[littlemanpoet]

"The Four Merry Halflings" was the name on the sign outside. Not a hobbit to be seen anywhere. Yes, it was a fete of praise toward the Four Famous Perinnath through whom it was said the War had been won, but it seemed somehow empty to Raefindan. Not that the room was empty. For such a small town, its status as a new crossroads village meant that there were passers-through constantly, on some king's business or for trade ... or thievery.

Roy sat at table with the other humans; the Elves did not deign to sit with them, choosing instead to remain under the stars. Erebemlin had said that he did not want Tharonwe at loose amongst the easily swayed crowd within. Maybe so.

Thinking of thievery set Roy to thinking of Aeron. What had become of him? And why had Erebemlin written the boy off? Because he is more trouble than the looking after him is worth. Those were not the exact words of Erebemlin, but it was his meaning. Raefindan thought it harsh, unmerciful, pitiless. Maybe Aeron deserved such treatment, but what of that? Had not the recent War revealed the merit of mercy.... even to one such as that Gollum creature?

And what difference have you made, Roy Edwards, since you joined this quest or whatever it is? He heaved a sigh. Too much difference, truth be told, and that was the problem. He was not of this place and time, and he needed to keep from influencing the others. He sighed again. Mellonin noticed.

"What is the matter, Raefindan?" she asked. "You have barely touched your food and drink."

"I am not hungry," he replied. He tried, and failed, to smile. He frowned and rose. "I'm going outside. I need some fresh air."

"Do you want someone to go with you? To talk?" Mellonin asked.

"No, thanks."

He left the common room and went outside. His breath made vapor on the air. He wondered where the three Elves were; but not so much as to go seek them out. The stars were cold and distant. It was disturbing how he could recognize them. Millions of years it takes to change the map of the sky, he considered. The restlessness within did not wane. He began walking, and found himself at the northern edge of the village, just inside the gate.

Jorje was a few days' ride that way, as was this Marigold they spoke of. He wished he could have met her, spoken with her. Maybe she could have provided answers, or at least clues, to his recent experiences.

A man came out of a booth sitting at the side of the road, and walked up to him, nodding amiably.

"Greetings, friend! Do you wait for someone?"

"Nay, friend. I was just walking, and found myself here."

"Staying at the Hobbit Hole?"

Roy grinned. So the inn already had a nickname. He liked the nickname better than the original. "Yes."

"Best be moving along back there. The night will be getting cold, I wager, and though safe enough in these days of the King, one never knows what rascals may be just beyond these walls after dark."

"Is it that late already?"

"'Tis close to the middle of the night. Most honest folk are abed already, though the same cannot be said for the many travelers who pass through; seems they take this place as a chance for their follies."

Roy smiled. "Well, I'm in no mood for follies this night. I think I'll make my way back to the Hobbit Hole and warm up a bed."

"Good night to you then."

Roy waved goodnight and made his way back to the inn. They had been shown their rooms early, and he knew which bed awaited him. He was soon in bed, and though he had not thought it likely, was soon asleep.

"You have come again at last!" The dark haired woman rose from the lawn carpet in the midst of the garden, and looked up to him, standing at the edge of the lawn. It was Mithrellas. "Imrazôr, what has kept you away?"

"I am not-"

She was suddenly wroth. "Do not say you are not he! I can see with my own eyes that you are! What has kept you away?"

"I do not know."

"Come to me!"

The love in her eyes should have drawn him to her, but he did not know her except in dreams. How could she mistake him for her love? Nevertheless, it could not do great harm to walk toward a dream ... could it? He approached her.

She looked into his face, her red lips curved into a smile. She extended her hands toward him, and not able to think of a good reason not to, he reached his hands up toward hers as he approached, and their hands clasped. The soft warmth of her skin beneath his shook him, for with her touch, memories flooded into his mind, and with them, his heart opened to her, for she was in the most precious of those memories.

She smiled. "You remember at last."

"I do. You are ... my love!" His words came out in a breath; but he was troubled, for he was aware of himself at once as Imrazôr, and as Raefindan, and as Roy Edwards. Had he been Imrazôr in truth? Or was this only a dream? If he had come back to life as Roy, then come to Gondor again as Raefindan, did he not have to be an Elf? Or was the Law all changed after the passing of the Ring? He shook his head, unable to do a thing with all the confused questions running through his mind. Of one thing he was suddenly sure. He did love Mithrellas, and was happy to be near her.

"Come this way, my love," she said, and led him to a clear pool, the moon shining bright and full above them; it had been a new moon as he had walked in the new town. He peered over the edge, and saw himself; not the face of Roy Edwards, or of Raefindan, which two were basically the same. He was Imrazôr.

"Then I must be dreaming."

"What of that?" she replied. "It does not change the truth of what is."

His eyes opened suddenly. It was quiet. And dark. The other men were sleeping in other beds in the room, some snoring gently. Dreaming does not change the truth of what is?" If that is so, then what?