The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir listened quietly as Amandur spoke long and seriously of Dúlrain, events following Raven Falls, and Amandur's own role in things. Most of it Kaldir had heard before or pieced together from earlier conversations, but the part that he hadn't heard, that touched him most deeply, was the bit about Dúlrain's feelings of guilt. He had not known that the old loyalties still ran so deeply within the younger Ranger.

"Perhaps I have been harsh," he murmured to himself, remembering how consumed he had been with his own anger. Part of that anger had been rooted in his damaged memory and the inability to recall many faces and large portions of his life prior to his release from Mordor, but the rest of it, he knew quite well was purely temper. He had been furious at being left behind, and that anger was a large part of what had kept him going, had kept him alive through his years of darkness and torment. Over those years, he had learned to use his anger as both a weapon and a shield. Now that same anger would be a difficult thing to put away from himself, a very difficult thing, but Benia Nightshade and Mrs. Banks had already helped him to begin the process. He could do it, especially if he were accepted back by the Rangers and would no longer have to rely solely upon himself.

Kaldir felt greatly enouraged in that direction by Amandur's words and demeanor, but the older Ranger was correct in that there would doubtless be certain individuals among the other Rangers who would never trust or accept him. It was unfortunate, but not a situation that Kaldir found particularly alarming. As long as those individuals did not try to interfere with him, he believed that he would be able to co-exist with them. On the other hand, if they chose to make trouble for him, they would have a wolf of their own making to contend with. He had very little patience with those who would trip him up out of nothing but prejudice or irrational malice. By the same token, if they left him alone, he was confident that he could prove his worth. He smiled cautiously as Amandur clapped his good shoulder.

"I do hope you choose to return to us, my friend," Amandur concluded with a weary smile. "But one more question I have to ask. What of Naiore?"

"Naiore," echoed Kaldir. His expression darkened visibly at the mention of the Ravenner's name. He rose from the chair he had taken at Amandur's invitation and walked to the far side of the small chamber. The image of her standing on the rock just outside the very walls of Imladris, her inky leathers stained with blood, rose up starkly in his mind. Just as abruptly as it had appeared, the image began to melt and bleed into a different one, one of Naiore in another, darker place, smiling serenely and clad in the finest of silks. He remembered gut-wrenching pain. Fire. The lash of whips. He lowered his head, fighting to push the memories away. Then, very deliberately, he reached up and struck his wounded shoulder sharply with his fist. The jolt of pain that followed cleared his head. After a moment of silence during which he waited for the real, actual pain to subside, Kaldir turned once more toward Amandur, his face pale but determined.

"Naiore must be killed," he answered bluntly. "Whether it be by my hand or that of another, I care not. I trailed her this far with the intention of doing the deed myself, the king's justice be damned." He paused, his pale blue eyes meeting Amandur's gray ones directly. "But I wonder now if I am up to the task."

When Amandur did not reply immediately, he continued gruffly. "Something happened on the battlefield to remind me that perhaps I am not the best man for the job after all. The Ravenner can smell weakness like a jackal." Without thinking, he raised a hand to touch the battered side of his face. "The damage that was done to me in Mordor was considerable. Not all of the scars are visible to the eye and, even now, not all of the wounds have healed. I found that I was more vulnerable to her presence than I would have thought."

"With that in mind, I think the wiser course would be to throw my sword in with you - if you will allow it - than to continue hunting her on my own."

Amandur nodded. "That would be acceptable to me, but I must warn you that our intention is to bring her to face trial in Gondor, not to kill her."

"The Valar help you, then," Kaldir answered calmly. "She will find a way to free herself and she will kill you in your sleep. Do not underestimate her."

"We won't," said Amandur gravely. Kaldir thought he intended to say more, but at that instant the door opened and they were joined by a pair of Elven healers. Amandur communicated to him with a glance that they would continue their discussion at a later time, then he rose to greet the healers.

Hours later, after the healers had treated his and Amandur's injuries and the two of them had parted company, Kaldir found himself back in the Hall of Healing. It was well past sundown. He had gone there to look in on Dúlrain, and perhaps have a quick word with him if he was awake, but upon finding the right room, Kaldir went no further than the doorway. Looking in, he saw Dúlrain lying asleep in the bed. His color was much better than it had been when Kaldir had parted company with him at the edge of the battle field and his breathing was good. Kaldir was relieved to note as much, but it was the sight of Benia that made him stop in his tracks. She sat in a chair beside the bed, her long, raven hair flowing loosely down her back, the candlelight shining off the silver of her jewelry. She sat perfectly motionless, her slender fingers intertwined with those of the sleeping man, her gemlike eyes never leaving his face. Watching them together, Kaldir suddenly felt like an intruder. Turning, he left as silently as he had arrived.

"She belongs with him..." he murmured, replaying the little tableau over and over in his mind. How could that be? She and Dúlrain barely knew each other. Remembering the way she looked at Dúlrain, Kaldir felt a sharp stab of jealousy. She should have been his. He had not carried her with him halfway across Middle Earth just to deliver her into the arms of another man. He scowled fiercely at the thought of doing such a thing, but, even so, he still wavered. Amandur's words of earlier in the day still haunted him.

According to Amandur, Dúlrain had never deserted him. If that was true, then all of the self-righteous anger that Kaldir had been using as a wedge to drive his childhood friend, his brother, away from him was false. If Dúlrain had never betrayed him, then what right had he, Kaldir, to try to take Benia? Aside from his own love for the desert woman, he had no right to her, no claim. In fact, by all that was right, she belonged with Dúlrain. Yet Kaldir knew he could not let go of her. Not yet.

With these thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, Kaldir returned to his room, feeling irritated and torn in his heart. Unable to find comfort in the softness of the room's feather bed, he lay instead on the floor, on the rug in front of the fire. When sleep finally came to him, it was fitful and thin.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Menecin made wide search of the area, in which he sought for some sign of Naiore or of his daughter, before circling back toward the stream, creeping silently among the trees, as was his wont from his days of soldiering in Gil-Galad forces. He had searched for Naiore once since that time, and flinched revisited by the vision of the many orcs that had bore down on him, imagining them to be at hand once again. The same single-minded desire flowing strong through his veins, the urgent sense the he must find her and free her, pervading his thoughts. Only now it was not Naiore, but her daughter that he sought. This was his duty, and a thing he again felt compelled to do.

For even in the dawn of the Third Age, when Naiore Dannan was thought a trader by many, having fought beside Sauron against the alliance, he along with a some others had sought her out, believing that it was not of her own free will that she had done what had been attributed to her. Then he had not abandoned her, as her parents had done, leaving behind their shame as they sailed westward. He would not forsake her in her bleak circumstances. Even now, though she had tried to kill him in Ithilien, he knew he must somehow try to bend her will once again or else break her, though surely either might die in the attempt, for well he knew of her murderous intent.

But there was the matter of Vanwe. In earlier days he had easily cast aside his life at court to find Naiore, but this was his daughter and he could not leave her, or have her witness that which he saw as necessary. And she should not, having only just found her parents lose them again to wander Middle-Earth alone, once again.

Thinking these thoughts, Menecin followed the water walking among the deep shadows of the trees, hidden even from the stars, until he came to a place where the current became broad and slow. And there carefully hiding himself amidst the darkness, he sat watching closely for those who might wish to ford the water, and also eyeing the steep sides of the valley for those he searched for. But none came, save two men and a horse that moved slowly through the gloom, along the bank toward him. And seeing from a short distance that the one, a ranger by the look of him, wore an orc’s sword at his side as well as one more suitable to him, Menecin stood up in the darkness to greet them.

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Rauthain

After discussing the matter with several of the rangers staying in Imladris, Rauthain learned of a trustworthy fellow soon bound for more northerly terrain, and who was willing to pass through the Ettenmoors before making his way westward. And Rauthain had, over a lengthy supper arranged for Juta to be taken back to his rightful owner, as soon as this traveler had prepared himself to leave. That they had reckoned to be in a few days’ time. And so Rauthain in his eagerness to settle this business, thought to see to state of the horse though the hour grew late, and to determine if Juta was indeed sound enough for the journey back. For the old ranger would not have his friend think that any harm had come to the animal entrusted to his care, and the gentle beast had done his service well.

At last entering the stables, the two men passed through the corridors that held the tall and proud horses of the elves, who snorted at them and stamped in the lamp light, until at last Avanill called to Rauthain, saying that he had found Juta in a dark corner of the stables far from the other mounts that lodged there. Grabbing an oil lamp from off its stand, the ranger held it in front of him to gain a better view. “What a site you are, my friend,” Rauthain pronounced under his breath as he drew near, for the horse was heavily mud flecked, with all manner of chaff entangled in his hair. “Then again, I suppose that same might rightly be said of me, if you could but speak.” He joked, sliding open the stall’s door to pass inside.

As he patted and swept the dusty brown shoulder removing the lose dirt, Juta swung his head around to study the ranger with one large brown eye, and swiftly turned back again swishing his tail as he heard the door close and Avanill lean against it. “You know, you might stand a better chance of finding a fresh horse if you showed that you knew how to take proper care of one,” Avanill advised the ranger, amused. “The both of you look as though have been camping in Midgewater Marsh.”

Rauthain squatted down easily, checking Juta’s hooves for signs of damage. “Yes well, we have not been keeping to the roads or sleeping in comfort. Neither have I had idle time,” he said grinning as he stood up, feigning an attempt at picking out burrs in the dim light. “And my attention was not to be spared for such things, for I have had to keep one eye on my traveling companion so that he might not stray. But now it is a different matter, true?” The old ranger not waiting for a reply, squinted looking around the stall, “I could use a little more light than this dim spot affords. Perhaps you would accompany me and share your appraisal of Juta’s appearance if not your help, so that as you suggest we that we might acquire decent animals and that more quickly.”

Handing the lamp to Avanill, the old ranger drew the horse from it’s stall and once in the passage, began rapidly cleaning its mane with a well practiced hand, and the tail also he swiftly uncluttered, as Avanill held aloft the light. After finishing this, Rauthain led Juta outside, picking up a brush along the way. And Juta, no longer hemmed in by walls, held his head higher, listening attentively to the sounds of the night. Setting down the lamp by the door, Avanill followed along as the ranger headed toward the river, little more than a broad stream at this point, but very swift. Walking upstream, Rauthain looked by starlight for a calm pool in which to bathe the horse, but had to go some way before at last he saw a spot where the water flowed wide over the unyielding stone. But he sensed something amiss, and as he looked about, his hand moved to his belt, the sound of Avanill unsheathing his sword echoing nearby. The thought that the orcs might have found some other route to this place flickered quickly through his mind. And seeing movement among the trees, Rauthain brandished a sword quickly, but was unexpectedly met not by the clash of metal, but rather by a calm greeting in the ancient tongue of the Quendi.

Immediately, the ranger lowered his blade aghast to find he had drawn not his own that lay newly sharpened at his side, but the far more sinister sword of orcish make that he had taken up when he traveled alone. “I am heartily sorry,” he said apologetically, beginning to discern the shape of a tall elf among the shadows. “We have but only today come from battle, and I have not yet forgotten that orcs would threaten this sanctuary. I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defense of Imladris this day.” Stepping forward and sheathing his sword once again, the younger man nodded, acknowledging the elf’s presence.

“It is good that you remain on your guard, for there is more at hand than merely the orcs,” the voice deep yet rich replied. “Though I have seen no one other than yourselves the many hours I have watched this place.”

Wondering if he spoke of the Ravennor, Rauthain studied this stately one who stood motionless among the trees. Surely he was no watchman, but rather seemed of noble descent, great care softening a piercing glance. The ranger held his peace, for something in the manner of this elf troubled him, and he would not venture to speak further of his business there or of Naiore. “We have come only for a short while,” Rauthain explained, “To bathe this poor beast as best we can, and will not risk more, if you deem it unsafe here.”

“Of that I am certain,” the elf said gravely. “But here, let me relieve you of this corrupt weapon you carry,” he offered. “For I am familiar with what might be done with it, and it is not seemly for such a weapon to be present in this refuge. It bodes evil to see it here.”

Indeed Rauthain had considered casting the blade aside when upon the stair that very morning, but something had stayed his hand. At the time he reasoned that it should not find it’s way into the wrong hands by chance, and so seeing the opportunity to be rid of the thing, and knowing that the fair folk might find such weapons to be offensive, he surrendered the hilt to the dark haired elf gladly, thanking him.

“I will see to it then,” the elf said as he took hold of the sword and held it, testing its balance in his hand. “And do not tarry overlong out of doors, but find your comfort tonight in the brighter places.”

It struck Rauthain as strange that such a warning should be given a ranger, and he asked Avanill if he desired to leave. But the young man’s courage did not waver at the elf’s the ominous words. And when Rauthain turned again to the trees, he saw the elf no more, but only the straight trunks, grey in the flickering starlight.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill had been dumbstruck by Amandur’s reaction. The young man was so sure that only a minute ago he was headed for an untimely meeting with the grim reaper. So-so he thought in his own mind for he did not know what to make of the actions of the last hours. He did know one thing that was embedded within his mind now; he was going to make a decent man of himself, not only pay for the deeds of Barrold Ferney but also for the ill-deeds of his mothers past.

He had not found favour however, in parting with his various poisons, but in order to gain the trust of Rauthain and Amandur it would have to suffice. Besides, he knew that they would have no reasoning to kill him now, now that he was needed when the time came to subdue Naiore. Until this moment he had never fully understood the consequences of his actions, he would have to face Naiore, he, Avanill who betrayed her. He would have to be strong, after all, he had hoped that Barrold Ferney was still too drugged up to notice the difference between his fingers and his toes.

Presently however, he and Rauthain were walking Juta to a stream. “When he is clean, I bet he is a magnificent animal. Probably a darn sight better than my horse.” Avanill confessed. “Belonged to my mother, I can’t bear to part with the evil blighter.” He was quiet again, taking in the serenity of the elven landscape.

A few minutes later Avanill had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. And reflecting to his past experience, being watched from the dark of the forest was not a good sign. He drew his sword. Rauthain had done so as well, although the watcher spoke and Rauthain lowered his blade, Avanill however did not, his experiences with elves taught him to be cautious.

Rauthain began introductions, I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defence of Imladris this day.” Obviously the older ranger trusted this elf, Avanill did not speak but did opt for sheathing his sword. If anything was to happen, he was comforted in his mind that he still had numerous daggers.

The elf’s presence however was unsettling to the young man, still as always it did not show upon his face. The elf took Rauthain’s sword and held it, leaving time for quick words between men. But when they were done, the elf had, well, disappeared.

Once more Avanill drew his blade. “Elf comes, says this place is dangerous, takes your weapon and leaves? No offence to the fair race my friend, but something is definitely not right to me, and I ought to know” he said searching. “You don’t think he has anything to do with her do you?”

Barrold

Meanwhile a long way away from the ranger and the young man was another man, still managing to trudge through the underbrush without making much of a racket or loosing his balance in the dark of night. He had managed to come quite a way from where Avanill had left him, he had gone back to camp only to find it empty, and angered once more went on his way. Cursing under his breath Barrold took a seat on a nearby log to catch his breath. Damn the Boy he thought to himself, I dont envy his position though, 'Her nibbs' wont be too happy though. Probably already knows... Ill kill him myself when if I have to! He did however, thank Avanill for not killing him as he knew the boy well could have, he had been handed the opportunity on a silver platter. Avanill had taken the opportunity to escape, but Barrold was not phased that easily. He knew what he wanted, Gold, and lots of it as well as an elf bride.

Shaking his head half in awe half in anger, Barrold Continued on.

After what seemed an eternity Barrold came to the edge of a river. He did not know for sure, but he had an idea that this River lead to Rivendell. And if that wasn't where Naiore was headed, his name wasn't Ferney. Rivendell not only meant Naiore, but also Elves. This would mean that Barrold would have to take precautions. And drawing his sword he receded into the line of the woods and made his way slowly towards Rivendell hoping to find the notorious elf again.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

“It may very well have to do with her,” Rauthain whispered staring at the woods where the strange elf had disappeared. “But I do not think that he would warn us if he meant us harm. As for my weapons, I have my own sword, and through the orc blade has sufficed in battle, I am more accustomed the feel of this one. But let us hope all the same that it shall not be needed, and heed this warning without question, for I do not feel it is unfounded counsel. Indeed the elf seemed of some rank and perhaps is privy to intelligence we know not of. For though Imladris is well protected, the Ravennor may have dared to boldly breach its guard.”

“I still do not like the look of it,” Avanill said softly. “If this elf were important, why would he be wandering about alone with her abroad?”

“This I do not know,” Rauthain admitted, taking up Juta’s reigns. “But I do know that this topic would be better taken up inside the confines of our lodging. Come let us leave this lonely place and keep to the shadows until our return. For whether orc or their mistress be here about, we should not become a mark for them.”

“Aye, we should take care that we might accomplish what we set after, and once in the guest house we can ask who this elf might be.”

“True, perhaps they know of him, though I would not count on it. But let us not talk further until by the light of a hearth.” Rauthain suggested. And Avanill nodding his agreement set out toward the light of the Homely House, sword at ready with the ranger following behind him. And so they walked in silence among the shadows, hiding themselves also from the stars of Varda, in hopes that they might not be discovered and they might not be struck down. And the ranger felt again the weight of his burden crowding in upon him with each step.


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Naiore

As the day stretched on and activity decreased steadily in the vicinity of the back gardens, Naiore let herself sleep, awaking once at a hint of motion over by the corner of one of the buildings. Casting her senses in that direction, she thought she caught the impression of anger... a disturbed mind. Elven?

"Menecin!" she hissed, her back straightening against the rough bark of the tree trunk. "Has my Vanwe delivered you to me at last?" She leveled a piercing gaze in the direction of the perceived motion, but saw nothing further, only the pale green of leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze. The slender figure of Vanwe, leading her dark-haired and tragic father to his doom never appeared. After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, Naiore felt a flush of rage and disappointment. Realizing that Vanwe was not yet fulfilling her purpose, the Ravenner pushed the flood of emotions away and settled back into waiting. Awake now, she reached out again in search of Vanwe and Menecin. Though she still felt the vague presence of the Bard's consciousness, his madness, she found she could not determine from whence it came. Her clear grey eyes studied the trees, the shadows, the corners of every wall.

Her vigilance continued through the afternoon and into the night as daylight waned and faded into darkness. She waited until the moon rose and, then, with the shadows gathered around her like a shroud, Naiore unwound her long legs and slid down from her hiding place. A restlessness had taken hold of her that was rooted in the continuous feeling she had that Menecin was somewhere nearby. Almost unconsciously, she listened for the sound of his singing, the melliflous tones of his flute. Only silence found her. And then the sound of voices. Two men approached, leading a dirty and illkempt-looking horse along the path that led from the stable to the stream. Instantly, she recognized one of the men as Avanill, the other as a ranger from the Forsaken Inn. Moving like a shadow herself, Naiore trailed them to the stream, taking a few seconds along the way to retrieve her bow and a small clutch of arrows from where she had hidden them earlier, selecting only orcish arrows from amongst the Elven ones. The elves must think her deed the work of a stray orc.

Unaware that she watched them, the two men chatted amiably as the ranger gave his horse a bath in the moonlit stream. Naiore knocked an arrow to the string and raised her bow. The traitorous Avanill, obviously not a prisoner but a willing co-conspirator of her pursuers, would have to die. Though she would have preferred to look into his arrogant eyes and squeeze the life out of him with her silken garrotte, an arrow would do the job. She smiled serenely as she sighted along the shaft of the arrow to his heart. The ranger would have to die, too, his presence an inconvenience, but not an unhappy one. It always pleased her to release a ranger from his mortal condition. Besides, it would not do to have him running about, raising an alarm. Left in the woods, it could be days before the bodies were found. By then, she would be long departed into the west or the south, her objectives accomplished.

But the arrow never left Naiore's bow. Someone else had joined the two men at the stream. Unable to see the newcomer, Naiore froze, straining her ears into the darkness, but the rush of the stream concealed the words. Though she could not make out what was said, the voice sounded Elven. Lowering her bow, Naiore crept closer, reaching out with her senses. Suddenly she stopped short as her mind came into contact with a familiar consciousness. A rush of jumbled emotions - anger, love, and madness - collided with her thoughts. Forgetting Avanill, she melted back into the shadows, her inky leathers blending with the surrounding darkness. Menecin!

She was unable to see him, but she knew with a cold certainty that the newcomer was Menecin. A smile again touched her lips. Perhaps she could achieve her goal without the help of Vanwe. She would wait for the Bard to emerge from the trees with his companions, then she would strike him down and be on her way. Pity it would have to be an orcish arrow to fell her former lover and the father of her child, but she had not the time to retrieve an arrow of Elven make. That he would be destroyed would have to be enough for her.

Patiently, Naiore waited, but when Avanill and the ranger finally finished their business at the stream and departed back toward the safety of the buildings, the Bard was not with them. Her attention now focused on the unseen elf, Naiore let them go and reached out again into the darkness with her mind, but the presence she had sensed earlier was gone. He had slipped away amongst the trees. Naiore hesitated, debating with herself whether to pursue him now or to wait. Cautiously, she glided in the direction in which she had heard his voice. Getting there, she found nothing, only the careless tracks of the men and their horse. Frustrated, she followed the stream bank for a short distance before turning back. Menecin had been a warrior at one time and, at that time, had been possessed of strong skills of woodcraft and concealment. Tracking him by moonlight when he did not wish to be found would be an exercise in futility, even for her. Perhaps she would wait for Vanwe to fulfill her task after all. Perhaps the time for Naiore to wreak her revenge had not yet come.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain slowly opened his eyes, it took a few minutes for them to adjust to the brightness of the morning light filtering through the open arched windows and for a moment, he felt slightly disorientated wondering where he was and how he had got there. but as he stared at the ivory ceiling and the ornately carved beams he knew that he could only be in the home of the elves for only they had such skill at woodcraft, then it all came back to him, Naiore, the orcs, the river, his injury, the flight to Rivendell. Benia! He thought instantly, but turning his head, he saw her, in a chair next to him her dark head resting on the edge of his bed, had she been here all night? He bite back a wince his wound still a little tender as he propped himself up, careful not to wake the peaceful slumber of this beautiful woman. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, a peaceful calm emanating from her, infusing him entirely as her exotic beauty once more captivated him. He drew closer, his dry cracked lips almost brushing the silky softness of her skin.

The round metal handle of the door turned and he gently pulled back without feeling the warmth of her lips. A tall elven woman entered silently closing the door behind her, a jug and wash basin sat in one hand and a fresh towel in the other. She smiled as she saw that he was awake. “Ah! Master Ranger, it is good to see that you have decided to remain among the living, you gave us all quite a scare,” she grinned, her musical voice the merest of whispers, so as not to disturb the rest of the young southern woman.

“It will take more than the blade of an orc and the chill of a river to drag me from these lands,” he laughed quietly, his gaze turning again to sleeping form of Miss Nightshade as he remembered again the conflict of his heart.

“She has barely left your side,” The elven woman whispered following his gaze.

Dulrain looked up surprised. “How long have I been asleep!” he asked.

“Since yester morn,” the elven woman replied, setting down the jug and basin on a table at the far side of the room, “You are a very luckily man to have found the love of such a kind and caring young woman, many would envy you,” she continued as she poured water from the jug into the basin.

“Love” Dúlrain whispered looking back at Benia’s peaceful face, he had not considered her feelings not fully believing that she would ever return the yearnings of his heart, believing that her heart already belonged to Kaldir.

“I will leave you now, there have been a few others who have inquired as to your condition and they will be most anxious to hear that you are awake and well, but still you must rest. I will have breakfast brought for you and your lady and Lady Léspheria will look in on you later to check on your bindings.” the elven woman smiled, then turning she left the room as silently as she had come.

Alone again Dúlrain looked down again at the sleeping form of the southern woman, did she really love him a warm feeling spread over his body as he gently moved a stray strand of her dark hair from her face, she stirred and he drew his hand away.

“Good morning,” he smiled as she slowly opened her eyes.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia awoke to the lightest touch of a hand, the gentle smoothing of a stray hair away from her face. Opening her eyes, she looked immediately to Dúlrain to make sure that he was still breathing, to see if his color had improved. She was startled to find him not only awake, but propped up on one elbow. And smiling. Her heart rejoiced at the sight of his clear gray eyes, lucid again at last.

"Good morning," he said softly.

Afraid that she might be dreaming, Benia reached out and laid one hand gently against the side of his face. "You're awake," she murmured. "Please, by all that is true, tell me that I am not dreaming."

Dúlrain reached up and enfolded her delicate hand in his. "You are not dreaming, fair lady. I have indeed lasted the night and awake feeling much better."

"The Valar be praised." A radiant smile broke across Benia's face. She bent forward to kiss his forehead, but the Ranger bent forward as well, intercepting her and touching her lips with a tender kiss of his own. Closing her eyes, Benia kissed him back, letting all of the love she felt for him flow through her lips to his. Nearly overcome with the intense mixture of joy and longing she felt for him, she wished that that single kiss could last forever.

Letting her lips linger against his, she whispered, "I was so frightened for you."

"Be frightened no more, my love," he whispered in return. "I shall not leave you."

"My love," echoed Benia, and they kissed again. When she finally drew back from him, her amber eyes sparkled through tears of happiness, as her slender fingers intertwined with his. Then, suddenly, she laughed.

"Good morning," she said, the realization striking her that she had never answered his greeting.


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Nerindel's Post - Vanwe

Not to far away another was rousing to the harmonious sound of birds singing, slowly opening her eyes Vanwe realised that she must have fallen asleep while speaking with Léspheria in the garden. A light mist clung stubbornly to the ground and dew clung to her hair and the blanket someone must have put over her while she slept. She felt refreshed and well rested, no nightmares or thoughts of her mother had plagued her dreams that night. She gasped in wonderment as the suns first rays spread out over the eastern horizon washing the valley in its golden light, chasing away the predawn mist. Pulling her blanket tighter, she sat for a moment just gazing idly at the beauty around her, listening as the birds of the valley greeted the new day. And in that moment of peace and tranquility Vanwe felt free and unburdened the woes of her life swept carefully aside so that she could enjoy the simple pleasure of watching the sun rise.

However, the trails of her life could not be so easily swept aside and even as she looked out over the valley she could not help but wonder if her mother was out there somewhere waiting for her to deliver her father. How long would she wait and what would she do when she realised that her daughter was not returning. Vanwe worried that by not returning she would bring more trouble on the elves, but she could not betray her father. The healer in her still wanted to believe that her mother suffered from some illness, a sickness that infected her mother like some evil poison making her do the terrible things that she was accused of doing, something she could heal. But the part of her that remembered the treatment she had received at the hands of her mother, the part that remembered her mother had abandoned her to the harshness of the hardrim desert, already knew that her mother was beyond any help or redemption. Closing her eyes she sighed wearily then turning away from the beauty of the new dawn she walked back toward the house.

As she drew close she could hear two voices, one she recognised as Lespheria's and another she did not know. "I have just left master Dúlrain's room and it will please you to know that his fever has finally broken and he is awake," the unkown voice was telling Léspheria.

"Indeed that is wonderful news, Celebnariel, and Miss Nightshade, she too must be relieved by this news?" Léspheria replied.

"Indeed I believe she will be when she awakes to find her young man awake before her," the unknown voice replied lightly. Vanwe too found herself pleased that the ranger was well after their efforts to save him and that Miss Nightshade was still with him and not with the bounty hunter, Léspheria had explained to her the previous night how the southern woman had come to end up in Rivendell though the fact that Kaldir was also nearby made her more than a little uncomfortable.

As she reached the open glass doors, she saw that two baths had been drawn, two large metal tubs sat in the middle of the room, the delicate aroma of lavender and rose hip rising in the steam coming off the hot bubbly water. Lespheria sat in a robe combing down her long dark hair, wet from the bath that the elf had obviously just taken. another elf the bearer of the unknown voice poured another jug of hot water in the second tub to keep it warm, but at her approach both women stopped what they were doing and turned to smile at her.

"Good morning," both women greeted pleasantly, "Did you manage to sleep well?" Léspheria asked.

"Yes, I did sleep well, thank you," she replied honestly.

"Vanwe, This is Celebnariel and she looks after the guests of Rivendell and some of the rest of us too" Lespheria laughed introducing the tall elven woman.

"I thought that you may be indeed of a warm bath and some fresh clothes after your journey," the other elf smiled warmly, indicating both the bath and a fresh set of clothes that sat on a nearby chair.

Vanwe looked down at herself realising that she still wore the fine mint silks of her mother’s gown, now smeared with the blood of those her mother saught to destroy but that she had helped to save, an irony was not lost on Vanwe as she slipped out of the fine garment and handed it to Celebnariel.

"I will see that it is washed and returned to you," the elf smiled taking the delicate gown. Vanwelooked at the dress for a moment wondering if she ever wanted to see it again, but nodded her thanks all the same. Slipping into the warm water she closed her eyes for a moment as her tense muscles relaxed.

"If you should require anything further myself or any of the other attendants of the house will be more than willing to help," the elven attendant said as she moved towards the door, Vanwe nodded her thanks, then Celebnariel turned to Léspheria, "I will have breakfast brought to you presently my lady," then a slight smile of amusement crossed her lips as she told Léspheria that the ranger Amandur had asked after her several times and as vanwe looked at Léspheria she was sure she saw the confident elf's pale cheeks colour ever so slightly as she replied.

"You may inform him that I am well and will speak with him shortly, after I have checked on my patients." with an amused grin Celebnariel nodded and silently left pulling the door behind her.

As Vanwe washed Lespheria told her the news that Celebnariel had brought with her, the news that Dúlrain was awake and that his fever had broken, She also informed her that the hobbit Toby longholes was in Rivendell and seemed to be favouring the company of Mrs Banks. "They say he came in with Kaldir and the ranger Rauthain."

Vanwe nodded relieved that the hobbit had managed to escape her mother, or at least she hoped he had escaped. There came a knock at the door and Léspheria rose to answer it, returning shortly with a tray laden with breasfast. After drying and slipping on the pale green elven dress that had been left for her she joined Lespheria and together they sat down to eat.

As they ate Léspheria delicately brooched the subject of her mother again, telling her that she could teach her how to resist her mothers intrusions. Vanwe accepted Léspheria's offer and they began at once, it was more difficult than Vanwe had first imagined, but with Léspheria's gently instruction she slowly began to build up a mental barrier. It was weak at first, but Léspheria assured her it would get stronger with practice.

By mid-morning Lespheria stopped the lesson telling Vanwe that she must check on her patients, Vanwe nodded her understanding. She was eager to go find her father and speak some more with him, tell him of the things she had learned. The two women left together and as Léspheria entered the halls of the healers Vanwe carried on towards the stairs that lead to her room, but as she approached she heard a familiar voice, one she had not been expecting. In fear she pressed herself against a pillar so she could not be seen, as the debonair form of Avanill walked across the hall, he was speaking with two elves and she strained to hear what they were saying.

"The young elf, Vanwe is well, and is she is currently in the company of the Lady Léspheria," one of the elves was telling the young man.

Vanwe did not wait to hear any more she slipped away back down the hall, she did not know why he was here, but if her mother had sent him, she would not lead him straight to her father, instead she decided to explore the halls of the elven house until Léspheria was again free and she could share her concerns with her.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir awoke late with a throbbing headache. The pain seemed to start in the damaged side of his face and spike upward like a stiletto behind his eye, almost as though a splinter of bone had come loose in the night and worked its way around to stab into the flesh. It gave his cheek muscle a slight twitch and caused his eye to tear, but at least his head was clear of the nightmares that had beset him all night. That was a bonus, anyway, perhaps a benefit of his surroundings, the influence of the Eldar.

He changed into the fresh shirt that the elves had provided and, in doing so, was pleased to see that the wound to his shoulder had improved greatly and no longer hampered his movement. In fact, the headache gave him worse pain than the shoulder. That was good. He would need his full strength. He had a feeling that Naiore was still nearby, though he had no tangible proof of it... only the nightmares and the headaches. The word he had heard late the evening before, upon the return of an Elven scouting party, was that Naiore had fled into the west on heels of her retreating orcs. Tracks had been found. And a single strand of golden hair. Even so, Kaldir had his doubts. Naiore would never be so careless as to leave such an obvious trail. If so, she would have been captured years ago. Having tracked her for years himself, he knew full well of her ability to disappear into a poisonous nothingness. If a hair had been found, it had been planted. He was sure of it.

The hobbit, Toby Longholes, had said that she hunted Menecin, her former lover and the father of her child. Her orc assault on the stairs had been an attempt to get at Menecin. Would she give up so easily? Kaldir thought not. And now Vanwe was in Imladris as well. All the more reason for Naiore to linger. But where? He had seen her on the rocks below the stair. She must have crossed the river again in order to plant the tracks and the hair, but where had she gone after that? Kaldir had a strong suspicion that it wasn't far, else why the persistent throb in his face? Else why the nightmares? Naiore Dannan could not have gone far.

With his nerves feeling jangled and raw from both the pain behind his eye and the restless night, Kaldir went down to the great hall for breakfast. He was disappointed to find neither Benia nor Mrs. Banks in attendence, Benia having remained with Dúlrain in the Hall of Healing and the hobbit lady having already put in an appearance and gone. He then spent a quiet hour or so eating and speaking with the elves of the scouting party, who had come down to breakfast as well. He was interested to discover that many of them shared his doubts, though they were equally as non-plussed as to where Sauron's Ravenner actually had gone, if not into the west. The Elves had gathered up some stray orcs as prisoners but, upon trying to interrogate them, found them patently unhelpful, more prone to growling and spitting than saying anything of value. In the end, the prisoners had been executed and burned, their weapons and armor buried. With all leads exhausted, the Elves had found themselves with no other choice but to return to Imladris. Kaldir listened to their words with interest, but upon taking leave of them found himself no wiser than he had been before.

With his face still throbbing and having nothing pressing to do, Kaldir went outside to catch a breath of fresh air and to think. The Elves of the scouting party had hinted that Elladan and Elrohir planned to call a counsel for that evening, but, until then, Kaldir found himself at loose ends. He found a large stone in the clearing behind the main hall and sat down upon it, turning his face up to the sun in the hope that a touch of sunshine might draw some of the pain out of his face. He was sitting like that, pondering the questions of both Benia and Naiore, not to mention what had become of his horse and other belongings, when he heard the approach of a firm footstep on the path. Turning, Kaldir saw Rauthain. He nodded to the old Ranger.

"Good morning," he said purely out of an obligation to say something. He still regarded Rauthain with distrust and, admittedly, some dislike, but the fierce resentment that he had once felt toward his former brother-in-arms had faded somewhat of late. With that in mind, Kaldir felt that he could spare him a little courtesy.