[Child of the 7th Age]

"What think you? Who is he? Is he friend or foe?" The leader of the group queried, as he paced nervously from one side of the camp to the other. Haekánoion had finally agreed to stop for a few hours. They had eaten a quick meal and spent most of their time questioning the prisoner to find out why he was slinking around on his own in the middle of the night. The unnamed man had finally collapsed and was now sleeping in a huddled ball not far from where they were talking.


"I can not tell," Airerogion responded, with a confused look written across his face. "We grilled him for two hours until he was too tired to stand upright any longer. You heard what he said. He claims to be alone, making his way to Edoras where he has kinfolk and friends. He says he is a healer and that he was out looking for herbs to replenish his supplies. But I see no bag or herbs such as a healer might carry. Perhaps he is telling the truth, but he could just as easily be a spy, someone sent out to inspect the lay of the countryside and report on poor travellers who would make a good target for a band of brigands."

"I fear you are right. It makes no sense for anyone to be slinking through the woods in the middle of the night."

The eldest in the party, a woman with soft grey eyes and long black hair streaked with silver that was tied back from her face, smiled gently, "You mean the way we were slinking about ourselves in the dark? Hard times make choices difficult and some folk act in ways they normally do not."

There was an uncomfortable silence around the circle as each Elf took in the meaning of Nevtaliel's words. This description came perilously close to their own situation. It was not their custom to lasso strangers with a rope, to press them with a hundred different questions, or to raise up their swords in a threatening gesture. Elves may prefer to tread their own path but they normally do no harm to strangers.

Nihil shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "But what could we do? We must reach Rivendell and tell Elrond what we have seen before we depart these shores. Yet every step of the path, we are confronted by robbers or, even worse, by troops of Orcs and men from the East."

"Of one thing we can be sure," Nihil added, "this is no man from the East and no Orc." Several of the others nervously tittered, remembering with some embarassment that, in the dark, they had initially mistaken the stranger for an Easterling lord. His simple words and homespun garb had quickly proved them wrong.

Haekánoion glanced over at the silver haired woman who sat quietly by herself. "You have more to say, Nevtaliel. I can see it in your eyes."

"That I do," she affirmed. "What band of brigands sends out a member to spy who bears only a stave and a knive? Surely even brigands have the sense to arm their spy with a sword or an axe or a bow. And what spy is so inept that he stumbles into our path in the middle of a clearing, making no attempt to hide in the bushes? No, this man was deeply engrossed in something, either what he was doing or thinking. That doesn't sound like a spy."

"One other thing," she added. "I think you are right....that he is lying about something. But he is telling the truth about one important thing. This man is a healer. I questioned him about a number of herbs and simple remedies, and he knew his craft inside out. Indeed, I would say that he is not only a healer, but one of the better ones I have spoken to among the younger sons."

"Are you sure?" pressed Haekánoion. "That he is a healer."

"How could I not be sure? I have spent two ages learning my craft. I can certainly tell when I am speaking with another healer."

"That settles it then. I can not murder a healer armed with only a stave, even if he belongs to a band of brigands. We will take him with us, bound on horseback for a day or two, and then let him loose when we are far north and west from here..... That way he can do no damage."