The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor gazed with concern as Dúlrain galloped away in a stinging flurry of kicked stone and dust to scout the path ahead; it was as if he was pushing them away in disgust: leaving them behind because they had hurt him wrongfully. The anger that had flared from him was almost frightening and Maethor himself was confused. Why such anger about one who was thought to be dead but proved instead to be alive? He shook his head, his tangled hair brushing against his face as he sought to solve the puzzle. Did Dúlrain know Kaldir before the ruining of the Ravennor? Of course they had, for he had called him brother. Yet, Maethor had not known that Kaldir had had a brother -- of course, Maethor knew very little of Kaldir anyway. Frowning, Maethor turned to ask Rauthain if he could solve the riddle for him, but his face was forbidding and impassive: as if he was deep in memory and sorrows of the past. His eyes seemed to glint with guilt and occasionally his eyes strayed to the road, as if he was thinking of Dúlrain.

Sinking into his own muses, Maethor wondered how he could have heard of the Ranger turned bounty hunter, when Dúlrain had not. It had been some time ago, from a friend who had known one of the Rangers who had overheard one of the ones who had gone into Mordor mention it. Maethor snorted scornfully: it was brutally ironic that he, a virtual nobody in the realm of the rangers, should know before one such as Dúlrain.

Turning his thoughts to Vanwe, he wondered what Naiore could want with her. A weapon perhaps. It grieved him to think of her chaffed wrists and the terror that had reflected from her limpid blue eyes. She had escaped once before, he mused, maybe she can again.

Dúlrain was awaiting them further ahead of the paths and Maethor could still see a storm rage within him. Deciding the best course would best not mention a word about Kaldir, Naiore, Amandur, or the Falls, he said, knowing that it would not allay his grief, “I am sorry, friend.”