Quest for the Ainereg RPG

[piosenniel]

Manardariel's Post

“Something is different here,” Andunériel thought. She let her horse slow down, as she approached the small village, carefull not to attact to much
attention.
She smelled it first. A piercing disgusting smell hit her nose like a club. She choked. “What in Varda...?” And then she noticed what was different. The village was unusually quiet, miserable. She dismounted and led her horse into the small circle of huts, sorrounded with a fence of wood. A child of maybe three ran towards her, staring. “Elf?” he asked. She nodded, letting her eyes fly over the huts. The smell has gotten worse.

Her ponderings were disturbed by a young woman snatching up the child. “I´m sorry, did he bother you? “, she asked, staring likewise.

“No, no,” the elf replied. “Tell me, good woman, what has been hapening here? The other one shrugged. Andunériel noticed she looked tired, desperate and very hungry
.
“We dunno Miz. That´s the problem, you see? Crops failed, they´re all rotten. Animals dying, got none to eat, and the children are hungy. Must be a plague or something... I´m sorry but I must be off. Good-bye, Miz.”

“Good fortune to you, and to your children,” Andunériel answered. she turned around, mounted her horse and gallopped off. “Elenya," she told her horse, “that is some interesting news, is it not?”

About three hours later she was standing in her room in Rivendell. She quickly pulled of her travelling robes and slipped into a much finer green gown. Leaving the room, she turned the villager´s words around in her mind again and again. Crops failed, all rotten..... must be a plague or something. Andunériel frowned. She had no idea what this plague or whatever it was could be, and that bothered her. And you consider yourself a healer! she thought. Oh, it wouldn´t help to bother herself nuts. She had promised some of the other scouts, to tell them, and a group of Dunédain staying here, what she had seen and heard.

[piosenniel]

Orual's Post

The sun was glowing, there was not a cloud in the sky, and the waves of wheat were blowing gently in the wind. Anson Hornblower was standing just outside of his hole, holding his three-year-old son, Rudigar. It was dawn, and the new day greeted the world by painting the sky with broad strokes of orange, and rose, and purple. "Lovely, isn't it, Rudy?" Anson murmured, his own face glowing with pride as he looked out onto the farm that he had built with his own two hands.

He had barely come of age before he left his parents' house--by thirty-four, he had begun to start his farm. It had been difficult at first, but he had struggled through it and the tears, sweat, and blood had paid off, and his beautiful farm was the proof of it. It was his pride and joy, and his life. He had been blessed enough to marry a wife who was as passionate about life on a farm as he was--his lovely Asphodel, his darling Della. She never complained about how much he had to work, never fretted when times got hard. She was the calm in his life.

"Morning, Dad!" Violet stepped out into the yard, the sunshine dancing on her glossy raven curls. She still had on her night gown, but they were secluded enough that it didn't matter--nobody would see her in it who hadn't seen her in it the night before. "Lovely morning, isn't it? What a wonderful sunrise! I haven't seen one like it in ages."

"You haven't seen one at all in a while, sleepyhead," Anson teased. Violet glared good-naturedly at him and tickled Rudy under the chin. The boy squealed with laughter and grabbed his sister's hand. "Vio, would you like to hold Rudy while I go out to take a look around?"

"Sure, can I come with you?" Violet asked as she took Rudy

"Would you like to slip a day dress on first?" Anson laughed. Violet grinned, handed Rudy back to her father and ran inside, coming out soon after in a white muslin dress, with an overdress of her trademark light purple. Her hair was tied in two long pigtails.

"Ready now, I'll take Rudy back," she said, and held her arms out for her brother. He practically leapt into them, and they started off.

The lovely sunrise was fading as the day wore on, and a strange feeling was disturbing Anson. It began with a He frowned, and quickened his pace slightly.

"Is there a problem, Dad?" Violet asked, jogging to keep up with her father's longer strides. "Is something wrong?"

With an effort, Anson slowed back down. "No, it's nothing, Vio," he assured her, though he was not convinced that he was telling his daughter the truth. They walked past the rows of crops and could see in the distance a pasture of sheep grazing, when suddenly Violet stopped short and pinched her nose.

"Whew, Dad! What an awful smell! What on earth is it?" Violet exclaimed, waving a hand dramatically before her face. Rudy mimicked his sister.

"I don't know," Anson said softly, walking on. His walk turned into a jog, then a run. "Stay here with Rudy!" he called to Violet, who had begun to follow him. She stopped, her lovely face a picture of worry. "I'll be back soon," he added as he turned towards the source of the odor.

"No," he whispered as he saw what it was. Three sheep, dead. Not a sign of an attack, either. The place where they were lying was out of sight, but fairly close to the pastures. They had not been killed by wandering animals, that was for sure, and they had not been old. This was surely some disease, and something bad, to have killed them so suddenly--they had been alive the night before. Had they been sick earlier? Well, he had seen some signs of listlessness, but he had just passed that off on the poor crops that year, everyone was hungry, and that meant the animals too. He inspected the dead animals close up, and saw on their necks what looked like sores. It was a disease. Something quick and deadly. But where was it coming from?

"Daddy, I'm sorry, Rudy got away," Anson heard Violet cry as she came up behind him. Rudy threw himself onto his father's back, but backed up when Anson did not respond. Violet picked him up. "Daddy?"

Anson looked slowly over his shoulder at his daughter. "Get back in the house, Vio. Something's very wrong--something's killed these three sheep, alive just last night at that. Tell your mother. None of you come out here!"

With a frightened look on her face, Violet nodded and went back up to the house.

Anson buried his face in his hands. What a time for this to happen. Already the year had been slim for many of the farmers in the Shire, and he had heard tell that it wasn't going well for the Men who lived in the lands close by, nor even for the Elves in Rivendell. And now to have this strike...well, he didn't know about others, but he didn't know if he could make it through the season with a disease making his crops inedible and killing off his animals. He just didn't know if he could do it.

"Anson, Violet told me what happened." Della's soft voice came from behind Anson, and immediately he relaxed a little. It was irrational, to be sure, but he felt better knowing that Della was there. "Does it look bad?"

Anson nodded and stood, taking Della by the hand. "It looks very bad. These sheep were alive last night, and fairly healthy--listless, but nothing else that I noticed. That was last night, and now they're dead with sores down their throats. This could ruin us, Della."

Della squeezed his hand. "And it might not. We'll work as hard as we can and hope for the best. You ought to talk to some of the other farmers who live around, and see if they've found any dead livestock at their own farms. I'll hold down the fort here--you go off into town. I'm sure that that's where everyone else will go if something's wrong."

"Why do you think that?" Anson asked, frowning.

"Because their wives will tell them to!" Della laughed, and threw her arms around Anson's neck and began to cry softly. "Oh, Anson, things were looking bad already and it's this much worse now, but we'll make it. You go and save the farm, I'll stay here and try to run what's left of it."

That afternoon, Anson went into the market in the center of town. "Your attention!" he cried, and everyone turned. The whole town knew Anson, many of them since he was a small child; and all of them knew him well enough to realize that for him to call for attention was an extraordinarily rare event and was worthy of quiet. Quiet there was.

Anson swallowed, but steeled himself and began to speak loudly enough for the gathered hobbits to hear him. "I have some urgent news that must be discussed. If you would all please drop what you are doing if it is not too important, and meet with me at the town hall, I would appreciate it. This cannot wait."

It had been a slow, warm, cheerful day, and none of the business at the market was terribly vital, so everyone, including the vendors, followed Anson to the town hall. He quickly explained to the official who was in charge of meetings in the hall his purpose, and was granted permission to use the hall--and everyone who had been in the hall on business went into hear Anson Hornblower speak in public.

"My dear friends, neighbours, and family, I ask for your full attention as I speak of a matter that affects us all," Anson said with surprising eloquence. Nobody had expected this, and they all leaned in a little closer. Anson rose grandly to the occasion. "As you are all aware, this year has not been good for the farmers of the Shire. There has been little rain and much sun. As pleasant as it is for our children to be able to play in lovely weather, it would be more pleasant still for them to have fuller bellies than they have been able to have lately." There were many nods from the congregation, and a few murmurs of assent. "This day I found three sheep dead in my fields, from not an attack, nor old age, but from a disease. I don't know how this came about or what it is that is carrying this disease, but I know that this will do nothing but make the season worse."

"It is not only the Shire being affected." All heads turned to the back of the room, where a stranger--a Man--was standing by the wall. A few puzzled expressions and more than a few frowns came upon the faces of the hobbits in the hall when they recognized him to be a Ranger. "Word from Rivendell has it that many of the lands all the way from here to there have been stricken by this disease. It is hosted in the plants, and is most concentrated in the grasses, which is why the livestock are dying. People there are suffering, just as you are. An emergency meeting has been called at the Prancing Pony, and I was sent to alert all of you. Will you come?"

There was a long silence, but Anson was nodding. "Our friend has set before us an option that we need to look into, my friends. Shall we go?" He looked around the room, and waited for an answer.

[ March 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[PoWa]

Ferdibrand was riding up on the hill and looked out over The Shire. "My dear Salomo", he said softly to his pony, "Shire is beautiful, isnt it?"
On the way back to his hole in Bywater, he passed a village that was empty. Just a young lass was wandering around and cried.
"What happened here, miss?", Ferri asked. The lass didnt say anything and just looked down. Then she opened her mouth and said; "I-It is terrible! Its a plauge! I-I dont know how! I-Its terrible!".
"But...Where are everybody?", he asked confused.
"They have left.", she said, "The animals are sick and they have nothing to eat. I think they are trying to reach Rivenedell to get help."
"Thank you for the information, miss.", he said gently.
He did ride back to Bywater as fast as the horse could run. He didnt stop until he was outside hes own hole.
He ran inside and hes mother and father was eating.

"Mum! Dad!", he screamed, "Its a plauge that threats the whole Shire! In a village not far from here everyone were going to Rivendell to seek help by the elves."
"Oh my!", hes father screamed.
"Im going after them and help them!", Ferri said excited.
"No you are not!", hes mother said.
"Oh, please, Patty, let him go! He can take care of himself", hes father said.
"Hm, yes, but be VERY careful, my son! Promise me that!", she said.
"I promise mum!", Ferri said.

He ran outside again, grabbed his sword and walking stick. He took a cape and packed all food and herbals at his pony, Salomo, and walked to the Big Road to follow the helpless hobbits.
He was very concerned about them.

He didnt found them that day, and when he reached Bree he was so tired he had to rest.
He orderd a room at The Prancing Pony and sat down in the bar with a pint before he was going to sleep.

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

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion moved carefully through the wood, his long legs carried him quickly between the grey trunks of the trees. He lifted his face and smelled. The smell was getting stronger. He knew what it was, he'd been finding the carcasses for three days now. Deer, rabbits, birds... he thought this one must be a larger animal, he'd been following the smell for almost a day. It was midafternoon and the flies were buzzing around the man's head as he walked, but he didn't spare them a thought. He turned his dagger in his hands, eyes searching the ground for signs of the passing of an animal. Bending down he caught tracks of a deer. Quickening his steps he hurried farther into the woods.

The doe was lying on its side in a clearing. Marsilion approached it quietly, the smell hanging in the air like smoke, he could hear breath rattling in and out of its lungs. The ranger knelt beside the animal's head. Her brown eyes were wide with fright, but she could barely move. Marsilion pushed a loose strand of his dark hair back while debating what to do, whether to ease her troubled passing, but as he pondered the deer grew still. The man sighed, placing the blade of his dagger under its throat, looking for the telltale sores. Sure enough the area was covered with the open blisters. Marsilion wiped his dagger on the grass and stood up.

The first time he'd seen this disease was three days ago. A hobbit child from Combe had gone missing and Marsilion was among those who searched. They found the girl, she'd wandered into a neighbor's fields and had been unable to find her way home. Marsilion had been searching alone when the girl was found, he'd found something else. A young rabbit lying facedown in a bed of rotting cabbages. A peculiar smell surrounded the place, a smell that made Marsilion's nose twitch. That had been the first, but he'd found others since then... Many others.

The ranger thought as he walked back toward the village. He hadn't been far from Archet that day, but it was to Bree he was headed now. He'd left his horse in the stables at the Prancing Pony, and he was ready for a bed and a hot meal. A chance to wash the stink of rotten animals, rotten vegetables from his hands would hardly be unwelcome either.

Marsilion reached Bree just as the sun was setting. He was well known to the people of the town, as he passed through once a month or so, and the gatekeeper recognized him on sight and waved him through. "Came through right in time, sir, 'bout to close up for the evening." He called.

Marsilion nodded and called back, "Thank you friend, I'm bound for the Pony tonight!"

[Arien]

Elenlith had been travelling for many days now. She rode upon Nimroch, her horse he was completely white, nimble fast and loyal. As she got closer to Bree she saw that the disease was far worse here than up north where she had been with the Rangers. She first saw the disease when hunting with Caranel, a male Ranger of her age. They had found a family of rotting deer. They reported it and scouts were sent out. They returned with the bad news, it was a disease that was spreading fast. Someone had to go to Bree and attended a meeting. Many volunteered but Elenlith was picked, she was not sure why for there were many that she considered more suited. But she didn’t complain.

The putrid smell hung in the air, no wind blew and it was almost unbearable. The sky was constantly grey, as though the weather mimicked the uneasy feeling around the land. The grass was no longer its pleasant green but a mucky brown, animals lay in the fields dead. Their owners too frightened to go out and bury them. The small amount of animals that were still alive were left to fend for themselves, they were sickly, mangy and thin. She looked at their sorry souls and whished she could help, but she did not know how. Her horse walked slowly past the carcass of a lamb, flies and maggots surrounded it, eating it away. Filth and dirt all around its body, it was truly disgusting.

“How is this so?” she whispered to Nimroch. “It was nigh on a month ago father and I travelled here, how has it got like this so quickly, so fast?”

He gave a soft neigh in reply. She patted his mane, he quickened into a gallop. As they sped up the smell disappeared a little but it was still there. It was all silent apart from the soft air brushing past them. Everyone was inside. As Elen came up a hill the scape of Bree stretched across the horizon, smoke circled out of the many chimneys and lights were dotted around. She wondered if they would have quarantine in place or whether she would be accepted into Bree. She knew very well that the townspeople would be sceptical about anyone knew, maybe they could be bringing a new disease even worse. Elen stopped. She dismounted and took out her canteen, she sipped the cold water inside. It had been a long time since she had eaten, and her stomach hurt. She refused to eat anything from the wild until she reached Bree just to be safe. She savoured the view for a moment than rode Nimroch to Bree.

[maikafanawen]

The sun lifted its face over the rolling land of Green Hill Country, beginning to ascend the sky. A lark woken by its warmth, shook awake her wings and feathers. Hungry, the little brown bird took off from its perch and soared above the gardens in Pincup. The cozy little hobbit town was just rousing as well. The lark spotted an open window in te side of one hobbit hole. Down she flew until her tiny feet rested on the smooth sill. She began to sing her song. Inside, a hobbit lass of only thirty was still sleeping. The sun filtered through her window and rested on her beautiful face. Peony stirred and woke finally, the sweet scent of breakfast compote mingling with the fresh morning air. The hobbit girl stretched and sighed heavily, adjusting her eyes to the morning light. She smiled at the lark upon her window sill.

“How very kind of you to wake me from such pleasant dreams.” The bird, startled from its song, flew off at the sound of her voice. Peony sighed,

“It’s just as well.” She stepped out of bed and rested her feet on the cool wood flooer. Discarding her nightgown, she donned a nice dress of pink and white checkers, and little frills around the collar and sleeves where they ended just below her elbows. No shoes of course, because she was a hobbit. Her curly radiant brownish red hair was frizzy from sleep and she splashed it quickly with water in an attempt to tame it. Peony brushed it out then and braided it elegantly down her back.

The day was hot as it made its way through the Fields’ house. The hobbit girl walked leisurely down the lengthy hall way past her brother’s a sister’s bedrooms to the breakfast eatery. On entering the kitchen, the rich scent of strawberry compote invaded her senses.

“Mmm! Moma! You outdid yourself! What’s the occasion?” She sat down at the table where her mother was busy setting out the rest of the china ware.

“Good morning child. I decided to make Gem’s favorite this morning since she had a poor time yesterday down at the creek.” Peony chuckled faintly, remembering how her youngest sister had fallen in the cool water, soaking her dress completely. She helped herself to a strawberry as her brothers Gundabald and Samwise entered the breakfast room, followed soon by her three sisters, Primrose carrying a sneezing Gem.

“Where’s Papa?” asked Mentha after all the Good mornings had been exchanged and the children were well on their way eating.

“He went to town. A couple farmers came by this morning. Something about their stock dying overnight. More tea Samwise?” Eglantine passed the intricately decorated pot towards the youngest boy.

“Were they the same farmers that have been having trouble with their crops as well?” Eglantine nodded, her mouth full of toast. At that moment, the door to the hobbit hole opened.

“Thank you Mr. Fields for coming with us. We’ll send help right away to Hobbiton.”

“Good idea Dinodas, anytime you need anything, just knock.” The door shut and Gromadoc entered the breakfast room, taking his place at the head of the table.

“Good morning family.” He reached for the toast and compote as they were passed to him.

“How is everything?” Eglantine looked towards her husband. He did not answer.

“Gromadoc?” The hobbit sighed and rested his forearms on the table.

“It’s a bad disease. It’s spread throughout the entire Shire. Stock are dying: cows, and sheep. They have little sores on their necks.” He stopped then and looked at his family. “We’ll go to Tookbank. Stay with your sister until things get cleared up.” The family nodded in agreement and packed that afternoon.

***

They had a wonderful time in Tookbank for the next three years. Peony celebrated her coming of age, and spent time with her best friend and cousin, Balbo. But the disease found them out and settled in Tookbank as well. At dinner one night, Peony decided what she must do.

“Moma, Papa. I’m going to Hobbiton—” Elgantine stood in protest but Gromadoc set a reassuring hand on her arm, “Let her finish dear.”

“I’m going to Hobbiton to get help. It is the only way. There, men and elves will know what to do and be able to help. Perhaps they know of a cure. Something must be done, or the Shire will slowly depopulate.” Her parents looked at her for a while, then Grombadoc stood.

“You’re right Peony, but You stay here. I’ll go.” Stubbornly, Peony counteracted him.

“You will be needed here Papa. Your place is in politics and diplomacy. You and Moma must make sure that the shire-folk do not loose hope. I’m old enough Papa, and should be getting out on my own soon anyways. This will be very good for me.”

“I still don’t like the idea of a little hobbit girl traveling all by herself—” Grombadoc was cut short.

“Papa, you know I’ll be fine.” With that she retired to her room to pack provisions. She discarded the frilly blue one she was wearing, and donned a more maneuverable dress of green and brown, suitable for traveling. In her bag she placed another brown and tan dress, and some breeches of Gundabalds, just in case. Along with that she placed two candles, some flint stones, rope, her dagger, three spice packages, and the necessary apples, bread, and cheese she would need. Clasped to the sides of her satchel were a few pots. Around her right shoulder she would wear a water canteen, and on her left a small sack of stones, and a slingshot. The hobbit carried her belongings into the hall and retrieved her cloak from the rack. It was a dark blue that went well with her eyes. Her mother entered the foyer along with the rest of her family. Eglantine draped the cloak across her daughter’s shoulders and clasped the silver buttons on the left side.

“Thanks Moma.” She hitched up her pack and equipped herself with her canteen and slingshot pouch. “Goodbye everybody. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t wait up for me.” She winked and left the house before she could change her mind.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Hathalas Ashen-Shield]

Tinüsel sat, smoking his pipeweed, on his sturdy oaken armchair in his cabin in Bree, pondering the rumours and news that his ears had caught. Apparently, travellers and scouts had reported a strange disease, killing the livestock, setting itself in the plants, destroying crops, rotting the land with its filthy stench and malicious doing, causing a repulsive plague across Eriador.

The signs had appeared as far away as Rivendell, Imladris, the nearly deserted elf city and The Shire, the land of the little folk, full of rolling green hills. It broke Tinüsel's heart to think of those poor halflings, starving to death due to this horrible plague. A burning desire to help these people struck up in his body.

Tinüsel's eyes rolled over outside his window. He peered outside, and saw a notice pinned to a neighbouring cabin. It read:

NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE

A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. It will be held in three days time. Halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.

THE CITY OF BREE

Tinüsel thought for a moment, and he thought of the poor shirelings, suffering from this, and decided that he would attend the meeting. Then he went out to his backyard to pile up his vegetables and fruits into baskets to bring them inside.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ March 21, 2003: Message edited by: Hathalas Ashen-Shield ]

[Eressië Ailin]

Luin led her horse, Thalion, through the thick forest. 'I know it is far, but this is the only way to get to the grazing-field!' she whispered to her weary horse. Thalion followed her around tree stumps and rocks, until the trees grew thin. 'Just a little further,' she said. Presently, they came to the fields that Luin had been seeking. There was a foul smell that lingered there, from far off. Perhaps only the Elf could sense it. 'Here we are,' she murmered. 'Thalion, I shall be walking amoungst the trees. When I call, I expect you to seek me.' The horse nuzzled Luin's hand affectionately. 'Run, Thalion, run!' She watched her horse gallop away, and laughed when she saw him lay down and roll in the grass. Luin turned away and went back into the forest. She sang to the trees and birds, and to all of the beasts with open ears. When it began to grow dark, Luin called Thalion to her. He came slowly, almost as if he was lame. But it wasn't that. He just seemed to be tired, very tired. Even more weary than he was coming to the fields. Usually, after grazing, he looked somewhat refreshed. But not that day.

Luin and her horse began to make their way to Rivendell. 'I can care for you once we reach Imladris,' she said reassuringly to Thalion. 'But we cannot stay here long. We must back before nightfall.' They continued on to Rivendell, and when they got there, Luin realized that she wasn't the only one who feared for Thalion's health. As she was putting Thalion in his stall, the Elves who spent their time in the stables told Luin to go and rest.

'But I am not weary!' she cried in protest. 'Thalion needs my help. He is ill!'

'We can care for your steed, Luinthindiel. You must trust us to heal Thalion.' The Elf who had spoken led a reluctant Luin to her room. 'You must be exhausted, spending the entire day wandering in the Wild! Have some rest, and your horse will be healed by morning.'

Luin still wasn't convinced, but she agreed to rest. In her sleep, Luin was still uneasy. She heard voices in the night crying, 'What has happened?! O! what has happened?'

'Is that not that Lady Luinthindiel's horse?'

'I fear so. We cared for him, and tried to save him. But, alas! we were too late. This horse seems to have caught a disease worse than any I have ever seen. See these red bumps on his neck? I have heard of a disease in the Shire with the same symptoms.

'What else do you know of this disease?'

'It is a plague. It is causing famine. All of their crops and livestock are dying because of this one disease. I cannot forsee how the Shire will survive if no cure is found. I heard a group is meeting in Bree to find a cure.'

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

When Luin awoke the next morning, she was still haunted by her dream. It had been torture to her. Her horse had died, and she had heard rumour of a disease spreading in the Shire. There was something about a meeting in Bree... Luin's mind stopped wandering when she heard voices outside.

'Who shall tell Luinthindiel?'

'I do not think I have the heart to do it. She will be devastated to learn that Thalion has died!'

Luin had heard enough. 'It wasn't a dream!! How can I live in Imladris without Thalion?' Luin recollected the events of the night before. Hadn't one Elf said something about a meeting in Bree to find the cure? "I heard a group is meeting in Bree to find a cure..." Of course! 'There is nothing left in Imladris worth living for now that Thalion is gone,' thought Luin. 'I just hope there are no others that end up with the same fate as me. I might as well go to Bree to help find a cure.'

Luin left Rivendell in silence; for she had no one to say good-bye to, nor anyone who would care. It would be a long journey since she no longer had a horse, but Luin was now ready for almost anything. 'At last, I can get away from those dreadful relatives of mine,' Luin thought with delight.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[Himaran]

The white horse galloped up the path, its mane flowing in the breeze which its fast pace created. Seated on the horse was an elf, which long blond hair flowing over his strong shoulders.

Speaking softly to his horse, he urged her to halt as the gate of Bree came into his keen vision. As the great beast slowed, the elf leaped off of the saddle and grabbed the rope, leading her through the gate. But then a sign caught his eye, posted on one of the doors:

NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE

A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. The date will be announced shortly, for halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.

THE CITY OF BREE


Elves of Rivendell? Perhaps I will go to this meeting. The elf stabled his horse, and walked to the Prancing Pony, where he entered the inn and paid for a room.

[PoWa]

After many ales and telling tales to stangers Ferri walked up to his room to sleep.

The next morning he walked down to the common room and started eating breakfast.
It was early in the morinng so it was almost empty there. He sat down and looked outside the window where he saw a big note.
He started to read it.
NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE
A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. The date will be announced shortly, for halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.


Ferri really wanted to go to that meeting. But he also wanted to help the poor hobbits that had fled. He decided to stay in Bree and wait for the meeting. Maybe he could help them better if he stayed and got some information about this plague.
So he sat down again and continued eating.

[ March 27, 2003: Message edited by: PoWa ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

The inn common room was dark with a low roof, even the very air was muggy with the scent of ale and unwashed bodies. Only the slight woman, little more than a girl, stood out as she walked with her drink through the darkened room. Her figure had grace to it, not the feminine sort of grace usually associated with women but rather the deadly grace of a soldier or an assassin. Mara, for this was her name, looked in disgust at the men she passed, belching and laughing coarsely, many pausing to leer. It was the first time in over a year she had returned to her native village, and apart from her family she realised there was not one who she felt regret for.

“Mara my pretty” a voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are ye not yet married? You could have two or three children by now, had you played your cards right. I’d have you, ye know, for my wife died nigh on three years ago now.”
Mara shuddered and went to continue on her way.
“What say you, Mara?” the man continued.
She paused, to remind herself to be civil.
“I thank you for your offer, Master Miller, if such it was,” she said, with a sugary smile that did not reach her eyes, “but I believe you are a little…” Her eyes ranged over him. Fat? Stupid? What would offend him the least? she wondered, for her family depended on him to mill their corn into bread for a low price. “A little old for me” Mara turned firmly on her way.
“What of my son?” he called again, standing up. “My oldest, Ben. He’s a good lad.”
“Weak” she countered without bothering to turn. “Tied to his Mama’s side until she died. He would last not a week with me”
“You have no leave to be so fussy, Mistress Mara” the man answered angrily. “May yet be you won’t receive a better offer than this one. You come from a poor family and many’s the father who wouldn’t accept a girl who’d been off learning to fight instead of cook and clean.”
”That is a risk I will take” she told the man, still with studied politeness. However one of her brothers or sisters could have told him that her face was showing the signs it normally had shortly before they found themselves flat on their backs with fresh new bruises. “I must warn you” she added in the same tone “should you speak again, I will not be responsible for what I may do”
“There’s my younger boy” the man said, unheeding of the threat. “Ugly as sin, but all you can- Oooof!”
He was cut off by a kick to the area Mara knew would do the most damage. As he doubled over she grabbed his hair and pulled him upright. A knife in her hand was perilously close to his neck.

The inn had gone silent, enjoying the entertainment. Even the barkeep stopped polishing the old broadsword kept behind the bar.
“I warned you, you fat old fool” said Mara quietly. She stood silent for a while, listening to the sound of the man's panicked breathing filling the room. Then with a sigh of disgust she let go, pushing him down onto the floor. She turned to leave.
“Mayhap you’re the fool!” he called, rubbing his neck. “I do not think that I shall be able to mill your father’s corn this year. He’ll have to take it elsewhere.” With a cruel smile he added “Such a pity it would be were they and the brats to starve to death”
Mara ran with the sound of laughter in her ears. She had contemplated slitting his throat, but it would not have helped. All she could hope was that he would forget what she had done.

*********************
Fighting was all Mara had ever wanted to do, but every step of that way she had had to convince someone that she was good enough, simply because she was female. Though she could fight with a knife from the age of seven and a sword from ten her parents would not let her join the parties that frequently raided Rohirrim lands, just a few miles from her home. So at the age of fifteen she ran away. The raiders she met later let her fight, but only after she had killed two of the men who stood against her. Since then she was tolerated rather than accepted, partly through fear of her vicious temper. She had earned a good reputation for her hatred of the Horsemen of Rohan, who she believed had stolen the lands of the Dunlendings. The rewards were shares of the loot from burnt farms and villages, which she sent home. Now, with the bread for the next year looking in jeopardy, she realised that she had to get some more money. And fast.

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Arien]

Elen tied up Nimroch out in the stables. “I will return soon, do not drink the water or eat any thing given to you!” She smiled at him and took a large flask from her side, opened it and tipped it into his mouth. She put the top back on delicately, and revealed an apple from underneath her cloak. She held it up to the moon. “Do you want it?” He neighed softly and threw his head back playfully. “Here.” And she fed it to him. “Remember what I said.” She kissed his head softly and left. She hurried up the path to the Inn, the streets were silent, but the Inn seemed full. She pushed the door open, the smell of ale and pipe weed filled her lungs and smoke consumed her slender figure. She walked in and lowered the hood of her green cloak. Her hair fell to her shoulders, a few men stared at her, smiling, but she just ignored them. She was here to do a job and not to make friends.

She looked around the Inn and saw a notice on the wall, she pushed past a few drunk men so she could see it clearer. It read


NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE


A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. The date will be announced shortly, for halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.


THE CITY OF BREE


So this was the meeting that she had been sent to, it looked as though hobbits and elves would be joining them to. Elen stood for a while wondering what to do. She then decided that she might as well get clean and be well rested for the next day so she paid for a room.
The room was warm as it had a fire already blazing, she placed her bow and quiver on the bed and then placed her two knives next to the bow. She got undressed and washed. She then put on her dress, she rarely wore it but it would be good enough to sleep in. She pulled the white sheets back and collapsed onto the bed. She was very tired so tired in fact that she forgot her hunger instead she closed her eyes and feel asleep.

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Rested and clean, Marsilion made his way down to the common room at the Prancing Pony. He looked around at the others in the room, men and hobbits, in one corner an elf, all with faces lined with worry. As he made his way over to the bar he passed a large notice on the wall. His blue eyes slipped over it rapidly.

So,the man thought, it is in the crops... as I'd guessed. He pressed his lips together, then grinned, thinking I'd better get a good breakfast today, who knows when I'll get another. But then a serious thought struck him: his horse, stabled at the inn.

Marsilion quickly made his way to the stables. The curly headed hobbit stableboy looked nervous as the purposeful Ranger came toward him in long strides.

The boy gulped and opened wide brown eyes at Marsilion's question, "Yes, sir, your horse is fine, sir."

The ranger breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Firien was a horse of Rohan, a superb (and valuable) mare. He went into her stall and ran his hand over her chestnut coat, bright as copper. The horse had been a gift, from a Rider he loved as a brother, and he loved her too, she was swift and fearless and trained to respond to his every command.

He touched her under the chin with his long fingers, feeling for the telltale blisters that signalled the plague, then ran his hands down the length of her throat. She moved nervously as she felt his worry, but Marsilion found no signs of sickness. He smiled at the horse, and spoke softly "Firien, my love, we will ride together soon." the horse flicked an ear impatiently, "but now you must remain inside. Drink deep, my love, for hungry days are coming." She lowered her head, rubbed against his chest.

Leaving the stall, Marsilion motioned to the hobbit boy. "My horse is to remain inside." He commanded. "Feed her nothing but last year's hay, do you understand me?"

The stableboy nodded his head vigorously, "Yes sir! I understand, she's to be kept inside, and have nothing but hay, sir"

The hobbit stableboy was truly frightened now, he was unaccustomed to orders from angry men with swords. Marsilion took some silver pennies from his pocket and pressed them into the boy's hand, he realized he'd scared the kid, and smiled. The boy smiled back. "Thank you, sir!"

As the man re-entered the inn, he moved quickly to the bar, noting the presence of a young woman he recognized. He sat at the bar, ordering a substantial breakfast and ate, pondering both the identity of the woman, and the upcoming meeting. The girl, he thought, was the daughter of a Ranger he knew, Ellith? Elenna? he couldn't remember her name. He nodded at her, and she nodded back across the smoke filled room. The meeting, though, the meeting was a real possibility. He thought about it as he chewed. He'd have to attend this meeting.

[Durelin]

His eyes searching the tavern room from over his tankard, Raken watched as Miller crumpled to the ground. You should know you're hunting too big of game for you, little man, he thought, shaking his head. They never learn Pretty Mara. "Huh," he grunted, turning to the group of swarthy men he was sitting with, "I don't see why so many want 'er, she's got too much pride. Bad thing in a woman. And why' s she doin' man's work? Fightin'…Someone oughta put her in her rightful place." Raken growled and clenched his fists, looking around at the men. They all nodded, but no one said a word. Not a very smart lot, he thought, sighing. But he straightened up as he saw a tall cloaked man come stumbling with fatigue into the tavern room. "Oi!" Raken called to the man. "Over here!" Then he yelled to the innkeep, a portly man with greasy gray hair and large watery black eyes, to bring another ale. As the cloaked man strode, almost gliding, over to the table Raken was at, he hissed at the men sitting with Raken, and they jumped up from their seats and ran like startled deer when the stranger hissed at them. The rest of the tavern sat frozen in their seats, staring at Raken and the man. But as Raken glared around the room, everyone went back to their drinks, shaking a little. Not worth wondering. Not worth your life. "Menglin, Menglin!" Raken whispered to the cloaked man now sitting across from him. "You've come a long ways." Menglin merely growled. Obviously too long, Raken thought.

The innkeep, covered in cold sweat from fear, came over and set the ale on the edge of the table, then jumped back and ran back to his place behind the bar. Menglin laughed. "Outside Raken," he spoke with a small hiss. Menglin finished his ale and the two rose and walked out into the muddy streets -- if they were worthy of being called streets -- leaving money on the table. They found a shadowy spot behind a building, and Menglin removed his hood, chuckling. He had wild red hair and small squinting gray eyes. "It is quite amazing how easily your people scare."
"They just know that shadowy folk can mean men of the Eye," Raken snapped, "And ya are, ain't ya?"
"Well," Menglin began, "You have always been a loyal servant, you are much like us 'shadowy folk', as you call us, I did not expect for you to care about them."
Raken sneered at him. "I was born here, live here," he whispered, plunging deep in thought. Finally he looked back at Menglin. "What've you got?" Menglin simply held out his hand. Reluctantly, Raken pulled a copper out of his bag. "Now."
"Well, I went into Rohan --"
"Ro--," Raken almost yelled, then caught himself and spoke in a whisper. "Rohan? How the…?"
Menglin grinned, "Yes, I was disguised as a poor, lowly beggar. Got a lot of good information. Disease in the crops is all over, just one disease, up north a ways. They're starving." He stopped to smile a small twitch of his lips. "But they know how to stop it." He paused again, holding out his hand again. Raken sighed and pulled out another copper. But the hand did not go away. Menglin looked at the copper, frowned, then stared at Raken with a foolish grin. Raken sneered and gave yet another copper to get the information out of him.

"Ainereg, Raken, Ainereg," Menglin whispered, "And in Fangorn." He was smiling again, and so was Raken. "Fangorn. So the legends are true!" Menglin nodded, chuckling under his breath. "You know they'll send a group made up of all sorts, they aren't going to a bunch of elven warriors. And, of course, they'll have women with them."
Raken snorted, "Of course they will." Suddenly he laughed, "Well, the weak fall, the strong rise."
Menglin laughed with him, "We'll finally get as we deserve, to be rich as lords!"
"But, we can’t do this alone, we'll need my men. How will there be enough?" Raken wasn't smiling anymore. But Menglin was, "Raken, Raken," Menglin began exasperatedly, "there is plenty, believe me." He paused, stroking his chin, "Or, this could be your people's time. Time the Rohirrim paid. Revenge. It would be more than enough to pay for your revenge. I know some who could supply, if you have the right amount of money."
"And we will," Raken said, laughing again, "with the flower."
"We should start planning immediately."
"Right, Menglin, I know, it won't be that easy." Raken grinned broadly, "Funny, a stinkin' flower's gonna pay for our war."
"Yes," whispered Menglin, "A flower of healing will be the death warrant of the Rohirrim."

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Orual]

"You'll have to set out immediately, I guess," Della said, following Anson into their room with little Rudy.

Anson nodded regretfully, but when he spoke his voice was calm, conversational. "I would've liked to set my affairs in order before I left, just in case. This isn't just a walking-party, you know, it's a real quest. It could be that some of us won't come home, or that none of us will. But anyway, can you do that for me? Set it all straight, in case I don't return? I want you and the children provided for--"

He startled when a sob came from behind him. He turned around, aghast, at Della's distress. She had set Rudy on the floor and was kneeling, her face in her hands, weeping like her heart would break. "Della," he said softly, kneeling by her to comfort her. He stroked her chestnut curls, and she leaned into his shoulder and let herself fall apart. He had so rarely seen her cry, he didn't know quite what to do. And he'd never seen her cry like this before.

He held her for a little while, until he finally stopped crying. She shuddered and breathed heavily, taking her arms off of his shoulders. Rudy was on the verge of tears himself, knowing that something was wrong, and it didn't really matter what it was. His mommy was crying, so something must be not right. Della scooped the boy up, and murmured some reassuring words to him. "I need to go wash my face," she said in a hoarse whisper, and left the room hurriedly.

Anson sat back on his heels for a moment, composing himself, then went back to his packing.


"Hullo, Anson." " 'Morning, Anson." "Good morning, Mr. Hornblower." Anson nodded to all of his countrymen in turn as he came to the rendez-vous that he had designated at the meeting. He gave a short speech, mainly for morale, and asked them all to check their bags and make sure that they hadn't left anything necessary behind. Depending on the way the meeting at Bree went, some of them might not be back home for a long while.

Anson recognized most of the faces around him, but there was one that was unfamiliar to him. A pale-eyed hobbit lass, not yet come of age, with a long braid down her back and clever, inquisitive eyes. He knew most of the folk in town, but he had never seen her before. He sighed a little, and smiled. Her eyes and her quick movements reminded him of his Violet, who had been heartbroken when her father left. If he was to lead this band of hobbits, he would need to know them, and they would need to trust him.

"Morning, miss," he said jovially as he approached her. She startled a little bit and looked up at him. "I don't believe I know you. I'm Anson Hornblower. It's nice to meet you. What can I call you?" He extended his hand to her, and waited for her answer.

[Carlas]

Everwood stood silently in Fangorn, thinking thoughtfully to himself. The wind swept through the leafs, making them ruffle about on his great branches. The sun had already sunk into the west, but the moon glowed brightly in the evening sky, surrounded by millions of stars.

He opened his eyes, and looked about the quiet forest. It was bathed in moonlight, spreading slight shadows on the ground, giving it a mysterious, yet beautiful look. He sighed deeply and started to walk, hardly bending at all. His footfalls beat on the ground slowly, but it was not long before he made it to a river, that flowed gently through Fangorn.

Though it was not usual for an ent, he was bored. If he had told any other ent, they wood call him hasty, but that was the problem, he never really saw any other ents. Most prefered to walk deep in the forest, and some didn't walk at all. He shook his head slowly, making a low creeking noise and walked off silently towards home.

[maikafanawen]

On arrival in Hobbiton, Peony found most the same situation she had left in Pincup, and had seen along the way. A terrible stench hung in the air like the awful smell in a slaughterhouse. It pinched the nose and made it crinkle in disgust. A meeting had been called together in the Hall due to the famine. She ran quickly as a hobbit farmer began to speak.

"My dear friends, neighbors, and family, I ask for your full attention as I speak of a matter that affects us all," Anson said with surprising eloquence. Nobody had expected this, and they all leaned in a little closer. Anson rose grandly to the occasion. "As you are all aware, this year has not been good for the farmers of the Shire. There has been little rain and much sun. As pleasant as it is for our children to be able to play in lovely weather, it would be more pleasant still for them to have fuller bellies than they have been able to have lately. This day I found three sheep dead in my fields, from not an attack, nor old age, but from a disease. I don't know how this came about or what it is that is carrying this disease, but I know that this will do nothing but make the season worse."

A voice towards the back of the Hall spoke up then. It was a Man.

"It is not only the Shire being affected. Word from Rivendell has it that many of the lands all the way from here to there have been stricken by this disease. It is hosted in the plants, and is most concentrated in the grasses, which is why the livestock are dying. People there are suffering, just as you are. An emergency meeting has been called at the Prancing Pony, and I was sent to alert all of you. Will you come?"

Peony looked back towards the hobbit farmer who nodded and readdressed the congregation.

"Our friend has set before us an option that we need to look into, my friends. Shall we go?"

Hobbits nodded in agreement and some spoke up. After thirty minutes of debate, it was decided that a group of selected hobbits would leave immediately for Bree. As a representative of Tuckborough and the Green Hill Country, Peony was to be among them.

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

Peony smiled cordially and shook hands firmly with the hobbit farmer. Putting forth her best executive attitude, striving to make a good impression and prove to be very brave, she answered Anson definitely.

“Good morning sir. My name is Peony Fields of Pincup, daughter of Grombadoc Fields.” She waited for the name to register before she continued, “The plague has reached the Green Hill Country and Tuckborough as well. I have come for help. I attended your meeting this morning and would like to come with you and the rest to Bree.” The hobbit farmer’s face flashed a little sign doubt, “Oh I understand that it will be a rather dangerous journey and no ‘hobbit walking part’” she giggled, “but I am quick and will cause to delay.” Confident with her response, she stood up strait, resting her hand on the top of her canteen. Anson smiled.

“Very well then, I am thankful for your company.” With that, the hobbits began their trek to Bree. Minding the smell and dreary faces around them, Peony thought the day was rather pleasant. The sun was bright, not too hot though, and an autumn breeze fluttered gaily around them, dimming the stench of the disease. She smiled and quietly hummed a walking song.

“Eh what’s that song your singin’ lass?” queried one of the hobbits beside her. Peony looked at him, a twinkle in her eye and sang the words:

“The Road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can.” The hobbit nodded and began to sing with her. Soon the entire hobbit party was singing it too, but softly.

They walked long and the day began to wear on their feet. Finally Anson called a halt, and the hobbits made camp for the night. The hobbit to which she was speaking with earlier was named Fredegar. He started the fire while the hobbits gathered around smoking pipes and sharing stories. Someone had caught a few rabbits and they were cooking nicely. Peony went to sit by her friend who had just lighted his pipe.

“Good evening,” she said, taking a seat beside him on the dry ground. Fredegar nodded,

“Good evening lass.” Fredegar was an elderly hobbit, probably no younger than seventy years of age. He had a pleasant look about him, and there were crinkles by his eyes and the corners of his mouth due to smiling so often. Peony liked him, and he reminded her of her grandfather.

“Where do hail from little one?” he asked her.

“Pincup in the Green Hill Country. My father is Grombadoc Fields.” Fredegar nodded,

“That name is familiar.” He took a puff on his pipe as Peony began to talk some more.

“I don’t really care for adventures, but I guess most hobbits don’t either. My father is a very diplomatic sort of person though, and I was most fit to search for help, being the oldest of the family. I just hope it doesn’t take so long.” She sat cross-legged, her dress draped over the front of her knees. She fiddled idly with the tiny wooden buttons. The rabbit was served then in the form of a hearty stew. Peony spared a bit of bread that she had collected in Hobbiton and ate well. Exhausted then from the days walk, she fell asleep, wrapped up in her cloak, while the older hobbits talked a bit more.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Manardariel]

"Slow down, my girl. Slow down, I say."

Approaching the Prancing Pony Inn, Andunériel pulled her mare´s reighns. There would be a meeting here, summond by the Breelanders in their fear. Two things had made her decide to come and attend this council, or whatever it was. The first was that she was still haunted by the famined children and the disgusting smell she had seen in the Edain village a week ago.

The other was that she was almost sure she knew what could be done. In the old records of herbology, medicine and history stored in Rivendell, she had found an old Numénorian script that spoke of a "deadly famine, killing crops and lifestock".
Andunériel, who had always been interested in herbs and such things, had read it with great intrest, and had of course been reminded of the misterious sickness that was tortureing the village people right now. The old script had further suggested that the only cure was to be found "in Yavanna´s oldest garden, in the lands east of our home." Fangorn Forest! And the plant, Andunériel had figured, had to be Ainereg, an ancient plant, with great healing powers. After these discouveries, events had been rushed. Andunériel had left Rivendell quickly to attend this meeting, more than ready to offer her help and advice.

She reached the Pony. She lead Elenya in the stabels, fed her, and then entered the Inn. She looked around apprehensively.

"Say," she asked the bar-tender, "I heared there would be a meeting about this crop- disease..."

He nodded. "Yes, that will be sometime these days. Would you like a room untill then?"

She nodded, and then sat down in a corner. Sipping some ale, she gathered more news about this disease, about why she was here.

After sometime, she leaned back, From what she had heard, people were suffering.
Maybe she was only a lonely elf, of no great heritage. Maybe she was only a little leaf in the stream of the years,. But if people were suffering, she could help them. She would make a differance. She could, if she wanted. She would show them how much one elf could do, if she tried. She would show them.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Orual]

"Is everyone ready? Then let's move out," called Anson, shouldering his pack. He watched Peony as she did the same and the group formed. "Let's go," he cried, and a great shout rose from the gathered hobbits.

He led them out to the road, and explained the trip to them. There might be some small dangers on the way to Bree--hungry and wild animals, perhaps bandits--but for the most part it would be safe. Once they left Bree the real danger would begin, and they would need to make some decisions.

Not everyone would be needed, Anson explained. Only three representatives of the Halflings would even be required. This was voluntary, he said, and there was no need to feel obligated to go. You took your life into your own hands if you left the Prancing Pony to go eastward.

The trip took several days, but none of the dangers that Anson had feared came to pass. They saw wolves and hunger-wild dogs in the bushes, their yellow and brown eyes glowing menacingly, but then quickly either left or dispatched of them.

So it was that, hungry, wet, and disheveled, but all in one piece, the Hobbiton contingent arrived at Bree, at the Prancing Pony.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Durelin]

Raken, followed by Menglin, emerged from the shadowy hiding place. He hadn't gone two paces before he ran into something. Someone. A woman. Mara. After staring for a split second in alarm, he grabbed both her wrists and attempted to restrain her, but he received a knee in the nether-regions. Then Menglin had his knife out, but so did Mara. He threw his, and it pierced her shirt - sleeve, only grazing the skin. Mara stopped in surprise just long enough for both Menglin and Raken to move in on her. Raken grabbed her legs while Menglin kept her busy. She cut him across the cheek, making him scream in rage. But he quickl recovered and punched her hard in the stomach. She was flung to the ground, dropping her knife. Menglin retrieved it, putting it between his teeth, then knelt down to grab her arms, lifting them above her head.
"Well little missy," Raken said, chuckling, "You put up a good fight, don't ya?" Mara growled at him as he smiled at her.

Menglin didn't find it amusing, blood trickling down his face in small lines. "What did you hear," he yelled at her, his eyes burning with rage. He shook her, his grip on her arms tightening, his finger - nails biting into her skin. The woman merely growled at him, too, snarling to show her teeth.
"You might as well get it over with little girl," he told her, still grinning. Then, still holding onto her legs, he maneuvered the hand holding the knife upward. He ran the knife across the back of her leg, slitting her skin. She winced in pain, but made no noise except for a small grunt. Raken rubbed his hand over the wound, enjoying the feel of the warm, sticky blood, smearing all over his hand. "Is it really worth my pleasure, little Mara, to not tell us what we already know?" He smirked at her, smiling and sneering at the same time. He loved doing this.

[maikafanawen]

Even though the sun had begun to shine, and the rain stopped, Peony was wet and very hungry when she entered the Prancing Pony, walking in just behind Anson. Her shoulders sagged and her dress was sticking to the back of her legs from being so wet. Her hair however was neat. Tucked up underneath the small cowl, she had kept it pinned in a fashionable bun so it wouldn’t get soaked. There was a fire going in the fireplace across the room and smoke drifted towards them, as it was sucked out the open door. Finally all the hobbits were inside, ringing out their cloaks, and shaking their packs until they were only a bit damp. The other people in the Inn were either men or a few random elves. Every single one of them looked questioningly towards the peculiar group of travelers.

Anson spoke with the Innkeeper about their business and ordered a room for everyone. Most of the hobbits paired off to share quarters, but of course Peony was given her own, single bedroom. She had to be told twice however because she was amazed still at the size of the Inn, let alone the entire town.

“Peony?” Anson waved his hand in front of her face making her blink. “You’ll have your own quarters just down the hall from mine. Okay?” She nodded, still looking around.

“Do you think perhaps I could go for a walk or something?” Peony asked peering around the corner of the main counter into the common room, watching its inhabitants. Anson squinted his eyes in thought.

“It would probably not be such a good idea. Bree isn’t exactly a safe town, and the meeting will be starting shortly.” She didn’t hear his mumbled reply and walked back out of the Inn by herself before he finished. Anson made to go after her but Fredegar stopped him.

“Aw let her be. No one’s gonna harm a little hobbit girl, and she won’t miss anything.” Agreeing, though reluctantly, Anson walked into the common room with Fredegar.

Outside, Peony marveled at the size of the houses and different shops. There were so many. There was a butchery, a bread shop, a seamstress and tailor shop, a print shop, an apothecary, and many more all set up in tight rows along the street. What she marveled at most though was the stable. Inside were stalls and stalls of horses of all different colors: chestnut, snow white, copper, yellow, dark brown, and midnight black. They were twice the size of her father’s ponies at home. She could almost walk right under one without her head touching their stomach.

“Would you like to ride one?” asked a she-elf, who had just had hers untied. Peony stared for a minute then nodded yes ecstatically. “Alright, come on over here.” Ducking under the top part of the stall door to the other side where the elf stood, she turned and let the maiden lift her up onto her horse’s back. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down from her new perch.

“Wow … this is high!” Peony wove the hair on the horse’s mane between her fingers as the elf led him out of the stall to walk around the back yard ring. Giggling with delight, Peony straitened in her seat while ‘oohing’ and ‘ahing’ as the horse began to trot around the little ring.%

[Orual]

Anson gave a deep sigh when he sat down at a table in the common room, his friends and kinsmen about him. He was a little worried about Peony, but the girl was nearly come of age. She could look after herself. Besides, Fredegar was right, who was going to bother a little hobbit girl from the Shire?

"As soon as Peony comes back I'd like to get organized," he said to the hobbits gathered around him. Then he stood up, and drew a breath, and said in a loud voice:

"My friends, we are the representatives of the hobbits who are here for the meeting concerning the disease that is spreading across the north. I am Anson Hornblower, and I speak for my group when I say that we are ready to begin talks and decide what to do. I see from the nodding heads that many of you are here for our same purpose. We are missing one of our members, but she will hopefully come back soon, and we can start. I look forward to hearing your opinions, your suggestions, and your plans, for I do not doubt that some of you, indeed many of you, and perhaps all of you, are more educated in the study of diseases, and will know how to combat this plague. If we could designate a place in the room for our talks--I would suggest this large table right here, for I do not assume that we would overcrowd it--perhaps we could start."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion was sitting by himself in a corner of the common room. He was thinking about the ravages of the disease on the land and of his family. His father and elder brother,Argil, were somewhere in Northern Eriador tracking the foul creatures of the enemy, but his brother's wife and two small sons, and Marsilion's mother had been left behind in a small settlement on the Mitheithel. This plague must be affecting the land there. Marsilion bit his lip as he thought of his young nephews going hungry.

The Man raised his head as the halfling, Anson, began to speak. The meeting which the Bree-landers had called was to begin shortly. Marsilion unfolded his long body and stood. Moving quietly over to the table where the halflings sat, he introduced himself to Anson.

"My name is Marsilion, son of Armegil. I am a ranger of the north in the line of Isildur." He spoke softly, and it crossed his mind that the hobbits quite likely had no idea who Isildur was and he internally scolded himself for his rudeness. "I would hear what you have to tell of this disease." he continued, "for I fear it strikes my homeland as well, and I hope to represent my people as we look for an answer." He looked at Anson as he spoke. The hobbit was tanned and weather-roughened. Marsilion guessed he was a farmer. His brown eyes were bright and intelligent. The other hobbits gathered looked worried and tense.

Anson, obviously the leader, greeted Marsilion. "Please sit." he said, motioning to one of the empty seats at the large table. "We're still short a member, but as soon as she returns we can begin. It's good to meet you, Marsilion son of Armegil."

"And you, Anson Hornblower." the ranger returned as he sat down in the seat Anson had indicated. He rubbed the silver ring that had been his grandfathers; he wore the ring always and rubbing it when he was worried was a habit he'd developed years ago. He smiled to himself, as second son he'd inherited the ring, and Argil had inherited their grandfather's sword. Oh the fights it had caused! But now he rubbed the ring, and thought of Argil.

An older hobbit sitting closer to him leaned over and spoke. "I'm called Fredegar of the Shire. May I ask your name?" His musings interrupted, Marsilion looked over at the hobbit, Fredegar.

"My name is Marsilion, and I make my home in the Wild." he answered.

"What have you seen of this plague?" The old hobbit asked. Now other hobbits of the party were leaning closer, interested. Anson seemed distracted though, looking toward the door every few seconds. Marsilion told them of the dead animals he'd found in the Bree-lands and of the rotting vegetables and the pervasive stink of death that was hovering over the land. Head after head nodded as they recognized the illness from his words.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

With an expletive that would have made her father blush Mara realised she had left her cloak at the inn. Turning, she began to walk back towards the inn, preferring not to put off the inevitable.

"Right, Menglin, I know, it won't be that easy. Funny, a stinkin' flower's gonna pay for our war."
"Yes, a flower of healing will be the death warrant of the Rohirrim."

Mara listened to the conversation of the two men with growing interest. She was so busy calculating the possible worth of such a flower to notice that the two men were coming towards her. Until one bumped into her with a thud. In her shock she paused for valuable seconds, her normal reflexes delayed. She cursed herself as he got the upper hand, grabbing her wrists. She dealt with him the way she had the miller, but the other threw a knife at her, nicking the skin. Then she made her second mistake, pausing again. She knifed one of the men, but it was too late. Her knife was knocked out of her hand and one of the men took her hands above her head.

"Well little missy, you put up a good fight, don't ya?"
Mara refused to give a reply, merely growling in her throat as the man chuckled.
"What did you hear?" the other screamed at her, rage in his eyes. Trying desperately to keep a cool head, Mara judged the situation. This man was obviously weaker than his companion, already injured and suffering, it seemed, her own problem with anger. He shook her, then cut her skin with his knife. Wincing Mara tried to block out the pain. She'd felt worse in her time. The other man rubbed the wound until it stang.

"Is it really worth my pleasure, little Mara, to not tell us what we already know?"
With another growl she jerked her hands free of his grip, taking advantage of his gloating. I've made two mistakes, now he's made one. One more and we're equal she thought with a grin, as she kicked his companion with the wild eyes to the floor. Without her knife her eyes raked the floor. She siezed a stone and jumped on the man's back, hearing a satisfying snap. She was gratified to hear his yell, and knew she had contained her pain much better.

She took the rock close to his head, then pulled him upright, taking her knife and his as she spoke. With a smile, for the fight was now on her terms, she faced the other man.

"Well, this little girl is obviously better at fighting than your- friends! She spat the last word. "Give me your knife or he dies" she finished with a calmness she didn't feel.
"No" said the man. "Kill him, if you will"
From the look on his face Mara could see he didn't expect her to. With a smile she slit the mans throat and threw the body to the floor.
"I'll be willing to do the same for you, Mister" she offered, with a laugh.

[ March 28, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Durelin]

Raken expression didn't change as Mara slit his 'friends' throat. But after her, "Mister", he had to laugh. He howled, long and clear, clenching his stomach as if he were laughing so hard it pained him. But his eyes never left the woman, standing over the corpse, bloody knife poised, ready to kill another. "Ha! Well, you have won nothing, nothing. You truly think I cared about that sniveling bastard? He's from Mordor, shadowy, a spy. I hate spies. Can't do anything in th open or they'd get killed. Have to be sneakin' around. He's one less person for me to deal with. To, supposively, "depend on", as he kept sayin'." One less person who'd take the money and run, he thought. He stared at Mara the whole time, as if he were just looking at someone in curiosity. No emotion would ever touch his eyes. Now he was sneering.

"Now, you just tell me what you heard, and maybe you'll have a part in it," he told her, emphasizing the last word. "But, I did enjoy that little trick with the knife. I like using rusty nails a bit better, but I had what I had." He paused smiling at her for a split second. Then he went back to sneering. "I'll need men, little missy. But remeber- you're a little missy. You'll remain in your place," he said, snarling. Sneering and snarling. No one received any better. Only worse.

[ March 28, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Orual]

"This is the same disease that we have faced in Hobbiton," Anson said after Marsilion finished. "Our people, too, are hungry and disheartened. But I am a farmer, no herb-master or lore-master. I can hardly cure the children of head-colds, much less cure Eriador of this plague ripping across it. We have come to speak to those more learned than we, and hopefully to find a cure with which to save our livelihoods and, most of all, our families. We--"

He stopped as the door opened and Peony stepped in, looking flushed and pleased from whatever she had done in town. Anson gestured for her to come sit with them, and she took a seat next to Fredegar.

"We have our full complement here, now," Anson announced. "We are ready to begin. Is only our friend Marsilion here interested in our discussion? This disease affects all of us. Will no one else come?"

[PoWa]

"I will come with you too, Anson, I am Ferdinand Cotton from Bywater", Ferri said gently. He looked at Anson and said; "In a village near Bywater many hobbits have left to seek help from the elves." Anson looked at him. "Do you got any sword?", Anson asked.

"Oh, of course I do.", Ferri said and showed his shortsword. "I got a pony too", he said to Anson, "Can I come with you?

[Manardariel]

Andunériel, who had watched the group of Shire-folk and a Ranger in a corner, rose. She moved towards the table where they were sitting. Gently, she poked one of the halflings in the back. He turned around and stared at her for a moment. She shot him a steady, testing look, then turned to the table.

"Is this the meeting on behalf of the mysterious disease distroying the crops?" she asked, her voice loud and clear. The hobbit at her side noddded.

"That is well. I hear you want to help, want to save your families and your land. Well there is a hope that you may do so. It lies at the end of a long and perilious journey through Eriador and over the Hithaeglir. Yet if there is a cure, it is this one I speak of, and I highly doubt, that anything else could help. I come from Riovendell, Andunériel is my name. You speak of the lore of herbs, my friend", she smiled at the hobbit, "There could be no better master than one of the Eldar. I will come with you. I will lead you to the cure for this dreadfull disease. Will you follow me?"

"No offence, Lady, but where does this journey go? What is this cure you speak of?" one of the hobbits blurted out.

"I speak of a herb, a plant called the Ainereg, that grows only in one place in Middle- Earth: in Fangorn Forest. You Halflings may have never heard of it, and that is good, because if you had, you would not dare to go there. Yet I tell you, you have naught to fear. Now, I ask again, will you come with me, and seek hope for your families, and your homes. Will you follow me?"

[Himaran]

The door of the meeting room swung inward, and Gondolin strod in. Noticing the elf and ranger in the midst of several hobbits, he knew that he had come to the right room. The others were intent on what the elf was saying, and did not even notice his entrance. He sat and listened to here speech.


"I speak of a herb, a plant called the Ainereg, that grows only in one place in Middle- Earth: in Fangorn Forest. You Halflings may have never heard of it, and that is good, because if you had, you would not dare to go there. Yet I tell you, you have naught to fear. Now, I ask again, will you come with me, and seek hope for your
families, and your homes. Will you follow me?"


The company was silent for a moment. Gondolin was the first to speak. "Good folk of Bree and the Shire, my name is Gondolin. I am an elf from Rivendell. I was scouting along the east road when I came to a horrid stench. Orcs, I thought. After investigating, I found a dead and decaying sheep corpes, lying near the road. obviously, it had drug itself away from the fields and died there. Thus, I came here to find out more about this mysterious illness. As for the Ainereg, if they are the cure, I know little about them. I have travelled to Fangorn many tiimes, but have never seen this strange breed of flower. But, in good concious, I feel that it is my duty to lend my sword, knives and bow in the service of this company, for the good of Eriador."

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara stood, knife in hand staring at the man. She had not expected sympathy for a fallen comrade from his type, but still it shocked her as he began to laugh.

"Ha! Well, you have won nothing, nothing. You truly think I cared about that sniveling bastard? He's from Mordor, shadowy, a spy. I hate spies. Can't do anything in th open or they'd get killed. Have to be sneakin' around. He's one less person for me to deal with. To, supposively, "depend on", as he kept sayin'."
Mara stood quietly, there was no need to reply to this. She had no wish to waste words on this man.

"Now, you just tell me what you heard, and maybe you'll have a part in it,"
"I'll need men, little missy. But remember- you're a little missy. You'll remain in your place,"
Suddenly rage white and strong boiled up in Mara again. She spat at his feet with a smile.

"Why would I want anything to do with your business?" she asked, the knife still held clearly in his view.
"For the money" he replied simply, the sneer unchanging on his face. Mara considered. She certainly needed money, but was the need desperate enough to work with this man? Her hand itched for wanting to get the sneer off his face.

Mara paused then smiled again.
"I'll help you get your little flower," she said "for a guaranteed half cut of the profits. So if you want to get more men it'll be at your expense."

She paused, waiting. Despite the look of disdain on his face she was confident he would accept. She knew she was good and he had seen her at her best. And if they spent more time together, an oppurtunity would present itself to get rid of his sneer. All she had to do is wait...

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arien]

Elen rose from her seat and walked to the large table across the room. The ranger she had seen earlier was seated at the table, also hobbits, men and an elf. She took her seat next to the hobbit lass who had just walked into the room. A she-elf approached the table claiming to have a cure. Elen listened intently.

"I speak of a herb, a plant called the Ainereg, that grows only in one place in Middle- Earth: in Fangorn Forest. You Halflings may have never heard of it, and that is good, because if you had, you would not dare to go there. Yet I tell you, you have naught to fear. Now, I ask again, will you come with me, and seek hope for your families, and your homes. Will you follow me?"

First another elf spoke, Elen waited patiently. She doubted very much that Ainereg existed. She had heard of it many a time in tales and legend but tales and Legend changed and could not always be true to their words.

“I have heard of that. Ainereg.” Elen said thoughtfully, now speaking up. Many seemed surprised to see her, as they did not even notice her sitting there. They fixed their eyes on her and she continued, “ But it is no more than a legend is it not? This disease spreads fast, as I am sure you all know. Can we trust the safety of our lands on a Legend and this elf? We could go, not find anything and return to nothing!” She leaned back in her chair, she had caused an unrest around the table and many of them looked apprehensive. She had done it again, opened her mouth without thinking. Maybe she should say something. “But I will go, if nothing else can be thought of…”

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion bit his lip as the ranger woman spoke. He remembered her name now, Elenlith. She’d always been a bit of a tomboy, he recalled. But her words were well considered and well spoken. It was a certainly a gamble, this mission to find the Ainereg. But better to remain and watch the crops and animals die, and later, to watch the children suffer and starve?

“This mission would be perilous.” Marsilion spoke again. “I have travelled these lands before, our paths would lead through unfriendly places.” He considered, thinking of the mountains with their orcs, and the savage people living in the lands south of Eregion. He looked around at the hobbits, “We should consider carefully who is sent.” His eyes lingered on Fredegar, the older hobbit, and Peony, the girl. “This journey will be dangerous, and not easy. It is not a task for all.” He looked at Peony, the girl glared at him. “If we go.”

[maikafanawen]

Peony sat in a large wooden chair next to Anson in the meeting room, on a large stack of pillows so that she could see over the table. The elves spoke in slow voices, informing all of the mission’s necessities. Another hobbit, named Ferdinand spoke up, and offered his service. Then, Andunériel told of the plant. The Ainereg. It was the flower they needed for the cure. Peony nodded. Well at least we don’t have to waste time rummaging through books and such, trying to figure out what it is we even need. All we have to do now is go get it! The elves talked back and forth about the plant, and its location in Fangorn Forest.

“The journey,” said the man called Marsilion, “will be perilous, if we go.” He eyed Fredegar and Peony. The older hobbit nodded, but the young girl glared at him. Ha. Perilous. No one would suspect a hobbit girl of any threat. That will be my best weapon! Peony’s gift at sneaking into and around places she shouldn’t be was superior to any of the other hobbits she had ever known. And being half the size of the other elves and men would give her the advantage. The man broke the gaze and more words were exchanged between the rangers, elves, and Anson. While Elenith was speaking, Peony leaned over to Anson.

“That man,” she said, pointing to Marsilion, “gave me a funny look when he was informing us that the journey would be "perilous". So I think I’ll go.” Anson furrowed his brow at her and she made to stand up and announce her decision herself. “Attention please then. Yes—I think I’ll go too.” She took in the mixture of amused glances and said defensively. “Well, I may not be very useful in combat, but we aren’t really dealing with a physical enemy now are we?” She folded her arms coolly. “I won’t get in the way seein’ as how I’m so small and such.” The hobbit lass held her chin high. “Yes, so, when ever we leave, I’ll be with you.” She nodded and sat down again on the pillows and settled back comfortably to watch the others talk. They looked around, as if humored for a moment, then resumed their discussion. No attempt was made to prevent Peony from going. She supposed that they assumed to just leave her behind. Peony looked sideways at Anson who was chuckling quietly. He turned to her and muttered,

“It would appear that you will be going Peony.” The hobbit lass smiled smugly and listened as final plans were discussed.

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Orual]

Anson nodded gravely as he listened to the newcomers, thinking as he did of his wife and children, scraping survival off of the stores that Della had wisely kept. It would last them for a while, but not forever. And many of the other hobbits in the Shire would not have had the foresight that came naturally to Della, and would not have anything reserved to provide for their families as this plague destroyed the livestock. Even the crops were suspect, for who knew which plant hosted the virus? His family, and indeed the whole Shire, needed him to agree to find this cure.

But his family needed him home alive, too, didn't they?

He shook that thought out of his head, and the others turned to him, mistaking his movement for disapproval. "I agree," he said quickly. "What Andunériel proposes seems to be the only option. But Marisilion presents a good point, as well. When we came, I told you that not all of us would be expected to come. In fact, most of us will not be." He looked around at the hobbits, his gaze solemn. "Those of you who chose to come with me are some of the bravest, most steadfast hobbits that the Shire has to offer. We cannot afford for none of us to return to the Shire. And it may well come to that, none of us returning." There was a little murmuring. Some of them had not thought of this possibility. "The world outside is not like our safe Shire. Travelling to Fangorn will not be like our short trip to Bree, my friends! There will be dangers, and I do not expect any of us to come back unharmed. We are at war, my dear hobbits, at war with this disease. And in war there are casualties. I do not want any of you to follow me to Fangorn without knowing that full well."

"Then you are going? For certain?" asked Holly Bolger, her voice wavering a little bit. She was a pretty woman, a mother of two young children, in her forties. She was from Hobbiton, having lived the middle of town all her life. No adventurer was she.

Anson smiled at her, warmly and sadly. "There is no choice, Mrs. Bolger. We are both parents. Some of us must go for the sake of our children." Holly looked uncomfortable, so Anson added, "I am not asking you. Your responsibilities lie with your children. But we will need some of us to go. I propose two, along with myself, from Hobbiton. Everyone else should go back home, and try to keep the Shire afloat until we return with the ainereg." He turned to the others. "We are more grateful than we can ever express for the help you have given us. Now we have direction. Is there anything else that any of you would like to add, or shall we begin the process of selection?"

[Eressië Ailin]

Luin hummed softly as she walked alongside the road. She was careful not to walk on the road, lest some one be following her. She playfully kicked a small stone as she walked to help pass the time. Luin glanced back at the marshes behind her, and the hills behind them. 'I must be nearing Bree,' she thought. Luin looked ahead of her. She could see a small patch of trees, and what she hoped to be Bree. 'I do hope they haven't started the meeting yet.'

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

Less than an hour later, Luin found herself entering the dark city of Bree. The night was growing dark. She could make out a woman in the shadows, holding a dagger over a man. Another man seemed to be watching them, amused. Luin asked the gatekeeper where they were, if they were, having a meeting about a disease of some sort. The man pointed at the inn where Luin had previously spotted the men and woman fighting. She thanked him, and turned towards the inn.

Luin saw a sign near the door reading 'The Prancing Pony'. 'They better be holding the meeting here.' Luin entered the inn. 'If they haven't already left.' She spotted a group of Hobbits and even few Elves sitting at one of the tables. Luin glanced at one of the Elves, as if she had seen her before. 'Wasn't she in Imladris?' Luin asked herself. What was her name again? Adun-- something or other. Oh well.

Luin made her way over to the table. 'Excuse me,' she said after a while. 'But I heard there was going to be a meeting here. About the disease. Am I correct?' She hesitated, wondering whether or not she should tell them that it had reached Rivendell. Luin decided against it, and waited for a response. She wasn't sure she was ready to speak of Thalion's death openly so soon.

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[Orual]

Anson was a little concerned about Peony coming along, though he said nothing. The girl was headstrong and stubborn, and he knew that she would not take no for an answer. She had her parents' blessings, and he could not tell her no if her parents had told her yes. Besides, she would be an asset. They could use a young hobbit lass to squeeze and peep where Men and Elves could not fit, and where he and Ferdibrand could probably not fit either. Either way, she was nearly of age, and he would take special care to watch her.

"Excuse me, but I heard there was going to be a meeting here. About the disease. Am I correct?" An Elven woman had come up to them. She seemed to have something more to say, but decided against saying it. Anson did not pry.

"You are," he said. "I am Anson Hornblower." He introduced the rest of the party one by one. "I am pleased that you can join us. Andunériel was just telling us of the cure for this disease, the ainereg plant found in Fangorn Forest. We were about to decide on who would be journeying to Fangorn. Do you have any thoughts to add before we begin?"

[Durelin]

"Well, you're a smart little missy after all. You'll be makin' a fine profit," Raken laughed hysterically, as if he had told a joke. "Half it is." We won't be needing more than half. Besides, there might be a unfortunate, he forced himself not to smile, accident. No one will ever care. No one's ever followed me from a kill. This one's easier than horsedung! It was hard for Raken to stop himself from grinning, he knew his work would be easy. He knew in his mind.

Raken eyed Mara, she was tough, smart, but not smart enough if she would agree with him, even for the large sum of money half the flower would be worth. I'll get what she's worth first. I'll get the fighting out of her. "So, you're coming along for a big price here. The boys'll be a bit unhappy, but once I explain our side of the deal, they'll be fine. So don't worry your little head off, missy, I won't let 'em hurt you." Too much.

His men actually wouldn't care so much about the money, as long as they got revenge. He didn't think that was enough for Mara, she was more into the money. She's pretty, but not my type. I wouldn't take five of those stinking flowers to miss the death of twenty of those Rohan curs. Raken couldn't help himself, he sneered, growling a bit under his breath. He hoped Mara hadn't noticed, it might add complications if he was growling at her. But he had dealt before just fine with complications.

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

[Orual]

Anson turned restlessly in his bed, thinking on the meeting. It had gone rather well, he supposed, all things considering. They had gotten a nice company together; nine in all, three representatives from the Hobbits, Men, and Elves. They had a goal now, and he had stayed up for a while, speaking with his companions-to-be about a plan. The next day, at about ten, they would set out for Rivendell. This would mean waking up early for breakfast and packing, which would be a bit of a nasty shock for himself, Peony, and Ferdibrand, but it was unavoidable. They had to reach Rivendell, and soon. It was no short journey: twenty-two days at a brisk pace, by his reckoning. It would not be pleasant, yet they had to stop for supplies. They could not go on with their own travelling stores, or from stores gathered from the Inn. The innkeeper could not afford to spare much, even for those who were trying to save Eriador; he had to keep himself and his family fed, as well as his customers, as long as he could.

Frustrated with his insomnia, he got out of bed and went to look out the window. It looked out to the road, dark and empty, except for a gaunt-looking squirrel and an equally malnourished fox hot in pursuit. That's us, Anson thought miserably. We're that squirrel, fleeing from the fox, only we can't see our fox. It's an invisible predator. Will we outrun it, or will it consume us? He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and before he opened his eyes he had a flash of his precious Violet, lying in bed with Della weeping over her, a rash of blisters running down her throat. Anson cried out, and the other hobbits in his room stirred, but did not wake. He caught his breath and swallowed hard so as not to vomit. They had to leave. He went to plan the trip in greater detail. Come the morning, they would have to leave.

[Himaran]

Gondolin was downstairs early. He could not sleep. He was haunted by the images he had seen on his journey to Bree, and had agreed immediately to join the company in the trip south to find the flowers.

Ainereg. He had never heard of them before, and was intrigued by the possibility of a new breed which he had not yet seen. Ordering a light meal at the bar, he awaited the arrival of his companions.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion was awake early. He'd had a restless night as thoughts of the coming journey filled his head. He counted off lists of supplies, and tried as hard as he could to remember if he'd heard anything about this plant called Ainereg before. He hadn't. Finally, frustrated with the failed attempt to sleep he dressed and made his way back to the common room.

At a table near the bar one of the elves of Rivendell was sitting. Marsilion recognized him as Gondolin, who was to accompany them on the journey. The ranger walked over to the table and sat. "Good morning." he said to the blond elf. "We didn't get to meet last night. I am Marsilion of the Dunedain."

"I am Gondolin, of Rivendell." He answered. Marsilion smiled a thin tight smile at the elf before asking, "What do you know of this flower we seek, this Ainereg?"

Gondolin thought for a moment before answering. "I know little, I have never seen this flower, although like Aduneriel I have heard of it in tales."

Marsilion nodded, "I have travelled in Fangorn before." he stated. "We must find this flower, Gondolin, if we do not..." He raised his eyebrows.

[Himaran]

Gondolin listened to what Marsilion intently. He was a ranger, that was clear, and a long-time friend of the elves. The elf was puzzled that they had not met before, but that really didn't matter now.

"I have travelled in Fangorn before." he stated. "We must find this flower, Gondolin, if we do not..."

"Aye, friend, I agree. Even if this plague does not soon start to harm the people themselves, they will soon die from starvation. I wish that the elves would have been notified sooner, perhaps something could have been done."

Marsilion smiled again. "Maybe, but we have no time for looking into the past, good elf. It is up to us to save Eriador."

The two talked for a while longer, waiting for the rest of the company to appear. Gondolin liked the man; he seemed to have a good heart behind his kind features. They both ate a hearty breakfast and shared several old tales with one another, that only a ranger or an elf would remember.

[Orual]

Morning came altogether too soon for Anson, who had gotten very little sleep. Muttering, he rose, squinted against the sunlight, and got dressed. He woke up his companions, who complained every bit as much as he did.

"Quit your griping," Anson said grumpily. He was normally an even-tempered hobbit, but waking up this early in a strange place and preparing to leave his home for Valar only know how long was enough to put him in quite a bad mood. "If anybody has room to complain it's myself and Ferdibrand. The rest of you are going home to your nice, cozy holes with your families." That quieted the complaints somewhat, but there was still some under-the-breath muttering.

The sun had not yet fully risen, and the common room was lit only by the faint predawn light. All of those who had attended the meeting were there, either to leave or to wish the company luck. Anson stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Let's see if everybody's here...Ferdibrand, Peony, Andunériel, Luinthindiel, Marsilion, Gondolin, Tinüsel, Elenlith, that's eight..." He frowned. "Oh! Myself." He laughed. "It's the early morning hours. Getting to me. Yes, well. I say we're ready to go now. Say your good-byes, then we'll have to be off."

Having no good-byes to say himself, Anson went and thanked the innkeeper for his help, paid him for the room, and then went back to the common room. "Let's go," he said, and the strange company, Men, Elves, and Hobbits, Eriador's last defense, set off east to Rivendell to begin their trek.

The sun was now beginning its ascent, painting the sky with the multihued ribbons of sunrise. Anson smiled a little as he watched it. "It's a lovely morning to start a journey," he announced, and hoped that it was a good omen. If anything, they needed good omens now, more than ever. He looked back at the party. They were a good group, he decided. Trustworthy. He would have to put his faith in them, and them in him. He nodded resolutely.

The journey began in earnest.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"It's a lovely morning to start a journey," Anson announced as the company assembled outside the Prancing Pony. Marsilion glanced at the sky, still pink in the east, and hefted his pack up onto his shoulders. The air was crisp, and only a lingering smell of the disease tainted its freshness. The ranger was eager to go.

He glanced around at the rest of the company. The two hobbits Anson and Ferri stood together. Capable and level-headed- Marsilion thought. The girl, Peony, was close by. He suppressed a smile remembering her reaction to his suggestion that she remain behind. Perhaps she'd do well after all.

Gondolin stood beside him, and Elen, not too far off. The company mounted their horses (and the hobbits their ponies) and set off over the hills of the Bree lands. The feel of Firien underneath him was freeing after nearly a month in Bree. Marsilion was ready to ride again.

Gondolin rode near him on a white horse, and they talked of the days of valor of the kings of men-- the stories Marsilion knew best-- and tales from when thier peoples had been closer. Elenlith rode nearby listening, but she didn't speak.

[Arien]

Elen rode at the rear of the company. Alone. She thought she better stay away from the others as she might say something she regretted. It was indeed hard enough to make friends with these people without insulting them with her sharp tongue. The others talked quietly to each other, but Elen hummed to her self, a song her father had sung her. A story of when the world was young, innocent and beautiful.

As she sung she looked around, more corpses lay dotted around the landscape, the crisp green grass soiled with rotting bodies. The smell still hung, but she was getting used to it. Her eyes flashed towards a goat walking along the road. If you could call it walking. It limped, a leg rotting away. The poor animal was in mid disease. The animal fell to the ground. And Elen was filled with sadness. But they kept going.

[maikafanawen]

Surrounded by solemn travelers, Peony walked behind and to the left of Anson Hornblower. Her dark green and brown plaid dress had dried nicely from the night before and kept out the morning chill. Her thick curly hair was in a neat braid down her back, and bare feet dragged sleepily down the road. The lass let go an enormous yawn and hitched up her pack. She thought about singing a walking song to wake herself up, but the dreary faces about her changed her mind. Sighing softly, she tightened the grip on her walking stick and moved on.

By mid-afternoon they were still walking in silence and Peony kept looking questioningly at the back of Anson, waiting for him to call a halt.

He didn’t.

Sighing, the lass pulled out an apple and began to eat. The sound of her biting into her apple seemed to reverberate off the backs of the rangers and elves she followed and thunder back behind her. Knowing that she was probably the only one who thought that, she continued to eat. When she finished, she tossed the core to the side. She was, of course, still hungry, but eating another apple, or using up some of her other food was out of the question for now.

The Sun moved slowly across the sky and the travelers still didn’t speak. Shrugging her shoulders she fell back to stand next to one of the elves who didn’t have a horse. Her name, she had gathered, was Luin. The elf hadn’t said a single thing that Peony could put her finger on, and didn’t even know if she could speak. However, even though she didn’t know any elves, Peony decided that all elves could probably talk. Mustering up her best social courage she looked up at the tall elf and smiled warmly.

“Hallo. My name is Peony Fields." In any other meeting she would have offered her hand, but walking would make hand shaking awkward.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

OOC: I’m assuming that everyone except for Luin and us 3 hobbits are walking?

[Eressië Ailin]

Luin recollected the previous night's events in her head as she walked along the road. 'The Elf who was talking about the Ainereg plant,' she muttered to herself, 'the leader. She seems so familiar.' She looked around her, at the rotting corpses, picturing Andunériel's face in her mind. 'I know that I've met her before,' Luin whispered. 'I just can't put my finger on it.' Her thoughts of the mysterious Elf subsided, for the time being. Instead, she thought about when she had volunteered to join the strange company on their quest for the Ainereg. 'When I said that I was from Imladris, that Elf seemed so...' Luin couldn't think of the right word for it. 'She looked like she was very familiar with the place,' Luin thought. 'I wonder, what brings her here?'

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

'Hallo. My name is Peony Fields.' Luin looked up suddenly as the young hobbit repeated herself. There was a girl walking beside her that Luin hadn't noticed earlier, not even half of the elf's height.

'Hello there, little one,' said Luin, a little uncomfortably; she wasn't much of a 'people-person.' She had never met a Hobbit before. The one in front of her, Peony, stared up at her with amazement and a smile. 'Some call me Luin.'

[ April 05, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[maikafanawen]

The beautiful she-elf looked down at her with a startled expression. Peony realized that she had broken her from some thought. She remembered how her father used to tell her when she was little about how the elves spent much of their time in thought, and little in conversation. She weaved a loose strap of leather from her pack between her fingers. She was terribly excited with being able to speak to a real elf.

“Hello there little one,” said the elf, her voice like a twinkling of bells, “Some call me Luin.”

Crystal blue eyes looked down at the elf from the cowl of a dark cloak. A wisp of brown hair also peered out as if trying to soak up a bit of sun.

“Luin?” Peony stopped for a moment. Just Luin? Usually, elvish names are longer. Shrugging it off she smiled and jump-hopped to keep up with the long legged she-elf. “Nice to meet you Luin. I’m a hobbit, from Pincup.” The name didn’t show any familiarity on the elf’s face so Peony continued. “It’s in the Shire.” The hobbit looked at the elf for any reply. Receiving none she averted her gaze to their surroundings. Dead animals were strewn in the fields; flies buzzing around their heads. Peony shivered and thought suddenly of home.

She had not been concerned on the well being of her family. She figured that they would be able to fend for themselves like they always have been able to. But, she realized, we’ve never been faced with such a tragic situation before, such as this one. Fiddling uncomfortably with the pocket on her skirt, she dismissed the thoughts from her head and tried to take in a breath of fresh air. Instead, the horrid stench of the disease filled her nose and mouth and she tried to cough it away. Wrinkling up her face in frustration she searched frantically for something to do. No body seemed to fell like talking, she had already had an apple, and the scenery was not nice for the looking. The tension was great between them, and an invisible depression hung over them like a rain cloud.

Peony decided to hum whether it was welcome or no.

[Orual]

They had been on the move for a long while, many days, and the mood had grown dark. Anson gloomily poked at the dying fire with a stick, for his was the first watch. Wolves howled in the distance, sending chills down his spine.

"Should've never left Hobbiton," he muttered to himself, giving the fire a fierce jab. Peony turned over in her sleep, but no one woke. Anson sighed. He looked to the east, to where Rivendell would hopefully soon appear on the horizon. A place of rest, finally. Cold rocks and sharp roots were survivable, if it was all that was available, but a mattress and a pillow would be welcome.

"Tomorrow we'll arrive at Imladris," Andunériel had said, after Anson had asked her how much longer this leg of the journey would last.

"We'll have to leave as soon as we can," Anson had replied. "We can't afford more than a day, much as we'd all like to."

The embers were now glowing warmly, but warm was not the word for their campsite any longer. His watch was almost over, but that did not comfort him. Far from home, very little would.

At least Rivendell was close. And hopefully closer than those wolves.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

When the company set off the next morning Marsilion rode close to the front, beside Anduneriel. He was eager to reach Rivendell, some of the younger elves residing there were well known to him. Also, if news of his family could be had anywhere in Eriador, Rivendell was that place. The ranger whispered a plea to the powers that Argil's wife and young children were being taken care of.

In his excitement he gripped Firien's sides tightly with his legs. The horse responded willingly, breaking into a rapid trot. Anduneriel shot him a reproving look, and he reined the mare in, sighing with impatience.

"We must not leave the hobbits too far behind, Marsilion." The elf reprimanded him. She was right. Marsilion bit back the quick reply that shot to his lips. They would be arriving soon enough. Marsilion looked around himself quickly. He'd travelled this road so many times he could likely do it if he were blind. Just the smells of the forest were usually enough to let him know when he approached the Ford of Bruinen. But today the smells were disrupted with the smell of lingering decay, and Marsilion looked about to confirm his guess.

It was the river coming up ahead, and the fords, as he'd expected. As the company crossed the water Marsilion's eyes sparkled, nearly there...

[ April 08, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Manardariel]

Rivendell, finally. Andunériel got off Elenya and deeply inhaled the smell of Imlandris- of home. She closely whatched the others get off and look around. The hobbits looked stunned and delighted by so much beauty, though especially Anson´s face was also relieved. The rangers, familiar with Elrond´s house, were glancing around aprehensively. But it was the look on Luin´s look that stunned Andunériel. It was a look she couldn´t quite read, like the maiden was hiding a hurt she didn´t want to remember.

At that moment, she heard footsteps and mingeled voices behind her. She turned around and immedeatly bowed her head. Lord Elrond stood there, looking grave and honest, sharply studying everyone of them. Then he spoke, his low voice ringing in the air.

"People of Eriador; Men, Hobbits, Elves. You are the company set out to find what may be our last hope against this disease."
It was not a question.
"Come in, rest for one night. Great peril awaits you, and a long way. But on your way into Fangorn, Rivendell´s power shall help you. Follow me, my friends. Follow."

[Orual]

Anson breathed deeply the air of Rivendell, feeling refreshed already. "People of Eriador; Men, Hobbits, Elves. You are the company set out to find what may be our last hope against this disease. Come in, rest for one night. Great peril awaits you, and a long way. But on your way into Fangorn, Rivendell´s power shall help you. Follow me, my friends. Follow."

There was no argument whatever, and Anson felt keenly the aching muscles in his legs. He saw that his companions were equally weary, if not more so. They were led to bathing rooms, where they all soaked in warm water until the grime and dust of their long journey was washed away. Then they put on fresh clothes and went to their beds.

The room was spacious and clean-aired, but somehow Anson did not feel comfortable. He dug into his pack and found a paper card that his children had made for him, with all of their signatures and a note wishing him the best of luck written by Della. Tears stung his eyes. Curse and blast this plague, and whatever caused it! Anson gently fingered the card, then reverently placed it in his pack and drew the blankets over him. It would be a long day tomorrow, and he should be rested.

There was no howl of wolves tonight, but the silence was oppressive and offered no distractions for Anson's loneliness. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the soft sound of breathing in rooms by his, but it was no help. He buried his head in his pillow and tried not to think, and eventually a troubled sleep overtook him.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Despite his excitement of the morning, Marsilion was exhausted when the company finally arrived at Rivendell. The group was eating lightly to spare their supplies, and the depleted rations were beginning to affect the ranger's strength. After their greeting by Elrond the travellers were led to a room with hot baths for all.

Marsilion smiled broadly as he slipped into the hot water. He filled the tub with thick bubbles and relaxed while the dirt of travel slowly vanished and the knots in his muscles dissolved. When the water cooled he briskly washed his hair and then left the room. Most of the company had already retired to their bedchambers; Luin, Anduneriel, and Gondolin heading to a different part of the house where they apparently had permanent rooms.

Marsilion followed one of the elves to his chamber, before speaking to him quietly, "Istach Calimir? Tego a nin." The elf nodded.

"I will bring him to you." he said, as he left the room. Marsilion cast himself down on the bed and fought sleep. He didn't have to wait long. The door was pushed open shortly and an elf slipped inside.

"Calimir!" Marsilion sat up. The elf was young in appearance and slight, with long dark hair loose around his shoulders. He was dressed in practical outdoor clothing. "What news of my brother, dear friend?" Marsilion asked him eagerly. Calimir was a long-time friend and companion of Argil.

"He is well and he sends his greetings." The thin elf smiled. "He will be pleased to know you are going on this journey, Marsilion. Your father also."

"And my father is well too?" Marsilion asked eagerly, "what of my mother? And Argil's family?"

"Yes, your father is well. We have had word however that Anorraen has been ill this last month. Your brother's wife says she's recovering, but will be weak for a while. Without food..." The elf's face was grim. "But the boys are doing well. Fine warriors they will become. The older one is becoming quite good with the bow."

Marsilion smiled at the image of his ten year old nephew practicing with a bow. The picture was funny, but the ranger's thoughts wandered to his mother. How ill was she? And how weak? He sighed, wishing he didn't have to lead this kind of life. He wanted to be with his family when hard times came. But he must do his duty.

"Thank you, Calimir, but I must sleep now. We depart first thing tomorrow." He smiled ruefully at his friend.

"What? So soon?" Calimir's face fell. "Well, there will be other meetings, my friend. May the Valar protect you. I will leave you now."

"Farewell..." the ranger called as the door closed behind Calimir. Now he must sleep. He threw himself onto the bed fully dressed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

[Himaran]

Home. That was Rivendell to Gondolin. He did not find it terribly exciting to be there, like the rest of the company. Sadly, he had few friends that lived there, as most were on patrol or lived elsewhere.

However, he welcomed the bed and the soft covers. Gondolin did not awake until the morning.

[maikafanawen]

Peony gaped, wide eyed at the beauty of Rivendell. It had surpassed her highest expectations. Towering columns carved in the form of elder kings, and powers graced the spacious hallways. Rooms were mostly door-less, large archways taking the place of elaborate doors. She was met by a somber faced elf servantress who led her to her room. Respecting the noble idiosyncrasy of the elves, she followed her in reverent silence.

“Here you are Peony.” What one might call and ‘elvish smile’ played at the corners of the servantress’ mouth as she gestured toward the room. Just inside was a large bed. The comforter was a creamy white, with gold thread detailing fine leaf motifs. Peony laughed.

“You’re kidding. You could fit twelve of me in that bed.” The elf chuckled and entered.

“I hemmed a dress and robe for you when I learned that you were coming. I hope they fit. This is your bathtub. The water is heating. Just put out the coals when you are ready. The wash basin is here by the bed and fresh towels are also there.” She looked around once more and said, “If you need anything, just ask for it.” With that she left the room gracefully.

Peony made her way to the bathtub and discarded her dirty traveling clothes. She tossed them on the floor and sunk into the tub. The hot water soothed her aching muscles. Had she the energy, she would have broken out in a bath song. Though travel had much strained her body and she simply sat until the dirt and grime was all soaked off. When she felt clean and refreshed, she wrapped herself in the hemmed robe and unpacked her things, draping them over chairs to air out. She took a tally of all her supplies. Dagger? Check. Rope? Check. Cooking gear? Check. Tsk, tsk, tsk. She chipped a piece of rust off one of the iron tools and rubbed it firmly with her thumb. Spices, flint stones, nocturnal dial, whistle? Check all. One more traveling dress, shirt, breeches and … mm hmm. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Peony walked stiffly to the water basin and only rinsed half her face before she fell into her bed, exhausted.

Before she drifted off into dreamland, she promised herself that in the morning, she would tour the elvish palace that had been a childhood favorite all her life. When sleep came, it came easily and undisturbed.

[Orual]

It was past dawn when Anson woke up, and the morning light was streaming in through the tall windows across the room from his bed. He yawned and stretched, still feeling a little achy but refreshed. He had eventually gone to sleep, and after a while had slept soundly, though he tossed and turned for a while.

He got out of bed and dressed, taking his time, reluctant to leave this place. Marsilion, Andunériel, Luin, they all seemed so happy to be here. He hated to ask them to leave. And Peony...she wouldn't want to leave. She was young, and this was a grand adventure for her. This was the part that she had read about in stories; sleeping in the palaces, in the company of elves. Nobody liked to hear about almost three weeks of journey, sleeping on hard rocks.

But they had to go, and it had to be today. He would let them all wake up, though, and Peony would want to look around a little while. Marsilion and Andunériel and Luin would want to say hello to their friends and family here.

Anson laughed harshly at himself. Maybe they just ought to stay here, the way he was trying to delay their departure. It had to be this way; they could not waste more time. As soon as they awoke, they would have breakfast and pack. Then they would leave.

There was no way out of it. And as much as the calls of the wolves made him uneasy, they had to go. The thought of their families starving made him more uneasy.

It would be today.

[Durelin]

Raken chuckled, he knew she couldn't turn down half the profit of an Ainereg flower. Like she's gonna get it, he thought, smiling to himself. "Well," he said, "If you'll follow me you can meet the boys. They don't have much brains, but they do their job." He turned right down the little muddy street, Mara following at a fair distance. He walked quickly and silently staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face. Raken was going home, it was second nature. Soon there were no more buildings, as shabby as they had been, and the road began to shrink. They were moving out of the village, if it could be called one, and the land on either side of the road was covered in distorted dry grass and shrubs. There were numerous spots of black, desolate ground and piles of rotted wood, remnants of buildings. After almost a quarter of an hour, Raken stopped to point at something far off the side of the muddy road, now little more than a narrow pathway. "There, our shack," he said. Mara looked and saw a large square wooden shack covered in moss and vines and surrounded by trees and shrubs. No one would have noticed it standing up on the small slope if they had not been looking for it. "Come on!" Raken was already heading up the sloping ground through the high brown grass. She followed him reluctantly, what was she getting into with these bums!. Raken was waiting for her at the doorway of the building, covered by the large hide of a beautiful golden horse. "A beauty," Raken remarked about it, "You'll meet it's former master soon."

Mara was pushed inside a dimly lit room with a dirt floor. It smelled of old alcohol, horse, sweat, and something far worse than all of those combined. Rotting flesh. Mara's eyes were drawn to the left wall, the most brightly-lit part of the room with the single candle sitting on a bench next to it. There were strange skin-colored tapestry-like things on the wall. Skin colored tapestries? More like skin! Human skin, it had to be. Mara's stomach lurched. They skinned a human. Raken saw where she was looking and laughed, "Yep, we got a guy who'll put somethin' on it to preserve it. It turned out nice, cutting it into squares to hang. We didn't do 'im alive, so it turned out a lot better than the one over there." He pointed to a mauled version of the squares of skin on the wall. The pieces were in all different shapes and sizes and had large gashes in them. "But my favorite thing that makes this whole place seem so much better is our friend of 'dem Rohan," Raken said pointing to the right wall. Mara followed his finger. A head pinned up on the wall. The skin egg - white and glossy, bloody holes where the eyes once were, blond hair clotted with blood streaming wildly around it, its mouth open, slack. Mara felt she needed to vomit. A man of Rohan, but a man. Then a hot, deathly loathing of the Rohirrim rose up in her. A loathing of all. She threw back her head and laughed long and hard. "It is the best!" she said. Raken laughed too, "I told you you'd meet the master of that pretty horse. You'll do nicely." He grinned wolfishly and licked his lips, staring at the mounted head. "Here's the boys," he said motioning to twenty-one men drinking and playing dice. Mara hadn't even noticed them. "Oi!" he called to them, "We get up at dawn! Tomorrow, we go to Rohan!" They all jumped up, dropping tankards and dice on the dirt floor, some growling and some laughing gleefully. Raken turned back to Mara. "We raid a village tomorrow at first light. We'll see if you can earn your half of the profit."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion rose early, refreshed by the soft bed and saftey of Rivendell. His pack had been emptied and the contents were neatly arranged on the long table under his window. Elves, he guessed, had been in during the night. He touched his clothes. They had been washed and mended, his knife was sharpened, and the rips in his pack were patched. He smiled as he donned the fresh clothes and rinsed his face in the basin.

Once he was dressed Marsilion carefully replaced his supplies in his pack. Anson and Anduneriel would be anxious to be leaving, he knew. Hefting his pack onto his shoulders he made his way to breakfast.

The ranger ate quickly, pausing to speak to several of the Elves that were known to him. One in particular, a tall pale woman with golden hair, pulled him aside. "Marsilion!" she whispered. He turned and looked at her, this was Glorenwen, wife of Calimir. "Go swifly my friend," she whispered. "The scouts have returned in the night, and they say the disease is spreading, north and east... There is hunger in your homeland, I know what my husband told you, he tells less than the truth. Your people on the Mitheithel have little resources left. Lord Elrond will summon them here in great need, but Rivendell is not limitless either. The need is dire." Marsilion gripped her hands.

"We know the need." he told her. "the halflings and the folk of Bree face a need greater than my own. There is no Imladris for them... no safe shelter to seek for a while. We will be swift."

As the two spoke Calimir came up behind his wife. "She tells you more than I did, I see..." he spoke softly. "Lord Elrond will speak to your group before you go, Marsilion. Take this with you." Glorenwen pulled out a small dagger, sheathed, and handed it to Marsilion. "It is not special, nor does it carry any virtue but our friendship, but we guess you will have use of it before this quest is done."

Marsilion took the dagger by the hilt. A green gem was set in the pommel. He slid the blade from its sheath, it gleamed at him dully, the blade was traced all along its length with engravings of stars and trees. "Calimir, this is beautiful!"

"It was my father's" Glorenwen said softly, "he called it Dolenaur-- hidden flame. Take it."

Marsilion threaded the small sheath onto his belt beside his sword. "Thank you both." he said to them. The three said goodbyes quickly, as the morning was growing old, and Marsilion hurried to find Anson and the others.

[maikafanawen]

Peony woke to the sound of a light shower upon the roof of the Rivendell palace. Swinging her feet off the bed, she rinsed her face quickly with the new water in the washbasin. The dress she had worn since Bree had been cleaned and mended. She put it in her bag, and donned the other one. Then, folding her belongings quickly into her pack, she set it by the bed and left to tour the palace. An elf stopped her as she walked down the first hallway gazing at all the splendor.

“Halfling? With Anson Hornblower?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded. “The company is leaving in one hour.” Dismay blanketed her face. She had no time for an appropriate exploration. She sulked back to her room to retrieve her bag and find some food before she left. Making the bed was the she-elf that had helped her the night before. A brilliant idea came to Peony’s mind. Ecstatic, she ran up to her.

“Dinsirien?” The elf maiden turned and smiled. “My company’s leaving in just an hour but I so wanted to see the palace. Could you give me a quick, maybe twenty minute tour?” Not missing a beat, Dinsirien dropped the covers into place and led Peony from the room.

In the little amount of time they had, Peony saw the gardens, the library, the council room, the memorial rooms, and every mural and statue of importance in the palace. At the conclusion of their tour, Dinsirien showed her to the breakfast room and fixed her a marvelous morning feast. When she had eaten satisfactorily, the elf led her to join the company.

“You will be here when we return and I will be able to see everything alright?” It was more a command than a question. Dinsirien smiled and patted the hobbit lass’ cheek.

“I should.”

“All set Peony?” Anson touched her shoulder. She nodded.

“Yes, but I hope we return sooner than later!” Then the company set out for Fangorn.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Himaran]

Gondolin had risen early, as usual. Having a light breakfast, be chatted amiably with several elves that had come in from scouting the night before. "Ah, Fangorn; so your heading south?"

"Aye, as soon as our hobbit leader gives the word." The others chuckled that a hobbit was leading Gondolin, but they all had great respect for the race of haflings.

That morning the group set out, bound south. Gondolin said goodbye to the lead elf, telling him that he would gather as much information as he could from down south. But there was a deep foreboding in the pit of his stomach. The elf had a feeling that all was not well in Rohan.

[Arien]

Elen again retreated to the rear of the company, green grass swaying at her feet, the mountains were to the east of her and their peaks towered above the landscape and retreated into the clouds above. The smell she was getting used to now, and she assumed everyone else was as well. She had not talked since they had left Bree, save to herself and Nimloch. . The company now headed to Fangorn, they would take the path through Rohan, at least that is what Elen had heard. She had stayed alone in Rivendell, quietly reflecting upon the disease and how it had swelled out around the area. Scouts from Rivendell had brought back ill news, all was certainly not well.

The ranger Marsilion was just in front of her, his long clocked flickered in the wind and his bright blue eyes gazed at the surrounding countryside. She decided to speak to him, she had seen him before, many a time but they had never conversed.

“My lord, Marsilion is it?” she said, he turned round surprised to see that Elen had opened her mouth. She waited for his reply, hopefully she had got his name right and not just made a fool of her self.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"Lady Elenlith?" Marsilion turned with surprise. The girl he'd noticed in the Prancing Pony hadn't spoken to him in all the days of their journey. He fumbled for words, "It is Elenlith?" He reined in Firien to come alongside the ranger girl so they could speak more easily. She nodded at his pronunciation of her name, and he continued.

"I believe I know your father. He is a brave man, my brother has travelled with him." Marsilion touched the ring on his left hand subconsciously. Gondolin who was riding just ahead of Elen, shot a look back, curiously to see where Marsilion had gone.

He looked at Elen cautiously, afraid of offending. "You have lived all your life like this?" he asked her curiously, it was uncommon to see a woman of the Dunedain on this kind of mission. The way she had spoken at the meeting in Bree, however, left little doubt in his mind that Elenlith knew what she was about on this quest.

She laughed. "Why yes." she answered. "I know nothing else." Marsilion didn't speak for a moment, and the two rode on in companionable silence.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Orual]

Anson looked back at Rivendell, fading into the horizon, and felt a pang. He was refreshed and re-energized after his stay, and wished that he did not have to leave. He saw the wistful looks in the eyes of those who had kin or friends that they had to leave behind, and Peony's look of regret, and looked down in guilt. They had to leave. There was no time to spare. People were starving, animals were dying, and how long until people started to die, as well? What if he returned and did not have eight children any longer? What if he returned, and did not have a wife?

Fiercely he pushed these thoughts out of his mind and shrugged his pack higher onto his shoulders. If he thought of such things, it would drive him mad. He had to think that his family would survive. That he would not have to bury a child. He shook his head until he was dizzy, and ignored the puzzled stares of his companions. It would not do to dwell on that.

He heard a howl in the distance, and he fingered the hilt of his short sword, sharpened in Rivendell. Those wolves were closer, if he was hearing right, and in such matters he was rarely wrong. He found himself glancing back at the road behind them. How much time did they have?

[ April 14, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Eressië Ailin]

'It all went by so quickly. We only stayed in Imladris the night,' Luin thought. 'Though it is probably better that way.' She sighed, watching Elen and the ranger. 'All of the Elves there, they acted like they had missed me.' Luin spat on the ground in disgust. She knew better than to trust them. Kicking a small pebble, she thought of when they had entered Imladris, not too long ago.

After Elrond had greeted them, she had been led to her old room, and Gondolin and Andunériel had been led to their rooms also. Sleeping in the same bed, being surronded by the same Elves, and all of Imladris had brought back far too many painful memories for Luin. She remembered her precious horse, Thalion, as he was dying. Wiping tears from her eyes, she recalled the conversation between the two Elves just outside her window. Luin heard the taunting voice inside her head whispering, 'We can care for your steed... you must trust us to heal Thalion... your horse will be healed... we cared for him... tried to save him... we were too late... too late... too late...' The voice. It was disturbingly familiar.

Luin began to hear the voice again. 'Who is it that lead my beloved Thalion die? she asked herself. She tried to get the voice out of her head. But it would not leave. The voice that she was hearing was no longer just in her imagination. Luin looked up, frantically trying to find who the voice belonged to. She looked from face to face, face to face, when she saw lips moving that matched the words she was hearing. Luin looked at her in disbelief, she stared, shocked, at the one who had let her horse die. It was Andunériel.

[Orual]

The broad brush-strokes of the sunset were fading into the uniform blue of twilight before Anson decided to stop for the night. They had been walking almost nonstop all day, and they were all weary, Anson not the least. His legs protested every step he took and his breath was labored when he finally sat down.

"I'll find some kindling for the fire," Anson volunteered, though every muscle in his body was screaming for him not to get up again. Perhaps a fire would ward away those wolves he kept hearing.

The crossing of the ford had been easy, and they had had the aid of the elves. He feared that the Glanduin would not be so kind, but that was a problem for another day, though he knew that it would not be a far-off day. He could picture the roaring, foaming white waters, and he could picture also the raft that they would have to build, and in his mind's eye it was flimsy at best. He shivered. He had a true hobbit's fear of water, and was not looking forward to crossing the river.

He had nearly a full armload of firewood when he heard a crunch behind him. He whirled around and there was nothing there, but he could have sworn that he saw a glint of gold behind the trees.

He hurried back to the campsite and deposited the wood he had collected. "Arm yourselves," he said. He drew his short sword with the others. "Wolves are behind me. I don't think that we have much time before they're on us. Peony, Luin, try to build a fire. I hope they'll stay away from that, and we'll at least be able to see when they come."

While they built the fire, Anson looked around the circle, breathing hard. Wolves had been the bane of his existance as a farmer, and now his life was threatened by them. If he hadn't been trying to breathe normally, he would have thought it ironic.

Time seemed to slow down when Anson first caught another flash of yellow. He gripped his sword until his knuckles turned white, but another one did not come until the wolf lunged.

[Himaran]

Gondolin had no time to think or even breath. He saw the wolf lunging at Anson, and dove forward, grabbing the beast around the neck and pulling him to the ground. With the full weight of the wolf on top of him, Gondolin could not reach either of his knives to slay it. Luckily, Anson ran over, his sword held high, running it through the wolf's neck.

Shoving it off of him, Gondolin alowed Anson to pull him up off of the ground. But there was no time for chatting, other wolves could be heard coming toward them.

Gondolin had some experience fighting these creatures, and called out to the company; "Get long sticks from the fire that are burning, hold them in front of you. Those with bows, get into the middle of the company."

As the wolves came, the elves released arrows into their ranks, while others were slain by a swift stab with a sword. Even the hobbits slew several.

[maikafanawen]

Although her callow appearance made her seem otherwise, Peony was no namby-pamby hobbit. Her friend Balbo had once informed an older hobbit less than five years ago when she had first been taught to use her dagger. The words encouraged her only slightly. The huge wolves had caught her off her guard and she stood momentarily stunned beside the fire. Then Gondolin’s voice brought her back to her senses.

"Get long sticks from the fire that are burning, hold them in front of you. Those with bows, get into the middle of the company." Grabbing a stick with fire on the end, she slashed the air before her, threatening any wolf that came near her. Grinning ferociously, a wolf tried to dodge around her and snap her stick in half. The malignant and unfortunate creature was met with a flash of Peony’s silver dagger before it neatly slit its throat. Grunting in disgust she backed away from the body, her stick was still burning.

Several more wolves approached her, snarling. Three were taken down by elvish arrows Peony poked it challengingly with her torch. It roared in pain and lunged. She stepped out of its path at the last second, and Gondolin met it with a slash of his sword. Laughing at the wolf that had been caught off guard, she re-lit her ember-dying branch and turned to meet the second onslaught of carnivores.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion wished he had a bow with him. However, his wish didn't last long as the hungry wolves charged into the company. He no longer had time to think of anything but battle. Wielding his sword with both hands he stood near the edge of the firelight, ready to protect the halflings if need be.

The first wolf that came too close was quickly knocked down by a slice of his steel blade. He finished it with a well placed stab with his dagger. The hobbit, Peony, had just killed one with the dagger she carried, but many more were eyeing her from the shadows. foul carrion! Marsilion thought , aiming for the smallest among us... they shall not have her! he resolved. Several wolves fell to arrows all around him, and breifly, he feared to be hit. But the repeated attacks on the hobbits enraged him, and soon he didn't care.

As one particularly large wolf leapt snarling toward Peony, Marsilion sprang in front of it. Its weight bore him to the ground, and for one moment they were eye to eye. Its teeth raked his left shoulder and he felt the blood begin to drip down his arm. With a cry of pain Marsilion threw the wolf off and decaptiated it with one fell stroke. Peony grinned and called out "Thanks!"

Marsilion shook his head, that girl is something, she is... he thought as he gently explored the wound on his shoulder with his fingers. It was not deep, though it bled profusely. His arm was a little stiff, but no matter. He still needed it tonight. Gripping his sword with both hands he eyed the remaining wolves and waited.

[ April 15, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Arien]

Only a few wolves were left now, and they seemed to be targeting the smallest of the company. Elen put down her bow and quiver and drew out her kuni, They glinted in the light which came from the fire which was now lit. Elen lunged forward at an oncoming wolf. It pounced on top of her, and covered her totally so she could not be see. It fur smelt of decay, it was warm and musty and also very heavy. Elen could feel herself getting pressed against the hard ground. There was only one thing for her to do. She slowly tried to pull her right kuni under the wolf’s heart. Then she drove it in as hard as she could. Warm blood fell over her clothes and drenched them. It went all over her and she could taste it in her mouth. She quickly heaved the wolf from upon her and got up.

There were still a few wolves left. Marsilion was fighting a particularly large one and obviously hadn’t seen the one behind him. Elen ran to the fire and grabbed a fiery branch. She then ran up to the wolf and gabbed the branch at it. It howled in pain an reeled backward. Elen unsheathed one of her kuni and threw it straight at its head. And with a last yelp it died.

All the wolves were gone now and the company started to gather themselves around the fire. If only there was a river near. I will stink if this blood dries and it may also attract other animals that we dont want to come into contact with. Elen got up and picked her pack up. She walked away from the company ans stood next to Nimroch. There she changed into her spare set of clothes. Her father always asked her why she brought a spare change of clothes on journies. He said it was not needed, but this time it was. No doubt those wolves were infected. And I dont wish to wear their foul blood and find out. She cleaned her face and washed the blood out from her mouth with a spare canteen she had. She also had alot of them. She knew they might run out and it was always wise to bring a spare. She kissed Nimroch's head and then went back to the campfire.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Manardariel]

The wolves were gone. Warm, golden relief flooded through Andunériel´s body. For today, they had won the fight. Andunériel watched the others come closer to te fire. Some seemed under shock, shaking all over, horror painted on their faces. She found her voice back.

"Is anyone hurt?" She called. "Come here, please. There´s no need to play the hero; the last thing we need are wounds."

Marsillion emerged out of the shadows. He had a cut on his shoulder, not deep, yet bleeding. Carefully, she aplied some herbs and bandaged his arm. "Be carefull with that arm" she told him. "Don´t move it to much, and have a good rest tonight." He nodded.

Suddenly Andunériel noticed eyes glancing over to her. It seemed she was being looked over by someone, someone who didn´t seem too friendly. She glanced over. It was Luin. Her keen elven eyes were staring at Andunériel with a strange impression in her eye. Suprised, Amdunériel looked at her, and smiled. Luin looked away. Oh dear. She took a deep breath, and then walked over to the elf.

"Luin?"

[ April 15, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Orual]

Anson took a shuddering breath as Elenlith killed the last of the wolves. The beast gave a dying roar and was still, but even so, Anson found himself glancing at it uneasily, as though it would rise again and finish what it had started. He shook his head, chastising himself for letting the attack get to him. Once a wolf was dead, it was dead, just like anything else.

As Andunériel bandaged Marsilion's wounded arm, Anson looked around at the company. Disheartened, shaken, and bruised, they were in no condition to go forward. But forward they would have to go, and the very next morning. He glanced bitterly at the moon, already passed its brightest. Soon it would fade into the cruel morning, and they would have to be off to Dunland.

He threw his sword down on the ground in anger, and it gave a metallic clank as it hit the rocks. Absorbed in examining minor wounds or cleaning weapons, no one turned at the sound. He sat wearily on the dirt, burying his head in his hands. It had been a long night, and the day would be no shorter. They had many miles to go before they reached the Glanduin, and he could not help but feel that time was growing short.

He looked up, and at Peony. The girl seemed all right, but he wanted to make sure. He walked up behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped a little bit, and he walked around to face her. "Are you hurt, Peony?" he asked.

[maikafanawen]

Peony sighed, “Yes, I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry.” It was a hobbit’s usual excuse. She played it out by patting her stomach and looking around the camp as if she was in her pantry looking for a cake she had saved. Anson nodded. Peony in truth wasn’t scratched a bit, much to her delight and surprise. But her brain still rushed with the agrenilin she had worked up in the fight. In an attempt to calm it down she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she guessed she had reduced her pulse to half of what it was.

“You?” she asked peering at the older hobbit. He brushed off his sleeves and shook his head standing.

“No, I’m fine. You said you were hungry?” Peony shrugged.

“A bite wouldn’t hurt me none.” Peony fingered the pocket on her dress and walked over to where she had laid her pack. From within she withdrew an apple and sat down beside Anson who had lit his pipe. As Andunériel finished with the patients, they slowly began to settle down.

Peony glanced inconspicuously around at the other warriors. Coincidently, every one was silent, and staring into the fire. She desperately wanted someone to say something, a story, a plan, a comment, anything to break the unbearable silence.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion winced as Anduneriel bound up his wounded shoulder. The herbs inside the bandage stung against his raw flesh. He flexed his shoulder experimentally, to see how stiff it was. Stiff. Anduneriel reminded him, rather sharply, to be careful.

Grumbling to himself he retrieved his sword from where he'd laid it earlier. The blood of the wolves was still coating the blade almost to the hilt. Marsilion looked at it with distaste. Grabbing a handful of leaves he wiped the blade as clean as he could. He'd clean it more thoroughly when he could see. The flickering light from the fire made it difficult to see what he'd already cleaned, and what remained.

He moved to slip the sword into the scabbard at his waist, then stopped. The sheath was an heirloom of his family, delicately scrolled with leaves in silver. He didn't want to fill the insides with wolves' blood. He'd better leave it, and clean it thoroughly in the morning.

Marsilion spread his cloak out on the ground and lay down on his uninjured side, throwing a blanket over him. It would soon be morning and Anson would have them on the move again at first light. He lay awake for a few minutes, watching the sparks fly upward from the fire, getting lost among the stars. Then he slept.

[Arien]

Elen came back and lent on a log near the fire. Most of the company were asleep now and she was not suprised, it was late and having to fend off killer wolves was not the best thing to do when you were tired. She opened her sack, and drew out a cloth for cleaning. She wiped her kuni slowly and then placed them back in their sheaths. She then took out a parcel and quietly unraveled it to reveal cake. She took a small bite, though she longed for more and then wrapped it up and placed it back into her sack.

Elen then went out side the circle and collected all her arrows that she could find. Placed them back into her quiver and put her quiver and bow next to her log. Now she decided to burn the wolves. The disease would feed of dead corpses and multiply even more if the wolves were left there to rot. So one by one she dragged the foul smelling creatures into a pile. They were extreamly heavy and she could hardly lift their legs, but she was stubborn and once she had decided to do something she would not give up. It took her hours to move all carcasses but she did it. Her arms were covered in blood again and they ached, they felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets. But she continued her work. She picked up a branch and walked over to the fire. Everyone was asleep now so she tried to be very quiet. Lighting the branch she went over to her sack and took out a medium sized canteen filled with very strong ale. When she had arrived at the pile she threw a few drops of the contents of the canteen on the wolves and then threw the branch on. It was a good job that she stepped back beacause they caught ablaze quickly. The fire lit up the night and she could see all around. There were still a few wolves which she had missed.

"Great...." she wispered to herself as she dragged the remainig three over to the bonfire. Her eyes were gatting heavier now and her lack of sleep was starting to tell. So when she had finished she returned to her log. Elen then took a couple of sips from her canteen, the strong ale burned her throat but she did not care she had done it before. She placed it back in her bag and as soon as her head hit the ground she fell asleep.

[ April 16, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Orual]

Anson shrugged his blanket off and sat up. He was in a sour mood from the previous night, but time and tide wait for no hobbit, and the Glanduin wasn't getting any closer with the company just sitting there. He went to arouse everyone.

He hesitated when he got to Peony. The girl looked peaceful, and she was so tired. He sighed and shook her gently. "Time to get up, Peony."

She bore up bravely and stood up, stretching. Anson smiled fondly and went to gather up his things and repack. It would be a long journey.

The trip to the Glanduin took nearly ten days, but they made good time and did not stop when it was not necessary. The wolves faded from their minds, and they regained their strength and spirit. They spoke cheerfully of their homes, and of their families, and they told the sort of amusing stories that can only come from families. It eased some of Anson's pain to talk about his children. Though he still missed them, it brought them closer to speak of them.

It was midway into their ninth day of travel when Andunériel, heading up the group, stopped short. Everyone stopped behind her and strained their ears; she was listening for something. "It's up ahead," she announced. Nobody had to ask what "it" was. They had arrived at the Glanduin crossing.

Anson looked around at fallen limbs; a storm had passed. Good, and bad. They would have wood to build a raft, but the river would be high and fast. He shivered a little bit, though the day was warm. He hated to think of the river, and crossing it. He looked over at Peony, whose face was set. He couldn't imagine that she was any happier about it than he was, but he had to put a brave face on the whole matter. After all, he was doing his best to lead the group. Showing that he was afraid of this step wasn't going to bode well for their actual stay in Fangorn. Surely the river was no worse than the forest.

When the river was in sight--foaming and frothing and churning sickeningly, to Anson's eyes--they divided up to get limbs to build the raft. Marsilion, Tinüsel, and Elenlith formed the limbs into a raft while the others roped it tight. It was a dubious-looking contraption at best, and Anson eyed it with some distrust. Somebody's got to get on it first, Anson Hornblower, and you're the one who got the fool idea to travel all over the world, he thought. He took a deep breath, and faced his companions.

"I'll try it out," he said. There were the beginnings of protests, but he held up a hand to quiet them. "I'm going to do it, and there's no talking me out of it." He tied a rope to one end of the raft. "Keep hold of this--this isn't for me to cross, just to make sure the thing's seaworthy."

With everyone gripping the rope and watching Anson uneasily, the hobbit clambered aboard the raft and shoved off.

The waves rocked the raft, and Anson clung for dear life to the grooves in the wood. As he grew more and more nauseated he wondered why he'd ever volunteered, but it was too late to go back now.

White water rose around him, and he shut his eyes to it. He was nearly a quarter of the way across the river now, and he hollered for those ashore to pull him back in. They complied, but the waves were getting stronger. They picked up the raft and set back down heavily. Anson clutched the makeshift hand-holds, but to no avail. With a cry, he felt himself flung into the water.

[Carlas]

The sun rose steadily up into the sky, and spread her rays across the cool damp ground. The leafs of the trees and plants in Fangorn lifted up to face her and bask in the soft light of morning. The few animals that inhabited the forest woke, stretching their stiff and tired limbs, making ready for another day of scavenging.

Everwood, opened his eyes wide and looked about the forest. He smiled as he saw the plants about him tall and green, he new all the different plants that grew in the forest, though probably not as well as he should. He had never known them by their names, but knew by their looks, everything that any ent would really need to know.

He lifted up his leg, though hardly bending it at all, twisting his toes out from the dark soil. He moved slowly through the forest, his body seemingly not to bend at all. His slow, constant steps echoed silently about the forest as he descended down a small slope, happy to be moving about. As he reached a small river at the bottom of the slope he stopped and looked down into the gurgling water. Over the past couple of years he had grown more and more depressed and sad, though not for himself, for his friend Greendale.

In their youth they had walked about the forest everyday with some of the elders, chatting and learning about Fangorn and its great variety of plants. Greendale had loved all the plants and had wanted to learn everything he could about bulbs, bushes, flowers, herbs, seedlings, shoots, shrubs, slips, sprouts and weeds. They had grown up together in the forest talking about plants and animals, and on the odd occasions, the world outside Fangorn. But as they grew older, Greendale had started to slow down and prefer to stand among the other trees, and Everwood, growing discouraged started to hike about the edges of the forest. Greendale had come once or twice and now stayed closer to the edge of the forest, if ever Everwood really needed him. But he still prefered to stand about, thinking.

Everwood sighed, he found it easier to think when he was striding through the forest. Alas, Everwood thought to himself, it seems everything is slowing down in Fangorn...

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

As Anson disappeared into the river, Peony cried out and made to follow him in. Marsilion caught her by the wrist just as she was about to jump. Shoving her back onto the shore somewhat roughly, Marsilion flung his cloak aside and dived headfirst into the river.

The water was cold and fast moving. As the Ranger's head came above water he blinked hard, peering around for Anson. The hobbit's curly head was bobbing slowly downriver. He was treading water, but was still slowly being pulled away from the raft.

Marsilion struck out toward the hobbit, briefly regretting not taking the time to remove his boots. As he was about to reach out for Anson's reaching hand, a mouthful of water sent him sputtering and swept Anson just out of reach. Coughing and spitting Marsilion kicked to the surface, and swam faster toward the struggling hobbit.

As he reached Anson the hobbit was losing consciousness. Marsilion gripped him around the waist and pulled him back to the shore. Gondolin and Elenlith reached down to pull them both to safety. Marsilion fell limply to the shore as Anduneriel took over with Anson.

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Orual]

Post for Andunériel

"Bring him here, Marsilion," Andunériel said, taking her herbs out of her pack. Anson was very pale, and alarmingly still. The Ranger gently laid the hobbit on the ground in front of her, and she scanned him with her grey-green eyes.

"Fool hobbit," she murmured, trying to push the concern away from her thoughts as she dug for the right herb. "Scared to death of water, no experience with watercraft, but had to satisfy his pride. Should've stopped him." She kept on muttering to herself, hardly paying attention to her own words. She mixed some fine powder into a glass of water, stirred it up, and opened Anson's mouth. She grimaced as she poured it slowly, remembering having to drink it herself. The mixture had a bitter taste, and an even worse aftertaste.

"Open your eyes, spit it out, wiggle your toes, do something," the Elf pleaded, watching the motionless hobbit closely, praying that something happen.

Suddenly Anson's brown eyes flew open and he began to choke. Nearly laughing with relief, Andunériel pulled him to a sitting position and pounded him on the back. "Blast and bebother it, what was that foul taste?" he spluttered, glaring indignantly around him.

"You're a foolish hobbit, Anson Hornblower, but at least you'll live to regret it," Andunériel laughed.

***

Post for Anson

As he plunged into the icy water Anson remembered all of his mother's warnings about bodies of water bigger than the bathtub. That he should have listened to them was the last thing he thought before he fell unconscious.

"...do something!" He heard Andunériel's voice, but it was foggy. He struggled to open his eyes, and though his eyelids felt like they were glued together, he managed to pry them apart.

Something disgusting was in his mouth, and he sat up and began to splutter in a most undignified fashion. "Blast and bebother it, what was that foul taste?"

He did not see anything to laugh about, but Andunériel seemed to disagree. "You're a foolish hobbit, Anson Hornblower, but at least you'll live to regret it."

Once he recovered, they waited for the river to calm and crossed it. Only the mountains remained between the company and Fangorn now.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara lay on her pallet with her arms behind her head, staring at the dirty ceiling. I ought to sleep she kept thinking. I'll need all my strength to keep that Raken from getting up to something. There's- what?, 5? 10?- of them and just me.
Still a slow smile spread over her face none of them are exactly bursting with brainpower, and you need more than brute strength to get round me! The only one who's any kind of an opponent is Raken. Mara felt a grudging respect for him, although she didn't like him one bit. Who needs to like him? He's my best chance of getting money. And revenge...

She turned on her side, determined to rest anyway. Her breathing began to slow into a rhythm and thought was drifting away from her when she was jerked awake by a hand on her shoulder.

"My but you are a pretty one" said a low, rumbling voice behind her. It's not like Raken to bring us home...amusements"
Mara sat up slowly. This man was very big, and her knife was just out of arm's reach. Fool! she berated herself. Slack brained, addlepated...
On the outside she made herself smile at the man.
"Amusements?" she asked softly "Yes, you may find it amusing..."
In a moment she reached towards him and took his own knife from his belt. With a swift movement she held it to his arm, slashing where he aimed to go for another knife hidden somewhere. She cut his palm, so he couldn't hold one, and only then did she slowly move the knife to his throat.
Still smiling she asked "Was that amusing? I am sure your friends would find it so. Bested by a woman"
Her face changed and she pushed him away."
Her face changed and she growled "Get used to it!"

As she stood there watching the big man walk away, Mara was interrupted by a slow hand clap behind her. Turning she saw raken.
"Very good little Missy" he said, with the smile that didn't seem to leave his face and gave no indication of what he felt.
"Do you want a turn?" she growled. Stay calm! she told herself furiously. He likes to wind you up. That's his amusement
"When do we leave?" she asked in a flat voice, the best attempt at calmness she could find. She didn't need rest, she needed action!

[Arien]

After Marsilion had saved Anson from the river, the company rested for a while and then they were on their way again. They crossed the river now with ease as it was calm and not so trecherous. Elen sprang upon Nimroch and once again rode at the rear of the company, her eyes keeping watch.

They had been riding for about half a day now and the sun was beginnig to set. Elen took a drink for the canteen at her side. The cool water filled her body. it was good to know that it was not infected unlike the countryside around her. They were seeing the effects of the disease and it was much worse. There was no one about, not even animals. It was silent apart from the gently sound made by the horses.

"Shall we stop or not? Night draws in and with it comes danger. Shall we continue? If we do we cannot expect the hobbits to walk. They need to rest their legs, unless they want to walk into the night." she said to the company.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Orual]

Post for Andunériel

"Shall we stop or not? Night draws in and with it comes danger. Shall we continue? If we do we cannot expect the hobbits to walk. They need to rest their legs, unless they want to walk into the night," Elen said, her hazel eyes flicking over Anson. He was trudging along, trying to look as though he hadn't nearly drowned earlier in the day.

Andunériel frowned up at the sky. It was coming to be fall, and a chill was in the air. They had been gone for a long while, and the citizens of Eriador would not be able to live off of their stores forever. But Elen was right. The hobbits could not walk forever. Already Anson was stumbling, muttering under his breath and trying not to let anyone notice. Peony was keeping a close watch on the older hobbit, her crystal-blue eyes filled with worry. Anson would try to comfort them with reassuring smiles, but the weariness in his face was starkly obvious, compared to his usual vigour.

Andunériel brought the group to a halt. "Elenlith brings up a good point. Do you want to stop and rest? We grow short on time, but I do not suppose that one night would put us back too far." She tried to keep the reluctance out of her voice, but failed.

"I'm fine," Anson said stubbornly, striding a few paces to the front of the group as though in proof. Andunériel met Luin's eyes and grinned. Men were men, whatever their race.

"I think we've been taking it a little slow thus far," Tinüsel said. "We don't have much time. I say we shouldn't stop tonight."

Andunériel frowned, then turned to Anson. "How do you feel? And Anson, please tell me the truth."

***

Post for Anson

"...please tell me the truth."

Anson leaned on his walking-stick and sighed. All these women frowning at him...it wasn't like his ribs didn't ache, either, but he was supposed to be leading this expedition! How was he--but Andunériel's grey-green gaze stopped those thoughts in his track. It reminded him of Della's own look of truth, the one that his children always caved in under. Anson caved in under the Elf's.

"My ribs ache and I hit my shin on the raft," he admitted. "Sometimes it hurts to breathe, but not that often and not that much. I'm all right, and I could probably go on today." Could probably, he said. It wasn't exactly a lie.

Andunériel nodded, with an infuriatingly knowing look on her face. "Climb on, Anson. Peony, Ferdibrand, get behind someone else. We'll ride on tonight."

Anson got behind Andunériel, and Peony and Ferdibrand found rides. Dunland passed below them and around them, and the Misty Mountains loomed ahead. If we had this much trouble crossing the river, how much more will we have crossing those mountains? Anson wondered glumly. There could be rockslides, and there would be problems with the horses. There could even be bandits, or more wolves, or goblins. He coughed once, pushed those thoughts out of his mind, and focused all of his attention on staying awake.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Arien]

Elen hauled Peony upon to Nimroch. She could see a stern look of confidence on her tired face. She suspected Peony might not be too fond of horses especially a stallion like Nimroch, or it might have been something else.

"It is ok, Nimroch is a fine horse. He will bear his riders well…..if he trusts you…” Elen laughed and then patted his head and whispered in his ear. He started a slow trot keeping up with the rest of the horses, but still at the rear of the company. A soft breeze blew now from the south and night had set in. But the light of the moon and the stars lit their path to the mountains.

“How are you Peony? Are you tired?” asked Elen.

“No,” she said wearily, “ I am fine Elenlith.”

“Call me Elen, I prefer it….” she smiled although the young hobbit could not see her and they continued into the night.

[maikafanawen]

“Well it’s about time us hobbits got a ride. Not that we were tired but it did seem a little odd that the three smallest and shortest of legs had to walk when the elves and men got to ride,” said Peony good naturedly. She brushed a strand of curly blond-brown hair out of her eyes and took a deep breath, instantly regretting it. Just because there weren’t any rotting animal carcasses anymore, didn’t mean the stench was particularly gone. “Oh,” she continued, “and I’m not afraid of horses. I sat upon my first large horse in Bree. It was rather fun actually.” Peony shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable behind the she-elf she rode with.

She peered around Elenlith to see where Anson rode. It appeared that he had dozed a bit. His near-drowning incident earlier in the day had given her quite a start. We should have been more firm with him, and not aloud him to get on the raft by himself. Sighing, she tightened her grip as the horse stepped over a rock in the path. Elenlith handled her horse well, and the rest of the night’s ride was surprisingly comfortable for Peony.

[Orual]

The Misty Mountains were growing steadily closer. Anson woke to Andunériel shaking him gently, and flushed to realize that he had been asleep at all. "We'll have to begin crossing at first light," he said dismally. The Elf smiled comfortingly at him.

"We can camp tonight," she said. "Regain your strength. You'll need it for the cross."

She dismounted and helped him down, then called out to the others that they would camp for the night. Several of the travellers looked very weary, and Anson's vision was blurred from exhaustion. He tried to help build the fire, but Marsilion and Tinüsel refused to let him carry anything. In a sour temper, he sat down on his bedroll.

The dark blue sky was dotted with stars, and for a moment Anson was with Violet, counting out the constellations. Her raven hair was spread out on the ground, and her keen eyes picking out the constellations almost faster than Anson could name them.

Anson sighed heavily and buried his face in his blankets. The mountains would take his family off of his mind.

[Durelin]

Raken grinned at her but his eyes stayed the same, seeming to stare at something only he could see. In the dimness of inside the wooden shack they almost looked glazed over with a murky film, as in death. "Getting anxious? Can't wait for the kill? You're as bad as the man you just bested." He snorted, looked down at his feet, and shook his head, "You're as bad as them knuckleheads." He suddenly smiled again and looked up at her. "Missy, you'll just sit and wait till dawn. If you sleep, you sleep. If not, let's hope you don't find a amn that knows how to use a sword." Raken laughed, "That, lucky for you, you'll be hard pressed to find." He turned, now laughing harder as if he had told an excellent joke, and went back to his corner, where he slept on the moldy, craggy wooden floor.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

The sun was still hidden behind even the smallest hills, but its rays of life - giving light were visible along the horizon. But the rays did not penetrate the dark mounds of clouds in the sky above. A storm was coming. A storm of rain and lightening, and a storm of wild men. All on the poor little town just across the River Isen. Raken stood just outside of the wooden shack, the horse - hide door behind hanging behind him.

The storm comes, little ones! With no mercy, with wrath and ruin, and the tearing of flesh! "We come!" he yelled out loud, screaming at the sun and storm clouds. "The wild men of the hills!" Then he threw back his head and howled a long note like a wolf at the moon. He was answered with howls from within the shack. His men were risen, ready for battle. Raken stepped back from the entrance, examining his sword, covered in cracks and scratches, and his newly polished axe, and his dagger, dipped in poison only that morning. He smirked at the crazed men running out of the shack, whooping and growling like a pack of dogs. Then walked out Mara, gracefully, but the grace of a swordsman, not of a lady. She was always poised on the verge of attack. How else did anyone survive?

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

They had been travelling for a few hours and were almost to the southern end Misty Mountains. Raken turned back to examine the motly crew he led. All were shaggy and grimy, covered in probably a month's worth of filth. Most carried axes, usually meant for chopping wood. Some had halves of swords, a few even had whole ones, though in the worst condition. One or two had a bow and some arrows, maybe with some of Raken's poison on the tips, but for the most part, it was axes and clubs, though those were deadly enough in those men's hands. Plus, a few had stuck some bones in the wooden clubs to tear the skin. Raken was happy with his right hand man, Durvik, who had an axe and club, but also his special hook. It was a mixture of bone and metal attached to a short, thick stick. On the tip of the curve was another smaller and sharper hook. it was very effective in tearing skin and hide.

But, Raken was not at all happy with the rest. At times, they were useful, being crazed berserkers who felt little pain in battle until they died. Now, too many were looking at Mara, with a hungry sort of stare. He did not like it at all. They weren't quick enough for that girl, and they've never known any women like her, they'll never know till their dead. That sodbrain Fegnash will never have the guts to tell anyone she can actually hurt one of them. He snorted, chuckling under his breath. Hurt? Kill more like it. She had the knife to his mangy throat! Mara was at the front with him, but, as always, a few good paces away. "Well, girl, I hope your waiting pays off. We'll come to the river soon." He paused, smiling cheerfully at her, "Oh, yeah, hope you can swim. If not, I'm sure Fegnash would be happy to help you across." The look on Mara's face was murderous. She automatically reached for her knife, but calmed herself before she did anything drastic. "I can swim. I'm surprised any of you and your group of hairy sons of dogs can do anything but spit, gamble, growl, and beat something bloody." Raken howled with laughter, gripping his stomach. "Well now, you're right. A good description of this lot, but, you only have to add swimming on to their list of abiltities. That's it, I promise. On, and don't worry about me, used to be a sailor, missy."

"A sailor?" Mara said, laughing in disbelief, "Then that must mean you aren't really a Dunlending."

"Well, I am," Raken told her, "Half. My father took my mother away from here and way to the east and south, all the way to the Harad. Yep, my father was a corsair down there, if you know what that is. And he raised me as one, but then I got sick him. And he had money he wasn't letting me and my mother have, so I killed him. I guess he taught me too well, or I learned too quick for him." Raken laughed, "My mother brought me back here and I lived here the rest of my life." He pulled out a pouch from around his neck, hidden under his shirt. From it, he took out a tiny sheep - skin container for liquid. "I still have some of the blood. Man, he spilled out a lot of it, he did."

"Family matters" Mara said to him, her eyes burning with anger, disgust, and most of all loathing. "I ought to teach you a lesson about that, but you'd set your filthy henchmen on me soon as breathe. I am so glad that you aren't a proper Dunlending. The less I have in common with you, the better."

Raken howled with laughter as she spat at him. "I wonder what you know of family," he said as if to himself, still laughing.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

They crossed the river by the time the sun was high in the sky. The men sweated from the heat, running at a moderate pace. The smells got worse because of the perspiration, but Raken was used to it and Mara had smelt worse. Of course the men was used to it. The storm was almost to the town. Both storms were. It seemed too perfect, they could arrive just as the rain did. But what did that matter? There were Rohan to be killed. Raken had his fire starters, the village would burn and no rain would stop the flames. They reached the village about an hour later, standing on a small rise looking over it. They gather atop it, and a low growl rose among them. At first it was just a hum, then a snarl, then the growling of a dog, and finally, it rose to the howl of a wolf. The villagers were screaming, running out of houses. Most knew what this meant. The Dunlendings howled and laughed, until one called above the rest, "Blood! Ruin! Wrath! Tear the flesh! Revenge!" Then the men charged, screaming all the way, "Revenge!" Their clubs, spikes, axes, swords were raised and they whirled them through the air carelessly. So the storm hit. So the thunder rolled. The rain came down, red with blood. The storm came and lay ruin.

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara fumed. Sent to bed like a little girl? We'll see about that. With the best grace she could muster she sat down, pointedly not loking at Raken to see if he stayed or went. Sleep was a long time coming, but eventually it came, with fitful dreams and nightmares.

Before the sun rose she awoke again, to see Raken stalking through the door. He wouldn't think to leave me behind, now would he? She wondered, getting up and sheathing her long knife. Silently she crept to the door past the still sleeping men (if that could describe the lumbering fools) and saw Raken had paused a little way ahead of her. "We come" he screamed and started to howl. Mara shivered. Surely he was a madman?
A smile spread over her face. A madman was easier to beat, and easier to part with his money...

They walked. The repetitive movements bored Mara but she kept going with the men, ignoring their glances. They all looked as if they could do with a good bath, shave, haircut... She shivered again in disgust as one approached her. He was a small, weasel faced man with some shade of brown hair, though that could have been the dirt. He reached out to her, perhaps trying to see if she was really there. The last woman he saw was probably his mother. And she must have thrown him out for being ugly! she thought. The smile it brought to her face obviously had the wrong effect for he came closer.

"Mara" he said "You and Raken, whats between you?"
She looked forward consideringly.
"I'd say about 30 paces, weasel" she said.
"He in't right for a woman" continued the man "He don't care for no-one but that Eye of his"
"Eye?" she asked, confused.
"I in't sure quite what it is, me dear, but I know it's a 'uge eye. And he's pledged 'is life to it"
"To an eye?" Mara asked in disbelief. Laughter burbled up in her throat. Encouraged, the man stepped towards her and put an arm on her shoulder. Not bothering to say anything she unsheathed her knife and ran it slowly over his fingers. Then she walked faster, catching up to Raken. His friends seemed to avoid their leader, none walking within ten paces of him.

Raken turned after a while, addressing her. It was all she could do not to laugh. An Eye? she thought again. Certainly a madman.
"Well, girl, I hope your waiting pays off. We'll come to the river soon. Oh, yeah, hope you can swim. If not, I'm sure Fegnash would be happy to help you across."
Fegnash? she wondered idly I wonder which one that was?
Automatically she touched her knife, more to remind him that she could deal with his men herself than anything else.

"I can swim. I'm surprised any of you and your group of hairy sons of dogs can do anything but spit, gamble, growl, and beat something bloody" she answered as calmly as she could.
Mara watched in amazement as Raken began to laugh. It seemed most unlikely coming from him.

"Well now, you're right. A good description of this lot, but, you only have to add swimming on to their list of abiltities. That's it, I promise. On, and don't worry about me, used to be a sailor, missy."
"A sailor?" she asked. Liar!"Then that must mean you aren't really a Dunlending."
"Well, I am, Half. My father took my mother away from here and way to the east and south, all the way to the Harad. Yep, my father was a corsair down there, if you know what that is. And he raised me as one, but then I got sick him. And he had money he wasn't letting me and my mother have, so I killed him. I guess he taught me too well, or I learned to quick for him. My mother brought me back here and I lived here the rest of my life."
Mara yawned, she had stopped listening half way through. Only the mention of killing his father caught her attention. She felt sick when he waved the blood at her.

"Family matters" she said, eyes flashing at him. "I ought to teach you a lesson about that, but you'd set your filthy henchmen on me soon as breathe. I am so glad that you aren't a proper Dunlending. The less I have in common with you, the better."
Deliberately she stopped and spat at his feet, then sped ahead to cross the river.

The lands of the Horsemen are there! she thought excitedly. Every battle against them made her feel good, those theives and vultures, growing fat off land that should have been Dunland. It will be ours again she thought and a smile slid across her face that had nothing to do with amusement.

[ April 21, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Orual]

"The Misty Mountains," Andunériel announced, pulling her horse to a halt. Anson stared up at the mountain range in shock. He had never seen anything so big. He couldn't imagine crossing them, but they would have to.

They rode up to the base of the mountain. "I'll go up ahead," Anson said. "I can scout out ways, and anywhere I can't fit, the horses surely--"

"No!" The exclamation was chorused throughout the entire company, and Anson smiled sheepishly. "Not after your prank with the raft," Marsilion added, giving the hobbit a look that ended any discussion.

"We'll take our fortune together, or our misfortune," Andunériel said firmly. "Get back up, Anson. You don't know how to climb mountains."

Grumbling, Anson complied. This would not be an easy trip, and starting it with an argument would not do.

"Would there be any way for us to be over in two or three days?" Anson asked.

Andunériel paused for a moment, then nodded. "If we ride hard, we can be over in two days. We'll have to watch for rockslides, but we can do it in two days."

Anson nodded. "We should do that. We need to get to Fangorn as quickly as possible."

"Two days, people," Andunériel called over her shoulder. Anson saw the company nodding grimly. "Hard riding and little sleep will have to be our plan, but we have no time to waste."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as Anduneriel and Anson discussed the trip over the pass. Exchanging quick glances with Elen and Gondolin, he nudged Firien forward behind the leaders. How far the horses could go in the mountains was something Marsilion was unwilling to guess. Firien, his horse, was valuable, and precious to him. Tightening his mouth, he thought of his family, more precious by far, and ultimately decided not to argue about the horse.

Their climb into the mountains went quickly the first day, and by the time they were ready to camp they were high above the plains of Eriador. With the hobbits still riding, they reached a camping place together and stopped.

Gondolin built a fire, while the rest went about the small chores of making camp. Marsilion stood quietly, and put his fingers to the place in his shoulder where the wolf had bitten. The stiffness had nearly gone when they reached Glanduin, but during his swim in the river it had opened up again. It was hot to the touch and throbbing. Marsilion bit his lip.

Elen had been watching him from a short distance away. She came up to him, looking worriedly into his face. "Marsilion, is your arm hurting again?" she asked quietly.

Marsilion turned his face toward the horse.
"No. It's fine." he answered. He felt Elen's fingers on his other arm, and he pulled it away. There was no time to be injured or sick on this trip. He'd been hurt in the wild before, with no healer elf to fix it, it would mend itself.

"Marsilion, tell Anduneriel." Elen told him. The ranger didn't reply. "Tell her." she repeated one more time, before going about her business. Marsilion moved his hand to gently rub his aching shoulder. Maybe he'd tell Anduneriel. Maybe not.

[Arien]

"...Tell her!"

She walked away shaking her head. How could you be so stubborn? wondered Elen. Knowing that she would have not even told anyone even if she had a broken wrist.

She went an sat down by the fire where everyone was eathing their own little bits of food. Elen really wasn't that hungry so she decided to leave her food until they really needed it. She looked into the flickering flames, the smell was not so bad up here, it was fresher. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and lent her head against her knees.

She fell asleep like this, and for a while sat in peaceful dream until the morning when
Anduneriel got them all up.

"Come on it will take us one more day to get over, and if we start now we will be at the otherside brfore nightfall." she said.

The company rose, the same people carrying the hobbits and the set of once again.

[Himaran]

Gondolin trudged alongside Marsillison, sensing the pain radiating from his friend. "You really ought to have that arm checked out."

The ranger shrugged. "Its not that bad, I'll just have to put up with it."

But Gondolin knew that every member of the company would need to be in their fitest condition for the road ahead. He could smell trouble. Evil was abroad, somewhere in the plains of Rohan. He flipped out one of his knives and spun it idly on one of his fingers. Whatever the threat was, he would be ready.

They were now in the heart of the misty
mountains, and soon to come to Rohan on the far side. It was dangerous territory, filled with wargs and Dunlendings; along with the occansional orc raiding party from the mountains. The countryside was tough, like the people that lived there.

The elve's thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of a rumble. Surprised, he looked up the side of the mountain, where his keen eyes soon spotted the danger approaching the company.

[Orual]

"...and the horses, Andunériel. We can't expect them to go on forever on this terrain."

"I know that. I know more about horses than you do. We're taking it hard on them, but it won't kill them."

Anson glowered at the Elf. Tensions were running high on the second day of their journey, with the companions weary and achy, dirty and cross. Anson was saddlesore like he had never thought he could be, and he was hot and cold in alternating flashes; he would sweat, and the cold wind would gust, chilling him. He just hoped he didn't get sick.

Despite Andunériel's guess, it would probably be a third day before they were in Fangorn. None of them were happy about that, but Anson was downright foul-tempered because of it. He had spent the whole day arguing with Andunériel about their plans. They should dismount; they had to stay on the horses; they had to ride harder, they could not waste another day; they could not press the horses any more. The whole day spent like this. It was some entertainment for the others, but Anson and Andunériel had not a civil word for each other, and it strained the entire company.

Out of the corner of his eye Anson saw Gondolin turning around in his saddle, staring intently at the craggy rocks behind them. A question was half-formed on his tongue when the Elf cried out, "Rockslide!"

Anson lurched in the seat when Andunériel's horse skidded as she heeled him on. "Ride! Follow me!" she cried. Anson hung on tight as they raced down the narrow mountain path.

The sounds of boulders bouncing off of boulders and gravel crunching under the horses' hooves followed the company on their descent. Anson was knocked on the head by a sharp errant piece of rock, and a piercing pain rocked him. "Hold fast, Anson!" Andunériel called. He heard a few cries behind him as his companions were likewise attacked.

They were finally at the base of the mountain, on the eastern side, and the only remainder of the slide was loose gravel beneath their feet as they dismounted. Andunériel surveyed the group concernedly. "Is anyone badly hurt?"

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Himaran]

Gondolin had been virtually untouched during the rockslide, except for one boulder that had missed him narrowly. Most of the others appeared to be unharmed as well.

The group had reached the base of the mountain. In the south, Gondolin could pick out the eaves of Fangorn forest, their ultimate destination. The elf wondered why he had such a foreboding sense, one that told him clearly to stay clear of Rohan.

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion clung for dear life as Firien bolted after Anduneriel's horse. Ferdibrand riding behind Marsilion gave a frightened shriek, whether at the horse's sudden movement or at the fall of rocks clattering down the mountain wall at the company, Marsilion didn't know.

The ranger tried to guide the horse close to the mountain wall in hopes that the larger rocks would bounce outward toward the cliff. Fortunately, they did. Firien jumped as a sharp shard of rock cut her flank, and Ferri clung like a leech to Marsilion's waist, terrified by the lurching of the horse.

As the company cleared the last of the slide, as though making a parting shot, a fist sized rock struck Marsilion in the left arm. Gasping with pain he clapped his right hand over the wound in his shoulder. He bit his lip, touching the place gingerly with his fingertips. It was bleeding again.

"Is anyone badly hurt?" Anduneriel called from the front of the group, a worried look on her face. Swallowing his pride Marsilion met her eyes.

"Not serious, Anduneriel, but a bandage and some herbs perhaps... I think it's infected." He lifted his hand from the shoulder of his tunic and showed the small amount of blood that had come through. The elven woman dismounted lightly and waited for Marsilion to do the same before coming to him and touching the shoulder lightly with her fingertips.

After a closer inspection she applied some herbs to it and bound it tightly. "You should have come to me before." she said sternly. "We need everyone at their full strength for this journey."

"Yeah! With both your arms!" Ferri chimed in cheekily. Marsilion nodded sheepishly, feeling like a reprimanded child, but couldn't help casting a grin back at Ferri where he still sat on Firien's back.

[Arien]

Elen felt a searing pain in her left arm, it hung limply by her side. It had been hit by several rocks in the slide and she suspected it was dislocated. She felt her elbow and there was a gap where the bone should have been. It was dislocated. It was very heavy and it could not be lifted, it just hung. She released her hand from around her former elbow and took Nimroch’s reins. Elen couldn’t believe it, she would be useless now, what was the point of continuing . But when the she- elf asked if anyone was hurt she kept silent. She could ride with one arm and she would just have to wait until they made camp and then she would tell Andunériel otherwise she would be holding the company up. For now she would bare the pain and act as she always did.

The continued down the mountain path, which was getting more gentle.

“Elen are you hurt?” said a small voice.

She jumped, Elen had forgotten that Peony was sitting behind her. She had been so quiet, “ what makes you think that?” she said in a feeble attempt to drag her injured arm on to her lap.

Peony watched it swing back down and Elen cursed, “ that!” she said pointing at Elen’s arm.

“Yes well..”

“You should tell Andunériel, otherwise she will get cross.”

“I know but I will tell her when we make camp, I don’t want to be trouble!”

“You know there is no point being stubborn or trying to be a hero!”

“I know, I know…”

[Himaran]

Gondolin walked over to Marsillion, a hint of a smile covering his usually placid features. "Finally having that arm attended to, good ranger."

The man nodded sheepishly, then winced as the bandage was tightened. "I'll live, its a deep cut; but not that deep. It should be fine in a few days."

When Anunderial was finished wrapping it, the ranger stood, testing it. "A fine bandage indeed. My compliments, good elf."

Gondolin motioned him aside from the company. They walked away, onto a small path. Gondolin sat down on a small rock, looking out over the plains of Rohan. "Friend, I think that we may have more trouble down there than our company will expect. I have had a strange feeling lately, one of a foreboding evil. We must be careful, and have weapons at hand during the remainder of our journey."

The ranger tested his blade on his hand. "Well, if it comes to fighting, I will be ready for it."

Gondolin stood then, and looked him in the eye. "Aye, and so will I. But remember, we are not going down there to fight a war. Our mission is to find the flowers. It is also our duty, friend, to protect the hobbits. They can fight, but they are farmers; not warriors."

Marsillion nodded. "Yes, but I hope that it will never come to that; a true battle against orcs or dunlendings."

As they returned to camp, Gondolin murmered to himself; "So do I, friend. So do I."

[maikafanawen]

Peony held on as Elen’s horse sidestepped the rockslide, keeping her eyes shut and hoping that it would end at any second. Finally the rubble subsided and the dust cleared. Anunderial’s voice called out from the front asking if anyone was injured. No one answered back right away, but Marsilion confessed of having a bit of a wound on his shoulder. Peony signed and loosened her grip, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Honestly, like we don’t have enough to worry about, Eru had to send a damned rockslide!

“All right here.” She leaned forward, “Elen, are you hurt?”

“What makes you think that?” Elen winced as she moved her arm. Peony rolled her eyes and pointed to where her elbow was.

“That!”

“Yes well…”

“You should tell Andunériel, otherwise she will get cross.” Peony said, adjusting her dress and scooting back a bit on the horse.

“I know but I will tell her when we make camp, I don’t want to be trouble.” Peony raised her eyebrows and looked at Elen through narrowed eyes.

“You know there is no point being stubborn or trying to be a hero! That’s the trouble with the bigger races—”

“I know, I know…” said Elen, cutting off Peony. If they would only stop for a second and look upon their situations realistically then there wouldn’t be so many problems. They’re always so bloody noble and brave. Peony sighed and waited patiently while Elen dismounted. Peony swung her leg around and jumped before Elen could protest. She hit the ground with a nice thump, and landed on her bottom. The hobbit looked up at the woman and gave a big smile.

“Ouch?” Elen laughed and went to see Andunériel about her arm. Peony stood and brushed off her skirt. Then she looked back up to where her bag still hung from the horse’s saddle. “Oh foo.” Sighing, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and went to be of some use.

[Orual]

"Fangorn is just ahead," Anson announced, still grimacing from the foul-tasting concoction that Andunériel had forced upon him for the knock on his head. His first glimpse of the forest, however, put all of that out of his mind.

It loomed ahead, dreary and dark and ominous. He had not liked the look of the Old Forest, but this was a hundred times worse. A thousand. But he thought of Violet and Della and Rudy and the rest of them, and suddenly it didn't seem so impossible anymore.

Step by step, the forest got closer. He did not feel the creeping sensation on his arms that he got when he went by the Old Forest, but the air seemed almost musty. He almost laughed aloud; the people of the Shire called their forest the Old Forest, but it was like a newborn babe compared to Fangorn. Anson could feel it. This was older than living memory. He wondered what could live in this forest, what could stand this feeling of being so insignificant; men and hobbits and even elves lived and died, and this forest still stood, unwavering, uncaring, unchanging. Like a rock in Time's river, it was still while everything around it moved. Anson shivered, suddenly cold.

"Let's get it over with," he muttered, and Peony shot him a questioning look which he ignored.

They entered Fangorn Forest.

[maikafanawen]

Peony looked dubiously into the pitch black that was Fangorn. Tall tall trees reached the sky, and thick, gnarled branches seemed to reach out like hands, beckoning them into the forest. No wind rustled the leaves, and the air was very dense. Anson shivered involuntarily, and others of the company walked rigidly. All of them were tense, terrified at the idea of walking into the doomsday forest. Peony chuckled, trying to break the moment.

“You guys look like you think one of the trees is going to just start moving about and talking to you or something.” Andunériel shot the hobbit a look that clearly said ‘hush up’. Elen stooped down and whispered into Peony’s ear.

“Have you ever heard of Ents?” Peony wrinkled her brow and shook her head slowly.

“Then maybe you should just be quiet and follow--silently!" Peony rolled her eyes and followed Elen into the forest.

“It’s just a bunch of trees,” she mumbled. Elen looked down at her sternly and raised a finger to her lips.

“Shh!” Then, a creepy crawly feeling tingled the back of Peony’s neck and the sides of her arms. There definitely seemed to be something weird about this forest, and Peony wasn't sure she liked it very much at all.

[ April 25, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Durelin]

The screams surrounded Raken, and the roars of his men. Blood sprayed him, he slashed without thought, only with pleasure. He chose to use his axe, most likely his favorite weapon because of the large gashes it made. He slashed and hacked at the blonde peasants, all the while laughing with uncontrollable mirth. In almost every cut he went for the stomach. He loved slicing it open, found so much joy in the blood and innards flowing out, covering him. He also would go for the head, not decapitation - that was too clean and quick - but causing a gash across the fash, perhaps popping the eyeball or gouging it out. Then a bold peasant came up behind him with a woodcutting axe, a cheap thing, weak, and so was the man holding it. Raken whirled around with his axe, bending his head down at the same time to dodge the peasant's wild swing, then swung with his own axe, slicing through the man's legs. A quick cut along the neck and the man of Rohan fell to the ground, a heap of bloody, mangled flesh.

A glimpse of movement to the right of him, and Raken lashed out with his axe, cutting a deep gash across a woman's chest. In the same movement he drew his knife, driving it through her eye. He was deaf to the screams. Then he noticed a small child she had carried, now dropped on the ground. Drawing out his knife from the woman's head he threw it sharply, right through the chest of the child. Another whirl, this time to his left, brought Raken face to face with a man. He swung his axe. But there was no blonde hair, it was dark hair. He stopped in mid swing, only just scraping his fellow Dunlending in the side. "Sorry Gunif," he said, laughing. "How's the killing going? Any resistance?" Gunif grunted, Raken took it as a 'no'.

"You got flint?" Raken asked, "I know I gave some of you beefheads some." Gunif grunted again, this time a 'yes'.

"Good, give it here. I'd like to do this myself. Oh, and find Mara. She'll want to burn some too." Gunif grunted, giving Raken the flint and jogging off to find the girl. Raken strode over to the nearest pile of straw, taking his time, walking arrogantly as if he were a prince in his domain, laughing at the little commoners who bowed before him. He was sure that they should be bowing before him. Well, some of them were sprawled before him, if not of their own will. Grinning, Raken bent down before a pile of straw and began striking the flint until he got sparks. The dry hay immediately created a small blaze. It would spread quickly enough on its own, but Raken picked up a handful of burning straw, not caring of the flames licking his skin, and threw it on top of the nearest house. The fire spread.

Raken looked around him, admiring the handiwork. Mangled corpses scattered all over the ground, lying in pools of blood and the sickly mush of entrails. He smiled, licking his lips, and saw another fire starting farther down the dirt street running through the town. Mara, most likely. He put his axe over his shoulder and strolled down the street, cutting down any peasants still trying to flee, and those few who were foolish enough to fight back.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

They reached the Rohirrim village as the storm broke overhead and rain pourerd down. There had to have been some sort of acouts out as they reached the village to find pandemonium, people milling around and screaming. Mara smiled grimly to herself as she began to kill. With the men she found it easiest to aim for the heart. She couldn't reach the neck on most of them, as good living on fertile soil had let them grow tall. It should be our land, OUR soil! she thought furiously, anger making her blade dart quicker.

It was harder for the women. For the most part Mara let the ones who were running, run. She only killed those who stayed to fight, but anger at their stupidity made her hit them the hardest. She ignored the children, the little ones anyway. A couple of teenage boys wanted to play at heroes, she slashed one of them in the leg- if he was found and tended he should survive. The other died. She killed automatically, her only pleasure coming from the thought that they were being punished, and the joy of using her skill. Everyone she had ever killed deserved it, anything else was pointless.

From the way Raken's cronies ran around yelling she could tell they felt differently. Mara had to kill one of them to stop him killing a little blonde girl of not more than five summers. That is no waste any more than the horsemen she thought with disgust as she watched the little girl stumble away, screaming.

One horseman managed to give her a deeper cut than the scratches she'd received from others, he died for his pains but Mara crept off the battlefield to see the damage, cursing softly. After she'd bound the cut, she began to count in her head, she had killed perhaps 20 people. She felt no pity for them- they were horsemen who had deserved death- but it seemed a waste of life, somehow. She darted back into the fray, swinging the sword. Fighting men perhaps two or three at a time made her feel alive, and she began to smile.

"Mara" she heard from behind her. Finishing off her enemy she turned to see one of Raken's louts beckoning her.
"Raken said you'd want to help out burning this place down"
Mara's smile widened. this was the best part for her. Horsemen meant nothing, but if their crops were gone they might have to leave. One day they'll be pushed back to the mountains and this will be ours again! she thought happily. She turned to follow the man back to the houses.

"Hand over the flint then" she said shortly, and he obeyed. Perhaps the other oafs have been talking she wondered with a satisfied glimpse at the man's retreating back. She gave a shiver of pleasure as she made a spark which began to smolder in someone's woodpile, and moved on, lighting a branch which she reached up to a thatched roof, then a barn. She knew that this was what she was supposed to do for the rest of her life.

[Orual]

The forest was even darker from the inside, and if anything, even more unnerving, Anson decided. He jumped every time anything made a sound, though it generally turned out to be a dead twig snapping under the feet of his companions or their horses.

They stopped at a small clearing, and Anson frowned around it while Marsilion ducked to clear a low branch. "We're about as lost as lost can be," the hobbit said fatalistically.

"We're a day into the southwest end of the forest," Luin said promptly. "I know how to get back."

"We can get back, but back isn't where we want to get," Anson replied. "We need to find this bothersome flower, and we don't know where it could possibly be. I could find a patch of kingsfoil if need be, or any other nice, normal weed you could ask for, but not this ainereg business. I wouldn't know it from crabgrass. We'd better split up; double our chances."

"Why not all go on our own and multiply our chances by nine?" Andunériel said dryly. "There's strength in numbers."

"It won't matter anyway, if we can't find the ainereg," Anson insisted. "We have to find it. And we'll find it faster if we split up. Luin, Tinüsel, Gondolin, come with me. Peony, Elenlith, Marsilion, Ferdibrand, go with Andunériel. We'll head north; the rest of you go east. We'll meet back here in three days, whether or not we've found the ainereg. If one team doesn't make it after another day, the returning team will head back for Eriador. If the second team makes it back at all, they're to return themselves." He shrugged his pack further onto his shoulder. "Let's off, then. We have another long journey ahead of us."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion gazed around the forest cautiously. He'd never been in Fangorn before, though he'd travelled past it on a number of occasions. The air in the wood was still, and somehow heavy. Sounds were muffled, and Marsilion felt as if he was shouting every time he spoke.

When Anson suggested splitting up Marsilion nodded. The ranger looked around him, the forest was vast, empty. The group of them could look for weeks and not find that flower.

As they split up Marsilion cast a look at Anduneriel and loosened his sword in his scabbard. She raised a cautionary hand and said in a low voice, "Don't threaten the trees." Marsilion's face was grim. Forests he was used to, but this was uncomfortable. He scanned the ground for flowers with every step, the sooner they were out of this place the better, as far as he was concerned.

Anduneriel took the front, with Peony and Ferri in the middle. Marsilion and Elen took the rear. Their eyes watched all around, and for a while, nobody spoke.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Arien]

Elen held her arm, she had managed to slip the joint back together, with emmense pain. she had almost screamed but she kept it in. She looked around fangorn, once she had been here but she didn't travel as deep into the forest. It was dark despite the fact the sun was shining above. It was all silent but for the creaking and moaning of the trees.

Eventually they came to a small crossroad in the path. They took the left as the right way would be leading them out again. As they continued it got colder and darker. Elen shivered and she could nearly see her breath infront of her. She kept at the rear next to Marsilion. They contiued to walk.

[Carlas]

The trees rustled silently, swaying with the wind that blew over the tops of the trees. The faint sound of running water was all to be heard, until...

Everwood opened his eyes. He had heard a noise that did not seem normal for this part of the forest, and by now he knew it well. He moved his branches about slightly, turning to look about the forest floor. His eyes searched about, as he tried to find where the noise was coming from. Then out of the dense trees he saw tiny figures romping about, their eyes searching the ground. He sat motionless for a second, pondering at the creatures that walked so freely through the forest, surely they must not be very smart.

They crept closer to him, and Everwood got a closer look. They were small, but they seemed to be strong and skilled, or at least most of them. He thought back trying to remember what these odd creatures were:

Learn now the lore of Living Creatures!
First name the four, the free peoples:
Eldest of all, the elf-children;
Dwarf the delver,dark are his houses;
Ent the earthborn, old as mountains;
Man the mortal,master of horses:

He thought it silently in his head and decided that the most part of the group were Men and Elves, but the smaller ones. They would surely not bring children in the forest, one would have to be such a fool! Everwood shook his head and sighed quietly, no good letting them kill themselves.

He pulled his foot out of the ground, weaving his toes out of the cool earth and stepped towards the men and elf kind. Immediatly they all jumped, most taking out their weapons and holding them up infront of the ent. Their mouths opened wide as they looked up at his tall tree-like body. For a mooment they stood dumbstruck, then they came back, holding up their weapons once again.

He looked at them and said in a deep raspy voice "Hrum, Hoom. How odd, Tis' the first time I have seen such a group enter the forest. Root and twig, very odd!"

[Manardariel]

Please Please Please let this be a bad dream. Andunériel pleaded.

But she knew it was real. In front of them, htaller than the trees around, stood an Ent.Or rather- she guessed it was an Ent. It couldn´t be a tree, trees didn´t move or talk. And they didn´t have theese eyes. These keen, dark, deep eyes, though there was but a hint of liveliness somehwere hidden in them. But apart from that it could have been a tree. It looked like a birch, pale white, tall and thin.

An ENT. She had heard much about these creatures, good and bad alike. Some spoke of wise and beautiful creatures, specially created by Yavanna herself. Andunériel belived these tales, or at least tried to do so.But somewhere in her head there were also the childhood tales of murderous, bloodthirsty trees.... no. She shook her head. Don´t think of it. She told herself. Then she acted- fast.

Put your weapons down" she hissed at the others. Bowing her head, she then turned to the Ent.

"Aiya! Lye naa lle nai" she said, hoping it would understand it. To make it clearer what she meant, she raised her hands in a gesture surrender, gesturing th others to do likewise. They followed. He stared down at them for a while.
Andunériel silently shot him messages: Come on, you understand. We are your servants. Don´t eat us...

[Carlas]

Everwood looked down at the strange men bellow. They had all lowered their weapons after one had signaled and now were all quiet. He was confused by these beings, yet they amused him, it had been a long time since he had had anyone to interact with. There was the animals and plants of the forest but that was all.

"Hrum, now who are you? Men and Elf, but such little beings," He said pointing at the two hobbits, " Not children! Hoo, such a thing is not a good idea, and seems rather hasty! But, you are not children of Men, not with ears as pointy as those, and not of Elves, feet such as these would not suite the firstborn. Hoom, such beings I do not know!"

He looked down at them, his round eyes far of in thought. They looked up at him and then to eachother, still not too sure what to say.

[Himaran]

Gondolin had been in many forests, including Ithilin and Mirkwood. Fangorn still took his breath away, both due to his awe and the stuffy nature of the forest. It was so filled with green vines, huge trees and strange plants. The elf attempted to drink all of the beauty in at once, soon finding that he was getting behind the rest of his small group.

He wondered how Marsillion and the others were fairing. Quickening his stride, he caught up with Anson. "Have you any clue to what these strange flowers look like? It is no good to get lost in this forest, while passing straight by the object of our quest."

[Orual]

Anson swatted at the thick undergrowth with the back of his hand irritably. He was hot and cold in turns, and itchy on top of it. He wished now that they hadn't split up, for some reason. He didn't like being the only one who knew where they were going, and he didn't know that well.

"Have you any clue to what these strange flowers look like? It is no good to get lost in this forest, while passing straight by the object of our quest," Gondolin commented, coming up to Anson.

Anson sighed and dug in his pack. "Andunériel gave me this sketch that she drew. Looks like any other yellow field flower to me, but nobody asked me how to design it." He thought he saw the elf grin at his grumbling, but if he had it was gone as quickly as it had come. He produced the picture. "Here it is. Pretty thing, but small. Luckily there's so much green and brown here that yellow'll stand out like a sore thumb. Andunériel said that it tends to grow around trees. The bigger the tree, the more ainereg we're likely to find. That's what she said, at least, though she's never seen it." He frowned and tucked the picture back into his pack. "I guess we have to believe her, though. She knows better than the rest of us."

Gondolin nodded solemnly, though he did not seem comforted by Anson's lack of knowledge. Then again, neither was Anson.

A shiver passed through Anson, and he peered ahead of them. A large, dark shape loomed ahead of them, and the farmer caught his breath.

"What's that?" Luin breathed. Anson shook his head slowly, as did everyone else.

"Just don't move," Anson murmured.

[ April 29, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion stumbled back at the sight of the ent. These things were rumors in his mother's bedtime stories, not things living men met in real forests. His sword, which he'd been holding loose in the scabbard slid back into the sheath as Marsilion let go of it slowly.

The creature stared at the hobbits from large deep eyes. " Not children! Hoo, such a thing is not a good idea, and seems rather hasty! But, you are not children of Men, not with ears as pointy as those, and not of Elves, feet such as these would not suite the firstborn. Hoom, such beings I do not know!" it said, as though none of them were there.

Marsilion glanced at Anduneriel, who looked as baffled as he felt. Silence began to resettle in the forest around them, like a heavy blanket. Marsilion, not wanting to remain in silence, was relieved when Anduneriel called out to it in elvish. He mimicked her gesture and waited. Is it friend or foe? he wondered, futilely, for if it was foe they were outmatched to begin with.

[Arien]

Elen stared up at the Ent, it was massive. She had never seen one before and though she hated to admit it she was scared. Very scared. She grabbed the nearest thing to her and clung onto it tightly digging her nails in. Andunériel contiuned to talk to it in elvish, but the ent stood silently. Listening thought Elen hopefully. As the ent stayed silent, the company exchanged confused and anxious glances at one another. She turned to her side and realised it was Marsilion's arm she had grabbed onto. She withdrew it quickly and gave him an awkard smile.

"Sorry..." she turned round to face the ent who still was silent waiting for a reply.

"Hobbits, they are hobbits...er...ent." she said, not knowing its name she decided to call it ent, which was probably rude but she could not take it back now. Elen now whished she had not said anything, for the ent still silent. She shot a pleading look at Peony wanting her to say something.

"Yes, er..Hobbits. From the Shire." she said boldly. "Some know us as halflings." she stopped as the ent slowly rustled his leaves.

"Hobbits?" it said.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Carlas]

[Greendale]


"What's that?" Luin breathed. Anson shook his head slowly, as did everyone else.
"Just don't move," Anson murmured.

Quiet whispers wafted through the still and cool air. Though they talked as quieted as they could, the forest was hushed about them, and their talking echoed through the forest, waking one not-so-happy ent.

As Greendale opened his eyes, he noticed some small creatures on the floor of the forest, who had now stopped walking and were standing silently watching. He had been sleeping as some might say, and was not too happy to be woken up, but he sat patiently, preferring not to be careless.

After a few moments they started walking again, though more alert. They advanced slowly, getting closer and closer to thesoundless Greendale. He watched unspeaking, deciding what to do about the small group below.


[Everwood]


"Yes, er..Hobbits, from the Shire. Some know us as halflings." One of the smaller folk said straining her neck to look at the ent.

He pondered for a moment before speaking. "Hobbits? I have never heard of a hobbit! Hoom, how strange, never have I once heard of such folk. And from The Shire you say? Hmmm, how odd..."

The group below watched as he lapsed into silence once again. They looked at eachother, not too sure what to do next.

[Manardariel]

Andunériel doubtfully looked at the Ent. Was he trying to tell them something? Would he be mad if she interrupted? She caught Peony´s eye, who looked just as doubtfull. She decided to risk it.

"Excuse me, Lord..."

He loooked down at her. "And you are...?" She bowed. "My name is Andunériel of Rivendell. These are my companions Marsillion, Elenlith (though we mostly call her Elen) and Peony Fields. We come from Eriador, and would not have come to your lands if it would not have been an emergency."

She peered up at him, waiting for a reaction with bated breath.

[Himaran]

Gondolin had expected to see many great and strange things during this quest, but the ent still amazed him. He had learned much about them, as he was enthralled by anything to do with the forests.

As the rest of the group stood motionless, he stepped forward slowly, until he was standing ten feet from the ent. He flipped out his knives and left them sticking in the ground, a signal of his friendliness.

"Hail, ent. We come in peace. My name is Gondolin, and this is our leader, Anson." The elf was not sure if his bold action would have positive results, but he could only hope that the strange creature was friendly.

[Orual]

Anson glanced gratefully at Gondolin. He had been so surprised at the appearance of the Ent that he had not been able to speak. He shrugged his pack onto his shoulder, and took a step forward to beside Gondolin.

He took a deep breath to speak, but it was a struggle. Regrets flashed through his mind--he should have never left Hobbiton, he told himself--but it was too late for that. He bowed deeply. "My good Ent, I am, as my friend Gondolin has said, Anson Hornblower, farmer of the Shire. I have come here to find the ainereg plant, which is the only thing that can save my land from the plague that is ripping it apart. We are unfamiliar to this place, but this is your forest. We beg of you to help us find the plant." Anson abruptly stopped talking, fearing that he had said too much, or had said it too boldly. He waited anxiously for the Ent's reply.

[Carlas]

[Greendale]

"My good Ent, I am, as my friend Gondolin has said, Anson Hornblower, farmer of the Shire. I have come here to find the ainereg plant, which is the only thing that can save my land from the plague that is ripping it apart. We are unfamiliar to this place, but this is your forest. We beg of you to help us find the plant."

Greendale looked at the small creatures on the ground watching him silently. This was more than just a little unusual, even elves had stopped coming here often. To have a group such as this come into the forest was not one of the smartest ideas, but they seemed to be in need. If it hadn't have been urgent they would not be here at all.

"Hrum, I cannot say that coming into Fangorn forest was a good idea. It is dangerous, maybe not so much here, but the plant that you seek is deeper in, and if an ent did not accompany you, you are surely not coming back!

The group looked at one another, feeling a little uncomfortable at this point. Greendale smiled and bent down a little, though he was still as stiff as a board.

"Do not be troubled. Hoom, I can take you to the ainereg if you wish, if you tell me a bit about your country...The Shire did you say?" The folk below nodded slowly, straining their necks to look up at the ent. " The ainereg goes by many names, and ainereg is not commonly known by ents, but I have studied the plants of this forest. You are in luck!

He smiled at them, stretching his branches by his sides. It had been a long time.

[Everwood]

"My name is Andunériel of Rivendell. These are my companions Marsillion, Elenlith (though we mostly call her Elen) and Peony Fields. We come from Eriador, and would not have come to your lands if it would not have been an emergency."

The ent looked at them for a moment, not wanting to be too quick.

" Hrum, what sort of emergency would bring you here?" He asked, more than a little interested.

"Well" answered one of them. "We are looking for plant that will heal our lands of a terrible disease. It is the Ainereg that we seek inorder to save it. That is why we have come."

The ent once again went into a silent lapse of thought. Searching his memory for the plant Ainereg, but he could not remeber anything about it.

" Little friends, I can not remeber any mention of a plant named the Ainereg in this forest. Hoom, are you sure that is its proper name?"

The small group looked at eachother, not sure what to say to this.

[ May 05, 2003: Message edited by: Carlas ]

[Durelin]

Most of the village was burning by now, and all the villagers were dead or had fled. Raken decided it was time for them to move on. They had to make it to the Misty Mountains to ambush the company returning from Fangorn. But, Raken was disappointed; the fun had barely lasted a quarter of an hour. "Dunlendings!" he cried, "Killing now comes to an end! Later it will begin again!" That was the cry Raken and his followers used to signal the end of a raid. It was like a ritual; every time it was the same, beginning and ending.

The dark haired, dark eyed, swarthy men, bloodstained and grimy, came running from all different places, including burning buildings to where Raken stood arrogantly in front of a burning building. Following them came Mara, walking gracefully and proudly across the bloody, body filled ground. The men gathered around Raken; Mara stood off to one side looking uninterested. "We move on. We've gotta reach the Misty Mountains soon if we're gonna get the Ainereg. It's a little less than a sixteen mile trip. And, of course, we have to climb at the end. We need to be high enough to see the little walking party come outa the forest."

Raken paused to look at Mara, the Dunlendings cheering for some reason. "You still up fer the job, missy?"

"More than you ever will be you son of a cow. You and your pig brained louts would never have been so succesful in this raid if I hadn't been here."

"Oh, is that true?" Raken said mockingly, grinning broadly. "But I heard that you were the one saving the little children. You certainly helped...nits breed lice missy! Learn it well!" His grin was gone, fury burned in his eyes.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara shrugged. "Perhaps they do" she said, for once not getting angry. It was a discussion she had had before. "If we do our job and kill all the adults in these villages then the children will have to leave- they can't live alone, can they? We only want our land back. And anyway, it's no fun killing the children, they can't fight back"

Suddenly she frowned around at the men.
"Are you bringing your pets?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "They share your profits, remember.
With a smile that didn't touch her eyes she began to walk off.
"Not coming?" she asked after a while, turning back.
Raken growled and followed, soon catching up.

He opened his mouth to speak and she turned to him, eyes flashing and dagger drawn.
"This time remember that I can kill you. I might die doing it, but I can certainly take you with me. Do not address me 'Missy' again"
Raken began to laugh, the same manical, hysterical laugh as before. It had no trace of humour in it.

Mara began to walk faster. Raken kept up easily but didn't try to speak again for a long time. He kept chuckling under his breath, which irritated Mara.
"What are you laughing at?" she finally asked, fingering the hilt of her dagger. "I heard something amusing, too. I heard that you follow a giant eye!"
She doubled over, laughing disbelievingly.
"What of it?" Raken asked, putting his knife to her throat.
Mara gasped, shocked that it was true.
He truly is mad... she thought.
She tried to disguise her fear with a sneer.
"Lunacy" she said. "Get off me, now"
Mara pulled her knife, placing it in front of Raken's chest.
"Well? Shall we kill each other, or get on? We are almost there, I belive. And you can tell me more about your precious eye..."

[Himaran]

Gondolin knew a little about ents, and one was how they were so meticulously slow in all of their movements and decisions, unless gripped by a great anger. He decided to take a chance.

"Good Ent, I am sure that we all would love to have a long chat, but with every hour the danger our loved ones in Eriador are in grows. Could you please take us to the nearest patch of Ainereg? We can talk as we go."

[Orual]

Anson was dumbstruck. It had never occured to him that the Ent might not call the plant 'ainereg'. He babbled for a moment about the Elvish translation of the word, which Andunériel had taught him, and then a little bit about various nicknames of the plant, none of which the Ent would have ever heard of.

Indeed, Greendale did not seem familiar with any of the names, and Anson was beginning to panic. He tried to describe it, but his descriptions were clumsy and inaccurate.

"My friend, I would like to help you," the Ent said patiently, "but I cannot find your plant until I know what it is."

"I'm trying," Anson cried. There was a thick silence over the group for a while, until finally Luin gave a little shout. Anson whirled around to see what she was doing when she gripped his pack and dug into it. "What in Arda...?" he exclaimed.

Luin gave another shout and produced Andunériel's sketch of the ainereg. "This is it," she said to Greendale. "Are you familiar with this plant?"

[Durelin]

"Well, we are good, aren't we?" Raken grinned at the young woman, ignoring the knife to his chest. The knife to her throat was steady. "Kill each other? Why not? Life's pleasures are so simple, they will hardly be missed. Death can give me more." He was still smiling, a smile full of mirth that didn't fit, nothing reaching his cold eyes that seemed already dead. Mara shuddered, if barely visibly, but Raken caught it, and it made him laugh all the more.

"The Eye, eh? Who told you about that?" Raken snorted, it was stupid to ask such a question. "Of course, one of those louts," he said gesturing behind him to the dirt covered men with wild dark hair. "I have sworn my life to him. Sauron. He is the one who will give Dunlendings power. He will give us back our land. He is the Lord of the Dead, he will lay ruin to all and rise up above it. Those who stand with him will receive all glory. Those who do not, will die a thousand deaths. He is the key to life, and I have sworn my life to him. I now walk freely, with my lord behind me, and his heavanly power! All cry out in fear and anguish as he draws their blood, while I cry out in joy, in triumph! A new day will come, and the shadow will reign! I will obtain everlasting life!"

Raken finished his words in crazed crys, his eyes closed, smiling, as if savoring the words. The time would come, and even in death, he would have power. He was sure of it. His tongue now sounded so cultured, it was unnatural. Did he hide his intelligence, or was he that mad? The man lived for death and power alone. Vengeance he thrived on, murder soothed him, and his own death would not stand in the way. He truly believed that his lord would rise to unimaginable power, destroying all, then ruling all to his own accord. And then, his power would stretch beyond on the earth itself, and Melkor would be freed, and both would rule both the land of the living and the dead. Those worthy would be immortal.

[Carlas]

[Greendale]

After taking some time trying to explain what the ainereg plant looked like, with little success, Anson Hornblower, took a small crumpled picture from a pack of one of the others."Are you familiar with this plant?"

Greendale bent down, and looked at the small picture that Anson was holding up as high as his small arms would let him. Greendale looked at it for a couple of minutes and then smiled broadly.

"Hoom, yes I know this plant! It is not too far from here, I can take you now if you wish!" The group nodded below smiling, glad to know they would be able to find it and get back to their land.

Greendale looked at them and then about the forest floor."This is all of you correct?" The small band looked at eachother and back at Greendale frowning slightly. Greendale took the hint.

"So there are more of you? We should best find them soon. Hrum, I do not want to know what could happen to them!" At this the group went pale, becoming very worried for there friends. Greendale asked them where they had split up and which direction they had been headed in. Anson and the others replied quickly, getting more and more nervous.

"Hmmmm, I think I know where your friends might have ended up, if nothing has happened to them. Come let us go. And try to keep up, ent strides are much longer than any of yours!" He headed of and the small group followed behind, trying to keep up with Greendale's massive steps.

[Everwood]

Everwood tried in vain to remeber any plant such as the ainereg, but there were too many to be sure which one it was. They had narrowded it down quite a bit, but there were far too many plants in Fangorn forest. After quite some time they stopped, not sure what to do next.

"Hoom, I am sorry I could not be of much help, perhaps if I think a little longer it will come to me, go rest for a bit, I shall be here." And he walked over to a small patch of light and stood there motionless.

The rest of the group sat down and talked amongst eachother about how to better explain the ainereg. "If only we had the drawing, we could just show the ent." one said during the discussion. They all looked about at eachother and sighed, this was taking longer than they had planned.

After a long time of complete silence they heard a quiet sound coming from the earth. It was a sort of thumping, as if something was coming towards them. They looked over at Everwood as he opened his eyes and looked through the overgrown landscape. In the distance they saw a large figure coming towards them. They stood up holding their weapons infront of them, posed and ready. But as it came closer they noticed smaller figures as well, and their weapons slowly fell to their sides.

It was Anson and the others, and they had found an ent too! They ran to eachother and smiled nodding and laughing, whilst the two ents met behind them.

"Greendale! You have not gone walking for some time now! A long time now!" The two smiled, happy to see eachother once again.

"Indeed my friend "Greendale said, his eyes filled with joy." I had forgotten!"

[Eressië Ailin]

Anson frantically tried to describe the ainereg plant to Greendale, with very little success. He was murmering about some picture that Andunériel had given him earlier. 'It's a flower,' he said, 'small... yellow, too...'

The Ent waiting patiently, as all Ents do, trying to get a grasp on what ainereg was. 'My friend, I would like to help you, but I cannot find your plant until I know what it is.

Anson was desperate. 'I'm trying!'

Luin tried to remember Andunériel's sketch. 'Did we leave it in Rivendell? Or does she have it?' she thought. 'Wait... Wait!' Luin grabbed Anson's pack, and started to dig through it. Anson's mouth was open to protest, but he stopped himself before any audible words came out. 'Here it is! This is it,' Luin cried, producing the sketch from Anson's pack. 'Are you familiar with this plant?'

Greendale bent down (as much as he could, which wasn't very far) to stare at the drawing. 'Ainereg, you call it?' he finally said. 'Hrum, we know it by a different name. But, hoom, yes, I know this plant! It is not too far from here; I could take you now if you wish!' The whole group sighed in relief, nodding. Greendale started to lead them towards the plant. 'This is all of you, correct?' It was a rather hasty question for an Ent. They all looked down in thought of the others, then solemnly looked up at Greendale.

in progress

[ May 08, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[Orual]

The group's reunion was happy, but cut short by necessity. The ainereg had yet to be found.

"We have your artistry to thank for any chance we have of finding the ainereg," Anson told Andunériel as they walked. At the elf's puzzled frown, he explained Luin's finding of the picture. "It was a fine stroke of luck," he concluded, "but I suppose that most of our journey thus far has been luck." The group agreed wholeheartedly with that. "But this doesn't mean that we can waste any time. It's getting close on to winter, and stores will be running short. Our own stores don't look so good. We need to find the ainereg, and we need to find it soon."

That sobered the group up. Greendale and Everwood spoke softly as they led the way, and Anson's ears, sharp though they were, could not pick up a word of it. It seemed like the reunion of old friends, though, or Anson had never seen one.

"Ainereg, you called it?" Everwood said suddenly. Anson nodded with the rest of the company. Both Ents chuckled, and moved aside.

In the shadows all that Anson could see at first was the trunk of an enormous, ancient oak tree, but Peony's gasp brought his eyes lower. The base of the tree, near the roots, was covered with bright yellow flowers.

Gasping himself, Anson ran over and knelt by the tree. He was not the only one. Several of his companions also began to reverently pick the flowers, untying the bags that they had brought for this purpose and putting the flowers in, with a gentleness that was probably not necessary. Once Anson's bag was full, he went over to Greendale and Everwood.

"Thank you," he began, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, and continued in a stronger voice. "I can't begin to express my gratitude. This whole time I've been afraid that my children--I have a whole pack of them back in Hobbiton--I was afraid that they would go hungry before I could get back to them. I was afraid we wouldn't find the ainereg in time." His voice caught, but he pressed on. "Most of us have families that we've worried about--" Finally he could say no more. "Thank you," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

[Manardariel]

"Anson, you made it! You found it!" Andunériel exclaimed. She stared at the hobbit fondly and disbelieving at the same time. Then she turned to the Ents.

"Lords, Thank you so much for your help. We will always be gratefull and remeber what you have done for us and"- she smiled at Anson- "our families." The Ents nodded and hoomed a bit. Andunériel looked past one of them and saw an already setting sun. "However, we must leave yu and your beautiful realm. Haste is now needed to bring this treasure home. Lords, we thank you again."

The Ents nodded and started to walk away. Andunériel´s eyes followed them for a while, then she turned to the others.
"Out of here, people. We cross the mountains into Dunland and then travel up the Greyflood. We´ll be home in a week at the latest."

While they rode out of Fangorn, still happy, blessed and relieved, Andunériel silently said a prayer to Yavanna, thanking her to have created her noble garden with it´s strange but wonderful keepers.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion almost wept as he saw the two ents point out the ainereg flowers. Going to his knees beside Anson he bent his face down to the yellow plants. They were real. A grin spread quickly across his face as he began to pick them and put them in his pack.

He allowed his thoughts to go back to his family. Argil and his wife would be so relieved. Anorraen, his mother... she'd be able to recover from her sickness.

He shoved a few more flowers into his bag until it was full. Then as he rose to his feet, Anson began to thank the ents in hesitant words. Marsilion felt like his throat was too full to speak so he looked up at Everwood, the ent that had found him first, and just nodded.

As they mounted their horses and prepared to leave Fangorn, Marsilion exchanged a meaningful glance with Elen. Their families were in the same settlement. She smiled at him. A feeling of triumph welled up in Marsilion's breast, he couldn't hide it. His smile stretched his face so wide that he felt like it would break. The road home didn't trouble him at all, they'd found ainereg.

[Orual]

SAVE--for anybody who needs it

[Orual]

SAVE--for anybody who needs it

[Orual]

Anson breathed deeply of the cool, crisp, late-fall air that blew off of the mountains. The cross had been easier than he had hoped, with hardly a rock out of place, much less another avalanche. The horses were well-rested and well-fed, and the company in excellent spirits. Their food store was running a little low, and they had to ration carefully, but it did not affect the general happiness of the companions. They had found the ainereg. Their quest was over.

Anson grinned. "Good thing we left the raft tied to this side of the river," he said. "I don't think I'd be up to building another one."

Comments such as "No argument here!" or "You said it" rang through the group. Good spirits they may have had, but enough rest they had not. They would be glad to get back to Eriador, and they spoke about it much; their plans, where they thought the ainereg would be most useful, who in their family would be healed, everything. But all talk stopped when they reached the Glanduin.

Anson took a few hesitant steps forward, speechless. "It was right here," he said, his voice weak. There was no raft.

The stake was still in the ground, as well as the frayed end of the rope that had tied it to the raft. But there was no raft. There was no raft.

[Bali The Dwarf]

Gondolin bent quickly to inspect the rope, all that was left of their raft. The end was frayed, but the edge was smooth. "Our raft didn't just disappear, Anson. This rope was cut, diliberately."

He looked out over surrounding hills, scanning the horizon. Something wasn't right. He focused on several small dots, barely visible on a hill above them. "I suggest everyone keep their weapons close. We are not alone."

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara crouched, half hidden by a rock and peered towards the band of...of people, but that didn't seem the right word.
"Some are tiny, child sized" she hissed to Raken "and I think-" she paused, uncertainly "I think at least one has pointed ears!"
She could hear the disbelief in her own voice and winced, prepared for a sceptical comment from Raken. However he still seemed in some sort of daze, probably planning his world domination with the Eye. Mara barely stopped a snort, it was madness. For the first time she truly wondered what she had got herself into. Fighting Horsemen was one thing, but Elves? Even the thought shook her, and she shook her head unconsciously. And Raken, he seemed barely aware of the world- wrapped up in his pathetic dreams. He hadn't helped her to cut the rope that held their little raft, just stood behind and watched. In truth she hadn't needed any help to cut the rope, but what if he just stood and watched her fight? Mara hoped that he would snap out of it at the chance for blood.

"When do we strike?" she asked, half turning towards Raken and stroking the hilt of her knife. "Pity we don't have a bow to pick them off at long range." It was the first time she had considered the advantages of bow-and-arrows. Usually it appeared to her that it was a cowards way to fight, and little demonstration of skill- but with Elves any advantage would be good.
"We must hope that the rest are ill inclined to fight us, I suppose" she added, half to herself.
Mara bit her lip, considering. The numbers were not a problem- facing that number of horsemen would have given her no qualms- but again she reached the same problem. Elves. She knew little of them but that they were formidable opponents in battle.

She sighed.
"We should go now. It's no use putting it off. Who knows, it might be enjoyable. A new challenge. Raken?" she queried.

[ May 11, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Arien]

Elen drew her knives and the company seemed to form a circle around Anson and the other hobbits who carried most of the precious flowers. They all discarded their packs and cloaks, for some reason everyone knew there might be a fight to come, but Elen did not know why. She clasped her daggers with anticipation, it was now silent, not a sound but the breathing of her companions. The waited for a while nothing had come.

"But where is the raft?" she whispered to Marsilion as she lowered her knives.

He shrugged his shoulders still looking out into the distance for any sign of an advancing enemy, "I dont know, but keep your guard up Elen," he said pushing her hands back to guard.

"You sound like my father....." she snorted, even though she knew he was only helping her. She smiled, and waited silently.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Durelin]

Challenge... The word brought Raken out of his trance. He vaguely remembered them reaching the river, finding the rafts. Mara had cut the ropes...the people had come. The company with the Ainereg. He snapped to attention, back to his normal self, and drew out his sword. "You're scared, aren't ya?" he whispered. "Those pointy eared cows scare ya? Well, I'll just have to kill one for ya!" Raken chuckled quietly. "Yes," he said even more quietly, more to himself, "it is time." He looked behind him at the rocks and shrubs that hid Dunlendings. They were doing a good job staying unseen; Raken never knew they had that in them. "Get ready to scream your lungs out," he said, turning back to Mara, "Some of the boys are a bit hard of hearing." He grinned, his eyes still, then sttod up and raised up a cry "The storm comes, little ones! With no mercy, with wrath and ruin, and the tearing of flesh! We come!"

Raken threw back his head and howled like a wolf, and the rest of the Dunlendings emerged from their hiding places, including Mara, screaming, "The wild men of the hills!" Then they switched to howling just as Raken and charged at their enemies. Raken decided to draw his axe, too, and with both that and his sword he ran with wild men across the flat, grassy land, soon reaching the head of the mob. The wild men's feet thumped on the ground, rumbling like the hooves of running horses. Their spears and short blades swung wildly around them, their hair wipping around their shoulders. They cried out all different kinds of yells, whoops, and screams, growls and laughter. Raken howled amid his laughter, smiling and licking his lips. Then, still smiling he closed his eyes, with a dreamy look. He was savoring this moment, imprinting it into his memory. Maybe there are certain pleasures in life worth living for… "We will make the river Isen run red!"

[ May 11, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Himaran]

Gondolin watched the band charge them from the hill. Anticipating their move, he aimed his bow, the shaft of which he had already notched, at the Dunlendings. Releasing the arrow, he watched it speed straight into the forehead of an attacker. Other company members were launching shafts with vigor.

As the group closed in on them, he pulled out his knives and dove forward, coming up in the midst of them. His twin weapons flashed in the sunlight, striking several dunlendings hard (and fatal) blows to the neck.

A particularly large a foul-smelling brute appeared before him, axe held high. Gondolin moved to the side, only to have one of his knives knocked out of his hand. Sheathing his weapon, the elf swung out his long sword, catching the axe swing. For a brief moment the two grunted and pushed, as their weapons had become latched together. But then Gondolin momentarily gave in, using one hand to snatch his knife and run the man through.

All around him, the Dunlendings swarmed. The company was holding its own, however. The hobbits were protected in the center, landing blows on an enemy nearby.

Then a man caught his arm, holding onto it while wrenching his sword free. Gondolin swung his knife, held in his other hand, and hacked at the man's face. But another Dunlending grabbed hold of his left arm, forcing the knife free.

Punching the second assailant in the jaw, the elf swung a kick around at the first, laying him flat on his back. The elf then dispatched of the two, and looked around for another enemy to strike.

[Manardariel]

Dunlendings! Andunériel grabbed her sword. This was to much. And they had thought it had been over; thought they would be fine. But they had a last battle to fight. She started fighting wildly, watching the others do likewise. She caught Anson´s eye, who looked frightened and paralized. She looked at him, silently told him not to worry. We´ll survive this. We´ve survived so much. We´ll survive this.

[Orual]

It all came at once. How could he have not heard it? He took pride in his sharp hearing. There had not been a wolf come to the farm during his waking hours that had been missed by his bow, but this attack seemed to have come out of nowhere; if he had not known better, he would have said that they had stepped out of the very air upon them.

Before he had recovered from the intial shock, Gondolin's and Tinüsel's arrows were flying, Elen's kuni knives were whirling, and there were so many swords flashing that he could not tell who was wielding them. Though Peony, Ferdibrand, and himself were protected, he drew his short sword. Andunériel shot him a firm look, one that told him to be strong. He nodded, and gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly. They could do this.

[ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Arien]

Elen was ready, they came rushing down the hill but she had a suspicious feeling there were more to come. She drove her kuni into the first Dunlendings stomach and then another and another. It seemed to go on for ever but she kept fighting. And she was right the second wave came down upon them now. There were more, about five to each of the company including the hobbits! They had started to fight and a valient battle they put up, but it would not help much though Elen was greatful. They kept going.

As she fought she heard a cry from behind her, as she spun round to aid the person who had shouted out she was knocked to the ground. Blood poured over her head and all of a sudden she felt extreamly tired, she wanted to sleep. But there was too much background noise, shouting, clashing. She closed her eyes to try and block the sound out, it worked. She slowly drifted off.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Himaran]

Durelin's Post

Raken ran, laughing joyfully, head held aloft as if he were skipping through a field of daisies on a bright, sunny morning. Raken had chosen his target. Make your way to the elf… The pointy ear looked quite gallant, swinging his double knives gracefully, with great skill. Not enough, Raken was sure. He charged at him with a howl of laughter, screaming, "Here, great warrior! The servant of the Dark Lord will slay all those who do not follow! You elves are most hated! Let the storm smother you in darkness!" He slashed wildly at the elf, who easily dodged aside. Raken's blade hit the ground, but he raised it sharply. He stared at the elf for a moment, finding a strange calm. A smile grew on his face. "Shall we dance?" he asked, chuckling. With a whoop of laughter he charged, the elf throwing up a block. The two danced with death, the swords and knives flashing, slicing. They swung and ducked gracefully, going through the formations like masters. They were constantly switching off, one attacking, one in defense, blocking and avoiding blows. All this they did with overwhelming elegance, each attacking in a form, not charging and slashing blindly. Raken decided to play with his prey a bit, and he began dancing away from most of the blows, laughing all the while. "You will make a pretty prize, little sharp ear! I am enjoying this like nothing before I have ever experienced!" Ducking beneath a blow, he howled like a wolf, swing up with his sword to meet the elf's knives, switching back into the offensive. It went on for years, or so it felt to the two warriors, each receiving his share of knicks, scrapes and bruises. No significant wounds had been made.

Then, with a bear-like roar, a blood covered Dunlending came crashing toward them. Before Raken could tell the pig of a human to leave this to him, the pig grabbed hold of the elf around the neck. Raken shrugged, the elf was helpless, but had he ever fought fairly? He slashed with his sword at the elf's side, the sweet blood splashing onto him, then ran the pointy-ear through with his dagger, the elf jolting. Twisting his dagger around, the blood squirted out around the hole, pouring onto Raken's hands, staining the grass. Finally he drew it out, and the elf, having taken care of the pig, staggered. Raken laughed at him and drew finger up to his mouth to suck the blood off. He did so with each finger, slowly, always staring at the elf with his dead eyes. "It has such a nice, sweet taste," he said as if he were speaking of the weather. Rage burned in the elf, Raken loved it. Strengthed gathered up in the elf, fed by anger and hatred, and he got up from the ground. Raken still smiled as the man lunged at him. "I will have more power in death than I ever did in life!" he cried, "I will be giving more pleasure! Eternal pleasure, my master!" The last thing Raken remembered was a jolt in his arm as his assailant knocked his sword away, breaking his arm. Sweet pain, sweet death.

Slice. Darkness.

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

Himaran's post

Gondolin then spotted a "chieftain-like" Dunlending. He was heading toward the fallen Elen, axe held high. Sheathing his sword, the elf dove for the falling weapon, catching it and wrenching it from the enemy's grasp.

Roaring, the Dunlending pulled out his sword, hacking at the ground where Gondolin had just rolled away from. Leaping to his feet, the elf swung out his sword. He soon found the warrior to a challenging foe, danceing out of the way of the elf's weapon.

But then another Dunlending, who's friend Gondolin had slain, grabbed him around the neck. The elf was forced to grab his knife to run the man through, but that gave the chieftain enough time to give him a slash in the side and run a dagger somewhere into his rib-cage.

Gasping for air, Gondolin swung his blade wildly, knocking the Dunlending backwards. Finally, in a final effort of strength, he shoved his enemy's sword to the side long enough to cleave through his neck. The Dunlening's head fell to the ground, ending the vicious carrer of the hands which it had controlled.

The elf stumbled back into the circle of warriors. The fight was over, with the fighters being victorious. Elen was being attended to, and the others looked fine.

Marsillion was the first to see him. "Gondolin, your wounded! Come over here, we have some..."

His voice trailed away when he saw the dagger. The elf nodded grimly, and sat down against a rock with difficulty. "Aye, friend, those Dunlendings got the better of me. I'll be gone within the hour."

The company stood shocked, but Marsillion would not listen. "Come now, friend, you'll make it through this. I'll get some of Annundaril's herbs and -"

"No need for that. If you could, just face me toward the north. Toward Eriador. Towards home."

When his request was completed, the elf slowly turned his head to look at the company, speaking softly. "I'm glad we found the flowers. Now Eriador will be saved. Good luck on your journey ho-"

And so the elf died.

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

[Manardariel]

"Andunériel... Gondolin, he..." Anson hung his head, tears steaming down his cheeks. The elf, who had been kneeling next to Elen, stood up. "No," she wispered, shaking all over.

She walked to the rock were he was lying. Marsilion was weeping openly, so were Luin and Peony. Andunériel felt her own eyes fill with tears. The surroundings turned into blurs as she knelt down next to their brave, heroic companion.
******

It was night. Andunériel was alone, sitting on a rock a bit outside the camp they had built. Elen, still a bit weak was sitting by the fire. Peony had only just told her what had happened. About Gondolin. His death.

She started to cry again. Silently, tears ran down her face. She buried her eyes in her robes and wept. Suddenly, someone shook her. "Andunériel." It was Peony.

"I thought you shouldn´t be alone. We all shouldn´t. Can I squeeze in?"

The elf nodded. "Sure." She budged away a bit, and Peony sat down on the rock with her. For a moment they both were silent.

Then Andunériel noticed something. "Look at the fire." she told the hobbit. Peony looked up at her in suprise.

"It reminds me of him." she explained. "It shines far, and brings hope to those that sit by it. And even when we put it out, the memory of the light and the warmth won´t fade, if WE remember it. The fire, the light will shine on in our hearts. If we don´t forget." Peony nodded. "If we don´t forget..." she repeated, trembling. "And we won´t."

Andunériel took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. She felt stronger. Unflinching she walked over to the fire and adressed the company.

"We will leave at dawn tomorrow, after burrying Gondolin. I hope you understand how important it is that we don´t linger. Especially because of Gondolin. He died to save his home. We must move on. If we don´t, we may fail. And that would be the worst treachery we could think of. You understand that, don´t you? Now try to have some sleep. We leave in the morning."

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Marsilion hadn’t let his guard down. It was a good thing, otherwise he’d never have caught the woman in time. She was short and dark, and came flying out of the main group of Dunlendings with amazing agility. Marsilion barely managed to block her blade as she came toward the hobbits. Quick maneuvering with his feet put him between her and the main group, a tiny smile on his face as he concentrated on the fight.

“You think you can beat me easy?” she laughed, catching sight of his smile. “You never fought Mara before.” Her laughter surprised him, as did her quickness. She was right, he’d never fought a woman with such skill with the sword. He drove her back from the group a short way, his main advantage in his size, he determined to use it while he could. Her sword was fast, faster than his. Lighter too, probablyhe thought grimly, as he barely blocked her next attack.

The day was growing hot and the battle in the rest of the camp was fierce. Marsilion lost sight of the others as first his face and then his palms began to grow slick with sweat. Mara’s last stroke had caught him in the shoulder as he tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes, and his arm ached with every clash of swords. He bit his lip, fighting back rage at the Dunlendings in general and this woman in particular. She paused in her relentless attacks and Marsilion flew at her, his sword tracing circles in the air between them. She blocked it at every point. Except the last. His sword blade slid off hers and bit into her leg, just above the knee. Mara’s eyes widened, and she cursed in some language he didn’t know.

Marsilion moved in again, thinking finally, he’d beaten her, but she raised her sword just as his fell. Marsilion cursed inwardly as his felt his sweaty hands slip and his sword fall to the ground. Mara’s grin was wicked as she stood over him with her blade raised. Pulling Glorenwen’s dagger from his belt just as the stroke that would have killed him came, he deflected it with the smaller blade. Mara’s sword sank into his left arm, but it gave him time to regain his sword with his right.

**********
Mara gasped as she swung her sword, her limbs were starting to feel wobbly and every move was an effort. This man was nothing like one of Raken's monsters, or a Rohirrim peasant. He could fight as well or better than anyone she had ever fought before. It was very frustrating. Mara simply was not used to fighting someone her equal! It was strangely exhilerating, despite the exhaustion. For the first time she began to feel a sense of regret that this man would die. It was inevitable, unless she were to die- and that was an even worse thought. Unless...

***********
For a moment they stood there, eyeing each other. Mara with her weight all on one leg and blood flowing freely from the other, and Marsilion with his left arm hanging limp. “Get out of here.” She said, finally. Marsilion held his sword up in front of him, cautiously. “Go.” She said louder. “I don’t kill people I like. Unless your honour would not let you?”

Marsilion’s eyes widened as he understood her offer. “You couldn’t kill me anyway. Look at your leg. But I don’t kill women.” He added in roughly the same tone, but with a twinkle in his eye.

***********
“Ha!” Mara responded, “You mean you can’t kill women.” How much do I trust him? she wondered slowly,If I put up my weapon I would be defenceless Finally she shrugged her shoulders and stuck her sword in its sheath. She nodded with her head toward the rest of the group, “Get out of here.” She said again. “Someone will have to bury your friends.”

***********
With that she turned and headed back toward the Dunlending group, moving faster than Marsilion would have expected. He shrugged his shoulders too, wondering what had made him let her go, wondering who’d have died first if he hadn’t.

He stumbled back into the group, to an audible gasp from Anduneriel. Elen shot him a look and asked “The Dunlending woman?”

“She got away.” he answered.

***********
Slowly, pain stabbing at her leg, Mara went to look for Raken.
We didn't get the Ainereg flower. I was defeated! she thought, with a groan. Still, it was an interesting fight. I shall just have to raid the next village instead of leaving it all for pigs like them
Mara spat on the ground as she approached the stinking, but reduced number of Dunlendings.
"Where's Raken?" she asked the first hairy man, receiving only a grunt in reply. Something tickled at the base of her spine. Where is he? she thought, fear that was wholly unexpected creeping down her back. He may be a madman but... Her thoughts tailed off as she gazed around.

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

They waited for about an hour for Raken, Mara leant against a tree feeling the blood pound in her head. She had bound her own wounds, not letting any of the brutes come near to her. They had left her alone, after she drew her knife on the first to try to exchange small talk. They huddles together now, talking almost quietly. They looked lost, leaderless. After a while she went back to the battlefield. The scene of my defeat! The thought curled her lip. That is why I am upset she told herself.

Mara walked slowly around the bodies of Dunlendings. There were a good number of them. Finally she saw what she was looking for. Raken, blood all around him on the ground. With a sigh she leant over and closed his eyelids. His eyes are scary! she said to herself with a shrug. For a few moments she sat on her heels, the oafs remaining at a respectful distance. More respectful of my sword that their leaders body! she thought. Animals. I've always worked better alone.

Without looking at them she got up, carrying Raken's knife.

"Let us hope he has found what he wanted in death" she said, putting it through her belt with an attempt at a smile. "Bury him"
Without turning back she began to walk off, in the direction of Dunland.

[ May 14, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion collapsed with exhaustion beside Gondolin's freshly dug grave. His eyes stung with the tears he was holding back, but he wasn't going to cry. The time for tears was over, he'd cried yesterday. He bit his lip, gazed at the grave.

The cuts from Mara's sword were hastily bound. Anduneriel had been too distracted for more, and Marsilion didn't care. He absentmindedly played with the ends of the fabric bindings with one hand as he thought about the trip back. It would be a long road through Eriador without Gondolin.

His mind was numb and he felt like his thoughts weren't making much sense. He took out Glorenwen's dagger and turned it in his hands, looking at the notch in the blade from where he had blocked Mara's sword. Sorry it had to be spoiled, he thought, the carved blade had been beautiful.

He took a final look at the grave, as the other companions were beginning to disperse. "May the stars shine on the end of your road, friend." he said hoarsely, dragging his sleeve across his eyes. Then Marsilion stood and faced North. It was time to go home.

[Orual]

Anson stood sadly by Gondolin's grave, his arm around a weeping Peony's shoulders. His own eyes were not dry, and his heart ached. For all of his talk at the Pony about not coming back alive, he had not truly expected to lose a companion. And surely not Gondolin, brave and strong as the elf had been. He drew a deep, shaky breath, and unconsciously tightened his grip on Peony's shoulders.

"Hiruvalyë hîdh ab 'wanath," Andunériel murmured. Anson looked toward her, and saw a single tear shining on her cheek. He did not know what her words meant, but he knew that he shared her pain.

"Brave in life and in death, find peace, Gondolin," Anson said hoarsely, kneeling by the grave and resting his right hand on it. His tears fell on the freshly turned earth, and he stepped back slowly. The others added their farwells, ending with Marsilion, who spoke as they began to leave.

"May the stars shine on the end of your road, friend," he said, and they left.

The quiet lands of the Shire finally lay before him, the rest of the world behind him. He could hardly believe that it was really there; the familiar farms, the softly murmuring rivers, the whispering forests. He shrugged his pack onto his shoulder, and smiled in turn at Peony and Ferdibrand. They were home.

They had taken leave of Luin and Andunériel at Rivendell, then of Elen and Marsilion, and finally Tinüsel in Bree. The markéd absence of Gondolin's leavetaking hit them all like a punch, but the world turned, and life went on.

Any hurts that had remained despite Andunériel's healing--and they were few enough--were taken care of in Rivendell, but the memories would last forever. There were wounds deeper than sword cuts that would take longer to heal, but they would heal.

After taking his leave of Peony and Ferdibrand, Anson went on the journey back to his farm. The ainereg would be dispersed as needed, now that it was in the right hands. He only hoped that the disease had not done too much damage while they were away.

Smoke rose from the chimney as he approached his home, and a slow smile spread on his face. Little Celandine, his fourth child, was out in the yard with Rudy. When she saw him, she gave a shriek and, scooping Rudy up, ran to meet him. The house came alive, and his whole family rushed out--all of them. He was not too late.

Smothered in hugs and kisses, Anson felt his thoughts drifting back to his company. As he embraced Della, he thought,

Thank you, Gondolin...Everwood, Greendale, Andunériel...all of you. My family is safe.

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