The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

After leaving the battlefield, Kaldir went first to the stables where he saw to the care of the pack pony who had carried Mrs. Banks so faithfully across the countryside. Having handed the little animal over to the Elven stablemaster and his assistants, Kaldir took a quick look around the other stalls, locating both Benia Nightshade's bay mare and Dúlrain's gelding. There was still no sign of his own horse. Having exhausted every other possibility for the wherabouts of his mount, Kaldir accepted the knowledge that the stubborn beast had run off and was simply out there somewhere, that is, of course, if he had not been eaten by orcs by now, which was also an unfortunate possibility.

"Too bad, if that's the case," he murmured to himself, giving Dúlrain's horse a parting pat on the neck. Turning to go, he bumped his wounded shoulder against an open stall door and winced. He looked down and noticed for the first time that the injury had been bound with the lacy shreds of a woman's petticoat, no doubt the work of Mrs. Banks. Kaldir smiled wryly with the good side of his face. How ironic that he should owe such a debt of gratitude, perhaps even his life, to someone he had abducted and carried along with him simply because he didn't know what else to do with her. He remembered the feeling he had had soon after capturing her and Benia outside of Chetwood that the two women had something fundamental to do with him and his destiny. Now, he thought, he was beginning to see what that something was. The gentle presence of the two women was slowly but surely drawing the poisons of Mordor out of his system, Gilly with her hobbitsense and humor, and Benia with her patience and quiet courage. Both of them were fiercely loyal to each other and, he was touched to notice, to a growing degree, himself. Under their influence, he was beginning to feel like a living soul again, no longer a battered and empty shell.

Crossing the open ground between the stable and the halls of Imladris, Kaldir let his thoughts drift to Benia. While she had shown an open and marked preference for Dúlrain over the past several days, he still had hopes that he could find a way to convince her to remain at his own side when the time came to leave the shelter of Imladris. Perhaps Dúlrain, for whatever reason, would reject her affections. Kaldir could only hope. In the meantime, while he honestly wished Dúlrain a swift and complete recovery from his wounds, Kaldir still felt determined to do his best to win Benia over for himself, Dúlrain notwithstanding. If his profession as bounty hunter toubled her - and he was certain it did - he could give it up. He could change. With Benia beside him, Kaldir felt certain that he could begin his life anew... perhaps even rejoin the company of his former brethren if they would have him. He turned the thought over in his mind as he entered the Hall of Healing. There was still time. Perhaps if he could show Benia that he was serious about changing his life... maybe, perhaps, if...

"Aigh!" Kaldir groaned aloud, as he entered a small side room to await the attention of the healers. "It would be so much simpler if I could just drag her off by her hair."

"Who?" asked a voice behind him.

Kaldir turned quickly to discover that he was not alone in the room as he had originally thought. Amandur sat in a chair off to one side, also waiting for healers and cradling what looked like a broken arm. Kaldir smiled ruefully and nodded to the senior Ranger.

"Greetings, Amandur," he said casually. "My apologies. I thought I was alone."

The older Ranger nodded in response, but persisted with a smile. "My apologies as well for eavesdropping, but seeing as you have already carried off both Mrs. Banks and Miss Nightshade, I can't help but wonder what female you are thinking of abducting now."

Kaldir laughed softly. "Miss Nightshade again, if you must know," he answered. "But it would not be for a bounty, I assure you."

"No?" Amandur raised an eyebrow. "I understand that there are certain people about who would still pay very well for any remnants of the Painted Sand Tribe. Even the women."

"That's true." Kaldir nodded gravely. "But I find my interest in bounty-hunting waning of late." He paused, giving Amandur a considering look. If anyone would be able to tell him how the idea of his returning to the life of a Ranger would be received, it would be Amandur. Kaldir chose his words carefully. "I would sooner offer my sword to protect the desert lady than I would use it to bring her harm."

"That is indeed good to hear," answered Amandur. "Many people, including Lady Léspheria, were greatly troubled by the disappearance of your companions from the Forsaken Inn."

"I confess my motives were not so noble then."

"And now?"

"Now I owe them both a great deal, which I hope to repay someday if I can." Kaldir hesitated for barely a second, then added rather defensively, "When I spoke just now of dragging Miss Nightshade off by her hair, it was a joke. To myself."

Amandur nodded his understanding. "Then would I be correct in assuming that Miss Nightshade may have had something to do with your recent change in interests?"

Kaldir's pale blue eyes narrowed slightly as he considered his answer. To tell the truth and speak of his feelings for Benia to another would reveal himself in such a way that the pattern of caginess that had protected him so well for so long would be broken. On the other hand, if he was serious in his desire to leave bounty-hunting and return to the society of his traditional brethren, he could not begin by lying to his captain. For a long moment, Kaldir's two conflicting sides struggled for dominance, the old lean, wolflike instinct to survive against the new hope and optimism that had recently taken root within him. Finally, coming to a decision, he nodded.

"You would," he said quietly. "I have traveled a dark and twisted path since Raven Falls. When I stole Miss Nightshade from her bed at the Forsaken Inn, my intention was to kill her for the bounty. Something I did not understand at the time stayed my hand. Since then, I find myself increasingly unwilling to be parted from her." He gave Amandur a piercing look, trying to gauge the reaction of the older Ranger. "She brings light to a side of me that has not seen the sun in a very long time. Because of her, whether I am able to forge a life with her eventually or not, I find that I wish to be a better man again."

Falling back into his old habit of hints and innuendos, Kaldir stopped short of voicing outright his interest in returning to the company of the other Rangers. Instead, he waited quietly for Amandur's reaction, to see if the other man had heard the underlying message in his words.

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

Naiore

Naiore spent the hours of daylight that passed since she concealed herself in the tree behind the main hall of Imladris in stillness and silent observation. And in waiting. In the aftermath of the Battle at the Stairs, the place had become a beehive of activity, with a great deal of traffic moving about the grounds, and most especially back and forth between the stable and the main hall. The faintest smile traced around the corners of her lips as, at one point, she caught sight of the bounty hunter, Kaldir, who had once been at her mercy in Mordor. Fascinated by his strength of mind and his stubborn resistance to her will, she had let him live then in the hope of turning him to her purposes. She been so close, too close. But then Mordor had fallen and she had been forced to flee, leaving her work unfinished. Since then, he had become a dangerous foe. No, a worthy opponent. That was all. He thought he could destroy her, but she had wrought much change upon him during her time with him. Whether he was aware of it or not, he was still connected to her by a line of consciousness that bound him to her as if by a silken thread.

"And a mere tweak upon the thread..." she murmured, watching his tall figure move down the path toward the stable. "That fool orc said you were dead, Dunedan. I should have known better." Closing her starlit eyes, she reached out toward him with her mind, searching out his familiar aura of anger and hatred. Finding it, she arched a delicate eyebrow. There was something else within his aura now, too. Something new and very powerful.

"What is it, Dunedan?" Naiore whispered to his retreating back. "Have you fallen in love?" A chilling smile drifted across the elf's beautiful features. "Who is she?" the Ravenner asked as the bounty hunter vanished from view. "I wonder, my friend, if she is truly worthy of you."

[Nerindel]

Amandur

On his way to the halls of the healers, Amandur mulled over possible plans for their continuing hunt of the revennor of Mordor. With the addition of Avanill and his potions, they now had the means with which to subdue the elf for the long journey south to Minas Tirith. Where she would finally face the judgement of the King and the council of the United Kingdoms, but first they had to catch the elusive creature. Looking down at his broken arm, he cursed silently, the longer they stayed in the comforts of the last homely house the further from their grasp she would slip. But no matter how strongly he counselled himself that they should leave, he realised that it would be folly, they were tired and in need of healing and a chance to regroup and collect their thought. Mistakes were bound to be made if they carried on the way they were and mistakes were the revennor was concerned could prove fatal, he could only hope that the mistakes would be hers, perhaps the presence of her daughter and the elf who once loved her would be enough to precipitate such a mistake, he thought wearily.

Reaching the halls, he pushed aside his thoughts and sought out Léspheria, his grey eyes searching just to catch a glimpse of her warm, caring smile or the determination in her soft grey eyes as she fought to save the life of one of her patients. He inhaled deeply as he recalled all the little things that made him love her more and more. Many had counselled him against his heart and at first he had listened. She would have to give up much to be with him and that price seemed too high for them both. so they remained friends and when his heart would not relent and he longed for more than friendship he returned north to Anor and they saw less and less of each other, separated by work, distance, fear, uncertainty… But Amandur could no longer deny his heart, he had witnessed her pain over the past fortnight and it tore at his heart, she had strength and wisdom that always seemed to astound him, but still she choose to fight alone. He longed for her to let him in, he wanted to help her, but she resisted and he felt like he was losing her, but to what he could not say.

His eyes passed from elf to elf but she was not there, so he passed on to a small side room to await the attentions of the healers. Sinking down into a chair at the far side of the room he shook his head, ‘If only she could see how much she means to me and how much I would give to see her safe’ he sighed to himself.

“Aigh!” a familiar voice groaned, causing him to look up.

“It would be so much simpler if I could just drag her off by her hair,” the voice was that of Kaldir and Amandur allowed himself a wry grin as Kaldir’s words fitted with his thoughts at present. If only it were that simple! He thought to himself.

“Who?” he asked instead. Kaldir turned a rueful smile his way, surprised that he was not alone he greeted him and quickly apologised for airing his thought aloud. Amandur nodded, but his curiosity was fixed and he pressed on jovially.

“My apologies as well for eavesdropping, but seeing as you have already carried off both Mrs Banks and Miss Nightshade, I can’t help but wonder what female you are thinking of abducting now.” Kaldir laughed softly and explained that it was again Miss Nightshade to whom he was referring and that his reasons were honourable.

“No?” Amandur grinned raising a surprised eyebrow. “I understand that there are certain people about who would still pay very well for any remnants of the painted sand tribe. Even the women.” he went on pushing the matter and then listened intently as Kaldir went on to explain his waning interest in his chosen profession.

“That is indeed good to hear,” he said, explaining the concerns of Léspheria and several others at the inn over the southern woman’s disappearance. It eased his mind when Kaldir admitted that his intentions of the time were not so noble.

“And now?” he asked, suspecting that feelings for his captive was what had stayed his hand.

“Now I owe them both a great deal, which I hope to repay some day if I can.” Amandur bit his lip and nodded as Kaldir rather defensively added that he had been joking to himself when he spoke of dragging Miss Nightshade off by the hair.

“Then I would be correct in assuming that miss Nightshade may have had something to do with your recent change in interests?” he grinned. Kaldirs eyes narrowed as he contemplated his answer, then slowly he nodded, quickly confirming what Amandur had already guessed. He continued to listen as the ex-ranger continued to explain the changes he felt.

“She brings light to a side of me that has not seen the sun in a very long time. Because of her, whether I am able to forge a life with her eventually or not, I find that I wish to be a better man again.” Amandur could not begin to imagine the extent of the darkness Kaldir spoke of, but he could guess at its source and that it stemmed from the unfortunate events of Raven falls, but for wanting to better himself for the love of a woman that he did understand and a sympathetic smile curled his lips. And even though Kaldir did not speak it, he sensed that the ex-ranger was testing the waters, trying to gauge from him how if he chooses to return to the ranks of his brethren he would be received. It would not be an easy transition; there would always be those who would view him with suspicion, unable or unwilling to forget his past indiscretions. But as he took measure of the man before him he saw that the narrow mindedness of a few stubborn rangers would be nothing to him a man who had weathered the darkest depths, emerging forever changed but strengthened by his choices and now it seemed he was again willing to find his place among his people. Amandur in that instant resolved to help the bounty hunter embrace the light and walk again the path that was set for him before the trials of raven falls.

“If truly you find your interest in bounty hunting waning, perhaps you would consider again following the path of the rangers. I for one would be glad to see your return.” he smiled cordially.

“But I would not delude you, my friend, there will be those who may not be as eager as I to have a wolf among its flock so to speak,” he continued solemnly.

“Yet my voice may carry some weight in your favour among them and I have no doubt that young Dúlrain will strongly add his voice to your cause if that is truly your want. But ultimately it will be your own actions that will determine how you are received, as it is with all that walk our path in life.” he paused for a moment considering whether or not to bring up the past, to share with Kaldir the events after Raven falls as he knew them. He debated whether dredging up old memories would only prove to push the ranger further away? He could still see something in Kaldirs eyes that troubled him. Things left unspoken old hurts and grievances that would need resolving if he was truly going to leave his past behind him and start his life a new, with that thought in mind Amandur decided to tell the troubled ranger what he knew.

Looking up at the scarred face of the younger man he motioned for him to sit, his smile now faded and replaced with a sombre seriousness that marked the depth of what needed to be shared. He could not be certain how Kaldir would receive his words, only knowing with certainty that they must be spoken if any reconcilement was to be reached.

“Dulrain did not give up hope that you were alive for a very long time, he thought very highly of you and it took a very long time for him to accept that you were gone.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in then continued, “It was I who finally persuaded him to accept that you where dead. Do not mistake me I do not make any apologies for my decision, I saw what it was doing to him to hang on to a seemingly hopeless search.

The signs at the falls all suggested that you lost your weapons and were pressed back towards the river, were we assumed you were lost to the falls, the bloodied cloak and no sign of you emerging either side of the river suggested that you had not survived. My only apology would be that we did not consider that the orcs might have taken a prisoner; it was not usually their way. Dúlrain became consumed with guilt.” Seeing Kaldirs perplexed frown he nodded, silently agreeing that he too at first had not understood why the young ranger would feel any guilt when he was not even witness to the events.

“I do not know you as well as Dúlrain but from what the young ranger shared with me I discerned that he believed you would always be there to look out for him and it was unconceivable to him that it should be you who would get into any kind of trouble. When the apparent reality of what had happened finally sunk in and he was forced to give up his search and return to his life a dark cloud of guilt and despair hung over him. For once in your lives you needed his help and he was not there, he felt as if he had betrayed you; let you down and he has never forgiven himself. He immersed himself in his duties and tried to lead the life he thought you would have expected of him and then there was the orcs…” Amandur shivered as he recalled the first time he had witnessed his young friend hatred.

“I have no love of the vile creatures, but I pitied any of them who happened to run into Dulrain, he shows them no mercy, it was orcs who had taken from him the only family he had ever known and that he could never forgive or forget.”

“It seems Ironic that he should find you now, a bounty hunter, a hired sword, the opposite of what he has struggled to up hold in your memory. Though I believe irony was the furthest thought from his mind, to give up all hope that you were alive and then to run into you years later. It must have reopened old wounds and stirred up fresh guilt. I only wish I had recognised you when we first found you then perhaps both of you could have found some peace, but I cannot change the past. I only hope that you and he can find again the friendship you once shared, he again will need your strength and perhaps he will have his chance to save you as he seems to need to.”

As Kaldir digested and contemplated his words he smiled wearily and then again clapped Kaldirs good shoulder, “I do hope you choose to return to us my friend, but one more question I have to ask, What of Naiore?” he studied the Ex-rangers scarred features as he awaited an answer.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

The steady stream of wounded elves and rangers needing the healers care and attention was enough to keep Léspheria focused and busy enough for her own concerns and fears to temporary be pushed to the back of her mind. Nevertheless, each time a door opened she found herself glancing up, hoping that Amandur would walk through alive and well. She had not seen him since they parted at the stairs and she was beginning to worry, what if he had been hurt and could not return or worse if he was… she could not bring herself to finish the thought. Off course he would be all right, he had been in these types of situations numerous times before and survived, she silently reminded herself, if he were hurt, he would be here with the others? She thought trying to reassured herself.

Dipping her hands into the lukewarm water that had been provided for her, she let her thoughts return to Benia and Dulrain. The strength that the Southern woman drew from her love for the wounded ranger had astounded her. Benia’s love gave her hope and determination that Lespheria had not thought possible and she came to realise that if the woman could she would do anything to help the man she loved, she also suspected that if the roles where reversed the ranger would be of the same mind, no matter what other conflicts troubled his mind.

Again, her thoughts turned to Amandur, Wondering why if he was well she had not yet seen him, fearing that perhaps he did not wish to see her. She had been pushing him away so that he would not become a weakness that Naiore could use against her. Her stomach knotted as she realise how cold and unfeeling that decision had been, had Naiore herself not done the same thing, with both Menecin and her mother, until their persistence had become a nuisance to her and their love twisted and returned only in hatred and loathing. Léspheria paled as fear gripped her heart, would she have really thrown away his love for the pursuit of Naiore, was that what Lord Celeborn meant when he asked if she would let Naiore be her ruin. No! She thought resolutely, I love him; I could never bring myself to hate him, but what if it was too late?

“What is your part and why do you help the rangers?”

Vanwe’s question startled her out of her thoughts, taking her by surprise, even though it was not truly unexpected. Drying her hands, she turned to regard the younger elf, and pondered how and were she should begin. Did she really know herself what her part was? Did she only help the rangers at her brother’s request? Did she need to know why Naiore had turned from her kin, betraying her mother’s friendship?

“Come,” she whispered, setting down the towel and silently guiding Vanwe from the halls. They entered a small room that opened out into a sweet smelling garden, where they could speak more freely. Various books and scrolls depicting the healing and restorative properties of herbs and plants lined the far wall, small vials, drying herbs and various plants and flowers took up the other wall. A sturdy looking table sat in the centre of the room, a stone pestle and mortar, sat at its centre, with parchment and ink near at hand. Léspheria’s hand gently ran along the edge of the table as she walked towards the large glass doors that led out into the garden. It had been along time since she had entered this particular room, she could still smell the gentle fragrance of herbs and sweet scented flowers, which always reminded her of her mother.

A smile curved her lips as memories of herself and her mother working together in this room filled her thoughts, the hours spent studying the various properties of some new plant and trying to determine if it held anything they could use in their healing arts. Placing her hands on the vine engraved handles of the garden doors, she opened them outward, allowing the night air and the sweet smells of the well-tended garden enter the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Vanwe, whispered behind her, she did not need to look back to know that Vanwe referred to the breathtaking beauty of her mothers garden, which the healers of Imladris maintained in her mother memory. Small white star shaped flowers trailed up across a small stone statue of a woman at the centre of the garden, like stars in the darkness of the night air.

“This was my mother’s garden,” she smiled turning to face Vanwe, “The healers now tend it, to honour and preserve her memory.”

Vanwe’s contented smile faded and she turned from the garden to regard her with sorrow-filled eyes, “Do you seek to avenge your mother’s death?” she asked hesitantly.

Léspheria thought for a moment, and then placing a reassuring hand on Vanwe’s shoulder, she shook her head, “No, it would not have been my mothers want and I would not dishonour her memory by seeking such a course.” Vanwe frowned then not fully understanding, but Léspheria simply smiled forlornly.

“Naiore and my mother were once friends, but that is not why I am connected to you or your mother. I have something to show you.” she turned from the elf and made her way to the shelves of books and scrolls, it took her a moment to find what she was looking for, but pulling out a large scroll she unrolled in on the table and beckoned for Vanwe to come and look. A silver swan marked the top of the parchment, “This is the family tree of the house of Finarfin.” Vanwe’s eyes widened in surprise, she had discovered during her search for her mother that she was of that elven house, though at the time, she hadn’t known what that meant and a part of her still didn’t. Léspheria stepped back to allow Vanwe to study the ancient parchment, she watched the young elf’s eyes and long fingers trace the names and families.

“This is your family?” Vanwe asked, pointing to the names Valaindon and Finderon.

“Yes, those are the names of my parents. The name next to mine is that of my twin brother Lóthaniel.” she smiled.

“And this?” Vanwe frowned pointing to a blank space further along the aged parchment. It looked as though a name had been removed or forgotten.

Léspheria looked at the space and sighed, “I too once asked the very same question and was told by the lore masters that it was simply a mistake. I had no reasons then to doubt their words and thought no more on it, until recently.” she paused for a moment and then went on, “For someone to have their name remove or left out of their family line, they must have done something terrible that brought great shame on their house. It is far easier to erase the memory than to live with the shame. She said shaking her head regrettably. Carefully lifting the scroll, she held it before the light of one of the lamps, so that the faint indentation of a name could be seen.

“Naiore Dannan!” Vanwe whispered holding Léspheria‘s gaze, she already knew that it was her mothers name that had been removed, why else would Léspheria show her this document. However, had her mother not said that her kin had abandoned them, did this not prove it!

“The elves did not abandon Naiore, she abandoned them,” Léspheria said as if reading her thoughts. “Naiore used and betrayed my mother as she no doubt used and betrayed your father. My mothers friendship was so strong that she could not give up hope that her cousin was beyond help, a loyalty that in the end cost her life, as I believe your father love almost cost him his.”

Tears ran down Vanwe’s cheeks as she hugged her arms tightly about her chest, realising that Léspheria spoke the truth, had not her mother just tried to use her to betray her father! She turned away to face the moonlit sky, ashamed that she had allowed herself to be used as her mothers tool.

“My father believes that she is flawed, does that mean that I too may carry the same flaw?” she whispered uncertain that she really wanted to know the answer, but Léspheria stood before her, smiling reassurringly “No I do not believe you carry your mother’s flaws. Have you not wondered why I did not mistake you for Naiore when first we met?” Vanwe looked up nodding her head, “Yes I have wondered…,” she whispered holding the others gaze.

“I share with your mother the ability to sense the emotions of others, though we use our gifts for entirely different purposes,” she added seeing the shock in Vanwe’s jewelled eyes.

“I have never met your mother, something that my family has taken great pains up until now in ensuring, perhaps fearing that I would follow my mothers course or worse Naiores. But it was impossible for them to hid from me the legacy of Naiore, her crimes are known in other lands, especially in Rohan were she inflicted the most pain. Our kinship I did not know until you revealed it to me back at the inn then remembering the gap in my family line it all fell into place. Although you fitted the descriptions I had of Naiore, your emotions did not. They were not those of someone who had committed the crimes your mother was accused, they did not fit with her reputation, your eyes are unmistakably those of your father, who I had met. Your fear and uncertainty stopped me from revealing to you our kinship, I feared that the knowledge would cause you to flee, so I chose to befriend you, to gain your confidence so that I could help you when the time came and you learned the truth of your heritage for yourself. But it seemed that fate had different plans for you and me.” Lespheria sighed.

“I knew the rangers searched for Naiore, but I did not know that they tracked you in the hopes that you would lead them to their quarry. Not until the arrival of Amandur did I know this and I was not pleased. Until then I had not thought your life in any danger, I knew that Naiore would know the rangers searched for her, I worried what she would draw from your presence, she trusts no one and I was sure after you told me of your life in Harad that that mistrust would also extend to her daughter. However, my brother was in trouble and I had to leave, I made Amandur promise to keep an eye on you and gave you my key hoping that with the rangers and the bounty hunter about you would use it, then I left to help my brother. However, before I could even reach him he sent word for me to return to the inn and help the rangers in their search for Naiore, so I turned back to rejoin the rangers. Through the course of our journey from Bree I have sensed your mother’s presence as she has sensed mine, I know the flaw your father speaks of and it is not in you, you must believe me on this Vanwe,” she urged gently.

“It is our choices in life that make us who we are and what we become, you may always have to live with the shadow of your mothers past but your action will help others to see past your parentage. Does the sun refuse to rise simply because the clouds block her light and hid her beauty?” she smiled sympathetically.

For a long time the two elves looked out at the heavens, each lost in their own thoughts. After a time they spoke again, Léspheria listened and answered Vanwe’s questions telling her a little of the history of their kin and of the Valar. Vanwe also told her about the deaths of Tallas and Meathor, to which Léspheria informed her that Meathor had not been kill by Avanill and Barrold that day, but by orcs at the battle of the ford. They talked until exhaustion caught up on them and they both fell asleep on a bench beneath the stars in the garden of her mother, the healers did not disturb them, it was a warm night so they laid covers over them and let them sleep.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir listened quietly as Amandur spoke long and seriously of Dúlrain, events following Raven Falls, and Amandur's own role in things. Most of it Kaldir had heard before or pieced together from earlier conversations, but the part that he hadn't heard, that touched him most deeply, was the bit about Dúlrain's feelings of guilt. He had not known that the old loyalties still ran so deeply within the younger Ranger.

"Perhaps I have been harsh," he murmured to himself, remembering how consumed he had been with his own anger. Part of that anger had been rooted in his damaged memory and the inability to recall many faces and large portions of his life prior to his release from Mordor, but the rest of it, he knew quite well was purely temper. He had been furious at being left behind, and that anger was a large part of what had kept him going, had kept him alive through his years of darkness and torment. Over those years, he had learned to use his anger as both a weapon and a shield. Now that same anger would be a difficult thing to put away from himself, a very difficult thing, but Benia Nightshade and Mrs. Banks had already helped him to begin the process. He could do it, especially if he were accepted back by the Rangers and would no longer have to rely solely upon himself.

Kaldir felt greatly enouraged in that direction by Amandur's words and demeanor, but the older Ranger was correct in that there would doubtless be certain individuals among the other Rangers who would never trust or accept him. It was unfortunate, but not a situation that Kaldir found particularly alarming. As long as those individuals did not try to interfere with him, he believed that he would be able to co-exist with them. On the other hand, if they chose to make trouble for him, they would have a wolf of their own making to contend with. He had very little patience with those who would trip him up out of nothing but prejudice or irrational malice. By the same token, if they left him alone, he was confident that he could prove his worth. He smiled cautiously as Amandur clapped his good shoulder.

"I do hope you choose to return to us, my friend," Amandur concluded with a weary smile. "But one more question I have to ask. What of Naiore?"

"Naiore," echoed Kaldir. His expression darkened visibly at the mention of the Ravenner's name. He rose from the chair he had taken at Amandur's invitation and walked to the far side of the small chamber. The image of her standing on the rock just outside the very walls of Imladris, her inky leathers stained with blood, rose up starkly in his mind. Just as abruptly as it had appeared, the image began to melt and bleed into a different one, one of Naiore in another, darker place, smiling serenely and clad in the finest of silks. He remembered gut-wrenching pain. Fire. The lash of whips. He lowered his head, fighting to push the memories away. Then, very deliberately, he reached up and struck his wounded shoulder sharply with his fist. The jolt of pain that followed cleared his head. After a moment of silence during which he waited for the real, actual pain to subside, Kaldir turned once more toward Amandur, his face pale but determined.

"Naiore must be killed," he answered bluntly. "Whether it be by my hand or that of another, I care not. I trailed her this far with the intention of doing the deed myself, the king's justice be damned." He paused, his pale blue eyes meeting Amandur's gray ones directly. "But I wonder now if I am up to the task."

When Amandur did not reply immediately, he continued gruffly. "Something happened on the battlefield to remind me that perhaps I am not the best man for the job after all. The Ravenner can smell weakness like a jackal." Without thinking, he raised a hand to touch the battered side of his face. "The damage that was done to me in Mordor was considerable. Not all of the scars are visible to the eye and, even now, not all of the wounds have healed. I found that I was more vulnerable to her presence than I would have thought."

"With that in mind, I think the wiser course would be to throw my sword in with you - if you will allow it - than to continue hunting her on my own."

Amandur nodded. "That would be acceptable to me, but I must warn you that our intention is to bring her to face trial in Gondor, not to kill her."

"The Valar help you, then," Kaldir answered calmly. "She will find a way to free herself and she will kill you in your sleep. Do not underestimate her."

"We won't," said Amandur gravely. Kaldir thought he intended to say more, but at that instant the door opened and they were joined by a pair of Elven healers. Amandur communicated to him with a glance that they would continue their discussion at a later time, then he rose to greet the healers.

Hours later, after the healers had treated his and Amandur's injuries and the two of them had parted company, Kaldir found himself back in the Hall of Healing. It was well past sundown. He had gone there to look in on Dúlrain, and perhaps have a quick word with him if he was awake, but upon finding the right room, Kaldir went no further than the doorway. Looking in, he saw Dúlrain lying asleep in the bed. His color was much better than it had been when Kaldir had parted company with him at the edge of the battle field and his breathing was good. Kaldir was relieved to note as much, but it was the sight of Benia that made him stop in his tracks. She sat in a chair beside the bed, her long, raven hair flowing loosely down her back, the candlelight shining off the silver of her jewelry. She sat perfectly motionless, her slender fingers intertwined with those of the sleeping man, her gemlike eyes never leaving his face. Watching them together, Kaldir suddenly felt like an intruder. Turning, he left as silently as he had arrived.

"She belongs with him..." he murmured, replaying the little tableau over and over in his mind. How could that be? She and Dúlrain barely knew each other. Remembering the way she looked at Dúlrain, Kaldir felt a sharp stab of jealousy. She should have been his. He had not carried her with him halfway across Middle Earth just to deliver her into the arms of another man. He scowled fiercely at the thought of doing such a thing, but, even so, he still wavered. Amandur's words of earlier in the day still haunted him.

According to Amandur, Dúlrain had never deserted him. If that was true, then all of the self-righteous anger that Kaldir had been using as a wedge to drive his childhood friend, his brother, away from him was false. If Dúlrain had never betrayed him, then what right had he, Kaldir, to try to take Benia? Aside from his own love for the desert woman, he had no right to her, no claim. In fact, by all that was right, she belonged with Dúlrain. Yet Kaldir knew he could not let go of her. Not yet.

With these thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, Kaldir returned to his room, feeling irritated and torn in his heart. Unable to find comfort in the softness of the room's feather bed, he lay instead on the floor, on the rug in front of the fire. When sleep finally came to him, it was fitful and thin.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Menecin made wide search of the area, in which he sought for some sign of Naiore or of his daughter, before circling back toward the stream, creeping silently among the trees, as was his wont from his days of soldiering in Gil-Galad forces. He had searched for Naiore once since that time, and flinched revisited by the vision of the many orcs that had bore down on him, imagining them to be at hand once again. The same single-minded desire flowing strong through his veins, the urgent sense the he must find her and free her, pervading his thoughts. Only now it was not Naiore, but her daughter that he sought. This was his duty, and a thing he again felt compelled to do.

For even in the dawn of the Third Age, when Naiore Dannan was thought a trader by many, having fought beside Sauron against the alliance, he along with a some others had sought her out, believing that it was not of her own free will that she had done what had been attributed to her. Then he had not abandoned her, as her parents had done, leaving behind their shame as they sailed westward. He would not forsake her in her bleak circumstances. Even now, though she had tried to kill him in Ithilien, he knew he must somehow try to bend her will once again or else break her, though surely either might die in the attempt, for well he knew of her murderous intent.

But there was the matter of Vanwe. In earlier days he had easily cast aside his life at court to find Naiore, but this was his daughter and he could not leave her, or have her witness that which he saw as necessary. And she should not, having only just found her parents lose them again to wander Middle-Earth alone, once again.

Thinking these thoughts, Menecin followed the water walking among the deep shadows of the trees, hidden even from the stars, until he came to a place where the current became broad and slow. And there carefully hiding himself amidst the darkness, he sat watching closely for those who might wish to ford the water, and also eyeing the steep sides of the valley for those he searched for. But none came, save two men and a horse that moved slowly through the gloom, along the bank toward him. And seeing from a short distance that the one, a ranger by the look of him, wore an orc’s sword at his side as well as one more suitable to him, Menecin stood up in the darkness to greet them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rauthain

After discussing the matter with several of the rangers staying in Imladris, Rauthain learned of a trustworthy fellow soon bound for more northerly terrain, and who was willing to pass through the Ettenmoors before making his way westward. And Rauthain had, over a lengthy supper arranged for Juta to be taken back to his rightful owner, as soon as this traveler had prepared himself to leave. That they had reckoned to be in a few days’ time. And so Rauthain in his eagerness to settle this business, thought to see to state of the horse though the hour grew late, and to determine if Juta was indeed sound enough for the journey back. For the old ranger would not have his friend think that any harm had come to the animal entrusted to his care, and the gentle beast had done his service well.

At last entering the stables, the two men passed through the corridors that held the tall and proud horses of the elves, who snorted at them and stamped in the lamp light, until at last Avanill called to Rauthain, saying that he had found Juta in a dark corner of the stables far from the other mounts that lodged there. Grabbing an oil lamp from off its stand, the ranger held it in front of him to gain a better view. “What a site you are, my friend,” Rauthain pronounced under his breath as he drew near, for the horse was heavily mud flecked, with all manner of chaff entangled in his hair. “Then again, I suppose that same might rightly be said of me, if you could but speak.” He joked, sliding open the stall’s door to pass inside.

As he patted and swept the dusty brown shoulder removing the lose dirt, Juta swung his head around to study the ranger with one large brown eye, and swiftly turned back again swishing his tail as he heard the door close and Avanill lean against it. “You know, you might stand a better chance of finding a fresh horse if you showed that you knew how to take proper care of one,” Avanill advised the ranger, amused. “The both of you look as though have been camping in Midgewater Marsh.”

Rauthain squatted down easily, checking Juta’s hooves for signs of damage. “Yes well, we have not been keeping to the roads or sleeping in comfort. Neither have I had idle time,” he said grinning as he stood up, feigning an attempt at picking out burrs in the dim light. “And my attention was not to be spared for such things, for I have had to keep one eye on my traveling companion so that he might not stray. But now it is a different matter, true?” The old ranger not waiting for a reply, squinted looking around the stall, “I could use a little more light than this dim spot affords. Perhaps you would accompany me and share your appraisal of Juta’s appearance if not your help, so that as you suggest we that we might acquire decent animals and that more quickly.”

Handing the lamp to Avanill, the old ranger drew the horse from it’s stall and once in the passage, began rapidly cleaning its mane with a well practiced hand, and the tail also he swiftly uncluttered, as Avanill held aloft the light. After finishing this, Rauthain led Juta outside, picking up a brush along the way. And Juta, no longer hemmed in by walls, held his head higher, listening attentively to the sounds of the night. Setting down the lamp by the door, Avanill followed along as the ranger headed toward the river, little more than a broad stream at this point, but very swift. Walking upstream, Rauthain looked by starlight for a calm pool in which to bathe the horse, but had to go some way before at last he saw a spot where the water flowed wide over the unyielding stone. But he sensed something amiss, and as he looked about, his hand moved to his belt, the sound of Avanill unsheathing his sword echoing nearby. The thought that the orcs might have found some other route to this place flickered quickly through his mind. And seeing movement among the trees, Rauthain brandished a sword quickly, but was unexpectedly met not by the clash of metal, but rather by a calm greeting in the ancient tongue of the Quendi.

Immediately, the ranger lowered his blade aghast to find he had drawn not his own that lay newly sharpened at his side, but the far more sinister sword of orcish make that he had taken up when he traveled alone. “I am heartily sorry,” he said apologetically, beginning to discern the shape of a tall elf among the shadows. “We have but only today come from battle, and I have not yet forgotten that orcs would threaten this sanctuary. I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defense of Imladris this day.” Stepping forward and sheathing his sword once again, the younger man nodded, acknowledging the elf’s presence.

“It is good that you remain on your guard, for there is more at hand than merely the orcs,” the voice deep yet rich replied. “Though I have seen no one other than yourselves the many hours I have watched this place.”

Wondering if he spoke of the Ravennor, Rauthain studied this stately one who stood motionless among the trees. Surely he was no watchman, but rather seemed of noble descent, great care softening a piercing glance. The ranger held his peace, for something in the manner of this elf troubled him, and he would not venture to speak further of his business there or of Naiore. “We have come only for a short while,” Rauthain explained, “To bathe this poor beast as best we can, and will not risk more, if you deem it unsafe here.”

“Of that I am certain,” the elf said gravely. “But here, let me relieve you of this corrupt weapon you carry,” he offered. “For I am familiar with what might be done with it, and it is not seemly for such a weapon to be present in this refuge. It bodes evil to see it here.”

Indeed Rauthain had considered casting the blade aside when upon the stair that very morning, but something had stayed his hand. At the time he reasoned that it should not find it’s way into the wrong hands by chance, and so seeing the opportunity to be rid of the thing, and knowing that the fair folk might find such weapons to be offensive, he surrendered the hilt to the dark haired elf gladly, thanking him.

“I will see to it then,” the elf said as he took hold of the sword and held it, testing its balance in his hand. “And do not tarry overlong out of doors, but find your comfort tonight in the brighter places.”

It struck Rauthain as strange that such a warning should be given a ranger, and he asked Avanill if he desired to leave. But the young man’s courage did not waver at the elf’s the ominous words. And when Rauthain turned again to the trees, he saw the elf no more, but only the straight trunks, grey in the flickering starlight.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill had been dumbstruck by Amandur’s reaction. The young man was so sure that only a minute ago he was headed for an untimely meeting with the grim reaper. So-so he thought in his own mind for he did not know what to make of the actions of the last hours. He did know one thing that was embedded within his mind now; he was going to make a decent man of himself, not only pay for the deeds of Barrold Ferney but also for the ill-deeds of his mothers past.

He had not found favour however, in parting with his various poisons, but in order to gain the trust of Rauthain and Amandur it would have to suffice. Besides, he knew that they would have no reasoning to kill him now, now that he was needed when the time came to subdue Naiore. Until this moment he had never fully understood the consequences of his actions, he would have to face Naiore, he, Avanill who betrayed her. He would have to be strong, after all, he had hoped that Barrold Ferney was still too drugged up to notice the difference between his fingers and his toes.

Presently however, he and Rauthain were walking Juta to a stream. “When he is clean, I bet he is a magnificent animal. Probably a darn sight better than my horse.” Avanill confessed. “Belonged to my mother, I can’t bear to part with the evil blighter.” He was quiet again, taking in the serenity of the elven landscape.

A few minutes later Avanill had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. And reflecting to his past experience, being watched from the dark of the forest was not a good sign. He drew his sword. Rauthain had done so as well, although the watcher spoke and Rauthain lowered his blade, Avanill however did not, his experiences with elves taught him to be cautious.

Rauthain began introductions, I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defence of Imladris this day.” Obviously the older ranger trusted this elf, Avanill did not speak but did opt for sheathing his sword. If anything was to happen, he was comforted in his mind that he still had numerous daggers.

The elf’s presence however was unsettling to the young man, still as always it did not show upon his face. The elf took Rauthain’s sword and held it, leaving time for quick words between men. But when they were done, the elf had, well, disappeared.

Once more Avanill drew his blade. “Elf comes, says this place is dangerous, takes your weapon and leaves? No offence to the fair race my friend, but something is definitely not right to me, and I ought to know” he said searching. “You don’t think he has anything to do with her do you?”

Barrold

Meanwhile a long way away from the ranger and the young man was another man, still managing to trudge through the underbrush without making much of a racket or loosing his balance in the dark of night. He had managed to come quite a way from where Avanill had left him, he had gone back to camp only to find it empty, and angered once more went on his way. Cursing under his breath Barrold took a seat on a nearby log to catch his breath. Damn the Boy he thought to himself, I dont envy his position though, 'Her nibbs' wont be too happy though. Probably already knows... Ill kill him myself when if I have to! He did however, thank Avanill for not killing him as he knew the boy well could have, he had been handed the opportunity on a silver platter. Avanill had taken the opportunity to escape, but Barrold was not phased that easily. He knew what he wanted, Gold, and lots of it as well as an elf bride.

Shaking his head half in awe half in anger, Barrold Continued on.

After what seemed an eternity Barrold came to the edge of a river. He did not know for sure, but he had an idea that this River lead to Rivendell. And if that wasn't where Naiore was headed, his name wasn't Ferney. Rivendell not only meant Naiore, but also Elves. This would mean that Barrold would have to take precautions. And drawing his sword he receded into the line of the woods and made his way slowly towards Rivendell hoping to find the notorious elf again.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

“It may very well have to do with her,” Rauthain whispered staring at the woods where the strange elf had disappeared. “But I do not think that he would warn us if he meant us harm. As for my weapons, I have my own sword, and through the orc blade has sufficed in battle, I am more accustomed the feel of this one. But let us hope all the same that it shall not be needed, and heed this warning without question, for I do not feel it is unfounded counsel. Indeed the elf seemed of some rank and perhaps is privy to intelligence we know not of. For though Imladris is well protected, the Ravennor may have dared to boldly breach its guard.”

“I still do not like the look of it,” Avanill said softly. “If this elf were important, why would he be wandering about alone with her abroad?”

“This I do not know,” Rauthain admitted, taking up Juta’s reigns. “But I do know that this topic would be better taken up inside the confines of our lodging. Come let us leave this lonely place and keep to the shadows until our return. For whether orc or their mistress be here about, we should not become a mark for them.”

“Aye, we should take care that we might accomplish what we set after, and once in the guest house we can ask who this elf might be.”

“True, perhaps they know of him, though I would not count on it. But let us not talk further until by the light of a hearth.” Rauthain suggested. And Avanill nodding his agreement set out toward the light of the Homely House, sword at ready with the ranger following behind him. And so they walked in silence among the shadows, hiding themselves also from the stars of Varda, in hopes that they might not be discovered and they might not be struck down. And the ranger felt again the weight of his burden crowding in upon him with each step.


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Naiore

As the day stretched on and activity decreased steadily in the vicinity of the back gardens, Naiore let herself sleep, awaking once at a hint of motion over by the corner of one of the buildings. Casting her senses in that direction, she thought she caught the impression of anger... a disturbed mind. Elven?

"Menecin!" she hissed, her back straightening against the rough bark of the tree trunk. "Has my Vanwe delivered you to me at last?" She leveled a piercing gaze in the direction of the perceived motion, but saw nothing further, only the pale green of leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze. The slender figure of Vanwe, leading her dark-haired and tragic father to his doom never appeared. After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, Naiore felt a flush of rage and disappointment. Realizing that Vanwe was not yet fulfilling her purpose, the Ravenner pushed the flood of emotions away and settled back into waiting. Awake now, she reached out again in search of Vanwe and Menecin. Though she still felt the vague presence of the Bard's consciousness, his madness, she found she could not determine from whence it came. Her clear grey eyes studied the trees, the shadows, the corners of every wall.

Her vigilance continued through the afternoon and into the night as daylight waned and faded into darkness. She waited until the moon rose and, then, with the shadows gathered around her like a shroud, Naiore unwound her long legs and slid down from her hiding place. A restlessness had taken hold of her that was rooted in the continuous feeling she had that Menecin was somewhere nearby. Almost unconsciously, she listened for the sound of his singing, the melliflous tones of his flute. Only silence found her. And then the sound of voices. Two men approached, leading a dirty and illkempt-looking horse along the path that led from the stable to the stream. Instantly, she recognized one of the men as Avanill, the other as a ranger from the Forsaken Inn. Moving like a shadow herself, Naiore trailed them to the stream, taking a few seconds along the way to retrieve her bow and a small clutch of arrows from where she had hidden them earlier, selecting only orcish arrows from amongst the Elven ones. The elves must think her deed the work of a stray orc.

Unaware that she watched them, the two men chatted amiably as the ranger gave his horse a bath in the moonlit stream. Naiore knocked an arrow to the string and raised her bow. The traitorous Avanill, obviously not a prisoner but a willing co-conspirator of her pursuers, would have to die. Though she would have preferred to look into his arrogant eyes and squeeze the life out of him with her silken garrotte, an arrow would do the job. She smiled serenely as she sighted along the shaft of the arrow to his heart. The ranger would have to die, too, his presence an inconvenience, but not an unhappy one. It always pleased her to release a ranger from his mortal condition. Besides, it would not do to have him running about, raising an alarm. Left in the woods, it could be days before the bodies were found. By then, she would be long departed into the west or the south, her objectives accomplished.

But the arrow never left Naiore's bow. Someone else had joined the two men at the stream. Unable to see the newcomer, Naiore froze, straining her ears into the darkness, but the rush of the stream concealed the words. Though she could not make out what was said, the voice sounded Elven. Lowering her bow, Naiore crept closer, reaching out with her senses. Suddenly she stopped short as her mind came into contact with a familiar consciousness. A rush of jumbled emotions - anger, love, and madness - collided with her thoughts. Forgetting Avanill, she melted back into the shadows, her inky leathers blending with the surrounding darkness. Menecin!

She was unable to see him, but she knew with a cold certainty that the newcomer was Menecin. A smile again touched her lips. Perhaps she could achieve her goal without the help of Vanwe. She would wait for the Bard to emerge from the trees with his companions, then she would strike him down and be on her way. Pity it would have to be an orcish arrow to fell her former lover and the father of her child, but she had not the time to retrieve an arrow of Elven make. That he would be destroyed would have to be enough for her.

Patiently, Naiore waited, but when Avanill and the ranger finally finished their business at the stream and departed back toward the safety of the buildings, the Bard was not with them. Her attention now focused on the unseen elf, Naiore let them go and reached out again into the darkness with her mind, but the presence she had sensed earlier was gone. He had slipped away amongst the trees. Naiore hesitated, debating with herself whether to pursue him now or to wait. Cautiously, she glided in the direction in which she had heard his voice. Getting there, she found nothing, only the careless tracks of the men and their horse. Frustrated, she followed the stream bank for a short distance before turning back. Menecin had been a warrior at one time and, at that time, had been possessed of strong skills of woodcraft and concealment. Tracking him by moonlight when he did not wish to be found would be an exercise in futility, even for her. Perhaps she would wait for Vanwe to fulfill her task after all. Perhaps the time for Naiore to wreak her revenge had not yet come.