[Child of the 7th Age]

After speaking with the members of the company, Lenwe had returned to his lodgings, packing and repacking his little bag. He sternly told himself to forget what Elentari and Ewinda had told him. The ship bound for the West had glided into the harbor and would be leaving tomorrow morning at the first hint of dawn. Once more, he promised himself that he would be on that ship. It had been too long since he'd seen his parents, his brothers or, even more critically, his beloved wife who'd been slain by Orcs in Mirkwood some two hundred years before. Surely, by now, she would have left the house of Mandos to live in the Blessed Lands.

So what was he doing sitting here worrrying about a little band of travellers who had the audacity to think they could casually march into the mountains and slay a dragon with the paltry number of swords available for their use? It was utterly ridiculous. The members of the band didn't even know where they were going. At least he'd scouted out the area, and had a fairly decent idea of where that cursed dragon was hiding his head.

Lenwe pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind and turned into bed early, hoping to find rest. But he soon found himself flipping from side to side totally unable to settle down to sleep or to forget the topic that he'd discussed with Elentari at dinner. He kept seeing shadowed images of Elves and dwarves held captive by a great scaly creature with huge talons and sharp teeth and a heart that was filled with darkness. Lenwe caught another glimpse of parents, wives, and children sitting in their homes, grieving because they feared they'd never see their loved ones again who'd been hauled off from their daily chores to the dragon's lair. Unable to sleep with such distubing pictures in his head, Lenwe got up from his bed and went over to the table, pulling out some charts of the region which he'd casually tossed aside thinking that he would never need them again. He lit his lamp and unrolled the maps, extending out his right hand and tracing the familiar outline of the Blue Mountains with the tip of his index finger. Then he sat down, picked up a pen, and began scratching out notes, carefully calculating the best route which would take the band safely to the craggy peaks and caves where the dragon's lair could be found.

[ June 29, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]