The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Everdawn]

Avanill nodded, it had been the conversation he had been dreading. It was hard to tell exactly how he felt from the outside, no one ever could tell what that boy was thinking; however, on the inside Avanill was rampant. Would he tell the truth? Would he leave some to chance? He regarded the two rangers with caution before making his final decision. After all, he did want to redeem himself, and yet he wanted to live.

He chose his words before speaking, “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know how I am connected to Naiore. You have no idea what ive been through and you have no idea what went on at Tallas place. Don’t be so quick to think you do, it is deeper than you think.” Avanill paused and watched the unsure reactions of the rangers.

“I can see form your stance that you do not want to hear an explanation” noticing the hostile stance of both rangers. “You must hear me out. I only became involved because I wanted revenge. Not only on Naiore but on Barrold as well. The elf, had dealings with my family a long time ago, she was responsible for their deaths, for that she must die. And Barrold, murdered by sister. He murdered Tallas to, I tried to stop him, but there was nothing I could do. I was waiting for the right moment to kill them both, but I saw that Naiore was planning something bigger that would not give me that chance. She wants to take over the Shire. She did terrible things, things that made me want to throttle her graceful throat on the spot if ever I could, but I had to keep my cover, I am not a stupid opportunist, if you have seen the things that I have seen this past weeks… You have no evidence that I was involved in killing Tallas, you only know I was there. You will find no blood upon my clothes and no remembrances of his home save the drugs I bought from him before Barrold went wild.”

Avanill knew he had a point. “Toby will still not know of my venture of vengeance, so well it was that I kept it. I only wanted to restore my family honour; can you blame me for that? Can you honestly take me away for trying to save my sister, that girl’s good name? Trying to save Vanwe from Naiore- and not to mention what she did to Vanwe…” He raised an eyebrow.

“I imagine that she is safe now though, thank the Valar. Don’t worry about my betrayal good sirs, I give you my word, it will not be broken, besides if I wanted to escape I would have done so by now, I come from what you fellows would call ‘good stock’. Arrest me if you will, but Eru be damned if you will lock me away and take my revenge away from me!”

[Nerindel]

Léspheria and Vanwe

Lespheria could feel the hypnotic suggestion of Benia’s words course through the mind of her patient. Along with the pain it also seemed to lessened the darkening gloom that hung so heavily over his heart, then at Benia’s silent instruction she reheated the needle and continued too carefully stitch the wound close, all the while marvelling at the effectiveness of the southern woman’s tale. Finishing off the last stitch she tied it off and cut the remaining thread free, then placing the needle on the table she took up a small vial of pungent smelling oil and gently rubbed it over and around the stitches.

“To stop any external infection and to reduce the swelling,” she whispered seeing Vanwe’s curious expression. Replacing the vial she took Vanwe’s hand and placed it gently over the wound, she watched as the younger elf’s brow creased in a mixture of fear and apprehension. It seemed somewhat strange to Vanwe that she was being asked to use her limited healing skills, when she was so used to being discouraged from such acts, usually by the vicious sting of a southron’s whip.

“Do you feel it?” Léspheria whispered putting her own hands above the rangers wound. She watched the young elf take a deep breath steeling her for the task at hand, and then Vanwe slowly closed her eyes leaning in slightly towards the injury of their patient. Her delicate face etched in deep concentration as she used what she could sense to put together a clear picture of what was happening below the surface of the flesh.

“Yes!” Vanwe answered opening her eyes with a look of concern, “He is bleeding inwardly, and there is a tear deeper than that which we have already tended.”

Léspheria nodded that this was so, “I need you to locate the memory within the tissue and repair the tear. Do you think you can do this?”

Nodding hesitantly Vanwe again searched out the wrongness but after a few seconds shook her head frustrated, I can’t focus the blood is too much and too fast!”

Léspheria also reaching out her senses to find the memory contained within the living tissue also felt the fast seeping of the escaping blood. A cold chill settled on her heart, she knew exactly what she had to do. She had to use the one part of her skill that she feared to explore, there was no choice if she did not act the ranger would surly die.

“Lespheria!” Vanwe’s gentle voice laced with concern forced her to look up.

“I can slow the blood flow,” she whispered. “This will allow you to heal the internal wound, unhindered.” Not completely understanding Vanwe nodded watching as Léspheria moved her hands to rest just above the ranger’s heart.

“His breathing will shallow a little more; do not be concerned it will not be for long.” Lespheria whispered to the other healers, who looked at her bemused. Never before had she revealed that she could do what she was now about to attempt. Closing her eyes, she reached out her senses locating the large and powerful muscle that was the ranger’s heart. The pulsating rhythm of the heart drummed in her head, loud and fast. Focusing all of her concentration, she steadily worked to slow the rhythm so that the blood flow slowed enough to allow Vanwe to heal the tear. With Dúlrain now breathing lightly, she felt Vanwe attentively begin the healing process.

Once Vanwe had manipulated the tissue into a state of repair, she slowly released her control allowing the heart to regain its regular rhythm, then moving back to Vanwe they both worked together, With Lespheria gently guiding, instructing and encouraging the younger elf when they needed to use their skill in a different way. With the internal bleeding stopped and the tissue steadily mending itself, she removed her hands nodding to Vanwe to do like wise, “He will be alright?” Vanwe asked. Léspheria smiled, nodding her head, confident that the ranger would be out of bed in the next few days.

“He still has a fever, but the apprentice will soon bring an herbal infusion that will hopefully break it,” she informed Vanwe. “Ah! Here he comes now.”

Taking the towel the apprentice offered, she wiped her hands then taking the warm cup she moved towards Benia, laying a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder she indicated that they needed to raise his head slightly so that he could drink, Benia nodded her understanding and with Vanwe’s help they both tenderly raise the mans head. “You must try to drink this, it will break the fever and help you to rest,” she told Dúlrain and when he nodded weakly, she pressed the cup lightly to his lips and he began to drink.

As Benia and Vanwe gently lowered the rangers head and made him more comfortable, she carefully instructed the other healers what was needed for the rangers after care. Turning back, she noted that Benia still wore her damp clothes and that her forehead now glistened in the soft candle light. Making her way over to the woman who so tenderly watched over the ranger, she lightly placed her hand on her forehead causing the woman to start. She was warm, but no fever had set in. knowing the affects of remaining in cold wet clothes for so long she turned and whispered something to one of the healers, then turning back to Benia she spoke softly.

“He will be fine, his wound is mending and the infusion will help him to rest. You should change out of those wet things and try to get some rest yourself.”

Just then, the assistant returned with a warm cup of herbal tea and offered it to Benia. “The tea will keep the chill off and help to relax the tightness of your muscles from the long journey!” she told Benia as she hesitantly took the cup, her dark eyes straying back to the now sleeping ranger.

“He will be fine, someone will be with him at all times,” she soothingly assured her.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Now that the others had all been led their separate ways, one guest alone remained standing planted in the corridor, stubbornly resisting all attempts to show her to a place where she might refresh herself, or change out her cold and mud rimmed clothes. Gilly was persistent in trying to convince those who had been assigned to ministering to the newcomers that she really and truly needed to see with her own eyes, that Miss Benia had indeed made it to this outpost. And a tall graceful elf, who thus far had succeeded with much effort in drawing the hobbit only a few yards down the long winding hallway, grew perplexed, when much to her dismay her guest refused politely to go any further until she was given directions to the 'infirmary'.

"I am sorry, dreadfully sorry really," Gilly apologized, her voice echoing along the empty hall. "But I won't set at all easy until I know how Miss Nightshade is getting on. And I really wouldn't forgive myself if I were fuss with being all clean and comfortable while my friend is fretful, and Mr. Dúlrain so seriously hurt. It would not be right now, would it?"

So it went for quite some time, until at last the elf conceded, quickly taking the resolute hobbit along a series of corridors, and coming near an open doorway from which voices could be heard, gestured for Gilly to be quiet as they approached the room. Stopping short of the threshold the elf told her softly that her friends were inside and must not be troubled until the healers were done with their task. It would be better, she urged, if Gilly were spend this time making herself ready to greet them. Nodding her understanding, the hobbit took a few steps forward, and catching hold of the doorpost peered inside. There in the room were indeed Miss Benia and Mr. Dúlrain. At least it appeared to be Mr. Dúlrain, for her friend was bent low over him obscuring his face as she spoke gently into his ear, and the ranger in turn clutched her expressive hand in an ivory grip, as if she were life itself. But they were not alone. The two elves that she had met at the Forsaken Inn, Miss Vanwe and Miss Léspheria, were working diligently on Dúlrain wound, while two others stood by ready to assist them.

Gilly saw that this was no moment for her to interrupt, and the elf had been right to suggest that she leave them be until they were finished their work. But still her heart plummeted at the sight of the flurry of activity. She had been so joyful to finally reach Imladris, but now uncertainty crept back over her as she realized that even here Dúlrain was struggling.

Turning back to her guide she signaled that she was willing to go now, and soon found herself in a quite room with a basin of water and a rag, trying to scrub off the grime that had gathered, and that the river had not washed away. It seemed a long time since she had been alone, and the stillness was loud to her ears, with only the noise of the stream in the distance and her own heart beat. Soon after bathing, as she worked to smooth out her tangled hair before tying it up again, she was grateful when the lady returned bearing a child's yellow frock and petticoat for her to wear, so beautiful and fresh, smelling of lavender. Gilly thanked her profusely, feeling them too precious to wear, and asked if she might have a needle and thread to begin repairing her own clothes before returning home. Green thread she asked for, if she might have it, for she had lost her own. But taking up the hobbit's ragged garments, the elf smiled at her indulgently, explaining that she would wash them first and bring the requested items later, and then disappeared again, leaving Gilly in solitude.

It was not long before the hobbit grew restless, and left the quite repose afforded by her room behind its quietly closed door, and went off in search of some paper and pen to write the letter to her husband. And wandering the hallways looking someone to help her, she became distracted by the beautiful gardens that lay about the house. Stepping lightly down the stairs in her long gown, she thought to investigate the grounds for a little while and calm her nerves before sitting down to the matter of writing. And investigate she did, for quite some time. Enjoying the many paths and green niches she strayed exploring all she came to until at last she found small low structure with many rooms nestled among the brush, and a hobbit sitting cross-legged on the edge of the front step, a wooden bowl in his lap and a young man leaning against the wall behind him. Seeing that it was Toby, Gilly went there directly to see if he was being treated well and to ask if he knew where Kaldir might be.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur listened with reservation as Avanill began to explain how swords alone would not subdue the Revennor of Mordor. He could not deny that some of what the young man said might indeed prove true and that he himself had pondered that very same question as they followed the elf’s trail, but he had faith in the Lady Léspheria’s abilities and believed that she would have or at least find the means with which to subdue her kinswoman.

“Can not the elves furnish these things also?” he said dismissively, as the images of Tallas’ mutilated body and ransacked home again bore fresh in his mind, “and at less risk to us.” He finished coldly.

He continued to listen as Avanill went on to explain that he could concoct a draft that would subdue Naiore’s mind, while still allowing her to travel the distance required to bring her to Gondor to face the judgement of their king. He peered doubtfully into the pack that Avanill held open for them to inspect. he could not help but wonder just how many of the vials and packets held within may have been procured from his old friends home and how many of them contented deadly poisons that the villain might use against them should they become lax in their guarded caution.

Slowly lifting his gaze he turned suddenly to face Rauthain barely believing what he was hearing, the older ranger was considering Avanill’s offer. Amandur had already made his feelings clear on this matter, he would see the young man left in here under the vigilant supervision of the elves, until the more pressing matter of Naiore capture had been dealt with. However, before he could protest Avanill spoke again.

“You don’t know who I am, you don’t know how I am connected to Naiore, you have no idea what I’ve been through and you have no idea what went on at Tallas’ place. Don’t be so quick to think you do, it is deeper than you think.”

Now Amandur was respected among his brethren for being of strong tolerance and for possessing a seemingly never-ending patience, but on this hunt for Naiore both had been sorely tested. Several weeks had now passed since they picked up Naiore’s trail, but they were no closer to taking her into their custody than when the first began. Instead, they had lost a highly valued and respected ally of their kin, and then night after night he had to witness the torment of the woman he loved as she suffered the assaults Vanwe was facing at the hands of her own mother and most recently the death of Maethor, all of which he had been helpless to prevent. If it had been Naiore’s intention or not to wear him down in this manner then it was working, his tolerance and patience were both stretched to their very limits and even now, Avanills accusations threatened to break them entirely. It took all the restraint that he could muster for him to hold his tongue and allow the young man to continue.

And as Avanill began to tell them his tale of vengeance, doubt began to settle in his mind. Had he really been too quick to judge this young man, but even as he began to doubt his judgement other memories resurfaced. Among them, Maethor’s recount of his assault in chetwood. Of how he found the young elf maiden fleeing from her captors, and of how Avanill and Barrold had together assailed him and retrieved their quarry. However, he could not dismiss the fact that this man had merely subdued the ranger and not killed him. But neither could he lightly put aside the fact that here the man would have had an obvious opportunity in which to rid himself of his sisters killer. He could have easily killed Barrold and placed the blame on the ranger but he had not or perhaps he could not. His eyes narrowed as he studied the young man’s demeanour for some hint or clue as to his true intent or purpose.

‘I will not give her something to use against me and neither should you!”

Léspheria’s words rang in his ears, she had been warning him that Naiore would sense his feeling for her and use them against him. Off course this is were Avanill’s story fails him for Naiore would most certainly have known if this young man bore her ill will. In their long friendship, Léspheria had never kept from him her ability to feel the emotions of those around her. It was for these very abilities that she was chosen to become an ambassador to Gondor on behalf of her people. but also was it known to him that she was not the only elf to possessed this gift, although ashamed to admit that a noble of their kind would commit such heinous acts as those Naiore was accused the elves eventually entreat the rangers to the source of Naiore’s uncanny ability to evade them at every turn. The rangers had hunted this elf for long enough for many of them to see first hand the extent of these abilities. However, before he could point out this simple flaw in Avanill’s story, the young man error’d again, reminding him that Barrold and Avanill had not been alone that fateful day…. Someone else had witnessed the brutal attack of the old man.

“Can you honestly take me away for trying to save my sister, that girl’s good name? Trying to save Vanwe from Naiore and not to mention what she did to Vanwe… I imagine that she is safe now though, thank the Valar.”

Both he and Rauthain followed Avanill’s brief gaze toward the main house of Imladris. Was he saying that Vanwe was here in Rivendell, evidently thinking the same thing the two rangers glanced at each other then turned back to Avanill? “Are you saying that you believe Vanwe is here?” Rauthain asked.

“Her mother sent her to retrieve her father and seeing this place for myself I do not think she would have succeeded.” Avanill explained and even Amandur found himself agreeing with the young man’s assessment.

“Arrest me if you will but Eru be damned if you will lock me away and take my revenge away from me!”

Amandur’s patience finally snapped and grabbing Avanill roughly by the front of his shirt he thrust him backwards into the solid trunk of a blossoming apple tree and pinning him securely in place he stared intently into the young mans deep blue eyes.

“Revenge!” he said dryly “is reserved for those the lady has honestly wronged and not by those who would shamelessly invent them to avoid facing the consequences of their actions. No, I see not the cold fire of revenge in your eyes and believe me I have seen it many times in my fellow rangers, not least in the eyes of the ranger Dulrain who even now lie’s under the care of the elves yet another victim of the ladies mischief.” The cold fire of vengeance that he spoke burned in his eyes clear for all to see.

“Amandur, my friend!” Rauthain exclaimed concern and uncertainty creeping into his voice as he place a firm hand on the arm that held Avanill firmly in place.

“I have had enough of his lies and wish only to know the truth!” he answered keeping his eyes locked with those of his prisoner.

“And what truth would you wish to hear my friend… The truth or the one you have convinced yourself is true. I too feel Tallas’ loss deeply but we do not know if this young man lies or not.” Rauthain counselled.

“No you are right my friend I do not know if he lies or not,” he said shaking his head and slowly releasing his hold on the young man. “But… there is one who I believe does and I strongly believe that she will tell us the truth that we seek.” he calmly continued watching Avanill trying to gauge a reaction.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Left behind by the others, Kaldir followed at a distance, his pale blue eyes following the movements of both the young stranger he suspected of lying to Mrs. Banks and of the two Rangers, Rauthain and Amandur. He pretended not to notice when the two Rangers suddenly hustled the young man off the path into a rhododendron thicket, but the significance of their action was not lost on him. Obviously, his former brethren felt some of the same suspicions he did and, perhaps luckily for the young man, had decided to address their concerns forthwith, rather than leave the fellow for Kaldir to question on his own. Kaldir had noticed as the stranger passed him on the walkway that the young man's footprints matched those he had been tracking alongside Naiore's since they had left Chetwood, and, Kaldir imagined, that fact had not been lost on the Rangers either.

He paused on the walkway, fighting the temptation to listen in on the tete-a-tete taking place within the rhododendron thicket. Finally, deciding against it, he turned away and walked back in the direction of the stairs and the battlefield. Whatever they were talking about in there was Ranger business, something he had turned his back on years ago in favor of business of his own. While it might be to his advantage to know what was discussed, he still felt a peculiar sort of loyalty to his former brethren. Let them handle their affairs. After all, where Naiore was concerned, they were all basically on the same side. He could always corner the fellow later for a chat of his own. In the meantime, Kaldir felt the urge to go back to the battlefield. His head had cleared somewhat and there were things he needed to look into, namely the whereabouts of his missing sword and horse. He looked down at the bloody orc's blade in his hand. It would not do to enter Imladris carrying the sword of an orc, even a slain one.

The slash across his chest and shoulder had stopped bleeding, but continued to throb with a dull ache. He found the pain helped him to concentrate, keeping him alert, his senses on edge. Besides the matter of his missing belongings, he also wanted to see Naiore's tracks. Elven trackers had no doubt already found them and gone off in pursuit of her, but Kaldir felt a need to look at them himself, to see where she had gone once she had leapt down from the rock shelf upon which he had seen her standing. Her forces scattered and slain, anyone else but Naiore might have fled the area, but Kaldir knew her too well. She still had unfinished business. She might lie low, but she would not be far off. He knew that she would strike again, but where and how remained to be seen.

He continued on down the stairs, stepping out of the way of the elves who still worked at retrieving their dead and wounded from the field of battle. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, it did not take him long to locate his sword where he had dropped it, half-concealed under the corpse of a stout orc. He picked it up and, giving the blade a quick wipe, slid it back into its scabbard. As for the orcish blade he had picked up when he had lost his own, he added it to the pile of orcish armor and weapons that the elves had begun to assemble near the ford. Those things would be disposed of later on the far side of the river, along with the bodies of the dead orcs, as soon as it was deemed safe enough to cross the river.

Having retrieved his sword, Kaldir walked back once more in the direction of the stair, hoping to pick up the trail of his horse, Nico. Not only was the gray stallion a very good horse, but strapped to the horse's back were most of Kaldir's worldly goods, including everything he owned that wasn't physically attached to his person. While there was nothing of any particular monetary value in Kaldir's missing pack, it did contain all of his extra clothes and traveling supplies, some items of which would be much missed and very hard to replace. Studying the ground, Kaldir criss-crossed the part of the battlefield in which he could last remember seeing his horse, but the ground had been too badly disturbed and what tracks could be seen were unclear. Shaking his head, he walked to the edge of the field. Placing two fingers in his mouth, he whistled loudly, but there was no answering whinny from Nico. He waited a short while, then tried again, but was again greeted only by silence.

"Strange," he said aloud. "He's always come before." He looked around the emptying battlefield again, but there were no dead horses or even any hints of dappled gray to be seen in the shadows. The pack pony who had carried Mrs. Banks so faithfully across the countryside could be seen wandering about a short distance downstream, but there was no sign of Kaldir's own horse. Plainly put, the animal had vanished. Puzzled, Kaldir walked over and picked up the trailing reins of the pack pony and led the sturdy little animal back toward the stairs.

Tying the pony to a tree near the foot of the stair, he left it there and moved on to the rocks where Naiore had been standing. For the second time that morning, he came away disappointed. If she had left any tracks at all, they had been all but destroyed by the chaotic flight of the orcs. With no trails to follow, Kaldir decided it was time to return to the stair and the entrance to Imladris. There was a time when he might have simply taken his sword and the supplies still strapped to the pack pony and gone on his way, but things had changed with Kaldir. There were a number of people within the Elven refuge that he needed to speak with, many issues that needed to be resolved. And there was still the matter of that young fellow Amandur and Rauthain had hauled off into the rhododendron patch. If he had been traveling with Naiore, as Kaldir strongly suspected he had, then the two of them would have quite a lot to talk about as well.

In the meantime, though, bleeding or not, he would have to attend the wound to his chest. While the wound itself was not life-threatening by any stretch, more messy and inconvenient than anything, the danger of infection was ever-present. It would have to be treated. Taking one final look around for his missing horse, Kaldir returned to the stair and for the second time began the ascent toward Imladris, this time bearing his own sword and leading the little brown pack pony behind him.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

“I am not the one you want” Avanill said calmly. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” he asked looking at both Rangers. They looked form him to themselves. “I thought not.” Avanill nodded to himself. “I fear you are not ready to hear what I have to say, for if it is taken the wrong way I will be worried for my life.”

Amandur looked sceptically at the young man. “If there’s something you aren’t telling me boy you best do so now before you make this any worse for yourself.”

Avanill took a deep breath. “I am Avanill; my mother was the bandit and black market trader Atantri. You may have heard of me, and you may have known my uncles, they were rangers, Adoran and Mithsen were their names my father killed them.” He said the last words with much bitterness. “I have been in the company of Naiore, only because I had several ransoms I have to pay. Naiore promised quick payment. And I know she keeps her promises.”

“And why did she trust you boy?” Rauthain asked.

“Because she was a client of my mother.” Avanill continued “When I met up with Barrold Ferney he had already kidnapped Vanwe, or rather Naiore had promised her for him. And I can tell you now that Barrold has no idea that she is going to double cross him, I can see it in her eyes. I never touched Vanwe, I saved her from beatings, ill have you know that. Anyway, Ferney told us that we had to visit this Tallas man in order to refill my stocks. I thought he meant to buy, but later I found this to steal. Tallas came out. Barrold attacked him and then started on me; he said ‘Your father would have been ashamed of you, if he was alive’ and I lost it. I don’t know what happened, all I remember is that I was so angry.” He spat on the ground.

“The nerve to mention my father! He abandoned my mother, left her for dead. He killed my uncles and I am proud to say that I would kill him myself if my mother had not done it first.” The Young man shook his head.

“I never knew of Barrold’s intentions. It is not in my nature to kill an old man. Ive seen so many horrible things, Naiore is a monster. I abandoned them, originally because I want to remain living. But then I ran into Rauthain here by accident and decided that I need to do something about it. After all I am the best apothecary in Middle Earth.”

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Hesitantly, Benia accepted the warm mug of herbal tea from the hands of the Elven assistant. She murmured her thanks, but her eyes strayed worriedly toward Dúlrain. He was sleeping quietly now, but she could not erase the memory of his cries of pain from her ears.

"He will be fine," Léspheria reassured her warmly. "Someone will be with him at all times."

"Thank you," Benia said again. She dropped a deep curtsy, still clutching the warm mug in both of her hands. "While it is his life that you save, I find myself eternally in your debt and at your service." She lowered her eyes. "If he were to die, my life would no longer be of value to me." When Benia again raised her face, her eyes were brimmed with tears, but her expression was not one of despair. It was of hope and firm resolve. What she left unspoken was the knowledge that if he lived, her life would take on more depth and meaning. There had been a time, even so recently as the day before, when she had felt doubts that her feelings for the wounded Ranger would be reciprocated, but now she knew in her heart that they were. That knowledge gave her strength.

For a brief moment the gazes of the two women, one Elven, one mortal, met. Then, Léspheria's expression grew pensive. "He will not die," she said gently, a faraway look coming into her gray eyes. She touched Benia's hand. "Now, come, let my assistant show you to a room where you may change out of those wet things. It would hardly do for Dúlrain to awake only to find you have taken ill as well, now, would it?"

Benia's cheeks colored, then, sheepishly, she shook her head. "No, Lady, you are right. It wouldn't do at all." She needed to be well for him and strong, and, if at all possible, beautiful. Benia took a final sip of tea and put aside the mug. With a glance down at her torn, muddy skirts and sodden boots, she bent and collected the dress and towels she had flung aside earlier when she had rushed to Dúlrain‘s side. Gathering them in her arms, she walked to the door where a tall, young Elven lady waited to lead her to her room.

"I am Celebnariel," the Elven lady said as they started down the hall in the direction of the guests’ rooms. "If there is anything you need during your stay in the Last Homely House, please let me know. It is my duty to see that you are comfortable during your stay with us."

Again, Benia murmured her thanks. " I was wondering if you might have seen something of my friends," she added quietly. "Besides Dúlrain, I was traveling with two others in particular, a hobbit lady and a man. The hobbit lady's name is Gilly Banks. She's small and rather slim for a hobbit, and the man has the look of a Ranger. He's tall and has a badly scarred face. He goes by the name of Kaldir. Have you any word of them?"

Celebnariel listened to her attentively, then nodded. "Yes, they have both arrived in good standing. In fact, Gilly was down to see you in the Hall of Healing, but left as she did not wish to interrupt your efforts. I'm sure you will be seeing her later. I have not seen this man Kaldir myself, but a room has been prepared for him just down the hall from yours. From what I understand, he was seen on the path above the great stair, so if he has not found his room already, I'm sure he will soon. If you like, I can leave word for the two of them that you were asking after them."

"Yes, please do!" answered Benia. "I would be ever so grateful."

"Consider it done," answered Celebnariel. "I shall see to it myself."

"Now that I know my friends are safe," Benia continued after only a second’s hesitation. "There is one other thing that I should like to ask of you."

"Yes?" prompted the elflady with a smile.

"As soon as I am presentable again, I should like to return to Dúlrain's bedside in the Hall of Healing. Would that be possible? I must warn you that if you say "no," I shall be forced to find my way back on my own."

Celebnariel laughed merrily. "I or any of my colleagues would be delighted to show you the way back." Her fair face sobered. "I know what it is like to fear for the life of a loved one."

Hearing the gravity in the Elven lady’s voice, Benia paused. A flurry of questions rose in her mind, but before she could ask even one of them, Celebnariel stopped and opened a door on to one of the most beautiful chambers that Benia had ever laid eyes on. She almost stopped breathing when she saw that a bath had already been drawn for her and waited, steaming, before a small fire that burned merrily in the grate. Seeing Benia’s expression, Celebnariel laughed.

"You look as though you are cold to the bones! I see you have already been given some dry clothes. When you are finished bathing, you may leave your wet things here by the door. We will see to it that they are cleaned and mended."

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Benia murmured her thanks. She waited quietly as Celebnariel fussed over a few details around the room then took her leave. Once she had gone, Benia wasted no time in slipping off her cold, wet clothes and climbing into the bath. Closing her eyes, she sank into the hot, fragrant water and, for the first time in a very long time, felt almost weightless, as though all of her problems floated away from her in the tendrils of steam that laced the air around her. The chill that had enveloped her so completely since the river crossing finally began to recede, allowing the warmth to return slowly to her limbs. For a brief moment, she felt supremely content.

But the moment passed swiftly. Almost in response to her happiness, the tortured echoes of Dúlrain’s anguish rose again in her ears. If she wanted to be there beside him when he awoke, she knew she must not allow herself to become distracted by her own desire for such creature comforts as a bath and a soft bed. Steeling herself against the temptation to indulge her whims, she finished bathing quickly. Once she was satisfied that every last trace of the river smell had been washed from her skin and hair, she toweled herself off and dressed in the green silk dress that had been provided by the Elves. It was an amazingly good fit. If she had been a vain woman, she might have twirled a few times before the mirror and admired the way the green set off the amber of her eyes, but Benia was not a vain woman. Instead, she merely smoothed the fine garment into place, then set to combing out the tangles from her long, black hair. When her thick tresses once more flowed down her back like a raven-colored veil, she finished her preparations by finding a small vial amongst her meager possessions and re-applying the line of kohl around each of her eyes. Lastly, she pulled on the lovely - and dry! - Elven boots that Celebnariel had left for her and found that, like the dress, they fitted as though they had been made for her. She was finally ready to return to the Hall of Healing.

As she opened the door to her room, Benia found Celebnariel already there and waiting to escort her back to Dúlrain’s side. Celebnariel again took her leave as Benia entered Dúlrain’s room. Léspheria and Vanwe had since gone as well, but the Healer who had been staying with Dúlrain in Benia’s absence smiled.

"He’s still sleeping peacefully," he said as Benia approached the Ranger’s bedside.

"Thank you," she answered. She bent down and tenderly smoothed a few stray strands of black hair back from Dúlrain’s face. "I had so hoped to be with him when he awoke."

"You will be," answered the healer. "I think you will find his condition much improved, but there are others who need my attention as well. With your permission, I will see to them now."

"Yes, please, you must not neglect the others," agreed Benia softly. "I will stay with him now."

As he prepared to go, the Healer showed Benia a bell cord by the door that she could pull if she needed him, Celebnariel, or, in fact, anything at all. She thanked him again and settled into the chair that had been left by the injured man's bed. Laying her hands against Dúlrain's face, she was relieved to find that his skin no longer burned so frighteningly hot to the touch. She could detect the remains of a fever, but it was only slight. She murmured a soft prayer of thanks in her mother's desert dialect. Then, looking around, she found a small basin of water and a washcloth. Dipping the washcloth just under the surface of the cool fresh water, she bathed his sleeping face and hands. She planned to stay there with him as long as he remained asleep. And, if she had anything to say about it, she would still be there when he awoke.

Nothing else mattered.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain listening carefully to Avanill’s words, found no comfort in them, and the young man’s claim again rang false in his ears. For to the older man’s instincts, this one had yet to be appear consumed with a vengeance of any sort, let alone the passion necessary to spur him to seek out this quarry. And the ranger had not forgotten that when he had first met him, Avanill did not appear to be chasing either Barrold or Naiore, though he had recounted the same tale.

One point though, that Avanill had made was indeed true. Rauthain knew he could not yet be sure what link this man had to Naiore, nor by what motive he was at Tallas’ home, and on this he set his hope. For since they had been traveling together Avanill had never shown himself to be under the sway of the Ravennor. And though that too may be a ruse, the young man had proved to be courageous and obliging, meriting in this Rauthain’s respect both at the river and on the battlefield. But by the Valar, he was slippery, too! And not a straight word fell from his lips.

Seeing this paradox, the old ranger fell to questioning himself, not yet understanding why it was that he was inclined to take the reckless boy on the onward journey, for Amandur had spoken the truth at every point, and Avanill had done nothing more to earn their trust since reaching this place. But in searching his own heart, Rauthain grew suspicious of its aims. Had he then grown so corrupted by his own desire to see the death of Naiore that he now actively moved toward that end, seeking this boy only as an instrument to his purpose? For he realized that it was his fervent hope that what ever his motivation, Avanill might prove heavy handed or careless in his ministrations to the elf, stilling the breath within her, to claim her life as a prize. Indeed the old ranger knew in his weakness he would himself foster this idea. And there in lay his shame; for not only did Avanill present an unnecessary danger to their company, but Rauthain knew also that in this propensity, his own loyalty to the Law of the King would be held in question should he succeed in overriding his liege’s wishes in this manner. But if no harm came to his fellows, he thought bitterly, that dishonor was of little consequence. And with no one else left but the Ravennor to suffer from this shift, he was now willing to publicly embrace the ignominy that he had earned at Ravenfalls. He sought only to make amends with Kaldir, before this judgment was pronounced on him.

But setting aside his somber thoughts, he focused sharply as he heard Avanill mention the supposed safety of Vanwe. Rauthain looked to Amandur before turning back to their charge, “Are you saying that you believe Vanwe is here?” His mind swimming as he realized this young elf, stood to accuse Avanill, ensuring his imprisonment. If he had been bluffing, he then played a quite dangerous hand.

“Her mother sent her to retrieve her father, and seeing this place for myself I do not think she would have succeeded.” Avanill remarked. “Don’t worry about my betrayal, good sirs, I give you my word, it will not be broken, besides, if I wanted to escape I would have done so by now. I come from what you fellows would call ‘good stock’. Arrest me if you will, but Eru be damned if you lock me away and take my revenge away from me!”

The Dúnadan flinched at the inauspicious retort, surprised also that Avanill had betrayed such a spark, but his attention was quickly drawn to Amandur who expeditiously had confined the young man against an apple tree and looked as if he intended to assail him further. Astonished, Rauthain placed his hand firmly on the arm that held Avanill secured to the tree. “Amandur, my friend!” he said with concern, cautiously trying to calm the ranger, for he had never known him to act in such a way.

“I have had enough of his lies and wish only to know the truth!” Amandur declared unblinking. Ah if only the truth could be wrestled from him in such a way, thought the old ranger. But the greater the threat of harm, he knew, the more deeply entrenched in lies the young man was apt to become.

“And what truth would you wish to hear my friend…. The truth or the one you have convinced yourself is true. I too feel Tallas’ loss deeply, but we do not know if this young man lies or not,” he said trying to appease them both.

“No you are right my friend, I do not know if he lies or not,” Amandur said releasing his grip. “But…there is one who I believe does, and I strongly believe that she will tell us the truth that we seek,” he said as he continued to watch Avanill. Rauthain shot a quick glance at the man, before addressing Amandur again.

“Yes, I see now that we must take this up with one who would bear witness to his character, and saw how it went not only in Naiore’s camp, but at Tallas’ as well,” he murmured, strangely downcast.

“I am not the one you want,” Avanill declared calmly. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” He paused waiting expectantly for and answer, “I thought not,” he said nodding. “I fear you are not ready to hear what I have to say, for if it is taken the wrong way I will be worried for my life.”

Rauthain braced himself for yet another fanciful tale, resisting the temptation to comment on the man’s credibility, and the fact that he little of it left to lose. But at Amandur’s urging, Avanill took a deep breath and continued, declaring himself to be the son of Atantri, a black market trader, and nephew of the rangers Adoran and Mithsen, who were killed some years back by his father. He explained that he had joined in Naiore’s plans for the promise of quick payment, which he seemed to require.

If this were more deception, then at least it was more skillful, the old ranger thought, for Avanill was too young to have remembered the deaths the two brothers that he named as his uncles. But why would the Ravennor choose to bring along this boy, whom she did not know, on so serious an errand. Testing the speed of his reply, Rauthain asked him as much.

Without hesitation, the young man told them, summarizing his position, as well as what had taken place among the circle of oaks, and for the first time the old ranger was almost persuaded to believe him, though what he had said of Tallas did not sound like the man he knew. But at the same time he felt a strong wave of nausea overcome him, and walking away began to retch, as with dread he realized he was pleased to hear Avanill tell of his loss of control, though it swept up his friend in its bloody savagery.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

As Naiore moved down the hidden pathway that led into Imladris from the north, she chose her steps carefully, knowing that she must leave no tracks, no sign that she had passed that way. With so many elves and Rangers about, leaving even a single footprint in a single patch of mud could lead to her undoing. Belying the fury in her heart, Naiore's fair face bore a serene expression as she slid silently through the shadows of the trees. It was a bold move, entering the grounds of the Elven refuge at the height of daylight, but it was precisely for that reason that Naiore chose to go when she did. The elves would be looking for her at night, that is, if they looked for her at all. She had been careful to make it appear as though she had fled into the west following the pell-mell retreat of the orcs, even going so far as to drop a few strands of golden hair along the trail before she turned north. A cold smile twisted on the corners of her lips. Even if they missed her carefully planted clues that were intended to send the lot of her pursuers charging off like a pack of baying hounds into the west, she knew that they would never look for her within the very grounds of Imladris. Her safety lay in the audacity of her plan.

Naiore slowed her steps as the back gardens and walls of the Last Homely House came into view through the trees. Her inky leathers, stained now with the blood of elves and orcs alike, blended into the shadows as she looked for a suitable place to hole up and wait for her daughter to deliver Menecin. Vanwe would not fail her, she thought with a flash of pride. She had wrought her will too deeply upon her daughter to fail. The pathetic whelp was too green, too raw, to resist the Ravenner's will. Vanwe would deliver Menecin to her. All she had to do was wait, like a leopard at a waterhole. They would come and she would garrote them both. Soon Vanwe and Menecin would be no more, no longer able to betray her to her enemies as they had no doubt already betrayed her in the past. Her beautiful smile broadened. The waiting would soon be over and revenge would be hers. It felt good to be on the hunt again.

Concealing her pack beneath a thick shrub at the base of one of the many tall pines, Naiore chose a nearby oak in which to conceal herself. She pulled herself up into the boughs of the tree with a graceful, catlike motion, her face once more impassive. Now was the time to wait.

In the twelve years since the fall of Mordor, Naiore had done much waiting. She was used to it. She settled in with her back against the massive trunk of the ancient tree. She had chosen a vantage point that gave her a clear view of the back walls and gardens, yet offered her near complete concealment from prying eyes. She had a clear view of the stable as well. Anyone who ventured out through the back would be seen by her. Satisfied, she flicked a golden braid back over her shoulder to join the seven others, and, letting out a long, patient breath, grew still as a figure of marble. Hidden as she was, she could wait for hours if needs be. Days. Even so, Naiore was not idle. Her mind raced with plans for revenge against all those who had conspired to thwart her over the years.

While she had never expected Imladris to fall under the assault of the orcs, the image of orcs rampaging freely through the halls and grounds of the Elven refuge would have amused her greatly, as would have the sight of Elladan's and Elrohir's heads on spikes before the front door. Sadly, it was not to be, but, as it was, the orcs had accomplished what she had required of them. They had thrown the Elven defenses into disarray long enough for her to place her snare and move into position to spring it. That having been accomplished, she was happy to be rid of the vile creatures. She worked much more efficiently alone.

With her silvery gray eyes focused on the back walls of Imladris, Naiore let her mind wander, stretching out into the grounds before her, sensing the mixture of intense emotions of the many souls who inhabited the place. She searched for Vanwe. For Menecin.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur ran his good hand through his dark hair and across his neck as he considered the young man’s words. He had heard of the rangers Adoran and Mithsen and the rumours that a family member had betrayed them both, But of the black-marketer he knew little but her name and the reputation that followed her. That she was kin to the rangers would have surely been kept a guarded secret. However, it was not this that held his thoughts; it was Avanill’s recount of what occurred during his encounter with his old friend. The old man was wise beyond recount and would never do anything without good cause or reason. But what reasons would he have to anger the young man so? What purpose did it serve? But to hasten his own end… but….

Amandur abruptly stopped in his thoughts and considered the young man before him, “Could he? Would he?” he muttered to himself as he remembered the serene smile on the dead mans lips and Lespheria’s belief that the old man had been permitted to foresee his own end. Lowering his head and thoughtfully stroking his now bearded chin, he thought again of the nature and character of his old friend, then suddenly he laughed “Off course he would!” he thought aloud. If Tallas had seen even a glimpse of decency in Avanill's future, he certainly would have encouraged it, but to insult the young man so he would be forced into this very situation and given the choice to turn from his old ways would seem insane if the old man had not foreseen the outcome. Amandur shook his head in wonder and admiration.

Looking up he saw both Avanill and Rauthain regarding him as if he had finally lost his mind, ignoring their stares, he turned to address Avanill. “You may not know it boy but that old man has just saved your life and perhaps my own honour as well,” he laughed dryly, shaking his head.

“But…” Avanill began, not understanding, his sudden change in mood.

Amandur raised his hand to silence him, “I do not believe it matters any longer how or why? Just know that you have been given the opportunity to prove your worth.”

“He will come with us when we leave, his skills may prove invaluable in the days to come,” he said turning to Rauthain, “who would have guest that the Revennors own choice in companions would be her undoing , first Toby and now… well we shall see. If you don’t mind keeping our young guest company I will seek out the healers and get this damnable inconvenience seen too,” he grinned, and then winced as he motioned his broken arm.

Rauthain nodded, but he could still see a questioning look in the older mans grey eyes. “Even in death the old man casts his guiding influence,” he whispered thoughtfully. “It is not ours to question why, but to accept the help he has given; I only hope Avanill sees the opportunity afforded him. A chance to start anew, many would envy such a gift, perhaps even you or I?” he sighed, and then shaking his head he turned back to Avanill.

“You have this one chance to prove your worth boy, but know this, if you disappoint or turn on us in any way it will not be the kings justice you will have to worry about, remember that when you draw out your plans. As you have no doubt seen rangers do not tire of hunting their prey.” with that last threat given he turned and made his way to the halls of healing.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Some time after Vanwe had left, a second elf arrived, this one apparently not a healer, but bearing the harp of Maglor in it's battered case. Entering the room, he set it reverently on a small table that stood in the corner by the door, placing Menecin's ornate leather pack in a chair that sat alongside it. Nodding courteously to the bard, who was following his movements with a chilling stare, the dark haired elf quickly hurried out of the room, Menecin watching as the door was shut and the familiar sound of the bolt sliding into place deepened his sense of isolation.

Vanwe had not come back. And like a glimmer of light that he could not contain in his grasp, he did not know if she ever would return. Indeed as time wore on he began to question the validity of the morning's events in his memory, no longer certain that she had been truly real and not a trick of weary imagining. And again he was locked in a fine cage, but was no longer contented to while away the hours in safety, struggling within his mind. For this vision of his child summoned in him fierce strength of will that had lain long dormant, and with it a gnawing dread that Vanwe had gone to return obediently to Her. For was not her mother's compulsion stronger than any warning. But a vow he had made to this maiden, not to lose her. Should he then wait here like a craven, while Naiore was free to show her displeasure at his daughter's mercy? No, far better that he should die than for Vanwe to suffer this. Blind rage flared sharply within him at the poignant memory of that intrusive presence that lay bare the terrors of the heart. No, his daughter must not be defiled in such a way!

Lifting with one hand the delicately turned chair, he ignored the leather pack that slid from it. And swinging it, to catch the seat in his left hand also, he then pivoted rapidly, breaking his spiraling thoughts as he shattered the seat against the unyielding wall. Almost immediately he heard the door to the chamber open behind him and quickly shut again, the bolt thrown back in place. Menecin sighed and looking at the ground, he saw amidst the splintered wood his pack, its contents spilling onto the floor. Underneath the patterned leather, a long pouch of dark brocade lay half hidden. Stooping down, he pulled it out from under the leather bag, carefully drawing open its strings to remove something wrapped in soft cloth. It was a flute of purest mithril, a gift bestowed on him in brighter times. But it too had been through much, and seen too many dark days. Wrapping up the flute again, the elf slipped it back in its pouch and set it on the table, and turned to examine the pack. Searching it, he grew increasingly restless, and not finding what he sought threw the thing into the corner and walked to the open window. If he had been left no weapons then but his bare hands, so be it. He had used them before now, to such a purpose.

Breathing deeply he looked again from behind the window frame out upon the gardens and the tangled woods beyond, wondering where Naiore might be in this place. So close, he knew, he could almost feel her presence. Slipping quietly out of the window, his looked down over the balustrade, to the one hiding in the shadows below, to the guard granting him the protection he had once desired, but who held him now as a prisoner of his past. Climbing over the balustrade, Menecin walked with skill noiselessly along the narrow roof that extended over a colonnade before disappearing amidst the branches of a spreading tree and from there to the wilder woods.