Castle Maladil - RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

Andreth released her hold on the injured Elf, and ran up to Gandalf. Her heart was beating wildly.

"Gandalf, thank you for scattering those evil creatures with a fireball. But I clearly heard what one of them said. He cried so loudly, I couldn't miss it. And his words terrified me:

'Look! A woman's run out to help the Elf. Maybe they're not so tough after all. And she'd do for our purposes. They wanted another one, they said at the Castle.'"

"That ugly creature, the tall one the others called Shagdug, said he wanted to seize me and take me to the Castle. What would they possibly want with me? And why are people being dragged to the Castle? None of this makes any sense."

Andreth sighed. It was just her luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time! She hoped these Orcs wouldn't come back looking for her to take her prisoner.

"And, there's something else. I wanted to discuss this with you before the attack. But then, everything happened and I couldn't."

"I'm sorry I yelled at Bird. She certainly isn't a brigand. She could have run away, but she didn't. She spent the whole time trying to protect the Ranger. My brother is training to be a Ranger. Anyone who would put themselves on the line like that could not be evil."

"But I still don't understand who or what she is. I clearly saw her change from an Ent to a woman. Who can do such a thing? I don't think she's bad, but I've never seen anything like it."

Andreth sighed and shook her head. She had certainly had an eyeful today: Orcs, an angry Elf, and a woman who was more than a woman!

[ December 08, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Holly had burrowed beneath the pine boughs with Bird, dragging her friend with her beneath the protective tangle of green needles. The Hobbit was on the verge of an ill-timed giggling fit, when Bird punched her in the arm, telling her to be quiet. 'Could anything more go wrong today?' she hissed at Holly.

The Hobbit's face sobered and she ran her hand through her now pitchy curls. 'What are we going to do about that Elf?' she asked Bird. 'We?!' said Bird. 'I distinctly remember it was you with the bow in your hands!'

Holly's face fell, and Bird went on more gently. 'We'll figure something out.' Her eyes sparkled in the leafy green light that filtered through the boughs. 'Though I must say it does seem fitting he should be mistaken for such an ill-tempered creature.'

A muffled voice broke through their reverie. 'Did you say something Bird?' asked Holly. Her friend shook her head in an emphatic 'no'.

'I said - Perhaps you could just apologise to him and offer your services as a healer.' Volondil, his face drawn and pale, had raised himself weakly on one elbow, and now regarded the two women to his right side . . .

[Mithadan]

Nardol had just spun to face the elusive Orc that had evaded his swipe when an arrow pierced his leg from behind and to the side. Maintaining his footing, he hopped to one side, cursing as he went, and sank down next to a rock. When the Orc made no immediate move to follow, he glanced back to see the woman standing next to a rough shelter and no foes in sight from the direction the arrow had come. More treachery?

He sat on a log and pulled at the dart in an attempt to dislodge it. Even as he did so, the woman ran forward to crouch next to him and lend him aid. He grimaced in pain and looked darkly at the Ranger. "Daughter of Man, did you shoot this arrow?"

She stammered out a denial even as the Wizard raised his staff. A fiery bolt shot out to land in the midst of the three remaining Orcs who ran off screaming. "So there is some good to being a Wizard..." muttered Nardol.

[Birdland]

"Volondil! You're awake!...errr, I mean, look Holly, he's awake." finished Birdie lamely.

"So, it seems you did not desert your friends after all, but how did you come to be here? For that matter, how did I come to be here?" The Ranger pulled himself upright, struggling against the pain in his leg and head.

No, you mustn't move yet. Your leg might start bleeding again. There was a man-trap on the trail. You, the hobbit, and the Elf fell in."

Volondil looked rather flummoxed at this. It was a source of embarrassment to him to think that he would have stumbled into such a situation. Grabbing one of the lean-to pulls, which threatened to come down on all of them, he found his feet, and swaying, struggled out of the shelter. Birdie stood on one side of him, Holly the other, hoping he would not fall.

The ranger looked over to the Elf leaning against a rock, with the woman andreth checking his arrow-wound, "Nardol? Is that you? How did you come to be in such a situation?"

Nardol looked up with a look of disgust and said but one word: "Women!"

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf regarded Andreth and Nardol, answering them both at once. The woman noticed the hesitancy in Gandalf's right hand as he lit a pipe. She sensed that this hesitancy did not come from the stone that had recently hit that hand, but rather from his reluctance to address the topic she'd brought up. The Elf noticed the hint of grimness in Gandalf's smile. *

Yes Nardol, being a wizard has its advantages. Shagdug would never drag me away to offer me as a prisoner at the Castle. Not if he were steeped in wizard lore, for I'm able to withstand ... what I suspect we're facing. Yet the very nature of my strength carries with it weakness, for I am likely the one Maladil will dread seeing most of all. My message of freedom will fall bitterly on his ears, I fear. For you see, Andreth, it sometimes happens that those imprisoned seek comfort by imprisoning others. Thus, Maladil imprisons his kin and servants. And his kin and servants in turn imprison others.

As for Birdland, I'm certain she'll accept your apology, Andreth, and you'll come to understand her in time. She reminds me of a friend of mine from the Vales of Anduin, near the western eaves of Mirkwood.

* Gandalf brightened again on remembering Beorn. Pipe in his mouth, smoke curling upwards, he reached down into his pouch where he'd placed the letter for safekeeping. Finding it, he nodded satisfaction and strode towards a now-quiet wooded edge of camp. On his way there, he bowed a greeting of mingled surprised concern and well-wishes to Volondil on seeing the Ranger up and around. Gandalf spoke to Bethberry as he neared the campfire about the prospect of dinner, promising to come help her with the cooking in a few minutes. *

* At the forest's edge, unable to resist, a mischievous gleam sparked by Birdland's earlier words came into the wizard's eyes. In a calm, clear ringing tone he called out, "Oh Midnight --- tea is being served!" Meanwhile, he reached out strongly with his mind to the black steed with the word "COME." It was not a Word of Command, but rather a light-hearted enthusiastic request. Faster than wind through the grass Midnight darted into camp at a full gallop and stopping precisely at Gandalf's side, nudging against him, capered like an untrained puppy brought to heel. Faster than Gandalf could warn Nardol not to harm the war steed came Midnight, but also faster than Nardol could raise a weapon against the creature. *

* Gandalf then settled himself down on a log a little ways into the wood, his thick, grey cloak protecting against the rough, peeling bark. Cracking open the seal, Gandalf opened the letter and read it by the light of his staff. It had been openly understood that Gandalf should read the letter from Elrond, even though it was addressed not to him but instead to the Lady Galadriel. Midnight had tagged along and stood a little ways off, chomping away at a patch of greensward within the soft circle of light. *

[ December 09, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

Holly blanched as she watched the Elf attempting to dislodge the arrowhead from his leg. She recognized the ebon shaft and the red index feather as the one she had gotten in her travels to Pelargir, from the Southron. ‘Why did I leave that one in my quiver?’ she moaned inwardly to herself, knowing that the sharp, slender point was triple barbed. She motioned for Olo, standing to one side of the shelter with Peri to come assist Bird with Volondil.

She rummaged through the large pack on Peri’s back and found her medicinal kit. From her belt she drew a slender knife and approached the Elf, still seated on the log. ‘I’m Holly, Sir.’ she said keeping one eye on his wary face and the other alert for signs that he might consider her a foe. Stopping well away from his seated reach, she knelt down and placing her kit within his view she opened it and drew out a bottle of stout grain alcohol and bathed the knife blade in its running stream as she poured.

‘Tear the cloth of your breeches away from the wound.’ she directed the Elf. When he hesitated, she told him that the arrowhead was of southern metal, with three pair of razor sharp barbs. It was designed for bow fishing for medium sized fish, and that the barbs were intended to allow the user to reel the fish in once they were set. ‘If you will allow me, I will remove it for you and dress the wound.’

She stepped nearer as he tore open his pant leg. She asked him to stabilize the arrow shaft as she pulled off his boot. Kneeling down beside him, she bent his knee, placing his foot flat on the ground so the muscle was relaxed, then bathed a large area round the circumference of his leg. A quick flick of her knife just beyond the arrow’s embedded point and one smooth push on the shaft – the barbed tip emerged from the skin at the back of his upper calf. She cut the bindings which held it to the shaft and pulled both of them free. More alcohol to bathe the site, an unguent of aloe and comfrey, then a neat dressing of moss secured with cloth strips, deftly tied.

‘It will be sore for a few days, but usable. You can drink some willow-bark tea to help with the pain. Just watch for any festering. I have poultices for that should you require one.’

She stepped back from him, and gathered up her kit quickly, retreating to the side of the ranger, Volondil, to check on his wounds.

[Bêthberry]

Chuckling quietly to herself at the romantic enthusiasm of the young Bree lass Andreth, Bethberry held out her gloved hand for Wyrd, who came at one whistle. Then, petting his feathered head, she asked him to follow the orcs someway to ensure their departure. The falcon flew off, probably thinking that a few well-aimed dives around the creatures' heads would provide some diversion for him and a final warning about who not to mess with.

Bethberry then rose from the campfire, a tin cup with tea in her hand and strode to the injured elf.

"Nardol, I believe your name is, will you take some tea? By name I am Bethberry, of the Old Forest."

She looked steadily into his eyes and wondered if he could see in hers that her years were as long, nay, longer than his. A suspicious elf, adding injury to anger, would not provide the most opportune company to the group, yet, still, if Elrond had sent him there must be some worth to him. Bethberry wished she thought more highly of elves so she could call upon her friendly reserves of respect to win him over, but she remembered too strongly the petty tyrannies, bitter betrayals and vain jealousies of early years. This one was not like Haidan, or Arcon, Vanyar elves. Reaching him might take some time.

[ December 10, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Mithadan]

Nardol peered suspiciously at Bethberry, but nodded. "Tea would be wonderful," he said without a thank you. He straightened himself on the log and carefully extended his wounded leg. Then he lifted the haft of the arrow that had pierced him and inspected it. With a scowl, he threw it down and turned to glare at the half-man that had tended to his wound.

"This is not an orc arrow," he said accusingly. Without waiting for a response, he looked back at Gandalf. Shaking his head, he began, "It is said by some that trouble follows you like a dog follows its master. But Castle Maladil? What business have you there? Is that not the ruin of the home of Maladil who misguidedly chose one of the Atani as a wife?"

Nardol shook his head again. "No matter. My path leads elsewhere. I will return to Imladris after I have rested. But Mithrandir, if you must journey towards danger, wouldn't you be best served if you chose companions with sufficient wit to tell a foe from a friend?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

After the battle Aislan sat down on a rock near the edge of the camp, quietly. She laughed to herself as Midnight came like a flash at the mention of tea. Holly helped Nardol, and Aislan was not suprised at how wary she was. Volondil had woken, and Bethberry offered tea to the injured Nardol.

Nardol commented on this and that in his pain and frustration. What caught Aislan's attention, though, was a comment made about having company that could not tell friend from foe. Aislan assumed this to be directed towards Holly. Aislan scowled at the thought. She stood and walked closer to Nardol, keeping a safe distance, of course.

"If there's anything this company doesn't need, it's comments and remarks like that! Holly feels bad enough and she helped you with your injury. Just because people aren't perfect doesn't make them unfit to be in this company! We all work as a team and when one falters another is there to help. I understand you are in pain and may be a little embarassed but isn't it a little childish to frown upon another for a simple mistake?" Aislan was suprised to hear her own voice say such a thing. She may have been a little harsh, but Nardol had been, too.

Nardol was quiet for a moment, maybe thinking what to say. Aislan was half afraid he would not say anything, but jump up and do something. She worried for a moment, and waited for someone to say something...anything.

[ December 12, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[piosenniel]

The Hobbit heard the Elf’s words and her cheeks burned crimson from the sting of his rude remarks. Her back was to him as he spat them out and only Volondil saw how she bit back the sharp retort that threatened to spill from her mouth. His fingers encircled her small wrist and held it captive as her hand sought the knife at her belt. Her eyes flashed with anger, and then, as suddenly, the storm left them as she heard the words the Ranger spoke softly to her.

‘He’s not worth it, Holly. His kind never are.’

His fingers felt her arm relax, as she nodded to him. Gently she finished changing the dressing to his side. Once the poultice was well secured, she left him to the good care of Bird. Peri stood near waiting for her, one eye fixed on the Elf.

She gathered up her supplies and repacked them on the pony, wanting only to be away from the scene of this disastrous day. ‘Let’s leave the big folk to sort out their own problems.’ she murmured to Peri. ‘I want to go down to the glade we passed on our way out of camp, and see if I can capture that old tree before the sun goes down too far.’ Olo shouldered his pack and hefted his stout blackthorn stick and prepared to follow along. She frowned at him, but he only smiled and stood his ground.

‘As you wish.’ she said to him over her shoulder, as she turned and headed back down the small trail.

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

It was near evening when the two Hobbits and Peri returned to the main encampment. Holly was well satisfied with the sketches she had been able to make, and was in a cheerful mood. She sang softly to herself as she gathered twigs and wood for a small camp fire near the outskirts of the camp, far from any big folk.

The pony had been unpacked by Olo, who rubbed him down, fed and watered him. And now both of them huddled near the small fire, warming themselves against the chill evening breeze. It was a cold supper of brown bread, and cheese, and a few dried fruits that Holly had laid out for them, packed for them by the cook at the Inn. Washed down with several cups of hot sweet tea it tasted like a grand feast to the tired Hobbits.

Olo threw a thick blanket over the pony’s back, and laid out their bedrolls on either side of the fire. He lay there looking up at the darkening sky, watching the stars pop out, as he smoked his pipe. Rings of smoke drifted up from him now and again to encircle a star or two and then disappear. ‘I thought you had some business to get off to, Holly. Have you decided to stay and go to Tharbad after all?’

‘Might as well now.’ she said. ‘I can’t possibly make it north in time now. I’ve lost the commission.’ She sighed, wondering how she could make her slim purse grow fat enough to get her through for a while. Her hand wandered to her pocket, looking for her one of her pipes. It found none, but a piece of drawing paper folded over many times crinkled against her fingers as the searched the inner pocket of her vest. ‘What’s this?’ she thought to herself.

She pulled it out and spread it out on her blankets, carefully smoothing out the creases. It was a copy of the map she had put in Bird’s pack. One she had made, intending to color it in and highlight the so-called ‘places of interest’ on it with small renderings of treasure heaps and jewels and chests overflowing with gold and silver coins, and the occasional grinning skull . . .

[ December 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[tangerine]

Silence had never sat well with Hinura. Silence at an inn were she might play was the calm before a mightly squall struck, and it had seemed that the hobbit had required great self-control not to release that storm herself. Hinura stepped forward finally, felling awkward and small. In a small but firm voice she said, "Perhaps this is not the time to discuss this, battle-weary and as strangers. A meal and rest would do us all good, I reckon; and this matter might be viewed more clearly in the morning light." Pausing a moment, she said, "Such tension as this among allies helps us not, and I have a taste for music and merriment. There are many fine voices here, as I have already seen. Perhaps there is still time make for a merrier meeting still!"

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: tangerine ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf strode back into the campsite after reading the letter, his mind filled with hard-to-find runes, and the search for them. And the secret search for Gollum, which he'd left to Aragorn rather than bringing Aragorn along to Castle Maladil. And in stark contrast with the fair smooth-flowing Elvish penmanship that graced most of the document, the friendly scrawl just below Elrond's signature proclaiming, "Bilbo Baggins says Hallo from Rivendell!" *

* Thus it was that at first a bemused glint appeared in the wizard's eyes when Nardol addressed him. But as the Elf continued speaking, Gandalf's expression deepened into mild inscrutability. *

Trouble follows me, you say, Nardol? 'Tis as true as you like. For I came together with everyone here but you … and now you've come from behind, and indeed appear to have overtaken me.

My business at Castle Maladil … will be made known to those who continue travelling down the Greenway to Tharbad with me on the morrow. As for my choice of companions, never underestimate the power of being underestimated.

* Gandalf watched Holly's retreating back, hoping that she had heard. He caught Aislan's eye and directed towards her a look of gentle approval, and then nodded towards Hinura. *

Well spoken, Bard! My rough voice will leave the singing to your finer ones, as we share supper and rest.

* Later that evening, Gandalf approached Holly, who had just enough time to stash her map back inside of her vest before it could be discovered. Under the circumstances, the wizard's questions and requests were uncanny … Mentioning Holly's sketching, he asked her for a scrap of parchment. Writing out the word "Laurëondo" in large Tengwar letters, he handed the scrap back to Holly for safekeeping, with Olo looking on from a-near. Other members of the company also might well have seen or heard this exchange between Gandalf and Holly, for Gandalf paid no heed to who might be watching or listening. When pressed further, he said no more than a pleasant enough, "Goodnight, time enough for questions tomorrow," and with that, retired to sleep under the breezy light night-cloak of stars and fireflies. *

[ December 12, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion finished bandaging Menelduliniel's arm. They were standing a little bit away from the group.

"Is it all right?" she asked, looking at the bandage, then at Estelarion.

"It was not a bad cut," Estelarion smiled at her, "You will live."

He ruffled her hair and she shied away. It was really hardly a scratch, but Estelarion was feeling merry. He was always strangely merry after a fight. It almost annoyed Menelduliniel that he could be so jovial after battle.

He smiled again, "You will live. Do not worry."

In truth, the wound was not at all as grave as it could have been. The arrow did not pierce too deeply and did not even hit the bone, thankfully.

Estelarion stood and pulled Menelduliniel up by her uninjured arm and they made their way back to the group.

"It is my strongest arm," Menelduliniel said, making a sour face.

"It will heal," Estelarion assured.

"But I will need it," Menelduliniel said.

"You will be fine," Estelarion assured her again.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[piosenniel]

The small fire had burned down to bare embers, and Holly felt herself being pulled down into light sleep. She shifted her head on her pillow, and was just dreaming of how nice it would be to wade in the stream back at the Inn at Sarn Ford, when Olo's voice came low across the firepit.

'Holly?' he whispered, then raising his voice a little, 'Holly, are you awake over there?'

Peri stamped his hoof, and shook his mane, annoyed at the break in the pleasant night sounds. 'It's alright, Peri.' came the soothing voice of Holly, cut off abruptly by a wide yawn. 'Yes, Olo I'm awake - now. What is it you wanted?'

'That word,' he said quietly,'the one that Gandalf wrote on that piece of paper he gave you. What did it say? It's Elvish, isn't it?'

Holly rubbed her eyes, and looked at Olo, lying on his side, head propped up on one arm, looking bright eyed back at her. She laughed. 'Is that what's keeping you up and tossing and turning beneath your blankets?' She picked up a piece of kindling and drew the tengwar in the dirt near the firepit, as the last of the embers popped and hissed its way into the darkness.

'It was Laurëondo, that he wrote, Olo.' She laid her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes.

'Laurëondo.' said Olo, rolling the word about in his mind and mouth. He whispered once more across the now darkened pit. 'What's that mean Holly?' She sighed and turned on her side, 'Goldstone, I think, Olo. Now go to sleep.' She lay back on her belly, her head cradled on her right arm, her eyes closed once again.

Night sounds blanketed the trio, drawing them toward their dreams. Once more, though, came the soft voice of Olo. 'Holly - what do you think Gandalf mea . . .' He was cut off by an irritated snort from the pony, and the sound of gentle, rhythmic breathing from across the burnt out fire.

'Well, now, I suppose I'll just have to wait til tomorrow like Gandalf said.' Olo got up to see that Holly was covered up against the night's chill, then returned to his own bedroll and snuggled down into its warmth. He closed his eyes and fell quickly into pleasant dreams.

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

[Child of the 7th Age]

The embers of the fire were just dying down. Andreth lay in her bed tossing about, kickng and squirming, unable to rest with all the confusing events of the day. She peered around in the darkness. It looked as if everyone was sleeping.

She crept silently out of her bedding and went over to her pack. Her fingers reached inside until she came to what she was seeking. Slowly, she drew the book out and placed it on her lap. It had been passed down in her family from grandparent to parent to child, for so many years that Andreth could not count them all.

Some pages were new and shiny, as if the book had just been written, but many others had faded away or torn so that the letters could scarcely be deciphered. What if an Orc does come and get me? she thought. It is important this this should go with me, wherever I go. She would need to keep it with her, day and night.

Andreth took a spare dress from her pack and stripped out the inside layer from the skirt. She decided to bind it around her waist, tucking the small volume under her wide belt so that no one else could see.

Perhaps I'm being silly to pay so much attention to something I can't even read. But somehow I feel this may be important. I expect Gandalf would be able to decipher these words and pictures, or that Elf with the sour face.

Andreth squirmed at the thought of Nardol. He carried burdens in his soul. That much was clear to her. But it was also evident that he made sure to dump these burdens onto the heads of everyone who surrounded him. His remark to Holly was inexcusable. Not an easy person to be around.

And what would he do if he saw this book, and realized who she was. Andreth's heart sank. He would probably not approve of her or her family. How ironic! She'd spent her whole life fighting off the disapproval of her neighbors in Bree, who assumed her folks were crazy. She'd thought that problem sprang only from the minds of Men who were too narrow to understand anything bigger than themselves. Now she was beginning to wonder if she'd been wrong. Perhaps, it wasn't only Men who were unable to see anything beyond the end of their own noses. Perhaps some Elves had that problem too.

She tucked the book underneath her belt and lay down to sleep. Andreth gave one final furtive glance around the campfire, and thought she saw one pair of eyes glinting out towards her. She couldn't be certain. She'd best be more careful next time.

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

[Birdland]

"Now what was that Andreth hovering over?" thought Bird as she laid by the fire feigning sleep. Apparently Holly was not the only one carrying secret or precious objects on this journey. Bird just hoped sincerely that whatever it was that the woman was hiding, it was not something that was being sought by anyone else.

The whole day had been an unmitigated disaster. And now here they were with three people injured, and the rest of the caravan, both people and animals, exhausted from stress and battle. Gandalf seemed to be on guard, sitting by the fire smoking his pipe and staring out into the darkness, but the rest of the party were all asleep.

Were they to go on? With two warriors injured, it seemed unlikely, unless they chose to ride while others walked. And what could be keeping the Orcs from attacking again was beyond Birdie. She looked over at the sleeping forms of Holly, Olo and Volondil and sighed. This is what came of attaching yourself to others. You were very likely to share their fate, and the old saying "safety in numbers" did not seem to be applying here.

Bird tossed and turned for a few minutes more on the hard ground, then gave it up. Standing up, she morphed into her crow form and flew into a near-by tree top. The dark, shadowy form of Bethberry's Wyrd could be seen in the next tree, and he shook his feathers and gave Birdie a glare, warning her not to even think about sharing his branch, before settling back into sleep.

Bird flexed her feet a few times, ruffled her own feathers, and with a sigh of relief, drifted off to sleep herself.

[Mithadan]

Nardol bit off a retort to Aislan's defense of the Halfling as Gandalf began to speak. He listened with a scowl but restrained himself from replying to the rubbish which the old fool had spouted. 'Never underestimate the power of being underestimated.' If this were true Mithrandir was ready to do battle with an army of Trolls. He looked about at the motley assortment of Men, Hobbits and Elves which the wizard had gathered and snorted.

His leg had begun to throb. Trying to avoid thinking about the ignominious cause of his wound, he reached into his pack and withdrew a silver flask. Opening it, he took a long draught of miruvor then settled back in the hope of finding sleep. On the morrow he would test his leg and if he were able, he would abandon Gandalf and his ragtag group and return to Imladris...

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu sat by the fire quietly, and listened in on some of the conversations. When most had left, she too got up, and went over to where Mornen stood.

She gave him a pat, and then sat down against a tree and ate a small dinner, giving Mornen an apple as well. Alearindu wasn't too keen upon sleeping without a worry with that attack earlier that day.

So, instead, she leaned against the tree, and pulled out a small book from her pack. Alearindu wrote for a while, poems, and the days happenings, and then closed it and put it back into the pack.

Mornen, even though it was uncommon for horses to sleep laying down, laid down at Alearindu's side and placed his head in her lap. Alearindu stroked his muzzle and rubbed his ears gently, then got comfortable sitting, and watched over the group, resting, but not sleeping.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aislan wasn't sure who actually slept or who rested. Whoever slept though, it would be an uneasy one, after the suprise battle earlier. Aislan sat, comfortably laying under her blankets, not sleeping. She stayed awake either for fear of being caught off guard or...just being afraid of the shadows lingering as the night wore on.

Still fresh in her mind were the sounds of harps and fiddles from home at the Trade Inn. Singing, dancing, laughing, gossip. Aislan had especially loved the tales from far off lands, as she had rarely ever travelled anywhere. Stories of the White City, tales and adventures from the area of Mirkwood, Dale, and the Lonely Mountain had filled the air about the Trade Inn, even if some failed to see it at first. Aislan had also managed in that time to see and ride many different kinds of horses. They came from everywhere, and the subtle differences could be easily seen through Aislan's eyes. Aislan's love of horses brought her closer to following her father's footsteps, only she had more love for adventure than he.

Aislan listened now to the grunts and sounds of the horses, and both the slight breaths and heavy snores of the company. Every now and then her eyelids threatened not to open again as she blinked, until she slowly drifted off into a light rest.

[ December 12, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Birdland]

neek-breek...neek-breek...neek-breek...

[Gandalf_theGrey]

FLASHBACK

A half-moon shone the night of that fateful Friday the 13th, in the year 2799, late in the Second Age. The candles had all gone out, the fireplace embers dwindled to blackness. Lord Maladil woke with a start, his arms pinched in an inescapable grasp of long-nailed Orcs. Dagger points grazed his sides.

An Orc Chieftain hissed at his ear. "Don't move, Maladil, or we'll kill them slowly instead of quickly. Orc Bane you have been, but no more."

One by one the screams of each member of the House of Maladil came echoing. It started farthest away, the men-at-arms caught uselessly unawares on the third floor. Then down to the second floor, all down the hall closer and closer to his own Master Bedroom. Lesser servants, then those servants he was fond of: Anna, the Butler, Celumëomaryu. The children: his daughter Calimiel, his son Kenelm. As each voice fell silent, Maladil trembled at the loss, or winced, or cried out. But an Orc kept count with a dagger, until twelve bleeding notches brought Maladil to the edge of his own doom.

One by one the new ghosts of each member of the House of Maladil filed into the Master Bedroom. They gazed at the Head of Household who kept them there, for the mad oath Maladil swore a week ago now culminated in the fulfillment of its terrible curse. Maladil had defied the Valar, screaming that his fëa would refuse to depart Middle Earth, but remain inside the castle through all eternity, though his body die. Maladil further swore that neither would the Valar take his children or servants the way his wife had been taken, and that Kenelm, Calimiel, and all his servants would share his fate.

Before the death-blow pierced Maladil through, the rays of the half-moon chanced to fall upon the life-sized white marble statue of a woman against a background of mahogany paneling. The Orc Chieftain laughed. "We missed one." The statue was duly picked up by four of the foul marauders and smashed against the fireplace mantel until it broke in half. Maladil, held in place, writhed screaming.

A fragment of statue fell onto the slate tile floor where a sword stood leaning against the fireplace. The Orc Chieftain howled in triumph. He cringed on picking up the rune-laden weapon, but wielded the blade, though the pain of its madly-flickering blue light caused his breathing to go ragged. "As I said, Orc Bane no more. Too long have you slain Orcs, too many, and too freely. Yer death here is the last, so's we'll outlast you." The Orc spat, blade poised.

"Not the last! No Orc shall escape my castle alive this night!" Looking on the twelve ghosts of his household, Maladil bellowed, "To arms! To arms! Secure the doors!"

The sword plunged down through Maladil's heart. Maladil's ghost then rose to stand beside his enemy. Maladil wrested the sword hilt away. The blade crackled with light and noise, until the Orc Chieftain was no more.

Ghostly men-at-arms barred entranceways, shrieking revenge and hewing down frenzied Orcs. The Butler brandished a halberd. Calimiel waved about a long knife. Anna wielded an axe. Celumëomaryu ran to defend the library. Kenelm, who would not fight, winced as an Orc stumbled atop his harp, breaking several strings.

When the battle had done, no Orcs remained. Their defeat was total. But the castle residents fared little better. Thirteen ghosts began their walk through sighing centuries.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

It was that curious hour before the sun crept over the easterm rim of the horizon. A quiet stillness that burst into song as all the birds took up the great harmony and called forth the light.

Holly had awakened some time before, when all was still dark and quiet. She'd fed the few embers of last night's fire with dry wood shavings, and blown gently at the heart of it. Small flames licked up round the twigs she offered, and rose up hungrily to devour the larger chunks of wood stacked over it. Soon there was a small, crackling fire burning, and she heated a pan of water for tea.

She sat hunched on a log near the fire, her cloak wrapped round her against the cold, sipping slowly at the warm brew. Gandalf, she saw, was up early, too. She could just make out his grey figure moving about in the pre-dawn chill. Her right hand strayed to the inner pocket of her vest. She patted her map and the piece of paper he had written on and given her last night, assuring herself they were still safely in her possession.

Her brow furrowed as she turned that puzzling scene over in her mind. He had drawn quite near her, and spoke clear enough that others might hear what he said. His face, turned from the others' view, was drawn, his brows knit, and his posture as he hunched toward her, conveyed a mixture of concern and trust.

Holly had gotten the feeling that he had not chosen off handedly to speak with her, but for the life of her, she could not fathom the wizard's purpose. Her one clear understanding, though, was that it was of a quite serious nature.

The birds were still singing as she walked quietly across the encampment to where he sat now, gazing toward the east. She crouched down by his seated figure and held out to him a mug of hot, fragrant tea. They watched in companionable silence as a pale dawn spread over the dark land.

Gandalf wrapped his cold fingers appreciatively around the warm mug, and took in the sweet scent of summer flowers heavy with the promise of honey. He was smiling, and at ease, as Holly asked her question, her low voice carrying softly to his ears.

'Laurëondo, Gandalf, what can you tell me of this word?'

[Gandalf_theGrey]

It is this very word "Laurëondo" which we seek, Holly. Castle Maladil is also called "Goldstone," for its exterior walls are built of golden granite, looking something like that yonder patch of sandy ground.

Master Elrond believes the deed to the Castle remains hidden within its walls, the location of this document known only to Lord Maladil. And since from the end of the Second Age until the present day, no heir has ever come forth to lay a claim on the accursed building, ownership has been left open to any living soul daring enough to brave entrance of the Castle, to ... survive once within, and to successfully find and bear away the deed.

It is my wish to retrieve the deed to Laurëondo on behalf of the Elves of the White Council, as a way of lifting the curse of Maladil Castle without the need of rending the building to pieces. For if the terms of the curse are that Maladil remain in the castle for all eternity, then the castle must cease to exist. To that end, Elrond suggests that the castle be transformed into a house of healing.

But woe to us all, should the deed to Goldstone fall into the wrong hands!

[ December 14, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

Holly's brow furrowed at this last statement of the wizard, and she stared off into the distance, chewing the inside of her lip. Why would one mouldering, old castle be of such importance? And what would it matter should it fall into the "wrong" hands. 'Let the shadow deal with the accursed old Maladil.' she thought to herself.

Still, if Gandalf were concerned, as well as the Elves of the White Council (and she was not sure who or what this might be, though it sounded very important) - then perhaps she had better be concerned also. The troubles of the bigger folk always seemed to spill over onto the Hobbits in one way or the other.

She turned her face back to Gandalf, who sat considering her, as if her thoughts were plainly visible to him.

'So,' she said, her voice barely audible. He leaned in closer to hear her. 'How may I be of service to you?'

[*Varda*]

Poppy awoke from the deep sleep she had been in. Having been unable to do little more than lie on the ground during the battle, much to the young hobbit’s disgust, after the fighting, sleep had overtaken her and she had fallen asleep.

Now awake, she surveyed the scene in front of her. She noticed the irritable elf, and already decided she didn’t like him, since he appeared to show little respect for everyone, and Poppy had little love for people like that.

She had no idea what was currently going on, Menelduliniel and Estelarion were standing a little way away, the strange woman Bird had disappeared off somewhere, and Volondil appeared to have woken up, but was still in no state to move. Poppy supposed they wouldn’t be travelling far for a little, as she was still being told that she shouldn’t walk, and Volondil certainly shouldn’t

[tangerine]

Hinura awoke as the sky grew lighter in the east with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Today would be long and difficult, and having that irratable Elf among them improved no one's mood. As well, her sleep had been plagued with strange dreams that had faded from her memory upon opening her eyes, dreams that had left her feeling oddly drained and empty. She had had these before, and found it greatly frusterating when she could not precisely name the source of her spiritual fatigue.
Shaking her head, she sat up. Never mind, she thought. No use worrying over what is no longer. Reaching for her bag, she looked around at the rest of the company. She had slept a little ways off from most of the company, and those who were closer were already awake. She smiled wryly. After the day they had just had, few probably slept well, if at all. Taking out her harp, Hinura got up and moved further out of earshot so as not to disturb those who had been able to fall asleep. Sitting down agaist a great oak tree, she tuned the instrument as she had done every morning since her youth back in Midgewater, and began to play a slow, solemn tune.

[Mithadan]

Nardol slept fitfully that night, plagued by unpleasant dreams and discomfort. When he awoke, he found that his wound burned as if a fire had been ignited in his leg. His calf was swollen and stiff and the ache of it seemed to spread throughout his body.

Sleep threatened to capture him again and he resisted its clutches, hovering in that uncomfortable place at the edge of waking. The trees around him seemed to lean over and gloat at his unease and the fire that crackled nearby was not cheerful to him. Rather it awoke memories of braziers used to heat unspeakable tools to the colour of ripe strawberries by evil spirits in the pits of Angband. Nardol moaned and slid back into an uncomfortable sleep.

[Bêthberry]

Moonlight was failing and the horizon was still but a smear in the sky yet some birds were nattering. Bethberry rose and saw Gandalf and Holly deep in conversation. She had wondered what had taken the Wizard out of camp, but she was too familiar with his ways to question him. If he needed to consult with her, he would, she knew.

Stiff from the night's sleep, she rose and stretched her neck and arms and then sought out her bag of herbals. Poppy seemed alert, so Bethberry came to her side.

"Poppy, after an injury, long immobility can do harm. Do you think you can do some gentle stretching? When you are fully awake, try moving your limbs carefully and consider sitting up if you can. Call me back once you have done this and we shall see what more care you need. Your eyes look clear and bright and there is colour in your cheeks, all welcome signs!"

Bethberry then turned to the one more likely to be obstreperous, the more so since it appeared he had angered and alienated everyone else in the camp. Yet that wound was dangerous and needed to be watched, closely. She bid her time a bit, watched him as he turned and turned fitfully in uneasy rest and then decided to approach him.

"Nardol, much as I would respect your privacy, I must see your wound."

He did not respond to her quiet voice, but Bethberry was not one to allow rudeness or incivility to bring out the same qualities in her. She persisted.

She lay one hand lightly on his shoulder so as not to startle him, and then gently applied some pressure to her wakening call, before withdrawing her hand.

"Nardol, you have spent a fitful night. If you do not attend to that wound it will fester, and then we shall be forced to apply maggots to it, to rid it of the foul infection. And if that is the case, you will be denied your miruvor, for it would only kill the maggots. What is your wish? Some less invasive treatment now, or the banishment of your favourite elixir?"

The elf stirred slightly and then remained still, but he watched Bethberry without retort or reprimand.

"I can give you now some agrimony to wash the wound and a new poultice of bistort, bethroot and horsetail. And a dried cake for you to eat, sweetened with honey and made palatible with angelica, to mask the pain. If you do not trust me, I will tell you which herbs form the cake. Will you let me attend to you, or shall you care for your wound yourself?"

She sat back and allowed the elf his space, but her look and pose made very clear that he needed to attend to her words for her face was marked by a strange mixture of sternness and care, seriousness and respect. She wasn't pampering him, for there was a sobre insistence in her demeanour. And he could tell she was not one to be easily dismissed by hostility.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

"Are you sure you are well?" Estelarion asked Menelduliniel. It was strange that she had not rested at all the whole night. She had stood near the very edge of camp, and had not spoken to him at all. He wished that he had left her side, and had gotten some rest himself, but he had not done so.

It is too late to do that now, he thought, fairly bitterly.

"Yes!" Menelduliniel snapped loudly at him. She was speaking, that was progress. Estelarion had not expected this kind of response, however. "Stop pestering me!" she continued.

"You were acting strange, though," Estelarion said, following Menelduliniel worriedly as she went over to begin to pack her supplies.

"There are still enemies out there!" Menelduliniel said in an exhasperated voice, "Do you not want us to guard?!"

"Yes," Estelarion, said, quietly, "But Gandalf was awa-"

"Do you think that I would have been able to sleep?" Menelduliniel asked, stopping her rummaging in her packs and throwing her hands up at Estelarion in disgust.

"What is wrong?" Estelarion asked.

"I told you nothing! Why do you never listen?" Menelduliniel turned back to Estelarion her eyes blazing. "Geridh dôl?" she snapped. She always broke back into Elvish when she was mad. She shook her head, "Do you have a brain?" she tried again.

"Look," Estelarion said, "I am not going to fight with you-"

Menelduliniel gave a snort, but Estelarion ignored it, "So I am going to go over and see if any need help."

He went over to Poppy.

"How are you feeling?" he asked the Hobbit, who was doing as she was told and was stretching a bit, still laying down, smiling down at her, "Do you feel better?"

"A bit," she said from where she lay.


He sat down next to her to keep her company.

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Mithadan]

Nardol looked up at Bethberry, then rearranged himself upon the log. He nodded and allowed her to tend to his wound, which now had an evil look about it. As she worked he looked intently at her face. At length he spoke. "You are not of the Atani nor of the Eldar," he said. It was not a question.

She looked at his scarred face briefly, then resumed her work without responding. After several minutes, she finished, and stood. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Thank you."

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Holly turned her face back to Gandalf, who sat considering her, as if her thoughts were plainly visible to him.

'So,' she said, her voice barely audible. He leaned in closer to hear her. 'How may I be of service to you?'

Elrond's letter brings a hope that bears risk, Holly. For none have dared set foot within the Castle itself since the curse was set in motion. Yet dared it must be, if we are to find the deed to Laurëondo. Andreth's report of Shagdug carrying prisoners to Castle Maladil grants a special urgency ... if we do not arrive too late, perhaps we can rescue them. As Hobbits, you and Olo and Poppy are more likely to slip past the Castle ghosts unnoticed. The oliphaunt's share of their fury, envy, and attacks focus on the Big Folk.

As for your chances of survival, well, at least you will not be the first target, unless you draw attention to yourself. As for your reward should you succeed, you shall share in what treasure survives, apart from the Castle itself. If ill fortune befall the treasure within the Castle, your generosity shall not be overlooked by Master Elrond and the Lady Galadriel, nor forgotten by me.

If you would be so kind, Holly, as to show and teach the other members of our company the Elvish letters for Laurëondo, especially the Hobbits, so that all can memorize and recognize the word at the top of the parchment that we seek.

* Gandalf stared off into the middle distance, lit a pipe, offered pipeweed to Holly, and mused aloud. * As for Birdland … best for her to take on a non-Human form in sight of the ghosts.

* The wizard then stood and bowed, with a fresh smile to thank Holly once more for their sharing of tea and company. *

* On his way back to camp, Gandalf came upon the Bard Hinura weaving stringed harmony with nature's morning song of lark, finch, and sparrow. Mingled too was the soft sighing of wind winging from grass to cloud to at last the glowing chariot of Anor. *

Hail, Hinura … you ready yourself well for battle, for music shall go before us to announce our presence. Yourself and Menelduliniel and Estelarion shall wield harp and flute as gentle weapons seeking peace, in accord with such songs as Bethberry and any else of fair voice provide.

* Coming within sight of the company, Gandalf nodded to Andreth and Bethberry, and to Aislan and Nardol standing nearby. Alearindu was nowhere to be seen ... thus was it said that she left the company to take her own path. Gandalf now spoke. *

We must take to the road, and within an hour or so, despite injuries. Delay here will only bring further attacks. Andreth, you've mentioned that Poppy may ride with you on Whinney, should her condition warrant? As for Volondil, he can be drawn by sledge as a last resort … though methinks Midnight indeed will bear Volondil. The black steed shall not harm the injured ranger, though mischief glint in the eyes of so mercurial a horse.

* When all were assembled over breakfast, Gandalf repeated once again the whole story about the meaning of Laurëondo and the quest, just as he'd spoken it to Holly, so that all would hear and understand. Nardol too was there to hear the tale. *

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[*Varda*]

Poppy mused while doing the gentle stretches that Bethberry recommended. Oh, how annoying it was to remain here on the ground, not allowed to move, when all her heart really desired was to be on the road, going to Castle Maladil. Flitting about from one place to the next was almost all she had known for the past few years, although granted, it was by her own choice. She felt restless, just lying here.

She noticed her pack lying only a little way away, and leaning over, she pulled it to her. Opening it carefully, she brought out her pipe and some Longbottom Leaf, not the best, but it would do. Filling her small wooden pipe, and lighting it carefully, she sat and smoked in peace.

She laughed quietly to herself. So far, she had done little on this journey. Falling down a hole on the first day, spending the rest of the time immobile… she hoped soon to have a more interesting role to play in the group. She knew that this particular hobbit was not suited to sitting around!

She paused her pastime of blowing soft grey smoke rings up into the air, watching them float away into the clouds, when Gandalf spoke. Upon hearing that they would be leaving soon (at which her heart rose) and that she may have a bigger part to play on arrival, her spirits became less despondent. She was particularly intrigued on hearing that she was to learn the elvish letters for Laureondo and awaited this with anticipation.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Andreth walked over to Poppy who was lying on the ground, blowing smoke rings in the air.

"Poppy, Gandalf says we leave in an hour. My horse Whinney will be glad to carry you. He's very sure and steady, so it shouldn't be too hard on your leg. I'll drape these sadlebags over his back, and you can even lean against them. You might want to try riding on your own, and see if that's comfortable. If you find it's too unsteady, I'll be glad to hop aboard, and we can ride double on his back."

"I'll give you a boost up when it's time to leave. Now, let me get my things together, and have a bite to eat."

Andreth ran over to the campfire and brought two plates back, one for herself and one for Poppy.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Susan Delgado]

Anna stood before the cells, considering the people inside them. She hadn't seen living people in...Well, not since the night she'd died. And why should she have? The Castle was well guarded, and didn't have much of material value anyway; there was no gold or jewels here, not that she knew of anyway, though who knew what Maladil might have hidden here?
She gave an airy sigh and peered in through the bars. She wondered how long they'd been here. She'd have thought Calimiel would've told her...well, maybe she didn't know either. Who knew?

She looked closer at the prisoners and frowned. Something seemed to be wrong with them. Three of them were lying huddled against the back wall, not moving. The fourth was sitting in the middle of the cell, hands grasping knees, rocking back and forth and moaning. The fifth was upright next the bars, hanging on them as if for support, as if he couldn't stand on his own.
He was staring at her, wide eyed. She supposed he'd never seen a ghost before.
What did he want? He opened and closed his mouth a few times but no sound came out. Maybe she should speak to him...but how? It had been a very long time since she'd done it. She closed her eyes, concentrating.

The prisoner in the cell watched in amazement as the misty figure before him lost the vaguely human shape it had and coalesced into a faintly glowing white sphere. After a moment it reformed its human shape and whispered, "hellooo"

He took a step back and nearly fell. He was weaker than he thought...how long had they been locked in here? The light was always the same, so it was nearly impossible to judge the passage of time. He grabbed onto the bars again. "HELLO!"

Anna recoiled. Why did he shout? "whaaaat's wrooong?" She should concentrate more. She repeated herself, less airily.

He peered out at her. "Hungry," he whispered.

Hungry? What was "hungry"? It had been so long. She frowned, concentrating, then faded out to the garden. Calimiel would know what he meant.

The prisoner stared at the empty space Anna had been in a moment before. What astonishment! He sank back onto the floor, exhausted. Either the ghost would return or it wouldn't, but he was too weak to bother about it anymore right now. He slept.

Anna materialised in the Rose Garden, but didn't see anyone there. She floated around the castle, but Calimiel was nowhere outside. Nor could Anna find her inside when she searched there. She did find Celumëomaryu in the Library, but she was pacing and Anna knew from experience that Calumëomaryu was not to be disturbed during her pacing.

She went back downstairs and went to the kitchen, the right-hand kitchen. She shunned the left one, the one where it had started for her, where she'd first heard the invaders. As far as she knew, the axe she'd picked up to defend her home and lost when she died was still lying in the dust on the floor, next to her own bones and covered in old blood. She shuddered at the memory.

She found the Butler in the Laundry. What was he doing there? Hello.

He turned around. Where have you been? Look at this place! Look at the dust! He continued in this vein for some time, and she waited patiently for him to stop talking. All of his rants were the same and she hadn't actually listened to one in at least a thousand years. When he stopped, she said what she had to say. I want to know about the prisoners.

He blinked. Whatever he'd expected, it certainly wasn't that. What about them?

I want to know what they're here for, and I don't like the way they're being treated. One of then said "Hungry". I think that means he wants food.

The Butler frowned. Food? He'd provided water, because he remembered that living beings needed it, but he'd forgotten that they needed food. He gave Anna an appraising look. If you don't know what they're here for, you should ask Calimiel, or Celumeomaryu. As for feeding and caring for them, why don't you do it? You certainly don't do anything else productive around here.

She frowned. That last had obviously not been intended to color his thought, but it had just the same. I'll feed them, She said shortly, and vanished.

Where would she get food? There was no vegetable garden. She could gather some leaves from the trees, but they probably wouldn't eat that. Maybe if she found something living, like a rabbit...She floated around searching, and found one, almost out of her range. It was still in reach, and how was she supposed to kill it? The prisoners wouldn't eat it alive. She pondered for a moment, then reached through its chest. She could feel its heart beating against her substance and wished its spirit well before she clenched her hands and stopped its heart.

She picked it up and took it back the library, where Celumëomaryu, for reasons of her own, always maintained a fire. She held the body over the flames until the hair had burned off and the skin was blackened. It might not be very palatable, but at least it was edible.
Watching the two wakeful prisoners attack it, though, made her realise that one just wouldn't be enough. With a sigh of resigned irritation, she went back outside. Well, it wasn't like she had anything better to do anyway, and where there was one coney, there would be more.

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

After finishing breakfast, Andreth glanced over in the direction of Noldor who sat by himself at the edge of the campsite. That morning, when she'd arisen at the first hint of dawn, something unusual had caught her eye. She'd seen Bethberry kneeling down tending to the Elf's wound. Andreth could have sworn that Nardol had replied 'thank you' in return. She'd been surprised to hear even that hint of courtesy.

She fumbled through Whinney's saddebags and pulled out an embroidered canvas and several skeins of thread. The piece was festooned with many colors--gold and silver, sky blue and yellow, forest green and vermillion--heavily worked in a variety of stitches. The canvas attested to the girl's skill with the needle and her budding eye as an artist. Bird might see this as folly or silliness, but to Andreth it was a labor of love.

It shouldn't be long until the others finished their breakfast and they'd be ready to leave the campsite. As she often did in such spare moments, Andreth pulled out her stitchery and began to sew. She called out a shy good morning to the Elf, who had risen awkwardly to tend his mount. He seemed to be limping heavily.

"Does your leg feel any better?" Andreth asked. "My brother is training to be a healer, and he's often commented on Bethberry's skill. Perhaps, you'll choose to ride with us today to take advantage of Bethberry's knowledge and compassion?" Andreth put her nose down again to her handwork, wondering if she'd get an answer, and just how civil it would be.

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

By the time Holly had gotten back to her small campsite, Olo had put out the fire, scattered the ashes, stowed the bedrolls and cooking gear, and gotten Peri all packed up in an efficient manner. Her pack lay waiting for her, and he had left out a piece of waybread and some dried fruits for her to munch on as they proceeded down the road.

'Oh, what a treasure you are as a travelling companion!' she said with a laugh, and gave him a companionable hug. She turned away to give Peri a small piece of dried apple, and did not see the Hobbit blush.

'Come walk ahead with me.' she said, as she lead Peri to where Andreth was talking to Poppy about the use of her horse. 'I want to speak with both you and her about learning the Elvish letters and script for Laurëondo.' She fished her notebook out of her pack, along with her writing kit. 'Tell me what you know of Elvish writing, Olo. Are you familiar with any of the letters at all?'

Olo confessed that he had not much experience with writing of any kind, and though he thought the Elvish script was quite beautiful, it was completely unreadable to him. They crossed the camp, Holly studiously avoiding any contact with the Elf, and soon came to where Andreth and Poppy sat, eating.

Holly sat down by Poppy, greeting both of them, and inquired in particular how Poppy was feeling today. After a few moments of pleasant chat, she brought the conversation round to the topic of Elvish writing and asked the Hobbit the same questions she had asked Olo. Poppy finished her breakfast as she considered the questions and then made her reply . . .

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Mithadan]

Nardol had listened with disbelief to Gandalf's discourse concerning the Castle and his quest to wrest it from the control of Maladil's unresting spirit. 'Grey Wanderer' was a misnomer; this fool should have borne they name 'Grey Meddler'. He could discern no reason behind the quest.

If this Maladil had chosen to imprison his fea and those of his household in his Castle, so be it. What possible purpose could be served by seeking to lift the curse? And what profit could be derived from this venture? He could not understand why these people insisted upon following Gandalf blindly into danger. Might there be treasure hidden within the Castle's walls?

The Mannish girl (what was her name?), spoke to him, asking about his leg and his intentions. He looked at her as she sat, working on an embroidered cloth. He nearly laughed, pondering a brief vision of the woman attempting to hold a spectre at bay with a needle. "Bethberry has treated it with due skill," he answered. "Yet it aches badly. At least your comrade's aim was poor enough that it merely struck my leg rather than piercing my heart. But Men have ever lacked any mastery of matters of skill such as archery. As for where I will go, I think that shall be my own business."

Even as he spoke, he took note of her work, which was graceful and well-conceived. Then he dismissed this brief thought and hobbled on towards Rustal who greeted him with a nicker. "A fine job you did yesterday," he said to the stallion as he stoked its flanks. He fished a brush out of his pack and began tending to the horse. Even as he worked, he debated his course.

Bring this to him and, if your pride will allow it, perhaps you should accompany him for a time for it may be to your benefit. So had said Elrond who many considered to be wise. Benefit. Perhaps Elrond foresaw some profit to this venture. And if this quest were at Elrond's behest, perhaps assisting the Grey Fool in this venture and protecting the wizard from the pack of wolflings he had recruited might glean Nardol some greater respect in Elrond's house. Surely it would silence the sanctimonious Glorfindel.

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[ December 19, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aislan had awoken quietly that morning, and listened the same way when Gandalf told the tale of Maladil. Aislan thought it made the journey and adventure all the more exciting. But then again, Aislan thought almost anything outside the stables was interesting.

The elf Nardol's leg was getting better, but the wound took it's time. Aislan watched as Nardol hopped over to his horse. It was a beautiful stallion, though Aislan had seen many better in her time at the Inn's stables. Aislan stood from her spot near a tree, and walked over to the horse and master.

"'Tis a wonderful horse. What is it's name?" Aislan asked carefully patting him (the horse) on the shoulder.

"Rustal. He is wondeful, and loyal." Nardol answered quickly. He acted as though Aislan were a fly to be swatted, only instead using his voice instead of his hand.

"Alright then. I like Rustal. The name, at least. He seems a better horse than many, though." Aislan wasn't that easy to get rid of. She pet the stallion again on it's forehead, and smiled at Rustal.

[VanimaEdhel]

"What shall we sing?" Estelarion asked Menelduliniel as they packed.

Menelduliniel snorted from where she was.

"What?" Estelarion said defensively, thinking that she was still upset with him.

"No, no, my friend," she said, quickly correcting the error he made, "I am still not upset. That anger has passed."

She smiled.

"What do you suppose a harp could play?" Menelduliniel asked.

"Practically anything, probably. Although it is a hard instrument, it is also quite versatile."

"What do you say we try Nallal maybe? What do you say?"

"We shall see when we get out on the road. How does that go again?"

"Nain gelir, gladhin an annan
Dan le cenin erdû..." Menelduliniel sang quietly, "Do you remember?"

"A, yes, I remember now," Estelarion said, smiling, "That is probably my favorite song."

"I do not do Celonaudien justice," Menelduliniel sighed, somewhat enviously, "Her voice is perfect."

"You sing it well," Estelarion assured her.

"Well, we shall see what we will sing when we get out on the road," Menelduliniel smiled, finishing her packing, "Are you ready?"

"Just about," Estelarion said, finishing up.

"Let us wait for the others, then," Estelarion said.

They quickly grabbed food, as they had missed breakfast, and awaited their departure...

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Mithadan]

Nardol glanced at the woman with annoyance as he continued to brush the horse. But she continued to stand there as if expecting some response to her prattle. After a long silence, he said quickly, "The name means 'flashfoot' in your quaint Westron tongue. And he is better than many."

He whispered a quiet word in Quenya and Rustal snorted, stamped, then reared up, pawing the air with his hooves. Returning to the ground, he pranced about causing the woman to step back, then swung his head about striking Aislan's shoulder. The woman tripped and stumbled backward in the dirt.

A faint smile appeared on Nardol's face. "He is ill-tempered at times as well," he added. Turning his back on the woman, he returned to brushing down his steed.

[ December 19, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]