The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

The shadows of the wood retreated as the sun rose in the east, bathing the deep valley in the light of a cloudless morning. Seeking the cool water of some rivulet that ran to meet the elven stream flowing past Imladris, Menecin abandoned his concealed outpost. With weariness, he made his way toward a rill. No rest had he allowed himself, and no food had passed his lips since he had begun this vigil. Now murmuring to Ulmo, he sought only to slake his thirst before resuming his watch over the valley.

Naiore was here. He could feel it instinctively; though he had not gained sight of her since he had left the protection the son’s of Elrond had provided him. He had in the night however, overheard a brief conversation between two guardians of the valley that the path of a golden haired woman had been found leading away from this place. And though it could well have been Hers, he knew it would be deception. She would not allow her movements to be traced unless it where to her advantage. No she had some design in this. But then it could be Vanwe’s trail, for she had no cause to conceal her passage and perhaps wished to be followed now that she had learned the truth. His hand moved to feel the cool steel of the sword he had taken from the ranger, his dark ruminations playing out behind staring eyes as his anger increased. He would not so easily fall into this trap.

At last a trickle he heard above his own thoughts, and there he found before him a small glimmering thread running down from the mountains through overhanging trees. Studying the woods for a time, Menecin could see no trace of movement in this isolated spot, and so knelt beside the stream. Scooping up its icy waters he drank deeply, clearing his head and satisfying his thirst. And with wet hands wiped his face before moving on to find this trail he had heard tell of.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore re-entered the vale of Imladris from the north, following the same hidden pathway that she had made use of before. She moved quickly along the narrow path, her figure a mere shadow flitting between the gray tree trucks as she made her way back toward her place of concealment. She had tarried too long in the night, taking too much time over the serendipitous reunion with Barrold Ferny, which, in turn, had made her late in returning from her scouting run across the river. Now, as dawn’s first pale fingers of light traced across the valley, she raced to reach her vantage point in the trees before the elves of Imladris awoke and began to stir about in any true numbers.

Today. A soft smile of anticipation touched the corners of the Ravenner’s shapely lips. Something deep within her told her that today would be the day that she exacted her revenge. This gentle dawn that made the morning dew shimmer silver against the pale greens and deep browns of the forest floor, would end in a dark cast of red. She touched the hilt of her Noldorin dagger. Today, Vanwe would bring her Menecin. The waiting would be at an end.

Smiling to herself, she skirted the edge of a thick patch of undergrowth. She had only to cross the narrow rill that lay ahead. Beyond that, only a hundred more paces or so would deliver her to the vantage point she had occupied since her arrival. She would be there in no time, but she must hurry. As she broke from the cover of the underbrush, she stopped abruptly. An elven male knelt before her on the path, barring her way, his dark head bent toward the ground studying the faint mark of a single footprint. Hers? Naiore’s clear eyes narrowed, her hand closing around the hilt of her dagger. He must not be allowed to live and raise the alarm.

She drew her dagger and, moving soundlessly, slid toward him. With luck, she could cut his throat before he even became aware of her presence. She must be silent and sure.

Naiore was almost upon him when suddenly he looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. Naiore froze. For a fleeting instant, she was paralyzed by a rush of conflicting emotion... shock, disbelief... triumph. She should have known him at once. A single glance should have confirmed the line of his shoulders, the long-fingered hands, even the wave of his hair. She knew him that well, as she was sure he knew her. Deftly concealing her drawn dagger, Naiore held her ground. A falsely loving smile played across her face.

“Menecin!” she purred. “at last I have found you...” Vanwe had not failed her.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

For what seemed the hundredth time Vanwe nervously smoothed the silken folds of the elven dress that had been fitted her. She stood before the door of her fathers chambers, staring intently at the grain of the wood trying to draw courage. She had come to tell him of her intention to leave with the rangers and Léspheria when they continued their search for Naiore. She was unsure just how the bard would take the news, he had already all but warned her not to pursue her mother, but she knew in her heart that if she could not heal her mother she must at least help to see that she could bring no harm or suffering to others. She hoped her father would understand this.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she finally knocked on the door, when no answer came she knocked again. It was then that she noticed that the guards that watched the door the previous day were not present. “Father!” she called, knocking again with a little more urgency. “Where are they?” She panicked, “why does he not answer?” She turned her head looking up and down the hallway, hoping to find someone who might answer her concerns but the passage remained silent and still, the occupants of the house still in restful slumber. Thoughts of her mother raced though her mind, her eagerness to have her return with her father, the compulsions so strong that she had almost succumbed to her mothers will. In blind panic, she hammered on the door calling out her father name praying that he was but asleep and had not heard her earlier call.

But still no reply came, giving no thought as to what she may find Vanwe threw open the door and rushed inside, the room twin to her own was empty and looked as if it had not been occupied at all, there was no sign of a struggle as she had feared, but now her fear was replaced with confusion. “Were could he be?” she mused. Footsteps outside the door suddenly drew her attention and she darted forwards hoping to find the bard returning to his room, but only succeeded in startling a young elf that had come to air the room and change the linen.

“My apologies,” She sighed disappointedly, “I meant not to startle you, I had hoped you were my father,” she explained turning back towards the empty room dis-heartedly.

The young chambermaid frowned in confusion, “You don’t know… I mean no one has told you?”

“Told me what?” Vanwe asked turning back to the elf her eyes shining with fear and concern.

“Lord Menecin, Miss Vanwe, is no longer here; he took his leave of the house sometime yesterday and has not been seen since. It is said that he seeks the one responsible for the attack at the river, an elf miss they say, can you believe it!” the elf answered.

“I’m afraid I can,” Vanwe replied regretfully, a mixture of fear, anger and concern sweeping over her. How could he go after her when warning her not to do just that! Could he not see that this is what she would want! What if she had found him and killed him already! Panic filled her and her eyes widened in fear, “I must find him!” she cried as she turned and raced down the hallway to find the one person she was sure would help her, leaving the bemused elven chamber maid to stare after her in confusion.

Reaching her destination, she pounded heavily on the door. “Come,” came a sleepy voice from within and Vanwe entered to see Léspheria standing by her bed blinking the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes.

“Vanwe, what’s wrong?” She asked seeing Vanwe’s distraught features.

“He’s gone he’s gone!” is all she could manage as fat wet tears finally rolled down her cheeks. Léspheria came to her, “Who’s gone?” she asked wrapping her arms around the younger elf in an effort to comfort her.

“My father,” she sniffed. “He has been missing since yesterday. Oh, Léspheria he is looking for Naiore, I fear the worst, we must find him. What have I done for her to hate me so, first she hides me away in the desert , leaving me to suffer at the hands of the Haradrim, then she snatches me from the inn just as I find comfort and friendship and now she would take him and any kinship I may have, it‘s not fair!”

Pulling her to arms length Léspheria steadily held her gaze, “Listen to me Vanwe you have done nothing but want what should have been your from birth, family and kinship! No matter what she cannot take that from you, you have family and kin that will always be here for you. Your father too bears not fault, only that he loved your mother and for that, he has already paid a great deal. No Vanwe do not fault yourself, the fault is with Naiore and she alone must live with this.”

Stunned by the sudden strength in Léspheria’s words Vanwe wiped away her tears and nodded.

“Now come we must look for your father,” Léspheria smiled reassuringly. Vanwe waited as Léspheria threw on a forest green dress and strapped her sword to her waist, then lifting a small bundle from her dresser she handed it to Vanwe.

“I believe this is yours.” Vanwe blinked as she recognised her own pouch that she had lost when her mother had snatched her from the inn. She nodded her thanks and tied it to her belt, leaving the contents unchecked for now. Then together they left in search of the missing bard.

[Everdawn]

Avanill had, that night found himself a place where he could see the stars shining brightly in the sky. For a while he pushed the worries from his mind and began naming the various constellations. Avanill smiled to himself in the dark, he knew where he was and that he could see, which was more important to him still were the stars that guided his way home. He thought of his home, and his mother who inhabited the lands nearby.

The young man understood why he had decided to join Naiore in the first place, and there had been no questions asked on the elf’s part fro he came highly recommended, by Atantri. The thing Avanill could not understand however was why his mother in the first place had become her prime black-market dealer. Had she been tempted by money? He found this unlikely because Atantri had already been wealthy. In his heart of hearts however, Avanill knew that his mother like him was tempted by what many men could not-can not refuse; greed.

Avanill turned his attentions to the ground and kicked at the dirt, he was caught mid-swing by the appearance of a Linhurin Plant. He used it often in many of his poisons- his body froze. Rauthain still had his satchel. Avanill could stand being without it for a few hours, yes but when he missed it this long he felt exposed. He tapped at his side, checking that his sword was still there in case he had to defend himself. Unlikely the young man thought but not out of the question.

He had found another bench to pass the night, deciding against going to the ranger’s quarters. He was still a little weary of them, he was after all a criminal himself, and not only for the murder of Tallas either. Besides, he had spent so much time out in the wilderness he scarcely felt at home anywhere else.

Avanill was woken in the early hours of the morning by the strange feeling that he was being watched. Once he knew of this he jumped up with a cry only to see a stoic looking male elf staring back at him, his hands clasped in front of him.
“You are Avanill?” he asked in a slow voice.

“Yes.”

“I thought as much.” Replied the elf

Avanill was still weary but had relaxed himself slightly. “And?... You are?”

“That is not important” said the elf. “As I will never be here again, I am sailing over the sea. The others sent me to find you; they were concerned that you may have left us.”

Avanill frowned. “No I haven’t left, as a matter of fact I was going to find them now, well that is as soon as I woke up.”

“Then if you may go on your way now I have established your whereabouts.” Replied the elf who then walked away.

Avanill in turn went in the opposite direction. Being woken up by an elf in the early hours of the morning was not one of his favourite things to do.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

The morning sounds of woodland critters stirring echoed in Amandur’s ears as he silently searched the woods to the rear of the last house, with dawns light he had risen and sought to help look for the elusive bard, now that his arm was healed. still the bard had not been found and fear was mounting that perhaps he had found what he had been looking for! But what that actually was Amandur remained uncertain, yes he looked for Naiore but to the ranger it seemed that the old elf longed of something else entirely a release perhaps. Shaking his head wearily, he crouched again to examine the earth at his feet, but once again, he found nothing but animal tracks and woodland debris.

Looking about he decided that with the time that had passed he might be better searching the higher ground, he was just turning when a sudden snap of dried twigs caught his ear, reaching for his sword he silently crept in the direction of the sound, it had come from behind him back the way he had just come. Footsteps drew closer how many he could not tell, pressing himself behind a large pine he held his breath and waited sword ready for who ever approached.

He let out a relieved sigh and instantly lowered his sword as he saw Léspheria and Vanwe enter the clearing, Lespheria had bent in almost the same spot he had to examine the ground. “Nothing but animal tracks and the usual flora and fauna debris!” he grinned wryly slipping his sword back into his sheath and slipping out of his concealment. The two women looked up with a start, but relaxed as they realised it was him.

“I believe he may have taken to higher ground by now,” he continued pointing towards the northern ridges of the valley.

“He most certainly will have needed to stop for water some where,” Léspheria nodded wiping the soil from her hands.

“Do you think we are too late?” Vanwe asked nervously.

“I do not know, as yet I have found no trace of either elf, but they do say no news is good news?” Amandur shrugged sympathetically.

“Then we should make haste, there is a rivulet ahead, perhaps it will reveal some clue?” Lespheria urged.

“We can but hope,” Vanwe sighed and then all three silently set off in the direction Léspheria indicated the rivulet ran.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Looking up Menecin's mind reeled, his pulse quickening, shocked by sudden appearance of this proud and willowy elf who had pervaded his thoughts for so many years, her fragile and perfect beauty unchanged by the passage of time. The large silvery eyes, which sparkled in the morning light as she smiled looking down on him, bore no trace recognition of the cares that had lain so heavy on him. She seemed untouched by the horror that had issued from her, unbent under the weight of her crimes against him. "Menecin," she purred. "At last I have found you…."

As he stood up he let his gaze fall, feeling a twinge of longing that chilled him as he traced the fullness of her cheek and gentle curve neck, resting on the rhythmic flicker of light and shadow that shown there, betraying her tenuous life. So close. She had chosen her phrase well, echoing the words he had spoken to her in Ithilien, and filling him immediately with the impulse to protect her…. " Naiore," he whispered, his deep voice barely audible. For now in the new day she seemed deceptively pure once more, only her armor hinting at the darkness it protected.

He reached out to caress her cheek gently, to feel the soft warmth of her skin, allowing himself the pleasure of her feigned affection for the last time, but he stopped short. Her attempt to kill him had been all too real, and the scars too deep to be forgotten. It was no nightmare that had driven him to this precipice, but the hopelessness of an insurmountable grief that gripped him. What malignancy coursed though under that exquisite exterior to feed her cursed ambition? How had they reached this moment? He wondered. And how was he possibly to find the strength to do what was necessary? Steeling himself he looked deeply into her eyes - those eyes that seemed to carry for him the glory of Elbereth's efforts - searching for an answer. Then he, remembering the weapon he carried and his intent, despaired anew. For if he, who loved her even now, could not find it in himself to set her aright, what hope was left them? And what future could there be for his daughter, other than to follow in her mother's ways? Retreating into himself once more, he struggled with his predilection, smothering the rebellion that consumed his heart. He had one thing only to ask of her before raising a hand against her.

"Where is Vanwe?" he demanded, his voice grown suddenly hard.

"Vanwe!" echoed Naiore, the false smile on her face fading into a look of maternal concern. "Surely the child is with you. Did she not come to you?" Naiore moved a step closer toward him.

Menecin’s mind swam. It was the first time he had ever heard her speak of Vanwe to him, the child of his devotion, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped back a pace. "Why did you not tell me before of our daughter?"

"How could I tell you?" she asked, her voice still soft and soothing. "By the time I learned that I carried your child, we had long parted ways. For all I knew, you were dead. Had I known that you lived, I still could not have gotten a message through. Not from where I was." She paused, the serene smile returning to her lips. "It simply could not be done. But, you see, I have sent our daughter to you now, that she might know her father before it is too late."

He smiled wryly. "And learn what I have become? Something that I am sure you know well, for you are the architect of this prison, also laying its very foundation."

"None but the architect of a prison would know better the way out."

"I am beyond your reach," he said as she advanced once more, closing his eyes against the assault of his senses, her familiar scent plunging him into the past once more. "I can no longer grasp you, for my love is naught but illusion."

"Love is always an illusion, dear Menecin," murmured Naiore, reaching out a slender hand to touch his face. She let her fingers trail gently down his cheek to his shoulder, his arm. "That is where we have always parted ways, but touch me now. You were once the lover of my body, siring a child. See me now. I am very real." She closed her hand around his right arm, just above the elbow, pulling him into her embrace. His eyes flicked open at her tightening grip in time to see the icy coldness that had risen in her eyes and turned all of her soft words to lies. Breaking away, he took a few steps back, stumbling across the rill. Quickly brandishing the orc's sword he realized that Naiore's hand held a naked dagger, but found himself unable to attack.

Naiore took a step in pursuit of him, but stopped short, her clear gray eyes looking past him into the forest beyond, the faint murmur of approaching voices suddenly audible in the dawn silence. "She comes!" hissed Naiore. "And she brings others." She let her gaze return to Menecin, her eyes meeting his at last with undisguised contempt. "Come, my lover," she purred, turning her dagger so that the finely honed blade shimmered in the soft morning light. "Let me release you from your prison..."

Menecin froze, unable to strike at her, yet not willing to let her dispatch him either, for Vanwe's sake. Suddenly, he heard the soft rustle of leaves someway off and again the muted echo of voices. Naiore hesitated, her eyes narrowing. Menecin turned partway to discover who it was that approached, but could discern neither his daughter nor anyone else. Fearing some trick, he wheeled round to face Naiore again, only to find her gone. She had melted away into the undergrowth once more.

Staring unseeing at the scarred hands that had failed him, Menecin let drop his sword, falling to his knees to cradle his head in his hands.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

For the second night in a row, Benia decided to forego the lovely bed in the room that the elves had prepared for her in the guest wing of the Last Homely House in favor of a cot in Dúlrain’s room in the Hall of Healing. She slept lightly, her slumber regulated by the deep, even sound of his breathing. This night, unlike the night before, she managed to sleep without waking almost to dawn, when suddenly she was awakened by the sound of him crying out sharply in his sleep. Fearing a relapse, she rose and went to his side, only to discover that he had been dreaming. His color remained good and, at a touch of her hand, the dream seemed to subside, returning him to a peaceful quiet. Smiling gently, she kissed his forehead and turned to go back to her cot when she realized that the water pitcher on the table beside his bed was empty. Picking it up, she went to find Celebnariel or one of the elven healers to get the pitcher refilled.

Carrying the pitcher loosely in one hand, Benia walked into the corridor. Through the high, arched windows facing the east, she could see the first hints of light beginning to paint the sky. It looked to be a fine day dawning.

"Good morning, Miss Nightshade," said a deep voice behind her. She turned quickly and was surprised to find that Kaldir had appeared behind her in the otherwise empty corridor. He nodded toward Dúlrain’s door. "How is he?"

"Good." She smiled. She was surprised to find Kaldir stirring about so early, but then, she remembered, he had never slept much during the time she had spent traveling with him. He had always been up before dawn. She looked back in the direction of Dúlrain‘s room. "Actually, he is remarkably well. I would never have believed such a speedy recovery possible had I not seen it with my own eyes."

"That is a relief to hear," answered Kaldir with a smile of his own. "He was in rather desperate straits when I last saw him. I came by several times yesterday to look in on him, but each time found him either sleeping or otherwise indisposed -"

"Yes," Benia cut him off, a slight flush rising in her cheeks. "I’m sorry to have occupied him so, but I am glad to see you now. I had been hoping to speak to you about... how I behaved at the river. It was reprehensible."

"Reprehensible?" echoed Kaldir, an amused smile widening on the good side of his face. "How so?"

"Why, I fairly accused you of trying to kill him when all you were trying to do was save us all. It really was inexcusable. It’s just that I was so frightened... "

"Think no more of it, fair lady," said Kaldir, a soft light coming into his pale eyes. "I have not given it a second thought."

"It is very kind of you to say so," answered Benia. She looked down in surprise as Kaldir suddenly reached out and closed one of her hands in his, drawing her after him into a small room that the healers used to treat patients with minor injuries. "What - " she started to ask, but stopped herself as Kaldir closed the door behind them. He still had not let go of her hand. She looked at him curiously.

"I, too, had hoped to catch you alone for a moment," he explained, taking the pitcher from her other hand and setting it to the side. "I wished to speak with you about something of great importance.

"To me," he added, taking up her other hand. Benia waited as he turned her hands over between his to look at the tattoos on her palms. Not quite sure what he was up to, she watched as his finger traced down one of the fine lines of pigment. Whatever it was that he wanted to speak to her about, she thought, he certainly seemed to be taking his time to work into it, which was rather unlike him. Usually, he was so curt.

"Your tribe has an odd custom," he commented at last, "this business of tattooing their women. It marks you for easy capture and death. Why do you do it?"

Benia shrugged, still wondering where he was heading with this. "Tradition," she answered honestly. "Pride. My mother's hands were tattooed before mine. Her mother's before hers, and so on for hundreds of years, as long as our people have been in existence. We are who we are."

"I nearly killed you in order to take these hands as trophies,” Kaldir rejoined bluntly. “For which I would have been very well paid.” He gave her a sideways look. “Do you know what stopped me?"

"No." Benia shook her head. "Though I have often wondered."

"Loyalty."

At a questioning look from her, he continued, "Your loyalty to Mrs. Banks. That night in the Forsaken Inn, you made a conscious choice to allow me to carry you off to near certain death rather than to cry out and endanger your friend. Very few people would make that same choice."

Benia withdrew her hands from his and moved a few paces away. "Gilly is my dearest friend in the world. I would sooner die than see any harm come to her."

"As would I now, too, rather than see any harm come to either of you," Kaldir said quietly. "But I must ask - how do you feel about me?"

"About you?" asked Benia, her amber eyes studying his scarred face. "I-I don't know. When I first met you, you terrified me. I knew that you meant me harm and I thought more than once of how I might destroy you in order to save myself. But now..." she trailed off thoughtfully. "Now I can see that you are a man of honor, in your own way. A man of courage. And of loyalty, if one can be so lucky as to earn it from you. Dúlrain thinks very highly of you."

"Dúlrain," repeated Kaldir darkly. "Has he yet spoken for your hand?"

Startled, Benia hesitated. "No," she answered finally, barely loudly enough for Kaldir to hear her. "He has expressed some affection for me but... but he has not spoken of marriage."

"Then let me speak of it."

"You?" she exclaimed, her dark eyebrows knit in confusion. The idea that Kaldir might feel some attachment to her had never occurred to Benia. She had been so caught up in worry and fear and concern for herself and Gilly, and, more recently Dúlrain, that she had been blind to what had apparently been obvious to everyone else. Thinking back, she remembered certain comments that Gilly had made and, suddenly, Dúlrain's incoherent ramblings made sense to her, he loves her, never be mine! Disbelieving, she shook her head. She should have seen it, she thought, remembering, too, the time that Kaldir had handed her the strand of wild morning glories as he walked beside her horse the day before they had entered the Lonelands. She should have seen it.

"Yes, me," responded Kaldir, leaning back against the closed door. "Is it such a horrible thought?"

Benia blushed hotly. "No, no, not at all!" she stammered. "It's just that you surprise me. I had no idea that you cared for me. Even a little bit."

"I care for you a great deal," he answered. He pushed himself away from the door and came to stand in front of her, one hand gently grasping her elbow. The other hand touched the fine silver chain that ran across her cheekbone. "Before I met you, Benia, I knew only anger and hatred. While I thought that I was doing well for myself, I was actually drowning in it. I believed that the anger was all I had left and I nurtured it carefully. But then I met you." His rough hand cupped her cheek. "As I spent time with you, I began to believe that perhaps there was more left in the world for me than anger. I began to wish for more. Because of you, I began to wish to be a better man again."

Benia looked up at him as his pale blue eyes searched hers for some kind of response to his words. Sensing her hesitation, he continued. "With you beside me, I believe I am capable of it."

"What would you have me do at your side? Aid you in hunting down my kinsmen?"

"No." Kaldir laughed and shook his head. "I knew the bounty-hunting would trouble you. I have already spoken with Amandur about returning to the ranks of my former brethren, and leaving bounty hunting behind. He seemed amenable."

"You would do that for me?"

"I would." He looked deeply into her eyes. "And, having once practiced the trade of bounty hunter, who could better protect you from the pursuit of others who would kill you for a price? I offer you not only my love, but my protection, as well."

"And if I turn down your kind offer?"

He shrugged. "Then I see Mrs. Banks back to her home in The Shire and I will trouble you no more."

"Will you still give up bounty hunting?"

He gave his head an enigmatic tilt, then shrugged again. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." His blue eyes narrowed slightly, giving her a piercing gaze. "I suppose it depends on how things go with me when you are gone." He stepped away from her, turning his back. Benia stared at his broad shoulders.

"I don't know how much you know about me, or how much Dúlrain or others may have told you," he continued after a long pause, speaking with his back still turned to her. "I spent several years as a prisoner of Mordor during the war. Horrible things were done to me that I would not begin to describe for you. You see the scars on my face and my body, but there are other scars that you can't see, that may never heal completely. When I am with you, the pain of those scars goes away. I feel a kind of peace and calm that has been unknown to me for a very long time.

"You give me hope for the future."

Uncertain of what to say or do, Benia crossed her arms in front of herself, hugging her elbows, but still said nothing.

"I need you, Benia," he finished at last and turned to face her again. "Will you become my wife?"

Benia opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again, still speechless. So many questions whirled through her mind, not the least of which involved Dúlrain. She loved Dúlrain with all of her heart, it was true, but it was also true that Dúlrain had as yet made no offers or promises for the future. But there had been so little time. And Dúlrain knew of Kaldir's feelings for her. Would he really take it upon himself to step aside for his friend, who so obviously needed her with him? She remembered Dúlrain's words on the stairs... never be mine. Was it just delirium? Confused, Benia shook her head and reached out for the pitcher that Kaldir had taken from her and left on a side table.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Kaldir moved toward her again. "Then, you will think about it?"

"I will," answered Benia. Gravely, she looked up into his face and saw the trace of hope in his eyes. She knew then that he had meant every word that he had spoken, that he would be the best husband to her that he knew how to be. That he loved her. But what about Dúlrain? Kaldir needed her, she argued against herself. But she loved Dúlrain. Did Dúlrain really want her? And if she chose Dúlrain, what would become of Kaldir? Would he fall away again into the life that he now talked so readily of casting aside in pursuit of a better existence? The questions made her head spin. Finally, hugging the empty pitcher to her breast, she turned to go.

"I will think about your offer," she repeated awkwardly. She gave Kaldir a last troubled smile and, turning, fled the room.