[The Fifth]

Kenelm had fled the dungeons, to the privacy of the gardens. He sighed as he took a seat on a weary stone bench, running a finger along the surface of the mithril harp, yet feeling nothing. He played a song slowly on the instrument, softly murmuring to the wind. It answered back in a low howl, telling him that there were living people nearing the Castle, trespassing upon his father's land. Kenelm half-wondered if Maladil had heard the message the wind had brought, as well, but supposed he was already busy in his own matters. He stopped plucking the old strings, and stared blankly ahead of him, turning his head slightly to see if his ancient, although still sharp elven ears could capture any noise. There was a very faint rustle. Kenelm whispered, hush, my wind ..., and very soon the wind seemed to accept the command. He leant forward, and he was rewarded with an almost inaudible voice.

He silently stood, the wind beginning to pick up, and rustled the dead, hollow grasses, which he disliked, for even if he was dead, he wanted other things to live. He wondered what happened to the lush green grasses, full of flowers, which had wilted long ago as the hope and life of the Castle had wilted. But the stem still remained. Taking a hesitant glance at a slit-like window high above him, where Maladil and the rest probably still were, he stepped out of the gardens, towards the vast castle grounds, his back hunched over, his fair face looking at the lifelessness of the Castle and his hands, clenched upon the treasured harp.

He stood straight, and stopped, peering at whatever was walking along the borders of the grounds timidly. Glancing at the castle, he drew forth. He did not want the intruders to face the wrath of an already enraged Maladil. He walked even closer, until he could see the two more clearly. Kenelm was slightly interested ... an old man with a pointed hat and grey robes, along with a curly-haired child with a quill and parchment. He drew his harp, and played a melody, a mix of anguish and warning, singing the words to the odd couple:

Stuck within stone walls,
lurks a treasure beyond halls,
Thirteen spirits are caught
within a world of naught
To be here forever
to come out never,
is a fate worse than death.

Moss is growing,
the bitter winds blowing,
upon the stone halls,
where Life falls,
O Valinor take us!

By night we were slain
In the Castle our bodies lain,
By day we hide
The Castle inside,
to hold what lies within.

Trapped and wailing,
our years are failing,
the walls may crumble,
the windows stumble,
but We shall all be here.

[ January 25, 2003: Message edited by: The Fifth ]