[Imladris]

Mithrellas glanced back at Nimrodel, who was rocking violently back and forth, her golden hair caught in the wind. A shriek echoed in Gwyllion's dream world...the grass melted away like snow before the morning sun, the song of birds was cut short, the blue sky faded revealing scurrying clouds that fled before bladed wind.

Mithrellas clutched at Gwyllion, trying to keep the shreds of the dream together -- trying to keep Gwyllion. A torrent of pain and fear washed over her and Mithrellas gasped. Elbereth! she cried, climbing to her feet. Flames of fear and pain burned in Gwyllion -- A Elbereth Gilthoniel o mene palan-díriel le nallon sí di-nguruthos A tiro Gwyllion, Fanuilos!

A cold hand drew near, and snuffed spirit's fire. Gwyllion had met her doom.

Gwyllion

Gwyllion awoke screaming, writhing in pain as she saw one of the ugly short men...she couldn't feel her leg..

Panic leaped like a monster, clutching her heart in fear. She struggled, struggled wildly trying to escape. How could she run with one leg? The blood...she gasped and retched.

Then she saw Mellonin...her cheek was torn by a knife's cruel edge. "Mellonin!" she screamed, trying to crawl towards her. There was another, but she did not know who she was. Aeron wasn't there? Why? Hot tears bathed her cheeks..."Mellonin!"

The pain...she struggled to stay awake. Aeron...where was he now? She wished that they could go back home to Gondor...back to father...

Dirty hands clutched at her, forcing her to the ground. One grasped her hair, pulling her head back. A sordid, short, ugly man, his leering face contorted with anger, lunged towards, a knife gleaming in his hand. Gwyllion screamed...this was not how she imagined she would die.

Aeron

Raefindan was gone when Aeron and Ædegard caught up with the elves. They had not found Gwyllion. Aeron even now realized that it had been foolish of him to think that he would find her in a grassy glade crowned with flowers. He even wondered if such grasslands existed -- they had been in this dratted swamp for so long.

Gwyllion would be alright. He smiled...they would have a good laugh about it when she came back, or when they found her nestled among the cattails. The smile faded and he gnawed his lip as the sun began to set. If that elf had lied -- his hand clenched into a fist.

Then he saw them: four girls: one brandishing a knife to keep the merlocks at bay, two others stumbling as they carried his sister. Aeron's heart grew cold as he saw the limp body of his sister, one leg missing. No. She was not dead. The pain had cast her into sleep.

The merlocks crowded behind them, and one of the merlocks lashed out, snagging the dark haired one with a blood stained claw. They would kill her with their leering hungry faces. With a shout, Aeron whipped his small dagger from its sheath, and drove his heels into his horse's flanks, trusting that the animal would find the surest route through the treacherous mire.