Kidnapped!

[Amanaduial the archer]

Nuhrive fought against being angry at the fool. She had to get Nura...

"Is that an actual question? And how is it relevant?" She whispered back.

Harlon still wouldnt tell her. "Ill ask you again, can you-" He started again. By the Valar, he could be infuriating! She glared at him. He was asking silly questions when Nura was probably in danger...

"I dont know, I dont think Ive really tried." She answered his question at last. "Why, what do you have in mind?"

[Morai]

Harlon tried hard not to laugh as he noticed Nuhrives frustration. Her eyes were burning, molten silver slipping from them. It seemed as steam was rising from her ears.

"Allright, me dear, I'll jump down there. Then I'll get that man so angry, he'll have to chase me away. After that, if you can, you'll pull Nura up into this very tree. If my plan works, you two flee from this place as fast as those immortal feet will carry you." Glancing down one last time, Harlon asked: "Now, how does that sound to an infuriated elf, eh?"

[ March 10, 2003: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Nuhrive tried to continue glaring at Harlon as he mocked her gently, but couldnt and grinned back at him. "Thats your plan?"

Harlon shrugged and grinned a little more ruefully. "Hey, Im a fool, not a general."
"Well, tis better than my plan."
"Whats you plan?"
"Havent got one."
There was a small pause.
"Yeah, I win." Harlon doffed his cap to her and got ready to jump, before Nuhrive grabbed his arm. "Wait...how will you get out?"

The fool simply smiled, then jumped...

[Ithaeliel]

Feadhros spent arrow after arrow against his foes. Many Easterlings fell who rushed him, and the scout was surprised at their numbers. He had to run and grab used arrows out of the bodies of the dead in order to have enough to fight, for he carried no melee weapon at all. Looking over at Garen, Feadhros watched the man as he swiftly killed a man who seemed twice his bulk. The elf gave a small smile. He had expected the lame man to be of little use in battle, but he was wrong. Garen had certainly proved himself and his house a worthy ally of Lorien. He had carried out his word to protect and aid the people of the Golden Wood. Feadhros admired his nobility and valiance, thinking he was a valuable companion and a great ambassador of his house.

A vicious yell went up as a large Easterling warrior ran at Feadhros, his saber flailing. Thwip! The young elf strung and arrow, pulled it back and let it fly in one swift motion. The Easterling gave a yelp as the arrow pierced his heart and fell onto his back, never to rise again. Feadhros relaxed, and looking around saw that there were few potential adversaries left in the camp. He glanced again at Garen, who drove his sword backwards into the knee of a man, turning around... only to lock his blade with another Easterling.

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

Ru-Sahn glared menacingly at his opponent through their locked swords. It was a man, like him, but dressed in Elvish fashion. Looking down, he saw the man had only one good foot. His eyes met his enemy's, and Ru-Sahn came to a shocking realization. "No... it cannot be," he whispered. Their blades lowered between them almost unconsciously. "Garen LiLorian?" Ru-Sahn said, unsure of what to believe.

Garen looked at him in a mix of terror and confusion. "Telegar...? After all these years... what has happened to you?"

Easterlings and Noldoli alike looked on expectantly as Ru-Sahn and Garen stepped away from each other. There had to be a story behind this. Perhaps they would finally find the truth about Ru-Sahn's elusive past.
The weaponsmith's eyes shifted anxiously around at all the spectators. He glared as he began to back away. "So here it ends," he muttered. "No more am I an Easterling." He threw down his sword and looked about again. Then his tongue spoke again the Quenya language. "You've always wondered where Ru-Sahn the silent one came from," he called out, so that the elves understood and the Easterlings did not. "Now you will know."

[ March 17, 2003: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Nuhrive tried to grab at Harlons arm as he jumped down, but missed the fool narrowly. However, she did put him off and, his concentrations spoiled, his landing went awry; as Harlon hit the ground his ankle crumpled beneath him and he fell awkwardly. The effect of having an elf garbed in the bright, if now rather more tattered than usual, fools garb was enough to stop the easterling in his tracks.

Rogar looked puzzled for a moment before continuing forward, raising a foot to kick Harlon out of the way like an angry master at a bad dog, but the fool leapt to his feet and out of the way. His movements seemed graceful, but Nuhrive spotted the slight grimace of pain before it was covered by his wide, infuriating grin. Harlon stretched the corners of his mouth down with his fingers, making them turn down in a comically sad expression before wagging a finger at Rogar, a stern face like that of a school teachers now taking preference over his sadness.

"Now now, young master, tisnt nice to kick old gentlemen like myself. Your mother wouldnt be proud of you, now, would she? But behold!" He leapt back, pretending to catch sight of Nura for the first time. "Could that be your dear old mother slung over your shoulder there with such little grace? To be sure, young man, tis a disgrace, I say, tis a-"

Harlon didnt finish his sentence as he ducked the hand of his victim, swinging towards him like a christmas ham. "-a disgrace." He finished from his new perch on a log to the side of Rogar. The easterling was getting annoyed now at this puny and infuriating elf, whom he fully suspected to be mocking him, and decided to deal with him more fully. With little ceremony, he dumped Nura on the ground, giving her a warning glare to tell her to stay where she was. Then he turned back towards Harlon...or where Harlon had been, for the fool had now moved again, jumping from place to place like a jack-hare. Nuhrive continued to stay quiet, not wanting to attract attention; the plan was that Rogar wouldnt even see her if possible. So to get Nuras attention she threw a small twig down, hitting the girl on the head. Nura flinched almost out of habit, used to her brother and his companions, then looked up. Nuhrive leant down out of the tree, holding on with one hand and reaching down to her friend with the other.

"Come on- we're getting out of here. Coming to see the elves?" She hissed, grinning. Nura was speechless but took the offered hand and between them, the pair managed to get Nura into the tree. But as Nura was just getting her breath, a sound attracted Nuhrives attention. She looked over sharply and saw Harlon wince in pain and stumble backwards as he landed badly once again on his painful ankle. Harlon was still advancing on the elf and he swung at him once again with a huge fist, knocking the elf to the ground. Then, in front of Nuhrives horrified eyes, Rogar unsheathed his sword...

"No! Harlon!" She couldnt help herself and the cry was out before she could stop it. The fool looked up...and so did Rogar! Nuhrive saw him trying to struggle to his feet, but having a little trouble. The fool was waving at Nuhrive to get out of here, but the elf knew she couldnt do that. She would do a little attention seeking herself... She stood up on her perilous perch in the fork of the tree and waved both arms at the easterling man.

"Yes, thats right, bozo!" She yelled at Rogar, trying to cover her fear with her loud words. She made an obscene gesture at him. "Come on then, come and get me! Or will you let a little elf maiden get away from you!"

Rogar growled in an almost animal manner and, to Nuhrives equal horror and satisfaction, he started towards the tree. But still she persisted with infuriating the brute. "Yeah thats right, you son of an orc and a donkey! Up here!"

Rogar now stood at the bottom of the tree and, placing his feet firmly apart, he got a solid grip on it. And began to shake the tree! Nuhrive grabbed Nura as she started to fall, as the girl still seemed to be in a form of shock, and both of them clung onto the tree for dear life. Nuhrive muttered under her breath, wishing she knew some of the elven tree magic her tutors were always trying to force into her, wishing she had her dagger, wishing the other elves werent so busy....

[Morai]

The fool found it harder than ever to think clearly. A raging headache captured his senses. Ridding himself of the growing pain was all Harlon could think of.

Taking one last glance at Nuhrive, Harlon shouted:
"When one plays games with a fool, he neither wins nor looses. He only gains a strange ending which only the wise can ponder." With this, he stole the nearest weapon and chopped the branch above the easterling's head. "Run Nuhrive, flee to the Golden Wood, tell m'lady I wish her well." The fool said in Quenya.
His last words ended with the limb knocking Harlon and his foe unconsious. The easterling was clearly dead, but Harlon still had a shallow breath....

[Ithaeliel]

Ru-Sahn drew a breath and sheathed his sword before he spoke. His voice became softer than most had ever heard, and his hands shook as he began in the Westron tongue so all could understand.

"I was not born an Easterling. Many of you have known that for years. I was born into a noble family; of the greater divisions of men, said to be descended from those of the Rohirrim and mingled with the blood of the elves," his voice strained to say the word. "We were the men of the House of Lorien... the same house that this man, Garen LiLorian, hails from. Yes, once we were happy. My family had great expectations for me. They told me I would be an honored man of our house, if I only kept my feet on the ground. I was raised knowing this, and told myself I would become this man they envisioned me to be. My birth name was Telegar Linrethil.
"I was of the House of Lorien, and therefore I know Garen from my youth. I knew that one day he would be my superior, for his father held lordship of the House. We were both expected highly of, and we were the best of friends with much in common. Nothing could have separated us," Ru-Sahn continued, smiling sadly.
"There was but one thing that separated us from the remainder of our House: my father secretly feared and disliked Galadriel, your Queen," he said with a nod to the Elves. "He had met her as a young man, and she had stripped him of all his resistance... and she read his mind. I do not know what she saw, but Galadriel sent him away and told her guards never to allow him into her halls again. She tried to persuade our lord Galthun to banish him from his house, but Galthun refused. From then on my father bred an intense hate towards her and her people. He told me that the Elves of Lorien were nothing but dictatorial thieves and plotters. I did not want to believe him, but he said it so often that it was embedded into my thoughts. Still I tried to see the good in the elves our House was so closely related with.
"Galadriel and her court sometimes took authority to make laws and acts over our house. These were mostly fair and actually benifitting, but there was one instance in which an unfair act was put upon us. It was shortly before my twelfth spring, and I remember my father's rage. He swore he would slay any elf who crossed before his sight. My mother brought word to Galadriel in secret, and Galadriel sent guards to arrest my father for his threats and for treason. They were also ordered to imprison his family- myself and my mother. My father was arrested, but my mother and I fled madly away from the House of Lorien. We brought few provisions.
"We reached southern Mirkwood, and my mother could no longer walk. I offered to stay with her, though we had nothing left with which to help her condition. She shook her head. "No, no, Telegar!" she said. "Nothing will save me now. You must walk on and leave me to die." However broken my heart was, I knew that she was right. And so I left her. Two days later, I was found half-dead by Skara and his tribe of Easterlings. And that is where it ends," he finished, his voice shaking in anger and grief.

[ March 26, 2003: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Nuhrive jumped backwards, scrambling across to the tree beside this one. All
around Lorien there were networks of close knit trees, and Nuhrive could move
pretty fast between them from practise.

"Run Nuhrive, flee to the Golden Wood, tell m'lady I wish her well."

The limb crashed down with a sickening crack on the heads of the two below it.
As Nuhrive ran, with Nura beside her, she heard the fool fall, and heard the
easterlings last cry. She couldnt just run on and leave him. She paused, unsure for a moment, then made up her mind, turning back and running back to the fool. Nura realised a moment later and turned.

"What are you doing?" She called after her, her voice s little hushed still, aware there were others still nearby.

"Im not leaving him here!" Nuhrive climbed swiftly down the tree. She winced at the sight of the fools now bloody head but placed a blade of grass under his nose. Sure enough, he was breathing. She sighed in relief and hooked her arms under his armpits. By Yavanna, he weighed a ton! She looked up to the incredulous and nervous Nura. "Come on, give me a hand!"

[Garen LiLorian]

"Not where it ends, my friend." Garen's sword point drooped, and tears glittered bright and unshed in his grey eyes. "Not where it ends. Long I searched for you, following the trail you had left in your haste. Disobeying both the elven scouts and my own father I followed your trail, hoping against hope to bring you back to Lórien. Yet it was not I who found your mother."

Garen closed his eyes in memory, a single tear escaping to flow down his cheek. "Other scouts, fell and wicked, had caught your trail. Wargs they were, a pack of the evil creatures. They came upon her before I could."

"From far off I heard her cry, and a great shadow o'erfell my heart. Quickly I rode to where she was, but not quickly enough. The demon-wolves reached your mother before I did, and she lay motionless on the ground. I drove them off, killing two and maiming a third, though I was not unharmed in the doing, but even then my heart was heavy, for I feared what I would find at battle's end. This which you see," Garen indicated his bad leg with a small gesture, "is the token I retained from that battle, but mine was not the worst hurt."

"Then was I faced with an evil choice. Your mother yet clung to life, though it was by the slenderest of threads. I could not abandon her, so I gave up my chase. I had to hope that you would return on your own, for now there was no chance of catching you, wounded and faint as I was with the life of one so precious in my hands. I returned to Lórien, and delivered her unto the healers. But my toil was in vain." Garen looked up into Telegar's face, and his own was a mirror of the anguish he saw there. "Telegar, my friend, your mother died of a fever three days after we returned. I am sorry."

The two friends stared into each other's eyes, oblivious to the battle still raging in the clearing. Telemar's face had crumpled at Garen's story, but he had one question left. "What of my father?" He asked in a voice thick with grief.

"He is yet with us," Garen replied carefully. "My father defied the will of the Golden Wood, and demanded Lord Linrethil be returned to us. If he had transgressed, then the right of punishment belonged to my father, and not to the Wood. Lord Celeborn agreed with my father, and Linrethil was sentanced to hard labor, but nothing more. He still retains hope that you might return, Telegar." Garen stared hard into those eyes, trying to gauge a reaction. "As do I. Lórien is your home and your house, and I would see you restored to it." He held out a hand.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Nura, please, give me a hand!"

The human girl appeared to snap out of her daze and register the scene for the first time. She looked down at the fool, appearing to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of the last ten minutes, and grabbed the fools feet. Together, they managed to manhandle him into a position whereby they could prop him against a tree. Nuhrive crouched down beside the fool and inspected his head, wincing; there were large splinters and dirt embedded in the wound. She dared not touch it; best to leave it to the elves at the Lorien Infirmary. But how to get there...

Standing, she looked around, and listened with her keen, pointed ears for sounds of other elves, or even humans. After a minute she heard low, muted voices carried on the wind, but could not distinguish what they said, muted as they were by the forest. She nodded, satisfyed; the voice sounded like that of Garen, one of the men living nearby Lorien. There was no way she and Nura would be able to get Harlon all the way back to Lorien, but with the help of others...

Once more she fixed her arms in a sturdy and practical position looped under Harlons arms, her fingers linked over his chest, with Nura holding his legs. On the count of three, they set of at a ragged but fairly steady pace in the direction of the voices...

[Ivy of the Woods]

Nura clasped the stranger's legs in shaking hands. Her whole body was shaking, almost uncontrolably as she looked back at Rogar's body. After all of his harassment, Nura could not believe that he was really dead and had to keep looking back to be sure he was still dead, not following them. When she could not longer see the corpse, Nura turned to where they were headed. She knew not where, but Nuhrive seemed to and Nura trusted her new friend's judgement.

Memories of what had happened filled her mind and she looked down at the odd fellow who might die because he helped saved her life. He did not even know her name. Guilt filled her and Nura made sure she handled him carefully and was careful not to not let her trembling knees colasp. She saw a body of her kin and sighed. Nura knew her brother was dead. It was possible for him to have survived the arrow in his back if it was seen to quickly but she knew Blair lay just where she had left him and there was nothing to stop her now from a new life.

"Thank you" she said to Nuhrive, fighting the tears threating to blur her vision.

[ April 11, 2003: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Nuhrive turned back to look at Nura as she whispered, about to ask her to hurry up, but softened. The girl seemed so young, but she couldnt truly be much younger than the elf. Nuhrive wondered how old she actually was, and resolved to find out later. Now was not the time. She smiled back at the girl and nodded. "You too, Nura, you too."

They continued to make their way through the forest, always coming closer to the sound of voices. A while before there had been the sound of metal on metal, swords no doubt, but now there was just the calm, quiet, reasonable voices. Nuhrive was thankful that they were getting closer, for from their original position she would not have been able to hear them at this volume. She felt a little dubious though; the voices were those of men. And men were the ones who had kidnapped her in the first place...

The sound of a familiar voice almost made her yelp in surprise as it spoke, just a few words. The voice of Ru-Sahn. But these few words were muffled with grief and, although the pain with which Ru-Sahn had addressed Nuhrive before was still there, the anger was not. Just pain and grief, tumbling emotions in his voice. The solemn voice of Garen followed this, but Nuhrive knew not what it was that he talked of. And hard labour? Ordered by Lord Celeborn? In the Golden Wood? Surely this couldnt be right...

She wanted to know what would happen, but after a few moments, she couldnt wait; she had to get Harlon help, and quickly; she had no idea of how bad his wound truly could be. Taking a deep breath she pushed through the bushes into the clearing, and saw heads, elven and human, turning towards her, their expressions all mirroring each others in their surprise. The elf maid knew she was interrupting something here, but she gently laid Harlon on the ground and, straightening, gave a shaky smile, staying well away from, Ru-Sahn.

"Yes, Im back." She murmered.

[Morai]

Harlon himself found his long life flashing before him:

In a distant past, there appeared an image of a elf that looked no more than the age of five. Dressed in the usual elven outfit, but he had rare carrot colored hair. Running among the Golden wood, he tumbled into a nearby tree. Suddenly the dizzy lad found himself in the arms of his mother.

Her words could not be heard, but they seemed to be chastening. The young elf hung his head as his mother dragged him home. Then he looked back, and the dreaming Harlon realized he was seeing himself.

The image blurred, and it was replaced with a slightly older Harlon. He was kneeling before a grave. Alone, the elf let his tears flow from his eyes. Tracing his long fingers on the leaves of a flower growing the displaced dirt.

Once again the image changed. It was Harlon the Fool enertaining the elven children. He danced among them, often pulling himself into the trees. They would laugh, and beg him to sing too. After Harlon finnished his performance, every young one ran to their parents, begging them to give the fool his meal.

Mist flowed before his eyes, as Harlon felt water. It was an endless gray ocean, with a dim sky above. His body was numb to all but the flow of the sea. The water was surprisenly quiet. Out of sky, or perhaps the sea, a voice bellowed

"Harlon Nowane, it is not your time. Fight, fight for you life. It is not your time. Let only your body rest now, but force your soul to live. It is not your time." The voice vanished, leaving him to float on an endless grey sea.

[ April 11, 2003: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jemel fought on after hardly listening to the Easterling man’s speech, though she killed none of the easterlings. She couldn’t, she just never found the second or found the place to kill one of the kidnappers. Jemel certainly was no warrior. The scribe had been sent on the rescue to help navigate and to inform the Lady of the Golden Wood if worse came to worse. When she joined the company, Jemel had had no intention of actually fighting, but there was no turning back after she started fighting the easterlings.

Jemel continued her fight with the same Easterling. The same dance they danced, as one struck the other and the defender parried the blow. Both of the fighters tired as their little battle wore on. Jemel knew she couldn’t fight much longer with the risk of certain death looming as each minute and second wore on. Jemel, too tired to go on any longer, gracefully pulled her wooden flute from the pack on her back, and held it high above her head. The stupid Easterling looked up at the flute as she raised it, and Jemel finally got her hit. Stabbing the Easterling in the stomach, Jemel watched with a tinge of disgust in her eyes as he fell. The elf rolled her eyes at the sight of the crumpled man, and turned away, hiding in the trees. She wanted to find Aniram.

~*~

Aniram soared through the sky, above the treetops of Mirkwood as the small battle raged on. Every few minutes the proud hawk would let out a war cry of the loudest measure, urging the peoples of his mistress to continue on. The hawk flew through the forest on more than one occasion to help one of the Elven kind, lending his help by clawing at the dirty humans of the east.

Aniram would then fly back up above the tree line and let the wind carry him in a circle above the battle arena. It was on one of these short breaks that Aniram met his fate. Without warning, the medium-sized predator bird felt a sharp and distinct pain in his wing and side. Someone from below had shot him with an arrow! Aniram tried to stay aloft in the air, or enough in flight for him to soar and not fall down to the trees. This attempt failed as the bird went spiraling down with the weight of the arrow. He fell through the trees, their branches and dry leaves scratching the fallen at every opportunity.

When Aniram finally landed, he became lodged between a thick branch and the trunk of a strong tree. His wounded arm was caught under the weight of the rest of his body, and with the pain wheedling through his veins he could not lift even his light-boned body off of the horrible wound. Aniram sent a panicked squawk through his beak when the distinct realization that he could barely breathe became evident.

~*~

Jemel lifted her flute to her lips, and played three simple notes. The sound floated through the air, and Jemel fully expected them to be returned by a hawk’s call. They were, only the calls were not made in the same tune as the flutes’. Jemel knew what those notes meant, and an expression of fear immediately registered on her Elven face. Jemel sprinted through the trees, calling “Palu ata, Aniram!” bidding Aniram to let her know where he was. A few mangled, choppy bird squawks weaved through the air, until Jemel found the location of her feathered friend. Aniram was stuck in the crook of a tree, between the beginnings of a branch sprouting from a dark trunk. Through his left wing and towards his chest cavity was an arrow, and it had gone straight through his wing and shoulder. Jemel gasped, and climbed up the damp, rotting tree and gently pulled Aniram from its grasp.

Sitting and laying Aniram in her lap, Jemel rocked the small, now weakened body in her hands. She felt tears form behind her eyes, but promised the dying Aniram that she would not cry. Jemel could feel her friend fading, and she stroked his head as she tried to comfort him.

“I pray you always soar through the air where Manwe dwells.” Jemel spoke softly to the loyal hawk, and laid him down in front of the tree. She didn’t know what else to say. One last time, Jemel stroked the soft feathers along Aniram’s neck, as she always had before. “Rest peacefully, valiant and brave friend. You deserve as much.”

Jemel stood and left, and sprinted through the maze of trees away from Aniram’s resting place. Coming to another clearing in the woods, Jemel came to a halt as she ran into Garen, who was speaking to one of the kidnappers, it seemed. Just next to that strange sight was Nuhrive laying Harlon the Fool on the ground before the warriors.

“Yes, I’m back,” Nuhrive spoke. Jemel was utterly shocked. She opened her mouth to speak several times in the seconds that followed, but nothing came out; Jemel the scribe was speechless for the first time in her life.

“What is going on here?” was all Jemel could get out in that moment.

[Ithaeliel]

An Easterling with a newly unveiled past gazed long upon his old friend's welcoming and pure hand, the hand that reached out to him and offered him a new and better life, as a great silence hung about all onlookers. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the backs of all who yielded to it, and it illuminated Garen's hand so that it seemed fairer, as fair as the hand of Manwe himself. Telegar was moved by this offering, and he did not move as a tear escaped his once-emotionless eye. The world seemed to tilt and blur, but all in it stood as still as stone figures, their shadows forming ominous patches of night on the bare earth. All did not stir, and every ear was turned to Telegar as he stood weeping, his mouth open as if to speak. He choked out a word in a bare whisper. "Restored..."

Garen's anxiety grew as he awaited an answer.

"Restored," Telegar repeated, more audibly this time. "Restored to my house and thine? If it will be allowed, I would gladly go back with thee now, Lord Garen. I would erase the scars that these foul rogues have laid upon me, and repent for all the innocent lives that I ruined. But I cannot. I have become one of these murderers, and it can't be undone. My heart is hardened, my hand blood-stained; I dare not go back to a place of peace, lest I harm another man. Forgive me, Garen," he begged. "It is for the good of you and your people that I go not back. Tell my father I miss him and am glad to know he is well."

Garen looked at Telegar in shock for a moment, then let his hand fall. "I do not believe you are become so ruthless, Telegar," he said gravely, "at least not incurably. Yet this is your choice, and, though I grieve for you, friend, I will not hinder it." He backed away, a tear marking the spot where he stood.

The quiet was broken by the sinister ring of Skara's voice. "Treacherous rogue," he rumbled, "Insolent coward, traitorous fiend! And I thought that you were an ally of mine, Ru-Sahn! You will die for keeping such secrets from me, you beast from an enemy house!" Skara howled, taking up a longbow and releasing a deadly arrow. An Easterling woman screamed as Telegar felt something hit his chest. Looking down, he saw a long shaft protruding from his heart, ringed with a mess of blood and skin at his breast. The slain man felt no pain as he crumpled to the ground, squinting up at the sun. In his last moment of sight he saw Garen LiLorian's face, and a white star outshone all as his body became no more than a shell that lay useless on the earth. Telegar Linrethil was dead, and his childhood friend left to bury him.

In his rage, Garen looked up at the murderous Easterling, his hands shaking violently. "You have slain a man who was naught but noble to anyone," he cried, "and in turn you will die this day also!"

Pulling his sword, Garen rushed Skara, slashing the Easterling's arm. Skara cried out in pain and backed into a heavy club, which he picked up and swung at Garen, forcing his opponent back. Several Easterlings grabbed Garen at once, and as he struggled against them, Skara signaled for the rest to move out. Thwip, thwip, thwip, all three Easterlings that held Garen were dead at once by Feadhros' skill with a bow, but it was too late. "The spirits forbid we ever meet again," Skara called back before all the Easterlings disappeared swiftly into the woods.

[ April 30, 2003: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]

[Morai]

Harlon lost count of how long he had floated on the waves. The voices kept sounding, their words not audible. He didn't mind, it was a nice change, from all the pain. This colorless ocean gave him peace, but it wasn't enough. A longing came from within Harlon. Struggling to escape, he found himself sinking. His head below the surf, Harlon gurgled water.

Suddenly he found himself dry. Harlon opened his eyes. Instead of being surrounded by water, it was Harlon's companions. He was back Lorien. Nuhrive, Feadhros, Jemel, Nura, even Galadriel herself were there. Sultir was standing in the far corner. Relief were in their eyes.

Standing up, Harlon painfully remembered his injury. Then the fool glanced down at his broken arm, and found it in a sling.

"It will heal in time." The silence broken by The Lady herself.
"What happened after this fool injured himself?" Harlon said quizically.

Each of them related the events, including Telegar's death. Within a few weeks Harlon's injuries healed. Imeadiately Galadriel's fool went about his silly business. For the rest of time, Harlon Nowane was known as the Jester who could make anyone smile.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Ivy of the Woods]

In the woods of Lorien, Nura sat among the trees alone and took a breath of the sweet smells in the air. With a timid smile she glanced at her reflection in a nearby pond. The elves had combed and washed her dark hair, Nura had been so pleased with it that she let it fall loosely about her shoulders. Her old dress, shawl and shoes were gone and they had given her beautiful robes, she was sure she had never worn anything so comfortable in her life. With all the grim and dirt of the harsh years with the Wild men had been washed away with the girl Nura. She looked at her watery reflection and smiled at the woman smiling back at her.

After having told her story, Nura realised from the outraged of some of her new elven friends how wrongly she had been treated, though it did not stop her from mourning. She would remember Blair with sadness and she had forgiven him easily. Rogar, on the other hand, always came to her mind with a shiver, along with the blood and violence of that battle. On the other side of the pond, Nura saw another reflection on the water, Blair's face shimmered with a sober expression but when she looked up there was no one to be found.

Blinking, Nura rose from the edge of the water and headed back to the halls of Lorien. Her wish had been granted but already Nura felt a yearning for more. She had heard the tales of glorious cites and places beyond, the plaines of Rohan and the beauty of Imladris, and once again had her sights set further than she thought she could reach. For now, however, she would be content to learn amongst elves and smiling Nura went to find Nuhrive.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Looking for someone?"

Nura turned as she heard the voice, looked puzzled for a moment, then looked up. Nuhrive smiled down at her, came down a few branches, then extended a hand down to her, helping Nura up. She beckoned, anot speaking, a finger to her lips to indicate Nura should so the same, so as not to disturb the birds at the prescence of a near-stranger, although Nuhrive didnt think of her like that; Nura, Sultir and Nuhrive had become fast friends. They climed to the top of the tree, helping each other.

"Close your eyes." Nuhrive whispered quietly to her. Nura looked puzzled once more, then did as she was told. Nuhrive guided her a little further, then tapped her to indicate she should open them now. Nura gasped, speechless.

Nuhrive knew how she felt. It had been Sultir who had showed her this first, several years ago, when the quiet elf boy had taken her up here in an attempt to make Nuhrive take more notice of him. She smiled fondly as she remembered; how the wind had tugged her hair back, making her fell unsafe, but then she opened her eyes and all fears were forgotten. For what they looked out from was the highest point in Lorien, and they looked out as far as it was possible to see, scores of miles in each direction. Nuhrive grinned at her friend.

"Pretty good, huh?"

The girl turned back to her, still beaming and kept looking out over the view, turning more than a little unsteadily to be able to see in all directions. She gave a small laugh.

"So all this too is what people talk about when they speak of the glory of the elves." She said softly, her voice joyful.

Nuhrive smiled back. "And you will be happy to live with this glory?"

Nura turned and saw the anxiety in Nuhrive's eyes. She smiled back and, carefully, higged her elven friend and her voice when she spoke was satisfaction made into a sound. "Aye. Certainly."

They looked out over the view in silence, and Nuhrive glanced at her friend, guessing that she was thinking about her brother and her countrymen and women, so she wisely stayed quiet. Then, after a moment, Nura's face cleared, and she sighed. She seemed to have reached some sort of decision within herself, and Nuhrive was glad of it.

"Come; the Lady holds a meeting tonight, and there is much I must tell you." Nura had been very anxious to learn the ways of elven ettiquette, for she did not wish to be looked down upon by the elves. Nuhrive, of course, had never been the perfect lady of the court, but in taking her friend to this meeting as an honourary and equal guest, and in teaching her the ways of the elves, she felt it was also her duty to make an effort herself. Her parents had been so glad to see her back, more than she had thought, for foolishly she had thought the cared more about work.

"Oh course not, darling," Isolde Fleetheart had assured her with a laugh. "Your father and I have stayed in the wood all the time you were away. We weren't allowed to follow- regulations of never having an entire family out in a dangerous situation at once. I tried, and I rather think I may have annoyed a few people..." Isolde's face had become thoughtful and a little bemused. Nuhrive had just laughed, and hugged her rather vague mother all the tighter. Since then, her and her parents had become closer than they had been before, and although her father would be going out on another scouting party for a while in a few days, her mother had decided to stay, and Nuhrive was glad of this. They were making up for lost time, and not just the time when Nuhrive had been kidnapped.

She turned in the direction of the lands where the men had come from, and her thoughts turned to the strange man, Ru-Sahn. He had never seen the land of the people he proffessed to come from, never seen their people together as a nation. Yet he had fought for them, until a voice from his past called him back...and he had refused it. Nuhrive wondered if she would ever truly understand men; but then, were they really so different from elves? Nura certainly wasnt.

"Are you coming, Vay?" Nura called up, using Nuhrive's nickname. She looked down to the forest floor where the human stood, and grinned and begn to climb down slowly. Well, if humans were so different, she intended to solve the differences. Although Nura had not said as much, Nuhrive guessed she would not always be content to remain within the wood. And although Nuhrive's heart lay within Calas Galadon, in every tree, in every elf, in every building, although the voice of her mind was represented within the very songs sung by the choir, and although all her friends and family were in this very wood, she would accompany Nura. For in leaving something for a while, the pleasure is only intensified. She had come back from the whole experience of being abducted different, a little wiser in thought and deed. As she had found out, no matter where she went, her heart would always remain within the Golden Wood of Lothlorien.