[Child of the 7th Age]

Once more, the track of the captives began to climb and spilled south into the foothills of the mountains The path itself soon dwindled and disapeared into a series of mountainous moors. Darkness was beginning to flood their way, yet the Orc guards still pushed their prisoners on. Finally, they reached the ruins of an old encampment and stopped there for the evening.

The Orcs occupied the few remaining wooden buildings, and then left a contingent of guards to encircle and keep watch over the halflings. There was little food left, but at least there was water. Just next to the captives, a tarn bubbled up from the earth below, its smell fragrant and light, a thing of beauty so unexpected in this place of gloom. The Orcs themselves avoided its waters, preferring to secure their own supplies from a brackish pond that lay on the far side of the camp.

Maura told the hobbits to drink and store as much of the clear water as they could, and to bathe in it as well. This the families did.

Despite the hollow in her heart, Nitir could not help but feel the goodness in that water, and how it brought a small warmth inside her where none had been before. Exhausted from the long trek, most of the group fell asleep as soon as they stretched out on the ground.

Maura, however, sat off by himself, perched on a small ledge overlooking the lake. In his eyes were sadness and remembrance. Nitir saw him put his head down into his hands as if he were struggling to fight back tears. She crept over to him, wondering why, after he had seen the horrors of Gondolin's fall, he should grieve so over a deserted place like this.

He leaned over to her and whispered, "This is the camp where Barahir, descendent of Beor the Old and Wise, took his stand against the Orcs. It was the last part of Dorthonion which stood against the shadow. From here, Beren left to travel to the Hidden Kingdom and then claim his bride."

"But that," he said sadly, "was long ago."

Then she asked him, "Why do you grieve so? For these are men, not hobbits. It is their history, not ours."

He turned to her with a look of hurt and frustration. "Nitir, do you not grieve for your friend Piosenniel the Elf? It is no different for me with the men who fell here. And it wasn't men alone who stood and defended these hills. My father was also slain here when Barahir was betrayed."

"I am sorry. I did not know. But then why," she asked, "are these waters so sweet when such a sad thing happened in this place."

Maura pointed his finger at the sky. Even in the blackness, they could see the grey clouds covering the heavens. But, as they watched, a wind came and pushed the clouds aside so that the sky was suddenly filled with glimmering stars.

"Look down into the waters of Tarn Aeulin," he said. And she saw a thousand lights mirrored in the lake below, each refecting the magic of the heavens.

"Melian herself," he explained, "was said to have blessed these waters. So even here, in the middle of our hardship and sorrow, there is a little piece of light."

He walked away, and Nitir sat silent for a long time. Then she crept back beside Azra, and soon fell asleep.