Truth in a Dark Place RPG

[piosenniel]

Arvedui III's post

The red sun rose gloriously above the fair country that was Bree. Bill's Hill, on the outskirts of town blended perfectly into the scenery, its tall green trees casting long shadows against the dawn. On the sloping top a figure lay, huddled over, sleeping. It was a man, who had either been camping out under the stars, or was there by some dare, for he was a young man. The shadowy figure stirred and rose, and looked at sun as though blinded by it. He sat, simply staring at the sun as though he'd never seen it before. Sure is big he thought. Wonder why it's so big? Then he looked about on, what was to him, an alien landscape.

Where is here? he thought. He wasn't alarmed to be somewhere he didn't know, just merely puzzled at why his was where he was. Sure is big, this place. he thought unconcernedly. He rubbed his head. It ached.

He sat, and looked at his hands. In the light they seemed red. He panicked suddenly, sanding up and turning in circles. Hands aren't supposed to be red. he thought. He was frightened. He rubbed them frantically, trying to get the red off, but to no avail. Why are my hands red? Hands aren't supposed to be red. He struggled to find an answer, but none came.

"Why are they red?!" He was yelling it now, yelling to the land about him, but no answer came. He head really hurt. Then he paused in his pacing, Why am I here? He thought frantically, trying to make sense of what was going on. Where is here? Where am I ?

He cried to the morning. The cry fell on deaf ears.

Then, the most disturbing question of all came to his mind:
"Who am I?"

He didn't know.

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

"You all right, boy?" A voice brought the man back to himself. He turned, and an old farmer was looking him over. He was lying in a stream, his lip and palms were bleeding and he had a terrible pain in his head. A dream, this has to be a dream he thought.

"You all right, boy?" the old man persisted. This is no dream, he thought as reality hit him. He really didn't know anything about himself. "Can yeh talk?" The old man asked him. He nodded dumbly, still trying to comprehend. "Well, you get yerself cleaned up boy, yeh hear." The man nodded.

"You a rangar, or something?" "Rangar?" The man's voice was thin and croaky. "I don't know, you just look like one. You got the weapons n' gear n' all." The man examined himself. He was very wet and sticky, but found a sword and bow and arrows on him. "Rangar" he repeated the word the old man had used.

"Yeh, rangar. Don't mean to be nosey or anything, young master. You just look like one. Say, what's your name?" The old man said, giving the figure in front of him a queer look. "Rangar." The man got up. He'd figure this out. Until he did, it was best to have some identity. Even if it was given by an old farmer.
Rangar. He'd figure out what the word meant. Maybe if I do , he thought, I might get an answer . “Rangar.” He liked the name.
----------
"Hey, Bane!" A drunken man stumbled over to figure in a black cloak. "Shut up." The figure answered. "Haw, come on Ranger," "Rangar" The figure corrected. "For the thousandth time, the man probably mispronounced Ranger. Say it, Raaiinggeer" "Ranger. Happy?" "Why are you so mad?" "Why are you so drunk?" "Why don't you ever touch a beer?" "Why don't you two just shut up?" said a man sitting near them. "No, I wanna know. What have you got against everyone? What? Why don't you ever touch ale, why don't you ever do something for fun? All you do is go wandering about, that's it. Then you come back here, get all depressed, and leave again."

"What would you have me do? Or have you forgotten why I go about like I do?" Rangar said angrily. "At least come listen to old man Haran." the drunken man said in a considerably softer voice. He's had a few, and his son's just back from Gondor. The story should be good this time. It'll cheer even you up"

"The last time Haran told a story, a purple oliphant ran off with Queen Arwen to Dale." said Rangar in a surly tone. "Just come on," the drunken man said. He hasn't had that many, yet."

"Now, I have no reason to lie to you folk, got no reason at all." Haran began tipsily up at the bar. "But word is, and that's all it is, words, that is. Anyway, word is there's summat funny going on in Harad, that's east of Gondor." He said knowingly, trying hard to create an air of mystery. "In Harad, there summat funny. Summat fishy. They say there's a man who can tell the future. An' past, and what happening now, they say."

A murmur went up around Haran. "Yeh, a Seer. They say. Now I got no reason to lie too you folk, no reason at all. They say he lives in an old castle. Ruiny, rundown. Now, he's just sitting there, they say. Just sitting, waiting for someone to find him an' ask him questions. Test him, in a manner of speaking. And that is the king's truth, an' I got no reason to be lying, an' all that."

Rangar had listened to the old man's tale. What if it was true. A Seer. A real Seer. Haran made up childish stories, not rumors. There was a good chance, his mind poured over the possibilities, plus, he had nothing better to do anyway. He stood up. "Man, where are you going? Someone asked at the bar.

"To Harad, anyone coming?"

[piosenniel]

Sophia TTM’s post

Glorenwen's eyes were large and troubled staring at him from the shadows in their sitting room. Calimir sighed, leaning on the doorpost. He looked down at his muddy boots and rolled his aching shoulders. He’d been out in Arnor, tracking the evil creatures that were troubling the land of the new King. They’d soon be gone.

"When are we going to go, Calimir?" his wife asked softly. "Wilwarin is almost an adult. I don't want her marrying here, I don't want our family on separate sides of the great ocean." A tear slid down her cheek. "Why do we delay?"

Calimir crossed the room in three long strides, kneeling down besides his wife and rubbed the tear off her cheek with his thumb. The mud on his hand rubbed off on her cheek in a long gray streak. Glorenwen batted his hand away, but she was laughing gently. "Dirty! You go off to your dirty woods, bring back your dirty hands..." She scolded.

"And now you have a dirty face!" Calimir finished her sentence for her, his eyes twinkling. Glorenwen rubbed at the streak on her cheek unsuccessfully. She laughed again, held his palm to her lips as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Calimir, I don't mean to be critical. But I don't know why we stay. All my family has gone, and yours... Wilwarin is grown, she will remember these lands always... I don't understand."

"We'll go, Glor." Calimir said sighing. "We'll go... but let me travel." There was a great ache in his heart as he spoke, to leave Rivendell, the place of his birth... he didn't want to go. This was the home of his heart. But Glorenwen was right, their time in the land had ended, they belonged with their kin in Valinor. She was right about their daughter as well. He wanted Wilwarin with them when they sailed, he wanted her to be his girl for a little longer. He didn’t want her staying in Middle Earth when they passed over the sea. Yes, they should go soon. But not yet.

“Glor, I need to be in the world a little longer.” he told her gently. She stood, walked over to the window, staring out. “I love this land…” he cried, “I want to walk the woods again before I leave them forever. I want to speak with the children of Men again, and feel the freedom of the wide sky under the stars. And then I will go.” He finished abruptly.

Glorenwen spoke from her place beside the window. “I understand.” she said, in a voice without expression. She spun around, her wide eyes filled with worry. She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. “But come back to me safe, love…” she whispered into his ear.

“I will.” He responded quietly, breathing in the smell of her blond hair. I will. Throwing off the somber moment Calimir clutched his wife tightly and swung her around. “Now who’s dirty?” he asked her, holding her at arms length and surveying her muddy dress. The pair dissolved in laughter.

******************************************
Calimir tightened the straps that held the packs on the back of his horse. Though he’d wanted to travel light, he didn’t know how long he’d be gone, and his horse was therefore loaded with enough to keep him for many months.

As he sprang onto the horses’ back, a light voice called out to him. “Father!” Wilwarin ran down the steps toward him. His daughter was gowned in green and her hair, so like Glorenwen’s, was loose around her shoulders. He raised his hand to her. She ran to the front of his horse, clutched the bridle. Her face was flushed as she bid him farewell.

“You can’t leave without saying goodbye.” She said, looking up at him with a look that always got her whatever she wanted.

“Goodbye,” he said to his only child, wondering what she was going to ask of him before he went. He trailed his hand across her hair. But surprisingly she didn’t ask him for anything. She just smiled, a strangely adult smile, and said;

“May the Valar protect you, Father.” and turned, and walked into the house. Calimir touched his heels to his horse’s sides, and soon was gone from Rivendell, making for Bree.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Maikafanawen’s post

Doralyn’s Autumn Masquerade party was the most renowned celebration in Minas Tirith. With her exotic fruits, rich wines, and impressive supply of roasts, no one who received an invitation refused. The Chambria residence was the location of choice for any festival party. The architecture of the Chambria Estate was completely different from anything else in the city. Everything from their flying buttresses to their front gate was specifically designed to fit Doralyn’s exquisite tastes. Two large dragon statues greeted the guests as they arrived in their fancy carriages wearing every yard of silk in the kingdom.

It was also known that the attendees of Doralyn’s parties, especially the masquerades, dressed to dazzle in multitudes of glitter, silk, and feathers. Tailors, seamstresses and dress shop owners from all over were given a surplus amount of work, and paid in large abundance of gold for the many costumes they produced for the Chambria parties.

Tonight Wren was splendidly attired in a glittering gown of greens and blues. Sapphires and emeralds were sewn on in interweaving patterns across the bodice and skirt of her intricate gown. Multi-colored glitter was attached to the skin of her arms, and throat, and around her already deep blue eyes. Even her dark blonde hair had been curled and elaborately woven with jewels, and ribbons. Dressed as the ocean, she was probably the most exotic woman at the party, second only to her mother. A small group of young nobles were seated around one of the tables, listening intently as she spoke innocently of regular gossip. Judging by her callow appearance, no one would ever guess she could better any of the present men in a contest of arms.

She twirled a lock of curled hair in her slender fingers as she spoke.

“And then, when I thought that she was finished, Yeowyn turned on Domnian and started ranting about the last party and the incident when he spilt his wine on one of her distasteful black velour slippers.” The young nobles grinned in unison, and some snickered at the thought of the over-ripe Lady Yeowyn screaming in her annoyingly high-pitched voice.

“Don’t laugh,” commented Domnian as he leaned forward, a thin smile on his lips, “it was good wine that was wasted.” The group burst into laughter.

“On the point of wine, I think this year’s is a bit sour,” said a voice from behind Wren. Lady Chambria’s friends joined in a collective smirk as Garnet, named after her rich red hair, joined the group. Her costume was of deep reds and oranges: she was the part of a phoenix this year. It contrasted nicely with Wren’s blue get up, and each stood out from the rest of the party. Angry with Garnet’s challenge, Wren counteracted.

“Oh I do apologize,” came Wren’s rejoinder, as she delicately touched the tips of her fingers to her neck, “perhaps, you can bring some of your family’s expensive wine to the next party?” The nobles snickered at the reply. Garnet’s parents were unsuccessful merchants, were being supported by Garnet’s older sister’s husband. Glaring at Wren, she lashed back.

“I just might. Tell me Wren,” she said eyeing her enemy’s ensemble, “when the weather warms, do you morph back to a sickly pink?” The nobles glanced excitedly towards Wren, waiting another comeback. Wren and Garnet were renowned archrivals, and their sadistic warfare was always counted upon to liven things up.

“Slither elsewhere vile snake,” remarked Ryndion as he came defensively to Wren’s side. Garnet ‘harumphed’ before turning on her heel to search for her escort. The nobles sighed disappointedly at the conclusion of the show. Ryndion was in the suit of a silver dragon, his coat was covered in silver plates, and a long cape of glitter covered silk trailed behind him. His long, light blonde hair was pulled back and the corners of his mouth were pulled back, displaying his deep cheek dimples. He was Wren’s number one wooer.

Delighted with the addition of another admirer, Wren gestured to a seat beside her and asked Ryndion to tell of the ‘marvelous scandal’ that occurred at the Green Banshee Inn two nights before. Before the young man was given an opportunity to begin his tale, a nervous silence fell over the usually mirthful group. Wren turned to see her father approaching, a grim look on his face. Not wanting the attention to waver she stood up and greeted him warmly.

“Ah father! Splendid of you to join us! Ryndion was just telling us of his latest adventure! Come won’t you sit—” Mauriace glared at the nobles sitting around her and they dispersed quickly.

“Cowards, all of them,” Wren mused. Her father rolled his eyes and turned her sharply to face his pallid expression.

“You are supposed to be getting ready to leave for Bree!” Sighing reluctantly, the young noble lady passed Mauriace and left the room. She glanced back just in time to see Garnet speaking flirtatiously with Ryndion.

I swear one day that I’ll truly get the best of that over-dressed siren, and put her to shame for good! Sour wine, hmph!

Her father led her to the parlor, just outside the main ballroom.

“Wren, the meeting in Bree is really important.” Wren wrinkled up her nose in mock disgust.

“Bree? Important? That’s an oxymoron for you.”

“Please Wren, be serious! This is serious.” The lady sighed dramatically and toyed with one of her extravagantly long pearl strings. Mauriace gave her a stern look.

“Are you going to travel as the daughter of Ulmo or will you change?” Pouting like a little girl who didn’t get the right doll for her birthday, she turned and walked slowly towards her chambers.

“NOW WREN!” Bellowed her father. Laughing, Wren took the stairs two at a time to her richly furnished bedroom. She put her gloves onto her mahogany desk, and unbuttoned the back of her dress, tossing amidst the embroidered pillows that were heaped on the richly designed carpet. Her room was right out of any fairy tale. Satin and silk were everywhere: the drapes, the curtains around her bed, the blankets on her bed. She enjoyed her wealthy lifestyle. Little did she realize it was all about to change.

***Two weeks later***

Wren was standing outside the Prancing Pony, soaked to the bone and angry: very angry. The meeting she had left the Autumn Festival Masquerade to attend had been cancelled and rescheduled in a month back in Minas Tirith. So here she was, standing outside the Prancing Pony with nowhere to go, except home, but that would take another two weeks on horseback, and it had been just her luck to learn that her horse had become lame due to a snake bite. The worst part was that she was short on money. She owned just enough to either get a room, or buy a new horse. The woman decided that without a room she’d freeze to death, and if things came to the worst she could gamble for a horse. Her breath unfurled in a silver wisp.

Sighing, Wren pushed open the heavy inn door and walked inside. She sauntered over to the main desk to speak with the innkeeper. Letting down her hood she offered her most seraphic smile, doing her best to charm old Butterbur. His gaze was unwavering, greatly disappointing Wren. Doing her best to look as ravishing as she could in her soaked clothes and hair. Failing to seduce him into giving her a lower rate on her rooms she told him that she was a marvelous entertainer and that the inn looked like it could use some livening up. Agreeing, he said that she’d have to pay for her room tonight, and if she did well, he’d give her half off. Consorting reluctantly, she ambled up to her small, and drafty room.

She closed the windows, and got a good fire going in the fireplace. She aired out her bed and hung her clothes up to dry. Donning a loose white shirt that tied low, and a dark green skirt, she took her flute downstairs to pay for her room.

A place was cleared towards the center back of the room, and she was given the floor to entertain the group of swarthy men travelers. Keeping her wits about her she began to play an exotic tune on her flute. Her skirt swayed in rhythmic patterns, as she began to dance. Soon, conversations had wavered and all the eyes were upon Lady Chambria as she entertained at the Prancing Pony. The thought almost made her interrupt her performance with a laugh. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man sitting by himself, his green eyes downcast and blank. Scruffy blond hair framed his handsome features. His aura was mysterious. Re-devoting her concentration to her dance, she finished it up with a magnificent twirl, leaving the viewers spell-bound. Smiling enchantingly, she made her way to the desk where Butterbur gave her a seventy-five percent discount and applauded her performance. Pocketing the money, she made to go back up to her room.

Her eyes, however, had settled back on the mysterious man in the corner.

“Butterbur?” she gestured towards the old innkeeper, still watching the man, “who is that man yonder there by himself?” Old Barliman shrugged.

“Calls himself Rangar. Has been here for a while. Quiet though, and doesn’t cause trouble neither, which I’m thankful for.” Wren nodded and ordered a tankard of ale. Grasping the handle in her slender hand, she paid and made her way across the room to find a seat. Batting away eager hands, and threatening drunken grins, she took a small table close by this Rangar, and buried herself in her drink while listening to the scattered story tellers and conversationalists.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Eruwen’s post

Rave came down from her room in the Prancing Pony somewhat late that afternoon. She glanced around and saw many familiar faces from the night before. She walked up to the counter, hood over top her golden locks, and caught the attention of the bartender.

"Can I just have some water?" she asked him politely, but hurridly. "I'd like to leave later on tonight, and I don't need to be seen as a drunken ranger on the road."

As Rave took the glass from the bartender, she felt a sudden feel of uneasiness. Something was different than the other night. She turned her head slightly to see a man in the corner. His eyes were concentrated on the table in front of him while he held a mug of Ale. A friend of Rave's from the inn came up near the bar and sat down.

"Hello again, Rave," the Breelander said. "You've been a real no-show today, havn't you? Interesting day it's been."

"Yes, so it seems." Rave replied with her eyes constantly glancing back towards the man in the corner. "You see that man over there---the one in the corner, he wasn't here last night was he?"

"Just came in this morning, why?"

"Do you know anything about him?"

"I've not talked directly to him since he arrived." the Breelander said now whispering. "I talked to some other folks earlier though. They say he's called Ranger. He's not moved at all---just stays at that table by himself. Quite strange if you ask me."

"He looks lost. Like he's...confused at something."

"Yes, but you know them Rangers. Always strange folk, they are."

Rave gave her friend a strange look. The Breelander nodded his head at her and left the bar to join others in the inn. Rave sat staring at the man. There was something about him...something...mysterious. She took a drink from her glass and turned her back to the inn letting the thoughts escape from her mind.

[piosenniel]

Earendil Halfelven’s post

Turthôl glanced around the common room of the Prancing Pony from under the hood of his cloak. Drunken laughter filled the room along with smoke from many a pipe. He took a sip from his mug; the ale was excellent. He had only been here one other time, but the memory of the beer remained fresh in his mind. As usual, Turthôl was looked at by the good people of Bree as a forlorn stranger, a loner who did not have a friend in the world. As a Ranger, he was used to it-that was how all Rangers were looked at by those too ignorant to know who they really were. If it hadn't been for the Dúnedain, these "lovely" people would have been run over by orcs long ago, Turthôl thought. Oh well, it doesn't matter. Those are not the thoughts of a Dúnedain. He remembered what Goldrim, an Elf from Imladris, had told him before the Elf left to the Greyhavens.
"Don't be bitter about your destiny. Few can change theirs, but you can always make the best of it." Goldrim had said jokingly.
"That's easy for you to say. You're going to live forever in a place few can imagine...a place few can go except for those of Elven decent. For us mortals, we must die after all we've done for this world. Haven't the Dúnedain earned their chance to live and see the Valar, as our fathers of old, the Númenóreans, had done?" Turthôl replied.
"That, my friend, is a question you should not be asking me." Goldrim said again.
"Well, you can ask the Valar for me when you get to Valinor..." Turthôl began but Goldrim interrupted him.
"Turthôl, you should not have these thoughts. You are a Dúnedain; you have great responsibility for these people. Middle-Earth belongs to you now. The Elves are fading into the West. We shall all be gone and forgotten soon."
_____________________________________________

Well, that conversation happened about 8 years ago, but he had never forgotten that advice. His thoughts and words had made known as a "Rogue Ranger" but that didn't bother him. He knew his duty, and he would do it.

His watched his friend, Rangar, await the arrival of other companions who would be accompanying them on his journey for knowledge and truth. He knew that whoever joined them couldn't be trusted for sure, unless he was a fellow Ranger, but one still had to be cautious.

He remembered back to when Rangar had come to them-not knowing who he was, or even his name. It reminded him of a story from the Ancient Days. Turthôl didn't trust him at first, but his amnesia was genuine. They quickly became friends. Now, Turthôl trusted Rangar with his life. He would do anything possible to help Rangar find out who he was and to know the truth.

He took a sip from his mug, and waited...

[piosenniel]

The X Phial's post

Bregand sat in his room at the Prancing Pony and took several deep breaths. The sun had set, effectively ruining his reading light. Unlike in his room at home, the lamps here in the inn were too dim to decipher the small writing on the ancient map without the aid of the sunlight. He moved his chair closer to the fire in hopes of finding a better position, but the firelight played tricks with the letters, turning words he knew well into a code his eyes refused to decipher. There was no use for it, he would have to join the group downstairs for food. It was far too early for sleep, and without his reading he had no excuse to avoid the gathering.

The young man rerolled the map, carefully tying it with the leather strap and making sure no ink was showing that could fade in the light. The map was of Elvish make and very valuable. Bregand had memorized it long before but nothing gave him greater pleasure than tracing the familiar, graceful lines with his eyes and soaking in the place names in their Tengwar script.

Taking one last, regretful look at his scrolls, Bregand closed the door to his room and headed down the hall to the stairwell. From the head of the stairs he could hear laughter and smell the combined odors of homely food and pipeweed. Suppressing a cough, he steeled himself and headed down to the main room. Closing his expression as he entered the crowded hall, he nodded to one of the little folk carrying dishes and hoped it was understood he would need some dinner. Like magic, a plate appeared before him a few minutes later. There were advantages to this inn after all. Looking about him from his isolated table he noticed quite a few worn travelers and the occasional bright clothing of a woman. Women, especially, made him feel self concious, aware of his untrained physique. He overheard one of the women asking about a man named Rangar who seemed to be as isolated as himself. He took a moment to study the man, glad that Rangar didn't seem to be aware of this scrutiny. Suddenly from directly behind him someone told a particilarly raunchy joke, and Bregand hid his blush behind a stern expression and applied himself to his dinner...wondering how long it would be before he could politely retire once again.

[piosenniel]

Arien’s post

“Mummy can we go home I’m tired,” Crystal said tugging at Carmalita’s sleeve, as they walked down a dark street of Bree. They had been out all day delivering various medicines for the townsfolk and they had just tied their horse up in the stables.

“Yes you can go home, but I need to go to the inn. I will drop you off with grandma and she will make you some hot coco, ok?” she said picking Crystal up. “Your getting fat!” Crystal stuck her tounge out and tried to struggle out of Carmalita’s grip, “Ok, ok sorry missy, look we are nearly home.” She set Crystal down who then bolted to their door and knocked boisterously.

The door creaked open to reveal a small figure. “Calm down little girl!” said the woman in her forties as Crystal ran inside. “What did you do to get her so excited?” she asked laughing.

“Nothing mummy, just called her fat….oh and promised her you‘d make her coco!” she smiled at her mother.

“Your not coming in then?” her mother asked holding the door handle.

“No, I’m going to the Pony. More things need dropping off.”

“You had all day to do that, what were you doing?”

“Nothing!” she said and she ran off down the lane towards the inn. She was still a child even though she had a daughter and this worried her mother sometimes. But then Carmalita would do something to that little girl, they were more like best friends not mother and daughter. She shut the door and went to tend to the youngster inside.

Carmalita slowed her run to a walk as she drew near to the Inn. The lights were on as always and many horses and carts were parked outside. She could smell the pipe weed and ale already as she came to open the door she heard her name being called. She turned round and saw it was Mr Raloa.

“So,” she said plunging her hand into her bag, “I guess you were wanting this?” flashing a small jar of green liquid in front of his face.

“Yes, but is it supposed to look like that?” he asked pointing at it apprehensively.

“Look who is the nurse here? Thank you!” she said putting one hand on her hip.

“Ok ok!” he said taking the bottle from her. “Here,” said thrusting some money into her hand. “Thanks!” he laughed and then walked off

She entered the busy Inn and went straight to Butterbur “Here” she said placing a jar of pills on the counter and taking a seat. “Ale please.”

“Thankyou Carmalita” he said passing an ale over the counter. “And hows you mother? And little Crystal?” he placed the pill in his pocket and nodded his head.

“Oh fine, fine.” She said as she surveyed the inn looking for the other people who need their medicine. When her eyes fell upon a stranger, “And who is that?” she said nodding towards him while sipping her ale.

“Oh well he’s Ranger. He’s been here for a while now but he don’t talk much.”

She did not answer but her eyes lay upon him for a while.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Everdawn’s post

Énien had been traveling for months. It had been a long time since she had laid eyes upon her home - Rivendell. She glanced at the night sky and stopped- it was there again, the star she was born under so many years before, and why after more than 1000 years had it decided to return? "The light is dull here." Énien spoke to the darkness whilst still looking up at the star. "It makes for danger."

Far off in the distance, even through the darkness she saw a small party of men, strange men, wild men. The thought of her having to converse with lesser beings did not take her fancy, so being the elf that she was thought it safe to take precautions, Énien placed herself in the nearest tree.

This gave her time to think - since she had had no time off delivering messages for the Elven Lords throughout Middle-Earth.

"Strange it would seem that I was sent, strange is it also that they did not send a stronger Elf on such a long journey- still... I manage."

She glanced again at the star, which began to trouble her. She fiddled for an arrow from her quiver. "Why do you follow me?! There must be some purpose you are here!" She fitted the arrow to the bow and silenced herself and watched the party pass, unseen she sat except for a strange light in her eyes.

She leapt down from the tree and said aloud to the star as if it were talking in turn to her... "I will make it known to you, that I do intend to find out why you are here, and I will go to any end to see it done!" She laughed. Énien picked up her pace and made haste down the dusty road and into Bree.

She entered the Prancing Pony, reluctantly, needing something to drink. She was uneasy around strangers. The barman approached her. Énien stared at him for a minute and then said "water" he smiled at her and placed a glass of water on the bench in front of her. She turned to see, who people had said to be a Ranger. Immediately something inside of her said, 'He is troubled greatly'.

[piosenniel]

Durelin’s post

Tareth strolled down the milling streets of Bree, axe and knife and quiver at his belt, and his bow strung across his back, he planned on doing a bit of hunting after he was finished. As he went, he nodded and waved to all the folk he knew. He made his way to his usual stop, The Prancing Pony. He liked to pick up news of the world and talk to the travelers. When asked why he was so interested he would always reply with saying how he would like to travel around the land, see the cities and strange people. But, needless to say, he had never taken a step out of his little world, into the worlds of others. Today was no different, and he felt a fool for never leaving, but he also felt that he never would.

Tareth walked into the inn, babbling with voices, steaming with hot food and smoke from patron's pipes. He automatically went to his table in the corner, it was his routine, and it was always open. He sat down and a woman in a dirty white apron came rushing over. Egwene, the cook. Tareth had known her for a long time, she was only five years younger than him. "Well, I didn't expect to find you here," she said sarcastically.

"It's nice to see you Egwene, it has been a while." Tareth paused, stroking his chin as if he were deep in thought, "I think it has been since the day before yesterday."

"Oh, do keep that mouth shut!" she said to him in mock severity. She was doing a bad job of keeping a straight face, Tareth could see the mirth billowing up in side of her. He smiled, and asked the same question he always did, "Any news?"

"Curse you, Tareth! Will you ever learn more words for your vocabulary? It grows old, you asking me that everyday. And I tell you what I can, show you people who can tell you more, and do you budge! No! You can't bring yourself to put that hammer of yours down longer than it takes to come in here and ask me that question!" Egwene was yelling at him, but a grin slipped out once every so often, ruining the effect. "I do have news for you, and maybe it'll get you out of here for a time!" She wasn't trying to be harsh anymore but she still grinned as brightly as ever. "There's a man here, Rang something or other's his name. He says he's going to Harad. Most think he's a drunken fool, but I know from Bode that he's still working on one tankard." Bode was a serving girl at the inn, her real name Bodemira. She was younger than Egwene, but no less hard on anyone who looked at her funny.

Egwene eyed Tareth sharply, "You should talk to him, not too many have been willing to even consider going anywhere, much less even take him seriously at all."

"Thanks Egwene, maybe I'll be out of your hair for a while after all." Tareth found this quite interesting, no one had ever asked people to go anywhere. This was just the kind of spark that was needed to get him moving. "Can you take me to him?"

"He's the man sitting in the middle of that mob over there," the woman said, pointing to a small group of people standing on the other side of the tavern room. "Thankyou ma'am." Tareth gave Egwene a short bow of his head and went to talk to this 'Rang something or other' somebody, leaving her scowling at him. What nerve! she thought as she stalked back to the kitchens.

Tareth worked his way through the crowded room to the small group gathered, it turned out to be only a few people. He was just in time to hear the man's story. He waited for the talk to die down, trying to hide in the the shadows as he watched people join the 'quest'. Well, it's a quest, we're looking for something. Well, someone. I can't believe what it'd be like to lose your memory. When everything became relatively quiet, Tareth went up to the man sitting at the table. He looked tired, almost desperate. And a bit perturbed. "Good day to you, sir," Tareth began, ignoring the drunken snickers coming from behind him. "I heard something about going to the Harad..."

"Yes you did," the man said, "The name's Rangar."

"I-I'm Tareth," He stuttered, cursing his tongue. He calmed himself and made his voice plain and clear. "If you need any help on this journey, I'd be glad to come along."

Rangar nodded, it seemed like a routine. "Okay, then," he said, "I'll just g-get ready." He was full of both excitement and dread as he stepped quickly out of the inn. He leaned against the outside to catch his breath, he felt like he had run a mile. I'm getting too worked up. It's not that big of a deal. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself, but thoughts bubble up in his head. But, it's Harad I'm going to and... Tareth reminded himself he would not be scared. Scared? He wasn't scared he realized. It was plain excitement. You are a fool, a fool not to be scared. But I promised I would never be afraid. And you won't, something told him.

[piosenniel]

Maikafanawen's post

Wren paused, and searched the room with her eyes. A few of the men burst into laughter, calling Rangar’s statement a jest. But the ranger’s eyes didn’t change.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said one of his friends. Rangar faced the man.

“Anyone, coming?” he drawled.

Wren looked around again. This is it, she thought. The way to Harad passes through Gondor, and by ways, Minas Tirith! I could travel with this man, this enigma, and get to Minas Tirith safely! He doesn’t appear to have a horse either, so that won’t be a problem for me. I’m sure others will go as well. This is it! Excited she stood and introduced herself.

“Greetings Rangar. My name is Wren Chambria, noblewoman of Gondor. I am interested in seeing this Seer as well,” she lied. “If you would accept my company I should be of service as,” As a what? she thought, “a guide.” Scattered snickers came at her from around the room. Wren ignored them, and kept a sure face How they’d gape if I had my sword before me. The woman decided though that she would keep her talents a secret until the time came for use. “Yes, a guide. I will show you the way to Harad.” Rangar’s face showed a bit of disbelief, but he cleared it quickly.

“Fine,” he said nodding. “Anyone, uh, else?”

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar felt very, very self-concius at the moment. He was making a joke, no one in their right mind would want to pack up and leave such a homely inn to travel with an unknown stranger to Harad. It was a joke, it really was. Turthol, he knew would come with him, but the ranger had liked him from the day they met, they were friends. Like most thing in the world, these people surprized him. A noblewomen of Gondor, whom he knew very well was too proud to believe a simple bar story from Bree apperently wanted to come, and a young craftsman also. He nodded to the both of them.

If they wanted to come, why not? alterier motives was the thought that kept running through his mind as others looked towards him. But who knows? they could want to come for their own reasons.
Rangar sat back down, his hood conciling a very red face. I've got nothing better to do, he thought. Maybe they don't either. He opened a quite dry mouth, "Anyone else?" he repeated.

[Eruwen]

"I'll go," Rave said quite suddenly to the man's request. The Ranger quickly lifted his head and looked in the direction of the voice. Rave was now leaning against the bar with her elbows propped up on top. She stood and began to walk towards where the man sat.

"I'm Ravenne," she said approaching his table. "You wanted to know who would go with you to Harad, right? Well, I'll come."

The ranger sat looking at Rave as if wondering if he could trust her. After a brief moment of slience, he nodded.

"The name's Ranger." he said in reply. "Glad to have you along."

Rave looked back at her Breelander friend who had been watching the whole ordeal with the ranger. Her friend nodded his head as if in farewell and never again spoke a word to Rave. This would finally be the end of her stay in Bree. She turned back towards Ranger and waited for any comment from him.

A journey at last she thought. This is going to be quite a trip.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Eruwen ]

[The X Phial]

Bregand concentrated on his food while listening to Rangar gathering companions with one ear. He realised quickly that this was the opportunity he had been looking for to gain companions for his journey south. His first reaction was elation. It seemed a great boon to find such a party so quickly after arriving in Bree. Almost immediately afterwards, however, doubt crept in. There was already someone who claimed to be a guide...would there be a place for him, a boy still growing his beard and none too handy with a sword?

Before he could entirely lose his courage, Bregand forced himself to stand and walk to the slowly gathering crowd around the man Rangar. He put on what he thought of as his most scholarly face and gave a small bow to the assembled people.

"Excuse me, good sir, but I couldn't help overhearing your plan to travel to Harad. I, myself, have business in that part of the country. I know I look young, but I am a master of geography and lore. I could be an invaluable asset on the road, or, at least, my map skills could be. I trained in Arnor with Hilgar, who once taught the Lord Faramir."

Bregand managed to glance around him and was glad his face looked so stern, the others seemed to be laughing behind their smiles. Rangar's face, however, was impassive. He said, simply, "Go on, young man."

Bregand cleared his throat and continued.

"As I said before, I am a master scholar at both geography and lore. I know a great deal of the tales and legends of Harad and could likely sort mere rumours from probable leads. I have credentials upstairs if you would like to see them..."

His voice trailed off. He was certain the noble woman from Gondor at least was laughing at him, though she made no sound. He cleared his throat again and looked pointedly at Rangar, ignoring the others. Rangar gave a small, tight smile and quietly said, "Welcome aboard."

Bregand gave another small bow, doing his best to conceal his joy. His first journey back to the land of his birth was starting well. He remembered small flashes of Minas Tirith in his deepest past, but to him Gondor had always been a sort of fairyland spoken of by his parents. He often thought of himself as akin to the children of the exiled elves, always imagining the Blessed Realm. Now he would be journeying to his Aman.

Realising that he was still standing in front of Rangar and that others were trying to speak to the man, Bregand felt himself blush and murmured a quick "Excuse me" before retiring back to his yet unfinished dinner. It wasn't until he got back to his table that he realised he had had his napkin tied around his neck the entire time.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arien]

Carmalita sat at the bar, her soft eyes lingering upon Rangar.

“Anyone else?” he said finally.

Anyone else? She would go in a second if it was not for Crystal. She realised that she had brought her into the world and she had the responsibility of caring for her. She turned back to the bar and stared down into the dark tankard in front of her. She bit her lip in thought. She wanted adventure again, adventure! When she was with her father she experienced the adventure, but then she fell pregnant and she never felt it again. The rush she got. She continued to stare at her ale. Her mind was a battle ground, her conscience told her that it was wrong to leave her daughter to go off with some stranger, and last time she done that look what happened. But her heart was longing for freedom from her simple life from just being the delivery girl and the standby nurse. Once again her asked, her grip tightened around the tankard.

“I will come,” she whispered no- one heard her save Butterbur.

“Carmalita, you cannot leave you child!” he exclaimed staring into eyes, they held a glance for a moment then her guilty face drew away. She got up and walked over to Rangar.

“I will come, you will need an expert nurse on this little escapade, so no doubt you will need me!” she laughed, all her guilt was gone from he exterior but it was still inside. Confidence shone out but lacked inside. “But I need to go home first, that is if we are to leave here soon, to get supplies and say farewell to my dau……my..my family.” her confidence faltered and her eyes flickered to the floor. She decided she would not tell them she was a mother, they might look upon her different then. the flicking her loose hair over her shoulder she finally said “Well can I come? Will you need me?”

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar scrached his head. A boy who had problems with napkins and a nurse. The boy he understood, in fact up until about now he'd felt just as aukward and nervous. His mind flew back to the first time he meat the Dunedain, that had been truly embarissing. The women, on the other hand, had all but said she had a young child. Rangar had always been good at reading people, and this lady was no exception. But she wanted to come, and he didn't know anything about healing.
Turthol sat down next him and muttered, "Take the child, I have my doubts about the women from Gondor." "You have doubts about anyone from Gondor." Rangar countered. "To true. And I don't like the mother." "You figured it out too?" "It's not prudent to live a child behind." "And yet you tell me to take the boy" It was odd. The internal struggles Rangar fought with himself,save the ones about his memory, could just as easily be fought out with Turthol. He was indeed a marvolous friend. "You already took the boy." said Turthol, finishing his thought. "Fine then, they both can come. You're no healer." The hooded man sitting next to him looked as though he was about to say something rude, but Rangar beat him to speach,

"Of course you may come, anyone else?"

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Everdawn]

Énien shot a sideways galnce at the forming party and spoke to Rangar. "Your going to Harad? Yes, there is a seer there..." She paused thinking.

"It is far, and there are many enemies along the road." Énien frowned.
"Many of these I know too well..." she trailed off. "My name is Énien, though I am known in many places as Daetheas. I am of the elven kindred in Rivendell. I have seen almost every corner of this land."

Énien sat up straight. "yes... I will come with you. What i can offer you is keen sight, hearing and essence of mind. I am the sharpest shooter around for miles. And I can keep you and the rest safe."

Énien walked over and stood in front of Rangar. "well?" she said laying her hand on the table. "will you protect yourself by taking me, or will you make your death certain by choosing the fools option of letting me go on my way?"

[piosenniel]

The Evenstar's post:

Aerin had never ventured from her home-country, Rohan, before. She had been exhausted after the long and strenuous journey from Rohan to the small village of Bree.

Aerin’s silver sword, Nauruin, clattered at her side as she walked through the cobbled streets of Bree. It was all very strange to her, since she had never seen another city or town before
.
She fingered the precious sword hanging from a belt at her side. The sides and handle were chipped. When Aerin’s mother had been attacked by Orcs three years ago, Aerin and her father had rushed to her rescue. In the end, Aerin lost her mother and her sword had been chipped by brutal Orkish blades.

She pushed her dark hair from her eyes and spotted a signpost that read: Blacksmith.

Aerin smiled to herself and walked towards the old, ramshackle building from where she could hear clattering and banging. She pushed open the door and it squeaked on its hinges. A fairly old man sat at a blacksmith fire, He was holding what looked like a shield on a pair of tongs and he was wielding it in the flames.

“Pardon me, sir,” said Aerin quietly. The man looked up and smiled.

“What can I do fer yer, Miss?” he asked. Aerin pulled the sword from its sheath and gave it to him.

“Hmmm, a fine sword this here is,” he said. “But ‘tis not of Breeish blacksmiths. Do yer live in Bree, then?”

Aerin shook her head. “Rohan,” she said.

“Rohan, eh?” said the man, adding more fuel to the fire. “Many a tale ‘ave I heard from Rohan, but never ‘ave I been there.” He held up the sword and inspected the damage once more. “I can do this fer yer, but ‘twill be a bit pricey.”

Aerin dug in her pockets. “I have money,” she said, holding out three copper coins. The blacksmith sighed. “I’m afraid it’s a lot more than that, Miss, he said. But then he exclaimed, “You’re one of the company setting out from the Prancin’ Pony!” Aerin nodded.

“My son Tareth is goin’ too. Me wife en I are not too pleased, though. But since you seem like a bold young ‘un, I’m goin’ to let yer off free of charge,” said the blacksmith.

Aerin couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Thank you kindly, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me,” said she.

The blacksmith smiled again. “Oh, I think I do, Miss. I think I do. Come back t’night and it’ll be ready fer yer.”

After bidding him goodbye, Aerin left the blacksmith’s cottage and disappeared into the Prancing Pony for a mug of warm tea .

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

[Arvedui III]

Rangar looked the elf in the eye. Another surprise, he'd never had any dealings with elves in his life, well, at least none he could remember. And now one wanted to join him. She seems so sure of herself, he thought."You're an arrogant one, elf." He said, waiting to see what happened next. And, as he spoke,he could see her eyes fill with contempt. "Do not mistake arrogance for confidence, young man." He noted how the elf lingered upon the word young. In that moment he reliezed his stupidity. That one's probably a 1000 years old! Someone with that kind of age and experience had the right to be arrogant, or confindent, or whatever he decided. Here was one who could help. "Well spoken." he said, "If you wish to come, I certainly won't deny you the chance, but do not think so lightly of men. My name is Rangar." He said, and extended his hand. She nodded curtly, but made no reply and went back to wherever she had been sitting. Rangar sighed. "Anyone else?" he asked again, wondering what new creatures would step forward.

[maikafanawen]

Wren smirked as the elf Einen took her seat. Why in the world did Rangar let her come? ‘Will you protect yourself by taking me, or will you make your death certain by choosing the fools option of letting me go on my way?’ Ha! Elf or no, she’s going to be an interesting companion. Wren got up and walked over to the counter, setting down her tankard for Butterbur to refill.

“Arrogant, that one,” said Wren a bit loudly to the innkeeper, nodding to the elf. Butterbur didn’t look, but instead whispered back.

“I wouldn’t choose one of their kind as an enemy. Distrustful folk they are. Keep your wits about you, and don’t let them see through you.” Wren guffawed.

“I’m sure. ‘Best shooter around for miles’,” Wren shivered. If there are any kinds of people that I can’t abide, it’s ignorant people, she took one more glance at the elf Enien, [/I]And arrogant people[/I]. She paid for her second drink and then retired to her room to pack her things up.

Discarding her skirt and blouse, she donned her traveling clothes of a white swordswoman’s shirt and a kelly green jerkin. Her pants were snug and appropriate for riding horses. But I don’t have a horse anymore, she thought regretfully. She decided to put on a pair of stockings as well to keep her feet warm should it rain. Then she pulled on her boots. Wren stood and took an approving look in the mirror, and rearranged her richly curled blond hair. She was indeed elegant looking even in a foggy mirror of an inn wearing clothes fit for a three-hour trail ride. Breathing deep, she gathered her things.

She had one good leather pack that held her change of clothes and some provisions. Three leather pouches hung from her belt. The first contained money, and the second held a few personal items such as jewelry and miniatures. The third held a whistle, a nocturnal dial, and flint stones. Tying her belt around her waist, she attached her frog that held her simple (but useful) sword. Wren didn’t have much for a long walking journey such as the one she had decided on going. On her way up she had a horse and a guide. Now, she had no horse, and was the guide. She laughed at the irony of the situation and left the room.

The common room was noisy again and most of the people who had decided on going were gathered around Rangar. Wren looked them over. It was a very colorful group: Rangar, A man and woman from Bree, two women from Rohan, a scholar from Arnor, a ranger, and an arrogant elf. Wren rolled her eyes. What have I gotten myself into?

[Durelin]

Tareth had only stuck his head in his father, Huneth's shop to tell him that he had found his way to travel. He had talked of seeing the world countless times with his parents, but they never had taken him seriously. He had expected surprise, but not this.

He was seated at the table in his mother's kitchen, in their house above the shop, on the long wooden bench he had built himself. His mother was more than a bit surprised. She squabbled - as Tareth heard it - on and on about dangers, leaving his father alone with the work in the shop, and she had to bring up marriage.

"Why can't you be satisfied with the good life I and your father have worked so hard to give you? Why can't you just settle down with a nice young girl and take over the shop? That's what you need. A wife. One that's strong enough to settle you down. To housebreak you!" His mother, Tari was her name, finally paused for a moment, catching her breath. She was fuming. Her face was bright red and she had her hands on her hips. This was not mock severity like with Egwene, this was true outrage. But, Tareth had lived with her for too many years in his mind, and he could pick her up, kicking and screaming, and lock her in her cellar so he could escape. He could, but he wouldn't. Instead he stared at the table top, trailing his finger along the age lines in the wood. Taria stared down at him, eyes squinting in anger, lips pursed. It seemed she always had him sit for these types of discussions, probably so she could achieve looking down at him.

"Are you even listening to a word I am saying? Look me in the eye boy!" Tareth obeyed, if reluctantly, and stared at her with a bland expression, which only made her angrier. "You give me one good reason why you should go on this...this..." she stuttered in disgust, trying to find a nasty word for the journey. She failed. "quest. Quest? Who are you to think you can go on a quest? What is even the point? It's a walk in the woods boy, except you have much more of a chance of getting killed!"

Tareth smiled. "Well, mother," he said, emphasizing the word, mocking her. "I can give you two good reasons. One, I am a grown man and can decide on my life by myself." Taria opened her mouth to protest but he quickly silenced her, his words cutting out anything she was going to say like a knife. "If I am old enough to marry, I am old enough to live as a man." He paused, staring at her defiantly. "Second," he began more calmly, "I have always wanted to do this, you know that ma." He hoped calling her by the familiar name from her children would make her a bit happier. "I am going to go. You can't do a thing to stop me. I will come back, and then you can talk about marriage all you want."

It had to work. He had never let her say anything on that subject, running out the door as soon as he heard the word. Now he promised she could talk about it, scheme about it all she wanted. But, just as she couldn't keep him from staying in Bree, she couldn't force him to marry anyone. She wouldn't think of that, though. "I suppose you are a man. And you've grown so-" He cut her off with a sharp, "Ma!"

"I'm sorry, Tareth, I know." Finally she smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I'll be waiting when you get back. Maybe even with your wife." He winced and she grinned wider. "I'll miss you, but...well, I do want you to do what you want."

"Ma, I promise, when I get back, I'll take over the shop, live here, everything." He left out marriage on purpose, he still was sure he could avoid it. Somehow. "Now, I've got to go."

"Oh, but you need to take some food with you!" she cried, rushing to her cupboards, then down to the cellar. He waited patiently and gathered up his things. A pack with rope, a pouch of water, and his hunting knife. His bow was ready to be hung across his back and he wore his old brown cloak. When his mother returned with food wrapped in an old shirt he didn't bother to see what she had given him, but immediately stuck it in the pack. After goodbyes leaving his mother crying, he strolled down the stairs into the familiar heat and smells of a blacksmith's shop.

He found his father forging a shield. "Ah, Tareth. I see yer all ready to go. You take care of that there axe, ya hear!" He smiled, much like his wife, and looked Tareth in the eye. "You take care of yerself." Tareth was surprised, his father didn't question his leaving at all. "But, da...you're okay with me going?"

"Well," he began, his smile growing, "I think if you got past yer old ma, I'd think you'd be having a right to go." He chuckled, putting down the shield for a moment. "I'll see ya when ya get back, and then ya can work the shop yerself." He rose, hugging him goodbye and then patting his shoulder said, "You can't get away from this place as hard as ya try. You'll be back."

"I know," Tareth replied, "I know. I will be back." Still grinning, Huneth went back to his work, he was just about done. "This here is fer ya. I thought ya'd like it. And need it someday. It looks like ya will now, huh." Handing over the shield, Huneth smiled at Tareth staring in amazement. "Th-thanks. I will need it." He grinned and hugged his father again, not caring how old he was. "I will miss you. But I will be back with a hammer in my hand before you can miss me! I promise!"

Tareth felt good. His goodbyes were over and excitement lay ahead. But, he had to remember, there was also danger. Too much, as he would soon find out. He decided it was time to got back to the inn. He'd say goodbye to Egwene and Bode, and have one last tankard. Then he'd see about these people he was traveling with. He had the feeling they wouldn't have a lot in common with him. But, he always had bad feelings. How bad can they be? As in if answer, thoughts bubbled up into his head, A lot. They are probably all from Rohan and Gondor, and warriors at that! You're a blacksmith from a boring little town called Bree, and you're going to the Harad! "Yes I am," he said out loud.

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

[The X Phial]

Bregand hesistated once again over his bag. No matter how often he packed it not everything fit. He had offered the use of his horse as a pack animal to the travellers and been immediately thanked. The horse could only carry so much, however, and that meant weeding out the unimportant things from his bags. So far he had already cut 4 ink stones (leaving him with only 2), all but one of his quills, all of his clothing save his official messenger's tunic and what he could wear, his art supplies (he still didn't know why his mother had insisted he bring them), and 3 of his least valuable maps. The main problem was that his many maps were too important (at least to him) to be left in Bree, despite the assurances of the landlord that all would be kept for him "as is." How could he explain that the scrolls had been entrusted to him?

He resovled himself to simply bringing all of the truly valuable scrolls, it was his horse afterall, and he was entitled to a bit of room for personal belongings. Besides, he would carry the most precious of them in his own pack. He had already added his food stores to those of the group, so all that remained was his essential equipment, and his father's sword. He had never walked for a very long distance carrying a sword and he was a little worried about the weight, but he had seen that the others all carried weapons and he was not going to be a burden if he could help it.

Despite his lingering, Bregand found that he was one of the first back with his gear. He handed off the items he would return for to a dimpled barmaid, nearly as young as himself, maybe even younger. He was startled when she winked at him and felt himself give a half smile in return. Girls never winked at serious Bregand at home, maybe things were different for adventurers.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir swung down off his horse. He was tired. Two weeks out of Rivendell, and he had ridden hard. He should arrive in Bree within a week, and from there... who knew?

Despite his tiredness the Elf was content. He'd ridden fast, yes, but his senses were alert, he saw the birds, smelled the air, drank from streams as he passed. Working quickly he set up a campsite, and taking a small brush from his saddlebags he cleaned the mud off his horse's legs.

When he finished with his work, Calimir settled down beside his small fire. The sun had just gone down and the western sky was still faintly pink above the hills, but Calimir faced east. As he sat he sang softly to himself.

The seasons fall like silver swords
the years rush ever onward
and soon I sail, to leave the world
the lands where I have wandered
O Elbereth, the queen, who dwells
across the western sea
spare me yet a little time
Ere white ships come for me...

Humming still softly under his breath, Calimir settled down beside his fire, sleeping with open eyes, lest danger stir in the night.

[Earendil Halfelven]

He sighed heavily. Rangar's spur of the moment journey was turning into a jumbled mess. Turthôl figured that if Rangar wanted to go to Harad and see this Seer, why not just the two of them go? It would be easier and faster. Now, they were going to be hampered down by this bunch of people who thought that they could handle this. To them, this seemed like a walk-they would go to Harad, see the Seer, than walk back, and that would be it. No, they were going to find out that hard way. They would see that this would be a hard journey, one that they could die by starvation, exposure, or orcs.
There were still many orcs wandering the wilds of Middle-Earth. Oh well, if they want to take this chance, then let them. He decided that he wouldn't be mean to them. On this journey, they would need him and Rangar's experience in the wild to get them through this. Despite Rangar's amnesia, the man was almost as good as a Dúnedain. He had already earned the title "Ranger," at least in Turthôl's eyes.

He saw that a boy, who claimed that he was a master of lore and geography, wanted to go. Then, to add to that, a lady, who Turthôl could tell had a child, wanted to come to, claiming that she was a nurse. For some reason, he had no reason for the boy to not come but the lady, he was't so sure about. He went and sat down next Rangar and muttered, "Take the child, I have my doubts about the women from Gondor."

"You have doubts about anyone from Gondor." Rangar countered.

"Too true. And I don't like the mother."

"You figured it out too?"

"It's not prudent to live a child behind."

"And yet you tell me to take the boy?"

"You already took the boy." said Turthol, finishing his thought.

"Fine then, they both can come. You're no healer." Turthôl was about to say something, like, I'm a Ranger, of course I can heal, but Rangar said first, "Of course you may come, anyone else?"

Turthôl sighed again and said to Rangar, "Oh well, its your journey. At least you have me." There was a little sarcasm in that last bit as Turthôl chuckled to himself. He lifted the mug to his mouth...but it was empty.

"I can't believe you've accepted a noblewoman from Gondor." he said to Rangar.

"Well, whats wrong with that?" Rangar replied.

"You know what how its going to turn out. Its going to be just like that time we helped that rich caravan from Lond Daer find their way to Fornost. Do you remember that? A one week journey turned into three weeks and they expected us to wait on them hand and foot. I was tempted to abandon them in the Barrow-Downs. Lucky for them that you stopped me."

"Yes, I remember. But this is just one woman, and she seems to be alone. I don't think she's going expect us to be her servants. If she can get up to Bree from Gondor, than I think she knows how to take care of herself. Does her having to be from Gondor have anything to do with this conversation?"

Turthôl didn't answer. Instead, he rose to go refill his mug at the counter.

Ranger said,"Not all Gondorians will betray you. Not everything is as it seems."

"Exactly, not everything is as it seems," Turthôl replied. "Just be careful who you accept on this journey, my friend."

Memories of long ago suddenly returned to him. Memories of a company attacked by orcs...of the traitor from Gondor...
He just hoped that it wouldn't happen again.

He returned from having his mug filled. Looking up at whoever else would volunteer, he sat next to Rangar and drank deeply.

[Everdawn]

Énien sat at the bar with a small smile on her fair but wiery face.. "Now we shall see star, im going to the seer." she spoke softly in her elven tongue to herself. She glanced at the Noblewoman from Gondor. "Yes, I will be an interesting companion" she said again to herself in elvish.

She looked at the rest of the party and thought... 'The woman with the child, Yes, that could be a problem. The boy too, may need a little guidance, though, he may know about us, the fair race. Yes perhaps I will show him a thing or two they dont teach in Gondor.

Then there is Turthol. A ranger I suppose. He will not be a problem, he knows what he is doing. I see he also is wary of Gondor'. She dwelled on this thought for some while. Énien now gathered up her belongings, a small bag, a dagger, her bow and arrow quiver.

She walked over to where Rangar was seated. She placed a large bag of gold on the table in front of him. "If you choose to travel on horseback, i have gold enough to buy horses for everyone. If you want to travel on foot, i would suggest a pack horse at least. I doubt some of the others can carry their bags for the whole distance without becoming tired."

[Arvedui III]

Rangar raised an eyebrow at the elf. Once again her arrogance was coming out. She was well off enough to have money for all the company, and hinted at what she thought was their inability to trek. This annoyed him. He didn't have horse, nor had he ever thought of buying one. This would just be a walk, or so he planed. No, he wouldn't let the elf feel as though she owned his respect and gratitude. She would have to earn it. "To each his own." He said, "Keep your gold."

The elf's eyes narrowed, and she began to speak again, "You are unwise," "But that doesn't mean that I'm wrong." He countered. "I need no gold. However," He said, looking in the direction of those others who wanted to come, "You may make the same offer to anyone else." He didn't like this, this planning in full public scrutiny. Most has gone back to drinking, but a few men were still sniggering and jeering. Turthol was now, at least in his opinion, throughly drunk. "Come on." He muttered to his friend, and got up. "Leaving already?" Said Turthol, slowly rising from his chair. Rangar went outside, and headed, well, his feet were taking him to wherever that place was. As he walked, taking in the cool night air, he noted that all those who were to come with him followed.

[ April 28, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Eruwen]

Rave kept her eye on Ranger as he disputed with the Elf and a few others at his table. She had already gathered what few belonging she owned, and had tied up her horse outside the inn. At the sight of his departure, she followed on foot leading her horse for some part of the way. Alongside many others, she followed this man into the wild.

After a while of journeying, she decided to join a few of the travellers on horseback. She looked over to the Elf whom she had seen talking to Ranger before. She had been riding the whole time. Rave brought her horse over to the Elf and rode in peace for a small amount of time. Eventually, she spoke up.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself infront of him." Rave said to the Elf secretly pointing towards Ranger. "Where are you from...Lothlorien? Rivendell?...an Elf of your class would hardly seem to belong to any other land."

[Everdawn]

Énien sat tall in the saddle of the colossal black horse she had equired before leaving Bree. She looked over at Rave who had ridden up beside her.

She answered the woman's question. "If it is that I seem so sure of myself around him, it is because I know this part of the world well. There are many dangerous things here. My own brother was slain by orcs near these very trails-" her voice cut off.

"Rivendell. That is my home. Though it has been many months since I have been home."
Énien gave a slight smile. "I am Énien, what name is it that you go by?"

Énien slowed her horse even more. She thought to herself. "I feel something coming" she looked uneasy, but still managed to keep her thoughts to herself.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar suddenly stopped just outside of Bree, and felt Turthol stagger into him. "What's up" He muttered. "Dunno." Said Rangar, looking intently through the darkness. Then, he shook his head in spite of himself. A great dark hill lay quietly in front of him,the hill.
Sitting down on a stump, Rangar looked on the company. A proud elf and Roherrim maid, the Gondorian noblewomen, the boy scholar, the smith, the nurse-mother, and Turthol all looked back at him. He sat bewildered at what to do for a moment, the thought it best to speak, "Erm, well. I guess we should probably put some planning into this. How are you all fixed for supplies?" The response wasn't good at all. Most had just basic gear, and the smith and nurse had none at all. On top of that, save the noblewomen and the elf, no money either.

He sighed, "Well, why don't you, um Wren, isn't it? Go with Turthol here, and get some supplies that'll last us until we get to the next big city, and maybe a pack mule, if you have the chance."The Gondorian looked doubtfully both at Rangar and the still half drunk man sitting next to him, while Turthol muttered, his voice full of resentment, "You did that on purpose." Rangar grinned, "Be careful who you trust, remember? I'm making you keep an eye on her." And then he shoved the ranger to his feet. "One question," said the Gondorian women, now eyeing Turthol with blatant dislike."How, exactly will we be getting to Harad?" "Um, dunno. I guess we'll just take the roads until we get to Ithilien, and then we'll see from there." He said smiling, "You're the guide, aren't you?" "Well," she said stuttering, "Well yes. But still, won't that mean passing through the Misty Mountains? And, and passing through Anorin, which still isn't safe, and" She looked to find more examples of possibly dangerous roads. "Yes, yes it does." Rangar answered, still smiling.

So the Gondorian isn't as bold as she makes out to be. Nice to know that some people are human. He thought, and without prompting turned to the elf. Then the boy who was also a guide, stepped forward,"Um, well, most of the roads are reliable, and I have several maps that will help." He looked like he wanted to say more, but under the gaze of the other companions the boy stopped. Rangar knew how he felt. "Good." Said Rangar. "We'll wait here for the supplies, and then, I guess we'll start."

[Eruwen]

"I'm Rave," she replied to Énien, the Elf maiden. Rave watched her closely as it seemed something was drawing her attention away. "Are you alright?" she asked the Elf.

Énien nodded, but did not outwardly answer. She kept her eyes on the road trying to secretly scan their surroundings. As they took a short rest while waiting for supplies, Rave looked over the travellers. Énien was tending to her horse while others took care of their own belongings.

Many different people here, she thought. Men and Elves of many different lands and also, it seems, completely different personalities. Strange we would all be in the same inn at the same time agreeing to go on the same journey. How very odd...

Rave looked over at Ranger who was talking to a man, probably a friend, beside him. A few others were over there, but mainly just the guides. And him... she thought looking at Ranger now out of the corner of her eye. He is so mysterious and yet he almost looks as if he is not sure of his own ways. What is the secret behind this man? Could he be hiding something? And his friend...the other man who appears to be...drunk? Why is he so untrusting to those around him?

Rave sat not only wondering about the leaders of this journey but also many others in the group. After all, this was an interesting group of people to begin with. She talked to no one for quite some time, but just sat solemly letting her thoughts drown out the world around her.

[Everdawn]

Énien looked at Rangar. "Passing through elven realms? Perhaps that would be safest. Although I can not be sure."

She glanced out into the darkness once more with a worried galnce on her face. She looked At Bregand. "How reliable? I think we need to be certain."

[maikafanawen]

Turthold staggered forward a bit then stabled. HE didn’t appear too drunk, but he obviously had his share of ale. She dumped the contents of her money pouch into her hand. It was a good amount and she could get what was needed easily, and hopefully for a good price.

“I have a pack-horse remember,” informed Bregand before she started off. Absently counting her change she nodded and continued walking. Enough, she decided, just enough. She put the money back into her its pocket and clasped it shut.

“So,” she said to Turthol, who seemed to be recovering quickly from the beer. “What all do you think we should pick up.” He glanced sideways at her and shrugged, not wanting to start a conversation.

“Stuff we need,” he said curtly.

“Like—”

“Look, I’ll pick it up since I know what it is, and you just pay for it okay? I see you have enough.” She stopped and pulled him around to face her.

“Here now! I’m a part of the company too so you mind how you treat me. I’m not beneath you.” Turthol snickered silently and continued walking, shrugging off the place where she had grabbed him.

“Oh no,” she said following him, “don’t leave me. Tell me exactly what we need and I’ll give my opin—”

“I don’t want your opinion. What do you know about journeys?” Wren opened her mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. She thought for a minute and replied,

“Well then teach me what you know.”

“Ha! You just watch and be quiet. You should learn enough.” Wren scowled and reluctantly followed the ranger to the first shop.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar chuckled silently to himself as he watched his friend and the Gondorian women walking back to Bree. They were already fighting. It had been an accident, paring Turthol with that Gondorian, Wren. He did it unconsciously, but it was a very funny accident, none the less. Bregand, the other guide was talking to the elf about the reliability of the roads. "There are still orcs, but there are also patrols," "Which are unreliable." Countered Rangar. "Then we should travel through the elvish lands." "Fine, but not all lands belong to the elves, we will have to take some roads or go through the wild." "Which would be faster." Bregand finished. " The roads don't really get dodgy until you cross the misty mountains." Said Rangar, "We'll figure out what road to take when we get there."" Um, but isn't better to have a plan" said the Roherrim maiden, Ravenne, stepping forward. "Not really."

Rangar didn't much feel like planing this too throughly, because when the plan is screwed up, the whole endeavor comes to pieces, and he knew that all to well. Suddenly, the whole group turned to the right, as a small shadowy figure rose above hilly landscape, coming toward them. Rangar stared wildly for a moment, then recovering his wits, joined the others in drawing his sword.

[ April 30, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl trudged through Bree with Wren following behind him. He didn't understand this lady. Just because she has a lot of money (probably her parents money too) doesn't mean that she gets special privileges, especially out here in the wild. But he did feel a little guilty of the way he had just treated her. Did she know anything about traveling, at all? Despite his distrust of her, he felt that he should make amends for how he had been. After all, it wasn't like he didn't like her, or anyone at all in the company for that matter. There was just no trust, yet.

The street was crowded, pretty crowded for being late in the evening. He headed for the Dry Goods shop. Dried fruit and dried meats is what they would need. For other things, like fresh meat and veggies, they would need to find that in the forest, which would be no problem for the Dúnedain.

Teach me what you know, she had said. If she knew, she wouldn't want to learn, he thought. He turned and said to Wren, "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. It's not that I don't like you, or anyone else in the company. It's just that I don't trust anyone until they've proven themselves. Past experience has taught me that lesson...a lesson I can't teach you..."

Wren had a look on her face-a mix between curiousity and surprise. Before she could say anything in response, Turthôl turned and said, "Come, the Dry Goods shop is our first stop."

"Well, who do you trust then?" she called after him.

"The Elves and my brethren, the Dúnedain." He didn't feel like saying anything more.
____________________________________________

They left the shop with a sack slung over Turthôl's shoulder. Wren was counting what money she had left.

“I think we need to…” Wren began but Turthôl walked off down the street. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Medical supplies is what we need next. I have enough knowledge to find healing herbs and plants, but we are going to need bandages.” He said as he walked off.
Wren went after him.

“Don’t you even care about my opinion? This is my money after all,” she said.

Turthôl turned. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said with some sarcasm. “What do you think we need to buy next?”

“Um…well, since we’re already on our way to buy some bandages, we might as well go get those.” Wren said with a sigh.

“As you wish, my lady,” Turthôl said.

“Oh, can you stop that? I just want to be treated like an equal.” She said exasperated.

“As you wish…my lady.” Turthôl said laughing. He began to walk off again.

“You know, your nothing like the Rangers of Ithilien. They would never act like this. They are a noble breed of Men.” Wren said.

“Hey, I know some of them. I have a cousin who lives near Osgiliath. Since he’s a Ranger, you might know him. He’s name is…”

“Oh, shut up! Never mind.”

Turthôl laughed quietly to himself. If it was this easy to upset the Gondor woman, than this trip wasn’t going to be so bad. At least, he’d have a few laughs along the way.

A few hours later, they left Bree on their way back to the company.

[The X Phial]

Bregand was enjoying discussing the possible routes with the elf, Enien. As much as he has studied it was rare to get to talk over the lay of the land with an actual elf. He had overheard her speaking of being from Rivendell, a place he desperately wanted to visit before all of the elven folk journeyed to the West.

"Obviously," he continued, "the fastest road to Harad would be to take the Greenway south. It's a very straighforward path until you reach the ford of the Gwanthlo River. From there we can decide whether to stay on the South road through the Gap of Rohan or to cross the Misty Mountains. I would suggest crossing, despite the obvious danger, because there are parties of raiding orcs out of the Blue Mountains even as far east as the south road. In fact, we may even run into them before we reach the ford.

"There is a strange legend about the area around the Nin-in Eilph that..."

He was cut off by the elf, "That's quite enough for now, boy."

Bregand cut his story short, abashed. "So sorry, M'am. Look, I think the ranger and the noblewoman are returning. Did they get another horse?"

"That's not the ranger, child, now hush."

Bregand watched Enien's eyes narrow and wondered what might be coming.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir urged his horse up over the hill. Bree was within striking distance for the day, and soon he'd be taking a hot bath and sleeping in a soft bed. Not that he wanted one so overmuch, he told himself, but it would be nice before he continued onward.

Onward. The word made Calimir hesitate. Where was he going after Bree? He had no clear idea of this, certainly he was not going as far as Bree and then returning to Rivendell, that would be ridiculous. But even as Calimir laughed at the thought he wondered at himself. Why come to Bree in the first place? If the West was where he was putting off going, why not head east? Or south? He thought of Glorenwen with longing, why should he not go back? He'd been out of Rivendell long enough for anyone's farewell tour. He set his mouth, he'd delayed long enough. If he found nothing in Bree he'd return, be responsible.

As his horse crested the long hill Calimir was startled out of his thoughts, his sharp eyesight could pick out the narrowed eyes of a small group of men standing on the side of the hill. A few of them had weapons drawn. Slowing his horse to a halt Calimir dismounted and walked toward them slowly.

As he got closer he recognized a face he knew, or at least, he thought he knew. "Enien?" he asked hesitantly. Still a long way from the group he wondered if she'd been able to hear him. It seemed she had heard him, though, for she pushed her way to the front of the group, squinting at his face in the sharp light.

"Calimir!" she exclaimed, when she recognized him. "Why do you wander so far from Rivendell?" she asked, a smile spreading across her face.

"Enien, well met." he greeted her. The two stood a bit apart from the larger group, and Calimir spoke in a low voice. "I might ask why you travel with these..." he cast a wary eye toward the several drawn swords in the company, "but I will tell you, I travel to Bree tonight. Where do you go, my friend? You are packed for a journey..." his gaze travelled across her sturdy clothes and the packs on the one horse in the group. A long journey, he supposed. The longing grew in his heart once more... a long journey.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Everdawn]

Énien stared into the darkenss. She was certain of it now, something was there. It had not been her imagination. Bregand started to speak to her again, but she stopped him by putting up her hand. Énien narrowed her eyes even more into the darkness trying to get a better look at the figure on the horse and frowned.

"Here, take my horse, get off the path" she said sternly to the Nurse. She drew out her Bow and fitted an arrow to the string. "Ready your sword boy, stay here." And unseen she stalked up the path in the darkness.

The others were now a small distance behind her. The figure was approaching. Slowly she pulled back on the string, and held fast on the side of the track. She stopped. It was an elf! and not any elf, but one of her own kindred, Calimir!

Énien lowered her bow. And the two spoke. "I am travelling with these people, they are going to Harad, old friend. And my birth star has returned." she said pointing ot the sky. "That is why i am going." She spoke to him in elvish.

"who knows what they would get into without an elf. Though there are rangers among them... and a mother, and a boy, and a blacksmith, and a gondor noblewoman." She spoke still in elvish.

Énien turned to the drawn swords. "It is Calimir! put down your swords!" She frowned. And said in common speech to Calimir. "It is good to see you friend."

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

[Arien]

Carmalita sighed as she pulled the she- elf’s horse off the path.

“Ok, ok, calm down….” she said, but she didn’t think the elf had heard her.

There was no need to speak to her so roughly, she could have asked kindly it wouldn't have killed her. She now held tightly on to the horse along with her own. Maybe it was not such a good idea to come. She kept getting suspicious looks from some of the company as if the knew something about her and she did not like it. She adjusted the strap of her bag as she allowed the two horses to graze at the side of the road. Carmalita had packed all she needed to take. Her medicines, her sword was at her side and her daggers beneath her clothes. She had remembered as she left the house what her mother had said to her.

“Why are you taking weapons, you only go to collect supplies!” she had smiled and looked straight into Carnalita’s eyes. She had a strange feeling that her mother knew what was going on.

“I have to be safe, take good care of Crystal for me, won’t you mother?” her eyes no flickered to the ground, her face covered in guilt.

“Yes, yes of course,” she said as Carmalita walked out of the door. They embraced and then Carmalita had made her way down to where the company were to meet.

Now they were on their way and it seemed as though a new member was just about to join their company. The two elves conversed in elvish, and then Énien commanded the rest of them to lower their swords. Who was she to say that? Carmalita stared at the new elf as he talked to Énien, she then looked around the rest of the company. The boy, Bregand was standing a little way behind her, and behind him stood Wren and the drunk man, she had forgotten his name but it didn’t matter. She stared at the rest of the company as they patiently waited for the two to finish.

[Durelin]

Tareth sat in his saddle, staring at the ground as it passed by under his horse's hooves. Why were there so many women on a dangerous journey? He just didn't understand. And the other you man, Bregand kept talking to the elf about things Tareth was sure he would never understand. There were so many names for places and things, and they differed wherever you went. It seemed Bregand knew them all, at least to Tareth. Tareth rarely learned names and found them unimportant, really. Besides, most were much to hard to say.

The company had had a little excitement from the arrival of another elf. An elf! Tareth couldn't get over the shock. He was travelling with elves! He had always found the race interesting, heard the stories, seen them, but never had he talked to them. Now he might have a chance, but he wasn't sure about this Enien. She had just ordered them to put down their weapons, which the had raised in case this shadow on the hill were a foe. She was always talking as if she controlled the world. She was over confident, truly, but Tareth cursed himself for almost wanting her to get in trouble because of it.

Now they talked in elvish, a beautiful language, but annoying to Tareth at this point. He hated not understanding what they were saying, and the two didn't seem to care that there were other people there, including the leader of the company. Well, Enien didn't seem to. Tareth wanted to keep moving, he wanted to have something to keep his mind off home and what lay ahead. Maybe he could talk to someone, maybe Bregand would not mind a lighter conversation than the one he had had with Enien. Well, now wasn't exactly the best time. Tareth wasn't sure if he liked elves as much as before. He felt they were far better in the stories and when looked upon from afar!

[The Evenstar]

Aerin saw the annoyed look on Tareth's face as he rode along the road on his horse.
She nudged her horse alongside Tareth.
"Why the long face?" she asked.
"Too many elves. Too many women," he muttered.
Aerin frowned.
"What's wrong with that?" she asked, rather puzzled. "Women not strong enough?"
"Yes. The journey is much too perilious for a woman, he answered.
Aerin shook here head and said:
"You just might be wrong there, sir. Why, I've seen women do great things in my country. There was Throgian. She was a courageous woman in my village. She..."
Aerin chattered away about tales of bold and fearless women of Rohan and although Tareth was a little bored by them, he listened and it eased his mind a little.
After a while the company stopped at a little clearing and built a fire to rest at. The elves chanted soft songs from Rivendell and the crickets and frogs chirped nearby.

[The X Phial]

Bregand finished unpacking his horse for the night and stood for a moment brushing its flanks. He had been thrilled by the appearance of another elf and shocked by the apparent resolve to join the journey.

From the corner of his eye he saw that the noblewoman was erecting a tent. It was a brightly colored one, more suited for a party than a serious journey. He made a note to mention possibly finding a way to camoflauge the fabric. For tonight they were safe, but the road ahead seemed newly uncertain to his young eyes. He wanted to discuss this with the elves, but they were alternatiovely singing and talking softly to each other.

Bregand made his way over to the fire where the blacksmith, the nurse, and the woman named Rave were mixing up some kind of stew. These were the types of people he always felt inferior around.

He searched his mind for something to say, and finally managed a, "It's a good night for starting a journey. This day used to be a feast day in Arnor before the days of darkness, a time for celebrating friendships."

Bregand felt the eyes of the people on him and blushed a bit. He felt awkward for having spoken about friendship when he was a stranger to the entire company. To his surprise the blacksmith smiled broadly at him and laughed.

"Yes," he chuckled, "I think this is a fine day to celebrate friendships, even if they haven't been formed yet."

Bregand smiled back, flushed at his social success.

"Well," he said, "it looks like we will have a sort of feast at any rate. The stew smells quite good. I think I will see if the lady from Gondor needs a hand with her tent. Maybe I can convince her to rub some ash on it or something."

"Good luck."

Bregand turned to see which of the women had spoken, but he couldn't tell. Unsure whether the mocking tone was meant for him or for Wren, he backed away from the fire and tripped over his own bag.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Eruwen]

Rave stood stirring the stew while the blacksmith and the nurse helped add ingrediants. Suddenly Bregand came up from behind.

"It's a good night for starting a journey." he said. "This day used to be a feast day in Arnor before the days of darkness, a time for celebrating friendships."

Rave laughed under her breath, but admired his will to make friends within the group...whether he was yet trusting Wren or not. He walked away shortly after talking with the blacksmith. Rave looked up to see the nurse still adding things into the stew.

"Carmalita," She said quietly to the nurse. "You had a daughter, right?"

Carmalita nodded hesitantly as if confused at the question. "How did you know I had a daughter?"

Rave sighed. "I know much about everyone in our company..." she answered. "not only you. I do not speak much, but I do notice things. I've been trying to understand the motives of these people behind their words and actions. Their true identity if you will. For instance, Ranger over there. He is one of the hardest to understand. What do you know about him?"

As she continued mixing the stew, she waited for a reply.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl sat away from the rest of the company. He had a small fire going also. They were barely outside of Bree and they were already setting camp for the night. Wren was setting up some kind of tent.
Is she really bringing that with her? he thought. They didn't need it, but if it was hers than she could carry it if she wanted. And, there might be some use for it in the future.

When he and Wren had finally arrived at the company, he had gone directly to Rangar while Wren distributed the food rations and medical supplies they had bought.

The two men had discussed which route they should take. Turthôl wanted to head directly south: Take the Greenway south through the South Downs and cross the Greyflood at Tharbad. In Tharbad, they could replenish what they needed, and then follow the North-South Road into the Gap of Rohan and to Edoras. Then, they would continue following the road along the northern edge of the mountains straight to Minas Tirith. From there, they could cross the Anduin River at Osgiliath and take the Harad road into South Ithilien and finally into Harad. The journey wasn't without its dangers, for those who were seeking adventure. There were many bands of orcs still roaming the mountains of northern Gondor. They were rogue groups without a leader. They would have to cross wearily. The Harad road followed the mountains that bordered Mordor, and what foul creatures that had vacated those mountains recently, Turthôl didn't want to imagine.

Rangar had mentioned that others in the group wanted to head towards Rivendell, as a safety measure. That would be nice, he thought, but it would take entirely too long. Imladris was out of their way. Whatever way was decided, Turthôl decided that he would follow Rangar no matter where.
He was also pleased that another Elf had joined their company. Maybe this one had brains in him. Hopefully, he wasn't arrogant like that Enien was. Oh well, Enien had her reasons for being arrogant, just as Turthôl had his for being distrustful of the others.

He didn't know where Rangar was now, at the moment. He probably went to meet their newest member.

Turthôl stared into the fire as he fingered his fife. This fife had brought great comfort to him when he had been alone in the forest. He felt like playing it, but the talk of the others distracted him. He looked at it. It was a fife of fine craftsmenship. It had engravings on it, those of the Dúnedain. It was a deep mahogony color, mixed in with a twinge of green, like the trees. Suddenly, he thought of the woods of Lothlorien. He had been there once, 10 years ago. It was probably abandoned now.

As everyone settled in for the nights rest, Turthôl continued staring into the fire, with fleeting memories of the past going through his mind.

[Everdawn]

Énien had sat herself under a tree, a short way from the others. She began to sing a song softly in elvish. She ended the song and stared up at the sky. Strange it was, the way the moonlight shon upon her fair face. She took out some lembas from her pack and took a bite.

Leaving Calimir for a minute, Énien placed the remaining part back in her pack. She stood up and patted her horse. "You are a noble creature, arent you?" she smiled at the huge black animal. "I will have to name you, it seems we will be spending a lot of time together, but what?" She thought for a while.

Énien saw Turthol looking at the tent Wren was erecting. She walked up beside him and stood. "There will come a time where the land will be too unstable to put one of those up." she said looking at Wren. Énien then turned her gaze to Turthol. "Why do I get the feeling you have gazed apon Imladris before?" she asked.

[Earendil Halfelven]

"Why do I get the feeling you have gazed apon Imladris before?" Enien asked him.

He was still gazing into the fire as he replied. "I grew up there as a child. Since there are few of my kin left in the world, the Elven folk raised me in the Dúnedain ways. If your from there, we might have known each other once. It has been about 8 years since I last saw Imladris. I do not care to see it again."

That was all he felt like saying. He didn't want to devulge himself to a stranger, even if it was an Elf.


[ May 02, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ May 05, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Durelin]

Tareth's mood had lightened tremendously. He had felt foolish after saying there were "too many women", especially too a woman, but Aerin kind atitude, if a bit offended, helped his spirits and embarrassment. Tareth had found a new hope in his heart, a hope that he wouldn't feel as withdrawn from the rest, withdrawn from the world, as it seemed.

Friendships to be forged. He like that. He knew enough about forging to feel comfortable thinking of it in that way. Bregand seemed to too, but, Tareth wasn't sure. He was still surprised by how much Bregand knew. He had said he was a scholar, but...he was young. He had a much better memory than Tareth would ever have, that was for sure.

He decided he might as well settle down for the night, and he unrolled his blanket roll and tossed it on the ground on the edge of the company's camp. He lay down, staring at the sky. He had always loved the night. The stars were so beautiful and wolves prowled. He heard the long note of a wolf's howl from far off and smiled. Everyone was convinced that wolves were minions of Sauron, dark creatures, used by him to kill. But, Tareth had always argued, if only in his mind, that horses were also used by Sauron during his times of power. Everyone used horses, why not wolves? But, they were not the type of animal to be used, they were so free.

That fact had disrupted Tareth's defense at one point, but he had worked that out after hearing about wargs. Wargs were supposedly smarter; they could have lead wolves to kill men or elves. Wolves hunted, all the wargs had to do was show them the humans, tell them they were good to hunt. He was sure of it. Wolves couldn't be bad, they weren't created by the Dark Lord! But, everyone had always seen the night as haven to evil doings. But- Tareth cut off his thoughts. He had thought through this too many times, it was best to leave it alone.

For a while Tareth lay on the ground trying to sleep, but sleep never came. His mind was filled with thoughts, questions, and worry of tomorrow's events. At one point his mind strayed to the chance of him dying. He murmured out loud, "Death comes for us all," and switched his line of thought back to the wolves. He pictured a pack of wolves, running in the night. The wisp of cloud passed across the moon, making the light misty, falling to the ground in an eerie off-white. He thought of home, of his father's forge. He could feel the hammer in his hand as he went through the steps of forging a blade in his mind, passing the time. A wolf howled in the distance and he smiled.

[ May 04, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Everdawn]

"Yes, I think we did, but you were small..." She replied.

Énien had left Turthol and returned to where CAlimir was sitting. He turned to her and sopke softly. "There is no orc behind every tree waiting to attack you Énien." he said. "You can afford to let down your guard." Énien looked away. He was right though.

"I know you are right, Calimir, but when i found-" she stopped. "My brother, Énden... I... there was blood everywhere Climir, everywhere you looked there was blood." A single tear rolled down her cheek, still she stood, head bowed almost as if she was ashamed.

"Men do not understand us as we do understand ourselves, you must forgive them for that." Énien picked up her head.
"Yes, i have been rather harsh Calimir, though only out of good will I assure you." She galced at the sleeping company. "I am glad to have another from Rivendell so near. Tell me stories of home, what of Glorenwen and Wilwarin?... nay tell me not, tell me tomorrow when we are on the road. You must sleep, it has been a long day for all. I will keep watch."

Énien clambered up to a high branch of a tree, armed with her bow. She sat and watched the night away. The ever menacing star still way overhead filling the hillside with a strange silver light. The night air cool and calm with only the occasional howls of wolves to disturb the party's rest.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar looked down at the camp, at the dim fire crackling pleasantly and at the humble bedrolls placed beside a ridiculous tent. Funny. No one seemed to notice he'd gone off by himself. Perhaps because they're all talking to each other He thought, and supposed that was best.The company should get to know one another. Still, all this bonding didn't lighten his mood. He plodded onward through the dark, eventually taking him to the step incline that rose above where they were camped. Rangar didn't need his eyes to get to where he was going, this place was a part of him now, and an unwelcome part of him at that. He sat down on a half rotten log and stretched his legs out. Sure is big, this place. he thought, then shook his head slowly.

Yes. Sure is big, this place, this world. Why couldn't it have just stayed small? Why couldn't I have just stayed away? It's not my place to be here. Both Irony and fate must be amused with me or something, it's not fair. "Nothing in life is ever fair, my friend." Rangar spun around and saw Turthol standing behind him. "Is it that obvious?" Rangar asked blunty. "Only if someone's wasted time traveling with you. Come on down, maybe if we're lucky, that Gondorian, Wren's tent will catch fire before the night's out." "You'd like that." Said Rangar smiling bitterly. "It doesn't do to dwell on the hill." Said Turthol, now suddenly serious and concerned. "It's just a hill. It changes nothing. You have to wait until we get this Seer for that." "Your right." Said Rangar, getting up. "But rest assured, I will be very angsty and sulky if something horrible doesn't happen to Wren's tent before this journey is out." And winking to his friend, Rangar walked back down the hill.

[ May 03, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[The Evenstar]

After Aerin had set up camp for the night, she packed a pack of lembas, sheathed her sword, Nauruin, and went for a quiet stroll in the woods. As she passed Turthôl and his little fire, he called out to her:
“Aerin! Do not wander astray in those woods. They may be perilous!”

But Aerin paid no heed to his warning.
“I do not fear the woods. Now let me go and be by myself for a while,” she said.

Turthôl shook his head and kindled the fire.
The sun had dropped beneath the mountains and the sky was getting dark. An owl hooted somewhere above the branches. This forest was old. Older than the forests Aerin had explored near her village.

She enjoyed the independence of walking alone at night. She softy hummed a song, but her humming ceased when she sighted a light burning faintly through the trees. She squinted and peered into the darkness. She heard raised voices, harsh and aggressive.
She ventured closer, unperturbed.

The voices grew louder.

Finally, Aerin could make out shadows against the tree-trunks.

The beings gathered round the fire were not that of her company. They were different. Foreign. But she could understand the language they were speaking – Common Tongue.
“They’ve got to be near here somewhere,” said one. “I can feel it.”

“Nay, maybe they took a different path. Perhaps over the Hithaeglir range or the Ettenmoors?” said another.

Then one, who seemed to the leader, spoke.
“We shall leave now and find them! I know their path,” he said in a menacing tone. “Hurry, extinguish the fire and do not linger! For elven and human flesh you shall devour tonight!”

All his followers scurried about, obeying his orders. To Aerin, there seemed to be about five or six of these mysterious beings. She felt rather worried now.
Could they be tracking our company? she thought.

She fled and hid behind a large tree-trunk as the band of hostile beings approached.
Could they be vicious Orcs; the kind that killed my mother? Aerin thought.

But as she peered round the trunk, she saw that the band, which were carrying torches, were not Orcs, but looked like Humans.
They were the Wild Men that she had heard of in Rohan. Evil men. Aerin was not sure if they were servants of Sauron or another evil force, or if they didn’t serve anybody but their leader and prowled the Earth in search of flesh. Cannibals were dangerous, and Aerin knew that and so she ran from her hiding place, quick and agile and careful not to be seen. She dodged the trees and was soon far ahead of the band of hostile Wild Men.

She reached camp and found Turthôl, playing his fife.

“Turthôl!”

Turthôl lowered his fife.

“Aerin, what is it?” he asked in alarm.

“Wild Men!” said Aerin. “They’re hunting us and they’re coming this way! I overheard them plotting in the forest!”

Turthôl didn’t stop to think. He ran to where the rest of the company was sitting by the fire.

“Pack up camp! Cannibalistic Wild Men are headed this way!” he shouted.

“But I just set up me tent,” Wren complained.

“We must get moving!” said Aerin to Wren. “Here, I’ll help you dismantle it!”

As Aerin and Wren dismantled the tent, Rangar and Turthôl rounded up the horses. The rest extinguished the fire and packed up the food and medical supplies. Aerin loaded baskets and packs onto the horses and the company mounted. Aerin leapt upon her chestnut steed, Halya, as the voices of the cannibals grew louder than ever.

[ May 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Everdawn]

Énien took her horse and mounted it. Quickly she looked around to see the others who did not have horses. She dismounted. "I suppose we are only as strong as our weakest." she said to herself.

Énien stopped thinking. "why do we not stand and fight? We are plently able." she said waiting for the other perople to catch up.

[The Evenstar]

Aerin stopped when she heard what Enien had jsut said. It was true that the Wild Men were strong, but they were hostile and unorganised. Then she shouted:
"Come on everyone! Let's stand our ground and she pulled Nauruin from its sheath. It glittered in the moonlight. Randar, Tareth and the other men pulled out their weapons. Together, the comapany got ready to fight.

[Earendil Halfelven]

He watched as Aerin went into the woods alone. She did not heed his warning, but then again they were still in the Eastfarthing of the Shire. He began to play his fife. The eerie tunes floated out into the darkness.
_____________________________________________

“Turthôl!” came a cry from the dark.
Turthôl lowered his fife.
“Aerin, what is it?” he asked in alarm.
“Wild Men!” said Aerin. “They’re hunting us and they’re coming this way! I overheard them plotting in the forest!”
Turthôl didn’t stop to think. He ran to where the rest of the company was sitting by the fire.
“Pack up camp! Cannibalistic Wild Men are headed this way!” he shouted.
“But I just set up me tent,” Wren complained.

I knew that tent would be trouble, thought Turthôl. Everyone was packing up their stuff, and those with horses were mounting them. He had no horse, so he figured he'd bring up the rear on foot and kill any Wild Men that came up.

"How many did you see?" he called to Aerin.
"About six, I think," Aerin answered.

"What are Wild Men doing so far north?" wondered Rangar out loud.

"Beats me, but they shall not return home!" answered Turthôl.

He could see that the Elf, Enien, was preparing to make a stand. So were the others. Turthôl took out his bow and quiver of arrows that were slung around his back. He notched an arrow to the string, and peered out into the gloom. He could hear them coming. They were big, by the sound of it.

"Fresh meat! We shall feast tonight!" came a harsh voice up ahead. Turthôl took aim at the voice and fired. A scream pierced the night air. He had found his target.
He quickly brought another arrow up, and notched it. He took aim.

[ May 03, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Everdawn]

Énien also fitted an arrow to her bow. "They will have no such thing!" Énien said re-assuringly to the others and fired an arrow long range. Turthol's arrow had felled their leader. She nodded at him.

Énien shot again this time hitting another wild man who had come out at the side of the track. They were close now, Another climbed out from the other side of the track at Énien. With one hand holding her bow, Énien pulled out her curved-blade daggar and stabbed The man through the stomach, again and again until there was blood covering her hands.

She turned to Rangar. "What do you make of this? Rangar?" Kicking the corpse aside.

[The Evenstar]

Aerin was wielding her sword with great swiftness and skill, much to the amazement of some of the men.
"Aerin, look out!" called Wren.
Aerin felled a Wild man just as he was about to strike her with a cruel axe.
The evil Elven maiden appeared again.
She cackled.
A wild man siezed Aerin from behind and she fought back.
"Let go, heathen! Let go!" she screamed. An arrow whizzed past. Aerin ducked and the Wild man's grip loosened. She saw that he was dead. The evil Elf wielded a cruel curved sword, rusted and brown and charged towards Rangar.
"Rangar!" screamed Aerin. Rangar turned and in an instant saw the danger. They fought, with the aid of Turthol and Tareth and slit the elven woman's arm. She cried out in pain but still continued to fight.

[Arien]

Carmalita unsheathed her daggers from beneath her coat, maybe it would be time to show the rest of the company she could inflict great pain and not just heal it. Some of the company had bows, and so slew the wildmen as soon as they emerged from the bushes. But some had gotten past the barrage of arrows and were getting closer to the company.

Carmalita looked around and saw the nearest wildman sneaking up behind Turthôl, he had not seen him for he was busy firing arrows. Quickly sprinting to his aid, she kicked the wildman in the chest. He was fulng backwards and winded. But he charged towards Carmalita, she to ran forward and plunged her daggers into his heart. He fell slowly to the ground. As she had done this Turthôl turned round. He had seen what she had done, nodded his head and continued fighting.

Carmalita slew one wildman as there was only six, and even though her dagger skills were a bit rusty, the techniques that her father, then her mother taught her came flooding back into her mind with ease. Did the rest of the company still think she was just a nurse now?

[ May 04, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[The Evenstar]

"Arien, nice fighting!" Aerin shouted as she elbowed a wild man in his face.
Arien looked pleased. She smiled as she wiped the dirt from her brow.
"Thanks," she said as another wild man leapt from the bushes. Quick as lightning, Arien felled him with a single punch.

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

[Arvedui III]

This wasn't good. Rangar felt clumsy and stupid next to all these seasoned fighters. Where had all these wild men come from? He parried a blow meant for his neck and struck out with his fist. Stupid! He thought to himself, You have a sword! He dodged another wild man and watched him stagger forwards. That made him feel better, swiinging his blade into the zealous brute.

Despite the fact they company was holding well, the wild men kept on coming. Rangar was tired, he wanted to sleep, but insted he spent his night tumbleing and dodging blows from rusty swords, then thrusting his own. What annoyed him the most, though, was the fact he kept trying to punch and kick his foes insteed of stabbing them. As yet another wild man lunged at him, he stept right and found himself clinging to a saddle. Without thought or hesitation he climbed up, mostly to avoid another strick from the cannible. Things are much easier from five feet up he thought as he quickly paried a blow.

Maybe this wasn't as bad as I thought. But, then again, how much worse can you get when you've got a pack of wild men after you

[ May 04, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir had taken out his bow when he heard Aerin's warning. Standing back from the group he fired a few arrows at the oncoming Wild Men before they were too close to his group to aim at anymore. He drew a dagger, the only other weapon he had, and crept close to the fire. Calimir bit his lip, feeling intensely useless. Why had he not brought a sword?

One of the cannibals crept up beside him. He saw it coming and swiftly kicked out at it before it could strike at him. The man fell back with a loud grunt. Turthol dispatched him with a swift swing of his sword. Calimir looked up at the ranger, "Thank you", he said.

Turthol grinned at him. "Anytime," he panted. Calimir looked around the camp, but most of the wildmen seemed to have scattered or been killed. Rangar was sitting on the back of a horse gripping his sword in both hands and looking around suspiciously. Carmalita stood panting by the fire. Everyone seemed unhurt. Calimir heaved a sigh of relief and began collecting his arrows. He hated fighting.

[maikafanawen]

***KEEPING IN MIND WREN DOES NOT HAVE A PINK, YELLOW, AND BLUE CIRCUS TENT***

Wren didn’t bother to set up her tent, and instead lay back on the ground, trying to rest a bit. She would have tried to make conversation with some one, but since Maikafanawen was gone for three blinkin’ days and Wren spent her entire time setting up a circus tent she missed out on that opportunity ( smilies/biggrin.gif ). No, instead she thought about what could be worse. The entire company thought she was a fool out for a joy ride. The noblewoman shrugged, At least they won’t expect much of me. I can mind my own and just have a free guide the entire time. That way, heh, I’m the major benefactor! She chuckled slightly, then sighed. It was a very still night and most had occupied themselves by reflecting on depressing times in their lives when they’re parents were killed by orcs. A good few of them had anyways. Wren hadn’t ever seen one, but had seen pictures, and knew them to be nasty looking creatures. She sometime hoped to meet one. They mustn’t be all bad. A little love and understanding, who knows. They may be brilliant! She greatly doubted the possibility, but it was something to consider.

She didn’t grow sleepy at all, but she couldn’t really do anything except just lay there because before the fight, everyone thought she was busying herself by setting up a ridiculous tent. She sighed and waited for Aerien to return and deliver the news of the Wild Men, which reminded Wren that her sword was next to the bag of supplies she and Turthol had bought. Actually, she corrected herself, she had bought. The noblewoman had just reached the pile of supplies when Aerien came running out of the forest, full of movement and expressions like an actor in a play.

All battle posts up until this one

Wren watched the fight from her calm stance by a tree. Most of the company had formed a wall, blockading the Wild Men from getting past them, for who knows why. She yawned, wondering how many more would come. The elf had said that there were six, but obviously, she had guess wrong and was on the contrary about two dozen off. Wren smiled to herself as a wild man caught sight of her. She dipped her head forward as though she was tired and slowly falling asleep. The wild man laughed and charged out her. Quick as a flash, Wren’s sword was out and she severed the man cleanly in two pieces, steam rising from his entrails.

“Ah gross!” she said, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and holding it up to her nose. She grimaced at the sight of blood flecked on her boots. She stepped back from the body and prepared to watch the rest of the fight when Rangar turned around and saw her standing there, grossing out over the corpse.

“Come on Wren!” he said angrily, “don’t just stand there! Help us!” Me? mouthed Wren, pointing to herself. At Rangar’s exasperated face, she nodded and held up a hand, adjusting her belt and pushing away curls from her face. Rangar snarled with frustration and resumed his fight. Rolling her eyes, Wren moved to the end of the line of the company and fought, though not too hard. Hey, she thought, watching the strenuous struggle for life between the group and the cannibals?, there are two elves, a feminist, a few rangers, some fool scholar, some nice people from Bree, they don’t need so much help from a good-for-nothing-noblewoman. Raising her blade to meet the second wild man, she parried his first slash and ran him through quickly. Against Wren’s sword there was no threat. It was a good thing too, otherwise, she would be dead. Judging between the annoyance and distrust of her own companions, and the psychotic anger of the wild men, Wren would have had no chance with out her sword and cleverness, she decided. After all, she was no fool. The sooner they got to Gondor the better. If they didn’t want her here, she didn’t want to be here.

She discretely took out four more wild men, stepping further away from each body. The stench was terrible. Her handkerchief in her left hand was held up to her face, trying to block out the nasty stench. Her right arm was easily fending off foes. Finally, the wild men were gone and the elves and rangers were taking attendance. Wren wiped her sword off quickly and sheathed it. Then she sat down against a tree, trying vainly to wipe blood off of her clothes and boots.

[Arvedui III]

The last of the wild men fled; They saw it was useless. Turthol began calling out to the members of the company, making sure everyone was ok. They were. Rangar dismounted the horse he'd been using for leverage against the wild men only to find Aerin looking angrily at him. "You ok?" He asked, bewildered. "What were you on my horse?" "Fighting" he replied nonchalantly. "If any should have been on her, it should have been me." "Sorry" he mumbled, realizing his stupidity once again, and walked off.

Rangar went and knelt by one of the corpses while the others were cleaning up. "Dunelings" he mumbled, "Turthol, come here." He called. " Well, that was something, huh? What is it?" His friend answered, now coming over. "Duneling mercenaries." "How do you know?" "Look, a bag of silver, their cloths, maybe there's order papers on one of them." "So we search all them?" said Turthol incredulously. "Rangar, so what if they're mercenaries?" "Why would they be this far west?" "I don't know. Come on," and suddenly Turthol stopped. "They wouldn't be after us, Would they?" He said slowly. "I dunno." Rangar whispered back. "We can't stay here." They both said at once, and got up.

[Durelin]

"Pack up camp! Cannibalistic Wild Men are headed this way!" Tareth heard Turthol's voice cry out from where from where he lay. He scrambled up, rolling up his blanket roll, the only thing he had taken out, and gathered up his things. Then, to his dismay, he heard the order that they should stay and fight. He wasn't about to argue, but...why? Honor and glory. Tareth snorted. So foolish!

Tareth sighed and took up his bow, standing near the rest of the company. He drew an arrow, aiming into the darkness. He saw a flicker of light on steel among the trees, and, hoping the man was right handed, shot to the left. He was awarded with a startled grunt, but nothing more. A man emerged from that point in the trees. Ducking under a slash from the man's short bladed sword, Tareth sliced upward with his axe. He had gotten a deep cut in the swarthy man's leg, but still he came.

Another chop from the cannibal skimmed Tareth's arm, drawing blood. With a growl, Tareth swung his axe to meet the man in the face. He didn't return the attack. The corpse fell to the ground at Tareth's feet. The young blacksmith stared at it in surprise, in anguish. He had killed a man. A cannibal, perhaps, but a man. He looked at his bloody axe and back to the body. His stomach churned. Tareth sank to his knees, staring at the body. He cursed himself for being a coward, for being weak. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help the sadness he felt. It felt like a part of him was gone, and he thought it probably was. The peaceful part of him. The simple blacksmith from Bree. This was what you wanted. Wrong. Thought he wanted.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl wiped the blood off of his sword. As he gathered up his arrows out of the carcasses, he searched the bodies for any evidence of why they were this far north. But he found nothing. He thought of what he and Rangar had discussed just a moment before, but he couldn't come to any logical reason why these men were here. They would have to be careful, even so deep in the Shire. He and Rangar had decided that they had to leave-right now.

During the fight, he had observed the others and their skills. They had done pretty well. But some couldn't settle the fact that they had killed, like Wren and Tareth. Tareth still knelt by the body of the Wild Man he had killed. He looked sick to his stomach. Wren rubbed in vain at the blood stains on her clothes. He felt he had to say something, not out of contempt, but out of sympathy for what they had just experienced.

"Companions, we must leave now. Pack up your things, for it is not safe here, as you can see. For those of you who have killed for your first time, just be aware that if you had not killed the man at your feet, he would be eating from your body right now. Killing innocent people is wrong, but when you are being attacked by either wild men, goblins, or orcs, you must use your sword in defense of those innocents who cannot defend themselves. I can attest to that fact because, as a Dúnedain, it is the life that I live. Many times have I slain, but always in the defense of others, never in cold blood. You are going to have to learn that lesson, it seems. As we journey to Harad, it's obvious that the journey there will be one of peril and danger, for it is obvious that someone does not wish us to make this trip."

He looked at the others. They were looking at him, and he nodded back in respect, especially to Tareth and Wren. They would have to harden a part of themselves towards death and killing. But, they looked as if they were willing to do that. If they were willing to protect their friends and companions, then he knew he could trust them.

He could trust them.

[Everdawn]

Énien looked at her blood covered hands. "bad memories" she said to herself and quickly closed her eyes. She opened them after a while and looked at the company. Énien began to pull the arrows out of several corpses on the ground. "Arrows, we cannot afford to waste them." she said to no one. She then spoke to the rest. "The corpses? Burn them? or leave them to the dogs?" she questioned.

Énien then saw Tareth sitting on the ground, his axe bloodstained and laying nearby. "His first kill." she thought to herself. "I remember mine all too well, never the same." The elf thought again. She saw Tareth's injured arm.

Énien walked over to him. She kneeled beside him and took his arm. "Your hurt. Are you injured anywhere else?" This was genuine empathy. She turned to find Carmalita. "Carmalita! Tareth is wounded!"

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

[Arien]

As soon as she heard her name Carmalita spun around and ran over to where Énien was crouched by Tareth. Énien moved out of the way to make room for her to look at the the wound. It wasn't very deep, or life threatening but blood kept pouring out.

"I need some water," she said carmly.

"Here," said Énien, handing her a small canteen of water.

"Thanks," Carmalita said as she wiped the cut clean with a piece of clean cloth. She then instructed Énien to hold the cloth firmly on Tareth's as she went to get her medical supplies. She picked the bag up and brought it back. She opened it and was greeted by the smell of sweet herbs. She took out a small white bottle filled with a white liquid, that smell alot like alcohol. She got another small cloth and tipped a small amount of its contents on to it.

"This may sting a little," she said to Tareth as she took Énien's hand away and place the doused cloth on. He wincinced and looked down at his arem.

"This will stop it from getting infected...." she said as she proceeded to tie a bandaged around his cut. "There you go.."

"Thank you," he said as she packed her things back into her pack.

"Anyone else wounded?" she called out to the company. No one answered, "There's no point playing the hero if you are!" she laughed and walked back to collect the rest of her things.

[The X Phial]

Bregand was never so ashamed in his entire life. When the call came to stand and fight he had felt his blood freeze in fear. Hestitating while the others sprung into action, Bregand fingered the hilt of his father's sword. He drew it slowly, dread in his heart. Finally snapping out of his stupor, he went to join the others in the line of defence. Unlike the others, however, he had managed to wound none of the enemy. Bregand's entire energy had been spent blocking blows, though he had managed to trip one of the wild men in time for Calimir to dispatch him. Even his blocking of blows hadn't been entirely successful. Bregand had suffered a small cut under his left ear. The blow would likely have taken his ear clean off if he hadn't had the quickness of youth on his side.

He heard Carmalita ask if others were injured and, after a pause sheepishly raised his hand. The wound was not deep and was quickly attended to, but Bregand's face burned with shame. No one had mentioned his deficiencies, but he was certain they must have been noticed. With the egocentrism of youth he interpreted every downcast eye and murmur as directed at him and his lack of skill with the sword.

Quickly, and without a word to anyone, he gathered his belongings and made ready to set out again. They were moving camp. Bregand resolved within himself that he would make it up to the company somehow. He also felt a blaze of anger mixed with his shame, he would show them all that he was worth more than his skill as a fighter.

[ May 05, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar walked quickly, the company following behind. He wanted to get away from the spot as soon as possible. They had kicked the corpses into a ditch, resolving it was too risky to burn them. They came into a little clearing, then Turthol and Enien started a small fire, well, it was really just a smoldering pile of sticks more than a fire.
Rangar went and sat down next to Tareth and Bregand who seemed very off. The blacksmith had a dazed look in his eyes that made Rangar uncomfortable.The look in his eyes, thought Rangar. shock, compassion, remorse. Rangar envied the blacksmith, if only those feelings could have come to him the first time, well, maybe they had. "First kill?" He offered. "Yeah." Said Tareth slowly. "It's hard, but good. Don't ever lose the feeling." Said Rangar quietly "Why?" "Because then you truly lose, maybe not your life, but something else." Whatever I lost though Rangar, now getting up to stand with Turthol.

Bregand got up too. "So, um, what road are we taking?" He asked tentatively. "The southward one" said Rangar, kneeling to feel some of the fire's heat. "Ok. Um, Rangar. I'm sorry." "For what?" But Rangar already knew the answer. "For back there, I, I know I wasn't much of a help." The boy began, head hung. "Neither was I, but we did all right; We'll do better should there be a next time." Said Rangar softly, "Get some sleep, I'll wake you up if we need your help on the route plan." And nodding, the boy went back to where he was sitting. Rangar shook his head. Then, Turthol came over, "Well," he said, "Well?" "Well, they're all pretty burnt out, me too. Now that it comes to it." "Yeah." "So, I take it we're going south?" "I guess." Rangar mumbled, he really wanted to sleep right about now. "I'll tell the guide to fight the road out amongst themselves. I'm too tired for this. "Ok, get Wren and Bregand, and the two elves. Any road would be good so long as it doesn't have wild men on it." "Yep." Said Turthol, and he walked off to get the guides. Rangar lay down. A long night, and many more too come, this journey hadn't gotten off to the best off starts.

[Everdawn]

Énien saw Bregand standing alone for a while. "He is still young in the world, though I to him am old, I too am still young in the eyes of the elves. I bet he has never been attacked in ambush like that before." she said to herself. She resolved to converse with the boy who had been so interested in her since she met him in Bree.

"Hello Bregand", she called to him. It was the first time she had called him by name, other than reffering to him as "boy".

Énien saw he was a little alarmed by her talking to him. She stood next to him and stared out at the hills. "I have killed goblins, orcs and mirkwood spiders by the dozens- but the first time I killed a man- I broke my bow and threw it into the Anduin. Later I realised how stupid I was, armed only with a daggar and with a horse, hundreds of miles from Rivendell..."

Énien paused looking at Tareth, who seemingly looked quite disturbed. "It is different, killing a man, for me than it is for you. I am an elf, and none will kill another, but men, In their hearts grace lies so deep sometimes it is lost. It causes them to turn to evil."

She smiled. "Now, we better find Calimir and Wren and discuss which road we have to take, time we cannot waste."

[The X Phial]

Bregand managed a small smile, glad that his skills were being recognized by an elf as previously distant as Enien.

"I'd be honored," he said, bowing slightly and missing her amused expression. "I stick by my original assessment that the greenway is the best way to Harad. The question at this point is whether to backtrack to Bree proper and take the south road from there or to cut across the land and join the road just north of the South Downs. Backtacking is safer, but we will lose a day of traveling. Let's find the others and make a decision."

He was grateful for the confidence placed in him and in the apparent willingness of the party to ignore his earlier deficiency. He spotted Wren and called her over and saw Enien signal to Calimir.

[ May 06, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir walked over to join the group. He'd been watching them keenly from a distance. Bregand didn't do so well in the fighting it seemed. Calimir understood that feeling, he'd backed away from one more than once. He glanced with compassion toward Tareth who was talking on the side with Rangar, the haunted look barely subsided even after several hours.

As he came up to the elf and the young man he held his hands out to them. "What is it, my friends?" he asked, his spirits having lifted considerably since the fight. He was in a spectacularly good mood in fact. He shot a smile at Bregand, who still looked faintly uncomfortable.

[maikafanawen]

Wren had failed in getting all the blood of her clothing was utterly disgusted at the unsightful marks they left. Shuddering with defeat she leaned against a tree, watching a few members either make a fire, stare idly into the woods, or studying their hands, the latter consisted of the few who had killed a man for the first time in their lives. Wren hadn’t noticed the horror stricken faces of Tareth and Bregand. Sure she noticed that they seemed a bit more concerned about the events than the more experienced, but she didn’t contemplate on the topic long. She was a bit surprised with herself.

The noblewoman had been surprise at the ease in which she killed the men. She had done many illusional practices at Gondor, but none had involved the expressions the men had right after she ran her blade through them and just before they died. Wren had killed four total, and three discretely. As far as the others knew, she had disposed of a single cannibal—Which was good in Wren’s case, so she wished to think. So used to the popularity and respect of home, the disrespect and annoyance she had received from the companions whom she traveled now was very disappointing. Her conceded side of her (the mind) had vanquished over her common sense (the heart) and she had resolved that they were simply not worth her time.

“Wren,” called Bregand from a few yards off as he spoke with Enien, “come over here.” She rose and meandered over to where the two elves and Bregand stood. Wren was very surprised when Enien greeted her with a faint smile. The noblewoman stuttered as she answered Calimir’s question.

“What is your opinion on our path?” he asked as if they had long been working together. Wren was very confused at this point and decided to shrug it all away for the moment as they discussed the route.

“Well,” she said, producing a map from her bag and opening it before them, “We’re somewhere just outside of Bree between the Old Forest and the South Downs, about here,” she said, pointing to place near the Andrath Greenway. “Now, if we were to go by Rivendell, which I would love to see, but this is not a tourist trip, we should find the East-West Road and travel thusly. Were that to be chosen because of its safety that would take us down the Misty Mountains which we would most definitely cross into the east elven territories such as Mirkwood and Lorien. If we’re to head straight south, then the obvious choice would be to continue down the Andrath Greenway until it turns into the North-South Road. That would take us over the Tharbad bridge of Greyflood,”

“Gwathló,” added Enien. Wren nodded,

“Precisely. Then we’d be traveling through Enedwaith which would consequently lead us through Dunland and pass Isengard, a nice tourist attraction if I do say so myself. But then again—”

“This isn’t a tourist trip,” interrupted Bregand impatiently. Obviously he had the map memorized and was getting annoyed with Wren detailing the possible routes they could take. The noblewoman ignored him temporarily and continued.

“That, of course, will lead us through the Gap of Rohan. By then we will all be exhausted from walking and very short of food and water.” The elves and Bregand nodded in agreement. “So, we could ask shelter from King Eomer at Edoras. From there, we’d follow the mountain range onto Gondor. Minas Tirith or Osgiliath.” She took a deep breath. From there I leave you, she thought. “From there we could do two things. My father has a ship in Harlond—”

“I thought you were from Minas Tirith,” interrupted Bregand. Wren was shocked. Bregand was turning out to be a very observative and intelligent boy—It frustrated her.

“I am, but my father has connections in both cities, and a merchant ship in Harlond. May I continue? Good. We could use that ship and sail down The Great River,”

“Anduin,” Calimir pointed out. The noblewoman was near exploding but wisely kept her calm.

“Therefore following the coast to Harad, or we could travel the Harad Road, which would be the most dangerous course by far. Although that last route is for a later time of discussion. Right now, it is the first course we’re debating.” She finished and looked towards her guiding companions.

“I stand by the South Road course,” Bregand said firmly.

“I agree,” offered Enien. Calimir stood in thought for a second. He had just left Rivendell and returning would cause him more pain of having to leave a second time.

“South.” Wren looked down at her map again. The Andrath Greenway would lead them through the Downs, and the South Road through Dunland. It was extremely dangerous. Wren was known for her luck and easy going attitude—not her courage. If they made it through that, they’d be fine after conquering the Gap of Rohan and arriving in Edoras. With Arien along, they would surely be greeted warmly in King Eomer’s halls. She hid her feelings and nodded in agreement.

“It’s settled. South we go.” The group split and Bregand left to inform Rangar. Wren speculated on her thoughts before the discussion. They had been full of anger because she had not been welcomed with open arms into this group of strangers. Well of course not, her heart argued. Maybe I should just stop thinking. Wren picked up her sword drawing it from its trendy, midnight black scabbard. It was newly forged to fit her tastes: light, thin, and extremely aerodynamic. Its ability to swish through the air at a single flick of her wrist was her favorite quality. She liked the dark green, leather hilt with a delicate imprint of a rose. The rose was her favorite symbol and it was on her pouches, arm guards, and in a small place just to the left of her heart on her jerkin. She ran her fingers lovingly over the sword’s hilt before standing on-guard with it before her. Wren was about to practice when someone behind her said...

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

[Earendil Halfelven]

"Thats quite a sword. It bears the look of Elven smiths, but the lack of Elven characters tells another tale." Turthôl said.

He had been listening in on the group from the outside. He didn't want to interrupt, unless they chose a completely stupid path. They had chosen going south, which was fine with him. He had listened to each one input their opinion. He was surprised that Wren had so much knowledge of the area. He had guessed that her knowledge would lie in the paths in Gondor and Rohan, not the north. From what he had observed, this was her first time up here.

The sword had really caught his eye. He was surprised at how well she handled it. I guess she took lessons or something, he thought.

"My family's private smith forged this. Its custom made for me," she replied.

He had watched her in battle. He felt that it was his responsibility to watch over the "greenies" of battle. He was glad that they weren't so "green" after all. He saw her slay her first man in the battle, and how she had reacted to it.

"This was your first time to wield it in battle?" he said. He already knew the answer, but it was for the sake of the conversation.

"Yes," was all she said. She looked at the sword. There was some crusted blood on the little rose symbol on the hilt. She rubbed at it with her finger.

Turthôl looked at her clothes and the blood stains on it. By the look of it she had killed more than one man, which he had already guessed.

"Well, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I acted back in Bree. I didn't mean to come off like that. Its just that after..." he stopped himself.

"What?" Wren asked.

"Nothing," he said. He didn't want to tell her about what had happened years ago. He had almost told her back in Bree, he remembered. Something about her made him just feel as if he could talk about things around her.

She looked at him with a look of disbelief. She obviously knew there was something that he had almost told her, but he had stopped himself.

Turthôl thought quickly for something to say. "Umm...good fighting. You could use a little work, but it wasn't bad for your first time." He hoped that she wouldn't take it the wrong way.


"Well then, I'll say goodnight, my lady," he said as he added a bow. He laughed at the joke. It was an inside joke from when they were in Bree.


He went off in search of some wood to keep the fire going, but mainly to scout the area for anything else. He was going to be gone for a few hours. That would give him enough time to scout the area, and to think about things.

[ May 06, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ May 06, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Everdawn]

The rest of the night had passed without foes returning to the camp. The dawn had come. At lastÉnien thought to herself. The new sun crept over the trees in the clearing in which they were camped. Énien had spent most of the night on further watch. For she seldom grew tired, even without days of sleep.

A stream flowed to the side of the clearing and through the forest. Close by her horse was drinking in it. quite an adventure we have had"Melliant" she said to the giant black horse, "You are melliant." Finally she had decided on a name.

Énien's young face peered passed the horse and to the sleeping company. "I should wake them, it will be a long day" She told the horse. And went over to them. "It is dawn! wake, the sun smiles today! no longer does the menacing star stalk us overhead, be mooving!" she said, but she doubted any knew what she meant by the star.

[ May 08, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Carlas]

Darkness crept over the moist ground, and a fog started to lay itself across the land, making it impossible to see. A lone figure upon a horse trotted slowly down the path, the quiet clip-clop of the hooves reverberating through the woods.

As the rider reached the summit of a small hill, he heard another horse dashing towards him down the path. He turned his horse into the bush and waited silently for the rider. As the horse and rider came into view a few feet away, the man jumped out upon his horse causing the other one to rear in fright screeching.

The man that had just come comforted his horse, trying not to fall off at the same time. He looked over at the man that had pulled out infront of him, he wore a black hood covering his face but he could tell who he was.

"Ah, you gave my horse a fright! We did not expect you to be this close already!"

The other man smiled under his hood."I move quick Aranthan, now tell me of the attack, have you found Rangar?"

Aranthan frowned. "Im sorry sir, but they were better warriors than I thought! The troops retreited. They are regrouping now, and getting ready for another attack but they will wait for your return."

The man nodded and looked about him. The fog was getting better and they needed to move quick. He kicked his horse gently in the side and they rushed off, moving through the quiet woods, like phantoms in the mist.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar smiled behind Enien. The elf hadn't slept, yet she was the first one up, or active at least. "Yes. We should get moving!" Enien spun around, then seeing who had spoken grinned back at him. "You're up early." "Yes." He said, not offering any explanation, and walked back into the camp where he was met by a groggy Turthol complaining about the hour. "I got up to for you, and now you say 'get up'." He said, half teasing, half lamenting. "Forgive me if I'm a morning person." Chuckled Rangar "Sure, but I'll never understand how you get up so early." Turthol mumbled. "Well, don't try and match me then." "It'll be a cold day in," "Rangar?" "Huh?" It was Bregand. "Should we have a breakfast or not?" "Why not, I'm hungry." The company assembled by where the fire had been, and ate a small, cold meal before setting out toward the south road. Rangar walked for a good while in relatively good spirts until the road started getting foggy.

Great, first wild men, now fog. Someone clearly doesn't want us to make this journey. Thought Rangar right before he stumbled into Calmir. "Sorry." He mumbled. "No problem." The elf muttered back. "If this gets any worse, we'll have to stop." Said Wren. "Yeah. Everyone, don't lose your way; I think it's getting thicker." Called Rangar to the group, hoping they were all there, as he could no longer see them.

[ May 07, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Everdawn]

Strange this mist was. Énien could barely see the road in front of her. The sky too, was darker than usual for daytime. This has never happened before. Nor have I taken this path. Is it possible that this comapny could have at least one day without something happenig? She thought to herself at the same time straning her eyes through the dense fog.

"Bregand" she called. "Are we still on the same road? for it is dense, I cannot be sure of the time of day either." Melliant started to get nervous she was leading him in fear if she rode him he could crush another of the company. Énien placed her hand on the horses face.


Melliant is as dark as black shaddows... perhaps.. if they can all see him, none will get lost. Where did this come from? Énien was now considerably troubled. "Can everyone see Melliant? He is black, darker than the fog, never loose sight of him and we will all be able to stay together."

They travelled on for some miles, the fog growing ever thicker. Now Énien could barely see three feet in front of her. "Calimir, hold Melliant" she called to her fellow elf, who came. He held Melliant as Énien mounted him to try to see what lay ahead. Énien sighed. "Rangar! she called, it is only thicker! the fog goes on for as far as I can see."

[Arien]

Great, fog! sighed Carmalita. She had placed her self in the middle of the company alongside Wren. She thought it be better to stay here just in case there was another attack. And she did not doubt that one bit. As she thought she played with the jewel around her neck, it was a Crystal that was givin to her by Crystal's father. She had kept it to remind her of her child and not to make too many mistakes in life. She had certainly lernt her lesson.

The fog grew thicker and she could just see the faint outline of Énien's horse about 7 foot ahead.

"Rangar! she called," it is only thicker! the fog goes on for as far as I can see."

"What shall we do?" said Carmalita speaking up, the company halted, " Should we go on not knowing were we tread, or where we go or into who's hands we play into. Or should we set up camp and have the risk of being attacked again? Rangar?"

[The X Phial]

Bregand, who could barely see the horse he was leading through the fog, halted with the others. He heard Enien and Carmalita ahead of him asking for advice. He raised his voice, unaware that sound carries farther in the fog and was startled by the strength of his own voice.

"It seems to me that this is very much like the fog said to hang around the land of the Barrow Downs," he said, before lowering his voice again. "There is no way such a thing could be, however, since at the most we may have wandered too far south and entered the South Downs, similarly named but nowhere near as feared. There is no way we could have missed the road, even in such a fog.

"On the chance that this fog is unnatural, however, I suggest a scouting party. A few who know the land well, either through experience or learning should scout ahead while the others remain here. There should be good fighters in both parties.

"If both groups keep their wits about them we should all be able to find one another again, and scouting ahead will give us some idea of what lay before us. The group staying behind should start a fire if possible to help guide the scouts back to them."

Bregand then surprised himself by adding, "I volunteer to join the scouting party. I don't have the experience of some others, but I know the charts down to every curve of hill."

"Besides," he continued at almost a whisper, "I wouldn't be much help if someone attacked the stationary group."

[maikafanawen]

The fog was unbelievably dense, and Wren had trouble keeping on the path and trying not to walk over everyone before her, as well as not being trampled herself. All her belongings were strapped to her back or around her waist and she was constantly adjusting things so that the weight was proportioned all around her. She realized that it would probably be another week before she got used to carrying things like a pack-horse.

The group, annoyed at the fog as well, stopped to decide what to do. Bregand proposed splitting up and scouting ahead while the rest stayed put. It wasn’t exactly a clever idea because getting separated in this mess as well as being subject to wild men/cannibal attacks would not be to their advantage. However, they really had no idea what else to do, so Wren agreed without argument.

She was standing behind Bregand, when he confessed that he would be no good in a fight. The noblewoman gave him a single reassuring pat on the back.

“You are not so bad a warrior boy, I’ve seen worse. I should think to go with the scouting group as well. I have recently traveled this way, and could be of use with the sword, unless anyone thinks otherwise.” The fog disabled her from reading faces, but she didn’t think anyone doubted her so much. She had taken her first kill very well—too well—and people seemed to think her company a bit more useful now. Wren shrugged it off waiting for Rangar to decide if this idea was fine, and who would join which party.

“Let’s not stay separated too long. I have a whistle to sound if the scouting group finds anything. Does anyone else have one?”

[Earendil Halfelven]

He had scouted late into the night of the surrounding area, but he had found nothing. He did, however, find a few tracks that seemed newly made and out of place. The tracks were made of heavy marching boots, but there was no sound of anything else. He returned back to the company before anyone was up, but he didn't sleep. He sat deep in thought next to the fire. Soon, they were out and marching.
____________________________________________

The fog lay thickly around them. Turthôl didn't like it but it was part of traveling through the downs. He listened as the others talked. Rangar was at the front of the group while Turthôl was at the rear. He couln't see for, but he could hear pretty well, and there was nothing behind them, at least for the time being.

He wasn't so sure if Bregand's idea was so good. It wasn't smart to split up in such a dangerous situation. The other thing that they could do was make camp until the fog lifted. But if the rest of the company agreed to Bregand's idea, then he thought that they should just send out a few.

"I also volunteer to go out and scout. I've traveled this way many times on my journeys. But I think that only a few should go in the scouting party. Incase the scouts get lost, than we won't lose too many of the party. If the rest should light a fire, than that could attract a lot more than the scouting party."

He didn't think that this was the doing of a mortal person. The Downs, no matter what part you were in, always got foggy without warning.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar listened to the ideas, thinking hard. The downs get foggy without warning, but those wild men. There could be more, and in fog... "Fine." He called at last, " But light a torch, and whoever's staying light a fire. The downs can be misleading, so stay alert. Turthol, Wren, Bregand, and Calmir scout ahead. The rest of us will stay here." Then, to appease his desire to keep moving, he added, "Just make sure we're on the right path, we don't want to linger here."

As the scouting party left, a torch in Turthol's hand, Rangar and Tareth grouped around for more firewood. To stop himself from worrying, Rangar began to fiddle with a dagger. The others began doing similar things. Enien was singing softly to herself and Ravenne was prodding the small fire with a stick. For what seemed like an eternity the group waited, giving Rangar more time to think up horrible scenarios in his mind. Then, they began to hear footsteps in the distance.

[The Evenstar]

Aerin rode alongside Tareth.

"Hey Tareth," she said. "I just wanted to say...uh..thanks for that decent apology earlier. Sincerely."
She smiled and Tareth was relieved.

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

[Everdawn]

It had been some while after the scouting party had left, and Rangar had told them to wait. Never have i seen weather like this! she thought to herself. To pass the time, she had sang, as she always did. In this mist her elven sight was useless. Where are they, have they gone astray? Calimir, le ab-dollen!! where are they!Énien thought.

She stood up in frustration. "They should not be so long" she snapped. "And what if they have come to grief? we are left sitting here like no-brains waiting for them to return?!" Now Énien was frantic with worry. Then she heard it. Footstepps.

At least my ears are not decieved by fog She faltered on the remark her mind made. just in case, she took out her dagger from around her waist. Another figure had gotten up from the ground, she guessed it was Rangar, for it bore his stature. They waited...

[ May 10, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar stood up. The footsteps were getting louder, and he was getting more nervous. Finally, he decided he could wait no more. He couldn't see what the others were doing, but all of them seemed to be waiting as well. "Hello" He called. "Hello."Answered another voice. "Friend or foe?" The voice added, cautiously. "Friend!" Cried Rangar at once, relief surging through him "Turthol?" "What?" Suddenly all that relief was sucked out again. "Your name, sir."Called Rangar hesitantly. Least, he thought it was a sir. The voice was getting closer now. "My name?" Answered the voice in a sort of bemused way. "Well, it's not Turthol. That's for sure, where are you, and business have you on the downs?" Suddenly both Enien and Tareth were beside him, and they both whispered, "Don't answer" with one voice. Rangar thought for second. "I'm waiting for," What? Think, think. "For my brother to catch up with me." He called, struck by a random inspiration. "Really?" Called the voice. "Brothers are slow, aren't they." "Um yes, sure. Um, why are you here?"Said Rangar, awed by his good luck.

"Well, I won't bother you, but stay on the lookout. There is a band of men, very dangerous men mind you, lead by a fellow named ‘Rangar'. I'm looking for them." Suddenly, Rangar became mute, stunned. Then someone, Enien probably, kicked him in the leg. "Sure" He called hoarsely, but as if it was a natural reaction. "We'll stay alert. Be careful on the downs in this fog." "Thank you, I will." Called the voice and slowly, all too slowly, the footsteps faded out of hearing.
About two hours later, the scouting party returned saying they had found the road. "Great." Said Rangar shakily. "Let's get on it." The group, now lead by Turthol, made their was out of foggy downs that night. And all the time, Rangar thought. Why would someone be looking for me?

[maikafanawen]

Wren walked up towards the front as the group made their way out of the Downs. The fog began to subside early the third morning and the temperature had risen considerably. The noblewoman rolled up her cloak and tied it to the bottom of her sack. Then she pulled the her hair out of her face, clasping it behind her neck with a clip. Water supply was lessening quickly, and everyone had perked their ears for the sound of a stream.

“The last one was a days journey back up the trail. If we don’t find anything by nightfall we should turn back, we can’t go on without water,” said Bregand. Wren heartily agreed but Rangar didn’t.

“There’s water ahead, and we can’t chance another encounter with the Wild Men.” The company followed their leader on faith until dusk when the they were threatened greatly by dehydration. Finally, the sound of a trickling brook reached the ears of the elves and they led the group to a pure and fast running creek that was three feet wide and about two thirds of a foot deep. Wren filled her water sack so full it was in danger of popping.

“You might want to lessen the amount of water you have there,” advised Turhtôl, “you don’t want it to explode on you later on.” The noblewoman reluctantly drained a bit of the water back into the cool creek. Bregand meanwhile stood there looking confused at the water and followed it around a bend a few paces and then south the same amount.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he declared, “it’s not on any of the maps.”

“Well you know Bregand,” said Enien smartly, “not all the little creeks will be labeled. This could have just been a little trickle a month ago and was flooded during last weeks rain. You of all people should know to take things like that into consideration.” Bregand ignored her last remark and shrugged, also filling his canteen.

They decided to make camp by the stream that night and continue early in the morning. Carmalita made a fire and Rave began stirring a stew. Since Wren had never cooked so much as a cracker in her life, she told them that her sword needed sharpening desperately and excused herself from being of service. When dinner was consumed, and the group sat around the dying fire, Wren decided that it would do some good to have a bit of entertainment to loosen the tense feelings among them all.

“Bregand!” she called, “I know many scholars in Gondor, and a favorite pastime of theirs is to baffle their friends and adversaries with riddles and conundrums. Why don’t you test our cleverness?” The group turned towards the youngest member of the company who looked back excitedly.

“Alright, now that you mention it, there is a good riddle that my tutor enjoyed to tell about a rich merchant who had two sons. As do we all, the man grew old, and he knew his time was short. He called his sons to him, saying he could not decide which of them would be his heir. This they would determine by a race. The sons were to set forth the next morning for Pelargir, some fifteen miles away. The son whose horse was the last to arrive would be named his father’s heir.

“In the morning, the two men ready for the race upon their prized steeds. Their father gave them his blessing and wished them well, and the race was on. Each son employed every method he could think of to remain behind the other, while the animals grew restless and the sun sank low behind the mountains. By the end of the day, the two men had gone less than a hundred paces!

“Deeply troubled, the two brothers took shelter at an inn. There they shared ale and discussed their troubles. Each man was wealthy by his own labors, and each had business affairs and families to tend. The task their father had given them had no clear end in sight. In pursuing their inheritance, the men were in very real danger of perishing in the land between their father’s house and Pelargir. The men told the innkeeper their dilemma. After a moment’s thought, the innkeeper gave them two words of advice.” Bregand stopped and looked around at the faces of the members of the company. They all looked back blankly, waiting for him to tell them the innkeeper’s words. “Change horses,” he said as though it was quite obvious. “The father said that whoever’s horse got their last would be his heir. That way, whichever son got to Pelargir first upon his brother’s mount would be the heir.” Hoping that everyone would be awed at the enigma he had just presented them with, the scholar was sorely disappointed when Turthôl spoke up.

“Oh yeah, I have a good one. Bregand, you can’t answer this one.” (The scholar nodded smugly. Pleased that the ranger assumed he would know the answer). “You invited five trolls that lived on top of a mountain to your house for tea. There was one perfect path from their cave to your house that ran right down the side of the mountain, yet they were still unable to go. They had no other plans, weren’t ill, there were no obstacles, and wanted to go. What stopped them? Oh yes, and the weather was perfect.” Everyone in the circle shared glances and a few threw out a few guesses. Turthôl shook his head at all of them. Then Enien broke through answering impatiently.

“Trolls turn to stone in sunlight.” The rest groaned at the obviousness of the answer, and Bregand guffawed.

“Really, that one was popular when I was still waiting for my back teeth to grow in.”

“Then hush, and be thankful you’re not missing any,” warned Turthôl good-naturedly, holding up his fist. The scholar gave him a snide look.

“Anyone else going to show us a bit of talent?” asked Rangar. Wren pulled forth her lute, and touched the delicate strings with her fingers.

“I will.” She sat the beautiful instrument on her lap and began to play a lilting tune. The music filled the air like magic, and the noblewoman began to sing:

“The wind in the sails, takes us along
It’s here on the seas, where sailors belong
We hear the crash of waves on the bow
Tomorrow we dock, should Ulmo allow

“Gods of the earth hold us dear in your hands
Guide us through night and through day
We look towards the horizon, searching for land
Guide us to the harbor, we pray.” Wren vocalized as she played, the silver strings catching the random beams of moonlight. Then she continued her song.

“Stars wheel above, and sea churns below
Storms rip at our hearts, and hurricanes blow
Through nights of sure death, we tow along
We’ll sail on ‘till dawn, still singing this song.

“Gods of the earth hold us dear in your hands
Guide us through night and through day
We look towards the horizon, searching for land
Guide us to the harbor, we pray.

“Port is in sight, we’re ready to dock
We smooth into landing, without any shock.
Though danger was close, we turn to the sea
It’s our sailor’s curse, we’ll never be free

“So Gods of the earth hold us dear in your hands
Guide us through night and through day
The sea’s power and might have taken their toll
They’ve captured and imprisoned our souls...” She finished the song with a quiet thrum of the strings and an owl hooted in the distance making the noblewoman shiver.

“Nicely done,” commented Carmalita. “Your friend wrote that?” Wren nodded. It was a powerful song, and it was the first time she’d played it on her lute. The lute itself was mysterious. The sailor who gave it to her couldn’t explain its origin; it was what she liked most about it. The power of the old song had expressed itself thoroughly through the instrument and it had left Wren breathless.

“Yes, yes she did. Whoo,” she chuckled a bit, “pretty powerful when its this dark at night eh?” She set aside her lute and leaned back against her pack. “Anyone else want to give us a show?” No one answered so Rangar stood, stretching.

“We need to get some rest anyhow. Rave, you take first watch, and Tareth, you relieve her in about two hours, then Wren’ll take third watch and we’ll be off after that. Goodnight everyone.” No tents were erected for the small canopy of trees they were under was protection enough and there was no threat of rain. The fire was doused and all but Rave curled up atop their traveling cloaks and fell asleep.

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

[Carlas]

Maika's post

Second Watch
Wren awoke late in the night, during Tareth’s watch. He sat against a tree,
glancing around at the surroundings every now and then. Wren sat up and brushed
her hair out of her face. Something had woken her and she wasn’t sure exactly
what it had been. Standing silently, she walked over to Tareth.

“I awoke and will not be able to go back to sleep. You only have a half hour to
go so I’ll just take over now, all right?” Tareth nodded sleepily, allowing
Wren to take his place early. The first hour went smoothly, with only the hoots
of hunting owls and the calls of nightingales breaking the silence of the night.
Then an unnatural sound reached Wren’s ears. They were footsteps, though very
silent ones. They crept ever nearer without showing any sign of the person or
thing that made them. The noblewoman's sword was still by her pack.

“Who’s there?” she whispered firmly to the night. Suddenly a figure emerged
before her, draped in what seemed like night itself. A cloak so black that it
looked as though it fell from the night sky was draped around its shoulders. A
cowl covered the head, so that none of the face was discernable...

Carlas' post

The hooded man walked towards the girl, his steps silent upon the dark earth. She stood up quickly, reaching down to take out her sword, but with a quick flash he grasped her hand and twisted it sharply, taking her sword from her side and tossing it to the ground a couple of yards away. She watched it as it fell to the ground and twisted her wrist out of his grip, rubbing it hard with her other hand as she backed up a little, her eyes still on her sword.

The man smiled under his hood, as he motioned for his men to step forward out of the darkness, one picking up the girl's sword and pulling it away. She ran towards the man with her sword, but was stopped by a large pain in her side as she was kicked in the ribs by the hooded man. She fell to the ground and looked up at him, her hair falling in her face. He smiled and snapped his fingers and all around him and the camp lights flickered into view.

"So," He said looking down at the girl. "Let us find this Rangar!" Then horns started to blow about the woods and a flurry of wild men ran into the camp.

[Carlas]

Maika's Post

Wren narrowed her eyes as she looked into the cowl, trying to see the face of the man that bent over her. Failing, she kicked her leg forcefully out from under her, hitting the man behind his knees, making him fall to the ground. She rolled away from him and stood, running at the man with her sword. Shocked at her speed, he brought the sword up and swung at her. Unaware of the lightweight nature of the sword, he flung it away in his attempt to slice at her. The noblewoman caught it by the hilt and held it before her, daring the man before her to attack. He was caught off guard at first but then grinned sadistically as he pulled two long knives out of their sheaths on his belt. Wren fidgeted nervously. The man leaped towards her and she met him quickly, knocking one knife from his hand and slicing his wrist. Screaming in pain, she leapt again; Wren skewered him in mid-air. She pulled her sword from his chest and turned again to join the fight.
Men were everywhere. The company was fighting well, but they were greatly overwhelmed. Wren searched vainly for the man in the cloak as she quickly eliminated her adversaries. Then she saw Rangar fighting with the grace of a falcon. He seemed to have a sixth sense that informed him when his enemies were upon him allowing him to parry their attacks and overtake them with surprising ease. The noblewoman was very much amazed at his skill and was distracted for a moment from the fighting. Then a dagger whistled by her ear bringing her attention back. She ducked the airborne weapon and brought her sword about to meet the next dagger. It was deflected and fell to the ground. Wren tried to leap out of the way of a charging wild man but he caught her by the leg and brought her down with him. Rolling over on her back she ran her sword through him as he leaned over her ready to slice with his scimitar. She pulled her rapier free just as another attacker made his move. Severing his head easily, she ran to where the rest of the company was. Enien had a nasty gash on her brow that made Wren cringe. She saw where Turthôl was fighting near Rangar and Bregand and Tareth were holding their own not far from them. The rest of the women in the group along with Calimir had been attacked in the trees and were just coming into the clearing, having just disposed of their first onslaught of foes.

Wren parried attacks as she made towards Turthôl. (Rangar had moved further away, his skills inconceivably advanced). Shouting above the clang of steel, the noblewoman told Turthôl about the cloaked man as she defended herself.

“It is not by -- chance that these -- wild men -- fall upon us. They have -- a leader. He’s looking for Rangar. Couldn’t tell -- what he looks like thought.” Turthôl nodded but continued to fight, obviously trying to make his way over to Rangar. Wren glanced around quickly and noticed that the group was slowly being singling off and getting further away from the center group.

“No!” she yelled, “Stay together!” Her voice was strained but Enien had heard her and repeated it so that all could hear. The company began to move together again. There are so many thought Wren as she fought, her arms tiring very quickly, I don’t know about the rest, but I’m not going to last very much longer. As soon as she had thought that a hard kick in her back sent her sprawling on the ground. She gripped her sword in both hands and swung it up, rolling over on her back again. The rapier met the large shield with a deafening clang. The collision numbed her arms and knocked her sword from her hands. The man in the cloak stood over her again. She brought her foot up between his legs giving him a mighty kick that gave her plenty of time to get away and get her sword. She grabbed the weapon and turned to face him but he was gone. Wren cursed and turned to join the fight, but she wasn’t given a chance. Something heavy and hard hit her in the back of her head, making the stars spin around her head. Being stunned for that split second cost her dearly. Two pairs of strong arms grabbed her from behind her and punched her hard in the stomach. She fell limp into the arms and was dragged away into the forest.

“Now we’ll see what you know girl,” said an icy voice. Then it went dark.

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

[Everdawn]

The quietness of the night was interrupted by the yelling of wild men coming into their camp. Énien lay still in her swag. She could see well the man coming out of the side about to stab her slender body in its sleep.

Énien took her arm out and stabbed the man in the shin. She always slept with the daggar given to her by Elrohir, son of Elrond. The man screamed out in pain. Énien casually got out of her swag and stood before the man. "Who sent you!" she yelled at him, but he refused to answer. The man was down on the side of his stomach.

"Who sent you!" she yelled again, and still he did not answer. Énien kicked him hard in the stomach. He lurched for her leg. Overcome with anger Énien brought the daggar down on the back of the mans neck. He was dead.

Still with the yelling around her. She casually looked up in the sky. The star was out again. "Tiro! Êl eria e môr" she yelled to the others. "A star, It is returned, bring again foes!" This time Énien was caught off guard as one man jumped at her from behind holding a knife to her throat. "Where is Rangar?" he said.
"I know not of who you speak!" she said in a disgusted tone.

She kicked the man in the shin, but she was too slow, the man managed to slash her across her fair face. A large cut now ran from her foehead down over her eye. She was stunned. Blood. She felt sick to her stomach. It was her blood. She took her daggar from the ground and stabbed at the second man again and again.

Blood was falling over her face. "What now!" she yelled at the rest of the party.

[The X Phial]

Bregand shot awake to the sound of wild cries. He rummaged quickly through his blanket and found his father's sword and his own small dagger. The camp was being overrun by men, he could not tell how many. He heard metal on metal and the twang of bowstrings; his companions were already fighting back.

Gripping the sword in one hand and the dagger in the other, the young man stepped backwards into the foliage. He hadn't been noticed yet, and he knew that his only chance to wound or kill the enemy would come with surprise. His chance came quickly. Two wild men ran past and one stopped to kick through his blanket.

Without stopping to think, Bregand launched himself at the man's back. Not an honorable way to fight, perhaps, but a smart way. The man, hearing a sound and turning, caught Bregand's sword in a glancing blow off his arm. He howled and dropped his own weapon. Bregand kicked it away while trying his best to keep a grip on his sword. The blow had hit bone and the shock had gone back up his arm. With his good arm the wild man grabbed for Bregand's sword, but the scholar had quickness on his side and the wild man wound up grabbing the blade, howling once again. Not believing his luck, Bregand kicked his opponent backwards and watched as he hit is head on a stone and fell unconscious. He knew he should finish the man off, but he couldn't make himself deal a killing blow.

He heard a shout behind him; he was being charged by the other man who had run past him earlier. Bregand fended off the man's blows, backing up until he ran into something behind him. The man attacking Bregand took a step back then, for what the scholar had run into was an ally, Tareth. Together, the two men pushed the wild man back over the ground they had just covered. The wild man stumbled a bit over his fallen companion and Tareth took the opportunity to lunge at him. The wild man had other ideas, however, and managed to land a blow to the back of Bregand's head with the flat of his sword while dodging the blacksmith's attack.

The world spun and rang, and Bregand's eyes swam out of focus. The last thing he saw before falling into unconsciousness was the blood of the wild man on Tareth's blade.

[ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Durelin]

Tareth looked up in surprise when he heard a horse trotting up beside him, but did his best to hide it as he saw Aerin ride up beside him. "Hey Tareth," she began, smiling at him, "I just wanted to say...uh..thanks for that decent apology earlier. Sincerely." Tareth knew he couldn't hide the surprise this time, as hard as he tried. "Well...I'm gladdened by that, Mistress Aerin." The woman chuckled at the title, and Tareth felt his face grow hot. Her warm smile only made it worse. "No need for titles, Tareth. Please, I am in no way a Mistress, though I am flattered that you would regard me so." Tareth returned her smile uneasily, and the woman trotted back behind him. He mentally thanked her for that; he didn't like being alone, but he was never sure of his footing around strangers. Especially ones as strange as the ones he rode with.

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

Tareth was amazed by the billowing fog. He was used to mist, but never dense cloud cover. He could barely see the grey gelding he rode on's head extending out in front of him. He could feel his companions grow uneasy by the minute. They shifted nervously in their saddles, or fingered the reigns. Their mounts, sensing their mood, periodically stamped or whinnied, the sound muffled, seeming the stop abruptly, diminished by the fog. It seemed that it couldn't be chance, that evil was pressed upon them, that something sheltered a dark threat. Tareth shivered, cold running down his back. His neck itched, as if there were eyes on them. He was about to believe that there really was something out there, but then the feeling was gone, as abruplty as it came. You're letting weather get to you. It's just bad weather. Still, he couldn't stop the feeling of dread weighing down upon him. A scouting party of Turthol, Wren, Bregand, and Calmir went off ahead in the mist, and the rest were left to wait. Tareth helped make a fire, then sat down and took out a cloth to clean his axe to pass the time.

He heard them, footsteps. At first he thought he was imagining it, the sounds were so strange in the fog, but then he noticed his other companions reacting to it. First he felt Enien tense, cutting off after her outburst of frustration. Then Rangar rose, scanning the swirling dark around him to no avail. "Friend or foe?" he called. Tareth rose, axe in hand. He walked as silently as he could over to where Rangar stood. There was no sense in giving whoever was out there an idea of how many there were, and there were few, at that, with out scouting. He had been so intent on his stealth that he missed much of the shouts from the man, or men, among the mist. "That's for sure," he heard from within the fog in front of him as he stepped up beside Rangar. "Where are you," the voice continued, "and what business have you on the downs?"

"Don't answer!" whispered Tareth, and was surprised to hear Enien do the same. Rangar paused for a moment, and Tareth watched him; the man seemed on the verge of saying something, but not sure what. ""I'm waiting for," he said finally, then paused for an instant again, continuing, to Tareth's shock, with, "For my brother to catch up with me." What was the man thinking? Couldn't he think of a more reasonable response? Tareth did have to remember that he was under pressure, but, all the same... The man in the fog seemed to believe him. "Really?" came the voice again, "Brothers are slow, aren't they?" This was getting stranger and stranger, Tareth couldn't believe it. They were talking like they were sitting down over a pleasant cup of tea! And Rangar was losing his cool, calm severity, replying with, "Um yes, sure. Um, why are you here?" Tareth shook his head sharply. Surely he was dreaming? But he was not, and he knew it. "Well," the voice began again in answer, "I won't bother you, but stay on the lookout. There is a band of men, very dangerous men mind you, lead by a fellow named ‘Rangar'. I'm looking for them." Tareth couldn't help but gasp. Who was looking for Rangar? Did Rangar know? Was he holding something back from the company? Tareth wasn't about to ask, but... "Sure," Rangar said. He sounded surprised, but he hid it well, his voice sounding natural. "We'll stay alert. Be careful on the downs in this fog." Tareth stared in amazement toward the place where source of the voice should have been, even if he could not see it, as it answered, "Thank you, I will." The footsteps began again, the sound growing softer as they walked away. Tareth was shocked, so shocked that he couldn't think of a thing to say. Rangar seemed to think it as of little importance, though he was a bit shaky. He told them they should move on, and as they moved out of the downs, the scouting party returned. The fog also shrunk a bit, becoming less dense, but it was still there, and significantly.

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

To Tareth's dismay, the fog still remained when Rangar announced it was time to set up camp. The first watch went to Ravenne, and Tareth was chosen for the second. When he took his post, Tareth couldn't help but wonder what would result from an attack on the company in this weather. He looked around him, trying to find a break in the swirling fog, or any signs of movement. But, as hard as he tried, he couldn't see a thing beyond a few yards. And if their enemy came that close, it was far too late. It was time for Tareth to rely on his ears. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, opening his ears to the smallest sound. He had always had good hearing, but he needed to concentrate for his hearing to be best. He knew he risked the coming of sleep in closing his eyes, so he put himself in the most uncomfortable position he could, leaning against a tree. Slowly the time crept by. Crunch The sound rang in his ears, it was small, but it triggered the coming of someone. Tareth's eyes snapped open and he whirled around wildly, searching for the source of the sound. Then he realized it came from the direction of the camp, and he turned to see the faint outline of a figure. A woman, he thought, but he still held his axe at the ready. He relaxed as the person came into view, revealing Wren. She came over to take the watch, saying something had awoken her. Tareth was mildly surprised, but he was happy to comply. He had to admit he was tired, and he hoped that sleep would help take his mind off things.

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

Tareth lay on his blanket roll for quite a long time. How long, he had no way of knowing, except that it had to be a good hour or so, since the fog was almost completely gone. His thoughts drifted to home, to his father's shop. He could hear the clanging of iron on iron, feel the heat, smell the oil and grease and flames. It was blissful, until his thoughts went to why he was not there. He remembered the battle. As quick as it had been, it was imprinted in his mind as an immense event. He had killed. The emotions rushed on him, hitting him like he had walked into a stone wall. The pain, rage, grief, anguish, loss of humanity, all the wild emotions burned in him as if he had just killed the man. Killed the man... The thought drifted on the outside of a wall of fog inside his head, much like the deep mist surrounding his body. The feelings overwhelmed him, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He immediately wiped it away, cursing himself for being weak, and the fog shrank away. He would kill in the defense of himself and others, kill if it was right. Evil had to be stopped, in all forms. Even men some are evil, if you are a man too. He would. But what did I lose? He wondered if it had been what Rangar had spoke of. Or was he yet to lose that? Thoughts swarmed his head, and the wall of mist threatened to return, but then he heard it. Another cursed sound...

Wild cries rose around him in the dark. Tareth jumped up, grabbing his axe. Men like those that had attacked earlier, with wild hair and dirty, scraggy clothing, with weapons of all kinds. A man came at him, swinging a spear wildly. Tareth lost all thought, all feeling, and he began to swing his axe as if in a dance. Dodging a swing, blocking the next, forcing the spear back, then stabbing in with his knife. Dark blood poured forth from the man's stomach, covering Tareth's hand, splattering on his shirt. But he hardly noticed, and took advantage of the seconds that the wild man stared in shock to decapitate him with a swift stroke of his axe. The head flew off, and the blood splattered Tareth in the face. He took no notice. Then he noticed Bregand. Bregand The name was stray a thought drifting into his head. It didn't matter. He charged over. Bregand turned on him, mistaking him for an enemy, and Tareth blocked the blows, thinking it an enemy. Then, the stray thought drifted back. Bregand

He stopped; Bregand stopped. A split second and they turned to face two wild men together. Tareth dodged a crazed swing of a broad - bladed sword, only for it to hit Bregand sharp on the head. With a howl of rage, Tareth lunged at the wild man, slashing and hacking. The blood stained everywhere. He fought off another, receiving a wound in the leg. Ignore it. The fighting paused for Tareth, at least, and he was able to check on Bregand. A large welt was on the young man's head, and a small trickle of blood ran down his face. It wasn't bad, but... "Bregand!" he called t him, shaking him a bit. He had to gain consciousness, or his situation would worsen. "Bregand!"

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

[Arvedui III]

Horns. Rangar without even thinking was on his feet. They has returned. He'd feared it. Struggling to see through the blackness he could make a swarms of wild men, quickly engulfing the camp. Already the others were fighting, so Rangar felt almost at ease as he drew his sword and deftly sidestepped a man lunging toward him. Rangar began striding around the camp, slashing and jabbing at the innumerable wild men as he went. He felt something lean against his back and heard Turthol's voice. "How the hell did they find us." He called over the din of battle. "They're looking for me." Rangar said, almost casually as though it was completely ordinary to be tracked down and attacked by wild men. The strangest part was he did not know or understand why he was suddenly so at ease. "What!? Why?" Turthol's reaction was very different.

Clang. Both Rangar and Turthol turned sharply and saw Bregand hit the ground. Rage flared inside Rangar. It was one thing attack skilled warriors, and another to attack an innocent boy. Abandoning his back to back stance with Turthol, Rangar rushed several wild men before getting to Bregand. Tareth was trying vainly to rouse him. "Get him out of here, Tareth!" Rangar barked. The blacksmith nodded and grabbing Bregand, made for the road just due east of the clearing. With renewed fury Rangar attacked the still dense group of wild men.

They fought for seemed like an eternity, making Rangar's arms sore. Then, another horn blew and the wild men retreated once more. "Everyone ok?" Rangar called. After numerous assents, Camalita went around checking that they all were seemingly in one piece. "What now?" Ravenne asked. Rangar stood in thought for a moment. We can't stay here. But then, where can we stay? He sighed. There were no answers, and certainly not enough information to make a good decision. "Let's get back to the road. Tareth and Bregand are there." They all nodded and Rangar was glad of it. At least they trust his judgment, even if they didn't trust him. Especially those who'd heard the conversation he had with the man in the fog. The same thought kept soming to his mind.

Why? Why is someone looking for me? When the company got to the road they found Tareth standing over Bregand, who lay limply on the ground. The nurse rushed over to him, along with some of the others. But Turthol took him aside, as Rangar knew he would. "We need to talk." They walked away from the company as Rangar related all of what had happened while Turthol and the other were scouting. "And you have no idea." "None." Said Rangar bluntly. That was the worst feeling. He felt just as he had that day on the hill; Numb, disbeileaving. "Well, we'll just have to try and outrun them until we get to Rohan." "Yeah" Said Rangar, and then as if to avoid the topic he looked back towards where the others were.

Suddenly, "Turthol?" Said Rangar in a panicked voice. "Yes" "Where's Wren?" " I dunno, you don't think," He did. Without bothering to consider the matter, Rangar cried. "Rave, Calmir, Tareth. Come with me and Turthol. I think they have Wren."

[Earendil Halfelven]

He lay there wrapped in his dark cloak. Its color made him almost as dark as the night. He watched Wren walk over and relieve Tareth, but still Turthôl did not sleep. Instead, he meditated. His body was relaxed but his mind was alert and refreshed by every passing minute.

He heard a snap somewhere in the dark. His eyes snapped open. His right hand went for his sword while his left went for one of his daggers at his belt. He heard a man's voice in the dark. Turthôl glanced over to where Wren was, and he saw her kneeling on the ground with someone in front of her. Turthôl stood.

Horns sounded in the dark; they were under attack! Men came in from the surrounding darkness. Turthôl tried to make his way to Wren but a shadow blocked his way.

"ARISE! ARISE AND DEFEND YOURSELVES!" Turthôl cried. The man in front of him didn't come far. Turthôl bent over the body and yanked the dagger out that he had thrown. Another man came behind him. He turned and blocked the man's sword with his own. With his left hand, he slashed the man in his neck, piercing the major artery. Blood shot out in a steady stream, hitting Turthôl in the face. He didn't care. Let it be a warning to those who get in my way! he thought. He had been fighting back to back with Rangar, but Rangar was no longer there. He kept fighting.

Suddenly, his memory flashed back to that night, many years ago..."Arise! Arise and defend yourselves!" he cried. The orcs swarmed in from all over... He swung upward, slashing another man's stomach, the bowels spilling out. The man cried and staggered onto the ground. Turthôl finished him off, and turned for another one to kill.
Many of his companions were cut down; orcs were desecrating the bodies. Sartir stood there, laughing...

Another man charged forward. Turthôl laughed outloud into the dark. This man's confidence was amusing to him. Turthôl picked up a branch and stirred the dying campfire to life. It blazed and the coals caught the branch on fire. He swung his sword down to the left, knocking the man's own weapon to the ground. Turthôl swung the branch into the man's face. The man screamed; the fire blinded him in the eyes. He staggered and fell. Turthôl laughed again. He would save this man for last. "Sartir...Sartir, help us! He looked around. He felt the crusted blood on his face. Sartir laughed at him. "Turthôl, you are a fool!"

Another man died at Turthôl's sword. "Sartir, what are you doing?" Turthôl cried. His companions were falling. Sartir laughed and shot an arrow, hitting Turthôl in the leg. The fight was almost over. He couldn't tell what the outcome was or who was left or not. He saw Tareth guarding Bregand. Turthôl ran over to the two. As he reached Tareth, Tareth's sword came up in defence. Turthôl raised his hands, "Tareth, it's ok. Its Turthôl."

"Oh, then you must be wounded. Your face is covered in blood. I'll call Carmilita!" Tareth said.

"No need, its not mine." Turthôl replied.

After seeing that Bregand was alright, Turthôl sought for any remaining enemies. The sun was barely rising, and its light was welcome to the company. The fog had dissapated.

____________________________________________

He stood above the man he had blinded.

"Tell us who sent you!" Turthôl yelled.

"Never! You will have to kill me," the man replied. He groveled on the ground, blind.

"With pleasure..." Turthôl said. He raised his sword to behead the prisoner.

"Turthôl, No!" It was Rangar. Enien and Calimir came up behind him.

"we need to question him to find out what he knows," Enien said.

Turthôl looked at the pathetic excuse of a man groveling on the ground, defenseless.

"What are the causalties?" Turthôl asked.

"We don't know yet. Bregand will be fine, but we are still searching for the others. Some are not accounted for, including Wren." Calamir replied.

"We need to spare this man," Rangar replied.

"And what are we supposed to do? Take him with us? Look at him, pathetic. He will serve no purpose. He knows that we probably won't kill him, so he will not tell us anything." Turthôl argued.

"Still, have mercy..." Calamir replied.

"Yes, please, have mercy upon me. Spare me, please..." the man begged.

The orcs bound his hands tightly. Four other companions were captured...the rest were dead. Sartir had betrayed them. Sartir had bandaged Turthôl's wounded leg, and he had asked him why. "So that you are strong enough to be tortured longer," Sartir snickered. Turthôl had spat in his face. He was going to track down Sartir...he was going to escape...and he was going to kill Sartir for what he had done...he was going to have his revenge.

Turthôl looked Calimir in the eyes, then Enien, and then Rangar. He saw the look of horror on their faces at Turthôl's appearance: the dried blood of another man all over his face. The look on their faces became even worse as Turthôl turnned and plunged his sword through the man. He kept forcing it down until he felt it pierce the ground beneath. He kept going until the hilt was a foot above the ground.

Calimir gasped. Enien turned away. Rangar just stood there.

"Excuse me while I clean myself off," Turthôl growled. He turned and walked off.

"We need to talk." They walked away from the company as Rangar related all of what had happened while Turthol and the other were scouting. "And you have no idea." "None." Said Rangar bluntly. That was the worst feeling. He felt just as he had that day on the hill; Numb, disbeileaving. "Well, we'll just have to try and outrun them until we get to Rohan." "Yeah" Said Rangar, and then as if to avoid the topic he looked back towards where the others were.

Suddenly, "Turthol?" Said Rangar in a panicked voice.

"Yes"

"Where's Wren?"

" I dunno, you don't think,"

Rangar cried. "Rave, Calmir, Tareth. Come with me and Turthol. I think they have Wren."


Sartir lay dead in the room that he had rented. Sartir was surprised...it had been one year since Turthôl was captured...one year since his remaining companions were tortured to death by orcs...it had been one year since he had escaped...it had been one year, but he had his revenge.

[ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir had lain low during the fighting, stirking out with his dagger should anyone come close. He thought he had killed three, maybe four, but he couldn't tell.

When everything had calmed down a bit more, Calimir watched with sharp eyes. Turthol had one of the attackers at the point of his sword. Enien rushed over, with Rangar only a step behind. "No!" he heard Rangar cry as Turthol went to slay the man. Wren was missing, the three reasoned, we must question him, make sure we've searched everywhere for her.

Turthol looked unconvinced. "What are we supposed to do? Bring him with us?"

"Have mercy," Calimir said softly. But it was to no avail, as Turthol plunged his blade into the man. Calimir shuddered in horror as he watched the man die. He stared keenly at the ranger, Turthol, as he pushed the blade past the man's body and into the ground.

What kind of journey had he gotten into? Calimir wondered as he turned away from the grotesque scene. I wanted to travel and see this world. He leaned heavily against a tree, running his fingers across its rough bark. This galadhremmin ennorath... he thought, recalling the words to the old song. But here he was, it seemed, beneath a death-horror after all. A tiro nin, Fanuilos... he thought, echoing the words of the song once more. A sharp voice brought him out of his musings.

""Rave, Calmir, Tareth. Come with me and Turthol. I think they have Wren." It was Rangar calling. Calimir straightened abruptly. Joining the others he headed for the woods from which the wild men had appeared. His sharp eyes scanned the ground for signs of a struggle. Surely if Wren was captured she wouldn't allow herself to be dragged off helplessly. The irony of that picture hit Calimir and he managed a small smile. No, unless Wren was unconscious she would not go quietly. But as Calimir's eyes raked the ground the tracker saw no signs of struggling. He frowned. Where had she gone?

[Arien]

Rave, Calmir, Tareth, Turthôl and Ranger departed and went in search of Wren who was now missing. Probably caught by who ever had attacked them. It had been quick and sudden, she had slain several but injured herself in the process. The slash across her stomach still dripped with blood and through her top seeped a deep crimson liquid, but it would be fine. She first attended to the other wounded, there were not many thankfully.

But then Turthôl had murdered that man even when Rangar and the others pleaded with him not to. Why he had done it Carmalita had no hope of knowing, and she wasn’t sure that she really wanted to know. She walked to where her pack lay next to the dead man Turthôl had slain, she pulled his limp hand away from her things and stared at him for a moment. It did not disgust her or make her feel ill. Too many times had she seen dead men, women and children. Eaten by disease, mauled by animals, punished by their families this was no different. She thought for a moment and looked over those who were left, Enien, Bregand and Arein. They all sat apart around the camp as if afraid to talk. Carmalita could not bear the silence, her life was always filled with noise. Noise of Crystal, of the Pony ,of Bree. She never really had time to herself and she hated not talking or listening. She decided to speak.

“Why do you think they came?” her voice trembled over the thinning fog and the other three slowly raised their heads.

“I don’t know? For Rangar perhaps?” Arein said quietly.

“I doubt it, unless we travel with an outlaw that does not even know himself as one!” she smiled. “Shall we light a fire? Or do you think the enemy might attack us again?” she waited for a reply. None. This was going to be a long wait. Hopefully they would find Wren soon and come back. She could not bear the silence.

[Durelin]

"Bregand!" Tareth still shook the man, thinking the worst. He had never known much about healing. He had no way of knowing in what condition Bregand was in. Tareth's heart skipped a beat when he heard a murmur from Bregand. His head had moved. Good, at least it is something Tareth searched the area around him. The battle was over, a few wild men retreating into the dark. He couldn't see any forms that could have been one of his companions on the ground, besides Bregand's. Tareth hoped that meant they all had remained unscathed, or at least could walk. "Carmalita!" he called, "Bregand is injured!" As the nurse came rushing over, he rose and told her, "If there is someone else who needs the help more than Bregand, please go to them." Then he noticed the slash at her stomach, and his eyes widened. "Like yourself." But Carmalita assured him that she was fine, and bent over Bregand.

"Rave, Calmir, Tareth," came Rangar's voice. He sounded distressed. "Come with me and Turthol. I think they have Wren." Tareth's stomach twisted. Wren had been captured. One of his companions. He shivered, and couldn't help but stare at Rangar. What would become of her? As Rangar moved on to where a few others stood, Tareth followed, trying to wipe his axe off on his shirt, but only smearing the blood all over both. He grimaced, then realized what it was for the first time. Blood. And not his. He was foolish to think that Turthol was wounded when he was covered with blood himself. But he hadn't realized... He now did his thoughts register the fact that he had killed two men. Or was it three? He shivered again, but no more. He was becoming more and more like Rangar and Turthol. That thought made him shiver all the more, but he was determined. He would do as he had said. Kill in defense of himself and others. Kill when it was right. And he would continue to hate it, continue to shiver over it, and he would not be shamed. He would not become like Rangar and Turthol, though he'd be as strong. Tareth pushed the thoughts away, and was surprised at how easily he did so. It was time to dwell on the present matter.

He surveyed the scene before him, and winced as Turthol stabbed the man through. He saw Calimir shudder. Strange... He never expected that from the elf. Elves always hid their emotions so well, as he had learned while traveling with two. Still, Turthol was a harsh man, and Tareth believed he had reason to be. With a will, he drew his eyes away from the man and back to Rangar. The man looked completely haggard, worried and tired, but he still had an air of being dangerous. He was still a strong fighter. "We will find Wren, Rangar. I know you will not rest until we find her, and I will remain by your side." The man gave Tareth a short nod, and the blacksmith was left to hope he had helped, not made Rangar's grievings worse by voicing them. Nonetheless, Tareth gathered his things, throwing his saddle bags and came across the shield his father had given him. He tied it with the bags. He would have use of it yet. Then he mounted his gelding, his three companions doing the same. I still have to think of a name- he cut the thought off. Not important. Rave, Rangar, Calimir, and Turthol were already galloping ahead of him, so he booted his horse forward after them. He hoped Rangar would not run the horses to death in his haste.

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

[Arvedui III]

Rangar sighed, it was no good on horses. No tracks. There were absolutely no tracks, Rangar couldn't believe it. Groping through the ever present fog, the party searched in vain for any sign of Wren. "No Struggle" Calmir commented solemnly, more to himself then to the group after two hours of searching the gloomy land. This was galling, no man could vanish into thin air, Especially one who happened to have Wren with him. "She must have been knocked out before the battle was over." Ravenne added quietly. "Of course." Muttered Tareth. "It was a ploy." "No" Said Rangar quietly. With every new theory a stab of guilt kept hitting him. Whoever they are, they're after me. Why did they take Wren? She's innocent. It was all he could do to believe that the attack wasn't planed, but a random assault by mindless wild men. Though, he knew otherwise. It was planned in great detail, and carried out perfectly. The mercenaries were just pawns, and so was Wren. They would take what they needed from her, then use her as a bait for him. And he would walk willingly into that trap. That was the scariest part. But if I run, Wren will die. It wasn't a comforting thought.

"Rangar!" Turthol's voice brought him back to himself. "Huh?" "Let's spit up. Whoever we're after is clearly alone, and we need to cover more ground. It will be light soon." Rangar nodded. "Ok, Rave, you head with Calmir that way. Turthol and I will head left. Tareth, you go back to the others and tell them we can't find Wren anywhere, and" He hesitated, "And to stay put until we get back." "Which will probably be at dawn." Calmir added, looked pointedly at Rangar. "Yes, we'll get back at dawn." So Rangar and Turthol headed to the left, scrutinizing the ground, hoping vainly for any sign of movement.

[Eruwen]

Rave and Calmir started off right in the search for Wren. For a short time there was no words spoken between the two, but eventually Rave spoke up.

"Why would this man want Wren anyway?" she commented whispering to the other. "She held no more significance than any of the rest of us."

Callo shook his head. As they walked on, Rave began to feel the real horror of the land around. The Barrow-Downs were not a pleasant place to be in by any chance...especially if you were living.

"Why did this man have to choose the Downs anyway?" Rave spoke aloud, yet silently. "Any other place...but this would make even the strongest of Men fearful."

"Just be glad we havn't seen any of those wights around," Calmir replied. "They are what you should fear. It is not simply the land which makes this place so evil...but the creatures inside the Downs."

"Very true," Rave said with a slight smile. Suddenly a noise was heard off to the left of them. They turned towards the sound, but Rave could see nothing due to the dreadful darkness surrounding their position in the wilderness.

[maikafanawen]

When Wren came to her senses she was on the forest floor, the dense fog of the downs hovering just over her head. Sitting up was strenuous due to the massive headache she received along with the blow to the head. She felt the back of her neck and found a very large bump, the size of a robin’s egg. Grimacing she stretched and adjusted her eyes to the dark, making out a single man before her. He was hooded, although two barely discernible black eyes looked out at her.

“Well hello,” she said innocently, “tell me, are you my savior or my captor? I can’t keep things strait these days, or it could be the amount of damage done to my head in that last attack.” The man stayed silent and stared humorlessly at her. “Quiet one, aren’t we,” she said as though they had just met at a social gathering. She shrugged dramatically and pulled vainly at her hair. “This damn weather is treacherous to this. Can’t do a thing with it honestly. I’m going to be spending weeks in hair-therapy when—er—if I get home.” Her last sentence broke the stranger’s silence and made him laugh sadistically, revealing his raspy voice.

“Good girl. No savior to you am I.” He chuckled evilly, though Wren counteracted him with an unexpected laugh.

“Oh good. I’d be devastated if my savior turned out to be the likes of you. I was hoping for someone more along the lines of dashing, charming, sweep-you-off-your-feet—”

“Shut up!” hissed the man. The sound of footsteps could be heard audibly through the mist. It was Rangar & Co. (as Wren had took to dubbing them). It would be foolish to let them know she was there because the man before her did not seem hesitant in the least to kill her. Sitting back against the tree she waited until they passed before trying to speak again, but when she opened her mouth he shushed her again. The stranger stood, and grabbed her arm, pressing a dagger into the small of her back and steering her forwards. “Be quiet, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes,” she muttered sedately, “it would appear so.” The noblewoman dragged a hundred paces away from they were, and came upon a low outcropping covering a dry area of ground. He shoved her under the rocks and ducked in after her, concealing the both of them in the shadows. The dagger pressed into her back, working a hole in the back of her jerkin. “Mind the fabric please,” she whispered. He shot her a menacing look before peering back into the night fog, tightening his grip and not withdrawing the dagger in the slightest bit. “Well really,” she huffed. “I don’t see why you’re so cross. Problems at home perhaps?” He ignored her comment and pulled a cloak out of his pack, covering the two of them, causing them to blend more readily into the shadows. “Ah!” said Wren, recognizing the cloak as the one that belonged to the man who had first attacked her. “Well I suppose that covers that topic.” She peered out into the darkness abortively. “It’s dark as hell out there. What are you looking for by the way?”

“If you say another word, I swear to Eru I’ll slit your throat.” Wren went silent and waited for a good half hour until the man relaxed her hold and leaned back against the stone, pushing her a good bit away from him. He held the dagger up so she could see it plainly. “If you make a single move that makes me think you’re about to escape this will be your end.”

“I haven’t even considered escape! Now that you have completely captured my attention I can’t wait to find out what this is all about. What a story I’ll have to tell when—ah ha! Oops—if I get home. That doomsday thought yet again,” she chuckled.

“If you continue to aggravate me, you won’t be able to do much of anything ever again.” The threat went over the noblewoman’s head with a foot to spare.

“Shouldn’t we be finding something to eat? I hate to be the voice of reality but I don’t know how much longer I can last on an empty stomach. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to see me hungry, I can be very annoying,” she winked at him, and he stared back at her in disbelief, cursing his bad luck at choosing a hostage. He pulled forth a ration of dried meat and handed a small handful to Wren. She recoiled in mock disgust. “You jest! I can’t eat this!” He began to withdraw his offer but the woman reached out quickly, snatching the measly portion of food from his outstretched hand. After examining the food carefully she popped a piece into her mouth and chewed. “Puts up a fight, doesn’t it?” She swallowed dramatically and unclasped her water canteen from her belt taking a large gulp. “Ew. Nasty stuff that meat is.” She ate the rest quickly and washed it down with her water. When she was done she leaned up against the rock. The man sat motionless across from her, glancing every now and then into the distant gloom. “Do you suppose we could light a fire or something? I can’t see a damned thing.”

“What’s there exactly to see? There’s nothing but rock, ground, and fog. A fire would draw attention you fool. Of course you’ve realized that,” he twirled the dagger between his fingers, the blade swishing through the thick air. Wren nodded.

“Never overlook the obvious. I suppose we could talk about something else.”

“Must we?” he said leaning in and twirling the knife exceptionally close to her face. “I’d prefer if you didn’t say another word.” The noblewoman sighed.

“Well if that’s how you feel on the matter of conversation, fine with me. Don’t want to waste my talk on such a negative person now do I?” Wren spoke as if she had greatly insulted him, and turned away in a pout. Then she sighed, clapping her hands on her knees. “Shall I take the first watch? Not that I could see anything, mind you.” The man snarled.

“First watch? You’re a hostage!” he pointed out. “I’d sooner trust a thief.”

“That says a lot about your disposition,” she mused. “But if you insist, I’ll just doze a bit if you don’t mind. Goodnight.” The noblewoman folded up her cloak and curled up as if she was lying on a satin sofa. Within minutes she was asleep, or so it appeared. The hunter growled and turned his attention towards the forest. He would kill her the moment he got what he needed. It was his usual routine, and her annoying persona only made him hate her more.

* * *

Wren lay awake in the darkness for an hour after she pretended to be asleep. Her mind swirled with fear and her heart beat frantically within her chest. The man not five feet from her frightened her unlike anything had before. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her act up before one of two things happened: she was rescued, or he killed her. The latter thought made tears of dread well up in her eyes. Forcing them back the noblewoman took a deep, melodramatic breath as though she was dreaming. Sleep came slowly and trouble with nightmares.

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

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl stared into the ground, trying to see anything that could hint at the direction of the man they were hunting. He and Rangar had headed off to the left, out into the fog. But he couldn't see anything. Soon, he casually walked along and busied himself by cleaning the blood and dirt off of his sword. Rangar noticed his behavior.

"Aren't you going to help?" he asked. Turthôl looked up at him.

"I am," he said.

"It doesn't look like it. It looks like your cleaning your sword," Rangar replied.

"I am," Turthôl said.

Rangar sighed. "Are you ok? What happened back there?"

"You mean the-" Turthôl began but Rangar interrupted.

"Yes. That man you murdered. Why did you do that? You were like a Wild Man yourself!"

"It had to be done. That man could only do damage to us if we let him go. If a warg attacks people, do you simply wound it and let it go? No, you kill it before it hurts someone else."

"But that man was not an animal," Rangar said. "Now, everyone thinks your mental, probably." Turthôl shrugged. That thought really didn't bother him.

"Well, whethere he was an animal or not, it still had to be done." Turthôl said.

"It looked to me like you were out of your mind." Rangar answered.

"I was-" Turthôl replied. He didn't know why the memories of Sartir would come up now, but somehow, the attack on the company made him feel as if he was back there again, one year ago, being ambushed by orcs and being betrayed. For moment, he was back there again, defending the companions who had died beside him. His new companions had been ambushed, and he wasn't going to let them die.

Turthôl sheathed his sword, and said no more.
_____________________________________________

It had been an hour, and they still hadn't seen a thing.

"Do you realize that we have been quit stupid?" Turthôl asked.

"How so?" Rangar replied.

"If you had taken a hostage, where would you go to get out of the open? When daylight comes, where would you need to hide? Obviously, not in a clearing such as the Downs." he asked.

Rangar thought a moment. Suddenly, a look came upon his face which told Turthôl that he had realized the same thing.

"The forest. Of course!" Rangar said. The two men headed off in the direction of the woods.

"You know, I'm having second thoughts of this search." Turthôl said.

"And why is that, may I ask? Does it have anything to do with this being Wren?" Rangar asked.

"We don't need to search for her," Turthôl said.

"Don't you feel sorry for her at all?"

"I feel sorry for the guy that captured her! Think of how bad she is probably annoying him right now. He's probably going to abandon her in frustration." Turthôl started laughing at the thought of it.

Rangar stood there, dumbfounded. Then, their laughter cut through the darkness like a knife.

[Everdawn]

Énien somehow had ended up on the other side of the clearing, next to Claimir after first checking on Tareth and Bregand Bregand was in bad shape poor boy. The cut she had recieved across her face now rendered a steady trickle of blood. She ignored it. This last attack had been worse than the last. The men had caught them unprepared and sleeping.

Turthôl had slain the remaining man. What is happening to you? Has your grace diminished? Énien thought to herself as she had watched him sercure the blade about the mans stomach. And let it pass not into your heart. She said silenced in her thought before turning her back on him completly. And it came to her in a flash, emmence sadness and betrayel in Turthôl's heart, so much she felt herself go numb.

It took a while for Énien to notice she was bleeding heavily. Énien put her hand to her face. The scene around her started to swirl. The others were talking, something about Wren. Énien doubled over resting her hands on her knees. Wren in their hands? i hope she can defend herself, or it will be her doom. Rangar called for Rave, Calimir and a few of the others to follow. Énien blinked her eyes, the world was now hazy. She put a hand on whoever's shoulder was near her now as she replied "yes... I... I... think i... will... stay here-" Énien now stood up straight, pain wreathing in her skull. "In case... she... comes back."

Now the others had gone leaving her behind again to protect the others, Carmalita and Bregand at least were at risk now. Énien was scared, for the first time in her life, and she diddnt care for it. She closed her eyes, the pain was unbareable, still she tried to keep watch. Whatever was wrong with her face, she thought she could bare it.

Énien looked again at Bregand injured. There was a strange look on her face, a single tear rolled down her other cheek.

This is all my fault! I had no need for rest! And i am an elf, i would have heard them coming, or seen them at least. And none of this would have happened, oh Bregand, forgive me!Her heart cried, but she uttered no sound. Énien couldnt help but feel responsible.

[The X Phial]

Bregand fought for control of his senses. Since regaining consciousness he had been lightheaded and nauseous. His eyesight was blurry, swimming in and out of focus, and he could swear he was hearing a swarm of bees behind his head. Despite all of this, however, he felt like his thinking was clear, or at least as clear as it could be. He was slowly trying to test his limbs, find any other places that might be wounded. After what felt like an age he determined that his head was his only injury. Somewhat comforted, he concentrated on taking in his surroundings.

They had decided not to start a fire. The risk was too great that the attackers would return. If they did, the remaining company members would not last long. Bregand was cold; in fact he was shivering. He pulled his blanket closer and steadied himself against the trunk of a tree. His hair and clothes were wet with condensation from the fog.

He managed to open his eyes and steady his vision. Carmalita was humming to herself and holding her stomach, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. Bregand could see blood drying on her clothes but no fresh blood flowing. He assumed she knew what she could handle, being a nurse, but he worried nonetheless. Enien had cleaned the blood off of her face, but an ugly red seam was in evidence, and her face looked drawn with emotion or pain, Bregand could not guess which. He could not see Aerin, but heard someone rustling through the packs. He assumed that was her.

Bregand used the tree for support and dragged himself to his feet, gaining a sharp look from the elf for his efforts. He took a tentative step toward Carmalita, and then another before losing his footing and landing on his hands and knees. Enien jumped to her feet and he had to hold up his hand to stop her from helping him up again. He looked at her, pleading with his eyes that she understand his need to do this by himself. She backed away, but looked at him dubiously, unsure.

Bregand calmed his stomach and climbed back to his feet. I was harder with no tree to help him. Finally, he managed to stumble his way to Carmalita's side with a weave in his step any drunk would have been proud of. He sat down heavily beside her, rewarded with a sharp pain in his temples and a fresh wave of nausea.

"Your wound is more serious than mine," he started, "and yet you cared for me before ever thinking of yourself. I thank you."

"Your wound is serious enough," she chastened in return. "As soon as we can risk a fire I have a tincture for you to drink that may lessen your dizziness."

"That would, indeed, be a blessing," he sighed.

They sat in silence for a while, and Carmalita resumed her humming. Bregand did not know the tune, but it was simple and lovely, like a lullaby. The nurse's voice was rough with pain, which gave the tune an eerie and haunting tone, and Bregand was enchanted by the simple beauty. He was loathe to interrupt her, and they sat that way for a while. Finally, when she was starting the tune from the beginning again, he broke in.

"I..I think you should take my horse when we get on the road again. You need to ride with that injury and I'm sure we can redistribute some of the weight she's carrying now. You don't look very heavy. She's a good horse, won't jostle you too much. Please don't say no. It's the only way I know to thank you."

[ May 14, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arien]

Carmalita looked at Bregand, how kind of him it had been to offer his horse. She would not rufuse him, infact she was glad he had offered her stomach hurt when she walked and she wanted it to heal quickly. She moved her hands away from her stomach and they were crimson again.

"It has started to bleed again, Bregand pass me my pack, if you will," she asked softly, he reach out for the pack and settled it next to her. "Thankyou, are you sure you want to stay here and see this?"

"It is only a wound," he said.

She lifted the top slightly and revealed a deep jaged cut smeared with blood. Bregand winced at the sight as fresh blood seemed to pump out. She cleaned it, then bandaged herself up and placed a few cleansing herbs in for good measure.

The she placed her things in her bag, as she did this she found a something soft inside. She pulled it out and looked at it for a second. It was one of crystals teddies, infact one of her favourite. Carmalita's hand smothed its fur and looked into the dark eyes. She would miss this dearly as Carmalita would miss her.

"What is that?" enquiered Bregand, "If you dont mind me asking."

"I don't..." she paused wondering whether to tell him, but what harm could it do. Less he could think she was a outcast. Hopefully he would not."..it is my daughters."

[Arvedui III]

Slowly the sky began to fade into the palest of blue, beginnings of the sun starting to creep over the landscape. When Rangar saw this, he pounded his fist into the nearest tree. Turthol did the same, adding on to the growing, grim reality that wherever Wren had been taken, it was beyond their reach. Neither one wanted to head back, and neither one had any idea about what to do, either. Rangar's head now started to ache, No sign, no sign at all. He heard Turthol mutter, "Come on Wren, give us something." in his anger. The sun now began to rise. "Well," Said Turthol loudly and angrily. "Things just keep getting better!" "Shut up, will you?" Muttered Rangar, vexed.

They both leaned against a rocky outcropping covering a dry area of ground. "Well, we have to get back to the others." Rangar muttered at last. It was no use. All he could do was hope that Wren would escape. "Do we?" Muttered Turthol, more to himself then to Rangar. "What?" "I mean, we, well, we could just, I dunno Rangar. Why can't it still be just the two of us?" Exactly. Thought Rangar Why couldn't it? No more company, no more leadership, no responsibility, no more feeling awkward and guilty. It was a tantalizing offer. But, there was the mother, the boy, the blacksmith, all the others who put their trust in him. "No." Said Rangar slowly. "We can't, no this time. Do you remember what it's like to lead, Turthol?" But Rangar already knew the answer. " No, I failed. Didn't I ever tell you?" He responded bitterly. "Only in your dreams." Rangar muttered. Then, a new question popped into his mind. "Are you afraid Wren will turn into Sartir, and this company will turn into," "No" Turthol near shouted, exasperatedly.

But, Rangar could see otherwise in his face, eyes full of pain. "Just drop it." "Fine." An awkward silence ensued. Then, just as Rangar was ready to suggest leave again, a small crack echoed from beyond the outcropping. "Did you hear something?" A muffled voice sounded from behind the rock. "Shut up!" Rangar and Turthol looked at each other for a moment, then drew their swords.

[ May 14, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir noted the direction that Rangar and Turthol took, as he and Rave travelled on a different course into the forest. The fog had cleared out enough that Calimir could see as much as he needed, and his keen eyesight continued to rake the ground for signs of footsteps.

He thought of Wren. How frightened she must be! She wasn't much different than Wilwarin, really, both adults, but so young. Calimir searched more carefully now, what would Wren's father say? He stayed fairly close to Rave as he searched, but the feeling began to grow on him that they were looking in the wrong place. He frowned. Ravenna looked at him curiously.

"Nobody has passed this way recently." he said to her. She nodded slowly. "We should search somewhere else." Just then, loud laughter rung out above the trees. It was Turthol and Rangar's voices. Rave's eyes went wide.

"Don't they know that whoever has Wren might kill her if they think we're getting close?" she said in a horrified whisper. She took off toward the sound of the laughter. Calimir followed. After a time the laughtere stopped and they slowed to a walk, Turthol and Rangar had moved on it seemed. They continued a while in the direction where they'd heard the voices, and shortly Rave caught sight of Turthol through the trees.

They approached quietly, sensing the seriousness of the moment. Rangar was standing by a large rock outcropping, sword in hand. Turthol motioned to them to keep quiet as they advanced.

[Earendil Halfelven]

They crouched behind the boulders and trees. He heard footsteps behind them, and he turned to see Rave and Calimir come up. He motioned for them to be quiet. Their swords glistened in the newly risen sun.

While Rangar observed the situation, Turthôl had a while to think to himself. Rangar had hit a sore spot in their conversation, about Sartir and the expedition. Rangar had accused him of bringing Sartir back to life in the form of Wren and the others. Thats why it was so hard for him to trust others-for the fear of being betrayed. He was bringing the past back to life, but he had to bury it. He had denied Rangar's accusations, but he knew they were true.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Rangar's voice. "Let's move forward. Steadily. Me, Rave, and Calimir will go around the left and bring attention to ourselves. Turthôl, you go to the right and search for Wren. I can't see any others down there. Can you?"

Turthôl looked forward. He couldn't really see anyone, but there could be some surviving wild men out there. "I don't see anyone, but still, some wild men might have survived the fight and could be out there."

"All right, let's move. Quietly now." Rangar said.

Rave and Calimir nodded and followed after Rangar, with weapons drawn. Turthôl looked after them, giving them a headstart, and then he headed to the right. Suddenly, the feeling that Wren had betrayed them, that she had told her captor about Rangar and of their journey swelled up inside of him. No, he thought. Let the past die. It died with Sartir. He shook that thought out of his mind and headed down the slope.

He had lost sight of the others, but he knew they were there. His eyes scanned the forest. Nothing, yet. If the captor had no other companions then he wouldn't stick around, not with a whole company after him. If he was here, then he had some support. Yes...as he stepped out from behind a rather large boulder, he could see someone. A wild man, with his back turned. This was going to be easy.

He snuck up behind the man. Turthôl leaped on his back, grabbed his chin with his left and the back of his head with his right, and twisted them in the opposite direction. There was a loud pop, and the man dropped to the ground, his neck broken. So there were sentries. Hopefully, Rangar, Rave, and Calimir were doing fine.

Suddenly, the sounds of yelling and the clang of steel came from the left. They had met the enemy. He glimpsed two wild men running in that direction. Turthôl stopped them with arrows in their backs. That was all he could do to help the others. He had to find Wren, quick.

He quickened his pace. He could hear Rangar's voice, and Rave and Calimir shouting. The noises become louder as he neared the fight. As he neared, he made out a pair of legs sticking out from the other side. Wren! he thought. He rushed in and sure enough, it was Wren Chambria. She caught sight of him, and shouted, "Behind you!"

Turthôl turned in time to see a wild man bring his sword down in a large swipe. He dodged to the left, and landed a punch in the man's face. The wild man brought his sword back up, but Turthôl blocked it with his own. They struggled with eachother, each trying to outdue his enemy. Turthôl knocked the sword out of the man's grasp. The man looked up and their eyes met eachother. Turthôl looked into the man's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. It seemed as if he could read the man's thoughts, until his swipe severed the head from the body.

He quickly turned to Wren and drew his dagger to cut her ropes.
"We meet again my lady," he said as he began on her ropes.

"Its about time too. My company was completely boring. He's probably antisocial." she replied.

"I don't blame him. His first mistake was attacking us. His second, and biggest, was kidnapping you." Turthôl chuckled to himself. Wren glared at him. The ropes were cut and she stood up.

He looked into her eyes, to read her soul, to see what he could see. He saw fear of death, but also courage undaunted by that fear. Let the past die. He had misjudged this woman from Gondor. That was the mistake he had made. What he saw in her eyes, as he became transfixed in them, was trust. She had not betrayed them after all.

"You did not betray us to the enemy. You were true to the company. I'm sorry for misjudging you, for taking you as just a rich woman with naive ambition. But now I see a noblewoman of Gondor, one with courage, and who can be trusted. Please forgive my doubt." he said.

Wren looked at him with a look of astonishment. What was this? He saw she was shocked and surprised at his change in behavior. No other feeling showed on her face. He hoped this changed their relationship in a good way.

"Thank you, Turthôl." she smiled. At her smile, he knew he had said what she had been waiting to hear, and that made him glad, glad in a way that he had not been in years.

"Come, Wren, let's get out of here." Turthôl said.

"What, no "my lady"? she asked

"I thought you didn't like that." he said.

"Well, I could get used to it," she said with a laugh. Turthôl smiled at this.

"Here, take my dagger. Your sword is back at camp." he handed it to her.

"Thank you." she said as they ran back towards the edge of the woods. They could still hear dim sounds of steel clinging, but nothing more.

"Were you wounded in the battle? Your clothes have a lot of blood stains on them that weren't there before." she asked. Turthôl thought he detected a hint of worry in her voice.

"No," he replied. "Its...not mine."

They hurried back towards the company. Hopefully, Rangar, Calimir, and Rave had faired as well as them.

[Everdawn]

Seeing Bregand on his feet again and sitting, and Carmailta still bleeding from the stomach. Énien wandered a little way from the company who were sitting by the fire. She wrapped her cloak around her and placed her hood over her head, in a pathetic attempt to hide the cut.

Where are they?... Dont they know im not good at this, this waiting! Every minute they are away my mind wanders... have they come to grief? Wren... Wren, oh now i am so full of remorse. YOu are probably dead and I was never nice to you. Nor was I ever truly nice to Rangar either, and I doubt the blacksmith has faith in me. Yes, I did let my guard down, and that is how all this happened. If id... If I had been alert, aware, Wren wouldnt have been captured! Her guilt was eating her.

Armed with her bow and arrow now having left her Daggar at camp, Énien began to survey the safeness of the area. Never again would she become lazy. Yes, from now on she would seek no rest. She had placed this on herself, it was her responsibility to look out. It was a long time since the others departed. Énien stopped by a tree. The sun was setting. She sighed. It was a long time since she stopped to watch it as it decended over a high ridge, sparing some last-minute rays whose hands shon towards her.

As if in utter irony she began to reacll a song of the elves, which she used to play harp to, in Rivendell, in her little eastern wing which overlooked the valley. Aloud she sang;

A Banwen! ethuilrín vain!
Aglar am meril im Belain!
Penna glorgalad o menel,
berio i amar in edain.
Le linnatha si i 'annel
Lasto 'lîr nîn, a Uineth!
an-uir, galss, nîth a meleth.

She had finished singing, and stood up straight. Her head felt better. She knew if she ignored it enough it would go away. The peace was interrupted by the sound of people, two. And they were coming straight for her. Thinking they were wild men, Énien concealed herself as much as she could by perching herself in a tree. Her eyes scanned the newcomers.

Breath escaped her body. She could not believe it. The comers looked like a man and woman. It was Turthôl! and he had Wren!. Like a huge weight had been taken off her chest, Énien lept down from the tree and walked towards them. She decided that she was embarassed enough by her injury that she kept her hood on. "Turthôl! oh, hannon-le she is back! Are you hurt Wren, Turthôl? are you allright! Here all is fine, Bregand is well, or will be soon." she said tapping them both on the shoulder.

Then it came to her. Where were the others? She became frantic, looking around. "Have you not brought the others?" she let out a half laugh, out of worry. "Did they decide to go home? please say they have not come to grief!" Her green eyes noe more child-like than ever. She stared deep into the others eyes. The sun had now set.

[ May 16, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Eruwen]

"How many more of these creatures will come?" Rave shouted while fighting off one of the men. Every time it seemed that they would be winning, more and more wild men would come out of hiding in the woods. She watched Ranger and Calimir out of the corner of her eyes as they continued to fight.

Dodging a blow to the head, Rave ducked and struck her foe in the stomach with her sword. Breathing heavily, she moved on to another. The number of wild men gradually began to decrease, but the remaining few fought back horridly. From her sight, Ranger seemed to be doing quite well. He was knocking one down on his left while cutting the one on his right with his sword.

Rave could not see what Calimir seemed to be doing at the time, but she guessed he was winning against his own foe due to the large amount of screams being heard from the wild men. Rave fought on killing one more by slitting his throat. She brought another one to a quick demise and noticed that all had been fought off except for one man that Calimir was fighting off.

As Rave joined Ranger, Calimir struck his enemy down and walked over as well.

"Shall we return then?" Calimir said trying to catch his breath. "I'm sure Turthôl has found Wren by now."

"But what if he was attacked as well?" Rave replied. "Who knows what sort of state he could be in right now...not to mention Wren."

Ranger looked at them both and took a deep breath. "Why don't we just head back to camp." he said. "If they haven't returned yet, then we'll go look for them. But there's no need searching now if we don't even know if they are alright or not."

Rave nodded her head and followed Calimir and Ranger back to camp. Hopefully Wren's rescue had been successful.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, as the last of the wild men fell to the ground. Glancing around quickly he noted that Rave and Rangar seemed to be alright, though there was still no sign of Turthol or Wren. He wiped his knife on the grass, then reclaimed two others from the bodies on the ground. Calimir breathed heavily, trying to calm himself after the exertion and fear.

Glancing up at Rave he said "Shall we go back, then?" Her face twisted with concern that Wren and Turthol might still be in danger. He pressed his lips together. He judged that wherever Wren was, Turthol seemed more than capable of protecting her. Rangar seemed to agree as the three of them set out for the camp.

On arriving back they were met by Enien, her usually calm face alight with relief. "Calimir, my friend, they are all right! They have returned!" Calimir smiled at her, but he was weary. Going to his horse he leaned his face on it's neck and listened as Rangar and the others discussed what to do next. Bregand was still not quite himself, and with reason. Calimir looked with sympathy at the boy, and walked over to sit beside him.

"So, what obstacles will our road lead us through next?" he asked a smile creeping onto his face. "And may I sometime have a look at your maps?"

[Arvedui III]

The fight had been simple. Rangar had ducked and dodged and lunged and slashed his way around the camp. After a time, he Calmir and Rave had set on returning to camp. It seemed like the most logical thing to do anyway; They were the distraction and since there was no sign of Turthol or Wren he had to assume they'd made it out all right. What troubled Rangar was no sign of any leader. Well, maybe it was random. He thought during the walk back to camp. No leader meant no plan, no other motive, save senseless killing, and most importantly, no conspiracy against himself. Rangar's growing relief swelled even more once they got back to camp and saw Turthol and Wren, both fine.

"Had fun?" Turthol said cheerily as the three sat down. "Not really." Said Rangar. "Well, then it took you long enough; The sun's almost gone." Rangar chuckled, that was Turthol. Then he noticed the others looking at him. Waiting for me to say something He thought, hoping inwardly he didn't have to speak, but knowing also that he would. He sighed. "Well, erm, I think we should stay put for a bit. It's been a," he paused thinking. "Hard night." Grunts of assent sounded, making Rangar feel a little better. "Um, Wren? Can I talk to you?" The noblewomen looked up from her sword and nodded, getting up. Rangar followed suit and started walking away from the rest of the group, wondering about how to phrase what he wanted to ask. Wren followed a little way behind, then Rangar spoke.

"Um, I'm sorry about what happened, Wren." "It's all right." She mumbled, giving Rangar the distinct impression she didn't want to discuss it. "Look, um, I need to know, um, what happened after you were, erm" This was far too awkward. "Kidna, er, captured." Wren looked away, but spoke of all that had happened in a quiet sort of voice. As she spoke, a dead weight dropped into his stomach. It was too good to be true. Someone is hunting me. Then, she asked the question for him. "Rangar?" "Yes" He said slowly, dreading what was coming. "Why would someone be looking for you?" " I-don't know." He said softly, letting his head sink to the ground. "I honestly don't know." Thankfully, she did not pursue the subject, but it made him feel all the more guilty that he could not even offer an explanation as to why she was kidnaped.

The day went slowly after that. Rangar and Wren came back to camp, and then Aerin started a soup. Turthol came over and talked with him about what the next move should be, but Rangar really didn't care. So long as it got him away from this place. He checked on Bregand, who was doing better, then the group ate, and settled down for the night. "Ok, I'll take first watch, then Calmir, then Enien. Everyone just try and sleep. We'll get off to a new start in the morning." There was nothing else he could say. As darkness crept over the lands, the rest of the group settled down for the night, while Rangar sat on a log, staring blankly at the darkness.

Why? Why would some want to-to kill me? What did I do? The blood? Maybe, but was not that my own? Or was it? Erg, why can't I have any answers?! Then, quite suddenly the sound of soft footsteps reached his ears. Automatically, Rangar drew his sword while trying vainly to discover the source of the sounds.Through a pale mist to the right, a shadowy figure began to emerge. Seeing Rangar he turned, and almost involuntarily, Rangar followed. Stupid! You should have gotten the others! He thought as he strove to keep up with the shadow he was pursuing. The figure dipped out of sight, and Rangar stopped while breathing a sigh of relief, ready to except the figure as some trick of the downs or just as some innocent traveler who had stumbled on the camp. He turned, then suddenly, a icy soft voice near whispered from somewhere in front of him,

"Ahh Rangar, we met at last."

[ May 16, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Carlas]

"Ahh Rangar, we meet at last!"

Rangar looked ahead of him, not seeing the dark figure infront of him, until he stepped out into the pale moonlight. His face was hooded and only his eyes could be seen through the darkness within. Rangar looked at him intently.

"Who are you?" He asked, not willing to make a move yet.

"Ah, where are my manners? You haven't met me before, or likely even heard of me, but for the past year I have been looking for you! I have traveled the land a thousand times over, searching, and now I find you, the poor man who found himself one evening on a hill covered in blood. You have no memory?"

Rangar stood up taller, but said nothing. The man smiled and pulled down his hood. He would have looked like a normal and good looking man, but his eyes were filled with a hate that Rangar had never seen. The man's dark hair fell about his face and he brushed it back slowly, as he pulled his long sword out of it's sheath.

"My name, Rangar, is Baroden, and you shall die fearing it!"

[Arvedui III]

Rangar stood routed to the ground. The hate in this man's eyes was the only thing keeping him from turning around and running as fast and far as his legs could take him. Fear and panic, such as he'd never known welled up and threatened to consume him. His mind was working furiously, Please, please give me an answer. Why? The blood? It was mine wasn't it? Why can't I remember this? Rangar gulped as time seemed to stand still while this man stared at him, his hungry eyes alight with malice. Act calm, maybe you can get away. He thought desperately, then Rangar chuckled, "Covered in blood. That's an exaggeration. And of course I remember it, you're just like the others, you know." He said, trying to sound as if the statement was neutral while cursing himself inwardly for another stupid mistake.

Things only got worse. The man yelled and charged at him, sword draw. Rangar sidestepped, but that was about all he could do. Before raising another muscle, the man spun round and charged him again, this time yelling madly. Taken aback, Rangar ducked only just in time as the man made a swing at his head. This is unnerving Rangar thought, stunned. The man chose not to remise his attack, but instead stepped away, circling Rangar like a half-starved warg.
"I do not want your blood." Said Rangar, unable to conceal the shock and awe of this man in his voice. "You may not, but I want yours." The man hissed back. There has to be a way: stalling, think, think!

"You shouldn't hold a grudge." Said Rangar softly, unable to think up anything better. "Its high time you've paid for your crimes." The man growled in response. "It was an accident, nothing was meant to happen" Yelled Rangar by sheer instinct. Wait, what was an accident? Rangar racked his brain, but, nothing. This time Baroden, or whatever he was called, did not answer, but drew himself up to full height, which was considerably tall. Then, he produced a dagger as well. Rangar gulped, took a steading breath, then set himself in a defensive stance. If this man wanted him to die, well, he'd have to get past his sword first. Rangar decided, stubbornly holding his ground against this mysterious hunter.

[Everdawn]

It was now dark, but the full moon loomed overhead. Énien was ocnsiderably glad when everyone returned safe, except for the odd scratch and bruise. Rangar had told them all to get some rest. Énien had not removed her hooded cloak since she suffered her cut. The elf, had trouble believing that she could be so careless. Énien had gone to Rangar after he had volunteered first watch. Keeping true to her new vow she was quick to hold it up.

"Rangar" she began. "I cannot let you, please, This last happening was all my fault, I do not need rest-" Rangar looked at her. "This was no one's fault." Énien frowned. "I am an Elf Rangar, and I know I am proud, and I know we do not always see eye to eye, but please do not take this as arrogance, I am an elf. I often travel days without sleep, I needed no rest, and yet I slept. If I were awake I would have heard them coming, I would have seen them, and Wren wouldnt have been captured. Bregand and Carmalita would not have been injured. And I wouldnt have this damned gash in my head that causes my skull to think its rattled!" The elf, now was considerably blanched.

"I.. I...-" she stopped. Rangar's eyes showed that he at least could feel where she was coming from. "Perhaps you needed sleep after all Énien, or you would have been agile on your feet enough to escape that." he said pointing to the gash which was only slightly visible under her hood. "Rest. In the morning we will ride." Énien bowed her head and walked away from Rangar who had gone in the opposite direction.

The elf returned to her camp, picked up her bow and arrow and a smaller pouch form her bag. Calimir touched her on the shoulder. "Are you allright?" he asked. "Im fine, maar fuin" she wished Calimir a good night before walking away from the camp.

If Rangar will not let me watch over them, i will do so anyway... She perched herself down by a rock at the side of a billabong. She glanced down at her clothes, blood everywhere, as on so many of the company's clothes. Énien slipped off her bloodstained tunic and boots.

In her light blue dress (which came to her thigh, not easily seen under her tunic.) she washed her tunic in the water. The Elf looked at her reflection, in water which was now waist deep, and inspected the cut. Wild men wield harsh blows.She thought to herself. The elf walked around for a while bear foot in the moonlight. When her tunic was dry she put it on.

My, how the world has changed over time. When I was young I never would have wandered past foreign realms, If Énden had not died I would still be in Rivendell playing my harp and singing my songs.The elf laughed at the irony of her thought. ...And i would not have met these people... They are from so many walks of life, and yet among them there is so much despair and pain.

Énien sat for a long time. Before glancing at the sky. And as always, since she had left Rivendell the last time, the star was out, shining as bright as the moon. "Go away!" she yelled at it. Turned on her heel and made her way back to the camp's outer rim. Still she could not hear or see Rangar. Good thing I did not sleep... Rangar has left us to the wild! Énien sat on the ground by her horse Melliant and waited for Ranagr to return do she could confront him.

[maikafanawen]

Wren’s clothes and hair were disgusting. Blood and mud were caked on her skin and she had never felt so dirty. After the company had started the fire and Aerin had started the soup, she whispered something to Carmalita about cleaning off and Carmalita said she’d keep the others away from the stream while she did. Thanking her, Wren took her bag and carried it down to the water.

It was a cool and beautiful evening. There were a few misty clouds and the waxing moon shown on the water in a way that made Wren’s breath catch in her throat. Evening birds sang songs in the nearby trees, and the smaller animals were settling down in burrows for the night. After she had cleaned herself, she washed her clothes quickly in the stream, laying them out to dry afterwards on the grassy bank. The noblewoman now wore a crisp blue jerkin that made her eyes stand out and a cream-coloured blouse that tied up the sides to her elbows. Her riding pants now were black and a red sash was tied around her waist, covering her black belt from which she hung her pouches. Wren brushed out her hair and tied it up with a matching red scarf. Taking an approving look at her reflection, she gathered her things and moved back to camp. Once there, she hung up her things to dry and accepted the steamy bowl of soup Aerin offered her.

* * *

It was a sunny and breezy day in Osgiliath where Wren had traveled with her father on a business trip. Her tutor had come along and she had been excused from todays lessons and was permited to walk the streets. Sea birds flew overhead as they scavenged the riverside looking for scraps of food. Brightly colored scarves of purple and blue were tied around Wren’s waist and arms. Decorative jewels held up her hair that was covered by a wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a large blue feather. A trendy cape was draped over one of her shoulders and the strap tied just under her other arm. She was dressed to stun and stand out in a crowd of her gender. While dresses, skirts and bodices were usually suspected for women of her age and older, she had chosen the costume of a woman fencer for the day. The noblewoman needed a bit of a change she mused, though she enjoyed looking ravishing in the silks and velvets her dresses were made of. And instead of beaded shoes she wore black, knee-high boots that completed her valuable ensemble. In front of her she held her newly forged sword with a rose on the hilt. She had picked it up just that morning from the family metal worker’s shop. Before her stood a man also raising en guarde with his own weapon.

“Eh, come on Rhadûn. Ye can take ‘er! Look at tha’ size o’ ‘er! She’s barely ‘alf yer size!” The jaunt was given by a wiry boy whose first beard was a blond shadow upon his face. His un-calloused hands, which were covered protectively by expensive leather gloves, rested lightly on the hilt of his own sword. The boy’s poor language was a result of years past spent with rogue sailors upon his father’s ship. He was the son of Mauriace Chambria’s greatest competitor in the merchant field: Giyrth Fawret. The boy’s name was Giyrion. Wren would love the chance to face him in the fencing line, but knew that he’d find some way or other to get out of it. Plus, if he lost, Wren’s father would suffer drastically.

“You better not sire,” whispered Rhadûn’s page. “The guard will come by any second now on their rounds.” The man ignored the comments and advanced slowly then stopped, only to advance again and double retreat lightly on his booted feet. His first attack was high inside and Wren parried it easily. The two parried rhythmically back and forth for a while until Rhadûn went to parry and Wren disengaged, stabbing him slightly in his left shoulder. His face went white with pain and he crossed back, his sword dragging the ground.

“The guard!” warned the page. The small ring of university students that had been watching dispersed quickly as the guard and their mounts rode into the street.

“What has happened? What is your business?” asked the captain, glaring down from his horse at Wren. She tilted her head back, peering at him from under the brim of her hat. The noblewoman’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief and the captain recognized her immediately with a groan. “I should have known. Wren, this would have been the second time this week you’d have been arrested! Won’t you ever learn!? You there!” he said now, gesturing towards Rhadûn who was walking away. “Come here.” The student turned and shot a sadistic glare at Wren as he approached, sheathing his sword. “You both will come with us.” Wren and Rhadûn followed the guard up the street to their headquarters.

Once there, the usual routine took place. Both were questioned about the Who What Why When and Wheres of the situation. After answering them all truthfully, the guards found out that it was a simple misunderstanding between the two over pride and who was the better fencer.

“But,” said Wren, picking up her hat which she had laid on the desk. “That having been discovered, I believe we both can leave?” The captain nodded.

“You watch yourself Chambria. Your fencing games may be fun now, but someday you could make someone very angry with you and find out that perhaps you aren’t the best fencer.” The noblewoman ignored him with a dramatic bow and left the store in a flourish of black, purple and blue.

But when she walked outside she saw that the street was streamed with dead bodies and blood. Cries rang out falling upon deaf ears as the fighting continued. She could not identify the faces and the setting around her was no longer Osgiliath. The noblewoman searched frantically for an answer, a face she recognized, or a building. Finding none she turned to reenter the headquarters only to see a large house from which flames leapt and blared from the windows and roof. She screamed as it collapsed, crushing the family that had just run onto the porch . . . .

“Wren! Wren shut up! Wake up!” The noblewoman opened her eyes and looked into the face of Turthôl. “What happened?” She sat up, brushing the hair out of her face and looking around her. Then she rolled her eyes and leaned back on her elbows.

“It was—” she took a deep breath, shaking her head. “It was just a dream. Or rather, a memory and then it evolved more into a dream where it was kind of hazy and I didn’t know what was going on but it was . . . bad.” She stopped and absently fiddled with a curl, trying to compose herself after the disturbing dream.

“Want to talk about it?” asked Turthôl, who seemed surprisingly concerned. Deciding it would do her no harm, Wren told it to him in detail. He listened patiently until she was done.

“I’m not sure what it means but the symbolism doesn’t look good.” Turthôl said, pulling up blades of grass as he thought. Wren didn’t care to think about it, and the ranger, not being able to figure it out either, changed the subject . . .
___________________________________________

Maika

Please see your PM's.

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

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

[Carlas]

The two men stood infront of eachother, their eyes, staring hard at the others. They waited only a few seconds before they charged at eachother, raising their swords high in the air. As soon as they collided the battle was on, each man intent though each with a different purpose.

Baroden jabbed at Rangar with his knife while slicing at him with his sword. He rolled onto the ground, and pulled his sword upwards, trying to hit him up his stomach but his attack was blocked, instead he used his foot to knock Rangar to the floor, before he stood up quick and jabbed at the ground where Rangar now lied. Rangar rolled away and stood back up quick but ducked back down as Baroden threw his knife at him.

Once he was standing, they charged again, sweat pouring down their faces. Baroden swiped at Rangar again and again, his movements smooth and skilled. Rangar fought back hard and strong, not willing himself to slow, if he did he would not last to see the morning.

[ May 17, 2003: Message edited by: Carlas ]

[Arvedui III]

THUD. Rangar rolled into the ground, momentarily stunned by this man's powerful blows. He didn't have any time to recover. With a flash of silver, the man made a slash at Rangar, only barely missing his chest. Rangar rolled away in time to avoid another stroke, and then tried to both stand and clear his ringing head. The man rushed him again, but this time did not achieve the same effect. CHANG. Their swords locked, and Rangar aimed a kick at his assailant. It worked. The man, completely winded, sunk to the ground, allowing Rangar to place his sword at his throat. With a triumphant cry, Rangar pulled the blade away to strike, Wait He stopped, and withdrew his sword. "I said I did not want your blood." He whispered "Be off, I- ARGH!" A searing pain hit Rangar square in his side. His muscles gave way, and he sank to his knees.

"But I want, and will have yours." Said the man, enjoying slowly drawing out every syllable menacingly. Rangar drew a sharp breath, and through a haze saw a shadow loom over him. Cluching his side, he tried desperately to master himself. The shadow raised something long and silver over his neck. it was Rangar's sword that he had dropped. Think, think! But Rangar couldn't think, the pain was overwhelming. Then, he felt something hard and cold. The dagger! Joy surged through Rangar as he pulled the keen dagger away, and flipped it into his right hand. As the long silver thing began its decent, Rangar rolled away again, and this time stood up tall. However, the hope was immediately taken back when a stab of pain hit him again, and he realized what was about to happen. The man turned and chuckled, and Rangar knew. He would charge, get past Rangar's meager defenses, and run him through with his own blade. Rangar gulped, and took a stance. There was nothing more he could do. Time seemed to slow as the shadow turned, smirked and set his feet. taking a deep breath, Rangar pointed the little dagger, determined on fighting to the last. But then, as the shadowy figure took his first step he halted, for from somewhere behind them, a voice yelled, "Rangar?!"

[ May 17, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

"You know," Turthôl said. This was going to be the first time he ever spoke about this to anyone except Rangar. "I've been having my own flashbacks."

"Is that what has been bothering you?" Wren asked.

"Yeah. It happened three years ago," he said. "I was a member of an elite scouting group that was a part of the Gondorian army. King Elessar had assigned us a mission to scout out Eregion and ultimately Moria itself. He and the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain were planning on retaking Moria, and to re-establish trade routes. The dwarves wanted to begin re-mining the mithril there, and with the help of Gondor, they would be able to."

"So, our job was to observe Eregion and Moria. You know, observe the organization of the orcs there, so that way the dwarf army, with support of Gondor, would be able to plan the best way of attack. We were able to scout Eregion-it was clear of any dangers. But Moria...my company was able to find the caved in entrance that the Fellowship of the Ring had taken. King Elessar told us were it was that they had entered Moria, and the danger of the Watcher in the Water. We killed it, and cleared the caved-in entrance, but before we had even entered, we were attacked that night."

"It was a man in our company, named Sartir, that had betrayed us. I don't know how it was that he was able to make a deal with the orcs, but he had, and for a bag of Moria silver, he betrayed me and my men to their deaths. Five of us, including me, were the only survivors, and we were captured. I was wounded in the leg by Sartir's arrow. We were taken into Moria, and tortured. My companions died, but I escaped after their deaths. I still bear the scars of that torture. You can't imagine..."

"I don't know how long it took me to escape but I did. I came out somewhere on another side of the mountain, but I made my way back to Gondor. The attack was canceled until a better analysis could be made of the orc forces their. I retired from the army. It took me a year, but I finally found him. I killed him. I was wanted for his murder in Dol Amroth. I still may be a wanted man. After that, I made my way back north. Since then..."

That was it. He had told his story to her. Now she knew why he was the way he was.

"For some reason, this journey has brought back those memories. It has made me a little "out of it."

"What if your still wanted in Gondor? You might be captured while we're..." Wren began.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We have more important things to worry about..."

"Rangar!" someone cried out.

Turthôl and Wren stood up. Something was happening...

[Everdawn]

The elf had waited and waited. But Rangar had not returned for his watch. Énien was getting restless and even so more annoyed. Something is not as it should be Énien picked up her bow and arrow and stood up. Melliant stamped his hoof on the ground. "shhh" she told the animal and he obeyed.

What was I thinking, Rangar is a man of honour, he would not walk off and leave us. She began to walk in the direction they had parted in earlier. There was nothing around, ghostly shapes moved against the moonlit landscape. Suddnely something was brought to her attention. The faint clang of swords. At least thats what she thought they were.

Énien edged closer concealed by the underbrush. She was suddenly stricken with horror, it was Rangar! She fitted an arrow to her bow, instinctivly and shot it at the other figure, thinking he was a wild man. "Rangar!" she called. Not knowing the fate of the man, (Énien supposed she had hit him) she ran to Rangar's side. Throwing her bow to one side she was on her knees, Rangar was clutching his side. The faint glimmer of blood could be seen. "Are you allright?" she asked feverishly. "Rangar, can you hear me, it is Énien."

He was in a bad way. Foresaking all shame of her previous embarassment of her cut, Énien removed her cloak and tried to wrap it around Rangar's side. The blood now was flowing more freely. The elf was at a loss. Shaking she tried to get Rangar to his feet. "Who was that Rangar? What did they want?, was it a wild man?"

Énien struggled to hold him up, for he was much bigger than she was. Rangar groaned. "Im not hurting you am I?" she asked again. The elf resolved it was easier to place him on the ground and go for help. But could she risk leaving his side. No.

She strayed a few feet from where he lay. "Turthôl!" she cried. "Turthôl! Rangar has been attacked!"

[Earendil Halfelven]

"Turthôl, Turthôl! Rangar has been attacked!"

The cry pierced through the dark fog like a knife into Turthôl's ears. He took off in the direction of the cry, with Wren behind him. He drew his sword as he ran, so as to be prepared for anything.

He saw two figures in the dark, and as he came close, he saw that it was Enien with Rangar. He was laying on the ground and seemed to be wounded.

"Rangar, are you all right?" he said as he came up.

"He's wounded...help me get him back," Enien said.

He turned to Wren. "Wren, go and get Carmilita. Quick!" Wren turned and ran back to camp.

"Are you ok?" Turthôl asked again.

"I'm...alright," Rangar muttered.

Anger swelled within Turthôl as they carried Rangar back to camp. Who was this that was hunting his friend?

"Do you know who it was that attacked you?" Turthôl asked.

"No, but he wants to kill me," Rangar replied.

"Not if I can help it," Turthôl said.
_____________________________________________

Rangar was wrapped up next to the fire. Carmilita was watching him and tending whatever wounds he had. Turthôl, however, was gearing up to head into the fog. He was going to track this hunter and maye kill him.

As he was slinging his quiver over his back, Wren and Enien walked over.

"What are you doing, Turthôl?" Wren asked. Enien also looked worried.

"I'm going to track whoever did this and make them pay If I'm not back by morning, go on without me. I'll catch up," he replied.

"I'll go with you," Enien said.

"No, I kill alone," Turthôl muttered.

"Hasn't there been enough killing?" Wren said. Turthôl could tell that she was frustrated.

"Yes, but it won't stop until this man is stopped. He will only stop if he is dead," he answered. He finished gearing up and he looked at the two women.

"Look what has happened to Bregand and now Rangar. Not another of my companion's are going to get hurt or die," Turthôl said.

As he turned Wren said, "Is this about Sartir again?"

Turthôl turned and glared at her. Enien looked confused.

"Don't bring that up!" he said. His anger was getting too much to handle. He turned and left into the fog.

Wren and Enien stared after him until he was gone.

"Who's Sartir?" Enien asked.

Wren proceeded to tell Enien what Turthôl had said about his past. After she was finished, she said, "I don't know if I was supposed to tell you that but..."

"He's murdered a man?" Enien asked, shocked. "I can't believe a Dúnedain is a..."

"Can you blame him though?" Wren asked.

"But murder is murder! So now he has murdered two people." Enien said.

"Two? What do you mean?" Wren asked confused.

"After the fight when you had been taken, he had captured a wild man. The wild man wouldn't answer any questions, so Turthôl killed him. The man was unarmed and blind...blind because Turthôl had put his eyes out during the fight with fire, and Turthôl...killed him."

They stood there in silence. After a few minutes, Wren said, "We can't judge him. He has been through things that nobody can imagine. The life of a Dúnedain is..." she didn't know what to say.

"Come, let's head back to camp. I'm worried where Turthôl will lead this company. Rangar must know." Enien said.

They headed back to camp.
_____________________________________________

Turthôl searched the ground. He could see the footprints of the struggle. He could see Rangar's prints. He saw Enien's prints as she arrived to help Rangar, and he saw the prints of the hunter as they headed off into the fog. He followed them. After a few yards he came upon an arrow, portruding out of the ground. He picked it up and examined it. By the look of it, it was elvish, so he assumed it was Enien's. He stowed it in his quiver.

He stayed low to the ground as he followed the footprints. He knew he wasn't making a good impression on the rest of the company. His disregard for life and recklessness was hurting his relationship with them, but he had to make sacrifices. He was willing to let them think he was insane, if it resulted in them being alive when this was all over.

The tracks led into the woods, and Turthôl followed.

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Arvedui III]

Blurs of faces passed in a swirl of color. Flashes. Flashes of light and places that were both familiar and foreign, and people. People whom he knew, yet had no idea who they were. And, fear. Fear of what he did not know, but fear of something, or someone. And still the swirling colors did not abate. It had to end; it had to give, somehow. Then it came. Blood, blood that flowed without end.
"Stop it." He groaned. "Stop, please."

"Rangar! Wake up!" Suddenly the swirling horror changed into a hazy dark blue. At first another stab of fear hit him, until he saw the stars. "Rangar, it was a dream." Rangar blinked in the night, and then he recognized Camalitia's voice. Relief swept over him, Just a dream. "Thank you" He replied hoarsely, surprised by his shaky voice. "Shh, sleep now." Rangar nodded, and felt his eyelids drop.
-------------------------------------------------------
When Rangar woke again, he was met his pain in his side. Groaning, he turned onto his hand and knees, and then tried to rise. Immediately, he felt a hand push him back down. "What the?" He rolled over and saw Wren, Enien, and Tareth staring down at him. He closed his eyes again, hoping he didn't have to talk. His head ached; Why couldn't they just leave him be? "Rangar?" said Enien, barely concealing the shock in her voice. "Yes?" "We need to-" "I know,” he mumbled. "Why?" that was Wren. "I don't know, but I'm sorry." He said, feeling a stab of shame. "For what?" "For-this. All of this." He didn't know why he was saying this, but it seemed important to do so. "For all of it. I'm a danger to you all." He mumbled. "No, no you're not." Wren said softly. "Just delirious, right?" He heard hear laughter. It made him feel better. "Where's Turthol?" "He-he left." Someone above said. "Why?" Said Rangar, bemused. He was about ready to go back to sleep, but he wanted to talk to Turthol first. No one else might understand.

"He-he went to find that man who attacked you." Said Wren, in the same concerned tone she had used with Rangar. His eyes snapped open, panic running through his veins.

"He did what!?"

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir had been close behind Turthol and Wren when he heard Enien's cry. Dashing after them he came to the place where Rangar had fought the strange man. Rangar's face was white and Carmalita wore an expression of concern as she and Wren arrived panting and out of breath.

Together the members of the company half supported and half carried Rangar back to the camp. As Turthol went rushing off after the attacker, Calimir drew Enien to the side.

"You are troubled, why?" he asked. "What happened out there, were you watching?" The look on Enien's face showed shame, and the gash from the earlier fight was puffy and red. Enien seemed hesitant to speak. Calimir touched the wound on her face gently. "Has Carmalita looked at this?" he asked her with some concern, "it should be cleaned."

"No. I'm fine." Enien closed her mouth firmly, and Calimir didn't push her. After a few moments of silence she began to speak. She told him about cursing at the star, and how she'd taken Rangar's watch. Then she told of Wren's words after Turthol had gone. But in the end she came back to Rangar. "I knew he was gone." she said quietly, "but I did nothing."

Calimir sighed heavily. "Would your doing anything have changed what happened?" he asked. "Enien, it is not your job to protect the world." Enien wavered for a moment, then walked away a few paces.

"What if it had been you, Calimir?" she asked levelly. "Would Glorenwen blame me if I had known you were in danger and done nothing?" Calimir's breath hissed out sharply through his teeth. It was not a scenario he wanted to think about. At a loss for words he watched Enien walk back toward the fire.

He leaned back against a tree, and slid down it to the ground, feeling the rough bark through his tunic. With his head in his hands he thought about Glorenwen. What was he doing out here? He who had everything. Everything important.

He stretched out his thoughts toward his wife and felt her respond. With a contented sigh, he knew she was sleeping. He could almost hear her voice, gentle and calm. He sighed heavily. Sleep would not come easily tonight. Striding back slowly toward the fire Calimir volunteered for the next watch.

[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Everdawn]

Énien had sat by the fire. Calimir was right. It was not her job: But if i do not who will, can I trust them to live? She resolved no to think about it. Calimir wanted first watch. He stared at her. "Sleep Énien, tomorrow you can think and be stubborn." Énien frowned. "I am not tired yet, but I will be, im going to sit up for a while."

Already Turthôl had gone in search of the hunter. The elf knew exactly how he felt. Wren had told her about his episode with Sartir and it explaned it clearly. The Elf thought back two decades to Rivendell. Yes, she remembered the black-haired boy who used to run around teasing the elven horses, barely. From the very east balcony Énien used to sit playing her harp watching below, the scenes as they unfolded.

Énien was brought back to reality, the small boy, had turned into a man, and this man suffered a horrible tradgety. Now he kills in cold blood. She thought to herself. The elf gazed into the burning embers of the fire. She remembered how the word came to Rivendell, it had been Elrohir who had told her, that her brother Énden had gone missing;

"What do you mean, missing?" she had said. "I mean, he has not been seen in two weeks, last time anyone saw him was outside Bree." Elrohir had spoke to her.

"Well im going to find him, since you probably havent looked properly." She had said in anger, this was the first time Énien, normally placid had spoken out. With her parents long since passed to the havens, Elrohir knew there was nothing he could do to stop the young elf.

"Here" he had said, "At least now you can protect yourself." He had presented her with a daggar, one wich she carried even now. The memory was still sharp, the first time she had seeked out adventure had turned to an ugly blood bath. She strayed across the woodlands outside of Bree, seeing an elven button on the ground Énien knew that he was near. If only she had not seen. There covered in gashes and pinned up to a tree was the blackhaired, grey-eyed brother she always looked up to. He was dead. Énden was no more.

In a way it had hardened her and made her the person she was, but never did she kill in cold blood.

Énien took a sideways glance at Carmalita who was tending to Rangar. Now she felt guilty. Her cloak which she had used to attempt to stop Ranagr's bleeding was thrown to one side. She walked over and threw it into the fire.

[Arien]

“He did what?!” said Rangar, his voice was harsh and rasping.

Carmalita stood up from her place by the fire and picked up her bag and walked of to him, “He went to fight the man who attacked you”, she said softly. Carmalita knelt down beside Rangar and moved his hand from where it was placed over his wound. She gently rolled him over onto his back, he tried to resist but she pulled him over.

“Don’t try and be brave, you wont be, you’ll be foolish.” he rolled over with ease but did not say anything. He turned his head from her gaze as if he was humiliated and closed his eyes. She rolled back his top to reveal the most serious wound that that man had inflicted upon him. It was a deep rip across the left side of his chest. He was lucky, any deeper and it may have reached his heart. And Carmalita was sure that she could not heal this unless she possessed some kind of magical healing powers. Which she did not.

The bandage which she put over earlier was now saturated with Rangar’s blood. She unwrapped it and placed the sodden bandage to the side of her. She looked into the wound, she could see his ribs. “This is bad, but I should be able to stop the bleeding.” She turned his head towards her, “you will just have to put up with the pain.”

He nodded. She placed her fingers into the wound, and then withdrew them again. The blood was starting to thicken and clot already. It should be alright by morning. She washed the wound with some warm herbal water which she had on the fire, and then placed some alcohol into the wound. It stung because she saw Rangar wince slightly. But she knew he would not complain. She finally wrapped a new stronger and more absorbent bandage around his chest. She tended to a few of his other, less major cuts and the sat back as if to take a look at her good work.

“There,” she said. She rose from her place and walked back to the log where she and Bregand were sitting before. She handed him a cup and told him that it would ease his spinning head. Then she lay on the floor, her head facing the stars and looked up in awe.

[Carlas]

He had been so close. Rangar had been standing before him, just barely holding himself up, and the others had come. He had only had time to duck out of the way of an arrow, before he had left in a hurry, not wishing to fight the others.

Now he walked quickly through the forest, heading towards his nearest camp. It was pitch black about him, but he knew his way through the the woods better than most. He swore silently to himself for letting Rangar live, he had just needed a few more moments...

His thoughts were suddenly cut of by a small sound somewhere behind him. He looked about him for somewhere to hide, but if someone was following his tracks they would not have trouble finding his hiding spot. He looked up, and to his luck, a great tree branch hung quite low to the ground. He smiled, and jumped up, pulling himself up onto the branch with his massive arms. He slowly made his way towards the trunk, climbing from branch to branch, then made his way to the opposite side of the tree. He sat for a moment listening, then jumped down avoiding any bushes, and silently slunk back into the darkness of the night.

Would one of Rangar's group follow him? Baroden had thought that they'd be too busy with Rangar, but it seemed not. He'd have to be more careful.

[Earendil Halfelven]

He followed the footprints until they entered the forest. Then...they stopped. Turthôl glanced around him. Where could the hunter get to. The prints disappeared, right next to a nice big tree. Turthôl looked upwards into the boughs. Some of the branches looked bent and broken, as if someone had climbed up into it.

He circled the tree with all of his focus on the ground, and to his surprise, he found another set of prints. By the look of the deepness of the impression, the hunter had jumped down at this spot and had continued on into the woods. Satisfied that he had relocated the trail, Turthôl continued onwards.
_____________________________________________

The fog had lifted, and dawn was fast approaching. Turthôl still followed the prints. This man was moving fast. He was heading south, towards Tharbad. Turthôl thought of turning back, but he changed his mind. If he could find this man in Tharbad, he could end all their troubles, thus making the journey safer. No, he had to keep moving.

He glanced around him some more. By the look of it, he was out of the South Downs. Finally, he thought. At least part of my troubles have lessened. The trail was getting colder, even though Turthôl was on it. He wearily kept moving.

[Everdawn]

"Do you see it?" Énien asked Carmalita who she saw staring up at the sky. "What?" Carmalita asked. "The star, slightly to the right, and very bright." The elf pointed to the brightest star in the sky, shining and slightly blue in colour. "I was born under that star, and for over a thousand years it had never come again, save for when I left Rivendell." Énien was now cleaning her blade.

"Bregand" she said softly. "Where are we going now, which road, I imagine that we are well enough on our way to Rohan now, can you take a look at your maps for me? That is if you are able." She could see the boy was still in pain.

Desparatly she tried to lighten the mood. "Wren," she began. "Tell me, what do you know of Minas Tirith these days, it had been well over fifty years since I have been there, the silver tree, it must still grow, a whisper of Elven wonder among men.Tell me of your family, are you married where you come from?" she said now with a yaun. But she was not that tired.

[Arien]

Carmalita smiled at Énien. She did not reply at first to what she had said. She just thought. First, 1000 years! Wow, elves really were special. She gazed a second at Énien and then continued to stare into the starry sky. She knew some of the groupings of the stars. There was Menelmacar, the heavens swordsman. He could be seen almost any where in the sky. She loved the stories her father used to tell her about him, before she disappointed him. Now she told them stories to crystal...

She searched the sky again, but she had forgotten the rest, too much had gotten in her way. She rolled over, and looked into the heat of the fire. The sparks danced around it and a tear fell down her cheek. It was the pain of her stomach, that’s what she told herself. But it wasn’t. She knew she shouldn’t have left crystal, but that child was such a burden. When she wanted to travel there was always a child behind her. Wanting food, toys, drink she hated it. But she the child was her responsibility, even if it was not her fault.

He had made her do it. He had made her……. She turned over so her faced looked upon the ground. Her stomach hurt immensely but she did not want to worry anyone with her tears. They had too much to think of. Slowly she fell asleep.

[The Evenstar]

It was an intense time for a lot of the comapany.
Aerin, sat, isolated for once, at the stump of a great tree. She was singing one of her village songs softly under her breath.

This was the greatest adventure of her life, but she was beginning to miss her father and the rest of her family in Rohan. She thought of Tareth and her new, but unsure friendship with him, of Wren, Enien, Turthol, Rangar the rest of her friends. Then, slowly, she closed her eyes and fell into a deep and undisturbed sleep.

[ May 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arvedui III]

The crackling fire was the only sound pervading into the darkness of the small camp. Rangar allowed Carmalita to redress his wounds without any struggle, save the occasional wince from the stinging alcohol. He had to hand it to the nurse. While still feeling the lingering effects of her own wounds, she had unflinchingly tended his, making Rangar's shame and guilt swell to incredible new heights. It's my fault, and they suffer. Bregand, Wren, and Carmalita. All of them. And I don't even know why. This should only have happened to me. Maybe I shouldn't be, but they understood the risks when, no. No. Not even I understand, how could I? Why is this happening? Why now? Too many questions, and not enough answers. Rangar could feel his eyes water slightly, yet whether that was from the pain of his wounds or the pain of his mind he could not tell. He gave up trying to think. He didn't want to worry the others. He couldn't cry. He never had. Or had he? Way too many questions were coming up at this moment. Rangar, like the rest of the company, turned down and fell into an uneasy sleep; He supposed he dreamed, but he could not remember what of, or maybe he didn't want to.

As dawn crept over the tree lines, Rangar ignored Camalita's orders and got painfully to his feet, fully expecting to see Turthol sitting by the dying embers of the fire muttering something about getting up early, or Enien leaning against a tree humming some elvish tune. But no sights greeted him. Everything was still. "Hullo, you're up without permission." Said a voice behind him. He jumped and spun around, only to see Wren sitting on an old log. Rangar looked down. Great, more reasons I should, "Feeling better?" Wren's voice cut into his thoughts. He nodded dumbly, trying to look away. Stupid. She's fine; It wasn't your fault. "You sure?" He nodded again. This wasn't a good time for talking, save with maybe one person. "Is Turthol back yet?" He asked softly, still looking at the ground. " It is polite to look at someone when you speak, Rangar." She said in a mock scold, trying to be mischievous while at the same to avoiding his question. He chuckled despite himself, making his ribs hurt. "Sorry." He said, trying to sound light-hearted, but it only achieved the effect of gnarling his already hoarse voice. "Turthol hasn't come back, yet." Said Wren quietly, abandoning her cheerful tone.

Rangar frowned again. More decisions to make. Turthol can take, but that man. He shivered. I have to trust him, but that man. Without bidding he reached for his side, ignoring the look Wren was giving him. No, he can handle it. After all, he's much better then I. "What did Turthol say to do if he wasn't back by dawn." Rangar asked keenly. "He said, um, to keep going and he'd catch up with us." Wren answered. "Ok then. Let's get going." Wren eyed Rangar incredulously for a moment, the shock the look off. "Camalita is going to throw a fit, you know." "Not this early in the morning." Rangar replied wryly. He hadn't planed it, but it seemed the most logical way to get moving. And, though he wouldn't admit it, the quickest way to get away from this place.

[Everdawn]

Énien rubbed her eyes. She was more tired than she thought. Groggily she got to her feet. The elf could see that Rangar and Wren were up. The sun was coming higher in the sky. It was a perfect day. Her long hair moved slightly in the breeze.The elf glanced around, doing a head check. No Turthôl...She frowned.

Melliant was rolling in the dirt near by. Énien gathered up his saddle and bridle and walked over to the huge black horse. "Up!" she commanded to him, and he obeyed, as a child answering to its mother. "We have a long way to go today Melliant, and then I promise when we cross the boarder you can have some rest." The horse stood now ready to ride.

"Rangar, Wren, as soon as Turthôl returnes we will be on our way. Today we ride hard, Thoes without horses will double up with those who do have horses, I will let you choose who you ride with, but we should be well into Roahn by nightfall, that is if Master Turthôl decides to return soon. That will at least get us away from these wild men." Énien felt it was her place to restore some order, at least for the morning after their ordeal two nights ago.

[The X Phial]

Bregand had taken out his maps by the fire at Enien's request the night before and shown her their position.

"If we make good time we can reach Rohan in eight days or so, assuming we run into no more serious attacks," he had said, and he knew his voice didn't sound hopeful. "I'm sorry I am not better company," he added before trying to smile and wincing instead.

He had patted Carmalita's hand then and staggered to his feet, with a little help from the elf. Making it to his blankets with a concerned look toward Rangar, the boy fell asleep and did not wake until the sounds of stirring from the camp invaded his dreamless slumber.

In the faint morning glow he could see that Rangar was already on his feet despite his wounds. Wren was also awake, perhaps haunted by the memories of her capture. Unsurprisingly the elves were also both alert, though Enien looked a bit worse for wear.

Bregand sat up gingerly, surprised at how much better he felt after a good long sleep. The medicine he had gotten from Carmalita had also been helpful, banishing the worst of the dizziness and allowing him to think a little more clearly. He ran his hand carefully over the large welt on the back of his head. It was very tender, and oozing a bit of blood. Carmalita has assured him that this was a good sign. Still, he felt rather filthy.

Bregand stood up slowly and took a tentative step. His head ached, but he was no where near as weak. This was wonderful news as it meant they could move on without him being a burden. Well, maybe they could move on if Rangar and Carmalita rode. Bregand could feel the weight of the long journey ahead of them. He still had a message to give to the King's Army. He recited it slowly to himself. Good, nothing had been forgotten. A head injury for a messenger and scholar could be worse than anything else.

Bregand made his way to the stream, happy for a moment or two of privacy. He washed himself and his shirt in the icy stream and had to bite his lip to keep from shouting out. Cold water on top of a headache. He drank a bit as well, suddenly very thirsty. Carmalita had told him that this, too, was normal after an injury. He thought about the young nurse and how caring she had been with him. She had aslo shocked him with her news that she was a mother. She was so young and vibrant. In his mind mothers were staid and quiet. He supposed one as caring as she was, though, would make a good parent. He resolved to ask her more about her daughter if a time presented itself. He was curious as to why she would leave a child behind with its father and at the same time very grateful that she had come along. A child meant a husband, in Bregand's mind, and that thought dismayed him when he thought of Carmalita for reasons he couldn't quite articulate.

Bregand made his way back to camp and saw that the others were starting to really awaken. He made his way to Rangar's side.

"Rangar, I know you are wounded, but can you ride? Rohan is still a long way off and I feel that it is unsafe to stay near the Downs."

Rangar opened his mouth to speak, and then Bregand finally noticed that Turthol was gone.

"Where is Turthol?" he interrupted.

[ May 22, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[ May 22, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arien]

"He's gone to hunt..." said Carmalita from behind Bregand. He turned round to face her.

"To hunt what?"

"That man who attacked Rangar, if you ask me I'd say he was a bit...." she mouthed the last word crazy to Bregand.

"Who? Turthol or that man?"

"Both!" she laughed, "Rangar, how are you feeling?" she passed Bregand and pressed Rangars wound, hard.

He wincinced in pain, "What did you do that for?"

"Oh so it still hurts?" she said putting her hands on her hips, "seeing as your up prancing about I thought it might be ok." she laughed and walked back to her pack mumbling something about how men were too proud for their own good.

She sat down for a moment when Bregand came to here. "You will ride my horse then?"

"Er...yes, I will. But you will have to ride too!"

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

Soon they were ready to go, the camp was packed up and Rangar lead the party down the path.

[Arvedui III]

Carlas's Post
Baroden walked into the camp, barking at the guards who were starting to daze off, as Aranthan ran to his side. He was curious to know what had happened to him and Rangar, but Baroden would not say anything.Baroden walked quickly into his tent, followed by the curious Aranthan, who watched as Baroden sat down on the ground and looked up at him, frowning.
"We're going to have to leave quickly, Rangar got away. His companions came just as I was about to finish this for good, I do not want to hurt the others, but if they get in the way..." He trailed off suddenly.

Aranthan looked at him and sighed. "Look, you have gone through much, you do not have to do this anymore, just forget about it."

Baroden stood up quickly and looked at Aranthan sternly. "I cannot forget! I will never forgive him, you know that, and he shall pay! But now we must get moving, I have reason to believe that I was followed! Get the men together, we must be out before the sun has fully risen! I think I know where the others with Rangar are headed, we must get there quickly!" He looked at Aranthan once again before he nodded and left to tell the men.
*****************
A small dust cloud rose as the company made their way out of the downs and unto the Greenway. Rangar felt very heavy and unless at the moment. Those who did not have horse were paired up with those that did, much to Rangar displeasure; For although he liked horses very much, every bump in the road made his ribs sting, and after three hours of unabating turbulence, Rangar was quite ready to test his legs again. Adding to his discomfort was the fact they had seen no sign of Turthol; What he might be doing Rangar could not guess, but always in the back of his mind there was a fear. A fear of something happening to his friend on his account. He also felt a little guilty about not being very sociable at the moment, he and Tareth had rode silently while the others had been talking, Wren and Rave, in particular, seemed to be having a very engrossing conversation.

For, when Rangar called a stop, partly because it was dark and mostly because his side hurt, they kept right on riding and talking, and Bregand had to catch their reins in rather awkward manner, as he had just slid off his own horse that he had been sharing with Carmalita. They made camp, and settled down for the night. Rangar slept with full intentions of running after Turthol in the morning. I just can't let him He thought obstinately as the stars began to appear in the sky. But, as in most things, by morning his plan was thwarted, and by Enien, no less. The elf was keeping a very close watch on Rangar, and while it was comforting to know at least someone was looking out for him, she absolutely refused to see the logic in letting him backtrack for Turthol.

"Look, I'll only be gone for today, and the Greenway's safe enough." He protested as the elf blocked his path to where the horses were. "One would think, little mortal, that you would have the sense not to head back into the downs, especially considering what happened." She responded tersely. For a moment Rangar felt very small, then his anger flared. However, he found the wits to growl a retort. "Listen, I'm going back, and if you don't like it, elf. Then you can," "What are you two doing?" It was Calmir. "I'm going back for Turthol, we'll both catch up with you all in a bit." Rangar barked, still eying Enien with annoyance. Calmir gave him a look similar to the one Wren had given him the day before, but made no reply, nor did Rangar care. "No." Said Enien calmly, steeping forward. "He's not, he's riding with you today, Calmir." "Fine." Said the other elf in an offhand tone before Rangar could get in another word. As the group headed onto the road again, Rangar made a mental note to never argue with an elf again.
**********
Three days of hard riding passed before Rangar began to hear the sound of water. At first it unnerved him, then Tareth said. "Tharbad, great." A sense of relief seemed to pass over the company, and Rangar couldn't help but smile as the waters of the Greyflood came into view.

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Three days of hard riding with the sullen Rangar in the saddle behind him were enough to make Calimir wonder why he'd gotten into this journey in the first place. The lands were wild and lonely and tempers in the group were flaring. All were worried about Turthol, Calimir thought. Yet they could do nothing about it.

Enien rode close beside him, the two of them telling stories of places they had known. It was talk that would be boring to any but an elf, but Rangar seemed to soak it up as well. Calimir kept talking simply to occupy the man. When he could talk no more Enien seemed to take the clue. Her voice raised in an old song, the Tale of Finrod Felagund and his first meeting with the fathers of men. Enien sang it in the Common Tongue and Rangar listened intently as she sang. Calimir listened absently, the elf was very tired. He'd stayed alert nights making sure that Rangar didn't try to sneak off and find Turthol, and his sharp eyes had more than once seen the man looking back over his shoulder toward the downs.

Enien noticed his looks, and spoke to him about it that evening as they made camp near Tharbad. "I am worried for him." she said lightly. "He takes the safety of his friends too seriously."

Calimir, recalling Enien's recent behavior, nearly snorted in laughter she proclaimed this. But composing his face he answered. "I do not know what to think of him. He calls himself Rangar, yet he does not look like one of the Dunedain."

Enien looked up at him. "I have thought the same. He listens to our tales like he has never heard them before. One of the Dunedain would know the old stories, at least in part." Calimir shook his head. Enien was very perceptive. He hadn't noticed this at all. The two elves fell silent in the sleeping camp, yet neither slept. Enien's face turned outward, watching the land around, and Calimir's in to watch the sleeping face of their leader.

[ May 23, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl wearily entered Tharbad. He had been tracking the enemy for almost six days. It had been almost a week since he had left Rangar and the rest. He felt guilty for leaving but he knew that he had to do this. He had found nothing except footprints. The enemy obviously suspected he was being tracked, and despite the Dúnedain's skills, he was unable to catch up.

He had lost the trail when he entered the town. He knew it was vain now to try. He headed for the nearest inn, to catch up on some sleep and to see if the company was here.

As he entered the small inn, he noticed that it was busy for such a small place. It was packed with people who were geared for long travel. Pipeweed smoke hung heavily in the air, and the Ranger coughed. He wasn't a smoking man.

He approached the bar to have a word with the innkeeper. He glanced around to see if there was anyone that he recognized there, but no; the company had not arrived.

"Can I help you sir?" the innkeeper asked.

"Are you the master of this inn?" Turthôl asked.

"Aye, yes I am. Lombardo's the name. What can I get ya?" the man asked cheerily.

"Some answer's first. Has a company of elves and men passed through? There would be some women also." he asked.

"There have been many companies traveling through on account that they are heading on to Lond Daer down south along the Greyflood. They be a comin' from places like Fornost, Archet, and Bree, and other towns from the Shire. But elves, you say? Nay, I haven't seen any of those folk here." Lombardo replied.

"Why are all these people going to Lond Daer? I bet it's for the solstice festival," Turthôl asked.

"Aye, you must be familiar with these parts. I'm as busy as a hive, but one of my workers have abandoned me. That no account rascal! Well, sir, what can I get ya?"

"Well, you have any rooms left?" Turthôl asked.

"No sir. I'm sorry but we're fully booked for the moment. You look tired. Are you on the way to the festival?" Lombardo asked.

"No, I'm traveling..."he stopped. Should he say why he was traveling? And with Rangar? "...alone. I'm heading south towards Rohan. But I plan on staying a few days to rest up." Turthôl prepared to leave to find a place to stay. "Sorry to bother you sir. I'll be on my way. Do you happen to know of any other places I may find a room?"

"Well, hold on just minute. You look like a noble fellow. I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust ya. I have a proposition. Are you in need of some wages?" Lombardo said.

Turthôl thought a moment. Some cash wouldn't hurt.

"Sure. What can I do for you?" Turthôl asked.

"Well, since I'm shorthanded, would you mind filling in as a worker? I'll pay ya full wages and let you sleep in the kitchen. It's nice and warm there. That way, you have a place to stay and some money, and I'll have a worker. You can stay as long as ya like."

"You have yourself a deal," Turthôl said.
_____________________________________________

He had been in Tharbad for three days. He had enjoyed waiting tables and serving food. He had a place to stay and some money.

"Hello, waiter! More ale!" some man yelled.

Turthôl took the mugs and refilled them. As he approached the table, he heard, "...he was a dark fellow. Came from the Downs about 4 days ago. Said something about tracking some murderer."

Turthôl's ears picked up. Came from the Downs? 4 days ago? He saw the table next to those men was now empty of guests and he began wiping it, slowly so as to hear the conversation.

"...never take up with a fellow like that. Its bad luck!"

"What was this man like, anyhow?"

"I dunno. Brown hair, little on the short side but not too short. Looked as if he had been traveling a long way. I asked him, "And who is this murderer?" He says to me, "A man named Rangar" . I says to him, "Oh, and who has this man been murderin'?" But then he says all mean-like,"This man murdered my brother. Have you seen a company of men, women, and elves pass through?" I says, "no but there's been a lot of folk come through here." He was kind of drunk but he wouldn't say no more, and I wouldn't ask 'em. He seemed dangerous..."

That was enough. His journey wasn't fruitless after all. Now all he had to do was wait for the others.

[maikafanawen]

Tharbad was a few hours journey that the company would make in the morning. Wren slid down off of Rave’s horse and stood very still and very painfully. Rave gave her a funny look.

“Are you all right Wren?” she asked, trying not to laugh at the noblewoman’s crooked stance. Wren grimaced as she straightened her back and stretched out her arms.

“Oh!” she said as if she had just realized something she had long forgotten, “that’s why I don’t like riding horses. They turn your bum into raw meat.” Rave chuckled, removing her horse’s tack and beginning to brush her down. Wren gave her a small salute and thanked her for her company and allowing her to ride behind her. Then she made her way over to where Carmalita had started a small fire and was boiling a kettle of water for some tea. Dinner had been dried meat and fruits for the past week and it looked as though things weren’t going to change any time soon. “Something smells good!” said Wren hopefully.

“Then you must have just recently developed a favorable attraction to the scent of boiling water because that’s all that’s in the pot dear.” The Gondorian scowled and sat tenderly on the ground, wincing as her sore bottom hit the ground. “How was the ride?” the healer asked innocently. Wren smiled.

“Brilliant. I think I’ll invest in a few horses myself when I get home. Although, I prefer saddles made of soft leather as opposed to the stone version I was seated in today.” Carmalita laughed and stoked the fire, adding the herbs to the water. Wren heaved a dramatic sigh and absently picked at the grass blades. “How’s Rangar and Bregand doing?” she asked as if asking about Carmalita’s own family.

“Fine, fine,” was the reply. “Rangar’s feeling a bit of pain around his stomach—it’s his ribs ye know, and Bregand’s head is still functioning properly.” As if on cue, Bregand came up behind them, holding a map open before him. He plopped on the ground beside Carmalita, studying the parchment.

“So Bregand,” asked Wren, leaning back on her hands, “what and where is Tharbad precisely?” The young scholar looked up with a look that clearly said ‘you-don’t-know-what-Tharbad-is?’ “I’ve learned bits and pieces in my history lessons,” she countered. “But why don’t you refresh my memory.” Bregand sat back leniently.

“Fine. I’ll sum it up for ye. Well, Tharbad was an important waystation for overland travel between the North and Gondor during the time when Cardolan was known as part of the southern third of the divided Arnorian kingdom. It and Lond Daer were the chief cities that sat along the Greyflood. However, during the battle of Angmar, both cities were reduced to ancient ruins, the Great Bridge having collapsed to form a ford of stony rubble in the Gwathló River. When King Elessar restored the North-Kingdom—very recently—Tharbad once again became an important stop on the road between Arnor and Gondor. With the help of the dwarves, the Great Bridge was also rebuilt. It should take us a little less than two hours to get there in the morning.” He then resumed studying his map and Wren sat for a second, taking in the information. Tharbad, and Lond Daer? Cardolan? Gwathló? The names were very vague in her mind, and bits and pieces of memory didn’t do them any justice. A bit frustrated that she new more about the different kinds of wines and their seasons or masquerades than geography, she excused herself from her two companions, leaving them in conversation.

She sat at the top of a small hill from above which she could see a ribbon of the Greyflood rushing in the distance. Had she been an elf she might have heard the water, but only the sound of night birds and crickets met her ears as she strained to listen. The noblewoman sighed. Nothing had gone the way she had expected. Rangar & Co. was supposed to journey easily across Eriador, through Dunland and into Rohan. From there it was a clear shot to Gondor—home. So far they had been ambushed twice and Wren had gotten captured and rescued all in only a few weeks. The poor noblewoman was exhausted, though she would be last to admit it. The past few nights she had spent yearning for home and dreaming of the comforts she was so used to.

On the other hand, she was enjoying herself. Wren had made a motley collection of new friends and was obviously getting stronger. Her taste buds had been stretched to accept the rough menu she was given, and she was learning things. The noblewoman swore that every time she had a small conversation with of her companions she learned ten new things. Rave told of life as a shield maiden, as did Aerin. They both had informed Wren a great deal of their adventures, and things that made their wanderings easier. Carmalita—whether she knew it or not—had taught Wren to make herbal teas, bandage a rough wound, and start a fire (all of these the Gondorian had learned through observation). Bregand was probably most informal. If Wren had a silver penny for every new thing he had told her, she’d have enough to supply wine at her mother’s parties for ten years.

A star shot across the night sky, soon followed by another. Wren gazed up at the dark blue ceiling in awe. It was then she realized that she hadn’t sat under the naked sky for ten years. So absorbed in her parties and social life, she had abandoned her youthful love of the earth about her. Dismissing the thoughts from her head, she untied her blue jerkin and folded it up into a square, putting it under her head as she lied down. A soft breeze ruffled her white blouse and blew wisps of stray blond curls into her face. It is a beautiful night, she marveled.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Two days later, Turthôl still waited tables while awaiting his companions. He now had enough money to buy a lot of supplies, plus a little extra. He decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He must go out and find the company. After the inn closed for the night, Turthôl went to the stables, saddled his newly bought horse, and headed out into the night in the direction of the Downs.
_____________________________________________

He had been riding for three hours west of Tharbad. He did not see the company, but he felt that they should be near. He was only a few days ahead of them.

Suddenly, in the darkness ahead, Turthôl glimpsed a few specks of light. They were the specks of camp fires. He hoped it was them. He rode forward cautiously. As he grew closer, he glimpsed the shadows of those that sat around the fires, but he was too far to distinguish anybody.

"Halt, rider. Do not ride any closer," came a voice out of the gloom. He recognized the voice as that of a female elf.

"Enien, still keeping watch? Your a vigilant sentry," Turthôl called out.

A shaped stepped over.

"Turthôl? Is it you?" Enien said.

"Yes, its me. You guys have been taking too long so I decided to come out and find you." he said with a laugh.

"Bless the Valar, your safe! Everyone has been worried," she said. "Especially Rangar..."

Turthôl dismounted. "How is he? Is he alright?" he asked.

"Yes. He's still wounded but he's doing fine." she replied.

"Take me to him. Quick! I have ill news. My journey wasn't all in vain," he said.

"Ok, follow me," Enien said.

He followed her into the camp. He was glad that they were alright. On the way, he passed by Wren, who was laying on the ground and staring into the sky. She saw them approach and as she recognized him, Turthôl said, "Hello Wren. Nice to see your well."

Then he faded back into the dark as he went to see Rangar.

He was glad to see his friend good and well.
Turthôl shook him awake.

"Sorry to wake you, old friend, but I have some news." Turthôl said.

[Everdawn]

It was dark. Too dark for Énien's liking. She had left Melliant to his own on the hillside. For a moment she watched the huge black horse trot over the grass. He had made the journey with her on his back easily, perhaps the best out of all the horses.

There were flashes of stars across the sky. She had almost jumped out of her skin. The elf muttered something in her own tongue.

Unalbe to sleep, Énien stood up. "Calimir, this is strange this journey, something is different." she said.
"Whats wrong?" Calirmir asked. "I dont know exactly, and i hate not knowing." her fair face now troubled.

She glanced at her old friend, who now was staring at the sky. "Does it trouble you that you are not near them." Énien knew that Calimir was thinking of his family. He always did. "Greatly" he smiled at her. "And, you, have only your parents who have crossed the sea. Poor Énien, you will find them soon." Énien closed her eyes.

"It is not that which troubles me so, as much as i would like to think. You are brother enough for me in this world Calimir. I think i have changed Calimir, its a maternal instinct, these mortals are so fragilein a way, my friend. My values have changed. I see their side now. But i try to do the best thing." she picked up her bow and arrow. "Always, the right thing Énien" Calimir said.

"Bregand, Are you well still?, Carmalita, keep a watch on him. Aerin, Rave, Wren i trust you travelled well." she passed the fire.
"Rangar" she said walking towards where he was sitting, " I know you hat me right now and,I-, I just want to say, im sorry about before. I know Turthôl is a dear friend of yours, but i couldnt let you go after him, wounded, and him so able to defend himself. I have a feeling he is near. And, anyway, im sorry." She truned her back and began to walk away into the darkness before he could speak.

It had been some time that she had been guarding when a figure on a horse began to approach. I am ready for you this time wild man. Just try and catch Énien Unawares, my bow-string dares you. She smirked. "Halt, rider. Do not ride any closer," she said. And it stopped, only replying "Enien, still keeping watch? Your a vigilant sentry," This was Turthôl.

Énien laughed. Then she was relieved "Bless the Valar, your safe! Everyone has been worried," she said. "Especially Rangar..." The elf took Turthôl into the camp where he woke Rangar to speak to him. Énien walked over to where Calimir was sleeping. "Calimir! walke up, Turthôl has returned."

[ May 24, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Arvedui III]

[maikafanawen]

Tharbad may not have been Minas Tirith, but it suited Wren just as fine. The inn the ranger had led them to be a fine inn settled near the river with stables in the back for the occupants’ horses and wagons. The floors were neatly swept and the tables and chairs were clean and polished. One window was slightly cracked towards the rear but that was the extent of damage in the common room. Candles were lit around the room giving off a comforting display of light patterns.

Upon arrival she had immediately requested a chalice of Dorwinion wine. She laid a silver penny on the counter, and the innkeeper pocketed it with a smile. The noblewoman took her chalice over to the table where the company had seated themselves and joined the conversation—which was recently turned towards humorous comments concerning Turthôl’s new part-time job.

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t poke fun,” said Wren defensively. “Thanks to him we’re all staying in a fine inn, eating fine meals, and enjoying cozy fires.” Then she turned to Turthôl, fighting back a smile and said calmly, “Now I believe I’ll have the deer stew and some potatoes, and why don’t you refill my glass while you’re up.”

“Yes, I’ll just have a salad with some rabbit on the side, what would you fancy Bregand?” asked Carmalita playing along. Bregand laughed and began to respond when Turthôl cut in.

“That does sound good. I’ll just call the waiter when you’re all ready.” The group shared a laugh and decided on their suppers. Turthôl beckoned towards a cute waitress who came quickly over to their table, giving a special wink at the ranger. “Hello Gina,” he said acknowledging the tipsy waitress. Good to see you again. I believe we’re ready.” Nods were passed along the table and the company called out their orders. Gina scratched them down on her little pad and swished her skirts as she walked back towards the kitchens. Turthôl muttered something about a charming young lady as he turned back to the conversations.

When the waitress returned, she was carefully balancing two trays of steaming food in her hands. She passed around the different plates and refilled the mugs and chalices.

“Will that be all?” she asked, directing the question to Turthôl. The ranger nodded appreciatively.

“Yes, thank you so much. Remarkable how fast you were, Gina. I never could get that down,” he pressed a silver piece into her hand and she curtsied before taking the empty trays back to the kitchen, blushing furiously. What a ditz, thought Wren as she watched her go. The Gondorian immediately cursed her jealousy and tucked into her dinner.

Rangar & Co. talked for a while after their suppers before retiring to their rooms. They were all thankful for the comfortable night before them. Wren had downed three chalices of the famed wine and was three silver pennies poorer. The noblewoman had always been known to be able to hold her liquor well and she made it to easily to her room up the stairs that looked out over the street. A crackling fire had been lit in the stone fireplace and the covers on her bed had been turned down. Two bedside candles had been set on the end-table and a candelabra sat on the desk in the corner. The window on the far side of the room had been opened and its shiny ebony panes caught the light from the waxing moon; the curtains blew in the breeze.

Wren walked across the room, taking the blue scarf out of her hair. She pulled the chair away from the desk and sat it before the window, sitting down. For a second she just sat there staring down to the cobble stone road below. Shop owners doused candles, and switched open signs to read closed before locking their doors. A few children were being called inside and animals were being shut in fences. The sky was cloudy, hiding from view the previous night’s beautiful constellations, and it wasn’t long before a light rain began to fall, quenching the earth’s thirst. Wren smiled to herself and moved away from the window, changing into a loose-fitting tunic to sleep in.

The rain began to fall harder and she eventually had to close her window, though she left the curtains parted. The noblewoman blew out her candles and lied down in the soft feather bed, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

Wren woke the next morning blinking into the ray of light that poured in from her open window. She remembered closing it and sat up quickly looking around. The noblewoman saw that her clothes had also been folded and the fireplace swept out. Deciding that an inn-maid must have done it she stepped lightly out of bed stretching. She walked over to the window and down into the street. People were just coming out of houses and blankets were being shaken. Good, she thought. It’s still early morning. She dressed quickly in her blue jerkin and red scarves. On her way out of the room she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and gasped. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty. The noblewoman narrowed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. The unattended to curls popped back up in place. She grunted in frustration.

“Well,” she said out loud. “This is certainly unacceptable.”

“Something wrong with your room miss?” asked an inn-maid as she peeked into Wren’s room. The noblewoman’s expression didn’t change as she turned to face the inn-maid. It was Gina.

“No,” she said flatly. “But just because I’m not at home under the scrutiny of my parent’s friends and their children doesn’t mean I can’t look nice just the same!” She grabbed her bag of filthy clothes, and leaving the rest of her things on the desk and on the bed she ran down the stairs and out into the street.

The road by now was full of merchants had set up their kiosks and were selling a variety of things from jewelry to pots, and from rugs to weapons. Wren walked down the left side of the road, scanning the buildings for a formidable looking clothe shop. Her eyes settled on a swinging sign with the words Ribbons and Frills: Filauriel’s Clothe Shop. She entered the store and was immediately greeted by a plump woman wearing so many yards of lace she looked as though she’d gotten in a fight with her loom. The woman took one look at Wren’s ensemble and grimaced conspicuously.

“Oh my,” she declared, taking her bag and rummaging through it. “Well no matter, we can fix all that in no time. Did you have something in mind?”

“As a matter of fact—yes. I’m traveling at the moment and need something appropriate for the occasion. A few shirts, some pants, and a jerkin or two,” said Wren as she absently looked around the store. “I’d like some color and decoration too, not just drab things.” The woman nodded excitedly and led her to the right side of the store. She picked out five different jerkins, holding them up to Wren.

“Here you are. Just your size too.” The noblewoman took them to the back of the store and stepped behind a changing wall. The first jerkin was purple with orangish rick-rack around the sleeves and down the front. She discarded it and pulled out the second one. This one was a deep maroon that had gold trimmings and tiny clasps. It fit nicely and was thick enough to offer protection. She draped it over the rail and chose a third. After she had gone through that pile and the others Filauriel handed her, she had chosen three new jerkins—one maroon, one rust colored, and one gray.

“Now for shirts—oh yes and pants.” An hour past and the morning was edging on towards eight o-clock. Wren sat all the things for her purchase on the counter and Filaruiel looked through them quickly, adding up the prices in her head. “Let’s see that’s twenty copper pieces each for the two shirts, thirty each for the pants and fifty a piece for the jerkins, that’s two and a half silver pennies. Right then, we have five copper pennies each for the scarves, that’s fifty copper pennies plus these boots too?” Wren nodded as the woman held up a new pair of knee-high black leather boots with extra-tough soles—her others had thinned tremendously. “Ok then dear that will be precisely one silver piece. Thank you.” Wren put the silver piece along with an extra ten coppers for the woman’s help and left the store.

“Oh your other clothes!” called Filaruiel after her, holding up her bag. Wren thought a bit then waved it away.

“Do what you will with them, however I will keep the bag.” After emptying its contents, she folded her new clothes into it and swung it over her back.

By the time she got back to the inn, the company was down in the common room, sharing breakfasts. Wren hid her face and ran up the length of stairs to her room to change into one of her new and clean outfits. She decided on a rusty colored jerkin with wavy bronze trim. It tied up the front with matching delicate bronze thread. The Gondorian tied a pumpkin orange scarf around her waist and donned a new pair of light brown pants. Then she gathered her hair into a low ponytail and tied a second pumpkin colored scarf to keep it in place. A knock on the door startled her and Carmalita’s voice came from the other side.

“Are you up Wren?” she called.

“Yes, just coming down. Be there in a moment.”

“Would you like me to order your breakfast for you?”

“Sure!” called Wren as she straightened in front of the mirror, looking splendid in her new ensemble.

“What would you like?” The noblewoman stuffed her things into her bags, and sat back down to pull on her boots.

“Surprise me.”

“All right.” Carmalita’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs and Wren placed her two bags by the door, and buckled her belt around her waist. She looked once more around her room for anything she might have left. Her bed was partially made and the chair was out of its usual place. Wren tossed a pillow on the floor to spite the inn-maid and nudged the end table so it was crooked. Satisfied at her own childish mischief she left the room, leaving the door open behind her, and walked down the stairs.

“There she is,” said Tareth looking up at her as she came to join her companions at the table.

“Sleep well?” asked Rangar.

“I did thank you, and the rest?” They all nodded and most were just finishing their hearty breakfasts. Carmalita came back with hers and she ate it quickly, thanking the healer.

“Turthôl has gotten horses and tack for those of us without them so we can all ride now. We should head out soon, within the half hour.” Meals were finished and paid for and the company left the inn. Wren caught a glimpse of Gina saying something to Turthôl before Rave brought the noblewoman’s new horse around. It was a regal looking horse with white and orange splotches and an auburn colored mane.

“Looks like you’ve picked the right outfit to go with your mount,” commented Rave. The noblewoman smiled and tied her packs to the saddle and pulled herself up. Rangar & Co. rode out of Tharbad and “headed at a quick canter towards Rohan”, a cool breeze playing around them.

[ May 24, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Everdawn]

During their time in the Inn. Énien had taken an opportunity to rest. For the first time, not without making Turthôl promise that he would watch out for them. There was also something in this atmosphere that put the elf at rest. She had noticed that Turthôl had taken a particular liking to a waitress, and Wren... well, if looks could kill...

Wren had said something to Gina before coming up the stairs where Énien had been sitting. She smirked. "What?" Wren asked. "Nothing, but id say you werent getting along very much with that waitress, or to say rather, jelousy is playing a part. You like Turthôl dont you?" Wren looked annoyed. Énien laughed. "Dont worry, friend. Your secret is safe with me." the elf got up and walked down the stairs, jumping the last three. At the bottom Tareth, Bregand, calimir and Rangar were talking at a table.

"Mae govannen!" she said to them all smiling. "I have had the most rest that i have had in a long time. I almost feel myself again Calimir" She said for a second turning to her elf friend. "Today, i am going to do something i havent done in a long time. I am going into the village- unarmed-" she paused. Really? Rave added passing and sitting down. "Well, perhaps i will only take my daggar." Énien said in thought.

"Well, i will be back soon, and if im not, do not rest until you find me!" Énien headded towards the door, singing as she went. A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!...

Later she returned, a new blue cloak was in her hands. The elf packed her things, and returning to Melliant, who was not impressed that he did not have the free range of the town. Wren had acquired herself a new horse, as did all the others who were without. "A fine specimen of a horse, Rave, did you pick it out?" They mounted and were off on the trail...

[Durelin]

The pause at the inn had been brief, but still, Tareth was thankful for it. Riding in the saddle all day long could grow quite old. Thinking about it now, if Tareth had ever known what so-called 'adventuring' was like, he would have locked himself up in his room and never came out, for chance that he might be swept off on some unknown road. He felt that way now, and he also felt stupid because of it. But, he wasn't about to give up. Besides, he had no idea how to get back home from here.

Now they were supposively moving on to Rohan. He had been excited to see the land of the horse lords, and he still was, in a way. But he wasn't to thrilled about the fine horses anymore. He wasn't about to ride any of them during his stay. Traveling was made even worse because he was so much of a stick-in-the-mud. He should talk to someone, even about the bloody weather. Tareth decided Bregand and Carmalita were the best people to. Perhaps because he was riding just in front of them.

Nudging his gelding to trot up to their side, Tareth scarecly stifled a groan as the handle of his axe ground into his side. He put took it out of his belt loop and hooked it onto his saddle bags before turning to Bregand and Carmalita. The young man was watching him patiently. Was his expression questioning? "I can't stand riding back there by myself for yet another day. Do you mind if I ride with you and Carmalita." For some reason he found it easier to address Bregand than Carmalita. Blasted women! Always putting me off balance, that's why!

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir's sleep had been troubled, despite the soft bed and the warm inn, Enien's words of the night before making him think hard about his home and family. You are brother enough for me, she had told him. Poor Enien, he must be gentler with her, he always forgot how hard the loss of her brother was to her.

When he finally slept his dreams were strange and unwelcome. Dreams of Wilwarin, his daughter, remaining here, Wilwarin riding alone over hard lands to meet a love he didn't understand. A face he couldn't quite recognize. A grey ship, crossing a wide ocean-- Wilwarin waving from the shore. Glorenwen cried softly beside him. He awoke slowly to the sound of Enien pounding on his door and chattering away in rapid Sindarin.

Sighing, Calimir rose from the bed and dressed quickly, following Enien down to the table where everyone else was ordering breakfast. She was cheerful and full of plans for a mornin in the town. Calimir smiled. It was good to see her feeling so much better. He ate lightly, and was more than ready to be gone when Rangar called them together in the front of the inn.

Swinging up onto his horse, Calimir fell in at the back of the company, riding beside Enien as he usually did. They made good time in the direction of Rohan, and a stiff breeze blew across their faces as they rode. Enien and Calimir talked little, but the elf was content. This was what he'd left Rivendell for, the wide sky and the rolling hills and the silent companionship of the group. He breathed deeply, enjoying the ride, and regretting that it couldn't last.

[Arvedui III]

The wind blew lightly, carrying away dust stirred up by a company riding south. Rangar felt very much at ease in the staddle of his new black mount. As the weeks passed and grasslands began to appear, the mood of the company lightened and Rangar sensed himself smiling most of the time. This was the way he had hoped to start the journey, light at heart with a hopeful goal. But, maybe it was just the power of the horse-lands. For, in his mind, nothing was better then riding in Rohan. The rest of the company also seemed to be at ease if not exactly thrilled with horses; And though Rangar still opted to be less than verbose, he no longer felt guilty about not talking to anyone. They know me well enough now. Maybe it was best this way, we've all gotten to know each other, or at least one way.

After two weeks of riding, the company saw a break in the mountains and set up camp just outside of the Gap of Rohan. As night fell, and Rangar was just about to take his first spoonful of soup, he felt Turthol taped him on the back. "Come here for a second." He whispered, and Rangar was taken aback by the note of urgency in his voice. He got up, and followed his friend to where the horses were grazing. Turthol began stroking his mount, and Rangar blinked. "Um, what's this all" "Rangar." Turthol interrupted, and again, the harshness of his voice surprised him. "Yes." "I found out why that man is looking for you." A tremor rose through Rangar, and his muscles twitched slightly. "Well?" Turthol gulped. "Apparently, you murdered his kin." "WHAT?!" The hardy conversation of the company a few feet away stopped abruptly, and only the chirping of a cricket was to be heard. Rangar again felt like a bumbling idiot, but after what seemed like an age of awkward silence, Bregand started talking about whatever he was talking about again.

Rangar didn't notice, nor did he care. Numbness overtook him. Murdered, but, why? An all too familiar stab of shame hit him. Turthol must think that I, "It's probably not true, but I just thought, well, you should know if someone's, well, yeah." Rangar couldn't see Turthol's face as he walked away, but by the sound of his voice he knew that his friend had been shaken by this, and maybe, near believed it. All the recent gladness left, replaced by the shame and guilt and fear Rangar almost always carried with him. Murder, it's probably true. The blood, that man, the dream. All true, why wouldn't it be? Maybe it would be better if I didn't know, but then, they all trust, oh, nevermind. Deal with it later.

The next day Rangar was as silent as before, but smiled no longer. No one seemed to notice, and Rangar was glad of that. Turthol would understand, and the rest didn't need to know why he was frowning. At about mid-day a small town came into sight over the horizon, and many voiced the hope of an inn as excellent as the one at Tharbad had been. Though Rangar's current morbid sense of society bade otherwise, he smiled and joking asked aloud who wanted to be the waiter this time, and then lead the group into Rohan.

[Everdawn]

Rohan was amazing. There was no doubt about it. Énien had enjoyed the comapny of the mortals. "It will be a shame, when i cross over the sea." the elf spoke to Rave and Bregand (who had been totally wrapped up with Carmalita for most of the time.) "I was quiet looking foward to watching your family's grow." She laughed. "Not to worry, im sure i will find better things to do in the recess of time." Her eyes now bright.

Rave had ridden up beside her. "I told you that Rohan is magnificent!" Énien couldnt help but notice how proud the shieldmaiden was of her lands. "Well elf, im sure it may not comapre to Rivendell, but i wager you to find more a more talented race of horsemasters!" Rave slowed to a walk. "Ah! Imladris is beautiful, but horsemasters the elves are none, though our faithful steeds will aid us in any way. Elven horses are different in manner. And their shoes are made of Mithril!" said Énien pointing ot the shoes on Calimir's horse, as her horse which she acquired in Bree had no elven smith to fit them. "Something which i guess Tareth should know a fair bit!" The elf smiled again.

Énien galnced at the party who followed behind. Turthôl and Rangar were riding together as usual. But there was something different about their manner, usually happy, Rangar now did not smile, nor did he listen as intently as he did before to her songs. Though Turthôl galnced occasionally at Wren. "Are you two allright?!" she called to them, not really expecting an answer as she asked every member the same question countless time per day. Yes, something was different about Rangar, at least. To shift her mind from troubles she spotted a deep gully they were coming close too. "Ride slowly! I will check the path" she called and set Melliant off at a gallop to the edge, bow at her hand. Énien, now was paranoyed about unseen enemies from her experience at the ambush which now had been weeks behind them. The cut she had recieved now left only a thin scar hardly seen, that now she was almost proud to bear. Nothing. The gully was empty, although on the wind it seemed to Énien, that the wind whispered into her ear, a warning of a forecoming danger. The elf rode back to the party. "It is safe." and they continued on into a town and towards an Inn.

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

[Earendil Halfelven]

Rohan was a beautiful country, but Turthôl didn't notice that. He was too busy thinking of things as he rode beside Rangar. There was a lot running through his mind-Rohan, murder, the enemy, Wren's hostility towards Gina (he chuckled at that)...He thought that it was funny of the way women acted towards eachother. He liked Gina, she was a nice girl, and good looking too. Wren, well...she was Wren, kind of confusing at times, but a good comrade to have. He had told Gina that after the trip, he would return to Tharbad, to see how things worked out. But...unexpected things could happen while your passing through a few countries.

Murder. Whether Rangar was a murderer or not, Turthôl didn't care. He could not judge him, because Turthôl was exactly innocent himself. He had killed two men outside of battle-Sartir to avenge his fallen comrades, and the Wild Man because there was nothing else to do with him. But the others had their own opinions.

He did not, however, know the circumstances about Rangar's murder. He didn't even know if it was true, but there had to be some truth, or else the man, Baroden, wouldn't be tracking Rangar. But the other's were now in danger. They were traveling with outlaws. If they were captured, they could suffer the same fate as Rangar and Turthôl.

"Rangar," Turthôl whispered. "As we get closer to Rohan and Gondor, maybe it wouldn't be too smart to travel in groups. At one time, I was a wanted man, and I might still be if someone recognizes me. You might be also. If you are murderer, and we are captured, the others could suffer with us. We put them in danger. Its up to you whether we tell them or not."

Turthôl looked up ahead. He saw Enien with and Calimir talking to the others. He didn't know if their elven ears heard them or not, but he hoped they wouldn't tell the others until Rangar made a decision.

[ May 26, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[The X Phial]

Bregand surveyed the lands of Rohan with a smile. He had seen them before, long ago as a very young child, but he did not remember his arduous journey north with the other resettlers now. To him, the plains of Rohan, so different from the brown hills of Dunland, seemed to shine like gold. The first bite of Autumn was in the air, so that even though the company was farther south than they had yet been, the breeze was cool and pleasant.

For Bregand the weeks since his injury had passed in a kind of blur. A blur studded with crystal clear moments. There had been the days of sharing his horse with Carmalita before reaching Tharbad. Those days, still suffering a bit from dizziness and pain, had nonetheless been some of the best of his life. They had talked for most of the time, but enjoyed a few moments of companionable silence as well. He had spoken for hours about his life in the frontier town and told her stories about the lands they were riding through, sometimes making things up when he could recall no real tales. He always apologised afterwards, saying that such and such a story was his own. To his surprise, the woman seemed to prefer his stories to the real ones and they had made it a game in which she would have to guess whether a tale were historical or a Bregand original.

Carmalita, in her turn, had filled his head with images of life in Bree and with her daughter, Crystal. Through her many stories he had realised that no husband or father for Crsytal waited back in Bree. Though this news filled him with sadness for Crystal, it also improved his mood considerably. He hadn't yet gotten up the courage to ask Carmalita about her past, and she seemed to content to let the present be the present. He was afraid that questioning her about her life would ruin their friendship, and he found the thought of that unbearable.

After Tharbad, when they had been on separate mounts and free to ride with whomever they wished, they found that they still preferred to ride together. Sometimes Tareth or Enien would join them. Tareth seemed lonely and Carmalita would cheer him up with memories of their lives together in Bree. Bregand marveled at her ability to make anyone feel better, whether physically or about themselves in general. He was proud when Tareth smiled back at her, but also felt a twinge of some other, less admirable, emotion.

Enien, on the other hand, checked on everyone in the party from time to time. She seemed to feel herself the shepherd of this wayward band. She and Bregand often spoke, especially as he could speak her tongue and she felt far more comfortable conversing in it. She had laughed a bit and gently corrected his pronounciation a few times, much to his embarassment, but he was grateful for the chance to learn, even so far from his usual surroundings Once or twice he had caught Carmalita giving Enien a sour look, and the elf usually found an excuse to check on someone else at about that time. Bregand resolved to teach Carmalita elvish, if she wanted to learn. That way she could participate as well, and, he thought to himself, know that all they really talked about was the journey and the countryside. No sharing. Despite his facination with elvish learning, Bregand had found the elves difficult to get to know on all but a superficial level.

The comapny was two days over the Fords of Isen, and several days out from the Snowbourn when they reached a small village not on any map. There was no inn, but the people of the village welcomed visitors with a communal meal and offered to let them sleep in the town hall. Rangar, far more moody and introspective of late, had nearly refused the hospitality before Turthol and Wren had fallen over themselves to interrupt him and accept on behalf of the group.

Carmalita had been busy since their arrival. It seemed that their normal healer was, himself, ill. The villagers had been thrilled to learn that she was a nurse, and she had shaken off her own weariness to do what she could for him while the village prepared thier feast. Bregand had taken the opportunity to update his maps. None of the villagers seemed to know or care what the village was called, but after some discussion with Calimir, he had decided to call it Haudhbar, which means "home by the mound" in the elvish tongue, for the rolling hills surrounding the village reminded Calimir of grave mounds, and Bregand could get little from him in explanation.

Despite this rather gloomy name, the village was lively, overrun with children and horses. Bregand decided to purchase a new horse, for his steed was very tired, and seemed almost sickly beside the fine horses of Rohan. He refused to sell her to the village, though, for he thought she could still serve as a pack horse. He also bought a fine silk ribbon, red, to give to Carmalita. She had complained several times that her hair was too wild for riding, and he thought she would appreciate the gift.

They met again at supper, a grand affair by the measure of the village, and a welcome change of rations for the party. Bregand presented the ribbon and got a delighted smile from his dear friend. She immediately tied it in her hair. He listened to her tell the villagers that their healer would recover and then told her of his other new purhase. To his surprise she seemed very upset.

"How dare you discard that wonderful horse?" she demanded.

"I..I..she will still be there...just, you know, carrying the bags."

He was shocked to see a small tear in her eye.

"Not while I'm alive. I will ride her if you won't, Bregand. The horse I rode from Tharbad can carry your precious maps."

With that she turned away and engaged the villagers in smalltalk, pulling the ribbon from her hair. Bregand was overcome with shock and worry. What had he done that was so wrong? He ate in silence and excused himself quickly, catching an odd glance from one or two of the company.

That night Carmalita and Bregand avoided one another for the first time since his injury. He was called on to tell a tale that night and wound up reciting one he and Carmalita had made up together. He hoped it would improve her spirits. Instead, she quietly got up and left the company.

Bregand spent a sleepless night tossing and turning. He did not want to lose his friendship with Carmalita, for she was dear to him, more dear than he had realised. On the other hand, it would be foolish to give up his fine new horse. Finally, just before dawn, he got up and crept quietly to where the horses were stabled. He found Carmalita there, talking quietly to his old steed.

"I think I understand," he said quietly, startling her.

"Do you now?" she inquired. "Are you sure so noble and learned a scholar has room in his life for a slightly used animal?"

"That's what makes her special."

Carmalita closed her eyes and looked away.

"I will keep the horse and ride her, and I will name her Lesson, for she and you have taught me an important one," he faltered for a moment. "I think the new horse deserves a better rider anyway. I give him to you, to do with as you will."

With that he left the stables and went to gather his belongings. The others were stirring. When they rode out later that morning, Bregand on Lesson and Carmalita on the Rohan horse, newly christened Scholar, it was in silence. Bregand was comforted that all had been forgiven, if not forgotten, for every time the nurse turned her head the bright red ribbon smiled at him.

[ May 26, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Everdawn]

Claimr had been speaking to the others and Énien too was about to add when over the wind she heard something disturbing. Turthôl and Rangar talking. The words which came from Turthôl's mouth stung her ears. Murderer, but why?Wren had told her about Sartir and how Turthôl was wanted, but Rangar? No couldnt be true she thought, her face now showing outward signs of confusion. "What is it?" Rave asked, her horses saddle cloth in her hands. "Nothing, I- nothing." Énien decided it was the right thing to keep it to herself, until at least she had confronted Rangar or learned the truth for herself.


There had been strange looks cast upon the elves as they rode into Haudhbar, as Bregand had called it. His elvish getting all the better every time he spoke to her. The people in the village cowered away from the path of the elves and their horses, almost in hostility, but were very happy to help the others. "Why do they shy from us?" Énien asked Calimir. "They have seen no elf before, to them we are very mysterious and people fear-"
"What they do not know" Énien finished the sentence.

She had caught Bregand alone after he had a disagreement with Carmailta. Énien slid into the other side of a table in the hall. "Your right, your horse is weak."

"Im not selling her anymore" Bregand said queitly, eyes downcast. "oh... i see." Énien said with a smirk. "What!" Bregand said a little confused and embarassed. Énien lauhed. "Its nice to see a young man in love, something which you spend years trying to find, and yet here you have found it am i right?" Bregand did not answer. "You take me for less than i am, I am more perceptive than you may know." she winked and went from the hall into the night air outside.

Yes, all your life to find... And yet i am 1987, and only has my heart been touched once. Elvethion, over the sea and i will come to you one day.She smiled. This town had left Énien feeling weary again, never had she been so ill-recieved, and not by fault of her own. Even in this town none would come near to Calimir or herself, but stare, yes they stared at their fair faces.

Énien soon excused herself "I am going to sleep, i dont care to be oggled at a second longer." and she left, not before checking on Melliant.

The next day, was a clear day, and unusually warm, so much as Énien had no need for her cloak. This time riding at the back of the comapny where she could get a good look at any coming enemies, she had entrusted Calimir's eyes to see.

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[maikafanawen]

Wren had been in a giddy mood when they entered Rohan. It had been a nice ride and Wren had become suddenly attached to Culfin—the name for her new red-golden haired horse. She had every now and then steered her away from the path to gallop along the side and back again, just to feel the rush. The noblewoman did it so often that soon Aerin had cried out to her to get with the group again and stop running the poor horse. Wren had laughed and tossed back her hair, catching Turthôl’s eye and giving him a playful wink before falling in line behind Carmalita next to Rave.

Haudhbar was a very cute town with small rustic houses and dirty-faced children. Wren smiled and nodded a fair ‘Hello’ to everyone she past, leaving a foolish smile on many of the people’s faces. Culfin was indeed a grand horse in Wren’s eye, though next to the fine horses of Rohan, he seemed but a pony. No matter, thought Wren, her smile ever wider. I don’t see any fire-manes on any of these horses! A light breeze toyed with Culfin’s mane and tail, making them flicker like amber flames in the air.

There was no inn where they stopped, and the Hall was crowded with the villagers who came to speak with and hear news from the travelers. Wren vastly enjoyed the attention. “People’s taste in friends seem to improve the nearer one is to Gondor,” she whispered to Rave, who rolled her eyes jovially at Wren’s good-natured quip.

“It’s very hard to believe you’re nearing your thirty fifth birthday,” the maiden answered back. “You act half your age.” Wren waved the jest away and turned to entertain a new group of young men—oh yes, and there were some ladies.

As the night wore on, the people began to grow sleepy and the Hall began to get larger it seemed as the villagers left. The few that remained were those closest to the traveler’s age and were carrying on level conversations. Finally even they tired, and the company was invited to homes and into warm beds. Wren, and Rave bunked with a young couple and their three daughters. In the morning they woke and made the family breakfast as a thank you and left around mid-day with the rest of the company.

[Everdawn]

Rave had kept mostly to herself for a long time. "for the best" she thought as she was not in favour of upsetting either of the elves. The shieldmaiden had ridden with the Gondor Noblewoman until she had gotten a horse of her own. It had been interesting talk with Wren, and Gondor seemed magnificent, and after all it would be nice to see Wren's mansion as she had not seen anything as wondrous compared with her own moderate but humble upbringing.

She was very inquisitive with the elves, not so much as Bregand though. She always watched Calimir and Énien when they sang, told stories or even conversed in elvish. Their language was amazing. Rave thought them beautiful and somehow beyond the measure of men., but none the less agreeable.

Turthôl and Rangar on the other hand were rough well travelled men, who knew how to protect themselves, after all they were rangers. Though she enjoyed their company immensely they entertained Rave somewhat. But them again, every time they were nice, there seemed a darker, colder side in the both of them.

Tareth had told her stories of being a blacksmith in Bree and of what he said, Rave supposed that he was a good one. Aerin was a girl from a small village as well, though like Rave she kept to herself. Bregand and Carmalita were becoming good friends also. Carmalita had spoken with Rave a lot over late nights around the fire and Rave had learned of her daughter Crystal. Rave couldn’t help thinking what a brave woman she must be.

Now Rave rode beside Énien, to an untrained eye, both would have looked like two girls out riding, Rave with her Blonde hair and youthful appearance atop of a fine horse and Énien, bright eyes behind brown tresses on a black horse which looked more like that of a ringwraith than the harmless creature he was. “Énien, it’s very strange you know, you never told me what you were doing in Bree.” Rave saw the elf frown. “All because of a star my friend. Passing through I was on my way home to Imladris, when I stopped in Bree and heard Rangar was going to Harad. There is a seer there, I need answers for a question.” Énien answered staring straight ahead.

“I suspect that Bregand has a thing for Carmalita.” Rave began changing the subject in a whisper. “He loves her.” Énien said with a small laugh. “how do you know?” asked an opened eyed Rave. “Is the same look an elf once gave me. His name was Elvethion, he was from Lothlorien, this was a long time ago mind you, when my brother was still alive and my parents were this side of the ocean. I was 671 years old, and Elvethion was quite a bit older than I was, as old as I am now. My father thought I was too young, and he was right. Eventually Elvethion passed to the heavens. You remember don’t you Calimir? Back in the good old days!” Énien laughed.

“Only 671?” Rave asked with some degree of sarcasm that Énien failed to notice, but as every time, Énien never noticed sarcasm. “Yes” she answered “A long time ago. A long time before you were born even, well none of you were born, nor your parents or their parents parents.” Énien nodded. “Its amazing you know, Énien, that you are so old but you look no older than me, in fact id go as far as saying, you look younger.” Rave said giving her horse his head and taking her hands of the reigns. “And it depresses me somewhat that I will be an old woman one day and you will still look the same as you do now!” Rave laughed. “Yes, but that also means that I must see you die and your grave cover with moss as your children grow and die as well. “ Rave became quiet at this. “Do not be so sad to think Ravenne. I will not actually be here to see you die, I don’t think. Perhaps I will stay here as long as I can to see all of you to your graves and then pass, or I will go to the heavens as soon as I return to Imladris, I have not made up my mind.” The elf still riding, but sensing the silence began to sing in elvish verse.

[Carlas]

Baroden watched as Rangar and the rest of his company left the small village. He had been staying there for a little, talking to some 'business partners' as he liked to call them. Now he had one more to go talk to, and then he would have some fun.

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

Baroden reached a small house near the outskirts of the village, close to where Rangar had left. It was an old house, but it had been well taken care of. He stepped up to it quietly, and knocked with an old brass knocker. The door opened just a crack, and then a small woman stepped out into the morning light. Her hair was dark and kept up in a neat bun, underneath, her face was tanned from tending to her garden, she was quite beautiful. She smiled as she looked up at him with her deep and strong green eyes.

"Well, what a surprise!" She said with a surprisingly low voice. "I haven't seen you in these parts for some time, but it is so much fun when you do. Have you finally found him? Come inside, I must hear about everything thats been going on!"

"We don't have much time, I have a job for you!" The girl looked up at him with a smile that did not suite such a pretty face. She turned and showed Baroden into the house, closing the door behind him.

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

At noon the village was filled with busy men and woman, all trying to walk through the crowded streets. It was bright outside, and the sun was hot.

As many people were leaving to have lunch, a cry broke through the air. People looked about to find where the cry had come from, and they saw a small woman running down the streets, her clothing torn and dirty.

"My nephew! Someone please, they have taken him, they have killed him!"

The inhabitants watched as a man walked up to the lady. She looked up at him and started to cry. He knelt beside her, helping hold her up and asked her what had happened. The crowd listened as she told them about a group of men and elves that had attacked her and her nephew, trying to steal their money. The group that stood about her, listened intently and grew outraged, as she told them of how the group had killed her nephew. As she finished she started to cry, sobbing in great gasps. One man from the crowd walked out from the crowd and stood infront of the lady.

"We can not let this happen in our town! We cannot let people get away with such a deed, though our city may be small we are not weak!" The group gave a loud cheer, and the man had to quiet them down before being able to speak again." But who has done this? Has anyone seen a group of men and elves?"

Another man stood up beside him, and told the crowd of Rangar's company that had just left that morning. The crowd started yelling and howling, outraged that such a thing could happen. The first man stood up ontop of a box and waved his hands to get there attention.

"We cannot let them get away with this crime! They left just this morning, they cannot be far, let us find them!"

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

As the crowd was leaving, some men offered the young woman aid, but she told them that she could manage and that finding those savages was more important. Just as they were out of sight, she stopped limping and ran into an alley way, where a dark figure stoof waiting.

"Beautifully done!" Baroden said brimming "You are quite the actress, you shall be paid splendidly for this"

"I should hope" She said though she was still smiling. "No matter how fun it is to fool these fools, if they ever found out, I'd have to pack up and find another home."

"You don't have to worry about that, if it doesn't work, the fools will think it must have been another group! You get group like those often enough. Now, I must be off, I need to see what these fools can do." And he walked off back into the darkness of the alley.

[Arvedui III]

The town had been a welcome relief for Rangar. And, as Wren pointed out, so had the fact they'd obtained food made for things other than soup. At noon the sun left the cover of the clouds and warmed the road, causing a large dust pall to hover behind them, then be swept away by the light wind blowing from the east. The day just kept getting better. Rangar was riding by Turthol, but consciously making sure he was within hearing distance of Calmir and Enien, who were finishing the story of Turin for Bregand because he wanted to learn 'the discrepancies between the elvish and manish versions,' or something like that. Rangar's contentment was only interrupted when Turthol prodded him on the shoulder and said, "You hear something?" "No, just Enien and Bregand, why?" Answered Rangar, looking confusedly at his friend.

"Nothing." Said Turthol in an nonchalant manner, though he frowned and looked behind him at the large dust cloud the company stirred up. "Must be my rusty Sindarin." But Rangar had noticed that Enien and Bregand had stopped talking in elvish, and she and Calmir were now looking in the same direction as Turthol, with Bregand wearing a look similar to his own. "Think it's," Rangar began, reluctant to drop his mood several notches by asking. "Nah," Interrupted Turthol, casting another glance behind him. "But I'll double back and make sure. He doesn't know what I look like anyway." He finished, trying to sound casual. "Alright." Turthol turned his horse and began riding back into the dust. "Where's Turthol going?" Aerin asked as soon as both horse and rider had disappeared. "He heard a noise. He's going to check it out." Rangar answered offhandedly, still looking behind him.

After twenty minutes of tossing backward gazes and periodically slowing down and then speeding up, the hammer of horse hoofs reached Rangar's ears. He smiled, but was immediately shocked when Turthol reappeared. For the brief moment when his face was visible it was deathly white, and his eyes were wide. "What the," "No questions, just ride." Turthol shouted instantly as he outpaced the company and kept up his gallop. Rangar, and it seemed like the rest of the group followed suit, spurred his horse to catch up. As he came alongside Turthol he shouted, " What going on?" Turthol gulped, and was about to say something when another sound reached Rangar's bewildered ears: The thunder of many feet, and shrill shouts from a distance. "Rangar," Rave said slowly. He looked behind him and his jaw dropped.

It looked like the entire village in which they'd just stayed was running behind them, brandishing spears and pitchforks. What in the name of "Get 'em" Roared, to his horror, a very massive man on horseback; The only one he hoped. Without bidding, Rangar yelled, "Run!" and dug his heels into the side of his horse. For what seemed like an eternity, although it probably was more the like of ten minutes, they rode feaverishly, trying to outpace the mob hot on their feet. But then, the company came to a pitfall in the road; And as Rangar's horse swerved to avoid it, the creature nearly collided with Tareth's steed and reared wildly. Before he could find his balance, Rangar hit the ground with a great THUD.

[Earendil Halfelven]

He couldn't believe his eyes. He wasn't dying of thirst or anything so it wasn't a hallucination-it was almost the whole village riding after them. For what, he didn't know, but when he heard the cry, "There's one! Kill him!" when they saw him, he knew that he had to get out.

The company rode hard, trying to out-ride the psycho mob that was after them. As long as their horses kept their footing, they'd be ok. But then what he didn't want to happen, happened.

Up ahead, Rangar's horse almost collided with Tareth's, and Rangar went to the ground. Tareth almost ended up unseated, but he was able to stay up. Rangar's horse kept going, riderless.

Turthôl ground his horse to a halt.

"Quick, jump on!" he shouted to his friend.
As Rangar got up and prepared to mount behind him, Turthôl unslung his bow from around his back and turned. He strung an arrow and aimed.

"Rangar! Jump on in front of me and take the reins while I take care of these villagers," Turthôl shouted to Rangar. Rangar did so.

"No, Turthôl, don't kill these people!" Calimir said. He and Enien had stopped also. Turthôl looked ahead and saw that the company was slowind down.

"Don't worry, Calimir. They're just going to lose a few horses. Help me shoot the horses. We won't kill them," he replied. "Come, let's ride."

As they began riding towards the company, Turthôl, Calimir, and Enien took aim at the horses behind them. They unloosed their arrows, and the pursuers began to fall as the horses died.

They caught up to the rest of the company, but by this time, the villagers had gained plenty of ground and their cries could be heard behind them.

"Kill them! Kill the murderers!"

"Murderers? What are they talking about?" Wren cried.

Turthôl didn't reply but he had a feeling that it was that man Baroden who had started whatever this was.

"What are we going to do? Our horses can't keep going for ever like this," Rave yelled over the sound of galloping hooves.

"I don't know, just keep going," Rangar said.

At least half of the mob had fallen from Enien, Calimir, and Turthôl's arrows, but there were still plenty of mobers behind them.

[Everdawn]

"What is this? Énien yelled over at Turthôl. "dont give me that look! I know you know something!" she lowered her bow. "Murderer, i am none, yet these mortals call us by that term!" Énien spat.

"I dont understand" Rave said handing Melliant's reigns back to the elf. Melliant was prancing. "Niro lim!" she called to him and galloped to the back of the company. "Rangar im going to get to the bottom of this!" and off she rode towards the outer few attackers. "Die wretched creature!" a man yelled throwing his daggar towards her, missing.

Énien knocked the man from his horse. "Dont kill me! have mercy!" he cowered below Mellaints hooves. The elf dragged the man up on her horse, with a knife pressed to his back, rode away to a huge gallop. Énien stopped only when she reached her comapny, behind them she put the man down. Tareth had his sword ready. "Have mercy" he said again.

"You called me a creature, tell me do wretched creatures have mercy?"

"What are you doing Énien!" Rave said standing beside the rampant elf, who helf up her hand to silence the shieldmaiden. "Why have you attacked us? Why do you call murder? Do you know what you attack? This company could take out all these men in one go."

"Énien. You will not kill him he is of my land" Rave was now weary. "Im not going to kill him!" said Énien turning. "Oh thankyou!" the man began. "Shutup, perhaps my other friend will do the honours for me. Now, who sent you!"

"They is saying, you is dangerous, you elves, you is going to put a spell on me if i get too close, beware the elvens they says. But no, lady, they is saying you is killed a boy!"

Rave spoke up now, "We have done no such thing!"

"Tell them to step back! TELL THEM TO RETREAT!" Énien yelled pushing the man foward. "They will not listen to me, they will think i am spelled!"

Énien was now very angry. "I will 'spell' you if you dont tell them to retreat!"

"Énien" this was said hardly, by Calimir who had stopped firing arrows for a minute. "No threat of violence will make him say anything. Now, there is another way we can get infomation from him." The she-elf nodded. Kneeling infront of the man who was on the ground she said.

"Please, tell me, why do you think that is is us who killed this child? and please tell them to pull back so none of them have to die, many of these people have killed before." Énien raised an eyebrow.

[Durelin]

Turthol was a fool! But, it was too late now. Shoot the horses? What better way to infuriate these men more? Even if they prooved they were not murderers, they'd still be hung. To the Rohirrim, even if they did not kill a man, they had killed some of the most precious beasts in this land. Horses. Why? Was the man losing his mind? He had always acted strangely, and roughly, and Tareth had heard the story of the 'murders'. But Tareth agreed with Turthol there, those weren't murders. Tareth shook his head. They could have just fled, they had had a head start, and they were all fair riders.

Then Enien rode up to the charging men, bringing down one. She almost seemed to ignore the others, and Tareth was ready to charge out there himself to keep her from getting killed. But, she swiftly pulled the man onto her horse and rode back. "Have mercy," the man kept saying. Sweat beaded on his forhead, and he shivered in fear. Enien was threatening to kill him, and it surprised Tareth. Surely, of all people... "Im not going to kill him!" she said to Rave, relieving Tareth along with her. She had, after all, been the one to call Turthol a murderer! It was Rave's turn, and she was taking the calm aproach. "Please, tell me, why do you think that is is us who killed this child? and please tell them to pull back so none of them have to die, many of these people have killed before." Tareth decided to put in his own words. "Were you told?" he began, "Did you come charging after us because someone told you that we killed someone? How could we get away with that?" His voice was harsh, and he was almost yelling. He had to calm down, this was no way to get answers. Softening his voice, he continued, "We did not kill anyone, though we are very sorry for the death of the horses..." He shot a glance at Turthol, sighing.

[Earendil Halfelven]

"We did not kill anyone, though we are very sorry for the death of the horses..." He shot a glance at Turthôl, sighing.

Turthôl could tell what the boy thought of him at the moment. But he didn't really care. If they had not killed the horses, than Enien, Calimir, Turthôl, Rangar,
and Tareth would have been captured.

He watched as Enien interrogated the man she had captured. The man was a bumbling idiot. He felt the weight of the gold at his side of what was left over from Tharbad. He took out the bag and threw at the man.

"Here, this will replace the horses we killed," he said. He turned his horse back and started galloping back.

"Where are you going?" Tareth called.

"Well, now that I have no money to replace my arrows, I'm going to have to get them, don't I?" he replied. He galloped off to retrieve his arrows. And if any villager tries to kill me, they will lose more than their horse. After all, its self defense, he thought.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir winced with every arrow he shot into the onrushing group of horses. The first to fall from his arrows was a proud bay, the man on its back tumbling to the ground. A young grey horse, still nearly black, fell next. Calimir's hand shook as he nocked the next arrow. He steadied himself. Shooting horses was terrible, but missing and killing a villager was worse. He let the arrow fly, a dark horse stopping in confusion and throwing its rider in fright.

Tareth was watching what they were doing with horror. The elf bit his lip. He hated it too, but if they couldn't slow this mob down they'd all be killed before they had a chance to protest their innocence.

The cries of "Murderer!" enraged Enien, and she rushed forward, taking the first man she could reach onto her horse and riding back toward the company. When Calimir reached her side she was screaming at him, threatening him.

"Enien!" Calimir reminded her sharply. She looked up at him darkly, but dropped to her knees beside the man, and spoke more softly. Enien told him in a few short words the story of the company. That all had killed before, that some were seasoned warriors. If the entire village attacked, eventually Rangar's company would fall to the numbers, but many many villagers would die. The elf woman spoke in even tones, and the man's eyes registered recognition and then fear.

Calimir dropped to his knees as well. "She speaks the truth." he said simply. "Now go back to your people, and tell them what we have said." Turthol rode into the middle of them and tossed the man a bag of gold.

"To pay for the horses we killed." he grunted. The man stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes and slowly began to walk back toward the group of villagers who'd slowed considerably since the attack on their horses. Enien watched him go with a look of intense frustration in her eyes.

"I will not be called a murderer, Calimir." she said, turning to look at him with shining eyes. "I will not."

"Their words cannot make it true, Enien." he replied gently. "And you know what is true." She nodded slowly, and remounted Melliant. Calmir remounted as well and he, Rave, Turhol and Enien rode back to join the rest of the group.

[maikafanawen]

Wren saw the foursome ride back, resolved expressions on their face.

“I think we handled it,” announced Calimir.

“Hah! By killing their horses and striking fear into that poor man’s soul? You call that handling it??” Wren demanded.

“What would you have done?” asked Turthol angrily. The noblewoman shrugged.

“Well, obviously they suspected the wrong group! Some of them might have recognized one of us! We should have sent a representative, a person with good social skills to clear it up. That way—” Turthol raised a hand silencing her.

“Just, nevermind. What’s done is done. We cannot change it.” Wren sat heavily back in her saddle, annoyed at Turthol’s negative demeanor.

“Yes, your sage-ness,” she muttered so that only he could hear her. Then she reared Culfin back to join Rave and Aerin at the rear of the group. “That ranger is really wearing a hole in the bottom of my boot,” she said.

“Oh sure,” said Aerin jovially. “Is that because he fancied Gina over you or because of how he handled the mob?” Wren acted as though the shield-maiden had deeply insulted her and sighed dramatically.

They made camp shortly after nightfall beside a small river. Tareth and Aerin taught Wren as best they could how to fish and between the three of them they caught five fair-sized river-trout. The noblewoman brought Rave the fish and declared that she could even clean one! It was quite a show watching the gondorian try her hand at skinning the fish and removing the bone, placing the good meat into the pot. After about two minutes of fish guts, Wren decided that it wasn’t her area of talent and turned the task over to Rave.

The noblewoman made her way down the stream and rinsed off her hands.

“Those fish better taste better than they smell,” she muttered to herself.

"I'm sure they will" said someone behind her...

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

“Those fish better taste better than they smell,” Wren muttered to herself.

"I'm sure they will" said Turthôl as he walked by. Then, sarcastically he added, "Especially after we add the spices and herbs to the meat. And then, when we get to the next town, I can buy...oh wait I don't have any money because I gave it all to the villagers to replace their horses that we so savagely shot down in our own defense. I should have just let them draw and quarter me and then hang up my remains in the village square, before I got a chance to say that I WAS INNOCENT!" He was yelling by this point.

He stomped off before Wren could reply. Her face was as red as the sun at dusk. She was about to blow-up, and that gave Turthôl some satisfaction. He couldn't believe that these people were getting so upset at him about a bunch of dead horses. Would they rather take the horses place, and be murdered by the mob instead?

He walked over to where Rangar was at, and he said, "I told you this was a bad idea to have a group come along to Harad." He sat down and entertained thoughts of leaving the company in the middle of Rohan. If Rangar wasn't with them, then he would have left long ago.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Arvedui III]

"I told you this was a bad idea to have a group come along to Harad."

Rangar shook his head, grinning slightly. He quite liked having a group along with him. Learning tales from the elves and ongoing rivalry between Turthol and Wren kept him very much entertained. No way he could get that going alone. Plus, and more obviously, there was safty in numbers, and he needed it badly. Turthol was staring daggers at the fire, a deep frown on his face. This made Rangar frown as well. "Not all of them are as willing to kill as you are, and staying horse in Rohan, well." He cut himself off to try and be as patronizing as he possibly could. But, it didn't work. Turthol just continued to stare at the fire and frown.

"Erg, look. This is my journey, if you want to-" "No. But I swear this will be the death of me." His voice was hard and grim. "Then die, by all means. But don't take it out on Wren." Rangar mumbled. Turthol looked sharply at him, as though he'd just said some disgusting swear word."I'm not disagreeing with you, I just don't want to have to police you. They all think you're some kind of madman already." Said Rangar, trying to sound cheerful, and giggling slightly at the thought of what Turthol would do if, or maybe when, he went crazy. "Let them." Said Turthol getting up and walking towards where Wren and Tareth were cooking the fish, a mischievous grin back in it's proper place.

[maikafanawen]

Wren was still angry towards Turthôl when she made her way back up to camp and helped Rave and Tareth finish with the dinner. After she sat down with her own portion of the fish, she ate a little and decided she wasn’t hungry. The rest of the company sat around the fire and the rangers and Tareth lit pipes. (Bregand was offered, but the scholar looked suspiciously at the leaf before declining it politely and resuming his conversation with Carmalita).

Rangar called upon Wren to play her lute and sing another song. Wren agreed and drew forth her instrument, strumming the chords lightly before beginning a song she had made up to entertain the children of her father’s friends. The company settled back and listened with droopy eyelids as she played the lullaby.

The castle stood above the clouds
And o’er looked the valley
That violet mist so oft did shroud
Where the animals ran free

Oh that peace would stay
And never fade away
That love would never dim its light
And night pass into day

Not long after peace was dealt
Throughout this solemn land
Did Fate leave its gruesome welt
In serenity’s outstretched hand

Though heartsease long reined over all
And the king and queen were content
Did Pain and Sorrow come to call
Leaving anguish where it went

Oh that peace would stay
And never fade away
That love would never dim its light
And night pass into day

The children all had hid their faces
From Grief’s searching eyes
Thought Sorrow conquered many places
It failed in its final try

For love and honor was so strong
In the children’s purest minds
That pain could never last that long
And was soon left far behind

Oh that peace would stay
And never fade away
That love would never dim its light
And night pass into day

A lesson to be learned is there
From the innocence of a child
T’wherever love reins o’er despair
Is a young heart, free and wild

Wren played a bit more on her lute after the song was over, blending the power of the music with the nightly sounds about her. The cricket’s serenade invited the stars to give their own gift and comets splayed the darkest corners of the east to the west. Enien continued to look apprehensively to the sky, watching as the stars were hid behind the clouds that shrouded the full moon from view. Fingers tired, the noblewoman finally set aside her lute and watched as her companions set up their tents.

Wren pitched hers quickly and laid her blanket inside. Then she walked down to the stream and stood with her hands on her belt. She peered into the rushing water and watched as the fish swam by, followed by bigger fish. Frogs could be heard on the opposite bank, and the silhouette of a deer was barely visible a ways upstream.

Gathering the peaceful setting in her mind, she tucked it away for a time she’d need it and meandered up to camp. The fire was down to its last dying ember and everyone was sleeping, except for Bregand who had first watch. He nodded to her over something he was working on in his lap and adjusted his back against the tree he was leaning on. Wren crawled into her tent and yawned before resting her head on the pack.

Your potential is measured by your determination, not your abilities, Wren, whispered her mum.

If you want to fence, by all means, fence. But a woman’s place is in the home not the strip, shouted her father.

I’m sorry, but she’s too young. And we don’t usually except female fighters, the master informed her father airily. They’re weak

I saw you, Garnet told her snidely, just last night, behind the rose trellis talking with Ryndion! ‘Oh they were doing more than talking…’

Here now! I’m a part of the company too so you mind how you treat me. I’m not beneath you.

I don’t want your opinion. What do you know about journeys?
Well then teach me what you know.
Ha! You just watch and be quiet. You should learn enough.

Wren rolled over on her side and stifled a sob. Memories of things that were past her and that she had covered up with lighthearted quips and sarcastic remarks. Who was she kidding? What was to become of her? This cursed journey! It was destroying who she was! She had been fine! A well-to-do noblewoman who had everything going her way. A blessed life. Now she was torn apart by new thoughts, new realizations, and new truths.

The night passed by slowly with heart-wrenching dreams and stifled cries. She was grateful for morning...

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl sat staring into the fire as he listened to the others talk, and then Wren began playing her lute and singing. At that point he turned his attention into the dark. He sat there sharpening his sword, over and over and over, until he started recieving some supsicious glances from the others. The constant shing, shing, shing of the wetstone against the blade rang into the night even as the others started setting up there tents for the night. Tents...he couldn't believe it. They dared set up tents after all the fighting they've been through? Now is the perfect time for an attack, he thought.

Instead, Turthôl slept as he always did-with a ground cloth spread under him and a blanket on top. But he didn't feel like sleep. Instead, he sat there staring into the fire, thinking. Bregand kept watch.

As the fire died down to cold embers, he stared up into the stars, thinking of the elves and Valinor, and how he couldn't pass into the Undying Lands. That possibility was denied to even the Dúnedain, the ancestors of the Númenoreans. He then thought of the sea. He had never seen it himself but a vision of it filled his mind. Without thinking, he started singing a song that he had learned long ago, in Imladris. He began softly-

Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.

Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?

An sí Tuntallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!

He finished and sighed. Behind him he heard footsteps.

"I didn't know you could speak elvish," Bregand said.

"There's a lot you don't know, Bregand," Turthôl replied somberly.

"What was it about?" Bregand asked.

"It is about Valinor and Varda, whom the elves call Elbereth," Turthôl said. He looked again up towards the sky. It was clear.

"oh," Bregand nodded. The boy stood there for a moment with nothing to say. Turthôl looked at him.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" he asked.

"Well..." Bregand wasn't so sure on how to answer. "The others..."

"Never mind. I just wanted to see what you thought, not what Wren and Enien and Tareth thought. Bregand, the best evidence to base judgment on is your own experience. Remember that." Turthôl said.

Bregand nodded again. He leaned on his sword wearily, and stared into the dying coals.

"I may seem cold-blooded and brutal. Thats because of my experiences. Its gotten me this far and its gotten the company this far."

"Yes, I see what you mean, Turthôl." Bregand turned to go patrol the area.

"Oh, Bregand." Turthôl called out.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Go to sleep. I'll take watch."

As Bregand headed towards his bed, Turthôl sat there, thinking some more. He wasn't going to bother to wake anyone else up for the next watch. He'd do the whole night. Well, whatever the others thought about him, he hoped it didn't get anybody killed. He took out his sword and began to sharpen it some more. The sching, sching, sching sound was the only thing that could be heard. It lasted until morning.

[ May 31, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Everdawn]

Énien found it har to sleep that night. However she was tired. The elf had climbed to the lower broughs of a tree, a place off the ground. She had trusted Bregand enough with the first watch in case the villagers came back. Murderer. I am no murderer, I am an elf, and that is all it seems i will ever be, an elf and an elf messenger. she thought of her home. The Valley, Imaldris, as she drifted off into sleep.

In her dreams it seemed that Énien could hear the fain words of an elvish song she used to sing when she was young. Her mother would sit and watch as her fingers slipped from the strings of her harp when she was still learning.
"Not so hard, Énien, stroke them as hey were delicate." Seveniel would say.

The elf smiled in her sleep, then opened her eyes slowly. It was no dream. The voice of Turthôl was singing. It was the first time he had uttered elvish words since he had been with the comapny. Énien sat in the tree watching him sing and hummed to the tune. When Turthôl finnished she drifted off into sleep again, but not before glancing once more at the night sky.

Dawn. Énien woke, seeing the sun peeking over the far ridges of some mountain. The others were still asleep, though Turthôl was still on watch.

"Did you stay up all night?" she asked standing behind him. "Yes." he spoke back.
"That was a beautiful song you sang last night, it is a shame you can never go there." she spoke. Turthôl said nothing. "I dont think you are crazy Turthôl. I think you are smarter than that, but you make mistakes. We all do, even the elves." and with that she went to wake the party.

"Wake! Dawn has spoken!Today we must ride!" She knew some of the others were not quite ready for riding so early. There were several groans throught the camp. "Would you rather we get caught by another group of elf-weary, murderous accusating townspeople?" she said with a slight laugh. The others finally began to get out of their tents, and Énien went to the stream, with boots off she walked through the cool water.

"What are you doing?" Rave said sitting on a near by rock. "Im walking through water, what does it look like im doing? care to join?" the elf was now looking at her reflection in the water. "I dont look so fair this morning do i!" she laughed, her hair was tangled and her skin fairly dirty. "No one would guess you were an elf" Rave replied. Énien took out her hair and re-did it. "come Ravenne, now for some breakfast!"

"No thanks" Rave said now standing. "I feel a little to betrayed by my people this morning to eat." Rave frowned. "That was an unfortunate misunderstanding." said the elf putting her hands on her hips. "Rave, i want you to know, that I would never kill like that, I was bluffing. I only kill in self-defence and retribution." They walked back to the fire.

[ May 31, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar walked in the green fields as dawn broke, priding himself on slipping away unnoticed, if only for a little while. Rohan was a good place to think somehow. Everything seemed simpler in Rohan, and his mind much less staggered than in Gondor or Arnor or Ithilien or Eraidor, beautiful though they were. Rohan, an easy seeming place, he decided. A good place to think about the company, Harad, Barodin, the mob, dreams; Dreams which were most disturbing of late. The swirl of color, the endless blood, and now cries as well, far off yet familiar. Though, maybe those came from other troubled sleepers. Turthol used to have that problems with dreams, and Wren seemed bothered by something as well. Despite the overt hate the two showed each other, they were similar. He did not know why, but it made Rangar grin.

Walking to where the horses were grazing, he found his own steed a little removed from the rest. Very Appropriate. He thought as he moved away from the rest of the horses to stroke the creature. "Hullo" He said as the horse gave him a nuzzle. "Don't believe I got your name." The black mount looked at him for a moment, then turned away and went back to grazing. "Well, maybe later." He mumbled, glancing up at the new risen sun and heading back to camp.

It seemed as though there was an unspoken agreement in place not to discuss the mob, and what might have caused it; And Rangar was grateful for that. Since no supplies had been damaged, they opted not to take a detour to Edoras, but continue strait by the north road . Five days passed without incident, and soon, much to Rangar's surprising dismay, the grassland began to recede and the party entered Gondor.

[Durelin]

Gondor!, Tareth thought in excitement, We are in Gondor! He couldn't help but grin as he surveyed the land. Would they be able to see the White Tower soon? Well, they would see it eventually, and suppisively the inside of it! They were going to Minas Tirith, the White City, fairest city of the golden dawn! Tareth like extravagant names like that, it always made things seem all the better. But, as he glanced at his companions, he lost his smile. There was something he needed to do, and he didn't like it one bit. He had to talk to Bregand. That one look had haunted him all the time, that look he received from Bregand. He had been talking to Carmalita, and he had smiled at her. Simply smiled at her, because he was enjoying the conversation. He had been at a lack for conversation becaue of his shyness, and Carmalita had made it melt away. She was a friendly person, one everyone likes. And Bregand loved her. It was obvious.

That look had been the smuggest he had ever seen Bregand. It had not been directed at Tareth, exactly, but it had been for him. It had been so full of jealousy, and that wasn't like Bregand. Tareth hadn't known the man all that long, but he knew that much. Bregand could be as kind as Carmalita. Tareth had to straighten this out, immediately. Bregand was riding alone, for once, and he wouldn't be for long. With a sigh, Tareth nudged his horse and trotted up beside Bregand. Tareth was always at the back. Tareth turned to Bregand and looked at him for a moment before speaking. Bregand didn't look up at all. "Can I talk to you, Bregand?" Tareth asked, a bit cautiously.

"Of course you may, Tareth." There was no hiding the sourness in his voice, though Bregand looked sorry that he had spoken that way. He didn't apoligize, though.

Might as well get right to the point... "Bregand," he began quietly, "You love Carmalita." He said it so plainly, and Bregand looked up at him in alarm. His mouth worked, but no cound came out. Tareth continued before he could speak. "I know that, and I hope Carmalita does...and...and...I do not have that kind of feeling for her. I hope you know that." He couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice as he continued again, "You bloody well should know it, Bregand! I rarely talk to the woman! I rarely talk to anyone!" Tareth grimaced. He had gone quite far enough. "Sorry," he mumbled, "But..." Tareth sighed, when he was broken off by a shout from Wren. "The White Tower! You can see it now!" Tareth couldn't help but gasp as he looked up at the tall spire. You could only see the very top, the rest was hidden by the small rise of the hill they were climbing. "It's...beautiful," was all he could say. He hoped the conversation, as one-sided as it was, was forgotten. But, he had the feeling he would hear about it, and grimaced.

[Arien]

Carmalita gazed up at the tower, she was lost for words even though she had seen it before it had lost none of it beauty. For a few moments the company stood in awe of the tower and then began to move again. The dismounted and lead the horses a long in pairs through the bustling streets, she remembered the other night beside the fire with Bregand….

She slowly walked over to where Bregand was sitting, still awake even though his watch had finished. He was looking over his maps and charts. He saw her coming but continued to work.

“I am sorry..” she said her face to his, but he did not look up. “I did not mean to be so short tempered with you..”

He lifted his head and sighed, “That is ok, you are right I should not of just discarded my horse like that.”

“And thank you for the ribbon” she smiled and touched the red flowing ribbon which was tied her hair. “You wonder do you not why I don’t have a husband?”

Bregand did not answer, but instead wore a guilty look upon his face. As she stared at him he slowly nodded his head.

“It is not a crime to be curious!” she laughed.

“Yes it is, please forgive me you do not need to tell strangers about your life, it is yours not theirs.” he picked up a book again and started to read it. Carmalita was getting annoyed now. He wanted to know, why did he not just ask her? She would tell him, but only because she trusted him. And for some other reason she wanted him to know she was not fully to blame for Crystals birth.

She pulled the book away from his lap, “You are right, I wont tell strangers,” he looked a little dismayed and upset, “but I will tell friends….” she looked up into his eyes again and smiled. He was such a caring person, and Carmalita could not help that strange feeling she got .

“I was 14 and I went to live with my father for a while. He is a Ranger of Ithilien, a tall and proud man. He set down a lot of rules for me, a lot. For about a year and a half I got along fine, helping them, cooking. I learnt many healing and fighting skills. Then I met him…….HIM!” she said his name with disgust, “He swept me off my feet and even though he was nearly twice my age I did not care. He was loving, kind, handsome,” she looked up at Bregand who had slight tinge of envy in his eyes. “….well I thought he was. When I was 15 I fell pregnant with Crystal, his child. I told him and he left, he left!” she battled with the rebellious tears that started to form in her eyes, she tried to blink them, hold them back. “I told my father, and he sent me home in a rage, vowed to kill the man who had done this. I begged him not to….I do not know what happened. There you have it! I was foolish…” there was a silence and Bregand’s face was now the face of pity, “don’t pity me, “she scowled her face now flushed and sticky from the few tears that had drifted down her cheeks “ You must think I am stupid!”

“No, no I don’t …I..” he stopped and sighed, “well it was you decision ?”

Carmalita looked into the fire, she would tell him. “He made me…he took advantage of me, but I was too naïve to know that then.”

Bregand looked horrified, he did not say anything but simply embraced her in his arms. She withdrew away and looked at him, the blurry figure in front of her. She had told no one that, no one. What had made her tell him? She did not know. They sat by the fire a little longer, in silence, then Bregand returned to his things and left Carmalita alone.

He had said nothing of the former night during the journey and the troubled her, surely he thought her sick and twisted. She winced and stared up at the tower again, Gondor would give her no comfort.

[maikafanawen]

Wren pushed the thoughts of the previous night away and greeted the morning with a smile. She helped with a tasty breakfast and with the help of Rave and Aerin got Rangar & Co. on the road early.

“On to Gondor!” said the noblewoman not bothering to hide the excitement in her voice.

She had been straining to see the White Tower ever since they entered Gondor. When it had finally peaked the horizon, its flags billowing in the afternoon breeze she was ecstatic.

“The White Tower! You can see it now!” She almost fell from her horse trying to see more of the city. Steadying herself, she resisted the urge to gallop ahead and go home! Yes, home—at last!!

The company was in disarray. There were so many complex emotions running back and forth between them all, it made the noblewoman want to just cast a cheering charm on each and every one of them. Wren, Aerin and Rave were the only three not thoroughly depressed.

They led their horses through the streets, gaping at the assortment of shops and homes. Wren waved to everybody, a foolish smile on her face. She couldn’t help it. They were still a good ways from the Chambria Estate when Wren ran into Domnian, one of Wren’s good friends.

“Wren? Wren! I don’t believe it! We thought you’d absconded up to Eriador. Fallen in love with a halfling we all were convinced!” The noblewoman laughed, and flicked a lock of curls behind her back.

“What makes you think I didn’t?” she said innocently. Domnian snorted and looked behind her. His light-hearted expression changed quickly to amusement and curiosity.

“Friends of yours?” he asked, taking a second glance at the dark eyed rangers and the two elves. Wren nodded and pointed to each in turn, introducing them by first name only.

“Turthôl and Rangar are rangers from Eriador. Énien and Calimir are elves of Rivendell. Ravenne and Aerin are both of Rohan. Tareth and Carmalita are of Bree. And Bregand is of Arnor.” Domnian nodded politely to each and winked at Rave who raised her eyebrows.

“Charming,” he muttered.

“We’re on our way to the house. Care to join us?”

“I have never been so captivated in my life and my curiosity is too much to bear. Will you tell me as we walk?” Wren laughed flirtatiously but shook her head.

“I’m sorry Dom, but it is not my place.” With that, Rangar & Co. now joined by Domnian head towards the estate.

The estate looked marvelous in the autumn atmosphere. The oranges and reds of the trees and bushes really gave the finishing touch to the ebony trim of the red-brick mansion. Two gilded statues of dragons stood on each side of the black iron gate and a magnificent velvet purple sash was draped around the spikes. A path of sizeable cobblestones led up to the entrance of the house. Just as the guards welcomed Wren home and opened the gate, Doralyn came running out of the estate towards Wren followed by a herd of servants. Bracing herself against the collision to come, the noblewoman embraced her mother who reached her first. The woman dropped her usually reproving expression and hugged her daughter tightly. Then her mother backed up and regained her composure with a start.

“Where have you been! We’ve sent messengers, and two track groups! They should be coming home any day now but we were so worried! Two months!! TWO MONTHS!! You were supposed to be back in four weeks with your elven guide!” Wren rolled her eyes and cut in her mother’s bantering.

“MUM! We have guests.” Doralyn peered around her daughter to the motley assortment of companions she had with her, still holding onto the reins of their horses. (Domnian now held Culfin’s). Wren introduced each of the company again and Mrs. Chambria curtsied politely in turn.

“Well you must all come inside and meet Mauriace. He’s in his study writing a letter to the dock master of Harlond. Something about the crew aboard The Chambria, your grandfather’s ship. Anyways, the servants will take your horses to the stables and show you to rooms of your choosing. There you can wash up and ready yourselves for dinner. Make yourselves at home.” With that, Rangar & Co. entered the Chambria estate ready for baths, and a hot meal.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir gazed on the White City with delight. He'd never been this far south and the expectation had been building inside him for weeks. As the Tower of Ecthelion came into view and Wren gave a triumphant cry, Calimir turned to Turthol riding close by and said, "It is beautiful, the Men of Gondor do not exaggerate when they praise it."

Turthol looked over at Calimir, slightly surprised, "Aye, it is beautiful. And still free!" he responded, with a wide grin.

Calimir barely noticed when Wren's friend came up to them. He nodded recognition when he was introduced, but continued staring wide eyed at the architecture of the city. Leading his horse through the stone streets his sharp eyes picked out the old stonework and the new, the neighborhoods of rich and poor, and the trees lining the wide street. In the spring, Calimir thought, this street would be sweet scented and shaded with blossoms, as the trees were a variety that produced masses of white flowers in the spring.

Enien looked as eagerly as Calimir at the city, though he thought she'd seen it before. "The work of Numenor is legend." she said to him quietly. "The sound of the silver fountains does not grow old."

As they approached the Chambria house, Calimir's eyes settled on Carmalita's red hair ribbon on the back of her head. Bregand walked beside her, holding the reins of his old horse. The elf smiled at the sight, as he remembered the first time he fell in love.

On reaching the house, Calimir's weariness caught up with him. The ride from Rohan had been made quickly, and Calimir had not slept much. The constant attacks had made the elf nervous, and he sat awake most nights, watching out for movements in the darkness. Now he realized he was exhausted. He gratefully relinquished the reins of his horse to one of the servants, and followed Wren and Mrs. Chambria inside.

The room he was directed to was beautifully furnished and clean. Calimir smoothed one hand over the blue comforter on the bed, it was stuffed with down, he realized. He longed to just collapse onto it and sleep undisturbed, but instead the elf quickly changed his mudspattered tunic for a clean and scrubbed his face and arms with the warm water in the washbasin. There would be time for a bath after dinner. His brief cleanup finished, Calimir headed back downstairs, finding the dining room might be a problem in this big house.

[The X Phial]

It was evening in the Chambria household. Bregand couldn't recall ever seeing such lush surroundings. Evendim City, his home, was beautiful in his mind, and silently he had been pleased that along the journey he had yet to see something better. Minas Tirith, however, made his city look like a backwater dive. The Chambria mansion in particular seemed decadent beyond his imaginings. When the party had arrived he had found a servant and asked how to make an appointment with the Captain of the King's guard. He still had a message to deliver. To his surprise, the servant simply asked his name and what time he wanted an appointment and had run off the make the arrangements for him. Two hours later, as he was washing for dinner, the servant told him the Captain would meet with him in the morning.

Bregand pulled his messenger's uniform from his pack and decided that after dinner he would try to take some wrinkles out. The servant who had come to fetch him, however, said it would just be easier for the staff to take care of it.

"Guests make more trouble when they try not to bother the servants," he was assured.

Bregand entered a formal dining room to find most of the male members of the company there already. Like himself, they had all been provided with "suitable dinner wear" by their hosts. Calimir and Turthol wore their finery well, but Rangar seemed very uncomfortable and Tareth looked as though he wanted to disappear into the wall.

Bregand walked over the the blacksmith. Tareth fidgeted uncomfortably, aware that they had unfinished business between them.

"Tareth," the boy began. "I want to apologise for how I have been acting. I think everyone now knows how I feel about Carmalita. Indeed, some seemed to know even before I did." He paused to take a long breath.

"I guess the problem is, I don't know how she feels about me. When I see her talking and laughing with you, I...I just...I don't know."

He hung his head, blushing. Tareth made a sound in his throat.

"Bregand, I'm no matchmaker, and I'm not wise in the ways of women. I've known Carmalita a long time, though, and I've rarely seen her his happy. Now, I could be wrong, but I think it's more than the trip that's been makin' her smile."

With that the blacksmith turned away. Bregand was confused. He wanted to believe that the nurse could return his feelings, but he also wanted that belief to be founded in reality and not some boyhood fantasy. He realised he hadn't had the chance to speak to her about her abandonment by the Ilithien. In truth he did not know what to say, but he sensed his silence was worse than anything he could squeak out. He resolved to speak to her about it as soon as he had delivered his message.

At that moment the doors opened and the ladies entered en masse, sans Wren. Enien shone with an otherwordly beauty, but Bregand had eyes only for Carmalita. She wore a crimson dress, obviously borrowed for the occasion, and wore no other ornament but her red ribbon, which she had fastened about her throat for the evening.

Bregand didn't notice the other company members as they chuckled to themselves over his reaction. All thoughts of delaying his apology left his mind and he was making his way to her side when the large doors at the head of the room opened and the hosts arrived. Dinner was served. Before he knew it he was swept to the table by a servant. Carmalita was seated across from him, not a position in which they could speak privately. Wren's father made a toast, the food was served, and the meal began. He heard Wren and Turthol speaking with Wren's father about some ship or other, and managed to remember to eat a decent bit of food, but the dinner was an interminable torture appeased only by the fact that Carmalita occasionally caught his eye and smiled uncertainly.

[maikafanawen]

Wren ran to her room and threw open the doors collapsing onto the circular bed before the middle of the northern wall. The servants opened the curtains, and the light from the magnificent sunset poured in, alighting the crown molding, and fanciful array of pictures on her walls. Servants began bustling around, filling her wash basin with steaming water and airing out a selection of dinner dresses.

The noblewoman stripped off her traveling clothes and jumped into the bubbling tub, splashing water all over her maid.

“Sorry Minstria!” she laughed. The old maid just wrinkled her nose and laid two fluffy blue towels on a stool beside the tub.

“Don’t get me wrong miss,” she said airily. “I am very glad you’re back safe and sound, but those few weeks with you gone were very peaceful.” Wren threw back her head and laughed as Minstria winked and backed out of the room, closing the doors behind her. The noblewoman could have soaked in the tub all night, but she was very anxious for some of Yuldevia’s and her assistant’s cooking.

It took the better part of an hour to get ready after her bath. She chose a rather simple pale blue gown adorned with pearls and lace over which she wore a sheer shawl that draped over and around her shoulders and fell down her back, floating along behind her. Minstria put her hair up in an assortment of ringlets, interwoven with matching pale blue ribbon. Wren refused cosmetics for she was enjoying the clean, airy sensation on her face after the bath. Slipping on a satin pair of slippers, she met Rave, Aerin, Énien, and Carmalita on the landing before entering the dining hall. Each looked so splendidly attired in borrowed gowns of reds, greens, and in Rave’s case, a sultry violet, Wren wished that they all were sisters and would be present for the Autumn masquerade.

“You would be the highlight of the party!” she insisted as they walked towards the dining room.

“Dinner awaits you,” said Guston, one of the butlers. The doors opened and the women entered the room, skirts swishing, and jewels sparkling from the lights of the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling and candelabras that stood on either side of the door and under each window. As they were escorted to their seats, Wren couldn’t help but snigger good-naturedly at Bregand’s open staring towards Carmalita. Aerin caught her eye and they both turned away, chuckling madly.

“Here you are.” Wren sat down gracefully in a chair at the end of the table beside her mother, next to Rave and—to her bewilderment—across from Turthôl. Rangar was beside him and to Mauriace’s left.

The courses were superb, and conversation was light and merry. At one point, Turthôl took to asking Wren an innocent question every time she tried to take a bite of a particular delicious looking entrée. The nostalgic noblewoman didn’t catch on until Rangar started laughing madly. Realizing the joke, she flicked a sprout across the table that hit Turthôl square on his nose. He moved to counter-attack but thought better of it as Mauriace shot a reproving look towards Wren.

Domnian had joined them as well and was ironically seated across from Rave. The two had struck up an intelligent conversation about horses. Wren was surprised to see how much he knew about the Rohirrm and its history. A bit suspicious she turned back to the conversation she was having with her mother.

“And the scout just left you in Bree?”

“No mum, I let him go as we entered it thinking that I wouldn’t need him, I was pretty sure I could find the inn on my own. Then Mr. Butterbur gave me the letter from Mr. Frethryr saying they’d cancelled the meeting and moved it back to Minas Tirith in December,” said Wren, gesturing emphatically at the extremity of her situation. Doralyn took a dainty sip of wine and nodded sympathetically towards her daughter.

“So! If it weren’t for the goodness of Rangar—” Wren cut her mother off with a sharp shake of her head, before quickly changing the subject.

“OH! Did you see the horse Turthôl brought back for me when we were in Tharbad?? I named him Culfin. It means ‘golden-red hair’ in elvish. Énien told me. Isn’t he beautiful?” The end of the table was then plunged into the story of the stay at Tharbad. Turthôl entertained them about his experience as a waiter and the interesting people that passed through the trading town that time of year. Wren coughed loudly at the mention of Gina, excusing herself modestly.

To Wren’s relief, Mauriace didn’t ask of Rangar’s purpose or where it was that he was headed. Her father was a very clever man, and Wren knew that he probably sensed the uneasiness within his guest, knowing better than to ask.

[Everdawn]

There it was. The white city, Minas Tirith, a huge construction of man’s glory. It was not the first time Énien had gazed upon the mass of stone. Its citadels calling out to the realms, to challenge its magnificence Daring them to brave its towering walls. Yes, It was a magnificent feat of man. It always made her feel cold and immobile. Always cold. The hands of men construct stone, work it to their liking, almost as well as the dwarves. No elf would dare build such a colossal edifice to render their wonder save perhaps, the Elf King’s halls in Mirkwood but not to this magnitude. The lack of natural atmosphere always unnerved her. But there was a touch in Minas Tirith of elven nature.

Still Énien was excited. Fitfy years it had been since she had seen it, and much had changed. They rode along to the Chambria's estate, a beautiful mansion it was. They had met Wren's family, they had been quick to notice Énien and Calimir. Énien had been a little standoffish, only becuase she was overtaken by the sheer size of what was before her. Still she had stayed behind her adoptive brother for most of the time, opting to ride towards the back of the party. Rangar had laughed at her for this. "Come now, Énien, you are not shy now are you, shepard of us mortals? What scars you?!" The elf has shot a sharp look at him for this. "I am not shy Rangar, meerly wary. Something which you all forget to be, even here some things go wrong." She here hinted that she knew about Baroden and his attempt to kill Rangar.

The servents in the Chambria's house were egar to show them to their rooms. Though many gawked at the elves strangly. This made Énien uneasy. "Wren." she called as she was being let away with Ravenne and Aerin. "If i get lost! i iwll have you to blame!" she smiled. There was a huge room for all of them, Énien did not knwo who or where she was near. The elf had barely put her things down when a servent had called her and said that a washroom was ready for her to get ready for the dinner. A very beautiful green dress was laid out before her. "Tonight i will look like a mortal woman" she laughed to herself. Her hair now shining, no longer grubby, and her skin was back to the same stayed-to-long-in-the-sun bronze. She looked in the mirror at her reflection and laughed some more. Énien rummaged through her bag to find one last missing item. Upon her breast she hung a silver chain, and upon the silver chain was a beautiful silver lily, which her mother, Seveniel, had given her before crossing the seas.


She stepped out of the room, to find Aerin, Rave and Carmalita. It seemed to many that there was a light shining inside her. "You look like one of us." Ravenne had said. "And you all look beautiful." Énien had said in return. They had been met by the men at the bottom of the staircase. Calimir had given a smirk. "You look like one of them... And what's this, no weapons? I never thought id see the day Énien the proud would go without her weapons."


"Then your day has not come, my friend. I have a daggar, though it is barely two inches, strapped to my thigh." She laughed. And gazed at Bregand as he took Carmailta's arm. It felt to Énien that her heart truly smiled. They had been seated, so that Énien was seated beside Rave and Carmalita, across from Calimir. The two conversed in elvish for a while, which passing servents stopped to listen. "This is a far cry from the ways of the elves" Énien spoke in elvish, "But wonderful none the less." to this Calimir replied in elvish. "Yes, wonderful, i can agree, but I think Bregand agrees more" Bregand on hearing a small snippet of elvish conversation looked up and the two elves laughed. "Go back to your dinner, you have Carmailta to enteratin!" she said to through gasps of laugheter in elvish.

"What was that about?" asked Rave who had taken time out of her conversation with Wren's friend. "oh nothing" Énien said rather innocently, Calimir still sniggering diagonal to her.

[Arvedui III]

The white pinnacles of the great city jutted outward as the company drew to Minas Tirith. Never ceases to amaze. Rangar thought, closing his awed mouth and allowing a smile. Rangar just simply stared at the vastness of the place, a nervous kind of energy sinking in. As they rode up through the levels, Rangar and Turthol amused themselves by watching those who had not yet seen the city, Tareth, Bregand and Carmalita especially. Worries of where they were going to stay had just begun creeping into Rangar's mind when a friend of Wren's showed up, and nodding curtly after being introduced, Rangar rode onto still higher circles and arrived at the Chambria's.

If there was ever an eye-opening experience since he'd first seen the city of kings, that was it. After dismounting they were escorted through grandiose rooms of incredible color and variety, presented with clean, formal, albeit slightly uncomfortable, cloths and treated to a magnificent dinner. The latter felt a bit awkward at first, as Rangar did not feel completely at ease anywhere without the comfort of his cloak and the security of his sword. But, that did not mean he didn't hesitate for a moment to fill his belly with the fine food while Turthol joked and Wren flung peas and the elves talked about thing he couldn't understand and Bregand desperately tried to get Camalita to notice him. What a group He thought, shaking his head and smiling.

As dinner drew to a close, Rangar hurriedly excused himself and made for the safety of the stables. It wasn't that he did not like the dinner, just, his anti-social instincts bade him seek solitude; and Rangar wasn't about to disobey. Finding his way through the Chambria house proved to be less of a challenge then he thought; After only ten minutes of wandering, he sat down on a bale of hay, taking in the quiet light and peace of the stables.

[Arien]

Carmalita enjoyed the dinner. Well it had been the best food she had had in a while so she wasn’t complaining. The atmosphere was a happy one, and she no longer felt the heavy shadow that hung over her head. Instead for the night she almost forgot her cares and dinned and laughed with what were he new found friends, in the splendid company of Wren‘s family and friends. Bregand sat opposite her, which he did not seem too happy about but it was not the end of the world. They still had conversation, and though a light one she thoroughly enjoyed it.

One by one each guest rose from the grand table and announced their leaving. The first to go was Rangar, who said farewell, and thank you for the dinner and headed out to the stables and the grounds. As the rest left Carmalita knew she should be getting to sleep as she would need to be up early to collect more supplies. No doubt the journey ahead would be a harsh one and they would need her skills. She rose from her seat and thanked and whished the hosts good night. She quickly walked out into the hall and brushed her hair back from her face. As she turned to climb the steps she felt a hand clutch at her wrist. She spun around startled.

“Oh!” she laughed, “its you, don’t scare me!”

Bregand looked a little embarrassed and apologised to her. “I was wondering if we could take a stroll in the garden?”

She sighed, “I need to get up early tomorrow…”she saw the disappointment in his face, “But who cares? I will have a quick walk, after all that wine I think I need some fresh air!” she laughed again and the two headed outside.

[Everdawn]

Énien sat at the table, listening to the conversations. The elf smiled at all who sat at the table. They all are at ease, so relaxed, and i cannot help but feel the same she thought, excusing herself from the table. Énien had resolved to check out exactly how safe the Chambria's mansion was, or at least, see what nobility was all about.

It seemed that there were andless corridores, and after a while, she heard the patter of small footstepps. A little girl peered her head round the corner, and stared at her. She supposed this was a child of one of the servents. "Your an elf" she said to Énien. "Yes, i am" she replied.

"What is your name?" the little girl persisted walking up to her. "My name is Énien, what is your name?" Énien asked good-naturedly. "Mai, ive seen elves before, ive seen Queen Arwen." Mai replied smugly. "Oh ave you now?" Énien said in an offhandish tone, starting to walk down the hall once again.

"Where are you from?" Mai asked her.
"Imladris" The little girl frowned. "Imladris"

"Yes"
"Are there any little girls there" Mai was now hopeful, trailing behind the elf. "No, not anymore." Énien was now becoming tired of the little girls questions.
"Why?" In a slight effort to satisfy Mai, Énien smirked. "Becuase a big dragon ate them all up"

"Really?"
"No, not really"
"My friend Dimi said he saw a dragon once."
"How facinating..." said Énien still peering out at rooms which she passed. "You know Wren dont you?"
"Yes, i do"
"The i guess this maked us best friends then." Mai replied.
"Oh, splendid" Énien now had a follower. "How many are you Énien, im only 5!"
"1981, isnt it a little late for little girls to be wandering? where is your mother" The elf bent down to survey the girl. And as if on cue, a woman come, "Mai! come here, I hope she wasnt bothering you lady" The woman said.

"No, not at all" The woman made Mai say goodnight to the elf and there she stood, in a dark corridore. What a strange little girl, so many questions, not unlike another young girl whi used to follow me around for a short time This was of course a reference to Calimir's daughter. She laughed at this memory and continued walking.

Most of the rooms down this corridore were empty, except for one, which had a harp in the corner. A smile crept into the corners of her mouth as she leaned against the door frame. Dare i play it the thought teased her. The elf, now almost in a trance galided over to it and sat. It looked elven, its carvings were immaculate. her father probably got it from a travelling elfÉnine sighed and put her fingers on the strings.

She had not played since she had left Imaldris in search of her brother. It seemed that when her brother died, her ability to play left also, leaving her heart empty, and her thirst for music unquenched.

Without thinking her fingers began to pluck the strings, and the music that filled the room and the surrounding hallways was heavenly. Suddenly she stopped. Tears ran down her face. Pushing herself away from the harp she started to the hallway and kept walking. Stopping only to sit on the steps that lead to the wing of the mansion where her room was.

-----------

Rave was very pleased with the new friend she had found in Domininan. They had talked horses among other things at dinner, and now he took Rave to the holding yards where some of the horses were kept out of the stables.

Of the few horses in this paddock, one was making a terribble racket, a big, black monsterous looking horse, who Rave knew to be Melliant.

"Try as they did, this one would not behave!" said Dominan "just too bloody stuborn!" he laughed leaning on the fence.
"Oh no!, he's a lovely horse, once you get to know him!" Rave said quickly. "He is the elf, Énien's horse, Melliant." she laughed. "Which may explain why he is so stubborn!" they both laughed. The moon shon down on them, like a silver sheet, and a menacing star in the sky still loomed over head.

[maikafanawen]

Wren thoroughly enjoyed the night’s dinner and was sorry to see it end. Members of the company began to excuse themselves and disappeared to their rooms, the garden, or to wander the estate. (Rave and Dom disappeared to the stables).

“It really is getting late,” declared Doralyn, setting her napkin beside her empty plate. “I’m going to retire. Mauriace?”

“Yes, yes. See you in the morning eh Wren? Talk business perhaps.” She nodded and bid her parents goodnight, giving each a peck on the cheek. Doralyn politely stifled a yawn as she left the dining hall in a swish of pink ruffs.

Wren allowed the servants to take her plate, but kept her chalice of dorwinion wine. Turthôl was still at the table, finishing up a conversation with Tareth. The smith excused himself and made for his room. Wren caught the ranger’s eye as he took a sip of his own wine.

“Want to finish that outside?” she asked, gesturing towards his goblet.

“No.” Wren narrowed her eyes and pulled her lips into an innocent pout. Rolling his eyes, the ranger stood with his goblet and followed Wren out towards the left side of the house, where a small rotunda stood covering a pair of benches. The noblewoman took one and Turthôl sat across from her, watching as the servants struggled with Melliant in the stables.

“Why does she even bother with that horse if it’s going to put up so much of a fight?” asked Wren lightly.

“Why do you think?” Turthôl rejoindered. “Maybe because she enjoys his company. She doesn’t seem to go through that much trouble with him. Some creatures and humans just don’t do well in different surroundings. He’s used to Rivendell. Minas Tirith is probably a bit of a shock for him.” Wren shrugged and turned her gaze towards the small stream that ran past the veranda, lodging little silver fish that darted to and fro. She imagined herself as one of them, skimming through the water with ease, hunting for small guppies as a mid-night snack.

“I was thinking about taking a ship to Harad instead of traveling along the road,” Wren blurted out. Turthôl shot a bemused look at her, stopping mid-drink.

“Come again?”

“Well why not? It’s the last thing Barodin will expect.” The ranger pursed his lips and sucked in a quick breath at the mention of the hunter’s name. “And there’s no way he could catch up to us.” Turthôl narrowed his eyes and traced the lines of wood in the bench.

“Where would we get a ship?”

“My dad owns a few merchant ships in Harlond. He wouldn’t send them out just before the fall season. All his workers are staying in Gondor for the Autumn and Winter faires to sell or trade their goods, to buy new merchandise. Then after the winter season they head out again.” Turhtôl thought about it for a while, not wanting to decide anything right away. He didn’t know what Rangar would say to it. He hadn’t really ever been on a ship before...

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow with Rangar. See what he thinks.” The noblewoman decided that was good enough, and decided to take advantage of Turthôl’s dormant mood to apologize.

“I’m sorry I got cross about the villager’s horses. I suppose you did the right thing. We didn’t really have any choice. After all, they were just horses.” The ranger’s eyes seemed to flare for a minute at such a mediocrity reference to horses after just defending Melliant, but then realized Wren’s stunt. A smile played at the corner of his mouth and he stretched his legs out on the rest of the bench, the soles of his boots hanging slightly off the end, piling the fringed velvet portico pillows behind him.

“I was just a bit annoyed I guess...”

“Annoyed? At what? That I spent more of my time talking with the young Rohanian men than you?”

“No! Just as you were angry every time I winked at Gina?!”

“Now see here!” Wren stood, slamming her chalice down on the little end table, splashing wine onto the surface, clearly infuriated. Turthôl swung his legs off the seat and stood too, cutting her off.

“No, you! I don’t know what people have been saying or thinking but there is nothing between us! Just air!!”

“Oh yeah? Then why do you always end up next to me on the trail or across from me at dinner, or find cute little things to say to me every chance you get!”

"I didn't make the table cards, and I don't talk to you! It's always you doing those things!"

“How dare you suggest such a thing—I never! Sorry if I’m just a friendly type of person but that doesn’t mean you’re any more special than the others!”

“If that’s true than why did you invite me outside!”

“I needed some fresh air!”

“Well it didn’t help ye did it?” They stopped their shouting just long enough for another voice to join the arguement.

“Oh, why don’t ye stop bickering and kiss her already?” The two arguers turned towards the voice to see the Chambria’s gardener, Jyrian, watching them from over a hedge he was trimming.

"Ye want to see some kissing mister? I'll show you some kissing that'll put hair back on your head!" shouted Turthol. Wren’s cheeks burned and she stomped her foot angrily before fleeing the rotunda. A crack of lightening flickered across the sky, lighting her path.

“Crazy young’uns,” barked the gardener. “Wouldn’t ye know ye’r the first she’s ever gotten into such a huff about?” Chuckling to himself, Jyrian left an amused Turthôl in the gardens just as the rain started to pour.

[ June 05, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir pushed back from the table, contentedly. It had been long since he'd eaten so well and the wine had been excellent. He looked around as the company split up and headed in various directions. Enien had headed off in the direction of her room. Calimir looked amused as she was intercepted by a small girl.

Enien was really rather good with children, though she'd never admit it. Wilwarin, his daughter had followed her around as a child, admiration glowing in her eyes. Glorenwen had always hated the idea of it, worried that Wilwarin would want to leave home, like Enien did, but Enien had always been gentle with her.

Calimir smiled fondly at Enien and the little girl, but walked toward the garden. He was tired, but he wanted to see a bit of the Chambria Estate before they left Minas Tirith. He walked through the dimly lit gardens, stopping to pass his hand through the spray from a white marble fountain. A grey bench in the shadows of a large tree seemed to beckon to him, and he walked over to it and sat.

A few minutes passed, and Calimir sat in silence, listening to the wind in the branches above his head. He barely noticed when Aerin approached and sat down beside him. Calimir greeted her warmly and she sat down on the bench looking tired.

"Looking for company." she explained, pushing a loose strand of hair out of her face, and looking rather uncomfortable in the dressy garb that Wren had found for her. "I've never been here before." she said, looking around the garden. "Minas Tirith, I mean."

"Me either." Calimir replied. "The men of Gondor are a great people." Aerin shot him a look in the darkness.

"The men of Rohan are great too." she said. Calimir nodded, suddenly feeling awkward with this human girl-child beside him. He tugged at the lace at the collar of his dress tunic.

"These are uncomfortable." he said, tugging a little more at the cuffs. Aerin nodded and stood up, shaking her skirt out. "Let's go back to the house and change, shall we?" he asked her.

"Yes, let's." the shieldmaiden replied, wobbling just a bit on the heeled shoes she'd been given. Calimir offered his arm and they walked back together toward the house.

Reaching the house, Calimir left Aerin at the doorstep and climbed the stairs back to his own room. A hot bath would be the perfect ending for a very good day.

[Everdawn]

The elf watched the thunder come across the sky. It was getting darker as the clouds passed in front of the moon. Énien wiped the tears away from her face and breathed deeply. I am making a fool out fo myself. Stop it Énien, crying will get you nowhere, only the weak cry. And you are not weak. Distant memories should be kept at that, distant. Play again in Rivendell, not here. She scolded herself.

Besides, what if someone were to see you like this...She stood up. From here she could see through the window the holding yards of the horses. In the claps of lightning she could see Melliant struggling against the servants. Melliant! you are a terrible creature!she frowned.

The elf picked herself up and walked outside, for what seemed like an eternity to where her beloved horse was. Énien stood at the fence. "Melliant!" she called and immediatly the horse stood still, and looked in her direction. She jumped over the fence (with great difficulty, these dresses arent meant for this sort of thing).

Melliant began to quietly walk over to her. The servants were in shock. Énien patted him and walked into the stables, the horse following her quietly out of the small paddock towards the stables. "Lady, the horse will bolt!" one of the men yelled after her. As usual, she ignored them. Énien found a small stall where she gestured to Melliant to lie.

There were many horses in there, as the company's horses were bedded down for the night. A figure in the corner caught her eye and only half turning she sopke. "Hello Rangar. Escaping the humans?"

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl looked up into the sky as rain drops began falling. Thunder lit up the sky, and for a moment, the dark silhouettes of the White City were visible. He stood out there, the laughter of the gardener still in his mind. Kiss her? What was that old man thinking? He did notice she had blushed when the old man said that. Maybe there was something there...

He shrugged his shoulders at the thought. Oh well. He didn't mind staying here in her mansion. He got a free room, and free food. It wasn't too bad. He had put up with her this far. He could go the rest of the way, maybe.

A finger tapped him on the shoulder and he turned. It was a servantman.

"Sir, if you don't mind, I'll show you to your room now," he said.

"ok. Lead the way," Turthôl replied. He followed the servant up to one of the upper floors. Finally, after twisting and turning through so many halls, they arrived at a room.

"Here you are sir. I hope you find it most comfortable."

"Ok." Turthôl opened the door and walked inside. Just as he was about to close the door, he turned and asked, "By the way, where is Wren's room?"

The man pointed down the hall. "Miss Chambria is a few doors down,sir. Would you like me to fetch her?"

"Oh, no! I'd like to get some sleep tonight, if you don't mind." Turthôl said. Oh great! he thought.

He said goodnight to the man and shut the door.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you always end up next to me on the trail or across from me at dinner, or find cute little things to say to me every chance you get!” she had said. What a bunch of cave troll dung! If there was anyone to blame, it was Rangar. Rangar was the one who had told him to go to Bree with her, to go out on the scouting party with her, and to go out and rescue her! Geez, if this was the way she showed gratitude to the man that saved her, than he'd hate to get on her bad side. Find cute little things to say at every chance he gets? She think's insults and sarcasm is cute? And those Rohirrim men she talked with. Turthôl's sympathy went out to those guys. He'd rather fight orcs than have to listen to Wren blab on and on and on and on...

He just didn't understand that woman. But then again, why did he have to? As soon as this was over, he'd probably never have to see her again.

But her suggestion about the ship was pretty good. It would be fast and easy. But then again...if something bad happened on the ship, it would be hard to get away.

Turthôl decided not to decide anything. He set his gear down next to the bed and prepared to go to sleep. This was the first time in a long time that he had slept in a bed.

[The X Phial]

Bregand and Carmalita walked through a perfumed garden under the stars. For a long while they said nothing, content to walk side by side. Hesitantly, Bregand reached for her hand and she did not pull away, so they walked on hand in hand. Distant thunder rumbled and the stars were being veiled by clouds when Bregand finally plucked up the courage to speak.

"I..I know we haven't talked much lately, what with the hard riding and then coming to Minas Tirith. I wanted you to know, I wasn't ignoring you or shunning you. I guess I just didn't know what to say. Your past is so much different from mine, and so different from anyone's I have known. I wanted what I said to be right, to keep from hurting you more. I guess now that my silence was worse than anything.

I can't change what happened to you in the past, I can't make it better, and that's all I really want to do. I guess the only thing I can say is, thank you. For trusting me with your story, for showing me your strength, and for being my friend. I have no right to ask for more."

Carmalita opened her mouth as if to speak, but a sudden peal of thunder cut her off and the walkers were suddenly standing in a downpour. They rushed headlong out of the rain where they were immediately met by servants and bundled up to their respective rooms. There would be no chance to talk again that night.

The next morning Bregand woke to find his uniform pressed and clean. He dressed carefully and then found a servant to ask for directions to the Captain's headquarters. He delivered his report quickly and efficiently. Troop movements, the progress of the ongoing fight to reestablish order, and supply levels were the main part, information too sensitive to risk a paper message. Bregand memorized the reply and secured promises of supplies to be shipped.

As he walked back to the mansion he mused that his official work was done. His message had been received. His only duty now lay in going home. He had considered, when the company began their trip, simply leaving them after his message was completed. He assumed they could find another guide in Minas Tirith. Now, however, he knew he could not leave them until the story was all known to him. Of course, he had other reasons not to want to leave the group, but he truly also wanted to help his companions and see the mission through. Besides, he wanted to see the ancient lands of Harad, reportedly so difficult to traverse. He still might have an important role to play.

[ June 06, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arvedui III]

"Hello Rangar. Escaping the humans?"

Rangar turned and saw Enien in the opposite corner of the stables, getting Meliant settled. He chuckled. "If I could do that, my elven friend, then I'd be far away from here." She laughed, "That's mean." "The truth hurts." He responded grinning. "The Chambria's are very" "I know, but this isn't." Rangar interrupted, gesturing at the neat collar brushing irritably against his neck. Enien shook her head. " You'd rather be in those filthy rags of yours?" "Yep." She laughed again. "Well, on that note I'm going to get some sleep in a nice warm bed."

She said, putting a noticeable emphasis on 'nice warm bed', then yawned; And headed back towards the house. Rangar smiled, and got up as well. Walking towards his own horse, he stretched and yawned, thinking it could wait till morning. But, he reached the stall and began stroking the creature lightly before he could change his mind. "There's still the matter of your name." He mumbled, and the horse seemed to nod quietly in his sleep.

"Am I disturbing something?" Called a voice from behind, and Rangar turned around sharply, a jolt of panic hitting him. The figure to whom the voice belonged moved into the light, and Rangar saw it was Wren's father. "No Sir." Rangar near stumbled over the words, glad that it wasn't who he thought it was. "You can always tell a man by what he does after dinner." Maurice mused, seemingly to himself as he walked closer to Rangar. "And you, Rangar, are a man of Rohan who likes peace and quiet. Which makes me wonder why you took my daughter along with you." He finished, a grin now lighting his face. Rangar stared blankly for a second.

Was he confronting him? Get off the subject. "Forgive me sir, but I thought that you retired." Rangar asked. "I did, but as I say, you can tell a man by what he does after dinner. And, I go outside and smoke for a time." Maurice answered, holding up a pipe. "Then you are a man of Gondor who likes nothing better then simple pleasures." Rangar guessed, thinking if he made the exchange the man would just smile and leave. But, he didn't. "Very good. You catch on quick." "Yes sir." Rangar said, unable to think up a better answer. He wants me to tell him something.

"Anyway, I'd like to thank you for getting Wren back here in one piece. What is it you do?" Ah, right. Thought that was coming. Er, what do I? Think. "Well, erm, I don't run an escort service, that's for sure. Wren's quite capable of handling herself, with all due respect sir." "Of course, but will you be needing her for whatever you're doing?" No more pretense now, um, what do I? Turthol would be happier. Do we really need? Well, this was her original goal anyway, I guess. But, maybe, nah. Well, what do I?

"Because I could compensate you if, "Oh no sir. I wouldn't hear of that. It's up to her if she wants to continue on. We could spare her, but she would certainly be missed." He replied quickly, wondering afterward what decision he had just made. "You'd make a good diplomat, with those contradictory answers." Maurice replied shrewdly. "Yes sir." Rangar said, once again unable to find a better answer. "But you sound like a soldier from all those ‘yes sirs, no sirs'"

Rangar stared blankly at his host for a moment. "Well, um, with your permission sir," He stammered, motioning at the door to the stables, wanting for whatever reason to get to sleep. "Of course." Rangar moved past the man and walked very quickly back to the house.
---------------------
In the morning Rangar found his cloths folded neatly on a table, and after a quick breakfast he found the rest of the company. He resolved not to talk to anyone about what Wren's father had said, so with nothing else do to do he said, "Well, um, I guess we should be going." Looking around at the faces told him that no one was really ready to go. "Rangar," Said a voice from behind him. It was Wren. "I have a way we could get to Harad."

[ June 06, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[maikafanawen]

Wren ran the length of the garden to the back kitchen door, soaked to the bone, her blue dress dragging along behind her. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so angry. Fool! was all she could think. Fool, fool, “Fool!” she said that last word out loud.

“I beg your pardon miss!” said Minstria coming up behind her. Wren whirled, her loose hair sticking to her face.

“You were eavesdropping too? I’ll bet you and Jyrian were in cahoots!” her blue eyes were dark and she was getting extremely edgy. Lightening lit up the stairwell before her, along with Minstria’s face which was twisted into a bemused smirk.

“Indeed!” insisted the maid. “It’s not my business what goes on inside—or outside—these walls but when two people are shouting in the gardens at this time of night I can only stop and listen to see what all the hubbub is about!” Stamping her foot again, Wren ran up the back stairs to her room.

“Evening miss,” acknowledged a servant, exiting a room a few doors down. The noblewoman ignored him and burst into her room where her mother was waiting expectantly.

“I’ve a good mind to throw him out!! He doesn’t deserve the hospitality of the Chambrias!!” screeched Wren. Tearing off her jewelry and pulling down her hair so ferociously that Minstria, who had followed her up, had to wrestle her down.

“Are you quite finished?” reproached Doralyn. Wren scowled, but stopped her bantering. “Even when you are angry, Wren, you must keep your wits about you. By yelling you only made that young man angrier.” Incredulous to what she was hearing she turned towards her mum.

“Dear Eru is there anyone who did mind their own business tonight?”

“I’d be amazed if there was a person in this house who didn’t hear you my dear,” Doralyn answered, playing idly with the hem of her robe’s sleeve. Her daughter glowered.

“Besides the fact that you so enjoy chastising me, is there any other reason you were waiting in my room?”

“Yes, but my dear you’re aura is so disturbed I have forgotten it. I’ll speak with you in the morning, or whenever you have calmed down.” With that she left the noblewoman’s room, slamming the double doors behind her.

“Oooh that woman!” Wren said through clenched teeth. “This is how she welcomes me home!”

“No, she’s planning a ball in your honor. For your safe return that is,” said Minstria, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Really!? Can anyone do anything around here without have a ball dedicated to it!”

“But my dear you love balls!” the maid adopted a mocking tone.

“Hush old woman. I know what I like and don’t like!”

“After tonight, so does the rest of the household, good evening.” Wren was a short way from exploding as she watched Minstria leave her room, not bothering to turn down the covers or do any of her usual duties. Jumping up from her vanity stool, the noblewoman ran to her bed and buried her head in one of the satin pillows screaming loud and long.

The night had ended so poorly that Wren would have been content to fall asleep in her soaked and dirty dinner clothes. But there were a few things she wanted to see to right away. She dressed in a comfortable skirt of red and cream velour with embroidered floral patterns on it, and a loose, gauzy cotton, cream coloured tunic that she belted around the mid section with a red sash. Wren brushed her hair quickly and braided it down her back. Then, slipping into a pair of black house slippers she crept from the room, and down the halls to her father’s study.

He was still awake when she got there, and had to hide behind a wall tapestry until he left. When he did, she let herself in, careful not to make any noise alerting the servants. The walls were lined with books, a few swords, and many portraits and busts of relatives or historical figures. A large mahogany desk sat in the middle of the back of the room, underneath a huge window that took up most of the wall. Behind it was a plush chair studded with gold nail-heads and covered in dark blue velour.

Wren moved silently to the desk, opening one of the bottom drawers and taking out a single candle and holder. After a bit of trouble lighting it, she began searching for the records book that held the information she sought. It was a large, 8 x 12 size book, bound in a rough, weather proof leather material with gold embossing on the front that said: Chambria Merchants and their Ships. The data therein detailed every voyage taken on every ship in her father’s service. It listed the crews, and captains and any kind of weather they did—or did not—withstand.

She searched for the better part of an hour before coming across it finally in the top shelf of one of the largest bookshelves. Wren stood atop the ladder, balancing the candle on the rung parallel to her chin with one hand and removing the log with the other. Wobbling slightly she descended the ladder and laid the book on a waist-high table. The noblewoman flipped to the back and ran her finger down the date list. The last ship to dock was The Silver Wyrm. It had had a successful voyage and was now harboured in Harlond. The only damage it had collected was a tear in the mainsail, an impairment easily repaired. She clicked her tongue trying to put her idea into a working condition.

She made her way to the desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, laying it on the desk, and produced a quill. Dipping it into the ink jar she sketched out her idea on the paper.

“We’ll need a crew,” she whispered to herself, “along with a captain. Oh, provisions as well. Food, weapons, necessities for repairs... They will need new clothes I’ll bet. We can buy them in town. But where am I going to get the rest?” She slumped back in the chair, searching her mind for someone she knew that could help... Suddenly, Wren thought of just the right person. Excited, she stuffed the parchment into her pocket and put the log back in its place. Dousing the candle, she replaced it in the drawer along with the others and went back to her room.

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

Morning came very soon, and Wren Chambria was at breakfast before the others, dressed in grey riding breeches tucked into a pair of black boots with slight heels, and a stylish blue jerkin, very out of the ordinary from the dresses she would usually wear. Her father joined her soon and Wren told him of her idea. He turned the idea over carefully in his mind before agreeing.

“I take it that you’re deciding to stay on with the company?” he mentioned, before taking a slow drink of his tea.

“What made you think I was going to do otherwise?” Wren huffed, dropped her fork with a clamour. Her father smiled.

“It’s about time.” At the sight of her daughter in leggings and a tunic, stylish, yet a tunic none the less, Doralyn dropped the book she was holding as she entered the dinning area, ready for her morning meal.

“Are y-you going somewhere dear?” she stammered, gaping openly at her daughter’s ensemble. Wren barely looked her mother’s way before cramming the rest of the toast into her mouth, and downing the last of her milk.

“Yep. Got lots to do if we’re to leave tomorrow!” She kissed her mum on the cheek before grabbing her cloak of the chair and leaving the room to find Rangar.

“We?” Doralyn asked, turning towards Mauriace who smiled his 'I-knew-she'd-come-around' fatherly smile at her. He beckoned for her to take a seat.

"I'll explain."

"You had better," sais Mrs. Chambria, seating herself so quickly, the air left the cushioned seat in a loud pop.

Rangar was with the rest of the company who had more or less gathered in a comfortable sitting room, some reading, some talking quietly with one another.

“Rangar,” said Wren from behind. He turned a bit startled at her sudden appearance. “Can I speak with you for a second?” He nodded, following her out of the room and more towards the servant quarter’s part of the house. “Okay, I have a way we can get to Harad. My father owns a few merchant ships that dock in Harlond’s harbours for the autumn and winter seasons. I did a bit of research last night and spoke with my father this morning, he thinks it’s okay.” She stopped, waiting for Rangar to reply. He looked at her expectantly, eyebrow’s raised.

“What’s okay?”

“Oh, right. That we go to Harad by way of ship!” To say that Rangar stumbled at the mention of this would be an understatement. He down right collapsed, his knees gave plumb out. Wren stifled a laugh before helping him up. It took the better part of an hour to convince him it was a good idea, but finally he consented and decided it was rather clever.

“Great,” said Wren after Rangar nodded his head in final agreement. “You tell the rest and I’ll start making the final plans and arangements.”

“Fine, but, take someone with ye.” Wren shot him a ‘you-be-careful’ look, and retreated down the hallway to get her things ready for her ride.

[ June 06, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[maikafanawen]

Wren left her room, her pack over her shoulder, and walked down the carpeted hallway towards the exit to the stables. She stopped at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath.

“Ah why not!” She turned on her heel and headed to the room a few doors down from hers going the other way. It wasn’t locked, so she opened it completely, allowing its occupant to see who stood in the doorway, and allocating the melodious music from his fife to drift into the hallway.

“What?” asked Turthôl. Wren shrugged.

“Oh, just wanted to see what you’d do if I walked into your room.” The ranger rolled his eyes slightly.

“Ye going somewhere?” he asked, looking at her riding garb and the pack she held over one shoulder.

“Harlond. We’re going by ship to Harad. Talked to Rangar this mornin’.”

“Oh,” Turthôl nodded his head and resumed playing his fife..

“Want to come?” Turthôl’s hand slipped, causing a short shrieking note to burst into the air.

“Why would I want to come?” he asked, shocked at her change of behavior.

“Fine, ye don’t have to.” She turned around and walked down the hall back towards the stairs.

“Wait!” he called, following her. “Give me a few minutes. There’s nothing I really have to do here.” Wren smiled, her face turned away from his. But she wiped it away as she spun slowly to face him.

“Ye sure?” He nodded. “Meet me at the stables in a few minutes,” she said. “I’ll get the horses ready.” Turthôl began to pack away his few things, and Wren went down to the stables.

In a little less than half an hour the two companions were mounted and on their way to the port city of Minas Tirith and Rangar & Co. were to follow them a little while later and meet them at the Crown Dagger Tavern. Wren knew the innkeeper there, Rauos, from many previous visits with her parents. He was a stocky young man with a bulbous red nose and a circular face. He had thick muscular arms, and legs, though he isn’t very athletic on account of his very large midsection.

“Wren! S’marvelous ta’ see ye again!” called Temeav, the innkeeper’s wife as she ran to greet the noblewoman and her companion. “What brings ye around ‘ere? Ye’r parents aren’t with ye are they?” Wren shook her head.

“No. I’m delivering a letter from my Father to Aragoss, the dock master. More mercantile problems wouldn’t ye know it?” Temeav nodded and began to lead them to a table for a drink and an early afternoon meal, but Wren objected.

“No, sorry my good lady, but we’ve got to attend to things right away. We’ll be back before dark though and able to enjoy your cooking then. Thank you.” Making sure their horses were tended to, they began to walk down the road to the docks.

A few blocks down, Wren signaled that they should make a turn into a street of fanciful townhouses owned by the wealthiest merchants and their families.

“Where are we going?” asked Turthôl glancing back towards the docks and the harbour master’s little shack of a house.

“To see someone who can help us get to Harad.” Wren skimmed the numbers on the house and then looked down at a small piece of paper in her hand. “Here we are, number 47.” She walked up to the large cedar door and knocked using the leaf shaped knocker engraved with elvish letters.

“Elvish?” asked Turthôl just before a young servant opened the door.

“Ah! Wren!” she cried hugging the noblewoman’s waist. “So good to see you!! Come in, come in!” the excited child led them into the house which was tastefully decorated in antique tapestries, and earthenware.

“Any time you’d like to fill me in would be very nice and thoughtful,” Turthôl said out of the corner of his mouth, taking in his unexpected surroundings. The child servant left them in the parlor and ran up the flight of stairs shouting for her mistress. In only a few seconds, a beautiful elven maiden appeared at the top of the stairs dressed in a light green, Mirkwood-elvish styled dress with gold embroidery of leaves on it. Her feet were bare and her hair hung down her back, woven here and there with feathers, braids, and leather straps. A stylish belt was tied about her slender waist and her feet were bare. The elf’s appearance suggested that her manner was equally as elegant and similar to the idiosyncratic grace of the elves, but acquaintances and most of all, friends, knew her to be quite otherwise. However, when she picked up her skirt and ran down the length of the steps two at a time, tripping slightly on the last one, to embrace Wren in a tight hug, Turthôl’s mouth hung a bit open in shock. (Though he quickly closed it before the elf saw). After the friend’s quick exchange of ‘How are you’s and ‘What are you doing here’s, Wren introduced the she-elf to Turthôl.

“Turthôl, I’d like you to meet Ani Dao, elf of Mirkwood and a dear friend of mine,” the ranger bowed and greeted her in elvish, to which Ani Dao replied in like tongue. “Oooh, I like him,” she whispered back to Wren.

“Now, in order to explain everything so that you can understand it, I say we either go somewhere for lunch or—”

“No, no. I’ll set up for us to have something here,” interrupted Ani Dao. “Sytia!” the child servant came bustling down the stairs, dumping the pile of sheets in her arms into a basket and setting it under the stairs for later washing. “Will you be so kind as to prepare a lunch for our guests and boil some tea?” Curtsying, Sytia disappeared into the kitchen as Ani Dao led them to the sunroom in the back of her townhouse. She gestured them to sit, and opened the windows, allowing the breeze from off the river to air out the sunroom.

“Now,” she said, folding her hands in her lap, an excited twinkle in her eyes. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

The sun was descending the sky, and the air had gotten considerably cooler by the time Wren was finished explaining everything to both Ani Dao and Turthôl. Empty plates and half drunk teacups (on their fifth round) sat on the small sunroom table.

“This is exciting,” said Ani Dao, leaning back so that Sytia could clear their dishes. “Let me sum up then for my understanding. We’re to go see Aragoss, with the note from your father that says you are selling the ship? Selling it too—him,” she pointed at Turthôl who nodded. “He will be dressed in the finery you’ve brought as an equally wealthy nobleman of Gondor: a friend of your fathers. Right, now, we’re to tell him the money has already been exchanged and what not and that Turthôl, who will be Edhar Havvano, has full rights to the ship and will be sailing out late this week?

“That is how we come by the ship, now actually setting out with full crew and provisions will be the more difficult part. As I understand it, we need a crew of twenty able-bodied men that know the ropes, are loyal to the captain and can fight. Sounds like you’re asking for elvish corsairs to me,” she smoothed out a wrinkle in the tablecloth before continuing. “As for provisions, I know where to get them. Your father sent you the money to get them all?” Wren nodded. “Fine. We’ll have to make sure we can load them straight onto the ship after purchasing or else it’ll be too much of a hassle.” The she-elf clicked her tongue in thought, and then stood. “Well, let’s be off! The sooner the better!”

“One more thing,” said Wren standing, a hopeful and enigmatic smile on her face. “We still need a captain.”

* * *

Turthôl looked very handsome in the finery, if he didn’t have an exasperated scowl on his face and continued to itch at every place the fabric touched his body.

“You’ll pay for this one,” he hissed before disappearing inside Aragoss’s shack. He came out fifteen minutes later with the log of the Silver Wyrm and a glare on his face. “That man’s a fake. Doesn’t know what he’s talking about at all. I could have told you more about ships than he could have, and I’ve never even been near one!” Wren laughed and returned back to the Crown Dagger with Turthôl so he could change. The company was there too, and Wren quickly told Rangar of their success.

“Now all we have left to do is get the supplies and the crew.”

“Crew’s done,” said a voice from behind. Ani Dao approached them wearing her green sea-captains coat and matching hat. “Nice to meet you Rangar, I’m Ani Dao of Mirkwood. At least I was in Mirkwood a few years ago, fifteen, twenty, but now I’m here, so guess I’m Ani Dao of Harlond. Any road, I got the crew. Men I’ve sailed with before. All but a few that is. However, they seemed trustworthy enough. A bit daft too, ruling out the possibility of them being in cahoots with your man Barodin, but they know the ropes and their way around with a sword. I’ve got the twenty two men aboard the Silver Wyrm now, checking everything over. If we get the supplies tomorrow, we’d be good to sail in two or three days.” Ani Dao winked at Wren who smiled inwardly. There, thought the noblewoman, I was of some help at last.

“We have a captain too then?” asked Rangar, looking from Ani Dao to Wren. The elf looked at Wren who was suddenly very interested in her muddy boots.

“Yes we do,” Ani Dao straightened and saluted. The noblewoman’s head shot up and she gave the elf a quick hug.

“Ha! I knew ye would!”

“Fine, fine. Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll move a few of my things into the captain’s quarters and see to it that the men will be paid for their services aboard the Silver Wyrm. Goodnight, gentlemen, Wren.” With that, the elf turned and left the inn.

[ June 08, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Everdawn]

Énien had slept very late, so late it was almost noon. Quietly she crept down stairs in her short blue dress which had survived the trip with her from Imaldris. Ultimatly the elf had hoped to slip into the lounge room unnoticed, but without luck. Everyone was sitting on the sofas and Rangar was standing talking.

"Goodmorning sunshine!" he said as she stumbled into the room. "We thought you would never wake up! we thought someone had drugged you in the night!" laughed Rave making room in between herself and Tareth. "I- I must have drunk to much, though i think that is highly impossible. Maybe i was drugged?" Énien yauned.

"As i was saying" Rangar continued. "Wren and Turthôl have left to sercure a ship"
The elf frowned. "A ship? to where?"

"Harad" Bregand said from across the room. "oh, were taking a ship?"
"Yes"
The elf listened for a while when a question played on her mind. "What about the horses?" Énien spoke up. Rave waved her hand "ive been wondering that myself" she replied.

"Well we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Now get ready we leave in half and hour." came Rangar's orders. Énien frowned. "There is no way that i am leaving Melliant in Gondor... no way..."


Soon enough they arrived in Harlond, and the elf had been in a bad mood all the way, and she supposed it showed, especially when the rest of the company were roped into friendly conversation with the locals, Énien had just looked very darkly and stayed quiet, speaking only to Calimir in elvish the whole time.

There was an inn where they were supposed to be waiting, Énien had gone to settle Melliant into the stables, coming back into the Inn she passed another elf who was heading out the door. "Mae govannen" she said to Énien on her way out. Wide eyed Énien went over to the table where Turthôl and Wren had now joined them. "That was an elf, a mirkwood elf" Énien said glancing at Calimir, "in Gondor!"

"That was Ani Dao, a Mirkwwod elf, you are right, Wren's friend." Calimir said laughing at her. Énien slid into the table. She looke around at everyone, something was different. She saw Turthôl. and began to laugh. "Turthôl, you scrub up very well for a ranger!" she put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing harder. "Never in a million years... how did you get him to do it Wren!" she had to stop becuase a new wave of laughter had overcome her. "im sorry, but you do have to understand that is the strangest thing ive seen in months!"

[Arvedui III]

Ships. Why did it have to be ships? Of all the ways we could get to Harad. A ship.

It seemed to Rangar that of all the surprises he had met along this journey, that fact that they were to be going by ship was the most unwelcome. It took near an hour to convince him, and even as they rode into Harlond, doubts still kept gnawing at him. However, all was forgotten when they reached the inn where Wren and Turthol would meet them. After settling the horses at the stables, they walked into the peasant light of the inn, and as an elf walked past them Enien broke out laughing. "What is it?" "Look, table in the corner." "Never in a million years, how did you get him to do it, Wren?"

Rangar looked around Rave and thought his sides would burst. There was Turthol, in the most ridiculous Gondorian finery, blushing like mad while Wren split open a grin and waved to them. They all sat down and Rangar exchanged equally malicious looks with Tareth and Bregand. "Turthol, that suit is," Calmir started, barely able to keep a strait face. "Frilly?" Rangar threw out. "Puffy?" Bregand added while his mouth began to twitch. "Are those sequins?" Tareth asked. "Ha ha, SHUT UP! Come on Rangar," Turthol barked, getting up. "We're gonna burn this thing." "Not until we have a portrait done of you in it." Camalita giggled. " I would agree with that." Rangar started. "Ow! Hey! That's my ear!" "Come on." And with that Turthol dragged him by ear up to a private room.

"Frilly?!" Turthol sputtered after he had changed back into his gear and the suit was well on its way to becoming ash. "You have to admit it was funny." Rangar teased. "It was not." Turthol growled flatly. "Would you have done any different if I had worn that thing?" "No, but still." "How'd she convince you?" Rangar asked. "I still don't know," He mumbled, "But you will pay." His tone suddenly changing from dumbfounded to vengeful. "Why me?" Said Rangar, perplexed. "If this is a conspiracy to get me and Wren," Turthol began with the pitch that suggested he was accusing Rangar of murder. "What?!" "You heard me." "Look, you're the one agreed to go with her, if it bothered you, you could of at anytime told me and I would have," Rangar began, trying desperately to find the words to defend himself.

"Oh nevermind. Just shut it." Turthol cut him off. "Are you just in a bad mood because of the suit?" Rangar asked, galled at what had just happened. "Let's just drop it." Said Turthol moving to the door. "Ok then," Said Rangar, then in an attempt to cheer him up, "Frilly...Ow! You're gonna tear it off if you keep doing this!"

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

"Why don't you go join the others in their laughter?" Turthôl said as he let go of Rangar's ear and shoved him out the door.

"And what are you going to do up here?" Rangar asked.

"Burn these confounded clothes, like I already said," he replied.

"Well, you don't have to be so pushy about it," Rangar said. He closed the door and left.

Turthôl stirred up the fire in the room and prepared to burn the clothes. He couldn't believe he had actually worn these. Somehow, Wren had convinced him to put them on. Now he knew why she wanted him to come with her-for a good laugh. He shook his head-never again. He had never been so embarrased before. Even if it was such a little thing, it was still embarrasing.

Just as he was about to throw them in, he heard somebody downstairs say," He's WHAT?"
Then, he heard loud footsteps come stomping upstairs. The door burst open, and Wren stood there.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GIVE ME THOSE CLOTHES!" she said. She ran over and grabbed them out of his hands. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOUR GOING TO BURN THESE CLOTHES! THEY AREN'T EVEN YOURS!"

"Take them then. I don't want them," Turthôl said.

"For your information, they're my father's old clothes."

"What kind of pipeweed was your dad father smoking when he bought those?" Turthôl asked.

"That is just like you, Turthôl! You are so ungrateful," Wren said.

"Whatever," he said as he started to head downstairs.

"You know, I have a mind to report you to the soldiers," she said jokingly.

"About what?" Turthôl demanded.

"Oh, you know. After they arrest you, they'll take you to Dol Amroth for..."she froze. The look Turthôl gave her made a chill run down her back.

"If you ever mention that to me or anyone else, I'll..."he said in a whisper. He didn't bother to finish. He turned and went downstairs, leaving Wren in silent shock.

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[maikafanawen]

Exasperated, the noblewoman walked back into his room. Sighing to herself, Wren folded the shirt and pants up into a tight ball and dropped it into the fire. She watched the clothes burn, a smile on her face. Yes, they were her father’s old clothes. Old, that means he doesn’t need them anymore. So why shouldn’t they burn? No one in their right mind would wear those now. They were the style ten years ago when her father was much thinner, which is why Turthôl was able to fit into them. Aragoss, wasn’t able to tell the difference though, to him, Turthôl’s style meant wealth, and importance. The even sillier looking jacket she folded nicely and left it on Turthôl’s bed with a note pinned to it:

Don’t mind if ye burn it, but ye should have asked first anyhow.

The noblewoman stoked the fire, enabling it to lap up the entire costume. Turthôl was a spaz. That’s all there is to it. He lost his temper so easily, and couldn’t join in a light-hearted joke for anything. But then again, she had met only one ranger that did believe that levity should be an important part of one’s life. All the others denied it, and dwelt instead on the paths they would be better of forgetting. However, there was still something that made Wren care for Turthôl. Was it pity? Well, hopefully, she’d find out soon, because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand the ranger.

Propping the stoker against the fireplace alongside the shovel and clamper, she left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

* * *

Ani Dao left the inn nodding to a few of the company who were with Wren and Rangar passed her into the common room. She took her black gloves out of her pockets and pulled them on as she made her way down to the docks where the Silver Wyrm was harboured. The elf was a dock’s length away when she saw its three proud masts reaching above the rooftops to touch the wispy clouds that had gathered that evening. The sails billowed and fought as the crew wrestled them back into their rolls after seeing to the necessary repairs.

Turning the corner, Ani Dao saw the complete ship in its finery. She was easily one of the grandest ships she had even sailed. Three hundred and fifty feet in length made of wood that planked the sides, hard as iron, it was known to withstand even the surliest weather. Its masts were equally as strong made of the same timber and reaching up to one hundred and sixty-five feet. The sails were made of tough canvas and each grommet was of the finest brass make Mr. Chambria could afford, which was the best. The Silver Wyrm’s hull was a dark shade of green with its name written in silver on both the starboard and port side of the ship on the bow just behind the figure-head. The figure-head was a dragon, its body twisting into three humps before its head, with three tusks on each side of the jaw, opened revealing razor sharp teeth and a forked tongue. Its red eyes watched the oncoming waves, on the lookout for any rocks or other barriers. Ani Dao swelled with pride to think that she would captain a crew of twenty-two fine men aboard such a ship. Its size dominated that of any other in the port as did its splendour.

She leapt up the gangplank and onto the deck, nodding to the sailors working on the jollyboats; there were two on each side of the ship just before the ladders leading up to the forecastle deck. Ani Dao looked around approvingly. The crew had done a fine job of cleaning it up. In a minute she would take a few around to check that everything was in working order: the sails could be let down smoothly, all the stays were strong and unfrayed, and things of the sort.

“Captain!” said a voice from behind. The elf turned to see a young, sun-tanned man with a thing goatee around his mouth, thick blonde hair and dark brown eyes. It was her first mate, Mr. Prey Dorengil.

“Ah, Mr. Dorengil,” she nodded her head courteously and shook hands with the man.

“Welcome aboard captain. Guildhall and Thallick have loaded your things into the captain’s quarters. The rest are doing last-minute cleanings and repairings. We are awaiting your next orders, captain.” He stood up straight with his shoulders back when he addressed her; it was the form of respect due any captain.

“We will be boarding the supplies early in the morning,” she answered, taking off her cap and twisting it around in her hands as she surveyed the ship. “Now, would you be so kind as to call the crew aboard for a quick attendance.” Dorengil nodded and bellowed out,

“All Hands!” An echo of all hands rang throughout the ship as men scrambled onto the spar deck to stand before their captain. The first mate produced a scroll of parchment and immediately began to call out their last names. Upon hearing their name, each sailor would step forward, doff their caps (if any) and nod politely to their new captain, identifying their self before her.

“Yazven, Hach, Thallick, Dane, Guildhall, Ryeran, Symk, Corat, Darreck, Javen, Worerett, Thyerdon, Lorep, Deverzel, Horenpil, Soaqille, Othan, Bayor, Talon—” Ani Dao’s heart skipped a beat. Dalon? Did he say Dalon?

“Stop Mr. Dorengil, but did you say Dalon?” The man paled for a second than cleared his expression.

“N-no Captain. I said Talon,” he gestured to the line-up who had also paled and began to murmur nervously. One man however stepped forward and dipped his floppy hat boldly.

“Talon, Captain. Deorby Talon.” Ani Dao looked back towards Dorengil.

“New is he?” The first mate nodded. “That’s fine Mr. Talon. I would be very dishearted if I heard of any a Dalon upon my ship. One thing, because he should be dead. Another thing, is because any relation would be just as unlucky. ‘Tis all. You may continue Mr. Dorengil.” The rest of the names were called out:

“Kyerswan, Ptal, and Ghyer.” The men stood at attention. Ani Dao smiled.

“This will be brief,” she began. “I have sailed with all save for the last three, Kyerswan, Ptal and Ghyer, and Mr. Talon, before, so you all know me well. I do not tolerate fights of any sort between ye. If there is a problem, First Mate Dorengil, or Second Mate Yazven will bring it strait to me. I also do not tolerate mutiny. If ye are accused of mutiny ye will spend the rest of the voyage in irons and will be sent straight to the law upon return. There will be lashes given for over-sleeping, idleness during a watch, drunkenness, gambling, and disrespect of any kind to me, either of the mates, or our passengers.

“Ye will be broken up into watches as is standard. Mr. Dorengil will be in charge of the watch I, and Mr. Yazven will be in charge of watch II. I want Hach, Thallick, Dane, Guildhall, Ryeran, Symk, Corat, Darreck, Kyerswan, and Ptal on watch I with Mr. Dorengil. The rest will be under Mr. Yazven with watch II. This is clear. The watches are procedure.

“Our destination is Harad, as you all have been told upon hiring. Once there, we will anchor the ship in a bay or a ways off of land and the passengers, I, and only a handful of crew members will take jolly boats in to the shore. Most of ye will stay on board with Mr. Dorengil. I want this understood now, should we not return upon a set time, ye will pledge your new allegiance to him as your captain and sail home at once. I have written a multitude of letters each explaining differently the turnout of our trip, should things go amiss.

“That having been said I commend ye all on your work thus far. I do not require ye spend tonight in the forecastle but if ye wish, ye may do so. I do expect to see each and every one of ye up sharp tomorrow morning at six to load the provisions. Fine then, dismissed.” The crew, mixed between light spirits with their well-liked captain and the gravity of the journey, returned to their duties.

“And Dorengil, one more thing. We will be having passengers. A total of nine if I’ve heard correctly. Their quarters are in fine shape I trust?”

“Yes Captain, two to a quarter. Have ye their belongings?”

“No, they will be delivered tomorrow. Ye may go about your business and dismiss them at 9.”

“Goodnight Captain.” Ani Dao walked to the edge of the railing, running her hand along its cool surface. With a trustworthy crew, and a sturdy ship, she hoped that it would turn out to be a safe and pleasant journey. She checked up quickly on the repairs done, and the state of the quarters. Her own quarters were very nicely furnished with mahogany furniture, secured to the floor, curtained windows and even a full-length mirror on one wall. She decided she would rather spend the night at the Crown Dagger instead of on the ship, so she grabbed a few of her things and left the Silver Wyrm in its magnificence, making her way back to the merry tavern.

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

[Everdawn]

The company had glanced upon the ship which they would be taking to Harad. Énien did not know what to think, instead she was just quiet and said nothing. Calimir looked a little uneasy as did Rangar. There was a crew upon the ship. 'Shifty looking men' thought the elf. "well, if Ani Dao knows these men, they must be safe." said Énien allowed, attempting to calm everyone, but they were obviously not concerned for the same reasons that she was. "Ive never been on a ship!" cried Rave looking at the ship. "Oh, my! look how wonderful it is!" she was over excited. "Wont it be fun to go sailing, and look we get to meet new people!"

Énien looked plainly at her. "yes, most exciting" she remarked in a dreary tone. ** What if they are spies, how well does this elf know them? where have they come from? How does she know none of them are in league with Barodir?so many questions passed her mind. "But, she is an elf, so she knows what she is doing" said Énien aloud, causing Rave to give her a strange look. "Are you sure you are all right, that scar on you eyebrow not gone any deeper and rattled your brain Énien?"

She had almost forgotten about the scar. "NO!" said the elf and held her head high. "my brain has not been rattled, it has served me well for over 76 of your lifetimes mortal!"
"Take it easy!" said Ravenne. "You have had a bad attitude all the way here elf, and frankly i don’t like it, i don’t want to leave my horse any more than you do!" she stopped like a child who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. "sorry, Énien" she said.
"no my dear, if you had something on your mind you should have told me to change my attitude than and there." then Énien laughed. "Rohan girl, fiery women aren’t you!" Rave laughed then as well. "oh my! well at least im not a stubborn and arrogant elf"
"What can i say?" replied Énien.
maybe i am loosing my mind the thought trailed off.

Once again they found themselves at the Tavern. Rangar once again looked to be thinking as he sat across the other side of the table from the elf. "The ship-" Énien began, Rangar frowned. The elf looked him in the eye. "This wasn’t your idea was it!"

[ June 11, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl arrived downstairs and entered the common room. The anger must have shown on his face because the smiles on the others' faces quickly faded. Rangar opened his mouth to say something but Turthôl walked right past him and to the bar.

"What can I get ya?" the inn keeper said.

"Ale...a pint of the strongest you have," Turthôl grumbled. The innkeeper filled the mug and handed it to him.

"Hard day?" the man asked.

"Nope, just a hard woman," Turthôl answered.

"Ahhh, I see. Is that her right there?" the innkeeper motioned behind Turthôl. Turthôl turned and looked. Wren was walking down the stairs and went to sit with the others. They started talking and she motioned over to Turthôl. She looked mad herself.

The innkeeper stammered. "Why...that's Miss Chambria. You mean her?"

"Yeah."

"Her family is one of the most well known folks around here. Quite a looker, she is." The innkeeper chuckled.

"I agree with you there but wait until you travel hundreds of miles with her," Turthôl said.

"Are you two...uhhh...you know."

Turthôl interrupted. "No, no. She's just my companion, temporarily." He looked down at his mug. It was empty. "Give me a refill, innkeeper." It was promptly refilled.

Rangar's voice was heard from the table. "Don't drink too much ale. You'll be drunk like back in Bree." Rangar and the others started laughing at the memory Rangar had just stirred up.

Turthôl turned and held his mug in the air.
"Here's to frilly clothes and good ale. Cheers, friend." And with that toast, he drained his mug. The burn that it made in his throat was satisfying.

"Here you go, innkeeper," Turthôl said. He paid the man and headed back to the stairs.
As he walked past the others, he was glad to see a look of confusion on the others faces.

He headed back up to his room. Turthôl shut the door and bolted it.

He noticed that the silly jacket was folded neatly and to it, a note was pinned:

Don’t mind if ye burn it, but ye should have asked first anyhow.

He looked into the fire and was surprised to see cloth ashes in it. Wren must have burned the other clothes. He was about to toss it into the fire also, but something stopped him. Instead, he opened his knapsack and placed it inside with the note still pinned.

Since the door was locked, he wouldn't be disturbed, and he wouldn't open it to nobody.
He took a seat by the fire, stoked it, and took out his fife. Its haunting melodies played throughout the night, even when the others were fast asleep.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar felt horrible from the moment Turthol shoved him out the door. Clearly his friend was too humiliated to joke. "What can you laugh at if not at yourself?" He mumbled as he rejoined the others, figuring that Turthol needed time to fume before he apologized; Yet for what Rangar still had to work out. "What's up?" Tareth asked. "We overdid it." Rangar said simply and looked up toward the room. "Why?" Said Enien, still grinning broadly. "He's gonna burn those cloths now, he means it." "HE'S WHAT?!" Wren burst out, causing many in the tavern to cease their conversations and stare. "Going to burn those horrid cloths." Rangar shrugged. It wasn't a great deal, leastways, he thought it wasn't. Wren didn't answer, but began storming up the stairs toward Turthol's room.

The group sat in silence while muffled yells issued from the chamber for several minutes, then Turthol came down the stairs. Rangar got up, but before the words could leave his mouth Turthol flopped down at the bar. Not again. What does he find so great in drinking? Then, before he could stop himself, "Don't drink too much, you'll be drunk like back in Bree." Stupid! He thought, but couldn't help laughing all the same. Wren had now rejoined them, and after Turthol made the oddest reaction possible to his words: a toast; He went back upstairs and bolted the door.

"That was smart." Rangar said aloud, though meaning to only scold himself. "Should we try and-" Bregand started, now wearing a similar guilty look. "No, just leave him be." Rangar cut in. "Let's all find beds and take some rest." They did, Turthol's haunting fife wandering into their rooms throughout the night.
-------------------------
Rangar woke early as always, and it seemed a mercy to do so some nights, this one in particular. It had passed through his mind more than once that Barodin had awoken memories, albeit hazy, undistinguishable memories, that should have just stayed put. But, he wanted to know them, didn't he? Not like this. He thought as the sat down against the wall near Turthol's room, shaking off the familiar bad dream head ache. Quite suddenly, the blot slid out of the lock and the door hit Rangar, knocking him out of his thoughts and onto the floor. "How did I know." Came the sarcastic statement from behind the door. "Turthol, I'm" Rangar began, getting to his feet. "I know, I know. Don't worry about it." Said Turthol through a yawn, stepping outside and into view.

Soon, the rest of the company rose, and most reluctantly, Rangar followed Wren to the wharf where the Silver Wrym lay in harbor. Ships. Why ships? Rangar felt very uncomfortable around the sea, most of all on a wooden boat. However, despite all his misgivings the ship took his breath away, and suddenly he understood a little why the men of Dol Amroth used such crafts for their banner. She was huge, and green of her sides glinted in the sun magnificently. Still, he supposed his disquiet showed for Enien, who had previously been talking to Rave, asked him frankly, "This wasn't your idea, was it."

Before he could answer, the elf Ani Dao appeared beaming, and came down the gangway. As she reached them, the elf asked, "Ready to go?" Rangar gulped. "Yep, show us aboard."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir's stomach had leapt at the thought of traveling to Harad by ship. He didn't know quite where he stood about the idea. As the company walked down toward the pier, Calimir stayed close to Enien, unable to still the strange fluttering of his heart. He hadn't seen the ocean, nor had he been on any boat larger than a small rowboat on a lake.

As they neared the ship a cool wind began to whip about their faces, and a soft whispering let Calimir know that they were approaching the water. Soon the ship came into sight, tall masted and with a carved dragon on the prow. Calimir stared at it for a moment, hesitant to approach it closer. They stopped on the wharf for a while, while Ani Dao and Rangar talked. Calimir pulled a knife from his belt and turned it in his hands, idly. A small shove from the side caused him to slip, and slice his index finger open.

"Enien!" Calimir, snapped, "Pay more attention." he wrapped the injured finger in the hem of his tunic.

"Relax, Mellon." Enien said to him, "It's only a ship. You aren't leaving forever yet." Calimir exhaled slowly, realizing that Enien had discovered just what his trouble was. He met her eyes cautiously and stepped toward the ship. Most of the rest of the company was already aboard. Calimir walked up the gangplank slowly, feeling the unfamiliar motion under his feet. The breeze was a little stronger as they left the shelter of the buildings on the pier, and it carried a strange smell, a tangy mix of fish and dampness.

Ani Dao, their elven captain, stopped him as he walked past her. "Mae Govannen!" she said, with a faint note of surprise in her voice.

"Mae Govannen," Calimir replied, "You are from Mirkwood?" he asked her, wondering how an elven woman of Mirkwood ended up as a ship's captain in Gondor.

"Aye, I am." her eyes twinkled as she answered Calimir's unspoken question. "It's a long story, how I got here, friend. A story for another time, I think." She grinned widely. "Welcome aboard the Silver Wyrm!"

Calimir took his leave of Ani Dao and took his pack below the deck, the curious rocking was exaggerated down here, and he was unsteady on his feet, leaning a hand to the wall as he tossed his things onto one of the narrow bunks and sat down. He closed his eyes, imagining Glorenwen beside him, imagining the time they would leave at last...

[Everdawn]

Reluctantly, Rave had persuaded Énien to leave behind Melliant with Ani Dao's horses. Though it took many hours. Énien sung elven songs into the horses ear and left the stables, unable to stay any longer.


They had boarded the ship. Énien had only been on one a handful of times. Calimir looked terrible, and it begins... separation of this world will not be easy for him or Glorenwen as it has been for me, i am long since detached. she thought, as her friend stayed close to her side.

Calimir has been so kind to me, now it is my turn. Calimir had gone into his room on the ship. "Are you all right? I know this may be hard for you, as it is the beginning..."

"worry not for me." he said to her in elvish. "i need to get my barings." she nodded and went above deck. Énien glanced at the crew, who all looked at her. She was very wary of them. Some nodded, though she did not show them the same courtesy. Some of the others were also there.

Rave was at the front of the ship. "this is so fun! i cant believe i havnt been on one before!" screamed Rave over the wind. "The novelty wears off, trust me!" replied Énien.

[The X Phial]

The constant rocking motion of the ship had undone Bregand's stomach. He stood on the deck of the Silver Wyrm and watched the lands on his maps float by, unheeded. He felt a flicker of excitement, but mostly just naseous. On the deck it was easier to keep his food down. The air was crisp and he could see the motion. In his cabin, which he shared with Tareth, the rocking and stuffy air had kept him bedridden. He wondered if the crew would mind him sleeping on the deck.

Between heaves he noticed another non-crew member on the deck. It was late, so this surprised him. Bregand steeled himself and walked over the the lone figure. It was Calimir and he seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"Does the ship not agree with you either, friend?"

The elf took a long moment to reply. "It's not the ship, Bregand, it is the sea. Every moment we grow closer. Already the gulls are crying and my heart is full of unrest."

Bregand knew of the sea longing from history and tales. He was surprised that Calimir had agreed to this leg of the journey, and that the other elves seemed unaffected. On the other hand, he was of a race that had once ruled the seas and he couldn't keep his rations from feeding the fish. He put a comforting hand on Calimir's arm.

"I have seen many things on this journey, and the sea is only one new thing to me. One I could live without, to be honest. But I know it's different for you, and if the concern of one lowly mortal makes any difference to you, I do feel for you."

With that eloquent thought he ran to the other side of the ship and continued his campaign of fish meal provision.

[ June 12, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl sat in his cabin, feeling horrible. He had drank too much of that ale and now he was feeling it. Feeling his stomach churn, he bolted for the deck.

"I told you, too much ale," said Rangar from behind him. Turthôl was too busy to answer. He had never been on a ship, and this was turning out to be a bad first experience.

"Is someone not used to the sea?" said a teasing voice behind him. He didn't even need to turn. It was Wren. He sensed that since he was incapable of responding (his mouth was full at the moment), she would take advantage of the situation.

He knew that he would have to excercise his patience while he barfed as Wren got her two cents in.

[maikafanawen]

Wren had raced passed the others up the gangplank and grasped Ani Dao’s hand.

“Here we go!” she shouted, as the wind ripped around her, sea spray mingled with the morning breeze. Ani Dao smiled and began shouting orders to the crew. The anchor was hoisted and the jolly boats began to move the ship away from the docks and down river out of the harbour. Men began to climb aloft ready to unleash the sails and stays were unwrapped from their figure eight holds and grasped firmly in the calloused hands of sailors. The mizzen course, and inner and outer jibs were opened and began to pump in the wind. When the Silver Wyrm was away from the docks, Ani Dao had them open the front spritsails.

After she was finished she hopped down to the quarterdeck and stood next to Wren who had just finished helping a sailor get a splinter out of his hand. The man was very impatient and insisted that he could do it himself. She had seen him trying to dig it out with a knife and stepped in at once.

“There ye go Mr. Dalleck. Keep it clean,” she stood, wrapping the remainder of unused bandage around her wrist. The sailor shook his head and chuckled.

“Thank ye miss. Though, next time it happens I’ll make sure to take care of it outa yer sight.” With that he winked and ascended the shrouds and ratlines up the mizzenmast, ready to free the sails.

“You’re going to be quite busy if ye plan to help each and every of the crew with a little cut or scrape,” remarked the she-elf. “Ready to sail?” Wren nodded enthusiastically and pulled herself up the forecastle deck railings, dodging hands bringing a trunk back down to quarters. Sidestepping the crewman holding a tight grip on the forestays, she jumped down to the small deck just behind the bow.

When they were clear of the docks and a blue strip of wide river beckoned them on, Ani Dao’s voice rang out above the wind, “Alright men! We’re clear. Let ‘em loose!” The sails, free from their halyards, beat out against the wind, catching the breeze and sending the ship forward down the Anduin. They were off to Harad. It was the final leg of their journey.

***

“Ani Dao! Where are my things? Which cabin I mean?” asked Wren, tying her windblown hair out of her face. The elf looked up from the maps strewn on the table where Ryeran, the sailing master chosen for the expedition.

“Yours is the third on the left going down the stairs. We almost had just enough rooms. Only one needed to be shared. Your ranger friends took it up.” The noblewoman left the Captain to the maps and charts and retreated to her room for a bit of organizing and settling in. The first room on the right was Turthôl’s and Rangar’s. The door was open.

“Is someone not used to the sea?” she said peeking in to see Turthôl looking unhealthy. He vomited and the noblewoman recoiled. Disgusting. She dug into her pockets producing a licorice stick. “Here,” she said, thrusting the candy before him. He looked up, angry. “Oh, no. I’m not poking fun. It helps with stomach problems. Carmalita’s making basil and rosemary tea now. It helps also with sea-sickness.” Nodding, the ranger took the licorice stick, though somewhat reluctantly, and began to chew on it. “I’ve got more if ye need it. The apothecary just got a new shipment before we left. I bought a few pounds of it.” Deciding that Turthôl would probably rather be left alone in with his mild agony, she excused herself and returned to her cabin where she draped a velour spread over her bed: one of her few luxuries she had accepted from Ani Dao whose cabin was decorated with the regular captain’s finery. After her cabin was relatively comfortable, she went to help with Carmalita who was bossing Hach, the cook around, telling him just what to put in the tea.

“This is going to be the cleanest ship I’ve ever been on!” said Ani Dao as she passed by on her way to her cabin to retrieve yet another map. “What with Wren’s hygiene and Carmalita’s dietary methods, we’ll come home plump, hale and hearty!”

Mr. Dorengil’s watch, under the scrutiny of Carmalita working at the other end of the table on organizing her herbs, ate quickly, and with good manners, bringing Hach their mess plates when they were finished. Wren suppressed a chuckle as she watched them between stitches on a pair of woolen socks.

“I think we’re a good influence on these swabs,” she whispered across to Carmalita. The nurse laughed out loud, spilling her bowl of Valerian on the table. Finally the sun sank, and Mr. Yazven’s men took the second dog watch.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Surprised that Wren said nothing except offer him a licorice stick, Turthôl chewed on it after she left. Hmmmm, this is pretty good, he thought. And it was his favorite flavor, strawberry. And without a doubt, his stomach began to settle down.

Turthôl gazed into the bucket that he had been using, and grimaced. He needed to go empty this thing.
_____________________________________________

He gazed over the edge and into the sea. After placing the bucket back into his and Rangar's quarters, he headed back out on deck to get some fresh air. The salty air was pretty relaxing. He breathed deeply.
He noticed the captain, Ani Dao, walk by.

"What brings an elf from Mirkwood into southern Gondor?" he asked her.

"Its a long story, one that began with a journey to Erebor," she answered. "You remind me of one of my companions who died at the battle of Erebor."

"I think I know who you mean. One of my kin, Arlómë. He traveled with a company of men, dwarves and elves to Erebor, and died there."

"Yes, thats him. I guess all Dúnedain from the north resemble eachother. Your eyes are different though. His were grey. Yours are black," Ani Dao observed.

"The elves wondered about that when I was born. They said it was a sign of something dark within me. I guess they were right. I'm known among Imladris and Lorien as a rogue ranger."

Ani Dao nodded, but did not reply.

"Are you going to head across the sea to Valinor?" Turthôl asked.

"I don't know. Maybe some day," she replied. "Well, I have captain's duties to attend to." She turned to walk up to the helm.

"Captain, do you know where Wren is at?" he asked.

Ani Dao smiled. "She's in her quarters doing some finishing touches." Turthôl started to head that way when Ani Dao added, "Turthôl, be nice."

Turthôl laughed and headed to the quarters area.
____________________________________________

Seeing her door open, Turthôl stood in the doorway. Wren, sensing his presence, looked up.

"Yes?" she asked. "Is your stomack ok?"

"Oh, yeah, its better," he replied. He stopped. For some weird reason, his mind went suddenly blank.

Wren looked at him. He could tell that she was expecting him to say something. But what?
His mind was still blank. Then, he remembered what he came to say.

"Well?" she said, prompting him to speak.

"Can I have more licorice?"

[ June 12, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir didn't return to his quarters that night. After Bregand left him he moved closer to the prow, staring out over the sea at the water rippling gently out of sight. The wind had died down a bit, and the sails hung not quite full. The night was grey and the moon shone clear and cold. The elf shivered in its pale light, watching its white reflection play on the surface of the water. Every now and again, the light would flicker below the surface and Calimir would feel the sheer depth and weight of the water below him.

He had quickly adjusted to the movement of the ship beneath his feet, and he moved with it now, shifting his weight to meet the rise and swell of the waves, keeping his feet easily as he leaned agains the railing. One finger reached out and traced the length of the silver dragon figurehead. The elf licked the drop of water off the end of his finger, simply to taste the salt. He'd been tasting the salt spray on his tongue since the ship had pulled away from the pier, and the taste of it lingered in his mouth.

He let his eyes stray again, out over the water, out westward. Glorenwen was right, he knew, she's been right all along, and he had been a fool. The West was the place they belonged, their true home. He tore his eyes away from the white gleam of the stars on the water as someone came up beside him. "You feel it too, the call of the sea." It was Ani Dao, she said it bluntly, like it was a fact of life.

"Yes, I feel it." he said hesitantly, "Why do you not sleep?" Calimir didn't want to discuss this, didn't want to realize that the Great Waters were simply waters like any other.

"I need little sleep." Ani Dao replied, tracing the grain of the wooden railing with a long finger. "I felt it too. The first time I saw a ship, the first time I felt it move under my feet. I felt it in the first storm I saw, with the lightning flickering over the water. Oh yes, I felt it."

"But you don't feel it now?" Calimir asked, bemusedly. He had heard of the sea-longing, heard the tales and songs of the falathrim. He didn't know that it could be cured by time or herblore.

"I feel it still." Ani Dao said with a small smile. "And you will too." She placed a hand on his arm companionably, then moved off toward the helm. Calimir stared after her for a moment, and then his gaze returned to the green water.

The breeze stiffened just before sunrise, and Calimir's wonder was new with the feeling of the salt spray dancing on his face, and the sound of the sails snapping in the wind. The sun rising pink and gold in front of him was the last glory of the night, painting the water in silver and purple, drenching the sky in light. The elf stood silently, watching.

[ June 13, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[maikafanawen]

In truth, down in her heart, Ani Dao knew she’d never cross the sea. It was rare even for Silvan elves, as was Ani Dao, to do. None-the-less, the sea had called still every time she boarded a ship. However, as the years went by, the calls become less apparent, and soon, the captain hoped, they would grow to be altogether dormant.

The weather was beautiful the first night on the ship and Ani Dao left her cabin to walk around the deck, enjoying the cool breeze. She watched Talon and Ghyer work during their watch, since they were new. They seemed very competent of what they were doing. The reason Ani Dao had allowed them to sign on in the first place was because the elf’s friend, Ravenwyn, had said they were trust-worthy enough men that she had sailed with once or twice, or her father had.

Satisfied with the work aboard the Silver Wyrm, Ani Dao sat atop a pile of canvas extras to read through the Silver Wyrm’s log Wren had given her. Producing a quill she wrote down the names and positions of the crew along with a list of the passengers plus the date they set out.

She was almost finished when Wren brought her some tea and piece of licorice.

“I’ve been passing it out to all the passengers,” she said. “They’ve greatly appreciated it. I’m glad I thought to stop by the apothecary.” Ani Dao nodded.

“Hope ye haven’t tempted any of my hands,” she said mockingly. Wren shrugged her shoulders.

“Horenpil, Othan and Bayor took some licorice. But I think they just wanted something sweet.” Ani Dao laughed softly and went back to work on the log.

Wren left the captain and made her way back down to her cabin. She opened her trunk and began shuffling through it looking for something to read. Then she came across her sketchbook and opened the pocket in the lid of the trunk for her box of charcoals. She pulled them out and stood, placing them on the desk that folded down from the wall.

The noblewoman sat and began to draw. The first picture was of Culfin, her horse she had left with Ani Dao. It was nicely shaded, and one could pick out the different splotches of sorrel and white color on the overo. Her second drawing was of Ani Dao. She made her ears less pointy than other elves because to Wren, the captain was more man than elf. She put her in the captain’s clothes she wore now and tall black boots.

Suddenly, Turthôl appeared at the door. Wren looked up. Yes?" she asked. "Is your stomack ok?"

"Oh, yeah, its better," he replied. Then he fell silent, and looked as though he had forgotten how to speak.

“Well?” she asked.

“Can I have more licorice?” he blurted out. Wren smiled.

“Of course. I gave it to Carmalita to keep in her room. I thought she should be more or less, in charge of it. I’ll come with you.” She shut her sketchbook and placed her charcoals back in their box before leading Turthôl towards Carmalita’s room. They passed Hach on his way back to the galley.

“Mr. Hach!” called Wren. The sailor stopped and turned, two pewter pots in his hands. “Is Carmalita in the galley?” The man nodded.

“Yes she is, Miss. Labeling those herbs and spices she’s got. Ye need her?” Wren smiled and pointed to Turthôl who batted her hand away.

“Licorice,” she said. Mr. Hach nodded and beckoned them forward. Carmalita was just packing away her many pouches and wrapping her mortar and pestle away when they entered. She looked up and nodded knowingly, pointing to her second bag. Wren opened it and pulled out two sticks of licorice, handing them to Turthôl. He pocketed one and put the other in his mouth.

“Mm,” he said. “Thanks.” Wren took two also and followed the ranger out of the galley up to the quarter deck.

[Arien]

Wren and Turthol left the room thanking her for the Licorice, she continued to pack her things away and place them into the cupboard she had newly christened her cupboard. She opened the door and inside were piled the contents of her bag. Numerous herbs, copious amounts of herbal teas for different sicknesses and bags of powder and various bandages and bags. She placed her mortar and pestle into the cupboard and shut it firmly. She tied the pouch containing the Licorice on her belt, no doubt it would be needed than more than Turthol and Wren throughout their journey.

She now made her way to her room, sucking a bit of Licorice. It wasn’t so much that the sea made her sick, just she needed something sweet and she quite enjoyed the taste. She entered her small room. It was simple, a single bed, a desk, mirror and a window with a large sill. She liked this part of her room the best. She could easily open the window and sit on the sill and look out onto the sea. So this is what she did. She opened the window and delicately hoped on to the sill making herself comfortable against one of her pillows. She undone her hair and wrapped Bregand’s ribbon around her wrist. It blew in the soft breeze and the salty air brushed her face gently. The rising suns light gently touched her face and she smiled.

This is why she wanted to come, to feel the adventure to get away from her life. And then she remembered Crystal, her innocent daughter. She never meant to disrupt Carmalita’s life, it was not her fault and for the first time she had left Bree she really missed her! How she would have loved to been here, to meet the elves, the men, sail on a ship. Meet her knew friends, Rangar, Wren, Turthol, Rave, Calimir, Einen, Bregand……Bregand. She enjoyed his company the most, trusted him the most, loved him the most. Loved him the most? Her mind back tracked on to what she had just thought,

“love him, how could I love him?” she laughed out onto the sea. But then she was still, maybe she did.

[Arvedui III]

The gentle sway of the ship kept Rangar ill-at-ease as she pulled out of Harlond. He and Turthol both agreed to share a cabin, a simple one which he liked, as there weren't enough for everyone to have thier own room. Rangar took to wandering aimlessly around the decks, finding nothing else to occupy him. As he past the cabins he chuckled at Turthol, who was looking very green. "I told you, too much ale." But then, as Turthol let his drink come back up, Rangar grimaced and kept walking. He wasn't seasick, yet; He had the looming sense he would be soon.

But the days passed, and Rangar became almost easy at sea. And yet. The back of his mind screamed that something was terrible wrong. Perhaps it was his discomfort and guilt about Calmir and his sea longing, or maybe it was the fact that the crew addressed him as 'Sir' or ‘Master Rangar'. Terms which made him feel vastly unworthy for some reason. It was stupid, he knew. But still, Rangar couldn't help feeling as if any respect paid to him was unjustified. A sensibility which Turthol took every opportunity to joke about. 'Spose I've earned it Rangar thought as for the eighth time in five days Turthol started laughing and mock-bowing when Rangar described an incident on deck.

Only one person on the whole ship seemed to agree with his views, and strangely enough, it was a crew member, Talon. Honestly, the queer man gave Rangar the chills, but he was jovial enough to make him shrug off his fears. "Aye sir, can feel like everyone's paying you what you don't deserve." He said. "Just got to enjoy your fortune, while it lasts." He added with a smirk.

On the ninth day out from Harlond, the sky turned gray. A sense of foreboding hung over the ship and Rangar could smell rain in the salty air, but despite the signs, he felt content. And after all, a little rain never hurt anyone, did it?

[Everdawn]

Énien had been quieter than usual on this trip. She hated herself that she was not much comfort to her old friend Calimir, who was feeling the call of the Haevens. He was so nervous on this ship, and it was apparent to everyone.

It would be more difficult for him, he had his family to worry about, unlike Énien who had always been a free spirit, roaming the lands between foriegn elven realms, without anyone to worry for her. In some ways, she was very much alone. For hours she had sat in the common rooms of the ship and thought of the right things to say. But it was useless.

Rave however, was always up on the deck of the ship. She loved the sea, and the way the ship moved over the water. She had had many conversations with the men aboard and Ani Dao. She went below deck to find Énien sitting on one of the tables, one leg crossed over the other and eyes closed. "Youre not alseep are you?" she asked the elf.

"I have not been asleep properly for two hundred years my friend." she said eyes still closed. Rave sighed. "Come look at this, you should see the colour of the clouds! its fantastic, looks like a storm is coming!" she said excited.

The elf opened her eyes, as if she had been stung. A storm Énien jumped from the table and rushed to one of the port holes and took a look out the window. The clouds were almost black, over the sea. And the waves were getting bigger. She knew something would go wrong, ever since the beginning, and this may be the time for it to happen. Énien was now very nervous.

Rave dragged her above deck where it was raining. "Isnt it wonderful elf!" Rave called hanging onto the side of the ship as it began to toss. "Something doesnt feel right" Énien yelled over the roar of the ocean, and she too held onto the side of the ship, both of them now drenched.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Baroden emerged from his hiding place from within the bowels of the ship. He had been hiding in the cargo bay, eating his rations and avoiding those that came down. Now, with the approaching storm, he knew it was his time to strike.

Then, without warning, the cargo bay opened.
In walked a man and by his clothing, Baroden knew he was of high rank. The man looked up, startled.

"Who are you?" he demanded. Baroden did not answer.

"I said, who are you? Answer quickly or I shall sound the alarm!" the man demanded.

"And who are you?" Baroden asked.

The man seemed shocked at the question. His chest puffed out as he answered, "I am Mr. Johann Yazven. Now answer me!"

"I am your death!" Baroden said. And, before Yazven could say anything else, Baroden drew a dagger with his right hand. With his left, he covered the man's mouth. He cut the man's throat, slitting the jugular vein. Baroden was careful not to get any blood on him as he held Mr. Johann Yazven until he stopped struggling. After a few minutes, the man was dead.

He hid the body among the crates and wiped his dagger clean on the man's clothes. It was time to make his appearance.
_____________________________________________

Turthôl sat up on the quarter deck and chewed his licorice. Wren sat beside him but the two didn't talk. It was the first time that they didn't crack jokes and trade insults at eachother. It was peaceful, and Turthôl enjoyed it. That is until he saw the storm clouds.

As the waves became bigger and the ship began to rock, Turthôl's stomach began to heave, again.

"I'm going below decks again. My stomach's acting up," he said. Turthôl and his last licorice stick went down to his quarters.

Ani Dao came up and said, "I suggest all of you get down to your quarters. This is going to be a bad one." Then she turned and yelled," ALL HANDS ON DECK!" The passangers began going below as the crew came up.

As he entered the hallway, he passed a man coming up from the cargo bay. The man stopped him and asked, "Do you know where Master Rangar is at, sir?"

"Yes. He's up on deck," Turthôl answered.

"Thank you, sir," the man said and continued walking. Turthôl thought a moment. He didn't recognize the man. Oh well, he hadn't taken the time to get to know the crew anyways. Turthôl shrugged and headed to his cabin.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Baroden came out on deck. His breath had caught when a few of the passangers passed him, but he kept his cool and nobody said anything.

It was raining hard now, and the ship rocked. He saw a young lady along with an elf gazing out into the storm. Another she-elf was giving orders. She must be the captain, thought Baroden. He looked around. Most of the crew was dealing with the sails. They were struggling to get them rolled up before the high winds ripped the sails to shreds.

A young lady with red hair was just leaving the quarter deck, and...Rangar was standing the mast and gazing upwards, watching the crew. Now was his time to strike.

He strode forward at an amazing pace. He only had a limited amount of time. He began formulating his plan. He would run Rangar through with his sword, slit his throat with the knife for good measure. Then, he would slash the ropes holding the nearest lifeboat and escape into the water.

He passed the elf captain, who was still shouting orders. Amazingly, nobody noticed him. The storm and rain was on his side.

"HEY! YOU, HALT!" It was the captain, but Baroden ignored her. He was close to Rangar. He drew his sword and dagger. He raised his sword to strike.

"STOP HIM! RANGAR! LOOK OUT!" she shouted. The captains shouting got everyone's attention. Rangar turned at the last moment to see Baroden bring his sword down in a slash to decapitate him. Rangar ducked just in time. Having no weapons on him, Rangar ran for the cabin for a weapon.

"WE HAVE A STOWAWAY!" rang out the cry.

"STOP HIM! ITS THE HUNTER!" Rangar cried.

Baroden would have pursued but it was too late. The companions of Rangar were coming to his aide. A young woman ran at him with sword drawn.

"AERIN! NO! STAY BACK!" Rangar cried, but the woman didn't listen.

"I"ll stop you," she yelled. Baroden dodged her blow, easily. He stepped. The deck was slippery, so he stuck his foot out, tripping the woman. He slashed downwards and caught the young woman in the back. She cried out in pain. Then he plunged his sword downwards into the back of her neck, silencing her cries. Then, just to make sure, he picked up the body and threw it overboard.

Rangar and his companions were stunned. One of their companions had just been slain. Baroden, taking advantage of their shock, slashed the ropes holding the nearest lifeboat and tossed it overboard also.

"HELP!" Rangar cried.

Then, without another glance, he jumped over the side and into the sea.
_____________________________________________

Turthôl sat in his cabin, savoring his last licorice stick. Despite the storm, his stomach was fine.

"HELP!" came the cry from the deck. Even with the storm raging, Turthôl heard it clearly. It was Rangar.

Turthôl bolted out of his cabin, and bumped into Wren.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know but something's wrong. Let's go!" he said.

They ran out on deck, and almost slipped. They were immediately drenched with rain. He reached Rangar.

"What happened?" Turthôl said.

"It was..." but then before Rangar could finish, a cry rang out, "WATCH OUT!"

Turthôl, Wren, Rangar, and Ani Dao looked up to see a rope wildly swinging around from the mast. Somehow, it came loose, and was wildly swinging around with the wind. It had a loop in it, resembling a noose.

The four prepared to dodge it as it swung around. It would be a disaster if it tightened around somebody's neck. Just as Turthôl prepared to dodge it, the ship leaned hard to the right. Turthôl slipped into it's path. He had no time.

Fate must have been against the ranger because his head went right intot he noose and it tightened around his neck. Turthôl was yanked up into the air. He heard the startled cry of Rangar, Ani Dao, and Wren.

"Turthôl!" Rangar cried.

"Somebody save him!" Wren shouted.

Turthôl struggled to loose himself but his own body weight held the noose tight. He could feel his air cut off in his throat. He was being strangled to death. He had no weapons on him. All his gear was in the cabin, even his dagger. He was stuck.

He caught glimpses of people on deck struggling to reach him as he swung by, but the wind and sea worked against them. Turthôl knew he was in trouble. To Rangar and the others, he looked like a rag doll being swung around on a string.

Then, without warning, Turthôl slammed straight into the mast, knocking him unconscious.
_____________________________________________

"Turthôl!" Rangar cried. He watching in vain as his friend swung helplessly through the air. Despite his tries, he was unable to reach his friend. He could see his friend struggle in vain to free himself.

Then to his and everyone's horror, the rope swung Turthôl straight into the mast. He knew Turthôl was unconcious because his arms dropped from his neck and he no longer struggled.

"NOOOOO!!!!!!" he cried. Wren beside him was sobbing, and Ani Dao called for an archer. The crew and everyone else could do nothing.

Calimir emerged on deck. Luckily, his arrows and bow were still slung on his back. The sight of Turthôl swinging in the storm caught his sight and he stared. Enien emerged from behind him. They were speechless.

"CALIMIR, QUICK! SHOOT THE ROPE!" Rangar yelled.

Without pause, Calimir strung an arrow and took aim. By this time, the whole company was on deck, watching.

Calimir fired but missed. Turthôl was still unconcious. Even in the dim light of the storm, Rangar could see that Turthôl's face was turning blue.

Calimir fired again. Miss. He strung a third arrow. He took aim. He fired.

The rope snapped, and Turthôl swung in the air towards the ground. But lady luck must have been working against them. The rope was in mid-swing when Calimir shot it. Turthôl swung straight over the rail and into the ocean.

The company and crew were shocked. Rangar stared helpless. He couldn't believe his eyes. His mind was blank with unbelief.

"MAN OVERBOARD!" he yelled.

[Everdawn]

A new man had scrambled onto the deck. Énien stood still in the rain, something was odd about this man, he seemed familliar. But Énien did not make anything of it then. She turned and walked to the doorway attempting to shake some of the water off herslef.

Then came cries from Ani-Dao. The man was attacking Rangar. It was him, yet again Énien had senced something and ignored herself, something which she swore she would never do again.

Énien was frozen with shock. The first thing she saw was Baroden leaping at Rangar. It was only Rangar and Énien who had seen this man previously on the downs.
"Its him!" scramed the elf at Calimir. "who?" he asked from below deck, "the man who almost killed Rangar last time, Rangar would be dead if i hadn't come to him!"

Aerin had gone at the hunter with her sword. Baroden soon had slain her. Énien could hardly watch from the doorway. Why cant i do anything. the elf thought amidst feelings of shock, horror and sorrow. A new feeling of rage began to overtake her.

She called to Rangar "it was him again! diddnt i tell you this was a bad idea! you knew it yourself! and yet we still came!" Rangar did not look at her instead to behind her. Turthôl had been caught in ropes. Énien could not speak. He was cholking. She did not have her bow on her "Calimir! come bring Arrows!" she yelled below deck, and in no time Calimir had shot him down- into the ocean.

"Someone help him!" Énien felt powerless to act, elves are meant for land, not sea! While the others were seeing to Turthôl, Énien went to the back of the ship pulling Calimir with her. "look!, there he goes! can you reach him?"... Calimir tried but he could not. And Énien still did not have her bow, it was down below deck, under a pile of her clothes, too far away to get to.

Calimir couldnt reach him. "I WILL GET YOU FOR THIS BARODEN! I SEWAR ON AERIN'S GRAVE I WILL KILL YOU!" Énien yelled after him, an array of tears came to her eyes.

[Arvedui III]

"TURTHOL!" Rangar screamed wildly, not daring to believe what he was seeing as he watched his friend fall over the side helplessly. For one moment, sheer shock took him and time seemed to stand still. All that had come to pass registered with full force in Rangar's mind. His stupid mistake of being unarmed, Barodin, a seering rage began to build up, Aerin, no, no, he was not going to pass out. She had given the utmost measure of loyalty, no, don't cry. Turthol. His dearest friend. He had just watched as Turthol swayed limply under that rope, after all the ranger had done for him, he had just watched. Just watched. And for that reason, Rangar decided, he had failed, nay, betrayed his friend in the worst way. I just watched him die.

Suddenly, the rain pounded away at him and the deck veered dangerously beneath his feet. Men were shouting, someone was crying, and in that instant Rangar made up his mind. "HOLD ON!" He cried and half-ran, half-slid to the railing. "Rangar!" It was Ani Dao "You can't, don't!" The rage that had been building came over him, and the unsound reason of his plan outmatched the elf's clearer sight. "Like hell I can't, she-elf!" He yelled furiously, and threw himself over the side.

Rangar had the faint impression of salty air before he hit the water, causing pain like a hundred knives to pierce through to his bones. He was lucky though. The wave did not fall until he had breathed, any sooner and he would have been knocked out. But then another wave hit, and another, and though he foolishly wasted air on calling out to Turthol, Rangar saw no sign of his friend, and his strength to tread water was quickly waning.

Straining against the inevitable, a surge of hope reached Rangar as he felt his hand grip something... What is that? Squishy. Rangar gratefully grabbed hold of what he assumed was a piece of wood, noticing grimly how close he was to the ship now. Now! Let go! Find your friend! Let Go! His mind commanded, but his body would not obey. All Rangar could do was clutch the soft thing he held onto.

Something then hit him on the top of his head as yet another wall of water broke over him. The result was that Rangar was winded and the thing he had been so desperately clutching rolled away and began to sink a little. If he wasn't already in a state of shock, this did it. For a split second before the next wave broke, knocking him into the ship, he stared into two glossy, stunned eyes. Aerin.

Rangar wanted to yell, cry, do something other than bob helplessly in the storm-tossed sea, but he had not the strength. Something hit him on the head again, and from another world it seemed, voices wheeled above him. Rangar grabbed onto something that felt rough in hands, and had the distinct impression of being pulled upwards before the sea lashed out at him one more time and his head collided with something hard. "Turthol," He mumbled, and then welcomed the darkness.
----------------------
Something hot was being forced down his throat.

"No, no, I don't want another drink." A man came into forces. "You are no fun, you know that right?" A smile, he was smiling, so was his friend. He supposed it was his friend, he seemed amiable. "All too well." This man's name was Rolen. How did he know? Well, it sounded right. It made sense, after all, what else could the man be called?

The rain was pounding.

Pain, lots of it. Something hard hit his head and shattered. Wood was racing against the floor, large lumpy things were falling, screaming, the world spun out of focus and then another man came sharply into view. "Niggard, failure." The man taunted. He punched. It felt good. The shadowy man punched back. More pain.

And suddenly, Rangar woke with a start, the familiar sway of the ship confusing him further.

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Everdawn]

Énien was still in shock when she saw Rangar go over the side of the ship after Turthôl, he was struggling in the waves. This was a terrible storm, the worst by far that the elf had seen in all her years.
Wren, Bregand and herself managed to pull him up from the waves, after some time, with great difficulty.

Together Calimir and Bregand carried Rangar below deck. "Is he dead?" Rave asked, her wet hair covering her face. "No" Énien answered "Get Carmalita, this is a job for a nurse."

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, Rangar came around. Énien stood over him. "Fine way to get yourself killed" she frowned. "And just like last time he attacked you, you have come off worse." she stopped for a second as Carmalita came into the room.

Despite this Énien kept talking, "I know, why you did it though, and heaven knows i may have done it to for a dear friend, but you must remember that you are the reason why we are here, and the reason we are going to Harad. If you had died, our journey would have been a lost cause."

Rangar tried to gt up and Carmalita pushed him back down. "You need to rest" she said sternly. Énien continued her rant, "...and as for Turthôl-" her tone softened "..they are still looking." the elf turned her head to see Wren, who seemed to be in shock.
"Aerin's body has been washed away. There is no way we can recover it safely."

[maikafanawen]

Wren wrapped her arms tightly around her body and bit her lip to keep from crying. Her stomach was knotted tightly and her head hurt. Tears welled up in her eyes, fogging her view. Without warning she bolted from the room and back to her own quarters. Throwing herself on the bed she sobbed and sobbed. They were gone. Just like that. Turthôl, unconscious, had fell into the sea. What chance did he have for survival? Aerin, who had grown to be one of Wren’s close friends was gone as well. Hatred for Barodin welled up inside her and she had to work to keep herself from doing the same as Rangar had.

Footsteps entered the room and Ani Dao sat beside her on the bed, caressing her hair tenderly. Wren felt like a little child being cooed by her mother. She felt helpless and pitiful. Then the captain’s expression changed and she pulled Wren into a sitting position looking firmly into her eyes.

“Come on board and help us search. You’re doing no good in hear.” Without waiting for an answer she pulled the noblewoman off her bed and dragged her from the room. In the hall, Wren wrenched her hand loosed and followed the captain without assistance. On board it was still raining and the crew—both watches—were doing all they could to mend the stays and keep the spars in tact. The sails had furled and the Silver Wyrm was bobbing purposely in the ocean.

Wren moved alongside the wall, and gripped the railing tightly in her hands, as she made her way down to the spar deck. Tears were streaming down her face, mixed with rain. Finally she grasped the edge of the railing and looked over into the churning sea below. Swells were no smaller than six feet and the whitecaps sprayed up the sides of the helm. Wiping her eyes clear, the noblewoman searched vainly for any sign of Turthôl. There was nothing else in the ocean as far as she could see.

“I can’t see anything,” she shouted to Ani Dao through the wind. The captain nodded absently as if in thought. Then she called to Thallick who had just jumped down from the foretop. “Wren is having trouble seeing anything, Mr. Thallick, what, do you think, would help her.”

“We’re all having trouble, Captain, unless she wants to go aloft,” he said, nodding upwards. Wren started at the suggestion and then pondered it a moment.

“Good suggestion Mr. Thallick. Would ye be so kind as to help her?” The man nodded and beckoned for Wren to put her foot on the first ratline interweaving through the shrouds up for the fore course. The climb was quick, Wren’s fear had vanished completely and she was set now on recovering Turthôl, and Aerin’s body. Mr. Thallick handed her a brass and she stuffed it into her jerkin pocket, grasping the top rail with both hands, white knuckled.

With the sails up she had a complete view of the surrounding sea. Looking behind every whitecap and down every swell, it was ten minutes before she saw something: the green of Aerin’s jacket. She yelled below, catching Mr. Thallick’s attention. He looked up and she pointed. Nodding, he summoned the captain and Ani Dao ordered her body be brought aboard. Wren couldn’t watch as they lifted the shield-maiden onto the deck. Symk and Corat wrapped her in the blankets from her room and laid her on the bed, barring the door.

Wren was shivering now, not just from the chill of the rain, but also from the feeling of death that settled over the ship. She guessed it was not uncommon for sailors to go overboard in a storm, but the past two incidents were not accidental, which made it worse.

After an hour of standing in the foretop with no sign of Turthôl, Wren’s knees felt like they were going to collapse. Mr. Thallick returned.

“Come down Miss, there’s no way ye can see anything now. It’s too dark and the tide’s moved us now for ten miles,” he shook his head. “I’m real sorry Miss.” Wren stood, frozen, not wanting to believe it. ‘No,’ she mouthed into the wind. She shook her head vigorously, ‘NO’. Ani Dao had come aloft and stood by Wren on the foretop.

“You must come down Wren. He’s gone.” Wren sobbed. So he was, he was gone. Unconscious in the ocean, he was probably on his way to—to—she shook her head, forcing the idea from her mind.

“He’s alive,” she whispered to the captain. “Still alive, an-and he’s going to be okay.” Ani Dao shook her head and watched protectively as Wren descended the shroud. She saw the rest of the company on the deck also, peering out into the gloom for any sign.

Wren didn’t go back to her room. Instead she went to where Carmalita and Énien were tending to Rangar. The nurse had made him a sedative out of valerian and wine, so that Rangar could sleep peacefully as he recovered from near drowning.

“Go ahead and sleep,” said Wren entering. “I’ll stay with him for a while.” Carmalita nodded her thanks and left the room, clearly exhausted. Énien stayed, leaning up against the wall behind Rangar. Wren thanked her mentally. She didn’t want to be alone.

The candle flickered, casting dreary shadows on the walls. Wren sat down in the chair beside the bed and watched as Rangar’s chest rose and fell slowly, beads of sweat ran down his head and his eyes looked sunken in grey toned flesh. She dabbed a cool cloth to his forehead, humming very softly just so she wouldn’t cry again. Finally, his fever subsided a little and the noblewoman sat back and looked around the room. In the corner she saw Turthôl’s bag, the fife poking out of the pocket. She knew she shouldn’t, Turthôl would be angry if he knew—the thought made her smile a little—but she took the fife and held it in her hands. She didn’t play it, just sat it in her lap and traced the lines of wood, and the circumference of every delicate hole. The noblewoman was still holding it when sleep overcame her, and she drifted into a haunted slumber.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir had worked automatically, the singing of the waters silenced in light of the events. After his shot that had released Turthol from the grip of the ropes, Calimir's hands hadn't stopped shaking. But somehow he'd managed to help drag the unconscious Rangar back on board, and stood back and watched while Carmalita worked over him.

The search for Turthol in the water was fruitless, and though Calimir raked his eyes over the water for nearly an hour, none of the crew spotted any sign of the ranger. His shivering becoming uncontrollable after the recovery of Aerin's body, he moved silently toward his cabin, slumping on the bunk and burying his face in the pillow.

It was a few minutes later when Calimir felt a hand on his back. He spoke into the pillow, "Enien, it was my fault that Turthol fell."

The hand moved rhythmically up and down his back. "How many times have I told you the same?" The elf raised his face, his hands still shaking. "The only thing you are responsible for is that Turthol didn't die still caught in the ropes. I've just been with Wren and Rangar. Nobody blames you." Calimir sat up slowly, his face closed.

"I know." Leaving the cabin and Enien, Calimir went back on the deck. Avoiding Ani Dao he went to his place at the prow, huddling against the railing as the storm came in. All night, he watched the lightning dance across the grey waters, felt the angry spray drench him, colder than his tears.

[ June 14, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Eruwen]

After leaving the room which Ranger was being treated in, Rave did not feel like being seen by anyone on the ship. Although she had not known Aerin nor Turthôl as well as others in their company, she still felt as if a hole had been dug into her heart---a deep hole which could never be mended. She walked slowly and quietly until she reached the door to the deck. Rain was still pouring down outside beating the ship tremendously hard.

Rave paused for a moment, but soon afterwards opened the door and quickly stepped onto the deck. At this point she cared not of whether it was unsafe to be out there or not, she just continued to make her way towards the railing at the side. She looked out over the sea...not hoping to see anything, just peering out over the widespread waters. Soon she felt herself drift down from her stading position until she felt herself hit the deck.

Though she knew not, nor cared, how long she had been out there, Rave continued to lay atop the ship until she fell into a deep sleep. Many hours passed by until she was awoken again by a member of the crew. The rain had now ceased, but the sky was still dark from the night. The crew member suggested she return to her room for rest, but Rave declined and held her position above deck.

As Rave stood once again and gazed over the now peaceful waters, Énien came up behind her. "Have you been out here this whole time?" the Elf said joining her at the railing.

Rave nodded and soon replied. "I used to love it," she said. "the sea, I mean. But how can someone continue to love what aided in the demise of a friend? I don't know how you Elves do it."

"What do you mean?" Énien said with a hint of a laugh in her voice.

"What we spoke about a while back. How can you go on knowing that you shall see your mortal friends die?"

Énien quickly lost the smile from her face. "I try not to dwell on that thought," she said.

Rave nodded. "But you were also right about one thing..." she said. "The novelty of being on a ship does wear off...quite fast."

Énien laughed and returned with Rave below deck where Rave spent the remainder of the night.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Baroden rode to shore as the waves rocked the lifeboat. It seemed as if the storm was subsiding. He had failed to kill Rangar but at least he had killed two people. He loved the look that everyone had when he had killed that foolish girl. She had thought that she was a warrior because she had a sword, but he had taught her a lesson. Foolish little girl.

The lightning flashed and he could see that outline of the ship. He was a good distance away but he could still see outlines of their figures standing at the railing. They were looking for something.

They were probably looking for him, but he didn't care. He was out of range the elvish bows. But earlier, he had seen a splash of something falling overboard. He wondered what it was but decided that he should get back to shore as quickly as possible. He needed to re-plan, again.

He stayed where he was, however. His curiosity got the best of him. As soon as the ship started sailing again, he turned the boat around. But he felt something hit the hull of his lifeboat. The waves had driven whatever it was to him.

He looked over the edge and was surprised to see that it was a man-the one who had had talked to in the hallway. He had a rope around his neck but it had loosened up a bit. Let the man drown, he thought. But then another idea popped into his head.

He reached down and pulled the man onboard, and took the rope off. Good, the man was breathing, barely. He recognized him as one of the rangers, probably that friend of Rangar. Good, who better than to owe Baroden a life debt than the dear friend of his enemy?

[Arvedui III]

Enien had thrown yet another diatribe he could barely remember. The nurse mixed a potion. He slept, maybe even healed; But it made no difference. Rangar woke feeling empty, bereift of emotion. Painfully sitting up, he allowed the room to spin for several minutes, then shook his head to clear it. His eyes stung in the soft candlelight, then he noticed Wren was sleeping quitey in a chair by him, Turthol's fife in her hands. Even with her eyes closed, Rangar could tell she had been crying, a lot.

A fresh stab of pain hit him, but whether that was from his prolonged struggle in the water or from seeing her grieve for something that was by rights his fault, he knew not. Gingerly, Rangar got to his feet, making sure not to wake her. His whole body hurt intensely, but he just ignored the pain and walked onto the deck. The light was gray as the sea below, calm as glass yet as innocent as himself. Some of the company was asleep on the wood, or staring out to sea, giving no heed to the rest of the ship. The crew ignored him. A small mercy, he deemed.

Rangar knew he could not mourn in front of them. And he had to get them away from them. If not for the company's safety, then for Turthol's memory. No more of his friends would fall on his account. Rangar walked to the stern of the ship and looked backward toward the passing storm, now only a faint silhouette of dark clouds and choppy waves on the horizon. He would have it so. Mark me Barodin, whatever I did to wrong you, it is nothing compared to what you have dealt me. I shall see your blood upon my blade. This I swear to you, and to my friends whom you have taken.

And, for the first time in his memory, Rangar allowed himself to cry. Silently at first, salty water falling unheralded over the railing; Then as the dark spot on the horizon vanished, small sobs. Choking breaths then, and finally his burning legs gave way and he crumpled onto the deck.

Failure. You failed him by your damnable mercy. You should have killed when you had the chance! What did your mercy do? Kill your best friend, that's what! Stupid! No, there's more to this. I learned from this, I won't hesitate to kill. I know now what mercy is. At the expense of Turthol. And Aerin, for that matter. You just stood there. I was unarmed! You let your gaurd down. Mistake. I'm allowed to make mistakes! True, but mistakes have consequences...

"Don't be so hard on yourself." It was Ani Dao. "Why?" He asked bitterly, not even bothering to look at the elf, who was reminding strongly of both Enien and Turthol at the moment. "It was out of your hands." The elf started, "No. I had the chance to kill him. And I showed him mercy." Rangar spat. The elf-captain sighed, Rangar didn't care whether she knew who ‘he' was or not, or if she cared. Which she apparently did. "Mercy, little mortal, is not something to be ashamed of or counted as a weakness. I think Turthol knew that." She added gently.

That was it. She had touched the last nerve. "I won't ever know what he would have thought BECAUSE HE'S DEAD!" Rangar screamed. Several men nearby began to stare. The elf wasn't finished yet, though. She stared angrily at him, gritted her teeth, and retorted right back. "And it wasn't your fault. There are so many ways things can turn out, Rangar. You just can't think that everything revolves around you, because it doesn't. Some things, believe it or not, are out of your control."

Rangar face fell. That was it, then. Turthol's death was no one's fault, but then, that made it even more pointless. Pointless. "I'm sorry." Rangar mumbled. "I didn't mean to yell, or call you she-elf." Ani Dao merely smiled. "Count yourself lucky. The last person, well dwarf really, who called me she-elf ended up dead. And he was a much wiser fellow than you." Rangar grinned back. It hurt, but it felt good all the same. "Captain." One of the crew members said. It was his friend, Talon.

"Yes." Ani Dao answered and for the first time Rangar realized how tired she was. " Mr. , Mr. Yazven was found in the hold ma'am. He's dead." Rangar sighed. Another death, all because of that slimly bast-"Very well then. Wrap the body and put it in the other one's room." We'll bury them both tomorrow." "Yes ma'am." Came the meak response and Talon walked off. Rangar got up, and for the first time in a long while, felt very, very hungry.

Suddenly, a cry came from the forecastle. "LAND HO!" Rangar looked ahead, and saw the faint line of Harad in the distance.

[Everdawn]

Énien had been relieved that they had after all been able to recover Aerin's body.
It may have been to the others that Énien was strong. But how wrong they could be. She had cried, like them all, but in her own shame she had not let it show. It was always like this, this death. A sensless waste.

The elf no longer had tears to cry, though she was pale. They need me to be strong she though as she leant against the wall in Rangar's room where Wren sat watching and going through Turthôl's bag. Énien could tell that Wren was gald for her company, for mortals show their emotions so much easily. Wren was crying, holding Turthôl's fife. It was heart wrenching, Énien bowed her head. Soon enough she to was sleeping, as Rangar did. Like lambs, and about as strong as them now too... Quietly she tip-toed out of the room, which was not hard and she did not make any noise.

Down the hall was her room, across from Calimir, the door was partially open, he lay on his bed. Gently she lay a hand on his back. He blamed himself. And she knew all to well how that felt. Énien was never one for saying the right things, that was what Calimir had always done, for her.

The worst thing is that he said nothing at all, except "i know" and he left. This was horrible for her. As soon as he was gone Énien wept, and after what seemed a thousand tears, the elf composed herself.

Above deck she found Rave. They talked for a while about things, and their earlier conversation. She tried not to dwell on that thought, tried but the fact was that Énien did not have many mortal friends, thoes before the company had died a long time ago, but when Énien was hardened. She had not wept for them, she was a different elf. But now, it seemed she had changed, almost back to the old elf she had once been, placid, happy and content with her own world.

The elf and the woman went below deck, but Énien could not sleep, try as she did. Instead she went and sat in her dry nightdress, in the common room table, one leg crossed over another, eyes closed. As she tended to do on this ship.

[Eruwen]

Rave finally returned to her room after coming below deck with Énien. She slept for an hour or so, but an incessant rustle outside her door caused her to awaken suddenly. As she quickly dressed and ran out the door, she noticed a few crew members rushing to the deck.

"What's going on?" she said faintly, mostly still half asleep, but the men seemed to not hear her. Rave followed the men above deck where many were standing at the edge of the ship forever staring out across the ocean.

Rave stood back a little to where she could not see out over the side of the ship. A sudden uneasyness came to mind as she thought that they might have found Turthôl's body, but her heart dropped when she found that it was only the sight of land. Trying to turn her mind away from the previous incidents which had occurred, she forced a smile upon her face and walked to the edge of the ship.

"Finally...land," she thought staring out upon the country at her eyes. "Anything would be good to get me off this wretched ship...or, at least away from the sea."

The land of Harad soon became more visible as they approached the shorline. Finally, their destination was in view...and a splended view it was as well.

[maikafanawen]

The sight of land was unexpected. The crew had gone around the ship working fast to get all the necessary repairs done before another storm hit. The stays that had snapped were replaced and the mizzen topgallant was mended. Both the jibs had ripped free of their spars and the crew would need another day or so to finish maintenance.

Ani Dao was below in her quarters along with Ryeran and Rangar pouring over the maps and charts.

“The storm has changed our course by thirty miles only. Not that disastrous. Is there a certain place we need to drop anchor or once we’re here, the passengers will take jolly boats in?” The captain shrugged her shoulders and looked towards Rangar who answered.

“We need to get ashore now. You know exactly where we are?” Ryeran nodded and pointed to a place on the map.

“We’re about two hundred and fifty miles by sea to the mouth of the Harnen on this hump, not far from Umbar...” his voice trailed, and he glanced up, concern etched on his face. Ani Dao brushed it away.

“Umbar is not one of our major problems as of now Mr. Ryeran.” She turned back to Rangar. “Should we take the jolly boats up the Harnen and drop anchor there, or do you want to sail along more south dropping anchor past Umbar?”

* * *

Wren woke with a start. The Silver Wyrm had stopped. Dressing quickly, she went up to the deck where the crew was working on repairs. The noblewoman found Rave standing at the railing.

“Land,” she said as Wren approached. The Gondorian heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank Eru.”

Mr. Yazven’s, and Aerin’s funerals were held later that day. Their bodies were wrapped in blankets from their quarters. The ceremony was led by the captain who said the ritual words and prayers for a safe journey to Mandos’ halls as would have been said in a regular land funeral. Except this time an extra part was added asking Ulmo to aid them on their journey. No one cried. It was as though they had no tears left. Instead their faces were hard and set for the part of the journey that was left to come. Before the makeshift caskets were sent into the sea, others had a few words they wanted to say...

[Durelin]

Tareth stood, hands folded in front of him, head down. His eyes were locked on the casket that held Aerin. Who cared about Mr. Yazven? He was some man on this ship. Tareth couldn't remember what it was called. He couldn't remember much, just Aerin. He had seen her die. That was all he had seen. And he saw it again and again. He wanted to scream. No, not cry, scream. But, how did you scream? He didn't know how, did he? He had seen another die...Turthol. He felt a stab of pain at not being able to remember the man's name for a moment. Just for a moment. Turthol. The murderer. Tareth couldn't help but snort, and some of the others looked at him strangely. He did not care, he hardly noticed. The man was not a murderer. He was a good man. He had killed with a right to. And what had the man thought of Tareth? That didn't matter, did it? He was dead, wasn't he?

What had Aerin thought of him? Tareth knew what he had thought of her. She had been kind, gentle, friendly, but strong. She had been an excellent companion, the one who had spoken to him at the beginning; he had felt comfortable speaking with her. He had seen her as a friend, and hoped she had seen him as one too. Now he saw her dead. Had seen her die. That was all he had seen, all he saw. Now she was to go to the sea. She had been so amazed by it, and had spoken often of how much she wished to see it. A fitting place for her to spend the rest of eternity in. She would find peace after being brought away from the waking world by a weapon of war. A fitting place. Perhaps he would see her soon. But until then...

Tareth knelt before the casket, speaking in a low voice. He didn't care whether the others heard him or not. "I am coming to understand why lives are taken in battles, Aerin. If there was no loss, we, the dominant creatures of Ea, would come to take pleasure in it." He paused, smiling a bit. I will miss you Aerin. We will." Rising, he lowered his voice to a whisper, keeping his eyes on the casket. "I will take pleasure in the battle that brings death to Baroden." Smiling, Tareth looked away from the casket for the first time since it was brought out, fingering his axe. "And that battle will come. Soon."

Death changes the lives of many. Tareth's life was all but gone.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl coughed and spluttered. He woke with a start. He didn't know where he was. It was raining, and whatever he was in was moving around a lot. There was somebody with him also. He looked around and saw that he was in a small boat with a man rowing.

"I see your awake," the man said. Turthôl looked at him.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Turthôl said. His head and neck hurt.

"You are in my little fishing dingy. Unfortunately, I got hit by a storm and all my fishing equipment got swept overboard. I found you too. Lucky I did. You had a rope around your neck, as if someone was hanging you. So, the question is, who are you and what did you do to deserve an execution? After I know who you are, you shall know who I am," the man asked.

Turthôl thought for a moment. "I am..." but his mind was blank. "I am..." he said again but nothing came out.

"I don't know who I am," he said.

"Eh? You don't know who you are?" the man said.

"No...I don't remember anything!" Turthôl said.

"Not a thing, you say," the man said again.

Turthôl started to panic. His neck hurt for a reason he didn't know, and he was soaking wet. By what the man said, he had just saved his life.

"Well, I guess there's no harm in telling you, since you don't remember anything. I'm tracking a murderer, a man that killed my brother in cold blood. My name is Baroden."

"How did you find me, again? You said something about an execution..." Turthôl said.

"That's what it looks like. You had a noose around your neck. You were on a ship, I guess, because the murderer and his company that I was tracking was on that ship. From what I can tell, you probably got in their way and they were about to kill you. Luckily, the storm broke the rope somehow and set you free. Thats how I found you." Baroden answered.

"Say, friend, maybe you can help me to avenge my brother. You look strong enough. Can you wield a sword?" Baroden asked.

Turthôl shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll be glad to help you avenge your brother. After all, you saved my life after those murderers tried to take it. I am indebted to you."

Baroden smiled. "Good, I'm glad to have the company. It's been a lonely journey tracking these villians. Well, while I row to shore, I'll tell you about these people. The leader, and the one who murdered my brother, is a blond man named Rangar. They have a few elves with them. Despite what you know and heard about elves, these are killers. Their names are Calimir and Enien. Enien is a she-elf and Calimir is a male. Next is a man named Tareth. He's a brownish haired fellow. They have a young man named Bregand. He can't do much but don't let your guard down. They have two women named Carmilita and Ravenne. Again, don't let your guard down. Oh, and another women they have is a rich noblewoman from Gondor named Wren. She's the blond haired woman. Don't let her good looks and charm get you. As soon as she's got you where she wants you, your dead." he said.

Turthôl scratched his head. "How do you plan on avenging your brother if this man Rangar is surrounded by such dangerous people? And how can I help you?"

"Oh, don't worry. I have no doubt in your abilities," Baroden said. "No doubt at all..."

[Arvedui III]

No one cried as the two bodies were given to the sea. Rangar ignored whatever comforting words were said. It didn't matter to him anymore. He'd never quite understood prayer or faith, or how that would help Turthol and Aerin now. Begging Mandos, or whoever, to aid them seemed only to comfort the living, and since Rangar saw no tangible signs that any of it worked, he dismissed it, dwelling only on his friends as they were in life.

That afternoon, Ani Dao asked him about landing, and whether he wanted to wait until they had sailed past Umbar. The king has returned, we can risk Umbar He told her they needed to get ashore as soon as possible, and so the company began gathering their things as the ship headed inland. Rangar had very little of his own, so he set upon shouldering Turthol pack as well, save two things which he felt needed to be carried by someone else. As luck would have it, Wren came in just as he was wondering what to do. "Hullo." "Hi." "What, um, are you going to do with Turthol's things." She asked softly. "Keep them. But, there is something I think is yours in here."

He took off the sack and pulled out Turthol's jacket from his day as a nobleman, note still attached. "Here" He said, handing it to Wren. She nodded, and began to fold it up, but before she could, something fell out and onto the floor. "His fife." Wren whispered as she picked it up. "Yeah," Said Rangar in as an offhanded manner as he could manage. "I can't play the thing, so you can have it too." "He'll want it back though." Wren said, brows furrowed. She still hopes. "Well, you can give it to him when you meet again. I'd lose it." He said, hoping she couldn't read the wave of sadness that passed over his face. Then, to change the subject, "Dunno about you, but I'm getting out of this blasted cabin." He said, and walked out.

When he came on the deck, he found most of the company already gathered, the captain and crew fussing over a missing jolly-boat, or something. But, in the end it didn't really matter. After about ten minutes of preparation, the group got into three boats and rowed to shore. Harad was breathtaking. The land was harsh, heat from the sun seemingly bleaching all color from the terrain. Saffron cliffs loomed thousands of feet only to face the cruel lashes of the sea. And yet, it seemed shadowy somehow. There seemed to not be a speck of green, sand blowing softly between dunes in the distance. A dark place to live, but it does have a grim beauty to it. Rangar thought as he stepped ashore, glad that he stood and dry land once more. And dry this place most definitely was.

Now, where to begin? It took some time to get oriented. The ship was to stay at anchor for a week to do repairs from the storm damage, and if they had not accomplished their goal by then, the company would have to chance a journey back on the Harad road. Rangar was bracing for the latter, taking as much water and dried food as he could. The other seemed to have done the same. The group formed up, and as the jolly-boats headed back to sea, began walking silently ahead. Surely, the seer could not be too hard to find?

[Everdawn]

The next time she opened her eyes, Énien could see they had docked. How could i have not known we are at land already... I must be spending to much time away from home. The elf was very tired, she had not slept since the last night at the Chambiras.

The burial was a somber affair, no one shed tears- they had none left. And Énien's mind seemed to wander off into the distance. Calimir was saying kind words. Frailty, everything is so frail, and some are malicious killers. were the thoughts that came into Énien's mind.

Yes, across the sea is the place for me. she snapped back into the real world, and stood as they were buried at sea. Énien said nothing. But sang instead elvish songs which Calimir joined after the first. The songs were beautiful, but filled with sadness, still no tears were shed.

Énien got her things and left the ship as fast as she could. Looking at Calimir who had done the same, as they stood looking back at the ship. "That was not the best first time was it old friend?" she said. Her skin blanched and eyes dull.
"It was not the best" said Calimir. "The journey over the sea will no doubt surface these memories, which we will have to re live, mellon" he put an arm on her shoulder. "I dont think i can care anymore, Calimir."

It was then the elf had her first proper view of Harad. Her green eyes widened. It is a wasteland!she thought and let out a gasp. Énien had not been this far into Harad, only to the very north. This place was nothing like Rivendell, no sign of greenery or falling water. "How could anyone, man or elf survive out here?" she asked aloud to the group.

[Earendil Halfelven]

"So what shall I call you, friend?" Baroden asked.

"I don't know," answered Turthôl.

The two men trudged along the dirt road with the city of Umbar drawing closer with every step.

"Hmmm, let's see. How about..." Baroden began but Turthôl interrupted him.

"How about Turthôl?" he said.

Baroden raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know, but it just came to me," Turthôl said. Baroden was silent as they walked along.

"What's wrong?" Turthôl asked.

"Nothing. It fits you just right," Baroden said. "Come, we need to outfit you for the coming fight."

Baroden and Turthôl entered Umbar and headed straight for the blacksmith.
_____________________________________________

That night, they stayed in an inn. Alone in a room, Baroden and Turthôl discussed what they were going to do.

"I know that they are looking for the Seer of Harad. I don't know why Rangar wants to see the Seer but I have a feeling that its for a bad reason," Baroden said.

"What do you mean?" asked Turthôl.

"The Seer will reveal anything to the person who askes the question. I know that Rangar needs the Seer for an evil plan. If they get to the Seer, then all is lost," Baroden answered.

"How are we going to stop them?" Turthôl said. "Somehow we need to get there before them."

"Don't worry, I know where the Seer is. The Seer lives in some hills about 10 miles outside of this city. We'll go there tomorrow."

"What do you plan on doing?" Turthôl asked.

"You stall them and kill as many of Rangar's people as you can. I'll deal with the Seer."

"You want me to kill them?" Turthôl said. That didn't sound very good to him.

"Well, either you can do that or as soon as they see you, they'll kill you. You'll be defending yourself."

"Alright," was all Turthôl said.

They planned late into the night, but Turthôl's mind was somewhere else.

[ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[The X Phial]

They came ashore a half day's walk from where Bregand's maps put a fairly large settlement. They landed with the predawn tide in the hopes of missing the worst of the heat. For the first few hours, in fact, it was quite cool in the barren land. By the time they reached the town, though, all were sagging. The fact that they were all emotionally drained didn't help.

Rangar was walking ahead of the others, his face hard and cold. The rest of the company trailed behind, all silent, in varying degrees of despair. Bregand noticed that Rave and Calimir both spent a lot of time looking back while the sea was still in visual range. It was only concern for the others that kept them from running back to the sea, in Bregand's mind. For his own part, Bregand was relieved to be back on dry land, even if it was barren and dry.

Losing Aerin and Turthol had scared Bregand more than he showed. He wanted to be strong, and so he hadn't cried, but his heart was aching. The thing that scared him the most, though, was how happy he had been that it wasn't Carmalita who was gone. He was ashamed of his gratitude, but couldn't ignore it. He was also relieved that both of the elves and Tareth had survived. They were the closest friends he had ever made, and while he had admired Aerin and Turthol, he hadn't been especially close to them.

They trudged into town, more heartweary than footsore. They found an inn and sank onto a cluster of benches by the door. The Haradrim stared openly at the group, especially the elves. Bregand cringed at the attention, especially given the fact that the hunter was still about, and possibly in the area. Still, he thought as long as they were the center of attention anyway, they might as well get something out of it.

"Rangar, do you suppose these people know where to find the seer?" He queried.

[ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arvedui III]

"Rangar, do you suppose these people know where to find the seer?"

"Hm?" Rangar said, wondering what had broken his thoughts. "Do you think they might know something?" Bregand repeated. "Mayhap, but," Rangar broke off, looking around at several Haradrim who were eying them in a manner that suggested their welcome had already been worn out. "It might not be the best idea." Finished Rave, also looking skittishly at several villagers. It was understandable. The last time they had asked a village for aid, they'd ended up being chased half-way 'cross Rohan; No telling what would happen in Harad. "We have no leads to go on, worst that can happen-" Tareth began, but Rangar did not want to know the worst that could happen. He got up, and not knowing fully what he was going to do, entered the small inn.

It was dank, almost murky, and very uninviting. The rest of the company didn't appear to be following, so Rangar took out his's pipe, more out of nerves than anything else, for he didn't smoke, and filled it with old leaf. A very lank, swarthy man on his right eyed the pipe with interest, Rangar noted. "Want some?" He said, offering the pipe toward the man. He laughed. Rangar wasn't sure if this was bad or good, but he hoped someone would say something soon, even a curse would quell his nerves a little. "You know this isn't Gondor, right?" The man chortled in surprisingly good Westron, as he took the pipe. It's a start. "It isn't?!" Rangar cried in mock-panic, which he hoped the man could read as humor. "Afraid not, friend." Friend, huh. "Ohh, well. Guess I'll just have to keep wandering around till I find it." Rangar sighed. Most of the rest of the inn were either smiling, albeit viciously, at Rangar or had gone back to ignoring him.

"Are you a leaf-selling?" The man now holding his's pipe pressed eagerly. "No, sorry." Rangar answered. Now, ask it. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have heard a story about some Seer 'round here?" The man's smile vanished. "Where did you hear of far-sight?" He asked seriously, though it did not disguise the shock in his voice. "Dunno," Rangar shrugged Don't want to set a panic. "Why? Is it true?" Said Rangar, trying to sound bemused. "Very much true." The man said, still very seriously. "Wouldn't go to him though, there's a high price for what he does. You'd best go find Gondor. Not many here like your folk." The man near growled. That can't be good. "I know. You wouldn't happen to know where to find this far-sight, would you?" Rangar asked anyway, trying to keep his voice level. "You are very stupid." The Haradrim said, openly angry. What now?"I know, I don't intend on going, but just for the good story this would make once I do find Gondor." Rangar said through a grin, silently congratulating himself on the fact that for once his false answer hadn't been stupid.

"Ah, well, it's a set of hills not that far from here. Small house, most curious, yet ordinary at the same time. We ignore it. Does that make a good tale?" "Yes," Rangar laughed triumphantly. "Wouldn't of change a word." "You need something?" A craggy voice said, very clearly in an annoyed version of Westron. The bar-tender. "No, no, just some shade." Rangar excused himself quickly, not wanting to linger. "Herm, go then." The Haradrim man handed him the pipe back as he got up. "Perhaps some other time, edain." He whispered. Rangar was a bit taken aback, and half-wanted to continue talking to this man; But then Enien and Calmir walked in, and by the looks of it, another long talk was in store for him. "Come on," Rangar muttered as he pushed them out the door. "I know where we're going."

[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Everdawn]

"Why do they stare at us so?" Énien asked holding her head high. "Why, i feel just like I am on display, and I dont like it." her voice was hard.

"Ignore them." Calimir had said looking at the ground. This place was haunting to her. The very stare of the villagers sent a chill up the elf's spine. Énien looked around, "where is Rangar?" she said. "Probably just gone for a walk." Tareth answered. "Oh, no, he cannot afford to go for a walk here, Look at them!" she had said this last part a little to loudly, and some of the inhabitants of the Inn started to look their way again.

Énien lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "We have already lost two of the company, and i will not risk losing anymore, not while i am around!" and she left, coming onto the street. Calimir had followed her. "Well, it is not as if I can leave you on your own." he said.

"look, there he is, not so far away." Calimir said holding her arm, as she had gone to walk the other way. "what is he doing?" she said frowning. They approached Rangar, and Énien was about to say something to the other man, but was pushed away by Rangar, a bit too roughly. "I know where we are going." he said. Énien rubbed her shoulder, frowning, and looked up at him. "And where exactlywould that be, my dear friend?"

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl, dressed in the garb of the Haradrim, walked down the crowded street of the city. He didn't know what it was called. Baroden had sent him out to buy some rations. He didn't have enough for two men, so Turthôl needed to go buy some food for himself.

Baroden had told Turthôl to put on a Haradrim cloak so as not to attract attention. The people of Harad didn't like foriegner's. So, Turthôl pulled the hood of the cloak lower over his face.

He explored the bazaars of the market. The people of Harad were tanned people with dark hair. Must be from all the sun they get, he thought.

He looked up the street to see a shocking sight. A man, accompanied by two elves and followed by other people, were walking towards him. His breath caught in his throat. They were the company that Baroden had described to him! He saw that the man in front was that Rangar. He was accompanied by who must have been Calimir and Enien.

His mind raced. What should he do? If they recognized him, he was a dead man.
"Not if I can help it," Turthôl mumbled.

He backed up against the nearest building and pulled the hood even lower. His right hand went inside and gripped the hilt of his Haradrim scimitar. If they were to recognize him, he was ready.

As they drew nearer, he heard them say,"I know where we are going." That was Rangar. Turthôl looked up just barely enough to see them. The elf,Énien, was frowning.

"And where exactly would that be, my dear friend?" she said. Turthôl didn't want to risk being seen so he slowly looked down again. They passed by him slowly, discussing what they were going to do. All he could see was their feet.

They were almost passed him when they stopped. He could barely hear what Rangar was saying to the elves, but they had stopped. The others were waiting for them to figure out what they were doing before they proceeded. They were so close that he could hear many of the others talking amongst themselves.

"I need to replenish some medical herbs," said a woman. "I'm running low."

"Hopefully, we'll find an apothecary before we leave to se the Seer. How much money do you have, Carmilita?" said another woman.

"Not much, Wren. Do you think that these people take money from Gondor?" Carmilita asked.

"Probably," said a young man this time. "They must have Gondorian merchants comet through here once and a while."

"I don't know, Bregand. These people seem hostile to northerners," said Carmilita again.

"Let's ask somebody if they know where the apothecary is." That was the woman Wren.

Turthôl saw a pair of light traveling boots approach him. Then a voice said, "Excuse me, sir. Do you know where we can find the apothecary?" It was the woman Wren.

Turthôl didn't know what to do. His right hand was still in his cloak and he gripped the hilt even tighter. One swift stroke, and she'd be dead, but he'd be in a mess of trouble witht the rest of them. He didn't think that he could disguise his voice very well, so he just shook his head in the no response. The cloth around his neck shifted. What if they see the scars? he thought suddenly. The rope had wrapped so tight around his neck, that it had burned and cut him. With the shift of the cloth as he shook his head, he feared that the woman Wren would see his scar and become suspicious.

"Oh," she said. Without sticking around, he turned and walked off down the street.

"Hey! Come back!" she called but Turthôl ignored her. Had she seen? Turthôl hoped not.
_____________________________________________

Turthôl burst into the room.

"Baroden! Rangar and the others are in the city!" he said.

"Did they see you?" he asked.

Turthôl hesitated, then said,"No."

Baroden gathered up his stuff. "Come, our plan changes. We are going to follow them. Maybe we can end this before they get to the Seer. If not, then we'll have to get them one by one or beat them to the Seer."

With their gear in tow, Turthôl and Baroden left to find Rangar and Co.

[maikafanawen]

“Wait! Wait!!” The man ran down the alleyway, with Wren just staring after him, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, mouth slightly open. For a moment, when he turned to run, she got a glimpse of his face, not enough to be sure, but enough to stir recognition. She knew it was impossible, but if it was, why didn’t her heart stop pounding. Seeing that man’s face however, sparked the shred of hope she had, and deep within, she knew Turthôl was alive.

“We should get moving quickly or buy some Harad wear, we’re definitely not wanted here,” said Carmalita coming up and taking her elbow.

“C-Carmalita, th-that was, that w-wasn’t…nevermind.” If it had been him, why did he run? Surely he would have recognized me. Then it definitely wasn’t him…unless… She shook her head and rummaged through her money pouch that hung from her belt. The only thing she had left behind from her usual ensemble was her lute. Wren hadn’t played it since the storm, and didn’t feel a need to. She had five gold pennies, ten silver pieces, twenty-five silver pennies, and a hundred plus copper pennies: enough to help Carmalita should she need extra money, and for anything else she might need on her way home.

After Aerin had died, Wren swore that she would live. Now that the terror of death was so real, she feared it less. She had seen it, and refused its offer. It will not have her yet. The noblewoman also swore that she would do all she can to help the others, but wasn’t sure if that counted for much. Her only weapons were her reason and her sword. She was missing one crucial thing: experience. Wren was the only one who lacked it, save for Bregand, but he made up for it with his knowledge.

They found the apothecary close by, and were able to replenish Carmalita’s herbs, but not without remorseful glares and unkind words from some of its loiterers. Soon, they were on their way to the Seer’s house.

[Arvedui III]

The sand flew out behind them as the company quickly left the village. The ill-will of the Haradrim was near palpable, so all were glad to be gone, even if they were heading into the desert with only the obscurest of directions. Rangar supposed he should have pressed his luck with the Haradrim at the inn, but judging by the way these people felt towards them, he thought that they were lucky for the leads they had. After all, one man had flat-out ran when Wren asked for locations to an apothecary Then, there was the possibility that Barodin was still lurking around. Rangar felt guilty, but he hoped that he had survived. Drowning is far too good for him.

Bregand checked his maps, and two respective sets of hills existed in the area. One lay near what looked by the map to have once been part of the Harad road, and the other was positioned farther to the east. Both were roughly a good two days walk away. Curious, yet ordinary. They ignore it. Which one is it, though? "Let's try the one by the road." Rangar said, and there were no objections. Truthfully, everyone seemed to be too tired or too hot to argue. Soon though, the desert proved to be much harder to navigate then they'd thought. Wind swept up the sand before them, blocking the path Bregand outlined on his map, all the while the sun seared down upon them.

Finally, they gave up for the day and took shelter under the relative shade of several dunes. Night fell with no moon, and a deathly cold. Rangar took first watch after the group had agreed to set off a couple hours before the dawn. Not in the devilish heat, but not in the near frozen conditions, either. Rangar thought he heard footsteps several times during his watch, but they came from a distance, and the sounds might have belonged to an animal for all he knew. Quite frankly, he barely cared. It seemed with all the company, that there was a certain, kind of unspoken barrier in place that kept them from feeling too much or too strongly. At least, that's how Rangar felt it was. And what if this Seer can't tell me anything. And what of a price for this knowledge. I have nothing to offer. It will be for naught, but I've gone too far now. Forced too many good people to, oh, nevermind. Don't think about it.

No longer able to keep his eyes open, Rangar woke Tareth, and gratefully huddled underneath his cloak for warmth as sleep took him. The next day they made good time. Bregand was in his element, and despite the sands, he reckoned the company was only half a day away from their goal by the time the sun forced them to stop. They were better. Rangar did not have watch that night, and for once slept without dreams; So it was a surprise when he was roused by Calmir for the pre-dawn start of their march. By the time the sun had risen, very uncharacteristic heights loomed ahead, one with something large and pointy on top of it. They had found the Seer.

[Everdawn]

What weather! Énien thought, as the company trudged over the desert. If only i had a horse. she then corrected her thought aloud "No horse could even begin to like this country, though, i think you may find some saddle horse or rockey pony who would galdly drag the carcasses of wiery travellers over this land." Her voice was not very optimistic.

"Here here" muttered Rave from behind her. "I still cannot believe that any man can live out here." said Énien, "its just too hot! and one would surely die of thirst after a while, yes, give me the falling waters and lushness of Imladris anyday!" she laughed, and then sung a lively elvish song, before stopping short. Something was not right. She turned sharply and looked around. Nothing.

They had camped two nights in a row, and Énien had taken watch only once. On a clear, cold night. The elf had looked up at the sky, gazing for hours, until she noticed something with made her whole body jolt. She stood up and gasped. The star! it is not there! she blinked and checked the whole sky again. Why would it just come and go like that?This thought had occupied her until she was tapped on the shoulder by Rave, which made her jump.
"woah!, are you allright." she asked, a smirk on her face. "I am, goodnight." was all she said and sat crosslegged under a tree.

The second night had been slightly more bareable, as Énien refused to look at the sky. And she would have slept allright, if it had not been for something... She did not know what it was, whether it was the hostile land and its people, the absence of the star, or somehting the elf could not seem to comprehend. Something which seemed just beyond her sight, and whatever it was, she swore she would be ready.

So came the end of their desert journey when they came to a house. "We are here." said Bregand, a satisfied look on his face, as he put away his maps. "well, what do we do now?" Énien asked brushing at some of the dirt on her boots.

[Earendil Halfelven]

They started to follow the company out of the city but Baroden stopped.

"Aren't we going to follow them?" Turthôl asked.

"Yes, but I have an idea. Come, follow me," Baroden replied. Even though the Haradrim cloak covered his face, Turthôl knew that he was smiling underneath it.

Baroden turned around and headed back to the nearest inn.

"We need some 'reinforcements' if you know what I mean," Baroden said.

Entering the inn, Turthôl was glad that they drew no suspicious stares. Their disguises were working. They seated themselves near some particularly mean looking men. After ordering some ale, Baroden struck up a conversation with the men.

"Have you men seen some foriegners head through here? They are led by a blond man. They are from Gondor," Baroden asked.

"Who's asking?" one man asked.

"Two soldiers from Umbar seeking some Gondorian runaways. They are seeking the Seer."

At the mention of "Gondorian runaways" and the Seer, several swarthy men looked up.

"Yeah, we saw them. They were in here asking about the Seer."

"What do they want with the Seer?" another asked.

"I don't know, but let's just say that if they reach the Seer, Harad is in danger of invasion from Gondor. They used you men to know where the Seer is."

The ale and what Baroden said worked its magic. Several men started yelling and saying how they need to track down the villians and kill them before they did their damage. One big man seemed to take the leadership.

"Yeah, let's go! To the Seer and to the death of the Gondorians! For Harad!"

Baroden was glad to see 15 men brandishing swords cheer and follow the big man, who was named Alamar. Alamar looked at Baroden and Turthôl and said,"Follow us, soldiers of Umbar. We'll take you to the Seer and we'll do your job for you!"

Baroden, Turthôl, Alamar, and 15 angry Haradrim headed out after Rangar and Co. They were only 2 hours behind.
_____________________________________________

That night, as they made camp and rested, Turthôl stared up into the sky. Fleeting thoughts invaded his mind but before he could grab a hold of them, they were gone. He had a feeling that they were his memories that he had forgotten. They were trying to come back. He began to drift into an uneasy sleep.

"Don't be bitter about your destiny. Few can change theirs, but you can always make the best of it." Goldrim had said jokingly.
"That's easy for you to say. You're going to live forever in a place few can imagine...a place few can go except for those of Elven decent. For us mortals, we must die after all we've done for this world. Haven't the Dúnedain earned their chance to live and see the Valar, as our fathers of old, the Númenóreans, had done?" Turthôl replied.
"That, my friend, is a question you should not be asking me." Goldrim said again.
"Well, you can ask the Valar for me when you get to Valinor..." Turthôl began but Goldrim interrupted him.
"Turthôl, you should not have these thoughts. You are a Dúnedain; you have great responsibility for these people. Middle-Earth belongs to you now. The Elves are fading into the West. We shall all be gone and forgotten soon.

His eyes shot open again. What was that? he thought. A memory from long ago. He struggled do to bring it back but it began to fade...Dúnedain...Ranger...Rangar

Then, without warning, a realization burst into his mind.

"I am a Ranger of the Dúnedain."

[Earendil Halfelven]

It was a two day journey from the city to the Seer, and they camped on the second night. Tomorrow, they were going to attack.

Again, Turthôl stared up into the sky, trying to remember. His mind started to wander when another memory entered his mind.

"Look, I’ll pick it up since I know what it is, and you just pay for it okay? I see you have enough." She stopped and pulled him around to face her.

“Here now! I’m a part of the company too so you mind how you treat me. I’m not beneath you.” Turthol snickered silently and continued walking, shrugging off the place where she had grabbed him.

“Oh no,” she said following him, “don’t leave me. Tell me exactly what we need and I’ll give my opin—”

“I don’t want your opinion. What do you know about journeys?” She opened her mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. She thought for a minute and replied,

“Well then teach me what you know.”

What memory was that? he thought. It was one of him arguing with a woman. Her face was a little fuzzy and he couldn't recognize her, but for some reason, weird fluttery feelings welled up in his stomach when he thought of her. He felt that piece by piece, his memory was coming back. Then, another memory came back-

[I]“How dare you suggest such a thing—I never! Sorry if I’m just a friendly type of person but that doesn’t mean you’re any more special than the others!”

“If that’s true than why did you invite me outside!”

“I needed some fresh air!”

“Well it didn’t help ye did it?” They stopped their shouting just long enough for another voice to join the arguement.

“Oh, why don’t ye stop bickering and kiss her already?” said a man who was trimming the hedge. The woman blushed, stomped her foot in anger, and left.[I]

It was that same blond lady, and those same fluttery feelings came back, even though Turthôl did not know who she was. Whoever she was, she was someone he knew, and-someone he liked to argue with.

Gradually, his memory was improving.
_____________________________________________

They approached the house of the Seer. It was in the distance and they could see Rangar and Co. standing in front of the house. Baroden signaled to the men that they should hide behind the nearest hill. They were as quiet as they could be, and they were able to get only 30 yards away. To Baroden's delight, they had not been seen.

"Turthôl, come here," he whispered. Turthôl approached where Alamar and Baroden were planning.

"Turthôl, I want you to approach and confront them from this direction. They will certainly be startled to see you. While you are distracting them, Alamar and his men will sneak from behind and attack. I'll take care of Rangar."

Turthôl nodded and stood. He crossed over the crest of the hill. The hood of the cloak still covered his face. He approached the company.

"Hey! Look! Somebody is coming!" cried a woman's voice. It was that Carmalita.

"It's that man from yesterday," said the woman Wren.

Turthôl looked from under his cloak, and saw that the two elves approached him. Then he saw Wren. His breath caught. She beared a striking resemblance to the woman in his memories.

"Halt!" cried the female elf. Turthôl did not stop. He kept walking. The rest of the company was looking at him.

"Halt!" the female elf cried again. Only 10 yards away from them, Turthôl stopped.

"Who are you?" she asked. He did not answer. Instead, he reached into his cloak and gripped his sword hilt. Suddenly, Turthôl didn't want to draw his sword. He wanted to take off the hood and show them who he was. Something was stopping him from what he was going to do. He shoved that feeling away and ignored it.

"Who are you?" they demanded.

"Somebody who wants to kill you," he said. He drew his sword. At the same time, the hood fell from his face. The look on their faces made him glad-they were utterly stunned.

Turthôl struck.

[ June 19, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar felt his grin would brake his jaw as they got closer to the hills. Even if it's for nothing, I'll still have the dreams. That's something, anyway. Enien's voice rang out, Rangar turned. A cloaked Haradrim was walking toward them, paying no head to the elf's shouts. Rangar rushed back, the man continuing to stride placidly ahead. Rangar gripped his sword hilt as the man finally came to a stop. Barodin?! Rangar thought, his mind panicking and racing wildly. His fears seemed to be confirmed when the figure coldly said, "Somebody who wants to kill you,"

That was it. Rangar drew his blade just as the man made a strike for Enien, but his hood fell, and he was unmistakable. Half the company gasped as one. Wren screamed, and Enien near lost her arm in the surprise. "Turthol!" Rangar shouted, and dropping his sword made a running hug for his friend that ended up being more of a tackle. Things couldn't have been better, Rangar decided as he grinned and pined Turthol's arms down while the man struggled frantically in what Rangar thought was mock-panic. "Where've you been?!" Rangar near sputtered, getting up, but to his utter bewilderment, found a cruel scimitar at his throat.

Turthol said nothing, but made his face hard, eyes full of a bizarre, quiet triumph."What are you doing?" Several of the company cried. And then, the look in his eyes was replaced with something else. A kind of lost confusion, a blankish stare. The hairs on the back of Rangar's neck began to rise. It was as if he was staring into a darker version of his own eyes. That look. What's going on? Gods, Turthol. He hasn't, but then, how. My friend, what's happened to you!? Suddenly voices brought him away from his thoughts and Turthol's eyes. "Turthol, that's enough." and then, "Are you alright?" It was either Calmir or Tareth, Rangar didn't know for sure; However, he did know they had to get away from Turthol, fast.

"Everyone, go on ahead. I need to talk to Turthol, alone." Please, please let this work. He thought as Bregand, Calmir, and Camalita began moving up the hill, smiles on their faces. But Enien, Wren and Tareth remained. Fools! "Now!" Rangar cried, gulping as Turthol blade inched against his skin. "Alright, geez, but Turthol, I have your fife, ok?" Wren laughed as she and Tareth began to follow the others. Rangar got the distinct impression she was crying, also. "Are you should you're ok?" Enien began, "No, he's far from ok." Said a icy voice from the right of them. Rangar's blood boiled as the figure coming toward them cast aside it's hood; And in perfect time to hear shouts from further up the hill. "Haradrim!" Someone cried, and blades rang as they were drawn. "Turthol," Barodin ordered as he drew his own sword. "Take care of the elf." With one look of hate that made Rangar want to scream, Turthol withdrew his scimitar and rounded on Enien. "Enien, go help the others!" Rangar barked while backing up to find his own sword. The elf nodded, and began moving slowly upward, Turthol's blade rushing her ascent.

Barodin laughed, and rushed Rangar as he bent to pick his sword up. He blocked, and the two circled each other like starving wargs. "You are disgusting, you know that right?" Rangar growled, looking for any opening in his enemy. "And why am I more disgusting than you?" Barodin spat back, complete malice in his eyes. "It's one thing to want revenge on me, but kill others? And then twist vulnerable men to lies that make them want to kill innocents!" Rangar shouted, about to see red. "I told him the truth." Barodin replied with a cold, satisfied smile. "You don't know the truth!" Rangar burst out. "And you do?!" Barodin laughed again. "I know enough." Rangar retorted, still searching for any advantage. "Then, you'll of course know how he died." Barodin said coolly. "No." Said Rangar, gritting his teeth. "Allow me to demonstrate, then." Barodin hissed, and lunged at him.

[maikafanawen]

Wren almost fainted when she saw Turthôl. Rave had grabbed her from behind when her knees gave out. She didn’t understand though, it looked as though he hadn’t recognized them. He’s probably shocked to us them too, she reasoned.

"Everyone, go on ahead. I need to talk to Turthôl, alone," said Rangar. The situation seemed awkward. What was going on?

“Fine, but Turthôl, I have your fife.” She forced an unsure laugh as she followed Énien up the hill to the Seer’s house. Suddenly the sound of blades, ringing free of their scabbards reached the company. Wren turned just in time to see a dozen Haradrim running towards them, scimitars raised in challenge.

“What is this?” yelled Tareth, drawing his own weapon. Wren cursed under her breath, hand gripping her sword’s pommel.

“What do we do!” she shouted as the men drew closer. Énien took charge.

“Fight them. They’re with him.” The rest turned towards a cloaked figure who was approaching Rangar where Turthôl had left him. It was Baroden. Wren’s mouth dropped. Where was Turthôl? She had no time to think, the Haradrim were upon them. The advantage was with the noblewoman. Her blade was a good ten inches longer than the enemy’s weapon and her skill was at least thrice superior. The one rule that she had lived by and been preached in fencing lessons was never to kill an unarmed man, or attack when his back was turned. So she fought back with a purpose.

[Everdawn]

The day was different, and the wind whispered quietly to Énien, tidings of an enemy. I knew I was right, And now I am ready. she said to herself, feeling the daggar she held at her side and Aerin's sword which she had kept after the burial.

Now coming was a small group of Haradrim, two were at the front. She placed Aerin's sword on the ground. "Halt!" Énien cried. He did not answer. Not only do the Haradrim lack friendship, they also lack manners. "Who are you?" she asked again. This time, a a few of the company stopped.

"Somebody who wants to kill you," the man answered and lunged at Énien, who dodged the blow, missing her arm by millimetres, Rangar had met it. From the ground, the elf looked up at Rangar standing just in front of her. And now, you have saved my life.she thought. The look on his face, however was different, one of immence pain, who then dropped his sword and went to hug the man.

Énien saw who it was. She let out an alarmed gasp. "but youre dead!, but dear gods youre alive!" were her eyes decieving her? had Turthôl really returned? She got up form the ground.

Something on Turthôl's eyes made Énien stop fast as Rangar told them to leave. Rangar glanced at her, his eyes were pleading. You will be no Matyr for us Rangar. she spoke to herself. "Are you should you're ok?" she said to Rangar, as a cold but familliar voice echoed. "No, he's far from ok."

Baroden. Énien spun around to see the man and many other Haradrim. Baroden, so you have come back for more, I see, you missed impaling on my arrow the first time, and then jumped overboard the second, but now, you will die, Rangar will kill you. she said defiantly as Turthôl left Rangar and directed his scimitar on her. Why did I not draw my weapons when i could? was her first thought. "Take care of the elf." Baroden said coldly.

"Enien, go help the others!" She nodded, but Turthôl would not let her leave. She listened to what Baroden had to say to Rangar, as she was being backed up... "I told him the truth." said Baroden. Énien frowned. "What is he talking about Rangar?" she asked, but was cut off by the scimitar which was pointed at her chest.

Énien raised her hands, showing she had no weapons in hand. "You dare raise weaponary to a lady?" she smirked, to save face.

"Not to a lady, elf, but to a murderer." he answered. This hit a nerve. "You have no idea." she spat at him, and reminded herself of who this was. "And have you betrayed us Turthôl?" she knew he had not, becuase he would have recognised them, at least Rangar and possibly Wren.

"Of course you havent. But you dont remember us do you?" There was looks of confusion on his face. "No she-elf I dont." he growled. This was getting dangerous. As swift as Énien was, and smart with her weapons, Turthôl well than made up for with brute strength, she knew she may be in trouble. She shook her head. "Dont make me do this..." still he came foward. She had no other choice, she must defend herself.
"If a fight is what you want, a fight my dear, is what you will get!"

Faster than anyone else could ever have done it. Énien whipped out her daggar and a small knife, and helf them facing Turthôl. He was indeed surprised. "You know what this elf is capable of. If you could remember." he lunged at her. Striking her weapons. "You will die elf, make no mistake!" he raised his face to hers. "Do you really think that after 1891 years on this earth, I will alow myself to be killed by the man i saw grow? You are sadly mistaken." She pushed back, though Turthôl was not knocked off balance.


"You have gotten quicker" she said to him as he met his scimitar again and kicked him in the stomach. But he ccame back with a series of blows which were too strong for the elf. She was knocked to the ground and Turthôl stabbed her straight through her right shoulder. Énien cried out in the seething pain. She looked at her shoulder, blood was filling out from her tunic, the elf felt a little dizzy. She looked Turthôl in the eye and smiled evily, "Now you have your chance, finnish me you coward!" Turthôl looked at her and held back from the final blow. He looked confused and for a moment she saw something in his eyes which said he felt he had known her before.

[maikafanawen]

Wren had glimpsed the last few slashes of Énien and Turthôl’s fight. Then Énien went down and the noblewoman screamed. Taking the lives of the last three Haradrim upon her, she rushed over there, standing right between the shocked ranger and wounded elf. Turthôl glared at Wren, no recognition in his eyes. The Gondorian mistook the confusion for hatred.

“You’re a sick man, Turthôl, a very sick man. Betrayal? To Rangar? To Énien? To me??” The ranger stared at her, dumbfounded. “I thought—” she stammered, anger beginning to block her mind. “OH! No it all comes together! When you were ‘tracking’ Baroden to Tharbad! You were really going there to meet up with him! Very smooth! Well you certainly had me going! The way you risked everything you had for Rangar. I didn’t realize it until after you fell overboard, but there is a lot more to you than meets the eye, that you probably don’t even know about yourself! You were very strong in character, and you loved Rangar like he was your own brother. To betray him now is something that—” a memory sparked and she lashed out with all the malice he deserved for feigning friendship and handing them over to the enemy. “Something that Sartir would do!!”

[Eruwen]

Rave stood unable to move as the man revealed his true identity. Her heart felt like it stopped beating, and millions of questions began to race through her mind. She suddenly awoke from her frozen state of mind as Wren began to faint backward. Catching her from behind, she heard Ranger urge everyone on towards the Seer's home.

As Rave followed some of the company up a hill near the Seer's house, what seemed like an army of blades could be heard suddenly breaking forth. Rave turned to see many Haradrim men run towards them in immense anger.

"What do we do?" Rave heard Wren yell as the men soon approached.

“Fight them. They’re with him.” Énien replied turning back towards Ranger.

Rave stayed on the hill trying to fight off what Haradrim she could with her sword. The fight seemed more intense than with the wild men in the forest. She could tell something had raged the hearts and minds of these men to an extent beyond measure.

"Why---is---this--happening to us?" Rave shouted as she fought hard for her life and the lives of her company. Suddenly she stood still when the loud cries of an Elf came to her ears. She looked over and saw Énien beneath the very weapon of their old companion and friend. She watched as the Elf and Man faced each other eye to eye, but Turthôl froze as if haunted by some strange thought.

Suddenlt Rave's glare was broken by a sword which came hurling at her head. She ducked, but just barely fast enough for she could hear the wind of the blow rush by her ear quickly. She turned and stared at the man with her sword pointed at the ground. Slowly, she rose her sword and began to swing as she saw another Haradrim come rushing towards them.

The one she faced fell to his knees as her sword was thrust into his chest. Rave looked up to see the other Haradrim quickly coming at her at full running speed. She tried to remove her sword from the carcas as fast as she could, but it was not enough. This time, she had not been so quick.

Rave stared up at the stars thinking about her home, the company, and many other things which impacted her life greatly. She was not aware at this point of the world around her, nor was she aware of the gushing blood flowing out from her stomach. She looked to the side to see her company as they fought on what seemed like a hopeless battle, and she wished them well as she took her last glance and breath upon Middle Earth.

[The X Phial]

Bregand's mind was in an uproar. Turthol was a traitor, which made no sense to the boy. It was Turthol who had spent so much time with Rangar, who had risked everything so many times..only to betray them here at the end. It didn't add up. There had been ample opportunities to betray the group, times when Turthol was on watch, when the group was at his mercy and the hunter was close by. Why wait until he had risked his life so many times, given his own money to avert attack in Rohan and been injured nearly to his own demise? Something wasn't right...at all.

He grabbed his father's sword and stood to defend himself. Two Haradrim rushed him at once, and he managed to sidestep both attacks, taking a small wound to the left arm. He spun and managed to trip one of his assailants...his fighting skills had vastly improved over the last few months. He brought the sword hilt down on the Haradrim's head, rendering him unconcious and grabbed the swarthy man's shield just in time to bring it up and avoid a fatal injury from the other attacker.

The desert provided little cover, and Bregand's best weapon was his stealth and speed. He was also flagging in the heat, while the Haradrim seemed fine, accustomed to the weather and the harsh surroundings. Bregand backed away from the Haradrim, his shield arm tired and bleeding and his strength waning. He was a scholar and no amount of adventuring would really ever make him a fighter. He realised that he was probably going to die here in the desert. to his left he heard a short cry and a gurgle and turned to see Rave crumple over holding her stomach. He didn't know if his face was covered in sweat or tears, but it didn't really matter because the world was suddenly blurry. His attacker jumped forward, sword at the ready, and fell at Bregand's feet, dead. From his back was sticking a throwing knife, elvish...must have been Calimir. Bregand looked around for his saviour but everything was so confused, his mind felt like it was on fire.

Suddenly the crumpled figure of Rave turned into a vision of Carmalita in Bregand's mind. He ran at the Haradrim in a blind rage and his sword passed through the man's neck. The Haradrim fell away taking the sword with him. Bregand knelt beside the dying woman, who was now Rave again, and let the tears wash his sweat away. The fight was still on, but waning. He didn't know who was winning, but despair had taken him.

He heard a shout behind him. He turned to see Carmalita fighting off a swarthy desert man twice her size. He hadn't saved Rave, but he might still be able to make a difference. Still holding his shield, he rushed Carmalita's attacker and used his whole body to force the man to the ground. It was then that he realised he had no weapon on him. Thankfully, Carmalita was more prepared and Bregand saw a knife flash and felt the body under his go limp. He had done something, and it had saved his love. His despair was gone, but in its place was a mix of horror at Rave's death and his capacity to kill, elation at having survived, and terror for the others in the group. Bregand grabbed Carmalita's hand and rushed to where he could hear Wren shouting, a dune away.

"We have to help, if we can," he rasped.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar met Barodin halfway and exchanged a series of fevered blows, then their blades locked, giving the two enemies a change face each other eye to eye. "Does it hurt? Having to sleep every night not knowing why, only that you're an abomination? And then having to face another day." Barodin whispered menacingly. "Two years, and you still think you have right to walk this earth." "At least I sleep." Rangar growled back, tried to knee his opponent and missed. The two began to circle each other again. Get him seething, in anger he'll falter. "You stay up, consumed by your rage. And it makes you so blind as so to corrupt others to the lies you've learned. You have no more right than I to live and breathe."

Rangar barked, just as several screams came from up the hill. "Then let's finish this!" Barodin cried lunging at him, and nicking Rangar on the shoulder as he spun aside. Rangar made the next attack, and the swords locked again. "Just so you know, he died like a coward." Rangar hissed, not knowing truly what he was saying or who he was referring to, but it worked. Barodin howled and kicked him in the stomach. Winded, Rangar dropped his sword in time to see a great silhouette raise his blade. Rangar rolled aside and tripped his opponent. Dropping his sword, Barodin swore and scrambled to his feet just as Rangar did.

It was now a grudge match with no restraints whatsoever. Rangar yelled and tackled his enemy, but as he raised his fist to punch the dotard, Barodin flipped him over began kicking him repeatedly in the sides. Howling, Rangar lunged at his foe, no longer caring whether he had a weapon or not. Something inside of him was shouting that this man had to be killed in the most painful way possible. Every time he kneed Barodin, or managed to get a punch in, Rangar felt better, however his foe was in no way finished.

Just as Rangar lunged at his rival, something hard hit him, and his shoulder flamed, screaming in protest. "You should know by now that I carry daggers." Barodin laughed with a brutal smiled as he grabbed Rangar by his cloak and lifted him off the ground. "So do I" Rangar retorted, and found then thrust the dirk Barodin had used the last time they'd fought, which he had kept. Feeling cruel satisfaction as his enemy hit the ground, a knife in his side, Rangar kick the sprawling figure over, and turned to find his sword, still ignoring the dagger in his shoulder.

But Barodin still has fight left in him. The man roared, and grabbing the dagger from his side, began charging Rangar's unprotected back; And he would have won, impaling Rangar in his shock if he had not lost he footing on the desert pavement and, strangely enough, fallen through some kind of door. Rangar shook his head and struggled to see where he was, a dimly lit stone room with a wooden ceiling. From somewhere above he could still hear his nemesis yelling, "Coward! Come out where I can see you! I've waited too long for this!" "Hullo" Rangar spun around in a panic, and gaped in shock at a small, pale boy with golden hair and green eyes staring curiously at him.

"I'm Gram, who'er you?" Rangar gulped. Was he dreaming, or was he dead? "Where am I?" Rangar croaked."My house, come on. I'm sure you're hungry." "Who else lives here?" "Just my friends, do you know you have a knife in your shoulder?" The boy asked innocently. Suddenly, the pain returned with a vengeance. "Does it hurt?" The boy continued, now beaming at Rangar. "Yes." Rangar said, still far too shocked to believe that Gram, or any of this was real. "Well come on, then. You can meet my friend."

Rangar took hold of the dagger and pulled it forth with a loud grunt, Then, allowed the boy to take his hand and lead him through a series of dark passages before they came to another high-ceiling room with better lighting. Rangar gulped again. In front of him lay an old, apparently blind man, seated on a large, obsidian throne. The Seer Rangar thought in awe as he began to approach the man, and as he did so, his mind raced Was it real? Or was he just dead? What of the others? Barodin? And Turthol?

"A might of help, if you would, sir." A meek voice interrupted his thoughts, and Rangar felt inclined to pay it no heed, as the old man on the throne seemed to stir and blink at him. However, he turned and saw a man leaning against a flimsy rod, that then broke, causing him to fall to the ground. Gram seemed to not give the beleaguered man a second thought, and just simply continued beaming at Rangar, who growled in protest, then turned to help the poor figure. "Thanks" The man said as Rangar helped him to his feet. "This way, if you sir." "But," "Rangar looked back toward the man on the throne, who seemed to be beckoning to him. "Please." The cloaked figure said curtly, and his grip on Rangar's arm was surprisingly strong.

"Who are you?!" Rangar cried as he both lost circulation in his hand and was thrust into a smaller, dimer, room. The cloaked man sat down in a wooden chair, and made no reply; But Rangar could see Gram close the door. "Who are you, and why do you keep me from my goal?" "That old foggy is your goal?" The man said in a very amused voice, removing his hood just slightly so that Rangar could see two, deep blue eyes. "Is he not the Seer?" Rangar asked, now painfully aware that his shoulder was numb. "Sort of." The man said, still in that same amused tone. "Sort of?" "He's more of a poet. He'll spill out all kind of rhyming gobbledygook that'll take you the rest of your days to unravel. And in the end, it doesn't really mean anything."

"So who are you, then?" Rangar asked. This couldn't be happening. "Sort of a more straitforward Seer, though, I warn you right now, I can be intolerable." A chill ran up Rangar's spine, surly, this couldn't be him. But before Rangar could stop himself,"How many questions do I get to ask, and what's the price then?" The man laughed, and once again, Rangar wasn't sure if this was good or bad. "As many as you want. I'm not a genie. And as for the price, the price is knowledge." Rangar started at the riddle, and wasn't quite sure if it was possible for this man to be more entertained if he tried.

"Have to hand it to you too. Few find this place, let alone get past old annoying Malbeth there." And he nodded towards the room where the old man was. "What about the house on the hill?" "It's empty." The Seer replied nonchalantly. "Then, can I ask you something?" "I dunno, can you?" Rangar laughed dryly, the cloaked man grinned, blue eyes twinkling. "You tell me." "That's the problem with you people. You want me to tell you everything." "Could we start from the beginning?"

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

The shock of seeing Turthol alive barely registered with Calimir. The shock of seeing him die was still too new, and the fighting began in earnest so quickly.

Bregand was rushing about like a madman, his sword flailing the air. A few lucky blows brought one of the Haradrim down, but the boy was in trouble. One of his long knives was in hand before Calimir even realized it, and he'd thrown it. The man was down and the elf was beside him, pulling his knife from where it had lodged in the man's neck. Bregand nodded his thanks before dashing off in the direction of Carmalita.

Watching him go, Calimir thought to follow him, but nearly trod on a still figure on the ground. Dropping to his knees, he pushed the girl's hair away from her face. It was Rave. Her lips were still and bloodless. Rising angrily to his feet again, Calimir flung both his knives into the nearest of their attackers. He understood Enien's rage at seeing their companions fall and die. Another friend lost, for what? He wrenched his knives free of the body, wiping them on the dead man's shirt.

Raising his eyes, Calimir looked about to see if any more of them had been lost. Enien he saw, Bregand and Carmalita, Wren and Tareth. He heaved a long sigh. They were all safe then, all but Rangar. Calimir spun on his heel searching for the man's figure in the turmoil. Calimir's eyes caught sight of him on the other side of the group, just as he headed in Rangar's direction the man tripped. Calimir's eyes widened and he cried out as he watched Rangar fall straight through the ground and disappear from sight.

[Earendil Halfelven]

"Do you really think that after 1891 years on this earth, I will alow myself to be killed by the man I saw grow? You are sadly mistaken." She pushed back, though Turthôl was not knocked off balance.

"You have gotten quicker" she said to him as she met his scimitar again and kicked him in the stomach. But he came back with a series of blows which were too strong for the elf. She was knocked to the ground and Turthôl stabbed her straight through her right shoulder. Énien cried out in the seething pain. She looked at her shoulder, blood was filling out from her tunic, the elf felt a little dizzy. She looked Turthôl in the eye and smiled evily, "Now you have your chance, finish me you coward!" Tuthôl raised his scimitar to kill but then it hit him like a cave troll's punch:

"Why do I get the feeling you have gazed apon Imladris before?" Enien asked him.

He was still gazing into the fire as he replied. "I grew up there as a child. Since there are few of my kin left in the world, the Elven folk raised me in the Dúnedain ways. If your from there, we might have known each other once. It has been about 8 years since I last saw Imladris. I do not care to see it again."

"Yes, I think we did, but you were small..." She replied.

He had grown up in Imladris...an elven city and he had been friends with Enien there while he was a boy...

He looked at the fallen elf with a wound in her shoulder, a wound Turthôl had given him. What was he doing? Who were these people he had attacked?

Wren ran over to help the downed elf.

“You’re a sick man, Turthôl, a very sick man. Betrayal? To Rangar? To Énien? To me??” The ranger stared at her, dumbfounded. “I thought—” she stammered, anger beginning to block her mind. “OH! No it all comes together! When you were ‘tracking’ Baroden to Tharbad! You were really going there to meet up with him! Very smooth! Well you certainly had me going! The way you risked everything you had for Rangar. I didn’t realize it until after you fell overboard, but there is a lot more to you than meets the eye, that you probably don’t even know about yourself! You were very strong in character, and you loved Rangar like he was your own brother. To betray him now is something that—” “Something that Sartir would do!!”

It all rushed back to him. Everything...his whole life...when he met Rangar...the beginning at Bree...the attack in the Southdowns...their rescue of Wren...Baroden's attack on Rangar...his pursuit of Baroden to Tharbad...their journey through Rohan...the stop at the Chambria mansion...the rope on the ship...

Sartir. He had vowed to never betray his friends, but he had done the thing that he most hated. He was a traitor. He had betrayed everyone, and almost had killed his companion.

He knew who he was. He was Turthôl of the Dúnedain, friend of Rangar, and he had betrayed his friends.

Instead of striking Enien, he dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He looked at Enien and then to Wren.

"What have I done?" he muttered.

[Arvedui III]

"Can we start at the beginning?"

Rangar felt chills run down his spine as he asked. Dwarfed by this confidant, was he a man? Who, apparently knew about him. "Well" the cloaked figure began, "First there was the One who created the Anuir from his thoughts, and-" "No, I mean, my beginning." Rangar said irritability. If this Seer thought toying with him was funny, Rangar supposed he would have to deal with it. "Well, you were born, I guess. I think that's pretty-" "No! I, mean." Rangar sighed. This was going to take a while. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you telling me who I am."

The seer stared blankly at him for a moment, however Rangar got the impression those blue eyes of his were searching his face something. But what? "Well?" Rangar prompted. "Would you like a pear?" The man asked amiably, as if he had not heard Rangar's question, and reaching into his cloak pulled out a fruit. Rangar sputtered for a moment, then, "What?" "Pears, they're delicious, and rare too, I might add. You look like you need something to eat." "No, thanks." Rangar started, dumbfound. Is he stalling? I can't be that horrible. "Did you have a question?" The seer asked mildly. "Yes. Could you tell me who I am?" Rangar pushed, his voice rising. "Nope." The Seer said just as mildly, and bit into a pear. "What do you mean 'nope'?" Rangar was shouting now.

"Look, I just met you. You really don't think I can tell you 'who you are'?" He said the phrase as if it was ludicrous. "Well, isn't that what you do?" Rangar insisted, both baffled and angry. "No. And just for the record, no one can tell you 'who you are'. Not me, your mother or the King of Gondor. Only you know that. Now, really. I should be asking you that question. Falling down here unannounced, and bleeding, no less." Rangar put a hand to his shoulder, and it was indeed bleeding, but not badly. He speaks as if he is at some kind of ball, and that what he says makes perfect sense. But Rangar decided that if getting his questions answer before Barodin recovered was going to happen, he had to play by this man’s rules. "Well, um, I'm a man." "I hope so." Interrupted the seer between bites of his pear. Rangar ignored him. "The name's Rangar, though that's not my real name, I think." "Good start.” The seer said gently, "Keep talking."

"Soo, then, let me get this strait.” The man said, sighing after Rangar hurriedly told his story, “You don’t know your real name, but you call yourself Rangar, and your friends are above us, dying” “They’re dying!?” Rangar cried, half-ready to forget the whole endeavor and find a way out of this place. “Yes, one of ‘em, err, Rave, I think, is already dead.” Rangar was struck dumb, deaf, and blind all at once, but the seer kept talking just as nonchalantly. “And this Haradrim attack was started by Barodin, who is mad because you killed his brother but you don't why or under what circumstances, because you have absolutely no idea who you really are. And you want me to help you put the pieces together. Is that about the size of it?" "Yes." Rangar mumbled, realizing for the first time the enormity of what he was asking this man to do.

"Alright then. Well first off, I hate to tell you, but I’m only gifted with far-sight. Told you that at the bar, remember?” “That was you?” Rangar asked incredulously. “Nope, friend of mine. Saducar, nice fellow. Buys me pears.” “Well,” Began Rangar, his spirit dropping several notches, “What is far-sight?” “Should really be called super-strength foresight.” The Seer snorted, startling Rangar. “Kind of like the Dunedain have, only much stronger.” He marveled at the man for one second. Too much was happening, he couldn't take everything in, but what struck home was the fact that this Seer couldn’t help him.

“Now, don’t be so forlorn.” The cloaked figure laughed. “Rephrase the question so I might be able to answer it.” Rangar thought for a minute. “Do you know if I’ll ever regain my memory?” Rangar mumbled at last. “Yes, you will. Eventually these things come back, just takes longer for some people.” The Seer took another bite of his pear. “Some are just luckier than others. Your friend Turthol for one, keep him around yourself and that Wren girl long enough, and he’ll tell you who he is.Shouldn't take more than a few minutes.” The Seer chuckled. “So, that knock against the mast-” Rangar started, “You got it.”

“Why did this happen?” The man laughed. “It’s not funny!” “Course not. Just, I’m sorry, you’re paying the price.” “What?” “Men have waisted away asking me questions I can’t answer, that no one can, and without eating pear, either." The seer almost whispered. "Here’s a tip. Answers only create more questions.” He winked. Rangar gulped. “I just hate to think this was all for nothing.” “No it wasn’t, or won’t be anyway. “ The Seer tossed his pear away. “Now, you could stay here and have a pear, which is perfectly fine with me. Or, you could get above ground and kill that niggard who took your friends.” Rangar felt the blood rising in him. “What if I can’t, what if show him mercy again.” Rangar mumbled, suddenly doubting himself. “You won’t. Mercy and ignorance is bad, and that is who you were. Mercy and honor is good, and that, Rangar, is who you are” And this time, there was not a hint of amusement in the Seer's voice.

Grinning, Rangar ran out the door and through the various corridors. He found the room he’d fallen into, and jumping, grabbed hold of a wooden plank, then pulled himself up. The trap door swung shut, and Rangar saw Barodin running towards Turthol, Enien, and Wren. Running franticly towards him, Rangar tripped over something, then picked it up. It was Aerin’s sword. Gripping it hard, Rangar hurled it towards his foe, and the hunter fell to the ground with an almighty THUMP.

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Everdawn]

she gave a slight laugh, before Wren, holding her arm spoke to him "You’re a sick man, Turthôl, a very sick man. Betrayal? To Rangar? To Énien? To me??" The elf coughed. "Not betrayl, at least not his right mind. Could you not tell, be calm Wren, he can explain." Énien drifted into unconsciousness for a moment

The scene around the elf was hazy. Wren had come her her aid. Faintly she smiled at Wren, blood had now stained the top half of her tunic. "What have I done?" said Turthôl dropping to his knees. "A very stupid thing." said the elf trying ot get up, but to no avail, she was too weak.

"ah, Turthôl you fiend! my shooting arm!"
No longer could she hear the screams or sword clangs of fighting, which could mean one of many things. One being that the enemy was killed, another was that the company had met its demise. Turthôl and Wren were standing over her. The pain had subsided, but this did not mean the blood flowed any slower. "We best get something to stop this blood before I die from loosing to much." she said faintly.

"Rave is down!" came other cries. Énien did not know what to think, but emmence sorrow gripped her heart.
Another mortal gone. NO, another friend gone. " Im sorry im not much use." she managed to say, her voice quieter. Tears shon on her face. The elf was loosing too much blood.

"Carmalita!" screamed Wren at the woman who was fighting. "She is bleeding to death!" The nurse ran to the elf's side. "Énien, you need to stay awake!" she said, the elf did not answer. Carmalita cut open her tunic around the wound and stuffed it with bandages and herbs, then wrapped her whole shoulder in bandages, the blood still ran, but slowly subsided. "For once, my pride has not befallen me" she whispered in a slight smile. "Help me up please, i cant do it alone. Where is Rangar?"

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

[Arien]

Carmalita lunged at the man in front of her but he was too strong knocking her to the floor. She grazed her arm against a rock, but ignored the stinging pain and got right back up. Once again she made a lunge for his chest and succeeded to stab him in the heart her instantly fell to the ground. She felt a sigh of relief come upon her, but it didn’t last long.

Next she heard her name being screamed, it was Wren. She seemed to be leaning over Einen. Carmalita rushed over, unaware of the fighting and fell straight to the floor beside her. She swiftly cut open her tunic around the wound and bandaged it quickly. It was not the best she could have done, but it would stop the bleeding for a short time. Maybe a few hours. She could see the wound was bad, and the bleeding would not properly stop, but she did her best.

"For once, my pride has not befallen me" Einen whispered in a slight smile. "Help me up please, I cant do it alone. Where is Rangar?"

Carmalita helped her up, but shook her head, “I don’t know where he is,” she looked around at the other but no sight of Rangar. She looked at Einen, she was able to stand, “are you able to fight?” she asked. The elf gave her a stern nod, but she could see the pain in her eyes. However she did not deter her from fighting.

So she continued to fight. As she fought she saw two quite large soldiers heading towards her. As she backed away from them, she tripped and fell on to the ground. The two men jeered at her, but she spat at them in disgust. Scrambling she tried to get up, but it was too late. One of the men had already plunged his sword into her left arm, and blood was slowly spewing out through her tunic.

“Bregand!” she shouted out, “help me….any one!” It was a desprate cry as the two of them drew closer.

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

[maikafanawen]

Wren didn’t understand what had happened to Turthôl and still believed he’d betrayed them when Carmalita ran to aid Énien at her summon. Throwing the ranger a disgusted look, Wren had resumed fighting the Haradrim. They were experienced fighters having lived in the brutal waste that was Harad all their lives. Since the noblewoman was unused to the immense heat, her strength began to wane, and sword became less and less accurate in its objective. Calimir, Bregand, and Tareth fought on. Once she had tended to the fallen elf, who had ordered to be helped to her feet, the nurse was up as well and fighting alongside them again.

The Haradrim were dying off as the faltered company fought on. Wren turned just then, in time to see Baroden collapse and Rangar make his way towards Turthôl and Énien. What is going on? The Gondorian fought until all the Haradrim were defeated or sent running back towards their town, then, keeping her sword in her burnt and calloused hand, ran to see what was to come to pass. Had Rangar seen the Seer? With Baroden gone, what were they to do?

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl stood there; his mind totally blank. He had betrayed them-his companions.

"Something that Sartir would do!"

That phrase clouded his mind, clouded his ability to think clearly. He did not notice the rest of the battle around him or the cries of the others.

Something that Sartir would do...

He fell to his knees. Sartir had died for his deeds. Maybe death was befitting for him now...

“Bregand! Help me….any one!” He recognized it as Carmilita's voice. She was going to die and it was because of his betrayal.
No...not if he could help it.

He picked up his sword, still stained with Enien's blood and rushed to Carmilita's aid. Two of the Haradrim stood over her, one with a bloodied sword. Turthôl could only guess it was Carmilita's blood.

He rushed over to her. The Haradrim, hearing him, turned to face him.

"Look at what we caught!" the one with the bloody sword said.

"Yes, a dainty dish that we're about to scewer," said the other one laughingly.

They started laughing as they raised their swords to strike. Carmilita stared at Turthôl with an anxious look.

"Bregand!" she yelled.

With the men's backs to him, Turthôl raised his sword. With a swift and strong stroke, he plunged it into the man's neck. It stuck in the man's spinal cord. Blood shot out in a steady stream as the main artery was cut.

His companion turned with a shocked look. Turthôl left his sword in the man's neck and pulled his dagger. The man raised his sword in defense. With a yell, Turthôl lunged at him. The man swung the sword at him. Turthôl ducked and came up right in front of the man. He brought up his dagger and plunged it into the man's stomach. With a grunt, he dropped his weapon.

"Traitor..." he muttered as he stared up at Turthôl. Turthôl paused for a moment. Then a flash of anger swelled up deep inside him. And without remorse or mercy, Turthôl started stabbing the man repeatedly in the back. The man screamed as he fell to the ground, but Turthôl kept going. Even after the man was dead, he kept stabbing...

[Everdawn]

It took all of Énien's phyisical strength and mental strength to fight once more. And Carmalita let her. Good girl. the elf muttered under her breath. The elf turned her back on Carmalita and started fighting, only to kill one man and stop.

There was Rangar, standing, and a body on the ground, with a sword plunged into his back. It was Baroden. The Elf's eyes widened in amazement. "You did it Rangar." she said quietly, the fighting had stopped, the haradrim were dead. "YOU DID IT!" She cried. Rangar looked at her, no show of emotion was on his face. Énien turned to check on the company. Breathing heavily, she sat on the dusty ground.

"It is finnished." she said loudly. "Has everyone had enough?" The others stopped and glanced at her. "A funeral is in order, and then a trip home, I shall think." the elf replied, her voice laden with emotion. " The grandest one we can give her." tears were forming on her face. Without warning she cried out in elvish, cursing at what they had done to her mortal friend. Finally her wound had stopped bleeding. "What say you?" she asked them.

[Arien]

She screamed again for help and this time it came. But it was not Bregand, it was Turthol.

"Look at what we caught!" said the one who had stabbed her, laughing at Tuthol. The wind started to pick up and sand blew into her eyes and brushed her hair across her face. She could taste it in her mouth, a salty taste,. gritty. She continued to shuffle backwards along the ground, as now the three of them advanced on her.

"Yes, a dainty dish that we're about to scewer," said the other laughing too. He raised his sword high, and she gave a last desperate plea to Turthol. He showed nothing, so she screamed out again.

“Bregand!”

But she need not have screamed. In an instance Turthol stabbed one of them in the back and then the other. As the second one fell he continued to stab him.

“Turthol, Turthol… stop. He’s dead.” she looked upon the man he was stabbing but he did not stop. She reached out and grabbed his hand and tried to pull him away, but she was too weak only being able to use one hand. “Hes dead, there is nothing else you can do to him…he is dead.” He acknowledged her and slowly drew out his dagger. They both kneeled upon the ground and looked at each other for a moment.

“Turthol, thank you,” she whispered, he nodded and rose from the ground. She to tried to get up but fell back down her left arm buckling under her weight. So he reached out his arm helping her up. As he did so Einen cried out.

"YOU DID IT!"

Finally it seemed over.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar stood staring at Barodin's body, oblivious to the Haradrim, the company, everything. He was only after revenge. It's my fault. You can't keep blaming yourself, his brother died attacking you. It's not your fault he loved overmuch. "YOU DID IT" Rangar looked up sharpy. Enien, right arm completely red, was grinning at him. Rangar, however, still caught up in all the events that just occurred, did not return the smile. The company began to gather around Enien, Camalita dressing various wounds. "What say you?" He heard the elf ask, though it felt like she was a considerable distance away. "Sure, 'course." Rangar responded, a slight crack in his voice as he looked towards Turthol. Great, another person horribly wronged because of me. How am I going to make him remember? Rangar knelt down next to Turthol, hoping the same blank, hateful look would not great him. But, when Turthol looked up, tears rolled down his check. He's back A rush of relief coursed through Rangar, and at the same time a great swell of pity for his friend, who must have come to terms with how he acted when they found him again.

"I'm-" He began brokenly. "I know. S'my fault anyway." Rangar tried as hard as he possibly could to shrug the statement off, but somehow it had no effect. "I betrayed-" Turthol agonized again, attempting to find words for his actions. "No, you didn't." Rangar said gently, his wound, grief, companions, the rest of the world, dissolving. "It was the last thing, the thing I loathed above-" Turthol still seemed indifferent to what Rangar had said. "Yeah, yeah." Rangar interrupted impatiently, not wanting Turthol to imitate him and begin blaming himself for everything under the sun. " Look, you've never betrayed me, or anyone else." "Then who struck Enien? Who put a sword to your throat?" Turthol retorted, bitterly. Rangar sighed.

"Barodin's cronie did that. That was Barodin's Turthol, some misshapen, confused man, but you, I think, came back. Barodin's Turthol is dead; And now you're here, a honorable ranger of the Dunèdain." Rangar looked intently at his friend, hoping his stresses on honorable had some effect. Turthol just stared for a moment. "Forgive," "There is nothing that I can forgive you for," Rangar said sincerely, then in an attempt to cheer him up, "' Cept maybe for being a hard-headed mule, and somehow I think that's not you're fault either. Your mother's, maybe" This earned a laugh. "Don't start. You're reminding me of Wren." Rangar joined in his laughter. " Sorry, I know that's not a pleasant- Oh, hullo Wren." "Are you two quite finished laughing at me?" "Yeah, just finished." Rangar said, and got up, letting Wren give Turthol back his fife and jacket, which he cradled for a moment, then Rangar smiled and looked away.

The company reformed and cleaned up, Camalita fretting over his shoulder, which he did not really care about any more, then gave Rave such a funeral as eight people stuck in the desert might be able to, however they left the Haradrim for carrion. Rangar buried Barodin that night while the others slept, and while this did not excuse any of his actions, Rangar felt that mayhap the hunter earned a quiet rest after all the suffering the man put himself, and Rangar through. The next day, Rangar dissuaded any further attempt to find the seer, after all, he had no inkling where the trap door was, and for all the good going to the man did, Rangar might as well have offered the company pears. So, with Bregand and his very useful maps in the lead, the company made their way back to the shore of Harad lacking in incident.

At first, they were not sure how to signal to the Silver Wyrm that they were back, or if the ship was even still at anchor. But fortunately, someone on board spotted the company from a distance, and brought them aboard. Ani Dao was quite pleased to see the group again, as she would have had to sail off the next day for fear of supplies. That night, the entire company spent a good portion of the first dog watch telling the elf captain, and for some parts, Turthol, of all that occurred in Harad.

"Wait a minute, some blond kid just comes up to you and says ‘hi'? " Turthol asked from the top of Ani Dao's desk, chewing contentedly on licorice. "Yeah, weird." Tareth added, towering in an armchair. "Well, it's true. And I swear he looked like a younger version of me who was untroubled by the fact I was in shock and had a dagger in my shoulder." Rangar said through sips of ale, the first time he drank since meeting Turthol. "A shoulder whose dressing needs changing." Camalita said pointedly, making Rangar groan. "Maybe he is a younger version of you. What's his name?" Wren voiced thoughtfully. "Gram, but-" "Much better name than ‘Rangar'." "Hey, I like my name."

About two hours after dawn the coastline of Harad vanished, and for the week, strong winds carried the ship and her passengers west. Rangar was relieved to have gotten the journey over with, and glad that he had made it. Dreams still came, horrible dreams, but he knew they bore his past, and even more reassuringly, he knew that one day the swirl of color would slow down enough for him to decipher them. Finally, the ship turned northwest, and the much more inviting shore of Gondor appeared.

[Everdawn]

The ship. It was hard for Calimir to get back on, he was quite anxious, almost knocking Énien over the side of the plank and into the water. "Calimir!" she scolded, "It is finished, nothing can happen now, steady yourself. Or will I have to get someone else to help me?" she said with a small laugh. The elf still needed assistance from time to time. Usually a sorry Turthôl was first to catch her arm.

"There is no need to help me." she said as she saw him waiting on the ship. "For the hundreth time, I dont care anymore! Go! go help someone else! Go talk with Wren! you heard me!" she cried, the elf in stitches of laughter, and suddenly bending over in pain. "Ah! i see, i cannot laugh so hard without the pain, bless Carmalita, she did a right fine job. Soon I will be moving around properly. Youll see."

Énien spent almost all of the time in the ship in bed, as Carmalita would not let her leave. "If anyone should be resting it is you! I dont see that arm healing itself you know!" she had called after the nurse the last time. "Gondor" said Ani Dao popping her hard around the door and just as quickly leaving. Good, Melliant will be pleased to see me. And the sooner i can go home, and then... over the sea. she dwelled warmly on this thought for a long time.

[The X Phial]

The party disembarked in Gondor, their task over but somehow reluctant to split into their separate ways. The only one who seemed anxious to get home and settle something was Calimir, but he checked his desire long enough to ride back to Minas Tirith with the group. Wren once again offered them lodgings, and for a while they stayed together there. Bregand spent a long time in the libraries with a special dispensation from the King. He dragged himself away, however, long enough to spend his evenings walking in the streets or the garden with Carmalita.

One night they talked about the future and whether Evendim needed a nurse or Bree needed a scholar. This talk brought thoughts of home into the forefront for Bregand, and, although he loved Minas Tirith and the knowledge accumulated there, he felt a tug on his heart to be away north again. He could also see that Carmalita was missing Crystal. They rode north together a little while later, accompanied by some of their companions and leaving the others with promises of correspondence to come.

Bregand was full of plans. Wherever they settled, he would need students. It made sense for him to build his career for a while and then think about providing for the family he now knew he wanted. He hoped Carmalita would be willing to wait for him and knew that if she didn't he would never love another. As they left the walls of Minas Tirith far behind them and plunged northwards again, Bregand reflected on all that had happened since he had last seen his home. He had found love and lost friends. He had fought and sung, led and followed, learned and taught. He knew now that whatever lay ahead of him, he would not meet it as a child, but as a man.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Durelin]

Axe in hand, shield on his arm, Tareth repeatedly swung, anything but his enemy seeming part of another world. Blood coated him, some his own, most that of others. A red haze covered his eyes, so he could barely see what was around him. Even so, he was completely aware of his surroundings, so much so that he caught an enemy coming up behind him with a slash across the stomach. As he slashed, all thoughts and feelings of the world were not a part of him as they should be in life. He felt one feeling, one that scared him, though his fear rested outside himself, outside his mind. A voice screamed at him, but his mind blocked it out. It was wrong. He felt…pleasure. He was enjoying this, the killing. He couldn't stop himself when he began to laugh, a laugh full of real mirth. The red haze enveloped him, the voice screaming at him became a whisper, and his mind came to an end.

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Tareth sat on the ground, idly wiping his axe on the grass to no avail. The growth was soaked with red as much as his axe was. He stared down at the bloody body before him with a bright smile on his face, a feeling of sickly warmth filling him. It was Baroden, dead, and by Aerin's sword. O how beautiful a sight! It is the loveliest feeling! He's dead, and I saw it! O, what greater thing than the bloody death of him! A single tear ran down his cheek. The feeling of wet on his cheek brought his head up, his thoughts back with a snap. Why was he crying? He looked down again at the body, and the tear ran off his cheek, the single drop splashing onto the dead man before him. He was crying in joy. In joy at a man being dead.

Tareth's mind raced back to the night he had first killed a man. How he had thought of himself, how he would kill a man…but for certain reasons. And how he would not let himself change, lose a part of him as Rangar had. How he had changed. Now he killed a man…and joy filled his heart till it seemed to burst. It had felt good to kill a man.

His mind raced to the battle just before. Back to when the red haze had covered him. He had laughed with bright mirth while slitting open a man's stomach.

He had smiled at a man before he plunged his axe into the man's skull.

He had found warmth in the sight of the bloody gash in Baroden.

He had cried in joy sitting before Baroden's mangled corpse.

Tareth rose quickly and turned away from the corpse, falling to his knees a short distance away. Holding his head in his hands he wept.

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The company made their way back to Gondor, and soon they would be going on their seperate ways. Tareth was lost in his thoughts. He wished he did not remember it all so clearly, but it burned brightly in his mind. The shame burned hotter. He avoided his companions, which was not hard. They had seen him, after all, they had to have. Seen his shame. Now he would return to Bree and become a blacksmith. It was all he had ever wanted, all he would ever want. He would use iron only in service.

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Tareth arrived back in Bree to smile for the first time in days. Tying his gelding, Tareth dismounted and pulled his bags off to carry over his shoulders. He walked into his father's forge to the familiar heat, smells, and sounds. It felt so good to be back in the peace of this place. He put down the saddle bags and took up his shield and axe. Smiling at his father, Tareth spoke. "With your permission, da, I'm going to melt these down. My horse needs new shoes."

His father simply smiled at him for a moment before replying. "You don't need my permission, son. This is yours now, though I will still help ya a bit."

"I know you will, and till the day you can't lift the hammer anymore."

"Mayhap that will come quicker than you think. The time came real soon when you couldn't lift that axe no more."

"Axe or sword, it is ten times heavier than any hammer in my hands."

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir boarded the Silver Wyrm hesitantly, hesitant to face his longing for the waves again. He didn't want to savor the way the clouds reflected in the green water, or the way the ship rolled beneath him. The distraction was too great, and Calimir longed with all his heart to ride fast and far to Rivendell, to be with Glorenwen again.

He knew though, that it wouldn't be for long. A few years of the sun, saying their last goodbyes, and then they would be gone from this land of change and death, gone across the timeless waters. His wife's form danced around the edge of his mind, now that their quest was completed. The thoughts of his family preoccupied him through the long hot days on the ship. Preoccupied him enough that he forgot to watch the sunlight dancing on the waves crest, and watched instead the forms of Bregand and Carmalita talking on the deck.

Enien understood, he thought, she knew the pull of the sea and the pull of her family long gone. Bregand understood too, the elf thought, though he didn't know how. But the light was there in the boy's eyes when they encountered each other on the deck, and Calimir knew that he understood the haste and longing that he felt. Thoughts of the sea and sky, thoughts of walking under the trees and the free night beneath the stars were consumed by his need to be with his wife, touch her hands, watch her eyelids flicker while she slept.

When the ship embarked at Harlond, Calimir joined the company, out of courtesy, and in order to say a last goodbye to those who were staying there. It was a grey morning when he rode away from the Chambrias'. A grey morning, and a fleet grey horse bore him. He knew no horse would take him as far as Rivendell at the speed he pushed his mount out of the city of Gondor. But he cared little, except for the wind on his face and the fact that Enien rode beside him on Melliant, her hair flying out behind her. The road north would lead him home, and the road beyond Westward would lead him home forever.

[maikafanawen]

The ride home was peaceful. It seemed as though the Vala had taken pity on them, and spared them the treacherous elements. Wren hadn’t left Turthol’s side. Once she had found out the truth, she had apologized profusely for comparing him to Sartir. For the hundredth time Turthol had laughed and told her to put a sock in it. He didn’t speak of it any longer but Wren knew it still hurt. So she did her best to entertain and keep his mind off of it by telling funny stories and asking him uplifting questions that started jovial conversations.

She was the only one whose heart dropped to the pit of her stomach when the harbor of Harlond came into view. It was then the noblewoman realized that Turthol would depart and go back up north, leaving her. And still she had not roused the guts to ask him about staying, or her going.

The company rode north to Minas Tirith staying yet again at Wren’s estate. The elves left soon followed by Bregand, Carmalita and Tareth. Rangar and Turthol stayed a while longer, in no hurry to return from whence they had come. They lingered in the Chambrias’ much to Wren’s enjoyment.

* * * * *

The rain poured outside as Wren sat by the fire putting together pictures she had drawn for an instructional book on fencing and Turthol played his fife, his feet propped up on a foot stool.

“Finally finished mending your jerkin?” asked Rangar coming in, balancing his goblet of mellow spirits on the book he’d bored in one hand, and closing the door with his other. Wren smiled, remembering how infuriated her mother had been when she’d come home with a completely soiled jerkin that she had made her mend, and held up her newest pictures. “Very nice,” he admitted. He took a seat on the sofa and opened his book.

Wren had spent the past week avoiding her usual friends, working on things for her father and trying to think of the best way to approach Turthol. All her efforts had failed and tonight she decided she’d have to really get through.

She got her chance after dinner. Everyone was asleep except for Turthol who was meandering through the library. Wren entered pretending to be looking for one of her father’s books. Turthol saw her and walked over, two books in his hands.

“Hello,” he said suddenly, thinking to startle her. She jumped and turned.

“Oh, I-uh-I-uh I didn’t--”

“Yes you did.” She didn’t give up her guard.

“No, I honestly didn’t,” then she narrowed her eyes and slanted her eyebrows. “Why are you still here anyway? Aren’t you going home anytime soon?” He shrugged.

“I get nice accommodations and free food here, why should I want to leave.” Upset by his remark Wren made to leave but Turthol touched her elbow.

“Why do you embarrass me like this? You know why I’m staying.”

“I do?” Turthol nodded, grinning. I’m working on expanding my knowledge of herb lore so I can be of some extra help to the rangers up north. Your father has the most decent library in Gondor. And--” Wren looked up hopefully and when she did he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Well, goodnight Wren.” He left her stunned in the library, taking his two books with him.

The next morning was spent packing. Turthol, Rangar, and Wren were going up north.

“A ranger? What?? Oh, no no no no no.” Doralyn rushed around Wren’s room, unpacking things as quickly as Wren shoved them into her single saddle bag.

“Father says it’s a good idea. I am a good fencer and the King can always do with more Gondorian rangers if I can’t be of any use to the Dunedain.” In her fury, Doralyn knocked over Wren’s dusty collection of perfume bottles spilling the contents over her unused vanity. Wren laughed.

“You talked with Mauriace about this? AND HE AGREED!!”

“Yes I did,” said a bemused voice from the hallway. “Doralyn, will you please excuse me, I would like to have a few words with Wren before she leaves.”

“Then you can wait because she’s NOT leaving!!” bellowed Mrs. Chambria.

“Yes she is, and get out.” In a frantic efforts of sputtering dissents, Doralyn was removed from the room and Mauriace winked at Wren.

“All set baby?” The noblewoman held up her saddle bag and tied her sword to her waist.

“Rangar says I need to learn to use a bow too, oh and daggers. I also need to train my horse if I’m to be under Faramir. I’m thrilled. This is exactly the turn around I need. Plus I’ll--” Mauriace held up a hand as Doralyn began to pound on the door. ‘Go!’ he mouthed. Wren nodded and slipped through the panel-door on the other side of the room where Minstria was waiting to show her down to the stables where Rangar and Turthol were saddled up and ready to go.

“Tell Mum I said goodbye and I love her even though she’s a mad old bat.” Minstria pursed her lips and shoved Wren on her way. The noblewoman turned and pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll miss you too Mini!”

Her saddlebag was tied to Culfin’s new saddle and she mounted, tough leather boots finding their place in the stirrups and her gloved hands taking the reins. She was ready for the training she was about to face. At age thirty five she was going to be the oldest novice there.

“All set?” asked Turthol mounting his own steed. Wren nodded enthusiastically and he frowned. “You know, this isn’t going to be some fancy outing. You’re going to be put through a lot of endurance testing and skill training. Being a Ranger isn’t just fending off orcs with your sword. You need to be a good tracker, healer, and know your way around the woods. For instance, when I started out I was half as giddy as you’re acting and I had a shock. I can’t imagine what you’re going to think…” Wren smiled and rode contentedly beside him listening to him spiel about the stamina of a ranger. She knew she was ready for whatever was to come, as long as--

“Rangar!” Laughing like mad, the ranger watched as the noblewoman struggled to keep her seat on the saddle as her horse reared from being slapped on the rump.

“Whoa! Whoa Culfin whoa!” The mare settled and Wren turned on Rangar. “Okay, very nice, come ‘ere!” Wren chased Rangar with Turthol in hot pursuit trying to break it up into the morning sunrise, away from the fineries and luxuries of Gondor to learn what it meant to be known as a ranger.

[Arvedui III]

The sun rose gloriously over the city of king as Rangar, Turthol, and Wren departed, bound for the north. During their ley over at the Chambrias, Rangar became desultory once more, wondering what he would do with his life now the quest to Harad was finished . The Seer had been his last hope, but somehow he wasn't disheartened. On the country, making what he deemed the best friends in Middle-Earth, putting a tortured man out of his misery, and gaining the knowledge that he would one day know his real name, could hardly be considered failure.

As Minas Tirith grew fainter and Wren and Turthol's laugher grew louder, Rangar decided that he would try his luck on his own again. Turthol had more than enough to keep himself occupied, and besides, he could slip away unnoticed if he truly wanted to. Somehow Rangar thought that he needed to figure things out on his own, maybe somewhere simple feeling. Like Rohan. Rohan or not, by now Rangar knew that he needed to find himself somewhere that could not shadow his heart, for no truth can found in a dark place.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]