Brotherhood, A Story from the Last Alliance:RPG thread

[Bêthberry]

Cuthalion's game begins with this post:


Melost rode at the head of a company of Elves fitted out for war. As he rode, he looked forward into the future for many reasons, not the least of which that his beloved awaited him in Imladris and there he knew they would travelling to soon, there to mingle Lord Elrond's host with that of his own
lord, Gil-Galad.

Afar off he could distinguish Men, standing atop the outpost of Amon Sul, watching for their arrival. The glittering panoply of their armour made a heart-stirring sight as it rode ever closer to the encampment of Isildur. He
began to wonder if he dared hope that the friend he had made years ago would
be among the warriors on the hill-top.

Memories brought a smile to his lips. Memories of a young boy, of noble Numenorian blood, who had sat at his feet, desperate for stories of the Undying Lands. He especially liked those that contained Dragons and valiant
deeds. His father was a warrior and it was plain that the boy already showed great promise in that area as well. His father had been a great ally of Gil-Galad and when he was slain in battle, the boy and his mother had
sought refuge among the Elves then dwelling in the south of Middle Earth. Melost found himself the object of the boy's fascination.

He shook his head, clearing it. Many years of Men that had been and many battles fought. The two had lost touch and Melost wondered why the boy should so suddenly appear this clearly in his mind's eye...this would be the
last place he would ever choose for them to meet...

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Cuthalion]

Among those waiting for the arrival of the Elven-Host was Arthain, a warrior mighty in arms, close to the ear of Isildur himself. As he looked out over the land, he watched for a certain banner, for beneath that banner rode his friend Melost, an Elf of surpassing skill with the bow and messenger of the High King. Too long it had been since they had last sat together, telling tales by a fireside, Arthain prodding Melost for more details of the West. Beside him as always rode his shadow, Thelian, Melost's close kinsman and shield-bearer.

As he strained his eyes, At last! There it was! Gil-Galad's banner and Melost proudly bearing it up the slope to the fortress, announcing the High-King's arrival in a clear, ringing voice. Arthain turned and ran to greet him...

Upon seeing Arthain, Melost mingled his pure, clear tenor with Arthain's resonant baritone...

O menel aglar elenath
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

Arthain looked at the Elf in wonder, for in all the long years of their friendship he had never heard him sing. "Mellon, why have you never sung with me before? Your voice has such purity!" Melost gazed at him, a wry grin on his face. "One must never reveal all one's gifts. How ordinary I would appear in your eyes if I couldn't amaze you now and again." He stood gracefully, stretching his legs. "Ai! I am used to travelling afoot! Light-footed though she is, my Estel has tried my muscles this day!" He looked up into the star-dusted sky and broke into a radiant smile. "Arthain! Behold Menelmacar as he strides among the stars."

Long he stood, gazing upward, lost in the beauty of the sable night. Arthain shifted, moving nearer the fire. He was used to Melost's reveries. In time they would resume their conversation...

[ March 12, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain welcomed his friend eagerly, running up to him. But such a greeting was in order; it had been too long since they had last seen each other, years had passed and Arthain knew he must have changed alot in the elfs eyes. But the elf still had some tricks up his sleeve, and his beautiful voice, as clear and pure as a mountain stream, shocked Arthain into stopping.

"Mellon, why have you never sung with me before? Your voice has such purity!"

Melost grinned mischieviously at Arthain as he replied. "One must never reveal all one's gifts. How ordinary I would appear in your eyes if I couldn't amaze you now and again."

Arthain mock bowed slightly. "Ah great words from the wise Melost!"

His friend raised an eyebrow slightly, still smiling, and stretched his legs. "Ai! I am used to travelling afoot! Light-footed though she is, my Estel has tried my muscles this day! But Arthain! Behold Menelmacar as he strides among the stars."

Arthain humoured his friend, looking up at the sky with him, but he had never been able to see such beauty in the things that Melost rendered so wonderful. He knew how much it meant to his elven friend to find beauty in little things though, so he didnt interrupt, but sat down at the fire again and waited.

After a moment the elf turned back and sat down with him. "You would rather sit by the fire than survey the beauty of such a night?"

Arthain shrugged. "I suppose my personality hasnt changed much, friend. Like your looks." He flicked his eyes up and down the elfs still youthful body, and his unlined face, still like that of a twenty year old. The elf was centuries older than him, but he felt ancient beside him. Melost shrugged. "You havent aged much either, Arthain."

"You are a silver tongued liar, Melost!" Arthain shoved him playfully. "Nay, many years have passed since last we met. Too long."

"Aye, too long. And many things have no doubt happened for both of us in the time since."

"Indeed. Come, tell me Melost, what has been happening to you these long years?"

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Mattius]

Thelian marched into the camp of men lowering the banner of The High King, passing it to a younger elf behind him and giving him instruction to keep it safe. He removed his helm and rubbed his short black hair. His kinsmen Melost was by the fire with a young man laughing and talking. Melost was glancing up at the stars and was waving his finger to and fro attempting to show his companion the beauty of the night sky. Thelian smiled, 'old friends' he thought to himself as he looked around the area.

In the old days Thelian had been a loner, travelling the world by himself, trying to find his place. Melost had given him more than a place, he had given him a meaning. Although usually mildly suspicious of men Thelian was at ease, these were men of Numenorian blood and could be trusted. And anyway, thought the elf, any enemy of orcs is a friend of mine in times of war.

Just as he thought that he might find a place to rest himself and perhaps find a mug of ale or even water a young man walked up to him.

"Greetings!" The black haired man said.

"Good evening young warrior, would you perchance be able to point me to a place where I could have a little bite to eat and perhaps some drink?" The man smiled showing Thelian his teeth before he spoke.

"I am glad to be amongst such noble warriors as you and your kin."

"Well, if you show me where I can find some food, erm..."

"...Dorlas"

"...Dorlas, then I will discuss such matters with you further."

[ March 16, 2003: Message edited by: Mattius ]

[Cuthalion]

As the night drew on, the two friends talked until their throats were dry. Arthain went in search of wine and when he returned, he noticed Melost sitting with his head down as though in deep thought. He accepted the cup and a haunted look crossed Melost's face as he looked at Arthain, then quickly away. "He knows me far too well." he sighed, his thoughts darkening. Arthain's brow furrowed in concern. This was unlike Melost. Quiet he might be, but never morose. He reached across and placed a steadying hand on his arm. "Tell me..."

"I fear death, foolish I know for one of the Eldar, yet fear it I do. I foresee my death in this great under-taking of our Lords and I fear it! The halls of Mandos hold no appeal for me, I desire life and it's wonders too greatly to have them slip away so needlessly..." He poured his wine onto the ground and tossed his cup into his gear. "Enough! Tell me more of your family."

[ March 17, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain frowned at his friend, wondering about the elfs depression. Melost was not an elf to waste words, but he had never seen him so depressed seeming. He laid a hand on his friends arm and Melost seemed to jerk out of his thoughts, looking up at Arthain and seeming to take a moment to realise who he was. Then he looked away again.

"Tell me..." he murmered.

The elf looked like he might just gloss it over with one of his elusive smiles, but Arthain knew him too well. He sighed. "I fear death, foolish I know for one of the Eldar, yet fear it I do. I foresee my death in this great under-taking of our Lords and I fear it! The halls of Mandos hold no appeal for me, I desire life and it's wonders too greatly to have them slip away so needlessly..."

Arthain frowned again. Needless? Not needless, surely. Is this how the elves are thinking, that if they have to join with men, they really have to be desperate... Melosts next line put thoughts of the alliance out of his head though.

"Enough! Tell me of your family...how do they fare?"

Now it was the mans turn to look away, biting his lip. Melost realised he had said something wrong and winced slightly, and he looked inquiringly at his friend. Arthain took a swig of his wine and looked directly at his friend, his eyes seemingly hard now, but Melost could see the emotion swirling beneath this false cover.

"Theyre dead." The man answered, his eyes as hard as the false cover he covered his emotions with.
"What?" Melost had been almost expecting it, knew it had been happening to so many, but he couldnt believe it.
"Dont make me repeat it, Melost." Arthains voice was softer now and he looked away now. Arthain hadnt shed tears for years, but his friends sharp eyes could see how his eyes shone with tears. "Wild men attacked. It wasnt even personal, they just....hewed them down where they lay. And I...I wasnt even there with them. I didnt protect them, Melost."

"Ah, Arthain...I am so sorry..." Melost didnt know what to say. He touched the mannish soldiers arm lightly and Arthain looked back, a small tight smile on his face as he wiped his eyes. He threw the remanants of his wine into the fire, making it momentarily spark blue.

"What could you have done, friend? Anyway, this is what we're fighting for. This is what I will fight for, and this is what I am determined to win for." His voice and eyes had a harder edge and Melost could see that the man was determined, and Arthain was; with every nerve in his body he was determined that he would avenge his wife and son, even if he died trying.

"And I will help you."

Arthain looked with gratitude at his elvish friend. Melost had always been loyal to him, and he knew how unusual it was for an elf to be so loyal to a man. He clasped his friends hand and smiled at him. "Thankyou friend." He sighed and tried to revive the conversation. "Anyway Melost, how goes your life? Found a pretty elf maid?" He teased.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost glanced up at his friend and smiled. "Ah! Now there you touch upon a subject very close to my heart. She is a beauty of surpassing loveliness and wit. I fear you shall be jealous for I have never seen a woman of your race to rival her. Though tis true that at times she has the tongue of a viper!" He shook his head. "We have been betrothed for many years, yet my service to my lord has kept me from her. In Imladris you will have the privilege of meeting her, for she is in Lord Elrond's care. Beware her charm! She is most cunning, yet I cannot help but love her."


He opened the front of his tunic and held up a stone that hung from a gold chain. Arthain took it in his hand, turning it this way and that as it caught the fire-light. "Beautiful! What is it?" Melost returned it to its place with a sigh. "This was given me by her at our last meeting. She bade me return it to her as soon as I could, on our wedding night." He rubbed his hands together as the night grew chill. "Should we survive this war, will you stand with me when we marry? We do not have formal ceremonies as you do, but I would consider it an honour."

[ March 21, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Mattius]

Thelian stood upon the south wall looking south east and thinking upon how far away Sauron was, sat on his throne breeding his hideous orcs in the bowels of Mordor. He feared Sauron, above all he feared him but was prepared to risk his immortal life to defeat him, and that was the true courage of Thelian. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder amongst his thoughts of the dark enemy and his armies and spun around half preparing to fight. Dorlas saw the unfriendly look in the elf's eye and backed away a little.

"I am sorry Dorlas," he said truthfully, "I did not mean to startle you, I have just been thinking on the enemy." Dorlas nodded at him understandably.

"Believe me Thelian, you are not the only one who fears what we must do- but it must be done. If we do not have an ultimate victory then Sauron may one day rise again and it will be our future people who will suffer and I would rather die trying than see that happen."

"Indeed," Thelian replied, surprised that Dorlas was so deep and knowledable- he was afterall, a man. Perhaps he was wrong about the race of men. Thelain was untrustful of them but those of Numenorian blood were more akin to elves than any other men were. He looked at Dorlas, his young face already grim and ready for war, his black hair blowing in the southwardly wind. Dorlas caught Thelian searching his face and smiled.

"I have heard that the elves can find out more about a man by looking at his face," Dorlas said, "than they can with ten questions!"

"Perhaps it is true," Thelian replied, "but a look into the eyes of a man can be worth twenty at least!" Dorlas laughed again as the chilly southward wind rose again. "Come," he shivered, "let us find a fire dear Dorlas and warm ourselves up a bit." The two of them made their way back to the main encampment. "Tell me, do you have a family?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas considered Thelian's question carefully before answering, something that the squire rarely did. No, his family and past were no secret and were thought about often. Dorlas just wasn't asked about his family much. He became satisfied with an answer as he and Thelian neared a large fire.

"Yes. I have family still, unlike many in these times. My father was the one who sent me with Arthain. My brothers are studying the lore of your kind, in Rivendell. Hopefully, I'll get to see them when we get there. My sisters are part of a traveling music company. That's it," Dorlas finished with a smile. How he missed his family!

Coming to a large grouping of men and elves, the two were offered some food and drink, and they sat near the fire. It blazed and cackled against the cold, bitter air. Into the sky rose smoke that billowed into clouds as ashes were flung into the air.

"What of you, Thelian? Why are you here? What brought you into this mess left by the deciever that we must clean up?" Dorlas asked Thelian as the two walked closer to the fire.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Should we survive this war, will you stand with me when we marry? We do not have formal ceremonies as you do, but I would consider it an honour."

Arthains eyes widened and he smiled and gave a small laugh, almost surprised. His gaze went from the stone to the elfs face then his tongue returned. "Twould be an honour, Melost my friend. And honour. And I shall look forward to meeting this cunning and beautiful wife of yours. See if I can steal her off you, eh?" He grinned mischieviously as he added the last part. Melost feigned horror before grinning also and patting his friend on the back.

"Thankyou, Arthain. Thankyou."

"The pleasure is all mine Melost, I promise you." He looked up, hearing a familiar voice in conversation. "Oh, hello. Looks like my squire has made the aquaintance of Thelian. Shall we join them, friend?"

[ March 24, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Mattius]

Thelian smiled, placed his hands behind his head and sighed deeply.

"My story is a lonely one I am afraid to say. I am an orphan, I have never known what happened to my parents- I assume they have passed away." He looked up at Dorlas who had a sad expression on his young face.

"That is a sombre beginning to your tale," he said. Thelian nodded as he looked into the fire. He began to talk soon after.

"I was adopted by a young elf who brought me up till I was but a century old and then he also was killed and I was forced to wander this harsh world alone, surviving as I could." He was silent for a good few moments thinking about the hard times, and the terrible times. Thelian looked over to the next fire a few feet away,

"Shall we join them, friend?"

It was Melost's human companion. After seeing Melost he turned to Dorlas again smiling.

"But then I met a great warrior of might and mind whom I would follow through thick and thin and now to this place," said Thelian. Dorlas looked over at the elf Arthain was talking to and saw that they were making their way over to them.

[Cuthalion]

Melost greeted Thelian with a clap on the back, then nodded to the young warrior sitting across from him. Arthain shoved Dorlas over and claimed a warm spot by the fire. He cast a sharp glance at Dorlas, then winked conspiratorially at Melost. "It seems that Thelian has picked up some trouble in the form of my young squire here!" He reached across and clasped hands with thelian. "Good to see that you're still with him, Thelian. We both know how bad his aim is."

Thelian arched an eyebrow at Arthain, then looked to Melost who rolled his eyes. "My aim with my bow is as poor as your eye is in picking out a comely wench, which is to say they are both excellent." Melost then looked at Dorlas speculatively. "Your master is remiss, young one. What is your name? From whence have you travelled?" As he asked these questions his heart went out to this young man. Would survive this campaign, or would he, like so many before him, end his life far from home on a bloody battlefield?

Thelian sensed his kinsman's mood darken and looked at him in concern. He knew of Melost's preoccupation with death and he knew also that it was his greatest fear.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain sensed the sudden darkening of Melosts mood once more, and saw Thelians glance towards him, saw the elves eyes meet. Melosts moods now seemed as changeable as the weather. He wondered why; Melost always seemed so pleased with life, so happy, so filled with satisfaction. Maybe that was the problem... Elves said of men that they were cowardly, that the strength that ran in their veins was weaker than that of the immortals themselves, but was it possible that they feared death more than men? Men lived short lives compared to the elves, like dragonflys lives to those of men. They knew death would come, after so many years, knew that their bodies would grow old and weak, that their minds would fail and they would return to dust. But elves would never get old, their bodies would remain as youthful as they wishes for generations of men, their minds sharp. They stayed young, the immortal elves, and so, in a way, they would die young when they fell. So even the elves had a fear; the fear of death itself.

Arthain shook himself out of his reverie, returning to the conversation where his young squire had already introduced himself. Dorlas was eager, keen and ready to learn. Aye, and young. Too young for this. Too young for a death on the battlefield...

He inspected the sky critically. The weather was still damp but the rain was still keeping away. He stood with a sigh, but not one too melancholy; he didnt wish for Melost to wonder about his fears. "Come friends, we should get going towards Rivendell while the rain stays away. No doubt we will be leaving soon enough, but maybe not soon enough for Melost; he has even more reason to get there than us, I think, what with the lovely lady waiting for there." He winked at his friend and offered a hand to him. As he was pulled to his feet, Melost pulled back on Arthains hand, making him stumble forward slightly to the laughter of all, including Dorlas. At this, Arthain jumped on Dorlas, getting the boy in a headlock and ruffling his dark hair. For a few moments, it was as if their troubles didnt exist, or their ages or races. Dorlas struggled free of Arthain, joining in the laughter, and good spirits remained with them.

[ March 25, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

The soldiers had camped, and Gil-galad sat in his tent. The sun was warm, and those of his men that had finished their chores, sat enjoying the weather. Gil-galad longed back to those days when he was still a youth, enjoying the beaches of Falas.

But he had responsibility, and matters to attend to. He needed to discuss the recent news that he had received with Isildur; that Sauron had returned, and not died in the Downfall. Once again his orcs filled the land of Mordor, and had already waged war on Gondor.

But before making rash decisions, he needed some answers and sat down by a table. His servant brought him pen and paper, and he wrote a letter. Then he thought of a trustworthy messenger. He remembered Melost, his kinsman, was also camped somewhere. He decided for some company.

He summoned one of the guards standing outside his tent:"Bring Melost to me, and his squire if he wishes, to have dinner with me tonight."
The guard bowed, and left.

Gil-galad leant back, and took a deep breath. He looked at his soldiers, a vast army of the finest elven troops. Here and there the sun was reflected by newly polished armour; He felt proud, knowing that all these men would follow him into death itself; but this feeling was soon replaced by a fear of what lay ahead. Gil-galad knew, that he was probably leading these men into death.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain looked up as a messenger walked towards them into the ring of firelight and recognised him.

"Darthin! Come, sit and have a drink with us." He gestured to a place beside him, but the messenger declined with a regretful smile.

"No, Captain Arthain, I cant stay. I bring a message to Melost, kinsman of Gil-Galad."

"What does my Lord say?" Melost stood up at the mention of the elven leaders name and stepped forward, a few steps from the messenger. Darthin bowed slightly to the elf then delivered his message.

"Gil-Galad asks that you would join him for dinner, and invites your squire also, if he so wishes."

[Cuthalion]

Melost smiled and told the messenger that he and Arthain would be along directly. He then turned to Arthain. "My king is not very patient, my friend, therefore we had better join him soon. He will also have something pertinent to tell me regarding our movements if I know him, for he is not one to waste his time in idle conversation."

Arthain stretched out his arm and they clasped hands. "Be off with you then! Dorlas and I will see if we can sleep before we get the order to break camp." He pulled Melost aside, "Will we see you before then?" Melost spoke briefly to Thelian, bidding him prepare to present himself to the King. Thelian nodded, grinned at Dorlas and left. "I will be sure to speak with you before we march. Sleep well!"

Melost strode away into the darkness to make himself presentable to his Lord and kinsman. He respected no one more than Gil-galad and he had determined that if he must die, it would be in his King's service. He shook his head, trying to escape his dark mood. He thought of his betrothed. How was she and did she still begrudge the fact that they had not wed before he had had to leave?

He drew back the flap on his tent to find Thelian waiting for him, whetting his sword. Melost squeezed his shoulder as he passed by, then stripped out of his tunic and hose after finding a pitcher of water and a cloth waiting for him. As he cleansed the grime of the road from his body he thanked the Valar for Thelian's presence. They balanced each other well in combat and he had come to depend on the younger Elf to watch his back in all situations.

Melost dragged on fresh clothes and threw his best cloak around his shoulders. "Come! We would do well not to keep our lord waiting."

[Daniel Telcontar]

Gil-galad looked up as Darthin presented Melost and his squire to him. When Melost saw the empty table, he knew that the dinner invitation was just an excuse. The King had another mission for him. He sighed, and hoped dearly that it would not delay his return to Rivendell. Gil-galad graciously allowed them to sit, and fruit was put on the table. Gil-galad beckoned to them to take, and Thelian took an apple, but Melost did not. He tried not to look at his lord while waiting for him to speak.

Gil-galad studied Melost's face long. Melost was an expert at hiding his feelings, but Gil-galad noticed that his eyes looked back and forth, without patience. Apparently he was waiting for something.
"Melost, I have a task for you. Isildur is coming, and we will meet him in Rivendell. Yet I wish to know before that meeting some information. Therefore, take this letter and bring it to Isildur, and get his reply and return here swiftly."

Darthin gave Melost a message, which he sat with long and watched. He was relieved that it was nothing requiring longer time, and when his mind accepted the fact he raised himself slowly. He then bowed, and was going to leave but his eyes finally met Gil-galad's. The king's gaze pierced his soul through his eyes, and revealed his thoughts. Before he allowed Melost to leave, he gave him a final instruction, although he did not remove his eyes from Melost's.

"I doubt there is any servants of the enemy nearby, but if there is risk of capture, memorize it and destroy the letter. Should you have no ways to escape capture, kill yourself so they cannot extract the content of the message from you. I do not wish for the enemy to know of our presence here yet."

Melost did not say anything at these orders; during the war 1300 years ago, he had often acted as a messenger from Lindon to Rivendell, and had to travel through enemy-held territories. Thelian could not help to gasp, though, and when Melost left the tent Thelian followed quickly, still looking a bit schocked.

Gil-galad rose and watched them as they dissappeared between the many tents. Thelian was surprised at the last order he had given Melost; another one of his soldiers, who was not ready yet to die, Gil-galad thought to himself, not without a sense of bitterness.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost reached forward and took some bread and cheese. "My lord, long it has been since we sat at table like this. I thank you!" He raised a goblet in salute to Gil-galad, who merely nodded in return. Melost sat back, wondering what was running through Gil-galad's mind. His kinsman had always been one to keep his own council, but now, with so great a battle looming on the horizon, he had become positively grim. Melost looked at Thelian askance, knowing that he was also weighing what Gil-galad had said. The enemy here? Unlikely, yet stranger things had happened.

As he drank, Melost's thoughts began to wander as Thelian engaged Gil-galad in light banter. He thought of his beloved and how he could not wait to run his fingers through her raven hair once again. He recalled their last parting and how bitter it had been. He regretted leaving her, but he knew that no matter what, Sauron had to be defeated. She had not understood and so he had left her, standing proudly, unbending. And he had watched as she turned away and did not look back.

His hand strayed to the stone that lay next to his heart. "I will return to you, my love, if only for a short time. My thoughts are ever with you!" He shook himself from his reverie and stood. "My lord, by your leave, Thelian and I will leave this night. With any luck we will return shortly after day-break." Gil-galad stood and clasped hands with Melost. "The Valar go with you, cousin." They both bowed and left the pavilion in search of their horses, talking quietly of the road ahead.

[ April 01, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

Back in Imladris, Anwanelme was sitting alone in a quiet room, reading. It was something she had become very fond of doing, both to be alone with her thoughts, but also in order to escape her mother's nagging. She meant it well, she knew that but although she loved her mother, Anwanelme was tired of having her tell her what to do.

With a sigh she rose and paced a little, then stopped to look up at the night-sky where the stars were shining brightly. She loved the stars and her thoughts drifted, memories of times past sweeping over her. She remembered walking with Melost in the moonlight and the beginning of a smile played on her lips.

But he had left her!
Abruptly she turned away and threw the book she had been reading on a nearby table.
He had preferred the war over her and even postponed their wedding, leaving her behind to stay here with her mother.
It had been a long time since she had really been thinking about him, she realised that now, but she shrugged off what little guilt she might have. She didn't even know where he was and besides, she had other things to think about.
Her mother had been the one who talked her into being betrothed to Melost but soon she had gratefully accepted, hoping that he would be the one to take her away from her mother.
But here she was, still without a husband, having to listen to her mother's "advice".

Turning, she stood for a while, gazing out into the darkness. She heard someone coming and sighed when she recognised her mother's steps but she didn't move to greet her.
"What do you want, mother?" she said, her voice calm and cold.

[ April 02, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

As Dorlas left the company, he could only wonder about the future, if there was one. Not to be pessimistic, but he didn't see too much hope against such a powerful force. Yet Dorlas would still fight. Why? He'd fight for something he believed in: A better life for others, and treating a neighbor as you would yourself. For, in the end, was not this war for those who came after the men who would perish? Doing such a big favor and giving such a wondrous gift to those lucky enough to live into another age would cost many lives. It would be worth it though, and Dorlas kept this thought fresh.

Returning to a small hill, Dorlas let the wind whip at his hair and light cloak. Arthain had went to find rest. Dorlas would not find any, he knew, for now it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Dorlas was too carefree! He had felt the need, as the great progress neared their fate, to let all the things that had bothered him before drop. That way, should he meet his end, he'd be unafraid and ready to say "well met".

Yes, Dorlas did fear death at the time. Who didn't, when they had a family and a life to leave or return to? But Dorlas, unlike some, thought he was ready for anything at that point.

And what a grand world it is! Thought Dorlas, as the chill air wrapped about him like his own cloud. Such a grand world it is, where small boys understand the tactics of war.

What the boy did not realize, however, was that to die so young would not just be to die; it would be to lose such a large part of life.

[ April 02, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya quietly entered the room. She saw her daughter had been reading, but now stood by the window. Her daughter only gave a slight nod of recognition as she walked into the room, her back still turned. She sighed, debating whether she truly wanted to deal with her daughter at this time. She finally decided that, if she did not speak with the girl now, it would only be that much harder in the future.

"Daughter," she said quietly, "I did not see you at all today. What were you doing?"

"I was reading," Anwaelme said, not turning from the window, "I might ask the same question of you, Mother."

Menelya had been around most of Imladris, in truth, so it was impossible that, if Anwaelme had strayed from her room at all, she would not have been informed of where her daughter went.

"I had errands," Menelya said, "I traversed most of Imladris. You, however, did not leave your room at all, so it seems."

Menelya was not completely sure of this as an absolute truth, but she wanted to see how her daughter reacted. If Anwaelme showed any emotion towards her, loving or otherwise, it would be an improvement to this cold, monotonous voice that her daughter had taken on with her. Ever since her betrothed left.

Menelya often wondered if her daughter truly loved the Elf, but only feigned indifference to him because Menelya was the one, in fact, that pushed for the bethrothal. It seemed that the girl pined for the boy whilst he was in combat. Either that or she was trying to get as much freedom to herself until he returned and she would once again be bound to him.

Anwaelme would never tell Menelya how she felt. Menelya knew that Anwaelme did not trust her. Menelya, however, only did what she thought was best for her daughter...or so she though. Sometimes Menelya wondered if her intentions truly were not, in fact, of the most benevolent nature, but were, in truth, a greed for power. Menelya shook off these thoughts - and accusations by her daughter - by assuring herself that she did not want the power. The power was all for Anwaelme, to give her a better life.

"Is that all, Menelya?" Anwaelme said, coldly referring to her mother by her name, rather than calling her Mother.

Menelya gave a start, realizing she had been standing there. She looked at Anwaelme, who had returned to her desk, and now sat, reading again. Menelya wondered, again, whether she should go on.

"Did you leave this room?" Menelya finally asked.

"Of course, Mother," Anwaelme said, coldly. Menelya could still tell, however, that the girl was being truthful.

"Well..." Menelya faltered, "I think you should get out more. It is not good to be inside too much. You will wither without the sun and joy of the outdoors."

Menelya knew that Anwaelme no longer believed this tale, but she just could think of nothing else to say. She moved over to the door and left Anwaelme to her peace.

*****

Once in her room, Menelya looked briefly out the window, thinking of her long-dead husband. Had she been happy with him? Menelya did not really know...

Menelya sighed, breaking once again, some time later, out of her thoughts. She crossed to the candles dimly lighting her room, blew them out, and climbed into bed, preparing for a night's rest.

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Mattius]

Thelian left Gil-galad's company bowing low before his exit.

"Good-evening my Lord," he had said appropriately before the High King had nodded to him. As he pushed back the canvas door way he slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a green apple.

"High King he may be, but he didn't see me swip this fruit!" Said Thelian to Melost. Melost smiled at his squire knowing that it was a certainty Gil-galad had seen him.

"It seems so!" Melost humoured him before departing from his company to find some place to think in private.

Back in his chair Gil-galad smiled inside thinking of how Thelian had believed he had took an apple without him noticing.

The chilly wind was beginning to pick up as Thelian wandered around the camp looking for a friendly face to talk to. For some reason the young boy Dorlas came into mind, he may be feeling lonely what with him being but sixteen. The majority of the soldiers were at least in their twenties. The elf asked around and it wasn't long before a soldier pointed up towards one on the high points of the camp. With his keen eyes Thelian could just about make out Dorlas against the night sky, hudled in his cloak and staring out onto the wild.

In silence Thelian climbed the steps and sat himself beside the boy. It was a few minutes before Dorlas noticed the elf sitting there, gazing silently onto the stars.

"A beautiful night," Dorlas began as he looked upwards.

"It is indeed, I have seen many like this but I seem to be appriciating the night sky more and more." Thelian paused and looked at Dorlas who turned to him. "I believe it is because I fear they may be my last few..." the elf trailed off. Dorlas looked back up to the stars, somehow feeling not as alone. Thelian was scared of death too, Dorlas had always believed that elves wouldn't fear death. The other soldiers hid their fear and Dorlas felt alone. To know that someone else harboured the same thoughts picked up his spirits.

"A beautiful night indeed..." Thelian echoed as he tossed Dorlas an apple who smiled in return.

[ April 06, 2003: Message edited by: Mattius ]

[Cuthalion]

Arthain was snoring loudly, when suddenly he felt someone nudge his shoulder. His eyes flew open as his hand closed around the dagger at his side. He looked up to see Melost laughing silently, and he growled, "Have you lost your mind? What are you doing here?" Melost crouched down beside him. "Not quite the greeting I expected! I have been given an errand on behalf of our lords and my king has given me leave to choose a companion to ride with us. Interested? Or shall I look elsewhere for a guard?" In an instant, Arthain was on his feet. "You wouldn't dare!" he said, pulling on his clothes. "Dorlas! Where is that useless squire of mine?" Melost retreated outside the tent while Arthain made ready and went in search of his horse.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Or shall I look elsewhere for a guard?"

Arthains eyes snapped back open immediately and he spun quickly, jumping out of bed to face his friend, and stubbing his toe as he did so. He winced then turned back to Melost. "You wouldnt dare!"

The elf laughed, stepping back out of the tent. Arthain glared at him, continuing to pull on his clothes. He did up his shirt and pulled on his tunic quickly, before starting to look around for his armour.

"Dorlas!" He called, as loud as he could without wakening the rest of the camp. "Where is that useless squire of mine? Dorlas, wheres my armour!?"

He flung aside the flap adjoining his tent and his squire's and raised an eyebrow, seeing his squire snoring away. He went right up close, until he was behind the boys head, then spoke right into his ear. "Dorlas!"

The boy shot up immediately, scrambling out of bed sleepily. "Im up, Im up, Im-" he stopped, turning and looking at Arthain. "Arthain? Why..."

"The elven Lord Gil-Galad has asked Melost to take a message for him. Now it may be that elves never sleep, for Melost has certainyl chosen the most awkward hour to ask me to accompany him."

"Accompany him? And as for me?" Arthain could hear the excitement in the boys voice and smiled.

"Aye, youre coming with us. Provided I can find my flaming armour- where've you put it? And my sword."

Dorlas pulled on his clothes and they quickly prepared. Barely five minutes later they were outside and ready. Arthain grinned to himself- so much for Melost, trying to catch him off guard in the middle of the night! Muttering dark things about the inconsideration of the Melost, elves and the world in general, he went to find his horse.

As he tacked the stallion up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and he threw on the saddle and made him ready, he yawned widely, not able to restrain it any longer.

"Tired Arthain? Not the worlds greatest riser, hmm?"

The soldier whirled around at the mocking familiarity of Melosts voice and saw him leaning against the door, loaded saddle packs draped over one arm. Arthain glared at him again, but once more, then elf only grinned. Arthain raised one eyebrow at him, then, rather grudgingly, not able to stay anygry, he smiled slightly back. Melost breathed a sigh of relief. "Phew! At last, I am assured that this is my friend Arthain, not just some wild faced barbarian warrior who had killed him and was lying in wait for me in his tent!"

Arthain took the offered saddle bags, attaching them deftly to his horses saddle. In a smooth motion he mounted and turned the stallion easily. "Maybe a barbarian indeed, when woken by an unsleeping, inconsiderate elf, masquerading as the noble Melost, at this ungodly hour. And as to where the noble Melost is, I have yet to find out."

"Oh, you wound me Arthain!" Melost fell back, retreating outside, and the man followed, rolling his eyes. Once outside, he found the sleepy eyed Dorlas, Thelian and the fresh faced Melost already mounted. Nodding at them all, the group set off under the caver of the velvet blanket of the night.

[ April 06, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Gil-galad stood at his tent, looking after Melost and his squire as they left. It was still early morning, and he could feel the chill in the morning, the sun had not yet risen. Around him, the troops were awaking to a new day, some already busy with whatever duties they had.

Gil-galad paid little attention to them; his eyes followed the riders whom he had sent. He knew that Melost was reluctant to go, and he could identify with that feeling.

Right now he wished for nothing else to be back in Lindon. He could see the sun rising slowly above the Misty mountains. On such a day he might have gone out hunting.

But such was not be his fate. He had no choice but to face the threat to his people. And that had required of him to travel to Imladris. Duty was sometimes a heavy burden, yet a great relief to fulfill.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Mattius]

For the opening part of their journey the only sound Thelian could hear over the hooves of the horses was the occasional yawn of Arthain, but mainly they belonged to Dorlas. At one point Thelian was so sure the young squire would fall asleep a top his war-horse that he was ready to attempt a dangerous mid-air catch. Fortunatly a rather large bump on the ground jerked him back to full conciousness. The boy looked over at Thelian who smiled back,

"You were almost there that time Dorlas!" The elf chuckled. The young man smiled back sardonically, which only added to Thelian's amusement.

"Here," he said riding closer to Dorlas and handing him something, "take a bite of this, it will wake you up a bit." Dorlas looked down at the lembas and broke a piece off.

"We wouldn't want you dying of a broken neck miles away from the battlefield would we!"

Dorlas ate the elvish way-bread and indeed did feel himself waken up an amazing degree.

"This is amazing Thelian," spoke Dorlas, "it tastes like nothing I have ever had before, if we eat this all the way to Mordor I will indeed be happy!"

"Thats what you say now Dorlas, the lembas loses its edge after several hundred bites of nothing else."

"Still," Dorlas sighed, "beats stale bread and stone hard buscuits."

[Cuthalion]

Melost grinned at Thelian then nudged Arthain. "Look at them. Amazing, isn't it? I've never known Thelain to get close to anyone. Your squire is an exceptional young man to attract his attention thus." Arthain rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced at the two of them, deep in some mutually interesting topic.

"I remember when we first met, Melost. You'll never understand what meeting one of your kind for the first time is like." His eyes became distant as he recalled that time, many years ago. Melost raised an eyebrow. "You flatter me, my friend. Both our races are creations of Iluvatar, both loved by the Valar. In a way, that makes us brothers after a fashion?"

Arthain looked askance at him, somehow grateful for the comparison. "Come, Melost. The sun rises!" A wicked look crossed his face. "Isildur's camp...I'll race you!" With a blood-curdling war-cry, he urged his horse into a gallop. Thelian and Melost exchanged glances, then raced after him across the open plain.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The lembas had indeed done some good in Dorlas, for now his eyes were at least half-open, not closed. Dorlas felt he could live on lembas, if he had to. It certainly did beat the stale, tough bread, the jerkey, and the sour wine the men were usually given in the hard times of war.

"Even if Lembas does not wake one up fully, I'm glad you are there to catch me, good Thelian!" Dorlas commented as Arthain and Melost spoke in front of the two.

Before Dorlas could say any more, a bone-chilling cry filled the dawn-drenched valley. Turning to the noise, Dorlas watched as Arthain bolted towards the horizon quick as lightning. After a brief pause, Thelian and Melost followed the speeding human.

"Hey! Wait for me!" Dorlas called, but was ignored. Bidding his horse to a run, Dorlas followed the two Elves. He caught up to them after a while, and over a hill they went, following Arthain. Straight over the hill was a large army of men. It was Isildur's company.

"Whoa!" Dorlas cried, and pointed to the great mass of dark heads. He almost fell off his running horse with a jolt, but Thelian the graceful caught the boy before he made jelly of his head. "Thanks!"

Arthain was last seen riding into the camp of Men, and the three remaining friends were right behind him.

"These guys are lucky to be setting their eyes upon the Elven kind." Dorlas spoke, as several men looked up from their duties to stare in wonder at the Elves.

"They will see more soon enough, and I'm sure they will stare more to see so many of my kind. Only awe can come from the sight of a marching Elven army." Thelian assured Dorlas, and the boy nodded.

"Now where did that troublesome Arthain go?" Melost wondered aloud.

[ April 07, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya awoke with a start. The sun shone through her window and across her bed. The Elf sat up, already forgetting why she awoke with such violence. It was probably just a bad dream.

Menelya arose and pulled a gown from the closet. She pulled it over her still-slim frame and opened the door of her room into the hallway. She quietly slipped out and made her way to breakfast.

Imladris was its usual self, Menelya saw on the way to breakfast. There was a small amount of bustle, but a gentle calm still held over the haven. It was one of the most beautiful places Menelya had lived, she thought.

Anwaelme was already sitting at the table. The two nodded to each other, and Menelya sat at the table, silently reaching for some food.

The two ate in awkward silence. Finally, Menelya could no longer take the deadly quiet. She tried to make conversation.

"I trust you rested well, dear daughter?" she asked the cold form of Anwaelme at the other side of the table. Her voice had an equal chill to it.

"Yes, Menelya," Anwaelme said, still with a cold tone in her voice.

Menelya ignored the tone and continued, "What do you plan to do on this day?"

"Mother," Anwaelme finally said, after a pause, "I do not tell you my plans only because I do not want you with me. I only want to be alone." She kept her voice quiet and cool, "Please, Mother, if you love me, you will leave me alone for this day."

Menelya's blood boiled and she felt a flush come over her. She took a breath, trying to steady her temper, but it was to no avail.

"Anwaelme, I expect more respect from you! I am your mother, and you deserve to treat me with more reverance than you do!"

"Why should I, Mother, when you do nothing to earn that respect?" Anwaelme countered, still keeping her cool. Menelya jumped out of her chair, knocking it backwards in her rage.

"You will respect me, Daughter," she said, pulling her voice back down to a low hiss, "For what I have been through for you...for your survival...I deserve your attention."

Anwaelme looked up at Menelya coldly. "You will have respect on my part when you deserve it. Before then, it would be best for you not to push, Mother. It would be the wisest choice, I believe."

Menelya felt that, if the fight went on much longer, she would most likely strike out at her daughter, so she quietly took her leave. People stared at her on the way back to her room, obviously hearing the brief display, but Menelya payed them no attention.

A while later she heard Anwaelme return, then leave again. Menelya put her book down, went to her door, and silently left, following Anwaelme, always remaining a bit behind her...

[ April 13, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Isildur stood in front of his tent, looking at his army who was awakening. Thousands of númenorians, men of Gondor, standing tall with their armour and weapons ready. He looked around with an approving look, everything seemed in order. The tired guards were replaced, and all around him his soldiers prepared for the next march.

Suddenly, one of his servants came running.
"Mylord, elven messengers have arrived. I believe they are sent by his lordship Gil-galad."

Isildur lifted one brow. It seemed that his father had been lucky in his dealings with the elvenking. To be frank, he had not honestly believed that Gil-galad would respond to Elendil's plea of help. What was Gondor, and what was Númenor, that the "powerful" and mighty elves would aid them? Could they not handle it on their own?

"Show them into my tent", he said and walking back. He could feel a bad mood coming, and he had little doubt why. He was looking forward at meeting these elves, and find out who they really were.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost was amused at the stares he and Thelain drew as they rode in to camp hard on the heels of Arthain. He dismounted and followed Arthain into the tent. Thelian and Dorlas waited outside, while inside Arthain presented Melost to his captain.

"My lord, this is Melost, the Elven high king's messenger and close kinsman. Melost, Lord Isildur." Melost stepped forward and bowed his head in respect as he presented a sealed scroll to Isildur. Isildur moved away from the table as he slowly unrolled the missive. He quickly scanned the contents, then turned back to them. "Arthain, we are to meet with Gil-Galad's army as they move toward Imladris. They will lead us in." He looked at Melost appraisingly. "The high king's kinsman, eh? Does that earn you preferential treatment?" Melost's back stiffened as he replied. "Nay, lord. It never has."

Arthain moved forward quickly, aware of Melost's temper. "My lord, I ask leave to return with my squire to the camp of Gil-Galad with Melost. I was chosen to act as his guard, after all." Isildur looked up, then nodded assent. "Re-join us at Imladris." He then dismissed them and they left, eager to be away.

[Mattius]

Thelian was aware of the curious looks of Isildur's men as he stood talking to Dorlas.

"These are sturdy men Dorlas, tell me, do you know any of them?" The elf asked. Dorlas looked around him.

"Aye there are a few who hail from where I came." He looked around again. "And yes they are sturdy. With the armies of the elves we will indeed by a powerful force." Thelian nodded but thought of all the orcs, trolls and wargs that would stand in the way of them and victory. And of course there was always Sauron too.

"Aye," he agreed. "What sort of man is Isildur, have you ever met him Dorlas?" Thelian asked changing the subject.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas shrugged. "I've seen him, never spoken to the man though. Isildur doesn't seem the kind of man I'd want to make friends with. Isildur is different then the honorable warriors of my home."

Thelian nodded as Melost and Arthain returned from Isildur's tent. The two spoke to each other, and their squires followed some distance behind them.

"Who do you suppose shall win this war for Middle-Earth?" Dorlas asked Thelian, and the Elf looked at the boy.

"It doesn't quite matter. Even if the Elves and Men defeat the Dark Lord's forces, there will always be evil in Middle-Earth," was Thelian's well-thought reply.

The four made ready to get back to the troops of Gil-Galad, while the anxious hurry of every soldier did not make for calm among the troops.

[ April 10, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Does that earn you preferencial treatment?"

Arthain mentally winced as Isildur spoke. He was more loyal than most to the cause and to his king, but by the Gods, he was arrogant!

"Nay, lord, it never has." Melost's reply was icy, but Arthain knew that he was burning inside. Noting this danger sign and the way the elf's back stiffened, his hand moving slightly closer to his sword, he stepped in between them, almost screening Melost, and hoping to screen completely his anger.

"My lord, I ask leave tp return with my squire to the camp of Gil-Galad with Melost. I was chosen to act as his guard, after all." He smiled at the king, putting a slight, but noticeable stress on 'his', showing that it was not the elf that was tagging along here. Isildur looked up from the letter which he was studying more closely for details now and nodded distractedly, dismissing them. Arthain bowed and left as quickly as he could without being rude, with Melost close behind him.

"The high king's kinsman, eh? Does that earn you preferential treatment?" Melost mimicked Isildur's words in a high voice, then dropped back to his own. "He was mocking me Arthain, I know it."

Arthain sighed, keeping his eyes on the road in front of them between his horses ears. "He was not mocking you, friend."

"He was mocking me Arthain. I will not be mocked, especially not be a-" The elf cut himself off sharply. He glanced quickly at Arthain, then looked away, back to the road. Arthain stared at him incredulously as the words he no doubt would have said lay between them like a naked sword. "Especially not be a Man."

"So, I will be glad to get back to Imladris, Arthain." Melost's voice was overly cheerful now, but he noted Arthains silence and now it was his turn to sigh. "Arthain, I did not mean it, you know I wouldnt have said it, and you certainly should know I wouldnt have meant it even if I had-"

"Said what? I wasnt aware you would say anything." Now Arthain's voice contained all the ice Melost's had in front of the human king. "Youre keen to get back to Imladris? Then lets go."

He immediately urged his horse into a fast trot, then a gallop, glad to feel the refreshing breeze on his face, blowing back his hair and his horse's mane, clearing such troublesome thoughts away partly. But not quite. He was confused; he knew Melost not to be like that, he had been his friend for so long, knew almost certainly that it had been his anger talking. But then, he didnt know many elves; would that be the nature of the reception he recieved at Imladris? But why should ancient disturbances and prejudices matter any more, especially when they were fighting on the same side? Why had it been those words that had risen to Melost's lips? With these confusing and disturbing thoughts, the group rode on to the camp, but even when they reached it, the hustle bustle and the comforting rush of the troops getting ready to move did nothing to soothe Arthains mind.

[Cuthalion]

Having called to Thelian to follow, Melost rode glumly back to camp. "How could I have said something so foolish?" he thought moodily. "He is my friend and in truth I do not think I truly feel the way I spoke. My irritation caused me to wound him, I will have to atone for my rash words." He watched as Arthain dismounted ahead of him, then vanished into the milling throng of men striking camp. He looked about for his friend but to no avail.

With a sigh he rode on toward Gil-Galad's tent in order to deliver Isildur's reply, hearing behind him Dorlas' voice raised in farewell to Thelian as he hurried to join Arthain. Rapid hoof-beats heralded the approach of his kinsman. Melost glanced at Thelian, who raised an eyebrow in question. "So? What has befallen, that you look so downcast?"

Having asked his question, Thelian rode in silence knowing that Melost tended to be secretive where his thoughts were concerned, therefore he was surprised to receive an answer so quickly. "I was a fool! I spoke before thinking and have offended Arthain. Our fellowship has been a close one, but now, with all this war entails, I had no desire to add to his burden. In time I will seek him out and we will talk."

[Mattius]

"Worry not," Thelian spoke to the downtrodden Melost. "I am sure that he is just as anxious as yourself to settle this." Melost looked away and into the camp, Gil-galad's tent was close by and the two elves dismounted. "This war is bigger than any dispute between man and elf, is that not why we plan to fight shoulder to shoulder?" Questioned Thelain. Melost nodded at him and smiled,
"You speak wise words old friend, and I thank you." While walking they looked to the sky which promised rain. They were at Gil-galad's tent and Thelian reached in front of Melost and opened the canvas door with a smile.
"Don't mention it," he smirked as he beckoned him to walk in. Melost gave him a hearty slap and strode into the room with Thelian following.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Gil-galad looked up as Melost and Thelian returned.
"What news from Isildur?" the elvenking asked. Melost gave the letter he had received from Isildur. Gil-galad read it quickly.

"It is as I feared. The war ahead of us will not be an easy one... But I can see on you, Melost, that something else happened at Isildur's camp. What?"

Melost swallowed, but said nothing. Gil-galad gave him an investigating look, but it yielded nothing. But Thelian's face was an open book, and Gil-galad guessed some of the truth. When Melost turned to walk out of the tent, Gil-galad's voice stopped him.
"I didn't dismiss you, Melost. I know you better than you think, and something happened at Isildur's camp that you won't tell me. What?"

Melost looked in the ground, not wishing to see Gil-galad's gaze, but said nothing.
"Melost, you will answer me. I cannot depend on you, if I cannot trust that you tell me everything. I need to know as much as possible, and you of all people should know better than to withold information from me."

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost heaves a sigh and glanced at Thelian in apology. He clasped Thelain's shoulder. "Go, kinsman. See to the horses and I will re-join you shortly. Make ready, for it is sure that we will leave for Ilmadris quickly. Thelian smiled at him encouragingly, then he pulled aside the flap and departed, intent on other matters.

With trepidation melost turned to face his lord, who's frank gaze made it certain there would be no escape until he spoke. Gil-Galad gestured for him to sit and he dragged over a camp-stool from one corner of the tent. As he settled himself, Gil-Galad rse and poured a goblet of miruvor for him, then walked over, handed it to him, then leaned against the map-table as he looked down at his kinsman.

Melost smiled gratefully, then drank slowly, gathering his thoughts. "My lord...do not lose faith in me. It seems I have harmed my friend by speakingrashly, without thought. Isildur insulted me and I lashed out at Arthain. It was foolish of me. I regret it." Gil-Galad's brow furrowed. "That is not all Melost." he said, hoping to draw from him the true reason for his silence. Melost rose and stood with his back to Gil-Galad, then tossed down the rest of the goblet's contents. "As always my lord, I can hide nothing." He turned to Gil-Galad and spoke in a rush, "My lord, send Thelian and I on to Ilmadris in advance of the host. My betrothed awaits me and I...have put off for far too long being with her. She fills my mind as the stars fill the night sky. Give me a message, anything! Only allow me this." Gil-Galad raised an eyebrow, for he knew of the lady in question. "Is she so constant that she has waited for you these many long years? As I remember her, she was always will-ful and desirous of her own way." He saw then a cloud of anger brush Melosts's face, only to be quickly driven away. He held up his hand to fore-stall Melost's outburst. "Go,then. Bear to Elrond the message that we come in force, both Isildur and I and bid him prepare. Go!"

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme walked slowly through Imladris, taking her time, walking here and there without purpose or at least so it seemed to her mother.
The truth was another though and the purpose was simple. Anwanelme had felt her mother's presence immediately and knew she was following her but she pretended otherwise, wanting to lead her mother a merry chase before she would eventually give up following her.

This day of all days she needed to be alone and she certainly did not wish for her mother's company in any way. Had it not been for Menelya's "well-meant" interference with her life, everything would have been a lot different now. If only her father had still been alive....
Mostly she doubted that her mother had even loved him and she needed not seek councel in matters of love from someone who seemed so unable to love, herself.

It had been raining lightly all morning, but now the dark and heavy sky had opened itself as a waterfall and it was pouring down.
Anwanelme smiled and walked out into the open, into the rain. She knew her mother would never follow her here and a sigh of relief escaped her as she left her mother standing behind her.

It didn't take her long to reach the place she was heading for. A quiet corner with a wonderful view over the entire place.
This was where she had last spoken with Melost. It seemed so long ago now that she had turned from him in anger, leaving him standing here as she walked away without looking back.
He had taken her here to tell her that he had decided to join the host of Gil-Galad in the war against the Dark Lord and she had lost her temper.
Today it was yet another year since they had been betrothed and she was still alone and unmarried.

Her mood was as dark as the sky above her as she stood alone in the rain, wondering if her beloved would ever return to her.
The thought caused her to smirk. Beloved... Did she even love him? She could barely remember his face but did it even matter?
The last words she had heard him say had been a promise. The promise that when he came back he would wed her and do all in his power to make her happy.

But he still had not returned and until he did, her mother would treat her like a child.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain snapped the book he'd been attempting to read shut abruptly. He couldnt concentrate. He hated to fall out with Melost, but what the elf had said...

He sighed. No, he knew Melost wouldnt have meant it, knew it. But in his mind the words still spun around and around..."He was mocking me Arthain. I will not be mocked, especially not by a-"
By a man?

Surely that wasnt what Melost thought- of Isildur? Of all men? Of Arthain himself? But then, wasnt that always how elves had viewed men...always inferior...

Arthain pushed the disconcerting thought out of his head. Ridiculous idea, it was just the weather getting hum down probably, and the having to camp outside, that was all it was... Putting down the book he strode outside- and just in time apparently. Further away in the camp, he saw two figures, eleven from the graceful way they moved, checking their horses saddled and attached packs to the backs. Straining his eyes, he tried to make out the faces, and could barely believe his eyes as he recognised the pair. Hands over his head against the rain which had now decided to come down in buckets, he ran out towards the pair. The older of the two began to spur on his horse, but was stopped by the younger, who pointed in Arthain's direction. Thankyou Thelian.... Arthain grinned gratefully at the elven squire, before catching hold of Melost's horse's reins.

"Wait!"

"Arthain?" Melost seemed as surprised to see the man as Arthain had been to see Melost leaving. His voice contained a note of guilt. "What are you..?" He checked himself, and continued with a more business like tone. "We are going ahead of the host to Imladris, to announce the coming of Gil-Galad."

"Did you not plan to say goodbye?"

Melost's eyes didn't meet Arthain's. "We would no doubt see each other again at Imladris, Arthain."

"Nay, I think you shall be plently busy enough when you get there, Melost, as shall your betrothed." He chanced a grin at his friend, and Melost looked down in surprise, then, after a pause, smiled back.

"I am forgiven then?" He said softly. Arthain waved irritably at the air in a sharp movement, swatting away the words like flies.

"Ach, for what? I over reacted no doubt. Now, is this an exclusive ride out ahead, or can you bear to wait for a few minutes?"

Now Melost feigned irritation, holding out both hands and staring at the sky. "In this weather?! I will give you five minutes- you'd better hurry, Captain!"

Arthain nodded and smiled back at him before he turned back to his tent to get Dorlas. The boy wouldnt be happy to be summoned so quickly, but no doubt he would be less unhappy than he might have been, going to see the elves before the rest. Inside, Arthain breathed a sigh of relief, glad the air between himself and Melost was clear. If only his thoughts could so easily erase the badness.

"He was mocking me Arthain. I will not be mocked, especially not by a-"
By a man?

[Cuthalion]

A heavy pall fell over Melost as he and the others rode east toward Imladris. Today was a day that rankled in his heart. He had stood on one of the many landings of Elrond's home and had pledged to Anwanelme that he would return to her, to take her as his wife. In stead of the smile he had hoped would light her face, she had turned from him when he had told her also of his duty to his King. "Duty" he thought bitterly. "What has it gotten me? Too many cold nights in an empty bed and more scars on my soul."

He took to his fellows who cantered at his side and wondered why he had asked them to come. As he looked over at Arthain, a chill clawed its way down his spine as though a premonition of evil was trying to make itself known. Melost shook his head to clear it. "How could I think evil of him? He is my dearest friend. I must be tired." He thought ahead to his re-union with his beloved, knowing she would take it ill when he told her he would be continuing on with Gil-Galad rather than remaining with her. He touched the stone tucked next to his heart and his thoughts turned grim. "Better not to think on this any further, for it is more than even odds that I will not survive, yet if she were to give me the smallest hint that she yet loves me and will have me, then I will kill Sauron myself if that is what it takes!" His eyes kindled to flame and he urged his horse faster, eager to find what awaited him, the fulfillment of his desires or certain death.

[ June 30, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Mattius]

Thelian urged his horse faster to keep up with Melost who picked up his pace. Thelian thought on what would await them in Imladris. A comfortable bed and a homely meal no doubt, but Thelian believed there was no need for the four of them to ride foward. A single messenger would suffice surely, he thought over and over. He knew the real reason of course, Melost wanted to see his love again.

Thelian felt Melost's pain, he had loved and lost himself, a long time ago. Anwanelme would wait, Thelian knew she would, but that did nothing to ease the pain of Melost. Thelian shook his head free of the troubles and looked over at the youthful Dorlas. He smiled in return whilst yawning.

"You'll soon be a master of night riding young Dorlas!" Thelian shouted across to the boy.

"One more disturbed night, Thelian, and I will have forgotten what riding under the sun is like!"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"And still the Elves never seem to tire. They excel at both night and day riding," Arthain called over to the squires as he urged his horse to pick up the pace.

"That's good for the Elves, they can keep their unhindered excellence. I prefer my sleep," Dorlas answered, and stifled a yawn. Dorlas didn't mind going to Imladris before the rest of the company, but riding at night still hadn't caught on well with the boy. Besides, riding to Imladris now only meant more waiting later. The up side to this midnight ride was that Dorlas might be able to see his two brothers.

"When we get there, you shall have plenty of time to catch up on your sleep, I'm sure," Thelian reassured Dorlas with an amused chuckle.

"I certainly hope so," Dorlas grumbled and rode ahead towards Melost, who was speeding over the ground like a mad man. Arthain and Thelian were close behind, and the four made their way closer towards Imladris, the home of Elrond.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya tracked Anwaelme a good way through Imladris before her daughter stepped out into a chilly rain. Menelya looked as her daughter passed through the tiny droplets as she paused under the awning. She pondered the idea of following Anwaelme out into the rain, curious as to where her daughter was going on this gloomy day. She then looked down at the rich green material of her dress and thought better of that idea. It was no use ruining her dress just to follow the child wherever she was going.

Menelya took an exhasperated sigh and walked back down the hallway, making as much noise as was possible in her light slippers, satisfied at the small ringing sound that was just audible above the rain in the abandoned corridor.

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

Menelya attempted to busy herself in a meeting with her friends for the rest of that day. All of the women were fellow Elf matrons of some power in Imladris.

Upon going for an afternoon meal, Menelya noted that Anwaelme had returned and was sitting alone at a table. The girl was still soaking wet, but did not seem to note this uncomfortable predicament. She seemed to still be morose in attitude, however. Menelya sat so that she could see Anwaelme, who did not even acknowledge Menelya's entrance.

Menelya ate quietly, only half-listening to the banter of her friends, keeping both eyes on Anwaelme. She pondered how she could get out of this social circle should Anwaelme choose to leave, as Menelya planned on shadowing her daughter again. Menelya did not like that Anwaelme wandered off as she did. It was not proper for a young lady to do such things, nor was it safe. Menelya hoped that once Anwaelme was married to Melost, she would settle down and act in a more respectable fashion for one of her rank.

"Is that not so, Menelya?" one of the women asked. Menelya blinked and gave a brief nod of affirmation to whatever gossip it was that was being twittered about at the moment, then went back to watching Anwaelme sit alone, not touching the food in front of her.

[Cuthalion]

A watery sun rose as the companions journeyed east. Sometime back Melost had been forced to slow his pace, as the horses of Arthain and Dorlas were unable to keep up with the Elven horses he and Thelian rode. At first he had wanted to continue on alone, but after a few moment's reflection he decided better of his decision. Anwanelme would still be there, no matter how hard he pushed to get there. Having calmed himself, he rode closer to Arthain, who glanced up and him and smiled a greeting.

"Your squire seems more than a little irritated, mellon. The first campaign is always the worst." Arthain raised an eyebrow at him. "It would be easier on all of us if you could only ride in something other than this accursed dark! You will owe me the price of a new horse if he founders!" Melost nodded in agreement."I deserved that! Forgive me for pulling you from your warm tent, but I have other reasons for bringing you along. Not only did I want your companionship on the road, but I wanted you to be with me when I see Anwanelme again." As he hesitated, Arthain looked at him, startled. "What? Do you think she will not see you? In that event, what help will I be?" Arthain had never seen Melost anything other than confident and it shook him. He thought perhaps once they reached Imladris, he would would corner Thelian and try to find out what had happened to his friend.

Suddenly Thelian gave a great shout and Melost's head jerked up. He looked ahead and beheld the pass leading to Elrond's home. He too cried aloud and the Elves glanced at each other, smiling. Dorlas shaded his eyes as the sun rose fully. "Master Arthain, what is it? Why are they suddenly so happy?" "Imladris, boy! Their eyes are far keener than ours. We're there, at last!"

[ April 30, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme was sitting by the table in silence, knowing her mother was there but refused to look at her except a quick glance now and then.
She was waiting. Waiting for the right time to get away and she smiled lightly to herself as one of the ladies addressed her mother. Menelya was obviously irritated with being disturbed while watching her daughter and to Anwanelme, that was a very pleasing sight.

Suddenly, like with the help of the Valar, one of the ladies touched Menelya's arm and Anwanelme saw her other turn her full attention toward her friend.
This was her chance. Swiftly she got up and before her mother could react, Anwanelme was gone.
Quickly she strode to her room, making sure no one was following her and she dropped onto her bed, cold and soaked and her mood as foul as ever.
He would never come back for her, she knew that now.
He is not coming back!, she thought over and over until she fell asleep, not noticing the tears that was sliding down her face.

****************************
The sun was shining brightly as Anwanelme opened her eyes, awakened by shouting and a lot of activity outside. Curious as to what was going on, she rose and realising she had fallen asleep fully dressed, she quickly washed and changed her clothes, making herself presentable before leaving her room.

Once outside, she heard the words, "Elven riders" and her heart skipped a beat. Could it be...?
Swiftly as the wind she ran up on one of the many landings facing the only path into Imladris and she held her breath as she beheld four riders, two of them Elven, quickly moving toward the house of Elrond.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya awoke to hear shouts from outside. She groaned and rolled over, trying to shut out the noise and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Suddenly, she heard a few words that caught her ear.

"...rochbin...anglennar...adminnar Imladris!"

Menelya sat bolt upright in bed at the few words she made out: "riders", "they approach", and "they enter Imladris again". She quickly scrambled out of bed and got dressed. She ran out and leaned against the railing, trying to see who was coming. She found Anwaelme and stood next to her and, to her surprise, her daughter didn't protest. Both were too excited to see if the warriors had again returned to continue their petty squabbling and power struggles.

[Cuthalion]

His eyes on the balcony above, Melost beheld Anwenelme. He flung himself from his horse and ran up the steps two at a time, intent on reaching her. He entered through the open front doors and saw her standing at the top of the stairs. He paused, then walked to meet her. With a glad cry, she raced down them and into his arms. He lifted her as she nestled her face against his neck. Melost closed his eyes, almost weak with relief. He had been certain she would reject him, having been made to wait so long.

Their re-union was interrupted by the sudden appearance of her mother, who, upon seeing the two of them in a close embrace, fluttered down the stairs to greet Melost with obvious delight. Anwenelme sighed loudly as her mother took Melost's arm and led him through to one of the balconies over-looking the valley below. Behind him, Melost detected the sound of Thelian chuckling to himself, seeing his kinsman's plight. Melost shot him an irritated glance, then allowed himself to be fussed over by Menelya.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Melost threw himself off his horse and ran towards his beloved, or Arthain hoped it was his beloved, grabbing her and embracing her tightly. Then another elf woman came out and began fussing around him. Thelian grinned and chuckled as Melost was led inside, dismounting himself, and a few seconds later emerged on the balcony.

"Who is that?" Arthain asked quietly. The elf looked up, surprised, and looked at the man for a moment as if he wasnt sure why he was here.

"Oh...thats Menelya." He rolled his eyes jokingly. "Anwaelme's mother."

"Ah. Anwen...right." Arthain was certain he was going to forget the names. From above, he heard Melost call Thelian at Menelya's request, saying that she would like to reaquaint herself with the squire. Thelian shot a panicky look at Arthain before obliging and running up the steps at a dignified pace.

Arthain dismounted slowly, and Dorlas did the same. The captain saw his squire look at him and smile nervously. Arthain nodded to him, attempting to return the smile, before their horses were whisked away by a pair of fair-haired elves, both of whom looked as if they were about Dorlas's age, but who Arthain knew were no doubt decades older. He looked around, fiddling with the ring on his finger and wondering what to do next...

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Mattius]

Thelian stopped before walking on the the balcony where Menelya waited. He took a deep breath, faked a smile and made his way in.

"Good Menelya," Thelian said bowing in front of her.

"Thelian," she replied passivly.

"How are things in the House of Elrond in such times?" Asked Thelian politely.

"Fine, just fine," she said beginning to walk and expecting Thelian to follow, which he did. "How is Melost?"

"He has been ancious to reach here, with good reason."

If looks could kill, Thelian would have died a thousand deaths at that moment. Menelya stopped walking and bid the squire farewell feining polietness. Thelian made his way back to Dorlas and pretended to shudder as the boy asked him how his meeting with Menelya had gone.

"Come Dorlas, let me show you some of Elrond's home" said Thelian.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya gave an exhasperated sigh as Thelian left, her cold eyes watching him leave. She rolled her eyes and looked around for Melost and Anwaelme. She saw they were now nowhere to be found. They had obviously gone off to be alone. Menelya gave another sigh of indignation and walked up towards her friends' rooms. She changed her direction halfway, however, and decided to stroll through the woods.

She made her way to the outskirts of the woods and slowly made her way through, hoping she would meet someone to converse with along the way.

Finally, Menelya made her way to a rock. She sat on the rock and began to hum a song, soon muttering the words:

Mar aduial tolant
Mar meleth nîn eriant
Nîn neithel, guren nîn
Nîn neithel, be cuil
A gurth
Be meleth a be achas...

Menelya sat alone and making up the song in Sindarin as she went along, not bothering to put it into Quenya, the language more commonly used for songs, as this was just a simple melody she was making up, and wishing she knew where her daughter was so that she could keep a closer eye on her.

[Cuthalion]

Anwenelme's eyes shone as she looked up at Melost and her lips curved in that smile that had captured his heart so many years ago. He loved this woman and as he looked down at her, he could feel his heart clench knowing he would likely hurt her with what he had to say. He intended to put it off as long as possible.

As they walked, she talked of her plans for their wedding, for their children and of nothing at all. He led her into a shaded grove and pulled her closed, kissing her as though he might never see her again. Beware the thoughts your mind conjures, Melost!
He pulled sharply away from her and glanced around, his hand on his sword. She looked at him, puzzled. "My lord? What troubles you? Come, sit here beside me and rest from your travels. Soon we will be together and I will let nothing trouble you." She held out her hand to him and smiled prettily as she leaned closer to him. Melost inhaled deeply as her perfume drifted enticingly. He smiled at her and kissed her hand. "How can I refuse such an invitation from so lovely a creature?"

He pushed away the heaviness of his heart as he drew her down beside him in the shadows and took her in his arms.

[ May 20, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya sighed and arose as her song ended. She suddenly heard quiet voices not too far away.

"How can I refuse such an invitation from so lovely a creature?" came Melost's voice. Menelya's ears perked up and she drew nearer, seeing her daughter and her daughter's betrothed in a nearby glade, talking and embracing. She quietly watched them for some time. Soon the couple got off and walked further into the woods. Menelya did not dare to follow, as she would most definitely be found out.

Menelya walked slowly back towards the castle. As she approached, she gave a sigh as she saw Thelian come towards her. He engaged her in some typical low-class banter, and she soon tried to escape.

"I apologize, Thelian," she said, "But I have business to attend to."

"Do you need help, m'Lady?" Thelian asked, looking at her.

"No!" Menelya said quickly, then she brought her voice back under control and repeated, "No. Thelian, you are not needed for this activity. It is more social duty than anything else."

"All right, m'Lady," Thelian said, bowing and turning away. Menelya missed the raised eyebrow he gave Dorlas, as Menelya further proved the description he had given of her.

Menelya flounced off away from Thelian, only to be confronted with Arthain nearby. Menelya was no doubt lower than Arthain, so she dared not pass by without a quick bow and a compliment to the captain. Arthain smiled absently at Menelya, obviously thinking of something else. This gained Menelya's interest. She remained by the good captain Arthain, chatting with him and trying to see what worried him. Although she could clearly see that he was trying to dismiss her, she did not give up so easily. Arthain, unlike Menelya, was too polite to push her away, so he entertained Menelya and they spent a good while making small-talk. Finally, Menelya could not it any longer.

"Tell me what bothers you, my Lord," Menelya commanded, rather abruptly. She looked on the captain's astonished face, awaiting an answer, determined not to leave until she found a gratifying answer to her query.

[ May 27, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas chuckled as Thelian returned from his near-death experience with Menelya. The elf walked back towards Dorlas and humorously and dramatically wiped a hand across his brow.

"Come Dorlas, let me show you some of Elrond's home,” said Thelian. Dorlas brightened at the chance to take a greater look at such a wondrous place.

“This place is so magical even without having seen much of it,” Dorlas replied, in a strange acceptance to Thelian’s offer. With a graceful, dramaturgic sweep of his arm, Dorlas motioned for Thelian to lead the way.

Dorlas was shown through the hall that led inward from the porch steps, and towards the bell tower. There, the hall split into three other directions, going left, right, and straight forward. Thelian showed Dorlas one of the rooms, once they mischievously opened door after door looking for an empty room to explore.

Then Dorlas was led to the opposite end of the House of Elrond, where, down the porch steps the two squires were able to explore the garden. Many beautiful things bloomed there, flowers, fruits, and plants that Dorlas had never seen, and was not likely to see anywhere else. Around the north eastern edge of Imladris Dorlas was allowed to enter the forge, and then the stables. The stables were full of beautiful horses, ranging from full-grown mares and stallions to tiny ponies, all in a wide range of breed and color.

Walking back towards the eastern porch of Imladris, Dorlas and Thelian talked merrily and jovially of Imladris and their exploration. “Have you been here many times, Thelian?” Dorlas asked his new friend.

[Cuthalion]

Anwenelme smiled to herself, pleased that he was so attentive to her. He did seem to be distracted but that was only to be expected from one who had so recently seen combat. As they strolled among the trees it seemed that she might at last be able to find some measure of peace...away from her mother, away from here!

Melost felt like a deceiver as he saw the contentment on her face, a look that he could never remember having seen there before. At that moment he would have gladly thrown himself in front of an enemy's on-rushing horse than tell her what he kept hidden in his heart. Up ahead he heard voices and welcomed the chance to escape for a little while longer the inevitable.

They emerged from the trees to see Menelya and Arthain engaged in conversation. As soon as Arthain saw them, a subtle look of desperation flew across his face and Melost had to grin. Well he remembered long nights spent in the home of Menelya when he first began to court Anwenelme and he knew that his friend needed to be rescued. He whispered to Anwenelme that he would call on her at dinner, then kissed her hand. She sighed, exasperated. Why was it he always had to leave her just when she had started enjoying his company? She gave him a wintry smile, then gathered up her skirts and walked away without looking back.

Melost sighed, then froze as he saw the look on Arthain's face as he watched Anwenelme walk away. Jealousy flared in his gut when he saw the appraising gaze of his friend. For a moment he stopped, aaghast at his own thoughts. He looked down and saw that he was trembling, his hands clenched into fists. Melost instantly calmed himself and strode to Arthain's side. Menelya stood and greeted him effusively, kissing his cheek and fussing over him. He took her hand and kissed it absently, trying to blot out what he had just seen.

"Arthain my friend, I see you have made the aquaintance of my lady's mother. Nothing happens anywhere in the Elven Kingdoms but that she hears of it, is that not right M'Lady?" She laughed, flattered. They engaged in light banter for a short time, then at last Melost put his hand on Arthain's shoulder. "M'Lady, I regret that I must steal away your companion. May I beg leave?" Menelya cocked her head to one side as if thinking, then slapped him lightly on the arm. " If you must, scoundrel! But I do expect your company this evening" He kissed her hand once again, this time lingering ly. "Lady, short of your daughter's company, nothing would bring me greater pleasure!" He glanced at Arthain, who's look of disbelief nearly caused him to burst out laughing. They both bowed to her, then took their leave.

"Quite a performance, Melost!" He looked at his friend in amusement. Melost returned the look half-heartedly. "Arthain, we must speak. I have sensed turmoil in you since leaving the camp of Isildur. We go to war soon my friend and I would not have us at odds with one another." Arthain shrugged him off, but Melost restrained him. "Do not do this. I covet your friendship, even though there are...many things on both our minds."

[Amanaduial the archer]

As Menelya fussed around him, speaking words he did not really hear, Arthain's mind was far away. He nodded politely, smiling and laughing, or occasionally making a comment where appropriate, but despite wanting to find Melost, or Dorlas, he was too courteous to push away the elven woman. Many things rested on his mind, and since he had seen Melost and Anwenelme together, it had just added more. He hadn't seen much of Anwenelme before, just a flurry of skirts before Melost had enveloped her in an embrace and Menelya had attracted Arthain's attention, but Melost had been so happy as he was reunited with his beloved, whereas Arthain would never be reunited with his own wife. Yilsa had been taken from him by wild men in a wild, impersonal raid, along with his son, Endraen. He would never rush to embrace Yilsa again, and Endraen would never take his place as Arthain's squire...

"Tell me what bothers you, my Lord."

Menelya's imperious voice shook him from his thoughts, and he glanced into her haughty face. He recovered from his astonishment quickly though, forcing a charming smile onto his face. "My Lady, what is't that prompts you to ask such a question?"

"Oh, come Captain, I can see something is troubling you!" She gave a small laugh as she spoke, tapping Arthain's arm lightly, then withdrawing her hand quickly. Not willing to touch a human...

As Arthain sought desperately for a way to answer this elven woman without letting her know of what truly troubled him, he saw Melost emerge from a courtyard nearby, and caught his friend's eye, is eyebrows rising slightly and his eyes rolling to the side, just very small movements, but ones that subtly showed his desperation. He saw Melost stifle a laugh, then turn and whisper to Anwenelme, kissing her hand. Arthain turned his attention to the elven woman...and wondered why he had not noticed her so clearly before. Her smile, though wintery, was perfectly formed through bright, cherry lips, set in a pale, slim face, framed by a waterfall of silky hair. Hair not unlike that of Arthain's own Yilsa...he had a sudden urge to stroke that hair, to run his fingers through it and bring it to his lips, feeling its fine texture against his skin. As she turned, her fine skirts swirling behind her, walking away, Arthain could not stop his eyes from following her. Yes, Melost had chosen well...

He stopped, looking away quickly, shocked at his thoughts. No, what was he doing! Think of Yilsa...think of Melost...

"Arthain my friend, I see you have made the aquaintance of my lady's mother. Nothing happens anywhere in the Elven Kingdoms but that she hears of it, is that not right M'Lady?" Melost's voice brought Arthain back from his troubled thoughts, and his grinned at his friend, but was careful not to let the haughty Menelya see his relief. Melost talked with the elven woman for a while, his voice light, until he politely excused himself and Arthain with some sugared words.

Arthain's amusement at this, and his relief, faded as Melost next spoke. "Arthain, we must speak. I have sensed turmoil in you since leaving the camp of Isildur. We go to war soon my friend and I would not have us at odds with one another. Do not do this. I covet your friendship, even though there are...many things on both our minds."

"What is on your mind then, Melost? And what is't that you think rests on my mind?" Odd, how alike your thoughts are to that of Menelya...

Melost raised an eyebrow and gave a small, half hearted smile. "You are avoiding the question, Arthain. Tell me what is on your mind."

"Tell me what is on your mind..."
"Tell me what bothers you, my Lord." Menelya's words once more echoed, and again it seemed that the elves minds were very close. Arthain knew it was stupid, but he felt alone again. He shook himself back and met Melost's eyes. "I was just thinking about...well, of late I have just been thinking and you, and Anwenelme-" he stopped. Something had flashed across Melost's face, an angry flush of jealousy. Surely Melost didn't think that he...but why not? Said a little voice in Arthain's mind. Why not?

"Are you alright, Melost?"

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya walked away, somewhat in a huff that she was rebuffed in such a manner. She wondered what troubled the Elf and the Man. She also looked at the hand she had used to touch the Human. Menelya rubbed the hand on her gown and gave a small exhalation of disgust.

As she rounded a corner, she saw Anwaelme chatting with one of Menelya's friends, looking as though she wanted to leave the conversation. Menelya quickly took this opportunity to catch up to her daughter.

"Daughter! You rejoice at the return of Melost, do you not?"

"Should it really matter to you?" Anwaelme said, loosing what what left of her cheerful nature. Menelya's defenses were already up, and she retorted.

"All you do matters to me daughter. I only have your best interests in mind," she said, automatically, "All I do is for your comfort and happiness."

"Please, Mother, spare me," Anwaelme said, glaring at her mother. It was obvious that Anwaelme was not in the mood to argue, but Menelya did not care. She needed to have a good fight to make up for the way she had been treated by the others.

"You have no right to say that after all your father and I sacrificed for you!" Menelya said. Anwaelme simply turned on her heel and left Menelya standing alone in the hallway.

"Stupid girl," Menelya muttered as she went up to her room, where she decided to pass the afternoon reading by herself.

[Mattius]

"Stupid girl," Menelya said as she quickly ran up the stairs.

"I think its safe now Dorlas," whispered Thelian walking into the corridor and out of his hiding place. Across the way Dorlas did likewise.

"Quite a strained mother-daughter relationship I would say!" He said looking up at the stairs where Menelya had headed.

"You have no idea..." Said Thelian in almost a whipser looking up at Menelya's door. "Still," he said trying to change the subject, "better for you, and I too, not to worry about such matters." Thelian looked at Dorlas who nodded in agreement. The boy seemed quite shook up about the whole argument, on the whole he had only seen elves being majestic and wonderful, if only in battle and speech. "Come, let me show you the unrivaled beauty of the waterfalls here," said Thelian leading away the awed Dorlas.

"Before the interuption I asked you if you have been here before Thelian," said the young squire.

"Ah yes! My apologises, I forgot all about it!" The two of them stood on a balcony overlooking the silver river and a waterfall so tall that one would have to point their nose vertical to see its top. "I have been here once before, to be healed actually."

"What happened to you?"

"I was with a small group, around fifteen, when we were attacked by orcs on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, we managed to fight them off and get to Elrond's House but an orc arrow pierced my left shoulder." Thelian lifted up his sleeve to reveal a thick scar. Dorlas made a wincing sound. "I stayed here for almost five years after I was cured but that was before the threat of Sauron loomed as thickly as it does now." Thelian paused, for thought or dramatic effect Dorlas knew not. "I believed that I was right to leave."

"Are you sure it was not Menelya who convinced you to leave," asked Dorlas, "and not the war!"

"Ah some may say so Dorlas!" Laughed Thelian.

[Cuthalion]

"Ah, Arthain...so you would answer a question with a question? Very well. You seem ill at ease as though heavy things were on your mind. When we go into battle, we cannot afford to be distracted by our emotions. It would be better for you to share the burden, if burden it be." He watched Arthain's eyes closely, but he seemed shut away, closed to Melost as he had never been before.

Melost gestured for Arthain to follow him and they walked silently for a time out across the balconies and down the multi-tiered levels of the gardens gracing the western face of Elrond's House. Arthain gasped in wonder as he beheld the beauty of the valley in which this Elven refuge lay. Melost glanced at him side-long, hoping the sights and smells of this peaceful place would soothe Arthain's troubled spirit and his own as well.

Suddenly, the memory of Arthain's covetous stare sprang into full relief into Melost's mind and he had to stop. Arthain continued on down the path, oblivious to his friend's pain. "How like a human to desert a friend in need..." a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, planting a tiny seed of poison in his soul. Melost himself was totally unaware of the small shift within him as he straightened, watching Arthain suddenly notice he was alone, then turn and look back up the path for his friend. With long, swift strides, Melost caught up to him. "What ails you, Melost? I have never seen you this solemn." Melost gave him a long look, then bowed his head. "I haven't yet told Anwenelme that I am not going to marry her yet. How can I when we go to war, possibly not to return?" Arthain looked at him, stricken. Then a thought blossomed in his mind and he held his peace.

[Maikadilwen]

"You have no right to say that after all your father and I sacrificed for you!"

Menelya's words felt like a slap in the face and Anwenelme turned on her heel and left, furious at her mother. How did she dare mentioning her father like this? They both knew very well that he sacrificed everything for his king when others were afraid to do so and Anwenelme had always been proud of that. Using her dead father against her was below what she had expected from Menelya.

But soon!
Melost had come back for her and soon she would be his bride and she would no longer have to listen to her mother.
The thought brought a measure of peace to her mind and she even smiled a little to herself, as she remembered the look on her mother's face when she had been talking to the Man. Menelya disgusted the race of Men, finding them barely more than animals and the fact that her own husband had been killed on a quest for helping a mere mortal, had long been a thorn in her side.

"Maybe I should have chosen to wed a Man instead of Melost", Anwenelme chuckled lightly to herself, finding the thought of what that would have done to her mother very pleasing.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"So you would answer a question with a question?" The anger which had flitted across Melost's face for a moment was now gone, although concern still reigned on his face. "Very well. You seem ill at ease as though heavy things were on your mind. When we go into battle, we cannot afford to be distracted by our emotions. It would be better for you to share the burden, if burden it be." He looked closely at Arthain, but his friend looked away. He did indeed have many things on his mind, but would Melost understand? Understand? How could he understand? Do you always understand him?

Arthain tried to cut the little voice off, and kept walking down the path, exclaiming about the wonders of Rivendell, although truly his brain was sinking back into his own troubles. He decided to tell his friend of them, and turned to where he had been walking beside him. “Melost, I—“

He stopped, feeling foolish at talking to mid air, and, puzzled, turned back to see Melost standing some way back down the path. Once again, the angry look flashed across the elf’s face, and Arthain’s thoughts of telling him almost went out of the window. Why was his friend in such an odd mood? Usually they understood each other so well, but today he seemed so turbulent, and so far away from Arthain, even when they were right beside each other. He frowned, but resolved to close the gap; he had to, as Melost himself had said.

"You ask what ails me? Very well, I am...well, it has just been a very strange day," He was half-stalling, as he tried to make up his mind whether to tell Melost. "And...I've just been so nervous about coming to Rivendell, of meeting the fair folk?"

Melost looked almost relieved, and for a while, at least, his boyish grin returned. "You have met the fair folk before- you have met me!"

Arthain raised an eyebrow, his face mock-disdainful as he exaggerated the action of looking Melost up and down. "Well, you're certainly folk." He conceded, then also grinned, as a look of indignation spread across Melost's face.

"Why, you-" He marched up to Arthain, as if about to cuff him or pretend to fight with them, as they had done so often in the old times, but Arthain stepped back, wagging a finger at him.

"No, no, no, what would the lovely Anwanelme say?" He remonstrated. Once again, that shadow flitted over Melost's face, but was gone once more as quickly as it had come, although maybe not as quickly as the last time. What am I doing wrong?!

"You say lovely-" Melost cut himself off, stopping and lapsing into silence. Arthain looked at him curiously, but Melost would not return his glance. He suddenly spoke again, his voice seeming overly bright to Arthain. "So, that's all that has been troubling you, just a few quibbles about seeing the immortals, the ones who-" Once again, he cut himself off, then carried on, hurriedly. "Dinner is at sundown, it is a formal occasion," He smiled at Arthain, but as he did so his eyes seemed to miss him, to go past or through him rather than at him. "Do try and drag up something suitable to wear.

They both laughed, and Arthain punched Melost playfully on the arm, but it was all fake. It wasn't right. The laughter was put on, the playful punch incredibly light, only lasting a moment, and Melost's last comment before he went, which would have been so normal usually, made Arthain wonder about how sincere Melost had been.

As the elf departed, leaving Arthain alone, he left the captain with one more thing to think about. As Arthain had watched Melost leave, he couldn't help but notice his tightly clenched fists.

[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost had only gone a short way before he realized how foolish he had been. Arthain was his dearest friend, how could he react this way over something so trivial? Before he allowed himself another thought, Melost turned and ran back up the path. Seeing Arthain walking ahead, he called out to him to stop. Melost ran to side and took him by the shoulders. "Arthain, forgive me! My mind has been so consumed by dark thoughts and imaginings that I have forgotten that you and Dorlas are adrift here." Arthain covered Melost's hand with his own. "We both have too much on our minds, think more no more about it."

The Elf stood back and sighed heavily. "I am relieved, for to lose your friendship on the eve of war would break me." Arthain looked at him in surprise. "Why do you say that? What difference could it possibly make?" "What differnece say you? A warrior wants a friend at his back in battle and yes, I know I have Thelian who is normally like my own shadow. But how can than that compare? You and I, we have fought and laughed together for many years now and I would find it unsettling not to have you at my side."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas nodded, considering Thelian's words. Dorlas had rarely seen Elves before meeting Melost and Thelian, and he had never talked to any before either. From a distance, without knowing much of them, Dorlas had always thought or considered Elves to be extremely beautiful or graceful. Now that he had seen them more up close, they seemed much more human than Dorlas would have ever imagined.

"Arthain and Melost have known each other for a long time," Dorlas began, breaking the silence that had come with the awe and beauty of the waterfall. "Why do you think they became such good friends?"

"I'm not entirely sure," replied Thelian. "Perhaps the fact that they could teach each other so much. I'm sure there are tales and such that I would have never known if I hadn't met you."

Dorlas nodded. "I suppose. There's so much I wouldn't know right now if I had just been content with seeing Elves. Talking to one is a different matter altogether, I've found."

Dorlas grinned momentarily at his own words. Typically, Dorlas was carefree and lighthearted, but somehow the waterfall...and the feeling of Rivendell altogether...made him sound like he was ready to know everything. Like he was ready to take on Middle-Earth like it was nobody's business. He felt strong in a place like Rivendell.

"Are all Elven women like...how do you say her name?" Dorlas questioned, chuckling at the remembrance of hiding from the Elven woman.

"I don't think so, or at least I hope that not all women in general are like Menelya," Thelian replied, and the two openly laughed about Menelya's persona. "Her daughter doesn't seem anything like her, as far as I can tell."

"Is there anything else to see in this grand place?" Dorlas asked suddenly, changing the subject.

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Cuthalion]

The western skies glowed brilliant orange and red as the sun disappeared below the horizon. Elves began to gather beneath the magnificently carved beams of Elrond's Great Hall. Food filled the laden tables, for it was rumoured that the armies of Gil-Galad and Isildur would arrive very soon and Elrand wanted to show himself a gracious host, despite the fact that they would all being going to war in a matter of days.

Melost entered the Hall and looked everywhere for Arthain, still concerned at the rift between them. He spied Anwenelme in a lovely silver dress and strode across the room to meet her. The icy expression on her face bespoke a recent confrontation with her mother and he grinned at the relieved look when her eyes met his. He kissed her hand, then murmured "Difficult afternoon, beloved?" She sighed, then kissed him lightly. "Melost, just find us some place where we can eat in peace...please?" Melost smiled. "Of course! Come, my lady, let us adjourn to the far corner, where we shouldn't be disturbed.

He noticed Arthain, Thelian and Dorlas as they entered, looking the tables over hungrily. Melost waved to Arthain, indicating where they would sit and Arthain nodded acknowledgement. Anwenelme's lips tightened. She hadn't wanted to be with anyone but Melost and now she would have to share their table with Men! She wondered if he would always be this unfeeling...

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya heard many ladies go by her door, twittering to herself. She looked out the window and saw the beautiful colors of the sunset appearing in the sky. It was time for dinner. There would be a great feast in the hall. Melost would attend, which meant that Anwaelme would also be there.

Menelya quickly jumped out of the chair she was in and quickly changed into a dark red velvet gown. She quickly checked her hair and was satisfied with her appearance. She made her way down the hallway, nearly at a run. She stopped when she was nearly at the hall so that she would not appear out of breath when she entered.

With an icy-cold face, much like that which Melost had commented on of Anwaelme but a short time earlier. She entered the hall and silently noted how most people stood away when she walked in. However, her lady-friends came running up, twittering like chickens. Menelya smiled at them and wondered why she put up with such idiots. She made a biting remark about one of the dresses worn by one of the Elves, causing them all to fall silent. She quickly scanned this room in this momentary pause of shock. Off with some of the other men she saw Anwaelme and Melost. Anwaelme did not look to be happy to be sitting with the men. Menelya stole a brief moment to smile at her daughter's misfortune.

The women finally came back around, shrugging the insult off and continuing to babble on about palace gossip. Menelya smiled and followed the women to their table, keeping her eyes on Anwaelme, who was too absorbed in her misery to notice the eagle-like stare from her mother.

[Cuthalion]

Out-riders from the armies of Isildur heralded his arrival, along with that of the Elven High-King and their personal guards. As they rode into the valley the men who accompanied Isildur gasped collectively at the beauty that surrounded them. Servants came and took their horses to be fed and watered as the leaders and their retinues followed Elrond, who had come out to greet them, embracing them in fellowship.

A magnificent table had been set with fish and fowl, fruit and breads of all kinds. The troops settled down to enjoy the repast before getting down to the business of planning their strategy against the legions of Sauron. When at last they found themselves pushing away from the table, Elrond stood to address the assembled leaders. "In this time of greatest need, here we find ourselves forming a grand alliance in this, our most desperate hour. We welcome all those, both Men and Elves who have chosen to stand against Sauron Bauglir. My troops are even now readying themselves for the march. Tomorrow, by your leave, I wish inspect the armies that will march with the Elves of Imladris and Lothlorien, so that we might better coordinate our efforts." Isildur stood as Elrond fell silent. "You have proven yourself a masterful host, Lord Elrond. You can survey my troops at will and you will find them ready."

Elrond inclined his head, then turned to Gil-Galad. "Lord, I have a request to ask of you. Their are many Elven women here in Imladris than I would have taken to safer ground, for we will empty this land of all my warriors and they would be left defenseless. Have you anyone who might be willing to lead a small escort to Lothlorien and the safety of Galadriel?" Gil-Galad smiled. "I have just the one, Elrond. Send a messenger to the Great Hall and have him bid Melost and Thelian to my side. Melost is my close kinsman and his betrothed, as you know has long dwelt here under your protection." A messenger was summoned and he walked swiftly along the corridors, his mind on his errand.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain's outwardly composed image was very different from what he felt inside as she came into the hall. His lifestyle hadn't given much oppurtunity for dressing up and attending such splendid meals as this one. I stick out like a sore thumb... He thought uneasily. But he bore himself with dignity and grace all the same.

Looking around he caught Melost staring at him, trying to get his attention. The elf smiled and beckoned him over, with Dorlas and Thelian. Arthain breathed a huge sigh of relief inwardly- he had been worried he would be left on his own, making him stand out awkwardly even more, as Thelian and Dorlas were getting along famously, and the elven squire seemed to have a talent for fitting in, with his easy, friendly nature.

As they came to the table, Arthain bowed slightly to Anwenelme. "You are looking lovelier than ever, Lady."

The elven woman returned this with a blank stare, followed by a smile with all the warmth in it of a cold day on an ice cap. Arthain was slightly put off, but then smiled at Melost. His friend returned this with a friendly grin of his own, and Arthain seated himself safely on the other side of his friend from Anwenelme.

"I feel like a sore thumb," He muttered to Melost. The elf's grin widened.

"Of course not, Arthain, you look splendid. Come, enjoy the meal."

And what a meal to enjoy! The table seemed to be laden with every tasty type of meat, fish, poultry, bread and vegetable, and Arthain attacked it hungrily, but still careful to mind his manners. His hands almost seemed to be shaking he was so nervous.

As they finished the meal, he sat back, placing his knife and fork neatly on the plate. He sighed and raised his eyebrows. "Well, let no man say that the cooks of Rivendell are not among the best in Middle Earth!"

"Few men have had the pleasure of dining here, and so would not have the chance." Anwenelme cut in, her voice polite, but icy. Ouch. But Arthain did not have time to dwell on her sharp words, for a messenger, a young elven soldier, appeared at Melost's arm.

"Gil-galad desires a word with you, sir, and with your squire." He murmered respectfully.

"A word?" Melost inquired, but he had already begun to stand.

"I don't know why specifically, I'm afraid, sir."

"I see." Melost stood, folding his napkin onto the table. "Is it just myself and my squire?"

"That is all that was mentioned, sir."

"Right." With a sigh, Melost turned to those who sat at the table, addressing them. "Well, I am sorry to have to leave you now, but, well, business calls."

"Business!" The resentful hiss came from Anwenelme, who had her arms folded and was looking away angrily. Melost winced, and leant low towards his beloved, murmering to her a few words that Arthain and Dorlas could not hear. Then, with a nod to Arthain, he and Thelian left...leaving Dorlas and Arthain alone with Anwenelme.

Oh, Vala...so you thought you were uncomfortable before, hmm?

Arthain shot a quick, panicked glance at Dorlas, before turned to Anwenelme. To his surprise, and worry, a thin, malicious smile had crept onto her face. Arthain scrambled for some form of acceptable conversation.

"So..." He said, keeping his voice even, and trying to seem calm and relaxed. "How did you and Melost first meet?"

Of all the topics you could have picked, you chose that?

Arthain just hoped he wouldn't say something wrong.

[ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Maikadilwen]

"Well, I am sorry to have to leave you now, but, well, business calls."
Melost's words cut like a knife in her mind and Anwanelme looked away and let out an irritated sigh.
"Business!" she heard herself say, once again thinking aloud. It had become a rather bad habit.
"I will be back with you as soon as I can, beloved" she heard Melost whisper to her, but angry and hurt as she was, she refused to look at him as he left with his squire.

The silence around them was deafening and Anwanelme leaned back in her chair, gazing straight at Arthain, a satisfied smile appearing on her lips when she saw his obvious discomfort.
He struggled to find something to say, but finally he leaned in over the table, trying to appear relaxed.

"So...how did you and Melost first meet?"

Anwanelme blinked.
It took her a moment to regain her composure, surprised more than she would admit by Arthain's question, then her eyes narrowed and she seemed even colder than before.
How dare he ask such a question?
Her thoughts were rushing through her mind and she started feeling angry over this...Man's insolence and she was just about to tell him what she thought about his kind, when she heard Menelya's voice from another part of the room and she bit her tongue. That was exactly what her mother would do...

Turning her face in the direction from which she had heard her mother, Anwanelme saw her staring at her and knowing how displeasing it would be for her mother to watch, she suddenly flashed Arthain and Dorlas a bright smile and leaned a little closer.

"We met in Lindon, Master Arthain. I believe that was your name? I was very young when I first met Melost and he had just joined Lord Gil-Galad's army. I think that it was nothing more but a childish fascination of a shining armour and a glinting sword, but he soon became a good friend, someone I could turn to when my mother...."
She looked away for a moment and sighed, the thought of how long she had been in her mother's clutches making her sad.

"Eyeing a chance to better her own status, since Melost is of Lord Gil-Galad's kin, my mother soon made an arrangement, that Melost and I were to be betrothed. And he accepted."

Arthain's brow furrowed for a moment as he thought about what he had just heard, no longer feeling as uncomfortable as before, but curious as to why his friend had never spoken of this... An arranged marriage? Melost never told me that.

"And you? Did you accept?"

Anwanelme looked at him, surprised and a little confused by the concern in his voice. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was telling and that was something unusual to her.

"Our wedding should have been long ago, but then came the war and he had to leave. Not wanting to make me a widow just when he had made me his wife, he postponed the wedding. And has done so ever since."

Seeing the thoughtful look in Arthain's eyes, she suddenly smiled brightly.
"So tell me, Master Arthain, how and where did you meet Melost? I do not recall him ever telling me about you and yet you seem to be close friends."
In fact Melost had never told her that he had friends among the race of Men and she couldn't help but wonder if there was more he hadn't told her yet.

[ June 13, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Melost and Thelian entered the chambers of Gil-galad after the guards recognized them. Gil-galad, standing at a table with a large map on, greeted them smiling and beckoned them to approach.

"Ah, you have come. I am pleased to see you. Melost, I have a job more, that I think you and your squire can do the best."

Thelian, tried to look at the map without moving, whereas Melost stood expressionless. The past hours had not been as joyous as he had hoped, and right know he did not care if Gil-galad sended him to Orodruin. It seemed like Gil-galad guessed his state of mood, for his smile faded away and was replaced by a more serious expression.

"Imladris is not a castle, nor is its location a remote place far from danger. The enemy has always been interested in Eriador, and Elrond fears that orcs will once again march in Eriador, with both our soldiers and Elendil's marching south. I deem he is right, which is why I wish for you to escort many of those here that would be in potential danger from an attack. I doubt any of us wish to return to homes burned down. The destination would be Loth-lorien, to live with Galadriel until the war is over. You and Thelian can then march with Malgalad and Celeborn, when they and their army leave Loth-lorien to meet us at the Anduin."

Still Melost did not move nor did his face reveal anything.
"Anything else, milord?"
"No, you are dismissed."
As Melost and Thelian left the room, they heard Gil-galad's voice:" I will have my servant bring you a copy of the map, Thelian." And then they heard the laughter of their lord as the doors closed.

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost and Thelian left the leaders to finish their conversation. Melost's heart held a sense of fore-boding and in that moment he would have given anything to be leagues away from this place. He sat down wearily on a bench in the hall-way leading back to the Hall and let his head fall abck against the wall. He knew he hadto tell her he could not marry her as yet. He also knew that she would never understand. Melost was certain that this night would be a turning point for them both. Alas for him that he was to be proven right.

Thelian sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "By Elbereth herself, what ails you Melost? I have never seen you like this? All we have been asked to do is see to it that the women are safely taken to Lothlorien, where is the difficulty?" Melost closed his eyes as though in pain. "Thelian, I have to tell Anwenelme that I cannot marry her until this war is finished. How else is it fair to her? I will never wish to be parted from her once we are married, why then should I keep her in hope? I do love her, Thelian. I love her enough to have her choose another if she would, but I cannot and will not make her wait any longer should she wishes not to."

Melost got to his feet and started to walk away, but Thelian restrained him. "And what of you, Melost? What of yourheart?" Melost grinned at him sadly. "It ceased to matter a long time ago, kinsman." Together they returned to the Hall and there Melost beheld Anwenelme and Arthain talking avidly to one another and she laughed as he told her one of his many witticisms. Thelain watched as the blood drained from Melost's face. Melost took a deep breath and approached the table. They both smiled up at him as he pulled out his chair to sit down, little knowing that they had started down a very dark path indeed.

[ June 13, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

In a chamber in Rivendell, four people were gathered around a table, if you did not count the many guards. On one side stood Gil-galad, High King and Commander of the elven armies. With him stood his most important councillor, Elrond.
On the other side of the table stod Elendil, High King and Commander of the human armies. With him stood his son and second-in-command, Isildur. On the table lay a map.

"Our soldiers will march down on the western side of the Misty Mountains, and in Loth-lorien meet with the soldiers Malgalad has promised me. Also Oropher has promised several thousand soldiers that are on their way to Loth-lorien." Gil-galad ceased to speak, and waited if any had something to add. Elendil was quick to speak; he was clearly disturbed by something.
"In Gondor, my son Anarion is holding back the enemy, but I am not sure for how long he can stop them. And also, with these troops moving from Mirkwood to Loth-lorien, Sauron will guess our intentions. Let us march now and quickly, before he can gather an army and attack our allies in Loth-lorien. If he can catch us while our armies are still divided, we will have great losses. Let us march south as planned, and after Loth-lorien we will march towards Morannon. Anarion will meet us north, on these plains, with all the troops he can spare from Gondor."

Gil-galad guessed that Elendil was deeply concerned for the attack that Gondor was suffering, yet it did not cloud his mind. His advice was spoken in wisdom, and Elrond nodded, approving of what had been said. Isildur did not move, nor speak; but when his and Gil-galad's eyes met, he could read the same desperation in Isildur's eyes. He knew what it was like, to have your home and realm attacked by the armies of Mordor. When it had happened to Gil-galad, the númenorians had aided him, and now it was time to return the favor.

"We will march south immediately. Elrond; tell the officers to prepare the men for departure. We will not spend more time here than what is necessary."

Elendil bowed before Gil-galad, as one equal to another, and left. Isildur nodded his head, and followed his father. Elrond bowed deeply before his lord and then went out to issue the orders of departure.

"So the war has begun," Gil-galad thought to himself. "Few will return, but many will gain from it. If not, then has it all been in vain? I hope not. But do the dead care?"

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain found conversation between himself and Anwenelme becoming more easy. At the beginning, he had thought that maybe he couldn't have chosen a worse subject when the elf's face darkened and her glare became even icier when he asked about how she and Melost had met. But now they seemed to have slipped more easily into conversation, and Arthain wondered if perhaps he had misjudged her, and maybe Thelian had been a little harsh. But other things were coming out- Melost had said naught of an arranged marriage. He had always implied they both loved each other equally and that was the reason for their betrothal. Arthain shrugged it off- he had simply assumed too much, and what did it change, for both elves were easy in the company of the other, and Melost's love for Anwenelme was obviously strong and true. No matter what it had started out with at the prompting of Anwenelme's mother, what it had become was quite different. Melost was devoted to his lady, and she enjoyed his company it seemed- Arthain had seen the eager, overjoyed manner in which she had run into his arms when they had first ridden in. Arthain was pleased for both in the way it had turned out, and the origin little seemed to matter.

"Our wedding should have been long ago, but then came the war and he had to leave. Not wanting to make me a widow just when he had made me his wife, he postponed the wedding. And has done so ever since." Sure enough, a melancholy note crept into Anwenelme's voice, and her smile faded. She obviously could not wait for a time when they would finally marry. Then her smile returned as she asked her next question.

"So tell me, Master Arthain, how and where did you meet Melost? I do not recall him ever telling me about you and yet you seem to be close friends."

He never told his own fiance about his best friend. And he never told me about the nature of their marriage. Arthain held back the frown which threatened to give away these odd thoughts, and he smiled back at Anwenelme.

"I am surprised at that, my Lady, but no matter. Melost and I have been friends for a long time, before ever I was a Captain, and before these dangers which we now face seemed so close. We met when I was, well, I suppose when I was just a boy really. I was about...say fourteen years old when Melost met me? I was enchanted with the elves, but Melost did not shake me off like the others, just a pesky human child. Rather he told me stories from elven yore. We became friends, before losing touch once more, but only for a few years. I was eighteen or nineteen when I next met him, and had the pleasure of fighting by his side. He was a good teacher in the ways of the sword, as well as being an excellent drinking partner!" Anwenelme laughed engagingly, and Arthain grinned back, pleased he had not bored her. Her expression had been interested in what he was telling her, and she leant across the table, her hands close to his where they lay clasped in front of him.

"So you have fought together for many years?"

Arthain sighed. "No. No, I am afraid we hadn't even seen each other for what may only be a few years by the reckoning of elves, but was many years for me."

"I'm back." Melost's voice shook Arthain from his story and he looked up, along with Anwenelme, smiling at Melost as he pulled back his chair and sat. His face was pale, and Arthain reckoned he could not have missed the last few sentences. It was unlike his friend to miss up on an oppurtunity to make a witty comment of some sort in such a place, but instead all they had recieved was 'I'm back'. Odd. Was he angry at Arthain for telling his beloved of their past? Arthain withdrew his hands slightly from where they rested near Anwenelme's, and she did the same, smoothing her dress- or was she wiping them on her dress? The thought hurt Arthain, but he brushed it aside, reckoning he was being paranoid. Thelian also sat again, beside Dorlas, and they began to talk together. Arthain smiled to see that they had become such fast friends, like an image of Melost and himself so long ago.

"You have done your business with the king?" Arthain inquired.

"What was it he asked?" Anwenelme asked at exactly the same time.

[Cuthalion]

"Aye,Arthain. It seems Thelian and I are to escort the ladies of Imladris to safety in Lothlorien." Melost turned to Anwenelme and kissed her hand lightly. "Beloved, have your mother and her ladies make ready, for we shall leave at first light." She looked him in disbelief, then her face assumed a look of tolerance. "Yes, my lord, of course. It shall be as you say." Her thoughts turned to ice. "Will it always be thus? Am I never to be asked, merely commanded?" She smiled glacially at Melost, then rose gracefully from her seat. Melost stood as well and drew her close. "We must speak later, Anwenelme. Shall I call on you in your rooms shortly?"

She inclined her head, turned and walked toward her mother's table, anticipating the outraged diatribe she would not doubt have to listen to. She smiled, amused by the discomfort her mother would have to endure.

Dorlas slumped disconsolately in his chair. If Melost was leaving, then so was Thelian. This bothered the young man, for friendship had never come easily to him. To his surprise Arthain leaned forward and began to speak urgently to Melost. "You can't seriously be planning to escort them by yourselves? Dorlas and I would be deli.... we would be proud to assist you." Melost looked at his friend appraisingly. "No doubt.." he thought cynically, but instead he smiled graciously at Arthain. "It would be good to have you at my side again. so be it! Clear it with your captain and make ready." Dorlas leaned forward and winked at Thelian, who grinned back.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain thanked Melost, not noticing his slightly guarded expression. He saw Dorlas wink at Thelian and the elven squire grinned back, and couldn't help smiling himself.

Standing, he nodded to Melost. "I will do so now. Thankyou again, my friend."

Leaving the room, he went to ask Isildur whether he could go, although he didn't doubt what the answer would be. For men and elves to escort the ladies of Rivendell to Lorien would further be a proclamation of the friendship and trust which had grown between the two races, and would no doubt bode well for the relationship between the two leaders as well. As he passed Anwenelme, he heard Menelya spluttering, outraged while still trying to remain dignified. Melost's beloved grinned at him as he passed, rolling her eyes, before turning back to her mother, a look of impatience on her face as she tried to get a word in. Arthain smiled back, winking at her.

He didn't notice the way Melost's expression darkened when he saw this as he left the room, where the elf sat, alone. The elf's thoughts were as dark and uncomfortable as his expression and, curtly making his excuses to the two squires, he left the room through a different door from Arthain.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Arthain entered the chambers of Isildur, and waited until the King bade him spoke.
Arthain explained that he wished to accompany the elves escorting the ladies to Loth-lorien. Isildur looked at him long before replying.

"You wish to accompany these elves? And, no doubt, be treated as one of them."
Isildur's words stung, but Arthain said nothing.
"Will these elves ever treat us equally? Ever admit that we are children of Eru as much as them? Has any of them ever been saved by the One, ever been protected by his hand?"
Again, Arthain said nothing. Not only because it was Isildur who spoke, but also because he was in doubt. Had Isildur seen the truth, and Arthain was blind?
"Very well. It cannot harm anyone. Besides, we will march to Loth-lorien as well, and you will join your company there again."
After saying this Isildur took a deep breath, and seemed to change attitude.
"Take care, my young friend. The roads are always dangerous in times of war, and especially for the company you will travel with."

Arthain did not respond, merely bowed and left. He looked around, and suddenly it seemed to him that the elves in the hallway were laughing secretly of him; the tapestry on the wall were made to mock men; the building itself was merely to prove how better elves were compared to men.
He shook these thoughts of him, knowing they were just illusions of his mind; but they remained in the back of his head.

[ June 15, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

Later on that evening, after seeing to his horse and supplies, Melost walked back along one of terraces that over-looked the streams which flowed through the heart of Imladris. He breathed in and filled his lungs with the pure, clean air as he leaned against one of the railings. "Eru, Mighty One, I know that you are all-seeing and that you know the purpose for which many of us will fight and die in this great war. Ease my heart, take all my doubts, my fears and make them of no consequence." He bowed his head as he wrestled with himself, "It has been said that you care nothing for the affairs of this world, but I do not believe that. Therefore, grant that my friend Arthain will pass through unscathed, that he may live long in peace."

Having thus spoken the thoughts of his heart to the night air, he pushed away from the railing and went inside to spend sometime alone with Anwenelme. As he passed through the hall-ways, he heard up ahead the sounds of feminine laughter, followed by a man's low voice. Curious, he glanced around the corner and saw Anwenelme sitting next to Arthain, her face merry and her eyes bright with laughter. Melost ducked back before one of them could look up and returned to the room he shared with Thelian, only to find he and Dorlas sitting by the fire,sharing a companionable jug of wine. They glanced up as he entered and shut the door behind him feeling for the first time in his life, totally alone.

[Maikadilwen]

Feeling cold as ice inside, hurt by Melost's words, Anwanelme looked forward to giving her mother news that would ruin her sleep and cause her ladies to have reason to flee before her.
Waiting patiently for the stream of words from Menelya's mouth to cease, she focused on a spot on the wall in front of her, as usual not listening to her mother's talk. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Arthain and she turned to look at him, unable to keep from smiling when she saw the look on his face as he heard Menelya's angry hissing.
Anwanelme turned back to her mother, just wanting to make her quiet so she could get back to Melost and she leaned over the table, looking straight a her mother.

"It is Lord Gil-Galad's wish, mother. If you want to complain, do it to him!"

Anwanelme turned away from the ladies before her mother was able to say more and she looked for Melost at the table, but he was gone. Only Thelian and Dorlas were left and they seemed busy talking.

Having left the room in order to escape her mother's prying eyes, Anwanelme walked for a bit, hoping she would find Melost somewhere, but he was nowhere to find.
Just as she was heading back to her room in order to make ready for the journey, she noticed a figure sitting on a bench.
Recognising Arthain, she went and warily sat down next to him, trying a careful smile.

"Is anything wrong, master Arthain?" she asked him and he flashed her a smile, trying to hide his thoughts. It seemed to her that there was something in his eyes but she was unable to determine what it was.
They talked for a short while but then she excused herself and left, trying once more to find Melost. He had said he wanted to talk with her and she was curious why.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[VanimaEdhel]

The women still sat in the hall speaking, although the plates had long been cleared and nearly everyone had retired for the evening. Menelya had excused herself from her friends and was sitting alone at an adjacent table. Her book lay open on the table, but she was not really reading it. Anwaelme had left the room long ago, before Melost had even adjourned for the night. Melost had left somewhat later, probably to be with Anwaelme.

There was a small clatter as one of the servants dropped one of the remaining goblets. The girl blushed as Menelya gave her a wicked stare, quickly picking up the goblet and leaving as quietly as she could. Menelya slammed her book, continuing to look after the door the servant exited with an evil glare. She stood and left the hall in quite a foul mood.

Menelya snapped at one of the guards on her way to her room. She saw a light in Anwaelme's room as she walked. She saw her daughter through the window, but did not see any sign of Melost, surprisingly.

Menelya silently let herself into her room. As she was undressing, she realized she had left her book on the table in the dining hall. No matter, she thought, no one would dare touch the book. She had put her name in it, and everyone knew not to steal her property.

Menelya dozed in her large bed, thinking of Anwaelme and Melost, her book, her friends, and all the gossip she heard at the dinner table.

**********

A few hours later, Menelya awoke with a start. The sun would come up soon and Menelya still had packing to do. The Elf jumped out of bed, quickly dressing and running to the quarters of her maidservants.

"Up, girl!" Menelya said, "We have packing to do! I will need everything packed in a few hours! Oh," she added as an afterthought, "I suppose you should pack too, as you will be coming."

The girl gave a startled look, but was used to Menelya's antics. She quickly rose and dressed under the watchful, judging eye of Menelya. The poor girl trudged as fast as her sleepy legs could carry her back to Menelya's apartments. Menelya sat on her bed, watching the girl and criticizing her nearly the whole time.

"No! Do not pack that pink dress, you silly girl! I have so many new gowns, there is no need to pack the old ones. Why do I even have that? Why have you not thrown that out?" Menelya's steady stream of comments continued until she was finally packed.

Menelya observed the girl's work, making a few more biting comments.

"Quick now! Back to bed! I must sleep some more until the sun comes up!" Menelya barked. The girl quietly left, going to her own room to pack up what little she could before it was time to leave.

Menelya lay in bed in her clothing, trying to catch a bit more sleep until the sun rose fully.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Mattius]

Thelian had remained sat next to the fire as Dorlas had begun showing him a ridiculous dance from his younger years. Slurring his speech the lad spun in circles. Thelian you should be ashamed, he thought to himself. This boy is sixteen, you shouldn't have let him get so drunk.

"I feel the effect of the wine has hit you quite hard Dorlas," he said cutting off his dance. "The sun has almost risen and we are to set off soon- perhaps you should get some rest while you can."

Dorlas nodded with eyes half closed. It had been a magical day and night for him, surrounded by elvish beauty at every turn.

"I suppose you might be right Thelian," he replied slumping into his seat next to the fire. "And I want to be on my best behaviour for all the elf maiden's we will be escorting!"

Thelian almost spat his mouth full of wine out in laugher but managed to swallow it before allowing himself to chuckle.

"So Dorlas shows his true colours when the wine speaks eh?" He said sarcastically.

"Ah let me have my fun," Dorlas replied lightly puncing Thelian's arm, "I am young after all."

Thelian sunk deeper into his chair and allowed his smile to fade as his mind drifted to the issue of Anwenelme.

"Last night Dorlas," he began, "when Melost and I met with Gil-Galad, I trust that Anwenelme did not make the atmosphere too... intimidating for Arthain and yourself?"

"Intimidating?" Dorlas asked. "Not at all!"

"Really?" Thelian raised an eyebrow. "I sometimes fear there is too much of her mother in her."

"She was fine, didn't speak to me much but she was speaking at length with Arthain."

Thelian rubbed his temples. Arthain, perhaps thats what is troubling Melost. There was a lot on his mind. The war was looming, Gil-Galad had given them a new mission and it seemed that Melost was beginning to become jealous of Arthain? You just haven't slept, that's all Thelian thought to himself. He turned back to Dorlas but he had fallen asleep due to the drink.

"Wonderful, to top it all off I got a tennage human drunk the night before we ride to LothLorien!"

[ June 15, 2003: Message edited by: Mattius ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost shook his head at the two of them and scowled at Thelian, who merely leaned his head aginst the chair-back and shrugged. "He is young, Melost. Let him be. Come and have a cup yourself, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Melost raised an eyebrow, then took the proffered cup from Thelian and pulled a chair over beside him.

"Have you ever felt as though no matter what you do or how well you do it, it is of no consequence? That is how I feel at this moment. I have served my King to the best of my ability and nearly died doing it once. And for what?" In anger he threw his wine into the fire. Thelian leaned forward in concern and Dorlas jumped, coming fully awake. "Wha...what's wrong?" he asked blearily as he struggled out of the chair. Thelian put out a restraining arm and stood in front of him, almost divining Melost's thoughts.

"Thelain, take him to his rooms. At this moment I cannot bear the sight of him, or of any man right now!" Shocked, Thelian took Dorlas by the arm and left with him without a word to Melost, but the accusatory look in his eyes said it all.

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

The rest of the night found Melost seeing to all the details that normally he left to Thelian, cleaning his sword and his knives, re-fletching several of his arrows and, when there remained nothing left to do, he paced. He paced the hall-way outside their chamber and when Thelian returned at last, his face cold and distant, he made an attempt at an apology. "Thelian, I..forgive me. I should never have spoken to you or to the boy in that manner and I crave your pardon."

Thelian cocked his head and looked at him pointedly. "Melost, I have always respected and admired you, not only for your skill in arms, but for the openness of your thoughts. Tonight, you have done more to harm Dorlas than any weapon could do. It is young men like him that can bring greater understanding between our people, but will he now?" Melost turned away, sick at heart. "There is truth in what you say, as always." he said softly. "I must go to Anwenelme. I promised to speak with her before we depart. I have seen to eveything, so if you can, get some sleep, otherwise, go along to Menelya's rooms and make sure she is ready to travel light. If I know her, she will want to bring her last possession with her!"

With that he clapped Thelian on the shoulder and went to see if Anwenelme had returned to her chamber. The memory of Arthain sitting close to her, his face lit by her presence rankled him and Melost strove to put it from his mind, bearing in mind that their friendship had been valued by both of them and that with any luck, it still would be.

[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The crack of both a broken wine glass and flickering fire had caused Dorlas to jump out of his seriously drunken reverie. Dorlas could not get his eyes to focus at first, and he blinked several times in a sleepy manner before babbling out, "Wha...what's wrong?"

Dorlas tried to slump out of his chair, but for some reason Thelian stood in front of him, separating him from Melost. Dorlas tried to speak again but all that came out was a slight gurgle and a loud belch. Then he heard Melost's voice again.

"Thelain, take him to his rooms. At this moment I cannot bear the sight of him, or of any man right now!" At this angry statement, Dorlas was half-dragged out of the room by Thelian, and hurried into his own room.

Dorlas remembered that the room was quite beautiful, but he couldn't see it again for himself as his eyes were glued shut with exhaustion as he slumped onto his bed. Dorlas wondered what he had done wrong, what he had done to make Melost so mad. Maybe it wasn't even his fault, but Melost was so angry! It hurt to think that Dorlas might have upset the balance of Melost's tempers, but then the boy realized that this ache might have been the pain in his side or the pounding in his head that slowly tingled down from his forehead to the lids of his eyes.

Dorlas went to sleep then wondering why there was such a rift between humans and elves. Melost and Arthain seemed like great friends, but how could they be so fond of each other if Melost really felt such a way towards humans?

Then it his Dorlas just before he drifted off into a restless, drunken sleep: What if Thelian turned his back on Dorlas someday? The two had become fast friends, but what if someday during the heat of battle...Thelian just suddenly decided to let any tolerance for humans drop? That was Dorlas' last concious thought before he let slumber consume him.

It was light when Dorlas finally willed himself to crack open one of his eyes. The bright light shining through the window hurt his eyes, and suddenly all the events from the previous night came flooding back to memory. Not only did Melost's words come to echo in his head, the headache returned also. Dorlas decided that he would never drink such an amount in one night again just as he picked up the chamber pot and threw up the contents of his stomach.

Dorlas quickly got himself ready after that, fumbling with his gear and equipment every now and then. When he was finally ready for the day, he stumbled out of his room and went looking for Thelian, hoping not to run into Melost and hoping that Thelian didn't feel the same way about humans as Melost did.

***
Mattius' Post

Remaining astonished with Melost's outburst Thelian poured himself a hearty amount of red wine before gulping it quickly. He had never seen him like this before or heard of such behaviour in the past. Poor Dorlas, he thought, hopefully the drink will numb his memory of events if there is any justice in the world. As he thought this he held the bottle in his hand, elvish inscribtion around the clear glass neck. There was a little left and Thelian thought of who he was going to see, Menelya. Quickly he knocked back the drink and placed the bottle on the mantle over the fire.

Although still early in the morning there was quite a lot of activity in Elrond's home. Several maidens scurried about, packing bags and bowing their heads to Thelian as he walked past. Eventually he reached the illustrous steps that led to Menelya's rooms. Taking a deep breath he ran up the stairs before lighty knocking on the door.

"Lady Menelya," he spoke leaning in to the door. There were a few sounds of movement inside the room before her voice answered.

"Enter."

Slowly Thelian slid in through the door. He had never seen the inside of her room before and it was as extravagant as any in Rivendell. Menelya wouldn't be too pleased about leaving it behind and travelling to LothLorien. Thelian's eyes began to drift around the room and eventually he caught sight of several large chests full of clothes and jewlery.

"Erm, Lady Menelya," he cleared his throat, "you don't plan on taking all of those do you?" He asked nodding at the pile.

[ June 22, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

After coming away from Isildur, Arthain had wandered Rivendell's corridors for a while, but, disliking the sniggers of the servants, despite their outwardly polite appearance, had retired to his room, attempting to read some more of the well-thumbed but little-read book he had had with him for a while. But he couldn't concentrate- this wasn't his room. The elegant balcony, the way it faced out onto a patioed, ordered, bare-seeming courtyard, the way the walls were a stylish cream and the carvng on the door of plants that it was doubtful any man would ever see...this wasn't a home to him, and he was restless there. When in the book a character whom Arthain was sure he had never heard of was brought in as obviously a main character who had been there for some time, Arthain gave up. Putting down the book, he stood from where he had been sitting in a cream armchair, and walked swiftly from his room, hoping to avoid anyone.

After thoroughly losing himself in the citadel, he turned and came out in a courtyard. The sound of water running down and through a miniture, crafted waterfall could be heard softly, and silver birch trees overhung backless white benches. But, more importantly for Arthain, there was no one else there.

Seating himself on one of the stone benches, he mused on what was really making him uncomfortable; Isildur's words. They had disturbed him, in their harhsness but also, although he didn't want to admit it even in his own mind, in their closeness to his own thoughts of late.

Sighing, the captain closed his eyes, letting himself relax in the quietness of the courtyard. Why all these sudden doubts? Never before had he thought such things in such earnest of his and Melost's friendship. In the past...but in the past they hadn't stayed close, not over the last few years. Had these feelings and tensions been present before- was Arthain simply looking back on those times with rose-tinted glasses?

Arthain tried to let the gentle sound of the water wash over his own mind, to wash them into some sort of sensible order. But they were interrupted- the sound of fine skirts swishing against each other and the stone floor made him turn almost guiltily, as if caught somewhere he should not be. But the owner of the skirts simply smiled warily at him before sitting down beside him.

"Is anything wrong, master Arthain?" Anwanelme's voice was soft and seemed anxious. Why was she anxious for him, after the comtempt she had shown at the start of dinner? But they had talked well. He turned, smiling at her, veiling his thoughts, or so he hoped. His hand was gripping the edge of the bench beside him and, as Anwanelme sat, she held her hands one over the other, laying them on the bench. Just like before at dinner, their hands were very close. Arthain couldn't help noticing. Her slim fingers lay just a few inches from his rather more worn hands. How would she react if...

"You have persuaded your mother, Mistress Anwanelme?"

His subject change did not work. Anwanelme smiled, cocking her head to one side, still puzzled. "You have not answered my question, Arthain."

Arthain grinned, but her words struck a different chord, and a rather disconcerting one at that. Subtly but definitely, he moved his hand slightly away from hers. "Quick, Lady Anwanelme, quick." He grinned again, then shrugged. "I...well, I suppose I am just uneasy about the ride tomorrow, odd though it may seem."

"Anxious about going to Lorien?"

"You know my thoughts well, Lady, is't true what they say about female elves being able to read minds?" He joked, hoping she did not see his real surprise. What, no jibe?. She smiled slightly.

"Just Galadriel- the Lady of the Golden Wood Lothlorien." She laughed slightly at his expression, the sound playing a melody with the sound of the water. "Do not worry, she will not bite."

"It is my first time that I will ride to the Golden Wood, and I do not doubt that it will be my last."

"Do not worry, Arthain. The wood is beautiful, not intimidating. The Lady is a good and kind host, although she may seem a little disconcerting at first to your peop- to you." The hasty change was made quite smoothly but did not go unnoticed, but Arthain did not mention it. "Besides, you are there in good company, and under well respected command."

Anwanelme's hand had somehow moved closer to Arthain's again. He felt somewhat uncomfortable- he had seen Melost's expression before- but how could be move it without seeming rude? Anwanelme had comforted him though- not just with her words, but with her concern, and with her thought for him and his worries. He smiled, nodding slightly at her. "I thank you, Lady. You have made my mind more easy, indeed." And he was surprised to realise that these words were true.

She smiled back, then stood, her skirts gently rustling again as she did so. "I am glad of that, Arthain. But I cannot stay- I have an engagement to keep." She turned to leave then, as an afterthought, offered her hand to Arthain. Surprised but ever the gentleman, he took it, brushing it lightly with his lips. She smiled once more, nodding him goodnight, then was gone.

Anwanelme's final gesture surprised him- she was indeed not the cold, predjudiced human hater that he had first feared her to be. But she was like Melost in some ways indeed- a way of cocking her head to one side, one eyebrow raised, when she was reinforcing a question, the way she had not let her question drop. They would make a beautiful pair, a wonderful couple, he thought, but was not sure what his feelings were over that. That puzzled and surprised him- what other feelings apart from happiness for his friend and his, well, new aquaintance?

The sound of quick feet surprised Arthain, and he stood, turning. The owner of the feet seemed to be just out of his range of sight though. Moving quickly to the corridor, he looked down to where it had come from, but only saw a glimpse of someone turning a corner. But he feared the worst- the tunic of the runner had been all too familiar, what he had seen. No, there had to be more than one tunic like that here? But in his heart he knew, and imagined what it must have looked like, himself and Anwanelme, sitting together, talking and smiling, hands closed then, as she departed, him kissing her on the hand, gratified. What it must have looked like- to Melost.

[Cuthalion]

What it looked like to Melost was that trouble was brewing. He strode purposely the the corridors, unable to think or to notice the beauty and tranquility of Elrond's home until he reached Anwenelme's chamber. He knocked on the richly carved door harder than he had intended and a delicate-looking Elf-maid timidly opened the door for him, her eyes wide with curiosity and interest. He nodded stiffly to her and asked that he be announced to the Lady Anwenelme at once. She curtsied and smiled prettily, dimples appearing to frame an already beautiful mouth.

Melost shook his head as though to lcear it. "What am I thinking? She's only a maid-servant!" "Be quick, girl! I have no time to dally, I must see her at once!" She dipped her head, then left the roomher back stiff with indignation. After a few moments had passed, Anwenelme appeared and he gazed at her, his heart tight with pain and doubt. She stood still and look him look at her, though she was curious. Why was he so reticent about approaching her?

"Melost, come to me...come here and kiss me!" She extended her hand, the hand she had given to Arthain only a very short while beforehand. He felt sick at heart as he took her hand. then pulled her close and kissed her hard as though to show her...or perhaps himself, that she was his and his alone. She drew back, astonished. "Melost! You would make so free with me before we wed?" In those words he heard the echo of Menelya's sense of decorum and propriety, yet he had felt the fire in her kiss....and he hated himself for what must be said.

He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I saw you with Arthain, sitting with him on one of the benches. You were talking and as you left, he kissed your hand. Tell me why my dearest friend would to this with my betrothed." She could not mistake the pain and suppressed jealousy in his voice. She stepped gracefully away from him and laughted lightly. "Come now, Melost. Is he not close to you, is he not important to you? Then I must treat him in the same manner, for I would not bring you shame." Anwenelme turned again to him, as though a thought had just occurred to her. "Surely you aren't angrymy love? You are an Elf, an immortal! What can this mortal possibly mean to me?"

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme looked at Melost, unable to believe the words of her betrothed. Did he truly believe that she would have feelings for a mere mortal?

"Melost, I.... How..."
With a sigh she turned from him, the underlying accusation she had just heard in his words gnawing in her mind.
Ever since he had returned here, all he had done was to command her, not even once asking her how she felt or what she wished to do.
Even Arthain had shown more interest in what she had to say and that had both hurt and surprised her.

A thought struck her mind and she gazed at him, her eyes narrowing. As soon as his king had called for him, he had jumped from his seat and went to him, leaving her alone with Arthain, his best friend and now he was jealous because they had been talking well?
She took a deep breath, suddenly angry with the way Melost apparently thought he could treat her.

"I have been patiently waiting for you, having endured my mother's remarks and change of moods, every day hoping that this would be the day you would return to me. Finally you have and this is how you choose to reward me for that?"

Melost opened his mouth to say something but Anwanelme cut him off.

"Without asking me what I wished to do, you forced me to dine with your friends, then you left me alone with them. Did you not expect me to speak with a mere mortal, is that it? Since you have returned, you have barely spoken to me, Melost. You have commanded me! And now, because I have been speaking with someone else, you are jealous? And that in spite of him being your best friend?"

Her face suddenly grew dark and sadness shone from her eyes as she remembered what he had just told her and her voice was chilly when she spoke again.

"Have you been spying on me, Melost?"

A startled look appeared on his face but she cared nothing for it.

"You said you saw me speaking with Arthain and can even tell that he kissed my hand when I left. Why did you not come and sit with us, then? He would have been pleased to speak with you, his friend."
The way she said the word 'friend' caused Melost to wince as there was no way he could mistake the blame in her voice.
Unable to say anything, Melost turned away and as he did so, Anwanelme thought she saw a hint of guilt in his eyes and that only confirmed her suspicion. Suddenly feeling cold inside, she turned her back to him and crossed her arms.

"I would expect Menelya to do such a thing, but never you, Melost! I think you better leave now!"

Trying hard to keep her voice calm and her anger under control, Anwanelme could feel her own nails dig into her arms as she waited for Melost to leave the room, but she heard no movement and she was getting impatient. When she suddenly felt his hands on her shoulders, she lost her temper.

"Leave!"

She heard her own voice cut through the air like a knife as she nearly screamed at him and a short moment after, she heard the door to her room being opened and then closed none too gently.
With a loud sigh she threw herself on the bed and wondered if she had done the right thing. What he had revealed had shocked her, but she couldn't help but think if she might have overreacted.
No, she had not. He had no reason to be jealous and there was no excuse for him to act the way he had.
Now she could only hope that he would talk with Arthain. If he really considered him his best friend...

[ June 21, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

The dawn came, and Isildur stood an a small hill, facing the thousands of troops gathered on the plains south of Rivendell. The many tents had been removed, and his soldiers stood, ready for march. Again, a sensation rose in him as he saw their many faces, faces with determination and valor. Each of them stood without making a move, clutching his weapons. They knew what were ahead of them, yet none broke the quietness by moving, not even allowing his expression to change. Isildur walked down, between their ranks, and now and then nodded when he recognised a veteran of earlier wars. These men would bright up and smile, their faces shining with pride, knowing that the King remembered them. Their morale increased, their hearts making ready to die for their King.

Next to his own men, Gil-galad's troops were gathered. Clad in his silver armour, Gil-galad was a splendid sight, fully earning his name "Radiant Star", and even Isildur had to work not to bow low when their gazes met. Instead he turned around, and continued his own inspection. Gil-galad turned and looked at Elendil, who sat mounted with his knights, and both made a small bow, and smiled at his ally.

Finally Isildur reached Arthain's regiment, and he recognised the captain. He stopped in front of him, and delivered a last message.
"Soon, you will depart with the elven escort. When you arrive in Loth-lorien, join your group south of the river Nimrodel. If you do not know where that place is, I do not doubt your elven friends can show you the place."

The emphasis on the words elven friends were hard to catch, but Arthain caught it. And he did not doubt why Isildur had spoken thus. But before he could respond, the King had moved on, not knowing the turmoil he left in his young captain's heart.

[ June 22, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

Bewildered and shamed, Melost withdrew from Anwenelme's chamber and as he walked blindly down the quiet hall-ways in the light of a false dawn, Melost had a premonition. It seemed to him that he was in a wood, lying face-down in the mud. The face of a dark-haired man stared down at him, then he blacked out. Am I dreaming of my death, of lying wounded in battle? Where is Arthain?" Melost shook his head as he struggled to return to his senses. He wandered outside into the crystal-clear air, a pale yellow light had just started to tint the edges of the surrounding hills.

Altogether, it was a most serene and peaceful sight, yet it brought no comfort to the soul of Melost. He slumped down beneath a spreading willow tree without knowing how he had gotten there. "Have I been that cruel?" he asked the emptiness around him, "Have I brought that much pain to the one who I carry above all in my heart? If indeed this be so, then I deserve death, for nothing I can ever do or say will wipe the memory of this from her mind. It is plain to me now that I will not survive this war, therefore the only honourable act left to me, is to set her free."

Having reached this conclusion, Melost's orderly mind grasped for the first thing that would help him maintain his sanity. He decided to seek out Arthain. Above all, he wanted his friend to know that he held no ill-will in his heart toward him and that should Melost fall in battle, he wanted him to know his last wishes. Melost gazed up into the quickly lightening sky and sighed. "My beloved Middle Earth...it seems I will leave you soon. Will you miss the life that I have lived, will you mourn for me as I will long for you?" He closed his eyed briefly, then got to his feet. The sound of horses, hundreds of them resounded through the valley. His pulse quickened instinctively and his heart surged at the sight of one of Gil-galad's mounted companies going through manuevers, with the High King himself in full armour leading them himself. The riders and their mounts flowed together over the grass, liquid as a school of fish and Melost could have wept with the beauty of it.

"Ah, Valar! Must these whom I have fought with and loved as brothers join those that have gone before in the dark halls of Mandos? he thought as he watched the spectacle before him. A warm hand closed on his shoulder suddenly and he froze. "Melost, they are incredible!" said Arthain softly in an awe-filled voice. Melost smiled sadly. "Aye, my friend... and you have become Elf-quiet, to slip up on me like that. It is good to have you here. I have something to tell you..."

Arthain drew away and looked at melost with concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but Melost staid him. "Arthain, this I will tell you, for I can tell no one else and you are dearer than a brother to me." He walked a few paces away to gather his thoughts. "I have foreseen my death, therefore, it remains to me now to set my life in order." He turned, his eyes bright as they took in his friend's shocked expression. "I cannot marry the Lady Anwanelme, not if it will leave her so soon bereft a husband, therefore when I am dead, return this to her." He pulled from his tunic the beautifully inlaid stone she had given him at their betrothal. "Tell her that I haev treasured it as I treasured the thought of our lives together, but that it is not to be. Say nothing of this to her, I beg you. Let me tell her, for this parting will be a grievous one, I fear."

Arthian moved to his side and though no words of comfort would come to his mind, he reached out and embraced Melost roughly. "These are heavy tidings you have for me this day, old friend. I will honour your request and say nothing to her of this." Melost thanked him and they strode away, Arthain to finish his preparations, Melost to see that all with in readiness with their charges.

[ June 23, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Mattius]

After around half an hour of calm argument Thelian had convinced Menelya to water-down her travelling possessions to three small cases. He now stood smiling in her room with his hands behind his back whilst she shouted at various younger elves to find this and that for her. When she looked up with a scowl at Thelian he hid his smile.

"Is this really necessary?" She complained.

"I am afraid so Lady Menelya," Thelian replied. "We must travel light. If we were to encounter trouble then we can not be weighed down with meaningless items of clothing."

With the word meaningless Thelian was sure he saw Menelya's jaw drop a few centimetres.

"But if would excuse me Lady, I do have other important errands to keep, for today is very important."

"Fine go," she said, quite happy to be rid of him.

With a sigh of relief Thelian closed the door quietly and made his way down the stairs. Through the open balconies he could see the armies of Alliance lined together, side by side. Men and elves, he thought, I hope this alliance is not just one of common enemy. As he was thinking he caught a glimpse of Melost talking to Arthain further along the balcony. After considering to approach them he decided against it but it reminded him that Dorlas may be in need of a friendly face.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain tightened the girth on his horse one last time, checking everything was in place. He was in mortal fear of making himself look a fool in front of the elves...he stopped, smiling wanly to himself, as he realise the irony of that phrase.

He sighed airily and lightly, trying to calm himself, and outwardly he may have fooled himself into thinking he had managed it; but underneath, the worry and disturbance caused by Isildur's words was still stirring.

If you do not know where that place is, I do not doubt your elven friends can show you the place."
Your elven friends.

In Arthain's mind, those words had become so that he heard them with an even more mocking tone than he was sure his lord had put on. He was just being paranoid...or was he? Shaking his head, he almost laughed to himself. What a fool he had been, thinking these thoughts- what had Melost truly done to deserve these thoughts? Arthain felt guilty for a moment- he had doubted his friend, and he was now convinced that the elf had not deserved it. What does Isildur know of the friendship between Melost and myself?

"Arthain, are you ready?"

Dorlas turned his head quickly, surprised at not having heard his squire. "What?"

Dorlas winced slightly at the sharp noise- the pain in his head had evidently not passed entirely. Arthain rolled his eyes, tutting in an exaggerated way, and grinned at his squire who, a little sheepishly, smiled back. “Aye, I am ready.” Arthain had become more business like now, more brisk, not having the disturbing thoughts troubling him. “And you?”

Dorlas simply nodded. With that, Arthain swung up onto his horse. As they made their way over to the elves where they stood, Arthain spotted Melost, and wondered about the frown on his face- he looked positively miserable. Immediately, Arthain’s stomach tightened- was it indeed Melost who had seen himself and Anwanelme? Was he so angry about it? Dismounting smoothly, he left his horse with Dorlas and went to talk with Melost. But as he was just coming up behind him, his tread carefully quiet (even his feet were trying not to seek an argument), he spotted movement further across- it had been obscured from his view before because of the group of elves who stood here, but now Arthain could see and was amazed- he couldn’t contain a small gasp, even as he laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder. The mounted elves moved with such elegance, moving as one, as if all part of one huge, gleaming, beautiful beast, as if a huge silver dragon had been turned to good and had therefore become this elegant, but still potentially dangerous animal, with such elegance in her scales, and yet in her claws as well. And in front of them, the head of this beast, was Gil-galad, his armour just as splendid as when Arthain had seen it previously.

“Melost, they are incredible!”

Melost had almost jumped under his friend’s touch, but now smiled, although there was such a sadness in his smile that Arthain only began to wonder even more. "Aye, my friend... and you have become Elf-quiet, to slip up on me like that. It is good to have you here. I have something to tell you..."

Melost drew his friend away from where the other elves stood, and Arthain’s concern grew- what was wrong with his friend? The sadness in his eyes made Arthain realise how old he truly was in man years, and all the wisdom, and the burdens, of that time seemed to have suddenly come to rest on the elf. Arthain opened his mouth to ask what was the reason for this terrible sadness, and a smile began to form on his lips as he was about to make a light comment, to try to make his friend smile and to lessen his woe, but Melost began to speak first. "Arthain, this I will tell you, for I can tell no one else and you are dearer than a brother to me."

Arthain’s guilt deepened as he thought of Anwanelme, but Melost pressed on further before he could comment or apologise.

"I have foreseen my death, therefore, it remains to me now to set my life in order."

Death?! Arthain was too shocked to reply for a moment, Words began to form on his lips, to tell Melost not to think such things, to tell him it was just nerves maybe, to tell him everything would be ok…even if these things were lies, Arthain would have gladly told them to his dear friend. But as Melost turned, the tears shining in his eyes glittered suddenly in the sun, and these insubstantial words died on Arthain’s lips before they were even born. He took his friend’s hand, but Melost still continued, fishing in his tunic as he did so. "I cannot marry the Lady Anwanelme, not if it will leave her so soon bereft a husband, therefore when I am dead, return this to her.”

Removing his own hand, he placed an exquisite, inlaid stone in Arthain’s palm in its place. Arthain took in the elegant piece, still too shocked to speak, for he recognised this- it was the stone, given at Anwanelme and Melost’s betrothal, from her to him. Melost had proudly shown it to Arthain when he first told him of his wife-to-be. Arthain’s eyes went up again to Melost’s face, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Tell her that I have treasured it as I treasured the thought of our lives together, but that it is not to be. Say nothing of this to her, I beg you. Let me tell her, for this parting will be a grievous one, I fear."

“…it is not to be…” Not to be? Melost and Anwanelme not to be? The words shocked Arthain deeply- he had never even contemplated that Melost would not marry the woman he so obviously adored. And Anwanelme…Arthain could imagine all too well what she would feel when he, the unlucky messenger, would have to give the stone to her. Despite her frequent coldness, and the circumstances in which their marriage had come about, it was obvious at Anwanelme cared for Melost as deeply as he cared for her. She would be heart broken.

Arthain thought to say all this, to protest, but in Melost’s eyes he once again saw that old, deep sadness. He simply embraced him, clumsily. Many beginnings of sentences welled up to his lips as he did so, and for a moment he simply stood, the possibilities of sentences hanging there as to how, and why, and when…


"These are…” Arthain’s voice seemed croaky when he began, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “These are heavy tidings you have for me this day, old friend. I will honour your request and say nothing to her of this.”

Melost nodded tightly, and smiled at Arthain in his sad way, but seemed relieved anyway that he had got this done. Before Arthain could make enough sense of his confused mind to make a reply to Melost’s thanks, the elf was gone, leaving Arthain to finish readying himself. But Arthain was already ready, and just as well- all he was able to do was stare after his friend, holding in his palm the stone that would break Anwanelme’s heart...

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Maikadilwen]

Having spent the rest of the night on her bed, thinking about what had happened between them, Anwanelme left it to others to prepare for the journey ahead. She knew her mother would come by her chamber soon and she would undoubtedly go through all her belongings anyway, so she didn't bother to even cast a glance at any of it.
Instead she went for a walk through Imladris, taking in the sight of the place she had thought of as her home for some time now, wondering what would be 'home' once she and Melost had been wed.

A sigh escaped her as she once again thought about their quarrel and part of her regretted being so harsh. She knew he loved her, in fact there was no doubt in her mind that he did. And she cared for him as well.
Leaving the room in order to search for her betrothed, Anwanelme heard her mother's voice and though she couldn't yet see her, she could hear that she was coming closer and swiftly she fled down the hallways and into the open.
She was not in the mood for her mother at the moment, at least not before she had spoken with Melost.

Once outside Anwanelme was struck with the vision of troops, riding and marching forth and she stood for a moment in awe, feeling like a child again as she remembered seeing the great host of Nargothrond ride out many years earlier.
It was a beautiful sight and yet it made her feel sad. She had seen too much war in her life and much of her own family had been lost to it.

With a sigh she turned away from the magnificent sight and went in search of Melost.
She had nearly given up when she finally saw him and that he was speaking with Arthain. Knowing that they needed to talk as well, she decided to wait and she stood watching them from afar, happy that their friendship was that strong. Melost needed someone that close.
They embraced each other and the depth of their friendship was obvious to her. Feeling a sting in her heart she suddenly realised that although she and Melost were to wed and he loved her, they would never be this close. He had not even told her about Arthain and yet Arthain knew about her.

When they finally parted and left to do some final preparations, Anwanelme followed Melost, running as fast as she could to catch up with him.
Though she was light-footed, Melost still heard her and he turned toward her before she was even close.
The look on his face when he saw her was far from pleasant and she stopped, standing for a moment just looking at him as if asking for permission to step any closer. Finally he reached out his hand and she threw herself into his arms, all her anger gone.

"Please forgive me. I acted like a child. I had no right to say what I did."

The pleading look in her eyes nearly melted his heart and once again Melost remembered why he had accepted this betrothal in the first place. With a sad smile he gazed at her, playing with her hair as he became lost in thought. There was no easy way for him to tell her what he wanted to.

What right do I have to do this to her? Who am I to shatter her dreams? How can I deny her the happiness I saw in her eyes only yesterday when she told me about the future she is hoping for?

He was ripped out of his thoughts by a kiss and for a moment he wished for nothing but to stay with her, well knowing that he alone would make no difference in the war against Sauron, but realising that he could never do that, he pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"My love, there is something I need to tell you...."

Before he could go on, they heard someone approach and they both turned as Thelian cleared his throat. Melost sighed aloud. Of all time in Arda, of course he must choose now... he thought and his grey eyes looked like thunderclouds when he glared at Thelian, having no intention of hiding his irritation. "Yes?"
Thelian swallowed hard when he met Melost's gaze but then he took a deep breath.

"I am sorry to interrupt but the escort is nearly ready and you are needed there."

Anwanelme tried as well as she could to hide her disappointment and she flashed Melost a bright smile and kissed him lightly.
"I will go see to Menelya." she said, leaving Melost to gaze after her as she walked back the way she came.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Slowly the troops marched along, with a host of cavalry in front, elves as well as humans. There was much talk amongst the two groups, for the horses of Númenor was beautiful, and greatly admired by the elves. Elendil in the front, mounted on his warhorse, was a magnificient sight, a giant amongst the men his bodyguard consisted of, in full plate mail and with his sword Narsil hanging in its scabbard.

Whenever his troops looked at him, their hearts were filled with courage, for they knew that none wielded the deadly blade of Narsil better than their High King.
Next Elendil rode Isildur, but then another group of horsemen overtook them; Gil-galad and his elite troops. Isildur rode off, muttering an excuse about checking if the scouts returned, and left Elendil to meet the elven king.

Gil-galad was in no less splendor than Elendil, and his armour shone like the star that had given him his name. He held Aeglos in his right hand, and Elendil knew that the Gil-galad was no less dangerous than Elendil with Narsil. Gil-galad's horse fell into the same pace as Elendil's, and they exchanged greetings.

"Soon, we will need to pass through the Hithaeglir. And then, Oropher will join us either when we reach the Anduin, or at Loth-lorien." Gil-galad said, and looked at Elendil, who nodded.

"My heart is glad, to see your troops among mine, and the many allies the elves draw is joyous news. My scouts are already searching for the best passages through the mountainchain. My son Isildur just left me to find out what they have discovered. Speaking of which, what do you think of my son?" Elendil asked, not without hesitation, not being sure if Gil-galad had noticed Isildur's hostility towards the elves.

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

His heart heavy with grief at what he must do, Melost watched until she was out of sight, then turned and made his way to where Thelian and their horses waited. A dozen women were in the group, along with two heavily-laden carts pulled by large draft horses Thelian had persuaded some of Isildur's soldiers to let him borrow. Despite his sorrow Melost had to grin. HIs kinsman was far too wily for his own good sometimes and he was grateful for Thelian's resourcefulness.

Two horses, one a cream-coloured palfrey with an intricately braided mane was led up, his intelligent gaze and easy manner declared itself to be Menelya's horse. The other was a fiery light-boned creature that stepped daintily as though walking on egg-shells. Night-black and brushed to a sheen, Melost was drawn to the little stallion, knowing that he had to be Anwenemle's horse. He remembered the few times that they had ridden out together and how he had admired her way with the animals. He sighed as he caressed the silken muzzle. "Iluvatar...how can I do this, now that I have seen that she in truth still cares? Yet I have foreseen my end. Mighty One...grant me the strength."

A sudden sound of bickering fell on his ears and he turned to see Anwenelme and her mother at last coming to finish out their group. The other women smirked and tried not to appear amused, but failed miserably. They knew well that Menelya was not happy with the arrangements and exactly what she thought of Galadriel. This ride would prove to be most entertaining!

Melost bowed to Menelya as she swept up to him, confrontation written all over her face. He took her hand and complimented her on her punctuality, then led her to her horse, took her by the waist and placed her in the saddle. She flushed with annoyance, yet felt flattered that he had attended to her personally. She smiled at him briefly, then urged her horse over to join the others ladies.

Thelian, Arthain and Dorlas mounted swiftly as Melost went to join Anwenelme. She smiled, her love for him there for all to see. He gritted his teeth, then smiled in return. He hesitated but a moment, then took her in his arms and kissed her with all the love in his soul, knowing that this would be the last time their lips would touch. As he pulled away from her slowly, not wanting to release her, he saw tears standing in her eyes. "I have always wanted you to hold me like this, Melost." she whispered as she rested her head on his chest. The pain in his soul was almost too much for him and he kissed her forehead, then lifted her up into the saddle. His hand rested on her waist briefly, then he kissed her hand, his lips lingering there. He felt her other hand caress his hair and he looked up into her eyes. "Soon my beloved, soon you will know all that is in my heart." he said. She smiled down at him as he went to his horse and mounted in one graceful movement. he nodded to Thelian and they began their journey south-ward.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas yawned as the group began their road south, tired from lack of sleep and his drinking the night before, but also a bit disappointed that he would be escorting a group of women to Lothlorien instead of taking the more exciting route with the army progress. Dorlas kicked his heels, sending his horse trotting up towards where Thelian was. Dorlas had already dismissed his aprehension towards the Elven squire, for Melost's outburst was not his fault. Besides, Dorlas had no one else to speak with besides Arthain, because he was nearly certain that the elven women would not care to speak to a young human boy.

"I spend one day and night in a beautiful place like Rivendell, waste it on getting hopelessly drunk, and then leave quicker than I arrived," Dorlas mused aloud when he came to ride next to Thelian. The Elven squire chuckled, recalling the human's craziness from the night before.

"At least you didn't have to wake up and ride in the middle of the night. That is what you were complaining about before," Thelian pointed out, eyes focused on the thickets and sparse shrubland ahead.

"I suppose. Not only that, there are plenty of beautiful women for company. Even if some or most are a few thousand years older than I am. Do you think I still have a chance? I think she likes me," chuckled Dorlas, trying to sound serious between snickering. Thelian laughed and shoved the human boy jokingly.

"I think Anwenelme might have already warned her friends about you. If she hasn't, Menelya certainly has!" replied Thelian, looking back at the women behind them.

"I have no doubt of that. Someone probably caught you dragging me away last night only half concsious, gurgling out tavern songs, and burping like a troll." Dorlas admitted. Then his voice became suddenly serious and somber. "But I rather think I might have been better off going with the troops to war. My place is not here guarding a group of Elven women."

"You are too young for such a life. It is not your time to go out and get yourself killed, Dorlas. There will still be evil left whether we win this war or not, so even if you miss out now, there will be exciting battles for you yet, I garuntee it," said Thelian ruefully, wondering if the world ever would be fully free of war and evil.

[Cuthalion]

Gil-galad gazed long at Elendil, seeing him for the first time not as Elf-friend or warrior, but as a father. A father concerned for his son. The question had taken him off-guard and he took a moment to reflect on what he had seen of Isildur. Taking the High King's hesitation for awkwardness, Elendil sighed. "Forgive me Gil-galad, I had forgotten that you have no sons of your own. Why then should you take an interest in mine?"

"Nay, my friend. All that are of your blood concern me. I did not gift you with the name of Elf-friend for naught. To my great regret I have sired no children, for my destiny has drawn me down another path, yet in your sons I see greatness and darkness." Elendil glanced at Gil-galad sharply. "Darkness?. What is this you speak of ? Do you foresee my sons...dead?" The strain in his voice cause Gil-galad to instantly regret his words, but he could bring them back and so he plunged on. "Nay, Elendil...not death. Say rather a darkness of the soul. Anarion is of good and noble heart, yet Isildur, Isildur seeks more than protection for his people, in his heart he seeks greatness. I fear it will be his down-fall."

Elendil's horse tossed his head as he champed at the bit and Elendil reached out to slap his neck companionably. "Easy, old friend! The time will come when you can use strength, be patient!" Gil-galad's words had gone straight to his heart, for he knew his son all too well. Isildur could be very strong-willed and opinionated, yet as a father Elendil had always hoped he would temper that with reason and good council. He turned to look at the Elf beside him. "Your words ring true, as always. He is a joy to me, yet he has always been stubborn to excess."

"I do not wish to cause you pain, Elendil. That was never my intention..and yet I fear for us all, as Elves and Men together. Look at them Elendil! See the grand sight they make as they journey together toward what will most probably certain death. Yet many will live...and should we succeed, what then will become of the Alliance? I have seen your son's eyes whenever I am with you. he is jealous and I fear that that jealousy will not bring our peoples any closer." Gil-galad turned to look back over the Host, his eyes taking in the magnificent sight of banner from all Houses and allegiances swelled his heart within his breast. Hope and sadness threatened to overwhelm him and he had to turn from the sight. Elendil reached out a hand to steady him.
"Mandos, so many lives I will send to your halls...possibly even mine. All these of Iluvatar's children, perhaps thrown away for naught. Ai! Would it had never come to this." Gil-galad thought as he looked to Elendil in gratitude.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil thought about Gil-galad's words. They made his heart bleed, because he knew the truth in them. Yet he had asked for Gil-galad's opinion, and the elf had answered truly, like a good friend should.

He thought about his two sons; Anarion, always seemed to be in the shadow of his brother. Yet he fought valiantly to defend Gondor, and he always put himself at risk rather than put others in danger.

Isildur was, as Gil-galad had seen, a man who had ambitions, and desired greatness. These ambitions had made him save the White Tree in Númenor, and when Elendil thought of that great act of courage, that Isildur had performed, his heart was eased. He turned and faced Gil-galad again as they rode on.

"You are right, my friend, in your judgement of my sons. I only hope that Isildur will learn wisdom, and that his gentle brother will influence him; for they love each other dearly, and Isildur has always heeded his advice, even above mine."

Gil-galad could feel some bitterness in that last statement; He guessed that Elendil was sad that he did not have a better relationship with his son. But any further thoughts on this subject were stopped, when a scout approached them.

"We have found several routes through the mountain, and lord Isildur has already begun sending the soldiers through." The two High Kings spurred their horses forward, one of them lamenting his lack of sons, the other lamenting the difference of his sons.

[ July 01, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

The day had dawned gloriously, with white clouds rampant on a field of clearest blue as the small company set out. Thelian and Dorlas were riding rear-guard, much to the delight of Dorlas, who kept his eyes firmly fixed on Menelya's servant-girl, while Arthain and Melost rode at the head or opposite flanks of their charges as they watched their surroundings closely for any sign of enemy, particularily orc-ish encroachment.

The Hithaeglir rose tall, strong battlements against the outside world, on their left and the Bruinen could be discerned leaping its way south-ward on their right. Added to this was the merry laughter and hushed whispers of the ladies as they chattered and gossipped with each other. As Melost watched them idlely, it occurred to him that he really shouldn't be feeling as morose as he had been. Perhaps under-lying thoughts and fears had so far clouded his mind as to cause this darkness to cover his soul. He reflected also on his treatment of Arthain. Arthain had acted with all honour toward Anwenelme and yet Melost had felt threatened. He resolved to speak with Arthain again that night.

He tightened his knees as he urged his horse forward, only to be over-taken by Arthain himself who was in a glorious mood. "Melost! This land is more beautiful than I had imagined it to be." His eyes shone as his horse pranced impatiently along-side that of Melost, eager to be off. "After the war, I would love to settle down in a place like this. Fertile soil...clean water." Melost grinned at him. "Just to the south it is said there are men who live on the wide open plains and have the most intelligent and fastest horses in all of Arda. I'm certain you would like to see them one day, would you not?" Arthain laughed aloud, "Of course I would! You know me well, in fact, let us go and see them together after the war, what do you say?"

The openness and joy on Arthain's face put to shame the questions in Melost's heart. He reached out and clasped arms with Arthain. "After the war...." he said with a note of sadness in his voice. "Let Arthain have this dream. It may be that such dreams will carry him safely through the horrors which are yet to come." As they rode and talked, A rider broke away from the group of ladies and came to join them. Arthain whistled in appreciation. "She rides well, Melost. You are to be envied. She has beauty and a quick wit..." He then turned to Melost and looked at him keenly. "Are you certain you do not wish to marry her? Do not do or say something in haste, my friend and lose that which you treasure." Melost returned his gaze, seeing the depth of concern that Arthain has for him. "I will think on your words, Arthain. Yet the dilemma before me becomes no easier. I thank you for your wise council, my friend."

Anwenelme rode up to them, her cheeks flushed with the morning air. "Greetings, my fine nobles! Is the day not delightful?" Melost felt his heart melt at the sight of her, her hair loose and blowing in the gentle breeze that blew off the mountains. "How can I in love chain her to one who is already dead? I cannot..." Melost smiled back at her, then held out his hand. "Come, ride beside me. Let us enjoy this day together, for all too soon...I feel there will be a change."

[ June 30, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

Having had enough of listening to her mother gossipping with her friends, Anwanelme spotted Melost and Arthain talking up ahead and she urged her horse forward and rode up to them, greeting them both with a bright smile, her heart beating faster as Melost smiled back at her and reached out his hand.

"Come, ride beside me. Let us enjoy this day together, for all too soon...I feel there will be a change."

Taking his hand, Anwanelme could only wonder what he had meant and she was surprised by the force with which he held on to her, as if he was afraid she would disappear did he not keep her here by his side.

They rode on for a while and Anwanelme mused a little over the strange behaviour her betrothed had shown during this short while he had been with her now.
Why had he reacted the way he had when he had seen her speak with Arthain? She had been waiting for him for so long. He should know by now that had she wanted anyone else, she would have chosen someone already. But there was no need for such thoughts now. He had come back to her and they were soon to be wed. And she would be free of her mother.

A satisfied smile appeared on her face at this thought and she turned her face toward Melost, but her smile soon disappeared when she saw that he wasn't even looking her way but was talking with Arthain.
Why had he asked her to ride next to him if he wasn't going to spend time with her? Was it just so he would know where she was?
His thoughts and accusations the night before came back to her mind and she sighed heavily.
She noticed that the sound made Melost look at her, smiling as he gently squeezed her hand and she smiled back, delighted that he seemed to remember that she was here as well.

At the sound of Menelya's angry voice they looked at each other and Anwanelme sighed, knowing too well her mother's feelings about this journey.
"If you do not wish to listen to this for the rest of the day, I suggest we make a short break so the ladies can rest." she said and Melost knew she was right. The only way to silence Menelya once she was in this mood, was to follow her will and so he called for a halt.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya sat down, satisfied, as the group halted and allowed her lady-friends and herself a brief rest. She sat down and looked around. As she had hardly ever been out of Imladris since she arrived all those years ago as a young Elf maiden with Anwaelme as a mere child, Menelya had already lost her general sense of where they were. She could tell their direction, she thought, by the sun, but it felt as though they had travelled an extraordinary distance already.

She smiled to herself at her good fortune. She noticed that Anwaelme had travelled with Melost most of the way so far. That meant that things were going well. Soon, Menelya thought, things would be perfect. Anwaelme and, in turn, Menelya, would benefit greatly by this joining. But it was all for Anwaelme's benefit, of course.

"Are we nearly there?" Menelya asked, turning to Thelian, who she saw not too far away. Thelian merely gave her a surprised look.

"No, dear lady, we are not," he said.

"Very well. Be off then," Menelya said, going back to the conversation she was having with her female friends.

"How far do you suppose we are?" one woman asked, "This heat is beginning to kill me. And I do not have nearly enough supplies with me. What if I need to change gowns? There are all these men around."

"They did not let you take everything you wanted either?" Menelya asked, "They have some nerve, do they not?"

The women twittered on for some time. Menelya caught the other travellers giving them confused and sometimes even annoyed glances. Her own dagger-like expressions quelled these utterly rude displays.

After some time, the women were called. They were told they must continue on. Every one of them complained that the wait had been too short. It felt as though they had only rested for a brief while. The ladies were not used to travelling and could not be expected to endure the heat and athletic demands made of them.

However, a short time later, Menelya found herself and her friends on the road again. They were quiet for some time, as they moved along fairly dejectedly. Soon, however, they were back to their old, obnoxious twittering.

[ July 01, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

When the halt was called, Arthain stayed hopefully on his horse as she drummed her feet impatiently on the spot. She was a beautiful steed, named Meren after the hill nearby a small, little known village near Gondor upon which, on a windy, rather wet morning, when he had strayed up there to get some solace for his thoughts, Arthain had met his wife.

The captain was as eager as the mare to get going, but it soon became obvious that Menelya and her gaggle of friends intended to stay for a longer than a little break and, trying not to let his impatience show for fear he would be accused of being rude, as some of the other men were, for no apparent reason, Arthain dismounted elegantly. Dorlas led Meren and his own horse away to where other squires were watering their horses. The squire looked relieved to get away with something purposeful to do, as that meant he was not left open to comments from the twittering elven women, and Arthain would have liked to go with him, but he sensed some attention on him, and turned to see Menelya and a few women looking at him and speaking quietly to one another. One of them looked sharply at Arthain, then seemed to exclaim incredulously something in elvish which Arthain did not catch, and the others laughed in what seemed to be a nasty way to Arthain. He refused to let it bother him though- the little gaggle of women just had their feathers ruffled because they hadn't been able to bring all of their flouncy dresses and expensive jewellery. The man instead nodded his head courteously to Menelya and in return recieved a similar nod in reply, and a flicker of a smile, before she returned to her friends.

Turning, Arthain looked around to where Melost and Anwanelme were standing together. Arthain let his gaze drift down and saw they were holding hands tightly. The captain smiled- Melost was indeed holding onto what he still had. The captain just hoped fervently, for his close friend's sake, that he would indeed take Arthain's words to heart, and would continue to hold onto the precious gem that was Anwanelme.

[ July 01, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil rode on, in a steady pace. He patted his great stallion affectionally, and then turned his gaze backwards. Behind them, the Misty Mountains rose in their majesty, knowing no rivals to their great height. He was glad to have this part of the journey behind him, and looked forward at seeing Loth-lorien.

When he thought about Loth-lorien, his thoughts began to dwell at Lindon, where he so many years ago had landed, carried by the great tidal wave. He had feared how his reception had been; The númenorians had grown hostile of the elves, and he did not know how Gil-galad would respond. Yet his fears were in vain.

Gil-galad had welcomed him with open arms, or with an embrace to be more correct, and treated him like he was his own brother returning. He knew well of the hardship the Faithful had had in Númenor, and nor had he forgotten the aid he had received once. Elendil had been overwhelmed by his hospitality, and had only wished that Isildur had experienced it. That might have changed his attitude towards the elves.

He was not able to think more about the past, though, because present affairs demanded his attention. The major part of the army was still behind him, having just passed the mountainpassages, and when he saw numerous soldiers whom he could not recognise he became afraid; they were in a bad position to defend themselves.

But his fears were disspelled when a messenger from Gil-galad came and explained: Oropher and the Mirkwood Elves had joined them sooner than expected. Oropher had deemed it wisest to join the Alliance troops earlier than Loth-lorien, and his silvan elves now came in great numbers and greeted their kin from Eriador.

Elendil could easily distinguish the silvan elves from Gil-galad's troops; their clothing and armour were more attuned to the woods, and much more simple. They were not a splendid sight like the Lindon soldiers, but they appeared to be more harmonic.

He rode forward, and saw Gil-galad in conversation with two elves, whom Elendil guessed was Oropher and his son Thranduil. It seemed like there was some disagreement. When the three elves split and the army continued its march, Elendil joined Gil-galad and questioned him about the meeting.

"I am a noldo elf, though that may not mean anything to you. But Oropher is from the sindar branch of the elves, and not fond of the noldorne. It is in the past, but Oropher seems unwilling to let himself be commanded by me. And I doubt, for all your qualities, he will accept you." Gil-galad spoke the last sentence with hesitation, yet he would not lie or hide anything from Elendil.

He, in turn, was not touched by Gil-galad's words. He had accepted the differences between elves and men, and was to old to be affected by such things. Instead, he thought about what could have divided the elves such, and how this would affect the Alliance. His face revealed nothing, but in his heart he knew that disagreement would only cause greater losses than needed to achieve victory.

[Cuthalion]

Late afternoon found them well on their way and the ladies, despite their earlier protests at being taken from their luxuries in Imladris, actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. The fresh air and clear skies had improved their spirits immensely and to Melost's great relief, they all appeared to be excellent riders. Anwenelme rode slightly ahead of he and Arthain and he could not help but admire her as she sat her horse confidently, she even occasionally drifted over to speak briefly with her mother, who glanced over at Melost with a twinkle in her eye. Melost sighed deeply. He could put it off no longer.

"Arthain, I entrust the mountain-side to your keen eyes, my friend. I need to speak with Anwenelme privately. Arthain's interest was piqued by the strain in Melosts's voice, but he chose to remain silent and merely nodded. Melost urged his horse forward to ride beside that of Anwenelme. She smiled at him slyly as he came up beside her. "Would you care for a race, my lord? My lovely here is more than ready for some excitement!" She leaned down and stroked the silken mane and the horse danced sideways. Anwenelme controlled him easily and brought him back to Melost's side. "You are a magnificent horse-woman, beloved. The match of any of Gil-galad's cavalry I deem." He started to reach out to her, then thought better of it. "We need to speak of the future Anwenelme, yours and mine. I...have given it much thought and I feel it would be best if we waited until this final battle is..." He got no further, for he was stopped by a resounding slap. He wheeled to face her and he was taken aback by the ice-cold fury that met his gaze and her face had gone absolutely white. "How dare you! How dare you tell me this after all the years I have waited endlessly for you?" She turned to ride off, but he reached down and snatched the reins from her hands.

"Listen to me woman...and this time, hear me! I love you...I love you more than my own life. Yet what kind of husband would I be that leaves his wife so soon for the halls of Mandos? I have foreseen my death, Anwenelme! Therefore how can I do this to you?" She was trembling and he felt as though his world had just been destroyed, yet he pressed on. "Should I by some chance be spared, it would be my greatest honour to take you as my wife, but as it stands..."

She smiled at him coldly as tears unshed sparkled in her eyes. "Melost the Honourable, Melost the Gracious, Melost the Fool! You have taken my hopes and dashed them into innumerabls shards. I can never forgive you!" She spat the words at him and he released the reins to her. She gathered them up, turned and raced away toward the back of the company, the sound of her sobs ringing in his ears.

Melost felt as though he had been dealt a fatal spear-thrust as he looked up into the setting sun. He knew he should call a halt for the night, but his mind had gone totally numb with pain...He tried to find solace in petitioning Manwe, but for the first time, his prayers would not come.

[ July 03, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya had been riding not too far away from the confrontation. She saw her daughter drift away from Melost as the quiet struggle ended. Quickly, the nosy woman rode over to her daughter, who still had icy diamonds staining her flawless skin. Anwaelme made no move to block her mother's approach, apparently having given up on nearly everything after this rejection by her lover. Menelya took a breath and began to speak quietly, a rare thing for the Elf to do.

"Daught-...Anwaelme," Menelya said, addressing her daughter by her name. The Elf maiden turned, not used to this quiet tone from her mother, "I heard what just transpired."

"How could you not?" the girl said quietly, "It happened but feet from where you were listening."

"Anwaelme, listen to me. You must not let him get away. You must fight for what is rightfully yours," Menelya said, a desperate tinge in her voice as she struggled to keep it low.

"And how is it mine, Mother?" Anwaelme asked in a patronizing voice, looking at the Elf woman, "Most of this was your doing. And anyway, I shall not let you force us into doing something we do not desire."

"If children knew what was right for them..." Menelya began coldly, but then changed her direction, "You love Melost, yes?"

"Is that my love or yours, Mother?" came the answer.

Menelya paused, thinking of how to verbalize what she wanted to say. Inside, she was boiling. How could this man reject Anwaelme? After all Menelya had done, for the engagement to be called off would be a travesty. It would embarrass the whole family, too, for such a thing to happen. Menelya and Anwaelme were so close to that life they - well, at least Menelya - needed. That life was what was best for Anwaelme as well. If Anwaelme could not see it...well, she would know that it was what she desired once she finally obtained that lifestyle.

"Are we finished, Mother?" Anwaelme said, a slightly stronger tinge of annoyance in her voice now.

"No, we are not, Anwaelme," Menelya said, "If you cannot see that Melost is the best selection for you, then you are not as intelligent as you make yourself out to be. You need him. He needs you. I cannot put it into any simpler language, you stupid girl."

"That is certainly the way to win back my affection, Mother," Anwaelme said with bitter sarcasm tinging her words, "Calling me 'stupid' always just makes me feel absolutely lovely towards you. If you love Melost so much and think that he should be a part of the family, why do you not marry him? My feeling for Melost extends only as simple caring, if that even at this time. I do not feel what is necessary for love or marriage. You are the one who is creating the entire relationship and now you expect us to be grateful to you? Forcing both of us will only drive us away further from you than we already are."

Menelya struggled not to blow up at the girl, but was beginning to lose her temper completely.

"You selfish swine," Menelya said bitterly, remembering only after she said the words to keep her voice down, "If you will not straighten things out, then I will."

Menelya moved to ride towards Melost. She saw that it was nearing the time when they should make camp for the night. However, no one had suggested the camp. The women behind them were twittering and cackling like excited hens, continuing to gossip about everyone they knew.

Anwaelme reached out and grasped her mother tightly. Menelya turned and could see the look of fury in her daughter's face.

"If you move towards that man, Mother..." Anwaelme, said, trailing off.

"What shall you do, Anni?" Menelya asked, using the nickname that she knew Anwaelme would hate.

"I shall leave," Anwaelme said simply. She continued, "I shall ride off right now. I care not where I ride: I shall ride merely to be rid of you, Melost, and this entire disgusting predicament. I shall leave you once and for all. You shall be nowhere without me, Mother. Your status in society is waning. You know that as well as I do. You shall grow older and older with your idiotic friends and soon all you will have left are those trolls riding behind us and giggling. Is that how you want to spend the rest of this world's existence?"

Menelya looked at the cold girl, wondering if she should believe what she was saying. The look in Anwaelme's eyes said everything, though. If Menelya dared to make any moves towards Melost, Anwaelme would most certainly bolt. Menelya knew that Anwaelme was typically an Elf maiden that kept her word. Looking first at Melost, then back into Anwaelme's eyes, Menelya gave a sigh. It was not worth risking the loss of her daughter for the man. He would come to her senses, Menelya assured herself. No one could resist Anwaelme. Anyway, it was fate, Menelya could feel it. The two were deeply in love. Maybe...just maybe...when she next got out of Anwaelme's sight and Melost was alone. Yes, Menelya would just have to wait until she could corner the soldier alone. She would have to have more conversations with Anwaelme at a later time as well. The girl was irrational now. If Menelya just waited a few days...yes, that would be wise...

"Shall we be stopping soon?" one of the ladies asked, sounding much like a cawing crow in her calling. Her shout broke Menelya out of her thoughts and her plotting. Menelya looked back viciously at the woman, who quickly shut her mouth and turned to whisper to the other women, most likely about Menelya.

Anwaelme was right. If she was not careful, Menelya would not only lose all of the status she possessed, she would also lose her Elf friends.

It was settled, then: Menelya would have to interfere quietly if she interfered at all from that time forward. Her silence would be of the utmost importance. Menelya rode alongside the stony Anwaelme, pondering the best way to join the two children again. If not for Anwaelme, the joining was now essential to the slightly frantic Menelya and her shrinking social level.

[ July 04, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Anwenelme raced past Arthain so close he could feel the breeze, but she did not look up, her head bowed low; all Arthain saw was the glitter of tears in her eyes and on her pale cheeks. He closed his eyes, and lowered his head, biting his lip. Melost was doing it for a good reason, of that he had been sure, and the ringing of her slapping Melost still stung as if he himself had been slapped...but she was so tragic looking, her face deadly pale in shock and anger, the tears flowing down her cheeks, the sound of her sobbing quieting as she tried to stop, to hold herself up in front of her mother but still audible. And the pain in her voice had over ridden the anger.

Looking up again, Arthain saw Melost alone, on his horse, staring after his beloved. In his expression was confusion and hurt, but more than that, there was pain. Not the pain from his cheek where it was already an angry red, but the pain that Arthain had felt himself in his heart when he himself had lost his sweet one, his Yilsa. And in that moment, Arthain knew exactly how his friend felt; although their circumstances were slightly different, the pain of losing one so dear would remain the same, a deep, aching throb that beat inside your heart, with your very heart even, making it throb to the rhythm of the pain that will never go away.

Melost turned his eyes to Arthain, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and his fingertips brushing his cheek where Anwenelme's hand had slapped it- the rest of his face was as pale as hers. She would be feeling the same pain, but in her own feelings would lie betrayal as well, the betrayal of the heart. But Melost turned away now, riding ahead silently, alone with his thoughts, his prayers, and his pain, while behind, Anwenelme vented out her anger at her mother, her pain turning to anger- anger that she couldn't do a thing against this, and that hurt even worse. So much pain from both of them, pain that he himself could feel as if it was the day he had learnt of Yilsa's death, and yet Arthain couldn't do a thing to comfort either of them.

Sighing, he shook his head and let a tear of his own fall for his friends, both old and new. Amidst the silence of both the elves breaking hearts, the group rode on into the evening to the camp.

When they reached the camp, still Arthain was powerless. In silence, Melost left his horse with Thelian and departed swiftly without a word into his tent, while Arthain gazed helplessly after him. He should go after his friend...but behind him, without even looking around, Arthain could feel Anwenelme watching him, could feel her gaze scorhcing the back of his neck with white hot, hurt-fuelled anger. He couldn't go after Melost without hurting Anwenelme, and he couldn't comfort Anwenelme without doing even more damage to Melost. With a heavy heart, Arthain saw to his horse and went, alone, to his own tent.

[ July 05, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Thelian patted Melost's horse quietly before starting to put him away for the night. He had heard briefly some of what was said earlier that evening, as had nearly all who were travelling, and the conversations seemed to have wearied him. As the others prepared for the night, Thelian sat down.

"Do you want something?" asked the cold voice. Thelian gave in inward sigh. Leave it to him to accidentally sit next to Menelya.

"No, my Lady," he said, "I was merely resting."

Thelian jumped up and began to make ready for the night himself. He made sure to stay as far away from Menelya as possible.

Thelian saw to both Melost's and his own supplies, then went about pulling together a meager meal for himself, finally sitting next to Menelya, who glared at him briefly. She was, oddly enough, sitting alone. The large meal she had in front of her made up for the lack of company, apparently, and the Elf woman was soon eating the large serving in front of her.

**********

Once they stopped for the night, Menelya had her things taken down for her. She also ordered a meal to be made up. Menelya sat down, waiting impatiently for her food. Suddenly, a figure sat next to her. Menelya gave a biting comment, and Thelian arose.

Nearby, the other women sat, waiting for food. They spoke and twittered as always. Menelya tried to make casual conversation with them, but they shunned her. Menelya sighed and went back over to her original seat. Anwaelme's prophesy was coming to pass even more quickly than she imagined. Menelya was losing her place in society even as they travelled. The Elf woman received her food and looked at it for a while, unsure she wanted to eat now.

Thelian came back and sat next to her, eating a small meal. Melian suddenly gained her appetite back: she was still higher than Thelian, after all. She dug into her meal and the two ate next to each other in accepting silence.

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme felt as though she was trapped in an evil dream and she simply followed the others as they made halt for the night. Someone gently took the reins from her and let her horse away but she didn't see who did it, nor did she care.
Turning, she saw Melost leave his horse with Thelian and disappear into a tent and Arthain stood gazing after him. He seemed less than surprised about what had happened and Anwanelme couldn't help but wonder why.
Did he know? Had Melost told him what had been on his mind? Did he approve?
After seeing to his horse, Arthain left and disappeared into another tent and Anwanelme sighed and turned to walk away after casting a glance on Melost's tent.

She found a spot away from the others and there she sat down brooding, her expression so dark that even her mother kept her distance.
The pain inside had been replaced by a numb feeling and only anger remained.
She had lost not only her future but also someone she had considered a friend. Her only friend. He had taken it all from her with his words and now she had nothing.

Barely noticing the rest of the camp withdrawing for the night, Anwanelme remained where she was, sitting alone in the dark, thinking of her ill fortune.
So much time had been wasted. For so long she had been waiting for him. He had promised he would wed her when he came back. And now that he had finally come back, he had rejected and dishonoured her instead. So much time... He had promised...

The sound of voices nearby ripped her out of her thoughts and and she noticed a yawning Dorlas leaving the tent he, as his squire, shared with Arthain. A vague smile appeared on Anwanelme's lips. so, the boy had been called on duty to guard the camp. That meant Arthain was alone.
Slowly she rose, having decided to seek out Arthain. Perhaps he could cast some light on Melost's decision and she had to admit to herself that his company was much to prefer over that of her mother. Her mother...
Menelya would hate to know that her daughter sought the company of a mortal, a man even, over that of her own mother and that knowledge made her smile to herself as she went to Arthain's tent and softly pushed the flap aside and looked inside.

Arthain was sound asleep and Anwanelme stood for a moment watching him. She knew she should leave, that it was wrong to stand here, shamelessly watching him as he slept.
Turning her head, she looked toward the tent where she knew Melost were and she suddenly remembered his words and suspicions and she wondered if there had been something about it. She thought she had seen something in Arthains eyes the few times they had spoken but she had thought no more about it. Could it be...?
She looked back at the sleeping form of the man. How would he react if...

Arthain suddenly opened his eyes a little, startling her and she turned to leave, but before she managed to move, his sleepy voice stopped her.

"Yilsa?"

Anwanelme stood for a moment, unable to move but then she regained her composure and she turned toward him, flashing him a smile. He was obviously still half asleep.

"You should sleep some more, Arthain. I shall leave. Forgive me for waking you up."

She turned to leave, but he spoke again and this time she was unprepared for what was coming.

"I had a terrible dream, beloved. I dreamed that you were dead."

Arthain has had a wife? And now he thinks that I am her...?

Slowly Anwanelme turned back toward the man in the bed and she saw that he had reached out his hand for her to take.
It would be so easy....
Suddenly feeling a plan forming in her mind, she looked once more toward Melost's tent, then smiled and released the flap.
Taking Arthain's hand she sat down next to him, smiling as she stroked his unruly hair.

"You should sleep, Arthain!"

"I don't want to sleep, Yilsa!" he said and kissed her.

Anwanelme wondered for a moment whether Arthain really saw his wife or if he only wanted to think he did, but then she thought better of it.
Little difference does it make! she thought as she answered his kiss and allowed him to draw her down into the bed with him as he pulled her close.

[ July 05, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost stared at the rough canvas of his tent for what seemed like an eternity. When Thelian had thrown back the flap and entered their tent, Melost had feigned sleep. His kinsman, not wanting to disturb Melost, had quietly readied himself for bed, then drifted off. There would always be tomorrow for Thelian to speak with him.

As soon as Melost was certain Thelian was asleep, he sat up and pulled on his boots, picked up his sword in its scabbard and left the tent. He needed action, he needed...what? Anything was better than this gnawing inside his heart. He knew he should seek out Anwenelme, apologize to her, tell her that he still loved her, would always love her and beg her forgiveness. Melost knew also that she would never give it. As he wandered the camp, his eyes searching the distant mountains from habit, he saw Dorlas nearly asleep against a tree not far from Arthain's tent. He frowned as he walked toward the young man. "Guards like him will get us all killed!" he thought as he approached Dorlas, intent on chastising him. Suddenly he heard a sharp cry from Arthain's tent and the sound of muffled voices. Melost whirled and strode toward the tent to see if something was amiss.

His hand on his sword-hilt, Melost ripped open the tent-flap and ducked inside the tent. What he beheld shattered his world forever.

Strange, the ways of the mind. All he would ever remember was a candle, its wax guttered in fantastic shapes, its flame lazily flickering in the waft of breeze from the tent-flap's motion...and the sheen of her hair as it caressed Arthain's chest. He had found them together, both nearly dozing and he knew her vengeance had been full wrought.

"Ai!" he cried as his hand closed on the sword-hilt and dragged it free of its scabbard. He started forward, then Arthain rolled to a sitting position, a knife in his hand. He blinked momentarily. "Melost? What are you doing here?" he asked blearily and set the knife aside. Melost stood frozen, his mind on the verge of madness. "What have you done?" he cried as a fit of trembling took him. Arthain beheld his white face and looked at him in confusion, then Anwenelme rolled over and smiled at Melost wickedly as she stroked Arthain's back. Arthain jumped as though scorched and in that instant realized what had occurred. His mouth fell open but no words...there were no words, how could there be?

Melost fell to one knee, his legs having given out. He had been betrayed by the two people he held more dear than his own life and he felt all sanity drain away in that moment of realization. Arthain started toward him but he held up his hand in a warding gesture. "Nay, do not come near me, else I will slay you where you stand!" He lurched to his feet as he felt strength fueled by anguish and hatred surge through him. "Arthain, I have loved you as a brother, and you would do this?! Nay, indeed I know all too well where the blame should be placed. You are only the means to an end, foolish mortal." He faced Anwenelme and the ferocity of his gaze wiped the smirk from her face and she hastily covered herself. Hot tears of betrayal seared their way down his cheeks as he spoke, he voice raspy with strain. "Viper! You meant everything to me! Do you think it has been easy to never look at another woman...for centuries? You were always in the fore-front of my mind and heart, the shelter I would one day return to! By the Valar, I..." he broke off and threw back his head laughing wildly, "The Valar...I know now that they cannot exist, for how can such a thing be allowed to happen? It is beyond my comprehension. Was this little scene in the Music? If so, I am doubly the fool and my existance has truly been for naught. I forswear ALL allegiances, now and forever! There ARE no gods, there is no faith!" He could feel his blood as it raced through his body and the flame within as it rose to consume him.

"I curse you both with all my strength! You, Anwenelme...never will you know love or peace the rest of your days. May you die alone and forgotten. And you.." He turned to Arthain, who reached out his hand to his freind, "Melost, I...I didn't know, I didn't realize..." Melost sobbed as he spoke, his words boken from pain, "You will see the one dearest to your heart die in your arms. May you know the pain I know now and thrice over!"

The three of them were frozen in a tableau of misery and betrayal. Anwenleme's plan to avenge herself on Melost had born fruit that none of them could have anticipated. Melost gazed at her one last time. "You bear my ever-lasting hatred and curse, harlot! Would that I had the courage to kill you myself, but how can I ? I am already dead..." He stumbled outside, his heart and mind destroyed. Melost looked up into a sky now empty of gods, of solace and the tears flowed heavier now. He threw down his sword and raced out into the night, with the sound of Anwenelme's hysterical laughter in his ears.

[Daniel Telcontar]

The army advanced slowly, now having their destination within sight. Loth-lórien was nearby, and soon the Alliance would set up their last camp until they marched towards the enemy.

Elendil looked around. The many númenorians marched along in a steady pace, a great force that made the earth tremble beneath them. Not far from them the elves marched along in a more graceful way, almost fleeting on the ground. They were a more mixed sight; the noldor and sindar elves of Lindon and Rivendell together with the green-clad silvan elves of Mirkwood.

His gaze found Gil-galad who was laughing, apparently at something Thranduil had said. He and his father rode next to the High King, and they could have appeared to be friends on a picnic, were it not for the armour and weapons they bore.

Elendil did not know whether to join them or not; perhaps they would not like to be have his company forced on them. But then he smiled of his foolish thoughts. Why should the elves entertain such thoughts?

He slowed the pace of his horse until Gil-galad, Oropher and Thranduil caught up with him, and soon they were engaged in a lively discussion of hunting. Elendil enjoyed himself, and unknowningly he sat an example for his men, who also began conversations with their elven allies.

But the merry moods were disturbed when Gil-galad suddenly shivered, as if a cold wind had hit him. But it was a hot day, and Elendil did not understand why Gil-galad's face turned pale. One look at Oropher and Thranduil's puzzled faces told him at they didn't have a clue either.

"What is the matter?" Elendil asked worried. He knew that elves was never struck by disease, and this seemed like a mystery.
"Something is wrong. In the noble families of the noldor, we can feel when something is amiss with our kinsfolk. But, let not your hearts be troubled by this."

Slowly, the tension was removed and conversation was begun again. Gil-galad did not reveal, however, that he feared something had gone wrong with the escort, and he became eager to reach Loth-lórien in hope of meeting the escort there.

[ July 08, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Could it be true? Yilsa had returned to him. But she had been dead, he had been so sure... The soldier felt like weeping for joy- how could he have thought his beloved was dead? She couldn't have died. All the pain and hurt he had felt, that had almost taken over his mind with grief...it had all been just generated by his brain, tired no doubt from all the moving around he had done. Yes, his foolish brain had convinced him, made him believe that his wife, his Yilsa, was dead…

“I had an ill divining dream, my love,” He whispered to her as she knelt beside him, continuing to stroke his hair. He knew he could tell her- what could he not tell Yilsa? To say she owned a part of his heart would be to lie- she was a part of his heart. And to tell her would be to dispel the notion of his dream being real. “I…I dreamt you had been taken away from me, my darling.”

“Taken away?” Her reply came from the darkness, and she began to fiddle with her long fingers (long, slim fingers? Where had the roughened, work hardened hands gone?) at the buttons on the rough shirt he wore in bed now. “Nay, I will never be taken away from you.”

Her voice was silky and soft, but also a little sad. Had he hurt her by saying this? Yet she did not sound surprised. Still, despite this, and the nagging suggestion of something in the back of Arthain’s mind, Yilsa’s words could not have made Arthain more happy. As his fingers slid over the back of her dress, under the rich riding cloak she was wearing (a rich riding cloak? Why, he was sure Yilsa did not know how to ride…she was full of surprises…like these silver buttons…) and deftly undid the threads holding her dress, letting the tight bodice untighten and gently slide off, his fears and worries slid off with it. Eyes closed, his mind filled with a happy thrill, the sense that all these foolish thoughts of her death, of all things, were nothing but empty dreams, Arthain let himself go…

The sound of a voice and the gentle thump of the heavy tent flap falling back into place shook Arthain from his pleasure. Starting up, he rolled into a sitting position, seizing his short dagger from where it always lay beside him, just in case, and holding it in front of him, he put himself between the intruder and the woman lying behind him, sleepily rubbing her eyes. He would take on this intruder naked as he was, if it meant these fears of Yilsa’s death would never come true- he blinked suddenly, confused, as he identified the pale faced, shaking intruder.

“Melost? What are you doing here?” He relaxed and put the knife down again, rubbing his eyes and blinking again a few times. But Melost did not move, did not even reply at first. “Melost?” he inquired softly, frowning. But Melost simply stared at him, shaking with rage. When he spoke, it was from between gritted teeth as his face grew paler and paler.

“What have you done?”

Arthain’s frown deepened. “What have I- Melost, what do you…” His voice trailed off as he realised Melost was no longer looking at him, but past him, behind him. Arthain was not sure what had given the elf such a look of horror, but at that moment he felt something slide up his back gently; thin, warm fingers. He jumped, and turned to see…

Anwenelme.

It all rushed back now. Yilsa was not alive. How could his mind have been so cruel as to have tricked him in this cruel parody, this twisted joke; the twisted joke of a cruel elf, he was sure- for had Anwenelme corrected or stopped him? His jaw dropped, but he could not speak. Words would not come, only churned up emotions and pain, such pain; the pain as half of his heart was once again torn away from him. The pain as he lost Yilsa for a second time. He could only stare, horrified and shocked, at Anwenelme. Behind him Melost’s words flowed over him, a torrent of anger and pain to match his own. He turned slowly, as if moving through water, looking wildly a Melost, his eyes wide, arms out towards his friend…but Melost held up his own hand in a sharp, defensive movement, as if afraid Arthain would hurt him…or that he would hurt Arthain, for the sword still glinted coldly in the light of the candle which still flickered at the side, casting light on Arthain’s shame. Melost still spoke more, his words tripping over themselves, his voice shaking, a little stream growing stronger and faster and angrier, buffeting Arthain as he knelt there, unable to comprehend. Later, Arthain would remember every angry, hurt word the elf he had held as his brother said, but now he could barely understand. Grief washed over him; grief for many things…

Melost was laughing now, wildly, hysterically, a laugh with no mirth in it. But his voice was as cold as the numbness inside Arthain’s mind and harder than the sword in his hand when he spoke, words laden with hate and forboding, words that Arthain would never forget.
"I curse you both with all my strength! You, Anwenelme...never will you know love or peace the rest of your days. May you die alone and forgotten. And you." Arthain held out one shaking hand to Melost as the elf turned to him, imploring him, tears mirroring Melost’s own spilling over his cheeks, words tripping from his lips as he tried to find something, anything right to say; but what could be right to Melost which had been said from between those lips, which but moments ago had caressed Anwenelme’s skin. But Melost stumbled back a step, his left forefinger held high, pointing at Arthain, condemning him as he continued, although tears flowed like a river down his face. "You will see the one dearest to your heart die in your arms. May you know the pain I know now and thrice over!"
Melost turned to Anwenelme, speaking once more to her, angrily and fast, in the elven tongue, the insults flowing from his lips, but Arthain did not hear them. All he could hear was the silence, the intolerable, harsh silence that was ringing through his mind, the silence of his broken heart and of his numbed feelings, the silence where feelings and emotions and words could barely stray, simply leaving his head ringing with its suggestions and pain. Looking up, he saw Melost back out of the tent, dropping the sword as he went, and as he did so, his eyes did not leave Arthain’s face as he stumbled away.

Arthain seemed to come alive then, and he grabbed his shirt, struggling into it, seizing his breeches and pulling them on as fast as he could. But on his shoulder he felt a hand, a touch as warm as comfort but with intentions as cold as cruelty. Anwenelme’s hand.

“Arthain-“ Her voice was laden with honey and glass, and he did not wish to hear from this being, this disgusting, adulterous, plotting being who had caused him to betray his best friend. He spun around fast, his arm out, flinging her off and down onto the floor.

“Get off me, viper! Snake!” He yelled down at her. But despite his insults, Anwenelme’s smile remained. And then she did the thing that made her crime so completely, utterly unforgivable, that spread out her true intentions as if they were a sword, previously hidden, but now in full view as it had pierced Arthain.

She laughed.

Arthain stared at her for a moment, laughing wildly, cruelly, her wicked smile saying all, saying more than words ever could, condemning him for the foolish mortal he was, the foolish being Melost had named him to be. How could he have taken this creature, as dangerous and treacherous as the mountains of Mordor, to be Yilsa? Shaking with pain, anger, grief and shame, Arthain stumbled out of the tent after Melost, calling for him, not heeding the sleepy, curious looks of the elven women as they stared, not heeding Dorlas as he tried to pull his master back. He cried out for Melost, but the elf did not answer, the elf would never answer. Tripping, still calling and crying, Arthain fell to his knees, head in hands, in the middle of the camp, not caring who saw. Melost was right; what Gods could exist that would oversee this happening? None, unless they were as cruel as all the dark powers put together, and if these Gods did truly exist and had let this happen, Arthain would have at that moment for the pain he bore got up and followed Melkor himself. For he had lost everything.

He had lost Melost.

[VanimaEdhel]

Thelian ran out of his tent at all the commotion and noise. He saw a frantic Arthain running around outside. But where was Melost? Usually Anwaelme was with Melost these days. However, Melost was nowhere in sight at the camp.

Thelian ran over to Melost's tent. He looked inside and even rummaged through the bedding, as though Melost would be hiding underneath a blanket. When Melost was nowhere to be found, Thelian ran over to Arthain.

"Where is Lord Melost?" he asked Arthain, beginning to grow frantic. Arthain continued his own frantic plight into what seemed to be a spell of madness at the loss of Melost.

"What has happened?" Thelian asked Arthain, but he still received no answer.

Thelian ran to the woods, calling Melost's name as loudly as he could, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Melost was nowhere near the outskirts of the forest where Arthain had been searching and staring mostly.

Thelian started to spread his search out, going both deeper and wider within the forest. He ignored the shouts that came from his friend, Dorlas, to return. Thelian had to find Melost, his Lord.

He felt hands grasp his shoulders. Thelian fought back, trying to proceed deeper into the forest. He thought he had found the hint of a trail, and planned to follow it. Melost was all that mattered. None of those other people, least of all Menelya and Anwaelme, mattered now. The Elf fought back against the hands, but was soon overcome. He spun around to face the person that was hindering his search for his Lord.

"Thelian!" Dorlas shook him, "Thelian! You must return! You are straying to far. You will be lost in this woods."

"Melost," Thelian replied somewhat shakily, "Where is Melost?"

"Melost is gone," Dorlas said, "We must not lose you as well."

Thelian looked at his friend. How could he suggest that Thelian should just leave his Lord like that? He fought again against Dorlas, to no avail. Dorlas's grip was firm and true.

"Come back, Thelian," Dorlas said quietly. Thelian looked at Dorlas again. He realized that there was no way to get around Dorlas's grip, so he allowed himself to be led back to the camp.

Back at the camp, Thelian noticed none of any action that took place around him. He sat silently by the fire with Dorlas, who had taken it upon himself to make sure that Thelian did not wander again.

How can Melost be gone? What has caused this? Thelian wondered. But he knew the answer: Anwaelme. Throughout all of this, Anwaelme was absent. She must have caused this to happen. But what could she have done to make such a great leader as Melost was run from his duty? And why was Arthain blundering so when Thelian first beheld him?

"Oh, what has transpired on this evening?" Thelian queried, putting his head in his hands. He felt Dorlas pat him on the back.

"It will be revealed in time," Dorlas said, "Now we must carry on if Melost does not return."

The words hit Thelian like a hammer. Carry on without Melost? How could they carry on without Lord Melost?

Thelian sat in utter despair at the loss of his master, comforted only slightly by his friend beside him. He silently swore to do his best to remedy whatever had upset Melost, to any personal expense.

[ July 07, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Maikadilwen]

Left alone in the tent after Arthain followed melost, Anwanelme slowly picked up her clothing, all the while listening to Arthain's cries outside. She wore a satisfied smile as she slipped into her dress, not bothering to lace it properly. It didn't really matter anyway, it was no secret.
Picking up her cloak, she carried it over her arm while using her hand to keep her dress closed, then pushed aside the tent-flap to step outside.

Once she emerged from the tent, she heard a gasp from some of the ladies nearby and then a sound like that of a wounded animal cut through the air, a sound filled with horror and Anwanelme turned her face to look at her mother who could only stare at her lightly dressed daughter.
She knew that her mother was no fool and so there was no doubt that she had immediately guessed what had happened, once she saw the state of her daughter's clothing.
Anwanelme's eyes fell on Arthain who was kneeling on the ground and she felt a sting in her heart, for a short moment feeling sorry for him. He had truly loved his wife, it had been obvious in every touch, in every kiss. The same way Melost should have loved her! But he had left her...

Her heart turned cold and her eyes hard at the thought, feeling no pity for the two men whose friendship she had just shattered.
Melost had left her and Arthain had been aware of it, of that she was sure. They deserved no better!
Slowly she stepped over to Arthain and leaned down, running a hand over his hair, then softly rested her cheek against it, feeling his hair tickle her face.

"You betrayed him even back in Imladris, Arthain. I saw it in your eyes. And he knew! He came to me, telling me what he had seen. And you acted as my friend but I was a fool to believe you could ever be. You betrayed me as well, Arthain! He told you his intentions and you said naught to me of it. You knew!"

Her voice was sweet as honey but her poisonous words stabbed in Arthain's heart like a knife. He made no attempt to get up, only raised his hand to push her away.
She let go of him before he could touch her and she walked over to the tent she shared with her mother, who stood motionless and for once silent, in the opening.
Anwanelme had barely reached the tent before she was met by a resounding slap and she looked at her mother for a moment, caught by surprise, then she brushed past her and disappeared into the tent, not once looking back at Arthain or to see if Melost was somewhere near.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya rubbed the hand that had slapped Anwaelme, the palm stinging ever so slightly. The other women gathered around Menelya and began to try to fuss over her. Menelya shoved the nearest to her, leaving the ring of what felt like buzzing bees. The bees gasped as one of their own fell into the others and Menelya left. She heard words like "The nerve...", "...hard blow...", "...utter humiliation...", but she payed no attention to the twittering dolts as she moved away.

Menelya realized that she still had her jaw clenched tightly. Her teeth and gums were starting to hurt. She made an effort to open her jaw a bit to relieve the headache that also seemed to be coming on. Releasing her jaw helped all but the throbbing behind her temple. She knew that was not from her clenched teeth. By the Vala, why did the girl do things like this to her?

Menelya looked around the camp. Anwaelme had vanished, as was right to do. How could the girl be so heartless? However, Menelya found this nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Could it be? Was Menelya feeling pride? Yes, it was: Anwaelme had proven she could get what she wanted. Anwaelme was as resourceful as her mother. It was something that Menelya would have done in Anwaelme's position in her youth. Anwaelme certainly was much like her mother...

No, it was wrong. It destroyed the whole arrangement. Now, not only was Melost gone, but hardly any man would marry Anwaelme now, once word travelled around, as it was bound to do with the cackling crows that were here at camp.

Menelya looked over and saw Thelian sitting with his head in his hands and a concerned Dorlas attempting to comfort him. Menelya knew not why, but she went over and sat next to Thelian and Dorlas. It felt good to not be alone in her misery anymore. Now, many others felt dreadful in the lives they led. Menelya selfishly hoped that this misery could stay for some time, so she would not be alone anymore.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"May I help you m'lady?" growled Dorlas as Menelya sat next to him and Thelian. He no longer needed to restrain Thelian, who was wheezing slightly with his head in his hands. Dorlas looked up at Menelya, and rolled his eyes at her shocked expression. She shook her head as if to say 'no'.

"Then make yourself useful and watch Thelian. Make certain he does not run off and get himself lost," ordered Dorlas. Menelya gave him a hard, cold stare, but nodded and turned away from Dorlas.

Dorlas wandered to where Arthain was. He stopped a few paces away from the captain, and continued on cautiously. Was that truly Arthain? Dorlas had never seen the man he served in such a state of despair! Dorlas put a hand on Arthain's shoulder tentatively.

"What has happened?" asked Dorlas softly. No reply came. Dorlas was about to ask again, but before he could Arthain shrugged off Dorlas's hand with force that sent the young squire stumbling backwards.

"Yilsa...Melost...Gone...No...Eru...Lost..." Dorlas could hear Arthain mumbling to himself.

Dorlas walked away, expression stony and determined. The Elven women were still gossiping and twittering about the events involving Melost, Arthain, and Anwenelme. "Get some rest, all of you!" Dorlas shouted, silencing the women. "We leave tomorrow, no matter what!"

[Cuthalion]

As Melost fled out into the empty night, he was unaware that he was being closely watched by an interested pair of eyes. The scout was high up among the rocks in the pass Melost had blindly stumbled into. "A lone Elf...warrior by the look of him, out here on his own? Huh..." the scout thought as the scrutiny continued.

Alone, unarmed and nearing insanity, Melost ran on. The one thought his mind could grasp was that he had to put distance between himself and the pain in Arthain's last look. His ankle twisted painfully on a loose rock and he fell hard. Melost lay for a moment, stunned and dazed, his breathing harsh. He dug his fingers into the loose rocks on the path and gave himself totally over to despair. Ragged sobs, dry as the dust he lay in threatened to choke him, but he didn't care. All he longed for was death.


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


Gil-galad and Elendil called a halt as they neared the River Gladden. The High King could see that the proud soldiers of Elendil's army were tiring and that they needed rest soon. Rather than bring them to shame, Gil-galad urged a halt, knowing that otherwise the soldiers would push themsleves to exhaustion in an attempt to keep up with the Elven army.

Word was passed and soon both Men and Elves pitchedheavy canvas tents, pulled out saddle-bags of dried meat and fruit, set watch and stretchedsore, aching muscles. Elendil watched proudly as his Men worked side-by-side with Gil-galad's army, the Mirkwood Elves remained slightly aloof from the rest.

Night fell swiftly as the leaders held converse inside the tent of Elendil. Isildur sullenly sat on a stool in the shadowed corner. He distrusted the Elves, especially Elrond and Gil-galad...so proud, so wise, so noble. It made him sick. His father had been seduced by the glamour of the Elves, but not he! He could see that all these creatures truly wanted was dominion over Men. Well, he would see to it that the House of his father never bowed to anyone!

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil sat down in a comfortable chair inside Gil-galad's tents, and though he would not admit it, his bones had longed for it after the day's riding. He had to admit to himself that he wasn't young anymore.

He looked at Isildur, who sat like child which has just been denied something. Elendil feared he knew the reason. He had also seen the weariness of his men, and had guessed that Gil-galad had called a halt more for their sake than for his own. And if Elendil had discovered Gil-galad's true intentions, then it was sure that Isildur had also.

My son, he thought to himself, why are you like this? Have I failed in my upbringing? His thoughts of melancholy were disrupted when Oropher and his son entered the room, both of them in a merry mood.

The four of them conversed for long (Isildur merely sipped his wine), and Elendil noticed the difference between Oropher and Gil-galad.

The former were dressed in simple, green clothes and wore an expression of no cares
in the world.

The latter wore blue rainment with complicated patterns embroidered on, and he, though smiling, had an air of sorrow and graveness around him.

Elendil did not know whom to prefer; and he decided it was to late to find out. He said goodnight, and followed by his son left the tent. Outside, he stopped Isildur and asked him: "My son, you do know how serious our situation is? How close we are to annihilation without allies?" Isildur muttered that he was aware of that fact, and left. Elendil stood and looked at him dissappear among the many tents; and he knew that his son's evil thoughts would eventually be his ruin.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain heard Anwenelme’s voice from somewere outside the bubble of apin that seemed to surround him now, but what she said he neither heard, nor cared about. Probing with her voice, prodding, seeking a weakness, trying to find a way to shatter the bubble, for then its shards would fly all around, destroying Arthain entirely.

That venomous snake…that treacherous viper…well, she had found his weakness. His two weaknesses- the only weakness such a soldier could have. The weaknesses deep inside. The weaknesses of the heart. Melost and Yilsa. Arthain couldn’t shake away that last image of Melost, the last pain-laden, betrayed look as his eyes lingered on Arthain, horrified, as he stumbled from the tent. The scene repeated itself a thousand times in his head, and Melost’s words echoed in Arthain’s mind….his curse…

“You will see the one dearest to your heart die in your arms. May you know the pain I know now and thrice over…

You will see the one dearest to your heart die in your arms. May you know the pain I know now and thrice over…

You will see the one dearest to your heart die in your arms. May you know the pain I know now and thrice over…”

It was Dorlas’s voice which eventually woke Arthain up to some extent, business-like and harder than his years would suggest as he addressed the women of the camp. “Get some rest, all of you! We leave tomorrow, no matter what!”

The woman did nothing, barely even acknowledged that Dorlas had spoken, just stood, speaking among themselves, gossiping, feigning sympathy. And for some reason, this suddenly made Arthain incredibly, unspeakably angry. Did they look down on him because of what his master had done? Or was it just because he was a mortal, a foolish mortal, in general? How dare they! How dare they! Arthain stood, facing them, standing as steadily as he could and speaking with a hard voice, although his thoughts were as wild and ragged and scattered as the skeletons of leaves, stirred up and swirling on the wind, which, with but a gentle breeze, could shatter them completely.

“You heard him!” He barked, courtesy thrown to the wind. “We leave tomorrow! Get back to your tents!”

The women stood, shocked into silence momentarily, not even gossiping for a second, before Menelya spoke, but spoke as if she had not even heard Arthain. “I am going to my tent now- the night is late, and no matter what has passed, we, at least, must look good for the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. I suggest,” the word was laden with sarcasm, “that you do the same.”

With that, she turned in her heel and, without even a mere glance at the two men, she swept into her tent, appearing every bit as arrogant and unaffected as if none of the events of the night had ever passed, and so convincing was she that Arthain could almost have believed that she truly didn’t care. But he saw her clenched fists, and for a moment, thinking of that delighted, malicious pleasure which Anwenelme took in upsetting her mother, Arthain wondered bitterly whether the ruin of her mother had also been in Anwenelme’s vicious plot.

“I’ll take the watch.” Arthain muttered to Dorlas, turning to walk to the edge of the camp. Dorlas hovered behind him and eventually said something, concern in his voice.

“Are you sure you can-”

Arthain shot him a bitter look. “Do you think I can sleep tonight?” Dorlas was wise enough not to reply, and Arthain continued, leaving the poor boy to try and comfort Thelian.

As for Arthain…he would indeed watch, he would watch harder than he ever had before, not taking any note of the stars or the moon which still hung, cold and indifferent, in the night sky, but looking for any sign of the friend who, he knew, he could never make amends with…

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme lay listening to what was going on outside and she couldn't help but smile. It had worked even better than she had imagined it would.
She heard her mother just outside the tent and quickly she rolled over so she had her back toward the opening of it, feigning sleep, as Menelya came back into the tent but it was obvious by her steps that she was angry, very angry. Anwanelme only smiled. In fact she had to try hard not to chuckle at the thought of her mother's wail and the expression on her face, when she had seen her daughter emerge from the Man's tent, barely dressed.

Menelya stood for some time, looking at her daughter. She didn't care whether she was asleep or not. That stupid girl!
She wanted to drag her to her feet and shake her hard, yelling at her for ruining everything for both of them. But she knew she couldn't do that. The others would hear and the humiliation would become even greater.

Placing herself in the opposite side of the tent, Menelya quietly sat down, trying to calm herself, all the while listening for the slightest sound that proved her daughter was still awake as she suspected her to be.
After a while Anwanelme couldn't stand the feeling of her mothers gaze on her back and she sighed heavily.

"What it is, Mother? Have you found something of interest? Arthain certainly did!"

Menelya's face turned white as she was so bluntly reminded of her daughter's cruel deed and she found herself trembling from anger, unable to rise from where she was sitting.

"How dare you do such a thing? I have worked so hard to get only what was best for you! How dare you ruin everything for m... for us?"

Caught by the slip of her own tongue, Menelya went quiet, hoping that Anwanelme hadn't heard. She couldn't remember the last time she had listened to her anyway, so why should it suddenly happen now?
Very slowly Anwanelme turned toward her mother, an almost hateful look in her eyes.

"Exactly, Mother! I have ruined everything... for you! This is all your fault! You made this...'alliance'! You pushed for that betrothal! And what has come from it? Nothing! After all this time, he has now rejected me! After all this time I have spent waiting for him, all this time I could have used to find a husband on my own. If you had only let me choose. You are the reason I still have no husband! None of you deserve any better! And now be quiet, I wish to sleep!"

Menelya sat in shock, only staring at her daughter as she once again turned her back to her. Never before had she dared speaking to her like that and it wasn't until now that she realised how cruel her daughter truly was. And once again she felt a tinge of pride...

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas did not sleep at all. He was too occupied making sure Thelian got some sleep and making sure the Elven squire refrained from doing anything he would regret. The look on his master's face haunted Dorlas through the night, and the angry words that had flowed from Arthain's tongue were fresh echoes in his mind. Few of the women slept, Dorlas knew. He could hear them quietly whispering in the dark. Dorlas still did not know what events had befallen the camp, but he had heard enough to realize that it had not been good by any stretch of the imagination.

When morning dawned, Arthain was still sitting crouched by the fire, which had been reduced to simmering coals during the night. Dorlas did not speak to him, and could not even catch Arthain's eye if he tried. Thelian had fallen into a deep sleep at some point during the night, and Dorlas opted not to rouse his friend until it was necessary.

"Wake up! We will leave within the hour, and if you are not ready you will be left behind," it was an empty threat, Dorlas knew, but the Elven ladies were too weary from the late night to object. They moved slowly and grudgingly until they caught a glare from Arthain, at which point they began to scuttle for their things.

Dorlas returned to his spot by Thelian as the women readied themselves, and nudged Thelian gently to revive him. When that did not work, Dorlas emptied the water casket that had hung on his waistbelt onto Thelian, which woke the Elf up quickly. When Thelian registered what was going on, he instantly shot up from his spot, shaking his head side-to-side violently.

"No! We can't leave Melost! He will come back if we wait for him! What will we do if he comes back just when we are out of reach? He will never forgive me!" Thelian cried, turning towards the woods where Melost had taken his leave. Dorlas put a gentle hand on Thelian's shoulder.

"If we let you go, and met up somehow with Melost in Lothlorien, he would not forgive me for letting you go and losing you to the woods. Friends look out for each other," Dorlas pointed out, and proceeded to finish packing his things to leave. Thelian followed suit, though Melost's faithful squire often shot weary and worried glances at the path Melost had taken.

The group was ready to leave just as the morning sun began to warm the land. Arthain rode far ahead of the main group, and Dorlas did not confront him for fear of angering the man again. Anwenelme had a smirk upon her face, and Menelya had an angry frown that made her lovely Elven face look old and weary. The rest of the women left the two alone, outcasting them from the rest. Dorlas believed neither deserved even that much. The only sound audible to the group was the chattering of the gossiping women and the wind rustling the trees.

[ July 12, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Maikadilwen]

They had all been roused none too gently by Dorlas and Menelya had been furious because of it, speaking loudly about the boy's insolence, becoming clearly frustrated when it became clear that no one was listening to her.
When they departed shortly after, Anwanelme smiled when she noticed Arthain riding far ahead of the group, alone and not even Dorlas seemed to dare approaching him.
Her mother only seemed to be concerned about the way the rest of the ladies seemed to be avoiding her and her daughter.
With a smirk Anwanelme cast a glance at her mother, feeling more than satisfied when she saw the frustrated look on Menelya's face.

So now that her pack of crows have turned their backs on her, she is nothing. Serves her well!

Feeling somewhat refreshed, having had no trouble sleeping during the night, except for her mother's continuous rambling about vows and marriage, Anwanelme enjoyed the sun as it grew warmer and brighter. It seemed it would turn out to be a wonderful day and her mood was better than it had been for a very long time.

Letting her horse move mostly in it's own pace, Anwanelme soon discovered that her mother was far behind and that she had, in fact, nearly passed the rest of the ladies as well.
She looked up ahead and a wicked smile appeared on her face as she urged her horse forward, all the while doing her best to appear unaware of her own speed and she soon found herself riding close to Arthain.
As she tilted her face toward the warming sun, she gazed at Arthain out of the corner of her eye, just to see his reaction to her presence. After his words before, she knew for a fact that she was most likely the last person he wanted to be near and that simply made it impossible for her to stay away.
After a while she decided to break the silence and she looked at Arthain with a bright smile.

"You do know that among my people, the bodily union is what binds a couple in marriage?"

Anwanelme was well aware of the necessity of exchanging vows as well and that they hadn't done so, but was Arthain?
Suddenly a little insecure about how he would react to this, she drew away from him, far enough so he wouldn't be able to reach her, even with his sword but still close enough to see his reaction.

[ July 12, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Thelian rode next to Dorlas. Now that Melost was not with them, there was no one for Thelian to protect. He continued to look over at Anwaelme. There was no way he was going to allow her to hurt anyone else in the group in the way she had hurt his master. She should not even be alive today. Thelian should have slit the strumpet's throat already.

Dorlas seemed to see Thelian's knuckles going white on the reins, for Thelian felt a comforting pat on his shoulder. Dorlas whispered some brief words of comfort to Thelian, who stole one last look of death in Anwaelme's direction.

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

Thelian was not the only one still shooting evil looks in Anwaelme's direction. Menelya had been glaring at Anwaelme for some time. She saw Anwaelme speaking fairly quietly with Arthain. She could not catch what the girl was saying. Anwaelme then moved her horse away from Arthain a bit, a slight glimpse of worry crossing over her fair face.

At this, Menelya urged her horse forward in the hopes of hearing the conversation. She passed two women twittering in whispers. The names "Melost" and "Menelya" were audible to Menelya, along with the words "arranged", "disgrace", and "unpopular". Menelya knew she would be hearing these words a lot more in the days to come. She continued to inch forward in the hopes of catching Arthain's response and hopefully hearing what Anwaelme had said to cause her brief worry as to Arthain's reaction.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"You do know that among my people, the bodily union is what binds a couple in marriage?"

Arthain didn't even turn to look at Anwenelme. He had sensed her arriving, had sensed it by the way her shadow flickered on the ground, by the way her horse had of making small half-whinnys every so often. He knew it by the way she flicked her hair subconciously, flirtatiously, across her shoulders every so often, so its soft waves caught the light and the eye...he knew it all. And it sickened him.

He felt his teeth grit together instinctively, and it must have shown on his jawline, but his face otherwise remained indifferent. He became too aware of his sword, of how close it was to his hand, how he could just reach out...but he also knew how close she was to him, how close her soft skin was, her warm body...

He repressed a shudder, and turned his head slowly to look at her, his face entirely immobile.

"I am well aware of the marriage rites of the elves. And I believe you have to be elven, or human to be part of it." His tone was completely indifferent, and he didn't smile as he finished. "That would, I believe, involve having a soul."

Anwenelme looked shocked for a fleeting instance, but covered it almost immediately. She was evidently thinking of a reply, but Arthain got there first.

"I wonder what the Lord of the Golden Wood will say." He continued. he wanted to be able to inject some sort of emotion into it, but his voice remained still and dead, soft, so only Anwenelme could hear it, and all that it entailed. "What is the punishment for betrayal, viper?"

Anwenelme did not reply, and for the first time, Arthain saw a flicker of doubt pass across her face. He should have felt some satisfaction, some emotion, some anything, but it was as if his emotions had turned against him just as he had no doubt the elves would. He dared not let any emotion out from the heart that had become a tomb, for fear all of them would spill out at once.

As Anwenelme moved away, Arthain once more fixed his eyes ahead, staring dully into the space ahead of him, concentrating soley on what he and Melost had been told to do, to simply get the elven woman, the pack of crows and the harridan who claimed to be a lady to Lothlorien.

What would happen there he dared not think; if there was a punishment, it would probably not just stretch to Anwenelme...

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas did not take his eyes off of Arthain for a long while. The squire desperately wanted to know what was wrong, and see if there was something he could do, something he could say. And yet at the same time Dorlas did not want to confront Arthain, and would not confront him at that moment, for any treasure in the world. Something too strong and too powerful for words was needed to heal the hurt, that much was clear. Dorlas could not provide that medicine this time.

"Thelian, this is beyond you and it is definitely beyond me," murmured Dorlas suddenly, feeling like excess baggage that was useless and could not help in any way. "Is there nothing we can do? Besides doing something rash, I mean."

"The best way out of a problem is through it," growled Thelian in reply, sending venemous looks towards Anwenelme. The viper either smiled smugly at Thelian or ignored his glares, which angered the Elven squire even moreso than before. Thelian soon gave up and returned to his conversation with Dorlas. "And still I can't help but fear for Melost."

"My brothers always said that if you feed your hope, your fears will starve to death. Do not fear, Melost is a warrior and will not be overcome by evil easily," Dorlas reassured Thelian. "Anwenelme will pay for her wrongdoing in the end. Fate will not be kind to her, I am sure. It will haunt her."

Dorlas felt more confident hearing his own voice comforting Thelian. It made him feel less scared of everything that was going on and everything that would happen. New hope rose in him as he spoke, and new faith in Melost and Arthain. Maybe there was still a chance that Melost would find them somehow. Dorlas quickly shook this thought from his mind, deciding not to instill false hope in Thelian.

The riders pushed on, despite the constant complaints of the whining women. It was nearing noonday, and several women began using the excuse that they needed to stop for a meal. Dorlas ignored these plights as Thelian began to hand out lembas to the complaining women. The sun was bright through the veil of leaves and trees, and the sky was clear and calm save for a slight wind.

"What will we do when we are done escourting these ladies?" Dorlas asked, and Thelian began to look slight worried at the question. "I mean besides doing something we'll regret by running off to find Melost," Dorlas refined hurriedly, only to recieve an angry glare from Thelian.

"So you think it would be foolish to go and look for Melost? Foolish to try and save him?" Thelian wondered hoarsly, his voice wavering as he spoke. Dorlas raised his hands in defence.

"Save him from what? You do not know what is happening or where he is! For all you know he could be safe and sound back in Rivendell, or even in Lothlorien!" Dorlas shot back. "I just think it would be foolish to go on a wild goose chase to find Melost when he might just be fine!"

"You do not know what is happening or what is out there either! I will not sacrifice Melost to the woods if it can be prevented," Thelian retorted, breathing heavily as if he were tempted to attack Dorlas on the spot.

"I am sorry," Dorlas said, surprising Thelian. "I did not think before speaking. You are right, I suppose. I would do the same for Arthian." After that, the two rode in silence.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil rode, as usual, on his grey stallion, and normally he would give some attention, pat it now and then, but not today. He had just left the army where it was encamped south of the Nimrodel, and with his son he followed Gil-galad and Oropher into a place where few mortals had ever been: The Golden Wood.

Elendil, ever the King, hid his state of awe, but his eyes greedily swallowed every impression of the golden trees, and the elves that now and then were to be seen. Likewise, Isildur hid is emotions, but his motive was different; he did not like to think how it was impossible for even the men of Númenor to conjure up an image comparable to this.

The four men and elves reached Caras Galadhon, and unmounted. A servant led them up the stairs of a huge tree. Gil-galad was in the front, unimpressed by the sights; he had clearly seen such wonders before. Oropher also kept his gaze in front of him, acting as if he was a bit bored, whereas the two men could not stop gazing in every direction, to the mirth of the elven maidens who sat in the treetops and watched the visitors.

Finally they reached the top, and entered a kind of room on the top of the majestic tree. A table stood in the center, with chairs around, and a few guards stood posted around. Then three people entered the room; Malgalad, king of Loth-lorien, and Celeborn with his wife Galadriel.

Isildur's eyes were caught by Galadriel, and it was not the fact that she was the most beatiful and mysterious elven woman he had ever seen; but her gaze seemed to pierce his soul, as if she knew his every secret. He gasped and looked down in the floor, not able to lift his gaze.

Gil-galad greeted Malgalad and Celeborn solemnly, and then embraced his kinswoman Galadriel, who let out a pearly laughter.
Oropher did the same, though his greeting to Celeborn was the most enthusiastic.

It became clear to Elendil that these were relatives, and this was not just a meeting of war, as much as a reunion of friends. He and Isildur were introduced, and when the turn came to Galadriel he bowed deep and kissed her hand. Even Isildur bowed when Gil-galad said her name, but was due to the fact that he did not dare meet her stare.

They sat down around the table, which Elendil discovered where a part of the tree, and conversation erupted. Elendil soon discovered why Galadriel was present; her knowledge of Sauron was great, and it seemed to him that the others willingly accepted her word. He himself was becomingenchanted, and he could feel the magic of the elves drawing him into another world, were it not for one thing; his son, who sat sullenly next to him.

[Cuthalion]

Not being able to bear the sight of her any longer, Arthain urged his horse on ahead of the others. "Damn the woman! Why did this have to happen? I cannot believe how she used me!" Anger and loathing filled him and he felt the sour taste of bile in his mouth. How long had it been since he had eaten anything, he wondered vaguely, then decided that once they got to Lothlorien, it would cease to matter. He dug in his saddle-bag for an apple and his hand encountered a soft pouch. Curious, he withdrew it and opened it up.

A flash of brilliant green met his gaze, tears filled his eyes unbidden. Melost's stone...the one he was to give to Anwenelme should Melost... No! Never would he let her soil its beauty with her touch as she had stained his own soul. He drew a shuddering breath and slipped the chain over his head and set the stone near his heart. "Where are you, my friend? Have you found your way amid the winding mountain passes, or are you injured with no one to aid you?"

These thoughts began to haunt Arthain and he entertained wild ideas of forsaking his duty and riding off to seek Melost, yet he knew he could not. His own sense of responsibility was too ingrained, that had been one of the many things he had learned from the Elf. Honour and and loyalty would always be foremost.

Suddenly he pulled his horse to a stop as he thought about that a moment. Where had duty gotten Melost? It had brought him betrayal for trust, loneliness for honour, and in all probability, an early death. The one thing he had sought his entire life to avoid. The fact that Arthain had been the instrument of Anwenelme's revenge was so ironic, he had to luagh. "May Melost's curse come home to roost on both of us, witch! We both richly deserve it!" He kicked his horse sharply in the ribs as he turned its head to return to the others. "The sooner we have this over and done with, the sooner I can go in search of Melost."he thought grimly as he went in search of Dorlas.

[ July 16, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya pretended not to have been straining to see and hear anything that had passed between Arthain and Anwenelme. Arthain passed Menelya and proceeded to go searching among the people that were behind her. Menelya looked behind herself and saw Arthain go to Dorlas.

Menelya took that opportunity to move up towards Anwenelme. She opened her mouth to speak to her daughter, but then saw the look Anwenelme was giving her, and stopped her horse in surprise. The look contained such hatred than Menelya had never seen. Menelya fell behind a bit before starting her horse up again.

The company rode in near silence all that morning and afternoon. It seemed that the shock of what had happened even had the twittering ladies quieted a bit. They did not seem to have the courage to complain about the rigorous riding schedule or meager lunch they were dealt during their lunch rest.

Soon, the sun began to make its way from overhead to its setting location in the West. The women slowly became more intrusive in their queries for a rest spot for the night. Menelya rode a little way apart from all of the women and other members of the company. She hoped they would stop soon. She was getting sore from the saddle and she just wanted to sleep.

It began to grow dark as evening approached the stunned company.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Maikadilwen]

As darkness fell, Anwanelme grew more tense and withdrawn, deep in her own thoughts.
She could not stop thinking about Melost and how he was now all alone somewhere, not even having his sword with him so he could defend himself should anything happen.
Everything had escalated in a way she had not foreseen and now she began to doubt her own actions. She had never meant for him to leave the way he had, to completely disappear without a trace but now it was too late to change any of it. What had happened had happened!
With a sigh she looked up and her gaze fell on Thelian who rode ahead of her. Ever had he been like a shadow cast by Melost, only seldom leaving the side of his friend and master.
So why was he here when he should be with Melost, helping him, making sure he would be alright?
Why had he simply abandoned his duty? Was it because that boy, Dorlas, had told him to?

Finally Arthain ordered a halt and a relieved sigh came from the ladies, all of them soon competing about who was most sore from riding.
They set up camp and a good supper was prepared to make up for the very small lunch they had had and soon the crows were well into their usual gossipping.
Anwanelme refused both food and drink, but sat in silence, gazing in the direction from which they had come, a worried look on her usually frigid face.
Noticing Thelian sitting alone, Anwanelme warily went closer and sat down behind him, her head bowed.

"You left him...your master. Your best friend..."
Her voice was quiet but Thelian had no trouble hearing her words and she could see his body grow tense at her words.
"Was it because that boy told you to leave him behind? Have your loyalty turned towards Men now?"

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian heard Anwanelme's voice, and at first he thought it was inside his head. But then he saw her and realised she had really spoken. He thought of his beloved Melost, and controlled his hatred and
bitterness:

"You treat this as a game, do you not? You try to create as much mischief and sorrow as possible! Stay away with your pretty face, that is merely a mask for your devious tricks! If I befriend a man, what matters it to you? He is more honest than most, and harbours no evil, unlike many elves. I had never thought I would say this, but your actions make me wish I was his kind!"

Anwanelme's face did not reveal if his words affected her at all. She merely continued whispering:
"Well, I will not interfere in your business with men. I know from personal experience how enriching a friendship with them can be."

Thelian froze, and his self-control shattered. He grabbed the hilt of his short sword, and flung it out of the scabbard, point turned towards Anwanelme. If he was going to strike her he never found out, for a strong hand closed around his own.
"Let go of your weapon!" Arthain said with a hoarse voice.
"You defend her? Do neither of you feel any kind of remorse? Do you not realise what you have done?" Thelian's eyes were alight with pain, and neither were sure what would have happened, had not Dorlas interfered.

"Arthain, remove yourself. Thelian, relax. Neither of them is worth that you spill their blood."
All looked in shock at the young man, who seemed to have grown taller than all of them.
"Dorlas," Arthain said with a voice ladden with pain," do you abandon me now?"
"You give me little choice. You have allied yourself with the witch twice now, and Thelian is innocent in all of this. I will not allow you to harm him, nor that he take any action he might regret later."

"You will not allow?" Anwanelme laughed, though it was a false laughter with no joy in it, and her face revealed a flash of fear.
"Dorlas is stronger than any of you, and he has seen further than any of us." Thelian replied quietly, and dropped his sword. He removed Arthain's grip on his wrist, and then he slowly turned, walking away with Dorlas.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Dorlas is stronger than any of you, and he has seen further than any of us," Thelian had said softly, and it had been the end of the conversation and argument. It was true, Dorlas had seen it all. He had seen strong friendships shattered, he had seen betrayal and distrust, and so much more in only one day and night. What could he do? There was nothing he could do while still being behind his Elven friend and serving his master at the same time. Dorlas could not back both companions if all they could do was fight.

But had he perhaps prevented Thelian from doing his duty? No, Dorlas had done what was right at the time. He had prevented Thelian from hurting himself with uncertainty being the reason. Perhaps Melost was hurt or wounded, but what could they do when they could not find him in the first place? Dorlas did not see the point in losing Thelian when Melost could be fine or already beyond help.

And what of Arthain? Dorlas did not know Arthain anymore. More than anything else Dorlas wanted to know what his master thought and what Dorlas could do. Was there anything Dorlas could do or be other than the peacekeeper? Was he merely the stitches that kept the group from acting upon impulse? All Dorlas wanted was to help and make things better. However, nothing was better in the aftermath of the night before.

"You and I are bystanders in all of this. We are the ones that they affect without thought. I am not sure if they realize how much it hurts to not be able to help," Thelian murmured when the two squires had found a seat next to the night's fire.

"I think they believe that the extent of their fued reaches only to themselves. Perhaps they do not see that the pain goes much farther than themselves. There is little we can do but watch and make sure it does not escalate out of hand," Dorlas continued, agreeing whole-heartedly with Thelian. Dorlas was glad to have someone there that was in the same position as he.

"And that serpent does not help the matter," hissed Thelian, glaring back to where Anwenelme and Arthain were aguing with expressions, not words. Dorlas was afraid that it would become more than just empty glares and emotionless stares in little time, but decided to let the apprehension slip until something really did happen.

"She treats what she did as if it is a trivial matter. Anwenelme probably believes what she did to Melost was all in a good day's work! Her heart is empty, and in the name of Eru I hope her spirit goes not to the halls of Mandos, but into exile with Morgoth," Thelian continued ranting, until Dorlas handed him some lembas and a water container with a pat on the back.

"There is nothing we can do to change the past," Dorlas reasoned, nibbling on some lembas. "But there is no point in trying to settle the score when Anwenelme will get what she deserves in the end anyway. What we must concentrate on now is getting the women to Lothlorien. Then we can move on to war, and your mind will be taken off of Anwenelme. Perhaps there is still hope to meet up with Melost."

The two ate in silence, a silence that was somehow loud with the thoughts that rang in both squires' minds. It was a contemplating silence, in which neither Dorlas nor Thelian spoke, but perhaps both wanted to. Dorlas was the next one to speak.

"Thank you, for defending me and my kind against Anwenelme's harsh words. It was very honorable of you," Dorlas said gratefully, and Thelian merely nodded.

[Cuthalion]

"You have allied yourself with the witch twice now..." Dorlas words echoed in Arthain's mind as he watched the two squires walk away, Dorlas' hand on Thelian's shoulder in comfort. As Melost and I once were... Arthain hear a mirthless chuckle behind him and spun to see Anwenelme, her head cocked to one side as she looked at him in mock disbelief. "Why did you stop him, Arthain? Your guilt could have been assuaged with one sword-slash after all. Thelain hates me as much as you do since I ran his precious kinsman off. Why have you spared me?"

Arthain narrowed his eyes at her. "I would not have Melost's kinsman become ensnared by you in any way, woman. He has proven far more loyal to Melost than I, I who counted him my closest friend. Torture me if you must, but leave Thelian alone!" She moved away from Arthain slowly, provocatively. "I will do what I please, with whom I please, mortal. Nothing you can say, nothing you can do can keep me from..." Her eyes widened at the look on Arthain's face.

Unbeknownst to her, Arthain had been fighting a battle of his own, a desperate fight to keep himself from throwing away all that he had learned from his friend in the way of honour and friendship. Had that one act changed his entire life that much? The fact that what he had done was so irrevocable, so finite, he was sickened by his own presence...and hers. Her presence tormented him. Her perfumed hair, her lips. He put a hand to his pounding head as he tried to get a grip on his emotions.

Her contemptuous tone shattered his self-discipline and he strode over to her swiftly and grabbed her roughly by the arm. He put his face close to hers. "Yilsa....ah, beloved...how I missed you..." He gritted his teeth as he shoved the false memory from his mind. "Stay away from him, woman. Should you choose to ignore this warning, I will be the one visiting you in your tent, and I swear...I will not be gentle!" He flung her away from him then stalked away, seeing before him the stricken look on Melost's face and the disillusioned one on Dorlas'. He had failed them both and, knowing in his heart he had amends to make, he walked along the edge of the small camp until he came to where Dorlas and Thelian sat in companionable silence.

Thelian started to rise, but Arthain gestured for him to remain seated and crouched down next to him and drew a long breath. He nodded to Dorlas, who returned his gaze briefly, then rose and stretched. "Looks like I'm off to bed, Wake me for my watch." He brushed past Arthain and squeezed his shoulder before he vanished into their tent. "He has much insight for one so young." Arthain looked into Thelian's eyes. "Aye, that he does." he returned softly. "Thelian, I...I cannot attempt to explain what happened, nor why. I want you to know that I grieve that Melost is not yet returned to us. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for the part I played, unwitting though it was." Thelian merely gazed into the fire as the stars wheeled overhead.

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian stared into the fire, not knowing what to reply. He wished he could strike Arthain, and use him to vent out all his anger. He had a harsh reply on his lips, he wished to throw the worst insults in his face, but when he turned and looked at Arthain, he noticed, perhaps for the first time, that his face was nothing but lines of sorrow, and grief.

"He suffers as much as I do, or even more," Thelian thought, and when he admitted that to himself, he found out that maybe he could not forgive Arthain yet, but he could perhaps try. Hesitantly he formed the words, and then spoke them out loud:
"Do not- do not think more upon this matter. The past is the past, and we can not correct its errors. My only concern now is Melost."

Arthain sat down next to Thelian, and it seemed like he wanted to engage in more conversation, but Thelian rose quickly. He still felt anger towards Arthain, and a mere apology could not settle things right between them.
"I am following Dorlas' example." he said, and walked away, leaving Arthain to his dark thoughts.

When he had settled himself in his tent, he thought of how Arthain's relationship was with Melost, and he realised how similar it was to his and Dorlas. Despite his gloomy mood he could not avoid smiling at the irony; what if Dorlas was to hurt him the same way?

He knew that would never happen, though; for not only was Dorlas to honest to ever do such a thing, but, Thelian thought to himself, he was not as vulnerable as Melost had been. Melost had opened himself up for Anwanelme, not knowing that she would take terrible vengeance if she thought he had failed her.
"No," he thought, "I shall never allow myself to love another so much, that they can hurt me so deeply."

[ July 19, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain's heart felt immediately lightened as he heard Thelian's rather hesitant words.

"Do not- do not think more upon this matter. The past is the past, and we can not correct its errors. My only concern now is Melost."

So the squire had forgiven him? Arthain knew not how he had managed to do this, but he felt infinitely grateful for this gesture, especially after what had passed today, for that would have given Thelian an easy excuse to form an even deeper grudge towards Arthain. The man stood and sat beside Thelian, thinking to make a reply which might ease the tenuous bond between them further...but Thelian stood, quickly, stepping away, his expression almost one of disdain, it seemed to Arthain.

"I am following Dorlas' example." The elf said hurriedly, before walking away briskly. Arthain watched him go, and as the squire moved into the darkness, Arthain's heart and mind settled into the same. He thought more deeply on the some of the words which Thelian had said: "Do not- do not think more upon this matter."

Do not think on this matter? The matter of the snake? How could that even be possible?! Arthain felt anger rise in him as he stared fiercely into the fire which suddenly matched his feelings, and thought of the way in which Thelian had departed so suddenly when Arthain sat down beside him, standing quickly and stepping away, as if Arthain was dirty. And Dorlas had abandoned him, left him for the elves, for a member of the race that had been his downfall, that had caused him so much pain...

He slumped, and shame overwhelmed him suddenly as he realised the foolishness of his thoughts. Thelian had acted valiantly in trying to put his mind to some sort of rest, although it was impossible for it to come to such, and for that he should not be angry at the squire. And Dorlas... well, why should I blame him for going, Arthain thought bitterly. Why should be ally himself with one so soiled?

"Dorlas, do you abandon me now?"

"You give me little choice. You have allied yourself with the witch twice now,"

No! The thought was so strong in Arthain's mind that he almost yelled it out aloud as he stood abruptly. It was wrong! He had not allied himself with the viper, as he now called her always, he had done nothing of the sort! If his squire had known what had gone on in his mind before and as he grabbed Thelian's wrist- it was not the viper he had been protecting! It was an instinct, the sense of duty that lived in him, the oath that he had sworn to uphold. The oath that he would never allow an innocent or woman to be harmed. And when Thelian had raised his weapon, all Arthain had seen was an image of the woman he had loved, and who he had thought he had been with that fateful night, a blinding flash in his mind. The image of a woman who had had no protection. Yilsa.

So much was misunderstood here, and was misunderstood by the one who was meant to understand Arthain better than any- for in battle what would become of them if this apparent rift was still there? Arthain deserved to die, as Melost would have wished, but for the second part of the elf's 'curse' on Arthain to be fulfilled? For the one he loved most to die in his arms? Impossible. All who he loved had turned from him, or their spirit had left this world completely.

Arthain tore his gaze abruptly away from the fire and gazed into the night, staring out the shards of broken light which flickered across his eyes after staring into the fire, and for a few moments simply stared into the darkness which surrounded the camp. Then, his heart heavy and thoughts of what was to become of all who were, or had been, close to him, he departed to the tent where he would lie sleepless until morning.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya and the others sat away from everyone else. The women talked loudly with one another about Thelian's attempt on Anwenelme's life. Menelya kept shooting glances over at her daughter, trying to catch her eye. Anwenelme never looked towards her mother though.

Menelya sighed loudly. This whole ordeal was Anwenelme's fault. If the strumpet had not committed her acts of bitterness, none of this would have happened. Menelya would not be the center of scorn and mockery and Anwenelme would be well on her way to marrying Melost, furthering Menelya's position. Instead of being higher than these giggling dolts, Menelya had fallen to the bottom of the social ladder. It all happened to suddenly. A week ago, Menelya was sure that at that time the next week, she would be revered by the idiots that now sat teasing her and showing false sympathy towards her situation.

"And did you see the look in his eyes?" one woman said, her shrill voice penetrating Menelya's thoughts, "I would not be surprised if he ended up killing someone! I just hope it is not one of us. If my husband was here...he would not stand for such a display! That boy would be sent away!"

"And that girl! Menelya! How could you let that girl grow up to be so...so...how could you let her be that way? It is all her fault though. Maybe the boy should have gone through with his deeds," another said.

"Shush!" another said, "We should not blame Menelya! Although she does show the same low class as the girl, the girl's low class does not directly reflect Menelya's behavior!"

"Maybe you all should keep your noses out of what is not your business," Menelya said coldly, "We do not want more deeds of a 'cold-blooded' nature while you sleep, do we?"

"You would not dare," the first Elf woman said, challengingly, "Do you know what that would do to your reputation?"

"Frankly, I don't see how it could bring me any lower down," Menelya said quietly, "And it might feel good. What about you?" she indicated to the woman, "Would you be dreadfully offended if your blood was spilled on this night."

The woman looked at her in shock. "I suppose you would mind then?" Menelya said, thoroughly enjoying her little game, "Oh well. A woman can dream still, can't she?"

The women all fell silent, their own games no longer fun. Menelya continued to glare at them for some time, then she looked over at the group. Arthain had left for his tent, it appeared. This was all Anwenelme's fault. And yet, Menelya still felt a strange twinge of pride. Anwenelme certainly knew how to take her revenge. She had managed to ruin the lives of every one of those that she felt had oppressed her. Yes, it included Menelya, but the Elf mother was still proud. Anwenelme had shown more of Menelya's own traits in the past few days than Menelya had ever seen displayed in her daughter.

Menelya looked at the silent women, who were looking at her in both rage and fear. Menelya again noted Arthain's disappearacne.

"Well, it seems as though Master Arthain has gone to bed. I suppose you all should as well. I think I will stay up...no: don't worry. I am merely checking on the well-being of my daughter. She must have had just an awful night," Menelya said, making a show of looking over and Anwenelme sympathetically. She really had no intention of approaching the girl this night.

The women looked at Menelya closely as they left one-by-one for their tents. Menelya sat staring out into the dark, not really intending on sleeping on that night or even going into her tent, if she had any say in that matter.

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas slept soundly, trying to figure out why all the recent events were bothering him so much. He was woken up in the early hours of the morning by Thelian, who was half-asleep and asking Dorlas to take watch. Dorlas sat by the fire after this, poking the largest pieces of wood with a twig as he contemplated what would happen after Lothlorien.

It was better than thinking about what had already happened, Dorlas had decided. He couldn't change what had already happened and he certainly could not help Arthain and Melost in any way other than to show them how they are just like he and Thelian. But Dorlas could consider the future.

His confused and dreary thoughts were interrupted just before dawn as Arthain came to sit next to him. Arthain said naught, but he stared at the flickering embers idly as Dorlas looked to him in slight disbelief.

Part of Dorlas thought Arthain was insane to sit next to Dorlas as if nothing had happened. In this act Dorlas thought he had become all to like the viper and it frightened Dorlas slightly. At the same time Dorlas told himself that he should never be surprised at what Arthain would do, for he was an open book that could be read anytime. Unfortunately, Dorlas was beginning to think the open book that was Arthain was written in a foreign language to the squire.

"I don't understand you Arthain. Do you not realize that you are just like Anwenelme? Can't you see what you have done to Melost? Can't you see what you've done to me...even to Thelian?" Dorlas whispered angrily, trying to contain his voice so as not to wake the women. Arthain turned his head to face Dorlas slowly, and his eyes were cold and distant.

"Do you realize what kind of effect this has on me? Can you honestly blame this all on me? Thelian has made peace with me, why can't you?" Arthain growled back, trying to keep an even tone and not upset the young squire into rage. Dorlas stood and went to toss another log onto the fire as he thought of a reply.

"You have not made peace with yourself. How can I believe you when you are still unsure of everything that has happened yourself?" Dorlas shot back, sitting back down. Dorlas knew everything he wanted to vent out and scream at Arthain, but he could not put it into words. There were so many things Dorlas wanted to blame on Arthain, but he couldn't say it! The words were empty in his mouth, and his questions were only the simplest he could think of.

"You do not understand what has happened-" Arthain began, but he was cut off by Dorlas immediately after this phrase, for he had said the wrong thing.

"Do you know why I don't understand?" Dorlas asked, finally raising his voice to a shout. "I don't understand because you don't talk to me! You aren't telling me anything! I don't understand because you won't let me!"

With that, Dorlas abruptly left the fireside to go and wake Thelian. The sun was almost up and they needed to prepare for the new day. All he had truly wanted to say to Arthain had been said in that one last shout, and he had nothing more to say until Arthain could explain himself. Thelian woke up groggily, and it reminded Dorlas strangely of him on all the midnight horserides they had taken a few weeks earlier.

The women woke up with muffled comlpaints, knowing they would hold no sway over Arthain, or Dorlas for that matter. All the young human squire wanted was to go off to war and leave the silly matters of the elven women behind.

[Cuthalion]

A night, a day, a night, a day...Melost moved wearily up the rocky incline of the Redhorn Pass, under the watchful eyes of carefully concealed denizens of the mountains. His tormented mind had long ago torn itself to shuddering mangled bits. The faces of those he had loved, had fought beside, had admired, flowed together to form a single image which seemed to have embedded itself forever in his brain, like a dagger driven deep in a killing stroke.

He had long ago howled away his voice, he had no tears, no emotion left. Betrayal on such a deep level had slain him, all that remained was for him to realize that he was dead. Stubbornly, his body pressed on, determined to prolong the agony of existance. Melost's despair was slowly killing him and his mind had already sought refuge in Valinor.

Pain radiated through his starving, parched body, but he refused himself comfort of any kind. Voices and visions had filled every moment since he had stumbled out of Arthain's tent. He never even moved aside from the small rock-slide that claimed his consciousness and left him partially buried.



He was free...he was drifting...Melost had escaped the torture of life and was now able to do as he pleased. His first thought was of Anwenelme. Surely it had been a mistake, surely she still loved him. His spirit flew swiftly, seeking her out. It was dawn and there she was, her raven hair spread fan-like in her sleep. Her brow was furrowed....why? He went to her and brushed her lips with his own. She stirred, then sighed. He drew away from her, captured in this moment by her beauty. He loved her, she had not betrayed him, she was still his. He smiled and lay down beside her, his body telling her what his words never had. She writhed in her sleep, then gasped aloud..."Arthain!"

He screamed, the pressure of a hand on his shoulder had forced him back. Melost struggled against the hands that held him...then opened his eyes blindly. "Arthain, is that you?"

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme had quietly gone back to her tent when Arthain had left her, still shocked by the fact that Thelian had almost tried to kill her. And Arthain had actually saved her. But why? She expected that he of any would want to see her dead. Unless...no, he had no feelings for her. That he had made clear to her. She had only been concerned about Melost, that was the only reason she had spoken to Thelian. But apparently they all now believed her incapable of any kind of emotion and only saw evil in everything she did.
She found it hard to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she would see Melost, not the way he had always been, but with the mad-stricken look that had covered his face when he had found her with Arthain.
Tossing and turning, wondering if he would always be haunting her like this from now on, Anwanelme finally drifted into a restless sleep.

She felt his lips on hers and sighed, smiling, glad that he had come to his senses and returned to her.
Opening her eyes as she felt a touch she was startled when she saw not Melost, but Arthain, the same way he had been that night, caring and loving but suddenly feeling weak and unable to resist, she gave in to him.
Smiling she pulled him close. "Arthain!"

With a start she woke up, ripped out of her dreams and she looked around the tent, convinced someone had just been there. She had dreamt about Arthain but she knew he hadn't been in there.
Still feeling the sensation of the last kiss, Anwanelme slowly ran her fingers over her lips, recognising the soft touch.

"Melost?"

Swiftly she jumped up and wrapped her cloak around herself, then stepped outside the tent, but there was no trace of him. With a sigh she realised that had he really been there, he wouldn't have been able to disappear this fast.
He had not come back...

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

More grumpy than ever, having been pulled from their camp into this forsaken place by Khalad, Vlad looked around the place where he stood. Nothing but rocks. With a deep sigh he tried to figure out what an Elf would do out here on his own, a warrior even. And where did he come from?
In his usual silent way, he knelt down next to the lifeless body they had found, halfway buried under stones and rubble from what seemed to have been a minor rock-slide.

"You're sure this is the one you saw?"

He looked at the tall Númenorean beside him but the younger man only nodded which caused Vlad to smirk. Khalad usually tried to say as little as possible when he was alone with him, since the more noble manner in which he spoke would mostly cause the older man to tease him without mercy and Vlad was fully aware of that.

"I believe you were given a tongue so you could put it to good use, Khalad!" he said dryly and checked to see if the Elf was alive. He found a pulse, slow but steady and he caught himself wondering what had happened. It wasn't his concern, all he wanted to know was if this one had been alone or if more could be expected.
Vlad reached for the water-skin in his belt and he sluiced some of its content over the face of the Elf, both in order to try to wake him up but also to rinse off some of the blood that covered his face and made it impossible to determine his condition.
Moaning, he stirred and Vlad placed a hand firmly on his shoulder to make sure he didn't make any swift movements. He had seen that although the Elf appeared to be a soldier he carried no sword, but there was no way to say if he carried other weapons and Vlad didn't wish to take any chances.

The Elf seemed to regain consciousness and began to struggle, forcing Vlad to make a firmer grip on both his shoulders, when suddenly he opened his eyes and relaxed a little.

"Arthain, is that you?"

"Don't try to speak. For now! You'll have plenty of telling to do later on." Vlad said quietly, releasing his grip on the Elf's shoulders, then turned to the extraordinary tall man who had been standing behind them, scouting for any poor soul who might be foolish enough to get too close to this place.

"Fidrohir! We're taking him with us back to the camp. You and Khalad will carry him. I'll go ahead and tell the others. If Snyd hasn't fallen asleep on his watch again, in which case I'll kill him before getting Jaheira to make herself useful and take care of this guy's wounds. I want him alive so he can answer some questions."

Fidrohir mumbled something inaudible, obviously not content with having to drag a nearly unconscious Elf into their camp with Khalad but he was clever enough not to gainsay Vlad. He was their leader and the fools who had dared to question this, had soon learnt why. And Fidrohir knew that now was definitely not the time to anger Vlad any further. Their provisions were running short and now it seemed they had another person to take care of.
"He must be getting soft!" he whispered to Khalad, nodding towards Vlad as they picked up the Elf. "Why question this one? On all other times he would've killed him."

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad did not reply to Fidrohir's question, only shrugged his shoulders the best he could without losing the elf. He was examining the elf, and could easily tell from his clothing and appearance that he was important, not a common elf. But he could not guess more of his identity; the elves were rare in the south of Gondor, and he had never studied them much, nor interacted with the elves in the nearby woods.

"What do you reckon he was doing 'ere, by himself?" Fidrohir asked. "You are almost half-elf yourself, so you should know." he said it without of scorn, but it stung Khalad anyway; he knew these outlaws would never forget that he was very different from the rest of them.

"I do not know. But there is a war on the march, and I assume he is a part of it. There can be little doubt he is a warrior." Khalad did not bother to correct that the númenorians were not half-elven more than Fidrohir was, for he knew such details were lost on the big outlaw, whose use was in his strength and not his brain.

"Little doubt, eh, Khalad? Well, I have more than little doubt about you. Always playing with that sword of yours, are you. Not planning something dirty, are you?" Vlad snerred.

Khalad kept his silence. He knew Vlad was merely trying to insult him, and the best reply was to be silent. If he spoke again, Vlad would just use Khalad's own words to scorn him further.

He looked at the elf, and hoped that Vlad would keep him alive. Khalad missed the company of others than the outlaws, and the elf appeared promising. At least he would not scorn Khalad for his speech, or background.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira frustratedly sharpened her tools for lockpicking, despite the fact that it had been weeks since they had been used. There was not much else to do in the foresaken spot Vlad had led them to. It was Snyd's watch, but Jaheira had woken when Vlad had been taken from camp by Khalad. Not able to get back to sleep, Jaheira had taken a seat next to Snyd sitting and leaning against one of the many trees in the camp area. Snyd had already fallen asleep, but as long as Vlad did not catch him, he would be fine.

Jaheira was dully putting away her tools when Vlad came storming back into camp with Khalad and Fidrohir behind him carrying something along with them. Jaheira yawned wearily, slid her tools away, and nudged Snyd with her elbow.

"Wake up, Snyd. Unless you want to die at Vlad's hand. Besides, it's almost daylight anyway..." Jaheira whispered lowly, and Snyd blinked slowly and blearily. He stretched in the shadows of the night, before Vlad crouched quietly next to him to see if he was still awake.

"What've you brought us this time, Vlad?" Snyd grumbled, trying to see what Khalad and Fidrohir carried with them. They dropped their burden roughly near the dying fire of the camp, and returned to where Vlad was crouched. Jaheira yawned again, eyeing what looked to be some sort of human by the fire.

"An elf. Just one, and a warrior by the looks of it," said Vlad evilly. Snyd had a questioning look upon his face, as did Jaheira. Why would an elf be alone? Why would Vlad bring it to camp? Just one elf couldn't have been such a threat that they needed to hold it captive!

"A lone elf? Vlad," Jaheira reiterated, shaking her head slowly and defiantly. What was he thinking this time? Not for the first time Jaheira began to think that Vlad had gone mad, but then again, Vlad always turned out to be right about such things. "You know we don't have enough food to care for anyone else. Not to mention he looks pretty dead already to me..."

"He will be dead if someone doesn't look after his wounds. He's barely concious, and he's got a bunch of gashes," Fidrohir added, and Khalad nodded agreement. Jaheira sighed, and crawled away from her spot by the tree to go and find the small pack of healing mixtures and bandages. Then she went over to the fire where the elf was crumpled on the ground, breath shallow and slow.

He's a handsome elf, Jaheira thought as she examined his cuts and gashes. She had rarely chanced to see a live elf, for Vlad always had anything that came too close to camp killed. The elf warrior flinched and winced subconciously as Jaheira put medicines to protect from infection on his open wounds. Most of his wounds were simple cuts or slightly deep slices of skin, but Jaheira could not tell if it was from self-infliction or not. As she dressed his wounds with the bandages and cloth she had in the pack, the elf grabbed Jaheira's wrist involuntarily.

"Arthain!" the man whispered softly, and Jaheira lifted a brow. Who was Arthain? Jaheira dismissed the question, knowing Vlad would take care of it when he questioned the elf.

"What should we do with him now?" Jaheira called to any listening, keeping her cold grey eyes on the elf writhing in pain before her.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Cuthalion]

Gentle hands greeted his rise to consciousness and Melost relaxed. "Just like that skirmish when we hunted down those orcs and killed them in the Ered Luin, eh, Arthain? I took two sword cuts and you tended me then as well." His breathing eased and he left himself drift. Male voices only enhanced the illusory image his wounded mind conjured for him that he had been wounded and been taken back to camp.

Suddenly a female voice asking for more bandages caused his eyes to snap open. His vision was blurry from a head injury but he made out a beautiful, slender woman with dark hair that looked down at him with concern and...speculation? His eyes narrowed and he pushed her away. "Stay away from me witch! Was it not enough? Do you seek to finish me?" He tried to stand, but a flash of pain from his head nearly caused him to black out.

Vlad was on him in an instant and Melost found the gleaming tip of a dagger at his throat. Melost's eyes grew wide in confusion. "Arthain? What..what has happened? Put the knife down, man. Were injured in the attack as well that you do not know me?" He reached to touch Vlad but was pushed back onto the hard ground. VLad leaned down close to his face so that only Melost could hear. "If you touch my woman one...more...time, I will cut those pretty ears of yours off and feed them to you, understand?" He shoved Melost roughly, then rose and stalked away. Melost lay still, totally lost. His woman? Arthain has a ...? In a rush, his recent memories rushed back to him, but in a mosaic pattern, fragmented, shattered, incomplete. The pain of loss drove itself deeper. This was not Arthain, yet Anwenelme was here...touching him, tending him, wanting him? His breath became ragged as he struggled to comprehend what had happened. others began to gather near him in threatening postures.

Men. I have been captured. I...I will die now. Arthain, where are you, my brother?

[Maikadilwen]

As Jaheira went to the fire to tend to the wounded Elf, Vlad sat down nearby, leaning back against a tree.
He was watching her, studying her movements as she treated and dressed the wounds, admiring the grace with which she did it. He remembered well more than one occasion where he had been the subject to her medical treatment. She knew what she was doing.
It was no wonder she had become a successful thief. Her nimble fingers were skilled with the lock-pick and when it came to emptying ordinary pockets, few did better than she.

Jaheira turned her head and looked at Vlad for a short moment, seeing the almost possessive look on his face as her eyes met his, before she turned her attention back to the Elf.
Vlad kept watching the scene, a smile playing on his lips. She was angry with him right now but he knew it wouldn't last. It never did.

He watched as the Elf apparently came to and suddenly grabbed Jaheira and pushed her away. In one swift movement Vlad was on his feet and then almost on top of the Elf, his dagger against the Elf's throat.

"If you touch my woman one...more...time, I will cut those pretty ears of yours off and feed them to you, understand?" he snarled and shoved him back onto the ground, then left, running his hand over Jaheira's hair as he passed her.
He vaguely noticed that the others were slowly gathering around the Elf, their weapons drawn and he sat down, with a sigh.
Who is he and what has happened to him? And who's this Arthain?
He looked up and saw Khalad staring at him, an almost pleading look in his eyes. He sighed again and slowly shook his head as he rubbed his face, knowing he was most likely going to regret his decision to let the Elf live.

"Let him rest! He's not going anywhere."

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad's heart was gripped by fear, as Vlad put his dagger to the elf's throat. His eyes asked without words for mercy. Vlad removed the dagger, and gave the order to let him be. Khalad's relief was so great, that he could feel his heart pacing at its normal rhytm again.

He felt protective of this elf, though he had no apparent reason. But the elf was unable to defend himself, and who knew what would happen to him if nobody stood up for him.

Khalad pondered why he felt this way towards the elf. The last time he had felt protective against someone was his sister, and that had resulted in his flight north, and it was the reason why he was with these outlaws.

He ended up with a conclusion, that it had to be his background. The Númenorians had always held the elves in high respect; well, at least the Elendili had. And though Khalad and the outlaws were all humans, he knew that he was more akin to the elf than to any other in the camp.

He thought again over the identity of this elf. Arthain he had cried. His thinking was stopped as Vlad gave him a small push to the shoulder and asked:

"What do you make of him? Where's he from, and what is his business here?"
"I cannot tell his origin, only that he must be of noble family. His clothing is of rare material." Vlad's eyes shone upon hearing this remark. "And that name he says, Arthain. It is a name common in Gondor."

"Why would an elf call out for a man? Aren't they to stuck-up to be dealing with men?" Vlad said, but only to make Khalad irritated. He did not doubt the young man's words, and his mind was filled with these riddles, that the elf presented. But, these questions would be answered later when he was rested.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira watched silently as Vlad walked away from the Elf, following his movements carefully with grey stare. She sighed, returning her gaze to the Elf that blinked slowly by the fire. Vlad rarely made such a scene, overprotecting Jaheira or making threats for her. Not that Jaheira wasn't used to Vlad or his many threats and strange roughness. In fact, she had become quite accustomed to it.

Jaheira leaned over the Elf one last time, curious and intrigued with the handsome, but grimy and bloody warrior. His eyes were distant and grey, they matched Jaheira's. His hair was black and it was tousled and full of dirt and twigs. Jaheira tried to reach out and fix one of the bandages, but the elf's eyes flickered open alertly, as if he were waiting for her to make such a move.

"Snake...Arthain..." he mumbled angrily, which made Jaheira pull her hand back away from him. Jaheira began contemplating whether or not to tell Vlad that the Elf was useless and had gone completely mad. Jaheira decided not to risk further interaction with the Elf, so she walked away to where Vlad and Khalad were talking lowly.

"Khalad," Jaheira began, hoping and yet not caring if she was interrupting something important. Vlad gave her a sidelong gaze, and Jaheira smiled back weakly. "Do you think there are more nearby? Do they travel in groups like us?"

"Why do you ask?" wondered both Khalad and Vlad simultaneously. Jaheira took one last glance to where the elf laid...was he trembling? Then turned back to Khalad and Vlad. It was best to tell him that way, with Khalad as a possible explainer. After all, Jaheira had always been told he was close in kin to the elves...or at least closer than most.

"Ahh, no reason. What do you think happened to him?" replied Jaheira with a question as she twidled with her hair idly. Khalad and Vlad exchanged looks, and Khalad shook his head.

"Could be nothing," was Khalad's blatant answer. "He is dilusional, you know how badly he's wounded, Jaheira. Could just be he's gone mad. He could have strayed from his camp or may have been cast away. The Elf is almost definitely from an army of sorts, or at least is of more high social status."

Jaheira glared at Khalad. It was always so hard to tell if he was telling everything or holding back important information. Of course he knew that sort of thing, what else was Khalad good for? Vlad was giving Khalad the same, cold glare. The outlaws were supposed to be a close group, but then there was little notice for who you could trust. Khalad felt some sort of necessity to protect the Elf in a way similar to the way Vlad protected Jaheira, it had been obvious in his eyes when Vlad had threatened the Elf. Brotherhood, perhaps, Jaheira did not know.

"Why this Elf, Vlad?" Jaheira asked, turning to the rugged leader of the outlaws. Then she glared menacingly at Khalad. "Why was this one not killed? Strays and wanderers should not be trusted any more than the scum and unworthy of our group."

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad did not like the turn the conversation had taken. He was grateful that Vlad had spared the elf, but Khalad did not want Vlad to question himself why he had done it; maybe he would change his mind.

Nor was he happy that Jaheira had mentioned they killed strangers, like the scums of the group; was she implying that he was one of them? It seemed that both she and Vlad knew he had not told everything he knew about this elf. And he would have difficulties explaining why he did not kill him when he found him.

"Well," he began, "When I saw him I could see he was in a bad shape. He could not be any danger to us. And his appearance told me that he was no commoner; he walks rather in the halls and courts of kings than beneath the trees in the forest."

Jaheira didn't look to pleased, but she was probably still in favour of killing him. Vlad, on the other hand, who had already spared his life, seemed to accept his explanation.
"You thought along the right tracks, Khalad. Maybe we can squeeze a few coins out of him, whoever he is."

Khalad was relieved to hear that, though he didn't like the word "squeeze". But if he was lucky, he could convince the elf to tell him the truth, and Vlad did not have to order his brutes to do anything to force the truth out of the elf.

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

Thelian rode next to Dorlas, as he usually did, though neither of them spoke much.

The events of these past few days lay like a heavy burden on them both, despite that they had not acted wrongly. But both of their lords were in danger, though Thelian was more concerned with Melost's whereabouts, and Dorlas feared for Arthain's sanity.

Suddenly Thelian straightened up, his sleepy attitude gone, and his vigilance awaken. He looked around the company; the ladies were chatting merrily, and occasionally laughter could be heard, though not from Menelya who sent Thelian a look of malice. He quickly looked away and turned his attention to the front, where Arthain rode alone.

"What do you see, Thelian?" Dorlas asked, who also looked around himself though he had seen nothing unusual.
"It is not what I see, my friend, but what I smell. There is a distinct foul smell around here, and if I didn't knew better I would say it came from a band of orcs, probably hiding from the sun. With the wind direction they would be in front of us, though it sounds unlikely; There should not be any orcs by miles near this route. Still, stay alert."

He sat for a few seconds, not sure if he should tell Arthain. He wasn't to keen on engaging in conversation with him, especially with this matter. But he decided the safety of the ladies where most important, and rode up at the front to speak with him.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Helkahothion]

Fidrohir looked at the scene before him. The elf was pulling on Vlad and it was not amusing at all. He took out his crossbow and loaded it up with an arrow. Snyd went for his weapons too. But the storm passed and it was not necessary. He locked the weapons and pulled the arrow off. While putting it back in the quiver, he saw Jaheira glancing at the elf again. So did Khalad. The elf seemed to be very interesting. Fidrohir couldn't see what was so interesting. The elf had a pretty face and pointy ears, so what?

"I can cure him of those ears in a few minutes." Fidrohir muttered.

Snyd was snickering next to him. He glanced sidelings and gave the man a smile. He walked over to the elf and looked down on him. The elf seemed to be passed out since his eyes were closed. He bend down next to him and looked at his clothes. They seemed to have been pretty. The fabric was fascinating. Fidrohir slowly touched it but his wrist was suddenly locked by the elf. In an immediate reaction, Fidrohir drew his short sword and placed it on the throat of the elf.

"Back off elf-boy. Or I will give you another hole to breath trough."

The grip loosened and Fidrohir stood up. Khalad walked to him and had a deadly look on his face. He grabbed Fidrohir by the shirt.

"What did you do to him? Speak up."

Fidrohir looked down at him and just smiled.

"Don't worry, your precious elf is save and sound. I'm fine too."

Khalad glanced at Fidrohir and then his look went passed him to the elf. Fidrohir stood aside and went to Vlad. He stood leaning against a tree and looked the man in the face.

"I still don't understand why you didn't smash him open." He said with a tone of envy in his voice.

[Cuthalion]

Anger flared in his mind as Melost lay still a moment after the man had threatened him. It was obvious that something was very wrong and part of him urged caution for he was far from battle-ready, yet all his mind knew was that he was in danger. Instinct took over and he rolled to his feet, his boot-knife in his hand. Vlad tensed as he watched the Elf, but appeared relaxed, ready to move in case the Elf attacked. He eyed the Elf as one would a potential enemy. He had moved with grace and speed, probably had strength as well, but was pretty banged up and therefore not too serious a threat.

Melost watched the reactions of the humans closely. Why had these people left the army? Who were they? And why was a female with them? His head pounded from the sudden movement and he had to fight not to sway on his feet. His eyes roamed over each of them in turn. The man with the cultured voice and kind eyes grinned at him shyly and he nodded to him without lowering the knife.

His eyes slid side-ways to rest on the woman. The very sight of her beautiful dark looks stirred something within him, but he felt repulsed, and he retreated from her.

Two insolent looking men stood lounging against a tree trunk, snickering at him and muttering comments as they looked him over. Melost straightened and returned their disrespectful looks with one of his own. He twirled the knife in his fingers and smiled lazily. "Ah, so it was you who soiled my clothing with your filthy hands! When I have acquired new ones, I will expect you to clean them!" He had dealt with new recruits in such a manner and it came easily to him. The larger one might outweigh him, but he began to feel lighter as adrenaline flowed through him.

His glance flickered to that of the man who had been calmly watching him the whole time and he was mesmerised. The man was lean, muscular like an archer or swordsman. But it was his utter calm caused Melost to take notice. He knew the man was assessing him and Melost sheathed his knife and moved toward him slowly, hiding the pain of his injuries. He extended his arms out to his sides, then stopped.

"Mae govannen! My name is Melost. Are you of Isildur's army? Have you seen Arthain?" Silence greeted his questions and fear clenched his gut as he watched the others exchange glances. What had he stumbled into and why couldn't he remember?


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


Gil-galad and Elendil had been in conference for two days with Malgalad, Celeborn and Galadriel. It could hardly be said that Isildur had attended for he had sat glowering in a corner in order to distance himself from the others. His pride would not allow him to skip it entirely, so he had removed himself as far as he could while still being able to listen. Elendil had been shamed by his son's actions, but the Elves did not appear to notice. Elendil at last found himself needing to escape the oppressive silence that hovered about his son. Gil-galad noticed his friend's discomfiture and offered to walk with him as he went his way.

That morning had dawned crystal clear and as they walked amid the great silver trunks of the mallorn trees. Elendil marvelled at the peace and timelessness of Lothlorien. He felt contentment as he had never felt it before. Suddenly Gil-galad gasped and clutched his head as his knees buckled. Elendil caught him and knelt beside him in order to steady him. "Gil-galad, what has happened?" His voice was taut with concern as he awkwardly mumbled words of comfort. At length, Gil-galad drew a deep breath and looked sadly into his comrade's eyes. "Melost..he seems to be badly injured, possibly dead...I can no longer sense his presence."

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

"Mae govannen! My name is Melost. Are you of Isildur's army? Have you seen Arthain?"

'Arthain'...There it was again. Who was this man and even more important, where was he?
Vlad ran a searching eye over their surroundings but he didn't seen anything or anyone. No one was there, that was for sure. He might have lost one eye but the remaining one had never failed him yet.
Having watched the entire scene with Fidrohir in silence, he now went to him and without a word or the slightest warning, he back-handed the man.
The force of it combined with his own surprise, caused the tall man to stumble backwards and as he accidentally stepped on a large stone, he lost his foothold and fell to the ground, cursing and swearing loudly at the one-eyed man who stood towering over him.

"I told you to let him rest, Fidrohir!"

Vlad's voice was calm but those who knew him could sense the restrained anger.
Slowly he turned back toward Melost, watching him, measuring him.
So he was a soldier, but why would an Elf ask about Isildur's army?

"We are no part of any army, nor do we care for any who are."

His voice was cold and his face revealed no emotions but inside him a battle was raging.
Why had he refrained to kill this stranger? The others were questioning his decision and he knew it might very well have been the wrong one to make.
And yet this Elf seemed to be non-threatening. He had sheathed his knife without even having been asked to do so and something told Vlad that he might even be someone who could be trusted.
If only Vlad had ever been able to trust anyone, that is. Perhaps he was the leader of this group of people, but he didn't trust a single one of them, not even Jaheira although she provided some comfort.

"We have seen no army or troops of any kind nearby and yet you appear to be a soldier although you carry only a knife and an empty scabbard. How did you get here, where is your company and how many men are in it?"

If Melost was a scout sent to spy on them, he had certainly failed his mission but Vlad wished to take no chances. They all had a price on their heads and it wouldn't be the first time someone would try to claim it.
Melost's eyes suddenly flared as they focused on something behind Vlad and he turned, only to see that Jaheira had stepped a little closer.
He knew she hadn't seen the Elf before so it couldn't be some quarrel from the past but Melost seemed to be angry with her for some reason.
He turned back toward the Elf, his eye narrowed and his jaw clenched.

"But first you tell me why you tried to attack Jaheira!"

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad was not much surprised that the elf spoke to Vlad, perhaps he could recognise him as the leader of the camp. And his words answered some of the questions.

He thought over what the elf had said. He had been right, then, that this Arthain was a Gondorian, a part of Isildur's army. A sudden longing swept across him, to see his countrymen again. An entire army of them, camped not far away! If it was possible, he would take this elf with him to the army. Hopefully, the elf's gratitude would protect him from the errors of his past.

He had no more time to dream, though, as Vlad became agressive once more. The elf disliked Jaheira for some reason, though Khalad could not guess what it was.

"But first you tell me why you tried to attack Jaheira!" Vlad demanded, but before Melost could reply, Khalad came to his defence.

"Remember his condition. If he has been attacked, it could explain his lack of weapons. And if the first thing he saw after his attack was Jaheira, it is likely that he thought she was one of them." Khalad reasoned, hoping he could persuade Vlad.

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

Elendil looked at Gil-galad with sympathy. He did not know this Melost, though Isildur had spoken of him at one briefly. But he was apparently a kinsman of Gil-galad, and Elendil knew what sorrow the elven king was feeling. He imagined if one of his own sons died, and how he would feel.

Gil-galad had no sons, but it was possible that this Melost was as close to him as one. The sudden outburst of emotions told Elendil that the elf was deeply touched, for normally he concealed hos feelings.

Slowly, hesitating, Elendil reached his hand forward and placed it on Gil-galad's shoulder. The elf looked up, and his through his face of grief a smile found its way, and though it was filled with sorrow, it warmed Elendil's heart.

"Tell me about Melost," Elendil said quietly, and Gil-galad began telling of their relationship.

Although he listened, Elendil could not stop thinking of Anarion, who would join them along the road, and Elendil looked forward at seeing his youngest son. It was the only real joy he could find in this war.

Little did he know, that from a treetop Isildur watched them both, and if he could read his father's thoughts, they would have angered him, even more than seeing him and the elf together in an obviously intimate conversation.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

"I attacked no one. I know no Jaheira." Melost struggled with the fear that was welling up inside him. He knew none of tese people and looked like none of the many men who joined the ranks of Elendil's army from many of the out-lying villages as the armies had swept east-ward. His fear stemmed mainly from the fact that he had no recollection of what he was doing here or how he had arrived. His head was pounding so hard his vision was blurred and he could sense hostility emanating from almost all the men. Except one.

Melost needed to sit down, but he knew he could show no weakness, therefore he drew himself up to his full height, which proved to be greater than that of all the others save one. He glanced over them, one by one and his eyes settled on the one who had spoken in his defence. "We march against the East and the dreadful Power that lies hidden no more, but will soon break forth upon this land like a raging storm. You, you speak as one from Numenore, surely you know the tale of Annatar, the one who deceived your people to their destruction? He it is whom we seek to destroy. We are Elves and Men, united in a common cause, that of survival! The High Kings, Gil-galad and Elendil are marching even now toward that darkness. Why are you not with us?"


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


"Melost is a close kinsman of mine, one I hold dear to me. He has fought and nearly died for me through-out many lives of Men." He sighed heavily. "I must tell Galadriel, it ir possible that she cam discern more swiftly than I if the escort has been harmed as well or if there is yet hope. By Iluvatar, I can only hope I have not sent him to an early death!" Elendil grasped his hand and helped him to his feet, then clasped his shoulder again. "I understand. It is never easy to lose one close to you, especially when that one is a warrior." The shadow of sadness that tinged Elendil's voice was not lost on Gil-galad and he stopped to look closely at his friend. "Elendil? What is this sudden melacholy. Why...?" Elendil shook his head and cut him off. "High King though you are, it is none of your concern. Come, let us return to the others. We have been gone too long." He strode on ahead of Gil-galad who followed more slowly, lost in thought.


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

Arthain was about to have more on his mind than brooding on the fate of Melost, for out of the foot-hills came a small band of orcs even as Thelian rode to his side. "Get the women into those rocks! If any can weild a sword, give it them!" he shouted. He still had time, as they were still some distance away. Fortunately, there weren't many, only six, maybe seven. In his present frame of mind, he felt he could take them on himself.

Thelian rode back toward Dorlas and called to him to get the women hidden as quickly as possible. They knew the odds were in their favour and by keeping the orcs in the open, they had a far better chance of escaping without serious harm.

An arrow flew by Arthain's head. "Damn! Crossbows!" He reached for his shield hanging by his horse's rump and set it before him. "Melost, damn you! Where are you when I need you!?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Get the women under cover! If they can, let them wield the weapons we brought!" Thelian cried back to Dorlas, who stirred from his daydreams into immediate action. Thelian and Arthain rounded on their horses as seven or eight orcs scrambled into view, and Dorlas moved even quicker to get the women hidden in the brush. Some fled their mounts, running to where Dorlas had ordered them to hide, others galloped over to Dorlas, who was herding the women under the cover of several bushes and trees.

"Ladies, please discard your mounts and hide," Dorlas pleaded, in no mood for valiant but foolish heroics. Then he remembered Thelian's original orders. "Unless you can wield a weapon well! If you can, go over to the cart and find yourself a suitable weapon!"

Dorlas hid the horses in nearby shrubbery as four of the Elven women rushed to the cart to get weapons. One of them was Anwenelme, but this was only a fluttering thought to Dorlas. Menelya had scrambled faster than any of the other women to get to the hiding place in the trees. Dorlas drew his sword, fumbling at the sheath with nervousness. He had never seen real fighting action during his time as squire, and had never been personally involved in a skirmish.

He did not have time to think of his inexperience any longer as soon the Orcs were upon Arthain, Thelian, he, and the four women.

~*~

Jaheira rolled her eyes. Perhaps Khalad was right and the Elf...Melost...really was losing his mind. What was he blabbing about? Who was Annatar? Jaheira was a pickpocket and a theif, not a historian or a storyteller! The Elf must have had a serious knock to the head, rambling on about High Kings and such. Or perhaps Jaheira and the rest of the outlaws had just been away from civilization for too long.

"We should not waste our food on this Elf. He is hardly sane or worth questioning," Jaheira murmured audibly, dismissing Melost's question despite the fact that it was directed towards Khalad. Why had the Elf backed away? Jaheira had never met a live Elf before...she was from Rohan! She had done nothing but heal the Elf and tolerate his ignorance! And still Melost eyed Jaheira with anger and hostility.

Khalad took a step to the Elf, as if readying to protect Melost should a conflict arise. This was equally troubling to Jaheira, knowing that any minute Khalad could and probably would turn on the outlaws. Not that she wouldn't do the same, however. It was such a delicate balance...

Jaheira stepped slowly to where Vlad stood, tensed and ready to kill the Elf should it make a move. She wound her arm around his, her grey eyes on the Elf as if Melost would attack if she broke the gaze.

"Vlad, he is an Elf. He will regain his strength quickly. He will rebel when someone like Khalad is on watch and they will flee here after killing us all," Jaheira whispered into Vlad's ear. It was true! Jaheira did not trust the handsome stranger, and she didn't trust the unfaithful Khalad either.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad's heart was pounding hard, as Melost spoke to him. It all made sense. His grandfather had made sure he knew much of Númenor's history, and some of the elves, and it all made sense.

But this meant one thing; Annatar was alive! They had all believed he had died in the Akallabeth, how could he be alive? Khalad took a decision. Annatar was the foe of all the Númenorians who were faithful, including an outlaw like him. Feelings of patriotism stirred in him, and he knew what he had to do.

"My life is forfeit anyway," Khalad thought to himself. "I will make sure this elf returns to the army, even at the cost of my life. And if I can, I will join the army as well. This fight is on a grander scale than living a petty life here among these brigands."

It seemed Jaheira had guessed some of the thoughts that ran through his head. She whispered to Vlad, and no doubt she accused him of treason. Khalad did not wish to betray the outlaws; after all, he still owed them too much to not honour any bonds he had with them. But not at the cost of this elf.

He whispered to him: "I know of what you speak, and your words are true. Fear not, I shall do all in my power to get us both out of here, and back to the army. But we must convince Vlad, the man with one eye, that you pose no danger."

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

Thelian's sword leapt out of his scabbard and into his hand. It seemed like disaster followed upon disaster. He and Dorlas stood in front of the four women who had taken a weapon each, and stood determined to defend themselves. They all knew what would happen, should they fall into the orcs' hands alive.

The orcs came close, and engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Here and there bolts from a crossbow flew, but as far as Thelian could gather in this chaos, nobody was hurt yet. He thrusted his sword into a orc's chest, and quickly withdrew it to block an attack towards himself.

Suddenly, Arthain's shield came up close to his head. An arrow struck against it, but felt harmlessly to the ground. Thelian nodded quickly to Arthain in gratitude, before rushing forward to the aid of the women. He was not allowed to think much in the turmoil, but one thought pressed in between all the noise, and stench of blood and death; he owed his life to Arthain. Why did the Valar torment him like this, putting him in life debt to the one who had caused him the most grief? His only comfort was the grim thought that Arthain was mortal; at some point, time would erase it. But could time erase the memories of these events that was etched in his heart?

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Maikadilwen]

Feeling a soft grip around his arm, Vlad looked down to see Jaheira winding her arm around his and his expression softened a little. He could see she was about to say something and he leaned down his head to listen.

"Vlad, he is an Elf. He will regain his strength quickly. He will rebel when someone like Khalad is on watch and they will flee here after killing us all."

Slowly Vlad pulled his arm away from Jaheira's grip and then placed it around her shoulders instead, pulling her close with a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. He kissed her on top of the head, then tightened his grip on her arm as he leaned his face close to her ear.

"You don't trust anyone, Jaheira, not even me, I know that. But no one trusts you either, so don't give me counsel on how to deal with this situation. I risk a whole lot more than you if we're caught and if this Elf is telling the truth and there are indeed armies moving around in this area, t'would be wisest to get as much information on their movements from him as possible. After that....we'll see!"

As he let go of her, Jaheira pulled away from him, rubbing her arm, her eyes flashing, but Vlad only sent her a sly smile. He had always found her even more attractive when she was angry.
Turning back toward Melost and Khalad, he looked at both of them for some time, thinking over what the Elf had said.
Vlad had been roaming the lands through most of his life and he had seen many places and heard many a strange tale. Fully aware that a lot was at risk here, he looked sharply at Khalad, then at Melost.
"Khalad!"
The younger man's head flew up at the mentioning of his name and as Vlad motioned for him to come closer, he did so slowly, the knot in his stomach tightening. He could feel Vlad's sharp gaze upon his face and he knew that whatever he said right now, Vlad would know if he lied.

"What do you know about this, Khalad? Is he telling the truth or has he lost his mind?"

"From what I know, he speaks the truth, Vlad."

It took some time before Vlad moved his gaze from Khalad to Melost but as he did so, it was obvious to Khalad that he had made a decision.

"Everyone, get some rest! I'll take this watch since we'll all end up dead if Snyd's sleeping. This Elf...Melost, may hold information which can be important for us, so if anyone as much as touches him, I'll personally make sure it'll be the last thing you do! Now go!"

He turned to go, but then cast a glance at Khalad, thinking for a moment.
"Keep an eye on him and make sure he gets some rest. He'll need it!"
He then looked at Melost, noticing that he seemed less tense than before and he nodded slowly, then walked away to take up his watch. He needed to be alone so he could think.

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Helkahothion]

Fidrohir lay on the ground. Cursing out every word he had at Vlad, but it seemed that Vlad did not care. Fidrohir raised himself to his full length again and cursed the stone that made him trip. He played around with the idea of his crossbow. One arrow was all it would take to get rid of the horrid Vlad.
Why he staid was still a mystery to him. Just like always, nobody liked him. He had hoped on some comradeship in this group, but everyone seemed to mistrust everyone. Much did he longed to go and find his parents that sold him away. Not to kill him, but to find what he had never experienced in his entire life: Love and affection. Just a kind word was enough. But no one ever gave it to him, only making him harder and more hostile to his environment.
From the very beginning Vlad had questioned if Fidrohir was to stay when he arrived. He was young and had been very hard to control. And now he still was. Many times did Vlad have to strike him down and never was there a hand to help him up. Always on his own, except when they needed something done. Than they were ordering him around. Even though Fidrohir was older. But Vlad had more experience in those things. So he just accepted the fact that his life had failed and that there was no cause whatsoever.

Khalad was muttering something to the elf and the elf was babbling about high kings. Fidrohir could not imagine what a high king was. He himself was pretty tall, so they should be enormously big. Fidrohir wondered what they were. Never had he heared tales of ancient times. Only orders and insults. Fidrohir envied this elf. He must have someone loving him back home and parents willing to tell him stories of old. No doubt he had been in those stories as well. And where was Fidrohir himself? In a pig stable. He walked away from the group, he had enough. In the dark he leaned against a tree and softly started sobbing.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad took a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine from their few supplies. Some of the others muttered angry words at this, but Khalad ignored them. Vlad had ordered them to let the elf allow to rest, and with that to back him up, Khalad felt his courage rising.

He sat next to Melost and offered him the food. The elf accepted it, and though he had to be starved, he ate slowly, with graceful movements.

Khalad watched him, amazed, and knew beyond doubt that he was more akin to Melost than the outlaws. This knowledge strengthened his resolve to help the elf.

His only dilemma was which course of action to take next. He wished he could simply sneak away with Melost; it should not be to hard to find the army, considering its size.

But he knew it wasn't easy, and if they were discovered, then Vlad would no longer be merciful. And Khalad felt, after all, that he owed Vlad some loyalty still.

He decided to stay in the camp, and let Vlad get his information from Melost, though he would not allow the brigand to torture the elf. And then, he would try to convince the outlaw to let them both go. He knew the chance wasn't great, but he felt it was the only way he could be loyal to both Melost and Vlad.

Melost had finished eating, and Khalad decided to try some conversation.
"Is it true, that Sauron has returned? And that Elendil and Gil-galad has formed an alliance to defeat him?"
The elf nodded, though it seemed he knew little more of this matter; he did not elaborate further.

"What were you doing here, in the mountains?"
The elf shook his head, but this time his melodic voice spoke:
"I do not know, mellon nin. I wish I did. But I wonder why you are here. It is easy to see that you are of the noble race of the Númenorians. Indeed, you remind me of someone dear to me, though his name slips from my mind. Why are you here, and not at the army?"

Khalad did not answer, though he guessed who this Arthain was; A Númenorian, in the army, who was a close friend of Melost. Perhaps this friend was dead? If indeed Melost had been attacked. Now that Khalad looked again, it didn't seem like it.

These puzzles filled his mind, and he knew he had no answers to them. And as long as Melost could not remember his past, they would not be answered.

Khalad wished he could forget his past; but such mercy was not bestowed upon him. He hoped he could find some rest in his sleep, knowing that it was Vlad who stood guard, and that he wouldn't allow the others to harm them while they slept. But deep down he knew, that even sleep offered only temporarily comfort.

[Cuthalion]

Melost found himself drawn to this quiet young man and he pondered why he was here. The wild certainly didn't suit him, he was obviously well bred and knew the ways of hospitality. He sighed. Too many questions. He felt unusually tired and he knew he had to stay awake. He had seen comrades with severe injuries go to sleep afterward and never awaken...but where had he seen this?

Melost listened to Khalad as he spoke softly, and wished that he could provide the answers for him. He chewed slowly, grateful for even this stale loaf. After a few bites and a swallow of wine, he gave Khalad the rest and leaned back against a tree trunk. arms folded across his chest. His eyes closed of their own accord and he slipped away...

Men and orcs fought viciously, hacking at one another. A shining band of Elven cavalry rode swiftly across the plain to aid the stricken men. One man stood out, a friend? He was about to receive a killing blow and Melost drove his sword through the orc's chest. The man smiled at him and raised his sword in salute...A woman...Elven...she turned to look at him with proud eyes. He went to her and she melted into his arms....A tent, the man and the woman...together in love.

He snapped awake with a cry and Khalad's hand went instinctively to his sword. "What is it, Melost?" he asked with concern as Vlad came walking toward them through the trees. "What's going on? You, Elf, you want to get us killed? We're not exactly on a pleasant journey here. Keep quiet!" Melost looked from one to the other and he was shaking. What did that mean? I knew them, the man and the beautiful woman... I've... held her before, but then, why..was I in love with his woman?"

Melost held his head in his hands and tried to calm himself. He heard a movement and a warm hand gripped his shoulder and he placed his hand over it, grateful once again for the comfort.

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Dammit Melost, where are you when I need you?"

The thought came unbidden to Arthain's mind, and it hurt as badly as if one of the orcish arrows had pierced his chest. But there was no time to dwell on such things- the orcs approached, and Arthain felt only anger.

The arrows were being shot from behind while the other orcs pushed forward. It was a perilous plan for the orcs, as they risked shooting their own, but it also meant it would be doubly hard to fight the orcs while dodging the arrows. Dashing out from behind the rock where he sat, Arthain whirled his sword around at the orc he had heard coming up near him. He judged the distance perfectly, and his heavy sword sliced straight through the creature's chest. Arthain's hands jarred slightly as his weapon sliced through flesh, bone and muscle, and Arthain felt the adrenaline of battle course through his viens. The orc bellowed in pain and rage, but Arthain followed up his first slice with a straight stab through the creature's neck. Withdrawing his sword sharply, he cast a glance around, searching for his squire. If anything was to happen to Dorlas in this skirmish, while they were still in such terms...

Arthain found himself not next to Dorlas as he fought though, but next to Thelian. There was no time then to dwell on the whereabouts of his squire as the arrows were still coming thick and fast over the heads of the orcs. One long, thick arrow, hewn simply straight from a tree it seemed, came shooting towards them, to Arthain's left side. He shot out his arm with the speed of a rattlesnake, blocking the arrows course straight towards Thelian, protecting him as he would his own squire in a battle.

The elf didn't even have time to look startled, but nodded gratefully to Arthain before ducking out, spinning with elven grace towards another orc. Arthain couldn't help but pause, watching him, memories of another who moved with such smooth elegance stirring in his mind. But he lingered for too long, and an orcish blade was coming towards him so fast, as if it had come from nowhere. Arthain barely had time to move to the side, but not fast enough, and the stabbing blade caught his side, piercing his tunic in a chink where he had not had time to fasten his armour. The pain flowed through his side as the blood flowed through his tunic, and he bit down on his lip hard, nearly drawing blood there to stop himself crying out.

Anger fuelling him even further, he barely noticed the elven women as they joined in the fight as he twisted agily, dispatching the orc with a powerful thrust of his sword.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

After Vlad rejected Jaheira's suggestion, the girl had stormed off in momentary anger to sit behind one of the many trees, leaning on its trunk. She was not far away from the fire pit where Melost and Khalad sat, merely a tree or two away. Jaheira tried overhearing their conversation and succeeded in catching snatches of Khalad and Melost's words, but those were enough to get Jaheira suspicious of both of them.

Khalad had asked something about someone named Sauron, and he asked about an alliance. That was all Jaheira could hear before a bout of silence overcame the area. Jaheira turned around just in time to see Melost nodding his head yes. Then Khalad asked why Melost was in the mountains, but Jaheira could only see Melost's lips moving in answer; she could not hear his soft reply.

After this Jaheira turned back around to face away from Khalad and Melost, contemplating what to do with her new-found information. She could tell Vlad or she could keep it completely to herself. Jaheira began to think that secrecy was the best way to hold the conversation and information. Besides, Vlad himself had reminded Jaheira that she trusted none in the group and none trusted her. Why waste such knowledge on a man that would never truly trust her?

Lost in her thoughts, Jaheira was vaguely aware of a slight whimper from a tree nearby. As the area around Jaheira became steadily quieter save for the sobbing, Jaheira stood to find who was making the noise. Surely 'tis no one from camp, Jaheira told herself. The outlaws were too strong to cry. Maybe it is one of Melost's friends, come to save him!

Jaheira drew one of the many daggers she had and began to walk towards the tree from which the noise emanated. Rounding the tree, Jaheira lifted her arm to grasp the neck of the being in a headlock. Jaheira missed completely, for the human was too tall! Her arm smacked its back instead, and in the dim light her opponent whirled around with an axe in hand.

It was only Fidrohir, so Jaheira soon came to realize. Jaheira snorted as she saw glistening tears falling from his green eyes. He lowered his sword when he saw it was only Jaheira, and Jaheira lowered her dagger in turn.

"What're you crying for?" Jaheira murmured, laughing inwardly at the man before her as he sobbed and sniffled. "Outlaws, theifs, bandits, warriors...we don't cry. Crying is a sign of utter and complete weakness and cowardice."

Fidrohir glared at Jaheira, as if what she had said confirmed whatever he was thinking. Jaheira rolled her eyes and turned on her heels to walk away from Fidrohir. He was certainly not the smartest person in the band out outlaws, not the bravest or the most clever. Perhaps the only reason he was in the group was because his height proved to be a simple advantage at times. Jaheira still remembered the night she had picked the lock of the local jail, and let some of the criminals that were still in the group free. Fidrohir could be replaced if he was such an insubstantial and impuissant being.

Jaheira walked away from the weakling Fidrohir, looking for Vlad. Oh, there was so much to tell him! Besides, Jaheira thought, He may not want my counsel, but perhaps he may need some...comfort...

With that last thought, Jaheira weaved through the wounds, finding Vlad standing against a tree just out of earshot from the camp. He was being moody again, Jaheira knew. Most other days he was more jolly and merry, but something was troubling him and it was obvious to Jaheira.

"Vlad, are you alright?" Jaheira murmured, her voice audible, but only to the man she was now standing next to. Jaheira smiled at him, wondering what he was thinking or what he was planning.

~*~

Dorlas fought and parried blows with the orcs as if it were a game. He noted every mistake he made, every flaw and everything he could have done better. Dorlas would think to himself as he blocked a blow to his head that Arthain would have been disappointed or that Arthain had taught him to do something before he needed to block. It was as if he saw the skirmish from someone else's eyes, and under Arthain's scrutiny. Despite this, Dorlas felt he had done all he possibly could to fight in the manner that Arthain had taught him.

Dorlas saw Arthain deflect an arrow from hitting Thelian, and began to wonder if Arthain would have done the same for him, in such a state their relationship was then. Dorlas had been cold to Arthain and had turned away when Arthain had tried to make amends. And now there was no telling when they could make amends. It was not a huge battle or life-threatening war, but in the back of his mind Dorlas still felt a tinge of worry.

Then Dorlas saw an Orcish blade being withdrawn from Arthain's side. Dorlas could see blood slowly oozing from where armor had been carelessly thrown on. Arthain bit his lip, but his rebuttal was twice as strong and fatal to the opponent. The Orc dropped, and Arthain doubled over along with it, clutching his side.

Dorlas couldn't let their fight keep him from helping Arthain.

Arthain's squire sprinted across the grass towards his master and was distracted only once to dispose of an Orc along the way. Dorlas dropped to his knees when he came close enough to Arthain, and examined his master's wounds. Healing it would be beyond Dorlas' skill, but perhaps it would all be well with the help of Thelian or one of the Elven ladies. How badly did it hurt? Dorlas couldn't ask such a question. Arthain refused help or Dorlas' orders of cease, but nodded gratefully at his squire's willingness to give said help.

[ July 27, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[ July 27, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Maikadilwen]

"Vlad, are you alright?"

The soft voice next to him ripped him out of his thoughts and he turned to look at Jaheira's smiling face. All her anger seemed to have disappeared or at least she was hiding it well and Vlad couldn't help but smile back at her.
With a tired sigh he sat down on the ground, leaning back against the tree and rubbed his eye. He had slept for only a couple of hours when Khalad woke him up, rambling on about the wounded Elf and now he had to deal with the result of his decision not to kill him, which had given him a splitting head-ache. But why had he decided to keep this one alive?
It would've been so easy to just...

Feeling a hand run over his shoulder and down his back, Vlad turned his attention toward Jaheira who had crouched down next to him.
"You want something?" he asked her, for a moment amused by the look on her face, almost able to hear her thoughts. He knew very well what that look meant.
With a light chuckle, Jaheira told him about her encounter with the weeping Fidrohir and the horrified look on Vlad's face nearly made her laugh aloud. Vlad only looked up at the sky and shook his head.
These people will be the death of me!

"Any further trouble with the Elf?"
Jaheira shook her head, then went quiet. She thought for a moment about telling Vlad the few things she had heard from the conversation between Khalad and the Elf, but then decided not to. It might be of use later on, so it could wait. Or it might not be of any use at all, in which case it didn't matter anyway.
She rose with a smile and began to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder.
"Maybe Fidrohir should take over the watch. I think you need to rest. I'll tell him!"

Vlad sat for some time looking after her, then smiled and shook his head. Indeed he needed to rest but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to for some time.
He decided that he would deal with Fidrohir another day and so he left the moment he could hear him, knowing exactly where to find Jaheira.
As he passed the two by the fire, he winked to Khalad and grinned, mumbling that someone else had taken over the watch for the rest of the night and that he would go get some rest.

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Durelin]

"Oi! Fid! Fid, you sheep-gut! Where are ya?" Snyd called, swaggering around and peering into the trees. Snyd kind of liked Fidrohir, and they got along pretty well, but sometimes…sometimes Snyd just didn't understand the man. He was gloomy at times, wrapped up in himself in a sad sort of way. Not the same as with Vlad and his moods, but still a sort of temperament. But now, Snyd was pretty sure he understood. They should slit the elf's throat after getting as much information out of him as they could and be done with it. It would save a lot of trouble for all of them, including the elf. Melost, or whatever. What he didn't understand was the sympathy from Khalad. He saw them talking, talking! Like over a cup of tea!

"Fid!"

There still was no answer. But then he heard the heaving breaths of sobbing. Sobbing? Who under Illuvatar…? Peeking out from behind a tree, Snyd stared in disbelief at the wretched form of Fid, slouched beneath a tree…and crying. "What are you doing Fid?" he said quietly, walking over to crouch in front of Fidrohir "Wha--" He cut off, unable to think of anything to say. Still, he thought that that was enough to let Fid know that Snyd…was confused! And I thought I understood the man, he thought. Again, it was just one of those moods. Snyd waited not too patiently, sitting down and then switching his position every few seconds, until Fid finally spoke. "What am I doing? What does it look like I'm doing? Weeping, like a fool."

"Ahw, come on, you're no fool. If you're weeping, you've most likely got reason to. And even if you don't… everyone's foolish at times, but that doesn't make them a fool." He paused for a moment, wondering whether he had gotten those words right. He remembered hearing that from someone before, but he had never had a very good memory. "What happened to ya? You were in good spirits a while back." He grinned. "Don't worry, you'll get a chance to stripe that pointy-ear's hide." He stopped again, and his grin faded as Fidrohir looked up at him with a face full of both sadness and anger, each fighting to gain control. What am I thinking! Fid could never be that foolish! "But…you wouldn't be all to pieces over that…so… You still haven't answered my question, and you know what I mean! What are you doing?"

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad sat next to the fire. He couldn't sleep, and nor could Melost. Or did the elf need sleep? Khalad could not remember. He only knew the elf sat, starring in the ground. Every minute Khalad spent with the elf, even when they simply sat like this in silence, made him remember his childhood, and all he had known about the glory of his ancestors. The glory of Númenor.

And now it was in danger. The survivors were threatened by the horror of their past; Sauron, the enemy himself, whom all had thought was dead. He was merciless; altough Khalad had never known him, or lived under his regime of terror, the many tales of his grandfather had painted a clear picture of how horrible and terrifying it had been for the Elendili.

Khalad looked around at the sleeping outlaws; they lived in their simple worlds, thinking that they were important, and did not hesitate to kill if someone offended them. What did they know of the West, or the greater affairs of Middle-earth.

He knew that if Sauron was the victor in this war, there would be no survivors. The Númenorians and Elves were too great a threat that any should be left alive; and Khalad felt shame, that he hid here in the mountains, instead of defending his home.

Khalad thought if he should begin a conversation; there were many things he desired to know from Melost. He had not heard much news about the events of Middle-earth since he joined the outlaws, and he wished dearly he knew more about it.

But before he could speak, Vlad passed them by. He was headed in Jaheira's direction, and when he said a few words about another being the guard for the rest of the night, followed by a grin and a blink with the eye, as from one member of a conspiracy to another, Khalad did not have difficulties guessing what Vlad's business was tonight.

Melost, on the other hand, was more puzzled.
"What did he mean, Khalad?" he asked, not sure if Vlad was a friend or foe. Earlier it had seemed like he had little respect for Khalad, and now he acted like the two was old friends.

Khalad sat, a bit embarassed, not sure how to explain this.
"Well, you see, Jaheira and Vlad are more than just friends. Or, perhaps it would be more correct to say that they think the other one is attractive; I'm not sure if they feel any friendly emotions towards each other. But they can still-find pleasure with each other."

Melost was silent for awhile, and realised what he meant.
"You mean, they are together like that? And I suppose, when they wish, they simply break up, if they don't backstab the other first! It seems that men lack certain standards." He did not speak further, for suddenly, he knew that some of his own race was not better than these humans; but he could not remember more. It made him feel bad, that his own people could behave like this. For although he did not remember any details, he knew without question that at least one elf had behaved even worse than this; and the thought was like a knife in his heart. Or was the pain present because of something else?

Khalad did not answer, nor did he seem to take notice of Melost anymore. He thought about his own sister. Indeed, in Gondor they did not do things like this; and this probably meant that had his sister survived, she would have lived the rest of her days inside their father's house, never leaving it, hiding her shame, and always remaining a shadow which was to be ignored.

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

A subtle shift in inflection caused Melost to glance at Khalad sharply. "You seem saddened, my friend. Perhaps I shall come with you on watch." He rose in one fluid movement, then reached his hand down to Khalad, who hesitated, then clasped it firmly. As they began to walk the perimeter of the camp, Melost looked back the same way Vlad had gone, then shrugged. No! Do not allow yourself to feel...to feel means to suffer." said a voice at the back of his mind. Something was there which whispered and nudged at his memory. It taunted and teased him with bits and pieces memories and he shook his head voilently as he tried to clear it. This proved to be a mistake. He staggered and nearly fell as blinding pain lanced through his head. Khalad stopped and went to his side. "Melost?"

"Melost?" Who's voice was it that called his name with such...longing? His eyes flew open as one memory suddenly stood out as though back-lit by a bon-fire of pain. Here was Arthain and there...there was his beloved...she of the ebon hair and beautiful eyes, in Arthain's tent. Together.

He wrenched away from Khalad with a wild cry and felt for his sword. Upon finding his scabbard empty, his wild eyes turned on Khalad. "Give me your weapon, human! It would not be wise to stay in my way!" Melost cursed as Khalad called out to his fellows for help, his expression one of confusion and anger. Had the Elf gone mad? Why had he cried out like that? Before he could react, Melost was on him.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Vlad had found Jaheira easily. It was no surprise to Jaheira as she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head upon his shoulder. She liked Vlad and she was attracted to him, Jaheira felt that much. But there was no true love in their relationship. Merely 'comfort' and enticement. It didn't matter to Jaheira though, and it didn't seem to bother Vlad either as she kissed him softly.

Jaheira and Vlad had not been alone long when they heard a loud cry echoing through the woods. It was Khalad, calling for help. The words were muffled as they rang through the trees, and became strangled off suddenly for some reason unknown to Jaheira and Vlad. The two immediately seperated and tried to determine where the yelp was coming from before darting off to their left through the thickets.

"It's that damn elf!" Jaheira cried to Vlad, who was running through the trees just in front of her. Jaheira knew this would happen! She had told Vlad from the beginning that this would happen! Then again...why was Khalad the one yelling for help? Jaheira had thought that if anything involving mutiny or rebellion and the elf would have Khalad there along with.

Jaheira's thoughts were immediately interrupted as she nearly collided with the stopped Vlad. She peered over the momentarily indecisive leader to see Melost attacking Khalad, despite his lack of a weapon. The moment's hesitation from Vlad and Jaheira was soon interrupted again by the sound of pounding feet nearby: undoubtedly Fidrohir and Snyd. Then the group immediately went into action to get the elf away from Khalad.

[Helkahothion]

Fidrohir and Snyd heard the yell. Fidrohir had not paid attention to it at first. Could have been Vlad getting mad at Khalad again. He was still cheering out of his mind due to the kind words from Snyd. But the screams were getting louder and it was not out of pain, it was a call for help. He shot up and ran to the sound. Snyd right behind him. Fidrohir had his axe out and was waving it against the branches that would get in his way. He reached the spot of trouble and found that Vlad and Jaheira were already there. He ran to the elf, which was now un top of Khalad. With a hard wave he whacked him of Khalad. He jumped up and wanted to attack Fidrohir.

"Arthain!" The elf shouted. For what reason, Fidrohir did not know or care.

Vlad jumped him from the back, grabbed the wrists of the elf and turned them on his back. The elf struggled harshly and Khalad was still on the ground. Snyd wanted to assist Vlad, but was kicked in the stomach and in the face since he doubled over. Jaheira took one of her daggers, but the struggling elf kicked those out of her hands too. Fidrohir ran to the elf but the rat kicked him in the groan.

Those legs are the first thing going of when we get to play with him." Fidrohir thought as he loaded up his crossbow.

He aimed for the chest and caught the eye of Melost.

"Stop moving or you will become our new coat rack you little rat." Fidrohir said with his crossbow in his hand, raised to his full length above the elf.

Melost stopped kicking and Khalad was up and about again. He looked at Melost, his eyes filled with disbelieve. Over what, Fidrohir did not know. Vlad dragged the elf back to the camp and threw him down by the fire while cursing at him. Fidrohir just walked along with them. Vlad looked very angry.

"I will watch him now. It seems that our lovely friend Khalad here was is not able to watch over a single person."

Firdrohir went back to the three where he had been and resumed watch.

[ July 29, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian threw a dagger into an orc, and it dropped its crossbow. The fight was over, the orcs were slain. It had seemed like it had lasted several hours, but when Thelian looked at the sun it had barely moved.

He looked at Arthain, who held a hand to his wound in the side. Thelian considered what to do, but only for a few seconds. Arthain had saved his life, and even if he hadn't, Thelian could not refuse to give aid to a wounded.

He approached Arthain, and, extending his hand towards the wound. "Here, let me see it. I have a few herbs that will stop the blood."

Arthain looked at Thelian with surprise, before allowing him to remove his armour and take a closer look at his wound. Arthain had a medical kit himself, in his pouch, like every Númenorian soldier, but he saw a chance for being reconcilliated with Thelian, and he would not waste that chance.

Soon after, Arthain was patched together, and expressed his gratitude towards Thelian.

The latter said nothing more of the matter, but searched the wagons to get a view of the damage. He pushed away the body of an orc, which still had black blood flowing from it.

Thelian thought at the matter, that Arthain's blood had been red. And so was his own. "Perhaps, elves and men are more alike than I have believed so far. And Arthain spilled his blood for me. Perhaps - perhaps it is time for forgiveness, and not hate."

The last thought came with hesitation, as if spoken aloud, but Thelian knew that it was true nonetheless.

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

Khalad watched as Vlad pushed Melost to the ground near the fire, and then stared in each direction, giving Khalad an angry glance.

Khalad was not angry that Melost had attacked him. He was convinced the reason for the attack was in Melost's past, or his wound. If the reason lay in the former, then perhaps there was a connection with this Arthain. After all, there was a good chance that Khalad and he looked alike, so perhaps Melost had thought Khalad to be him.

His concern right now, though, was on what to do. There was no use in pondering more over these matters, as only Melost could answer them. And Vlad, who was guarding him, probably didn't feel friendly enough to allow Khalad to have a chat with the elf.

The best thing to do would be to let Vlad cool down, and see what tomorrow might bring. But as Khalad lay down to sleep, a grim and ironic thought came to him: "If this is how elves and men are united, I fear Sauron shall have to little resistance."

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

"Let me up!" Melost growled. Vlad eased up slightly on the hold he had on the back of Melost's neck and the Elf threw him off as he rolled to his feet. The speed with which he moved allowed no time for Vlad to recover. "You! Turn and face me!" Melost called out. The human had treated him with total disrespect and he intended to teach him differently. Fidrohir looked the Elf up and down, then threw his head back and howled with laughter. "Problem, pretty boy? You need a good beating, Elf!" He reached for his sword-hilt and Melost slid his knife from its sheath. "Come, youngling, teach me something...if you can."

Fidrohir's face coloured darkly and he rushed Melost, his sword out and swinging wildly. He had size and strength, but Melost was quick and had centuries of experience. He smiled as the man rushed him, then gasped in surprise as he was jumped from behind. Vlad tackled him as Firohir swung his sword at empty air. "Both of you! Hold!" he snapped, his voice carrying the crack of aythority. Fidrohir however was enraged with battle-lust and he refused to back down. Khalad went to Vlad's side and was charged by the huge man. Melost reacted instantly by burying his dagger in Fidrohir's side. He jerked it out quickly and prepared to stab him again when he heard Vlad behind him. "Drop it!" A sharp-edged sword caressed him under the left ear. He turned slightly and he felt warm blood flow slowly down his neck. "Melost, give me the knife...now." A hand appeared in his peripheral vision and he handed it over reluctantly. He recieved a vicious blow to the head and knew no more.

[Maikadilwen]

Vlad looked at the unconscious Elf on the ground by his feet and had to admit to himself that he was impressed by the speed and skill he had shown, especially considering his bad condition. It was all that had kept Vlad from killing him on the spot. After all, he had attacked Khalad.
A loud groan turned his attention toward Fidrohir who lay on the ground, clutching his side.
With a slight nod toward Melost, Vlad looked at Khalad and sheathed his sword. "Tie him up!" he growled as he stepped over the Elf and crouched down next to Fidrohir.

Examining the wound as well as he could, Vlad could see that it wasn't as bad as it had first seemed. The man's clothes had prevented the blade from making much damage with a deep entry and unless the wound became infected, Fid would be in no danger.
With a heavy sigh he tilted his head and looked at Fidrohir, remembering that Jaheira had told him that she had seen this man crying like a child and a malicious look appeared in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Fid. It appears that nothing can be done for you...the wound is too deep."
The look on Fidrohir's face was more rewarding than Vlad had imagined and he had to control himself so he wouldn't laugh as the large man started weeping again.
He pulled at the wound, just a little, but still enough to make Fidrohir gasp from pain and then he pulled out his long knife and held it close to Fid's throat.
"I could make it quick, you know. You would hardly feel a thing."
Truly enjoying the fear he saw in the other man's eyes at the slightly sadistic smile which showed on Vlad's face, Vlad didn't notice Jaheira until she placed a hand on his shoulder, a concerned expression on her face. He gazed at her for a moment, wondering why she suddenly seemed to be concerned about someone, especially since the wounded one was Fid.
"Is it really that bad?" she asked Vlad as he rose in front of her.

"Of course it's not that bad! It's merely a scratch! Fetch your kit and fix him up and he'll be fine in a couple of days."

He went to take a look at Melost and smiled as he found that Khalad had placed the Elf against a tree, bound on hands and feet. Wounded as he had been when they found him, he now looked rather miserable as Vlad knelt down and checked Melost's head where he had delivered the blow, then sat for a moment, just looking at the warrior in front of him.
"You sure put up a good fight, ancient one! I could certainly use someone like you to show these idiots how to defend themselves."

"So you are not going to kill him, then?"
A tinge of hope in Khalad's voice revealed his thoughts to Vlad, who glanced at him sharply.
"You have always been soft, Khalad. Be careful not to become weak as well. That pretty sword of yours is too good to not be used."

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“So, I’m really going to die then?” Fidrohir wailed when Jaheira returned with her kit to where the wounded man was sprawled on the ground. She rolled her eyes dramatically as she examined the puncture just below Fidrohir’s ribcage. When Jaheira noted how shallow the wound was, she looked away and tried to suppress a snort of laughter. This act seemed to alarm Fidrohir, for the man began to sob audibly and flinch at Jaheira’s touch. “Oh, please don’t let Vlad deliver a mercy strike! Please! Try fixing it! I’ll…I’ll take it like a man, honest! Don’t let me die!”

“You’re going to die regardless if you keep squirming while I work. Stop flinching! Besides, you know you deserved this wound,” Jaheira murmured as she tried putting medicine to prevent infection onto the quailing Fidrohir. He was too much trouble to heal. He deserved to die anyway. Before long Fidrohir’s fidgeting began to interfere with Jaheira’s efforts. “Stop! Now! No, no! Stop trying to…Snyd! Get over here! Hold this surly, clay-brained death-token still.”

Snyd came over and held Fidrohir down, laughing inwardly at his friend’s cowardice. Jaheira finished dressing the wound some time later, for it was no easy task to remedy a wound with the victim flailing about like some sort of fish. When she was finished, Jaheira left Fidrohir so that the man could sob and wallow in self-pity alone, and went with Snyd to go join Vlad and Khalad, who were watching the Elf. Melost was securely tied and was under sufficient guard, since Khalad could no longer be trusted to guard the Elf alone.

“He’s fine. Fid’s a big baby and he whined the whole time, but he’ll be fine,” Jaheira informed Vlad and Khalad as she sat down near the old fire pit. “Next time lets just let the Elf stab him again. We’d only have to listen to him scream for a few minutes, then we’d never have to bother with it again.”

Jaheira had never meant the comment seriously, but it generated nothing but looks of sincere consideration. She smiled wearily, leaning her head on the trunk of a tree and looking at her slightly bloodied hands. Sighing, Jaheira looked up at Vlad, who was pacing back and forth slowly in front of the elf. They needed to be leaving soon, before someone or something found them. They had been in the small forest for too long, and Jaheira was ready to leave whenever Vlad was. But now Vlad had the Elf to deal with, since he had neglected to kill it on sight.

“What do you think he is doing here?” Snyd mumbled, but his words were easily audible in the silence that had enveloped the group.

“I don’t know,” Khalad replied, and at this Jaheira sent the man a look of complete venom and anger. Of course he knew! Why wouldn’t he know? Jaheira hadn’t heard the whole conversation, but the elf must have told Khalad where, how, and why he had been in the forest alone. But Khalad wasn’t finished. “I don’t think Melost knows either.”

Jaheira tried not to gape at the man. She wanted to make him admit everything that moment, and make him tell Vlad about his talks with Melost. But instead she held her tongue and wiped the angry expression from her face.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad felt a flash of anger towards Vlad, when he spoke of Khalad's sword, the heirloom that his father had given him on the night of his escape.

His voice was cold when he spoke: "I will be the judge of when my sword shall be put to use, Vlad." his eyes burned with anger, and Vlad was a bit surprised at the nerve Khalad had to use such a tone. He decided not to pursue the matter anymore, though he made a mental note about it, if he ever wished to irritate Khalad.

The latter caressed the swordhilt with his left hand. It was one of the few things he had from his home, and though it hurt him to think of his home, he was glad to have at least some happy memories, amidst the evil ones. "Pain lets us know we are still alive," he said softly to himself, reciting the words of his grandfather who had been wounded in hundreds of battles.

Suddenly he became aware of the present, when Jaheira approached. He knew that she harboured only ill feelings towards him, and he had to be on his guard whenever she was around; it was doubtless she tried to poison Vlad against Melost and himself.

When he heard Snyd's question he replied, knowing he was the one with most knowledge on this subject: "I do not know." Jaheira sent him another loathsome look, and it was clear she did not believe him. To make sure that his words were seemed more plausible he quickly added: "I do not think Melost does either."

When he looked at Jaheira her face revealed nothing, but it was doubtless that even the fact that Khalad used the elf's name made her resent him even more. He had to be constant vigilant now; it was a dangerous game, and Vlad's favour was the key to winning.

[Cuthalion]

Melost stirred, then quieted as he felt the dull ache from the blow to the back of his head. He tried to move but found he was bound hand and foot. Why? What did these men plan to do with him? Too may questions, too few answers...that seemed to be the recent patterns of events in his life of late.

Khalad and Vlad seemed to be arguing over what was to be done with their troublesome "guest". With his head almost at the bursting point, Melost gritted his teeth in anger. "Silence! Leave me to die in peace will you? Enough!" He glared at Vlad and Khalad flushed crimson. Melost had at first had some respect for the outlaw leader, but as the hours had passed, he saw the lack of discipline, the lack of cohesion and he now almost pitied the man. He let his head flop back against the tree and closed his eyes. "I must get away from these people. I have a debt to pay...in person."

Wearily, he opened his eyes to find Vlad crouching on his haunches in front of him. "Well, well. The pretty boy's awake." He cuffed the Elf lightly on the cheek. "Behave and you won't find yourself napping again so soon, understand?" Melost's lip curled in response and Vlad laughed. "Spirit! Nice..." He rose and gestured for Jaheira to come nearer. Melost felt his heart clench at the sight of her, though he had no idea why. "Watch him. Khalad and I need to have a heart-to heart." He arched an eyebrow at Khalad and gestured for him to follow.

Jaheira crouched next to him and stretched her long legs out in front of her and crossed her ankles. "What's the matter,Elf? You seem to have a problem with me. Trouble with your last relationship?"

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"What's the matter, Elf? You seem to have a problem with me. Trouble with your last relationship?" Jaheira sniggered, grinning wickedly at the Elf next to her. At least he's tied up well and guarded by someone other than Khalad, Jaheira reasoned. Melost glowered at her, wriggling slowly at the rope that held him. Pain was apparent in his eyes, though his other facial features betrayed his pain with brute determination.

"Its like what that drunken prison warden said that one night before I broke everyone out of jail," Jaheira murmured, sliding closer to where Melost was tied to the tree. "He said, 'Love many, trust few, and always paddle your own canoe'. But that was before we killed him. Oh, but its so true, isn't it?"

Jaheira slowly pulled a dagger from where it was tied just below her knee. She held it to Melost's collar bone and guided the blade to the Elf's jawline. Jaheira shifted from her seat next to Melost so that she was crouched in front of him. Jaheira knew she had the perfect chance to kill him and get it over with. Would it solve all the arguments among the outlaws? Jaheira didn't know, nor did she care as she brought the dagger to a point at Melost's throat just below his chin.

"Poor, poor Elf-man. Heart broken, nothing left to live for, eh? But who is Arthain, then?" Jaheira spoke her words mercilessly, as if trying to anger Melost into action. That way Jaheira would have a reason for killing him to explain to Vlad. "Perhaps Elves are as bad as humans are. You are pathetic and weak, nothing better than that whiny Fidrohir."

With her last words, Melost closed his eyes and swallowed once, causing his throat to scrape against the dagger. Then he spat at Jaheira, which was a nasty surprise for the outlaw as she backed away from the Elf and stumbled backward.

"Do not insult my kin, snake! We've been through far more than the likes of your reace has," Melost hissed, smirking at Jaheira's tumble. Jaheira stood up as Melost spoke, anger and lost patience eminating through her movements. Without further hesitation, Jaheira sent one swift kick to the Elf's stomach, sending him doubling over for a moment.

"Oh, just give me another reason and opportunity to kill you, pretty Elf," Jaheira murmured threateningly before plopping back down to the ground and putting her dagger away. Not to be trusted, ancient Elf! Not to be trusted...

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Durelin]

"Oh, just give me another reason and opportunity to kill you, pretty Elf."

Snyd couldn't help it, by then. His smile had grown with each sentence, and now he sniggered openly, standing behind Jaheira and trying to suppress the laughter. She stopped grinning fiercely -- grinning fiercely. Who would've known anyone could grin fiercely? -- to turn and shoot a disgusted look at Snyd. That was it; he doubled over laughing. She turned back to the elf, and as soon as he could catch his breath, he joined her, crouching down to peer into the elf's eyes. What he saw sent him back off his heals, hitting the ground hard to sprawl in the grass. Still, he immediately rose up on his elbows to hold the elf's gaze again. He held it for a moment...but all of a sudden he was examining his boot. He blinked. The eyes were still there. He peered into the trees around him, and eyes looked back at him. Cold, icy grey eyes, swirling with the deepest of sorrow and pain. Snyd had never been the most intelligent man, but somehow he knew that it was not any bodily pain that seemed to be slowly eating away the elf's soul. It certainly was infesting the elf's eyes, and Snyd had heard that they were the only true 'doorways to the soul.' If elves had souls. This one seemed to, if it was... Snyd shivered. What was happening to it, to the elf?

Suddenly he felt other eyes on him. He could feel a tingle on the back of his neck, and that feeling had never failed him. Rising up to a crouch again, he turned to look into the fierce eyes of Jaheira. She looked both surprised and angry. Mostly angry, Snyd saw with immense disappointment. "Er...I think I need to work on my balance. I hit my head there..." The elf was still looking at him. Snyd's eyes were drawn back to the elf's, and he saw...sorrow, yes, but above that...loathing. Snyd almost fell back again. This elf did have a soul, and a very nasty one. He should've never belived those tales of elves and their undying beauty and their greatness and how much they hekp in fighting off Sauron. "Bah!" He had said that out loud, and now the elf looked a bit confused. Oh, but there was still hate in that frigid grey, so much hate. "Is all of this pointy ear's whining really just about some love?" The elves eyes lost all their confusion and gained rage. Rage and hate. They blended all too well, and they looked all too right in those eyes. Those emotions fit. Snyd almost shivered again, but he remembered the loathing. "He probably thinks it's some undying love or some such nonsense, but even with him living forever, love doesn't last, or even really exist most of the time. I wouldn't think these elves could love. They go sailing off to some island, and live in trees! In trees! They seem more like squirrels to me, even though they don't look like 'em. Squirrels do have pointy ears, though, now don't they?"

Snyd was smiling again. Jaheira was too. Fiercely, as always. The woman would've been pretty -- pretty like the ones he liked to have a bit of fun with -- if only she wouldn't be like a bloody vulture all the time. A vulture...that fit Jaheira well. He seemed to be finding amazing comparisons between people and animals, just now. Not very good, but he was not very smart, as he kept reminding himself. It seemed as good an excuse as any for most of his troubles. He leaned closer to Jaheira to whisper in her ear. "I hope that stuff you put on sheep-gut stung. I feel better knowing there's a reason behind all that wailing." He came close to cackling with laughter. Jaheira smiled, but she still looked at him in an exasperated way. Leave me alone, woman. I'm not the wisest man in the woods... It was as good an excuse as any. A tingling ran up his spine to the back of his neck. He looked behind him in surprise and jumped when he saw Vlad. Glad that he hadn't fallen backward again, he grinned at the man. But as he looked into Vlad's one eye, his smile quickly faded. Anger and disgust, hate. It all warred in the man's eye and on his face, none overcoming another. At least it did not come close to matching the elf's eyes. He could feel those on his back, still. Would they ever go away? At least he could understand the elf, in a way, but Vlad...why Vlad? He didn't really like the man, but...

He felt another pair of eyes on him, and knew they were fierce ones. The eyes of a vulture. Only then did he realize how close he was to Jaheira. Really, he wasn't that close, but he wasn't about to say that to Vlad. He rose, trying to seem normal, bringing back his easy grin. Now it was not so easy, but he tried. "Fare thee well, mellon." He sniggered to the elf, turning for a moment, but avoiding the eyes. Strolling past Vlad a bit too quickly, Snyd decided to find a nice rock to sit on. He had to think. A tingle ran up and down his spine. Three pairs of eyes followed him. Fierce, enraged, loathing. Would he ever look into someone's eyes and see... What?, he thought, See what? Love? He stumbled on nothing, and his questions were answered. I didn't think so. The tingling no longer ran along his entire spine, but it remained on the back of his neck. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he saw those grey eyes. He closed his eyes to see more eyes.

He found his rock under the tips of the spreading branches of a maple tree. Sitting there, he knew the others could not see him. Here, he would be able to think. He needed a lot of time to think. He wasn't very smart, now was he? As he sat, resting his chin on his fists, a tingle ran up his spine. Or the memory of one. The memory of so many eyes.

[ August 24, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain felt around his side gingerly where the orcish blade had gone on. The bandage was securely in place, and underneath Thelian had put on some sort of cooling salve or poultice from his own first aid kit, and the heat of the wound seemed to be fading. Moving his hand away, knowing it was unwise to touch it lest he damage it even more, Arthain looked up at Thelian were the boy was kneeling in front of him, and smiled tenatively, not knowing whether it would be accepted.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Thats...thank you, Thelian." The words didn't seem enough, and Arthain wished he could find words to express so much more to Thelian.

The elf did not reply, nor did he smile. His face remained indifferent as he stood, turning his back on Arthain and walking away towards the carts. Arthain sighed as he watched him go, following him with his eyes. The smooth, elegant way of walking, the fairness of his face, the music in his voice...the elf was so like his master. The thought, absent-mindedly floating into Arthain's mind, stung suddenly as Arthain realised it, and the grief and anger at himself came back to him. While he had been fighting, the thoughts of Melost had not been there. For the first time since the elf who had been Arthain's best friend burst in on him and the woman the former loved, his mind had been free of Melost.

Watching Thelian systematically searching the wagons for any sign of damage, and knew that Thelian felt the same pain. While the squire did not feel the guilt that came with it to Arthain, the man knew that the anger carried, and was, ironically, directed the same way - at Arthain. A thoughtful look had settled over the elf's face though now, as Arthain watched, and Arthain could not help hoping that maybe it was a good thing. That maybe...maybe forgiveness was not so far away.

"Don't be such a bloody fool. You dont deserve forgiveness." The bitter thought hit Arthain with venom, and he almost flinched. Thankfully Anwenelme was nowhere nearby, thank the Gods. Thank the Gods....Arthain's lip curled slightly at the irony of the thanks that came so automatically. There were no Gods.

Standing carefully, Arthain went to find Dorlas, and when the boy came out of a tent suddenly, he shocked Arthain into stepping back. Arthain was unable to look his squire in the face, but Dorlas's voice was not cold as before when he spoke. "We need to start going again. I doubt any of the ladies were hurt, and the can get over the shock as they ride." The tone in Dorlas's voice when he said the last part told Arthain that his squire thought as little of the 'ladies' as he did. Dorlas continued, "Thelian is just checking for any damage. I'm just alerting the women in these tents."

Arthain nodded, glad of his squires organisation. "I will start over at the far side. And Dorlas," Arthain laid a hand on his squire's arm as Dorlas nodded and started to turn away. His voice was soft when he spoke. "Thankyou."

Dorlas opened his mouth, then shut it again, and simply nodded, before continuing away. Arthain watched him go, then turned towards the tents he had said he would alert. Then he realised his mistake.

Anwenelme's was the first.

He cursed under his breath, and for a moment, he wavered, before making up his mind. The snake would not get the better of him, would not send him cowering away from her like a whelp. Purposefully and with a grim expression, Arthain started towards her tent, unaware of Thelian's eyes watching him. He hesitated at the tent opening, counted to five under his breath, then opened the curtain, clearing his throat quietly to announce himself.

The black haired elf turned, and Arthain was surprised to see a smile on her lips. But that was not the only thing on her lips, and as she spoke in that first mili-second, her face was transformed into that of a young girl, delighted to see someone.

"Melost-!"

She stopped, as she realised he wasn't who she thought he was. But before the expression of practised disgust settled onto her face, she could not conceal the look of pained disappointment. Arthain delivered his message quickly and indifferently to her back, as she had turned away, then left the tent speedily, but with more to think about than when he had gone in.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"And Dorlas...Thank you," Dorlas heard Arthain murmur. The squire turned away without saying anything to Arthain, and the boy merely nodded his acknowledgement before jogging off to notify the women that they were leaving. They needed to leave quickly, there were no doubts there. The skirmish with the orcs was enough of a surprise to begin with, but there was no telling where and when orcs or other foul beasts would strike again. They needed to get to Lothlorien quickly.

How many times had Dorlas wished that he was strong? Strong like Arthain; able to withstand any blow, physically or mentally. More than the squire could actually count or recall. But things at the camp and between Arthain and Dorlas were different after the incident with Melost and Anwenelme. Dorlas was no longer angry at Arthain, but somehow Dorlas didn't feel as if Arthain was the same man anymore.

Dorlas ran up to one group of women, who were chattering presumably about the day's skirmish and whatnot. Dorlas wearily told them to pack up and ready themselves for more riding. When they looked at the boy with hard, cold glances, he sent them an equally serious stare. They grudgingly went to pack up their things and prepare their horses, after which Dorlas continued over to the next Elven lady and the next. They all began to prepare for immediate departure without words or gossip.

Dorlas went and joined Thelian, who was checking for anything wrong with the carts or luggage. The human squire walked to the front of the cart to see to the horses, while Thelian discarded several packs of the women's clothing, which he thought were quite unecessary. The cart was mostly left undamaged, save for one of the jugs of water, which was left cracked and leaking on the edge of the cart.

"Is it bad?" Dorlas asked his Elven friend, his tired voice penetrating the silence. Thelian looked up from where he was tending to the cart, a question in his eyes. Dorlas gestured to where Arthain was leaving one of the lady's tents. Thelian followed Dorlas' eyes to Arthain, who moved on slowly to the next tent.

"No. He'll be fine in no time," Thelian relied monotonously. The Elven squire's icy blue eyes were devoid of emotion, and Dorlas couldn't bear to look at his friend for very long. The look on Thelian's face reminded Dorlas of back when the two squires had first met: before they had become friends and before Thelian lost his keen suspicion of races other than Elven. Still Dorlas grinned boyishly, his first cheerful expression since before Melost ran away.

"At least we shall be moving again and on our way to Lothlorien soon!" Dorlas reasoned as Thelian finished stuffing and strapping every pack of luggage to the cart. Soon the company was ready to make their way to Lothlorien again, and all the women were on their mounts talking almost quietly to one another. Arthain led the progress, with Thelian and Dorlas patrolling the rear.

[ August 16, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian sighed, as he thought of Lothlórien. Finally! His heart longed only for the relaxation offered there. He was tired of the journey, tired of the ladies. They were a constant burden, with their gossip and lack of ability to take care of themselves.

And their presence reminded him of Anwanelme, which reminded him of Melost. Though the wounds were slowly closing as time passed by, it still ached to think of him. When Thelian had forgiven Arthain and helped him, it had helped the healing of the wounds on his soul, but not closed them. And he knew, that they would remain as scars forever on his immortal spirit.

He thought of Dorlas, who had tried to keep some of his cheerful mood. Thelian decided, for Dorlas' sake, to try and improve his mood. The lad had done nothing wrong, but had acted honourable, and he did not deserve to suffer because of all this.

For Dorlas' sake, he would try and treat him as when they were friends and so was their masters. Hopefully, Dorlas would then feel more at ease; and if the lad was without troubles, Thelian did not need to worry about him.

Nor would he worry about Arthain. The knight could take care of himself, and if he couldn't, Thelian would not care much about it. His only concern was to fulfill the mission. When they reached the Golden Wood he would find out what to do; though his loyalty for the elven army had vanished along with Melost.

[Cuthalion]

Melost narrowed his eyes as he watched the man with the long, lank hair closely. It seemed that he had been greatly affected by Melost's sharp, piercing gaze. In times past he had been compared to Maiglin in anger. And angry he was. He knew he didn't belong here and he also knew that he should be far from here, bur doing what? With whom? Melost ground his teeth in frustration and struggled to his feet.

The woman strode over and stood aggressively in front of him, then shoved him to the ground. Unable to catch himself, he fell heavily but anger lent him strength. Melost climbed to his feet and glared straight through her, defying her to lay a hand on him. She sneered in return and placed both hands on his shoulders. A hand came down on her left shoulder and yanked her away from the Elf. "Leave him alone, woman. Can't you see he hates you?" She tore her arm from Vlad's grip and stalked away to sit near Snyd, who ignored her, too concerned with his own thoughts.

Vlad roughly turned Melost around and removed his bonds, then stood back, alert for sudden movement. Melost turned to him slowly as he rubbed his wrists, one of which was bleeding. "Why do you hide the fact that you were once a soldier?" he asked quietly. "You move like one, you even think like one. Look at you now, ready to try to thwart any move I might make. What have you done that makes you hide in this of all places?" Vlad's hand moved to his sword-hilt and hovered there. Who was this Elf to challenge him? What right had he to question him about anything?

[Durelin]

As Jaheira sat down next to him, Snyd opened his mouth to speak but shut it when the elf began to speak to Vlad. Perhaps -- finally! -- the elf would anger the man enough that Vlad would shut him up for a bit. Maybe he'd say they can kill him and be rid of him. Snyd didn't enjoy killing, but he enjoyed feeling at risk even less. An elf was a dangerous thing to be keeping. Someone had to be looking for him, and they would bring a whole lot of people with them; they always did.

"Why do you hide the fact that you were once a soldier?" Melost asked, and Snyd frowned. Vlad…a soldier? Well, had been a soldier? "You move like one, you even think like one." What? Snyd thought. What does this elf know about soldiers? "Look at you now, ready to try to thwart any move I might make. What have you done that makes you hide in this of all places?"

The pieces suddenly snapped in to place in Snyd's mind, making him groan. He hadn't completed the puzzle about Vlad, but he had realized something else. Something much more important. Now he realized another thing: Vlad and Jaheira were looking at him. Bloody eyes... "Why do you make noises, Snyd?" Vlad asked coldly, ignoring the elf for now. Why was the man always so angry? Well, perhaps this time the elf had angered him.

"I just thought of something...that's all." They still stared at him, so, reluctantly, he continued. "I just thought that, if he really was a soldier, then we should expect a bunch of soldiers coming to look for him, shouldn't we?" He paused; he couldn't say it. He tried to gather his strength -- the man would kill him! -- but to no avail. Finally, as Vlad opened his mouth to speak again, Snyd blurted out his words before the man could speak. "Why do we sit here waiting? We should get rid of him or move on from this place! We wait for our deaths, Vlad! You should know 't. We are holding an elf, and now he has all but said he is a soldier! More soldiers come for soldiers, Vlad. And...why do we even hold this elf? Of what good is he? What do we gain from this?"

"Is your speech quite finished, Snyd?"

Jaheira asked this in such an overly normal and polite tone that Snyd's cheeks colored, and he hoped the reddening could be mistaken for anger. He tried to look indignant. "Yes, I am."

[ August 22, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain rode steadily, concentrating on riding, and eventually, as the bright, pleasant morning began to sink into him, he began to absently murmur a little tune, a tune which his wife had sung to his son, although he couldn't quite remember all of the words now. Something about an elf...and trees...and, he had a feeling, saucepans. Yes, that was what his son had always asked for when he was little - "Sing me the saucepan song, Ma!"

Smiling at the memory as he hummed quietly to himself, Arthain came back to his senses as he heard a gasp beside and behind him, and saw Thelian standing in his stirrups, looking over the crest of the hill in front of them. Arthain did the same, and, as he had hoped, there in front of them, now rising over the crest, was the beautiful Golden Wood of Lorien. The captain's breath was taken away by its beauty and unrealness, and similarly Dorlas was staring at it, a look of wonder in the squire's eyes. But Thelian smiled slightly.

"Lorien," he whispered.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya sighed as she quietly rode alone behind the other women. It had come to the point that they no longer even thought enough of her to speak cruelly of her or of Anwenelme. Menelya could not say that she necessarily regretted having to miss partaking in the gossip of the Elf women, but she did miss some companionship. It was always easier to be alone if there were others with you. She strained to hear the words of the women, but she could only make out a bit.

"...girl should never...disgrace...poor Menelya...Anwenelme...power-hungry...sympathy..." Menelya stopped listening, urging her horse so that it caught up to the other women.

She was greeted be cold stares from the women, showing that she was clearly not invited to stay with them.

"I would like to pass," Menelya said, a silenty order in her voice. The women looked at the Elf coldly for one more moment, as if to weigh her up, then they slowed her horses to let her go by. Menelya moved by quickly, not wanting to look into the cold eyes for longer than necessary to give them a curt show of gratitude.

After Menelya passed the women, they fell back into talking. The gist of it spoke of how rude Menelya had become, from what the Elf lady could hear. They also thought they were undeserving of the discourtesy they felt they were being shown. Menelya snorted a bit and urged her horse up a bit.

As the horse slowed, it gave a small stumble on a rock. It immediately gained its footing back, but not before Menelya swore as she bounced on the horse's back a bit. She heard the ladies behind her gasp at the language and sit silently, obviously in shock over Menelya's exclamation. Menelya only smiled as she rode on, happy that the misfortune of a misplaced hoof at least resulted in a brief victory over the women.

As she looked forward again, she took in her breath sharply. She could not see what was ahead of them when she rode behind the women, but now she could see ahead of the company until the horizon.

She smiled as she said, "Lorien. We made it...surprisingly." Her smile became more cynical as she spoke the last word.

[Daniel Telcontar]

When Vlad moved his hand to his swordhilt, the discipline in Khalad reacted. It saw Melost as a friend, and Vlad as a potential foe, and when the foe made any threatening gestures, Khalad reacted. In a quick move, he was next to Melost, his hand had already drawn his sword several inches out of its scabbard.

Vlad looked at the young man, who dared to threaten him. But his usual mock was forgotten, for he could see Khalad was serious; and although the outlaw leader did not fear a fight against Khalad, he didn't want one right now, especially not with the elf next to him, since Melost would probably side with Khalad if the latter was in a fight.

Growling, he relaxed in his position, and let his hand drop. "No need to be so tense, Khalad. Me and the elf was merely having a little chat."

Khalad did not reply, though he was inclined to speak back. He had not reacted wrongly; Vlad was acting strangely, and though it seemed unlikely he would attack Melost after his trouble of keeping him alive, it was impossible to analyse the brigand's mind. Too much had happened in the last few days that was unlike Vlad, to make Khalad trust the bandit.

He let go of his sword though, and it slipped back into its scabbard. His cold eyes looked upon Vlad, until he shrugged his shoulders and turned around, walking away a bit before he sat down on a stone, pulled forth a dagger and a whetstone, and used the latter on the former.

Khalad also relaxed, now that the tension of the situation was gone, but he looked around in the camp. The other outlaws were acting like Vlad; incomprehensibly. And when Khalad dwelt on that thought, he guessed that he himself was also acting unusual.

"All that, because I found a wounded elf. If it wasn't so bitter, I could have made into a good song; though the ending would likely be a sad one." He thought, and smiled grim at the strange idea.

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

From afar,the out-riders of Gil-galad spotted Arthain's party as they rode grimly toward the Golden Wood. Two of them turned aside and rode swiftly to alert the Kings of their presence. Scouts from Lorien itself watched then ride in and allowed them to pass beneath them as they rode in under the heavy boughs.

Gil-galad was in his tent when the rider entered and stood quietly until acknowledged. One look at the rider brought him to his feet. "Tell me. What has happened?" The Elf paused, then brought his eyes up to meet those of Gil-galad. "My King, Melost is lost to us. His kinsman Thelian has news that he wishes to impart that is for your ears alone. Shall I bring him?" Gil-galad nodded and the Elf vanished silently. He walked slowly outside and gazed into the distance.

Thus it was that Thelian found Gil-galad, still staring, not wanting to hear what Thelian had to say. At his approach, Gil-galad turned and Thelian bowed, then cleared his throat. "Lord, your kinsman Melost is gone. He vanished into the night shortly after leaving Imladris. He..." Thelian sighed, then continued. "The man Arthain, whom all thought to be his closest friend, betrayed him with Melost's betrothed, the lady Anwenelme. He apparently lost his mind, for he ran wildly into the woods and is presumed either dead or missing." The sorrow that emanated from Thelian was palpable and Gil-galad opened his arms and embraced him "I know he was your near kinsman as well, I grieve with you." After a moment Thelian stepped back. "Lord, I pray you, let me go and search for him! It may be that he is yet alive.." Gil-galad cut him short. "If he lives, he will find a way to join us. If he does not...Mandos' halls are the richer, as we are diminished by his passing, I will not release more soldiers that will soon needed in the battle to come."

Without waiting for dismissal, Thelian strode angrily away, hot tears of anger burning in his eyes. He owed Melost his life many times over and now he was forbidden to search for him. He sought for Dorlas, but his search was in vain, for he had been called into the tent of Elendil along with Arthain.

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil looked up from the table filled with maps, and when he saw it was Arthain with his squire, whose name he could not remember, he sent Arthain, who was kneeling, a quick smile and asked him to rise.

The captain did so, and lifted his head to meet the gaze of his king.
"Well met, captain. I see you and your squire are both in one piece! I trust things were without events?"

Arthain swallowed, and prepared for the explanation; after Melost, the last person he wished to reveal the truth to was the king. But he had no choice.

"In truth, milord, we were ambushed by a few orcs, though we took care of them without casualties. But, something else happened that caused the loss of the elven lord who was leading us."

"This elf was your friend, right? But if you did not lose any when the orcs attacked, how did you lose him?" Elendil's face expressed concern, and it was difficult for Arthain not to laugh out loud of the irony. Indeed, though the elf was perhaps alive, he was no longer Arthain's friend.
"Indeed he was my friend, sire. But he left us, out of madness; he could no longer bear to remain with us."

Behind him, Arthain could feel Dorlas' eyes burning on his neck, and he knew that he had to explain the truth, if not for Elendil's sake, then at least to prove to Dorlas that he would be honest about his failure.

And so, he explained it all to Elendil. How he had betrayed his friend, and the consequences of it. He did not reveal Anwanelme's name, and he tried to avoid the details on how and what had happened.

When he was done, Elendil looked at him, with a face Arthain could not decipher. The king was in doubt; he wished he could forgive the captain, but this had endangered the Alliance, since Melost was a kinsman of Gil-galad. And Elendil knew men like Arthain; if they did not feel punished, they would not forgive themselves. He had to make Arthain feel the punishment of his actions, or else the insanity growing within the captain would burst out instead of diminishing.

"You have acted wrong, captain. Not only to your friend, but towards our allies and your king. Of this moment, I am suspending you, relieving you of all duties, and I will consider if you must leave the army with dishonour. I am done; leave my tent."

Arthain spoke not, merely bowed as it was fitting and left the tent. Nor did the squire speak, or do anything; he quietly followed his lord out of the tent.

Elendil sighed; though he had a war ahead of him with many battles, and much death, such a personal tragedy was what weighed most heavily on his mind.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“Suspended? Suspended? Suspended!” Dorlas shouted to Arthain’s back as they left Elendil’s tent. The words were at first spoken incredulously, dripping with disbelief, anger, and shame. The last time he spoke the word his tone was exasperated, as if Arthain were a child that needed scolding. “Arthain, don’t walk away from me! Turn around and look at me! What are we going to do now, Arthain? Suspended! What are we going to do?”

Arthain turned slowly. "What do you mean, 'we'? Elendil did not suspend you! Elendil did not relieve you of your duties! Dorlas, do not speak to me in such a tone! You don't understand this. You were not asked to stay with me!" Arthain roared, eyes showing hurt and anger. Dorlas stopped walking toward Arthain, standing still and aghast.

"Are you suggesting I turn my back on you? What sort of squire do you take me for?" Dorlas finished his words quickly, realizing what he had said a minute too late. Thelian didn't follow Melost... Dorlas reminded himself, though he quickly shook the thought from his mind. It was not right to bring Thelian into the matter, even if it was only in Dorlas’ thoughts. It was an insult to the human squire, though, to be questioned by his own master. Questioned loyalty was not taken lightly with Dorlas anymore.

“If you stay with me, Dorlas, do you know what will happen? Do you?” Arthain retorted, eyes flaming fiercely. Dorlas shook his head, and in his mind he was resolved that no matter what would happen Dorlas would stay with Arthain in the end. It was his duty to stay with Arthain, and even if Arthain left in a crazed frenzy as Melost had, Dorlas was adamant to follow Arthain to whatever end.

"If you follow me, and you come with your suspended master," Arthain began, his tone suddenly serious and devoid of anger and judgement. His voice lowered volume, his words became soft and sorrowful. "If you follow me, you will be considered a deserter. Dishonoured, and your name will be the topic of shame and betrayal to Elendil's army. Is this what you want? Dorlas, do you want to be a deserter because of what I have done wrong? A deserter because of the mistakes I have made?"

There was a pause. Deadly silence between both men.

"What a grand world it is, when loyalty is scorned by those who most desire it," Dorlas murmured. "I am sworn to loyalty, both to you and Elendil. What am I to do? What am I to say, now that Elendil indirectly wishes me to betray you? I am forced to choose between my master and friend, and a my king. I serve both willingly, and still I am forced to choose."

Another pause. Who knew that silence could be so loud?

"But I do not know Elendil like I know you, Arthain. I do not question Elendil's worth, but I would trust my life to you, Arthain, before I would to him..." Dorlas finished quietly, letting the silence hang between him and his master.

~*~

"Is your speech quite finished, Snyd?"

"Yes, I am."

She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so soft, so weak and pleading. Jaheira was too weary for Snyd's explanations and musings. No, she was so sick of them that she thought she might wring the man's neck should he speak so again. Then again, Jaheira knew that Snyd was right. Jaheira was loathe to admit her agreement, but Snyd was so right in what he said. So correct, he had said exactly what Jaheira was thinking, only to a lesser extent. Well, less violent extent.

Jaheira let Khalad and Vlad go through with their little tiff of a confrontation. She was too tired to do anything about it. All Jaheira felt she could do was sit there and curse their rivalry inwardly. They needed to move camp. They had no time for Khalad's foolish chivalry and Vlad's ego. No time for any of it. The Elf was the cause of all of it; he needed to be disposed of.

When silence had again floated over the band of outlaws, Jaheira stood from her spot, drawing two daggers as she did so. Her eyes were on the elf. Her icy grey eyes met and locked with his angry blue ones, and she did not dare break the gaze.

"As much as I hate to say this, Vlad," Jaheira began, chuckling slightly before continuing. "As much as I hate to say this, Snyd is right. We need to be rid of Melost or we need to move on. But I am happy to say that Snyd's stroke of brilliance ends there. For he is wrong. No soldiers will come for this filthy elf. If he was worth something, or if someone truly cared for him, we would all be dead now and he would be off with his lover or off with his army. Melost is probably a deserter. We have no use of him whatsoever, Vlad."

Vlad said nothing.

"If you will not do something, I will! If you will not kill him and let us move on, I will, Vlad!" Jaheira continued, raising her voice considerably. She pointed her right-handed dagger at Melost, as if she were aiming. Then she turned and threw the blade to wedge it into a tree to her left. Jaheira glared at Melost first with fierce anger, before directing the same glare at Vlad and twirling her remaining dagger threateningly in her left hand.

[ September 01, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Cuthalion]

The guards outside Gil-galad's tent became alert as the sound of raised voices approached. They each rested their hands of their sword-hilts as Gil-galad emerged from the tent. "My King..." one of them began, but was brushed aside. Thelian had heard Dorlas' voice and that had precipitated his swift departure from Gil-galad's presence.

He strode toward the voices,then froze as he heard Arthain's voice rise in anger. Beneath the shadows he waited, listening. His heart went out to the yound squire for he knew the depth of loyalty he felt for Arthain. He also found himself concerned now for the man who had wronged his kinsman. While he had erred greatly, Thelian knew that Arthain loved Melost and now he was in danger of losing even more.

He turned and nearly collided with his lord. His look of pity mingled with determination met that of Gil-galad, but even as he made to speak, Gil-galad fore-stalled him. "I will speak to Elendil. Go now, return and lead the company of Melost. He has trained you well, kinsman. Do not let his memory fade." Thelian's eyes grew wide in surprise at the field promotion, then he bowed his head as Gil-galad clasped his shoulder for a moment. Then he was gone.

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

"Woman, I weary of your words. You are correct, there is no one coming for me, neither lover nor enemy." He chuckled grimly, "Especially not lover..." While he had listened to these strange people bantering back and forth, shards of the maosaic had drifted into place. The woman's dark beauty and caustic manner reminded him of...someone...someone he knew well, but who he could put neither name nor face to.

One name had returned, along with the memory. Arthain. Soldier, brother, friend, betrayer. He wanted to kill him and he wanted to ride beside him. The painful crowding-in of memories angered him him further. He threw wide his arms and smiled at her. "Slay me then! Let there be one less creature in Arda different than yourself, daughter of a prideful race! You who's lives are but the blink of an eye to us, please, take mine that seen more than a thousand years, by all means!"

Jaheira looked at Melost, aghast. Only rarely had anyone dared to call her bluff and never had they won. She walked slowly over to the Elf and placed the tip of her dagger at his throat, pressed, then drew the tip down, loosing a crimson ribbon to trickle down his chest. His eyes never left hers as she pressed harder, gauging his courage and her own.

[ September 01, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

"If you will not do something, I will! If you will not kill him and let us move on, I will, Vlad!"

Vlad only raised an eyebrow as he looked at Jaheira, knowing that she was smarter than that. She wouldn't do something as foolish as killing the Elf without his approval. He watched her in silence as she threw the dagger, slightly amused that she was suddenly so concerned about the well-being of them all.
The angry glare in her eyes as she turned and looked at him showed something else, something he hadn't seen for a long time and a thought struck him.
Are you afraid, Jaheira? Is that why you're suddenly so ready to listen to Snyd?

"Woman, I weary of your words. You are correct, there is no one coming for me, neither lover nor enemy."

Having to restrain himself to hold back a chuckle, Vlad looked at Melost with an almost childlike expression on his face. Only a few outside their own group had dared challenge Jaheira during the time he had known her and Vlad knew her anger all too well.
"Especially not lover..."

So that's why you're here, Elf!
A smirk crossed his face as a memory entered his mind. So it appeared that the reason for all of this was in fact a woman. Ah yes, Vlad certainly knew how much trouble a woman could cause. Who could've known she was the mayor's daughter anyway? But she had been more than willing...

He was ripped out of his thoughts by a movement and he realised that Jaheira was now threatening Melost with her dagger. Quietly he watched her every move, waiting to see what she would do when she placed the blade against the Elf's throat.
When Vlad saw the blood, his anger flared and he moved up behind Jaheira and grabbed her wrist as he quickly turned her towards him. She didn't even realise what was happening before he struck her across the face with the back of his hand, his face twisted into a mask of fury.

"Enough of this! This insolence ends here! If you get anywhere near that Elf again, Jaheira, I swear to you, it'll be my pleasure to make sure you won't be able to do it again. What are you afraid of? Is it because he's got a prettier face than you?"

Snyd broke into a howling laughter but was quickly silenced by an angry glare from Vlad.
"Should any of you "accidentally" harm this Elf, I will kill you! Understand? Snyd, get Fidrohir and break up camp. We're leaving! Khalad....go help them. Jaheira, you too!."

Khalad was about to object but one look at Vlad's face decided against that. Now was definitely not the time to question their leader and reluctantly he trotted after Snyd.
Vlad stood for a moment gazing after them, then slowly turned towards Melost. He knew that the Elf could easily have killed Jaheira before and the fact that he hadn't only strengthened the decision he had made.
Slowly he drew out the dagger he had taken from Melost earlier, for a moment weighing it in his hand. It was indeed a beautiful weapon. Seeing the Elf tense by this action, he smirked and then handed the dagger over to its rightful owner.

"You can use it to kill yourself or you can come with us. But know that I'll be watching you!"

[ September 03, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil could hear Arthain and Dorlas arguing outside. Though he could not distuinguish the words, it was easy to hear from their raised voices that they weren't the best of friends.

The voices stopped though, and, releasing himself from his day-dreaming, Elendil once more concentrated on organising his army. This was stopped quickly, as the tent door moved. Elendil thought it was either Arthain or his squire who had returned, but was a bit surprised to see Gil-galad.

He had not thought the Elven King would come to his tent; usually meetings were in Gil-galad's tent, with Elendil being summoned there. Elendil was unsure what this thought meant, or if it was worth remembering; but that was soon forgotten, as Gil-galad made the usual greetings.

After Elendil had responded, the elf came to the core of the matter.

"As you know, the escort from Rivendell has arrived. Melost, whom I put in charge, did not arrive with it. And after I have heard the conversation between your captain and his squire, it seems like you have already made some consequences."

Elendil was unsure what Gil-galad meant with his last words. Was he not satisfied with Arthain's punishment? Elendil did not wish to punish the captain further, but he might be pushed to it, if the elven king demanded it. His doubts and fears were disspelled though, as Gil-glad continued to speak.

"To be honest, I think you have acted too harshly. Whatever harm was done, happened to me. And I have forgiven the captain. I ask of you to return him to his rank of captain."

Elendil was relieved that this was the matter, though he realised he had to deny.
"That is generous of you, but as you said; the harm was done to you. The captain acted wrongly against one of your officers, and may have endangered the relationship between our men. I cannot act otherwise."

Gil-galad looked at his human colleague, and searched his face for the truth. It was not usual for Elendil to be this harsh, and Gil-galad knew something else was behind.
"Is this the truth? I mean no disrespect, but it does not seem like you would usually act."

Elendil sighed; the elf had seen through him, and guessed he concealed something.
"In fact, I have forgiven him already. But he cannot forgive himself, especially not if there are no consequences of this. He must feel the weight of his actions and wrongdoings, or he will never be able to put this behind him."

Gil-galad nodded as Elendil spoke, perceiving the wisdom in his words.
"You are wiser than I thought, and have dealt appropriately. I hope this Arthain can indeed forgive himself, and perhaps, in time, seek out the company of elves once more. He shall be welcome."

Gil-galad extended his hand, and Elendil shook it, knowing there lay more than a simple farewell in this gesture; it was his way of confirming the immortal bond between both themselves, and also their races.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Suspended...suspended from the army of Elendil, the army that would mean something, unique, joined with the elves...suspended...

The word rang around again and agauin in Arthain's mind as he left his king's tent. He could barely comprehend; everything was slipping from his grasp...

It took him several seconds to realise it was Dorlas and not his own mind now repeating that dreaded word. His squire sounded as incredulous as he himself did, but his voice was rapidly growing in volume, and was no longer simply one of confusing, asking for some sort of explanation. As Dorlas continued, now shouting, Arthain felt himself growing angry at the boy's tone - how dare he speak to him as if he was a small child who had done something wrong? He felt the anger building inside him, the anger at Elendil, at Melost, at the elves, at Anwanelme...everything, and couldn't help himself. It wasn't fair but his rage began to direct itself towards Dorlas.

As he turned and started to speak to Dorlas, his voice rose in volume until he was practically roaring at his squire, knowing it was wrong but not being able to stop, a boulder rolling down a hill too fast, crushing Dorlas's feelings, unable to slow or halt. The pain on his squire's face was evident, before he too began to shout at his master. He dared to shout at Arthain!

"Are you suggesting I turn my back on you? What sort of squire do you take me for?"

As Dorlas said the words, an image of Thelian fighting against Dorlas's grip to follow Melost sprung into Arthain's mind, and from the way Dorlas suddenly bit off the words it was evident the same thought had struck him.

"If you stay with me, Dorlas, do you know what will happen? Do you? If you follow me-" He stopped suddenly. His voice was still angry, but as he looked at Dorlas, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in the boy's eyes, and realised Dorlas hadn't entirely worked it out. Suddenly the anger in him began to fade away; he could not deliver what would be Dorlas's fate as a punishment. He lowered his voice, taking a deep, shaky breath before he went on, trying to keep his voice even.

"If you follow me, you will be considered a deserter. Dishonoured, your name will be the topic of shame and betrayal to Elendil's army. Is this what you want?" He looked up, straight at Dorlas now, searching the squire's eyes, not wishing to hear the answer, but knowing they both had to have one. "Do you want to be a deserter because of what I have done wrong? A deserter because of the mistakes I have made?"

Dorlas did not immediately speak, and as the pause grew to be deafening in its volume, Arthain's stomach dropped. Depending on the squire's answer, he could lose the one thing he still kept a hold on, the last thing...

"What a grand world it is, when loyalty is scorned by those who most desire it." Dorlas's voice was but a murmur, almost inaudible, and as the meaning of it struck Arthain he looked away to the side, suddenly ashamed. Yet still there was a doubt, a treacherous fear inside Arthain as to what his squire would answer.

I am sworn to loyalty, both to you and Elendil. What am I to do? What am I to say, now that Elendil indirectly wishes me to betray you? I am forced to choose between my master and friend, and my king. I serve both willingly, and still I am forced to choose. But-" Arthain looked up again as Dorlas bit off the last word, and now it was his squire's turn to take a deep breath, pausing for what must have only been a moment but what seemed, to Arthain, like an eternity. When Dorlas went on, his voice was even quieter than before, but held a steady note of determination. "But I do not know Elendil like I know you, Arthain. I do not question Elendil's worth, but I would trust my life to you, Arthain, before I would to him."

The words were like a sudden flood of water and relief over Arthain, and he realised he had been holding his breath. Dorlas noticed though as Arthain let it out, and once again a small spark of anger flickered in his eyes before he looked away, and the older man suddenly felt the shame in at least as great volume as the relief hit him. To think he had doubted his own squire…

“Dorlas, I…” Arthain stopped, knowing he couldn’t make up for this, knowing he couldn’t put into words what he felt. He stepped forward slowly, lessening the distance between them and as he came closer, Dorlas looked up again, their eyes meeting, dark blue against storm grey. “Dorlas…what you have told me, how you have answered, is more than I can ever repay. To have doubted you…to have doubted you I was a fool, a stupid fool who doubts his friends in the hour of danger, the hour in which he needs them most.” He paused, knowing his words could never be adequate. As he proffered a hand, Dorlas took it, and Arthain grasped Dorlas’s firmly. “Thankyou, my squire.”

At his last words, Dorlas let out a breath of his own, and an almost smile flickered across his face which Arthain returned. Then, nodding once more to the boy, the soldier turned towards his own camp, and despite the lightness which Dorlas had allowed him, he felt the weight of his predicament weigh heavily on him once more. What would have been worse, this, or Elendil not punishing him at all, leaving his soul to eat away at itself in the knowledge of the mistakes he had made. But to leave the army…that feeling once more of losing everything almost overwhelmed him, but was stopped as Arthain grasped that one piece of cheer which was worth more to him than all the gold or silver in the world. Dorlas would stand by him.

[VanimaEdhel]

"Watch it, girl!" Menelya snapped at the servant who was unpacking her bag. The girl who was pulling the dress out of the bag stopped for a second, then continued her work. "You will ruin that! Do you know how hard it is to find that quality material? It is fragile! Stop before you ruin it!"

"Yes, m'lady," the girl said, not really paying attention to Menelya. She continued to unpack as Menelya looked out at Lorien. She wondered when she would be able to travel home. Although the lodgings here were comfortable, she wished she were back in Lorien before this trip. And these blasted servants showed no respect for her property. They had no fear of her. Back at home, if she made such remarks, she would have three women jumping to attention, ready to make her more comfortable. Here, it was as if they acted as though they knew better than she what was to be done.

"Are you almost done, girl?" Menelya snapped at the girl, who just shot her a passive look, then finished up her unpacking.

"Does m'lady need anything before I go?" the girl asked.

"Some peace and quiet," Menelya said, shooting the girl one of her glares. The girl did not even flinch. She merely gave a "yes, m'lady", then left. Menelya scowled even more at the lack of fear at the expression, then went about moving most of what the girl had unpacked until she was satisfied with the arrangement of the room.

Then there was the matter of what she should now do with her time. She had no desire to seek out the other women, who would most likely find some excuse to abandon her, anyway. Lorien was pretty enough, she could go for a walk. But she might run into one of those women...or worse: one of the soldiers or guards. Menelya would be safer in her room. No chance of having to converse with those people, then.

Menelya sat at the window, watching people move around Lorien and trying to catch pieces of conversation.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira angrily stormed away from Vlad and the elf, her hand plastered to her still tingling cheek. Jaheira had wanted to say something to Vlad in protest, anything to cover up her embarrassment, but Vlad's furious gaze had convinced her otherwise as she went off to pack her things.At least we're moving on, finally, she thought defiantly. It didn't take long, all she had that was personally hers was her pack with her lockpick tools, sleep pack, and clothing.

When she was done getting her things together, Jaheira wordlessly helped Khalad get together Fidrohir's things and anything not already prepared for departure. Snyd was off with Fidrohir, and Jaheira could hear Fidrohir's wails as Snyd poked his wound. Jaheira rolled her eyes and tossed a pack to the ground indignantly and turned to Khalad.

"Khalad! Cover up the fire pit. I need to go deal with Fidrohir," she ordered quietly, her voice devoid of her former zeal and stubbornness. Khalad didn't say anything, and Jaheira didn't wait for him to as she stalked off to where she had heard Fidrohir yelping childishly. What is Snyd doing to him now? Jaheira wondered exasperatedly as she came upon a crouched Snyd and a sprawled-out Fidrohir.

"Move, you bawdy boar-pig," Jaheira ordered, shoving Snyd away and kneeling in front of Fidrohir, who was squirming and quivering as he shrank away from Jaheira and Snyd. Jaheira gently smacked Fidrohir several times, trying to get him to snap out of it. Why is he still here? Jaheira asked herself, aggravated to the point of exhaustion.

She examined the wound, making sure it was healing properly and confirming that Fidrohir was not dying. Snyd watched dumbly over her shoulder, snickering every now and then if Fidrohir chanced to flinch or tremble. "I'm glad you're so amused, Snyd," Jaheira murmured sarcastically, poking Fidrohir's wound one last time for fun before standing up next to Snyd and above Fidrohir.

"Get up, Fid," Jaheira ordered gently, but Fidrohir shook his head. The way he moved made it seemed like it was killing him to just shake his head no, but Jaheira would not fall for it. She held out her hand to Fidrohir. "Get up now, Fid. I know you can. Your wound is nothing more than a scratch. Get up...now."

Fidrohir reluctantly obeyed, taking Jaheira's hand and pulling himself up, grimacing as he did so. Snyd punched him on the shoulder, and Fidrohir glared angrily at the other man. Jaheira scowled at both of them as she returned to the former site of the bandit's camp. Jaheira morosely picked up her bag and shouldered it, anxious to be on their way out.

Where to next? Jaheira wondered, scowl deepening.

[ September 05, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Durelin]

Snyd knew he should stop snickering, as he had two extremely angry people within feet of him, but he hadn't felt this good since...since he had found that serving lass who had been so willing to lift her skirts. O, but she had had fine ankles, among other things. Snyd laughed harder, and it sounded very much like he was giggling. But an outlaw like him didn't giggle. Pushing the thought away, Snyd continued to think happy thoughts. He was in high spirits, the feeling of danger having been lifted from upon him. Vlad had listened, in a way, they were moving, after all. And it was about time... Poking Fid once more, Snyd spoke to him between snickers. Snickers, not giggles. "Come on, hurry it up. We're moving, Fiddy. Can't just stay here. Mayhap we'll find a village again soon, and then we can get some real food, eh Fid? You ready for a raid, Fid?" He nudged the man again, and Fid turned his bright red face, twisted with anger, toward Snyd. The man raised his fist a bit, but then dropped it as if it took too much effort, and did a good job at looking dejected. Snyd laughed again. Then he turned to Jaheira. The woman never ceased to be angry. But, then, neither did Vlad. At least this time she had reason to be angry. "Don't worry Jaheira, you're a lot prettier than that elf."

"Oof!" All the air rushed out of Snyd from one blow, and he fell to his knees, gasping, trying to draw in a breath. It felt as if he didn't have a stomach. Or lungs. Or wherever air went in your body. "Ooooo!" he groaned once he could breathe again, and feel his stomach. "What'dya--" Suddenly he could only see blackness, endless dark, and he tipped over from off his knees. His shoulder hit the ground before his head, and within seconds his vision returned, along with a realization that he was alive. And when you are alive, there is pain. "Errnngh!" he howled, throwing his hands up to his face to gingerly touch his nose. He winced. It still hurt, and he had barely touched it! He could feel the blood collecting in his nose and running down to drip from his chin. She had broken his bloody nose! And bloody it was… Snyd began to snicker once more at that thought, yet a second later and "Oooongh!" It hurt to laugh! It hurt!

"Woman!" he yelled. "Why…" he trailed off. He had meant what he said truthfully, and she had… "Arrrnnngh!" He had a lot to learn about women. And Jaheira was not a normal woman. "Oh…" Rising slowly to his feet, stumbling a bit, Snyd realized Fid was now the one laughing. With a growl that was cut off with more moaning, Snyd took a step toward Fid. The man stopped laughing and backed up a step. Snyd made sure he didn't laugh this time, then turned to Jaheira. "Y-you…oh…forget it. Lets get moving." Carefully wiping his nose on the back of his hand, and his hand in turn on his pants, he strode over to his things, threw them in his pack, and went back to Vlad, Fid following him sulkily. "Let's move, Vlad," he said as gruffly as he could.

[ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Cuthalion]

Melost exchanged a wry look with Vlad and he saw the corner of Vlad's mouth twitch as though trying to restrain himself from laughing. "Interesting group you have. Two incompetents, an earnest young Gondorian and...her." His eyes slid side-ways to gaze at Jaheira as he touched his throat ruefully. "Why must women always draw blood?" he thought as he turned away and began to walk down along the eastern path that led down to the valley below. With a sharp cry Vlad quickly caught up to him and spun him around. "Where do you think you're going, my fine friend? You think you can accept our hospitality and then just walk away? You may not have noticed, but we are hardly the trusting sort." He moved to stand in Melost's way.

They looked at one another, each gauging the other. At length Melost smiled grimly. "Come, let me tell you a tale. When I finish, you can judge for yourself whether or not I have cause to pursue my enemy." He gestured to a fallen log and sat himself down. Jaheira watched the two of them settle down and walked over to them in exasperation. "Vlad, are we leaving or not?" One look shut her mouth and she stalked off to join the others. Vlad shouted to Khalad to lead them on down the trail, then turned to Melost. "Talk, Elf. We've wasted enough time on you."

Melost glanced up at him sharply, then began. "I am in service to the High King, Gil-galad, have been for many years before you were born. I...met a man, Arthain. He became dear to me, through many perils. He is part of the forces moving eastward to defeat Sauron. We were asked to escort several Elven women to Lothlorien, which you may know as the Golden Wood. One of them was my betrothed. From the first time they beheld one another, I sensed an attraction, but I discounted it. Then I had a vision of my death in battle. You see, I have put off our wedding more than once, becasue my king needed me, but this time...in any case, I spoke with her, telling her of my premonition and I released her from our betrothal, unless she chose to wait until after the war is over. I...felt it unfair to ask her to wait longer." He drew a shuddering breath before he continued. "She betrayed me with my dearest friend, the man to whom I have entrusted my life many times. I found them together in his tent.." He closed his eyes as the memory flooded over him again. He rose to his feet and began to pace.

"From that time, until this day, I have no recollection of what I have done, nor where I have gone. All I know is that he must die." As he spoke, he began to tremble, though with what strong emotion, Vlad could not begin to fathom.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad helped to pack the small camp together, though it was done in silence. But despite no words were spoken, the tensions could easily be felt in the air. Snyd and Fidrohir hadn't noticed; but that was not surprise to Khalad, who suspected these two of having as much sensibility as the remains of the cow that Khalad was packing together for storage.

He thought of Jaheira; Khalad did not doubt she could feel the tensions, and she probably knew she was causing them. Not Melost, but her. The elf had done little to create problems, and only because of her, whereas she had not ceased creating trouble.

He turned towards the woman causing such mischief, and saw that her gaze was fixed om Melost and Vlad, who were engaged in conversation. He could not see her face properly, but he was certain that it was an expression of hate. Fury got hold of him, and he grabbed her arm and turned her around:

"What are you planning now, Jaheira? More poison in Vlad's ears, more talk of death?" Jaheira removed herself from his grip, and spoke with anger flashing in her eyes: "I am only trying to survive! Like all of us; before you came, Vlad was just like me. But you and that elf has turned him soft; and if I must, I will kill the elf."

Her words angered Khalad; though he knew she would not kill Melost, the mere mentioning of it made him mad, as well as her constant reference to Melost as "the elf", instead of his name.

"Vlad has turned soft, as you say, woman; he has developed feelings, ascended from the level of primitive animal instincts that possess you. Self preservation you call it; I call it the actions of a beast! You are not worthy to be a human. When I think of the women of my city, I find no resemblence between them and you!"

Jaheira was quick to reply. She had heard a few things about Khalad's past, and knew where to strike: "Ah yes, the women of your city. I have heard about them; wasn't it such a creature that caused your exile?" Khalad did not answer, determined not to allow her words to anger him further, but then she laughed an empty laughter and continued: "Ah yes, that is the truth, is it not? The truth you fancy folk of Gondor appreciate so highly. I hear it was your own sister... Though I can only imagine what you have done to your sister to make you an exile."

The words hit their mark. Khalad's sword was half out of its scabbard when Jaheira continued: "Ah yes, draw your sword. I know about it, about its inscriptions; Justice, it says. Well then, how befitting that you use it to kill a woman not defending herself, is it not?"

Jaheira spoke these words, believing Khalad would restrain himself before acting rashly; after all, he wasn't like Snyd or Fid. But she had gone too far to rely on his conscience.

His sword leapt out of its scabbard and was pressed hard towards her throat, so that a thin line of blood could be seen. She had been so busy enjoying his wrath she had been unprepared, and now she cursed her folly of allowing him to do this.

"One more word, and I swear it will be the last you utter." His eyes shone with madness, and though she would have loved to insult him further, she realised the situation wasn't right for it. Slowly, Khalad retreated his sword, but before removing it completely he spoke a final warning: "The next time you speak of my sister, I will not hesitate to thrust my sword forward; and I shall sleep with ease, knowing I have rid this world of a devil concealed as a woman."

A few seconds passed, where Khalad made sure Jaheira had noted the words; and then finally, he put the sword back in its scabbard.

[Cuthalion]

Dark, sombre thoughts clouded the mind of the Elven High King as he walked in the dark of night. Thoughts of war, strategy, the subtle timing needed during the impending death-dance with the minions of Sauron. Thoughts of a kinsman lost...and of the two who had driven him to madness. His eyes smouldered with contained anger as his pace quickened now, his pursuit of tranquility shattered by the image of a beautiful ice-cold face...the face of Anwenelme.

Gil-galad had known of Melost's love for her, but the fact that he had deserted was unthinkable. Melost had always been held in high esteem by the king and Gil-galad knew that he would have to confront the source of the problem. If she were indeed found to be guilty of such a betrayal, she would be dealt with.

Gil-galad's thoughts then turned to Arthain, the so-called friend of Melost. "What was in your mind, that you would take lightly the trust of one of Iluvatar's firstborn?" He turned and strode back toward his tent, having settled on a course of action. The guards saw him coming and drew aside the tent-flap for him to enter. "Send for Anwenelme, daughter of Menelya immediately!" he called over his shoulder. The guards exchanged glances, then one of them set off at a run.

[Durelin]

Snyd tugged again at Fid's shirt collar. The man actually expected Snyd to believe that he was fainting? Fid had fallen on his face one too many times and all too softly for Snyd to believe the man was actually exhausted. "Get up, ya hairy lummox!" They had been on the road for all of two hours, if not less. Snyd had never really worried about time much. As far as he was concerned, he had all the time in the world. Perhaps too much time. With a wry smile, Snyd shook his head. There were many times when he had to laugh at his own thoughts. He turned the wry smile into a laugh. At Fidrohir, a lump of a thief if there ever was one.

"Will you get you're great bottom up off the ground before Vlad gets up here!" Glancing up, Snyd saw his companions growing closer. At least he still couldn't make out Vlad's expression. "Or worse yet, Jaheira might just see to you…" Fid looked up at Snyd with wide eyes, then with a quick glance around him, Fid sprung up, suddenly full of energy. For a moment, Snyd stood staring at Fid, a laugh still playing around his lips. "Well then," Fid grunted sourly, "lets get moving."

"What a wonderful idea, my friend!" Snyd's voice dripped sarcasm, and Fid shot him an angry glance and a snarl. Snyd smiled. They had to run to get far enough away from their companions that they wouldn't be noticed, and both of them were panting and rubbing their sides. Fid was much more than Snyd, of course. But it was best that they stay away today. Jaheira seemed oddly…cold. Usually she was all fiery anger, or just plain fiery. And Khalad, who was usually fairly mild-mannered, seemed to be the fiery one. Well, he was warm. There just wasn't anyone like Jaheira for being hot with anger.

Snyd gingerly felt at his nose. No, it didn't feel right. He sighed ruefully. Snyd had been in such a good mood till his face had been punched in. With the announcement that they were moving, he had thought the problem of the elf was solved. Now he worried all too much. But was it worry, or had that punch knocked sense into him?

The elf, the source of all Snyd's problems walked well behind he and Fid, in Vlad's sight. Both the elf's hands were tied, but, amazingly, that was all the security besides Vlad's one eye. Was Vlad feeling especially cocky today, or had Khalad intervened for the elf. Either way, Snyd knew it was bad luck. Either way, they should get rid of him. An elf, and a soldier at that. A soldier, in an elven army. Even if this elf's friends didn't come to rescue him, their little band of thieves would be in well over their heads before the end. Speaking of heads, why not just crack him over the head and leave him in a ditch somewhere? Snyd hoped he escaped.

[ October 06, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme looked around in awe, taking in the sight of Lorien and the woods had an almost intimidating effect on her. She had lived in caves and in houses, but never in trees and she did not feel entirely comfortable in this place.
But here it seemed that she could finally be without her mother's constant interference, as Menelya in turn seemed the do her best to avoid her. She had been avoiding her ever since that night...

Her mind drifting, she thought about that night, remembered Melost's words to her and Arthain and the memory caused her to shiver.
No! He had broken their betrothal and ruined everything for her. She had had every right to do what she did. Melost had set her free. He had used those exact words himself.
Had he truly loved her, he would never have done this to her!

Startled by a sound behind her, Anwanelme turned around angrily, expecting to see her mother there, but instead she was greeted by one of Gil-galad's guards, no emotions visible on his face.
"The High King wishes to see you, my Lady" he said, his voice as caring as the expression on his face.
"Immediately!"

There was something in his words that caused Anwanelme to mind her tongue and she quietly followed the guard to the High King's tent, her head held high as she walked as straight and proud as she could. She knew he and Melost were kin but she had done nothing wrong. He had set her free! He had neglected his duties! He was the one who should be punished!

~*~

"All I know is that he must die."

Vlad cocked his head and raised an eyebrow as he silently studied Melost, thinking through what he had just told him. He didn't get it. This was all because of a woman?
"I don't quite follow your logic. You want to kill your best friend, because of what the broad did after you broke the betrothal...?"

Anger flared from Melost's eyes and Vlad raised his hands to calm him, almost expecting an attack.
He simply didn't understand this Elf. Not that he had ever met an Elf before, but could one really be so different from the other?
A woman... How could any man, or Elf for that matter, with a sound mind let himself end up like this because of a woman?

Memories of a certain redhead and her less than happy father entered his thoughts. She had not been the first, she had not been the last. But she had been something special! Almost worth being expelled from the city for. He sighed, trying his best to push it as far back into his mind as he possibly could.
Gazing at Melost for a while, thinking hard about what to do, he finally made a decision.

"You claim that this man is...was your friend... If that is the case, he should know better than to touch your woman, married or not! And for such a betrayal he deserves nothing but death. Do not ask me why, but I will help you find him."
And hopefully it'll shut those idiots up before I kill them myself! Vlad thought, looking over the small group that had been formed in a prison-cell, seeing the way they constantly fought each other instead of working together. Perhaps it was time to move on.

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

[Amanaduial the archer]

"The High King has sent for you, Arthain. He wishes to see you immediately."

The soldier had entered Arthain's tent without warning, and the older man spun around quickly, anger flaring in his eyes. "That's Captain Ar-" he stopped, the sentence unfinished, before a sad, bitter expression came onto his face. Captain Arthain? No, not any more...

The elf soldier watched him with something like satisfaction at his discomfort, and also a sort of disgust. So everyone knows about it, then, Arthain thought bitterly. But as he stood, his chin was raised, determined not to show what he felt. So Gil-Galad wished to see him...I should feel fear, the Captain thought dully. I am going to see the kin of he who I betrayed. I should be terrified... but these thoughts seemed to come from a distance. All Arthain really felt was a sort of weary acceptance. I betrayed him. From his people, I deserve whatever I get. And so does... Arthain stopped the thought as he followed the soldier outside. He knew the snake deserved punishment, but to think of her conciously simply angered him, and after all, it was not all her fault. She had tempted him, and like a weak child, unable to resist, he had been fooled and given in.

As he stepped outside the tent, Arthain paused, looking up at the stars. There was a tale he had once heard about elves; that when they died, their souls became the stars, placed high above in reverence, looking down from above on the world that they had reigned over. When he had told Melost this, the elf had laughed and corrected him, telling him of the halls of Mandos. Good times those had been, however foolish Arthain had felt: their friendship was new, Arthain was young, and Melost would never grow old.

But as he looked at the stars, Arthain felt the same wonder he had felt when he had first heard the story of the stars being the souls of wise, good elves, and, as he had since Melost had run away, Arthain once again wondered what had become of the elf who had given him such friendship. Could he have survived by himself in the state he had been in when he ran from Arthain, his eyes wild, tears running down his cheeks, despair and betrayal in his eyes and his voice as he cursed Arthain forever?

As he thought this, it seemed to his tired mind that one star was shining even more brightly than the rest, although he would doubt it later, putting it down the fuddled mind of the weary and foolish. Staring up at the star, Arthain watched it in awe, as if it was the first star he had ever seen, and once more it glinted brightly, putting Arthain in mind of the way, when Melost had thrown back his head and laughed at Arthain's tale of elves' souls, the moonlight had glinted off the fine strands of blonde in Melost's hair.

"I wronged you, my friend, I wronged you more than I could have ever had a right to. But if you are there, please...I am sorry. I am so sorry..." He trailed off, feeling tears coming into his eyes. The soldier, who hadn't heard, turned, irritated, and told Arthain in clipped tones to hurry; the High King didn't like being kept waiting. Wiping his hand across his eyes as if wiping away some dust that had got caught there, Arthain followed.

[Durelin]

His brain pounded by each one of those sniffles coming from the man beside him, Snyd purposefully kept his hands at his sides. How long had he endured Fid and his moaning? The sun was well past its zenith, though the shadows had barely begun to lengthen. It had been quite a long while, but there still was a long while ahead. Snyd scowled up at the sun. He hated the afternoon, among other things. He glanced at Fid, and the man sniffed again. Snyd couldn't scowl at the man; he would just start moaning again.

One more sniff, and Snyd was all but running back to where Vlad and the elf walked, surprisingly away from the others. They were talking, and the elf was the one whose eyes burned with anger. But, then, the elf had much to be angry at. No, enraged at. Was it Vlad who sparked the anger? As Snyd reached them, the two were immediately silent. For a few moments, Snyd walked slightly behind Vlad and Melost in that silence. Even their steps were hardly heard, the two thieves' and the elf's. Snyd stared at the ground at his shadow, as if it would lengthen under his gaze.

Snyd started to itch, walking awkwardly in his discomfort. He couldn't stand the silence. He had always been afraid when it was so quiet; it had never seemed right. And so many times before there had been a cry, an angry shout or a scream, that would rise out of the silence to get him. With a glance upward, Snyd was reminded of the man still walking ahead of them. Oh, but he hated noise, too!

"Have we decided on an actual destination of all this walking?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound cheery without being too mocking.

"Do you Men always speak in such a way to your superiors?" The elf's voice dripped content.

"Superiors!" Snyd practically squeaked the word, and he calmed his voice before continuing on angrily. "What makes Vlad my superior? What makes anyone? Who do y--"

"Quiet Snyd." Vlad's rough voice broke in. Snyd braced himself to be the recipient of the man's wrath, as he had done so many times before, but Vlad simply turned to Melost, his expression stern, but not angry. Surprisingly... His words all the more so.

"You will accept my...offer?"

His offer? To an elf? Snyd thought.

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

[Cuthalion]

"...he deserves nothing but death." Vlad's words echoed painfully in Melost's mind and for a moment he froze. The others were beginning to notice that he and Vlad had come to a halt. He had to say something, anything. This man had offered him an alliance...friendship? Shadows of memories ghosted across his consciousness as he gazed into Vlad's sardonic gaze. It seemed right to trust him, even though he came from less than savoury beginnings. Quickly, before he could think further, Melost reached out and clasped Vlad's wrist. "My thanks...Vlad. Now, come. We must hasten to Lothlorien. There my kinsman Gil-galad lies with his armies, adding them to that of the Men of the West. There we shall also find...him."

Melost averted his eyes from Vlad's keen glance, unwilling to let him see the sudden sheen of tears that glistened there. He turned and strode forward, edging away from those that now clustered close to Vlad, asking him what had been said between the two of them. As he passed by Jaheira, he felt the hot sting of saliva on the back of his neck as she spat at him viciously. He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw and kept on walking.

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

Gil-galad had sharpened Aeglos' edge to a killing point by the time Anwenelme was announced. He carefully set his spear across the top of his map table before granting her admittance. As she was entering, another was announced, the human soldier Arthain. Gil-galad's eyes narrowed in irritation. He was about to have the man wait outside, then thought better of it. "Let them see one another, one last time..."

As they entered the High King's presence, both of them went to opposite sides of the tent and glared at one another until she finally turned her head away and stared straight into Gil-galad's eyes. She curtsied deeply. "My King, you requested my presence?" her sultry voice caressed Gil-galad's ears and he smiled to himself. "Yes, Anwenelme, arise." She noticed that he did not extend his hand to her, but she nonetheless rose gracefully to her feet. In a voice as cold as ice, Gil-galad spoke to her slowly and clearly. "It has been brought to my attention that you have betrayed my kinnman with this...man." She opened her mouth to defend herself, eyes flashing.

"Silence, woman! The reason is not important, for the proof lies beneath your breast. You know that you bear this human's child, do you not?" A gasp from the other side of the tent drew their attention to Arthain who stood swaying, his face white as milk. Gil-galad froze him with a look and returned his full attention to her. Anwenelme's colour had heightened and her breathing had grown rapid as she searched within herself for the truth of Gil-galad's assertion. She had been so focussed on defending herself, she had ignored the possibility of the impossible happening.

He saw the truth of his words reflected back in her eyes as she straightened her back and raised her chin. "Valar, what a warrior she would have made!" the King thought as he watched her come to grips with this new situation. He could see her mind, turning, weighing options, calculating risks. It was time to take all the options away. "Hear me, woman. You will have a son, the image of his sire, bearing within him all the love and loyalty his sire bore for Melost. I will send word to Cirdan and all others who guard the shores of this land to never allow your passage into the West. His doom shall be to live out his life in sole devotion to you, and you...yours shall be to remain here, remembering the lives you have destroyed. Now, go! Leave my sight!" A single tear slid down her cheek as she passed from the tent and out into the care of the guards who were never to leave her from that time on.

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

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad listened to what words he could hear of the conversation between Melost and Vlad. It seemed that Vlad had been convinced to not only let Melost live, but even aid him.

The latter worried Khalad, since he wondered what aid such an Elf would need from an outlaw leader like Vlad. Such worries were temporarily dispelled though, as he heard their destination.

Laurelindórenan, the Golden Wood. Full of Elves and mystery to a Gondorian such as Khalad. For a few minutes he enjoyed himself imagining how it would be. The goal of their journey pleased him.

Until his chain of thoughts returned to why they were headed towards Lothlórien. Since Melost had not revealed any of his past, Khalad had little idea as to why he needed Vlad's help; but he imagined several scenarios, and none of them comforted him. Sub-consciously his fingers lay impatient over his swordhilt, as he increased his vigilance against Melost and Vlad's conversation.

[Maikadilwen]

Barely paying any attention to the guards, Anwanelme rushed out of Gil-galad's tent, her thoughts in turmoil.
A child? With Arthain?
She had never even considered the possibility that this could happen and now...
Tears stung in her eyes as she stopped dead in her tracks and turned, gazing back towards the High king's tent, part of her wishing to catch another glimpse of the man whose child she now carried.
Arthain is a man of honour. she thought, trying desperately to cling on to the hope that she wouldn't be left behind, alone. He would never leave his son behind. Me, perhaps, but not his own son. He will do what is right...

One of the guards shoved her forward none too gently, forcing her to move and she glared at him, her eyes burning with anger and contempt. She could feel the derisive looks on her from everyone around her and she swallowed hard, fighting the foreign emotion she could feel spreading inside her, making her cheeks burn. Her shame.
Keeping her head high and her back straight, she ignored the people around her, determined to not let any weakness show.

Once back on her own, guards placed outside to watch her every move in case she should leave, Anwanelme finally succumbed to the tears she had felt stinging in her eyes ever since she left Gil-galad's tent.
"Melost, where are you? Valar, what have I done...?" she whispered, sobbing into her pillow as she heard the High king's words in her mind, over and over.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain swayed slightly as if from a blow as Gil-Galad pronounced the words to Anwenelme, not even looking at the man. He felt himself go pale, and a roaring seemed to cover his hearing, his breathing seeming to stop...a child? A half-elven child, and he the father? And...the mother... He closed his eyes, not sure what he was meant to be feeling, remembering...remembering the last time he was told he was to have a child, remembered it clear as day...

His eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, the breath on them still seeming frozen. Gil-galad's voice, still addressing Anwenelme seemed to come from a distance. "Hear me, woman. You will have a son, the image of his sire, bearing within him all the love and loyalty his sire bore for Melost. I will send word to Cirdan and all others who guard the shores of this land to never allow your passage into the West. His doom shall be to live out his life in sole devotion to you, and you...yours shall be to remain here, remembering the lives you have destroyed. Now, go! Leave my sight!"

You will have a son, the image of his sire, bearing within him all the love and loyalty his sire bore for Melost - was that irony? Did the king mock him, contemptuous of the foolish mortal who had betrayed one so superior by soiling one of the elven women folk...

His eyes remained shut as Anwenelme passed him, her footsteps still even but fast. He did not open his eyes to see the expression of she who carried his child. It would be the same one of contempt and mocking disdain she had showed him ever since Melost flew from their camp. But before then...what of the softness in her eyes before then, at Rivendell that night when she comforted you...or when you lay with her, blind to who she truly was, but seeing no less her expression, tender and kind...

He shook his head slightly to himself, his eyes still closed, dropping his head so his gaze would have been on the ground a few metres in front of him.

"Arthain." Gil-galad's voice was as cold as before. Raising his head in the direction of the elf king, Arthain's eyes, when he opened them, were wet with tears held back. But Gil-galad paused for a second, as one of his soldiers murmured something in his ear. He nodded. "Summon him," he replied in an undertone. Then he looked back to Arthain, forcing himself not to sway, their eyes meeting, but he said nothing. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably about three or four minutes, Arthain could not bear it any longer. He heard someone else enter the anti-room of the king's large tent, but kept his eyes on Gil-Galad.

"What would you do to me, Lord?" he said quietly.

[Cuthalion]

"An interesting choice of words, Man of the noble West. What shall I do with you indeed?" Gil-galad came around the table to confront Arthain face to face, his voice soft, controlled, deadly. "Melost lives. I have have sensed his mind, tormented and wracked to the point of insanity by grief." Anger kindled in the depths of his grey eyes and Arthain's gut clenched as he beheld his inner fire, barely contained. Fire that in battle burned murderously bright.

Gil-galad turned abruptly away from Arthain in disgust and sorrow. He had known from Melost's point of view of the depth of their friendship, had even accepted the young man as Melost's companion on many campaigns once he had seen that the two had formed a deep bond between them. To see his kinsman betrayed in such a manner was unthinkable.

Arthain stood rooted to the spot and stared at Gil-galad's back, instinctively wanting to squeeze his shoulder, tell him everything was alright...as he would have done with Melost. "Earendil...I have destroyed more lives here than Anwenelme could ever have done." He flinched minutely as Gil-galad sighed in the resounding silence of the tent. "He loved you, Arthain. He has taken wounds for you. You repay him poorly." He turned and fixed Arthain with a look so profound in its hatred, it took his breath away. "From henceforth, you will ride with my cavalry. You will go from my presence and go to the tent provided for you, follow every order given you, and, if there be any among the Valar that still listen, you...will...die."

Arthain bowed deeply to the Elven king, then cleared his throat. "One word, if I may,lord?" He received a nod of assent. "Great King, there is nothing I desire more than the swift death you wish me. I can say nothing in my defense, I can only thank you for your mercy." He swallowed painfully. "Truly, lord, I have one wish more, to see your kinsman one last time." For an instant their eyes met and between them there flowed a measure of pain, sorrow and loss.

The tent flap opened and Arthain was gone.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"He loved you, Arthain. He has taken wounds for you. You repay him poorly..."
"You know that you bear this human's child, do you not?"
"Melost lives."
"Melost lives."
"Melost lives..."

As Arthain left the tent, the High Elven King's words reverberated around his skull. Alive...Melost was alive?

Both a sick feeling of fear and a feeling of incredible elation simultaneously washed over Arthain.
"If there be any among the Valar that still listen, you...will...die."

The soldier smiled bitterly. Truly, Melost would be fully entitled to grant both his wish and the wish of his kinsman the high king. And if the High King so wished it, it would almost be Melost's duty to carry it out.

"And then I shall achieve my last wish as well; to see you before I die," Arthain, halting, said softly under his breath, tilting his head back to the stars. "Whatever the circumstances, Melost, as friends as we were before, and your foe I am now: either way, I think it was destined that we should die close by each other..."

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya strolled amidst the trees, sighing and breathing in the beautiful odor that they emitted. Now that all was settled with her room in Lórien, Menelya intended to enjoy the lovely surroundings as much as she could. It was better to make the best of being dragged out of one's home and on a horrible journey, she thought. Anyway, it gave her time to thing away from the babbling hens that she used to call friends. Just because her stupid daughter made one mistake, Menelya no longer had a place in society. The noblewoman sighed and put these thoughts out of her mind, taking in the beauty of this glorious city that she now had the pleasure of enjoying.

She touched a flower and smiled, thinking of a far-off land in times long vanished, before she had the life she now lived. Her hand passed delicately along the other flowers as she walked. The hem of her dark blue gown trailed lightly on the ground as she walked between the trees. Every now and again, she would hear conversation of other Elves, either professing love and devotion, gossiping about other ladies in the court, or playing games and enjoying the beautiful land. Where Menelya walked, however, it was now mostly tranquil and solitary.

Menelya rested, her back to a tree, and listened to the wisps of conversation that drifted into her ears. Time passed and Menelya dozed against the wood of the tree. The day wore on, and Menelya thought she should be returning to the palan. She pulled herself to her delicately covered feet and made her way back to her room.

Menelya suddenly found herself redirecting her footsteps. She had not seen her daughter for nearly the entire day. The girl must have gotten herself into more trouble since she last spoke to her. An indignant sigh escaped Menelya’s mouth. Another breath of consternation left her mouth as one of the women approached her. They made some gossip about one of the other twittering hens, claiming that the perpetrator of the latest offense had forgotten to ask her to dine with her when it was clearly her turn to do so. Menelya tried to get away as quickly as she could. These women did not like her; why did they insist on plaguing her every step?

Finally, Menelya found herself outside of Anwenelme’s room. Why was she here? She meant to go to her own room. What possibly possessed her to think to check on her own daughter? True, it was odd that she did not see her child at all during the course of the day, but it did happen every now and again. They both had their problems and they certainly did not get along. Then why was Menelya entering the room?

Anwenelme was in her room. She looked shocked, but at the same time, she was apparently attempting to hide it. Menelya sat down without permission from her daughter, who gave her a look of death. The mother raised her eyebrows, but took no real note of her daughter’s countenance.

“How have you been, daughter?” Menelya asked the defensive girl.

“I am fine, Mother. I appreciated your knocking,” Anwenelme replied sarcastically, trying to keep her voice even.

“What troubles you, daughter of mine?” Menelya continued, ignoring her daughter’s cold fury.

Anwenelme remained silent, staring at her mother, obviously willing the Elf to leave her to be. Menelya was not going to give up so easily though. She leaned forward in her chair a bit and stared back at her daughter. They sat in silence for a time, a silent battle of internal strength waging. Menelya was determined to hear her daughter talk, and Anwenelme was obviously determined not to listen to her mother.

What could be troubling her daughter in such a manner? Was she thinking of Melost? That could not be true. But it still could aggrieve her that she was now alone. Well, she would grow accustomed to the feeling. Menelya certainly had grown in such a manner. Anwenelme was strong, just like her mother. She would pull through. Anwenelme’s mother had faced far worse obstacles that the girl ever would. Now Anwenelme would pull through whatever impediment she now faced. Menelya would make sure of that…

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira sighed, deciding against shouting at Vlad or Khalad again. She'd gotten herself in enough trouble already. Jaheira knew that the tables had been turned on her, and now she was somehow made out to be the bad person of the lot. Now it was her turn to lead, and for the first time in a long while she actually shut her mouth and listened. In her opinion, there wasn't much to hear.

The Elf made her so mad! Jaheira vaguely knew why, and scarcely kept grasp on her reason for hatred towards the Elf. It threatened her somehow. For some reason Jaheira sensed that some kind of end was coming, and by bringing the Elf into their "care" Jaheira felt that they were changing something in the group that didn't need to be changed. Jaheira thought about this for a moment before shaking her auburn head in confusion. Even she didn't know why such animosity had settled between the Elf and her. She was scared of him...

Oh, why can't anything be simple anymore? Jaheira screamed inwardly. She remembered back when things were simple. Before Vlad had come, things were chaotic and unorganized, but they were so simple to sort. Jaheira had made a pivotal decision to let the jailed inmated loose, and thusly she had chosen her fate. Every day she wondered if it was the wrong choice, and every day she decided that it had been the right one. Jaheira had convinced herself that if it had not been the right choice to stay with Vlad and the criminals she would not be alive right now. But how everything has changed with just one Man...Elf....

The group was traveling to Lothlorien now, and the only good Jaheira could see in it was that they were moving again. Moving along, perhaps to their doom. But wasn't it always so? Wasn't there always that chance that the outlaws would wander again and not live through each stretch of land? Jaheira had taught herself long ago not to think in such a way, but something about this trip to Lothlorien seemed so final to her. It wasn't good, in any case.

But that was Jaheira's problem, and it seemed that everybody but Jaheira knew it. She was too stubborn and fiery for her own good. Jaheira wanted her way to be the way that no one else wanted to travel, and when she got her way she liked to change her mind and highlight the problems with it in her own mind. It could never end as 'at least we're moving,' it always had to be 'we're moving, but it's definitely the wrong way.'

Jaheira was confusing herself just thinking along the way. The group hardly ever stopped, and Jaheira was getting bored with her rattled thoughts. But of course, she could not speak to any other members of the group, lest she say something terribly wrong to push everyone over the edge. All she could do was taunt Fidrohir when Vlad allowed her a few minutes to redress his wounds. Even that was becoming dull.

At least we're moving, but it is most definitey to the wrong destination... Jaheira assured herself for the thousandth time during the group's years of traveling.

~*~

Dorlas did not look up from the cup of warm broth that he had been given when Arthain left for counsel and he had gone to sit by one of the grand fires. Despite the apologies and agreements made after his fight with Arthain, Dorlas felt ill to the stomach at the thought of what might happen now. If, in the end, Arthain were suspended, Dorlas would undoubtedly follow him. Even if Arthain were not suspended, Dorlas would defend him to the last.

After all, was that not what a squire was for? Not just as an assistant, but as a confidant and loyal friend? Dorlas remembered how Thelian had fought against his grip when the Elf squire had been so overwhelmed with the desire to go after Melost. Now Dorlas regretted keeping Thelian at bay and hypocritical for being determined to use the resort himself. Why did he not understand the bond between master and squire then? Why didn't he let Thelian go? Why did he and Arthain have to go through such pain for such a bond of understanding to form?

Dorlas' thoughts were interrupted as a burly older man squeezed his way onto one of the logs being used as benches around the fire. He was out of breath and his eyes were twinkling with some mischievous light as the other soldiers made room for him. Dorlas looked up at the man as he sat right across the dying fire from him, and Dorlas shrugged as the man was handed some cool water.

"Have you heard? The latest word is that some human soldier betrayed an Elven one with an Elf girl! Now he's been back and forth between Elendil and Gil-Galad for counsel and punishment!" The bearded burly man laughed heartily as he gulped down water. A horrified look came over Dorlas' face as the men around him began to mutter and murmur. Their gossiping about Arthain! Dorlas realized immediately. These dogs are no better than Menelya and the woman of her court!

"Who's the unlucky fella?" One man asked.

"He could be considered lucky, in some light," another man pointed out.

"Who's the Elf soldier?"

"Have they decided what they're gonna do about 'im?"

Dorlas couldn't handle it any longer.

"Stop!" Dorlas shouted at the top of his lungs as he stood from his seat. All chatter immediately ceased, and all eyes were on the young boy. "Have you nothing better to do with this time than trade trivial news about some other man's misfortune? We are going into a war from which none of us may return, and you are here laughing about something that is not of your concern! Pray to the Valar for your life and your families, and ask for forgiveness from the curse of gossip that has been heavily set upon you! If I hear one more false lie about the welfare of anyone other than the man speaking, I will not hesitate to deal with it myself!"

And with that, Dorlas stormed off looking for Arthain.

"Do you think he's the boy?" One of the men asked.

"Nah. But he's got a way with twisting words about."

"Hardly understood what he was saying anyway!" admitted the first man. With that last comment the soldiers continued sipping broth and water and ale around the fire.

[Cuthalion]

Menelmacar climbed higher in the night sky as they went forward. Melost seemed to be tireless now that he had a goal set in his mind. He strode in front, with Vlad and the woman not far behind. Khalad ranged off to his right, even more silent than usual. Melost wondered briefly why the young man from Gondor had gone so quiet for he had enjoyed the fw times they had spoken together. It reminded him of... NO! Melost stumbled as the memory of sitting by the fire-light with a dark-haired Man, pointing up into the star-flung sky and telling him the stories his people had of patterns to be found there. Several times they had been drinking and they had started making up new pictures...not always the most decent and Arthain had been astonished at the Elf's bawdy humour.

The stars became blurry as Melost walked on and despair settled like a cloak about his shoulders, its weight impossibly heavy. He turned his face from his beloved stars and closed his mind to all further thought or feeling. He listened instead to the grumblings of Fid, telling the others how the Elf was going to kill them all at this rate. He smiled grimly to himself, "Nay, my friend...it is not you or your companions I wish harm to, but he who took what I cherished beyond my own life." His thoughts stung his soul like whips of ice, as part him cried out that his thoughts were wrong, even insane. He began to chuckle to himself as he dashed the tears from his eyes.

Vlad heard Melost laughly softly to himself and he rolled his eyes at Jaheira. "Just what we needed, a mad Elf. Perfect!" She narrowed her eyes at him and snapped back. "You see? I toldyou he was trouble, but you never listen! He's going to be the death of us, you wait and see. I can't wait to say I told you so!" With that she ducked a way from Vlad who had tried to grab her arms and went to walk beside Khalad just to irritate him.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad could not help but hear the words between Vlad and Jaheira, and though he had decided to restrain himself, he found that difficult as the she-devil slowed her pace until she was next to him. He bit himself in the lip, as if to prevent himself from saying anything; and since she kept quiet, he managed to achieve that goal.

He continued his pondering over Laurelindórenan, and what purpose Vlad, or rather Melost had for going there. The laughter that the Elf had produced just a few minutes ago did not sound well, and he feared if some demon from the past had returned, now that Melost had lost his apathy.

Since he was not able to find any answers, he discretely looked at Jaheira. She looked at peace, and her face did not reveal anything. When Khalad thought about it, she was rather beautiful; but he knew perfectly well what manner of creature that hid behind her sparkling eyes.

He turned his attention away from her, and focused it on Vlad and Melost once again; currently that was his only possibility for discovering more. Discretely he quickened his pace so that he would walk closer to the two.

[Maikadilwen]

Part of him enjoying the rare silence in the group, only broken from time to time by Fidrohir's moaning, Vlad concentrated on keeping his eye and ears open. Casting a quick glance over the small band of people around him, he wondered if these people would even notice if they walked straight into a trap.
The look on Jaheira's face when she moved away from him had not gone unnoticed and he was quite amused by her choice of company but didn't let it show. He didn't want to fight with her right now, so he let her be, letting her do whatever she wanted.
Moving faster, he swiftly passed by Melost who seemed to be lost deep in thought, taking the lead for a long time in order to scout ahead, having no intention of being surprised by Orcs in an ambush. These mountains were no place to be careless and with these people...

Through the dark, Vlad thought he could make out something which seemed like lights in the distance, by the foot of the mountain and he slowly moved closer, curious but still cautious. Could their luck have turned and they had now come upon a village or small town?
He concentrated to see through the dark and wondered for a moment if it was true that Elves had such amazing sight as he had been told, but he decided against the thought of using Melost as a scout. For now...
Yes, there it was. Vlad stopped and stood for a moment, looking down at the small village below. Well, village was almost too generous a word for the few houses gathered there but at the moment Vlad didn't care. Turning, he signalled for Snyd to join him and within a moment the younger man stood next to him, following the leader's gaze.
Vlad looked at him, a strange light in his eyes and in the dark Snyd could just make out something that seemed like a shadow of a smile.

"What do you see, Snyd?" Vlad asked quietly as he placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, knowing that this was exactly what they had all been hoping for.
Chuckling to himself, Snyd nodded slowly, aware that if they worked this right, they would all be able to fill their stomachs for some time.
"I see a possible feast tonight, Vlad! They're practically begging for a raid." Snyd's excitement was obvious and his eyes were shining with anticipation.

[Cuthalion]

Melost watched as Snyd glided to Vlad's side, a feeling of emptiness pricking him as he watched the two whispering excitedly together, pointing down at something. A movement to his right caught his attention as Jaheira ran to see what was happening. Vlad's arm slid around her waist and pulled her close and the way she nestled close, natural as breathing caused Melost to tear his glance away.

He caught Khalad staring at Vlad and Snyd with distaste and he moved closer to the young man out of curiosity. "Here we go again.." Khalad ground out as Melost joined him. "What do you mean? What are they up to?" Khalad rolled his eyes. "They've probably found a house or a small isolated village down below. You, my friend, are about to be initiated into the seamy world of the forest outlaw." Melost's eyes were wide, then he frowned. "I think not. Thievery is an occupation I have no inclination to learn." He started to walk on, but Khalad reached out and grabbed him, pulling Melost around to face him. With a look like a thundercloud, he snarled at the Elf. "Look, you may be kin to an Elf King, a warrior and what-not, but Vlad has never betrayed us, and he have never left one of us to die. He's always provided for us, so don't get so above yourself, Elf. He could have had you killed at any time and, knowing him, once you're no longer a curiosity, he still might!"

Khalad released Melost and stalked away, his voice low as he mumbled to himself. Melost remained where he was as he thought over what he had just learned. Outlaws, brigands, people to took from others what was rightly theirs merely because they were too idle to fend for themselves. "I have indeed fallen from grace. I must escape from them as soon as possible, regardless of Vlad's promise of aid."his mind whispered to him as he began to take closer notice of his surroundings.

A bark of laughter from Snyd raised the hair on the back of Melost's neck, for he had suddenly gone chill with the feeling of evil. His eyes pierced the darkness as he watched the band begin their descent down toward the village. Vlad gestured to him imperatively to follow, then turned and started down after Snyd and Jaheira, confident the Elf would follow. Melost felt anger rise within him at the boldness of the gesture, then he realised. Vlad had used a gesture he had seen used among the soldiers of Gondor to indicate following in single-file. He moved swiftly to join them, his eyes still scanning the night, for the feeling of being watched wasn't leaving.

[Durelin]

Snyd couldn't help but fiddle with his belt knife, couldn't help but grin. There was a wonderful feeling that always came before a raid. One of almost childish wonder, excitement filling him at his own ignorance of what was to come. He had done this before, and so should know how the slaughter felt, but it never failed to become a fresh experience. Snyd loved surprises, and this had the look of a large one, and one that would require the use of the blade he fingered.

He fell back beside Jaheira, who glanced at him starkly. His presence was certainly not wanted, but he was used to that. "Why so sour, Jaheira? A raid, after so long!" He couldn't help the eagerness in his voice, and he shrugged off an odd look from Jaheira. "Sour? Me?" she asked, obviously expecting no answer. "As always," Snyd murmured with a grin. Sometimes, if he got her angry enough... "Have you heard of our destination?" she practically spat at him. Yes, if angry enough, she would spill out what Snyd wanted to know. "You know no one ever tells me anything around here." Jaheria snorted. "Of course not," she mumbled. Suddenly her expression grew dark and forboding, stern and...was there fear? "Lothlorien." She all but whispered the word.

Now Snyd understood. Glancing at Jaheira, he decided against his belief of seeing fear in that woman's face. It was all anger and hatred, now. What belonged there, really. "So..." Snyd shook his head, changing what he was about to say. "Why?"

"Why? We're going to help the bloody elf! And Vlad may see profit in it, but I see none! I see us all dead!" Jaheira was smart enough to keep her voice low, even as angry as she was, but still her voice seethed with hatred that stung Snyd as hard as any enraged shouts would have. He worked his mouth several moments, unsure of what to say. They were helping the elf? No, Vlad was. Vlad?

Though it made no sense at all, something else now did. Do you except my...offer? And the elf had thanked him. Why hadn't Snyd seen it before? He wasn't that slow in the mind. He found words to say, just to break the silence, crackling with so many dark emotions and thoughts, most coming from the woman beside him. "I see no profit either. And as to seeing us dead...I can hope not, but that usually means..." He swallowed the words he was about to say. He couldn't joke about that, not when... "I...see it to." Jaheira looked at him strangely, surprise contained in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but Vlad was signaling them to silence and to move. Snyd was again ignorant, and anticipating a wonderful surprise. Childish excitement made him forget Lothlorien and his worries, as deep as they were. Stroking his belt knife, Snyd moved on into the darkness, grinning.

[ 4:56 PM December 05, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"I...see it too." Snyd finished, looking at Jaheira earnestly. At first Jaheira thought he was just blabbering on again, but there was something in his eyes, though Jaheira felt too foolish to point it out. Jaheira had rarely heard that tone with Snyd, and it had been so long, she’d forgotten what it meant. Maybe he really did see it too; maybe he really felt the same way. For a split second this disgusted Jaheira, having the same thoughts as Snyd. Then she was relieved, for she was not alone. Then Vlad motioned for the outlaws to move down to the small circle of huts.

…And Jaheira was alone again as Snyd ran off like a giddy little child.

She sighed, grasping her lock picks and an emptied satchel. Jaheira realized that she probably wouldn’t use her lock picking tools anyway. The men would probably crash boisterously through the homes, only asking for her services if a smaller body were needed or a locked box of some sort needed to be cracked safely in case of fragile contents. That was how it usually happened, after all. In any case, Jaheira hoped for one of the homes to have some sort of medical supply, for she was quickly running out of wrappings and potions.

Following the other outlaws and one elf at the end of the line, Jaheira almost got caught up in the anticipation and excitement of a raid, a feeling that had long since been lost to time. Of course, Jaheira quickly squandered this feeling as they neared the houses. There were only six of them, and two of them looked to only have one room. The windows were left confidently open to let a breeze flow through the homes, and candles were lit either on the windowsill or near enough to create an emanating glow through the opening.

“Fools,” Snyd scoffed as they neared the biggest home, which was only a few rooms and a small shed anyway. He looked at the open windows and grinned. “They’re just begging for a raid, begging for things to be stolen.” Jaheira smiled grimly. At least someone is having fun, she thought, watching as Snyd waited for some form of confirmation from Vlad. Looking for the Elf, Jaheira noted that he was trying to hide his intense distaste for what the outlaws were about to do. Jaheira’s smile grew and she finally decided that this raid might be enjoyable after all.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad crept along with the others, and though he was tall he had some stealth and did not make much noise. His left hand played with his swordhilt, and he knew he would not draw his heirloom when doing such an act; and again he cursed the fate that forced him to do this for the sake of survival.

He heard a few words of Jaheira and Snyd's conversation; not all of it, for they were clever enough to keep their voices down. But he could easily guess that they were not satisfied with their destination; and well, how could such brigands be interested in the beauty of Laurelindórenan and the Elves?

They approached the farmhouse and Khalad sighed. If things went as usual, Vlad and the other henchmen would smash in the door and kill those present, unless they had other, more evil plans with the women. Sometimes Khalad had tried to intervene, thinking of his own sister, but seldom had he succeeded.

He was in a dilemma; he did not wish to enter the house and see the ill deeds being done, but he knew Jaheira would probably also stay outside; so either choice gave him evil company. In the end, he decided on staying with the latter, though; at least she had been silent when they had walked alongside each other, and hopefully she would be again.

He only hoped Melost would enter the house as well; being alone with Jaheira and Melost would only bring problems, and Khalad feared he would not be able to solve them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Fidrohir crept up behind Snyd, who was crouched at the rise of the hill and whispered urgently into the latter's ear, "Snyd! Snyd, what was she saying about Lothlorien? Why are we-"

"Will you shut up!" Snyd hissed, rounding on Fid sharply, his sword raised. "And get down! You bloody giant, the whole bloody village'll see you standing there like a ruddy great beacon."

Hurt, Fid did as he was told and was glad for the cover of darkness as tears pricked his green eyes from a combination of Snyd, the only decent one in the whole gang since that elf came, snapping at him and his side stinging him sharply as he ducked quickly. Jaheira was lying, he thought venemously. This wound is going to kill me. Well...well then she'll be sorry... the though trailed off uncertainly as the voice at the back of Fid's head laughed nastily.

Lost in his own misery, Fid missed Vlad's signal to approach and Snyd disappeared like a ghost from in front of him. He only realised a second later and, not wanting to be left in the dark when Jaheira was ready to kill and an elf who had already almost killed him was wandering around, he struggled after him. As he reached the side of one of the farmhouses, a low moan escaped his lips and he bent over slightly, his side aching sharply and, he was convinced, blood was seeping out through his clothes. But a shadow appeared beside him in a flash and, in the dark, he didn't even see her fist coming as she drove it swiftly into his stomach. The breath left him as he doubled over fully, all the breath for crying out leaving him. Jaheira's knife appeared at the edge of his vision as he panted, glinting in wat little light there was from one of the other farmhouses.

"Give us away," she murmured murderously. "And I will take pleasure in twisting this into your uninjured side!"

Fidrohir stopped panting quickly, watching the knife through wide eyes. With a small, contemptuous snort, Jaheira moved away, flattening herself against the wall. Despite his resentment, Fid didn't want her to hate him even more; he had to do this right, maybe...maybe it would make them accept him. Flattening himself beside her, his baggy, ruddy-coloured clothes melding into the wall, he pulled a dark and rather dirty hankerchief from his pocket and tied it around it head, covering as much as he could of his noticeable blonde hair. Beside him, the woman was as tense as a wildcat, ready to spring and pounce. Lowering his head so he was speaking close to her ear, but not so close that she could hit him too easily, he whispered, "Where shall I go?"

He couldn't see her expression, but could well imagine the familiar look of disgust. But she did reply. "'Round the other side of the farmhouse, on the other side of the door - Vlad is waiting there. And so is Khalad; I'm sure he would be glad of your help."

A hint of a smile seemed to creep into her voice here - if Fidrohir had been a dog, his tail would have thumped on the ground. Doing as he was told, as silently as he could and without passing the windows, he came to where Vlad was standing and passed behind the man, who was as coiled and ready as Jaheira.

"At my word...ready...ready..." Fid closed his eyes for a second, then opened them sharply, ready for Vlad's next word which would release them into the farmhouse and, maybe, allow Fid to earn his acceptance in the bandits' eyes.

[Durelin]

The crunch of grass under a footstep made Snyd jump, and he immediately turned toward the sound, loosening his knife in its sheath. It had come from behind him, strangely enough. Could the residents of this cluster of houses, unworthy of the name 'village,' have seen them coming? That was near impossible, though the possibility of the group thieves plus an elf was unquestionably so. But what certainly wasn't impossible was the arrival of some of the elf's friends, finally, in Snyd's mind, catching up with them. It was unlikely any man could connect a band of outlaws with an elf, and a soldier, for that matter, but these were elves, people who lived forever. Snyd practically shook with both fear and anger, the anger directed entirely at Vlad. He would be sorry now. They'd all be dead, or worse yet, captured and hauled off to be judged by some high and might king somewhere. Knowing Snyd's luck, it would be a general rather than a king, the worst station of person to receive punishment from. And the elf would be able to take his revenge. That realization did cause him to shiver.

What emerged from the darkness made Snyd freeze, and he forced his body to calm. He snarled at Fidrohir, who raised an eyebrow at Snyd and his half-unsheathed belt knife. Finally the man went off silently around the farmhouse, staying close to the walls, and around it to where Vlad was; and the elf would be hiding somewhere, pretending the whole raid wasn't happening, along with Khalad, Snyd assumed. Only then did Snyd replace his belt knife firmly in its casing. He scowled into the darkness wondering how he could have forgotten about Fid. He remained motionless as Jaheira came up beside him noiselessly. There would be no more jumping at shadows tonight. A few moments passed, and Snyd began fingering his knife again, growing restless, staring straight ahead at the side of the house, but not seeing the wall before him.

"What are we waiting for?" he whispered, and it sounded loud in the deathly quiet of the night, especially to ears attuned to any sound, and bodies tense and ready to jump at that sound.

"An invitation, Snyd," Jaheira snapped back in an angry whisper that sounded a shout in comparison to Snyd's voice. "A polite greeting and warm welcome into these lovely villager's cozy little homes."

There was silence again for a moment, and then Jaheira sighed quietly; quietly, but she still managed to sound more than annoyed.

"Vlad's signal. We move in after they do, to pick up the slack."

"Well, yes," Snyd told her, doing his best to sound as exasperated as Jaheira. "But what is this signal going to be?"

"You'll know it when Vlad signals, Snyd, to be sure." She added the last as an afterthought, and Snyd didn't think he was meant to hear it. Suddenly a window glowed brightly in the darkness, a light lit inside.

"That's it." Jaheira made it sound like a harsh command.

"I'm still not sure if that could really be called a signal," he whispered to her back, as she was already moving toward the front door of the farmhouse. She answered him with a kick to his shin, and he limped quickly forward after her.

Standing by the front door of the house, one on each side, they stared at each other for a moment. Then Snyd leaned against the door to listen. He didn't quite put his ear up to it, and he found he would not have to. A loud thud came from inside, crashing through the silence of the night. Snyd almost jumped. The house was small and rickety, and a light footstep could have been heard from outside it. It seemed the thing would have creaked in a summer's breeze. "I expect we will have slack to pick up soon," Snyd said, drawing his belt knife. He and Jaheira stood there for another moment, this time staring at the door before them. All was silent inside the house, and out. Another moment passed, and Snyd glanced at Jaheira, who only shook her head slightly, showing that she was as confused as he.

Snyd tried the doorknob, hoping that perhaps luck was with him, but found the door locked. So he stepped back to let Jaheira in to do her work. The woman pulled out a series of tiny picks, some as small as needles. Perhaps they were needles, but Snyd could only wonder. With a loud click and an awful creak the door swung open, causing Snyd to wince. Jaheira glanced sourly back at him. She had looked quite pleased with herself, but it was obvious that she had caught his wince. "After you," Snyd murmured, which earned him another look, this one much more deadly than the first. As he followed Jaheira in, the floorboards groaning under his feet, he was almost immediately faced with a narrow hallway that might have led to some type of kitchen, and a small flight of stairs lay to his right. At the top of them were two doors. Light shone through the bottom of the door on the left, farther from the stairs.

This time Jaheira and Snyd didn't need to pass a look between them to know to begin cautiously to move up the stairs, Snyd in the lead. It felt wrong, Snyd knew, and he believed Jaheira did, too, but there was nothing else for it. If Vlad and Fid had run into trouble, they could catch whoever it was from behind, in an imperfect pincer movement. But if Vlad and Fid I found more than trouble, if they had failed to do any of their job... That was the oddest part of it all. Vlad, even with Fid, having problems overtaking a lone farmhouse; it was absurd, even Snyd know that. A louder creak of floorboards announced to Snyd that he had reached the top of the stairs. He looked at his knife before taking the few steps toward the second door. He stood against the wall just before it, and waited for Jaheira to go around to the other side of it, as she was quieter, with a lighter step. Still, the floorboards creaked only slightly less loud than they had under Snyd's seemingly heavy foot, and his heart pounded with every step. If Vlad and Fid had had trouble with this one, Jaheira and Snyd would have to surprise whoever was behind that door if they wanted any chance at all. Snyd shut his eyes for a moment, his heart beating like a drum at him in the darkness, disbelieving. This had all worked much better when there had been five of them with guts...before the 'capture' of the elf.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:06 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Maikadilwen]

"What troubles you, daughter of mine?"

Menelya's words kept echoing in Anwanelme's mind, no matter how hard she tried to will them away. Ignoring her mother, she desperately tried not to see the obvious. No! They were not alike! Not the least! Menelya had been alone with her for most of her life, but only because her father had been killed. Her parents had loved each other. Had they not?
Secretly looking at her mother under her lashes, Anwanelme suddenly realised something in her mother's expression she couldn't remember having seen before. Pain? Grief?

Her own eyes, red-rimmed with tears, searched her mother's face and she suddenly realised that she had never really looked at Menelya as another woman, she had always just been her mother, someone who wanted to control her life for her. Now she realised that this woman, her mother, was all she had left. All others had turned their backs on her and yet, even after what she had done, her mother had come to her, she was here, at her side when no one else would have anything to do with her.
But she does not know. Will she scorn me as well once she finds out the truth? Anwanelme's mind worked frantically to sort through the chaos that was her thoughts. This had to be an evil dream. Yes, it was! Soon she would wake up in her chamber in Imladris and Melost would come to see her before they would begin their journey to the golden wood.

A movement and the sound of a heavy sigh caught her attention and she looked up and realised that Menelya had left her side and was now standing in front of the door as if trying to decide whether or not to leave the room and the sight broke something inside Anwanelme.
"Mother...?" She felt herself panic and reached out for Menelya who quickly turned around and they nearly threw themselves in each others' arms. Sobbing violently, Anwanelme revealed everything to Menelya, clinging onto her, afraid that she too would leave her.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira decided not to wince, even hearing the painfully audible creak of the floorboards under her step. Jaheira could scarcely see Snyd across the door, she was even unsure if she saw him at all or if it was just the unfortunate luck of having to see him every day that made her envision his face. He seemed as clueless as Jaheira was, but neither doubted the need to open the door. Jaheira readied her dagger in her hand, and she could see the glint of silver in Snyd’s hand from the light coming from the cracks of the door. Jaheira nodded and put her hand on the door handle, turning it slowly and steadily. It was about the only thing she could do right at the moment, without the thoughts of what was behind the door swarming through her mind. She heard the gears shift; the sounds were all too familiar for Jaheira. Even Snyd’s seemingly heavy breathing couldn’t drown out the sound of the locks inside the handle turn and rotate. Then Jaheira pushed the door open.

Waves of relief coursed through both Snyd and Jaheira, and both took in deep breaths for the air of nervousness had caught in their throat and lungs. Before them stood only Fidrohir and Vlad, and there was not a single other soul in the room that might indicate inhabitants to the homestead. Vlad was clutching Fidrohir’s tunic collar, and Fidrohir was flinching even though Vlad had loosened his grip when Snyd and Jaheira had entered. A candle was softly glowing on a nightstand by the window, and so Jaheira and Snyd assumed that it was the light they had seen and taken for a signal. Vlad let go of Fid’s tunic, and Fid began to relax as the outlaw’s leader moved away.

“What were you two doing in here?” Jaheira asked, her voice a heated whisper despite the fact that they were all confident that there were no people in the home. Jaheira wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t dare with the candlelight illuminating her face. Why did men have to be so immature sometimes? Even if Fidrohir was beat up and threatened on a regular basis, Jaheira would have thought that Vlad of all people would have known better than to have risked their raid by stopping to hit Fid. Jaheira sighed. “Acting like a bunch of children! You could have gotten all of us killed!”

Vlad glowered at her before going to the nightstand and picking up the candle, almost smothering the small flame in his large, calloused hands. He held it before Jaheira and Snyd, looking over at Fidrohir with venom in his eyes before he explained. “Fid here thought it would be smart to light a candle, for all the homes and their people to see. When I told him to put it out, he didn’t think it best. I was merely trying to convince him otherwise.”

“While we were on a raid, Vlad?” Jaheira retorted, hoping he would see that his side of the argument didn’t sound any better than Fid’s. Either one of them could have given away their plans. Jaheira passively wondered why Snyd wasn’t backing her up on this, but then she looked at Vlad and saw the flame lighting his patched-up eye and scar, showing his handsome but worn face that in turn showed anger and reproach. Snyd changed the subject, seeing the intensity of the glares being traded between Vlad and Jaheira. “You’re absolutely positive there’s no one here? What about food? Any food?”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:46 AM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Maikadilwen]

Entering the small farmhouse had been so easy it came close to boring and Vlad found himself wondering about the reason for it. Was it because of the people he had to rely on or was it simply because he was getting old? You're not old, he thought, as he looked into another room and signalled to Fidrohir that it too was empty as the others they had been through, but these idiots will probably be the death of you, if not sooner then later!
Having cleared the lower level, finding no signs that anyone were there at the moment, Vlad and Fid slowly moved upstairs, careful not to cause any steps or floorboards to creak and Vlad had to admit to himself that he was surprised. He had almost expected Fid to simply stomp through the place as he usually did with anything else but the large man seemed to finally having gained the control of his own feet and he moved as quietly as Vlad himself.

One room left. Vlad nodded to Fid, who stood ready to enter the room and take out anyone who might be in there, then he slowly opened the door. The room was empty, just as the rest of the house and behind him Fid heaved a sigh of relief. "No need to signal for Snyd and Jaheira." he muttered, mostly to himself as he entered the room. Now that the house was clear, they might just as well start looking for something of value and, even more important, food and Vlad quickly began to systematically search through drawers and chests. He smiled to himself at a sound indicating that Fidrohir had walked into something in the dark and he stifled a chuckle when he heard the colourful cursing that followed. "How should I do this when it's impossible to see anything? It's too dark, Vlad..."
"Stop fooling around and make yourself useful! We don't have all night!" Vlad growled and emptied a large chest, tossing aside the linen inside, hoping to find something useful at the bottom, then froze when he saw a light flicker. He turned to see Fid place a candle on a small nightstand by the window and he stood for a moment, staring in disbelief at the light. "Fid...what...?" He couldn't even speak, he was that angry, shocked that the other man could be so stupid. When he was finally able to move, he didn't even realise what he did before Fidrohir lay on the floor after an encounter with Vlad's fist. Quickly he pulled him up by the collar, ready to kill. Oh, how he enjoyed the look in his eyes, on his face. Was it fear? Vlad would give him something to fear, that was for sure!

A sound by the door and they both jerked their heads in the direction, only to see Snyd and Jaheira standing their, glaring at them as if they had never seen them before, then Vlad let go of Fid and turned towards the two in the doorway. What were they doing here? He hadn't made any damned signal! Would they all prove to be idiots? "What were you two doing in here?" Although whispering, Jaheira's voice cut through the air like a blade and Vlad glared at her for a moment, knowing that she would most likely begin on one of her rants. "Acting like a bunch of children! You could have gotten all of us killed!"
Moving to the nightstand, Vlad grabbed the candle, for a moment unsure of what to do with it. "Fid here thought it would be smart to light a candle, for all the homes and their people to see. When I told him to put it out, he didn’t think it best. I was merely trying to convince him otherwise." he explained, that would shut them up so they could finish their business and get away from here before anyone realised they were here.

"While we were on a raid, Vlad?" Jaheira continued and he gazed straight at her, knowing very well how grim his face looked in the candlelight and he could see it affected both Jaheira and Snyd. "You’re absolutely positive there’s no one here? What about food? Any food?" Snyd tried warily to change the subject but Vlad ignored him, keeping his gaze locked on Jaheira. How he wanted to hurt her right now, beat her, shove the candle down her throat, anything to silence her. And yet something held him back. In the candlelight she looked almost beautiful and he couldn't help but think of all they had shared over the years. But why did she have to be so...so...Jaheira?
With a sigh he killed the flame and threw the candle on the floor, trying to shake those strange thoughts from his mind. "Since you are both here...who's watching the Elf?" he then asked, his voice calm but cold. The deafening silence told him that they too realised their error. "Snyd?" he said with a heavy sigh, knowing that if he sent Jaheira, she would just cause more trouble. "I'm on it, Vlad!" came Snyd's voice through the dark and he quickly left down the stairs.

Turning towards the window, Vlad stood for a moment, gazing into the night. Why was it so impossible to get anything right now? Once this group had been highly effective and they did what he asked of them. What had happened? Was he getting too old for this?
Then he saw it. A small group moving through the darkness, apparently unseen by everyone but himself. Vlad had seen too many of these foul creatures in his life to mistake them for Men and with a curse he turned from the window and strode towards the door. "We've got company!" he hissed as he passed by Jaheira and pulled her with him outside. "Seems Fid's candle attracted not only you two but a small band of Orcs as well!"

~*~

"What troubles you, daughter of mine?"

Menelya's words kept echoing in Anwanelme's mind, no matter how hard she tried to will them away. Ignoring her mother, she desperately tried not to see the obvious. No! They were not alike! Not the least! Menelya had been alone with her for most of her life, but only because her father had been killed. Her parents had loved each other. Had they not?
Secretly looking at her mother under her lashes, Anwanelme suddenly realised something in her mother's expression she couldn't remember having seen before. Pain? Grief?

Her own eyes, red-rimmed with tears, searched her mother's face and she suddenly realised that she had never really looked at Menelya as another woman, she had always just been her mother, someone who wanted to control her life for her. Now she realised that this woman, her mother, was all she had left. All others had turned their backs on her and yet, even after what she had done, her mother had come to her, she was here, at her side when no one else would have anything to do with her.
But she does not know. Will she scorn me as well once she finds out the truth? Anwanelme's mind worked frantically to sort through the chaos that was her thoughts. This had to be an evil dream. Yes, it was! Soon she would wake up in her chamber in Imladris and Melost would come to see her before they would begin their journey to the golden wood.

A movement and the sound of a heavy sigh caught her attention and she looked up and realised that Menelya had left her side and was now standing in front of the door as if trying to decide whether or not to leave the room and the sight broke something inside Anwanelme.
"Mother...?" She felt herself panic and reached out for Menelya who quickly turned around and they nearly threw themselves in each others' arms. Sobbing violently, Anwanelme revealed everything to Menelya, clinging onto her, afraid that she too would leave her.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad watched as Jaheira quickly left and realised he was alone with Melost, the rest of the outlaws busy with the raid. It was dark and Melost was not fatigued, but had the strength to run. Lothlórien was not too far away for the Elf to reach. But if the Elf fled, what about Khalad himself? Lothlórien was not a realm for a Man, not even one of the race of Númenor. Would he have to flee somewhere else and begin a new life, like he had done when he left Pelargir?
Or perhaps he should simply end it here. Let Melost flee and then take his punishment from the outlaws. It would probably include torment but in the end it would have releasing death. Release from his dishonour and self-disgust.

Sub-consciously his left hand slid down his side until it reached his swordhilt. When he became conscious of what his hand touched, he sighed at what it reminded him of. He had almost decided to go for the last option, when Melost made a sharp move with his head. He had spotted something.

Khalad turned and looked himself, and his eyes slowly realised what it was. A group of Orcs. These accursed fiends. His right hand gripped the hilt of his sword and he remembered the inscription. For Justice and Peace. These farmers had no way of defending themselves against such foes. Yet Khalad had. He turned and saw that Melost had drawn his knife and eagerly looked upon the Orcs. Drawing his sword, Khalad grasped it with both hands and brought it up in front of his face in a salute to his enemies. "Let us deal with these fiends," he said to Melost.

[Cuthalion]

Melost could feel his blood begin to race when he sighted the orcs moving stealthily through the pitch-black woods at the rear of the house. The old barn where Khalad had taken him while the others raided the house served as perfect cover, it shielded them from being spotted themselves. He felt rather than saw Khalad draw his sword. He said something Melost about orcs , but Melost was already gone. Instinct and blind hatred now drove Melost to protect this man, his comrade.
Past battles filled his mind as he ran silently toward the orcs, who were now beginning to fan out, splitting off to encompass the grounds of the house. Melost had seen four, maybe five of the hated creatures before he decided what action to take. Arthain was at his back, he would be safe. Arthain..there was that name again..and a face, just on the edge of memory. He could hear someone running as Vlad's people came rushing from the house, but within moments everything else faded as he rushed to meet the first orc.

The creature was cunning and fast, almost too fast for Melost in his weakened condition. He had hardly eaten anything since being "rescued" and his head still pained him, his vision blurring occasionally. This nearly proved fatal as the orc swung for his head. Melost barely managed to duck, then drove forward to close with it. The stench was over-wlelming and he found himself retching as he drove his knife deep into the orc's belly, then yanked it up, effectively dis-embowelling it. The orc howled, then vomited all over Melost as it died. He gasped, then his eyes flew wide as he saw Khalad being pressed back by two orcs at once. The young man was fighting for his life with skill and precision, but he would need help.

A stream of colourful cursing came from behind the house and Melost knew that Vlad had found his own orc to play with. He kicked the orc's body away, then rushed to the aid of Khalad with fury in his eyes. He hadn't felt such anger and loathing for many years and he could feel his spirit rise within him until he began to glow with an ethereal light. The remaining orcs froze, as did the humans. None of those present had ever seen an Elf in his full glory and they were as one, awed by the sight.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya felt her lungs give an involuntary spasm as she hurried back to her own room. She nearly broke into a run. Her tearstained face would create much talk among the ladies if they saw her. Finally reaching her room, she flung open the door, dashed in, and closed it soundly. Menelya leaned on the door for a second, collecting the thoughts that rebounded off all corners of her brain. She replayed the scene in her head.

Nana,” Anwenelme asked as she reached the point where she finally made her way toward the door when she left, “You will not tell others, will you?”

“No,” Menelya said immediately, without thought. She could not tell the others, even if she wanted to hurt Anwenelme further. That was, in fact, the furthest thing from her mind now. Even the reaction of the other women and the shame revealing Anwenelme’s condition would cause her was a very distant thought. Menelya felt an odd sense of affection for her daughter. She was not used to such a feeling towards anyone. The sensation of Anwenelme’s grasp around her was still strong. The girl held onto her as thought she was frightened that Menelya would leave her in her condition.

Menelya sat down in a chair heavily. It was time to think. She had to be a mother now; she had to be there in case Anwenelme needed her advice. But what advice would she give? She certainly did not live her life the way she had wanted to originally. Menelya put her head in her hands and began to cry again. It felt good to cry again. She could not remember the last time she let herself do so. Menelya wept openly both for her daughter’s future and her own past, letting the sorrow finally escape from her heavy chest.

[Durelin]

Vaguely hearing screams coming from Fid, who shrieked as he slashed at an orc behind him, Snyd desperately tried to fight off a more than formidable opponent. He was a thief, and all the weapons a thief, meant to be a silent assassin, needed was a knife. Never would a thief need to be armored for war with monsters such as these. Orcs were from Mordor, and anyone as smart as Snyd avoided that place. Not only did the huge slab of metal the creature had for a sword completely outmatch his belt knife, but the strength of this orc was extraordinary. That left one advantage in battle to Snyd: speed. You could count speed and agility as two separate advantages, but Snyd did not like to press his luck.

Ducking under a wild swing, he heard the whoosh of such a large object being hurtled out at such speed. Though the orc had just bared practically his entire body from the shoulders down, Snyd was too numb to react. Only much later would he be able to admit that this numbness came from fear. The scimitar came back around for another swing, this one lower, making Snyd hop backwards. He slipped and fell on slick, muddy earth on landing, and fell forward, toward the orc. He let out a shout as he fell, and was still yelling when his body made contact with the orc. It let out a strange growl of surprise as it fell over with Snyd. Just in time, Snyd remembered his knife, and forcing it outwards, it stabbed into the orc's stomach. It growled again, this time the grotesque noise sounding like a scream.

Pulling the knife back, Snyd hesitated a second, and the creature grabbed him by the throat as it struggled to free its scimitar from under him. "Underneath him," Snyd thought, "Luck. Bloody, flaming luck." Now Snyd did not hesitate before plunging the knife back into the orc, again and again in desperation as the hand clenching his throat became tighter and tighter. It seemed he had stabbed the creature at least two dozen times before the grip around his neck began to lessen, and then finally release him. Falling back, gasping for breath, Snyd realized just how harsh that had been on his body. He couldn't rise from the ground, his body felt limp from exertion. Turning his head to glance at the orc carcass beside him threatened to dizzy him. Black blood covered its bare chest and stomach, and Snyd's life lay beside it, the same blood covering it as well.

He knew it would be wise to reach over and grab his knife, as there was decidedly more than one orc around. Even with that knowledge, which should have tightened his stomach in a panic, Snyd could not steel himself to do so much as put out his arm. His mind wandered for a moment, and he thought of when he had killed his first man. Never had he planned to kill an orc, as he had never planned to meet one. He was brought back to his current battlefield by the realization of how quiet it was around him. No longer did he hear the screams of Fid. Quiet had always frightened Snyd, and this quiet spoke of evil. Finally fear drove him to reach for his belt knife. Rising with a groan, he looked around him into the darkness, still lit faintly by the candlelight in the house behind him, and realized he had made his way outside somehow. Seeing nothing around him, he decided that he had time to steel himself for walking.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"What's that?"
Fid had frozen in the middle of the floor and Jaheira crashed into his back as he stopped abruptly. She swore at him furiously in a hiss, shoving the man forward. But Fid barely flinched, still listening. Jaheira rolled her eyes. "Great, now the great buffoon thinks he's hearing things-"

Vlad signalled sharply for her to be silent and Jaheira shut up immediately, watching him. The outlaws' leader moved towards the window, squinting out into the darkness. His eyes narrowed suddenly and he swore with a quick intake of breath before turning towards the door, his sword in his hand immediately. "We've got company! Seems Fid's candle attracted not only you two but a small band of Orcs as well!"

He grabbed Jaheira as he passed, pulling her out with him, but not before she had managed to give Fid a look so filled with utter contempt he flinched. The unfortunate outlaw moved quickly to the window, looking out into the darkness. "Hey, are you sure they're not just-"

He stopped suddenly, suddenly realising his position. He was alone, looking out the window for a hidden enemy, with his back uncovered, in an empty room. An empty house in fact - the door below clicked shut beneath him with a sound which would startling in the silence. He gave a low moan, before rushing down the stairs...and melting into the cupboard beneath them as the front door opened once again and a foul stench and a dark shape filled the doorway and corridor...

Fid knelt wide-eyed in the cupboard, crushed against some cloaks, his face pressed into them so he had to be careful that his scared breathing did not cause them to rustle too much. But as he was sitting there, even in his panicked state, he realised something about the cloak his face; they were covered in dust. All of them were. They haven't been used in weeks... the truth slowly dawned on Fid. The villagers had probably known about the orcs - they had staked out a doomed area!

His gasp must have been too audible, for there was a grunt outside the cupboard door and the sound of armour moving against leather stopped. The man froze, then steeled himself, gritting his teeth - despite his apparent cowardice, Fid was no fool, and the door pushed outwards. The sound of one of the orcs calling to another in the guttural black tongue covered the sound of the man's whispered count to three...

He slammed the door open with a yell, knocking the foul creature in front of it backwards, clutching at it's maimed face, dark blood gushing between itself gauntletted fingers. Fid didn't pause, running it through with his sword straight away, once through it's chest, then through it's throat, not taking any chances. Darting around it, he sliced powerfully through the air sidewards at the next orc's neck level, his yell covering the disgusting sound of steel through muscle and flesh. The orc's head rolled away and Fid was nearly sick as he saw it's lips move a few times before he looked away, swallowing the vomit that threatened to well up. He could hear the others outside and braced himself; he hadn't been able to prove himself against villagers in a raid this time, but now he had the chance to do it in this fight. As he jumped over the second orc's prone body, sword still in hand, and rushed out the door, he couldn't help the whisper at the back of his mind... Orcs are a little different from surprised villagers...

[Maikadilwen]

Having been surprised by an Orc while fighting another, was a little more than Vlad could have wished for and he cursed loudly while trying hard to fight off the unexpected guests. Finally finishing off the second one, he went back to where the first of them lay on the ground. Vlad had only provided him with a bad wound but it had been enough to keep him down and so he had left him there, to be able to fully concentrate on the other foe. "No one attacks my people without a very good reason!" he growled right before letting his sword fall, then a second later kicked away the severed head. He enjoyed listening to the song of his old trusted sword, remembering the days when its use had been honourable.

Moving around the house, he was met with a sight that left him rooted to the spot for a moment, surprised and in awe. Never before had he seen an Elf in battle, in fact he had never before seen an Elf, but Melost, although only armed with his knife, proved to be a most ferocious opponent and Vlad thought for a brief moment that he was glad Melost were not his enemy. Yet. He didn't quite trust the Elf but in fact, he didn't trust anyone and only time would tell whether this Elf was truly friend or foe.
A swift movement next to him ripped him out of his thoughts and it was only due to his reflexes and skills as a swordsman, that this encounter didn’t claim his life. The sound of voices approaching made him look up and as he looked around, he realised that it appeared they had slain all the Orcs or at least the rest had fled the scene. Then it hit him. He saw light in most of the houses now and the farmers were now aprroaching them, having been alarmed by the noise of the fight. Vlad more sensed than saw the rest of the group gather around him, ready for whatever was to come, but unable to see any weapons, he held up his hand, signalling to the group to wait. Keeping an eye on Khalad and Melost, he saw that they seemed to have seen his signal and they too were waiting to see what happened.

Vlad wiped his sword clean and sheathed it, then stepped forward and one of the farmers, an older man who seemed to be some kind of leader, did the same. Not until then did he realise that apart from the man in front of him, there were only a couple of men present and they seemed to be too old to be of any help or a threat to anyone. Only women and a few old men...interesting! Vlad thought as the man began to thank him and the group for aiding them against the Orcs. "We have no weapons and even if we did, all who are able to fight have left for the great market and won’t be back for several days. Had you people not decided to come to our aid, surely we would all have been dead by now and our houses ablaze. Is there any way we can possibly thank you?"
Vlad looked at the man, almost in disbelief, amusement shining in his eye. No weapons? No one able to fight? This was as easy as looting a corpse! With a sardonic smile he looked straight at the man and took one step closer towards the people.

"Thank us? There is no need to thank us, my good man. Surely we couldn’t let those Orcs run off with what is ours right in front of us!" Even without the light from the houses, Vlad would have been able to see the colour disappear from the man's face, as he finally realised what had just been said and why they were even there and from behind him, he could hear Snyd's usual snickering. "B-but...we are poor people...w-we have no treasure at all!" Liar! Vlad thought as he looked over their faces. There's always some kind of treasure and most important right now, food! Suddenly his attention was drawn to a young woman, standing almost hidden behind an older one and he motioned for her to step forward. Looking her over, he couldn’t help but smile. Beautiful indeed she was and not one day over seventeen, he would bet his remaining eye on that.
"No treasure, you say?" Such a delicate flower, only waiting to be picked... He studied her face, seeing the fear in her eyes, then his gaze rested on her full lips. Begging to be kissed! "I most certainly disagree..." he said, then tipped up her chin and covered her lips with his own. After a long moment he looked up and turned his head, speaking to the outlaws while still watching the faces of the farmers.
"Boys...do your worst!"

Snyd's joyful laughter mingled with that of Fidrohir and they soon disappeared into a house, Jaheira following at a distance. Vlad let go of the girl, who stood frozen for a moment before quickly running back to the woman who appeared to be her mother, then he turned towards Khalad and the Elf. "Khalad, see to it that these people stay where they are." He then walked a round to make sure all the Orcs were in fact dead but when he passed by Melost, he followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at the girl and he didn't need to think hard to guess his thoughts. He didn't turn his face to look at the Elf, but he did slow down for a moment when he was right next to him.
"I will do many things, Melost, but I will never take a woman against her will." he said, then walked away to continue what he had been doing.

[Cuthalion]

Melost was horrified and disgusted. In that instant he knew he couldn't remain with these humans, not when he had fought with them only to have saved them to continue in their foul ways. The small amount of respect he had developed for Vlad vanished and he moved without thinking. "Hold, Vlad! How can you do this to these people whom you have just..." The it dawned on him. Vlad hadn't saved these villagers, he had merely been protecting his own, then, stalking like a wolf among lambs, he would take that which was most dear to these people.

"Do what you must to these people, outlaw! You disgust me! To think that I once honoured a human..." He snarled as Vlad narrowed his eyes. "Shut your mouth Elf, if you don't want to lose your tongue!" Khalad, meanwhile, watched in sick fascination as Melost drew his knife once again. "I would rather go to Mandos before walking another step by your side!" Before either of them could react, Melost turned and sprinted away from them. He had no idea where he was, or how he would survive...he only knew that he must leave these people.

"Where is the army? Somehow I must exonerate myself by returning to for battle, yet where are they?" Melost thought frantically as he ran. His heart ached from betrayal. It had been natural for him to fight side-by-side with these men, only to discover for what cause he had been fighting. It made him physically sick and he stopped to retch, then wept for himself and what he had become. His memories were scattered, the shadowy image of a comrade he had loved kept brushing his mind and the pain of that touch drove him to his knees. "Ai! Arthain! Why has this happened? Which of the Valar did I offend that this has befallen us?" He cried into the air as his soul writhed within him.

He lifted the dagger in his hand, recalling the beauty of standing with Arthain as Gil-galad's cavalry rode over the fields of Imladris, recalling how much he had loved life...loved.... I will find the armies, I will do this last thing...and then I will go to Mandos...there is nothing left for me here...

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad stood like the farmers, not really grasping the situation or Vlad's words. When they had defeated the Orcs, Khalad had been proud, and his sword had sung in his hand; for such a purpose had it been forged, and nothing else. Yet as Vlad demonstrated how vulgar he could be upon kissing the poor girl, no doubt was left in Khalad's mind; and the order for him to guard the villagers made him nauseated. He looked at his sword, still stained from the blood of the slain Orcs. Should he yet again disgrace its noble blade with the blood of the innocent?

"No!" A voice shouted inside Khalad's head. "I will be damned before I do this!" Khalad thought, and when Vlad gave him a look of misbelief, he realised that he had spoken outloud. Melost left this scene, perhaps seeking out his brethren, or perhaps just running away. Khalad could see that Vlad demanded some explanation though, and before he could speak the Gondorian spoke:

"We just fought these Orcs, saving this village! Do you have no sense of pride left? No joy over this deed, over the valour shown? Is your sense of honour and righteousness so dead, its voice silenced by your countless crimes? No longer will I stand idle and watch as you walk further down the path of a villain, committing atrocities that I thought only Orcs were capable of! Are you no better a being than them? I will follow Melost, for where ever he runs to it can only be better than this!"

And with this exclamation Khalad, still holding his sword in his hand, turned and ran off in the same direction as Melost. His greatest desire was to escape this place, yet in the back of his head Khalad had a growing wish which he hoped could be achieved by following Melost; Khalad wished to see his brethren again and redeem himself, before his conscience smothered every thought that passed through his head, vividly allowing his memory to relive all the wrongdoings he had done in his young life.

[Amanaduial the archer]

On the first floor of one of the houses, Fid was systematically ripping open all the drawers on a chest with little care for mess, whilst the owner, a woman, ancient to Fid's eyes, cowered in a chair in the corner. He tried not to look at her though - from experience, he had found things became alot harder if he looked too closely. The outlaw hummed tunelessly to himself, grinning as he dropped whatever he deemed of value into the sack - they could sell it later. We have indeed been lucky to get a village of ancients... he thought gleefully. And if he could find anything truly valuable, how pleased Vlad would be...

Outside, a shout took Fid by surprise and he dropped a crude mug as he jumped, the crash and sudden movement making the woman whimper slightly. Fid moved quickly to the window, still trying not to look at the woman, and saw Melost stumble away at a blind sprint. Vlad made a slight movement after him, but the drama was not yet over. Fid watched with a kind of morbid amazement as Khalad, apparently seized by some kind of madness, suddenly shouted to no-one in particular, "No! I will be damned before I do this!"

All around the Gondorian, farmers and outlaws alike froze, Jaheira turning slowly where she stood and the farmers gaping. Only Snyd was apparently unconcerned - Fid could hear the tinkle of glass and a small, gleeful laugh as if Snyd had found somethng of value. But Khalad was not finished yet.

"We just fought these Orcs, saving this village!" he yelled at Vlad, apparently releasing a river of pent up desperation and anger at the outlaw leader. "Do you have no sense of pride left? No joy over this deed, over the valour shown? Is your sense of honour and righteousness so dead, its voice silenced by your countless crimes?"

Fid cringed quietly and stepped back a little from the window like a kicked dog. He admired the Gondorian somewhere in his heart, but it was a different kind of admiration than that he felt for Vlad and Jaheira. Fid aspired to be like them, because that was the kind of life he was living, it was the kind of life he had been forced into and didn't know how to get out off - if he could be like Vlad, the leader, fearless and heartless, of a band of outlawed villains, able to do whatever he liked, it would be an achievement, a way of looking back at Jaheira who had scorned him and proving he could do something right. But Khalad was different; his was not the harsh and wicked cunning, but...valour. The word came into Fid's mind, surprising him, and he realised what powerful connotations that word held. Valour. Bravery. Honour. Goodness. Khalad may have been snobby and silent and Fid did not think he had had more than five words out of him directly, but, he suddenly realised, Khalad was a better goal to strive for....

"No longer will I stand idle and watch as you walk further down the path of a villain, committing atrocities that I thought only Orcs were capable of! Are you no better a being than them? I will follow Melost, for where ever he runs to it can only be better than this!"

Fid gaped as he heard the last of Khalad's words, and the things he had done suddenly hit home. Murdering, pillaging and looting, take all sorts against people's will...suddenly the outlaw felt like a child again, crying and lost in the darkness, alone and not knowing how to get away from the beasts that crowded in on him. And the demons in Fid's mind were crowding closer than he had ever thought possible. He wanted to go home. Images of the long ago place he had called home suddenly welled up in Fid's mind - it was not a kind place, not a good place, for it had been, for the most part, with the trickster and fraudster who had taught him as a clever youth to steal, beating him and shouting at him, subduing him to the cringing dog he was now. But before then...what had been before then? Fid had been only eight when he went away with the thief, and the images were hazy...

A smoky room, smelling of peat and woodsmoke...small children, younger than Fid, laughing unrestrainedly as they played...adults smiled at them and Fid as he sat amongst them and they danced around him, playing some game he didn't know the rules of...approval, laughter, kindness....outside, a flag flew, of Gondor or Rohan, one or the other or both...no darkness, no death, no destruction...and old woman smiled at Fid from the corner, opening her arms wide to embrace him...

Fid whirled around to the woman in the corner and she cringed again, but he did not mean her any harm now. Tears welled up in his eyes as he seemed to see in every line of her face the features of his grandmother...

Stumbling from the room and half-falling down the stairs, he burst out the door and yelled after Khalad as he ran, "Wait! Wait for me! I'm coming as well!"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"No longer will I stand idle and watch as you walk further down the path of a villain, committing atrocities that I thought only Orcs were capable of! Are you no better a being than them? I will follow Melost, for where ever he runs to it can only be better than this!"

Jaheira gaped from where she stood. What was going on? Her breath became caught in her chest throughout Khalad's frantic accusation. Jaheira fought with herself, thinking that Khalad was not doing anything to stop them and that he was only running away from his own fears and troubles like some hypocrite. Then she'd realize that Khalad was right. Khalad was right. It pained Jaheira almost that she was admitting such things to herself, but it was so true! It all started when Vlad had kissed the young girl, and threatened the old man, and Jaheira could feel the fear and animosity. She hadn't killed any of them - she hadn't even killed one of the orcs - but there was the knowledge in her heart that everything was wrong.

Then Khalad ran.

He ran like a little boy running from punishment. Jaheira wanted to laugh at his actions, but she knew that if she opened her mouth it would be weak and half-hearted. Vlad shot a slightly shocked look over at Jaheira, and she only shrugged at him in return. Was he really going to let them go like that? Jaheira was again tempted to laugh at his inability to lead and take affirmative action, but Jaheira stopped herself from laughing again.

Then something even crazier happened. Creaking noises and thuds erupted from one of the homes before Fid came fumbling out the door, screaming like the little baby Jaheira knew him to be. "Wait! Wait for me! I'm coming as well!"

Jaheira felt like crying in her frustration. What was happening? What had happened to the harsh, horrible Vlad that she had once known? He stood there, doing nothing to stop Fid, Khalad, or the Elf. It made Jaheira sick. Maybe I should go, too... Jaheira thought half-heartedly.

"You are going to do nothing?" Jaheira asked Vlad when she knew her voice would come out clear and unwavering.

[Durelin]

Snyd's body had just recovered from his battle of survival with his lone orc opponent, and he was even able to snicker as Vlad caused the old farmer to grow deathly pale. But his mind slowly fell back into a strange grogginess, as his eyes did not believe what they were seeing. The retreating backs of Melost, Khalad, and Fid. For years they had struggled together, knowing that the only goal was to survive. And knowing that in this world, the odds were against them. Fid and Snyd had always stolen together, escaped together...they had had so much fun together, free from their former restricting lives. As exasperating as the man was, Fid was the only one of Vlad's outlaws he had ever felt comfortable with. Perhaps he had even felt a certain connection with Fid. Snyd now watched his friend running into the darkness, away from the lights coming from the houses that surrounded Snyd.

"You are going to do nothing?" came Jaheira's voice. She sounded as sick as Snyd felt. Do nothing...

"Fid..." His voiced creaked out of him in a whisper. Finding his voice, he shouted, "Fid?"

His friend did not turn round or hesitate. Whether Fid had heard him or not, Snyd could not guess. "And I don't care. I don't," he muttered, trying in vain to convince himself. "We'll see where this ends you up!" he shouted frantically, and shook his fist at Fid's back. "I hope to see you all dying in a ditch somewhere!"

He gave up, and gave in to his exhaustion, fueled by a sick despair. "We're going to do nothing." Jaheira looked at him, and he caught her disgusted expression out of the corner of his eye. Not sparing her a glance he answered her look. "We shouldn't care."

Snyd turned to Vlad, who was looking as calmly severe as he always did, and he returned Snyd's gaze with a raised eyebrow. But what shown in his eyes did not coincide with this look of annoyance. "Why do we care?" Snyd said with all the strength he had, putting as much anger into his words as he could.

"Because there are now only three of us," Vlad answered in a dead voice. For some reason, the flatness of his words annoyed Snyd tremendously. He was at his wits end with confusion, anger...and hunger! He slowly counted those who still stood around him. Yes. Three. Only three; he had always hated when Vlad was right. Only Fid had hated it worse than he.

"Well, I'm finding something to eat," he said slowly, and threw up his arms in an elaborate, absent minded shrug. He turned on his heels, almost stumbling to the ground as he did so, and made his way to the nearest house. The foolish residents still stood outside, staring in even more confusion than Snyd, and with a fear that was not yet felt clearly by the outlaw. Only when he had a full stomach would he notice the fear within him; and that would be just another thing he did not understand.

[Cuthalion]

"Melost, wait!" A voice cried from behind him and he raised his head slowly. Khalad came running up to him, breathless, his cheeks flushed and angry-looking. Tears stood in his eyes as he looked down at Melost. He stretched out his hand to help the Elf to his feet and Melost gladly accepted. "Khalad, you don't have to do this, I go not to riches or to reward, I go to my death. Do you understand?"

Khalad nodded, then they both turned sharply as they heard the sound of running feet coming through the wood. Melost's pulse quickened. Was it Vlad? Had something he had said stirred old memories within that warrior's heart of his? But no, it turned out to be only Fid. He looked wild-eyed and frantic. "What in hell was that all about? Why did you run away, Elf? Khalad?" he looked from one to the other as though surely they held the key to what had just torn him from the only life he known for many years.

Melost bowed his head wearily. "I barely know you, yet you honour me by your loyalty. And now, you follow me to a far worse fate than you ever would have known with Vlad. He has protected you, cared for you in his way, this is plain for all to see who have eyes. He will see this as a betrayal of his efforts on his behalf and I have no wish for this to be laid at my door. Please reconsider and let me go my way, for mine is the way of death. My time grows short, but the two of you are young by the standards of your kind. Don't throw your lives away for a stranger, I beg you! Return to what you know, to one who needs you. I need no one to show me the way to the darkness of death, I see it before me, clear as the trackless night sky."

[Amanaduial the archer]

"I barely know you, yet you honour me by your loyalty. And now, you follow me to a far worse fate than you ever would have known with Vlad. He has protected you, cared for you in his way, this is plain for all to see who have eyes. He will see this as a betrayal of his efforts on his behalf and I have no wish for this to be laid at my door. Please reconsider and let me go my way, for mine is the way of death. My time grows short, but the two of you are young by the standards of your kind. Don't throw your lives away for a stranger, I beg you! Return to what you know, to one who needs you. I need no one to show me the way to the darkness of death, I see it before me, clear as the trackless night sky."

Melost's sorrowful words scared Fid, and for a moment he hesitated, quailing. What was he doing?! Wherever this elf was going, what sort of fool was he to follow him? Melost is blatantly mad, you have known that since he first joined you, his mind tried to reason. Whatever fight he goe sin search of, it has nothing to do with you. If you go back to Vlad and Jaheira...

That shook Fid from his reverie and he realised with a shock that the life of the outlaws was the only other choice he had. And where had that got him? For most of his young life he had followed them, and what had it gained him? Spite, scorn, anger and taunting...

Fid took a deep breath. "I have a feeling Snyd pities me, Vlad despises me, and I haven't a chance with Jaheira," he delivered, a blatant verdict. "Wherever you lead, Melost, I'm bloody doomed to follow now - 'haven't got an elf's chance in Mordor of passing more than five minutes alive by Jaheira and Vlad." Melost stiffened and his eyes darkened at the turn of phrase, and Fid cringed slightly, remembering the elf in battle when truly angry. But then the anger faded and only sadness replaced it once more as the elf sighed, turning away and beginning to walk. Fid hesitated for a moment - maybe it wasn't too late to go back? They wouldn't scorn a little more help maybe... - before he yelled after Melost, his voice sounding childish and small.

"Well? Can I come then? I haven't got anywhere else to bloody well go now!"

[Cuthalion]

"Well? Can I come then? I haven't got anywhere else to bloody well go now!"

Fid's plaintive cry pierced Melost's heart and added more guilt to his already over-burdened soul. He stopped in his tracks to let the big man catch up, then turned to look at him curiously. "Fid, you may journey with me, if that is your wish, even though you have been warned of the danger. I hold nothing against you, even though you wanted me dead at first. Nay...if anyone, my quarrel lies with your leader, Vlad. Both of you, walk with me now. I have not idea where I am and I fear I have far to travel before I can re-join my king."

Khalad's heart rose in his breast at the thought of seeing such vast armies arrayed against Sauron. It seemed that he would at last be able to salvage his honour if only they would accept him. "Melost, do you think they will allow me to fight?" " Aye, Khalad, you will be allowed to fight and to die. You and all the others of my race and yours who so willingly go to break their bodies against the might of Sauron, for he is grown great and terrible as the tales of old say of Morgoth Bauglir."

Melost felt his blood freeze in his veins at the mention of Morgoth's name. He who had created that perversion of Iluvatar's creation...the orcs, who had then in turn fallen upon their "kin" in order to wipe them from the face of Arda.This was what they were fighting against, Morgoth's disciple and erstwhile follower.

"Aye, comrades, follow me if you will. There is no finer cause than this to die for...save one. That one, I reserve for myself."

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad's eyes shone with eagerness and the light of his kin. For so long it had been extinguished, ever since his flight from Pelargir. Yet a passion burned in him, a pride and joy over his people. Not only would he see the Eldar in their splendour, he would once again walk amongst Númenoreans; hear the speech of Sindarin, watch their grey eyes stare into his with the greeting that they used. He would once again see the might of ranks upon ranks of soldiers, as tall as trees, the sun reflected by countless armours and weapons.

And he would fight amongst them. The answer that Melost gave him was proof enough for him and he needed nothing further to ease his worries. He would march along them and those around him would no nothing save that they walked with a kinsman of theirs, one whom they would fight and perhaps die together with. The next time he drew his sword, Khalad promised himself, would be to thrust it into the enemies of his people.

The eagerness of his youth had now grown strong in him and the thought of possible death did not bother him. Oh yes, he knew that he might die; but he thought only of the death of a hero, slain when his mightiest deeds had been performed and his name had become immortal through song. And he thought of his own song; of past disgrace and fall from nobility, yet a return to previous glory and beyond because of the deeds he would perform on the battlefield.

And then, the thought entered him, he would see Pelargir again. Hear the birds as they shrieked when flying high in the air, unharmed by any man. He would see the white buildings as he approached and he would enter its gates proudly, head held high. Any who would dare to stop him would halt at the sight of his uniform and the awards upon his chest; the awards given by a King to his loyal soldier.
And it seemed to Khalad that the future was not a foe anymore.

[Maikadilwen]

Vlad stood for a moment longer, his mind working hard to find reason within the madness that now appeared to surround him wherever he went. Everything had been just fine until that Elf had turned up and he himself had been so stupid that he had let him live. All because of his own curiosity. He should have killed him immediately when they had found him, it would have saved them so much trouble. Vlad could feel anger and frustration well up inside him and he took a deep breath, fighting himself to keep calm. All he had done for these people... All he had suffered for them. And this was how they decided to thank him? Fidrohir...he was nothing but a coward, always had been. But Khalad...for so long he had suffered through the boy's endless tales of honour and the splendour of Numenor. How long before the stupid boy finally realised that honour was nothing but a tale? He of all should know, with his own background but no, instead he chose to close his eyes to that and tried to right some wrong which did not even exist. Oh, Vlad could tell him a tale or two about the real "honour" of soldiers in war. They had none! He had once tried to protect the socalled innocent but all he earned from that was to be stripped of his title and honour and having to leave Gondor in disgrace.

A movement next to him ripped him out of his thoughts with a start and in one swift movement he had drawn his dagger and placed it at the throat of the person, who turned out to be Jaheira, ready to end her life with a single turn of his wrist. He could see the disbelief in her eyes but his patience was wearing thin now. "Planning to follow the Elf as well, Jaheira?" he hissed at her, locking her gaze, reading every flicker of her eyes. He would kill her on the spot, should she turn out to be leaving as well, but to his relief she boldly grabbed his hand and pushed the knife away, then shook her head. "If you think I would follow that Elf, you're more mad than I thought, Vlad!" she retorted dryly and in that instant Vlad knew why he had always enjoyed her company. Because she was Jaheira, simple as that. He slowly ran his hand over her cheek, still able to see the bruises from when he had hit her. How he regretted that now. She had been right. How much he hated to admit it to himself, she had been right about Melost and Khalad all along.

In that instant, Vlad made up his mind. They would go after Melost and the others and when they found them, he would let Jaheira kill that damned Elf as she saw fit. "Jaheira, go help Snyd. Take as much as you can carry but think mainly about food. Valuables can be sold at a later time but they won't fill an empty stomach now." She nodded, then turned to find Snyd when she suddenly heard Vlad call her name. She turned and looked at him questioningly but he just shook his head. "Nothing, go."
Vlad stood for a moment, looking after her. He had no idea why he had called for her or even why he felt so strangely relieved that she stood by him. He shook his head, then sheathed the dagger and drew his sword instead. Turning towards the farmers, he raised his voice, not knowing how far away Melost and the others were by now or if they would even be able to hear him, but frankly, he did not care. If they did, it might give them something to think about and if they didn't...well, at least it would keep these people from doing anything stupid. "Thanks to the Elf and the obvious loyalty of some of my people, there has been a change of plans! The first person who moves, I will kill on the spot, be it man, woman or child!" He silently prayed that no one would move, since it had never been his plan to kill any of them in the first place. Had that been the case, he would have let the Orcs take care of them. Now, if only Jaheira and Snyd would hurry up so they could get away from this place.

[Cuthalion]

Melost and his "followers" ran on in the dark shadows of the night until Fid began to stumble, cursing and sobbing as he tripped over tree roots the light-footed Elf never even touched. "Melost, Melost... he can't keep running at this pace!" Melost stopped instantly. and turned, his eyes both blazing and sorrowful. "He cannot be my problem, Khalad. He chose to follow me. It pains me, for I see inside him a goodness he himself does realise he possesses. Khalad, there is only one life now I wish to take before I die, that of my dearest friend, the stealer of my soul's desire."

Khalad was taken aback by the tragedy written on the Elf's face and by the vehemence of his words. He moved to touch Melost's shoulder to comfort his but he shied away like a nervous animal. "Do not touch me, I need no comfort nor compassion where I am going, but..." he fixed Khalad with an intense stare, "Much as it irritates me to admit this, I don't want to the poor fool to die. Stay with him until he can run again, then flee to the nearest village as cunningly as you can for my heart forbodes we will be trailed very soon and your lives forfeit. Vlad will come for you soon. And I...would not have your blood on my head as well when I go to Mandos."

Vlad...the thought of the outlaw gave him pain, for when he had first met Arthain, he had had much of the same untamed spirit as did Vlad. Discipline had molded him into a warrior of great heart and endurance. They had bonded almost instantly and in Melost's damaged mind, Arthain and Vlad over-lapped, becoming one entity and he regretted having to leave the outlaw to whatever his destiny was. Thoughts of many possible futures, possible adventures faded back ...

...to the realisation he was standing before two near-strangers with tears slowly running down his cheeks. He bowed his head a moment, took a shuddering breath and turned to walk away. "Fare you well, my road lies in death and despair. This I have forseen long ago, your destinies are not clear to me, so save yourselves, live your lives while you may!" He turned his back on them as a voice called to him, "Is this honour?"

[Durelin]

Snyd sat on the ground in the dark, gnawing slowly at his last piece of bread, letting it last, savoring the taste and the solidity of food in his mouth. Though his stomach groaned one last time while he chewed, protesting that it still had not been filled, the loaf of bread and hunk of some whitish cheese had done the trick. And the cheese had actually tasted very good, making up for the lack of butter for the bread. This was the kind of luck the outlaw band had had quite a bit of lately; in the past few minutes, really. The wall of the building his back rested upon felt ready to crumble. The town they had so cleverly thought to raid was a poor, forsaken old town, outside any realm, in the 'middle of nowhere' to its fullest meaning possible.

Running footsteps came from nearby, falling softly on the hard packed dirt of the town's 'road', so that Snyd's trained ears had to strain to hear them. They came closer and became more distinct, but by that time Snyd had realized who the footsteps must belong to. Only someone trained in stealth could run that quietly, and seemingly without even trying to do so. It had to be either Jaheira or Vlad, so he rose, only to find Jaheira running toward him. She had a bloody good set of eyes. "Oi! Who's in such a hurry now?"

"Vlad, believe it or not," she answered, grinning in a very mischievous way. She looked quite dangerous, as usual. "He's finally seen sense." Jaheira's grin faded, and her face returned to an anger that so fit her, though this appropriateness was tainted by a twinge of sadness. "Though it took him too long."

"Sense? What kind of sense? You mean, about the elf?" Jaheira nodded. "It bloody well took a lot to knock this sense into him!" Jaheira nodded again. She was distracted, staring at the ground; not deep in thought, but mindlessly. "So why are seemingly in a hurry now?"

"We're following them." Her smile returned. "And Vlad's going to let me have some fun." She stared for another moment at something Snyd could not see, the smirk on her face making the theme of her thoughts known. Snyd wanted to smile himself, but he knew that, as Jaheira had been promised her fun, he would have no part in it. "Gather provisions and supplies," she said finally, barking orders at him. When he did not rise, she growled at him, "And hurry! Or we'll have no choice but to provision ourselves with the fresh meat that is readily available."

Jaheira now directed her cruel smirk at him, and, understanding just what she meant, he smiled at her from on the ground as he popped the last chunk of bread into his mouth. He then rose slowly, and headed for the door of the building he been leaning against. "Save the talk of 'fresh meat' for when we catch up with the elf and his 'followers'."

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad stared at Melost, slightly shocked by his words. It was obvious that things were greatly amiss, more than the young man had thought, yet he had no time to delve deeper into that. Nor did he believe he would be able to even if given time.

Right now his priorities were to find the Númenorean army, though he felt an obligation towards Fid whom his newfound honour forbade him to leave behind, alone, in such a state. Yet it would greatly slow Khalad down if forced to bring Fid alone to some place where they could take care of him, and then track down his countrymen. Also he did not wish to leave the Elf either. He saw a way to get rid of both problems.

"Melost," he spoke almost in a whisper, "I am unsure if I am able to get help for Fid alone. He is heavy and may not be able to walk for a long while, and I cannot care for him on my own. And if something should happen to me, we would both be defenceless." Khalad spoke as calming as he could, almost as if trying to convince a child. "We both need your help to get Fid to somewhere where they can take care of him. It will not take long; and then you can continue your search."

He almost added "for your friends" to his last sentence but stopped himself, not daring to remind the Elf of the others, unsure of what reaction that would provoke. So he bent down next to Fid, examining him quickly before sending Melost a pleading look.

[Cuthalion]

"I cannot lead you to the path of glory, Khalad, for so I perceive is your intention. You would follow me to clear your own name, to regain the honour you once had. Against my better judgement, I will aid you with Fidrohir, but we take the chance of being attacked by Vlad and the others." Without another word, he moved to Fid's side and helped him to stand. the big man groaned and whimpered, suddenly feeling guilty for slowing them down, but too cowardly to allow himself to be left to the tender mercies of his former leader.

Off to their left, the sky was beginning to lighten and Khalad grimaced. "He'll be able to trail us easily now, Melost. We need to hurry!" Melost cast him a sardonic glance. "If only that were possible! You're friend here hasn't missed too many meals!" Khalad looked at him in surprise, "Was that a joke?" Melost chuckled dryly, "There was a time when I had an excellent sense of humour my freind, but there has been no need for it for quite some time."

They travelled on, looking for a small encampment, a village, anything that would serve as a place of refuge for Fid, but it appeared they were in an area with no settlements at all. Suddenly Melost froze. He gestured for silence, then ran a short distance ahead soundlessly. "How does he do that?" whispered Fid to Khalad, who glared at him in return. The two men froze as they heard sounds of a struggle...shouting...then silence.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

I knew we should've killed the Elf the moment he fell into our camp, Jaheira thought as she spoke with Snyd, though she kept these thoughts well to herself. She'd learned better than to play the old 'I-told-you-so' trick on Vlad. Snyd grabbed a few more loaves of bread and some fruit from the nearest house and stuffed the goods into his pack clumsily. He still had food in his hands, which he dumped into Jaheira's arms. Sighing, she shoved the food into her own pack and struggled to keep from rolling her eyes at Snyd. Then Jaheira led Snyd back to the middle of the tiny village where Vlad was waiting soundly, despite the impatient glare in his eye.

"We're finished getting what we need," Jaheira said shortly, looking at Vlad and waiting for what he would do next. There were still villagers looking on in fright and exhaust, and Jaheira noted that none had moved since she'd gone off to get Snyd. Smart people, Jaheira thought, smiling. The fear on their faces was priceless. Jaheira remembered being that scared only once before, when she'd been sentenced to jail for using her lockpicks to break into different shops in her home town. It was nice to see someone else scared for a change. Her former feeling of sadness and pity for the villagers was gone, and had run off with Khalad when the coward had left. All guilt had fled with Fidrohir, the clumsy oaf.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Vlad began, stealing a glance at Jaheira and Snyd's packs, stuffed to the brim with food and a few random valuables. "I'm afraid we must take our leave, though. But if any of you want to follow us, we would be happy to return here and make use of what you have," Vlad finished with a slightly empty threat, because Jaheira was certain that none of the villagers would follow and that the bandits would not return. Most of them were incredibly old or very young, because the war had drawn away their sons. With this final threat, Vlad led Jaheira and Snyd off into the dense woods to follow the trail of Melost, Khalad, and Fidrohir.

"Do you think it will be hard to find them?" Snyd asked breathlessly as the group made quick work of the direction Melost had taken.

"Snyd!" Jaheira exclaimed in disbelief. "What sort of question is that? It might be hard to find the elf's tracks, yes. But, we're talking about Khalad being weighted down by Fidrohir. Fidrohir! You of all people should know how clumsy he is! He'll leave tracks, no doubt," Jaheira laughed as her voice trailed off. Then she looked ahead to Vlad. "What will we do with Khalad and Fidrohir when we get there, then?"

[Daniel Telcontar]

The captain approached Thelian who saluted him, wondering in what errand the commander would approach him. It was something as trivial as patrol duty. "I want you to take a small round in the forests surrounding the camp. The enemy no doubt has scouts and spies." Thelian guessed that it was not a coincidence that he was chosen; his gloom had without doubt been noticed. He said nothing of this though, merely nodded in obediance and walked off. Had this been the old days, it would have been Melost on patrol, and Thelian accompanying him. Yet Thelian had no such companion himself.

As he walked through the Númenorean part of the camp he saw by chance Dorlas, and realised that if he was to have company, it should be the human squire who perhaps knew best how the Elf felt. Approaching him, Thelian saw that he sat and polished his weapon, even though the blade was already spotless. For a moment there was an awkward silence, until Thelian at length spoke: "I have been assigned to guard duty. I was wondering, unless you have other business, if you would join me?" Dorlas looked up, and Thelian could not read the expression in his face; but he rose, sheathed his sword and nodded. "I will go with you."

For a while they walked idly around. Neither of them believed that they would meet enemies so close to the camp. Now and then they talked, or merely enjoyed the nature around them, neither of them focusing much on their task. But suddenly Thelian halted, and kept still. Dorlas did the same, a bewildered look upon his face. "I thought I heard something," Thelian whispered, and then as silently as he could, he drew his sword. He took a step forward, motioning for Dorlas to remain in his position.

Suddenly a figure leapt out of the bushes, and slashed several blows at Thelian. The latter was saved by his reflexes, and parried all of them, before taking a step backwards. He eyed his opponent warily, and then it hit him as if he had been blind and the veil was now removed from his eyes. "Melost?" he whispered with uncertainty in his voice, before almost shouting it: "Melost?"

A tidal wave of feelings flooded Thelian. He had hoped for this so long, yet had not dared to believe it could happen. Yet before his eyes stood Melost, alive and well. Sheathing his sword, Thelian wondered what miracle had made this to pass; and he feared that it was only a blissful dream that had sprung alive before him. Yet it was all to real to be a mere dream. As he gazed into Melost's eyes however, he saw only a blank expression, and he felt a dagger piercing him. "Do you not know me?" He asked, his voice resembling that of a child. Slowly a tear fell, until its brethren joined and they slowly made their way down Thelian's cheeks. Had he not meant more to Melost?

Yet something must have broken through to Melost, for suddenly Thelian felt his hands upon his shoulders, before being embraced. Smiling through his tears, he felt the joy of a lost brother returning, finally daring to believe that this was true. It was Melost standing before him, and he had not forgotten his own kinsman. Thelian felt secure in the belief that no harm could come now, that all the darkness lay behind now. Yet he felt it all become shattered as a voice reached him. The voice belonging to Arthain.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Teach them a thing or two about looting our villages," Arthain's voice was disdainful as he wiped off his sword on the grass, stepping over a fallen orc.

The golden-haired elf standing beside him nodded. "You fought well, Arthain."

"And you. As always," came the reply accompanied by a grin from the man. The elf seemed strangely silent though, his eyes fixed skywards, the pinpricks of the stars reflecting in his eyes. "What's wrong? We made a good team..." Arthain trailed off. The immortal closed his eyes, then looked at Arthain with what the man thought was a strangely sorrowful smile. "Of course. We always have. We always will. I will always be beside you in battle, Arthain."

The man grinned, then it faded slightly as Melost turned away from him, starting to walk away. "Melost? Where are you going?"

The elf broke into a run, not looking back as his friend yelled after him, dropping his sword and belt as he did so, his stride become faster, wilder, more desperate. Arthain's stomach plummeted with dread as the memory of another time and place sneaked into this otherwise pleasant memory, the image of the elf running, tears flowing down his face, stumbling away from the camp as he did now. The man tried to run but he was hampered by the orcish bodies on the ground that now seemed to have multiplied, and which stirred, grasping for his legs, but still the elf ran on, away into the mist around the trees at the edge of the village settlement.... "Melost! Melost, wait! Melost!"

"Melost!"

Arthain's blue eyes snapped open as the voice entered his dream, the words merging into it but the voice out of place. What was going on? Why would anyone shout the name? They seek to mock me... Arthain thought darkly. Tearing back the covers from over him, he sat up, already clothed, and grabbed his sword from beside his bed, unsheathing it as he started towards the opening of the tent.

Outside, twilight had settled - night had not fully arrived, but a lapse in activity in the camp had allowed Arthain to sink into the first sleep he had had in days, although it had been so fretful and broken he might as well not have bothered. The wood was almost right outside Arthain's door, his tent set slightly apart from the rest of the army: it seemed rumours of his actions had inexplicably spread and mutated around the camp until Arthain felt unable to be with the other soldiers. Some seemed to envy him for 'getting an elvish wench'; others despised him for such a betrayal of his best friend. Either opinion was unbearable for the man.

Flinging back the tent flap, he strode out angrily...to see three figures not far away. One he recognised by the crest on his shirt as being Dorlas, and the other was Thelian. But the other...he could not see his face and his clothes were dirty and ragged in places, yet he held himself like a soldier.

Even before the stranger turned, Arthain knew who he was. His sword dropped to his side and he froze, unable to speak, as the elf looked around the see who had come storming out in such a way. Silently, unable to believe what his eyes and heart were telling him, he mouthed a single word: "Melost?"

[Cuthalion]

Melost lowered his sword carefully, as though in a trance. Who is this who addresses me thus? he wondered as he glanced back over his shoulder, hoping Khalad and Fidrohir had kept out of sight. He approached Thelian, suspicion in every line of his face. "Why do you walk in these woods armed thusly? The King is near and I seek to return to his army." Thelian sheathed his sword and motioned for Dorlas to do the same. "Melost, kinsman...do you not remember me? Have you been harmed or injured? By the Hunter, Gil-galad will be most heartened to see you again!" Thelian's eyes glistened with tears unshed as he opened his arms to embrace Melost.

Dorlas stood rooted to the spot as he watched Thelian, wanting to rejoice with his friend that Melost had seemingly returned from the dead and yet at the back of his mind he was frantic, knowing that Arthain's tent was not too far away. He and Arthain had barely spoken since the revelation that Anwenelme was with child by his master and friend, so he was torn regarding where his duty now lay...to Thelian or to Arthain.

Melost looked searchingly at Thelian for his heart told him he should know this one who looked so much like himself. "Melost...I am Thelian, do you not remember me?" The words were spoken in a voice which spoke of sorrow and heart-break. He held out his hands, palm upwards as he came near to Melost. "I believed I would never see you again..." he whispered. "Are you injured? Melost, talk to me!" The heart of Melost was touched by the pleading in Thelian's eyes. He held out a hand to Thelian, then pulled him close in a fierce embrace. "Forgive me, kinsman...I have wandered dark paths and now my path leads to but one place." He took Thelian by the shoulders and held him away slightly and the tear-stained face that gazed at his own nearly crushed his secret resolve. "Again, I beg your forgiveness...to know I have caused you such pain wounds my soul." He brushed Thelian's tears from his fair face, then kissed his brow. "I'll not leave you again, kinsman." he said softly, then turned and gestured behind him for the others to join him, then as he looked up, Melost froze his body going rigid as he recognised his name, spoken by a most beloved voice.

"Melost!"

He went icy cold and he could feel his knees buckle at a the shock of hearing that voice once again, the voice he both hated and loved. Thelian cried out and caught him as he fell. Dorlas, not knowing what to do, reacted by drawing his sword on Khalad and Fidrohir, both of whom stood stock still, aghast. What had happened? Why had Melost collapsed? Dorlas spoke in a steady voice to the two men. "Stay where you are until we can get this sorted out, both of you." They both nodded assent, then watched as another man, barely clothed, ran up and knelt next to Melost as he lay in Thelian's arms.

[Durelin]

Vlad knelt on one knee examing the ground before him for some sign of disturbance that could be called a track, left by those they were pursuit of. Snyd was thankful, for a moment, that their quarry was so hard to track, for it gave him a moment to catch his breath. They had been moving quickly for much of the night, as had been Melost, Khalad, and Fid. Vlad had pressed Jaheira and Snyd on, forcing them to run for hours on end. Snyd had needed much more prodding, but even Jaheira seemed sluggish in comparison to Vlad. Something drove the one-eyed man on, and more than just a thirst for the blood of his betrayers, as that was what gave Jaheira the strength to run with as much speed and vigor as she did. What drove Snyd on was the fear of being left alone, and nothing more. There was no other motivation that could possibly be driving him; nothing more.

"They are still almost a day ahead of us. They moved very quickly, and we were slow to begin trailing them," Vlad said gruffly, eyeing Snyd and Jaheira quickly, clearly suggesting that this was their fault. Snyd was too busy trying to catch his breath, crouched over and ready to empty his stomach, if need be. It certainly felt as if this would be necessary. But Jaheira was never too busy to respond to Vlad's accusations. "A late start caused by a delay of decision making, Vlad." For once, Vlad did not seem effected by this comment, not even angered. He still knelt, and though he stared at the grass, there was not a blade of grass he could not have examined yet. Another moment of silence followed, and Snyd was able to stand erect, though he still suck in air greedily. Looking ahead of him, he could see the number of trees beginning to grow, and beyond, on a hill, a group of large trees could be seen. Snyd acknowledged their beauty with a glance, and their size with another. They seemed very large, though how large Snyd could not tell at this distance.

"Wouldn't you expect the elf to head that way," he said, pointing toward the large trees that rose above the others on the hill and taking a deep breath before he continued, "straight ahead?" Now Vlad rose from the ground and turned, to look at him. Looking into Vlad's one eye, Snyd could feel Jaheira's eyes on him as well.

"Expecting and knowing are two different things," Vlad said, quite calmly for him. "We move again, so pick it up. We have gained ground, but not enough." Barely giving Snyd and Jaheira time to grab the packs of supplies they had been burdened with by Vlad's instruction, Vlad started running. He ran straight ahead, into the growing number of trees. "Is this what the grass told you, Vlad?" Snyd asked, too tired and angry at the fact that he had to run again to care if Vlad's anger was finally sparked. To Snyd's pleasant surprise, no spark could even be heard in his voice.

"No I know, Snyd. He did head that way, straight ahead of us."

"And what is straight ahead of us?"

"Straight ahead is our destination all along, Lorien."

[Cuthalion]

Arthain put a hand on Thelian's shoulder as he looked with concern down at Melost. "Is this truly Melost? Has he returned to us at last, now that the armies are moving? Gil-galad will be most pleased, but...what has happened to him?" He reached down and touched Melost's face. It was hot, as though a fire raged within him. In a near panic now, Arthain stood swiftly. "He can't fight like this, he's burning with fever!" As he struggled to help Thelian raise his friend, suddenly Melost writhed in their arms, and stood free, his chest heaving...eyes cold now and calculating. Taken aback, the others looked on him in confusion as he addressed Arthain.

"So...Arthain...my beloved friend, my dearest comrade, Beyond all hope I find you once again, before the last. Have you enjoyed your prize? Has she been all you thought she would be?" He began to shake as all the rage and pain of betrayal coalesced into a red-hot flame within him. His voice sank to little more than a whisper, yet the silence was so profound it was as though he were shouting. "You...betrayed me! You, the who are closer than blood to me! You took the woman I loved more than all of Arda. Now...it ends!" He leaped for Arthain, drawing his dagger in mid-motion and bore Arthain to the ground. Arthain lay with his arms spread wide, seeing in Melost's eyes his death.

"Do it, Melost! End the sorrow of having to live with the memories!" He looked Melost dead in the eye and saw there the internal conflict...the betrayed and the soul-mate battling one another, then Melost was grabbed from behind and wrenched away from Arthain. To everyone's surprise..they both screamed out..."NO!" Thelian held him back as he fought to free himself, then Khalad joined him."Melost, I don't know what this is all about...but don't do this!" Arthain had risen to his knees, his face a mask of devastation. "Let him go...it is justice that he brings. It is his right." He spoke in the voice of one who sees his death approaching and accepts it openly.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian:
Thelian felt uneasy as Arthain lay his hand upon his shoulder, but endured it. He did not wish to cause strife now when Melost had returned. So when the mortal touched Melost, Thelian allowed him to do so and helped him with raising the Elf to his feet. Yet as Melost shook their hands of him, Thelian removed his hold, thinking that Melost desired to walk by himself. He had not expected what happened next, though had he been more perceptive he would have; but his judgement was clouded by his joy.

But when Melost spoke, Thelian realised that something was greatly amiss, and was about to step forward and lay his hands on Melost again, wishing to lead him away from Arthain. But Melost had other plans. Startled by the agility shown by the ill Elf, Thelian watched as Melost leapt at Arthain, taking them all by surprise. Acting on instinct, Thelian rushed forward and restrained Melost, aided by the stranger Khalad. Although he held no great love for Arthain, something told Thelian that it was wrong to slay him like this; and he followed that thought, maintaining his grasp upon Melost even as Arthain spoke. "There shall be no such deaths today," Thelian proclaimed in response to Arthain. In the back of his head, a grim voice whispered to the Elf: "Death is too kind a judgement for you." He shivered slightly, and feared for himself; had his principles and morales been so shattered by this?

Khalad:
Khalad was bewildered at this as he made his way through the bushes to where he found the group assembled. Melost had told him naught of these persons, and he understood not what passed; though it was clear that some reunion took place. Between both friends and foes, it would seem. His bewilderment was not dispelled until Melost jumped at Arthain; although he knew not why the Elf attacked this man, he feared that Melost was not in his right mind and could not judge anything. So he jumped forward, preventing the Elf from accomplishing his deed.

Holding one arm, he looked at Thelian and wondered who he was; apparently someone dear to Melost from what Khalad had seen. And perhaps also someone of authority, Khalad thought, for the vision of Melost drawing his dagger and jumping at Arthain, had reminded him of what Vlad would do to Khalad. Clearing his throat, he spoke to Thelian: "Milord, danger is not over, and death may still come for us. A small band of outlaws are tracking our path, bent on killing not only me but also Melost. They are led by a man with only one eye, and he has another man and a woman with him." Khalad spoke quickly, suddenly fearing that any moment now Vlad would jump out of the bushes, cutting his throat. Thelian nodded to him, and replied: "I shall ensure they are prevented from achieving such a foul deed."

Thelian:
Looking at the young man, Thelian recognised him as a kinsman of Arthain and Dorlas, one of the Númeanoreans, despite the rags he wore. Although he was inclined to distrust him because of Arthain, he knew that he could not base his judgement of a people on one person. And Dorlas had proved to be of another sort. Perhaps I shall trust him, Thelian thought. "I shall ensure they are prevented from achieving such a foul deed."

As Thelian had spoken, he realised that he could not leave Melost alone. Looking around his gaze fell upon Dorlas and decided to give these Númenoreans the ultimate test of trust. "Dorlas," Thelian called softly, "you and this noble stranger will keep Melost in check; he is not himself, do not give him any chance to escape your grasp. I shall seek out my commander and acquire his aid."

When Dorlas had taken his place, Thelian turned around and walked quickly, almost running, until he found the very Elf that had sent him off on patrol. "Sir, I bring tidings. A small group of outlaws are headed this way, with the intention of killing a close servant of Gil-galad. My information comes from one who has escaped their clutches," Thelian said, almost tripping over his own tongue in his rush. He conveniently forgot to mention who the servant was. The commander searched his eyes for a moment, in doubt; but at last he was convinced, and summoned up a group of Elven soldiers. "Thelian, lead them to these outlaws and deal with them. Spare their lives if you can, we may extract useful information from them. Though do not let them escape!" Thelian bowed and exited the tent, followed by the soldiers.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Standing, Arthain's expression was agonised as he looked into the elf's hateful eyes, boring into him with their venom. He hung his head, closing his eyes tight, then looked up again, to Dorlas and this new, ragged man holding Melost.

The elf's jaw was tight as he glared at the soldier, each of the other men ready to grab an arm if he attempted to jump again. But Arthain walked towards the man who had been his best friend, his head slightly turned to one side as he sought the right words. As Arthain drew to be level with the other, Melost drew back and spat at Arthain. The man drew back only slightly from it, his eyes closed: he knew the elf well, had anticipated it. When he opened his eyes again, the elf still bore that hateful glare, his mouth set in a snarl.

"You deserve to die," he whispered acidly.

Arthain felt his eyes burn as he knew it was the truth, remembering everything.

"How can you live? How?" Melost's voice was slowly rising, and the last word was almost a shout as the elf struggled against the other two. The unknown Numenorean pushed Arthain back out of the way, but he came back, his face a few inches from Melost's.

"I don't know!" he yelled back. "I don't know! You think this is life? Melost, not a moment goes by when I do not remember you, remember some deed we did together, some time you saved my life or I yours - do you remember too, Melost? Remember all the battles fought? I bear the scars and so do you, and I cannot think of you or look at them without...every time it happens I pray to any god that might be watching that time could go back and none of this could have happened!" The pent up anger of the past weeks was flowing out now and tears were in Arthain's dark blue eyes, making them glistening, dark slits, threatening to overflow.

"Then why did you do it? You betrayed me, Arthain, and no doubt you have betrayed me ever since-"

"No! I have done nothing of the sort, Melost, nothing - never, never since that day, that damnable day!" Arthain fell to his knees, grabbing Melost's hand, still holding the dagger, which the elf drew back as if the man was unclean.

"So kill me, Melost! Do it, if you cannot forgive me, for death I will take gladly and justly for release from this pain - I would rather take whatever truly lies for such a sinner in the afterlife than live a second more knowing that you cannot forgive me!" He grabbed the dagger, placing it at his own throat, his eyes flooding with tears and he stared up at Melost. "Do it!" he yelled brokenly.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas...

Dorlas had watched the discussion between Melost and Arthain long enough. "Hold him!" Dorlas hissed at the ragged man, who obliged and grasped both of Melost's shoulders. Dorlas moved quickly to Arthain and pulled the knife gently from its place at his master's neck. "No, Arthain. They would slay Melost if he drew your blood, just as they would do you if you drew his. You know this," Dorlas' voice was scarcely above a whisper as he pulled Arthain up from his knees and took the knife from the hands of Melost or Arthain.

"Then let me do it myself, Dorlas!" Arthain cried, tears streaming silently as the man choked on his words. Dorlas couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had happened to the Arthain he'd known? How could a bond like the one with Melost tear the once strong man apart from the inside, no matter how invisible it was? Dorlas' expression glazed over with new determination. I'm not going to lose Arthain the way Thelian lost Melost.

"Arthain!" Dorlas scolded as a mother would to her misbehaving child. "Don't be foolish. You were not meant to die at your own hand. Peace!" Turning to Melost and retreating to his former spot next to the stranger called Khalad, Dorlas sighed and looked to Arthain. "I don't think you should be here, near Melost, Arthain. We can't have you any more hurt or distracted before battle than you already are."

[Cuthalion]

"Thelian!" Melost cried as he saw his kinsman running to set the guard after the outlaws, after the people who had harboured him...

Clear...it was all clear now, as clear and hard and sharp as a cut crystal shard. He was the cause of the pain, the anxiety, the torment of everyone who had remotely cared for him. Because Melost hadn't been in his right mind when he met Vlad, he and his people were now going to be hunted down...because he had run from the pain of betrayal rather than confronting it...because his sense of duty had made his beloved Anwenelme seek the arms of another...because he could never refuse his king. All of this was his fault.

With a cry, he flung the dagger away and covered his face. How was he even able to stand in Arthain's presence? He had tried to kill the man whom he had saved many times over and who had saved him as well. Why? Because he was in pain, because he was suffering! What of Arthain? Had he sufffered as well? As though in answer, strong arms went around him and held him close. "Melost...mellon...I thought you were...that you had died." He held Melost away from him and looked directly at him. "Are you here, at the end of things? Have you come to die with me?"

Melost pulled him close, crushing him to his chest, trying to make him seem real. He couldn't speak, he could only weep at the truth in Arthain's words. He had indeed returned, not to rejoice in their reunion, but to slay him...now both objectives were impossible. Now they could only hope to survive the horror that awaited them. Arthain stroked Melost's hair, trying to quiet him. As he did so...he told him how the main body of the army had already been dispatched to the south and east. Only a few small companies had been left behind in the rear guard. Arthain told him how he had hoped against all odds to see his friend again, and he was very careful to steer clear of Anwenelme and the child. He cringed even as the thought entered his mind and he drew away from Melost as his breathing calmed at last. "Forgive..." "Melost, no...no apologies. It is I who owes you one...more than one!"

Dorlas stood to one side, both amazed and embarrassed as he witnessed two friends when all hope had vanished. Was there actually a chance? Was this an omen?

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Forgive..."

Arthain felt a twist of guilt, like a knife in his stomach, as his friend began the proposterous sentence and a flash image of Anwanelme entered his mind. "You carry this man's child..."

"Melost, no...no apologies," he interrupted. "It is I who owes you one...more than one!" he added, looking away. Melost did not seem to notice overly much though and Arthain drew in a deep breath, holding his friend away, a hand on each of his shoulders as he looked into his friend's eyes, drawing the elf's eyes to his own.

"Melost, tomorrow we go to battle, and...I doubt I will come back, doubt even that I could." His eyes flickered away momentarily as he said the shameful sentence, but Melost did not interrupt: with a slight lurch, Arthain realised Melost felt the same. Neither of them expected to come back, for what had they to come back to... "And so we have much to do - Dorlas," he turned to his squire, more business-like, the captain once again (in mind even if not in rank). "Dorlas, please run to Gil-Galad - tell him an honoured soldier has returned to us."

Melost smiled slightly, a hint of wryness around his lips. "Honoured soldier? I fear not, for I have kept some odd company over these past few days-"

"Then you must tell me about it, if you will, old friend. Come, we will break our fast." With a sense of his world righting itself even so late, Arthain was actually able to smile. Strange, that you know you will not come back tomorrow, that you will face death itself, yet you smile. But what did tomorrow matter: today Melost had returned, and for now, that as more than Arthain could ever have hoped for. That was more than enough.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian:
As Thelian and the Elves following him advanced through the shrub and bushes in the forest, they slowed down their pace and used their skills in stealth instead. They had followed the path that Melost and the two men had taken, tracing it backwards, assuming that they would then sooner or later meet those pursuing Melost and the Men. Though they had been searching for a while and still no sign, and now the cover of the trees disappeared; they had reached the edge of the forest.

Thelian doubted there could be many groups travelling in these times that fitted the description given to him by the young man: 2 men and 1 one woman, the leader having only 1 eye. But he also doubted that the group would peacefully await as a group of Elven soldiers approached them; so rather than continue the tracking, the Elves positioned themselves and kept a vigilant watch on the surroundings, awaiting any signs or movements. Finally one of the Elves whispered to Thelian, and pointed in the direction which had caught his attention. Thelian smiled grimly and then motioned for the other Elves to follow him.

Khalad:
Khalad looked upon Melost and those he obviously knew from his past. He doubted that his aid was needed anymore, since it did not seem like Melost harboured any more thoughts of slaying the other man who had been ready to embrace death. Khalad realised that this left him open to go through with his plan now: seek out the other Númenoreans and redeem himself through battle, and open the way for him to return home.

He believed some camp to be nearby with Númenorean soldiers, from what he could deduce from Arthain and Dorlas' appearances. Khalad was not sure of what to say, how to explain himself to the commander of his kinsmen, if he should be completely honest, or merely state that he wished to join the battle. Before he was finished contemplating this, his gaze fell upon Fidrohir and Khalad realised that the man had followed him and Melost, and Khalad was still in some way responsible for him rather than simply abandoning him here. Approaching him Khalad whispered: "I take my leave now, and I will seek to join the battle that is underway; but my time is short for it may very well already have begun. If you wish, I do not doubt that another warrior would be turned aside; if you have no wish for war, then take your leave of all of us and disappear to whatever place you desire."

[Cuthalion]

Melost heard Khalad talking to Fidrohir and turned, his heart remorse-filled. Taking his leave of Arthain, he strode to where the tall young man stood, talking to his comrade. "Khalad!" he said, raising his voice urgently, "There is no need, unless you wish it, that you should seek out the Men of Elendil. Indeed, I fear he and my own lord, Gil-galad may already be engaged in battle. Both of you are welcome to join us if such be your will. Come! Meet my dearest friend, Arthain." He led the way over to where several men who had been Arthain's nominal guard were busy fixing breakfast before breaking camp and heading with the rest of the rear-guard to the battle-field.

"Arthain, this is Khalad and this, Fidrohir. They are part of a gang of outlaws that saved my life." Arthain rose and brushed his hands off, then held out his hand to both of them, clasping theirs gratefully. "I honour you both in this time of need, and for saving my friend. " He smiled grimly, "Although, under the circumstances, you may have saved him only for a time." Arthain turned his head and Melost met his gaze unflinchingly. "Aye, Arthain, my heart forbodes that my end is near, yet to die with you is all I can ask for."

As they spoke, there came to their ears the sound of angry swearing and cursing. Both Khalad and Fidrohir snapped their heads to where a small group of Elves surrounding three people came through the woods to the camp. Upon seeing Melost, Vlad stopped in his tracks and spat on the ground. "Lord Melost is it? How long have you planned this? How much did you get for the price on our heads?" He was all but growling he was so angry. Arthain came and stood between Melsot and the outlaw leader, sword drawn. "You know nothing of what you speak! This is the finest friend a man could have! He has saved my life many times, as I have saved his and I will hear not one word against him!" He was trembling as he faced Vlad. He was not about to lose Melost again.

[Maikadilwen]

The closer they came to the edge of the large forest, the more angry and determined Vlad seemed to be. Cursing under his breath, he swore that he would find Melost and the others, even if it meant he had to chop down the entire forest and for once, both Jaheira and Snyd were quiet. Something about this place told Vlad that he should be careful, that enemies might be lurking in the shadows among the trees, but he strode on, only one thing on his mind. Not until he had killed that Elf and those accursed traitors would he have time to rest and he cared little if the other two were still following him. If not, he would deal with them later.

"Halt! Lay down your weapons and follow peacefully. You are now considered prisoners of Lord Melost!" Vlad froze in mid-stride, not believing his own eye and ears as the three suddenly found themselves surrounded by a group of Elven archers, all pointing their arrows at them and Vlad slowly removed his hand from the sword-hilt he had instinctively reached for. He turned his head to look at Jaheira and Snyd, then nodded to both of them to let go of their weapons. The Elf who appeared to be leading the group, said something to two others and they carefully disarmed the outlaws. Had the situation been different and less serious, Vlad would have laughed aloud at the expression of the Elf who were working hard to disarm Jaheira. It seemed she always had another dagger hidden somewhere. There was just something about that woman...

Vlad cursed loudly as they were forced onwards towards the camp they were soon able to spot ahead and the more he cursed, the more silent Jaheira and Snyd became, both knowing from experience what was likely to happen when he was in such a mood. Suddenly the sound of voices, very familiar voices, reached Vlad's ears and it only made his anger burn brighter. That accursed Elf should consider himself lucky that his friends have taken my sword, or I would run it through him, even if I would die trying! Vlad thought bitterly as they were led out of the woods, into the open space of the encampment. At the sight of Melost, Vlad stopped immediately and spat on the ground before his feet as he looked at him with disgust, barely able to contain his anger anymore. "Lord Melost is it? How long have you planned this? How much did you get for the price on our heads?" Before Melost could answer him, a man drew his sword and came to stand between them, obviously angered by Vlad's words. "You know nothing of what you speak! This is the finest friend a man could have! He has saved my life many times, as I have saved his and I will hear not one word against him!"

Vlad looked at the man, for a moment puzzled but then the truth dawned on him. This man could only be Arthain, the very person Melost had been determined to kill. But why was he still alive? Looking straight at him, Vlad smiled grimly, then spoke calmly. "So you must be Arthain! The same Arthain that you set out to kill, Melost? That you wanted me to help you kill... the man who took your woman, even before your very eyes? Who caused you to run like a mad thing up into the mountain passes to die? That Arthain? He snarled as he spat out his words and all of those who had followed him winced, for they knew him in his darkest moods and they knew what was coming next. Having listened to Khalad's endless talk of honour for too long, he thought that finally the time had come to show the boy the ugly truth about "honour", especially among soldiers.

"Is this want a free man's honour has become? That he can help himself to his best friend's woman without so much as a twinge of conscience? Then spare me your honour! I would rather die in the company of rogues and thieves, than be caught dead in the presence of someone like you!" He turned his back on Arthain, who stood as one smitten by a death-blow. With one speech, Vlad had laid open all his wounds at once. He felt like he was bleeding internally. He looked at Melost, his eyes filled with self-hatred. "It's true...all of it. I should have stopped her, I should have..."

Melost's arms went around him, comforting him, even as Jaheira came to place a comforting hand on Vlad's arm. Roughly he embraced her, needing comfort in that moment. He held her tightly as he fought the turbulent feelings inside him, trying to understand why her presence had suddenly come to mean so much to him and for the first time in the years they had known each other, he felt protective of her, suddenly not wanting anything to ever happen to her. If anyone took her from him, he would kill him on the spot, friend or not. How could Melost stand in this man's presence now, after what had happened? Could friendship truly be that strong? Turning his head, he spoke back over his shoulder, his voice hoarse. "Melost...after what he did...how can you still call this man your friend?"

[Cuthalion]

"There comes into every being's life one person with whom the soul meshes seamlessly. Beren and Luthien, Turin and Beleg, there are but two examples of true friendship and love. Arthain is that friend to me. He has been closer than kin, dearer than my own life to me" He spread his hands in pleading gesture. "Aye, it is true I wanted him dead. In my pain, all I could think of was that he had taken her from me out of spite, from jealousy. but when I saw him again, after I was pulled away from him, it came to me that I was only reacting to what my eyes had seen, not to what led to his betrayal of me." Arthain winced at the word "betrayal" and he spoke up.

"What you say is true, outlaw. I should be lying dead now, not standing here in the company of the most loyal friend a man could have. He allowed me to tell him everything that happened, that his betrothed seduced me in my sleep in order to hurt him. she knew this was the one sure and certain way to drive a wedge between us." Vlad noticed that he spoke as one who has more to tell and he wondered what Arthain could be concealing. Both Jaheira and Snyd stood close to him, fearful as to the uncertainty of their fates.

"Thelian, let them go, but keep them under close watch. Come, join us if you will. This is our last meal in camp before we follow the king into battle. You may as well know everything there is to know about us." After a moment's hesitation, Vlad and his cronies came to the fire and sat down while the food was being prepared. He could only look around, his mind on the alert for any chance of escape, as he knew the others were doing also. Melost saw what he was doing and sighed. "Vlad...there is no way that I can correct the misconceptions between us. I can only tell you that the person I have been is not who I truly am. I am in my right mind now and therefore I can only offer what little hospitality I am capable of on the verge of war." He glanced at Arthain, who grinned and nodded. "After you've eaten, take what supplies you need and leave of you will. We go to our deaths. that much seems certain, but you and yours have no need to share in that fate."

Shortly after Melost had spoken, several guards brought to all of them a meal comprising dried venison, some hard biscuits and dried fruit. Vlad grinned fuefully as he looked over the so-called meal. "You ate better with us, Melost! So this is Elven hospitality?" Arthain growled,but Melost only chuckled. "Aye, Vlad. This is all that remains for me to share for you. You must realise, none of us have planned to return." The remainder of the meal was taken up by Thelian, Arthain, Melost and Dorlas telling each other all that had passed in Melost's absence. It appalled him to know how they had all suffered so much because he had succumbed to madness.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Durelin's post, for Snyd:

"You must realise, none of us have planned to return."

Snyd shivered, roughly swallowing the dried venison he had so greedily grabbed, at the elf's words. There was no fear in his voice, no bitterness, and that was what caused the sickly cold that had ran down his back and his arms. He was sure that he felt the tingling of every hair standing on end. How anyone could be so ready to die was completely unimaginable to Snyd, as he had always valued his life so greatly. Survival had been what he planned his life around. Never had he been cautious, really, but he had also placed his well being above all else many years ago. And it still sat there, of course, governing his actions from the highest seat of his mind.

His mind raced now, fear pounding in his mind. Though his heart had certainly been pounding even before their elven ambushers had made their presence known, this fear was that which overcame a man faced with death. Overcame a man such as Snyd, at least, a man unlike those who sat around him.

Snyd swallowed the venison and choked as it scratched the back of his throat as the dried piece went slowly down. His wild coughing brought a hard slap from Jaheira. When the coughs finally subsided, when Snyd was able to determine that he was all right, he looked at the woman in wonder. He was a man unlike any person who sat around him; he had been mistaken. Jaheira's face was as grimly set as the elf's.

For at least the hundreth time in the past few minutes, Snyd found himself in wonder of people he thought he knew. These people were strangers; he had not traveled with them, fighting for survival, caring not about others, about this much talked about honor. He remembered watching the embrace of Jaheira and Vlad, and so remembered the one evil eye of Vlad staring him down when he sat too near her. He found himself looking for a way out. His eyes swept the surroundings, finding nothing but trees, seemingly filled with elves and men in armour, preparing for war. For war! They had to get out of here. He glanced at Vlad and Jaheira. He had to get out of here.

Snyd sat shivering for another moment, and then reached for more food. With a shaking hand it took him longer than expected to place some in his pockets and belt pouch discreetly. He looked once more to Vlad and Jaheira, and scanned those around him once more for any other familiar face. Finding none, his decision was made. Snyd rose, and staring into the one eye of Vlad, defiantly, holding the man's gaze longer than he had ever found the strength to hold it before, he ran.

"Stop him!" someone yelled, and Snyd pressed harder, then found himself searching for the belt knife they had taken as a hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the ground. Hitting the forest floor, he quickly scrambled away from his pursuer. But as the man rose from his own fall and turned to look down at Snyd, Snyd felt his mind seize again in fear, and so he lay paralyzed for what seemed too long a time for anyone to bear, hearing only his own breathing.

"Let him go," a voice said, calmly and sadly. So calmly that it took Snyd a moment to recognize the voice as belonging to Melost. He now had one thing to thank the elf for. It was unfortunate, and yet fortunate beyond comparison. Those three words became a command that must be obeyed, and immediately Snyd was able to rise only to turn and run, fear driving him with a steeled whip.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Daniel Telcontar's post for Khalad:


The young Númenorean held his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword as they marched forward, a gesture intended to show how much at ease he was. And in truth it did to those who looked closely, for his hand shook slightly and had he spoken, it would have been in a similar manner. It was not because that they were marching towards a battle; he had fought enough times not to be affected by that anymore.

Nay, it was the knowledge of how close he was now to redemption. He had been promised that if he fought with valour today, he could return to Pelargir with his head held high and without feeling shame. Today was the day when he would forge legends and epic tales, he felt that in his heart. Switching from his left to his right hand upon the sword hilt, he heard the noise of the battle and as they walked up a little hill, the armies came into vision.

Thelian:
The joy that was supposed to follow with such a reunion that Thelian and Melost had experienced, did not linger. Thelian felt now only deep fear of what the battle would bring. So many dark words had been spoken that Thelian had begun to believe them, and a shadow of foreboding was upon him. Everything seemed an ill omen to him, the shrieking of a crow heralding doom in his ears.

His Elven blade was already unsheathed and rested nervously in his hand. Unlike Khalad, Thelian did not hide his anxiety for what the battle would bring. At last his mind found some peace in accepting that they were all in the hands of the Valar. Little could he do to affect what would happen in this epic battle, and he only hoped that his fate would ensure that he remained together with Melost. Narrowing his eyes he saw the fighting armies. The battle had begun.

[Amanaduial the archer]

In the lines of marching elves nestled a few mortal men. Look at one closely: his eyes dark and clear in the shadow of the helmet's tall arch, a plume of new, finely brushed horse hair falling in a dark fountain from the top, proclaiming him as a Captain, although the title was taken from him not long ago. Indeed, all of his armour seems so fine and polished that from afar at first glance, it would seem that it was a new set. But look closer now: nicks and scratches mark it's surface, even a dent here and there. And the man is not young; his armour has seen action before, evidently, and so has the man. As the scratches mark his armour, scars adorn his face and limbs, the most notable being the long white scar across one cheekbone, just underneath his eyes; these dark, almost navy eyes seem young, boyish even, but in them is a sorrow, fresh and clear; his palms are marked with calluses. This man is used to battle.

But this battle will be like none Arthain has ever fought before. This battle will be the last, he knows it in his head and in his heart, yet he shows no fear - his hands still, his eyes calm, his voice, as he calls to the soldiers behind him, steady. He is hundreds of years younger than some of these soldiers, and his reputation does not stand clear, and never will whilst he lives...yet they will follow everything he says.

The elven troops, along with the few men in their midst, drew close to the others who have just arrived, the mortal troops of Elendil. Arthain took a deep breath, barely listening to Elrond as he began to speak, concentrating on his thoughts...his memories...the things that will get him through this final battle.

"Are you ready, Arthain?" Melost's voice was barely a murmer as he spoke to his friend. The elven captain looked every inch the nobility that ran in his veins: he seemed to glow with the light of the firstborn. As Elrond finished, he nodded brusquely to each of the captains, Arthain being one of them: the man had been returned to the status he had worked for, for this battle. Little did Gil-Galad know, the man did not expect to have to use it for any other. The captain turned to face the troops behind him and shot out a few short, quick orders in elvish.

Melost glanced at him, then did the same to the troops he was to command. Beside each of them stood Dorlas and Thelian, side by side, ready, like the two old friends, to fight to the death. The entire battle field seemed to bristle with tension and fear...and yet in that small patch, it seemed eerily calm.

"Steady..." Arthain commanded, reverting to the Common Tongue as arrows shot over their heads. "Steady..."

All waited for him to give the word. The man turned to his oldest, dearest friend and grasped Melost's hand, holding his eyes. "Aye, Mellon. Beside you, I could never be more ready." He smiled briefly, squeezing the other's hand, then whipped around, drawing his broadsword in one fluid motion and brandishing it in the air.

"For Arda!" He bellowed, then tore forward.

The battle had begun.

[Cuthalion]

Gil-galad, Elendil...they shone like stars, like white foam on a cresting wave, they flung themselves against the walls of the on-rushing enemy and for a time, they prevailed. Then, like the cliff upon which all waves break asunder, there stood Sauron. Before him went shadow and fear, fighting for him with far better result than any army. Men fled from his presence, leaving only the Elves to stand agianst him, smouldering with their ancient hatred for both he and his Master...

While the Elves valiantly fought this most accursed evil, Melost and Arthain were fighting side by side, along with Dorlas and Thelian. The Elves all along the battlefield shone with the living flame that dwelt in all of them and the Men near them took heart and took up the battle-cries of their king. The comrades stood back to back and their sword-arms rose and fell together to create an impenetrable wall of protection and death. The sun rose to her zenith, then began the long descent. Dorlas fell, Khalad fell, embraced at last by the death that would cleanse his soul. Thelian and Arthain cried out in anger and grief as Dorlas met his end on the end of an orc's pike. Thelian slashed through the wood and gutted the foul creature all in one smooth movement. With tears of rage and loss shining in his eyes, he threw a last despairing look at Melost, then gave himself to the battle rage within him. He was not seen alive again.


After what seemed like ages, the battle where they fought seemed to ebb, just as Melost felt Arthain faltering at his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Melost slipped a blood soaked arm under Arthain's and helped him to a spot of ground less gore-covered than the rest and let him collapse. Melost looked around to make sure their absence was not going to cause more difficulty for the soldiers still fighting, then went down on one knee beside Arthain. Slow tears trickled down the man's cheek as he thought of Dorlas, of the youth that would now not grow into a man. He looked up into the eyes of Melost, then leaned against him. "Is this worth it? What if we save Middle Earth and there are none left to see it?" Melost embraced his friend. "I grieve for us both, Arthain. Our friends and kin are falling like the leaves of autumn, yet still those that remain hold strong." He glanced down and noticed that Arthain had a wound in his left leg. "When did this happen?" he asked, his voice tight as he ripped cloth from his sweat-stained undershirt. He tied it tightly over the wound as Arthain laughed drily. "Thank you, mellon! You have saved me to fight just that much longer." Melost looked at him in all seriousness. "You have no understanding of the words you have just uttered."

From afar off, there came the sound of great mourning. "The Kings have fallen!" Melost sprang to his feet with a cry of disbelief and Arthain scrambled to his feet. "No...no...not Gil-galad..." Melost knew then that his fate was sealed. He looked and saw the minions of evil rejoicing all along the line and he snarled, his hand gripping his sword until the knuckles were white. Then he saw him, an archer hidden in the rocks nearby, his bow drawn, arrow about to be loosed. Without a thought Melost thrust Arthain behind him and took the arrow in the chest, it was followed by a crossbow bolt in his right shoulder. He stood still as the pain flared, then died, then he began to advance.

This is what it is to die...I think of you now...now that I can finally allow myself. I see you as I first saw you. hair gleaming in the sun, a sight more beautiful than all the jewels of Feanor's crafting. beautiful...and forever beyond my reach now. I will die and you will never know how I loved you. With an otherworldly calm, Melost strode into the line. He had saved Arthain, he had taken the arrows meant for him and now there nothing left to do but die. He was soon obliged, for as he hewed down enemy upon enemy, he felt his life ebbing, his rhythm slower now. Then a faint voice that called his name over and over. He glanced up and saw there a man of enormous height. In his hand was a mace, which Melost tried to deflect as it came at him, with agonising slowness. His sword arm was shattered as the massive blow landed and the return swing crushed in his side. He fell screaming.

"Melost, Melost..." Is it raining? Is it night? Who are you that calls my name? Mandos?" Arthain held Melost's broken body in his arms as he lay wandering. "Sauron is gone, Melost...we have won, he is gone..." His voice broke, what did it matter now. His best friend was dying, slowly drowning in his own blood and there was nothing he could do. A man ran up and and crouched next to them, handed them a waterskin and ran on. A few drops of water Arthain trickled over Melost's lips, then gasped as he saw his tongue slide out to lick at them weakly. "Melost?" Sightless eyes sought his own. "Arthain?" he rasped, then began to cough. Arthain held him as tightly as he dared, knowing the pain he must be experiencing. "Shhhh, no words..." Melost shook his head. "Arthain...I...know what you have hidden from me. I know that you got her with child. I...I want you to go to her. Tell her..." He coughed again, this time bright blood followed. "I love her...as I love you...Mandos calls to me, yet still I wish to remain. Here...withyou..." He raised his hand to Arthain's face and felt there the tears that flowed unchecked. A tear slid down his own cheek even as the final darkness took him and he slipped away. Arthain bowed his head and sobbed as he sat there on the battlefield, rocking the body that no longer held his friend.