The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

He was at peace.

Gilly stepped forward in her shock, feebly trying to take in the scene before her. Not even the carnage of the battle had prepared her for the sight of the powerful form of Kaldir, laying lifeless, crimsoned on the forest floor beneath ancient trees, Dúlrain’s bloodied sword resting beside him. Recognizing the weapon, she looked up in disbelief, to see the man who had captured Miss Benia’s heart, as he now bent over Rauthain, shrouding him in a clean cloak before carefully hefting the limp body onto the horse Toby held ready. He seemed to hesitate, gritting his teeth as raised the old ranger’s bulk in his arms. Toby letting lose the bridle, hastened to assist him. Dúlrain was in pain... but he said Kaldir had died honorably…Gilly’s brow furrowed. Surely Naiore had done this, or had she? It could not be as it looked to the hobbit, and yet…. And yet Dúlrain had said that Naiore was not aware of Kaldir’s condition. What was he keeping to himself? Was it Naiore, or had Miss Benia inadvertently brought this bloodshed about?

Though she felt she had come along way in putting aside her prejudice against ranger folk, this was far beyond her realm of reference. Afraid to think any further, fearful of what she might conclude, she told herself that Dúlrain was a good man. Indeed, behind his hopeful words of assurance regarding Kaldir, he looked quite somber, and his grief was no doubt real. But the urgency of her friend’s peril that he expressed, struck the hobbit hard now that their captor turned guardian had perished, and Benia was at the mercy of the Ravennor. She could not afford to doubt him, though she felt had lost all her moorings.

“Oh Mr. Kaldir!” Gilly said, kneeing down to look at his face for the last time, in the few minutes she had before they departed. She saw that though the scars of his face were now hidden and his countenance peaceful, his life’s blood shined, speckling the earth and tracking also from mouth and nose. A fresh flood of tears rose spilling over their confinement. “What ever has happened to you?” the hobbit wept, picking up his clenched hand, a thing she never would have done while he lived. And rocking back and forth, she held it to her chest, giving in to her own hurt. She remembered the gentle look he had as he spoke to her, declaring that he would rather die than let anything happen to Miss Benia and herself, and here it had already come to pass, as if he had wished it upon himself. But his life was spent and Benia was still missing.

“I should never have spoken to you so, as if you had no heart yourself! And it looks as though you were meant to break mine one way or another. True you had let Miss Benia live and love, but you have gone and gotten yourself killed along the way. We did not bargain for that. And now, who have you to mourn you but Mr. Dúlrain, Miss Benia and myself?” she said her voice cracking. “And we all must leave you here in Rivendell among the elves!” Reaching in her pocket for the handkerchief Toby had lent her, the tattling shuttle fell as she pulled it out. Picking it up in her hand, she looked at the little wooden thing, and quickly placing Kaldir’s hand back gently on his side, she tucked this symbol of domesticity in his pocket as a token of her friendship. “I could see you did not fear death, and it was a blessing too,” she whispered earnestly. “But you know, I’m afraid now for Miss Benia. We will take good care of her, Sir, Mr. Dúlrain and me. You know that we will! We will find her for you!”

Seeing that Dúlrain and Toby were leading the ranger’s horse over to where Kaldir’s corpse lay, she took the edge of her sleeve and wiped the blood from his face. Her heart sunk as Dúlrain covered him in the dark cloak. And together they all worked to place him beside Rauthain on the horse. Turning away, as Dúlrain secured the bodies, Gilly drew Toby aside. “I hope that you might accept my apologies, Mr. Longholes,” she said. “I had no right to treat you the way I did you earlier. You only had my best interest at heart I can see that. I just am a bit overwrought, you see.”

“You needn’t apologize, Mrs. Banks, you have had ample reason.”

“You are too kind. And you shouldn’t feel that you must see to my safety, for I do not know if I will lead you to your death. I can’t think why you should say you feel so indebted as to brave that. But you are welcome to stay with my family, if we return, until you can find a place to call your own.” She looked at the ground, “And if I do not make it back, please let my husband Carl and the children know what has become of me.”

“I do not doubt that you will return, and I have seen that you know how to use a sword,” Toby smiled. “You have everything to live for Mrs. Banks, do not give up!”

Just then, they heard Dúlrain command his horse in strange words, gently slapping the animal’s flank. Bearing his sad cargo to that fair house, Dir began to steadily walk back the way they had come. Once he made sure the horse had set off, Dúlrain turned quickly to pick up his pack, and he frowned. Toby rushed forward and slung the bag over his shoulder, without a word. And Gilly went to fetch his sword wiping the dark blood off on the moss, “Your sword, Mr. Dúlrain!” Gilly called to him.

“I have another that is of more worth to me, Mrs. Banks,” he said as he began walking. “Come, we must be off.”

Gilly ran to Toby and carefully slid the sword firmly under the flap of the pack, and the two hobbits fell in soberly behind the ranger. Gilly kept silent as she realized that he was following back a set of tracks very well known to her, the tracks of Kaldir.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur took the reign’s Avanill offered him and noted with mild surprise that his gear had already been brought out and strapped to the mounts saddle. He listened intently as Avanill passed to him the message of Mrs Banks. “gone after Benia and the others?” he frowned, “Just were have they gone and which others?” he silently mused, not hearing Avanill’s query regarding the horses.

“I just hope that we don’t run into her on our own.” Avanill was adding as he looked up again.

“on our own?” he echoed, “just who and how many of our company look for Miss Nightshade?” he asked truly perplexed, “and where have they gone not to warrant a swift return?” he questioned as they lead the horses from the rangers abode.

“She did not say!” Avanill shrugged after a moments thought. “But now I think on it Master Rauthain did say something about Miss Nightshade going off on her own and that he suspected Kaldir would be not far behind her, infact he left sometime ago to tell the bounty hunter of our departure perhaps these are the others the hobbit woman refers too?” Avanill offered.

“And did Rauthain happen to mention were he would begin his search?” Amandur asked, his frown deepening with a mixture of frustration and mounting concern as Avanill described the place where he had last seen Kaldir and directed Rauthain too!

Halting his horse suddenly Amandur looked out towards the silent woods, the place Avanill described was not to far from were they had found Menecin earlier that morning and where Lespheria thought she had sensed Naiore, “This is more than just mere coincidence!” he muttered shaking his head sullenly, then flicking his reigns he with Avanill almost running to keep up beside him hurried towards the stables.

“Have the stable master have horses ready that perchance the rangers do return, they will be no longer delayed and will be able to catch us up swiftly.” he told the young man. “But I fear that Naiore may have had some hand their disappearance and rather that it is we that shall need to catch up to them!”

“If we are not already too late!” Avanill muttered speaking aloud the thought also in his mind as they entered the stable yard where they were greeted by Léspheria and her two elven charges.

Léspheria smiled at his approach but seeing his worried frown and sensing the tribulation that rippled over his mind her delicate smile slipped into a worried frown of her own. “What news passes unheard that you frown so with worry, my love?” she whispered as he drew up beside her.

“Miss Nightshade has gone awry and with her also Master’s Kaldir, Rauthain and Dúlrain!” Amandur answered evenly as he hurriedly strapped his belongings to his own horse who greeted him with a impatient snort.

His eyes then verily fell on a familiar sight a small satchel not his own but one that he had seen before, lifting it he looked across to Avanill who was now speaking with the stable master per his request. “Rauthain must have left it ere he want in search of Kaldir,” he muttered to himself. opening the straps he quickly looked inside, nothing seemed amiss from what he could tell and again he looked thoughtfully in the direction of the young merchant. Perhaps I was to swift to pass judgement he mused, closing the satchel and stowing it with the rest of his gear.

“Young Master Avanill there tells me that he saw Kaldir, searching the ground close to were we found our bard!” he whispered to Léspheria giving her a significant look that told her more than he was willing to speak aloud, she nodded then let her searching gaze sweep across the valley. Amandur knew she searched not with her eyes and after only a moment Léspheria turned back to him and shook her head sadly, he knew now that the others were no longer in the hallowed havens of Rivendell.

“What is it? what is wrong?” Vanwe asked seeing Léspheria’s concerned, both elf and ranger looked at her sympathetically , then her father spoke. “Something has happened and Naiore is the cause!” he said coldly staring out towards the canopy of the forest beyond, his voice distant but contemplative.

Amandur nodded, then as Avanill returned he gave the order to mount up. “It may be that we five alone must stop Naiore! But still it can be done!” he assured them with a distinct air of confidence that he did not wholly share. “We make for The Gladden fields!” he added spurring his horse forward and taking the lead, the three elves followed silently behind with Avanill left taking the rear, not Amandur’s ideal choice but his only choice! He would have to trust that the young man had truly seen the error’s of his ways.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

Barrold Ferny had never been troubled by such a thing as conscience. Nonetheless, as he rode away from Rivendell, seated in the bounty hunter’s travel-worn saddle, astride the bounty hunter’s gray horse, and on his way southward to claim the bounty hunter’s woman as his reward for services rendered, Ferny found himself casting a nervous glance backward over his shoulder more often than he would ever admit to anyone, half-expecting to see the bounty hunter looming toward him out of the thin mountain air, his pale blue eyes burning like coals from the shadows of his disfigured face, his hand reaching out for the back of Ferny’s neck. Instinctively, Ferny shivered and cast another glance behind him, seeing nothing but the back end of the horse and a steep, narrow mountain trail that lengthened behind him as he put more and more distance between himself and what he believed to be the now dead bounty hunter.

He flinched as a soft breath of cold air touched the back of his neck. “Go away,” he muttered, flicking his collar up with one hand. The horse, or Hay-jaws, as Ferny had taken to calling him, suddenly whinnied and swished his tail, pricking his ears back as though he, too, had felt a cool breath and perhaps heard a word or two in his master’s voice. Ferny reined the horse to a halt and scratched his nose.

Gladden Fields. By garn, that was a long distance away and he’d have to cross the Misty Mountains to get there, unless he managed to catch Naiore up before she reached whatever pass she intended to take. As far as he knew, there were only a few ways to get through the Misty Mountains: one was the High Pass that lay to the north, the other two were far to the south of Gladden fields, being the Redhorn Pass just north of Moria or there was the possibility of going through Moria itself. Now that was a scary thought, but it would be, oh, so like Naiore to choose that route. But surely even she would not risk passing through Moria. Or would she? Ferny shuddered in spite of himself. Rumor still said that Moria was an evil place. If the bounty hunter’s ghost was ever going to grab him, it would be in Moria. He would never make it to Gladden Fields.

“Woulda been nice if she’d said how she planned to get there...” he muttered, dismounting to study the trail. He was not much of a tracker, but even Ferny could see that two females had passed that way recently. If he kept up his pace, he figured he could overtake them by nightfall. The trail that Naiore had taken out of the campsite on the ridge had led south only briefly before taking an abrupt turn to the north. Squinting up at the late afternoon sky, Ferny realized that he had been riding north for over an hour.

“She’s making for the High Pass,” he said with finality. “Eh, Jaws?”

The horse merely snorted and turned his great head to look back down the path toward Rivendell.

“Stop that,” growled Ferny, pulling himself back into the saddle. “He ain’t comin’ after you and we ain’t goin’ back. Yer givin’ me the creeps.” With that, he flapped the reins and chupped to the horse, who started forward again with a slight jump. Ferny again thought he felt the brush of cold fingers against his neck and, with a sharp bark of revulsion, kicked the horse into a trot as the path temporarily leveled ahead of them.

“Ain’t no such thing as ghosts and you’re dead,” he grumbled to the air. “So go away, confound ye.” He had killed plenty of men in his lifetime, Ferny had, and never lost a wink of sleep or a moment’s peace over it. Why the bounty hunter was hanging around, he couldn’t quite figure out unless it had something to do with what Naiore had done to him. Ferny remembered again the blank look that had come into the man’s eyes as he walked away from the Ravenner, sword in hand and blood dripping from his nose. He cast another look behind him.

“Mind games,” he muttered. “Bounty hunter ain’t here. It’s mind games playin’ by that evil elf. That’s what it is. Messin' with me 'ead. Makin’ me think ’e’s ’ere.”

He reined the horse to a stop and looked back over his shoulder. “YOU’RE DEAD!” he shouted. He felt his heart skip a beat as echoes floated back to him from the distant mountains, a soft voice repeating, “You’re dead.” For a moment, he almost thought he heard his name added to the end. With a cold sweat breaking out all over his body, Ferny kicked the horse forward. He had to catch Naiore, get his reward and get back to Bree. Now. Barrold Ferny was not going to spend a night alone in the woods. Wasn’t it true that ghosts could only get you if you were alone? He thought he had heard that somewhere. Well, come flood or lightning, he was not going to spend a night alone.

The trail remained level for some distance, lined by brush and the occasional overhanging tree. Riding fast, Ferny saw the tiny figures of Naiore and the southern woman at last come into view, mounting the higher ground in the distance ahead of him. An oily grin touched his face as the horse, of his own accord, suddenly surged forward. Ferny’s grin vanished quickly as the animal abruptly veered off the path and gained speed, heading directly for the low-hanging branches of a gnarled old oak. Before he could react, the lowest branch caught Ferny across the midsection, scraping him as cleanly from the saddle as bacon from a pan. He landed on the ground in a sputtering heap.

The gray horse stopped several yards away and turned back, baring his large teeth and swishing his tail. Ferny had finally had enough. He struggled to his feet and drew his sword, so angry that he could not even find words. Instead, he uttered a guttural growl and, raising his sword, charged full at the gray horse. The horse whinnied and gracefully side-stepped the man’s wild-eyed attack. Then, with a flick of his long tail, the horse turned and trotted away, back up the path toward Rivendell.

Still holding his sword limply in his hand, Ferny watched as his erstwhile mount disappeared into the distance. Then, finally, he managed to find words... curse words and a lot of them. Belching a litany of profanity, he sheathed his sword and began to jog in the direction of Naiore and Benia Nightshade. If he hurried he could still catch them by nightfall.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

It was with a heavy heart and a strange sense of foreboding that Vanwe left Rivendell with the others. And even as they reached the eaves of the forest she turned in her saddle and looked back over the valley, silently wondering if she would ere return to walk in the gardens of her kin. But even as her eyes lifted and she looked further unto the west, she thought of her room, as modest as it was at forsaken inn and the friends she had made therein. It comforted her to know that they were safe, unmarred by the shadow of her mother. A smile as sweet and innocent as the morning dew played upon her lips as she turned thinking of the stable master tending his chores with his loose and easy whistle and the innkeeper and her ever welcoming countenance, even of cook the dowdy hobbit woman who often and anon complained that she did not eat enough she also thought on fondly.

Feeling her fathers gaze upon her, she turned and saw the warmth and affection that only a father has for his child when he perceives happiness in their face. “What fond memories doth bring so sweet a smile to my child’s fair features to chase away her bitter sorrows?” he asked as he came up beside her and for the first time since they meant Vanwe perceived that she saw the first hints of a genuine smile, not a weak smile borne out of sorrow or pity, but of affection and interested curiosity. She returned his smile and silently wondered if the warmth she now felt was what it felt like to be part of a family, did families share both happiness as well as sorrow? So eager was she to know her family she decided to open up to him. As they rode she recounted to him her time at the Inn and of the friendships she believed she had established as a member of it’s staff as short as that time was. But ere as she spoke the healer within her strove to draw out her father believing that if he to could remember happier times it may in some small way aid in the healing of his sorrows.


All went well as Menecin shared with her his time under the tutelage of Maglor, the greatest bard the elves have ever known he told her reminiscently. He spoke of names and places in a time long forgotten and not known to her but it mattered not! That he was sharing these things with her made her happy and while she kept on smiling Menecin continued to speak of such times, until eventually their talk came back to Naiore and the pain and hurt embroiled in her memory that neither one was yet ready to share and so a gloomy silence eventually ensued.

Is this the way it will always be? she thought miserably, will she always be a thorny wall between us preventing us to fully embrace each other? NO! she thought defiantly then turning to her father she spoke to him of her life in Harad, wither he would hear it or not! But in none of her recount did she seem bitter to toward her warders, “fear controlled their actions, fear of Naiore and fear of what they could not understand,” she told him seeing the hint of anger burning in his eyes. Then pulling the small piece of twisted leather from her pouch she held it out for him to see, I have carried this as a reminder of what lay behind a reminder to always look forward, but look now my mothers golden strands have become entwined with the reminder of that prison which she construed, a bitter irony don’t you think? But still their was no bitterness in her words only sorrow.

As she returned the leather to her pouch, her father spoke, soft and gentle were his words, “You are a stronger person than myself, to forgive such wrongs and stronger yet in mind than perhaps even your mother perceives, this may yet aid you my child, but yet be cautious for our hearts can sometimes betray us!” then lowering his head he rode on to speak with Amandur.

She sighed deeply shaking her head sadly. “Will he ever find peace?” she whispered as Léspheria’s white mare drew up beside her. “I don’t know?” Léspheria replied sympathetically “but that doesn’t mean you have to give up trying,” she smiled encouragingly. Vanwe nodded as she stare at the weary hunch of her father shoulders, so heavy with burden that she would eagerly lift for him if he would just let her.

Suddenly Léspheria stopped her body suddenly erect, her head turning slowly, listening! Vanwe thought as she too reigned her mount and strained her ears.

“What is it?” Amandur called noting their halt.

“A horse!” Vanwe suddenly cried recognising the clip clop of hoofs upon the soft snap of dried twigs.

“One and riderless,” Léspheria added. Amandur nodded as if a silent conversation had passed between them, then he rode off in the direction Léspheria indicated the sound was coming from leaving Vanwe and the others to anxiously await his return.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

For most of the afternoon, Naiore traveled on a northeasterly course, one that would take her directly to the High Pass through the mountains. She moved quickly, urging her captive, Benia Nightshade, to maintain a grueling pace only a few steps ahead of her. Fortunately for Miss Nightshade, the southern woman was a well-behaved captive and, apparently, well-used to walking. The entire day, she neither slowed nor faltered, which pleased Naiore no end. Nor had she made any attempt to speak. Since Kaldir had walked away and Barrold Ferny had put a stop to that annoying keening, the woman had not made a sound. In fact, she had not even looked at her captor. She had simply lowered her dark head and walked, hour after hour, holding herself in a stoic silence. Naiore smiled to herself, reaching out with her mind to touch the mind of her captive. Interestingly, she found no hint of the fear that had been so strong in the woman earlier. Now she found only deep sorrow and a trace of resignation.

Such a pity to hand her over to that oaf Ferny, thought Naiore. Sooner or later, he’ll only kill her. With a little training, she would have made someone an excellent slave. Not that Naiore would be interested in a slave herself. She was much more comfortable on her own. No, the southern woman would have been an valueable commodity that could be traded away to some less than scrupulous character in exchange for a favor or a horse. She was quite pretty. Naiore imagined that the exchange rate for her would be quite high in the right marketplace. Besides her value as a slave, there was also a cash value attached to the woman. Her tattooed hands gave her away. Unfortunately, though, Naiore had already promised the woman to Ferny and she was not one to go back on her word. Too bad. Such a waste.

Thinking of Ferny, Naiore cast a glance back over her shoulder. She and her captive had been climbing in altitude more or less steadily through the course of the afternoon. Now, as the sun began to dip lower on the horizon, they had reached the peak of a high ridge. Her keen elven eyes scanned the landscape behind them, looking for a sign of pursuit, not just by Ferny but by anyone. INstantly, her gaze fell on a puff of dust in the distance and a small black speck, jumping about and waving his arms after another speck of dust that seemed to moving rapidly back in the direction of Imladris... the horse no doubt. The fool had managed to get himself thrown and lost them their horse. A flash of irritation trilled down Naiore’s spine, then vanished. It was just as well that the horse was gone. They would not be able to take him through the mountains, anyway, at least not by the path she intended to take. As she watched, the black speck that was Ferny stopped fussing with the vanishing horse and turned in her direction. Seeming to catch sight of them, he began to jog toward them.

Naiore turned again toward her captive and gave her a considering stare. It was not good that Ferny had been able to spot them from such a distance. They had been careless. Ordering the southern woman to stop, Naiore slid her pack from her back and pulled two cloaks from main compartment. One, she put on. The other, she tied around the neck of the southern woman, spreading it across her slender shoulders. The cloaks were elven made and would serve to camouflage them against the rocks. Once the cloaks were satisfactorily in place, Naiore urged her captive forward again, but instead of pursuing the northeasterly course they had been following, she made a turn due east. While she had hoped to lead her pursuers into believing that she intended to take the High Pass over the mountains, her real destination was a smuggler’s trail, not often used and said to be frequented by orcs, that lay to the south of the other pass. Ferny would know it well, if he would just let the light into his shuttered brain long enough to remember that it was there. Once he reasoned thngs out that far, she was certain that he would realize that that was where she planned to make her crossing. Having no fear of orcs, she would wait for him at the base of the trail.

[Everdawn]

Avanill had for most of the time continued thinking about his task at hand. He was sure that the others did not know that he had accessed his belongings and in any case, it was not that for which he still worried. He was considerably concerned about the making of the venom which would stun the ravennor until a time which they could apprehend her.

Now however, all anxiousness aside, he was feeling more and more sercure within himself while all the outside had began to come undone. Amandur had wanted to find the others right away even though the message had said otherwise, and rightly so, the native woman had gone missing along with Kaldir, Rauthain and Dúlrain and Avanill while still a very junior member of the team couldn’t help but think that it all want a little ironic. Still, he thought, things could be worse. How much worse however, was only limited by the reaches of the imagination.

He had gone and run his errand to the stable master just as Amandur had instructed, and upon his return the faces in his presence were considerable more different than that had been minutes before. “It may be that we five alone must stop Naiore! But still it can be done!” Amandur said instructing them to mount their steeds. Avanill shook his head in disbelief as his horse took up the rear of the pack.

“Five? Great… Im going to have to ask for that satchel sooner than I had intended” he said quietly to himself.

From the front came commotion, the arrival of a riderless horse. Avanill sighed to himself and thought that ordinarily, a riderless horse just mean that its rider was too intoxicated to ride home to his wife. Now however, was a different story.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

As Vanwe told him of her years in Harad, Menecin’s anger waxed within him once again. Gone were the memories of attending to Maglor, playing for the great musician whose burnt hands could no longer feel the strings of his harp. Menecin’s thoughts turned instead to the many laments his master had composed around his bitter experiences. These things Menecin had learned in his youth, and yet before him Vanwe, who should have been allowed to wander freely the hidden places of Middle-earth, had instead endured unpardonable treatment at the hands of the ignorant, and known the scourge the ancient Dark Lord had produced in the harsh desert tribes. But his anger quickly dwindled as she spoke on. How was it that she could find it in her heart to feel pity for those who had treated her with such cruelty? And as she told of the prison her mother had bound her to, Menecin wondered, recognizing a reflection of himself in her words. Riding his dun horse silently at her side, he fingered the notes she had cast in the cold the fireplace in Imladris, and which now rested, hidden beneath his brigandine breast plate. It had been his only clue to the nature of his daughter, as he longed to discover more of her ways. She had curiosity, but the strength and subtle determination of her mother also shone in her, as brightly as the golden tresses she inherited and which graced her fair head. He could see that Vanwe was no captive, but many of the strong had faltered painfully in the presence of Naiore, and he did not wish to see her follow her mother's path nor yet the noble path that had spelled the end of Valaindon.

“You are a stronger person than myself to forgive such wrongs,” he spoke softly to her. “And stronger yet in mind than perhaps even your mother perceives. This may aid you my child, but yet be cautious for our hearts can sometimes betray us!” Indeed his own had only this morning, and that when he knew it could not be trusted. But this he would not speak of. Having warned her, he tugged at the reins, guiding his dark pointed stallion to walk beside Amandur’s charger, his thoughts circling round Naiore once again. He could hear Maglor’s rich voice in his mind, telling of a jewel that had caused much pain. But Menecin knew he had made no such vow to his dark jewel, and the only oath he allowed himself was given his daughter, and that he clung to as to life itself.

“Amandur,” he addressed the ranger. “I stress that which you no doubt are already aware of. We must be more than careful, not only before we find Naiore, but once we have her among us,” he said, so that the others might not hear. “True there are now five of us, and together we might have some hope, but I am concerned for the Ravennor’s kin, capable though they might be. I knew Léspheria’s mother well, before I came to live in Imladris. Her great compassion at first ensnared her, and when she pursued Naiore, having learned the truth of her cousin on my return from Henneth Annun, Naiore destroyed her given the chance.” He paused, grabbing Amandur’s upper arm so that when he turned he might search the ranger’s eyes. “We must take pains not to give Naiore any chance, any opening, for she will see what lies close to our hearts and use it against all of us, and to that tactic I suspect all five of us might prove vulnerable.”

Amandur looked over toward him, concern written in his expression, but Menecin saw that he looked passed him, over his shoulder to where the others rode. “What is it?” Amandur asked suddenly, so that Menecin also turned and saw that both Vanwe and Léspheria had stopped their horses, and were listening intently.

They called back that they heard a rider less horse. And listening too, Menecin made out the uneven pace of an ungoverned animal as it stopped and started, and his heart sank. He placed himself between the women and the direction the sound emanated from, as Amandur swiftly rode to discover the beast. “Prepare yourselves!” Menecin cried out, as the ranger’s horse disappeared behind the undergrowth. “Have you a knife as well as your sword?” he turned to ask the young merchant who had drawn his weapon. With a slight smile Avanill reached down and pulled a long dagger out of his boot. The elf nodded. “You had best keep it at ready, my friend, for though this horse sounds to be without rider, it also is heavy footed, and may bear some danger unlooked for.”

Léspheria too, already held half drawn her bow of mallorn wood, and Vanwe, a small blade. “Daughter,” Menecin called quickly when he saw Vanwe's short knife. “Do you know how to handle a bow?”

“No, father,” she replied, almost apologetically. “I have had no cause to learn.” Riding rapidly to her side and pulling in his mount, Menecin presented her his Noldorin sword, removing his bow from off his shoulder.

“It is just as well, for chances are you would prove over bowed. But I have heard rumor that the lady who rides with you is well versed in battle,” he said with a smile. “Stay close by her in trouble.”

And riding forward once again, he nocked an arrow in place as he went. Feeling it strange to be so arrayed after such a long time, as if he had been given his life to relive once again.