[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.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


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.