[Amanaduial the archer]

"Teach them a thing or two about looting our villages," Arthain's voice was disdainful as he wiped off his sword on the grass, stepping over a fallen orc.

The golden-haired elf standing beside him nodded. "You fought well, Arthain."

"And you. As always," came the reply accompanied by a grin from the man. The elf seemed strangely silent though, his eyes fixed skywards, the pinpricks of the stars reflecting in his eyes. "What's wrong? We made a good team..." Arthain trailed off. The immortal closed his eyes, then looked at Arthain with what the man thought was a strangely sorrowful smile. "Of course. We always have. We always will. I will always be beside you in battle, Arthain."

The man grinned, then it faded slightly as Melost turned away from him, starting to walk away. "Melost? Where are you going?"

The elf broke into a run, not looking back as his friend yelled after him, dropping his sword and belt as he did so, his stride become faster, wilder, more desperate. Arthain's stomach plummeted with dread as the memory of another time and place sneaked into this otherwise pleasant memory, the image of the elf running, tears flowing down his face, stumbling away from the camp as he did now. The man tried to run but he was hampered by the orcish bodies on the ground that now seemed to have multiplied, and which stirred, grasping for his legs, but still the elf ran on, away into the mist around the trees at the edge of the village settlement.... "Melost! Melost, wait! Melost!"

"Melost!"

Arthain's blue eyes snapped open as the voice entered his dream, the words merging into it but the voice out of place. What was going on? Why would anyone shout the name? They seek to mock me... Arthain thought darkly. Tearing back the covers from over him, he sat up, already clothed, and grabbed his sword from beside his bed, unsheathing it as he started towards the opening of the tent.

Outside, twilight had settled - night had not fully arrived, but a lapse in activity in the camp had allowed Arthain to sink into the first sleep he had had in days, although it had been so fretful and broken he might as well not have bothered. The wood was almost right outside Arthain's door, his tent set slightly apart from the rest of the army: it seemed rumours of his actions had inexplicably spread and mutated around the camp until Arthain felt unable to be with the other soldiers. Some seemed to envy him for 'getting an elvish wench'; others despised him for such a betrayal of his best friend. Either opinion was unbearable for the man.

Flinging back the tent flap, he strode out angrily...to see three figures not far away. One he recognised by the crest on his shirt as being Dorlas, and the other was Thelian. But the other...he could not see his face and his clothes were dirty and ragged in places, yet he held himself like a soldier.

Even before the stranger turned, Arthain knew who he was. His sword dropped to his side and he froze, unable to speak, as the elf looked around the see who had come storming out in such a way. Silently, unable to believe what his eyes and heart were telling him, he mouthed a single word: "Melost?"