The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Amandur chose a flat shelf of stone that jutted out sharply from the steep mountainside on which to make their hurried camp. A few stunted evergreens bordered the ledge on one side, serving to shield them somewhat from the chill air that descended from the heights above. It was a fortunate discovery, well protected and avoiding the loose stone of the mountain pass. And cutting the lower branches, they kept the horses on the green boughs deadening the sound of their hooves.

As the darkness of the evening deepened, a mist began to gather, lowering from the head of the mountains, until the camp was swathed in the damp blindness. Menecin pulling back his hood sat listening to sounds echoing strangely along the hillsides. All in their company were quiet, speaking in hush voices to one another if they chose to speak at all, so that the elf could hear the dripping of water far off and falling stones, perhaps from the foot of some small creature as it scurried to avoid an owl’s grasp. And he became aware of Vanwe in the darkness, standing before him. “Father,” a soft whisper broke through his thoughts. “You must eat now, ” she urged him, holding out fresh fruit and bread in her graceful hands. Taking them with thanks and setting them aside, he gestured for his daughter to sit awhile beside him.

Obediently, Vanwe settled herself down, and together they sat in silence for a while peering through the gloom, before the bard spoke again. His mind had turned to her. It troubled him that she knew so little of her lineage. How ill prepared was she to withstand a gale without a sure footing in the knowledge of the distant past or a sense of the part which she now played. “My child…” Menecin murmured turning to stare next to him, to where the darkness seemed less deep. “Do you know anything of the race of your kin?” But before she could answer he shook his head lamenting, “Ah, but what would those in the south have to say of the Quendi, the Eldar!”

“Very little, and of what was said I am unsure. It is only that which I have learned lately I trust, for the people of Harad view elves with deep suspicion and spoke of them as if they were a proud and warlike race, but now that I have seen Léspheria and you and have seen those of Imladris, I do not believe any longer that it is true.”

Menecin smiled faintly in the gloom, “Then though you have not heard the Noldorlantë, its effect has still been felt by you! It is true, there have been some among the Quendi who have been proud, but pride is not the sole province of our race. And the true nature of our kin would rather we work toward the repairing Middle-earth than any rending of it. Let us hope that we have learned from our mistakes. But know that your lineage holds many of great wisdom and strength. Never have doubt in yourself, for their blood flows in you as well.” He paused looking off to where the edge of the shelf fell steeply off into the gorge they had been following. “Do you know the name and purpose of these mountains?”

Without hesitation he heard her soft voice reply. “They are the Misty Mountains. They run, a hedge of sheer peaks, north and south for many hundreds of leagues.”

“Yes, they are the Hithaeglir that were raised by the rebellious Morgoth long ago as a barrier, so that Oromë might not easily hunt down the fell creatures under his sway. It seems fitting that we should also be crossing them. I believe you may not have heard the name Hithaeglir before today. Do not let their stern faces dismay you, that was many long years ago, and though they daunted the Teleri with peaks that pierced the sky, they are not now as treacherous as when they once caused elves to turn aside. Indeed, though they are yet lonely and desolate, Morgoth’s handiwork has eroded, and with care they too have become surmountable.”

“I am not afraid,” she whispered.

“Then you have learned Léspheria’s lessons well, and I too will take up this shield she has provided, though I must hope to have the strength to wield it well, when the time comes,” he said pulling up his hood again.

“But do we not share the same blood, the same lineage, that same strength?”

“In part, yes. Long have I been weary, taking no joy in this place, yet not willing to journey westward. But in seeing you Vanwe, and knowing of your perseverance, it returned hope where I thought it had been banished forever.” Noticing that she grew still, he continued, “My child, do not feel burdened by this. You have given me a great gift. Even if we were to fail, I should always treasure it. For I have in my confusion been wasting away, watching my life fade into nothingness, and you have returned it to me.”

“I have done nothing.”

“You have done much more than you realize, my daughter. Much more.”

With that the two lapsed into silence again, and Menecin saw that Vanwe was looking up as though she sought out some star to guide her through the mist surrounding them.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia had not spoken a word since Kaldir's tall figure had walked silently out of the camp above Rivendell, his eyes strangely vacant and a trickle of blood dripping from his nose. He had not looked at her then, though she had willed him to do so, hoping desperately to catch a glimpse of the man she knew still lingering within the depths of those pale blue eyes, but he had passed without even a glance. She had known then that he was dead, at least in his soul. Now, Barrold Ferny’s confirmation of the bounty hunter’s physical death at the end of a sword pained her, but she knew that it must be so. She mourned Kaldir bitterly, knowing that she had been the cause of his death. She hoped that the end had come quickly for him and without pain. He had suffered so much in his lifetime, it was the least she could hope for him. Silently, in her heart, she sang a Haradrim death lay, forgiving him any ills he had done her and asking his forgiveness for her part in his demise. When the time came, when she was free to mourn him properly, she promised herself that she would sing out to all of the four directions, to the all of the Guardians of the Winds, that they might see him home to the halls of his forefathers and give him the hero’s welcome that he so truly deserved. In the meantime...

Benia cast a wary glance over her shoulder at Ferny. They had been climbing higher and higher into the mountains for hours. The air had grown bitterly cold. The full moon floated above them, a glowing orb that lit their way like a distant lantern. Naiore, sure-footed and fleet as a tigress, led the way along a pathway that twisted and turned like an insidious argument, sometimes so narrow that it was difficult for even one to walk abreast, bounded on one side by barren stone and on the other by a sheer drop off of hundreds of feet. Other places were so steep that they had to climb, pulling themselves upward from stone shelf to stone shelf with their hands. Benia’s own hands had been unbound that she might have an easier time of it, but Ferny was never far behind, driving her onward and frustrating any hope she might have of escape. In the last hour or so, however, he had begun to lag. Naiore Dannan flew along like a shadow some twenty paces ahead of Benia on the narrow path, while Ferny dragged an equal distance behind her. At one point, Benia found herself alone, the elf having vanished around a bend ahead of her and the man not yet appeared from around another one at her rear. Benia paused and leaned out over the empty darkness.

Thinking of Kaldir, of her father, and of both men’s early deaths, she stared down into the silent abyss. A single step could end it all... a moment of weightlessness perhaps and then the nothingness of death. She would bring no more harm to those who sought to protect her. Her foot inched forward.

Just then, the whistle that Dúlrain had given to Kaldir back in Bree, that she had stolen in the Lonelands and still wore on a thong of soft leather around her neck, slipped free of her bosom and swung loosely in the space between her and the beckoning darkness below. Instinctively, she reached out a tattooed hand and closed the beautifully carved wood in her fist. “Dúlrain,” she whispered. “What of you? Do you know the fate of your brother? How I pray you lie safe in your bed in the hall of healing, that you do not follow me on this desperate trek.” Raising the whistle to her lips, she kissed the smooth wood.

“Be safe, my love,” she sighed and slid the artifact back into the neckline of her dress. “I would sooner die than lead you to an early death, as I have led your brother and nearly led you once before when you sought to come to my aid. Be safe now. Heal thy wounds and forget about Benia Nightshade, though she loved you like life itself...”

“What are you natterin’ on about?” A rough grip closed around her arm and jerked her back from the abyss. Ferny. “Get movin’, lovey, afore I pitch ya over the edge m’self.”

A light shove forward along the treacherously narrow path and Benia began to walk again, grateful that she was used to walking for miles. She had no desire to find out what Ferny and the elf would do to her if she faltered, fearing that it might be something far worse than merely pitching her off the path into the unknown night. Lowering her head, she moved resolutely and silently forward. Naiore waited on a wide rock shelf just on the far side of the jutting bend in the cliff. She had been joined by a scouting party of twelve large orcs, all of them heavily armed with pikes and scimitars. Benia’s heart fluttered with fear.

“Barrold!” exclaimed Naiore, turning toward them with a serene, almost happy smile, her silvery gray eyes shining in the moonlight. “You join us at last. This is Ashnik the Masher. He and his party have been out on patrol for many days now and are looking for a bit of man flesh to fill their empty bellies. Do you know where they might find some?”

All twelve orcs turned toward him, eying him as a band of butchers might eye a fat cow. Barrold Ferny cleared his throat and fell back a step, his fingers tightening nervously around Benia’s upper arm.

Seeing that she had made her point that Ferny should not dawdle if he valued his life, Naiore turned back toward the orcs and addressed them in a harsh tongue that Benia did not recognize. There was a short discussion between Naiore and the one called Ashnik and some muffled quarreling amongst the orcs themselves, then the orcs abruptly moved forward as a group, pushing past Benia and Ferny, to take the path that the three had of them had arrived by. As soon as the orcs had vanished around the sharp bend, Naiore slid her pack from her shoulders.

“We will stop here,” she said calmly. “But only for a few hours. Ashnik and his group have gone in search of our pursuers, but we must not take their success for granted. We move on with the sunrise.”

Ferny nodded and slid his pack from his shoulders as well, taking a moment to bind Benia tightly around the wrists and ankles. Within moments, he lay on his side, snoring loudly, with Benia pinned strategically between himself and the stone face of the cliff.

“Wouldn’t want ya to be thinkin’ ya might try to fly now, would we, little bird?” he had muttered to her as he had pushed her to the ground. Now, as he lay snoring into her ear, one arm thrown heavily across her shoulders, Benia found herself, though exhausted, unable to find the soft refuge of sleep. Instead, she lay on the stony ground and stared upward into the cold face of the moon, grieving for Kaldir, and hoping that Dúlrain had remained in Rivendell where he would be safe and well cared for until his wounds were fully healed. And Gilly...

Benia sighed. “Gilly,” she murmured in a whisper that was barely more than a soft breath against the harsh breeze that lashed the shelf where they rested. “May you be with him in Rivendell and safe...”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

While it was true the hobbit had seen a few hills in her day, she had never come across any such as these. Incomparably high and menacing they were in her opinion, hard and cruel. And she fancied that the mountains must themselves be in league with that wretched elf, to shield such a wicked thing in their rugged arms, keeping Naiore’s pursuers from gaining so much as a glimpse of Miss Benia no matter how fast they had pushed themselves along the hateful pass. As they had worked their way twisting through the heights she had been painfully aware that Dúlrain would likely have been able to travel faster, if not for Mr. Longholes and herself, but imagined that he still was traveling far faster than the elves would have recommended, had they foreseen what was to befall their patient. So fearing that the wound tended to in Rivendell might not be fully healed, she had struggled along admonishing poor Longholes, who watched diligently for orcs that might trail them. Gilly prodded him to hurry, as she tried to keep the ranger in sight. In less urgent times it might have been good for Dúlrain to stop and wait for the hobbits, thereby resting himself, but as it was, it would not do to have him double back to find them. Miss Benia could not afford to have the two hobbits prove a burden to the man, slowing his progress. And without the ranger Gilly saw little hope of finding, let alone recovering Miss Benia from the Ravennor’s keeping. All her hope lay solely in his hands.

Exhausted from their long and steady ascent into the mountains, and the rush to put distance between themselves and the orcs, Gilly reluctantly admitted that she could not go any further without at least a brief rest, for both she and her fellow hobbit had become quite winded in trying to match the ranger’s pace. And now that they had stopped, she could not bring herself to put one foot before the other, let alone attend to making what she had come to call ‘a proper camp’, even though Dúlrain had permitted them a fire against the cold. Her legs had become leaden and her mind just as dull, as she eyed the cave they entered with gloomy suspicion. How could a descent person be expected to rest in the shelter of such a cold conspirator as this mountain! And when Miss Benia was in such straights! Gilly shuttered as she watched Mr. Longholes strike a fire to life, fostering the flame that would defy the cold darkness oppressing Gilly’s already flagging spirits. Where was Miss Benia now that they were sitting idle, and what must she be enduring?

When Toby had finished, shifting back onto to his heels he held out his hands testing the heat of the fire, and saw that Gilly sat considering him in the dim light. In truth she was trying to find the words to ask him what he knew of Naiore Dannan, but could not bring herself to seek an answer. And so she sat mute and staring.

“I can’t think for the life of me what the Ravennor of Mordor would want with her, Mr. Longholes!” Gilly finally managed. “I can’t understand it at all. The world barely knows that she walks these lands, so lightly she passes, harming no one, so far as I know of. What use could taking her be? Any way I look at it, it seems bad for my friend. Either that elf has some plan for her or none at all, and that might be even more dangerous!”

Toby looked up, “I don’t claim to know her mind, you know,” he explained, “but to be sure she has her reasons. She is seems fond of efficiency if naught else. If she has carried her this far over the mountains, she’s some reason for it.”

Gilly shook her head before sadly resting her forehead on the palm of one hand.

“If it’s any consolation, I think she’s got too much on her plate at the moment to trouble your friend much, what with her plans all gone awry.”

“Oh Mr. Longholes, you are a dear for trying to ease my mind, but I suspect that you believe your words even less than I. You must have had a very good reason to risk leaving her, hadn’t you? I won’t ask. I’d be too afraid of what you might have to say, but I think that it must have been a real eye opener, to have you take up with the king’s rangers, given your standing with in Bree.”

Toby looked to where Dúlrain had posted himself at the mouth of the cave. “I know that she looked for their deaths before I left,” he whispered. “And I tell you I’d have none of it!”

Gilly lifted her head following his glance, “Who, the rangers? Gracious, lets have no more of that, please! No more killing of any kind.”

“While I heartily agree, I must make a small exception these orcs," he said smiling as the light reflected in his eyes.

“That does my heart good to hear,” Gilly said. “For I have learned to appreciate what it is the rangers do, first hand. And a better group you’d be hard pressed to find, even in Bywater, never mind Bree.”

After some time the conversation lagged, each lost in their own thoughts. And by the time Gilly felt herself able to think again of a bite to eat, she found that Toby had fallen asleep, his back to the cave wall. But Dúlrain still remained at the cave’s entrance. He turned his head slightly as the hobbit approached offering to take over the watch. Declining the offer, both remained sleepless waiting for dawn to color the sky.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

The night was broken by the noise of the ranger’s heavy footfall as he dashed into the camp, betraying wordlessly the urgency of the news he bore. “Quick, take up your gear,” he directed in a clipped whisper, traveling between his companions to make sure all were awake. “We have company, a band of orcs headed our way. Make haste, we’ve not much time!” Amandur moved quickly collecting the things he found loose about the camp, carrying them to where the sleepy horses raised their heads in greeting.

Menecin arose swiftly. Frowning, he peered through the banks of cloud surrounding them. The Lady Léspheria was not among their number he noticed, though her kit was still lying were she had placed it. Catching the edge of Amandur’s cloak as the he passed, in a hushed voice he queried where the elf maid might be. The ranger turned to meet his gaze, and Menecin saw that no alarm visited Amandur’s eyes. “She has already hidden herself on the hillside, ready to strike in our defense if need be,” he replied. “But we must be quick, for it would be to our advantage if she delayed use of her bow until we are better situated.” Then turning to Avanill Amandur asked to use his dark cloak. In short order the young merchant obliged him, unwrapping himself and handing the deep blue garment the ranger, who throwing it over his shoulder, strode to the pines were Vanwe spoke soothing the horses.

******
All was still as a pale glimmer appeared at the edge the bend. Blending swiftly into the shadow of the mountain it vanished just below the point where Léspheria had stationed herself in sight of the path. In truth it was hard to tell whether it was merely a fleet thickening of mist. But shortly another slipped past the corner and staying close to the hillside crept onto the flat shelf of stone, slowly and silently advancing before stopping abruptly. Standing stock still, squinting eyes swept over the path before the scouts retreated just as silently; back the way they had come.

It was not long before the shadows reappeared slipping around the corner, but this time they were followed by still more. As quiet as death but for their rasping breath, they streamed onto the shelf drawing close to the horses. Weapons drawn in readiness, the orcs awaited noiselessly their commander’s signal to attack. A thin wheezing was heard as the leader of the band drew a deep breath, contemplating the smell of freshly shed elven blood that filled his nostrils. As he approached them, the startled horses rose to their feet, and backing toward the wall they revealed a fair elf of noble bearing, who stepped forward, clothed in darkness, gripping a bloodied sword in her hands.

“My lady Ravenner,” the orc hissed bowing with grudging deference, his gaze never leaving her face as he withdrew a pace. But eyes narrow with suspicion his expression rapidly turned steely, changing from fear to anger. And he brought his sword over his shoulder in a flash, to quickly dispatch this imposter who sought to dupe him in front of his troops. Before he could strike his deadly blow a sharp twang was heard from the hillside behind the pines, and the creature fell lifeless to the ground, a feathered shaft protruding from his eye.

As Menecin reached for a second arrow he heard the gentle call of a southern bird in the night; a sign from Léspheria that all the orcs were now in the camp. Taking quick aim he brought down another who searched to sight him on the hillside and whose arrow, missing Menecin’s newly bandaged arm, glanced off the stone beside him. Just then Avanill managed to drive the horses past Vanwe, pushing the enemy back toward the drop and toward Léspheria and Amandur in great disorder. A few orcs, who guessed what was intended, tried to worm their way forward through the horses, but the frightened animals reared, trampling one, and the weapons of Avanill and Vanwe met the others. Avanill stayed by her, until finding a space open before him Menecin sprang to their side, joining the fray and his daughter, who had, it appeared, embraced a strategy of vigorous defense. Seeing that the bard was there, Avanill broke off to the right working his way toward Léspheria, as had been planned. Vanwe and Menecin closing the circle to the left.

There was great relief when all of the companions met again in the mist, and in tallying the fallen they learned that of the eleven who entered the camp all had perished there. But Amandur remained watchful as they gathered the horses, and left the camp, walking to a cave that he had found a mile or so further along the path. And it seemed he would not relax until on reaching the cave they found the body of a twelfth hidden inside, a deep knife wound in its back.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore roused Barrold Ferny and Benia Nightshade well before the first light of dawn and urged them forward, bleary-eyed and stumbling, onward into the pre-dawn darkness. The path had leveled off shortly before they made camp the night before and now began a distinct and steady decline in altitude. Naiore smiled to herself. They would soon reach the far side of the Misty Mountains and she would be able to make her turn toward the south and safety. Once she had acquired a horse, she felt that her escape would be assured. She cast a glance back toward Ferny, who rubbed his eyes and spat over the side of the precipice. She would move more quickly, too, when she was again alone. Speed was now of the absolute importance.

Throughout the night as Ferny and his soon-to-be-awarded prize lay sleeping, Naiore had sensed the presence of Léspheria growing ever stronger, ever nearer. While ordinarily Naiore would have welcomed the pursuit of her kinswoman, would have savored the notion of a showdown between the two of them, Naiore felt now that the timing was all wrong. For one thing, Léspheria was no doubt surrounded by Rangers bent on Naiore’s destruction, which left the odds heavily weighted against the Ravenner. For another thing, Naiore had been put on the defensive. She preferred to dictate the time and place for her battles, never allowing others to gain the advantage. She would do so again. For the time being, she decided philosophically, let little Léspheria and her rangers follow her trail. She would lose them at the first opportunity, then circle back and attack them under her own terms. Under her own terms. The soft smile that had spread across Naiore’s fair features vanished as she turned forward again and increased her pace. She would control the terms of their engagement. No one else.

Behind her, Naiore heard Ferny swearing loudly as he momentarily lost his footing and slid several yards down the steep path in a hail of loose stone and gravel. As Naiore looked back, he gave the southern woman a sharp push forward as though she had been somehow to blame. He raised his hand to cuff her as well except that the southern woman lowered her dark head and quickened her pace, evading the blow. Naiore turned away and continued walking, knowing it was unlikely, once she left the woman in Ferny‘s hands, that Benia Nightshade would survive even a year. It would not take long before Ferny went too far and killed her in a drunken rage, but such was Benia Nightshade’s lot in life. It was not of any concern to Naiore. She threw her mind backward, into the darkness that still lingered over the west, searching for the presence of Léspheria. How far away was she? Had she gained any ground upon them in the night? No, it seemed not. The elven lady was still back there, but trailing just as far behind as she had been the night before. Naiore’s serene smile returned to her lips. Léspheria presented no immediate threat. Even so, Naiore knew better than to take the narrow lead she possessed for granted. Instead, she sought to expand it, pushing her companions to maintain a terrible pace.

Hiking steadily throughout the day, the three travelers paused only briefly for food and water. By early evening they had reached a distance far into the foothills on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. By nightfall, the flat lands lay spread out before them like an open promise, the Old Forest Road just visible to the south, cutting across the open ground toward them from the direction of the great Anduin River. Gladden Fields, Naiore’s destination, lay only a few days’ march to the south... or an even fewer days’ ride.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

By nightfall of the following day, Amandur, Avanill and the three elves were deep within the foothills of the misty mountains. They had rested only briefly after defeating the orcs in the pass, but long enough for Amandur to decided that it was time to trust the young merchant. He had returned the young mans belongings to him instructing him to have his potion ready as soon as was able before pressing them on down the east side of the mountain. They now rode through the night working their way across the rugged foot-hills that fronted the mountains, Amandur continued to press them on until the dawn light began to creep out of the east and spilled out into the green open plains before them. They rested then for a few hours, each taking their turn at watch. But all was quiet, Naiore had done what she had set out to do waylaying them long enough with the orc’s that she could reach the open plains ahead of them.

The previous day Léspheria and Menecin had taken it in turns to scout ahead. Late in the afternoon of that day Menecin had returned informing them that he had discovered fresh tracks of a second group following the ravennor. Taking them to where he had found the trail both Amandur and Lespheria had instantly realised that the prints were that of a well booted man and two hobbits struggling to keep pace with the rangers longer stride. Dulrain, Master Longholes and Mrs Banks Amandur told the others, there had been an distinct sound of relief in his voice as he had spoken, having found no hint of them since before the pass he had begun to fear the worst had befallen them. But this new sign had shown that not only were they alive but they were somewhere just a few hours ahead. However they had not managed to catch them up as he had hoped and now as he sat in the grey dawn taking the last watch Amandur thought about their next course.

His plan had been to follow the foot-hills southward avoiding the unnecessary hindrance of having to cross the river Ninglor, then surrounding and confronting their elusive prey on the fields of the gladden. But now he was unsure, he was not certain how much distance the elf had managed gained from them and if they could reach the fields before her. He was more than certain if they did not then they would all but likely end up walking right into a trap of the ladies devise. But as he looked out at the vast open plains before them he liked that option even less, following the revennor out into the open would leave them vulnerable to ambush and any number of other dangers. But the danger of the revennor getting to one of them and manipulating them to her will before the young merchant had time to deliver his gift played heaviest on his thoughts.

After a cold breakfast of stale bread and dried fruit the small company again mounted and after much thought and debate with the others Amandur decided they would stick to the foot-hills and follow their course southward hoping to overtake the elf and surround her before she could reach the now deserted forests of Lothorien. He hoped that the revennor still travelling on foot with her two less flighty companions in tow would slow her down enough for them to gain the distance they needed to get ahead of her.

Noon came, As they passed the old forest road to the east of them and steadily wound their way along the rocky foot-hills. The air was now warm and only wispy cloud skittered across the noonday skies. Amandur, Léspheria and Menecin continued to take it in turns to ride to the edge of the hills to make sure their quarry did not make any unexpected turns or stops that they had not anticipated. Amandur had already informed the company that they would ride until dark, Anxious to make up the distance on those they pursued, determined that before they stopped they would find some sign that they had finally over taken the elf. No one argued the point. They rode on silently for the remainder of the afternoon, watching as the small wisps of clouds joined together, expanding and growing menacingly darker then with the coming of early evening the clouds finally burst, the rain coming down on them in fat heavy drops forcing them to once more find shelter.

******************************************

Vanwe

They made camp in a grove of sycamores hidden between the hills, there was fresh water and grass for the horses, they quickly gathered what dry wood they could still find and lit a small fire. As soon as they were settled and had eaten, Lespheria and Amandur left to backtrack their trail and determine how much ground they had gained on Naiore. While the others dried off their cloaks and waited their return Vanwe watched the young merchant over the low flames of the fire. She had not forgotten how he had stayed by her during the battle, However she could not forget that he had been one of those who had helped to hold her against her will and that she had already seen him murder another man. But he had not been rough like Barrold infact as she thought on it he had been courteous well at least till she tried to escape. Would he not have done the same if the circumstances were reversed she wondered tilting her head slightly to consider the young man.

As Avanill feeling her eyes upon him looked up she thought to lower her gaze but could not she wanted to understand…understand why Amandur trusted him when Léspheria did not! Though she carefully hid it from the others, Vanwe could somehow feel the distrust her cousin held towards the young man, she also wanted to understand why he choose the life he did, she somehow felt she owed him that. Slowly she rose and moved to sit nearer the young man his eyes watching her move, as she came around the fire she saw that he had several bottles out before him, a small billy boiled on the fire and a small wooden bowl and mortar sat before him.

“Is that ….” she began to asked hesitantly.

“for you mother” Avanill finished coolly, she nodded still staring at the contains of the bowl with a measure of both wonderment and unexplained anxiety.

“yes it is!” the young man finish and Vanwe look up surprised to hear the sympathetic tone in his voice.

“I mean she is still your mother this must be hard for you!” Avanill continued.

Vanwe thought for a moment then shook her head, “what she does is wrong she hurts people even herself she must be stopped, if ever their was a mothers love within her it is all since gone, one thing consumes her…drives her all else I believe is but an empty shell lonely and hollow.” She stared deep into the flames of the fire as if pondering further then whispered “I cannot hate her but only wish to understand and in the end if it comes to that she shall not be alone.” Suddenly realising that she had spoke her thought aloud and to whom she quickly tried to turn the conversation back to the merchant and why he lived his life as he did.

“Why do you do this… I mean selling your goods to people like my mother and aiding them in their misadventures, surely such skills could be put to better use…. Is profit really everything?” As she waited his answer she softly studied his well tanned features trying to find something that perhaps she had not noticed before something that would assure her that they could really trust him.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

It was only when they had reached the rolling land that lay at the base of the mountains that Gilly found her footing again. And before the hills melted into the plains that ran off at their left, her courage was somewhat renewed. She looked out through the trees to the grassy hills searching for any sign of Miss Benia, hoping that the clouds threatening rain, might pass them by, and they might have a little more time before nightfall. This was landscape the hobbit felt she could better understand. But the clouds that had grown low and heavy broke, and a gentle rain began to fall upon them. The greens faded to grey, and the trunks of the thinning trees to black as the light faded and Dúlrain slowed his pace looking for a place for them to wait out the increasing cloudburst.

When at last they stopped Gilly thought it seemed almost a pleasant place that Dúlrain chose for them. A large elm that had once stood proudly near the edge of the woods lay partially uprooted, the great bole resting on the hillside and its eastward roots reaching up in the air at angle, bare except for dirt and long grass that clung to them. Beneath these splayed rafters a dry den was formed, several feet wide. It was into this deep hollow they climbed as the rain pelted down and the night closed in about them. And though looking out and to the east one would have had a broad view overlooking the plains had the sun been shining, this night they saw only the occasional glimmer of raindrops, like silver brightly edging the grass that hung down at the mouth of the den.

Gilly sat down hugging her aching knees as she stared into the darkness beyond their shelter. It had been quite some time since they had eaten anything beyond the fresh herbs and berries they found upon their way, and she felt it keenly. Having left Rivendell in such a great hurry, the hobbits had not thought to provision themselves, and in this pressed march they had long since finished what supply Dúlrain had left in his bags. And though the ranger provided also a little fresh meat that they happened across along their way, all three were aware that time spent looking for food was time that Naiore could make good use of, and so did not stray off their course to hunt. Besides, Gilly had neither pot nor skillet at hand so she thought it was just as well not to think of such things, the others seemed not to be bothered by pangs as she was. So the hobbit sat listening to the rain, trying to ignore her empty stomach and the accompanying weakness. What she would give now for even for what Kaldir had carried. Benia had always proved to have the better provender among her bags. “Oh, if only we had a pot of Miss Benia’s tea!” she found herself saying, remembering the last time she had savored it. She sighed deeply. Kaldir had still been alive then.

“I could do with a bit more than tea,” she heard Toby confess in the darkness beside her. “Something to chew maybe. Something to fill this hollow under my ribs.”

Gilly thought of a nice roast, set out on the table in her brightly lit and dry kitchen at home, the faces of her expectant family gathered around. “Yes, so could I,” she admitted. “And a little more daylight and a little less rain as well", she added softly.

“A nicely basted chicken, maybe,” Toby mused.

A rattle was heard as Dúlrain who had lain down, shifted his weight. “Mrs. Banks, you should be careful of what you say,” he said. So far away his voice seemed to Gilly, and weary. “I have not the same skill in tracking as Kaldir and the rain will help us, though it may disturb some of what the earth may tell us for a little while. But we must sleep now, while we can.”

“I am sorry, of course you are right Mister Dúlrain. You rest now, I will take watch,” Gilly volunteered, though she too felt dreadfully tired.

“No, Mrs. Banks, you rest a bit yourself, and I will watch,” Toby said standing up as far as the roots allowed him. “I will watch for anything that moves, and provided I find something- but nothing fearsome as would harm us, mind you- well then we might just have ourselves something for breakfast in the morning!”

“That would be wonderful indeed, Mister Longholes. I hope that you find something to your taste,” Gilly said.

“In that case it had better be something large,” he joked as he climbed out of the hollow.

“But if anything is amiss or if the rain stops, do not delay in waking us, Master Longholes,” Dúlrain requested the hobbit.

“Not to worry!” Toby said sticking his head back in the den. “This hobbit knows the difference between a cricket and a chunk of cheese. And I wouldn’t waste a minute fretting on whether or not to wake you, you’d know something is up just as soon as me, but I trust no sooner than that!” With that he was gone, and Gilly was left trying to relax enough to sleep, but her mind would not settle.

“Do you really, trust him Mister Dúlrain?” Gilly asked after a while, not knowing if the ranger had fallen asleep.

“Rest easy Mrs. Banks,” his voice said quietly. “I do not think Master Longholes would risk leaving, and I have long ago grown accustomed to sleeping with an ear open for trouble.”

“But you are tired.”

“And you also, I should think.”

It was true and the hobbit lay down on the bare ground, tucking her feet up under her skirts. “Mister Dúlrain?” she began again. “You haven’t found anything new since I last asked, anything I should know about, have you?”

There was a silence and Gilly thought perhaps the ranger had drifted off despite his attention to trouble. “No Mrs. Banks, I have not,” he answered her after a lengthy pause. “I have not seen any sure sign of a struggle. Now sleep and in the morning light we will speak of what I have and have not found, in great detail if you would like.”

“Mister Dulrain?” the hobbit questioned in the damp darkness. “Forgive me, but I’ve one more question now that Mister Longholes is away. I’ve wanted to ask you for some time now, but honestly I was afraid to hear what you might say,” she admitted. “Of course you don’t have to answer, “ she added quickly, “though I truly wish that you might.”

“Let’s have your question then, and I will answer it if I am able,” Dúlrain said.

It seemed to Gilly much easier to put into words now that she was so tired and could no longer see the his expression. Almost as if she were between sleep and waking. “Tell me, how was it really that Mr. Kaldir died?” she finally asked the darkness. And after what seemed an immeasurable pause she spoke again, “Did he and Mr. Rauthain have a falling out? I had worried it might come to that, you know.”

She heard a deep in take of breath just a few feet beside her, and immediately regretted having broached the subject. It was not easy for the ranger.

“No, it was not Rauthain.” Dúlrain’s voice cut clear through the night. “My brother, though still living had all but left us by the time Rauthain met him at the edge of the vale. I have no doubt that he had finally found who he had been seeking since he left Bree,” Dúlrain stopped for a moment. “This was no longer Kaldir the ranger nor even Kaldir the bounty hunter, Mrs. Banks. It was not the man we know, who fell. It was this man who killed Rauthain and who also had set upon me.”

Gilly understood then, what Dúlrain would not say. “But why? He had fought so very long against her. How could she turn him in less than a day’s time?”

“Benia,” came Dúlrain’s reply through the dark. “He did to help Benia.”

The hobbit, troubled by this answer, thought largely on these three of her friends until she passed into a dreamless slumber, not waking or stirring until it was time to move on.