The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Firefoot]

The lights and bangs had long since subsided, but Grask had not yet moved from his spot. Men had still been running around all over the place, trying to round up their runaway beasts, no doubt, or find the cause of the commotion. But now even they seemed to have settled down, and Grask was ready to venture closer to their camp once more.

He went as quietly as he could, but even that measure seemed largely unnecessary as he encountered no men until he was within sight of the camp. Crouched in the tussocks, he observed the camp; his eyes were irresistibly drawn towards the pit that held the man-children. To his shock, no guards stood near it, and the grate over the top had been removed. That must mean that they were no longer held captive there; had they been moved? Killed? He remembered the children speaking of rescue, but to Grask this still seemed as inconceivable as it had then. Only escape would be a more impossible option.

So what had happened to them, then? Grask did not see any place in the camp that seemed to have especial guard except for near the horses, and the man-children would surely not be held there. Could they really be dead, then?

Grask felt a tickling of sorrow at this, a feeling as frightening as it was unfamiliar. Orcs did not feel grief like that! Well, the women might, but Grask wasn’t a woman, and, at least in his own eyes, he wasn’t a child anymore, either, not with his two fine knives belted at his waist. Nevertheless, the peculiar sorrow remained, and Grask did not know what to do with it. Ignore it, he supposed; what had the children been to him, anyway? An insight into the strangeness of Men? He had no real link to them; they should be as nothing to him.

Why then did Grask feel so hollow like this, as if he had suddenly missed a newfound feeling of kinship?

[Folwren]

When Athwen finished with Rog and checked Azhar to see if she had fallen asleep yet, she quietly walked to Dorran. He sat cross legged, with his head down and his arms folded at his waist. Athwen knelt in front of him and touched his face gently. He looked up, half startled.

“How did you fair, my brave man?” she asked in a soft, tender voice. Her fingers trailed his cheek and jaw line and she tilted his chin a little more so that his face looked straight into hers. A shadow of concern fell over her face. “Are you hurt?”

Dorran pulled away and stared at the ground attempting to avoid his wife’s eyes. He had thought of saying nothing about what had happened. Athwen would have greater problems to deal with once they had gotten to the slave camp. The last thing he wanted was for her to waste precious time and energy worrying about his injuries or dwelling on the attackers. Almost as quickly, he changed his mind. Too often, he reflected, those things you don’t know carry more fear than the simple, unvarnished truth. The best thing he could do was to spell out what had happened. He was too experienced a Rider, and Athwen had seen too much to pretend anything else.

He spoke without hesitation. “I’ll live. A couple of bumps and bruises, a gash on the head. Those aren’t bad. Unfortunately, I broke my rib. Every time I breathe, there’s pain in my side.” This time he met Athwen’s eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his face, “I know, I know. I couldn’t have done it at a better time! Tomorrow we’ll need every able bodied man to fight, and here I sit.”

Athwen frowned a little and quietly ordered him to remove his belt and his weapons so that she could get to it. He obeyed slowly and stiffly. “Never mind,” she murmured and finished it for him. She pulled away the sword belt and laid it to the side. Her hand felt his side to see if she could detect this broken rib.

“Yes, my sweet, I can already here what you're going to say next,” Dorran commented, nodding. “No fighting or strenuous labor till we’re sure the bone is healing. I’m enough of a soldier to realize I can’t wriggle out of a healer’s orders. . .especially when that healer is my wife.”

He paused before responding to her other question, the one she had not yet spoken out loud. “I was fortunate. Fortunate, indeed. Three of the slavers approached Lindir and I on horseback, ready to give hue and cry to rouse the entire camp. I led two of them on a merry chase. As luck would have it, one was thrown when his horse stepped in a rabbit hole.”

Athwen stood up and offered her hand. “Stand up, I can’t bandage it with you sitting there.” He stood up slowly, putting as little pressure as he could afford on Athwen as he did so, but all the same, she took a stumbling step forward as he heaved upwards. Athwen gently helped him remove the shirt. “Then what happened?” she asked, knowing it was better to keep a patient talking.

“I dealt with the other one,” he went on. “And there I lay like a sack of turnips in our cellar till one of the slaves came riding by and brought me back. Now you know the truth. Rather than helping slaves escape, I am already in their debt. But that’s not important. The others did their job, and the children have been rescued. And even if I can not fight tomorrow, I can still think and plan. That has to be worth something.”

He picked up her hand, cradling it gently in his. “I fear this will get worse before it gets better. Who knows what lies out there?” His gaze strayed reluctantly to the north. “I know this can’t be easy for you. But I wouldn’t have come alone, not at this point in our lives. Still, I feel this is something I'm meant to do. I don’t know how to say this, but thank you for agreeing to come, for being here and tending to me and to so many others. I only hope that someday we can look back on this and laugh. Now, if you have any magic tricks in that bag of yours, which will take away some of this pain, I would be much obliged.”

Athwen smiled and stepped close to him. She put her arms about his neck, lifting her face upwards as high as she could. “I can find something, but try this first.” He bent his head to let his lips meet hers and they kissed. Athwen backed away and let go. “I’m glad you made it out alive, Dorran,” she said. “You were lucky, as you said. I’ll see what I can do. There’s not much that can be done for a broken rib, though. I wish you’d been more careful. I can’t give you anything for the pain until we can make some tea. I need to make some for Azhar, so you’re in luck, but we can’t make any until we have a fire, and we can’t make a fire until we get out of here.”

She led him over to the healing packs as she spoke and set to work binding up his ribs. When that was finished, she cleaned the slight cut in his scalp.

“There, you’re done. Now, understand, there’s to be no fighting or strenuous work until that bone’s well on it’s way to being healed.”

Dorran began to chuckle, but the effort was cut short, ending in a short gasp. Athwen shook her head as she wound up the remaining bandage and put it away.

“No laughing, either.”

[piosenniel]

‘She has gentle hands, doesn’t she?’ Rôg nodded toward Athwen, as he watched the healer speaking with her husband. Easing himself down to the ground where the girl was resting, Rôg gave Azhar a quick smile.

‘Feeling any better, little one?’ he asked reaching out to place his palm against her brow. The girl looked flushed and exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open, but too uneasy in these unfamiliar surroundings to let herself fall asleep.

‘Still a little hot, but Athwen, I’m sure, will soon have that under control.’ He crossed his legs beneath him and adjusted his cloak about his slight form. ‘You were very brave, you know, to hold out until we could come to see you and your friend to safety.’ He reached out to adjust the cloak covering the girl’s form. ‘You are safe, here, now, you know.’ He pointed to where Aiwendil stood. ‘See that old fellow there? He’s a good hand with that walking stick of his. Has a lot of tricks up those big old sleeves of his. Gotten himself . . . and me . . . out of a lot of jams.’ He rolled up the sleeve of his tunic and flexed his modest bicep. ‘And then, of course, there’s me,’ he said, grinning. ‘But seriously, you are safe for the while, at least enough, to sleep a little as Athwen advised.

Rôg unclasped his cloak and rolled it into a loose bundle. Motioning for Azhar to raise her head a little, he placed it where she could use it as a pillow. ‘You know, my father used to sit by my bed when I couldn’t sleep and tell me stories, mostly about things he’d done as a boy or sometimes stories his own papi had told him.’ He inched a little closer and spoke in a low voice.

‘This is a real story, told to me by a man I met a few years ago, down south. It was a journey I took with the old man there.’ He lifted his chin to where Aiwendil was. ‘An interesting journey with interesting folk.’ He chuckled at the memory. ‘There was an Elf and her husband, a ship’s captain. A young woman, her name was Ráma. And a little girl who came to be my friend. Her name was Miri . . . And there were, of course, some very, very bad people . . .’ Rôg shook his head. ‘But here I am already getting off track.’ He glanced down to where Azhar lay, her eyes, half closing already, fixed on his face.

‘This is the story the man Baran told to me; the one of why he’d come south from his home by the Great River that runs by the Misty Mountains in the far north. He was looking for someone, an old friend from his childhood. An orphaned girl who’d come to live with his people . . . he’d met her when he was only a child and she was already grown.’ He paused for a moment and gave a soft sigh.

‘Oh, but I forget myself again. You’ll want to know her name, of course. A pretty name, and one that fit her perfectly. She was called “Bird” . . .’

As the story wove on, Rôg’s voice dropped to an even softer pitch. His words rolled out in a sing-songy way, the pitch of his voice rising and falling like little stream does flowing softly over its rocky bed. The lids of Azhar’s eyes surrendered, her lashes fluttering quietly down. He spoke on, watching as her breathing slowed; resting his hand lightly on her thin shoulder, he noted her muscles were relaxed. Beneath her lids, her eyes moved, as if seeing things in dreams.

‘. . . And so that is how Baran met her at last. And me, too. Met Bird, that is.’ He lifted his hand off her shoulder, and let his thumb rub along the edge of his jaw. ‘Of, course, I didn’t get to the part where we barely escaped the Elders . . . Bird and I . . . they wanted us to be wed.’

He laughed quietly. ‘Bird, of course, had other ideas . . .’

A soft snore issued from the girl's still form.'Well, I guess I must be as good a story teller as my father . . . at least in putting my listeners to sleep,' he murmured to himself.

[Durelin]

Vrór

It was a rush of events after Vrór and Carl emerged from the tunnel with the two children, and it seemed that things were falling nicely into place as Dorran was found again, alive, and they all discovered that they already had some sort of contact with one of the slaves. They had pulled it off! The plan had worked! And all were breathing. But then two forms in the shadows appeared a ways off, and Dwarf, Elf, Hobbit, woman, and boy were all forced to hide as quick as they could. Luckily these men were not too thorough in their search, underestimating whoever came to the children’s rescue.

Their words revealed just how little they knew. Children…children?! For one of the first times in his life, Vrór felt he really wanted to use his axe. Those two fools. Black-hearted and yellow-bellied, treating children like animals, and calling Dwarves and Hobbits children! Their ignorance came as a real shock for the Dwarf. Would Mordor ever really be a part of Middle-earth? Its inhabitants knew nothing of the world outside it, and seemed to have no desire for the outside world to be brought into it.

The slavers’ ignorance was in a small way, and a more immediate way, relieving, but it was also frightening. To think that this ‘Imak,’ apparently their leader, would be told that it was the slaves who had raided the camp for the rescue. If the slaves were all in the shape of the two children and the woman he had seen, they would be hard-pressed to defend against these ruthless bounty hunters. He shuddered as the two finally disappeared.

“We had best get a move on, then?” he whispered to the others. “The slaves will need our help.”

Vrór could see Lindir nodding, but it was the woman – Shae was her name, he thought he had heard – who spoke up.

“And what do you think four of you can do, with one wounded?” Of course she was offended by the idea that she and the others would need help. The Dwarf suddenly felt very embarrassed that he had spoken without thinking, forgetting that she was there. Perhaps he should not have referred to them as ‘slaves?’

“Well, ma’am,” Vrór began, glad that no one would be able to tell that his face had reddened in the darkness, and with his beard covering almost half of it, “there are three others waiting for us not too far from here… But, regardless of numbers, any bit can help. And that’s what we’re here to do,” he finished matter-of-factly.

Taking as wide a route as possible around the rest of the slavers’ camp, they wound their way as quickly as possible back to the meeting place, where Athwen had bravely waited with the horses, and where Rôg, Aiwendil, Azhar, and Dorran had likely already arrived. Vrór walked carefully and slowly, almost in a crouch, but also with a heavy weight on his shoulders. What could they do? Shae’s reminder of the wounded secured his doubts in place, and he found himself unable to truly think that the Fellowship of the Fourth Age had managed even a small victory.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

Hadith was totally baffled of what had happened. He couldn’t understand Khamir’s decision at all, but even less could he believe his ears about some of the reactions to Khamir’s speech. He glanced at Adnan just to find another pair of confused eyes. Before he had time to actually realise what he was doing, he had already drawn his sword and raised it over his head.

“Fellows, listen!” he shouted from the bottom of his lungs. Hadith was no public speaker. His voice was far from the bellowing of an army general or the soothing tenderness of a rhetorician’s stream of words, but he sounded loud, honest and intense enough to catch the ears of everyone else around.

“Before now, I have not thought why I’m here. I have just followed you others to where you go. Maybe we could be some elsewhere, but I haven’t questioned our path even once... and neither have I heard anyone else to complain about our direction in public!” Hadith’s voice was clearly raising in pitch towards the end of the sentence. But slowly and surely he was getting a hang of what he was thinking about the situation: he started realising it.

“We should act like free men, responsible of our own actions! But that also means we can’t blame anyone else of our decisions. If I follow someone as a free man, it’s my choise and it is I who takes the consequences then...” Hadith draw breath, just not knowing how his words would be received.

“But now, I’m beginning to use my freedom!” he shouted, in a more confident tone. “I will make my choice as a free man not to join the suicidal party of Khamir! You go if you wish, that’s your free choice, but we need people to help the wounded and the elderly... to help us all!” With that Hadith felt he had used all his resources but the silence was demanding him to go still forwards.

“Let us not act as slaves anymore! We are used to do as we are told, being all so ready to blame others if something goes wrong. Let Khamir do as he wishes, but let us others come up with a defence for the rest of us. We maybe forced to fight tonight! I intend to be ready for that... we need a plan...”

Hadith left his beautiful Easterling sword to fell down. He was empty.

For a moment there was no sound around.

[Brinniel]

Shae felt her face turn red with anger, highly offended by the dwarf's reference to the word "slaves."

Slaves?! Is that how these people will always consider us? As helpless slaves? If that were true, then why are we still alive and free?

Shae was quick to make a comment in defense, yet she realized that the dwarf was right. It wouldn't be long before the slavers headed towards her camp, and this time they would not simply be after two children. Without any further argument, the woman followed the others away from the slavers' camp.

Looking around at this strange new company, Shae couldn't help but to feel relieved. Not only had the two children been rescued, but she discovered she had been right all along. The Fellowship had come for them after all. Grinning privately to herself, she couldn't wait to see the look on Khamir's face when she would return to the camp with the children and the Fellowship in tow.

Joren, you would be proud of me.

Her brother had always encouraged her to stand up for what she believed in. He used to always speak his mind and help other slaves in trouble, no matter the consequence. Though he never said it, Shae knew Joren wished for her to have the courage to stand up for herself. But as the quiet sibling, she lacked the bravery to do so. So instead, Joren would fight her battles for her. Such actions was what ultimately led to his death. Shae hated herself for this- making her brother think he needed to always protect her. She knew that secretly Joren had longed for them to escape and find their family, but her timid behavior held him back.

He didn't think I was strong enough.

And perhaps this was true. After all, it took her brother's death to find the courage and will to escape on her own. If only that weren't so. Sometimes, Shae imagined her life as a free woman with Joren still alive. He would be the leader, not Khamir. And he would use his high spirits to keep up the morale of the others, always thinking about them before making decisions. That's how it should be for the ex-slaves. And yet, consumed by depression and stilling lacking in courage, Shae had refused to assume any sort of leadership position. After all these years, it took until tonight for Shae to stand up for what she believed in. If only Joren had seen her tonight- if he could see what she was capable of- she knew he would be proud. Seeking comfort from the memory of her brother, her hand reached for her chest, searching for the familar metal....

Shae stopped suddenly in her tracks, her face hot and stricken. Her hands grasped at her bare neck, search for something that was no longer there. Her heart skipped a beat and everything seemed to freeze.

Where is it?

Noticing the woman had stopped, the others halted as well.
"What's the matter?" the boy inquired.
It took several blinks and a hard swallow before Shae could respond. "I...I have to go back."
"Why?" This time it was Lindir who spoke up.
The woman had trouble finding the right words. "It...it's gone...my necklace....I...I can't....I have to go back....find it...."

Trailing off, Shae didn't even wait for the others to respond. Instantly, she was off in a sprint, heading towards the slavers' camp. Within seconds, the elf tackled her, pulling her backwards. The woman resisted his firm grip, kicking and hitting at his arms- anything to pull away. She yelled at him, cursing incoherent words. Immediately the elf's hand went to her mouth, attempting to muffle the cries and prevent drawing unwanted attention. After what seemed like several minutes, Shae slowly gave up on resisting Lindir, realizing he was too strong for her.

Tears streaming down her cheeks and short of breath, Shae struggled to put out a few last words of resistance.
"Please," she cried. "I have to go. It...it's imporant to me."
As the woman lay limp in his arms, the elf softened his grip. "I'm sorry," he spoke softly, "I know what you have lost must have been important, but it is not worth your life. If you go back, the slavers will see you and you will put yourself as well as the rest of us in jepoardy. I cannot let you go back there."
Shae nodded slowly, knowing his words were true. Lindir let go of the woman and she turned towards him, wiping away her tears. She stared into his eyes and spoke confidently. "Very well. Then let us keep going."
Lindir placed one hand on Shae's shoulder- a sign of condolence- before turning around and walking away. Shae and the others followed.

Shae continued with her head hung low, feeling rather sick to her stomach.
"What was it of....your necklace?" The woman looked down to her right only to find the halfling staring up at her.
Shae shot her head forward again, hesistating before finding a response. "It...it was an emblem...of the White Tree," she answered softly. "But that's not what made it important. It belonged to my brother. It's really the last evidence I had of him."
"I'm sorry." Shae could tell by his tone that the halfling was trying to be as understanding as possible. "Maybe...maybe you lost it before you reached the slavers' camp. We could look for it, you know, on our way back to your camp." He glanced up at her hopefully.
"Maybe," the woman responded. "But I doubt we'll find it."

Shae appreciated the halfling's kind words, but nothing could comfort her. Just as she thought life was worth living again, she lost her most prized possession. It felt as if she had lost Joren all over again. Shae refused to cry. She had already embarassed herself once- crying a second time would only show these strangers how weak and vulnerable she was. Instead, she dug her fingernails into her palms, deep into her old wounds. Instantly, the blood began to flow, echoing the pain Shae felt inside.

[Undómë]

Brenna


Brenna worked at combing out the girl’s hair. Gwenith, and she was aptly named as her long light blond hair was just the color of ripened wheat stalks about to be harvested, scrunched her shoulders and tried not to cry out when the teeth of the comb snagged a tangle.

‘Hold still, Gwenni!’ Brenna said in a firm voice. ‘I’ve just about got the last of the rats’ nests undone. I’ll put it in a braid for you, then, and that should keep it neat and pretty, even when you sleep on it.’ Though who knew if their would be sleep for any of them this night the old woman thought.

‘Alright!’ the girl hissed through clenched teeth. She hunkered down, prepared to be brave until the battle of the tangles was done.

‘Have you heard what the men are discussing, Granny Brenna?’ Nia asked quietly, coming to sit down near where Brenna was working. Brenna shook her head ‘no’, knowing that Nia was a clever young woman who never seemed to miss what changes were brought on the breezes of camp gossip. ‘That Khamir has the idea to take a number of men and go after the ones who stole the children. But that one called Hadith has stood up and says we should prepare to fight here. He’s sure those slavers will come back to take more of us. And we should be ready for them. Not only that, but there should be enough men here to protect those not able to defend themselves.’ She looked expectantly at Brenna.

‘So, what do you think, Granny?’ another of the women asked, raising up from her bed on the ground to rest her head on her hand. ‘Are we supposed to bunch together behind the men or hide away if we can until it’s all over?’

Brenna braided the last of Gwenith’s hair and bound it securely with a strip of old cloth. ‘I don’t think we can do that, dearies,’ she answered, patting the girl on the shoulder as she did so for a job well done. ‘They’ll mow the men down like hay and take us anyway.’ She cackled a little, a grim note to it. ‘’Cept for me, of course. I’m too old. But they’ll be wanting all of you. And you know that, don’t you?’

The women drew nearer, nodding their heads with the cruel knowledge. ‘So what shall we do?’ Nia shivered, dreading the answer she already knew. ‘The sticks…the ones you had us gather as we traveled along; the ones we sharpened. You said they’d be good for planting sticks when we get to our new home.’

‘Yes, those sticks,’ Brenna said, looking thoughtfully at the ground. ‘And they will be good for planting our seeds. But,’ and this time she looked round the small circle of women, ‘first we’ll plant them deep as we can into those slavers’ horses and the men as ride them too. Blood the wood and kill the ones who want to drag us back to the plantations and the old life. Who will do this with me? And live to see our own crops grow in our own soil?’

There were murmurs of assent that swirled about the little group. And those who were fearful were made stronger with the promise that they would not stand alone, but that one or two of their companions would stand alongside them.

Gwenni stood up and raised her voice in a plaintive manner. She was a slight little wisp of a thing, just turned eleven summers this last spring, or so she thought as far as she could reckon. ‘What about us, Granny Brenna . . . us girls? Our planting sticks are way too short. Those slaver-men have longer arms than us . . . and . . .’

Brenna tugged on the girl’s braid and smiled up at her. ‘You got them sharp stones don’t you? The black ones from along the glassy-bedded stream.’ Gwenni nodded her head, her face lighting up as her hand dipped into the tattered pocket of her breeches. She fetched out the cloth bag she’d fashioned from the sleeve of some old tunic. And with a smile drew out the well-used leather sling she used for hunting little animals and lizards. Others of the younger girls had gathered near Gwenni, their soft voices excited with the discovery that they, too, could lend their hands against the bad men.

‘Keep your sticks and slings handy, my friends,’ Brenna told the small group. ‘And why don’t we all just get what rest we can. We’ll sleep together here.’ She looked about the group. ‘And one of us should keep watch for a while, then wake me and I’ll take over for the next bit. Nia, can you do that? Sun’s rise can’t be that far away.’

She motioned for the women and girls to lay out their cloaks or blankets, their sticks and slings close beside them. Nia moved to a small rocky outcropping and hunkered down on the stony surface to take up the watch.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

This land was hard, and the people inhabiting it appeared tough, like the plants that grew here. Even the eyes of animals, the dim lamps of the night, today struck Carl as strange and rather unnerving. In truth, he felt as if he had lived all his life as a blind man and deaf as well. Surely, all the hardships in Lotho’s day, and even when Sharkey had the Shire in his grip, didn’t compare to what these people had endured for years on end. Never were hobbit families torn apart and children cast into lockholes like this - not that he didn’t suspect Sharkey would have tried such tactics, had he been around a bit longer.

But Shae’s tears had been bitter ones and Carl saw that despite her bravery she had not a callous heart. Still nothing seemed simple here, and his “I’m sorry” had sounded so very thin and insubstantial, against the sadness of her confession. He guessed that it wasn’t just the necklace; it was her brother himself that Shae felt she had lost. What else would have brought about the silent tears in one so seemingly fearless?

Remembering Dorran’s explanation of the stone Athwen found, Carl withdrew it from his pocket, holding it thoughtfully in his fingers. Such symbols and tokens were made for family members that had been wrenched away. For remembrance, he had said. The necklace Shae lost, had held the emblem of the White Tree, and on the stone was a tree also! Perhaps Shae had made it to remember her brother by, or to leave as a sign for him? Carl wondered briefly if she would be angry with him for having carried it away from that place. And he fancied too, that however unlikely, perhaps the brother she missed might have left it for her. And that she might smile to see it.

Carl held the stone out to the woman. “We found this stone near the caves, and I’m thinking it might mean something to you, seeing as it has the White Tree on it. Not as good as finding your necklace I’m afraid, but have you seen it before?”

Shae wiped her hands on her clothes before taking the stone in her fingers, holding it up to examine it in the moonlight. “No,” she said, with a wistful trace of a smile as she turned to look at the hobbit. “Even still, such things are not uncommon. Perhaps one of the newcomers to our group made it, leaving it at that camp.” She hesitated, looking again at the stone. And following her gaze, Carl saw a single drop of dark blood trace its way over the side of her palm.

“You are hurt!” he said reaching up to point out the droplet to her.

But the woman awoke quickly from her study, returning her hands to her sides before he had the chance. “It is not a new wound, but does not heal well,” she stated matter-of-factly. And Carl felt from her voice as if suddenly some great-uncharted distance had arisen between them. Had he said something amiss? “May, I keep this?” Shae asked, unexpectedly.

Now if a slender lifeline had been thrown to the hobbit in dire need, he would scarcely have been quicker to grab at it. “Why certainly you may,” he said without thinking things though, while at the same time trying to recollect the stone’s markings in his mind eye. He could not believe he would hand the thing over so easily, but was pleased to find that he carried a clear picture of it in his head. And so he removed the teeth of self-reproach, knowing that he remembered the stone well enough, though he dreaded letting Miss Athwen know of his gifting it away. Still, he must brave any tongue-lashing the gentle healer might choose rightfully to give, and let her know too, about Miss Shae’s hand.

[Folwren]

Kwell felt surprising relief when they came to their stopping place. He had feared being stopped by the slavers, attacked and forced to fight. He said nothing about it and he hated the fear. It was childish to be afraid, he thought. But, at least now, they were safe.

Lindir stopped to speak with the old man. For a few moments, they stood with their heads together, then Aiwendil came away from Lindir and approached Kwell and Shae, who stood together, uncertain of what to do or where to go.

“Come with me,” he said. “You are Shae? Lindir told me that you had an injury?” Shae made a very slight inclination of her head. Aiwendil turned and led the two of them to where Athwen stood by her packs, speaking to Carl. She turned towards Aiwendil as the elderly man approached and as he began to speak, she nodded and looked towards Shae and Kwell.

“Yes, I know. Carl just told me about it.” She stepped forward towards the two new comers. “Welcome, both of you. We don’t have very much time, but I will do what I can now. You are hurt, I understand?” she asked, looking directly at Shae.

Shae quickly put her hands behind her back. “See to Kwell first,” she said, taking a step back. “I can wait. He might be more damaged than I.”

Athwen smiled a little and she looked at Kwell. He stood a little shorter than she and his face, so hardened and stern that it held no mark or sign of boyishness, brought out her easily stirred pity. Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He drew back, twisting his body so she couldn’t reach him. She drew back in surprise. The gesture had been meant in friendship and encouragement, but he hadn’t accepted it. Athwen nearly gasped with the shock of being rejected, but quickly she shut up her feelings.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly and then asked him if there was anything she could help him with.

“No, nothing,” Kwell answered shortly.

“Were you hurt at all when the slavers took you back?” The boy shook his head. “Can I see if you have any sort of fever? You’ve been with Azhar a long time and if whatever is causing the fever can be caught by you, I’d like to know if you’ve got it.”

“I’m not sick,” Kwell said stubbornly.

Athwen shook her head and pursed her lips, her hand reached instinctively towards his forehead, but he tilted his head back and pushed her hand away. She sighed in defeat. It was no use whatsoever to work on a patient who wouldn’t be worked on. She’d watch him closely, though, and if she saw anything that indicated any sort of injury or sickness, she’d check on him, whether he liked it or not.

“Very well. If you’re hungry or thirsty, tell Carl and he’ll get you some bread or water. Later, hopefully, we’ll have something warm to give you.” She smiled at him and he turned away. She shrugged at his back and turned to Shae. “Now, I can help you,” she said.