THE LONELY STAR (Contd. from BD birthday party)

[Child of the 7th Age]

The assembly of hobbits, prodded on by their captors, stumbled towards the north and east. For Nitir, that endless night of sorrow was never to be forgotten. The earth itself, for leagues around, lay marred and destroyed. There were no glasslike mountain slopes or smooth valleys of soft grass. Wherever she and Azra gazed, there were only craters dug deep into the earth and huge blocks of soil heaved upward to rest on their side, leaving awkward and barren mounds. The trampling feet of Morgoth's 10,000 troops, approaching from the north with their giant dragons and balrogs and spreading fires, had changed the landscape beyond recognition.

Because the path was difficult and strewn with debris, many of the old and young could not keep up. Babes were carried by mothers, and small children hoisted upon strong backs. Yet, even with family members struggling to help each other, only so much could be done.

Many of the elderly urged their kin to leave them and hurry to the front to make certain the children of the family would not be left behind. Some of these families would remain straggling near the rear until the old ones, who could go on no further, slipped silently down by the side of the path. Then the Orcs would come from behind to finish the job with spears, and toss the bodies over the edge of the cliffs. A few times, when family members tried to cradle or guard the fallen, they were also threatened with death. So, while few hobbits died in the actual siege of Gondolin, the story on this wretched trail was a very different one.

After hours of tortuous progress, the hobbits found themselves on a rocky but flat ledge, surrounded by a large stand of pine trees. The Orc guards halted. They drew their lines totally around the prisoners and pulled the circle ever tighter, herding them together into as small a group as possible. Then they went through the prisoners one-by-one with rough hands, searching for any weapons that had been overlooked. They made a great pile of whatever they found, taking some for their own use, and destroying or hurling away the rest. The fires burned high on the ledge.

Then they went to talk among themselves.

They spoke in the common Adunaic tongue, since there were apparently three or four tribes present, and they could not understand each other's orc-speech. The hobbits closest to the guards could hear and understand their words.

One voice was raised in complaint, "What am I? A nursemaid for children and old ones? Let us get rid of these. What could Morgoth want with such puny things?"

Other voices growled agreement as weapons were again raised. One Orc began to stride over and lay hands on the nearest young boy but was stopped by a rough jerk on his shoulder.

"You swine, do you not understand our orders? If the old ones fall, have your sport with them. But the children are not to be touched. These creatures are fool enough to give up their own lives for the stupid, small ones."

The one who said this was the commander Durshnakh. He was a crooked-legged creature, but tall and with long grasping arms. There was stench from his body and mouth.

"We will keep these useless little ones," sneered the evil Durshnakh, "to control the men and their women. For the great lord Morgoth has said they will give us no trouble if we threaten them with the death of their own ."

Another Orc shouted back, "What need do we have to control these pipsqueaks? One stroke of my sword will send them all to where they belong."

Durshnakh ran to this fellow and grabbed him by the collar, "Say no more! We have orders that they will be used to fell the great forests of Dorthonion and turn the lands into fields to feed our troops. They have some small skill in this way. The Dark Lord will use it."

There was cursing and confusion, but the noise quickly died down. Durshnakh stood in front of the prisoners. He hauled one boy up to the front, and put a cold blade to his throat. Then he turned to the hobbits, "You tender fools," he hissed. "We have your children in our command." He twisted the blade into the boy's throat so that a single drop of blood trickled down.

"If you want these to see the light of day, do as we say. Do not think to escape or fight back. We will flay the skin off the backs of these little ones if you go against us. You will live, but they will die, and you will see their death."

Then he continued, "Put all other thoughts out of your head except work. Work for the lord Morgoth, and he will let you live."

There was no sound among the group of hobbits. No one said yes or no, but all hung their heads in silence.

Yet, a few of their number, and Zira was among these, had somehow managed to retain a dagger in some hidden place. For beneath the clothes of Abar, and even in the clothing of some of the other young ones, was tucked away more than one small weapon. For the Orcs did not even want to touch with their hands the bodies of the children, and they left them for the most part alone, desiring only to run swords through their hearts. So they never dreamed what actually lay beheath some of these squalling bundles.

Then all the hobbits dropped down on the rocky ledge, crammed one against the other. And Nitir held Azra's body tight against her own, and fell into a troubled sleep.

[ August 11, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

That night, as Nitir tossed about on the rough ledge, she saw another vision of the small island with its tree-shadowed lake. This time, many Valar stood by the lake. They looked like shadowed figures lost in reflection wih eyes spilling unnumbered tears. Nitir knew she could not reach or touch these, nor speak with them in any way.

But as she gazed about, she spotted the fair Lady with skirts edged in sparkling snowflakes. And, unlike the powers who walked in cloud and silence, this figure could be clearly seen and heard.

The Lady's face appeared even sadder than before. She said. "I bring you two gifts,the gift of forgetting and the gift of remembering."

"Neither you or Azra will survive Morgoth's prison with the knowledge of the Third Age in your head. You must let go of that piece of yourself. For, even if your friends visit you in that time and place, they will not be able to share their knowledge of the future."

Nitir nodded in agreement, since no price seemed too great to help her people survive. The Lady leaned over to kiss her brown curls and those of the sleeping Azra.

Then a strange thing happened. Nitir could remember her friends from the Lonely Star, their forms and faces. She understood that her people would have a future, and that it was her task to share this hope. But beyond that, her knowledge of later times was gone: her studies of the end of Beleriand, of the kingdom of Numenor, and the destruction of the Ring, even the simple stories of the Shire. In Nitir's mind, as in Azra's, all these had departed.

Then Nitir turned to the Lady and asked, "And the gift of remembering?"

"This is a gift both sad and sweet," the Lady replied. "Your friend Piosenniel has found peace. Her body lies in the house of Idril, cut down by Orcs as she defended her home. Now, she walks the halls of Mandos and bids me speak with you."

"She asks you to remember her with sweetness, and do everything in your power to save the hobbit folk. For, in her final hours in Gondolin, Piosenniel the Elf understood that one piece of her would remain forever with her mother's people."

Nitir had no words to say. She felt alone and angry. No tears came to her eyes or sweetness to her mind. Full of bitterness, she thought, "This is no gift, but a curse and sadness without end."

And the Lady knew her mind and replied, "You are still young in the paths of lore. Learn patience, since this will not be the last time that sorrow touches your heart. For, without the gift of estel, neither you or your people will survive."

"One of my household will be sent to you. But I myself may not speak with you again. For, in time to come, even the great powers must leave Middle-earth completely."

Nitir gazed in sadness at the retreating figure. Yet when she tried to reach out and touch the Lady's strength and compassion, she met only clouded silence.

The hobbit woman awoke to a bleak dawn, huddled together with all her other kin. Then Orc guards came and roughly kicked them into conscousness. There were no tears in Nitir's eyes; her heart felt cold and distant. She briefly told Azra of the death of Piosenniel, and, that morning, the young hobbit wept as she trudged along the path.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Birdland]

O.O.C. - Oh, OK, I'll tell her. (Gulp!) Unless Pio wants to try her hand at it. But I have to get going, since I'm going out of town today. Will dwell on it while watching "Signs".

Hmmmmmmm..."Well, Angara, seems that this great, silvery ship came down in the middle of Gondolin, and Pio just hopped on board!"

[piosenniel]

'I cannot hear Piosenniel. Where is she?'

The dragon looked from one to the other. Mithadan sat huddled on the ground, clasping his knees tight up against him, as if willing himself to disappear. His grimed face was drawn, his countenance bleak. He looked at the dragon without seeing her, and the words fell into the silence between them like stones.

'She is dead.'

[ August 11, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

The dragon's anger flared into a white hot flame, and she thought to fly to Thangorodrim, itself, and snatch the foul monster in his lair and slay him or be slain.

It was only the small request at the end of Pio's last instructions to her that stayed her unfurled wings.

'You must stay safe, Old One. You are the companion's only hope for escape from what will be a hellish night. They must get back to the ship, and you must stay there with them. They will need your aid and most of all, your clear thinking. Will you give me your word on this?'

The dragon had glossed over the request without thinking and made her vow, and now it held her.

'Mithadan!' she rumbled, deep from within, rousing him from his grim trance. 'Pick up Bird and get the both of you onto my back. We are going to the ship, now!'

The man picked up the small, limp form of the woman and placed her on the dragon, close against him - his cloak covering both of them against the soon to be cold. He held her securely, her head lolling against the junction of his arm and shoulder.

Angara lifted off, and turned southwestward, making a direct line for the Lonely Star, no concern now for who might see them. She shut all thoughts from her mind, and flew with great speed.

Grief could come later. For now there was only the beating of her great wings, and the rush of air as she cleaved through it.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The pine trees split apart to reveal an ancient track. It was broad enough that the shade disappeared, and the summer sun beat hot upon their heads. Azra's face was grey and streaked with tears, but she wept in silence now, no sound escaping her lips. Nitir trudged beside her, a cold look upon her face. She said little to Azra, or any of the others, keeping her thoughts to herself.

Physically, the trek was easier than the night before. But the hobbits were tired and hungry. And many were openly grieving for their losses.

At mid-day, the guards, who still numbered over five hundred, called a halt to the procession to eat and rest. For their lunch, they tore apart some kind of half-eaten raw carcass which reaked in the heat of the sun. The hobbit families took out whatever food remained in their packs and shared it among the group. A few stared at it and refused to eat, but most were grateful for whatever little there was.

Since the Orcs seemed content to ignore their prisoners, as long as they showed no resistence, Maura went from family to family, checking on their members, and encouraging them to keep up their strength. He came at last to his own family. Maura knelt beside his daughter and grandson, talking briefly with them. Azra had finally stopped crying, and was sitting next to Raza, her head resting on the young man's shoulder.

Maura looked over to where Nitir sat alone on the ridge. Her face was blank and frozen. He sat down beside her and, for a long while, said nothing. Then he asked, "Why is Azra crying? Has something happened?"

Nitir tersely explained about the death of Piosenniel the Elf. She said nothing about her dream, or how she had learned about her friends's death.

"She was very close, this friend?" He remembered the tall Elf he had seen on the city walls when Mithadan had come searching to find out about Azra."

"Yes," Nitir said, refusing to say anything more.

The hobbit pressed on, "And sometimes you spoke with her on the ship when you were upset? She listened to you and tried to help?"

"Yes, sometimes." A flat response came back.

"I am so sorry that she is gone," responded Maura. "If you would like to speak about your friend to me or my daughter, we will listen and try to understand. I know you loved your companions on the Star, but they're very far away. Now, you are part of our family. We are prisoners in the middle of a strange land." Maura glanced about him to the forests which were deep on all sides. "All we have to get through this is ourselves. For our sake and yours, please don't turn away from what little we can share with each other."

Nitir looked at him and said nothing. But she noticed that, tucked into the belt at his waist, he still carried the copy of the book of lore which he had been reading to the children the first time she had seen him.

Any further discussion was cut short by the shouting and commands of the Orcs who, once again, pushed the hobbits to their feet and shoved them forward on the trail.

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Veritas! We are returning. Put the small boat in the water. We will be there soon.

The tired 'voice' of the dragon whispered in the elf's mind. 'Something is wrong!', she thought to herself. She turned to the others on deck and gave orders to lower the boat. She would row out and retrieve the companions from Angara.

'Are they alright? Did Angara say?' asked Daisy. Kali stood close by her, but asked no questions, and a great fear was in his eyes.

'She did not say, little one,' said Veritas, as she climbed into the boat, 'only that they will be here soon.'

The elf rowed the boat across the now dawn reddened water, and positioned it well away from the ship. Her eyes strained at the sky, willing all of them to return.

Khelek was the first to see them. His voice boomed out across the water.

'They come!'

[ August 11, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Birdland]

The golden dragon landed by skiff, almost swamping Veritas. The Elf stared in disbelief at the two lone figures huddled on the dragon's back.

The bleakness of the riders seemed to spread across the waves to the passengers waiting on board the Lonely Star. There was no need for questions. All knew that disaster had struck. There only remained the details of how each friend had met her fate, and what Mithadan intended to do now.

The Mer-Man Levanto rose from the waves and clutched at the side of the small boat. The distance prevented the observers from hearing his words. They could only see his gestures of anger and disbelief. Veritas leaned down and placed a palm on his face, but he back angrily away.

Daisy leaned far out over the rail, watching as Mith gently handed Bird into the arms of Veritas and climbed wearily into the skiff. Along with the grief, a great fear descended on the small stowaway. She was the only halfling left on the Lonely Star. And the one other companion on the ship who had defended her was gone as well. How would she be treated by the others now? Would they somehow even manage to blame this disaster on her in some way? Daisy had read in tales of people who were thought to bring bad luck to a ship, and how the crew had rid themselves of the cause of such ill fortune. She backed away from the rail as the skiff hoved to, and the ladder was lowered.

And then she saw Kali. Kneeling on the deck, head bowed, hands splayed over his face. She walked tentatively up to the misrable Hobbrim and laid a hand on his shoulder.

The strange face was twisted with grief. Only the eyes reflected the ancestry that he and Daisy both shared. "This is my fault. All have suffered and died for me! I wish that I had never found you all. I wish I had remained in my cave."

"No, Kali. Don't say that." Daisy slowly put her arms around the shaking shoulders of the Hobbrim and began to rock him back and forth. "There, there. It will be alright. Please don't cry. There, there..."

[piosenniel]

Veritas rowed the skiff quickly back to the boat, and had it hauled on board.

Khelek ran to steady it as it swung down onto the deck. His voice cut through the tears of the two hobbits. 'There is no time for crying now. You must help us.'

Veritas stood carefully and stepped from the boat with Bird in her arms. Khelek guided the still dazed Mithadan onto the deck, supporting him as if he were a child, newly learned to walk.

'Come with me, Daisy.' said Veritas as she passed the hobbit. 'We will take Bird down to her room and see if she is injured.' The girl followed Veritas, her heart heavy.

Khelek and Kali led Mithadan to his room, and laid him down on his bed. They washed the grime from him as best they could, looking for any visible wounds. Then they placed a clean robe on him and pulled a coverlet over him. He lay there limp, his eyes closed, and said nothing as they finished their ministrations.

'No wounds on the man.', said Kali as they exited his room, leaving the door ajar so they might hear him if he called.

'Yes, that is so.' replied Khelek as they went to check on Bird. 'His is a wound that will be longer in the healing, I fear.'

They knocked on Bird's door, and Veritas opened it. 'Mithadan is unharmed by any weapon.' said Khelek. 'We have left him to get what rest may come to him.' He looked at Bird, lying so still and white, on the bed. 'How goes it with her?'

'No wounds of any note.' replied Veritas, moving them out into the hall to continue the conversation. 'We will watch her today to see that her condition does not worsen.'

Daisy had finished buttoning a night gown on Bird, and covering her with a blanket. 'I will watch her first, Veritas.' she offered. 'You and Khelek must decide what we should do now.

'And I will watch over Mithadan.' said Kali.

'But tell us,first, Veritas,' asked Khelek, 'where are Pio, Rose, and Child?'

Veritas sighed deeply, and did not answer for a few moments. 'Rose and Child have been captured by Morgoth's troops and are held in Beleriand.' Her voice broke, betraying the depth of her emotion.

'And Pio?' urged Daisy, a mounting horror come upon her.

'She is dead.'

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Daisy sat by Bird's bed in numbed silence, and tears spilled from her eyes. Not for herself this time but for Lady Pio who was dead, and for Bird who lay there still as death before her.

She felt her childhood slip away from her in the grim reality of what had happened. Child, Rose, and Lady Pio, - they had been so kind to her in their own way and now they were gone.

Dawning realization set in that she and Kali were now the only Halflings left on board, and that she especially must shoulder some of the decisions that must be made about continuing the search for Kali's family. Child and Lady Pio had placed so much value on getting Kali back to his family, it mustn't be abandoned by the remaining companions now.

She dried her eyes, and felt a steely resolve strengthen her. She reached out and held Bird's hand between her own two small ones.

'Bird, please, come back to us. We need your help. I . . . I need your help. Please, Bird if you can . . .'

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Once more, the track of the captives began to climb and spilled south into the foothills of the mountains The path itself soon dwindled and disapeared into a series of mountainous moors. Darkness was beginning to flood their way, yet the Orc guards still pushed their prisoners on. Finally, they reached the ruins of an old encampment and stopped there for the evening.

The Orcs occupied the few remaining wooden buildings, and then left a contingent of guards to encircle and keep watch over the halflings. There was little food left, but at least there was water. Just next to the captives, a tarn bubbled up from the earth below, its smell fragrant and light, a thing of beauty so unexpected in this place of gloom. The Orcs themselves avoided its waters, preferring to secure their own supplies from a brackish pond that lay on the far side of the camp.

Maura told the hobbits to drink and store as much of the clear water as they could, and to bathe in it as well. This the families did.

Despite the hollow in her heart, Nitir could not help but feel the goodness in that water, and how it brought a small warmth inside her where none had been before. Exhausted from the long trek, most of the group fell asleep as soon as they stretched out on the ground.

Maura, however, sat off by himself, perched on a small ledge overlooking the lake. In his eyes were sadness and remembrance. Nitir saw him put his head down into his hands as if he were struggling to fight back tears. She crept over to him, wondering why, after he had seen the horrors of Gondolin's fall, he should grieve so over a deserted place like this.

He leaned over to her and whispered, "This is the camp where Barahir, descendent of Beor the Old and Wise, took his stand against the Orcs. It was the last part of Dorthonion which stood against the shadow. From here, Beren left to travel to the Hidden Kingdom and then claim his bride."

"But that," he said sadly, "was long ago."

Then she asked him, "Why do you grieve so? For these are men, not hobbits. It is their history, not ours."

He turned to her with a look of hurt and frustration. "Nitir, do you not grieve for your friend Piosenniel the Elf? It is no different for me with the men who fell here. And it wasn't men alone who stood and defended these hills. My father was also slain here when Barahir was betrayed."

"I am sorry. I did not know. But then why," she asked, "are these waters so sweet when such a sad thing happened in this place."

Maura pointed his finger at the sky. Even in the blackness, they could see the grey clouds covering the heavens. But, as they watched, a wind came and pushed the clouds aside so that the sky was suddenly filled with glimmering stars.

"Look down into the waters of Tarn Aeulin," he said. And she saw a thousand lights mirrored in the lake below, each refecting the magic of the heavens.

"Melian herself," he explained, "was said to have blessed these waters. So even here, in the middle of our hardship and sorrow, there is a little piece of light."

He walked away, and Nitir sat silent for a long time. Then she crept back beside Azra, and soon fell asleep.

[piosenniel]

OOC: (not to be confused with the actual storyline)
```````````POSTCARD FROM THE HoM`````````````
*********************************************
20 Wedmath

Dear All,

Well, here I am finally in the Halls. Haven't actually met Mandos as yet, but I think he may prove to be somewhat of a hobbity fellow as this whole area seems to be a series of underground caves and caverns. Or perhaps it's a dwarvish influence? I'll poke around some more and give you updates as I can. The mail service here is a little slow.

--- Pio

p.s. Thanks Bird, for the blazing send-off!

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

[Mithadan]

In a dark dream, Mithadan knelt before several figures. Idril and Tuor stood there together. Next to them were Turgon and Ulmo. Before them all was Angara who asked "Where is Piosenniel?"

"Golden one," he said. "Angara, Piosenniel has sought the Houses of Waiting in the West. She was slain by orcs even as she protected Idril and her household. She is dead..." His chin dropped to his chest and his shoulders heaved with sobs.

Angara stood is silence. A stream of smoke trickled from her nostrils. Then her eyes grew brighter than her flames and a deep growl emitted from her chest.

"Child and Rose are not with us," continued Mithadan in an uneven voice. "They have chosen to stay with their kin and do such good as they can for the Hobbits as they suffer in thralldom. Only Bird and I are here now to return to the Lonely Star and somehow continue our quest."

Angara hissed. "Show me your blade, Man! Show me the blood of Piosenniel's murderer on your blade."

Mithadan looked up in grief, his face a mask of torment. "I cannot. I was not with her. She went ahead while I attempted to convince the Hobbits to return with us. When I reached Idril's house, she was slain. I was not there..."

Angara's scream shook the ground on which they stood. Tuor and Idril turned away and Turgon could not meet Mithadan's eyes. Ulmo alone faced the Man. He said nothing but merely shook his head.

Mithadan moaned in his sleep.

[OOC, I'm away until next Monday. I doubt I will post until then]

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Even before the first light streaked across the morning sky, the Orc guards were on their feet shouting at the hobbits to rise. Azra awoke with an aching head. Surely, it could not be day already. But the sliver of the moon and golden stars were already gone from the sky. She closed her eyes and wanted to pretend that there were no more Orcs and no more endless tracks through mountains and pine forests. She felt cold and sick and, even more, she felt hungry.

Azra remained with her eyes closed on the ground for an instant too long, wishing that she could fall back into her dreams. A long arm came over to paw her neck and shoulder. A clawlike hand seized upon her arm like iron. Nails bit into her skin and left a rakish impression scratched across her skin.
Reluctatly, but with great speed, she bounded off the ground.

More than once, Azra had thought to try and run away to escape. For she was small and agile, and might possibly have succeeded in eluding her Orc guards. There were many of them, but, to Azra's eyes, they were slow of body and mind. And yet she did not leave the group. Durshnakh's threat to kill off the children had been no idle thing. She knew he spoke the truth. Azra might find her own way out into the woods, but how could she live with herself knowing that an infant or young hobbit would lay dead because of her actions? For, stupid though they might be, the Orcs had already been careful to count off the number in each family group to make sure none was missing.

For the first time in her life, Azra was faced with the situation that any mistake she made, any headstrong desire to run off or begin some madcap adventure, could have real and negative consequences for her friends. And she had to admit, she was beginning to think of some of these hobbits as her friends.

Ever since she had heard of the death of Piosenniel, Nitir had held herself apart from the group, even from her friend Azra. And the young hobbit did not understasnd this. She understood tears and remembering and even periods of silence, but this long coldness by Nitir did not seem right. Azra sensed that something was very wrong, but she did not know what it was. If you had questioned her, Azra would not have had the words to explain her feelings or suspicions, but instinctively she knew that Azra was grieving not just for Piosenniel but for something or someone else as well.

Since Nitir had withdrawn so completely, Azra had turned to her other companions to try and make friends. This morning, she sat on the ground with Zira, sharing the last meager crumbs of bread that the family had brought from Gondolin. Many of the other hobbit families were in the same sitution, with their food almost gone.

Orc guards went through the group and distributed strips of some ill-looking bread and a chunk of raw meat to every prisoner. Azra was afraid to eat the flesh, not knowing what creature it might belong to, but she greedily tore into the bread. Last night, she had found a number of berries along the trail, and showed them to Raza to make sure they were alright to eat. The two had shared them with Abar, and ended their feast with a draught of water from the mysterious tarn. Azra would like to have gone back to that water, but the Orcs were again kicking them to their feet to plunge onward across the moors.

Azra dropped temporarily to the very rear of the column. There were only two guards behind her, and these were quarrelling loudly with each other. Azra undid the scarf which Daisy had embroidered for her on the Lonely Star, and tied it tightly onto one of the bushes that stood right next to the trail, as close to the lake as she could manage.

This day and the next continued on like the earlier one. The hardships were those of hunger and hurting and extreme frustration, but, unlike that first night, the prisoners did not seem to fear immediate death. Yet, that last afternoon on the trail, something happened which changed Azra's mind and made her realize that there was no safety anywhere.

A young man had been discovered hiding a dagger deep within the recesses of his garments. One of the Orc guards dragged him forward along with the others in his family. Then they seized the youngest from his kin, a child of no more than three years, and grabbed him by the neck. The Orc guard cried out, "This, this, is what you rats will get when you defy our orders." With a motion easy and practiced and without hesitation of any kind, the Orc ran the child through with a sword. The young hobbit mother dropped down upon the ground, cradling the body. She tried to hold the little one in her arms and carry along his lifeless form, but the Orcs ripped the bundle from her hands and kicked it over the edge of the path.

The next time they stopped for a rest, Zira told Azra to take the little Abar far off the trail and quickly remove the dagger from under his clothes and drop it into some hidden place. She did this, and then returned the little boy to his mother. And, although Azra did not know it, there were other families who did the same with the weapons they had managed to hide.

That last day, the group trudged on hour after hour, stopping once or twice to eat the moldy bread. The Orcs forced them to go forward even more swiftly than before, until even the strongest among them began to weaken from the pace. Finally, long after darkness had settled on the trail, the group arrived at another set of ruins, these much larger and more spread out than the ones before. Marks of an old fire were evident on the broken frames of the buildings. Even the pine forests must have burned down near here for the trees were younger and thinner than those they had seen earlier along the way.

The Orcs relayed the command to halt. Then Durshnakh grunted out his orders. "Welcome to your new home, halfling rats. Sleep now for tomorrow you have the honor of hard labor for the master of this realm, the Lord of the Dark and King of the World."

That night all the hobbits, even Maura and Nitir, fell asleep quickly, their bodies too tired and hurting to stay awake for even a little longer. Only the mother of the child who had been killed that day sat up with her husband at her side, bitterly weeping over the doom of her son.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

The dragon floated upon the water, weary beyond all hope. Her eyes were dull as they looked toward the east, seeing shadow run over the land like dark blood.

'Why do you look to the East, dragon?', asked Levanto, in a voice ragged with grief. 'I have looked there all this day, but she does not return.'

Angara turned from her dark study at his question, and looked at him.

'Where would you have me look, child of Ulmo? To the West? That way is hidden from my eyes, clouded in mists. I can see no hope in that direction.'

'Then has this quest been for naught?', returned the mer-man. 'Our only reward the painful memories of lost companions?'

The words pierced her despair, driving weariness from her, and she looked hard at Levanto. A brief glint of gold flashed from her eyes. 'That irritating elf!' she cried. Her shoulders heaved, and the mer-man thought she might break into tears.

'Irritating?! A poor epitaph for a fallen friend!'

Angara chuckled, rumbling deep within, and slapped the water with her tail.

Levanto looked at the dragon as if she had gone mad and backed away from her.

She clasped him gently in her talons and held him up before her face.

'Say exasperating then, or vexing. It matters not. She knew this might happen and she gave me instructions. Addle-brained Wyrm is what I am for not realizing it!'

Levanto, still caught in her steely grip, stared back at her, frightened now and perplexed.

Angara set him gently in the water. 'These were her words for you: "Do not abandon hope. There will soon come a time when the companions will need aid only you can provide, and you must be there to give it."' The dragon coughed slightly as the mer-man looked at her in disbelief. 'And, oh yes, one other thing. She said to give you this.' A touch, light as sea foam, grazed his cheek, as the dragon bent her head toward him.

Then she lifted into the air, becoming smaller as she rose, and flew back to the ship.

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Despite her initial exhaustion, Nitir awoke with a start in the middle of the night. As she lay on her back and looked at the stars, her mind roamed from one topic to the next. At least, they had reached the place where they were doomed to stay and toil. No more trudging forward to an unknown destination.

Nitir still felt empty and distant. It was almost as if she had hidden herself so that others could not see or touch her. She had spoken to few people in the past two days, and had tried not to think about the memory of Piosenniel. But, however much she tried to hide, she still could not exorcise the haunting image of a small lad being speared by a guard's scimiter.

Other than this painful scene, Nitir's strongest recollection of the night before was when the group made its way into the camp. She felt as though they had cut through an actual curtain, perhaps one made of strange materials known only to the forces of the night. When she questioned Maura about this sensation, he shook his head to agree. "Yes, I also felt it. Just as in some Elvish communities, especially those lying within the depths of a forest or an island, there is a mysterious boundary. On one side runs the time and world of man, while, within the curtain itself, time and even distance may operate quite differently."

Nitir tried asking him if time within ran faster or slower, but he did not know.

Most of the Orcs seemed to be sleeping soundly. Last night, there had been much noise and confusion as they had brought out barrels of mead and ale stored in the camp as well as a carcass of something that looked and smelled suspiciously like carrion waste. They had proceeded to get roaring drunk. A few junior guards were excluded from the fun, and told to keep watch over the prisoners. But even these few had managed a hidden draught or two, and now sat looking at the sleeping hobbits with dazed eyes.

Yet, no prisoner was making any attempt to escape. By keeping the family groups together and constantly threatening violence to the children, Morogoth had stumbled upon a perfect way to keep the hobbits from resisting. If smaller numbers of adult hobbits had been dragged off into servitude, Nitir had no doubt they would have tried to escape. But, with a large community fearing retribution on the heads of those least able to understand or defend themselves, there seemed little hope of breaking through the trap.

Nitir sighed, and, since she couldn't sleep anyway, decided to go through her things, to see exactly which of her supplies she had managed to salvage from the rough hands of the guards. She was disappointed to note that many of her small tools had been seized as well as the two daggers and bow. But she still had the flint hidden in her belt and the point from one broken arrow. She reached down further into her belt and came up with the packet of seeds which the Elf had given to her. This, at least, should be entrusted to Zira who was a healer skilled in herbal remedies. Nitir had a vague memory of how this stuff could be boiled and used, either as steam for a patient to breath or as dressing for a wound. She also had a very vague sense that she really shouldn't be using kingsfoil in this time or place, and that this had something to do with her friend Mithadan. However, as Mithadan wasn't here to stop her, she decided to give the seeds to Zira for her to tend and raise.

Nitir poked her nose down into the packet, and was surprised to discover that there were actually two things contained inside. The bundle of Kingsfoil seeds she already knew about, but there was a second packet of seeds, quite large in size, and with it she could see a note. The note was carefully written out in handwriting that semed very familiar to her. It was the handwriting of her dead friend Piosenniel. Nitir stared at the letter, reluctant to read it or even to pick it up. She finally decided to tuck it away inside her belt until she got up the courage to look at it later. She lay down and made another attempt to sleep. She could still hear the distant keeling of the grieving mother.

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[mark12_30]

Lindo stirred in his sleep, dark dreams pressing down on him. His mother's and father's faces haunted him. During the long march, his father and mother lagged and fell behind; when he assisted one, the other straggled. While he had half carried his mother, an orc had speared his father; and as they turned to hold him as he died, the same orc had ruthlessly speared his mother. They had died in each others arms. Again and again, in his dreams the bloody scene played out, and again and again, Lindo woke, biting back tears, til finally he lay awake, afraid to sleep again.

He stealthily raised himself partway up, and looked. The hobbit-camp was quiet, but there were sounds of carousing coming from the main orc-camp. Still, orc-guards were visible around the hobbits, and one had noticed him; he froze, and then slowly lay back down, after that moving only his eyes. The orc that was now watching him seemed none too steady; all the more reason for caution, he thought. If the orc was drunk, Lindo didn't want to be his evening's entertainment.

The only motion from hobbits in the camp came from the mother and father of the little child who had been killed during the previous day's march. They sat quietly rocking as they wept. Their minds were open, partly because of their weariness, he thought. He wondered if he could reach them with Osanwe. He reached out to them with his thoughts, and felt their grief.

He hesitated then, not wanting to add his own grief to theirs, and so burden them further. But helping them was preferable to reliving his parent's grim death again, and so he gently thought, May I sing for you?

Sing? they wondered. Why would we want to sing in our grief?

Please, I would like to sing a lullabye for your lost child.

Their tears started afresh, and so did his; in the listening silence of their minds, Lindo sang several lullabyes that his mother had sung over him as a child. He sang gently in their minds until he sensed that their grief had softened somewhat. He knew their grief would be bitter again, but for now, they were comforted just a little.

Then the three of them waited together for the sunrise, and took comfort in sharing the silence and stillness in their minds, even as the coarse laughter from the orc-camp grated in their ears.

[ August 16, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

As she flew toward the Lonely Star, Angara called to Khelek and Veritas.

Elves! Come meet with me on the helm deck!

She dropped gently down on a stack of barrels, and waited for the the two. They found her pacing on the barrel head when they arrived.

She held conference with them and told them the instructions that Pio had given her.

'Should we not first focus on getting Child and Rose from Beleriand?' asked Khelek.

'We have some time for that.'answered the dragon. 'Time moves at a slower pace in Morgoth's dominion, and Child needs a certain amount of it to make her contacts and see to the other imprisoned hobbits. Besides, we have the infernal time crystal and it will be our choice when we do go for them.'

'I think Pio was right. None of us know much of Nùmenor, save possibly the Man, but he cannot help us now.' said Veritas, looking at the book of navigational maps she had brought out from the ledge beneath the wheel. 'Look at this old map of Nùmenor. We need to familiarize ourselves with the layout of the island, and determine how best we can get to the hobbits when they are imprisoned there, and how we can accomodate getting them all out before the island sinks.'

'Yes,' said Khelek, 'I can see both your points. We need to plan this venture out in more detail than our last one, to make it as safe as we can. We can ill afford to lose more of our companions.'

A brief silence fell on the group, broken by the dragon's question. 'What of Bird and Mithadan? How do they fare?'

'They suffered no wounds that we could find.' said Khelek, 'but they do not wake. And Mithadan has fearsome dreams, or so it seems, as he cries out in his sleep and is not comforted by our ministrations.'

'We have set Kali and Daisy to watch them for any changes and to call us if they wake.' added Veritas. 'Should we wait for them to come round before we begin our planning?'

'I think they will be long in healing,' replied Angara, 'and we cannot wait for that. When they do wake and have come back to themselves, then we will inform them of our plans.'

A small voice broke into their talk.

'It's Bird.' said Daisy, the dark smudges beneath her eyes revealing her fatigue. 'She's awake, and she's asked for you, Angara.'

[mark12_30]

As dawn came, Lindo was glad to notice that the orcs were rather quiet, even the guards. Still, aside from comforting the parents of the lost child, he was himself at a loss what to do. He had been a servant all of his adult life, albeit a well-educated and well-cared-for one. Part of him was actually hoping that the orcs would soon put them to work farming the land; the earth, he hoped, would soothe them all. Hobbits loved the earth, the soil; even working as long as he had in Idril's house, whenever he had the chance he had always been refreshed by working in the gardens or the fields. Then he wondered if he was being naive, and supposed that under the orcs, even farming would be quite different.

He sat up, wearily, and thought, and looked around.

What he mostly noticed was not what he saw, but what he felt; there was an opression in the place that he had never felt to this degree. But he was afraid he understood it. If they were within the realm of Morgoth now, then the opression was from him, and it touched the mind and the heart. He sighed. No wonder his dreams had been dark last night. True, he needed to grieve for his parents, but last night's dreams had been relentlessly horrible and bloody and grim. He wondered if the whole camp would be feeling the opression, and how deeply.

He looked across the camp. Many were stirring, carefully, and cautiously. Lindo wondered whether he could approach Maura Tuk.

Suddenly he missed Idril terribly, and wished she was here to give him his morning orders, perhaps housework or barnwork or escorting somebody somewhere or going to see a new horse or taking a message to somebody. But that whole part of his past was over and done; Idril, like his parents, was forever gone out of his life.

Perhaps Maura would be able to put him to a good use. He waited for a chance to go and see him, and when the camp seemed very quiet, trying to be casual, he carefully got up, gathered what belongings he had (which were few), and worked his way over to where Maura's family was camped.

As he approached, he saw Maura and Zira and Azra together, with Abar; and Nitir off to one side. She seemed listless, and sad, and he wondered what her griefs had been; there had been plenty of grief, and he shunned that thought for now.

He approached Maura, and Maura smiled at him, choosing to cheer him, choosing to brace and encourage him. Lindo smiled back, amazed at Maura's strength. They gripped each other's shoulders, and then turned and spoke quietly.

"Maura, it's good to see you. I'm glad you are well."

"Lindo. You carry grief, I see. I have not seen your father and mother; were they, like others their age, shown no mercy?"

"None."

"You are alone, then."

Lindo looked down. He had not expected Maura to ask him that.

Maura continued. "I am sorry, Lindo. Your losses are deep. But do not isolate yourself in your grief. Do not withdraw. Have you spoken to Niphredil's family?"

"I can't."

"You must, Lindo. Come."

"Maura, I'm not ready for that."

"They are. Come." And with that, Maura led Sindo to the Bullroarer's camp, only a short distance away. Tomba saw them coming, and spoke softly to his brother, who stood and met them as they approached. Slender Lindo was engulfed by his sudden embrace. Kemba, Niphredil's father, was almost as massive as his brother.

Lindo was at a loss, but Kemba spoke. "There is much to do; you are needed here. Stay with us, and work with us. As we work, we will remember Niphredil, and we will remember your parents. They would want us to build, and not despair. We will build in their memories even as we grieve their loss. We will build a community here. And you will sing."

Lindo thanked him as best he could, although he was afraid to stay there with Niphredil's family, afraid of the memories it would bring up. But Maura nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave.

"Wait, " Lindo said. "Maura, if you need anything. If there's anything that I can do."

Maura nodded. "Kemba is right. We will build a community; we will pass on our heritage. And yes, Lindo. I will need you for that."

Lindo nodded. But he knew that Maura meant for him to stay with Kemba. He would do it, then, despite his fears.

Maura turned to leave, but then turned back. "Perhaps there is something that you can do today. Nitir is sorrowful. Perhaps if you sang for her."

Lindo nodded. Maura turned to go, and Kemba drew him towards the rest of Niphredil's family. He dreaded seeing them all, but he went in obedience to Maura, and Kemba, and decided that it probably was better to face his grief than bury it.

Later he visited Maura's camp again, and asked Nitir if he could sing for her. Politely she agreed, and listened patiently, and thanked him kindly. But he felt as he left that he had wasted her time; she did not seem any more peaceful than when he had started. He knew that she must miss all her friends, and wondered how many of them had survived the fall of the city and flown away on the dragon. But he could not bring himself to ask her that day.

[ August 12, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

The day had been long and tiring. Yet, strangely enough, in this place of hard labor, Nitir found she had little to do. The men had begun digging crude burrows along the bank of the river. And many of the women were at work clearing weeds in order to plant gardens. This initial labor had been performed totally without the guards, since the Orcs had spent most of the day finishing barrels of mead and ale.

Nitir felt at a loss what to do. She did not have the strength for heavy labor, nor did she have experience with gardens or agriculture. Her own background and training had been completely different. And who could possibly need a teacher in a prison camp, especially one who no longer remembered even the basic stories she had been taught?

That evening, as the sun dipped down, the hobbit decided she could no longer delay looking at the packet of seeds and letter tucked into her belt. When everyone had gone to bed, she carefully removed them.

First, she scrutinized the seeds. They looked just like those she had seen back home, although she couldn't quite remember where her home was.

Then she began to read the letter.

Little hobbit,

If you read this, our rescue of the hobbits will have failed and you will be with your kin in prison. I may be back with our friends on the Lonely Star, or perhaps not. Sometimes I look in the flame of the candle and wonder if it is time for Pio, who has dwelt on earth many years, to face judgment in Mandos and hopefully make my way to my kin in Aman. We will see.

Either way, I love you very much. I suspect you will be staying in an agricultural work camp, since even Morgoth can't get along without those skills. So I want you to be prepared! You can't have a hobbit community, even one imprisoned and in exile, without a blossom here and there.

I remember.......I remember my mother Holly always raised the most beautiful garden flowers, even more beautiful than my Elven kin. So take these seeds and share them with your neighbors. Please share them, Child!!! Rose tells me you are the only hobbit she knows who does not have a green thumb, so don't be stingy in passing these out.

I wish you luck in what you are attempting to do. I am part hobbit, and I could not bear if this productive people perished from the face of the earth. Be careful with your folk, and do your job well.

And I wouldn't be at all surprised if Rose came along with you. If so, give her a kiss from me.

When you see these flowers bloom, remember me. I will always be your friend.

Piosenniel

Before Nitir had finished reading this note, her eyes flooded with tears. She thought her heart would break. Her sobbing woke up Maura and Azra who both came over to see what was wrong. She wept in their arms for what seemed like hours. Then she told them of the second dream of Nienna, and the two gifts.

Maura smiled at her and said that it looked like the great Lady was making the hobbit swallow her words. For she had come to the community with a strange tale about forgetting, and now the forgetting was indeed coming true. Nitir shared with him how frustrated she felt that all her learning, all she had struggled to acquire over the past 40 years, had been stripped away as if it were nothing. She said quietly, "It is mostly gone now. I have nothing left. And I am broken in pieces. I do not know how I will live."

But Maura had hugged her and said that was the way of life. And that wisdom lay not in facts, but in understanding, and she was rich in that. And he told her that sometimes brokenness is not such a bad thing since it makes us more able to see and comprehend what is in the hearts of others.

Nitir was still hurt and sad. But the worst of the bitterness and chill was gone. Pio had done the impossible. With the help of Maura and Azra, she had accomplished in death what she could not do in life. For, in the middle of a crowded prison camp, she had looked in the face of Morgoth and stared him down.

The next day, Nitir and Maura distributed the seeds among the hobbits and, six weeks later, every tiny burrow which had been dug into the muddy bank had a small patch of color blooming by its side.

_____________________________________________
Shortly after the hobbits arrived at the encampment, their council met to try and organize the community. On the second day after their arrival, the Orcs had ordered that the children be rounded up, and placed in a separate building. Their reason for doing this was apparent. This single building could be closely guarded, so there would be little need to station large numbers of Orcs near the burrows. For no hobbit would try to escape without his children.

The hobbits had been aghast at this decision and even sent Tomba Bullroarer as a spokeman to protest the move. The Orc leader had howled with laughter, and told him not to complain, or the children would end up in the river as fish fodder. He had said they could choose their own women to care for the brats, preferably ones that were older, and not much use in the fields.

The council had met and debated back and forth when Maura rose to speak. He said the community had little choice in the matter, but they could make a difference in how things were carried out. For, over weeks and months and years, there was the danger that they might lose their children's minds and hearts. For the Orcs constantly taunted the young ones, and yet tried to win them over with treats if they would turn against their parents. It was possible these children could forget they were hobbits, and just what that meant. And, whether the children lived in the burrows or in a separate building, the community must not let that happen.

So the council agreed that they needed to find a practical but stubborn hobbit, an experienced mother and teacher, to try and fight against that. And, given the large numbers of babies and young children, she would need other helpers. By the end of the meeting, Nitir found herself in charge of a contingent of some 150 children. To help carry out this plan, she had Zira the healer, Azra of the strong back and sharp tongue, and Lindo, who knew most about songs and Elvish ways. They found a ruined building that could be fixed up with only small repairs, and by the end of the week, the children had been moved over.

_____________________________________________

In the coming weeks, the hobbits were quick to learn a number of things. They found that the camp was a place of terrible scarcity, filth, and, above all, fear, fear that someone would come and with the stroke of a sword or axe take away the person or persons whom you most cared about. And it was also a place of hard labor. Their job was to cut down the tall pine trees and then burn them to enrich the soil. After that crops could be planted. The felling of the trees was dangerous, back-breaking work.

But, while Orc guards were free to use their whips whenever they liked, these same guards were also lazy. They simply did not have the brains or the vigilence to keep on top of the hobbits every moment. This would be increasingly evident as the days rolled by. Morgoth had decreed that there would be no time off for either Orcs or their captives. But the camp operated differently. Whenever the guards got drunk, which happened with some regularity, the hobbits could take advantage to tend to private matters. These included a whole gammet of practical activities like raising small vegetable gardens or going off to catch fish or trying to dig their burrows out so that there would be enough space for people to sleep without toppling down on one another. Sometimes it even included less practical things like sharing tales of lore, dancing, or singing simple songs. The Orcs truly hated the hobbits to sing or dance, which was one of the reasons the hobbits enjoyed doing these things so much.

The hobbits quickly understood that there were some things that they could not do for the safety of their family. Any overt sign of resistence, possession or a weapon, or attempt to run away would be met with the summary death of one of the younger hobbits.

But there was a range of other options which the Orcs found harder to police. The hobbits found, for example, when felling trees, or planting a new field, they could work hard enough to avoid being whipped, but not so hard that someting serious would actually get accomplished. As the Orcs understood nothing about agriculture, this wasn't difficult to do. Bullroarer once laughed and pointed out to the hobbit council that it actually took more will power and effort to carefully pace the work rather than going all out. But the hobbits all agreed that it was preferable to do things that way rather than blindly following the command of the guards. The Orcs could never understand why the small fruit and vegetable patches tended by the i families produced more food than the much larger fields which were collectively tilled under the harsh whip of the Orcs. And the hobbits were not about to tell them why this was so.

But even with these simple acts of defiance, conditions in the camps remained harsh. The crowded housing, paucity of healthy foods, and general filth meant that the spread of disease was rampant. And although the hobbits did try and improve things, their burrows remained wet and soggy. In winter, conditions were abominably cold with few blankets or warm clothing. The rain fell into their shelters and made large puddles in the middle of the floor. Few babies were born and of those who came into the world, many died soon after birth. Added to this was the capricious behavior of the Orcs who sometimes, for no apparent reason, picked out a particular hobbit to whip and abuse.

And then there were those things that were hard to describe, but you knew somehow weren't right. This was Morgoth's realm, and there was a pervading sense of gloom over all. Even a hobbit like Maura, who had a true feeling for lore, and who understood right from wrong, sometimes found himself despairing. For the young ones it was especially difficult. They worked long hours in the fields and were separated from their parents for much of the day. And however hard Nitir tried to teach them a few things, or give them a sense of who they were, she sometimes felt she had been asked to roll an
impossibly large stone up a very steep hill.

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Birdland]

Anagara, now small as a cat, came to the bedside of the skin-changer. Though youth had left the small woman, she had always had a ruddy look of good health that probably hid her true age, but now the skin was tight and pinched around eyes that still glittered from a trace of fever. Angara wondered if Morgoth had instilled his own form of the Black Breath over the city of Gondolin. She would have to ask Child if there was any athelas on board the ship. No. She would have to check what belongings were left behind in Child's cabin.

"I'm on the Lonely Star." Bird stated with wonder. "I had started to believe that it was gone, too."

Yes, it survives. As well as Veritas, Kehlek. The Hobbrim and Daisy are here too."

"And Mithadan?"

"He still sleeps. We cannot wake him."

Bird sat in silence, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the coverlet. Finally, Angara said "We will sail for Numenor soon."

The changling looked up then. "No! We have to go back. I have to go back. I promised."

"Bird, we must continue our journey to Numenor."

"I know. But I have to go to Dorthonian. I can do it. I'll fly there, then fly back to the ship. I can do this. I'm a dragon now. Like you. Or I can swim up the Sirion. Levanto will come with me. I know he will. I can take them food, or carry messages. Or bring them back. I have to do this, Angara. I can do this, I know I can..."

Angara held up one front claw, and Bird lapsed into silence again. The hand played with the loose thread.

"Angara..."

"Yes, Bird?"

"Do you hear her? At all?"

"No."

The thread had started to unravel. Bird took her fingers in her other hand and pulled them away.

"7000 years. How does anyone live 7000 years?"

[mark12_30]

The first day that the children were moved into the fixed-up ruin was one of the most eye-opening adventures of Lindo's life. As the sun set that day, Lindo, rather hoarse and glassy-eyed, rocked one baby in each arm, and gently nudged another with his foot, and decided that he was finally done singing for the day. He had given up trying to figure out which babies were open to Osanwe because he could hardly tell them apart when he looked at all twenty-two at once. (He had to put them in a line to know which ones he had already fed, and if they crawled out of line which they did all day long, he got confused.) So he had been singing softly, out loud. They did seem to respond, a little.

As soon as he and Azra were done feeding all twenty-two of them breakfast, being hobbits, they had wanted second breakfast, and then elevensies. With all of Azra's expert help and occasional rescues from Nitir and Zira, he was only barely staving off utter chaos. It had taken four rounds of wondering why the child in his arms was shrieking for him to catch on the the concept of burping a baby; he had seen it done, but he had been an only child, after all. And while one child each was being burped or fed or changed by Lindo and Azra, twenty others were squirming and crawling and howling.

Azra had chided him mercilessly, laughing, and Kemba had visited briefly and erupted in howls of laughter. But by the end of the day, he could sit crosslegged on the floor and feed one child and burp one more by laying him facedown across his thigh, and if he was lucky, rock or distract a third with his foot. Azra was horrified and indignant about burping a child facedown, but Kemba had told him in between guffaws that it would work, and it did. Azra clearly did not think Kemba had an ounce of child-rearing sense. It did mean, however, that the other nineteen children were free to squirm. He had no solution for that as yet. He dreamed of a large barn, one stall per baby. Horses were so much easier.

Lindo sang, and sang, and sang, more for his own sanity than the children's. After he ran out of lullabyes-- he only knew five-- he started singing other things.

Nitir had come up behind him and whispered rather sharply that she did not think the Lament Of The Kinslaying was particularly appropriate given the circumstances, nor The Lay of The Doom of Mandos either. Nor the Sorrows of the Shipburning. He didn't even ask her about the Griefs of the Grinding Ice. His list of songs was extensive, but apparently not geared for children, although Earendil had always liked his songs just fine.

He returned to the lullabyes. "Don't you know any nursery songs?" Nitir asked. "Well, for horses, " he replied. She snorted. He sang a few of them anyway, but Azra scowled. "Why sing about running free on the green hills when these children can't?" So he gave up on those, and returned to the five lullabyes and sang them again, and again. Fortunately the children did not tire of them.

"Why don't you write some new ones, " Azra said icily, midafternoon. Lindo nodded, already glassy-eyed. It was almost time for dinner, and they had not finished feeding the babies their teatime meal.

How Azra remained calm absolutely baffled him. In truth, she had been uneasy herself as the day unfolded, but she was so pleased that Lindo thought her completely unruffled, she gathered her courage and determination (and a little smugness) until she really was truly at ease.

"Well, I'm glad you are getting better at this, " Azra told him. "At least until Nitir and Zira get a routine going, I'm needed much more with the toddlers and the four and five year olds. Nitir and Zira certainly have their hands full with them, and now that you can feed and burp the babies, at least fairly well, " she allowed doubtfully, "I can't stay here with you much longer."

Lindo's eyes bulged, at he same time picturing himself alone with the twenty-two babies, and imagining the thirty-or forty-something collection of toddlers racing around in constant motion. Suddenly he was grateful that he wasn't assigned to toddlers. He would far rather be in charge of a huge and rebellious herd of wild ponies. At least these children did not crawl very far very fast. Babies were good. Babies were just fine. He would manage.

He sang through the lullabyes again. Azra tried to plug her ears.

[ August 16, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

OOC -- This second part of this post actually belongs to Mark 12_30. It had to be shifted to keep the chronology straight.
_____________________________________________

The broken down stone building with its ample crew of small residents soon became known as the "Workhouse". Shortly after the children had been transferred, Nitir and several members of the hobbit council had met with the Orcs listening to their list of requirements and demands.

The Orcs had insisted that some productive occupation be found to keep the children busy. "If these baby rats are going to eat," growled the captain. "they'd better do something useful."

The older ones, and these were defined as children eight and up, were to work a good part of the day in the fields and places where trees were felled. Since the bulk of guards were concentrated there, this proposal was acceptable to the Orcs. It meant they could keep a close eye on the young ones which seemed to be their chief concern. Quietly, however, Maura made sure that the children were assigned tasks in a location near their parents or other close kin.

Working in the fields with the crops was not that different than that which they had done in Gondolin. Hours were longer and conditions worse, but at least those laboring would have the satisfaction of seeing something develop from a tiny seed into a plant.

The felling of the great pines was another matter. This turned out to be a problem not only for the children, but also their parents. The work was difficult and dangerous. It was also very depressing. To fell a group of trees to make way for two or three fields was an understandable necessity. To do this work for week-upon-week, without seeing anything growing in its place was disheartening. The Orcs seemed far more concerned with hacking down large stands of timber, rather than planning what productive thing would actually grow there.

For miles around the encampment, as far as the eye could see, there were plots of land with sawed off stumps and great trunks on the naked earth. Ban had once confessed to his wife that doing this work for months on end made him feel little better than a murderer. One of the scariest things to Maura was that some of the children actually didn't seem to mind helping in this destruction. After noticing this, the hobbit council decided to rotate people, both children and adults, between the fields and the timber ranges. This was better than condemning someone to unending labor among the tall pines.

But there was another problem with the timber. The Orcs insisted the hobbits use a technique they called "slash and burn." This meant the broken stumps and trunks laying fallow would be burnt, ostensibly to enrich the soil. Whatever enrichment might occur seemed unimportant to the Orcs. Their main delight was in seeing the flames lick up to the sky, and hobbit children doubling over as they coughed and choked and their eyes ran red and weepy. Even worse were those times when the flames went totally out of control. Then, men, women, and children had to run fiercely to get out of the way of the blaze.

Finding "productive" work for the younger ones was even a greater challenge. A few were asked to act as messengers for the Orcs. Nitir absolutely hated this. The guards were loud, foul mouthed, and unpredictible. Too many times, the little ones ended up with a swat on the head or a kick in the behind. Others had the unenviable task of carrying water or food out to distant areas where trees were being forested. Nitir felt uncomfortable leaving these children alone with the guards. She was never wholly certain what was going on. Sometimes the children would come back with bruises, or acting more like Orcs than hobbits. She found this depressing.

And then there were the very little ones. If the children had been at home, they would have been toddling along behind their mothers or fathers. They would have played at the same work that their parents were doing, and learned a great deal in the process. But now they were separated from their families. And there was no way that Nitir was about to send these little ones into the fields on their own.

Nitir tried to delay this part of the Orc's command, saying she would find work for the youger children later. But then, one morning, Durshkakh had come to the workhouse, thrown her against the wall, and threatened to kill one of the babies if things didn't change.

By that afternoon, Nitir had set aside a small plot at the side of the Workhouse for the little ones to plant seeds and help weed. Toddlers as young as one year could be seen crawling about the bed learning to tell weeds from vegetable sprouts. With the help of one of the few older women still alive, she also set up a project where children were taught to gather hemp and then twist it into ropes which could be used by the hobbits in their work.

And a kitchen was set up, where soups and stews were made and sent out to the fields for lunch. To Nitir's surprise and dismay, the Orcs discovered that some of these delicacies were actually not too bad. Too often, the food ended up in the stomach of an Orc rather than where it was supposed to go.

Her most popular project, however, involved the forest and stream. The Orcs had not yet gotten around to cutting down the trees to the west of the camp. So one last contingent of children were regularly sent upstream to gather turtles, frogs, birds' eggs, and fish to supplement the camp diet. Childen who were Stoors especially clamored for this task. Nitir suspected that a good number of the five-and six-year olds actually spent the day swimming in the clear waters, but she was not about to question this as long as the Orcs were content.

_____________________________________________


More than once, Lindo had wondered why Nitir had assigned him to feed the babies while Zira and Azra ran after toddlers and helped with the older children. Kemba laughed at him saying he knew far too many songs and far too few of the babies' names. Lindo reasoned he didn't need to know their names to feed them, but then, if they had been horses, he would have known their names by now. But now he was glad to be assigned to the babes. He could sing, and try to make songs, as he fed and changed and burped the squirming, ravenous little hobbitlings. Sometimes their mothers and fathers managed to get away and came in to help. And he was, after all, slowly learning to tell them apart.

Nitir's concerns about the older children, together with his own boredom over the lullabyes, set Lindo to composing songs in his head. One afternoon he stood in the Workhouse door, baby in arm and another tied in a pouch at his waist, nudging crawling babies gently away from the door with his foot, looking out at the garden, and composing gardening rhymes in his head.

He nudged at Nitir's mind, perhaps rather rudely, but he could sense that she was relaxed enough to open her mind that day. She started in surprise, and turned to look at him as she dodged after a one-year old that was busily eating a clod of dirt. Why did they all do that? It really bothered him. Quickly he sang the new song in her mind, and then released her thoughts. She laughed and sang them aloud. He sang along, correcting and helping, and soon there was a small chorus going amid much laughter.

Seeds no weeds
In the furrows by our burrows
Dirt for hobbit feet
And for the roots, the toes for fruits
While flowers by the hours
Give us vegetables and fruits
Crunchy roots to eat, and leaves
And tasty fruits to please.

It was nonsensical and silly, but he hoped that the children would get the hint, and eventually learn to work and wait for good fruits and vegetables to eat instead of munching on the dirt. Nitir laughed, thinking that the children would always eat the dirt, but she liked the song.

As soon as Nitir and some of the children had mastered the song, Lindo turned back inside. When it wore out, he'd have to think of a new one, but he was more worried about the messenger children and the ones working in the fields and in the falling pine groves. He couldn't teach them songs about the Kinslaying or the Curse of Mandos but he had to come up with something. He thought and thought.

He started working on children's songs about the two Trees of Valinor in the hopes of restoring respect for the fallen pines, and was struggling to come up with something about Idril's purity and grace and beauty, and put it into a verse that a child could sing.

What came instead was a song about the wind, and how if you stood on the side that the wind was coming from, the smoke from the burning forest would not blow on you. It wasn't what he was hoping for, but he suspected it had come to him for a reason, so he offered it to Nitir, and she was glad of it. It made Lindo depressed. He went back to thinking about Idril, and tried pirating some lines from other poems. It was days before he had anything at all, and even that was too short and he didn' like it. He did make up some short songs about hunting frogs and fish, and these were immediately popular. But that was not the troublesome topic.

But that night, he spent with Nitir, and they planned some late-night singing for the children. Nitir was concerned about the hobbit-children's sleep, but she knew they needed some uplifting.

On a whim, about which he was afterwards stubborn, Lindo added several short "hymns to Elbereth" to the songlist. Nitir thought they were a little too complicated, but she stopped arguing once she saw Lindo's determination about them. Lindo told them not to sing them in front of the orcs because it would make them angry, but to sing them as they walked or worked or waited for sleep.

Maura was pleased to hear the hymns coming from the Workhouse, even if at first Lindo was the only one singing. But over the weeks that changed, and more of the older children were able to join in and sing along. They sang softly, but somehow the sound traveled through the whole camp anyway.

[

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As fall faded and the first hint of winter appeared, a day came which Nitir was never to forget. There were times of happiness and even laughter in the Workhouse. She and the helpers played with the babies or chased after frogs which the Stoor children insisted on saving from the dinner pot by keeping in their pockets. But there were also moments of excruciating fear and sadness. And of all those moments, this one seemed the most dark.

The day had started with a loud banging on the door by the Orc commander. He had insisted on speaking with Nitir immediately. Apparently, one of the children who carried messages to the Orcs had decided that he could live his life more comfortably by cooperating with his guards. This lad, just eleven years old, had betrayed a secret of one of his family members, that there was a hidden cache of weapons buried west of the camp. When the Orcs went to investigate, they found two old and rusty swords hidden in the trunk of a tree. But, however many or few, the commander decreed that the hobbits should suffer.

The entire camp was drawn up in front of the Workhouse. The children and the helpers were led out in a semi-circle. And then Durshkakh came before Nitir and said in a voice of iron: "One child will die, and you must pick that one. If you do not pick, then two will suffer."

The entire camp of hobbits stood aghast, but no one more than Nitir. "Please," she begged, "let me speak with the council, or at least with Maura Tuk." For Nitir truly did not know what to do. There was no doubt in her mind that two children would die unless she gave them one as they had demanded.

The Orc captain leered and shook his head, "You old hag. You are in charge of these rats. Choose, or two will be slain."

Nitir sank to the ground in tears, "I can not do it," she whispered. "Take me instead."

But the Orcs laughed and seized two of the children, one a small babe and the other a healthy young girl. And they slit them through the hearts right before her eyes and those of the other hobbits.

Then they were ordered to go back to work.

Nitir lay in a heap on the ground, crying uncontrollably. She could not even lift her head. So Maura came forward and took her in his arms, as one might a small child, and rocked her and cradled her head against his chest. And she looked at him and said, "What should I have done?"

And he shook his head and with infinite gentleness said, "I do not know."

And when Nitir had cried for a very long time, she asked him, "How can I live with such pain, such brokness?"

And he tried to reassure her, "This is not all of life. There is goodness that goes beyond this wretched camp, if only we could feel it." And he looked towards the West with silent words of beseeching. But in his heart even he wondered, "Will this nightmare ever end?"

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[mark12_30]

Lindo watched in horror as little Pongo's body was tossed aside, along with little Lily. But as he heard the order to return to work, he walked forward to get Pongo's body. An orc slapped him, and he reeled and staggered; the children's parents were likewise being driven away from Lily's and Pongo's bodies, but Lindo turned to the orc and replied, "You told me to get back to work; Pongo is under my care."

The orc slapped him again, but another said, "Let him have the brat's body. What good will it do him? Let him cry." But Durshnakh stepped forward, and snarled, and gave Lindo a backhanded blow that send him flying. He hit the ground hard, and struggled to get up onto all fours, retching, unable to stand, orcish laughter echoing in his ears.

Suddenly another voice, Kemba's, spoke in his ear. "The other twenty-one still need you. Go."

Lindo crawled back to the Workhouse. He got to the door, pulled himself up by the doorpost, and turned and looked back. Pongo's and Lily's bodies still lay in front of the storehouse, bloody and still, like Niphredil had lain on the wall the day of the invasion, he remembered; he began to shake.

She had come with her message to Kemba among the archers, and he had told her to return home. And she had walked partway along the wall to where she would climb down, and had found a childhood friend's body, lying dead. His bow lay beside him with his quiver of arrows. She bent down over him and kissed his brow, and then shouldered his quiver and picked up his bow.

"Niphredil! " Lindo had cried. "Go home! What are you doing? Get off the wall!"

Kemba had heard Lindo yell, and had turned, and saw her, and added his voice to Lindo's. But as she loosed her third arrow, ignoring them, an arrow found her. She staggered. Another struck her, and she fell. At least her death was quick.

Kemba got there first, bursting into tears, and held her, rocking and weeping, and picked up her body and bore her away. Lindo had stood helplessly by. He ached to hold her so, and carry her, but he had no right; he had never yet held her; he had not even proposed yet. He would not be of age for another two weeks. And so he had returned numbly to the wall, and fired arrow after arrow, cold and shaking, too angry to weep. He never saw where Kemba put her body.

A cry drew his attention back inside the Workhouse, and he stumbled in, and picked up a baby. Wrong one. He picked up the crying child-- Larkspur, Niphredil's tiny cousin.

Bending over little Larkspur, Lindo burst into tears, and sobbed and sobbed til he was hoarse.

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

The cart rolled slowly along the rough track through the forest.

What had been a place of beauty and song was now grown dark and silent. The ancient pines, once proud and tall, now stood bent and drooping, as if in defeat, and the murmur of shadowy thoughts moved through their boughs like a dark, discordant breeze. No birds sang in the boughs, no laughter and the song of elves rejoiced among this creation.

The driver of the cart, pulled on the disshevelled pony's reins and brought the cart to a brief halt. Taking off his broad brimmed hat, he wiped his brow, for it was hot and still beneath the lowering trees. He shook his head in sadness as he looked about the once life-filled forest, remembering its beauty and its grace.

Then settling his hat once again on his head, he clucked to the pony, and urged him on.

When he reached the camp, the orcs stopped him. They recognized him as the harmeless, simple minded man who often brought supplies to Morgoth's prisoners. They went through the items he had loaded in his cart, taking what they wished for their own use. He said nothing, just sitting there, his shoulders slumped, in an attitude of fearfulness. When they were done with their pilfering, they waved him through, laughing at his now depleted cartload.

He brought the cart to a halt near the sheltering wall of a large building, well away from the prying eyes of the guards.

As he stepped from the cart, he heard the muffled crying of babies coming from nearby and the sound of someone singing the words of a lullaby, though the voice seemed filled with grief.

He unloaded his now meager supplies for this group of prisoners, and waited to be approached, his keen eyes taking in the bleakness of the camp while his ears picked up the undercurrent of mourning in the air.

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Angara sat with Bird until the woman fell back into a somewhat restful sleep. 'So tiny,' she thought to herself, as she watched the changling turn on her side and huddle under the blankets for warmth, 'and yet so strong when need arises.' She watched as even in sleep the woman's fingers worried the threads in the coverlet.

Coming close to Bird's ear, she whispered softly 'The weaving is strong, little one. The pattern still holds. Rest easy now.'

The changling's body relaxed a little, and her breathing became a little easier, though beneath her eyelids, the remnants of dark memories pursued each other.

Daisy was standing by the door when the dragon came out, and made to go back in to sit by the bed. Angara stopped her, saying, 'She will rest a little better now. And you must get some sleep yourself, in two days we leave for Númenor, and I would like you to be there for the planning that must be done. If you like, I will wake you when we meet.'

The dragon followed Daisy to the room she had shared with Pio. The hobbit hesitated at the doorway, not wanting to step in and see the familiar clutter of the elf's belongings.

Angara urged her in, and waited while she climbed, still dressed, into her cot and pulled the covers to her chin.

Tired and miserable, the hobbit closed her eyes, feigning sleep, in hopes that the dragon would go and leave her to her grief. But Angara crept close to her head, and lay on the pillow, humming softly an old lullaby.

The girl's body relaxed, and sleep was near her, when she heard the dragon whisper in her mind. She asks that you stand tall and true, now, little one,and do not abandon your companions though doubt and fear assail you. Step up, and be of service when you see the need.

Tears pooled at the corners of the Daisy's eyelids and rolled silently down her cheeks. The dragon resumed her soft lullaby until the girl's eyes had dried, and she surrendered to sleep.

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As Ancalimon unloaded some of his goods and gazed about the camp, he could see that something here was quite different. For instead of men or Elves, these prisoners were hobbits.

So they had finally come, he thought. He had been waiting for this such a very long time, waiting and fearing for the moment when the hobbits' path crossed that of the Dark Lord.

His eyes took in the entire camp. Physically, the encampment was better off than many he had seen. The muddy burrows were strung out near the bank of a stream. The large building that stood by his side, one of the old ruins left in this place, seemed to be serving as some sort of compound for children. But what made this camp truly different from so many he had visited were the little plots of flowers which nestled down beside the homes, and even about the half-ruined central building. He could not help but smile.

Yet, reaching into the camp with his mind, he felt a wave of sadness and despair which seemed even worse than he normally found in places like these. And then he saw the two tiny bodies. The children lay still and shattered on the grass in front of the compound. He walked up to them and knelt down. He was not surprised to see that their tiny forms had been run through by a blade. It must have been only a moment before, since their bodies were still warm with the breath of life. He leaned over the children, kissing their foreheads and whispering soft words into their ears. Then he closed their eyes and waited for several moments as, one-by-one, the tiny fea broke loose from the hroa to continue on its way.

He sat back on his heels and sighed. It was not the little ones whom he feared for, but those left behind. It was the parents and teachers and guardians of this community who would need him most now. He glanced over to where several hobbits were beginning to construct a barrow. That, at least, was being done. The next task then was to find Maura Tuk, the hobbits' wise man and keeper of lore, to figure out what terrible thing had happened here.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Ancalimon greeted the hobbits who were digging the burial site, and asked them to watch over his goods for a bit. He also got directions to Maura's house, and walked over by the muddy river bank to knock at the round brown door where the Tuk family lived.

For a moment, Ancalimon though that no one was at home. For although he banged his staff loudly, there was no response. Then, a voice filled with pain and weariness came back to him. "Not right now. Come back later. I'm busy with other things."

Ancalimon shook his head and sighed, for this was surely Maura. But it sounded nothing like the young lad and man he had known and cherished for many years. The peddler lifted his staff and said with a bit of gruffness, "You have no time then for a very old friend who has come from very far away."

Maura looked in disbelief at the door of the house, and quickly came over to undo the latch. He stared at the young man in the grey robes who stood on the doorstep. Maura was unable to speak or move.

Ancalimon turned to him with a sly smile, "And this is how a hobbit greets a guest? I thought better of you, Maura."

"Ancalimon? Is it really you? I have wished and hoped and dreamed that you would somehow find your way here, but I dared not believe it. And, today, of all days...." His voice trailed off into pain.

"I have seen." said the man in grey. "Come let's sit and talk."

As he wrapped the hobbit in his arms, there was a small and muffled response, "Oh, Ancalimon, I have tried to do what you said, but it's so hard. And it seems to be getting harder every day." And the one hobbit in the community who had never cried, the one hobbit who had responded to everyone's grief with unfailing gentleness and compassion, looked up into the face of his friend and began weeping softly.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Despite the earlier warning that the hobbits immediately return to work, the Orcs ignored the prisoners for the entire day, drowning themselves in ale and blood sports. Once the initial shock of the deaths had been endured, hobbits began poking their noses out of burrows to seek consolation and companionship with others. Members of the community fell into one another's arms, grieving over the deaths of Lily and Pongo. Some went to pay condolence calls on the families whose children had been lost. Others crowded into the Workhouse to hold and hug their own children or those of friends and neighbors.

Within a few moments of Ancalimon's arrival, news of his coming had spread over the entire camp. A few children crept down to Maura's house peering through the cracks in the wood and putting up their ears to the door. Ancalimon had promptly come out on the doorstep with a broom and threatened the scamps with a hiding. As they scampered away, he promised to come down and see the children in the Workhouse later that evening.

Maura and Ancalimon spoke together for some time, discussing the hardships and lessons of recent months. Step by painful step, they traced out the tale of the morning. Ancalimon listened without comment, a look of pain and compassion etched on his face. Whatever passed between them, I do not know. But, by the time their conversation ended, Maura's eyes held a little less strain and fear and a little more hope.

The two agreed that Ancalimon needed to go and speak privately with the families whose children had been slain, as well as with the boy who had provided the original information about the weapons to the Orcs.

Then Ancalimon turned to Maura. "And there is one more I must speak with before I leave: your friend who tends the children, the strange one who speaks of other times and places and dreams of the Lady of Compassion. For her heart must be heavy with grief."

The two agreed the peddler would go speak with each of the three families, and also with Nitir at the Workhouse. Maura promised h would gather the children and their parents so they might sing to Ancalimon and listen to the tales he would tell.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Ancalimon left the small burrow where Lily's family lived. They had grieved together, and talked about Lily and what a wonderful daughter she had been. As Ancalimon watched the stream of families walking towards the house, he was certain of one thing. However, horrific the ordeal these families faced, they would not face it alone. The love and care of their neighbors was more than evident.

What a painful afternoon it had been. And it was not yet over. Ancalimon paced towards the Workhouse for his final task of talking with Nitir and visiting the children.

The sun was fading from the sky as he entered the building. He stopped to chat with Zira and give Lindo an affectionate hug. Then he was introduced to Azra. He gazed at the young woman with a puzzled expression.

Taking her gently by the arm, Ancalimon steered her to the corner of the room and lowered his head to speak privately. "Rose, it is Rose, I believe?" The young hobbit glanced up with a look of alarm. "Don't be frightened." he responded. I was told you might be here." Ancalimon talked with Rose at length, inquiring about her work with the children and her friends on the Star.

Then, he asked Rose how her older friend was doing. The girl shook her head as if she wasn't sure what to say, and pointed towards the back room where Nitir had a small table to do her planning for the children.

Analimon knocked with his staff on the door. This time, he heard a soft but mournful reply. "Please come in."

Ancalimon gazed at the hobbit. Her eyes were red and puffy, with her curls cascading down from her ribbon in twenty different directions. She clutched a pen in one hand and a book in the other. There were keys at her waist for all the different storerooms in the building. And in front of her was a long list of details she was committing to memory about the children's meals for the next week. She was middle-aged and chubby, and, even in grief, had a look of stubborness on her face. She seemed to be a whirlwind of activity, although there was some question as to how directed that activity was.

Ancalimon took one look at her and smiled. She stood up and inspected him up and down, taking in the staff and the tall and floppy hat with its wide brim. "Ancalimon?" she queried. Realization flooded over her. "You are from the house of Nienna."

"Yes," he nodded and then asked, "Are you in pain, Child?"

"What do you think?" she retorted. Her words held pique as well as genuine hurt. She looked at him accusingly, "You and the Elves find your way to the Blessed Lands, but my people live here and now in this place of heartache. It's not easy being a hobbit."

He was not used to a woman being quite so headstrong, but something told him that her frustration and sharp words came only from a heart that cared too much. But then he remembered. There was one other. And she had said much the same to him some one hundred years before. He pictured the wise woman Andreth in his mind, and then he pictured Child. The one a child of Man, and the other a hobbit. Yet, in certain ways, he reflected, they were very similar.

Then the woman looked over at Ancalimon again, her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

"But is this what you feel, Child?" he asked softly.

"Sometimes, but only sometimes," the hobbit said contritely.

She looked at him with hurt on her face, "I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. Maybe it would have been better if I had. Now two bodies lie in the ground instead of one."

"Why, Child? Tell me why you couldn't pick?"

She stared at him uncomfortably, "You know," she whispered.

"Perhaps I do, but you need to say it.

"Because I'm a hobbit," she said, tears dropping one-by-one to the crowded papers below. "Because I'm not the Creator, or one of the great powers that my teacher used to talk about. Because it's not my job to do picking like that. I can barely manage to pick out the menus for the next week. How could I pick who should live and who should die?"

He looked at her with eyes still and solemn. Then he went over and placed her hand in his and gently kissed it.

"You have said what I would have spoken to you. This ache will be in your heart forever, until you find peace in some other place or time. But you must go on. There are too many here who need your help. You can't stop now."

"I know," she said in hushed tones. "When Pio died, I didn't know, but now I know."

"Then you have learned something that is precious." he responded. "And I promise you, as I have promised Maura, that I will be here to help."

She nodded her head, and they went in together to hear the children sing.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Maura was waiting for Ancalimon and Nitir as they went out to listen to the music. All of the children sat on the floor in the front of the room. Their teachers and parents and neighbors stood waiting for the program to begin. Lindo stood up and started singing. The older children immediately joined him, but by the second melody, even the littlest ones had piped in to help. He took them through a repertoire of tunes from silly nonsense rhymes to songs of teaching and finally the hymn to Elbereth.

Everyone clapped, and Nitir beamed approval. Then Maura stood up, and the room became more solemn. He talked in gentle tones about how hard the day had been and how much everyone was going to miss Lily and Pongo. Then he thanked them all for coming, and said their songs were so beautiful that he felt sure they would fly on wings to wherever the two children were sleeping tonight. There were sniffles and tears in the room, but it was a feeling of being together and feeling sad and having something to live for.

And, finally, after that, Ancalimon said he would tell the children a tale, a true tale about brave hobbits who had come west to try and find the light. It was a tale that they had heard many times, but never seemed to tire of. The young figure in a grey cloak turned to the children and lowered his voice, so that all around craned their necks intently to make certain they could hear every word.

"Very long ago, when the world was much younger, a group of hobbits lived on the banks of the Anduin. And it was a fine place for hobbits to live. The hills were lovely, filled with soft grass and the tunes of songbirds. There was water for the Stoor children to play in, and rich brown earth for the Harfoot families to plant seeds in, and even tall forests for the Fallohides to run off in and get lost."

"One of the nicest things about the hobbits' home was that it had beautiful bright lights which were always there to cheer you up whenever things got tough. But, one day, something bad happened, and all the lights went out. The parents of the hobbit children were very upset. Without the lights, it was cold and nasty, and some of the people who lived near them began to act in mean ways."

"The hobbit parents weren't sure what to do. Then they began hearing rumors that the lights weren't really all gone. They had only moved away to a different place. And, if you walked a very long way to the West, you would be able to find the lights again. They decided that finding those lights was the most important thing in the whole world. So they bundled up their children, and they bundled up their belongings, and they all began walking to the West."

At this point, Abar chipped in from the front row, "Say about Ancalimon!"

Ancalimon laughed and then continued, "Now, as the hobbits walked, they came upon a man in a grey cloak and floppy hat who said his name was Ancalimon. And Ancalimon promised to help the hobbits find a new home. And he told them about a good man named Beor the Wise who was also walking towards the West. And the hobbits and the men became very friendly, and decided to walk together."

Abar piped up again, "Tell about the Elf." And his mother tugged on his shoulder and told him to "shush".

"And after the men and hobbits had walked a very long time, they came to a place called Ossiriand. And they lit a great fire and sang many songs, just as you did tonight. And in this deep forest, an Elf heard them singing. This Elf was Finrod, Friend of Men and Hobbits. In the weeks to come, Finrod taught them many wonderful things. And this place did have more light than the dark lands they had come from so the hobbits and their cildren were happy."

"And it wasn't only Finrod who was friendly with them, but many of the other Elves as well. Finrod had a beautiful sister named Galadriel who was very good at games, and it is written that, of all the Elves in the world, she loves hobbits best! And some people say Galadriel will love and protect the hobbits until the end of time."

"Now the hobbits and men had many adventures and moved different places, but they finally decided to settle down. So the Elves gave them a beautiful kingdom in a land called Dorthonion. And they built a city called Ladros."

Ancalimon continued, "Do any of you children know where this beautiful city lay?"

At this point Abar piped up, "This part is new!"

Ancalimon put his finger to his lips and said "shush". Then he continued. "The beautful city was right here. You are sitting in it. And the building where you sang your songs tonight was the place where the lords held their court and the wise-women and wise-men learned about the lore. And the wise-women for Mankind was Andreth, friend of the Elf Finrod, and sometimes her cousin Adanel of the House of Hador."

Ancalimon questioned, "Does anyone know the wise man for the hobbits?"

And Abar practically flew out of his seat. "It was my great grandfather Tuk. And he taught my grandfather who is here who us today. And someday my grandfather is going to teach me.!"

Ancalimon laughed, "That's right, Abar."

"And then bad people came and took some of the light away, and hurt the beautiful city."

Then he turned and looked at the children, "You are the descendents of those who defended the light at Laedros and later at Tarn Aeluin. It is your job to keep looking for the light, and to follow it wherever it will lead you."

Then the parents kissed their children good night and went back to their burrows, silent and thinking. And before Ancalimon left, he turned to Maura and Nitir. "Keep your minds alert and treasure the gift of estel. Soon, one will come to you from the outside. She will have a body that changes but a heart that holds true. Listen to what she says."

Then Ancalimon told Maura to give away the things he had left near the Workhouse to those who needed them most, and promised he would see him again someday. The two men embraced and parted.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Once Daisy had fallen asleep, Angara returned to the deck, where Khelek and Veritas awaited her.

She had stopped briefly by Mithadan's room, but he remained unchanged. Kali was still with him, though he had lain down on the bed next to the man, and slept now. The hobbrim had gently placed one of Mithadan's large hands between his two small ones, hoping in someway to lend warmth and comfort to him.

Once up on deck, she bade the two elves to bring Levanto aboard so that they might begin their planning.

When all were present, Veritas opened the book of nautical charts to the map of Númenor. 'I wish we had a more detailed map.' she said, as the four looked over the chart. 'This gives a good view of the approaches to and dangers in the waters about the island as it is designed to bring a ship safely in to one of the harbors. I can get us there safely with this chart, but once there I do not know the lie of the land.'

'I do not think this is the only map of Númenor we have on board.' said Khelek. 'What of the maps that Pio had. Might she not have one that we might use?'

'Of, course!' said Angara. 'That is what she meant when she asked me to remind Veritas of three things: the map case, her green journal, and the harbor of Eldalondë in the early years.'

Veritas made to leave and fetch the first two items, but the dragon bade her wait a while until Daisy had fully rested.

'What is this Eldalondë?' asked Levanto, once Veritas had seated himself.

'It was a great harbor city on the west of the island,' said Veritas, 'where people would gather to receive the Eldar who had journeyed from Eressëa. For in the early days, there was still much love between the Edain and the Eldar. We can sail the Lonely Star there, though only Khelek and I could go on shore. The others must stay hidden.'

'I will stay hidden,' said Levanto, 'but I want to be put in the water just before we enter the bay.' He pointed to the Bay of Eldanna. 'I will scout the area beneath the waters and gather what information I can for us. There are always hidden ways that can be found beneath the waves if one knows where to look for them.'

'And Veritas,' said Khelek, 'I know you were teaching Daisy to pilot the ship, but you must show me how.The time crystal,also. We must all know as much as possible so that if one falters, another can step in.'

'This is as far as we should go for now in our plans,' spoke the dragon. 'I promised Daisy I would wake her when the planning began. Perhpas we should all eat and then take some rest. Late this afternoon, we can look at Pio's maps and her journal, and make our final plans.'

Levanto returned to the waves, and let the rhythm of their rocking lull him to sleep. The elves returned to their own cabins to rest in their own ways, while Angara flew to the top of the mast and cast her gaze westward.

[piosenniel]

It was early evening when Daisy awoke. The light in her room had grown dim as the sun moved to the opposite side of the ship. She sat up with a start, wondering how long she had slept, and whether the older folk had gone ahead and made the plans for the trip to Númenor.

Throwing the blankets aside, she raced up stairs to see what she had missed.

She found the deck empty. Angara was still atop the mast, her gentle snores a tell-tale sign of her presence. The ship rocked gently on the waves, at anchor.

Returning below deck, she saw that both Khelek and Veritas were resting in their rooms, their doors ajar to let the cool breezes circulate. Even Kali slumbered on, curled up in a small ball next to Mithadan.

Bird, though, was awake. and she called to Daisy as the hobbit passed by her door.

'Come help me for a moment, Daisy.' said Bird. 'I need to get up and stretch my legs a bit - to get some strength back in them.'

The hobbit came and stood by the bed. She waited for Bird to sit herself up on the bed's edge. And once the woman had done that, and shaken her head to clear the dizziness, she offered her her arm as a support.

'Let's walk to the galley.' suggested Daisy. 'We can find you something to eat and drink as well.' The two walked the short distance slowly, Bird pausing every so often to work a cramp from her still tired muscles.

By the time they reached the table, Bird was glad to sit in a chair while Daisy brought her a plate of herbed mushroom stew which had been on the stove's back burner, a crusty loaf of bread, a crock of sweet butter, and a glass of good red wine.

She ate slowly, but with great relish, enjoying each morsel of food. The last of her bread was used to sop up the remaining gravy from her plate. Once done, she pushed back her chair and sipped the wine.

Daisy sat opposite her, and drank a cup of strong tea with honey. Bird looked much better, she thought to herself, now that she had some food and drink inside her.

When she had finished her wine, Bird leaned across the table and looked closely at the hobbit, taking her measure.

'Daisy, can I trust you?' she asked.

The hobbit was surprised at the question, but did not hesitate in saying 'yes'. 'What do you need of me?' she replied steadily, looking back at Bird.

'I need your help.' said Bird. 'Child and Rose are being held prisoner by Morgoth's orcs, and I need to go to them. Sooner, rather than later. Can I count on you?'

The hobbit considered the request carefully, then answered. 'I will help you, Bird. But you must tell me what I need to do.’

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[mark12_30]

When Maura was done speaking and the solemnities were over, Lindo asked Azra to watch the babies for him, and slipped out. He had heard snorting more than once during the afternoon, but had been unable to get away. But he had asked others, and knew where to look, and he quickly found the cart and pony behind the Workhouse.

He quickly introduced himself to the surprised pony, and slipped the traces and gathered the long reins, and led him to the stream. Several people had given him water, but the pony drank again, and Lindo smiled as the pony thrust his dripping nose against Lindo's cheek and slobbered down his chest and neck. Lindo reached up and pulled on his crest, and the pony dug his chin into Lindo's shoulder (which hurt, because the bridle was stiff and the bit didn't give way at all) and they were friends. Lindo swiped away a tear, laughing at himself, and led the pony to the edge of the garden. Nitir would probably be furious that he gave hobbit-food to a pony, but he pulled a carrot, and led the pony away again, wiping the carrot on his breeches, and breaking it into small peices, fed it slowly to the eager pony one bit at a time. Then he stopped, and began exploring the pony's face and neck for itchy spots. He found many. The pony closed his eyes in sheer bliss.

He heard very soft laughter behind him, and he turned, to see Ancalimon watching him. "I came with no expectations, but I am still surprised to find a horse-thief here."

"Is it time for you to leave already? I thought you would speak with Maura and Nitir longer than that."

"I spoke with them as much as I meant to."

Lindo heaved a sigh, and sadly led the pony back to the cart, and hitched up the traces. Ancalimon climbed into his cart and Lindo handed him the reins, and then he walked back to the pony. The reins were being gathered up, but suddenly Lindo grasped them just below the bit, put his free arm around the pony's neck, and buried his face in his mane, and then his shoulders began to shake.

Ancalimon slowly put the reins down again. For a servant to keep a guest waiting was very disrespectful behavior, and Ancalimon's temper stirred, but he thought of all he had seen today and gave the boy some time.

"It brings back all my old life," Lindo said, muffled, into the pony's mane. "Those were such hopeful days."

"There is hope now, " Ancalimon replied. "Let it find you."

"My hope died the day of the invasion," Lindo said, suddenly growing cold again, and his tears stopped. "I never held my hope, I only watched her die."

"There is hope all around you, " Ancalimon replied. "But to open to it, you must let go of the hopes that have died. They will not come back by you holding on to them; if they are to return, they will return in a new form, and in a way that you least expect."

"I don't want to let go of her," Lindo replied.

"I did not say so, " replied Ancalimon. "But we were talking about hope. If hope is past, then grieve its passing and let it go. New hope will come."

Lindo buried his face again into the pony's mane, and the pony and Ancalimon waited several moments. Then Lindo stepped back, finally releasing the pony's reins, and looked at Ancalimon, a mix of emotions on his face. Ancalimon nodded, and gathered his reins. But then he paused.

"Have you sung over her?"

Lindo shook his head. "I don't know where she lies."

"Perhaps you should find out, " Ancalimon replied, reasonably. And he shook the reins, and the pony swung into a walk.

"Goodbye, " said Lindo, to the pony. As an afterthought, he nodded to Ancalimon.

Ancalimon laughed, and headed the pony into the sad pine forest. When they were out of earshot he spoke to the pony. "You have become a counsellor like me." The pony flicked his ears, and fished for bits of carrot in his teeth.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Birdland]

As Khelek came down the stairs to below decks, in order to search Pio's cabin, he spied the halfling Daisy, arms full of linens and towels, heading back to the sickroom of the skin-changer.

"Good evening, young Daisy. And how is your patient?" he called.

The hobbit-lass jumped and peered up the stairs, backing up against the wall to let the Elf pass by, and staring at her feet.

"G'evenin' My Lord Khelek. Miss Birdie's doing fair well. I was just going to go in to change the bed linens for her."

And did the athelas I gave you have the desired effects."

Oh, yes, Sir! I steeped it in warm water by the sickbed, as you told me, and it seemed to bring a very restful air to the room. Kali has used it in Sir Mithadan's room as well, and says he thinks it may be calming his dreams. Of course," said Daisy regretfully, "If we had a king here, it may have had more of a healing effect, or so they say."

"Perhaps", said Khelek, with a gentle smile, "but I believe that it is not the hands of a healer that can release athelas' true powers, but the heart of a healer. And anyone can find that in them." Daisy gave a worried look towards the door, and Khelek wondered why the halfling seemed so preoccupied. "Is Miss Bird awake? May I see her?"

Oh, no, M'Lord. I mean to say, she's up, but is bathing right now, and after that will probably sleep some more. But I will send her your regards."

"Very well. Please do. Oh, and Daisy," he said as she once again began to sidle towards the door. "Please remember; you and Kali should take care of your own health, as well as the well-being of others. Do not exhaust yourselves. The next stage of our voyage may not be as perilous as the first, but there is still much to be dealt with. Please take care of each other."

"Oh, we will, Sir. And thank you!" and with that she opened the door a crack and slid into the room. Khelek again wondered at her behavior, but then turned his thoughts towards the upcoming journey, and continued down to Pio's old room.

Daisy walked over to the bed and threw the linens, towels, and an old pillow down on the coverlet. "There, it was all I could find. I hope it will do."

Bird turned and walked over to the bed, thumbing through the pile. "Yes, that should be enough. You don't have to keep up the ruse long, Daisy. Just until the ship sets sail and people are commited to the voyage."

"Oh, and here. I found this in Pio's things." Daisy held out a small, functional, but still beautifully crafted dagger and sheath. Bird took it slowly in her hands and turned it in the light from the porthole window. "It's a beautiful, and so ill-suited for it's purpose. But perhaps Pio did not think so. But I may not even need such a thing." Bird laughed softly. "When it comes to shape-shifting, it seems I have come up in the world." But she took the knife anyway and tied it to her belt.

"Now as I said Daisy. You only have to buy me a little time. Offer your excuses for a day, two if you can manage. And if anyone should peek in the room, keep it dark, and arrange the bed as best you can."

"Miss Birdie, what will they do to me when they do find out?"

"Nothing Daisy. They'll understand that you were only following my wishes. Or if you like, tell them you had no idea I was gone as well, if you can pull it off. Don't worry, no one will harm you. And please, say good-bye to Kali for me. Tell him I have not forgotten the songs I promised him."

"Are you sure you'll be up to this? You've only been on your feet a few hours."

I'll be fine, Daisy. I feel right as rain. And besides," and here Birdie gave the halfling a wink. "I don't know if the Elven-Folk know this or not, but Athelas has a very invigorating effect when you chew it!"

"Chew it?" Daisy wrinkled her nose at the thought.

"And why not. What? Did you think I would put some in my pipe and smoke it?" The thought of this seemed so ridiculous to the hobbit lass that she let out a loud snort of laughter. Then she placed her hand over her mouth and warily eyed the door.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

After others had gone to bed, Nitir stayed up late at her small table. In front of her sat a fresh sheet of paper. It was not one of the crumbled little scraps which she used for her interminable lists. Rather, it was that rare thing, a new and crisp leaf large enough to hold many words.

Carefully, she reconstructed the story she had heard tonight from Ancalimon. Word-by-word and sentence-by-sentence she relived every moment and carefully wove together all the details. There were a few points that seemed hazy to her, and other places where she had questions. She vowed to ask Maura about it the very next day.

She had to laugh at herself. Since her second dream, she had avoided even thinking about any kind of lore. She had given her consent to Nienna's plan of forgetting, but it had still seemed like cruel deprivation. And part of her grieved over what had been lost. For Azra, that loss had meant little. But, for Nitir, the scholar and historian, it was her whole identity, one of the reasons for her being.

But she knew now she was mistaken. The tales had not gone away. They were there, and they were still important. If she couldn't remember the stories about the future, she could at least learn more of the past, especially those accounts that concerned her own people.

She vaguely remembered reading a thick book on Elvish history which contained a short chapter on the origins and fall of Gondolin. Nitir knew the tale had left out many important facts. For one thing, it omitted anything about Piosenniel. Readers didn't have to know exactly who Pio was, or where she had come from. But, surely, they should learn about the brave stand she had made defending Idril's household. She needed to make certain about that.

And it wasn't only the writing of the lore that needed doing. It was the sharing of it as well. She and Maura were kept so busy with the basic needs of the community that sometimes other things just slipped by. But, as Maura himself had argued so persuasively, what good was it to have food in your stomach if you had absolutely nothing in your head? Nitir made a note to talk to Maura about visiting once a week to tell the children stories.

And then there was the problem of Lindo. Perhaps the poor fellow, who sometimes looked quite mournful, needed some help in the nursery. One or two of the girls were old enough to lend a hand. She should discuss that with him tomorrow.

He had a definite gift in writing poetry and song. Maybe she could redirect some of this energy. He spent many hours composing somber ballads about the Curse of the Noldor or how to escape from the smoke of the burning pines. She had tried to smile and be encouraging about these songs, but it seemed to Nitir that something was missing. There were so many holes in the history of her own people. And understandng that tradition was just as important as running after Elves. It was all well and good to write lays to the Lady Elbereth, but that Lady didn't seem deeply involved with hobbits. Perhaps she had enough to do just managing the affairs of Elves.

Ancalimon, however, was a different matter. Like Maura, Nitir didn't know quite who or what Ancalimon was. But, also like Maura, she understood that he had been sent to them from the household of Nienna. If Nienna and Ancalimon had special love and care for hobbits, then the hobbit people must return that love and respect the best way they knew how. And surely one way to do this was by joining words with music.

Nitir put away her pen and paper, and vowed to speak with Lindo very soon.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[mark12_30]

Pondering Ancalimon's words late into the night, Lindo got little sleep. He lay awake, composing some new lines, a new lullabye and a new song about Niphredil; he also composed two other new lullabyes, for Nitir; one to sing for Pongo, and one to sing for Lily. And he waited for the dawn to come.

When the sky lightened, he woke Azra, and asked her to watch the babies for him again, for a little while. She started to get annoyed, but rather reluctantly agreed when he pleaded gently.

He went to find Kemba, and calling into the rough tunnel, woke him too. Kemba emerged grumpy and uneager, and gazed at Lindo through half-opened eyes.

Lindo started several times and stopped, but finally he composed his question and got it all out. "When you carried Niphredil away from the wall, where did you take her? Where is she resting?"

It was much too early for such thoughts, but Kemba answered. "Back to my burrow. To her own room. I laid her to rest on her own bed. Her mother grieved her there, until all the hobbits were called out under Maura's orders. I believe she lies there still, whether the burrow burned down around her or whether it still stands."

It was enough. Lindo thanked him and turned to leave. Kemba stopped him. "We miss you, Lindo. We know you need to stay with the children, but whenever you are free, you are always welcome at our table."

He meant well. Lindo smiled, and thanked him.

"Lindo, I would have been proud to have you in my household. I would have called you my son."

Again, Lindo knew that Kemba spoke from his heart. But it was too painful to receive, and Lindo awkwardly thanked him and withdrew. He returned to the children, thanked a suprised Azra (who had been expecting another lengthy delay, as over the silly pony the previous evening) and began feeding hungry children.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Before they went off to the fields and forests that morning, the hobbits gathered at the barrow and laid the bodies of Lily and Pongo to rest. Maura promised that, when they found themselves a free people, they would plant a garden in memory of the children of the fallen where hobbits could come and think and rest. Lindo delivered two lullabyes for Lily and Pongo that came from somewhere within the center of his heart. Nitir and the others had never heard him sing like that before.

Every hobbit placed a stone on top of the barrow, and planted a small flower to bloom beside it. Then they walked slowly and thoughtfully back to work.

A few, however, still lingered at the grave. Lily and Pongo's parents stood silently nearby. They talked quietly with each other. Both mothers had gone over to Lindo to tell him how much his singing had touched their hearts. He promised to teach them the words of the two lullabyes.

Nitir went up to the women. This was the first time she had seen them since the terrible scene in front of the Workhouse. She looked nervously down at her fingers and said in a quiet voice, "I am so very sorry. Perhaps I should have done differently. I didn't want any of this to happen." To herself she thought, "If I had chosen one, perhaps these two would still be here."

Lily's mother went straight to Nitir, and slipped her arm around her. "Because of you, you and Lindo, my daughter and Pongo had a life in this camp that was filled with caring and meaning. When we couldn't be with our children, because the Orcs forbid it, you were there to be our hearts and voices and hands. Lily and Pongo would not have blamed you for this. Remember them with love. I won't let the Orcs win, and turn their whole lives into a moment of horror. They were more than that. So remember them laughing and playing and singing, too."

The two women embraced Nitir, and then turned to Lindo to thank him. Then they returned to their burrows.

Nitir was ready to go back to the Workhouse when she caught a glimpse of Lindo staring with rapt attention at the little grave site. She didn't know if he was seeing the two children, or his own parents, or even his beloved Niphredil. Perhaps, he was gazing at all of them at once.

In some ways, Lindo had lost more than the others. He had no surviving parents, no siblings or cousins. And he missed the magic of Idril's household, the realm of Elves that meant so much to him. How strange that she, who came from such a different time and place, felt more comfortable in this small hobbit world than Lindo did.

Then, Nitir had an idea. It wasn't much, but it would force the lad to think more about what being a hobbit meant. Plus, some work would get done that needed doing.

"Lindo, excuse me." Nitir barged in on the hobbit. "Those songs were so beautiful. I wanted to tell you how I felt. But I also need your help. What Ancalimon said last night made me think. We need to teach the children their lore. That's partly my job, but there is one problem. I need someone to compose a song. From what Maura says, Ancalimon has been very important for us, and we need to remember that in a special way. If you could somehow translate that into music, I would be grateful."

"And, yes, there's one other thing. The camp may be expecting an unusual visitor soon. I have my suspicions about who that might be. And we may all need to pull together and do some things we haven't thought about before. I hope you'll help with that."

Lindo shifted about uneasily on his feet. He obviously had no idea what Nitir was talking about when she mentioned strange visitors. But it was not possible for her to be more specific until she herself was certain who was coming, and when they were coming, and, most important of all, why they were coming. She just wanted to entrust Lindo with a bit of a warning to keep his mind and eyes open and not to lose all hope.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Ancalimon let the pony go at his own pace down the forest track. It gave him time to think about what he had just seen and heard.

The occasional bump and rut in the road served to punctuate his thoughts on the grim conditions which the hobbits must now endure. He wished, briefly,that such gentle creatures would not have found themsleves in such a place as this, but he knew that such events were inescapable in the long view of Arda's history yet to come.

He held on to the hope that this adversity and any other that might come would plant the seeds of light firmly in the rich soil of hobbit character.

For now, it was up to him and what allies he might employ to nurture those seeds.

He urged the pony on, now, at a quicker pace. By nightfall he planned to be at the Fens of Serech, where the River Rivil flowed into the Sirion. From there he must travel at a quicker pace, and the cover of darkness would conceal him.