《Shadow of the Rings》


 Part One

    It was a misty morning when the sun rose in the east, rising to her prominence in the sky as the moon took his leave of it to head down below the western horizons. Dawn''s light brought with it a train of red and pink for the golden-orb as it peeked over the rim of distant lands far away to shine down upon the lone traveller who was stirring himself from sleep. Here on the edges of the marshes few were ever seen, even in this fourth age of the world, when much that was old was now fading away, and many things new were rising to take their place. In ages past battles had been fought where these very marshes now stood, and upon the plains beyond them; the Dead Marshes, Dagorlad, where the ancient alliance led by Elendil and Gil-galad had fought the legions of Sauron, last lieutenant of Morgoth Bauglir, now vanquished forever. His wicked sorceries had lost the fullness of their power decades ago, yet only now was their mark upon the world at last beginning to die. The Dead Marshes were simply known as the Marshes; the Dagorlad was becoming known as the Daelad, Plains of Shadow, for as yet the Ephel Duath cast their gloom down upon them, that great natural fence which encased Mordor, the land of shadow where even yet evil things lurked. None so great as had dwelt there in ages past, but echoes and remnants of that which was, and shades of bygone terrors hiding and skulking about in any place they could find.


    No longer did the lingering images of long-dead soldiers and corpse-lights haunt the marshes; they had become, simply and succinctly, foul-smelling fens that few could abide. And such was the wanderer who now traversed their edges as he wound his way towards--the south, to the gaping hole where once sat the Morannon, that imposing black gate which had kept all but the most cunning of foes out of Ud?n and Mordor beyond. Well might anyone even in this day and age question his destination, for though the land of shadow was only a shadow of its former self, it was still no easy land to make one''s way through. King Eldarion of the Reunited Kingdom generally frowned upon anyone trying to head there; his father, Elessar Telcontar, and many other legendary figures had sacrificed much to overcome and destroy the evils that had been there. To his mind, there was no reason to go stirring the dying embers therein; and although he had not made a law forbidding such foolish ventures, neither did he sanction them. His father and his father''s friends had spent many long years subduing enemies in far-off lands, and in these days all had acknowledged the might of the West, as once before they had acknowledged N¨²menor. The kingdoms of the east, the kingdoms of the south, the peoples of the west and north for uncounted leagues around; all paid homage to Gondor, victor of the War of the Ring, and to her allies. In that fourth age of the world, it could be said there was peace indeed.


    This peace gave credence to the argument that it was in fact perfectly safe to enter what was left of Mordor. The peoples around the N¨²rnen, the lake in its more southern reaches, had little and nothing to do with it, and the aforementioned remnants were little threat to wily and prepared adventurers, such as the man who now made his way across the long leagues to what some now called the Victor''s Pass, where decades ago Elessar himself had boldly strode in after that last battle in the south, when the One Ring was destroyed in the fires of Orodruin through the bravery of two Pheriannath from the far west. Of that legendary conflict much could be read in the libraries of Gondor, and there were many accounts from many different people, but none so widely examined as the Red Book, a copy of the Pheriannath''s own memoirs and recollections of that time. Yet at the same time, while it had been a decades-long peace with no signal or sign that evil would ever again rise in power, there was also an equally strong argument that, as the king desired, it should all be left well enough alone.


    But Caladan of Lossanarch was one who would dare the destination and its potential perils, to say nothing of the road and its travails. His father Galador had been one of King Eldarion''s most trusted captains, and the son himself was no stranger to a blade; yet Caladan did not have the ambition of his father. The younger man had served but a scant few years in the legions of Gondor before resigning his commission, and then took his leave of home to wander north. At the age of twenty summers, he set out on what became a seven year journey, perhaps even a pilgrimage; he visited the fading realms of L¨®rien and Imladris, the latter all but abandoned by the Elves who had once dwelt there; he had gone into the west, even to the very Shire itself, exploring its bounds with the help of the local Halflings; and he had gone back east, through the yet-miry paths of Eryn Lasgalen and even to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, one of the greatest Dwarven bastions in any age of the world. From there he had trekked south by way of Dale and Laketown, keeping to the eastern borders of the vast forests, until at last he turned southwest to head upon his current adventure. For many long years there had been rumor upon rumor of things left behind in Mordor; many had searched, but few had returned from the searching, and all of them came back empty-handed.


    This, of course, was one of the great reasons why Eldarion of the Reunited Kingdom frowned greatly upon those who sought to enter Mordor. Yet despite this, Caladan was more than determined to venture there, and twice as determined to bring something of worth out from the shadows of that dark realm, if only for the prestige of doing so where all others had failed. Of course there was always the valid objection that there was in fact nothing of worth to be found in Mordor except that which would cast darkness onto all those who became involved with it. This, again, was one of the strongest reasons why seeking out treasures in that old realm of hate was looked on with solemn disapproval. But yet for all that, Caladan son of Galador would not be deterred or denied. If he perished he perished, and if he brought something out then he had accomplished his desire.


    For many more days he tracked the edges of the Marshes, and then he came to those plains which yet held a despair, the Daelad, once the Dagorlad of old. Across its withered and seemingly haunted expanses he could see them: the blackened mountains, the Ephel Duath, uninterrupted save for that place which once held the Morannon, the dread portal to that realm of shadow. And yet if tales were true and Sauron had been only an echo and a shadow of the terror that once was, how much more terrifying had his master been?


    "Would that I had lived in such days, to see the end of a master mightier in strength and in cunning than Sauron Gorthaur! Ah! How wondrous the lives of the Elder Kindred, but how few if any remain to tell the stories of those ancient days; yet I would give much to hear of them in full, and to strengthen my mind''s eye when it goes to dream of such times. Yet now I shall content myself with this venture I have cast upon myself, and if I fail utterly then may I at least be counted among those mighty heroes of old, to say naught of those valiant ones who championed all in the last great war against that last great enemy!" he said aloud to himself.


    His introspective musings ended for a time, he then began the task of crossing the Daelad. It was by far an easier task than crossing the marshes, even the edge of them. Ahead in the distance he could see the Tirithin, the twin towers which had been built by command of Eldarion''s father Elessar to replace what had been the Towers of Teeth, Narchost and Carchost. They were each of them garrisoned by fifty men each, and every six months a relief garrison was sent to them from Gondor. Rohan would also send riders to aid them every six months; for many years the two kingdoms had kept an eye on Mordor in this way, as well as establishing watches on Mordor''s side of what had been the Morgul Vale. The Princedom of Ithilien with Minas Ithil restored as its chief citadel was the strongest watch upon the Ephel Duath, yet this outpost in the north was no less valiant or secure.


    Caladan knew he would likely be checked at the Tirithin before entering Mordor. And then word would pass back into Gondor, perhaps even to his father, that he was venturing that way indeed. No matter. If it got him in without disrespecting the king and the law, he would bear with it. And a few days later, when he neared the Tirithin indeed, he could see he was not the only one seeking entry into the land of shadows.


    ***


    "For the last time, I am Gr?fr son of Gr?mfr, Dwarf of Erebor and kinsman to Durin the Seventh, King under the Mountain and more besides! I have submitted to you my weapons for your inspection and you have found naught of treachery upon mine person; now let me pass!" the stout figure with golden hair and long, forked beard grumbled angrily at the watch. Caladan gazed at him with a curious expression.


    "I left the Dale-lands around Erebor some months ago; did I not speak with you there? How did you come here before me so swiftly, Master Dwarf?" he asked the other traveller, who turned at once when he heard the voice. A brief confusion took hold of his features, and then relaxed into recognition with a clap of his hands.


    "Caladan! At your service, you green-eyed Gondorian gloom-breaker! Tell these thine kin that I am as good as my word! Pah! What are we coming to in these days already? Did not thine king''s father and all his allies banish such suspicion where''er it was amongst our peoples?" Gr?fr said, at once turning his complaints to one he might find common cause with -- at least in regards to the gate-keepers. The guard he was dealing with shook his head wearily, and the dark-haired Caladan strode forth with a merry grin.


    "What is this, soldier?" Caladan asked him. "As far as I knew there was but a simple inspection for those daring to enter here, and then you let them wander on to their fate."


    "As you have said, it is so." the man returned. "Yet you have also heard his words: he is a kinsman of Durin. We would be remiss letting him enter alone, for who knows what wrath the Dwarves would wreak upon us, if we let him go into these shadowlands and he should perish?"


    "I never once said I was a claimant of succession or that I had any holdings for my kinship with him!" Gr?fr returned at once.


    "Come, let him pass. I am seeking entry as well; I will go with him, and be answerable to the Dwarves, if any answers need demanding! Caladan, son of Galador of Lossanarch. Here is my sword, and my bow with its arrows, and the hunting knife I have from the Wood Elves of Eryn Lasgalen." the other wanderer said, putting his weapons out upon the table for the guard''s inspection.


    "Not Captain Galador who fought with Eldarion himself?" another of the guards asked. "Well met, kinsman! I am Maldir; I once served with your father. I did not know that his son had wandered so far." the man continued.


    "I recall your name from my father''s stories," Caladan nodded, "He spoke highly of you, and often." he added, and Maldir then turned to the other guard.


    "Come, Lachran, give the Dwarf his arms back; this young man''s word is good, and we would be hard put if we denied this Son of Durin any longer!" he said to the man, who, grumbling, returned the twin axes and the stout bow of horn with its own quiver of arrows to Gr?fr, along with a collection of knives that the Dwarf stashed in various places upon his person.


    "Finally! Not the word of any but your own, is it? I''ll remember that, you metal-headed meddlers!" Gr?fr remarked as he geared up. Caladan''s own weapons were returned to him swiftly, and the two of them set off at a nod from the captain. The two travellers clad in dark colors of green and black with fine but weathered leather boots then continued on their way into Mordor, light conversation starting up between them once out of earshot of the wall.


    "I took the river-boat down to the Sea of Rh?n and then came directly southwest. Small wonder I arrived before you and your land-striding; what? Did you take the slowest route you could find? Had to go through every fen and tree before you came here, did you?" Gr?fr said to him with a funny look upon his face.


    "Had I known you were planning to go my way I would have come with you instead." Caladan shrugged. "At your service also, by the way." he added, and his friend nodded.


    "I had business down that way. I only decided to head here after thinking about it again; and you were right. I want to see for myself what remains, if anything." Gr?fr said in a lowered voice, as if the garrison might hear them.


    "Then let us make a swift crossing of this wreckage before us, and see what lies in store for us upon the Gorgoroth. From there it is yet a straight path to -- that place, if tales be true." Caladan agreed in soft tones.


    "That place", as he called it, was the wreckage of the Dark Tower, Barad-d?r, the fortress and fastness where Sauron had defied his enemies during the last two ages of the world. Now in the fourth age it was utterly abandoned, and it was said that it had been picked clean by friend and foe alike. Yet what was brought to light by either side amounted to scraps, cast-offs, and other shreds of things that had no lasting value save to be reused in some other fashion. Even so, rumors persisted; the last rings of power had never been found. The three rings stolen back from the Dwarf Lords, to say nothing of all the other, lesser rings that had once been made in Eregion by Elven smiths, were the subject of many tales and speculations that generally ended in idle dreams. It was these rings that were one of the unspoken subjects of interest of all who dared to enter the lands of shadow.


    And so it was with Caladan and Gr?fr.


    They had met at an inn of Laketown, "The Dragon''s Scales", named in reference to the hulking bones of Smaug which could yet be seen lying in the ruins of the old town from the days of Bard and Thorin Oakenshield. At once the two of them had struck up a merry conversation over fine ale, and they had eventually turned to the subject of the lost rings. What had become of them, Gr?fr wondered despairingly; he himself did not hold out hope that they yet existed, and if they did they were surely bereft of power. But Caladan wondered if that was indeed the case for all of them, and purposed they enter Mordor together to find them, or traces of them. The topic was discussed with its merits and faults for a time, and then they turned to other things; but the conversation burned in the heart of Caladan, and smoldered in Gr?fr. And, unbeknownst to them, a certain watcher of their words in Laketown was also affected by their tavern musings.


    "Most assuredly, the Dwarf Rings will have lost their power, but not their significance." Gr?fr said as they trudged along in the present. "They would be as the Ring of Barahir for the three Dwarf families involved, symbolic signets that would reinforce their rule and give their kings, our kings, a much needed sense of validity. The deeds of men are sure to outlast us, O Caladan, but let it not be said that we were any less of a presence upon this Middle Earth than thee."


    "I would never say such a thing, Master Gr?fr." Caladan said in answer. "If not for the Elder Kindreds, the Elves and the Dwarves, I doubt very much that men would have made any mark at all."


    "Your words ease my mind on such matters." the Dwarf returned.


    A silence then took hold over them. They crossed through Ud?n in its soundless wake, eyeing cautiously all things around them. Had it been barracks or foundry in the time of the Dark Lord? There was signs that it had been both; disused forges open to the elements, the rotted remnants of camps, the fading signs of great hosts that had once housed here in the darker times. To their left they could see the ruins of Durthang, and ahead of them they could see the wreck of Carach Angren, the Jaws of the Gorgoroth.


    "It will be two or three days at least ''ere we come to that." Gr?fr said as they reached the summit of a lesser hill in the dark vale.


    "The Isenmouthe, the true gate into the Black Land." Caladan mused.


    "We''ve spent the better part of this day travelling in haste and in silence; let us take our rest in that cleft there for the night, and resume our journey when we wake." the Dwarf suggested as he pointed towards the cleft in question. It was sheltered, and was quite possibly the best spot to make camp insofar as they could see.


    "Agreed." Caladan nodded, and they made for it at once.


    They made a small fire, and roasted spits of meat over it for a light supper. When this was eaten Gr?fr took upon himself the first watch, saying that there was no such thing as too much caution even now when it came to Mordor. Caladan agreed, exacting a promise to be woken just after midnight to take the second watch, and went to sleep shortly after.


    And further away, another watched the odd pair in their cleft, eyeing them with an intent gaze, as if deciding what to do with them. The gleam of the eyes then dimmed, and were not seen again all that night.


    ***


    In the morning, the two travellers were once more on their way towards the Isenmouthe. Through the dismal and dreary sights of Mordor in ruin they came to it after another two days, half digging their way at times to get through the wreckage of what had been. And when at last they got there in the late afternoon, a peculiar sight greeted them. An Elf-woman of dark hair and piercing blue eyes, clad in gear just as they were, with a fine bow and quiver across her back and twin short-swords buckled to her hips, stood there before them with the ghost of a smile upon her lips. Gr?fr made to draw out his bow at once, but she responded in kind, faster than any Man or Dwarf could have done. Caladan remained calmer, holding out one hand to her in parley while placing his other on Gr?fr''s shoulder. He was, in fact, daunted by her beauty alone; but after a long silence he at last managed to speak.


    "Lady Elf, what is this greeting?" he asked her, and as Gr?fr retired with his battle-stance she also put away her weapons.


    "Suilad, randir, and forgive my hastiness as I forgive that of your companion! My name is Mirilen, once of Imladris, now a wanderer until my oath is fulfilled." she said to them in a clear voice that dissipated the gloom of Mordor around them. At once they felt at ease, and the land of shadow seemed less dark indeed in the wake of her words.


    "This is no ordinary Elf..." Gr?fr remarked. "I must admit my hastiness got the better of me," he said aloud, "If you have common purpose with us in coming here, we would be grateful for your company."


    "That is what I hope as well." Mirilen nodded to them. "Randir, what is your name?" she then asked, looking at the dark-haired Caladan.


    "I am Caladan, Lady Mirilen; and this is Gr?fr of the Lonely Mountain." Caladan replied.


    "Gr?fr, son of Gr?mfr, at your service." the Dwarf said.


    "And I at yours, Master Dwarf." Mirilen smiled. "I seek what may not be there to be found, in a place scavenged and ravaged by time and war." she said, her gaze turning towards the south and east across the Gorgoroth. The ruins of a road could yet be discerned to those with keen eyes, such as the three of them had.


    "The ruins of the Dark Tower?" Caladan said as he and Gr?fr drew closer to her. She gave a nod in answer. "Aye, that is our destination as well."


    "And let me also apologize once more for... overhearing your words in a certain tavern." Mirilen said with a faint smile. Gr?fr grunted, and Caladan smiled.


    "Small wonder." the Dwarf said with a knowing tone. "I thought I noticed someone on my trail, once or twice. And I suppose you walked past the Tirithin like the night-breeze as well!" he added with a chuckle, and Mirilen smiled.


    "It is no great feat to conceal myself even from those I might count as allies in this land of shadows. And besides, I have been here before." she said, her voice lowering as she spoke the last words.


    "You were one of the Great Alliance." Caladan said in understanding.


    "And now I may be the last of them walking the lands of Endorenna." she noted with a sigh. "A! I ''aladhremmin ennorath; my heart has long loved thee, but soon, very soon, must I fade. Yet I will not go until I know, one way or another, the answer to the question my heart has held for long ages." she said, and with that she turned and began heading for the road.


    Caladan and Gr?fr followed her at once down the wracked road, their small fellowship silently agreed upon. In the distance, they could see the infamous Orodruin, Amon Amarth, now slumbering. Caladan, raised on stories of the War of the Ring since his childhood, could almost see two Halflings darting in and out of the rocks and stones and crevices, winding their way to that one-time monolithic herald of doom, a heavy burden in their keeping.


    "Further south they were, coming up out of the Morgul Vale, escaping the wicked terrors which haunt that place." Mirilen said to them in a soft voice.


    "Did you also fight in that war?" Caladan asked her.


    "I remained in Imladris at the behest of Master Elrond." she returned.


    "I fought in those last battles of the north in my youth." Gr?fr said. "I saw King Dain standing over the body of King Brand, and my battalion was the one that tried, in vain, to save him. His son Thorin called us back within the mountain; coward we thought him, but his wise course ended up saving us. The Ring was destroyed, as we now know, and the foul hosts went shrieking in terror. He rallied us then, and we drove them out for good." he recounted. "But you, Lady Elf, were here during--those battles. Ah, what a sight it must have been!" he said with a wistful tone.


    "It was indeed an unforgettable sight, the likes of which I only ever saw one time before." Mirilen smiled.


    "What time would that be?" Caladan wondered; she only smiled in reply, and a silence took hold as they continued along the road.


    Yet it was not as fell a silence as it had been in ages past, nor as it might have been without their third companion joining them. Instead of malice, there was a mournful sensation; in place of terror there was regret; and where once there was death, now only a dearth of shadows and echoes remained. Skittering creatures crossed their paths at times, but these were afraid of all passersby, and gave them a wide berth. Off to their right, Gr?fr thought he could see a patch of ground that had smoldered around some twisted creature, but his eyes may have been playing tricks on him. What he knew was not a trick was that he could see a rusted blade sticking up nearby this odd place, dropped or thrust into the ground and abandoned by its wielder.


    By the time evening had come they had traversed several leagues of the Black Land, and were more or less north of the ancient fiery mountain. They set up camp off to the side of the road next to a large boulder fixed in the ground. A small meal was shared among them, and then Mirilen gazed once more towards the Mountain of Doom and Flame. She let out the faintest of sighs, and shook her head.


    "As with all things in this land, even you are only an echo of that dread terror long ago." she said aloud, and Caladan suddenly understood the answer to his earlier question. She truly was one of the last of her people, the Eldar of Beleriand, one who had lived during that time known as the War of the Jewels.


    "You saw the Breaking of Thangorodrim and the Fall of Angband." he said reverently. Mirilen smiled, and Gr?fr gazed at her with a newfound respect.


    "Why linger you here, Lady Elf?" the Dwarf asked her gently.


    "I am also one of Celebrimbor''s allies; I followed his grandfather at the first, and I remained despite the bidding of the Lords of the West to return." Mirilen told them.


    Suddenly, Man and Dwarf had a vision of their new companion; it was still her, but she was even more beautiful than mortal man could ever dream or hope to see. An ethereal, heavenly radiance emanated from her, a light that no darkness could ever quench or hope to even counter. Stronger, fairer, wiser; these three words were all either of them could think of, and yet none of them seemed to encapsulate the fullness of the one before them. The vision faded, and they saw only Mirilen, weather-worn wanderer of long ages throughout the world. Even she was only a shadow of who she was, of who she could be.


    "F?anor..." Gr?fr murmured softly.


    "F?anor indeed." Mirilen said just as softly. Once more, a silence took hold over the three of them, and it went unbroken for sometime.


    "I was there when Sauron, in his guise as Annatar, came to us in pretense of friendship at the Ring-forges of Eregion. Never did I trust him, but to my folly I also used the craft passed on by him to us to craft rings of power. None of the twenty were made by my hand; I made only the merest of trifles. Yet those trifles, those essays of our craft, are by no means pathetic in their power." she said at last. "When Sauron ravaged those lands I was away, visiting friends in the north; I returned to find the works of my hands gone, stolen by the ''Gift-Lord'', as he had styled himself, when most but the Nine and Seven were saved. I vowed to find them again no matter the cost; I failed to do so before. My injuries in that war which ended the Second Age of our world were grievous, and when I had at last recovered, Gondor would let no soul into the Black Land, not even an Elf such as I. Do you see now? I have waited thousands of years for this chance."


    "Why did you not come earlier?" Caladan wondered. "Surely when Sauron was defeated, it would have been the best of times to seek that which you had lost."


    "And risk the rebukes of Master Elrond, to say nothing of Lady Galadriel, or even he we once named Mithrandir?" Mirilen said with a wise and cunning look. "Nay, nor would I even have tried in the reign of Elessar and Arwen Undomiel; my love for the children of Beren and L¨²thien goes that far. But in this age, when all is but shadows of what was, who is there to deny me the oath I took?" she said to them. "F?anor and his oath of folly consumed him and his sons; yea, even the twain who survived the War of Wrath, only to lose the Silmarils along with their lives at its ending. But I seek no world-shaking treasures; the least of trifles I desire, the work of my own hands, as surely that greatest of smiths desired to reclaim his own treasures. With the last of the Elf-Lords departed and the Istari no more than a memory, I can at last make good on my oath. And when in my wanderings I chanced upon a certain inn, I saw my time had come."


    So said Mirilen, and the words she spoke almost rekindled the vision from before. A third bout of silence then reigned, and Caladan mused on the words silently while Gr?fr took out his pipe, lighting it to begin puffing away like a chimney, both of them realizing she too had been at the tavern, and followed them many long leagues indeed.


    "No oath so dark as that do I deem yours to be," Caladan said at last. "Yet I trust it will not be offended if two were to aid you in seeking?"


    "Nay, it will not." she said with a faint smile. "And who knows? Perhaps we may even find the last of the Seven, hidden away in some deep chamber of the ruins." she continued, and Gr?fr nodded gently.


    "Broken are their powers, no doubt; yet let no one deny a Dwarf that which was once given to them!" he remarked.


    Their conversation turned to comparatively lighter subjects after that, and when the moon was high in the sky above them they set the watch and took their rest.


    In the morning they set off with a will, whether from their own insatiable curiosity or from the power of their words the previous night they did not know. As they nearly raced along the road, Caladan cast a glance towards Mount Doom. He found himself wondering what a larger and more ominous peak could possibly look like. No great scholar was he, but he knew enough of history to be awed by what had once been--even that which was used in evil. He turned back to the road ahead; it held its course southeast for many leagues, and then turned more towards the south as it began to reach the foothills of the Ephel Duath once more, where it ran straight to Barad-d?r. Or at least what was left of it. Nearly two centuries ago it had been ripped to shreds by the victorious forces of Gondor at the command of the King, and now, as was well known, it was a lifeless husk in a dead land of fell shadows.


    Of Mirilen, they found out more as they talked on the road for the next two days. She had ended up in Gondolin, that hidden refuge before the very borders of the lands claimed by a power darker than Sauron could ever hope to match. When Gondolin fell, she escaped to the havens, and was one of the fortunate who survived to see the Valar take action at long last against Morgoth. Yet she did not desire to return; keeping the words of the pardon in her heart, she turned east with many of her folk, and eventually came to Hollin, Eregion of old. Celebrimbor had welcomed her, and there in that land they wrought much, until at last they had made many rings--until at last Sauron revealed himself to seize what they had made. Then she had pledged herself to High King Gil-galad to fight in the war that first shattered Mordor, and after him she served Elrond Half-Elven, son of E?rendil.


    "Many ages have I seen, many hopes shattered and promises broken; but also many hopes rewarded and promises upheld."


    "And when you find these rings, or not?" Caladan asked her as they hastened along the broken road.


    "If I find them, I will take them, and retreat to Elven-home in the West at long last. And if I do not, then I will remain, fading, ever fading, until the world is mended." she said.


    "A long time will pass before that happening." Gr?fr remarked.


    "A very long time." she agreed.


    It was much later in the evening when they stopped at last, settling themselves in near an outcropping of blackened stones. Caladan wondered if the Mountain of Fire had made them so; he then found himself wondering if anyone had ever set up a camp of some sort here in these very stones before them, whether orc or alliance or wanderer. This, of course, led him to wonder what Mordor itself had been like before the coming of Sauron, and what it might have been without that dark lord. And, inevitably, that question led him to the question of what would the world have been like without all the darkness that had crept in from the dawn of the ages to their very own present?


    As these questions began asking themselves behind his solemn green eyes, Gr?fr passed him a bowl of simple lamb''s stew. Caladan received it mechanically, and ate it in the same fashion. The Dwarf merely smiled, a faint smile, meant only for himself. Caladan was young despite his travelled ways; small wonder if such travels gave him many questions to ponder. Mirilen, who was finishing a wafer of lembas, gazed at the young man for a moment, seeing in his eyes some of the same sorrowed questions she had asked herself throughout the long years. She then began to look around, as once perhaps she had long ago.


    The Black Land; according to the histories of her people it had not been here when the world was new. By the waters of Cuivi¨¦nen the Eldar awoke under the stars, and from the stars were given their name. That nearly-mystic site of water had been on the eastern fringes of the ancient Inland Sea of Helcar; there was the Inland Sea to the west and a vast woodland before the foothills of the Orocarni to the east. In this age, only the Sea of Rh?n and the N¨²rnen to the south of them remained to tell of that ancient sea, and Cuivi¨¦nen was lost in mystery. It was ironic to Mirilen now; the War of Wrath had drowned her people''s realms in Beleriand now under the wave, and raised up unwittingly the land that became Mordor, Sauron''s fastness.


    Mirilen closed her eyes; she saw the splendor of Imladris in its noontide, saw the welcoming lights and heard the heart-lifting songs of merriment and memory; she saw the glory of Gondolin even in its twilight, its proud spires defying the Great Enemy to the north; and she saw the now-dimmed majesty of Elven-home once filled with the undimmed light of the Two Trees. And then the trees had become dark and lifeless; the treachery of Melkor had ended them. The Noldor were not guiltless in that age, committing their own treachery against their brethren at Alqualond?. And then the wars of Beleriand, Morgoth wiping out kingdom after kingdom and hero after hero. Gondolin, Nargothrond, Menegroth; H¨²rin Thalion and T¨²rin Turambar, Beleg C¨²thalion, Elu Thingol, Barahir, and Beren and L¨²thien; the end for all of them came, but then the end came for the enemy as well. In that reshaping of the world N¨²menor was raised, only to fall by the end of the age as it grew into decadence and descended into ignominy, and then to literally descend into the waters of the sea. Then Sauron, the lieutenant of Morgoth, became an all-too terrible echo of his master, and the strifes of the second and third ages could, in one way or another, all find their root in him. Why, indeed, had all these things happened, and had there been no other way for the histories of the world to go?


    And when the days are dark again, and the lines of kings are ended


    Then at last the final dawn, then shall the world be mended.


    In a time of bleak despair the Bauglir breaks his chains,


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Yet the world shall again be fair, and the Bauglir fore''er constrained.


    The world made new he shall not see when the Powers again are stirred,


    And all shall join in harmony to sing of Arda restored.


    Mirilen looked up to see Caladan chanting these words, and she gazed at him once more with great curiosity.


    "I knew not you were so gifted with words," Gr?fr said to him.


    "I am not," he confessed readily. "My mind wandered with thoughts, and verses I had once read as a lad came to my mind once again. I scarcely knew I spoke them aloud at all!" he said with an awkward laugh.


    "It is an old piece of Elven lore; I am surprised indeed you have seen them." Mirilen told him.


    "Well I know nothing of Elven lore; but we Dwarves are taught that Aul? Mahal will ask for our aid at the world''s mending, and we shall be ready for his call." Gr?fr remarked.


    "Perhaps indeed it may be so," Mirilen smiled, "For even the wise, nay, I deem that not even the Valar know the fullness of what is to come."


    "But for now, let the only ending be to our weariness for the night. Let us set the watch and rest." the Dwarf then said.


    "On that count, it is my turn to watch." Caladan told them. "Rest, friends."


    "Very well!" Gr?fr nodded, turning in at once. He was soon snoring, but Mirilen remained alert and awake. Caladan did not make comment on it until some time had passed.


    "Is it difficult to sleep here for you, who can yet see it as once it was?" he then asked her. Startled out of her thoughts, she turned to him, and then gently nodded.


    "It may be so," Mirilen agreed softly.


    "What was it like?" he asked her. "Nay--what were they like, the N¨²menorean legions of Elendil, Isildur, and An¨¢rion, and the High King Gil-galad with his armies?" he wondered, and she smiled at him.


    "Forget not the House of Durin for the sake of our friend here, for I recall them at the battle as well; and in my memory also I recall that some of the Onodrim, the Ents, came with us as well." Mirilen told him. "But I have had enough of reminiscing over past glories and shattered hopes; perhaps later I shall tell such tales. For now... ah, now indeed you have eased my heart, unwittingly as it were, and I shall rest." she said, sitting herself into a restful position to visit the strange world of Elvish dreams.


    Caladan smiled, and returned to his watch.


    It was but a few days later that they arrived at the ruins of Barad D?r. All throughout that time they had kept an increasingly watchful eye on their surroundings. The air was yet foul and fetid, and despite the presence of Mirilen some fell dread gnawed at the minds of the Man and the Dwarf. It would be a long time indeed before Mordor became something new at this rate, Caladan thought to himself, and he wondered if there was aught any could do to hasten the process.


    "Not even so much as a starving rat," Gr?fr muttered.


    They had just reached the causeway of the Dark Tower; it was in shambles, but it was still passable. Even so, it took them the better part of the day to get to the keep itself. Rotted bones and ragged remnants of cloth armour could be seen, and miserably shredded pieces of barely recognizable banners littered the ground.


    "None shall ever miss them." Caladan remarked as they came to the blasted and weathered foundations, the wracked hulk of the Dark Tower, or at least all that remained of that last infamous bastion of evil.


    In some places, what Mordor had marred Gondor had restored; Minas Ithil, the Tirithin, Ithilien, and proud Osgiliath upon the Anduin; but in Mordor itself they had simply let things fade away into dust. Durthang, Carach Angren, Cirith Ungol, a countless number of foundries, barracks, fortresses, shanties, and stores, and of course the very Dark Tower itself.


    "And we have simply walked in, not only into Mordor itself but into the ruins of Barad-d?r, Sauron''s prized tower!" Gr?fr exclaimed with wonder. "What an age we live in!"


    "What an age indeed," Caladan agreed.


    "Come, let us search for aught which may prove us right!" Mirilen said then, and so the three seekers began a lengthy tour of scouring and searching, hoping to find some tell-tale sign of what it was they sought, a tome or a scroll, or even a secret passage, a hidden alcove or door--anything that might tell them or indicate to them where rested the lost Rings of Power.


    ***


    For the better part of three days they scoured the ruined base of the dark tower. All around them, the arid and blackened landscape ravaged by its former inhabitants seemed to mock their efforts. Nothing is here for you but the death that consumes us, it seemed to say; come, join us in decay, and let your quivering souls join ours in everlasting regret. Yet on the third evening, Gr?fr stumbled across an ancient passage that was further to the east of the tower''s ruined base. The Dwarf would have sworn it was most definitely not there before. He inspected it closely, and saw a faded symbol of a thin crescent moon upon the door-frame; Gr?fr looked up at the sky, and saw that indeed the moon tonight was a thin crescent.


    "So that''s the way of it. Harrumph! Imitating Elves and Dwarves in their secrecy!" he said indignantly, trailing off to mutter in his own tongue as Mirilen and Caladan came over, having heard him speaking. They caught sight of the revealed passage and door at once, and hastened their steps.


    "By the White Tree!" Caladan exclaimed softly as he approached.


    "Haste, we may have only this night to examine it!" Mirilen said as she swiftly caught sight of the symbol upon the door.


    She gently pushed, and the door opened inward. The three of them softly entered in, Caladan lighting a torch he quickly snatched from their gear, and found that it was a plain stone hallway leading downward at a soft angle of descent. It was no far distance to the end of it, where a darker chamber inscribed with Elven characters opened up before them. But yet though the script was of the Eldar, the three of them knew at once it was not the language of Elves.


    "It was said that Sauron used the Tengwar to inscribe his Ring; it comes as no surprise to see the Black Speech plastered upon these walls in the same." Caladan mused aloud.


    "This chamber was made by Dwarves, or I am a Halfling!" Gr?fr remarked. "What poor souls were captured by the Dark Lord so long ago to make this fell place?"


    "I fear we shall never know," Mirilen said, "But one thing I do see: caskets of lebethron; ah! I recognize them indeed, though it has been many long years. Yes, these are the very caskets we made in Eregion, in Tham M¨ªrdain long ago, as repositories for the rings we made."


    "Then, our quest...!" Caladan said with a rising delight.


    "Let us open them and see," Gr?fr said, "There is no point to simply taking them without ensuring victory in this matter."


    "Agreed, Master Dwarf." Mirilen nodded.


    They stepped up to the caskets, and opened them one by one. In the first, there were nine slots with nine rings; in the second, there were three; and in the third, there were three more. They knew at once that the first casket must be holding the Nine Great Rings once borne by the darkest servants of Sauron the Deceiver. A dark wave of trepidation washed over them, but quickly fell away as they recalled that their power was forever broken. They stand or fall by their master; Mirilen could remember hearing such words at the last Council of Elrond long ago. As to the other caskets, Gr?fr knew from his long time of study that the second casket bore the last three of the Dwarven Rings. And Mirilen knew at once those in the third; they were, in fact, her own. How long had it been! Many she had made, but these three had been her own especial favorites; to be reunited with them after all this time, at long last!


    "What a marvel that any should be left; but the Nine themselves!" Caladan whispered with awe and a sense of dread.


    "They are nothing but rings now," Mirilen said, coming back from her brief introspective musings. "The Nine and the Seven are, like all else from the ages past, shadows of themselves. Yet these Nine I would not suffer to exist at all. Orodruin slumbers, and I would not dare its wrath even were it awake; the Ring-forges of Eregion, however, are yet intact. I will destroy them there." she then said, and her two companions agreed.


    "No argument from me!" Gr?fr said.


    "I would be gratified to accompany you in such a journey, Lady Elf." Caladan told her.


    "I can think of no others at this moment to hold my counsels so close." she smiled at the both of them. "Master Gr?fr, this casket is yours by right," Mirilen said as she handed him the one with the Dwarven Rings, "And I will keep my own rings upon myself, along with the Nine."


    "As you say." Gr?fr said, bowing as he received the casket. "By Durin''s Beard, what a day this is!" he said with a merry twinkle in his eyes.


    "We shall never get past the Tirithin without them finding us out." Caladan then warned. "And if the survival of any of these rings is known, word will be sent to King Eldarion, and we will be held for questioning."


    "Then either we take the long way around or we make for the Ithil Vale." Gr?fr shrugged.


    "I would not go the long way through Nurn and Lithlad." Mirilen said as she took up the other two caskets. They left the chamber, and hastened out of it to come back into the open air of Mordor.


    "Then we shall cross the Ephel Duath by the old roads and slip out through the Vale." Caladan nodded.


    They agreed to this at once, and began packing their things carefully, especially those treasures they had dared to claim from the wreckage of the Dark Tower. Deciding to get as much travelling done as they could by night and by day both, they ate a light meal and then set off at once across the land of Mordor once again, heading by another road to what had been the Morgul Vale.


    In decades past Prince Faramir of Ithilien and the forces given him by Elessar, King of Gondor, had driven out the last remnants of the Morgul hosts and claimed the Tower of Black Sorcery for Gondor once more. It had taken a lifetime of men, but that dread city was once again Minas Ithil, Tower of the Moon, crown of Ithilien. Its vale was the only place near to the heart of Mordor that had regained a semblance of what it could have been or what indeed it truly was without the influence of the Dark Lord and his servants. Now it was ruled by Prince Barahir the Old, grandson of Faramir the Last Steward and friend to King Eldarion as once his grandfather had been a close friend of Elessar. Like the Tirithin before the northern passage into Mordor, the Ithil Vale was guarded; but crafty and clever wanderers could slip in and out without being noticed, as a certain pair of Halflings had discovered when it was yet Minas Morgul.


    For eight days the three seekers made haste across the Gorgoroth to reach the passes of the Mountains of Shadow, resting sparsely and saying little to conserve their strength. They reached the Morgai, the foothills of the mountains, when the eighth day was passing into a ninth, and decided to settle in for the night in a small ravine. At dawn''s first light they were up again, and they ascended the mountain pass towards the ruin of Cirith Ungol.


    They passed the ruins of the twisted tower just before noon; off the main road they saw a passage leading into the mountains itself. None of them said anything about it. They all knew that, as yet, there could very well be some dark terror lurking there. Without a word they passed it by, leaving its mysteries and darkness for others to deal with. They had their own to deal with, and time seemed pressing.


    As the sun began its western descent later that day, they came to a ridge where the road descended into the Ithil Vale. It spread out before them widely, ravines covered with evergreens and wild shrubs, the cleansed rivers and streams flowing freely throughout, and wildlife darting about upon the land, the treetops, or through the air. In the distance and off to their left they could discern the proud spires of Minas Ithil renewed. They then began a northwest descent into the vale below, hoping to keep out of sight just long enough to slip into Ithilien and then strike the road again, or perhaps some hidden path that they might use for their errand of secrecy. Though they all knew that Eldarion the King would agree with their self-appointed quest, he would likely order all the rings destroyed. Gr?fr and Mirilen certainly did not want that outcome, and for their sake neither did Caladan.


    For the better part of two days they traversed across the vale; Mirilen looked around in wonder, and her companions wondered how she remembered this place, if at all. When they voiced aloud their question, she told them that she indeed remembered Minas Ithil of old, before the Sundering that happened after the War of the Last Alliance, but that she had never ventured down this way again until now.


    "Never I saw the Morgul Vale or the city as it was held by the Nine; but tales I heard, and I mourned for what I thought would never come again. Yet to see this, to see all of this, it is as if there never was a darkening upon this land. May what grace remains grant that it never darkens again, and the memory of evils done be thrust away from it forever!" she said as they mounted another ridge which overlooked a cascading waterfall.


    Here they could see Minas Ithil better, its moon-white walls and towers gleaming even in the twilight, proud banners fluttering faintly in the night-breeze. Like a crown upon the head of a king sat the city upon its hill, giving all who saw it cause to pay silent homage as they would its sister-city of Minas Tirith at the base of Mount Mindolluin. At the top of its utmost castle they could see the banner of Ithilien, a sable field with a white tree and a crescent moon atop it, next to the banner of Gondor, the white tree with its seven stars upon another sable field. The moon shone upon it just right for an instant, making the city glimmer as if it were a living gemstone, and then the sight dimmed once more. Elf, Man, and Dwarf then slipped back into the night, continuing their journey.


    By dawn of the next day they had left the Ithil Vale without incident. Not even so much as a hound had sniffed them out, and they passed into the flowering country of Ithilien proper as silently as they had entered the Vale. To the crossroads they came, and they paid a brief homage to the statue of the king that sat there before turning north. They had since agreed to stay on the road for a time to avoid suspicion where they could; when they had gotten sufficiently north, they would then disappear into the wilds again and find a way to cross the Anduin into Rohan.


    "Preferably at the Mouths of the Entwash," Caladan remarked as they passed by a patch of bright wildflowers and herbs. "It is easier to find boats there now that the Rohirrim feel free to make settlements around that land."


    "Anorien keeps its borders there as well; we may yet run into some mischief or delay from your own people." Mirilen said.


    "I do not plan to stop in or near Anorien for the very sake of our quest." Caladan returned. "The Wetwang, the Nindalf, is sufficient enough to hide us from sight for a day or so when we reach it. From there the Mark''s border with the Entwash is no hard place to reach."


    "Near Rauros Falls?" Gr?fr remarked. "And then once we cross into Rohan, we go up through the Eastemnet along the river to the Entwade." he continued, and Caladan nodded in reply.


    "Aye, and then into the Westemnet, where the road winds through Kingstead and the Westfold, if we travel by the roads there." he said.


    "And the Horse-lords will simply leave us alone?" Mirilen said, unconvinced, though she did agree with the general course of their travel plans.


    "I spent a year in the Mark as part of my duties as a soldier of Gondor; I can get us past them without suspicion. Most here will assume I am simply making a long circle of things in the company of new companions. As long as you do not reveal that you are of the Noldor in some way, we shall not be disturbed." Caladan assured her.


    "Elves are Elves to the younger kindreds," Mirilen said to him, "Yet your words are well spoken. I shall let the two of you do the talking as much as I can."


    "Now let us cease from talking and resume marching," Gr?fr then grumbled, and a loud sneeze escaped him. "I do not know what sort of flowers or fancy little herbs are here, but my nose does not like them so much as the two of you!" he said grumpily, and Mirilen laughed.


    "Come, Son of Durin; come, Son of Gondor! Let us make haste on the road before us and so come to journey''s end!" she cried out merrily, and the three of them picked up their pace as one, hastening along the northward road through Ithilien, the Moon Country flowering as once it had of old.


    They saw to their left Osgiliath, the great river city and former capital of Gondor resplendent in the light of the sun. Further in the distance they could discern Minas Tirith, seat of the King, proud and unconquered bastion that it was. Like Minas Ithil, it had taken a lifetime of men to renew Osgiliath, and that was done only after the restoration of Minas Tirith. They heard a sound of trumpets, and many voices raised up in cheering. It was then the three of them recalled that today was the anniversary of the celebration upon Cormallen; would they pass by that place, where yet the culumalda trees grew in their red-gold flowering?


    "Cormar?; I had forgotten how close the time was to this celebration!" Caladan remarked as they continued their lively pace.


    "Ringday?" Gr?fr said curiously. "Ah, yes. Do they still do the reenactments?" he then asked, and Caladan softly chuckled.


    "Some cities do, yes. My own home of Tumladen only does so once every ten years; but here in Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, so near to where the event truly took place, it is marked with great pageantry." he said in answer.


    "We of the Eldar merely sing of our great achievements and victories." Mirilen remarked casually, smiling nonetheless. "Anyone would be hard put to ''reenact'' many of those, if any at all. If someone were to attempt a recreation of the battle between E?rendil and Ancalagon, I would surely be impressed!"


    "Yes, yes, dazzle us with your legendary exploits and memories!" Gr?fr said as he once again sneezed. "Pretend that the Dwarves have no feats of their own, even if they did end in tragedy! Mighty the heroes that fell before Durin''s Bane to ensure their kin would make it out of the halls alive!" he continued, and again Mirilen laughed. It was a crystal clear sound, and it made one feel like laughing with her in spite of themselves.


    "Dwerrowdelf, Khazad-d?m, lives again, if tales be true! Celebrate your long awaited victory, and mourn the fallen no more, for they have triumphed in the end!" she declared in a clear voice, and Gr?fr felt his heart moved by such words.


    "Come, Master Dwarf; as you said, less talking and more walking!" Caladan teased, and Gr?fr laughed this time.


    "Keep up if you can, you sprites! We Dwarves are sons and daughters of the earth and stone, and do not so easily tire as those who tower above us!" he said in a teasing manner, and with that they again picked up their pace, giddy in the sunlight and with the memory of battles and struggles now won and overcome. Those that saw them, if any, gave thought to the legends of King Elessar in his wilder days, running around the lands with Gimli son of Gl¨®in and Legolas of Mirkwood. Thus the three seekers passed through flowering Ithilien unmolested, believed by all who saw them to be a vision of the past.


    Ten days passed in this manner. Twice they foraged for food supplies and herbs amongst the bounty of Ithilien, and once they brought down a great hart with majestic antlers. They roasted what they could and carefully packaged what they did not; that was on the fourth day of their travels. On the fifth day they passed near to Henneth Ann?n, now a place of pilgrimage for those who sought to trace the steps of the Last Ringbearer. From there they turned northwest directly, and found themselves in the Wetwang on the evening of the tenth day.


    More wholesome than the Marshes to the north of it, the Wetwang or the Nindalf lay before the meeting of the Anduin and the Entwash, where the borders of Rohan and Gondor also met. Across the marshy expanses as far as they could see were only a few scattered fishing huts, temporary or seasonal homes for the folk who made their living from that which marsh and rivers provided. Most of them were from the Folde, that part of the Eastemnet around Aldburg and other settlements in the southeast portions of Rohan. The little fellowship of three picked their way carefully through the fens and mires for two days, bartering supplies at one of the more lively steadings near the river before coming to the Anduin itself. And there, on a particularly out-of-the-way eyot near to their side, was a riverboat that was just ready to get going. Caladan hailed them, and the owners of the boat halted.


    "Hail, friends! I would ask passage for three and their meager possessions, if it can be done." he said to them, and the two boatsmen exchanged a glance. A party such as this had not been seen in Rohan for nearly two-hundred years; what did it mean?


    "It can be done," the one on the left finally replied. "We are heading for the town of Fl¨¦oward; is this acceptable to you and yours?" he asked, and Caladan nodded.


    "That is most generous." he agreed.


    "Then if you''ll hand over nine silver coins, three for each of you and your gear, we will set off!" the other returned.


    Caladan did so, and when they were all aboard the boatsmen set off, rowing upstream and then heading west into the Entwash towards the Rohirric town of Fl¨¦oward. For the better part of two days they rowed, passing through the lively greenery that grew around the Entwash and its delta expanses; other small fisheries and waterside retreats could be seen, and a few steadings and crofts, but nothing of note--at least, not to the minds of those deemed as great map-makers. It was late in the evening when they arrived, and the lanterns were lit at the piers of the river-town north of Aldburg. A thane''s hall sat at the southmost portion, a stable on its west side and a smithy a few paces east of it. In the midst of the town was a well, and just east of this was a tavern and inn for travellers such as themselves. Here they decided to lodge for the night, thanking the two fishermen as they departed the boat and made their way towards the lighted inn.


    Fl¨¦oward was one of the more recent towns in Rohan, founded some fifty years after the War of the Ring. Its first thane, Bo¨²dica, was a woman who had lived in the spirit of ¨¦owyn, sister-daughter of Th¨¦oden Ednew, King of Rohan. Legend held her father was one of the thanes lost in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, but if so she herself had never started such tales. What was true was that she had fought under King ¨¦omer in his twilight years, securing her position as Thane of Fl¨¦oward and establishing her nephew as its next regent. It was a quiet town, and those here generally preferred it that way. Visitors and travellers were welcome, and in fact quite numerous at times; but even these did not strain the serenity of this far-eastern town of the Rohirrim.


    They found the keeper of the inn a jovial fellow who led them to a room right away before they even asked, and when they had paid him they settled in for a night''s rest. Caladan was the first asleep, followed by Gr?fr. Mirilen did not sleep in so many words, but she did relax her guard if only a little in this more civilized place. There was no reason to be suspicious of anyone here, and no one had even the slightest inkling of what they carried upon their persons. With that in mind, she settled for gazing out the window at the innumerable stars. The window faced the north, and from its vantage point she could see the starry sky rising up over a vista of night-cloaked plains dotted with trees and hills and the hints of settlements in the far distance. It seemed only a blink ago to her that this land was Calenardhon; yet for men that was many long generations ago, and over seven centuries had passed since Eorl had first ridden down from the north. What stories they told of that day and age! What epic histories they had of themselves in so short a time compared to her own kin, yet no less valiant were they in the telling.


    In the present age, according to what she had heard from Caladon in their travels, King L¨¦ofric, the fifth of ¨¦omer ¨¦adig''s line, ruled in the Golden Hall of Meduseld. He was, as Caladon said, newly crowned king of the realm, and was scarcely much older than the man from Lossanarch himself. His father L¨¦ofwine had served in Gondor as a young man when L¨¦ofric''s grandfather ruled, and had ridden with King Eldarion in far-off border skirmishes to the south. As to the son, he had not yet done much to distinguish himself for the bards of Rohan, but all in that land loved him for his kindness and generosity. Most said that it was all the deed he truly needed to rule wisely and well. Certainly L¨¦ofric himself seemed to think so, from all accounts. Better a kind king than a tormenting tyrant, after all. Mirilen could not think of who it was that had said such a thing, if indeed she had not just thought of it herself. Neither did she know when it was at last that she had closed her eyes; all she knew was that when they were open again, the starry sky was gone, and grey clouds heavy with rain were on the near horizon.


    Gr?fr was just to the door when she stirred, and the Dwarf turned as he noticed her getting up from the chair where she had slept, if indeed Elves truly sleep. Some even say that in the Blessed Realm, Aman far in the west where only Elves can go, that there is no sleep; yet there is rest, and as contradictory as it may have sounded to some the idea appealed to Gr?fr. And if anyone were to deserve that rest, surely the one who had gotten to her feet just now was most deserving, not desiring to leave until she had fulfilled a task she had deemed most necessary.


    "The lad''s down in the commons," Gr?fr said as she looked towards him. "I was just about to join him, if you''ve a mind for the company or the food?"


    "I believe that is a sound course, Master Gr?fr." Mirilen agreed, and they headed down together.


    The inn and tavern they were staying at was not yet lively, as it often was in the evenings, but there were a few folk there who had gathered for polite and amiable socialization before heading out upon their tasks for the day. Caladan himself was at a corner table, talking with one of the thane''s men. His two companions joined them, and soon there was a warm platter of hot loaves of bread, with cheese, apples, sausages, and a jug of water with them. They breakfasted eagerly upon it, talking all the while of old songs and stories.


    "An Elf I see before me," the thane''s man, Heregund remarked, "And we have heard many strange tales of that folk, and stranger ones still since the days of renewal."


    "What tales have you heard, if I may ask?" Mirilen said with the ghost of a smile.


    "The Tale of Annariel the Giver, a woodland sprite some say, but folk with wisdom say indeed she was an Elf. And she kept great stores of many things in many odd places of the world for folk in need; some say that she was a huntress, others a wandering minstrel, and still more say that she was a generous rogue. Perhaps all are true, but this man is not one to guess." Heregund told them


    "Ah, I remember that tale as well!" Gr?fr said with a nod as he raised a cup of water to drink. When he had set it down he chuckled. "And I remember that the ''generous rouge'' of that age was not only her, but if you can believe it, a wandering Halfling!"


    "One of the Holbytla?" Heregund wondered in astonishment.


    "What was his name; ah, the Elves of Mirkwood named him D?nobel, that should help this old mind of mine to--ah! Simply Dinobel, of course, some Brandybuck relation from Bree-town up in the north of the world." Gr?fr said as he recalled.


    The Halfling or Hobbit in question, Dinobel of Bree-town, was known for his remarkable and almost magical ability to slip in and out of nearly any place he desired. By curious chance, his name had a most apt meaning in Elvish: D?nobel, "Power of Secrecy" or "Magic Burglar". He had a fancy for food and pipeweed in particular, and this led some who knew the legends to jokingly say the name as "Dinnerbell". And still more who knew both legends say that both Elf and Hobbit were very good friends, joining together at every opportunity to thwart the agents of the Dark Lord in their time. None knew their ultimate fate, but the legends were so strong that folk said neither of them had truly died, but remained as echoes of goodwill in Middle Earth.


    "There were surely more we might name as heroes and emissaries of goodwill than has been told in grander tales," Heregund agreed. "Many valiant ¨¦oth¨¦od went wandering and warring to victory in those days, and though few came back the bards sing their names one and all, each in their own home."


    "Tell us of one," Caladan said, and Heregund, after eating some bread with cheese, gave a moment''s thought.


    "There was Thane Aldstor the Gallant of Folstead; a mighty archer was he, afoot or on horse. He fought in the Pelennor Fields, and later at the Black Gate itself. But ''ere he set foot towards either he was a hunter of the vicious orcs and wargs that dared cross our lands, and he slew them in secret, defying the ban of the King that treacherous Wormtongue tricked him into making. When all became known, ¨¦omer offered him the position of First Marshal of the Mark, but he refused, and returned to Folstead to live a simple life with his family and his hounds." Heregund recounted for them. "I am no bard, or I might sing it better than I say it!"


    "It is good to hear it, and good to hear of those who would have no honor but that of their own home." Caladan said in reply, and their companion nodded.


    "You''ll be off then after we devour this feast before us?" he then asked.


    "We''ve a long road ahead, and every mile counts." Gr?fr nodded.


    "Then I say to you that Folstead still stands; it is near to the Entwade, and though that is a fair distance itself there are steeds there which would be given generously." Heregund told them.


    "We shall keep your words in mind," Mirilen replied.


    "Good." he nodded.


    They talked indeed until all the food was gone, and then they parted company with Heregund, the three of them tracking the river while Heregund himself returned to his duty of patrolling the bounds of the town. It was not until much later that he recalled the name "Caladan" as being that same Caladan son of Galador; his father, it seemed, was looking for him, and had offered a great price for any who knew of his whereabouts and still a larger sum for those who might convince him to go home. By that time the three seekers were far away, a two day''s journey from the place named to them as Folstead.


    For the better part of that day itself, the three of them passed swiftly along the banks of the river. Here grew in abundance arrowhead flowers and willow trees, along with several varieties of berry bushes and cattails in the river itself, blowing in the breeze. They could also see water chestnuts and hyacinths, as well as a great many other kinds of flowering plants or grasses along the banks of the Entwash. Dragonflies darted about its banks, frogs and crickets such as they had heard in Ithilien were singing with lively rhythm, songbirds were chirping in the branches above them, and far above them in the sky was a hawk, circling in the air to catch a glimpse of some creature on the ground, whether witless mouse or scurrying rabbit.


    It began to rain later that day, later than they had expected at least, and the hearty downpour that assailed them near to the noon hour thoroughly drenched them. Not even the thickest canopy of trees kept them sheltered from that rain. In vain Caladan wished for a wizard to banish it as they continued in spite of it, making sure to keep the river to their right as they progressed. As the rain grew stronger the river began to slowly rise, and they edged away from it to ensure they were not suddenly washed downstream. By the time evening came the riverbanks were quite marshy, and the three of them were as downcast as the weather itself.


    "By Durin''s Beard! Spectres and shades! A horde of them would not have stopped me in this quest, but a rain like this dampens not only my body but my soul as well!" Gr?fr grumbled as he pulled himself out of a muddy patch.


    "I doubt that even what clothes we had in our bags are still dry..." Caladan said wearily.


    "Is there no shelter where we might set a fire going and shake off this wet? Ah, but the wood itself would be soaked through and useless for a fire..." the Dwarf mused aloud as he trudged behind them.


    "If my eyes do not deceive me I see an abandoned steading ahead," Mirilen told them, "We might take up residence there while the rain has its way."


    "Good enough!" Gr?fr exclaimed, quickening his pace. The other two did so as well, and they reached the place Mirilen had seen just as the dark had gotten too strong for them to continue.


    It was indeed abandoned; from the looks of things, no one had lived here for some years. They then let themselves into one of the larger buildings. Mirilen started to change out of her wet things immediately, but then she flushed crimson upon remembering her companions, and took one of the other rooms for herself. She shut the door behind her at once, feeling quite foolish. Man and Dwarf exchanged sheepish glances, and took their own separate rooms as well.


    "See you in a moment, lad." Gr?fr said to him.


    "Aye." Caladan replied.


    After a few minutes, the three of them were back in the main room of the house. Despite Caladan''s worry they had indeed some clothes that were dry, and these they wore now as they sat at a table they had dusted off. Gr?fr found some passable firewood next to the hearth, and in the next few moments they had a decent fire going to ward off the chill in their bones and to dry off that which was wet. Mirilen sighed with both weariness and contentedness.


    "It is not easing up even now." she remarked as the rain was heard thudding upon the thatched roof above them. "I wonder if this steading was forsaken on account of flooding." she then said, and her two companions looked uneasy at those words.


    "That would bode ill." Caladan said.


    "I''ll keep alert just in case, but we are far enough away from the river here. It would need to be a mighty rain indeed to flood its banks and so cause us grief." Gr?fr told them.


    "It seems a mighty rain right now, my friend." Caladan remarked.


    "Perhaps so," the Dwarf allowed, "But let us not worry about it all the night or none of us will rest. We should not be too far from our destination, if we heed the advice of Heregund?"


    "I know Folstead." Caladan nodded, "It is just south of the Entwade. We are, as I reckon it, two days from it, perhaps three. What coin have you, Friend Gr?fr?" he asked.


    "I''ll warrant not enough to purchase horses," the Dwarf mused.


    "Fair enough," the other returned. "It is not out of the question to try and strike a deal with them; to cross the Mark with the horses and then leave them to be returned with our goodwill."


    "That is acceptable." Mirilen nodded. "Do you know anyone there? Since you are familiar with it, it seems." she then inquired, seizing upon his earlier words.


    "I only passed through with the ¨¦ored, the battalion, that I rode with." Caladan said with an apologetic smile. "It is larger than Fl¨¦oward, and walled with palisades; their horses are amongst the finest in the Mark, bred and raised there with great care and great love. Reeve Walden is a stern man but wise; the king holds him in high regard." he said as he recalled the man in question.


    "And this little steading we sit in now? Do you not know of it?" she asked him then, and he frowned thoughtfully.


    "I seem to remember something of it, but it escapes my mind. We never came this way, that is for certain. The last time I was in Rohan I went by way of the Wold to Harwick, and then made my way north to what men here call the Dwimordene, Lothl¨®rien of old." he told them.


    "You have visited Laurelind¨®renan in its winter years, Caladan son of Galador." Mirilen smiled at him them.


    "I doubt it not, Lady Mirilen." he smiled back. "The Land of the Valley of Singing Gold faded into the Dreamflower; and now indeed it is Dwimordene, or as the Elves might say, L¨®mnan, Valley of Echoes."


    "Yes," Mirilen said, still smiling but in her features a hint of pain was revealed. "Now only the echoes remain, except in Elvenhome. Ah! But that must wait for yet a while longer." she remarked, half to them, half to herself. Caladan heard the longing in her voice, and it made his heart go out to her in silence as he gazed at her with reverence.


    There was a silence after that, except for the sound of Gr?fr readying their evening repast. When this was served they ate in silence, listening to the continuing rain beating upon the roof of the house. Gr?fr eyed it warily, as if it might suddenly cave in and drench them all over again. Caladan, too weary to do much else after eating, simply laid down near to the fire and fell asleep. The Dwarf puffed away on his pipe for a few minutes after eating, and Mirilen gazed out of the window almost anxiously. Gr?fr himself glanced very briefly towards it, and when he saw lightning flash on the horizon he let out a soft sigh and then put out his pipe.


    "Rest; I will wake you if aught happens." he said to her, and she nodded faintly. Mirilen then set herself on the opposite side of the hearth, and went to sleep as well.

 Part Two

    In the morning the clouds remained, but the rain had stopped. They took it as a good sign for drier weather, and after a hasty breakfast quickly departed the abandoned steading to continue north. The terrain had become quite muddy during the night; all that day they took great pains to avoid falling into puddles and the like as they tracked the river towards Folstead. Later in the morning they saw a company of riders heading east from the direction of Edoras, but these paid them no mind. There were travellers in abundance throughout Gondor and the Mark in these days of peace; what were three more, though they be so strange a company? For here in Rohan, the legends of an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf in the Riddermark were strong and widely told. And even if the three could not be so accurately discerned as such, it was no odd thing to see a Dwarf or several journeying through Rohan on their way to or from the Glittering Caves of Aglarond at Helm''s Deep in the west.


    When the noon hour came upon them the land was drier and the clouds above them lesser in number despite their heavy darkness; blue sky began to show, and a strong wind came blowing from the west. The grasses and flowers upon the plain swayed in its wake like the waters of the ocean, and they could see a family of ducks waddling down to the river. In the distance ahead of them, Mirilen could see a town that was as Caladan had described to her. With luck they would reach it by evening. She herself certainly hoped so, for if it were to rain again despite the sun breaking out there was no convenient cover to keep them dry again between where they were and the town. A merry rain she did not mind, but the deluge from last night was another thing altogether.


    "Let us quicken our pace if we can; I see Folstead even now!" she said to them.


    "Elven sight is strong, but the miles are weary for mortal kindreds." Caladan said in reply, a sad smile upon his face. "We may come there tomorrow, but this evening I would be glad to make it to that hillock there, the one with the trees growing thick upon it."


    "Aye, this marshy path we trod is taxing even this stout Dwarf!" Gr?fr added, "And though it pains me to admit it I should need rest soon. We have crossed many leagues these past few weeks together, to say nothing of our months alone!"


    "The hillock it is, then." Mirilen agreed. "Though if we reach it by late afternoon, I would that we should take a brief rest only and then head on to Folstead before it gets too dark." she added.


    "Agreed!" Caladan said. "Then I shall try for as long as I can to quicken my pace." he then nodded, and the other two nodded their approval, hastening their steps across the grassy plains of the Mark.


    As Mirilen had hoped, they reached the hillock by the late afternoon. It was crowned with an old oak tree surrounded by three younger oaks, and there was a birch and elm growing nearby as well. Above them, the sky was far bluer than it had been in the morning, and the clouds were heading towards the south.


    "Go and bother Gondor with your rains!" Gr?fr grumbled towards the retreating clouds. "Or pass over the sea to Harandor and Umbar, in those dry lands where rain is counted as gold!" he added to them, and his companions smiled with mirth at the words.


    "We have made better time than I thought," Caladan then said. "We may indeed keep our promise to Lady Mirilen, and reach Folstead by the coming of night, after a further rest."


    "And what course shall we take then, once we are horsed?" Gr?fr wondered.


    "Across the Mark towards the Gap of Rohan, no doubt." Caladan returned, and Mirilen nodded at his words. "At the Fords of Isen is a garrison on either side; there the Rohirrim keep a watch on the Dunlendings, whose lands we must also pass."


    "I wonder if we should also investigate Orthanc on our way; many secrets your King Elessar and his allies unearthed when they returned their attention to it, yet Curunir, like his ultimate master, was ingeniously cunning." Mirilen wondered aloud.


    "Only the Palantir of Orthanc is now there, insofar as I know; and you, Lady Elf, would know better than I the wrath of the Tree-shepherds, should we try to enter that place without the leave of the king." Caladan said in a warning tone. "And besides, what could even one of the Istari know of the rings and their making or un-making that you do not?" he then asked her, and the faint smile she loved to give came to her face.


    "The words are not unfair, and fairly given." she said in answer. "Yet if only to see for myself that there is naught which remains for those determined to enter Orthanc despite the Onodrim, I would dare it."


    "Let us wait until we are nearer to discuss it." Caladan said. "Yet, now that you say it, we would miss the garrison at the Fords if we went that way. I have heard of mountain passages that can lead us into the Wizard''s Vale from the northeast. Perhaps as we get closer we can find them, and at least we would not be searched."


    "At least that," she agreed.


    "Do the Rohirrim even search travellers as those of Gondor do?" Gr?fr wondered.


    "That garrison will," Caladan said, "For they are, as I have said, the guard against the Dunlendings to the west. And though that folk have quieted down and turned back to fighting amongst themselves, the guards will yet be wary of those travelling from and into those lands."


    "Then I agree with this course." the Dwarf nodded. "Now then, I feel rested enough; shall we continue on?" he asked them.


    "I am ready indeed, if Caladan agrees?" Mirilen said as she rose up.


    "Very well! Let us go on." the man himself said, stretching his limbs before standing up so that they could resume their journey to Folstead.


    All the while Mirilen suddenly found herself wondering about this level-headed man she had fallen in with; so young, so terribly young he was, and yet he was no less wise or travelled than any of her own kin might hope to be, at least as far as he could be on his own ground. As they made their way towards the town in the waning light of day she caught herself lingering on him, and hastily averted her eyes lest he see. What folly! It had only been a few weeks; she would be leaving them, leaving all of tree-woven Middle Earth behind as soon as their current odyssey had come to its completion. There was no time for such inklings of thought as she might once have dared to yield to, long ago.


    The thoughts were at last banished as they came to the edge of Folstead; a watch tower stood above the south-facing gates, which were yet open. They were challenged by a guard, but he was quickly satisfied when Caladan answered in the tongue of the Mark. Mirilen did not know it well, but she could discern that he had told the man they were travellers seeking lodging for the night. He nodded to them, and they passed into the town.


    At once they could tell that it was a much older town than Fl¨¦oward, and its mead hall far larger than that of the thane''s. They could see light emanating from its windows. There was, perhaps, some telling of tales going on within. When they passed by they could hear lively voices lifted up in song, and they smiled at each other. The hall itself sat on the western end of the town; to the north lay the stables, and farther beyond were fields where the steeds and their foals might wander for the day. To the east they saw the Entwash Gate, which led out to the crossing between Eastemnet and Westemnet. An inn stood near to the center of town, just beside a smithy''s workshop; the smith, fortunately, had ceased his labors for the night. The three seekers entered it, and found a warm reception awaiting them within. They had a lively supper in the commons (if one quite late) and then they went to rest. Again Mirilen found herself gazing over at Caladan; she could not quite stop herself this time, but he was asleep. Feeling strange, she tore her gaze from him at last to look out at the stars for the rest of the night.


    In the morning they departed the inn with thanks to their host, and then made their way towards the stables. Folstead was now quite lively, its occupants going about their lives with a seemingly greater need to do so than in Fl¨¦oward. The farmers headed out to their crofts, the smith had started for the day, hammer ringing like a bell, and the stable-workers were also hard at work. A grey-haired man seemed to be their overseer, and he came over to Caladan and the others as they approached.


    "Hail, Sunlending! What brings you so swiftly to these stables in the early morning?" he said to them in a friendly manner.


    "Greetings, friend! I had hoped to come to an arrangement for horses, if I may be so bold," Caladan said to him, and the Rohirric man folded his arms across his chest, giving him a curious look.


    "An arrangement?" he wondered.


    "I would ask only that we be allowed to cross the Mark with them, and then to return them to you by way of courier or some other proxy." the younger man returned, and the stable-master considered the words for a long moment. There was suddenly a keen look in his eyes, and Caladan wondered what it betokened.


    "I remember you... Caladan, is it? Word across the Mark and in Gondor is that your father is seeking you or news of you. Are you heading south indeed?" the man wondered, and Caladan shook his head.


    "It is news to me that he is seeking me, yet I cannot return to him. Not yet. If he seeks only for news, then be glad to tell him I was here, and that I will send word to him myself when I can. But for now," he said, interrupted by a woman of auburn hair and brown eyes.


    "For now you only want to cross the Mark in a direction that leads not to Mundburg?" she said to him, and the stable-master nodded to her. She smiled at him, and then turned to Caladan. "Had we known you were here, my father would have hosted you with song and drink!"


    "Lady Fr¨¦awyn," Caladan said as a smile crept to his features. Mirilen suddenly felt a twitch of a feeling she did not understand. "I would not have so burdened the courtesy of the reeve, as I fear I am in haste."


    "Do not think it a burden, my friend." she said to him with a smile. "Yet now that I know your desire, let me handle this. Aldwine, give me three steeds, and have L¨¦afola saddled with them. I will ride with them to where they desire to go, and shall bring the horses back myself." she said to the stable-master, who nodded at once and went to to her bidding, waving for two of his helpers to assist him in the task.


    "Very well, Lady of Rohan, I shall acquiesce to your courtesy!" Caladan then said.


    "A Dwarf riding a horse!" Gr?fr muttered to himself, and Mirilen touched him gently on the shoulder, looking at him with an apologetic grin.


    "Fear not, Master Dwarf," Fr¨¦awyn said, as if she had heard him. "We in the Mark have learned better since the days of the three wanderers. One of the steeds will be a pony of swift foot, be assured of it!"


    "Then I am as grateful as my companion." Gr?fr said with a bow to her.


    "But tell me, Caladan; what is this strange company? Have old stories gone to your head at last?" she said to the one in question with a strange smile. Caladan laughed at once, shaking his head.


    "I cannot tell you all at once; I will say that I and my friend, Gr?fr of Erebor, are escorting Lady Mirilen our companion and friend west across the Mark." he told her, and she gave him a keen look, taking him by the arm suddenly and nearly dragging him to a quiet corner away from the bustle of town. Gr?fr and Mirilen exchanged a glance, and hastened over to them, the Elf again feeling that strange feeling in her chest.


    "Towards Dunland?" Fr¨¦awyn asked him, and he nodded uncertainly. "The Dunlending Clans are getting hasty; they may be attacking each other, or they may be trying for the Westfold again. That way is not safe, my friend. Would it not be better to cross the Entwade and ride north if you must needs pass into the westlands again?"


    "No!" Mirilen said at once, softly but urgently, and Fr¨¦awyn turned to her. "Child of the Mark, your warning is well heeded; but I will not be deterred from my course even by such savages as these Wild Men easily swayed by might and majesty." the dark-haired Elf said to her, and Fr¨¦awyn gazed at her with scrutiny. Did she perceive more than Mirilen might guess? Even those of Gondor called the Rohirrim a child-race at times, yet they were anything but simple, being keen of mind and strong of heart. Fr¨¦awyn then gave her a smile, and turned back to Caladan. Once more, that feeling came unbidden to Mirilen''s heart as Fr¨¦awyn gazed at him with a certain air of... by Elbereth, never mind it! Mirilen thought angrily.


    "Wherever found you this fearless Elf, friend of my father?" she said as she let go of his arm.


    "That, too, is a story I am not willing to tell all at once; not for want of risking your ire, but for the sake of counsels held in close confidence." he told her gently, and she nodded.


    "Your words are well-spoken and truthful. I will not press you further, for now. Let me explain things first to my father, and then we shall take to the plains." she said to him then, and he nodded. Fr¨¦awyn then made her way towards the mead-hall, and the other two breathed sighs of relief at having kept their errand yet a secret.


    "Almost I feel guilty," Gr?fr said, "For not being able to trust such a one with such things as we now deal with."


    "There is nothing to be done about it." Mirilen shook her head. "I had not truly thought what I would do were I indeed to find these at last, and especially those once held by Dwarves and Men; but the counsels we have taken together and your better grasp of your king''s intentions on such matters have aided me. They must not come to light, least of all the Nine." she told them in softer tones.


    "Durin''s folk will not hide the reclamation of their heirloom, but we will not bandy it about either." Gr?fr told her.


    "I will accept those words for what they are." she nodded in answer.


    At that moment they saw Fr¨¦awyn striding back to them, a mischievous and merry look upon her face, inasmuch as Caladan could see. He gave her a look of inquiry, and she smiled as she came up to them, looking quite pleased with herself.


    "My father says these steeds are yours, in recognition for your time among us. Ride where you will, and so shall I, if you''ll have me?" Fr¨¦awyn told him, and Caladan stood amazed at the reeve''s generosity.


    "I doubt your brothers would think well of me, absconding with their younger sister so readily even though she herself seems to be doing the absconding!" he said to her in reply, and she laughed.


    "Never mind them! Waldhere and Wybert are at the king''s courts in Edoras. Come now, Aldwine will surely have our steeds ready for us, and we can take to the west roads as we will." she told them, and they made their way to the stable-yards.


    Here they found three horses and a strong pony outfitted for the road, just as Fr¨¦awyn had said. Her own L¨¦afola was a chestnut-brown steed that she greeted with a loving caress of the mane before mounting. Aldwine nodded to her, and she turned to look at him.


    "Aldwine, my father the reeve says these steeds are to be given to them; I pray that does no harm?" she asked him, and he shook his head.


    "It is the reeve''s command, and our herds are hale and strong." he told her. "Ride well; here is Winfrid for the Lady Elf, and Cena for Caladan; and here also is Acca for the Dwarf. Fear not, he is as swift of foot as many a horse''s foal we have raised!"


    "I am grateful to you, then; Gr?fr, at your service!" the Dwarf returned with a bow, and then went to mount up on the pony.


    "Aldwine son of Baldwine at yours, Master Dwarf." the other replied.


    When the four of them were all set for their ride, they took their leave of the stable-master and his helpers, and rode slowly through the town until they came to the stable gates on the north side of Folstead. They were open, and when they had gotten clear of the town they urged their beasts to a faster speed, first to a canter and then to a gallop as they got further away. Fr¨¦awyn took note of their direction; they were heading along the west banks of the Entwash, apparently following the river towards the north of the Mark. Were they not riding for the Fords of Isen? Or was this errand of Caladan''s so secretive that he felt a need to try and circumvent the garrisons there? Whatever was going on, she would have time enough to find out; her father had given her leave to accompany him and his friends throughout their journey.


    Not in malicious cunning, but out of friendship--and love--will I keep a close eye on you, O Caladan! She thought to herself as they rode along. For now, she would be patient with him, and wait until he could open up more fully to reveal what was afoot with this strange company.


    ***


    It was nearly four days later when they made camp near the borders of Fangorn Forest. They had held to the river''s course, following it upstream past the villages, crofts, and steadings of the Rohirrim, along with several cots where hunters or woodsmen would gather in small numbers to ply their trade upon beast or timber. Several wild herds of horses had passed them by, to say nothing of the occasional deer and the many kinds of birds which flew overhead. When they had gotten as near to Fangorn as they dared it was late in the afternoon, and the number of animals they saw decreased. Gr?fr, Fr¨¦awyn, and even Caladan gazed at the woods suspiciously, especially the former two, but Mirilen blinked not an eye. Even if the legends of the forest had grown in the telling, she was still of the Eldar, and feared not the forest as others in Middle Earth might.


    As for the other three, they knew all too well the stories of that fabled wood both before and after the War of the Ring. In fact, it was the legends which came out of that war in particular that frightened them most of all: the stories of Saruman the White hacking and burning away at the woods which neighbored his home of Isengard, only to have the very forest itself turn upon him and all his forces, bringing Isengard to ruin and inadvertently imprisoning the treacherous wizard in his own tower. It had been one of the many surprise counterattacks in that conflict, but though the Ents had saved the Rohirrim and Gondor alike by doing so, when King Elessar had passed on the stories of their doing so the wood became more ominous. It was said now that if one so much as bore an axe within sight of the wood, an Ent would come forth to step on you or worse. Needless to say, Gr?fr kept his axes well out of sight -- or at least as best as he could. Besides their Rohirric companion he was the most ill at ease near to the boughs of what was probably one of the oldest of all forest remnants in all the world.


    "If I had known we would pass so near to this place...!" he grumbled softly as he spread some butter over a slice of bread. They had resupplied at a croft now a day behind them, making sure they had all that was necessary for at least a month''s worth of travelling. Fr¨¦awyn had been most interested in their discussion regarding the matter, but she showed no signs of being suspicious about it. If they were to travel so long and so far, so be it!


    "Another three or four days. Then we shall be out of its sight, and away from its wrath, unless you are still intent upon that place," Caladan remarked, directing his last words to Mirilen.


    "I feel no unease here. And yes, I am." she returned.


    "Strange are the Elves to feel no fear nor foreboding near to this forest," Fr¨¦awyn said softly as she also ate a slice of bread, hers with honey upon it.


    "We are the ones who woke them, the tree-shepherds; we need not feel fear from those who are as old as we are, and yet far more removed from any other beings in this world." Mirilen replied with a wistful, almost longing tone.


    "And you would even dare the wrath of that which we name the W¨¦ardholt?" the Rohirrim maiden then asked; she had heard the gist of their travel plans, at least those meant to take them through Rohan, and was still trying to decide if Caladan and his friends were brave or feckless for doing so.


    "They may yet let me, of all people in this world, enter that wood and the tower with their blessing. Only none of you should come with me when I do so; that way, there will be no need to tell lies about your escapades with Mirilen of Imladris which might invite a king''s wrath." she told them, and to that none of them had an answer. After a time, Fr¨¦awyn plucked up the courage to ask another question, this one of a more curious nature than inquisitive.


    "Were you then there when the Elves and the Ents began to speak with one another?" she wondered, and Mirilen smiled.


    "Nay," she returned, "But often I spoke with them in later days; yet after the sundering, when the victorious but haggard alliance drifted apart, I rarely if ever saw any of them again."


    "Alas for all that has faded and is fading still," Gr?fr said in a reverent way, "Peoples, friendships, and kingdoms; when the world is new again, and we all live in peace once more, let us meet again, and spend many hours laughing at our past travails." he said, and then cast an eye towards the wood. "Aye, even with you, who dwell ever in the woods! I will not lay my hand to axe in sight of your bounds, so I pray you let us pass along in peace, that we may meet again in merrier times as truer friends!" he called out, but there was no answer forthcoming.


    "Hidden as the Dr¨²edain, yet far more deadly to those who invite their ire." Caladan said as the silence went on.


    "Wood-woses..." muttered Fr¨¦awyn.


    "Rest; I will keep watch." Mirilen then told them. One by one, they drifted off to sleep, grateful for at least one who feared not the mysterious forest whose bounds they were so near. Mirilen thought for certain that she saw gleaming eyes peering out from them at once point, but if it was indeed an Ent, one of the Onodrim, it had most likely decided that these four and their steeds were no threat.


    When dawn came, the other three got up quickly, eating a light breakfast with their Elven companion before taking to the saddle again. Directly west they rode, towards the rising peaks of the Hithaeglir in the distance, the Misty Mountains. The tall peak of Methedras peeked out above the morning mists and fog, its snowy cap gleaming in the light of the rising sun. A flock of birds suddenly flew out of the treetops to their right, chirping and warbling in a lively manner as they began winging their way south. Caladan dared a look to his right; he could have sworn that, for a moment, he saw movement, but perhaps it was only the morning''s weariness playing tricks on him. Best to wait for wakefulness before deciding if I have seen aught or naught, he thought to himself quietly.


    "Woodhurst lies on our road, does it not?" he said aloud to Fr¨¦awyn.


    "It is so." she nodded. "Reeve Eglaf rules there; but if you are intent on secrecy in your errands I must advise you to pass by that town in some way."


    "There is a pass in the southern foothills of the Misty Mountains that leads into the vale, or so I have heard; it should be no hard task to avoid the town and find its beginnings at the edges of the wood." Caladan replied.


    "I have not heard of this; is it so?" Fr¨¦awyn asked him.


    "The Red Book of the Pheriannath reveals many secret ways that those little folk used in their travels during the war." Caladan said. "This particular pass was used by the Ents when they came to Isengard in wrath and threw down Saruman''s designs."


    "Then there are Ents likely still there, to say nothing of the fell trees themselves!" Gr?fr said as he caught the words.


    "Only do not bear your axe, Master Dwarf, and they will let us pass by in peace." Mirilen said as a reminder. Gr?fr let out something between a grumble and a groan, and began muttering in his own tongue.


    They continued riding along the edge of the woods with a respectful silence after that exchange. By the noon hour they could tell the land was starting to go steadily uphill; the sensation became lesser as the day waned into afternoon, and at evening they had found a place to rest at a fair distance from the wood. They were confident enough now to light a fire and so have a warm meal, seated on a ridge a good stone''s throw away from the trees. When this had been eaten Caladan took the first watch as the others rested, and then Gr?fr relieved him in the late-watches. Again they set off at dawn after a brief but hearty meal, and continued their journey. This second day passed by without much to distinguish it, save that it was cloudy again. The third day was sunny again, and when its evening came they could see lights ahead; Woodhurst was before them. Caladan nodded to the others, and they nodded back. Turning their steeds northwest, they began riding towards the eaves of Fangorn and away from the Rohirric city.


    It was no easy task to find the path that led over the foothills and into what was once known as Nan Curun¨ªr, especially in the dark of evening, but there was light enough for their sharp eyes to locate it. As quickly and silently as shadows they rode towards it, not daring to stop or rest until they had reached it. Then they halted for only half the night, resuming their journey with the goodwill of their steeds. They rode through the night and most of the morning, and by the time noon had come along they could see it: the former Wizard''s Vale, now simply Nan Orthanc, the Vale of Orthanc. Yet it was also named in Gondor as Nan Onodrim, the Vale of the Ents, where the Eryn Tirith lay in a cunning sprawl around that ancient tower which had once been the home of Saruman the Betrayer.


    Dismounting their steeds, the four riders led them to an edge of the vale near to where the Isen flowed down from the mountains. Here they tied them to a convenient sapling to let them graze for the day, and set up a more sturdy camp. They lit no fire this time, desiring not to give the garrison at the Fords excuse to investigate any sign of smoke.


    When this was done, Mirilen quietly took her leave for the present, subtly nodding towards her pack where she kept the rings. Caladan just as surreptitiously nodded back, and settled himself down to keep watch. Gr?fr lit up his pipe, and Fr¨¦awyn stretched out upon a sward of grass. Smiling softly, Mirilen stole away from them and began making her way through the Treegarth of Orthanc.


    Despite her earlier words, Mirilen did feel a certain sense of trepidation upon entering that mysterious wood which had grown up around the Tower of Orthanc and which continued to guard it against all comers. Yet from the forest itself she sensed something akin to confusion, bewilderment, or even surprise; was it truly an Elf, one of the oldest and fairest of all peoples in the wide waking world? Had they not all gone by way of the sea, or begun hiding themselves ever deeper into forests more vast and strange than even this? What was her purpose in coming, and why now of all times was she here? Nevertheless they did indeed let her pass, if only for the sake of that sense of surprise and astonishment they seemed to feel at her coming.


    Passing through them, she came at last to the more open spaces of grass that had grown up again around the tower itself. That black and smooth tower, cunningly crafted in ancient days by the N¨²menoreans at the height of their skill, stood imposingly before her. Yet whatever echoes of malevolence that Saruman had poisoned it with had long since faded away, and there remained now naught but an empty threat to all passersby.


    Mirilen strode boldly up the stairs of the tower, and pressed against the door. It was locked. She looked back down the stairs; there was a tree there she had not noticed upon heading up. Or was it a tree at all? Slowly it turned to her, and a pair of golden eyes opened to look at her. She felt her heart beating with elation and panic; an Onod! Mirilen thought to herself with both awe and fear. Suddenly it began moving, and it made its way up the stairs to speak with her. Her mouth opened, but no words came forth. It stared at her for a moment, and then blinked. The look in its eyes was not unfriendly, but it still seemed quite puzzled as to why she was here, if not totally suspicious.


    "Hmm ha hey!" it rumbled out. "An Elf! Hoom, for a terrible long count of mortal years no elf has been seen below the boughs of Fangorn, and now one has come and given the Watchwood many ponderous thoughts, hmm hom hoom! What brings you to this tower, kept by the Ents at the command of the King of Men?" it said to her, not unkindly, and suddenly she found her voice.


    "Master Onod, I beg leave as one who walked the lands long before any kingdom of Men to enter this tower and see if there is aught which its last occupant has, in some way or another, stolen from its rightful owners!" she said desperately. The Onod at least seemed to take in her words with care, thoughtfully mulling them over. By all the Valar...!


    "Hmm! One of the eldest indeed; Master Onod, she says, but I beg your pardon! Plain old Brethilas will do, Birchleaf, as Men might say. Ah, but entering the tower... without leave of the king?" Brethilas said to her, and Mirilen tried to think of another answer, but then the Ent held up a hand. "For the sake of old times, just this once! But don''t be hasty and tell others that you have done so." he said to her as he handed her the keys.


    "For the sake of olden days, or whatever your reason, I thank you; and I promise that I will not speak of it to anyone. I have my own oaths to fulfill, which are just as secret, and there may yet be aught in this tower which would keep them from being fulfilled. Therefore I beg your secrecy as well, O Brethilas!" Mirilen said as she accepted the keys gratefully.


    "Hoom hom; but of course! We Ents have little to say to anyone but ourselves anymore; fear not! Only return the keys when you leave." he told her, and with that she entered the tower.


    Mirilen knew well, of course, that King Elessar had investigated Orthanc after the war to uncover the full extent of Saruman''s treachery. But she hoped that there were things which even he might have missed, or perhaps even things that only one such as she or such as Saruman had been would pay heed to. A shadow in the fading halls of another shadow seeking the echoes and remnants of the past, she mused to herself as she wandered the halls.


    Eventually she came to what was yet labelled as a library, and she pressed open the door; it swung inward with a creak, and a musty smell came wafting forth. Mirilen coughed for a moment, and then gazed around. Dust and cobwebs lined the walls, but all the books were yet here. Apparently it had been decided that it was better to leave all of them behind for some future scholar to examine and catalogue, but that intent seemed to have been forgotten. And in the wake of King Elessar''s further battles to ensure peace in Middle Earth, who could blame them for forgetting? Now it gave her the opportunity she needed.


    Mirilen examined each and every book for the next several hours, picking out one by one any and all that had to do with ringlore, whether it had been written by one of her people long ago or whether it was one of Saruman''s annotated copies. By the end of it all she had twenty-nine books in a pile, and when she had fully assured herself that these were the only ones that were in the whole of the tower, she wrapped them in a bundle and departed from it. She returned the key to Brethilas, who gave her a subtle nod, and made her way back to where the others were waiting.


    ***


    "It is nearly midnight." Gr?fr remarked as the crickets chirped around them.


    "Yes, it is." Caladan said in a tired manner, but not without an anxious tone in his own voice; the Dwarf decided to leave it alone, but then he noticed movement.


    "Eh? Ah, by Durin, Mirilen returns to us!" he said, and the other two looked over. Mirilen had a bundle slung over her shoulder, which she set down next to her gear upon reaching them.


    "Well? What happened?" Caladan said, feeling a sudden surge of wakefulness as she sat down.


    "I cannot tell you." she smiled. "I will only say that I have what I came for, and that we can now press on with our journey." she told them, and Fr¨¦awyn nodded.


    "I deem the secrets of that place are best not to know." the Rohirrim maiden agreed. "But now lest us rest; if you truly want to avoid the garrison at the Fords, we will need all our wits and cunning."


    "Agreed." Mirilen said in reply.


    "Then we shall rest." Caladan agreed. "Gr?fr, is it your turn or mine?" he called to the Dwarf, who only chuckled faintly as he lit up his pipe once more.


    "Mine." the Dwarf told him. "Sleep, and I will wake you all in the morning for the next stage of our journey, and hope that it becomes less stranger as we move on!" Gr?fr remarked, and the others went to their rest with a smile at those words.


    As for Gr?fr himself, he held a staring contest with a pair of golden eyes in the wood for at least part of the night; it vanished before the moon was gone over the western skies, and so suddenly did it leave that Gr?fr questioned his sanity for a few moments, until at last dawn peeked over the eastern horizon with a warm and welcome light.


    The four riders forded the Isen at a place where there seemed once to have been a bridge across it, and continued southwards along the western heights of the vale. Fr¨¦awyn rode in front with Gr?fr just behind her, leaving Caladan and Mirilen to bring up the rear. This time, the man of Gondor caught himself looking over towards the Elf. Despite her own private thoughts on the matter, he had indeed noticed her staring at him once or twice on their journey. Now he found himself inadvertently returning the favor, and likewise hoping she did not notice.


    "How did you come to know Caladan at all?" Mirilen called up to Fr¨¦awyn, who smiled back at them as Caladan quickly averted his gaze from either of them.


    "He never mentioned me?" she asked with a teasing look towards the man himself.


    "He mentioned only that he had ridden through Folstead, and that he hardly knew anyone there if at all." the Elf woman said with a knowing smile, and Fr¨¦awyn laughed.


    "It is true, in part. I and my brothers, however, rode with his company for a time, and this solemn son of the stone-lands was a more somber soul than now I see him." the Rohirrric maiden told her in answer. "My father was wroth when he learned I went, but Waldhere and Wybert both managed to appease him on the promise that I would not ride with a war-party again until my twentieth summer, and that has now come and gone." she continued, and Mirilen gazed at her curiously.


    "Scarcely a shoot let alone a sapling in the reckoning of my people, but a woman indeed in the lifespan of Men." the Elf lady remarked.


    "I would not want to live so long," Fr¨¦awyn said with a sad smile, "And I cannot imagine what it must be like to know this world as it was and to see it now. Nor would I ever want to." she added, and a gentle smile formed on Mirilen''s face as she softly nodded in answer.


    "I wonder sometimes if it would not have been better to be mortal myself, rather than spend all the ages of the world in vanity, only to have it all crumble at the whim of treacherous schemers from one age to the next..." she mused softly, but they all heard her, and each of them felt pity in their hearts.


    Caladan especially felt a poignant sorrow for her. He looked over at her again; was there a hint of tears in her eyes? Could the Elder Kindred weep as mortals wept, or was it a fancy of his own heart? Suddenly aware that his gaze was again lingering, he respectfully averted his eyes--or tried to. Just as he was about to do so she looked back at him, and their eyes met. For a moment they saw each other''s heart clearly, and they desired nothing but to fulfill the ancient longing that comes upon both mortal and immortal within the confines of the world; then Gr?fr''s voice came to their ears, saying something about scouts ahead, and the moment was broken. They returned to the present, and continued on the southward way. Yet as Caladan rode ahead to catch up with the others, Mirilen shed a tear indeed, hearing the snatches of an ancient lay running through her mind.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Again she fled, but swift he came.


    Tin¨²vuiel! Tin¨²viel!


    He called her by her Elvish name;


    And there she halted listening.


    One moment stood she, and a spell


    His voice laid on her; Beren came,


    And doom fell on Tin¨²viel


    That in his arms lay glistening.


    In all the ages of the world she had never understood those lines, though she had, as had all the Eldar who sang it, wept at the fate that had taken the fairest of all the Elves from the living. Yet now so clearly in her heart they resounded, piercing countless years of isolation with a pang that had never been there before. She caught her breath, dried her eyes, and then quickly urged her horse onward to catch her companions.


    When she had caught up to them again they rode a ways up a ridge that overlooked the river valley below, and then dismounted. Fr¨¦awyn pointed to a wooden wall; it was the Isenward, the westernmost defenses of Rohan in the Westfold.


    "We have not yet been seen," she told them, "But let us wait for twilight at least to go on, if you insist on sneaking past them."


    "I do." Mirilen said. "I cannot be delayed in any way, even by those I should count as friends, however well-meaning their intentions."


    "Then so be it." Fr¨¦awyn nodded solemnly. They tied the horses and pony to the lowest tree branch they could find, and sat themselves down to wait.


    All during that time Mirilen curled up as if she were sleeping, yet inwardly her thoughts were racing like steeds across the plains of Rohan. To be so close to fulfilling her vow, to be able at last to go back to Eldamar after all these millennia of exile and self-imposed exile, and to suddenly realize she had fallen for a mortal at the very end of the road; ah! Why had she ever made her rings, those three rings, those mere trifles and essays in the craft? And why had she vowed to get them back? What a folly it seemed to her now, what a hindrance! Yet despite those thoughts she earnestly wanted to love him. To have spent all the ages of the world with her craft as the only love she ever knew, and to have seen all the works of her hands perish save for these last three rings; what were rings on the hand compared with love in the heart? What were deeds on the battlefield and valiant quests taken to completion, next to the simple life of contentment at home, living comfortably with those who cared most for you? And yet she had rejected the latter twain to embrace the former two with all her being.


    Caladan himself was having similar thoughts; over and over his mind went to the most ancient of Elven lore he knew of, stories of Beren and L¨²thien, of Tuor and Idril Celebrindal, E?rendil and Elwing, and on down the line to Aragorn and Arwen; what hope had he to love her, deathless to the ages and unravished by time even here, for all his lifetime? Yet she herself said that if she remained, she would fade to little more than a wraith in the ages to come. Better she return to the Far West, to rest at last from her labors and think no more of those lands where she had endured such loss, such pain, as never he could know or even dream. He let out a sigh of weariness, and Gr?fr looked over at him. The Dwarf scooted closer, and whispered in his ear.


    "Better to give and be shattered than to keep and so fester." Gr?fr said to him, and Caladan looked over at him with an inquisitive look. The Dwarf, his empty pipe in his mouth out of habit (just in case the smoke might somehow be seen by some keen-eyed Rohirric warrior), gave him an idle shrug. "You live as long as I have and you learn to read people quite quickly. It''s why I knew you were sincere and why I decided to jump a bit ahead of you to Mordor. Most don''t give Dwarves any credit for being good judges of character, and especially our own; yet the years have not gone by without softening us, such as we are."


    "You knew?" Caladan asked him softly.


    "Longer than both of you, apparently." Gr?fr remarked wittily, and Caladan stifled a laugh. "Even if all she does is carry your words to the Undying Lands, that''s worth something, isn''t it?" the Dwarf then asked him with a more serious tone, and Caladan sighed once more.


    "I do not know, my friend." he answered quietly. Gr?fr frowned thoughtfully, and was about to say something else when Fr¨¦awyn''s voice called out to them in a loud whisper.


    "It is time; untie Acca and the horses, we must walk them until we pass Dol Baran." she said, and with that the four of them resumed their journey into the lands west of Rohan.


    ***


    Nearly seven-hundreds of years ago, Eorl and his folk came down from the north to aid the reigning Steward of Gondor; in return for their aid he gave them the plains of Calenardhon which became Rohan. They then drove the wild men, the Dunlendings, into the west--and the Dunlendings never forgot it. And that mournful landscape of hills and trees which men call Dunland after its occupants seemed a reflection of the mournful memories which the Dunlendings carry even now in these days of peace. Only two times in all their history had they gathered in force to try and take back the lands which had been theirs, and both times they had been repulsed, once by Helm Hammerhand and then by Th¨¦oden Ednew.


    In the years since, they had turned to warring with each other, fighting over land, herds, and occasionally some unfortunate woman or child that was of great importance to one of the many brenins in the land.


    "They have had no one we might think of as a high king among their people since the days of that traitor Wulf." Fr¨¦awyn noted as they passed Dol Baran late in the evening. "Many clans and tribes there are, and we have given up on trying to count them. Yet the lands of the people we now travel near are those contested by the Raven, Wolf, and Boar Clans. The rumors we have heard of their massing forces mean that this war is soon to break out, and I fear lest we become lax in our guard of the borders while they tear each other to pieces."


    "We will keep to the mountains until we come to the Glanduin, that should keep us far enough away from them and their squabbles." Mirilen said.


    "We can certainly try." Fr¨¦awyn agreed.


    "Is it too late to slip back and go by way of Caradhras? Surely the mountain pass would be less threatening than these Dunlending Clans!" Gr?fr remarked.


    "The mountain is indiscriminate in its hate, is that it?" Caladan smiled.


    "Forgoil they call us," Fr¨¦awyn said solemnly, "Usurpers, in their tongue. But riding back to such paths as might avoid them would take longer, and Lady Elf says she has no time. We will risk these paths, then, and hope that the ''Aluc yrn Helvarch'' is with us, the Hunter''s Luck." she said with the ghost of a smile.


    "That is Dunlendish, or I am an Ent..." Gr?fr remarked.


    "We are not ignorant of our neighbors and their words." the Rohirrim maiden returned. "My father had my brothers and I learn it well enough to show respect, if the occasion ever came to use it."


    "Let us hope that if it comes, your respect is honored." Gr?fr replied.


    "But for now I will hope in secrecy." Fr¨¦awyn said, and with that she halted, mounting up on her steed. The others followed her example, and she nodded towards a vale that led northward into Dunland. "Ride now as softly as we can, and with haste!"


    The words were spoken while the moon was at its peak in the sky. They kept the King''s Road, as it was known to them, at their left. All through that night and into the morning they rode, not stopping until they came to a thickly forested part of the land where oaks and alder trees seemed prominent. A particularly large oak sat on a small hill above the others like a king of the woods, venerable and ancient. The four of them felt a feeling of reverence well up in them, as if it were indeed a monarch, and they bowed to it before taking their rest for the day.


    Far in the distance, Caladan could see the signs of a village nearby; smoke rose from a distant valley where the Dunlendings had their settlement. He could see circularly-shaped houses with mildly conical roofs made of stone and thatch, and perhaps some were made of mud and wattle. They were situated in a ring, and further west and a stretch south of them he could see herds of cattle, sheep, goats, and pigs grazing. To the north there were fields for crops; crops of what, he could not discern, yet they were probably some kind of grain. He could not see them very clearly, but the people were, according to their own standards, wildly dressed. He was not even sure if some of them were dressed at all, but he turned his thoughts away from such matters as Gr?fr began slicing up bread, cheese, and meat for another cold meal.


    "By Durin''s Beard, we should have turned north after Orthanc; never mind the pass, my kinsman would have given us a grand welcome, and we would have been out of sight and mind for a week before anyone figured out what had happened to us. I could have delivered to him what I need to deliver to him, and Lady Elf could have ridden along with Caladan to Ost-in-Edhil further west. But no! Cold dinners and sleepless nights through some of the most savage men of Middle Earth!" he grumbled softly, dwindling off into his own tongue to curse the Dunlendings.


    "This village we see now is Lhan Culch; further ahead I only know the names of two others: Lhan Trum and Turrau L?th, the Towers of the Clans." Fr¨¦awyn told them as the grumbling Dwarf set out their repast for the day.


    "I do not like the sound of this last," Caladan said as he began to eat.


    "In older times it was called Galtrev; but in their last war against each other that town was burnt to the ground. The clans rebuilt it with stronger defenses, and now it has the newer name I have given you. Nevertheless, some still speak of it as the older city which stood upon that hill. You are right not to like it; for it is as it sounds, a place where the clans gather." she told him.


    "We will not draw close to either of them, I trust?" Gr?fr asked her.


    "That is my hope, and the mountains are kind to us." the Rohirrim maiden returned. "Let us take what ease we can, and be off at nightfall."


    "They may well then take us for some sort of gwirod, riding by in the night." Caladan said with a faint smile.


    "They may well do so, and may it give them cause to leave us be!" Fr¨¦awyn said with her own smile.


    After that they ate in silence, and then took what rest they could in the light of day, silently taking turns at watch by way of nodding at one another when one of them felt more alert than the others. When twilight came along they softly got back on their steeds and resumed their ride at a slower pace out of necessity, keeping to the woods so as to ensure that any who saw them believed them to be spirits or ghouls of the night.


    They continued like this for the better part of four days, keeping watch in the day and travelling by night under the moon and stars. Smaller villages they saw, which Fr¨¦awyn told them were called cartrevs as opposed to the larger trevi; it was, she supposed, not unlike the difference between a croft and a steading in her own country of Rohan. This was in addition to the occasional cadlus they could espy in some hidden corner of the woods, generally a hunter''s camp. They were just passing the Turrau L?th on the fourth night, which happened to be quite foggy, when their first travail upon the road came at last.


    Moving slowly through the mists and staying close to each other, the four companions did they best they could to keep heading north along the Misty Mountains. Every now and again they could see the peaks, and would correct their course as needed, but for the most part it was deeply fortuitous guesswork that kept them in the right direction--if at all. What they did not nor indeed could not have realized was that the Dunlending raiders attacking each other were doing so that very night, very close to their path. In later days it was remembered as a surprise attack; the Bear and Wolf Clans, with the aid of the Hart and Oak Clans, routed the Raven, Boar, and Sky Clans, breaking the latter alliance''s control over Turrau L?th and freeing it up for all the clans once more. Yet unknown to all save the Dunlending Clans involved was that the Wolf Clan, still eager for battle, went scouring the countryside as the fog of the night began to clear.


    As it happened, the scouring of these warriors and raiders led them straight into the four riding through Dunland. At once a clash began, Fr¨¦awyn and Caladan drawing out their swords with fierce yells and the infamous "Baruk Khazad!" ringing out from Gr?fr, to say nothing of Mirilen''s own fierce war-cry, one that had echoed throughout the ages: "A Elbereth, Gilthoniel!". Though taken by surprised, they managed to hold their own fairly well, until something unexpected occurred at the end of it all. The four companions did not know quite how it happened, but somehow or another Mirilen was surprised by her attackers and knocked off of her horse. With astonishing swiftness she fought back, but eventually she was rendered unconscious by a giant among the Dunlendings. Caladan cried out to her in vain, and tried to ride after her, but the remaining Dunlendings hindered him and the others. By the time he and the others were able to fend them off or kill them so that they could get back to her horse she was long gone, and the raiders were running with their prize into the north.


    "Devils! Fiends! Curses on these Wolf Clan Raiders!" Fr¨¦awyn cried out in wrath.


    "Lad, the saddle-bags! Check them!" Gr?fr said quickly to Caladan to shake him out of his panicked daze; he did so, and moments later, he gave the Dwarf a nod.


    "Only she herself and her weapons have been taken--nay! The weapons are here on the ground!" he said as he examined the area in a calmer fashion.


    "Then--well, we have a lady to rescue!" Gr?fr said determinedly.


    "I can track these beast men even in the dim light; fast afoot they may be, but even at a canter we can overtake them." Fr¨¦awyn said to them.


    "I can also keep track of them," Caladan nodded as he got back on his horse and took the reins of Winfrid to lead the horse along with them. "They head north by northwest; if my eyes do not deceive me I see another vale that way."


    "Aye," Fr¨¦awyn nodded, "The Blaidh L?th lands are up that way, according to the bolder of our scouts and emissaries."


    "You are certain then that it is the Wolf Clan, these Blaidh L?th, as you name them?" the Dwarf asked her.


    "I know well the patterns of the Dunlending clans, both the paint on their faces and the make of their cloth; it was them, Master Dwarf." Fr¨¦awyn told him confidently.


    "Then let us begin our hunt for these wolves!" Caladan said, and with that they were off. He and the Dwarf exchanged a glance; Mirilen''s rings had not been taken, fortunately, but it was still a shock that she alone should have been captured, with or without them. A nod passed between them, and they resumed tracking the raiders.


    ***


    When Mirilen awoke she felt a strange sensation. Then she noticed. She was not wearing her customary gear. It had been taken, and she was now wrapped in the Dunlending fashion, a cotton-woven skirt or kilt bound around her waist, a simple wrap around her chest, and soft leather boots upon her feet. Flushing with a furious color of red she all but jumped up from her position on the ground and looked around; if what she had seen of them so far away was any indication, she was now in a large Dunlending hall. If she could have known, she was four days away from where she had been. It was now day five of her captivity; unbeknownst to her, she had been kept unconscious by a peculiar incense the Dunlendings use, and in this way they had kept her under control. For on the second day of her captivity she had also woken up, and fought them fiercely until one of them knocked her unconscious again. They had then decided to use the incense, the deilen-c?sgu, sleep-leaf, administered by one of their shamans which they call the derudh.


    And thus this clan of Dunlending wild-men had managed to keep the last of the Noldor in captivity. Feeling thoroughly humiliated, not the least by the attire she had been dressed in unwittingly, Mirilen silently wept. She tried as hard as she could to remember the battle; she could have sworn she heard Caladan calling for her, even as she slipped into unconsciousness. Then all of a sudden she ceased to weep.


    What was this prison compared to that of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, where once Beren and Finrod had been held captive? How indeed could it even compare to Angband, that dead fortress now under the waves where Morgoth had held court, or even to Sauron''s lesser fastnesses of Dol Guldur and Barad D?r? She dried her eyes, and berated herself.


    "I only weep because I was not brought down by an enemy so mighty as they, but by these fiendish wild-men!" she said aloud.


    At that moment, one of them came in. She recognized him. It was the one who had brought her down. He seemed to be a chieftain or a battle-master of some sort. He smiled ghoulishly at her, and chuckled.


    "Tul?th-teg l?th, you are now the property of Bran Brenin. You are skilled with a cledhau, this I grant you; but from now on you are as my guraig, my wife and queen, for I have overcome you!" he said to her triumphantly.


    "What triumph, feckless fool?" she said to him defiantly as she stood to her feet. "Your men dragged me from my horse and then you struck me over the head. If that is a triumph in your land, then it is no wonder the Horse-lords drove you into the hills!" Mirilen said to rile him. He frowned darkly. She had succeeded.


    "I do not like your tone, ven?. But you cannot challenge me again. It is the law of the Blaidh L?th, and you cannot change it." he told her with coldness.


    "There were three others with me. One of them will come and challenge you, this I know. Even if you deny me in your cowardice and trickery, you cannot deny them." Mirilen returned to the Brenin at once.


    "Yes, the other duvodiad wandering through the wilds have no doubt found the trail. I admit that my rhufel?r, my warriors, were quite careless." the swarthy Bran with his cunning eyes said to her. "But even if they come to Blaidh Brun with its mighty turrau and walls, think you I would simply let them walk in?"


    The only response he received was a scornful, condescending smile with a defiant glare. Snorting, he turned, and headed for the door of the hall once more.


    "Tomorrow is G?led y Blaidh; you will sit by me in this very hall as we sing songs and tell stories as my guraig. I will see you then." he then told her, and with those words he departed.


    Mirilen let out a sigh. There was nothing she could do but wait. After all, it would not do to violate the traditions of even these petty men, for all it would do would be to bring down a nearly endless horde upon her. G?led y Blaidh, had he said? Surely there would be many here for that. Surely it would be nearly impossible for her friends to rescue her. Nearly, but not impossible.


    ***


    On that very next day, a waggon with four steeds was rolling up to that place named as Blaidh Brun, Wolf Hill. Four days earlier, three companions had come across the waggon by chance; seeing it mostly intact with its yoke and harnesses still in fair shape, they had devised a cunning plan. One of them, the fastest rider among them, had ridden back to the site of a battle and collected the armour and weapons of the slain that yet lay there. She had returned to find the others just finishing with the waggon, and when she had given them the gear they fastened her horse to the team of four and donned their disguises. The shortest one simply tucked his great beard in his shirt and wrapped his cloak around him tightly, breaking off the branch of a nearby tree and whittling it to look like a shaman''s staff, even tying a few feathers he found on the ground to the top of it. It was not foolproof, but they trusted in fortune despite their mishap in the battle, and so continued following the trail to Blaidh Brun. And so it was that Fr¨¦awyn, Caladan, and Gr?fr were able to bluff their way into that Dunlending city, the Dwarf muttering something about an uncle of his who loved to jest and who would undoubtedly make many at his expense in this situation.


    ***


    "Diurnod teg!" the gate-keeper called to the approaching waggon. Fair day to you!


    "A diurnod teg!" the woman replied. "Pa-ne?dhion am y''?led?" And fair day to you! What news of the feast?


    "Ud?, ma'' G?led y Blaidh heddiu!" Aye, the Feast of the Wolf is today!


    "Budh e''n traed''n rhedegh, budh e''n lhesiau''n udo!" Our feet will run, our voices will howl!


    "Ud?, ud?! Deuch i meun, a m?nheuch y ?led!" Aye, aye! Come in, and enjoy the feast!


    The exchange was nerve-wracking for Fr¨¦awyn, but she felt Gr?fr pat her gently on the back from his place behind her.


    "Well done, lass!" he whispered as softly as he could.


    "Well done indeed," Caladan told her as well, and she smiled.


    "Now it is your turn." she told him. "When the feast is on, you will have a chance to challenge whomever it is that took Mirilen to a battle. Listen to me, stone-man; this duel will be to the death. The Wolf Clan show no mercy, and if you do not kill him they will."


    "Then let them kill him for his shame, not I." Caladan returned darkly. "Even if I lo--" he started to say, and then cut himself off, saying nothing further.


    Fr¨¦awyn looked at him sadly. Had he nearly said "love"? When she had first seen him back at Folstead, she remembered well how often he had teased her when they first met about how she would never find a man on account of her fighting ways unless he himself took her as wife. She had laughed then with all the rest of them, but when she saw him again those few weeks ago the words had cut into her heart. Once their adventure beyond the borders of Rohan had been over, she had meant to tell him that she had remembered, and that if he was willing, so was she. But this; she turned away, and looked around at the village. It was not unlike her own, save that the people were dressed differently and the buildings were the wrong shape.


    "But then, I have never been this angry before." Caladan then said in an even darker tone. "Perhaps we have been sent us here to end the reign of this fiendish wolf before he does some great harm." he continued, and Fr¨¦awyn glanced over at him again with an uncertain look upon her face. Gr?fr cast an eye over at him, and a rumbling "hmm" came from his throat.


    Caladan then halted the waggon near the largest of the buildings, where many people were gathering, and the three of them got out to head in with the others. Caladan entered first with Fr¨¦awyn just behind him, and Gr?fr came in last.


    Inside they saw an outlandish sight. Mirilen was next to what appeared to be the chieftain, the Brenin of the Wolf Clan. She was dressed in the manner of the Dunlendings and did not look pleased at all until she caught sight of them. Her eyes flashed in recognition, and a sly smile appeared on her face. The Elf-woman then averted her eyes from them, and resumed her disinterest in the festivities around her despite the brenin''s prodding.


    After several hours of feasting, drinking, and singing, the Wolf Clan were in a fine mood and spoiling for games. Several of them tussled with each other in the hall, and some of them boxed with each other until they were nearly senseless. Drinking contests came about, and a wrestling match, as well as a few wilder games such as are not quite fit to tell of in polite company. Needless to say, the Dunlendings were most deserving of every last implication in the term "wild-men". Yet it was in the midst of these pagan games that Caladan found his opening, when Bran Brenin, as he was made known to them, took to the floor.


    "Ah, by the Blaidh-gwirod! Who would challenge me in a game, a gornest nerth?" he called out to them. Fr¨¦awyn recognized the words as "strength-contest". But she had noticed Caladan''s ire growing stronger every moment as the festival went on and as the Brenin made advances upon his prisoner; surely he was brimming with wrath about now. He stood up; she did not know how right she was until he spoke.


    "Bran Brenin! I''r faruolaith!" Caladan called out, and Fr¨¦awyn and Gr?fr both looked at each other.


    "What did he say?" the Dwarf whispered, knowing it was not good.


    "I know not how he knows those words, but he has challenged the Brenin to the death!" Fr¨¦awyn told him as Caladan himself moved to the center of the lodge with the Dunlending sword he had taken.


    The Brenin himself chuckled slowly and with glee. He took up his own sword, a great cledh?v nearly as tall as himself, and joined him in the midst of the hall. Silence had fallen over them all. Mirilen herself suddenly sensed something dangerous was about to happen, never mind the harsh tone of the words Caladan had spoken. He raised his sword towards Bran Brenin, and glowered at him.


    "Weak coward that you are, only able to attack women from behind! Let us see how you fare against me!" he said, and the chieftain''s ire was drawn out.


    "I''ll have no more of this s''gurs-athrod in my hall! Your lies die now!" Bran Brenin roared as he all but flew to attack his challenger.


    Back and forth across the hall in a mighty clash the two warriors drove each other, hacking and swinging furiously in their rage, one for the sake of another, one for the sake of himself. It took no sage or wizard to guess the outcome of such a battle. Caladan, desperate to save Mirilen and driven by cunning, deftly deflected the heated strokes of the Brenin, saving his strength while the Brenin wore himself out trying to finish off Caladan in one blow again and again. Finally, the big man tripped and fell onto the floor, and Caladan held the blade to his throat. With a growl not unlike that of a real wolf, Bran Brenin dropped his sword and glared with hatred up at his opponent.


    "Finish it, brad?r!" he said venomously. Caladan only smiled darkly.


    "Your death is the death of your honor, if ever you had any." he replied, and lowered his blade. He turned, and made his way towards Mirilen. At that moment the Brenin sprang back up, but before he could grab his sword and before Caladan could react, Mirilen herself took up the Brenin''s own knife which had been laying on the table and hurled it at him, catching him in the throat. The big man sank to the ground pitifully, and fell over dead.


    Not one soul said so much as a word, and, silently, the four companions left the hall, with the awed eyes of the Dunlendings upon them. They climbed back into the waggon, this time with their fourth companion, and left Blaidh Brun as the sun was setting in the western sky. No one stopped them, and they rode unmolested upon the road.


    Later that night, the four of them were back in their own clothes and miles away from the Dunlending towns. Caladan found himself sitting by the banks of a stream, and Mirilen happened upon him when the moon was just beginning to make his descent. They sat in silence together for several minutes, and she then turned to him.


    "I knew you would come." she told him with a smile, yet her voice quavered.


    "I had to come." he replied softly. "I..." he started to say, but she only put a finger on his lips.


    "I know. I know it, and I feel it; yet..." she said hesitantly.


    "I know. You are leaving to go where I may not follow, and I must remain here." he said sadly. "The unions of Elf and Man are but..." he trailed off, unable to say the words; she nodded, tears in her eyes.


    "Stories; stories and dreams." Mirilen said mournfully.


    "But I don''t want them to be," Caladan returned as he looked at her again. Once more their eyes locked. Once more there was a clarity between their hearts. She closed her eyes. He reached over, and their lips met as he wrapped his arms around her.


    And doom fell on Tin?viel, that in his arms lay glistening...


    Near the waggon itself and their four steeds, Gr?fr and Fr¨¦awyn sat near to each other, the Dwarf puffing away at his pipe thoughtfully while the Rohirrim maiden sat with a downcast countenance. Gr?fr looked over at her; if stories were true, she was not the first of her people to fall in love with a man of Gondor whose heart was captured by an Elven maiden. He let out a soft smile, and coughed gently.


    "Would you follow him still, though his love belongs to her?" he said to her in a kindly tone that shook her out of her misery but not her tears. She looked up, and saw a certain wisdom in Gr?fr''s words. Fr¨¦awyn turned to him.


    "Do you think he would let me, even if I told him how my heart sings?" she asked him then, half in hope and half in dread.


    "I doubt he would turn away so noble a friend, if she couched her words with the true weight of her heart and not with desperate jealousy." he told her, and again she saw the wisdom in his words. Fr¨¦awyn smiled then, and gently nodded.


    "You are right." she agreed. "Then, I will do so, if only to be at his side like a shield-sister should." Fr¨¦awyn decided, and Gr?fr smiled.


    "That''s the spirit, lass!" he nodded.


    ***


    Nearly two and a half weeks later, they had arrived in Eregion without further incident. Deciding that their one kiss was all they needed, Caladan and Mirilen began to steel their hearts for the inevitable departure. They arrived at Ost-in-Edhil, majestic even in its ruined and despicable state, under a grey and cloudy sky, and set up camp near the Tham M¨ªrdain, the Hall of the Jewel-smiths. The four of them gazed in reverent awe at the place, three of them wondering what it had once looked like while the fourth remembered exactly how it had been it its prime; proud and vaunted walls of white, intermingled with green and blue, and the flowing banners of Celebrimbor flying in the breeze. Here Mirilen took the box which held the Nine, and entered that ancient workshop. Fr¨¦awyn, now fully aware of the quest''s fullness and why they had been so secretive, agreed with all of them that it was best their story never come to light.


    "Let the last legacy of those evil rings be cast down forever, no more to haunt us or even to inspire some new legend of terror and death." she said solemnly as Mirilen entered the hall.


    "Aye." Gr?fr nodded.


    "Let them be cast down," Caladan said in agreement.


    When Mirilen came to the forges themselves, she smashed the rings one by one, and then after heating the forge with what coal remained she melted down what was left of the Nine into a puddle of glowing metal. Satisfied, she heaved a sigh of relief, and then looked around. She looked around at these halls she had once thought hallowed, and began to ponder. The Silmarils; the Rings of Power; the greatest works of the greatest Noldor had been turned to such evil. Was that to be their legacy? Was it to be hers, to be remembered only as one who aided in the making of things that were turned to use by the enemy?


    She frowned. She did not want that to be her people''s legacy. She could not let it be said that the works of the Noldor caused only grief and sorrow upon Endorenna, upon Middle Earth. Looking around once more, Mirilen espied a bar of silver, a bar of gold, and two emeralds.


    The forge was still hot, and all the tools she needed were yet here.


    "A t¨ªro nin, Fanuilos!" she cried out, and then set to work.


    Outside, her three companions saw the forge-fires glowing hotter. Gr?fr gazed at it with wonder, and Fr¨¦awyn blinked in surprise.


    "Were those nine so cunningly crafted that the forges of the Elves need such wrathful fire to cull them?" she wondered aloud, but Caladan, drawn to the sight, rushed in to see what was afoot. Fr¨¦awyn was about to run in after him, but Gr?fr held her back.


    "Wait, lass; if we go in there, we may see something not meant for us." he told her.


    "Yet it is meant for him?" Fr¨¦awyn returned.


    "Whether or no, I could not hold him back from it even if I tried. His doom is not ours, however. Let him see, and in later days if we should ask, he may tell us what he saw. But not now." he said to her, and Fr¨¦awyn slowly affected a smile.


    "You are right, Master Dwarf. Let us wait."


    ***


    Caladan ran through the halls, following the sound of the hammer. He came at last to the forges, where the doors were yet open, and there he saw a sight beyond mortal ken indeed. The Lady Elf who had travelled with them in simple guise had revealed her true self, a High Elf who had seen the Light of the Two Trees; he saw her now as she had once been, a shining figure in Valimar''s Hallowed Halls. He fell to his knees in reverence, hearing the most ancient tongue of the Elves pouring from her lips in song as she worked her craft. The words lingered in his heart, etched as if in stone, yet it was not until long after that he could discern their meaning in his own tongue, the words of which he then pondered on many times during the rest of his life, given here in their fullness.


    Alas! for the follies of the Firstborn,


    That led so many into ruin and death;


    Alas, and alas! But no more


    Shall the Eldar in their glory be seen


    In this tree-woven Middle Earth


    Beneath the light of the stars.


    O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler!


    Hear my prayer; I make these not for my own


    Desire, but to share what I should


    Have learned to give long ago.


    Let hearts be melded and souls


    Be bonded, across the deeps of


    The Great Sea, the Lands Under the Wave.


    And when at last comes the end of days,


    The time of renewal, let these


    Sundered hearts be as one,


    O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler!


    All through the night she chanted those verses in her native tongue, the High-Elven speech which would never again be heard from any native speaker in that part of the world or any other part of it ever again. Caladan wept openly, feeling the depths of her love for him radiate from those words he did not yet understand, and he thought for a brief instant that he saw tears in her eyes; yet they were like jewels to his sight, and his own tears like muddied waters. He fell to the ground in slumber, and knew no more until morning.


    When he awoke, Mirilen was herself again; or rather, she was more like she had been when first they met. He had a feeling that the radiant form he saw the night before was more herself than she was now, but such thoughts bewildered him. She then turned, and smiled at him.


    "You were foolish to come and see, but perhaps that is part of why I love you." she told him gently as he rose to his feet. "Come here, D¨²nadan, and see what I have made, last works of the Noldor in Middle Earth." she then said to him, and he hastened over.


    There on the table were two rings. One was silver, and it had a cunningly wrought design of intertwining birch leaves holding an emerald, and the inner-band was traced lovingly with the flowing characters of the Elves, the Tengwar. One was Gold, and its design was that of two oak branches wrapping around each other, and a second emerald was set in their midst; it, too, bore the Tengwar characters.


    Caladan marvelled, and then turned to her in fear.


    "Surely these are not such as were made here long ago!" he said with a sudden terror, but she only smiled at him.


    "It is not possible," she comforted him. "They have but one power; to reach across all the leagues and miles and connect the hearts of the two who wear them." she then said. Taking up the gold one, she took his hand, and placed it on his finger. "This is ¨®r?mar; wherever you go, my heart will be at home with yours, and so it is inscribed upon it." she told him, and then she took up the silver one, and placed it on her own hand. "And I will wear V?redil, the Bond of Faithfulness; even though I sail across the sea, I will never forget you, and those words are etched into its band." she said to him.


    Caladan could find no words to answer her. He simply reached down, and kissed her yet again. And perhaps that was all the answer she needed or desired; thus it was that this last and secret union between Eldar and Edain was made.


    ***


    Nearly four months later, three of the four companions arrived at the Mithlond, the Grey Havens. Gr?fr had bidden them farewell for a time when they left Ost-in-Edhil, and gone back east to give his kinsman Durin the Seventh the reclaimed Rings of the Dwarves. He promised to meet them at Bree when they came back east themselves, and when he and Mirilen had bidden each other farewell he left them. Fr¨¦awyn out of love had stayed with Caladan and Mirilen through the long miles as they took their ease, heading along the Greenway; she had confessed her heart to him, and he had agreed to remain her own true friend, and Mirilen also.


    They then took their ease on the road to Bree, riding up through the ruins of Elven Eregion and then the Trollshaws. Briefly they thought to see Imladris, high and hidden in the foothills and ravines of the Bruinen Valley, but Mirilen said that it would only be painful for her now. Past the Lonelands they road, and the mighty works of Ancient Men in that land they marvelled at, coming to Bree at the end of a second month. And then they made their way west towards and then through the Shire, the merry and bright land of the Halflings, and thence to the Havens. They saw no Hobbits, but they had no doubt that the little folk had seen them.


    The Havens were now quite deserted, but there was, strangely, a party of Elves that had yet lingered. Mirilen turned to her lover, and smiled at him.


    "These are the last of my companions. They swore that if I failed, they too would stay behind, and keep in memory Mirilen of Gondolin until the end of days." she said, and then turned to the Elves themselves, "But now your long vigil is over; M?ranar, Khelekris, and N¨®l?rien are reclaimed. I have accomplished what F?anor could not, the reclamation of a treasure stolen by darkness! And I have not spent myself in vanity while seeking it, but in love. Ready the ship... it is time; time to go home." she said. At once they hastened to do her bidding, cheering loudly with celebration at her words.


    Within moments this ship, possibly the last of its kind, was ready. Fr¨¦awyn embraced the Elf-woman, and they kissed each other''s cheeks.


    "Westu, Mirilen h¨¢l." Fr¨¦awyn whispered with a smile upon her face.


    "Westu, Fr¨¦awyn h¨¢l." Mirilen replied, and then the Rohirric maiden returned to the waggon.


    Caladan and Mirilen embraced, kissing each other one last time, and then she made her way to the ship. Moments later it cast off, and began heading into the west. As it sailed out of the Mithlond and into the Gulf of Lune, Caladan stared after it longingly, wondering if indeed he might not have sailed with her whom now held his heart, into the Utmost West. Would the Lords of the Undying Lands have suffered him to do so? He did not know. There was a flash of green light, no doubt from Mirilen''s last ring, the one ring that she wore openly, and then the ship vanished from sight.


    Mirilen herself, upon raising her hand to the skies, felt a wave of joy flood over her. There was a sorrow, but there was joy in the depths of that sorrow that knew its day would come again. She placed her hands upon her belly, and sang an unheard name aloud to the skies as their ship raced home to Alqualond?, the home of the Teleri, and thence to Valimar, to Elvenhome.


    ***


    When at last the waggon with its four steeds returned to Bree, the sun was setting in the west with a majestic train of purples and reds tinged with gold. At the west gate stood a Dwarf with a forked beard of golden color. He winked at the two on the waggon, and they stopped to let him on. He got in with a grunt and a grumble, and then sat down behind them with a satisfied sigh, lighting up his pipe.


    "Now then, I suppose you know your father has been seeking after you for some reason; isn''t it time you and we at least see what that''s about, mm?" Gr?fr said as he began puffing away.


    "As soon as we''ve had a rest we''ll be off again. This time, however, I think we shall take your advice and head over the mountains!" Caladan told him.


    "A sound plan." Gr?fr agreed.


    "And? Then where shall we go, if anywhere?" Fr¨¦awyn wondered.


    "We''ll follow whatever road comes to our fancy, until it joins some larger way where many things await us, and whither then..." Caladan said, leaving the last few words unspoken. He looked down at his hand; ¨®r?mar seemed to be twinkling. The shadow of the rings had passed; the road that had found them would now carry them on to another, and another, and another.


    And whither then?


    He could not say.

 Afterword

    Thank you for reading this two-part fanfic novella!


    I am not one given to writing "fanfics" by nature. It is for that very reason I have never before desired to write anything of the sort for Middle Earth, because it is very hard to docannot do it rightnot do it at all


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