[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil watched as Rôg bowed and hurriedly withdrew from the tent, an expression of discomfort evident on his face. The istar turned away from his companion with a sigh, sensing that he could do little to help the young man, and instead concentrated his attention on Sorona. Aiwendil stared once and then twice at the familiar pattern of brown and grey feathers that covered the Eagle’s powerful wings: he had the distinct feeling that this was a figure from his past he should recognize. Sorona cocked her head and gazed up at him with oddly expectant eyes, half hopeful and half fearful, as if she thought the istar could unearth the central clue that would help her solve a riddle of great import. A stray memory tugged insistently from just outside the old man’s mind, but he could not recall when or where he had first met Sorona.

I cannot be this addled. Perhaps, she went by another name. What sort of Maia forgets such things? Yet, however Aiwendil struggled to discern the truth, he found only grey mists of forgetfulness draped over his mind like an intractable curtain.

The old man felt vaguely embarrassed. Trying to mask his disgruntlement, he stood up straight and formally addressed the bird, “I am afraid we have not met before. Is there something I can do to assist you?”

Sorona’s tail feathers drooped perceptibly. She had never forgotten their first meeting. The woman would not have been surprised if the old man had fussed at her. He was often like that, and she had given him genuine reasons to complain about her behavior. The one thing she had not counted on was that her rescuer had totally forgotten her, like a tiny nameless twig set adrift on a fast-flowing river. But perhaps he had really not forgotten her. Perhaps, her rescuer had been so appalled by who she was and what she had done that he wished to pretend he had never met her. She really could not blame him.

The Eagle replied in an equally formal tone but underlined with nervousness, “Thorondil, sir, I have been having dreams and….”

The old man quickly interrupted, “Please do not address me by that name. A simple ‘Aiwendil’ will do.”

Sorona nodded, “Yes, sir…..Aiwendil, sir. I have been having dreams. I believe these dreams may have something to do with the Eagles and their troubles. In any case, I thought I might speak with someone who could explain what these visions mean. Perhaps to you, or the leader of the clan.”

Aiwendil shook his head. “To me? No, I cannot help you. Ayar may want to hear your story. You might try speaking with her, though I fear she will soon be beyond all our voices, or with her daughter Narika.” The Eagle looked down at the brand on her claw and wondered if she dared speak to either of these women. They were likely to turn her away politely just as Aiwendil had done.

The istar averted his eyes and glanced over to Surinen, hastily adding, “I have guests this evening. Mithadan and Airefalas have promised to come for supper. I am sorry if this inconveniences the folk who have offered to put up the Gondorians. Please give my apologies to their host, but Mithadan is an old friend whom I have not seen for some time. You two are most welcome to join us.”

Surinen shook his head, “Thank you, but I am expected elsewhere.” Sorona nodded her head and mumbled similar apologies as she gracefully escaped out the door of the tent.

“In any case,” added Surinen, “I believe your guests are here.” He gestured towards Mithadan and Airefalas who were just arriving and then left.

Aiwendil added his welcome to the Gondorians, “Ah, I see they have allowed you to come. My companion Rôg has graciously prepared us a fine meal. Please come inside where we may eat and talk.” The two men proceeded to the inner chamber, while Aiwendil went over and drew the tent flap tight. A guard was stationed outside to make sure that Mithadan and his companion did not try to escape. But the canvas walls were quite substantial, and it was unlikely that he would overhear what was being said.

‘Radagast’, ‘Thorondil’… What next? But anything is better than Thorondil! Aiwendil shifted uncomfortably. The last time anyone had used that name was when Olorin had met him near Bombadil’s house to tell him that he would not be going back to Valinor on Cirdan’s ship, at least not yet. He pushed down these unpleasant memories and went inside where his guests were already seated on the pillows on the ground and Rôg had begun to bring in the food.