooden bowl in his lap and a young man leaning against the wall behind him. Seeing that it was Toby, Gilly went there directly to see if he was being treated well and to ask if he knew where Kaldir might be.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur listened with reservation as Avanill began to explain how swords alone would not subdue the Revennor of Mordor. He could not deny that some of what the young man said might indeed prove true and that he himself had pondered that very same question as they followed the elf’s trail, but he had faith in the Lady Léspheria’s abilities and believed that she would have or at least find the means with which to subdue her kinswoman.

“Can not the elves furnish these things also?” he said dismissively, as the images of Tallas’ mutilated body and ransacked home again bore fresh in his mind, “and at less risk to us.” He finished coldly.

He continued to listen as Avanill went on to explain that he could concoct a draft that would subdue Naiore’s mind, while still allowing her to travel the distance required to bring her to Gondor to face the judgement of their king. He peered doubtfully into the pack that Avanill held open for them to inspect. he could not help but wonder just how many of the vials and packets held within may have been procured from his old friends home and how many of them contented deadly poisons that the villain might use against them should they become lax in their guarded caution.

Slowly lifting his gaze he turned suddenly to face Rauthain barely believing what he was hearing, the older ranger was considering Avanill’s offer. Amandur had already made his feelings clear on this matter, he would see the young man left in here under the vigilant supervision of the elves, until the more pressing matter of Naiore capture had been dealt with. However, before he could protest Avanill spoke again.

“You don’t know who I am, you don’t know how I am connected to Naiore, you have no idea what I’ve been through and you have no idea what went on at Tallas’ place. Don’t be so quick to think you do, it is deeper than you think.”

Now Amandur was respected among his brethren for being of strong tolerance and for possessing a seemingly never-ending patience, but on this hunt for Naiore both had been sorely tested. Several weeks had now passed since they picked up Naiore’s trail, but they were no closer to taking her into their custody than when the first began. Instead, they had lost a highly valued and respected ally of their kin, and then night after night he had to witness the torment of the woman he loved as she suffered the assaults Vanwe was facing at the hands of her own mother and most recently the death of Maethor, all of which he had been helpless to prevent. If it had been Naiore’s intention or not to wear him down in this manner then it was working, his tolerance and patience were both stretched to their very limits and even now, Avanills accusations threatened to break them entirely. It took all the restraint that he could muster for him to hold his tongue and allow the young man to continue.

And as Avanill began to tell them his tale of vengeance, doubt began to settle in his mind. Had he really been too quick to judge this young man, but even as he began to doubt his judgement other memories resurfaced. Among them, Maethor’s recount of his assault in chetwood. Of how he found the young elf maiden fleeing from her captors, and of how Avanill and Barrold had together assailed him and retrieved their quarry. However, he could not dismiss the fact that this man had merely subdued the ranger and not killed him. But neither could he lightly put aside the fact that here the man would have had an obvious opportunity in which to rid himself of his sisters killer. He could have easily killed Barrold and placed the blame on the ranger but he had not or perhaps he could not. His eyes narrowed as he studied the young man’s demeanour for some hint or clue as to his true intent or purpose.

‘I will not give her something to use against me and neither should you!”

Léspheria’s words rang in his ears, she had been warning him that Naiore would sense his feeling for her and use them against him. Off course this is were Avanill’s story fails him for Naiore would most certainly have known if this young man bore her ill will. In their long friendship, Léspheria had never kept from him her ability to feel the emotions of those around her. It was for these very abilities that she was chosen to become an ambassador to Gondor on behalf of her people. but also was it known to him that she was not the only elf to possessed this gift, although ashamed to admit that a noble of their kind would commit such heinous acts as those Naiore was accused the elves eventually entreat the rangers to the source of Naiore’s uncanny ability to evade them at every turn. The rangers had hunted this elf for long enough for many of them to see first hand the extent of these abilities. However, before he could point out this simple flaw in Avanill’s story, the young man error’d again, reminding him that Barrold and Avanill had not been alone that fateful day…. Someone else had witnessed the brutal attack of the old man.

“Can you honestly take me away for trying to save my sister, that girl’s good name? Trying to save Vanwe from Naiore and not to mention what she did to Vanwe… I imagine that she is safe now though, thank the Valar.”

Both he and Rauthain followed Avanill’s brief gaze toward the main house of Imladris. Was he saying that Vanwe was here in Rivendell, evidently thinking the same thing the two rangers glanced at each other then turned back to Avanill? “Are you saying that you believe Vanwe is here?” Rauthain asked.

“Her mother sent her to retrieve her father and seeing this place for myself I do not think she would have succeeded.” Avanill explained and even Amandur found himself agreeing with the young man’s assessment.

“Arrest me if you will but Eru be damned if you will lock me away and take my revenge away from me!”

Amandur’s patience finally snapped and grabbing Avanill roughly by the front of his shirt he thrust him backwards into the solid trunk of a blossoming apple tree and pinning him securely in place he stared intently into the young mans deep blue eyes.

“Revenge!” he said dryly “is reserved for those the lady has honestly wronged and not by those who would shamelessly invent them to avoid facing the consequences of their actions. No, I see not the cold fire of revenge in your eyes and believe me I have seen it many times in my fellow rangers, not least in the eyes of the ranger Dulrain who even now lie’s under the care of the elves yet another victim of the ladies mischief.” The cold fire of vengeance that he spoke burned in his eyes clear for all to see.

“Amandur, my friend!” Rauthain exclaimed concern and uncertainty creeping into his voice as he place a firm hand on the arm that held Avanill firmly in place.

“I have had enough of his lies and wish only to know the truth!” he answered keeping his eyes locked with those of his prisoner.

“And what truth would you wish to hear my friend… The truth or the one you have convinced yourself is true. I too feel Tallas’ loss deeply but we do not know if this young man lies or not.” Rauthain counselled.

“No you are right my friend I do not know if he lies or not,” he said shaking his head and slowly releasing his hold on the young man. “But… there is one who I believe does and I strongly believe that she will tell us the truth that we seek.” he calmly continued watching Avanill trying to gauge a reaction.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Left behind by the others, Kaldir followed at a distance, his pale blue eyes following the movements of both the young stranger he suspected of lying to Mrs. Banks and of the two Rangers, Rauthain and Amandur. He pretended not to notice when the two Rangers suddenly hustled the young man off the path into a rhododendron thicket, but the significance of their action was not lost on him. Obviously, his former brethren felt some of the same suspicions he did and, perhaps luckily for the young man, had decided to address their concerns forthwith, rather than leave the fellow for Kaldir to question on his own. Kaldir had noticed as the stranger passed him on the walkway that the young man's footprints matched those he had been tracking alongside Naiore's since they had left Chetwood, and, Kaldir imagined, that fact had not been lost on the Rangers either.

He paused on the walkway, fighting the temptation to listen in on the tete-a-tete taking place within the rhododendron thicket. Finally, deciding against it, he turned away and walked back in the direction of the stairs and the battlefield. Whatever they were talking about in there was Ranger business, something he had turned his back on years ago in favor of business of his own. While it might be to his advantage to know what was discussed, he still felt a peculiar sort of loyalty to his former brethren. Let them handle their affairs. After all, where Naiore was concerned, they were all basically on the same side. He could always corner the fellow later for a chat of his own. In the meantime, Kaldir felt the urge to go back to the battlefield. His head had cleared somewhat and there were things he needed to look into, namely the whereabouts of his missing sword and horse. He looked down at the bloody orc's blade in his hand. It would not do to enter Imladris carrying the sword of an orc, even a slain one.

The slash across his chest and shoulder had stopped bleeding, but continued to throb with a dull ache. He found the pain helped him to concentrate, keeping him alert, his senses on edge. Besides the matter of his missing belongings, he also wanted to see Naiore's tracks. Elven trackers had no doubt already found them and gone off in pursuit of her, but Kaldir felt a need to look at them himself, to see where she had gone once she had leapt down from the rock shelf upon which he had seen her standing. Her forces scattered and slain, anyone else but Naiore might have fled the area, but Kaldir knew her too well. She still had unfinished business. She might lie low, but she would not be far off. He knew that she would strike again, but where and how remained to be seen.

He continued on down the stairs, stepping out of the way of the elves who still worked at retrieving their dead and wounded from the field of battle. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, it did not take him long to locate his sword where he had dropped it, half-concealed under the corpse of a stout orc. He picked it up and, giving the blade a quick wipe, slid it back into its scabbard. As for the orcish blade he had picked up when he had lost his own, he added it to the pile of orcish armor and weapons that the elves had begun to assemble near the ford. Those things would be disposed of later on the far side of the river, along with the bodies of the dead orcs, as soon as it was deemed safe enough to cross the river.

Having retrieved his sword, Kaldir walked back once more in the direction of the stair, hoping to pick up the trail of his horse, Nico. Not only was the gray stallion a very good horse, but strapped to the horse's back were most of Kaldir's worldly goods, including everything he owned that wasn't physically attached to his person. While there was nothing of any particular monetary value in Kaldir's missing pack, it did contain all of his extra clothes and traveling supplies, some items of which would be much missed and very hard to replace. Studying the ground, Kaldir criss-crossed the part of the battlefield in which he could last remember seeing his horse, but the ground had been too badly disturbed and what tracks could be seen were unclear. Shaking his head, he walked to the edge of the field. Placing two fingers in his mouth, he whistled loudly, but there was no answering whinny from Nico. He waited a short while, then tried again, but was again greeted only by silence.

"Strange," he said aloud. "He's always come before." He looked around the emptying battlefield again, but there were no dead horses or even any hints of dappled gray to be seen in the shadows. The pack pony who had carried Mrs. Banks so faithfully across the countryside could be seen wandering about a short distance downstream, but there was no sign of Kaldir's own horse. Plainly put, the animal had vanished. Puzzled, Kaldir walked over and picked up the trailing reins of the pack pony and led the sturdy little animal back toward the stairs.

Tying the pony to a tree near the foot of the stair, he left it there and moved on to the rocks where Naiore had been standing. For the second time that morning, he came away disappointed. If she had left any tracks at all, they had been all but destroyed by the chaotic flight of the orcs. With no trails to follow, Kaldir decided it was time to return to the stair and the entrance to Imladris. There was a time when he might have simply taken his sword and the supplies still strapped to the pack pony and gone on his way, but things had changed with Kaldir. There were a number of people within the Elven refuge that he needed to speak with, many issues that needed to be resolved. And there was still the matter of that young fellow Amandur and Rauthain had hauled off into the rhododendron patch. If he had been traveling with Naiore, as Kaldir strongly suspected he had, then the two of them would have quite a lot to talk about as well.

In the meantime, though, bleeding or not, he would have to attend the wound to his chest. While the wound itself was not life-threatening by any stretch, more messy and inconvenient than anything, the danger of infection was ever-present. It would have to be treated. Taking one final look around for his missing horse, Kaldir returned to the stair and for the second time began the ascent toward Imladris, this time bearing his own sword and leading the little brown pack pony behind him.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

“I am not the one you want” Avanill said calmly. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” he asked looking at both Rangers. They looked form him to themselves. “I thought not.” Avanill nodded to himself. “I fear you are not ready to hear what I have to say, for if it is taken the wrong way I will be worried for my life.”

Amandur looked sceptically at the young man. “If there’s something you aren’t telling me boy you best do so now before you make this any worse for yourself.”

Avanill took a deep breath. “I am Avanill; my mother was the bandit and black market trader Atantri. You may have heard of me, and you may have known my uncles, they were rangers, Adoran and Mithsen were their names my father killed them.” He said the last words with much bitterness. “I have been in the company of Naiore, only because I had several ransoms I have to pay. Naiore promised quick payment. And I know she keeps her promises.”

“And why did she trust you boy?” Rauthain asked.

“Because she was a client of my mother.” Avanill continued “When I met up with Barrold Ferney he had already kidnapped Vanwe, or rather Naiore had promised her for him. And I can tell you now that Barrold has no idea that she is going to double cross him, I can see it in her eyes. I never touched Vanwe, I saved her from beatings, ill have you know that. Anyway, Ferney told us that we had to visit this Tallas man in order to refill my stocks. I thought he meant to buy, but later I found this to steal. Tallas came out. Barrold attacked him and then started on me; he said ‘Your father would have been ashamed of you, if he was alive’ and I lost it. I don’t know what happened, all I remember is that I was so angry.” He spat on the ground.

“The nerve to mention my father! He abandoned my mother, left her for dead. He killed my uncles and I am proud to say that I would kill him myself if my mother had not done it first.” The Young man shook his head.

“I never knew of Barrold’s intentions. It is not in my nature to kill an old man. Ive seen so many horrible things, Naiore is a monster. I abandoned them, originally because I want to remain living. But then I ran into Rauthain here by accident and decided that I need to do something about it. After all I am the best apothecary in Middle Earth.”

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Hesitantly, Benia accepted the warm mug of herbal tea from the hands of the Elven assistant. She murmured her thanks, but her eyes strayed worriedly toward Dúlrain. He was sleeping quietly now, but she could not erase the memory of his cries of pain from her ears.

"He will be fine," Léspheria reassured her warmly. "Someone will be with him at all times."

"Thank you," Benia said again. She dropped a deep curtsy, still clutching the warm mug in both of her hands. "While it is his life that you save, I find myself eternally in your debt and at your service." She lowered her eyes. "If he were to die, my life would no longer be of value to me." When Benia again raised her face, her eyes were brimmed with tears, but her expression was not one of despair. It was of hope and firm resolve. What she left unspoken was the knowledge that if he lived, her life would take on more depth and meaning. There had been a time, even so recently as the day before, when she had felt doubts that her feelings for the wounded Ranger would be reciprocated, but now she knew in her heart that they were. That knowledge gave her strength.

For a brief moment the gazes of the two women, one Elven, one mortal, met. Then, Léspheria's expression grew pensive. "He will not die," she said gently, a faraway look coming into her gray eyes. She touched Benia's hand. "Now, come, let my assistant show you to a room where you may change out of those wet things. It would hardly do for Dúlrain to awake only to find you have taken ill as well, now, would it?"

Benia's cheeks colored, then, sheepishly, she shook her head. "No, Lady, you are right. It wouldn't do at all." She needed to be well for him and strong, and, if at all possible, beautiful. Benia took a final sip of tea and put aside the mug. With a glance down at her torn, muddy skirts and sodden boots, she bent and collected the dress and towels she had flung aside earlier when she had rushed to Dúlrain‘s side. Gathering them in her arms, she walked to the door where a tall, young Elven lady waited to lead her to her room.

"I am Celebnariel," the Elven lady said as they started down the hall in the direction of the guests’ rooms. "If there is anything you need during your stay in the Last Homely House, please let me know. It is my duty to see that you are comfortable during your stay with us."

Again, Benia murmured her thanks. " I was wondering if you might have seen something of my friends," she added quietly. "Besides Dúlrain, I was traveling with two others in particular, a hobbit lady and a man. The hobbit lady's name is Gilly Banks. She's small and rather slim for a hobbit, and the man has the look of a Ranger. He's tall and has a badly scarred face. He goes by the name of Kaldir. Have you any word of them?"

Celebnariel listened to her attentively, then nodded. "Yes, they have both arrived in good standing. In fact, Gilly was down to see you in the Hall of Healing, but left as she did not wish to interrupt your efforts. I'm sure you will be seeing her later. I have not seen this man Kaldir myself, but a room has been prepared for him just down the hall from yours. From what I understand, he was seen on the path above the great stair, so if he has not found his room already, I'm sure he will soon. If you like, I can leave word for the two of them that you were asking after them."

"Yes, please do!" answered Benia. "I would be ever so grateful."

"Consider it done," answered Celebnariel. "I shall see to it myself."

"Now that I know my friends are safe," Benia continued after only a second’s hesitation. "There is one other thing that I should like to ask of you."

"Yes?" prompted the elflady with a smile.

"As soon as I am presentable again, I should like to return to Dúlrain's bedside in the Hall of Healing. Would that be possible? I must warn you that if you say "no," I shall be forced to find my way back on my own."

Celebnariel laughed merrily. "I or any of my colleagues would be delighted to show you the way back." Her fair face sobered. "I know what it is like to fear for the life of a loved one."

Hearing the gravity in the Elven lady’s voice, Benia paused. A flurry of questions rose in her mind, but before she could ask even one of them, Celebnariel stopped and opened a door on to one of the most beautiful chambers that Benia had ever laid eyes on. She almost stopped breathing when she saw that a bath had already been drawn for her and waited, steaming, before a small fire that burned merrily in the grate. Seeing Benia’s expression, Celebnariel laughed.

"You look as though you are cold to the bones! I see you have already been given some dry clothes. When you are finished bathing, you may leave your wet things here by the door. We will see to it that they are cleaned and mended."

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Benia murmured her thanks. She waited quietly as Celebnariel fussed over a few details around the room then took her leave. Once she had gone, Benia wasted no time in slipping off her cold, wet clothes and climbing into the bath. Closing her eyes, she sank into the hot, fragrant water and, for the first time in a very long time, felt almost weightless, as though all of her problems floated away from her in the tendrils of steam that laced the air around her. The chill that had enveloped her so completely since the river crossing finally began to recede, allowing the warmth to return slowly to her limbs. For a brief moment, she felt supremely content.

But the moment passed swiftly. Almost in response to her happiness, the tortured echoes of Dúlrain’s anguish rose again in her ears. If she wanted to be there beside him when he awoke, she knew she must not allow herself to become distracted by her own desire for such creature comforts as a bath and a soft bed. Steeling herself against the temptation to indulge her whims, she finished bathing quickly. Once she was satisfied that every last trace of the river smell had been washed from her skin and hair, she toweled herself off and dressed in the green silk dress that had been provided by the Elves. It was an amazingly good fit. If she had been a vain woman, she might have twirled a few times before the mirror and admired the way the green set off the amber of her eyes, but Benia was not a vain woman. Instead, she merely smoothed the fine garment into place, then set to combing out the tangles from her long, black hair. When her thick tresses once more flowed down her back like a raven-colored veil, she finished her preparations by finding a small vial amongst her meager possessions and re-applying the line of kohl around each of her eyes. Lastly, she pulled on the lovely - and dry! - Elven boots that Celebnariel had left for her and found that, like the dress, they fitted as though they had been made for her. She was finally ready to return to the Hall of Healing.

As she opened the door to her room, Benia found Celebnariel already there and waiting to escort her back to Dúlrain’s side. Celebnariel again took her leave as Benia entered Dúlrain’s room. Léspheria and Vanwe had since gone as well, but the Healer who had been staying with Dúlrain in Benia’s absence smiled.

"He’s still sleeping peacefully," he said as Benia approached the Ranger’s bedside.

"Thank you," she answered. She bent down and tenderly smoothed a few stray strands of black hair back from Dúlrain’s face. "I had so hoped to be with him when he awoke."

"You will be," answered the healer. "I think you will find his condition much improved, but there are others who need my attention as well. With your permission, I will see to them now."

"Yes, please, you must not neglect the others," agreed Benia softly. "I will stay with him now."

As he prepared to go, the Healer showed Benia a bell cord by the door that she could pull if she needed him, Celebnariel, or, in fact, anything at all. She thanked him again and settled into the chair that had been left by the injured man's bed. Laying her hands against Dúlrain's face, she was relieved to find that his skin no longer burned so frighteningly hot to the touch. She could detect the remains of a fever, but it was only slight. She murmured a soft prayer of thanks in her mother's desert dialect. Then, looking around, she found a small basin of water and a washcloth. Dipping the washcloth just under the surface of the cool fresh water, she bathed his sleeping face and hands. She planned to stay there with him as long as he remained asleep. And, if she had anything to say about it, she would still be there when he awoke.

Nothing else mattered.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain listening carefully to Avanill’s words, found no comfort in them, and the young man’s claim again rang false in his ears. For to the older man’s instincts, this one had yet to be appear consumed with a vengeance of any sort, let alone the passion necessary to spur him to seek out this quarry. And the ranger had not forgotten that when he had first met him, Avanill did not appear to be chasing either Barrold or Naiore, though he had recounted the same tale.

One point though, that Avanill had made was indeed true. Rauthain knew he could not yet be sure what link this man had to Naiore, nor by what motive he was at Tallas’ home, and on this he set his hope. For since they had been traveling together Avanill had never shown himself to be under the sway of the Ravennor. And though that too may be a ruse, the young man had proved to be courageous and obliging, meriting in this Rauthain’s respect both at the river and on the battlefield. But by the Valar, he was slippery, too! And not a straight word fell from his lips.

Seeing this paradox, the old ranger fell to questioning himself, not yet understanding why it was that he was inclined to take the reckless boy on the onward journey, for Amandur had spoken the truth at every point, and Avanill had done nothing more to earn their trust since reaching this place. But in searching his own heart, Rauthain grew suspicious of its aims. Had he then grown so corrupted by his own desire to see the death of Naiore that he now actively moved toward that end, seeking this boy only as an instrument to his purpose? For he realized that it was his fervent hope that what ever his motivation, Avanill might prove heavy handed or careless in his ministrations to the elf, stilling the breath within her, to claim her life as a prize. Indeed the old ranger knew in his weakness he would himself foster this idea. And there in lay his shame; for not only did Avanill present an unnecessary danger to their company, but Rauthain knew also that in this propensity, his own loyalty to the Law of the King would be held in question should he succeed in overriding his liege’s wishes in this manner. But if no harm came to his fellows, he thought bitterly, that dishonor was of little consequence. And with no one else left but the Ravennor to suffer from this shift, he was now willing to publicly embrace the ignominy that he had earned at Ravenfalls. He sought only to make amends with Kaldir, before this judgment was pronounced on him.

But setting aside his somber thoughts, he focused sharply as he heard Avanill mention the supposed safety of Vanwe. Rauthain looked to Amandur before turning back to their charge, “Are you saying that you believe Vanwe is here?” His mind swimming as he realized this young elf, stood to accuse Avanill, ensuring his imprisonment. If he had been bluffing, he then played a quite dangerous hand.

“Her mother sent her to retrieve her father, and seeing this place for myself I do not think she would have succeeded.” Avanill remarked. “Don’t worry about my betrayal, good sirs, I give you my word, it will not be broken, besides, if I wanted to escape I would have done so by now. I come from what you fellows would call ‘good stock’. Arrest me if you will, but Eru be damned if you lock me away and take my revenge away from me!”

The Dúnadan flinched at the inauspicious retort, surprised also that Avanill had betrayed such a spark, but his attention was quickly drawn to Amandur who expeditiously had confined the young man against an apple tree and looked as if he intended to assail him further. Astonished, Rauthain placed his hand firmly on the arm that held Avanill secured to the tree. “Amandur, my friend!” he said with concern, cautiously trying to calm the ranger, for he had never known him to act in such a way.

“I have had enough of his lies and wish only to know the truth!” Amandur declared unblinking. Ah if only the truth could be wrestled from him in such a way, thought the old ranger. But the greater the threat of harm, he knew, the more deeply entrenched in lies the young man was apt to become.

“And what truth would you wish to hear my friend…. The truth or the one you have convinced yourself is true. I too feel Tallas’ loss deeply, but we do not know if this young man lies or not,” he said trying to appease them both.

“No you are right my friend, I do not know if he lies or not,” Amandur said releasing his grip. “But…there is one who I believe does, and I strongly believe that she will tell us the truth that we seek,” he said as he continued to watch Avanill. Rauthain shot a quick glance at the man, before addressing Amandur again.

“Yes, I see now that we must take this up with one who would bear witness to his character, and saw how it went not only in Naiore’s camp, but at Tallas’ as well,” he murmured, strangely downcast.

“I am not the one you want,” Avanill declared calmly. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” He paused waiting expectantly for and answer, “I thought not,” he said nodding. “I fear you are not ready to hear what I have to say, for if it is taken the wrong way I will be worried for my life.”

Rauthain braced himself for yet another fanciful tale, resisting the temptation to comment on the man’s credibility, and the fact that he little of it left to lose. But at Amandur’s urging, Avanill took a deep breath and continued, declaring himself to be the son of Atantri, a black market trader, and nephew of the rangers Adoran and Mithsen, who were killed some years back by his father. He explained that he had joined in Naiore’s plans for the promise of quick payment, which he seemed to require.

If this were more deception, then at least it was more skillful, the old ranger thought, for Avanill was too young to have remembered the deaths the two brothers that he named as his uncles. But why would the Ravennor choose to bring along this boy, whom she did not know, on so serious an errand. Testing the speed of his reply, Rauthain asked him as much.

Without hesitation, the young man told them, summarizing his position, as well as what had taken place among the circle of oaks, and for the first time the old ranger was almost persuaded to believe him, though what he had said of Tallas did not sound like the man he knew. But at the same time he felt a strong wave of nausea overcome him, and walking away began to retch, as with dread he realized he was pleased to hear Avanill tell of his loss of control, though it swept up his friend in its bloody savagery.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

As Naiore moved down the hidden pathway that led into Imladris from the north, she chose her steps carefully, knowing that she must leave no tracks, no sign that she had passed that way. With so many elves and Rangers about, leaving even a single footprint in a single patch of mud could lead to her undoing. Belying the fury in her heart, Naiore's fair face bore a serene expression as she slid silently through the shadows of the trees. It was a bold move, entering the grounds of the Elven refuge at the height of daylight, but it was precisely for that reason that Naiore chose to go when she did. The elves would be looking for her at night, that is, if they looked for her at all. She had been careful to make it appear as though she had fled into the west following the pell-mell retreat of the orcs, even going so far as to drop a few strands of golden hair along the trail before she turned north. A cold smile twisted on the corners of her lips. Even if they missed her carefully planted clues that were intended to send the lot of her pursuers charging off like a pack of baying hounds into the west, she knew that they would never look for her within the very grounds of Imladris. Her safety lay in the audacity of her plan.

Naiore slowed her steps as the back gardens and walls of the Last Homely House came into view through the trees. Her inky leathers, stained now with the blood of elves and orcs alike, blended into the shadows as she looked for a suitable place to hole up and wait for her daughter to deliver Menecin. Vanwe would not fail her, she thought with a flash of pride. She had wrought her will too deeply upon her daughter to fail. The pathetic whelp was too green, too raw, to resist the Ravenner's will. Vanwe would deliver Menecin to her. All she had to do was wait, like a leopard at a waterhole. They would come and she would garrote them both. Soon Vanwe and Menecin would be no more, no longer able to betray her to her enemies as they had no doubt already betrayed her in the past. Her beautiful smile broadened. The waiting would soon be over and revenge would be hers. It felt good to be on the hunt again.

Concealing her pack beneath a thick shrub at the base of one of the many tall pines, Naiore chose a nearby oak in which to conceal herself. She pulled herself up into the boughs of the tree with a graceful, catlike motion, her face once more impassive. Now was the time to wait.

In the twelve years since the fall of Mordor, Naiore had done much waiting. She was used to it. She settled in with her back against the massive trunk of the ancient tree. She had chosen a vantage point that gave her a clear view of the back walls and gardens, yet offered her near complete concealment from prying eyes. She had a clear view of the stable as well. Anyone who ventured out through the back would be seen by her. Satisfied, she flicked a golden braid back over her shoulder to join the seven others, and, letting out a long, patient breath, grew still as a figure of marble. Hidden as she was, she could wait for hours if needs be. Days. Even so, Naiore was not idle. Her mind raced with plans for revenge against all those who had conspired to thwart her over the years.

While she had never expected Imladris to fall under the assault of the orcs, the image of orcs rampaging freely through the halls and grounds of the Elven refuge would have amused her greatly, as would have the sight of Elladan's and Elrohir's heads on spikes before the front door. Sadly, it was not to be, but, as it was, the orcs had accomplished what she had required of them. They had thrown the Elven defenses into disarray long enough for her to place her snare and move into position to spring it. That having been accomplished, she was happy to be rid of the vile creatures. She worked much more efficiently alone.

With her silvery gray eyes focused on the back walls of Imladris, Naiore let her mind wander, stretching out into the grounds before her, sensing the mixture of intense emotions of the many souls who inhabited the place. She searched for Vanwe. For Menecin.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur ran his good hand through his dark hair and across his neck as he considered the young man’s words. He had heard of the rangers Adoran and Mithsen and the rumours that a family member had betrayed them both, But of the black-marketer he knew little but her name and the reputation that followed her. That she was kin to the rangers would have surely been kept a guarded secret. However, it was not this that held his thoughts; it was Avanill’s recount of what occurred during his encounter with his old friend. The old man was wise beyond recount and would never do anything without good cause or reason. But what reasons would he have to anger the young man so? What purpose did it serve? But to hasten his own end… but….

Amandur abruptly stopped in his thoughts and considered the young man before him, “Could he? Would he?” he muttered to himself as he remembered the serene smile on the dead mans lips and Lespheria’s belief that the old man had been permitted to foresee his own end. Lowering his head and thoughtfully stroking his now bearded chin, he thought again of the nature and character of his old friend, then suddenly he laughed “Off course he would!” he thought aloud. If Tallas had seen even a glimpse of decency in Avanill's future, he certainly would have encouraged it, but to insult the young man so he would be forced into this very situation and given the choice to turn from his old ways would seem insane if the old man had not foreseen the outcome. Amandur shook his head in wonder and admiration.

Looking up he saw both Avanill and Rauthain regarding him as if he had finally lost his mind, ignoring their stares, he turned to address Avanill. “You may not know it boy but that old man has just saved your life and perhaps my own honour as well,” he laughed dryly, shaking his head.

“But…” Avanill began, not understanding, his sudden change in mood.

Amandur raised his hand to silence him, “I do not believe it matters any longer how or why? Just know that you have been given the opportunity to prove your worth.”

“He will come with us when we leave, his skills may prove invaluable in the days to come,” he said turning to Rauthain, “who would have guest that the Revennors own choice in companions would be her undoing , first Toby and now… well we shall see. If you don’t mind keeping our young guest company I will seek out the healers and get this damnable inconvenience seen too,” he grinned, and then winced as he motioned his broken arm.

Rauthain nodded, but he could still see a questioning look in the older mans grey eyes. “Even in death the old man casts his guiding influence,” he whispered thoughtfully. “It is not ours to question why, but to accept the help he has given; I only hope Avanill sees the opportunity afforded him. A chance to start anew, many would envy such a gift, perhaps even you or I?” he sighed, and then shaking his head he turned back to Avanill.

“You have this one chance to prove your worth boy, but know this, if you disappoint or turn on us in any way it will not be the kings justice you will have to worry about, remember that when you draw out your plans. As you have no doubt seen rangers do not tire of hunting their prey.” with that last threat given he turned and made his way to the halls of healing.