The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur had not been idle in his slow advance, his keen warrior instincts cautioning him to be wary of this most cunning of foes. So while the women parleyed words he listened to those instincts and watched intently the bard and his enchantingly dangerous prisoner. So it was that he noted the beads of sweat rolling down the bards face as he doggedly tried to blinked away the effects of the drug stealing at his strength and clarity. It was too that he caught the slight twisting of Naiore as she also came to realise the bards weakening hold. She was biding her time! He knew, waiting like most accomplished warrior’s for the most opportune moment, then she would make her move.

In that very instant he could not help but admire her skill and cunning, in some other life she may have made a very valuable ally, but as it was she was the enemy and he did not forget this as he stole about the elf’s reach. Her sword lay glittering in the starlight close to her feet and in easy reach, she would make for it when the chance arose. Menecin’s horse also stood nearby fully accessible and ready for a quick and easy get away, if needed or intended.

It was then when Naiore with false civility bade her cousin come close that Amandur knew the time had come. He tested the grip of his sword in his right hand drawing his dagger with his left as he continued his advance, only to be halted by the raised hand of Léspheria. He stopped but only to allow Naiore to relax in her believe that her design was assured! Her Arrogance would be her mistake! He thought coolly.

So it was as Naiore graciously slipped from the bards grasp and the others hesitated in the resultant confusion Amandur moved, with a swiftness that belied his size he cutting in front of Léspheria forcing her back as he positioned himself, sword raised ready to receive the Ravenor blow.

Sharp and heavy it came crashing off his blade with an almost deafening ring, surprised to find metal and not the soft flesh of her cousin’s throat, as she had planned Naiore hesitated. Amandur knew he had but only and instant and he acted pushing down forcing her weapon to the ground, but he did not stop there he could not let her regain her composer, so pulling back quickly he smashed his elbow into her pretty face sending her stumbling back, then without so much as a pause he lunged with his left hand and it was done!

He watched detached as Naiore, blood still flowing freely from her nose looked down in stunned disbelief at the black hilt of the dagger protruding from her left breast, ‘how can this be? I the Ravenor of Mordor defeated by…this…this….mere Mortal….’ she looked up at him her eye’s glittering one last time with a malevolent hatred and anger and as she fell slowly into death she raised her hand and with the last of her strength she struck out at the ranger, a glancing blow that caught his sword arm cutting it to the bone.

Dropping his sword and grasping at his wound Amandur fell to his knees leaning over the lifeless corpse of the elf once believed to be one of the last great threats to Middle earth!

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

Lespheria

“One must love both”

Lespheria shivered as a chilling tingle ran down the length of her spine, The thought of embracing the darkness with the light…the discord with the harmony seemed totally abhorrent to her and again her fears washed over her , Vanwe had opened her to them and shown her truth….but what if…no she would not entertain such thoughts, the choice was always hers.

“And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

She looked up then to find Naiore eyeing her intently, those deep emerald pools filled with unbridled loathing and contempt . did she know... did she sense…Then as if in answer to those unspoken questions Naiore addressed her directly.

“Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak?” Lespheria resisted the urge to shiver as another cold chill took her, hoping that none of the effort showed on her face, but the sudden light and subtly curve of the other woman’s mouth said that it had.

“You know that I am not the enemy.” 'Not true!' She thought bitterly, 'The choice was always hers!'

“She is someone you carry in your heart. You cannot control her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet.” Lespheria knew this but hearing it from Naiore irked at her soul , if it was the elf’s intent to anger her it was working. Naiore still could not see, yes it was true it could not be control, not completely but neither could it control, yes it could coheres, tempt or even deceive, but never control the choice inevitably was always yours, a remedy to the greatest of sins, she thought grimly.

“I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is a dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.” If Naiore’s words before had irked her these now infuriated her… Haven’t the stomach…does she think I am afraid…. Does she think I would not….her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bow tightly, but still she did not raise it. No, she would not be goaded so.

There were still things Naiore could tell her, things she would know that no others would…things….. Naiore’s sudden smile distracted her from her thoughts, unsettled her casting suspicion as Naiore bade her come closer. She hesitated a moment. Apart from Amandur Naiore was the last to speak with her mother alive, what was it that Valaindon knew, what was it that Naiore so ardently wanted that she did not let the woman die no matter how close to death she took her, what other secrets had they shared?

“Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,”

She considered Naiore a moment longer. The woman was dangerous and not to be trusted she knew, but the lure was enough. Besides Menecin held her and Amandur was close by, Naiore was not going anywhere, what harm would there be in just speaking to her, perhaps she would even learn something useful.

“Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

She had barely noticed Amandur’s slow advance , but curiosity now had her in its throws and moving closer, she raise a hand in muted signal to the ranger, glancing only briefly to see that he had stopped. A mistake, and in that instance she realised it, sensing too late the other elf’s satisfaction. Naiore’s hands were round the hilt of the fallen sword before even she thought to react. Too close for her bow to be any use she let it fall and reached for her sword, but before she could even curl her long fingers around the hilt she felt the wind knocked out of her and she fell to the ground.

Unsure of what had just happened she scrambled backwards, struggling to her feet and ignoring the fresh bruising to her ribs, she reached for her sword pulling it free. Looking up in time only to see Amandur plunge his left hand towards Naiore’s chest.

Her eyes widened as the ranger stepped back a pace and she could see the black hilt of the dagger protruding from Naiore’s breast. she watched detached as the stunned elf stared down at it disbelievingly and sensed the roiling anger and hatred as her eyes rose to take in the one who had defeated her. Even as Naiore mustered the last of her strength to strike out at the Ranger, Lespheria gasped Naiore’s blade cut deep into Amandur’s right shoulder and as they both fell she was certain that through her tears she saw Naiore look at her with that ever present serene smile curving her blood covered lips as she finally fell into death. She shivered and for a second she merely stood there in stunned silence. It was finally over, the bonds that tied them to Naiore were finally severed.

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Vanwe

After she had overcome the initial confusion of her mothers distraction Vanwe had gone to her father. He was still struggling to get his feet when she knelt beside him. “Father are you hurt?” she whispered anxiously, laying a restraining hand on his shoulder.

His shoulders slumped in defeated resignation as he shook his head, “I’m sorry my child I could not hold her….I tried…you should have…” but he did not finish that thought and instead sighed deeply. Then looking up at Vanwe he smiled, not the thin and weary smile she had seen in the past but the warm and loving sort that most fathers bestowed on their precious daughters from time to time, filled with pride and warmth. “Oh My Daughter if we are to die this day know that I am ever glad that our paths have crossed and proud as any father to know that without any other help but your own you have grown into a kind and virtuous woman.”

“Now hush,” Vanwe frowned “That is the drug talking, we are not done for yet and if you hold still a bit I can….” but she did not get a chance to finish as her father suddenly let out a stunned gasp, his eyes widened as he stared at something behind her. She turned slowly half expecting to find Naiore right on top of them but what she saw suddenly turned her blood cold and drained the colour from her cheeks.

It was her mother, but not so close, yet dark against the shadow of the first line of silver peeking out over the eastern horizon. The hilt of a Dagger sticking out from her chest as she fell forwards. Vanwe turned away then burying her face in her fathers chest as hot wet tears ran down her pale cheeks, she had know in her heart that there had been no hope for her mother and had resolved not to cry when the time came, but the grief and pain was too real and as her father wrapped his arms around her consolingly she wept openly and freely, for he at least would understand her loss, if others did not.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

All was quiet, as Menecin stared blankly at the utter stillness of Naiore. The light breeze, which had risen with the approach of dawn, descended from the mountains riffling the dead elf’s ragged hair with gentle playfulness, adding to the emptiness that gaped inside the bard’s chest. He harbored no doubts then, knowing from that very emptiness that she was no more among them.

But the stillness of the living was a fleeting thing, for as they each realized that this threat had been turned aside not only from them, but all they held dear, they quickly came to life again. Léspheria hurried to Amandur, as he knelt beside the elf’s body, and Vanwe, Vanwe turned and clung to her father, her thickly falling tears, a balm to his sorrow, effectively washing away his sense of isolation. He wrapped his arms about her, for truly she needed him.

Grateful he was to his daughter for this, yet not only this. For when he had stood with Naiore, grappling with his own heart as much as with the Ravenor, Vanwe had brought a measure of light and order to his darkened mind. He had realized that his place was neither that of Naiore’s intercessor nor executioner, as long as his heart was governed by guilt. No more then did Menecin seek Naiore’s life, but obediently he had held the Ravennor as fast as his unruly muscles would permit. And when Vanwe’s influence had so steadied him, his daughter did not leave him undefended. Despite Naiore’s claim that Menecin intended to kill them both, Vanwe had returned his dagger without fear, though her arm ran scarlet from it. Soon after that Menecin had felt Naiore’s body stiffen in her pride, as Vanwe sought for her own particular understanding of her mother, finding only dismay.

But now Naiore was dead, and in the security of his sheltering arms, Vanwe released a sadness of heart that pulled at Menecin, so that he could think of little else. After a moment he lifted his grieving daughter’s chin, speaking softly to her. “Don’t let her cast an enduring shadow across your life, my daughter. It is a cleansing wind comes from the west, and the morning speaks to me of a new beginning. Do you not see it?” Vanwe raised head at this, and her father with a trembling thumb, wiped the tears from her cheek. “The past must recede with her.”

“A beginning?” Vanwe asked cautiously, renewed apprehension creasing her brow. “But where will that new beginning take you?”

Her father looked toward the mountains as though he would look through them. “I will no longer follow her. It is clear that my place is with you now, on this side of the Sundering Seas.” Turning to her, his eyes where full of concern. “But you and I, we must find the strength to let our regret be your mother’s traveling companion. We must unravel these ties we are bound with, for they will cripple us if we hold them too tightly, thinking always of what should have been.” Menecin tried once more to pull his feet under him in order to stand. A frown a disappointment visited his face. “But see now, apparently it is too late for me,” he announced with a weak laugh. “Your father has become lame, and a burden for the healers!”

“No, no,” Vanwe said quickly, wiping the dampness from her face as she stood. “You mustn't think that! It is only the drug.” Placing her hand under her father’s arm, she explained as she assisted him, “Here I will help you, but do not move too suddenly. If Avanill's mixture is anything like the one whose effects I know, you must move slowly and without hurry if your legs are to obey you. After a few attempts, and under Vanwe’s direction, Menecin rose unsteadily to his feet. Greatly relieved, though his head swam from the effort, the bard smiled again at his daughter, admitting that Avanill had done his work well, and rueing the fact that he had not lived to see it or undo it.

Vanwe’s eyes drifted to where she knew the merchant’s body lay in the shadows, and Menecin seeing her, placed his hands on her shoulders “Oh my daughter, all my life has been spent looking for glimmers of light in the midst of darkness and composing verse telling of them. Such things I viewed as proof of the sovereignty of the father of us all, for they shone bright against this backdrop of dissonance. But never have I found such a jewel as you. Of those traits lacking in the Lady Dannan, you have been given a double portion, and you are all the proof I require. Your mother named you Vanwe, but Mírëasëa shall be your father name, for your kindness is to be treasured, always.

“Come, help me to your mother side, that I might bid her farewell.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

As the sun’s disk rose out of the east and the shadows of the night fled, the morning light found Léspheria and Vanwe at Amandur’s side, tending to the grievous wound that had been Naiore’s parting blow to the man. And while in concert the two elves labored to heal the ranger’s sword arm, Menecin did not trouble them, but rather he moved about, working to master his peculiar condition, as he slowly prepared the bodies of Naiore and the merchant as best he could.

Her face washed, Naiore’s ageless form looked pale and vacant despite the rich raiment and stern expression she wore. And her familiar black leather armor, no more to inspire dread, now hung securely fastened to the same horse that had borne their owner across the skirts of the mountains. These stained tokens of Naiore’s defeat the elf would have accompany them on their return.

A stone throw away lay Avanill, his face hidden beneath a dark shroud. For the bard had removed the ranger’s mantle from the corpse, choosing rather the young man’s cloak of darkest blue, to wrap tightly about him. Naiore’s one time hireling had fallen far from the green hills of his home in Pinnath Gelin, but further yet in spirit was he from the ill-fated day in Bree when he joined the Ravenor, unwittingly sealing his doom.

With Amandur’s cloak draped over one arm, Menecin finished gathering the weapons strewn about, bringing the last of them to the greensward where the ranger sat with his two caregivers. Removing the cloak, he placed it beside the man, laying the dagger that proved fatal to Naiore there also. But seeing it, Amandur caught the bard’s arm, for now that the crisis had passed he would know what was in the elf’s heart.

Perceiving Amandur’s concern, a gentle smile rose to the bard’s lips as he assured the ranger that he held no ill will toward him, but only gratitude, and he craved only forgiveness for his own actions. Indeed, the Lady Dannan had brought about her own death, by forcing the ranger to act quickly, so that Léspheria might remain unsullied. Menecin in truth believed that Naiore’s final stroke had been aimed at Léspheria’s heart as much as at the ranger. And with that thought, his eyes met those of Naiore’s kinswoman and he expressed his earnest hope that the Lady Dannan had not been successful in this. Léspheria let her eyes fall toward the ranger in quiet contemplation, before she answered. The Ravennor had no triumph to claim in her, she declared, looking back to the Bard who smiled broadly at her words.

He then moved to Vanwe’s side as she busied herself binding Amandur’s arm. Crouching beside the elf maid, he removed from the crook of his arm the two finely wrought Noldorian swords that had been her mother’s, presenting her with them. Beautifully they shone, gleaming and bright in the clear morning air. And seeing them, the Ravennor’s daughter quickly shook her head, refusing to take possession of them. And without a glance to her father’s face, for fear that she might offend, she returned to her work. But rather the bard seemed pleased that his daughter had declined to keep the swords for her own, and he caressed her shoulder reassuringly before rising to deposit them carefully alongside Naiore’s armor.

Avanill’s body they buried that morning, as was befitting his change of heart, but Naiore’s they burned. Menecin wouldn't move from beside her pyre until it had burned low and he had taken all that remained pouring it into the Gladden where it dispersed, swirling in the murky, slow moving current while he watched in silence.

It was midday before they left that place, hoping to gain a few miles before making camp at the foot of the mountains. But their hearts were less burdened now, all the fragile screens of defense that had been vital when seeking out the Ravennor, were now drawn aside. And the chill heaviness covering the small company had swiftly disappeared, so that they rode easily until nightfall, when they deemed the horses would need to rest. And so it went along their way, all were eager to return to Imladris, and they stopped only briefly when they must.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

It was as Gilly stood beside the ancient wall of the garden, picking those soothingly fragrant blossoms that Toby’s caretakers had suggested she gather for his bedside, that she saw an elf breeze past her. Indeed she would not even have known this much had she not paused to sniff the sweet smelling flower in her hand, so quiet and quick was his passing. But as it was, she saw the scout’s return quite clearly, hurriedly winding his way through the garden to the chamber where earlier in the day, Elladan and Elrohir had summoned Benia and Dúlrain, and where the four still sat immersed in somber discussions. Only the swaying branches continued to betray the fleeting presence, hinting at the hurried atmosphere that enveloped the valley.

Indeed, they all had become aware of that atmosphere even as they had neared the elven refuge the previous evening. For while they were descending through the high mountains, an elf had appeared out of the swirling mist, to join them on their way. Dúlrain had seemed relieved as he spoke at length with the newcomer in an elven tongue, while together they threaded their way down the steep pass. Toby was still very weak, and when they where forced to rest, for the hobbit could go no longer, the elf had run on ahead of them, quickly bringing their tidings to the lords of Imladris.

Gilly learned afterward, that when Dúlrain’s horse, bearing the bodies of the two fallen rangers, had appeared on their borders, Elrond’s sons had straightaway resolved to send aid to the remaining company that still pursued the Ravennor. But they would not leave Imladris unguarded. It was just two days ago that Fintár had returned with his forces after both rangers and elves had run the remnant of orcs out of the valley. Up the River Bruinen they had driven them and deep into the northern mountains close upon the Mitheithel. After only a day’s rest, a core group were now preparing themselves to move south with Elladan riding at their head.

But when the report reached them that the four companions drew near the sheltering valley, the brothers delayed their plans, eager to take into account what they could learn from the travelers. They seemed particularly interested in the remains of the mithril book. And as the healers had told Gilly and Toby this morning, the lights in the great library had burned all through the night, as the brothers searched through tome and scroll for mention of the book.

Beyond that, Gilly knew nothing. Dúlrain and Benia had been called away long before the hobbit had managed to roll out from under her soft coverlet and pad down the corridor, contenting herself to check on Toby. But finding him sitting propped up on an ample supply of pillows, eating his breakfast; she found Master Longholes the very picture of leisure, so much better he looked. Stationing herself at his bedside all the same, she passed the morning filling him in on what he’d need to know if he were to settle in Bywater - including a number of lengthy and humorous asides - and straightening his bedclothes when they needed it. At length Celebnariel suggested that the patient should try to sleep. Even then, Gilly remained, saying that she would not peep until he woke again. But Toby, acknowledging her good intentions remained skeptical, and laughingly he confided to the elves that he could not sleep peacefully with Mrs. Banks perched like a hawk ready to swoop down and attack any rumple in the blankets that he cared to make. And so the healers quickly devised a plan to send her on her present mission to the garden. Mind, it was not an entirely useless errand. She was told that the flowers did have some sort of special property, and she enjoyed the beautiful surroundings even though she found herself reluctant to stray to their further reaches, as Miss Benia had done.

And so, having been encouraged not to hurry, though she knew the valley to be all a-bustle around her, she thought about her return home as she picked the blossoms, and she thought too, with a twinge of trepidation, about Mother Banks. She could only imagine what her mother-in-law would find to say upon her return. But Gilly realized in her heart, that if she could fight an orc she could very well contend with a shrew. And that shrew, though her words often stung, was not the least bit evil. Gilly had seen what real evil did.

She had to admit that full grown as she was; she had still learned a lesson or two in the last few weeks, and not altogether painlessly. True she and Miss Benia seemed no worse off than on the day of their reunion at the Forsaken Inn, and fully thankful she was that both of them were all in one piece, but Mr. Kaldir…. What a hard lesson. It was just days ago she had upbraided him here in this place. And it seemed a lifetime since she had viewed him as evil personified, just reeking of sinister malice as he sat there at the bottom of the staircase, with his ropes and threatening aspect, waiting for poor Miss Benia to show her face. But she knew now, that the man had not been evil. He was the result of evil. And it had hung about him as thick as smoke, so that he seemed seeped in it. Dangerous he had been, to be sure, but not evil. Gilly shook her head sadly as she dropped the flower in the basket she held in the crook of her arm. She would miss him tremendously.

All through the morning the hobbit had allowed herself to revel in a measure of gladness until now, thinking only of Benia and Dúlrain’s happiness and knowing that even if Naiore hadn’t been caught, she at least was rapidly heading far away. But remembering her friend, it dawned on her that that was just when Kaldir had been so mistreated. Naiore and Kaldir both had been so very far away, and life in these parts had for a short time gone on as if nothing was wrong. And yet things were terribly wrong, and eventually everything had ended up at her own back gate, so to speak. No wonder Dúlrain had been pleased when he heard that the elves were intending to send help. He understood better than anyone, they could not afford to leave things as they were once again.

But what had changed their minds? She looked back toward the gracefully arching buildings that nestled in the valley. Back when she had first found out that Léspheria, Vanwe and Menecin rode with Amandur; Gilly had considered it curious that the wise leaders of Imladris had chosen to send as their representatives, only two maids and an odd gentleman, who she gathered was touched in the head. But when she had pressed Dúlrain about this, trying to understand why they had not sent even one of their many men-at-arms, he had simply said that the elves had their own reasons that ran deeply into their past. Those that had chosen to pursue Naiore had done so of their own volition. And since the ranger had accepted it easily, so then had the hobbit. But now she wondered, had the elves also learned something new, just as she had?

And as she puzzled over what this could be, Gilly saw a familiar figure hurry down the same flight of steps the scout had ascended not ten minutes before. It was Miss Benia, and she was rushing toward the garden. Gilly put down her basket and waved her arm over her head so that Miss Benia could locate her among the abundant greenery, all the while fearing some bad news had arrived. And the closer the southern woman came; the more the hobbit convinced herself that this was the case, for her friend seemed quite anxious to reach her, as she whisked gracefully past stately stones and around the ancient bushes.

“The others are returning, Gilly!” Benia called out as soon as she was within earshot. “A watchmen has spied them descending the mountain.”

“What others?” Gilly asked, though she had already guessed who it was that Benia referred to. “Amandur and those others?” she questioned. And seeing her friend’s nod, she turned an incredulous face toward the craggy peaks behind them. “Returning here? But weren’t they to go straight to Minas Tirith?” she continued, her burgeoning multitude of questions spilling out unchecked. “I reckon that the watchman could be wrong, don’t you? And where is Mr. Dúlrain?” She added suddenly ill at ease in the garden, as she wondered if the approaching travelers were chasing someone, or perhaps where being chased themselves. Gently taking hold of Benia’s arm, the hobbit tried to guide her, slowly edging her back toward the security of the buildings.

“No Gilly, the watchman has made no mistake. It is Amandur and Léspheria and two of the three that had set out with them,” Benia replied. Moving easily forward, she picked up the basket that lay on the moss, and attempted to return it to the hobbit who was looking longingly far across the garden to the stairway and the door. “Don’t worry he will not be long,” Benia assured her. “The lords Elladan and Elrohir, are only now speaking to him of the books whose covers he carried here. And of them they said they know precious little. But they have promised to join us shortly, so that they might also greet their guests when they arrive.” And just as she spoke, a group of elves emerged from the rambling house, to stride past them with their fine long bows slung over their shoulders, and Gilly relaxed just a bit.

“Even so, Miss Benia, I’d don’t like the idea much of your being out this far in the garden. We’ve been in this place before, and I hope that I’ve learned a thing or two since then. One of them is that gardens aren’t no place for Miss Benia Nightshade to tarry about in! No not at all, not as long as that Naiore person is out and about! It ain’t safe, no matter how keen eyed those elves are.”

Benia smiled at the staunch little matron before her. “If it will make you feel better, I would be only too happy wait for Dúlrain, before venturing any further.”

“Ah, that does my heart good to hear, in so many respects!” Gilly replied. “But if we were to wait a just bit further back, that would so very much better.” Then taking up Benia’s arm once again, she sought to guide her out of the garden altogether.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As Benia let Gilly lead her back inside to a quiet corner where they could await the arrival of Amandur's party in safety, she knew that her friend remained haunted by the events that had been set into motion mere days earlier in that very garden. Benia was haunted by them too, knowing full well that her own naive carelessness in that garden had led to the deaths of two, possibly more now, good men. In fact, she was happy to escape the beauty of the garden, although not for the same reasons as her friend. While Gilly was concerned for their safety, for Benia, the place simply harbored too many ghosts, chief among them a tall man with pale blue eyes and a shattered face.

shattered soul

Upon returning to Imladris with Gilly, Toby Longholes, and Dúlrain, Benia had discovered that the Elves had been quick about laying the two Rangers to rest in the halls below the foundations of the Last Homely House, entombing them alongside their own battle-slain kin. As those tragically touched by an evil of Elven making, the Elven folk had claimed both Kaldir and Rauthain as their own and provided for them in death. On the eve of the first day, Benia had slipped away to visit Kaldir’s grave.

It was in a cool and quiet place, at the end of a short hallway, unmarked other than by a simple, yet stately white marble slab that bore no inscription other than his name, Westernesse, and the dates that bound his life at either end like parentheses. What else was left to be said? How could all the pain, the strength, and the horror that had been Kaldir in life ever be distilled into a line or two of doggerel etched upon a tombstone? She knew that to the Elven Bards who would compose the song cycles that told the Saga of Naiore, Kaldir would be little more than an aside, his part in her story, ultimately, a small one. The affairs of Elves were of a different fabric and, to them, a man’s life bore little significance, like the mere shadow of a cloud, passing windborne over the face of the sun. To Benia, however, it was different.

She stood there for a long time, tracing her fingers over the freshly carved letters of his name. She would not forget. Finally, she reached into her pocket and closed her fist around the spangled chain that she had worn for so long across her cheek, that Naiore had ripped from its place and left for a clue that would lead Kaldir to his death. Dúlrain had returned it to her as they had traveled across country, and it still bore traces of Kaldir’s blood. Taking it from her pocket, she smoothed it out and laid it across the narrow ledge that ran below the tomb’s inscription, hoping to leave it for him as a token that she would never forget him. She would write a song for him, too, if the Elven bards would not, and she would sing it at dusk on evenings when the air was clear and the breeze blew in the direction of Imladris. Perhaps then he would hear it and know that she had not forgotten.

Now, sitting with Gilly, she waited anxiously for the return of the other travelers, hoping that they brought with them tidings of Naiore’s demise. The notion that Elven Witch still lived and that her pursuers returned home in defeat sat ill with her. Unconsciously, she reached over and squeezed Gilly’s hand. If Naiore still lived, then Dúlrain would undoubtedly rejoin his captain for the continuance of the hunt. He and Benia would marry as planned, yes, but any hopes for a cottage in the Ranger kingdom of Arthedain would be delayed, as would any hope of starting a family. Although in the field following the death of Barrold Ferny, she had counseled Dúlrain rather passionately against the pursuit of revenge, she had since come around to the decision that should Dúlrain follow his duty and go off again in the pursuit of the Witch, she would go, too. Left to her own devices and with the help of her tribal kinsmen, scattered and hunted though they were, there was surely something she could do to help. What she sought, however, would not be revenge but expiation for her own tragic blunders. It would be a hard sell to Dúlrain, who harbored the expectation that she would sit in Imladris or elsewhere and await his return, but she had not entirely made up her mind whether even to tell him of her plans. After all, he could scarcely forbid what he did not know about.

As though reading her mind, or perhaps merely responding to the pressure of Benia’s hand, Gilly gave her a studied look. “What will you do?” asked the hobbit lady quietly.

“If she has escaped?”

Gilly nodded.

Benia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose it depends on what happens next. I would like to travel with you as far as the edge of The Shire to see that you are delivered home safely to your husband and boys, for I imagine you will be heading home, regardless. I should very much like to apologize to your loved ones for dragging you away on this misadventure and to tell them what a heroine you are.” Benia gave her friend a gentle smile. “For I know you well enough to know that, left to your own telling, you would play down your role to that of a mere piece of baggage with passable cooking skills.”

“Oh, no!” protested Gilly, laughing. “I shall be the very image of old Bullroarer Took! Riding about on great, snorting horses and slaying orcs left and right with naught but a frying pan and a paring knife!”

Benia laughed as well. “Tease if you must, Gilly, but you are a heroine and an exceptionally brave hobbit.”

“No,” rejoined Gilly. “A very average hobbit, I’m afraid, who was terrified nearly every step of the way. I wrack my brains and can scarcely come up with a single moment when I didn’t believe that the next moment might be my last.”

“Nonetheless,” Benia reminded her. “I shall never forget the way you followed Kaldir into that grove of trees, not knowing who or what awaited in their shadows, just as the orcs were closing in and we were making that last desperate dash for the stair. It was surely one of the most selfless acts of bravery as I have ever seen.”

“Well,” grumbled Gilly. “I couldn’t very well let him go in there all alone.”

“Of course not.” Benia was just opening her mouth to remind Gilly of yet another stalwart act of courage when she was stopped by the arrival of Dúlrain, who had jogged up from the direction of Elrohir and Elladan’s counsel chambers.

“So they have returned!” he said slightly out of breath, but pausing long enough to give his beloved an affectionate kiss on the cheek. When the women had both acknowledged it was true, he nodded and moved decisively in the direction of the door. “We should go forth to meet them.”

“We should indeed,” answered Benia, rising. She was an eager as anyone to know the fate of the Ravener, since so many of her future plans depended on the success -- or the lack thereof -- of the returning party’s grim mission. She looked questioningly toward Gilly, who shook her head.

“No,” the hobbit said softly and picked up the basket of flowers she had gathered in the garden. “I really should be getting these blossoms back to the healers before they are completely wilted and useless. I’m sure the healers are already beginning to wonder what has become of me as it is. Besides, Toby may be awake again by now and need something. My guess is that I’ll find out more sooner than later, anyway, what has become of that awful Elf.”

Once Benia had re-assured her friend that she would seek her out and tell her all tidings as soon as they were known, the two took leave of one another, Gilly scurrying off in the direction of the Halls of Healing, while Benia followed Dúlrain outside. By the time they arrived at the top of the stair, the travelers had already gained the lower end and were slowly ascending. Benia stayed back with a party of Elves who had assembled at the top as a welcoming party while Dúlrain bounded down the stairs to greet his weary captain. Reading the facial expressions of the returning party, Benia found it difficult to determine at first whether the mission had been a success or a failure, but, as they grew closer she saw that, while weary and emotionally drained, they carried about them an aura of calmness and peace that told her all that she needed to know. The deed was done. A flood of relief swept through Benia’s slender frame. It was over.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Several days after the travelers’ return, the Lord's of Imladris held what when measured by the yardstick of hobbit sensibilities, was a very grand feast indeed. The stately hall, which Gilly had made a point to visit several times through out the day, had been transformed into an altogether warmer, livelier place once the night drew itself close about the valley. Not only were the members of Elrohir and Elladan’s household to be found there, but most of its guards and guests as well. In fact everyone who happened to be in close proximity to the refuge seemed to be milling about. Gilly naturally assumed that she and Miss Benia had been called to a victory celebration of sorts, one that had been put off until all were safe or hale enough to enjoy themselves properly; or perhaps it was a farewell party, for several of the many guests who had descended from the Misty Mountains over the last week or so, were making there preparations to depart, both hobbits included. But whatever the reason for the gathering, Gilly sat in a corner, taking in all the fineness of it. And savoring it with all her senses, she concluded with a great degree of satisfaction that the tales old Mr. Baggins had told long ago weren't half as fanciful as she had imagined them to be.

Had this been the Shire, given the quality of the available fare she had sampled at supper, she would have been more apt to find her way to the kitchen upon cleaning her plate, in hopes of gleaning what she could from such excellent cooks. And perhaps from that vantage point, she would have listened to the hum of conversation in the other room. But as it was, Gilly was held mesmerized, captivated by the music and the lilting tongues whose babble she did not understand in the least, but which she quite liked the sound of. Admiring the brilliant company, and listening to the many songs played in the course of the evening, her eyes frequently wandered to the dais that lay at the other end of the room, to the table Elrond's sons had commanded to be set there.

Such folk there were all about her! Beautiful in a strange sort of way, tall and strong they all seemed, and old, though they weren't old at all to look at them. But the most magnificent were seated at the head table, and there was Miss Benia presently ensconced among them, deep in conversation. Wouldn’t Jack Nightshade be proud of his daughter! The better part of an hour had past since Dúlrain had successfully persuaded her to come away from the quiet corner Gilly still occupied, saying that Elrohir wished her to be introduced to a sort of historian, a minstrel. And though the ranger tried most gallantly to have the hobbit accompany her, he could not tempt Gilly away from her chosen chair. The hall was not the place for her she protested, let alone a seat anywhere near the dais. And what could she possibly have to say of worth? Gilly simply could not imagine engaging in small talk with an elf of stature, be they whole elf or part. And she dismissed the idea without a second thought, saying that she would only put them all to sleep with her blather, nodding toward Toby to emphasize her point. Mr. Longholes, who had settled in comfortably early on, taking a chair beside his fellow hobbit and had proceeding to roundly enjoy every indulgence his elven caretakers had afforded him, snorted loudly in his sleep as if to validate Gilly's assessment. It had been some time since he had tucked his pipe back into his pocket. Lulled into the depths of quiet contentment his head had soon nodded in slumber. Now he was far a field in his dreams, waking for neither song nor story. Not even to dispute Mrs. Banks' theory.

Left to her own devices, Gilly passed her time in quiet observation, feeling much like a contented spider in her shadowy corner, until her attention was caught by Miss Benia, whose amber glance had begun flitting here and there throughout the hall, avoiding the stare of the tall and questionable looking fellow who sat beside her. And though this same elf seemed to be held in high regard, seated as he was at the head table, Gilly began to have serious doubts about him. Her eyes narrowed, wasn't he the mad fellow who had until recently been locked behind a stoutly guarded door? What could he possibly be saying that might trouble Miss Benia so? After questioning one of the attendants, her doubts where multiplied substantially by what she learned. "He was in the old days a pupil of Maglor," the elf whispered with reverence, before adding almost as an afterthought, "and sadly, a long time companion of Naiore's". The hobbit's eyes widened instantly at this, and she was full of regret for not following Dúlrain’s leading. Horrified she stood up, a stricken expression replacing that of concern. But the attendant assessing the effect of his disclosure was quick to reassure her. “Both associations were long ago, rest assured. Menecin would brook no part in Naiore's more recent interests. You and your friends are quite safe here.”

“I have no doubt that it was extremely far in the past, if an elf says so,” Gilly declared a bit too briskly. “But from what very little I know of him, keeping the past alive is his business.” Then after craning her head to the left in order to find a clear view through the forest of people, she turned back to the elf beside her and whispered conspiratorially, “He wouldn’t be a vengeful sort, would he?” She hadn't thought of that before, but it was a worry. And family…oh dear! Just what sort of stock did Naiore come from exactly? The apple falls close to the tree they say, and though Naiore had seemed a highly peculiar sort, one could never be too careful. She didn't relish the idea of any more harm coming to her friends, or her own family for that matter. "Did the Lady Dannan have any relatives?" she asked, bracing herself for the worst.

The attendant scanned the room. "There," he said gesturing toward where Léspheria and Vanwe spoke with Lords Elrohir and Elladan. "Save two, that is all that is left now of the house of Finarfin, and I think you must know of them already. The Lady Léspheria Denfëa does have a twin brother, Lóthaniel, who you would not have met. The other is the sister of My Lords Elrohir and Elladan, Arwen Undómiel who now lives in Minas Tirith. But if there are any others of close kinship left on these shores, I have no knowledge of it."

"Is that so?" the hobbit mused aloud. Now Gilly had thought Léspheria a well balanced and disciplined person, and so the attribute was easily extended to her brother, but to learn that the Queen was a relative as well! No wonder the orders had been for nothing less than carting Naiore all the way to Minas Tirith! Visibly uneasy, Gilly was at a loss what to think. Undoubtedly, the attendant had left an opening for unknown relatives which did nothing for the hobbit’s comfort. On the contrary, her world seemed to have shifted its moorings slightly over the course of the last few minutes.

Guessing aright that Gilly’s misgivings were not put to rest, the elf tried again, and this time Gilly turned her full attention to him hoping for some solid information to grab on to. "We all may well learn more of such things before the evening is out," he explained. "It is rumored that Menecin works on a new song. And it is to this end, I believe, that he has sought out Miss Nightshade and the others as well. For you may have noticed, many have been called to him."

And though she nodded her understanding, for she had noticed the procession, she still highly doubted that a new song, let alone one from so biased a source, would help matters much, so she settled herself down again, looking back toward Toby's sleeping form. Now HE would be sure to have a truer word or two to say about Naiore, but he hadn't the opportunity to speak with the minstrel all evening. Ah well! He had had a much more agreeable time this evening then if he were to have hashed over all the rubbish of his former ways. It was a comfort to know what Menecin was up to, though. And an even greater comfort came shortly after she had taken her seat again, when Dúlrain broke away from his conversation with Amandur and both he and Miss Benia returned to the table. Wasting no time hinting at her discoveries, Gilly was amazed to find that Dúlrain was well aware of those connections she had found so disconcerting.

So the evening was passed pleasantly, until at last the time came when Elrohir stood up announcing that Menecin would sing a new song for them. But Gilly had grown weary by that time, and listened only half realizing what it was, other than exceedingly long for so late at night. Still when she heard far into the tale the name "Kaldir" pronounced amidst all the foreign words, she perked up considerably. And seeing that Benia had heard it too, Dúlrain offered to translate. Onerous a task for him it seemed at times, but it was one he did dutifully. And he continued to softy whisper the meanings, there in the shadows at the back of the hall, until at last the minstrel’s voice fell silent. The hobbit was left enthralled, and grateful, as she came to the realization that this wasn’t a victory celebration at all, but marked something bigger and more lasting. She had learned many things not only about elves over those few hours, but things about Vanwe and Menecin, Léspheria and Amandur as well as Kaldir that she had not realized up to that point. And all were left moved in their hearts, by the tale of Naiore's descent into treachery and ruin. Not among the least, Elrohir and Elladan seemed well pleased with Menecin's work. But it was late when the spell of words ended, and so they roused Mr. Longholes as the hall slowly emptied, leaving in the hush that had fallen as the people dispersed quietly into the night that was quickly fading.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Less than a handful of days after the crowd dispersed, leaving the great hall to resume its quiet repose, a small company was found leaving it surrounds. Wending their way back along the familiar path, one by one the company emerged from the High Pass, as if emerging from a dream. And a blackbird perched high in one of the many trees that grew there, interrupted its survey of the former battlefield to observe them with interest. The casual onlooker might well have assumed that they had sprung from the earth, so well concealed was the path leading from the refuge of the elves to that ancient road of dwarves and men, the road that led west, and to the Shire.

The first of the travelers to enter into view was small and slight in form. Pausing, she briefly checked on the progress of her companions before leading her pony past the tree where the bird still sat, carefully examining the hobbit with bead-like eyes. But Gilly was unaware of the attentive inspection above her, for she was wading through the rather deep waters of her own emotions. True, she was exceedingly happy to be heading home at last, but she found her joy unexpectedly tempered by gloominess. After their departure was delayed to allow Toby full recovery from his indulgences, she had bid farewell to the elves with a reluctance she found quite astonishing. And now that it was becoming clear that she must soon also say goodbye to the unvarnished, rootless life she had adopted, one where duty and friendship seemed described by a less tentative hand, she found herself unwilling to put it behind her. And her thoughts along these lines, while she gingerly picked her way down the hillside, had proved as troublesome to her as the fly that now buzzed around her ears in the golden light of the early morning.

Waving her hand about her head, to brush the nuisance aside, Gilly guided her pack pony further off the rocky pathway that led from Rivendell. Beneath her feet, the churned turf held a chill that promised an early fall, as it sloped gently away before her, only to drop off sharply at the water’s edge. She stopped, overtaken by an odd sensation. Shutting her eyes, she breathed deeply. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was in Bywater in the springtime and not on a battlefield. The scent of the air immediately threw her mind back to her youth, and her father's field, well tilled and ready for planting. The hobbit arched her feet, opening her eyes again. No this was the field where Kaldir had nearly been overcome by orcs, and they were closer now to autumn then to spring. Fighting the impulse to search the ground for his familiar footprint, she raised her head and squinted at the glinting river in the distance, it was the same river that would have swept her away to drown, but for her having been plucked out of it's current by the ranger. ‘Course that would have been a bit further upstream, she reminded herself.

A gentle voice spoke next to her, stilling her turbulent thoughts. “So much has changed since we last saw this place,” Benia sighed as she looked out over the vale. Gilly nodded. The picturesque landscape that spread out before the two of them might have been an altogether different place now that it was peaceful. It seemed so empty. Fierce and desperate as the struggle against Naiore’s orcs had been, little sign was now left of it, and only the scuffed earth under foot lent credence to Gilly’s vivid memories. She felt it as a pang in her heart, for she knew that in the same way, once they reached the Shire Carl might find his wife strangely different. At first he would think her a little tanner and perhaps thinner. But that didn't worry her so much for soon enough she, like this place, would appear just the same as she had before; like the day Benia's letter first arrived at her doorstep. No, the real history, the real work wrought through all this, would stem from the burgeoning storehouse of memories inside her head. The ones that even now, were impinging on the simplest of thoughts. That was a far messier affair, for it would take more than a good broom or stiff brush to set it in order. And at the moment, they seemed just as likely as that river to whisk her away!

“To be sure it has,” the hobbit spoke at last. “And it looks like they have done a thorough job tidying up here. But I am afraid that even though the elves have swept all trace of those orcs from their doorstep, there is still that river!”

“Are you afraid then, that there might be a band of orcs left on the other side of it?” Benia asked.

“Oh my! No, I hadn’t thought of that,” Gilly said frowning at the grey ribbon of water in the distance. “But try as I might I cannot forget how the last time we attempted it, that river came closer to being the end of me than any orc.” She paused briefly; drawing up her courage like an efficient hen gathers her adventurous offspring. Then seeking to nudge the conversation to a more comfortable subject, she continued. “And what of Mr. Longholes?” she ventured, twisting around to search behind them for a glimpse of the hobbit. “Do you think he is yet up to such a crossing?”

Now both Miss Nightshade and the hobbit knew full well that the elves had taken great care to heal Toby of his injury, and that he had quickly mended, but being made aware of Gilly's doubts regarding the river, the southern woman sought to dispel them. “Oh Gilly, that was a frightful day" she said, her face expressive. "But remember that we had no other option but to traverse the water were we would. Now that we have our choice of crossings, apparently we will find the river a great deal easier to ford. Dúlrain has said that we will easily ride across,” she said reassuringly. “Toby need not even get his feet wet.”

“Surely that is more welcome than Lalia Took’s dinner!” Gilly burst out, glad that this rather weighty worry had been banished. She turned just in time to see Toby and his pony appearing from behind the brush, the ranger close behind them. “What do you think of that, Mr. Longholes?” she shouted. “It seems there’s no swimming required of us today!”

“I think I’ll wait to tell you what I think, at least until we are on the other side,” he replied without hesitation. But hazarding a glance at Mrs. Banks, he saw that she appeared crestfallen at his lack of enthusiasm, and so he straightened up, pulling down the edges of his waistcoat, adding, “I’m not disappointed, that much I’ll say. But you’d be better off asking your pony there how he feels about taking to the stream again,” he said looking toward the little pack pony fairly blossoming with cuttings and herbs, colorful tokens that Gilly sought to bring home. Following his gaze, the petite matron turned to the animal that she had learned to appreciate all the more for her walking trip over the mountains. Looking at the beast with fondness, she took hold of its bridle searching the doleful eyes. How dearly she would miss him if she had to follow the Great East Road on foot. “I had quite forgotten that this fellow might have his own misgivings!” she admitted.

By that time, Dúlrain was near enough to follow the exchange. “Ah, but do not let his looks deceive you Master Longholes. Like his mistress this pony is capable of the most courageous feats, though you would not know it from his current appearance,” he said. “And even from here I have no doubt that as he waits; he listens, gauging the rumor of the water. That sound is good news for both horses and their riders. The river is running slow and shallow in its banks; we’ll have no need of ropes.”

Thoughtfully running her hand over the side of the animal waiting patiently beside her, Gilly searched for a new topic that might occupy her thoughts, regretting that they had exhausted so many promising topics on their way to Rivendell.
But nevertheless one must still exist that was sufficiently interesting to everyone, at least enough so to fuel the kind of longish sort of conversation needed to keep her mind off the river. But before she could come up with something suitable, the creak of leather and jangling stirrups told her that her companions were climbing astride their mounts, and she felt pressed to follow suit.

Deciding that her pony would brave the river well after all, even if she wouldn't, the hobbit hopped on one foot in an effort to catch the stirrup with the other. Once she was firmly perched in the midst of her bundles, the pony hurriedly toddled after the others, Gilly calling out after them, “What ever came of those book covers you brought back to Rivendell, Mr. Dúlrain? With all the excitement of the past few days, I never did find out if they were important after all.”

“Ah yes, the books,” Benia echoed. And seeing that the hobbit was looking for distraction, she joined in encouraging Dúlrain to tell them what he had found out about them. Truly it had seemed unaccountably strange that such important works had been burned. Surely they were of more value whole.

Dúlrain obliged them, guiding his horse closer to the two friends while Toby lagged behind. “Well...as you no doubt recall, at the time we arrived there, no one in Rivendell had knowledge of them, though they bore the device of Imladris. It was a mystery, even to the current masters of that place. But fortunately after she arrived, the Lady Léspheria who is a respected source as well as an emissary for her kindred spoke of seeing them at the ranger Tallas' abode. And Menecin was able to shed some light on the matter when asked about them, though he said he had not seen these particular books himself.”

“Menecin you say? Now there's a first class busybody if ever I saw one, elf or no!” Toby piped up from behind them. “He would know now, wouldn’t he!”

“A busybody, is he?” Dúlrain declared, with raised eyebrows. “But I suppose even busybodies can prove helpful. This one at least has been.”

“And well respected he is,” Benia laughed, “But before you speak disparagingly of him Mr. Longholes, it might behoove you to know that you have been thoroughly immortalized in a song of his!”

Toby's head shot up at the remark. “That confounded elf!” he exclaimed hotly. “I told him to leave me out of it when he came around to visit my sick bed with his bundle of questions! I suppose I was painted as Naiore's miserable henchman in his blasted poetry. And shall be thought of as such, for all time!”

“Quite the contrary,” Dúlrain assured him. “Toward the end you were shown in a very favorable light.”

“Then mind you don't say another word, or I will think him all the less credible for it!” Toby joked, his indignation softened considerably. “Charitable was he, in his opinion of me? Imagine that will you.... But I'm steering us off course here, aren't I? What did that elf have to say about the books then, Dúlrain?”

“It seems that his kindred, the branch of elven-folk who call themselves the Noldor, have through the ages kept written notes - accounts of many things, as well as themselves and their people,” the ranger explained. “These were two of such books.”

“Is that the honest truth of it?” Gilly murmured. “After hearing all those songs the other night, I thought for sure that everything must be put into verse.”

“Yes, I would have thought the same and a great deal has been to be sure, quite beautifully so.”

“But then how do you suppose the old man came by them?” Toby wondered aloud.

Dúlrain winked quickly at Gilly before he turned to answer Toby’s question, his saddle creaking once again as his horse plodded on. “Before I tell you that Mr. Longholes, I must assure you that any market for such books would be quite small, so you've missed your best opportunity for reclaiming your former ways profitably. Menecin has said that these were the first mithril covers he had seen on such books.”

With an exaggerated indignation befitting the poorest of actors, Toby playfully feigned offense at the presumption, and succeeded in making his companions laugh at his antics. But he concluded his speech in a more serious tone. “Rest yourself easy, I have no plans on going back to that wretched excuse for life I had in Bree. Even so, you should not tell me if you think it better. I understand.”

“I am glad to once again be reassured of your resolve,” the ranger said, growing serious as well. “For it might also do much harm, if you were to speak freely of mithril books in one of the Shire's many alehouses.”

“Don't you ever fear it!" Toby answered him. "I had more than my share of keeping quiet, and have proved better at it than most. Anyway, they'd just think I'm off my nut! And if they don't, I could rattle on about that bucketful of elven jewels I've found scattered about the banks of the Brandywine.”

Dúlrain smiled warmly. And as Gilly took the warning to heart, thinking herself far more likely than Toby to mention the books, the ranger said, “Well then, with that assurance!”

Reaching over to catch Dúlrain's sleeve, Gilly leaned toward him, whispering urgently, "Perhaps you shouldn't." And seeing the ranger concerned how Toby might react to this, she hurriedly explained that she seemed to have this habit of rambling on about the worst things. “I don’t see that I’m up to my neck in it, until I find myself wishing I might disappear altogether!”

"Mrs. Banks, though your neighbors will no doubt make many claims that you been cavorting with all manner of outlandish people of late, myself included among them, I have it on good authority that you have a proven and spotless reputation for guarding the secrets of others.” He said glancing toward Benia. “So I charge you also without hesitation, to keep this to yourself, knowing that you will guard it closer than any dragon would, if you but firmly set your mind to it."

Her courage suddenly renewed by this confidence, Gilly bowed slightly, "And gladly too!" she promised him most earnestly.

By this time the small group had neared the river's edge, but none moved to enter it. Instead they gathered about the ranger, listening closely to his words.

“Then to continue... At some point and to what purpose I'm not certain, the authors of these books deemed it unwise to keep all of the volumes together in Imladris, for the Noldor's past has been a troubled one, and not all of their history is deemed worthy of song. And so the books were entrusted to others, several falling into the hands of the Dúnedain for their safe keeping. But if there was a reason why Tallas was chosen to be the guardian of these particular ones, I have not yet discovered it. ”

"The Noldor have not been the only people with a troubled past. Perhaps the books were given for others to study,” Benia suggested. “Could these books have held some observations or wisdom from ages past?”

“Perhaps,” the ranger agreed. “In all honesty, news of this transfer came as a surprised to me, as I have come to think that only we Dúnedain were apt to keep our most treasured relics safely in the hands of friends! But it would indeed be of value to study, for the history of the elves and that of men are intertwined, and our stumbling blocks similar, though we may see them from differing vantage points.”

“But haven't their songs traveled west with them? I know that I haven’t a life or memory long enough to pass that sort of history on forever, however long I may carry it in my heart. Perhaps they simply did not want to be forgotten,” Gilly offered. “And as for entrusting others with things of worth, it shouldn't surprise you that hobbits do that as well as men and elves. As you have seen, I am only too happy to have my good friend here in your safe keeping, Master Dúnadan!” the hobbit reminded him. Then looking to Benia she added, “And our ranger friend here in your dear hands, as well!”

“So have I become a relic then Gilly?” Benia said. “A relic of what, do tell?”

“No, no! Of course not!” the hobbit laughed. “Not a relic, but certainly a treasure! And because of you I have found many new friends, like Mr. Longholes for example!” Toby agreed, conceding that she had indeed made at least one friend to his knowledge, and perhaps many others.

As the conversation slowed, Benia brought up the remark Gilly had made. “Gilly, before when you mentioned Lalia Took's dinner, I admit you left me rather curious who she is, and why you would use her name. Is she a friend of yours?”

Toby's grin was full of mischief as he waited to see how Mrs. Banks would respond. But Gilly avoided meeting her fellow hobbit's gaze, and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Who she was, for she died a few years back,” Gilly answered carefully, her tone formal. “Lalia the Great was a much revered matriarch of the Took family, almost as famous as Old Took himself. She was a great lady, great in wisdom, great in age and ...”

“And great in girth!” Toby blurted out, unable to contain himself. “Did you really say that? I wouldn't have thought it of you, Mrs. Banks!”

“Oh hush now,” Gilly said with a barely repressed smile. “That won't do at all, even if it is true!”

And so went their banter as Benia and Dúlrain eased their horses into the river to test it. The ranger proved as good as his word, for despite its position at the foot of the Misty Mountains, the river was broad and easy to cross at this point, and so the promise held true. They wouldn't experience any of the trials that had faced them before.

Finding her fears all but evaporated, Gilly paused on the shore, her pony alongside Toby's. Turning back to look at the mountains, she half thought she might see her worries sitting there dark and foreboding, like a Mewlip watching her from afar, but instead she saw a quite a different thing, a fair and lonely figure standing on the hillside. A slender wisp of a person was watching them from the heights, her long hair trailing in the breeze. Spontaneously, Gilly waved, alarming not only the bird who had followed them and took to the air scolding the hobbit as it went, but Mr. Longholes as well. Toby grabbed hold of Gilly's arm gently, and firmly guided it back to her side. “It may look like Vanwe has come to see us off,” he whispered gravely, “But then she's the spitting image of her mother, now isn't she?”

“You know that she isn't her mother, by a long shot." Gilly said lightly, patting Toby's shoulder. "Anyway, you need not worry yourself about her mother anymore.”

“Oh but Naiore was so cold hearted a person, if the fire went out in her, it's hard to believe it would have made a bit of difference!” Toby said with a shutter. “Elves, they're not like you and me, you know. And Avanill was sure that if we killed her, she would torment us to the end of our days. Out of sheer malice, he said!” Raising her glance Gilly looked to see if the elf waved back at them, but it was too far for her aging eyes, and she missed seeing the slender arm that gracefully bid them farewell. She only saw the elf turn to go, disappearing from view.

It wasn't that she hadn't heard what Toby said, but she dismissed it easily, thinking it just the sort of tactic the old women in Bywater would use to keep children from doing something they thought inadvisable. Still it didn't fit what she had learned of Avanill’s character. Mulling it over she thought that perhaps in a way there was a kernel of truth to it, no matter how superstitious it seemed. “Well, I suppose Avanill was right in his way. It looks as though she's haunting you already!” she said sympathetically. “But still I think you should ask Dúlrain for his opinion. It's an honest shame that you missed that song! I think you'd be far less worried if you heard it. Even if Naiore did manage to stay on after her death, I think she had larger goals set for herself then to trouble over a single hobbit.”

“Let's hope so,” Toby said. “But she impressed me as being a thorough sort, and vengeful. She didn't leave Kaldir or Léspheria or Menecin alone now, did she? And it's not like she has bigger turncoats like Avanill to take care of, before looking to me now, is it? So if you don't mind, Mrs. Banks, I rather not bring any unnecessary attention to myself. I've had far too much excitement in the past few months, and it will last me quite long enough!”

“So have I, so have I," Gilly agreed. "It's time to brave a quieter life now isn't it? Though I imagine it will be more difficult for you than me, at least at first.”

A faint grin spread across Toby's face. "Well I admit, it IS good to know that I won't be the only person in the Shire to have heard of Naiore. I'm bound to be viewed as some mad Breelander as it is, but to be one that is worried about a dead elf sneaking up on him!" He shook his head in frustration, “I'll be lucky to get a job mucking out stables!"

"A very vengeful elf," Gilly corrected him, "who just happens to be dead. But never mind, don't worry about the job, we will take care of that. And if ever you have reason to suspect that Naiore is still around somehow, and that you are in danger, day or night you come right to me! I won't think you at all mad."

"But the danger to your family..." Toby protested.

"We'll just have to cross that bridge if ever we get to it!" Gilly said firmly. "But right now it feels like I can't see my dear boys and Mr. Banks soon enough! And if we spend any more time here, gracious, but I think we'll end up growing roots on this very bank, like a pair of scrub willows!"

"Then by all means, on we go!" Toby said.

Pulling their ponies noses around toward the river once again, the hobbits guided them cautiously down the steep bank and into the water. Benia and Dúlrain were already a third of the way across; their mounts poised side by side waiting, as the water bent in smooth arcs about the horses' legs. Benia's tattooed hand rested lightly on the ranger's forearm, as if to stay him from needlessly helping or hurrying Gilly and Toby. "They will do well without our help," she whispered, raising her eyes momentarily to smile warmly at him.

"Indeed, they will," the ranger said returning her smile. But both Dúlrain and Benia continued to remain motionless, their eyes riveted on the progress of the ponies. It was not until the two hobbits reached them, that they continued on, their horses finally stepping out of the river and on to the stony shingle of the far bank.

From there the small group of travelers headed West, up the grassy slopes. No orcs met them there on that far side of the river, no merchants or other travelers of any sort. But the Great East Road lay before them, ancient and wordless, promising to lead them across the Wilds toward the horizon. The fruit of skilled hands long since withered, those of Men and dwarves in ages long gone, it would guide them still and unerringly, on that long road toward home.