[mark12_30]

Amroth pondered, and studied Erebemlin. There was no madness there, and no lie.

The One Ring had been found, and destroyed. The three must be waning, then. And the silence of the forest--

"The forest is silent. Few voices speak here."

"Alas, my lord, few indeed."

"Where have they gone?"

"They have sailed, my lord."

"But ours was the last ship. Impossible; they built a whole fleet of new ships in just two months--"

Erebemlin and Taitheneb exchanged glances. "A thousand years, my lord. There was time for much ship-building."

Amroth shifted, puttig his bread down half-eaten. A thousand years. Two months, a thousand years. He shook his head, and ran both his hands through his hair. A thousand years... just last fall.

"My lord, there is more I do not fathom, " said Erebemlin. "You say you remember the storm and your leap into the foam as if it were just this fall. But the body you now wear is no younger than fifteen years of age; do you not remember the days and seasons since your rebirth? Whose house did you grow up in? What new mother were you born to? And why were you reborn into a mannish body?"

Amroth's eyes went glassy. "Mannish? Erebemlin, you puzzle me."

Fear returned to Erebemlin's eyes. "My lord, surely you understand you no longer wear an immortal body. Have you not seen your face in the water?"

"The streams of Rohan rush in rocky shallows, " Amroth replied, dismissing the idea. "Where were the ships built? There was no building in Edhellond."

Taitheneb said, "The grey fleet was crafted in Mithlond, my lord. To the West, and not to the south."

Amroth looked up, sudden fire in his eyes. "Does she dwell westward, then? Does my road lie to Mithlond?"

"If she did, my Lord, she would have found a ship--"

"No, " Amroth snapped. "She is not in the west. Of that I am certain."