[Imladris]

After a few hours of traveling in the fading afternoon, they small company reached the village. It was a comparatively small village with shambling hovels and weedy yards. Most of the houses had small gardens, which seemed to be the only thing that thrived. They neared a crumbling cottage, however, that did not have a garden. Or if, there was one, could not be distinguished from the amongst the weeds.

“I will go in alone,” said Aeron as they neared their gardenless cottage. “She does not care for strangers,” he added. It wasn’t an outright lie. No strangers ever came to their wealthy hovel, so maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t. He needed to talk to her alone before any of the others saw her.

He pushed the door and it opened with soft creak. “Gwyllion,” he called. No answer. “Gwyllion!” he called again, only louder this time. “ Gwyllion! ” Where could she be? Frowning, he ran to the kitchen -- and froze.

Gwyllion was crouched in the corner, moaning and rocking softly. A knife, daubed with blood, was some feet away from her knees. Rivulets of blood streamed down her hand, their source a nasty cut on her second finger. The blood would rise bulbously from the cut, flow down her finger, and separate from the knuckle, creating a sort of delta around it. “Oh no…” he whispered.

She was muttering something and Aeron crept forward, hoping to catch the words. “I am dying…I am dying… I am dying! ”

Aeron felt cold; his lips were dry. Was she really dying? He bolted to her, tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt as he did so.

Her dark blue dress clung to her, damp with sweat, and she rocked violently back and forth. “ I do not want to die! ” Aeron tried to grasp her hand, but she fought him and slapped him across the face. Small convulsions rippled through her body; her breathing was quick and shallow, almost as if she was gasping for air. What if the fit continued, and she couldn’t breathe? He shuddered.

He slapped her. Hard. It was a finger of pain to drag her from her sea of terror. She stopped shaking, and Aeron wiped the blood from her hand and bound the cut, tightly. “There is nothing to fear, little Gwyll,“ he murmured.

Finally, she raised her thin pale face and smiled at him. “Aeron.”

“Fearful One,” Aeron returned, shoving her slightly.

“Cruel hearted one!” she shouted, pushing him back.

“I have told you not to use knives when I’m gone,” he said, frowning at her. “You always manage to cut yourself.” He paused. She had always been petrified of blood…of anything that looked like blood. He tittered when he remembered the first time she had seen a goblet full of red wine, only she thought it had been blood and had refused to drink it.

“Did you find anything of value?” she asked.

“Yes,” he snapped, the memory of Ravion and his bondage coming back to him like an unpleasant dream returns to one newly awakened. He quickly told her how he had been caught and about Ravion’s deal. “Gwyllion, we must be careful about this. If either of us misbehave, we will find ourselves in a jail cell.”

“With mice to play with,” she added quickly.

“I would think that it would be rats instead of mice,” Aeron said. “Do not do anything foolish, Gwyllion.”

“I would never!” she cried. “Methinks you should listen to your advice, Aeron the Thief, Aeron the Mischief-maker, Aeron the Swindler.”

“Well, come. They are waiting for us outside,” he said quickly, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet. He wondered briefly if he should forewarn her about Raefindan’s red hair -- and then decided not to. It would be interesting to see if she truly was afraid of the colour red.

“Ravion, Raefindan, and Mellonin, this is my sister Gwyllion.”

He glanced down at her and saw that her blanched cheeks and followed her gaze to Raefindan. “I told you he was a foreigner,” he muttered.

“His hair is red! How do you know he is not a Gondorian who colored it…somehow?”

Without waiting for him to answer, she skipped towards Ravion and, with a deep curtsey, said, “Ravion, my brother’s liege.”

She curtseyed again, and then crept towards the horse, and began to stroke his muzzle. Aeron strode to Mellonin and whispered, “Keep her away from knives.”