Quest for the Ainereg RPG

[Himaran]

Gondolin listened to what Marsilion intently. He was a ranger, that was clear, and a long-time friend of the elves. The elf was puzzled that they had not met before, but that really didn't matter now.

"I have travelled in Fangorn before." he stated. "We must find this flower, Gondolin, if we do not..."

"Aye, friend, I agree. Even if this plague does not soon start to harm the people themselves, they will soon die from starvation. I wish that the elves would have been notified sooner, perhaps something could have been done."

Marsilion smiled again. "Maybe, but we have no time for looking into the past, good elf. It is up to us to save Eriador."

The two talked for a while longer, waiting for the rest of the company to appear. Gondolin liked the man; he seemed to have a good heart behind his kind features. They both ate a hearty breakfast and shared several old tales with one another, that only a ranger or an elf would remember.

[Orual]

Morning came altogether too soon for Anson, who had gotten very little sleep. Muttering, he rose, squinted against the sunlight, and got dressed. He woke up his companions, who complained every bit as much as he did.

"Quit your griping," Anson said grumpily. He was normally an even-tempered hobbit, but waking up this early in a strange place and preparing to leave his home for Valar only know how long was enough to put him in quite a bad mood. "If anybody has room to complain it's myself and Ferdibrand. The rest of you are going home to your nice, cozy holes with your families." That quieted the complaints somewhat, but there was still some under-the-breath muttering.

The sun had not yet fully risen, and the common room was lit only by the faint predawn light. All of those who had attended the meeting were there, either to leave or to wish the company luck. Anson stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Let's see if everybody's here...Ferdibrand, Peony, Andunériel, Luinthindiel, Marsilion, Gondolin, Tinüsel, Elenlith, that's eight..." He frowned. "Oh! Myself." He laughed. "It's the early morning hours. Getting to me. Yes, well. I say we're ready to go now. Say your good-byes, then we'll have to be off."

Having no good-byes to say himself, Anson went and thanked the innkeeper for his help, paid him for the room, and then went back to the common room. "Let's go," he said, and the strange company, Men, Elves, and Hobbits, Eriador's last defense, set off east to Rivendell to begin their trek.

The sun was now beginning its ascent, painting the sky with the multihued ribbons of sunrise. Anson smiled a little as he watched it. "It's a lovely morning to start a journey," he announced, and hoped that it was a good omen. If anything, they needed good omens now, more than ever. He looked back at the party. They were a good group, he decided. Trustworthy. He would have to put his faith in them, and them in him. He nodded resolutely.

The journey began in earnest.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"It's a lovely morning to start a journey," Anson announced as the company assembled outside the Prancing Pony. Marsilion glanced at the sky, still pink in the east, and hefted his pack up onto his shoulders. The air was crisp, and only a lingering smell of the disease tainted its freshness. The ranger was eager to go.

He glanced around at the rest of the company. The two hobbits Anson and Ferri stood together. Capable and level-headed- Marsilion thought. The girl, Peony, was close by. He suppressed a smile remembering her reaction to his suggestion that she remain behind. Perhaps she'd do well after all.

Gondolin stood beside him, and Elen, not too far off. The company mounted their horses (and the hobbits their ponies) and set off over the hills of the Bree lands. The feel of Firien underneath him was freeing after nearly a month in Bree. Marsilion was ready to ride again.

Gondolin rode near him on a white horse, and they talked of the days of valor of the kings of men-- the stories Marsilion knew best-- and tales from when thier peoples had been closer. Elenlith rode nearby listening, but she didn't speak.

[Arien]

Elen rode at the rear of the company. Alone. She thought she better stay away from the others as she might say something she regretted. It was indeed hard enough to make friends with these people without insulting them with her sharp tongue. The others talked quietly to each other, but Elen hummed to her self, a song her father had sung her. A story of when the world was young, innocent and beautiful.

As she sung she looked around, more corpses lay dotted around the landscape, the crisp green grass soiled with rotting bodies. The smell still hung, but she was getting used to it. Her eyes flashed towards a goat walking along the road. If you could call it walking. It limped, a leg rotting away. The poor animal was in mid disease. The animal fell to the ground. And Elen was filled with sadness. But they kept going.

[maikafanawen]

Surrounded by solemn travelers, Peony walked behind and to the left of Anson Hornblower. Her dark green and brown plaid dress had dried nicely from the night before and kept out the morning chill. Her thick curly hair was in a neat braid down her back, and bare feet dragged sleepily down the road. The lass let go an enormous yawn and hitched up her pack. She thought about singing a walking song to wake herself up, but the dreary faces about her changed her mind. Sighing softly, she tightened the grip on her walking stick and moved on.

By mid-afternoon they were still walking in silence and Peony kept looking questioningly at the back of Anson, waiting for him to call a halt.

He didn’t.

Sighing, the lass pulled out an apple and began to eat. The sound of her biting into her apple seemed to reverberate off the backs of the rangers and elves she followed and thunder back behind her. Knowing that she was probably the only one who thought that, she continued to eat. When she finished, she tossed the core to the side. She was, of course, still hungry, but eating another apple, or using up some of her other food was out of the question for now.

The Sun moved slowly across the sky and the travelers still didn’t speak. Shrugging her shoulders she fell back to stand next to one of the elves who didn’t have a horse. Her name, she had gathered, was Luin. The elf hadn’t said a single thing that Peony could put her finger on, and didn’t even know if she could speak. However, even though she didn’t know any elves, Peony decided that all elves could probably talk. Mustering up her best social courage she looked up at the tall elf and smiled warmly.

“Hallo. My name is Peony Fields." In any other meeting she would have offered her hand, but walking would make hand shaking awkward.


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OOC: I’m assuming that everyone except for Luin and us 3 hobbits are walking?

[Eressië Ailin]

Luin recollected the previous night's events in her head as she walked along the road. 'The Elf who was talking about the Ainereg plant,' she muttered to herself, 'the leader. She seems so familiar.' She looked around her, at the rotting corpses, picturing Andunériel's face in her mind. 'I know that I've met her before,' Luin whispered. 'I just can't put my finger on it.' Her thoughts of the mysterious Elf subsided, for the time being. Instead, she thought about when she had volunteered to join the strange company on their quest for the Ainereg. 'When I said that I was from Imladris, that Elf seemed so...' Luin couldn't think of the right word for it. 'She looked like she was very familiar with the place,' Luin thought. 'I wonder, what brings her here?'

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

'Hallo. My name is Peony Fields.' Luin looked up suddenly as the young hobbit repeated herself. There was a girl walking beside her that Luin hadn't noticed earlier, not even half of the elf's height.

'Hello there, little one,' said Luin, a little uncomfortably; she wasn't much of a 'people-person.' She had never met a Hobbit before. The one in front of her, Peony, stared up at her with amazement and a smile. 'Some call me Luin.'

[ April 05, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[maikafanawen]

The beautiful she-elf looked down at her with a startled expression. Peony realized that she had broken her from some thought. She remembered how her father used to tell her when she was little about how the elves spent much of their time in thought, and little in conversation. She weaved a loose strap of leather from her pack between her fingers. She was terribly excited with being able to speak to a real elf.

“Hello there little one,” said the elf, her voice like a twinkling of bells, “Some call me Luin.”

Crystal blue eyes looked down at the elf from the cowl of a dark cloak. A wisp of brown hair also peered out as if trying to soak up a bit of sun.

“Luin?” Peony stopped for a moment. Just Luin? Usually, elvish names are longer. Shrugging it off she smiled and jump-hopped to keep up with the long legged she-elf. “Nice to meet you Luin. I’m a hobbit, from Pincup.” The name didn’t show any familiarity on the elf’s face so Peony continued. “It’s in the Shire.” The hobbit looked at the elf for any reply. Receiving none she averted her gaze to their surroundings. Dead animals were strewn in the fields; flies buzzing around their heads. Peony shivered and thought suddenly of home.

She had not been concerned on the well being of her family. She figured that they would be able to fend for themselves like they always have been able to. But, she realized, we’ve never been faced with such a tragic situation before, such as this one. Fiddling uncomfortably with the pocket on her skirt, she dismissed the thoughts from her head and tried to take in a breath of fresh air. Instead, the horrid stench of the disease filled her nose and mouth and she tried to cough it away. Wrinkling up her face in frustration she searched frantically for something to do. No body seemed to fell like talking, she had already had an apple, and the scenery was not nice for the looking. The tension was great between them, and an invisible depression hung over them like a rain cloud.

Peony decided to hum whether it was welcome or no.

[Orual]

They had been on the move for a long while, many days, and the mood had grown dark. Anson gloomily poked at the dying fire with a stick, for his was the first watch. Wolves howled in the distance, sending chills down his spine.

"Should've never left Hobbiton," he muttered to himself, giving the fire a fierce jab. Peony turned over in her sleep, but no one woke. Anson sighed. He looked to the east, to where Rivendell would hopefully soon appear on the horizon. A place of rest, finally. Cold rocks and sharp roots were survivable, if it was all that was available, but a mattress and a pillow would be welcome.

"Tomorrow we'll arrive at Imladris," Andunériel had said, after Anson had asked her how much longer this leg of the journey would last.

"We'll have to leave as soon as we can," Anson had replied. "We can't afford more than a day, much as we'd all like to."

The embers were now glowing warmly, but warm was not the word for their campsite any longer. His watch was almost over, but that did not comfort him. Far from home, very little would.

At least Rivendell was close. And hopefully closer than those wolves.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

When the company set off the next morning Marsilion rode close to the front, beside Anduneriel. He was eager to reach Rivendell, some of the younger elves residing there were well known to him. Also, if news of his family could be had anywhere in Eriador, Rivendell was that place. The ranger whispered a plea to the powers that Argil's wife and young children were being taken care of.

In his excitement he gripped Firien's sides tightly with his legs. The horse responded willingly, breaking into a rapid trot. Anduneriel shot him a reproving look, and he reined the mare in, sighing with impatience.

"We must not leave the hobbits too far behind, Marsilion." The elf reprimanded him. She was right. Marsilion bit back the quick reply that shot to his lips. They would be arriving soon enough. Marsilion looked around himself quickly. He'd travelled this road so many times he could likely do it if he were blind. Just the smells of the forest were usually enough to let him know when he approached the Ford of Bruinen. But today the smells were disrupted with the smell of lingering decay, and Marsilion looked about to confirm his guess.

It was the river coming up ahead, and the fords, as he'd expected. As the company crossed the water Marsilion's eyes sparkled, nearly there...

[ April 08, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Manardariel]

Rivendell, finally. Andunériel got off Elenya and deeply inhaled the smell of Imlandris- of home. She closely whatched the others get off and look around. The hobbits looked stunned and delighted by so much beauty, though especially Anson´s face was also relieved. The rangers, familiar with Elrond´s house, were glancing around aprehensively. But it was the look on Luin´s look that stunned Andunériel. It was a look she couldn´t quite read, like the maiden was hiding a hurt she didn´t want to remember.

At that moment, she heard footsteps and mingeled voices behind her. She turned around and immedeatly bowed her head. Lord Elrond stood there, looking grave and honest, sharply studying everyone of them. Then he spoke, his low voice ringing in the air.

"People of Eriador; Men, Hobbits, Elves. You are the company set out to find what may be our last hope against this disease."
It was not a question.
"Come in, rest for one night. Great peril awaits you, and a long way. But on your way into Fangorn, Rivendell´s power shall help you. Follow me, my friends. Follow."

[Orual]

Anson breathed deeply the air of Rivendell, feeling refreshed already. "People of Eriador; Men, Hobbits, Elves. You are the company set out to find what may be our last hope against this disease. Come in, rest for one night. Great peril awaits you, and a long way. But on your way into Fangorn, Rivendell´s power shall help you. Follow me, my friends. Follow."

There was no argument whatever, and Anson felt keenly the aching muscles in his legs. He saw that his companions were equally weary, if not more so. They were led to bathing rooms, where they all soaked in warm water until the grime and dust of their long journey was washed away. Then they put on fresh clothes and went to their beds.

The room was spacious and clean-aired, but somehow Anson did not feel comfortable. He dug into his pack and found a paper card that his children had made for him, with all of their signatures and a note wishing him the best of luck written by Della. Tears stung his eyes. Curse and blast this plague, and whatever caused it! Anson gently fingered the card, then reverently placed it in his pack and drew the blankets over him. It would be a long day tomorrow, and he should be rested.

There was no howl of wolves tonight, but the silence was oppressive and offered no distractions for Anson's loneliness. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the soft sound of breathing in rooms by his, but it was no help. He buried his head in his pillow and tried not to think, and eventually a troubled sleep overtook him.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Despite his excitement of the morning, Marsilion was exhausted when the company finally arrived at Rivendell. The group was eating lightly to spare their supplies, and the depleted rations were beginning to affect the ranger's strength. After their greeting by Elrond the travellers were led to a room with hot baths for all.

Marsilion smiled broadly as he slipped into the hot water. He filled the tub with thick bubbles and relaxed while the dirt of travel slowly vanished and the knots in his muscles dissolved. When the water cooled he briskly washed his hair and then left the room. Most of the company had already retired to their bedchambers; Luin, Anduneriel, and Gondolin heading to a different part of the house where they apparently had permanent rooms.

Marsilion followed one of the elves to his chamber, before speaking to him quietly, "Istach Calimir? Tego a nin." The elf nodded.

"I will bring him to you." he said, as he left the room. Marsilion cast himself down on the bed and fought sleep. He didn't have to wait long. The door was pushed open shortly and an elf slipped inside.

"Calimir!" Marsilion sat up. The elf was young in appearance and slight, with long dark hair loose around his shoulders. He was dressed in practical outdoor clothing. "What news of my brother, dear friend?" Marsilion asked him eagerly. Calimir was a long-time friend and companion of Argil.

"He is well and he sends his greetings." The thin elf smiled. "He will be pleased to know you are going on this journey, Marsilion. Your father also."

"And my father is well too?" Marsilion asked eagerly, "what of my mother? And Argil's family?"

"Yes, your father is well. We have had word however that Anorraen has been ill this last month. Your brother's wife says she's recovering, but will be weak for a while. Without food..." The elf's face was grim. "But the boys are doing well. Fine warriors they will become. The older one is becoming quite good with the bow."

Marsilion smiled at the image of his ten year old nephew practicing with a bow. The picture was funny, but the ranger's thoughts wandered to his mother. How ill was she? And how weak? He sighed, wishing he didn't have to lead this kind of life. He wanted to be with his family when hard times came. But he must do his duty.

"Thank you, Calimir, but I must sleep now. We depart first thing tomorrow." He smiled ruefully at his friend.

"What? So soon?" Calimir's face fell. "Well, there will be other meetings, my friend. May the Valar protect you. I will leave you now."

"Farewell..." the ranger called as the door closed behind Calimir. Now he must sleep. He threw himself onto the bed fully dressed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

[Himaran]

Home. That was Rivendell to Gondolin. He did not find it terribly exciting to be there, like the rest of the company. Sadly, he had few friends that lived there, as most were on patrol or lived elsewhere.

However, he welcomed the bed and the soft covers. Gondolin did not awake until the morning.

[maikafanawen]

Peony gaped, wide eyed at the beauty of Rivendell. It had surpassed her highest expectations. Towering columns carved in the form of elder kings, and powers graced the spacious hallways. Rooms were mostly door-less, large archways taking the place of elaborate doors. She was met by a somber faced elf servantress who led her to her room. Respecting the noble idiosyncrasy of the elves, she followed her in reverent silence.

“Here you are Peony.” What one might call and ‘elvish smile’ played at the corners of the servantress’ mouth as she gestured toward the room. Just inside was a large bed. The comforter was a creamy white, with gold thread detailing fine leaf motifs. Peony laughed.

“You’re kidding. You could fit twelve of me in that bed.” The elf chuckled and entered.

“I hemmed a dress and robe for you when I learned that you were coming. I hope they fit. This is your bathtub. The water is heating. Just put out the coals when you are ready. The wash basin is here by the bed and fresh towels are also there.” She looked around once more and said, “If you need anything, just ask for it.” With that she left the room gracefully.

Peony made her way to the bathtub and discarded her dirty traveling clothes. She tossed them on the floor and sunk into the tub. The hot water soothed her aching muscles. Had she the energy, she would have broken out in a bath song. Though travel had much strained her body and she simply sat until the dirt and grime was all soaked off. When she felt clean and refreshed, she wrapped herself in the hemmed robe and unpacked her things, draping them over chairs to air out. She took a tally of all her supplies. Dagger? Check. Rope? Check. Cooking gear? Check. Tsk, tsk, tsk. She chipped a piece of rust off one of the iron tools and rubbed it firmly with her thumb. Spices, flint stones, nocturnal dial, whistle? Check all. One more traveling dress, shirt, breeches and … mm hmm. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Peony walked stiffly to the water basin and only rinsed half her face before she fell into her bed, exhausted.

Before she drifted off into dreamland, she promised herself that in the morning, she would tour the elvish palace that had been a childhood favorite all her life. When sleep came, it came easily and undisturbed.

[Orual]

It was past dawn when Anson woke up, and the morning light was streaming in through the tall windows across the room from his bed. He yawned and stretched, still feeling a little achy but refreshed. He had eventually gone to sleep, and after a while had slept soundly, though he tossed and turned for a while.

He got out of bed and dressed, taking his time, reluctant to leave this place. Marsilion, Andunériel, Luin, they all seemed so happy to be here. He hated to ask them to leave. And Peony...she wouldn't want to leave. She was young, and this was a grand adventure for her. This was the part that she had read about in stories; sleeping in the palaces, in the company of elves. Nobody liked to hear about almost three weeks of journey, sleeping on hard rocks.

But they had to go, and it had to be today. He would let them all wake up, though, and Peony would want to look around a little while. Marsilion and Andunériel and Luin would want to say hello to their friends and family here.

Anson laughed harshly at himself. Maybe they just ought to stay here, the way he was trying to delay their departure. It had to be this way; they could not waste more time. As soon as they awoke, they would have breakfast and pack. Then they would leave.

There was no way out of it. And as much as the calls of the wolves made him uneasy, they had to go. The thought of their families starving made him more uneasy.

It would be today.

[Durelin]

Raken chuckled, he knew she couldn't turn down half the profit of an Ainereg flower. Like she's gonna get it, he thought, smiling to himself. "Well," he said, "If you'll follow me you can meet the boys. They don't have much brains, but they do their job." He turned right down the little muddy street, Mara following at a fair distance. He walked quickly and silently staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face. Raken was going home, it was second nature. Soon there were no more buildings, as shabby as they had been, and the road began to shrink. They were moving out of the village, if it could be called one, and the land on either side of the road was covered in distorted dry grass and shrubs. There were numerous spots of black, desolate ground and piles of rotted wood, remnants of buildings. After almost a quarter of an hour, Raken stopped to point at something far off the side of the muddy road, now little more than a narrow pathway. "There, our shack," he said. Mara looked and saw a large square wooden shack covered in moss and vines and surrounded by trees and shrubs. No one would have noticed it standing up on the small slope if they had not been looking for it. "Come on!" Raken was already heading up the sloping ground through the high brown grass. She followed him reluctantly, what was she getting into with these bums!. Raken was waiting for her at the doorway of the building, covered by the large hide of a beautiful golden horse. "A beauty," Raken remarked about it, "You'll meet it's former master soon."

Mara was pushed inside a dimly lit room with a dirt floor. It smelled of old alcohol, horse, sweat, and something far worse than all of those combined. Rotting flesh. Mara's eyes were drawn to the left wall, the most brightly-lit part of the room with the single candle sitting on a bench next to it. There were strange skin-colored tapestry-like things on the wall. Skin colored tapestries? More like skin! Human skin, it had to be. Mara's stomach lurched. They skinned a human. Raken saw where she was looking and laughed, "Yep, we got a guy who'll put somethin' on it to preserve it. It turned out nice, cutting it into squares to hang. We didn't do 'im alive, so it turned out a lot better than the one over there." He pointed to a mauled version of the squares of skin on the wall. The pieces were in all different shapes and sizes and had large gashes in them. "But my favorite thing that makes this whole place seem so much better is our friend of 'dem Rohan," Raken said pointing to the right wall. Mara followed his finger. A head pinned up on the wall. The skin egg - white and glossy, bloody holes where the eyes once were, blond hair clotted with blood streaming wildly around it, its mouth open, slack. Mara felt she needed to vomit. A man of Rohan, but a man. Then a hot, deathly loathing of the Rohirrim rose up in her. A loathing of all. She threw back her head and laughed long and hard. "It is the best!" she said. Raken laughed too, "I told you you'd meet the master of that pretty horse. You'll do nicely." He grinned wolfishly and licked his lips, staring at the mounted head. "Here's the boys," he said motioning to twenty-one men drinking and playing dice. Mara hadn't even noticed them. "Oi!" he called to them, "We get up at dawn! Tomorrow, we go to Rohan!" They all jumped up, dropping tankards and dice on the dirt floor, some growling and some laughing gleefully. Raken turned back to Mara. "We raid a village tomorrow at first light. We'll see if you can earn your half of the profit."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion rose early, refreshed by the soft bed and saftey of Rivendell. His pack had been emptied and the contents were neatly arranged on the long table under his window. Elves, he guessed, had been in during the night. He touched his clothes. They had been washed and mended, his knife was sharpened, and the rips in his pack were patched. He smiled as he donned the fresh clothes and rinsed his face in the basin.

Once he was dressed Marsilion carefully replaced his supplies in his pack. Anson and Anduneriel would be anxious to be leaving, he knew. Hefting his pack onto his shoulders he made his way to breakfast.

The ranger ate quickly, pausing to speak to several of the Elves that were known to him. One in particular, a tall pale woman with golden hair, pulled him aside. "Marsilion!" she whispered. He turned and looked at her, this was Glorenwen, wife of Calimir. "Go swifly my friend," she whispered. "The scouts have returned in the night, and they say the disease is spreading, north and east... There is hunger in your homeland, I know what my husband told you, he tells less than the truth. Your people on the Mitheithel have little resources left. Lord Elrond will summon them here in great need, but Rivendell is not limitless either. The need is dire." Marsilion gripped her hands.

"We know the need." he told her. "the halflings and the folk of Bree face a need greater than my own. There is no Imladris for them... no safe shelter to seek for a while. We will be swift."

As the two spoke Calimir came up behind his wife. "She tells you more than I did, I see..." he spoke softly. "Lord Elrond will speak to your group before you go, Marsilion. Take this with you." Glorenwen pulled out a small dagger, sheathed, and handed it to Marsilion. "It is not special, nor does it carry any virtue but our friendship, but we guess you will have use of it before this quest is done."

Marsilion took the dagger by the hilt. A green gem was set in the pommel. He slid the blade from its sheath, it gleamed at him dully, the blade was traced all along its length with engravings of stars and trees. "Calimir, this is beautiful!"

"It was my father's" Glorenwen said softly, "he called it Dolenaur-- hidden flame. Take it."

Marsilion threaded the small sheath onto his belt beside his sword. "Thank you both." he said to them. The three said goodbyes quickly, as the morning was growing old, and Marsilion hurried to find Anson and the others.

[maikafanawen]

Peony woke to the sound of a light shower upon the roof of the Rivendell palace. Swinging her feet off the bed, she rinsed her face quickly with the new water in the washbasin. The dress she had worn since Bree had been cleaned and mended. She put it in her bag, and donned the other one. Then, folding her belongings quickly into her pack, she set it by the bed and left to tour the palace. An elf stopped her as she walked down the first hallway gazing at all the splendor.

“Halfling? With Anson Hornblower?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded. “The company is leaving in one hour.” Dismay blanketed her face. She had no time for an appropriate exploration. She sulked back to her room to retrieve her bag and find some food before she left. Making the bed was the she-elf that had helped her the night before. A brilliant idea came to Peony’s mind. Ecstatic, she ran up to her.

“Dinsirien?” The elf maiden turned and smiled. “My company’s leaving in just an hour but I so wanted to see the palace. Could you give me a quick, maybe twenty minute tour?” Not missing a beat, Dinsirien dropped the covers into place and led Peony from the room.

In the little amount of time they had, Peony saw the gardens, the library, the council room, the memorial rooms, and every mural and statue of importance in the palace. At the conclusion of their tour, Dinsirien showed her to the breakfast room and fixed her a marvelous morning feast. When she had eaten satisfactorily, the elf led her to join the company.

“You will be here when we return and I will be able to see everything alright?” It was more a command than a question. Dinsirien smiled and patted the hobbit lass’ cheek.

“I should.”

“All set Peony?” Anson touched her shoulder. She nodded.

“Yes, but I hope we return sooner than later!” Then the company set out for Fangorn.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Himaran]

Gondolin had risen early, as usual. Having a light breakfast, be chatted amiably with several elves that had come in from scouting the night before. "Ah, Fangorn; so your heading south?"

"Aye, as soon as our hobbit leader gives the word." The others chuckled that a hobbit was leading Gondolin, but they all had great respect for the race of haflings.

That morning the group set out, bound south. Gondolin said goodbye to the lead elf, telling him that he would gather as much information as he could from down south. But there was a deep foreboding in the pit of his stomach. The elf had a feeling that all was not well in Rohan.

[Arien]

Elen again retreated to the rear of the company, green grass swaying at her feet, the mountains were to the east of her and their peaks towered above the landscape and retreated into the clouds above. The smell she was getting used to now, and she assumed everyone else was as well. She had not talked since they had left Bree, save to herself and Nimloch. . The company now headed to Fangorn, they would take the path through Rohan, at least that is what Elen had heard. She had stayed alone in Rivendell, quietly reflecting upon the disease and how it had swelled out around the area. Scouts from Rivendell had brought back ill news, all was certainly not well.

The ranger Marsilion was just in front of her, his long clocked flickered in the wind and his bright blue eyes gazed at the surrounding countryside. She decided to speak to him, she had seen him before, many a time but they had never conversed.

“My lord, Marsilion is it?” she said, he turned round surprised to see that Elen had opened her mouth. She waited for his reply, hopefully she had got his name right and not just made a fool of her self.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"Lady Elenlith?" Marsilion turned with surprise. The girl he'd noticed in the Prancing Pony hadn't spoken to him in all the days of their journey. He fumbled for words, "It is Elenlith?" He reined in Firien to come alongside the ranger girl so they could speak more easily. She nodded at his pronunciation of her name, and he continued.

"I believe I know your father. He is a brave man, my brother has travelled with him." Marsilion touched the ring on his left hand subconsciously. Gondolin who was riding just ahead of Elen, shot a look back, curiously to see where Marsilion had gone.

He looked at Elen cautiously, afraid of offending. "You have lived all your life like this?" he asked her curiously, it was uncommon to see a woman of the Dunedain on this kind of mission. The way she had spoken at the meeting in Bree, however, left little doubt in his mind that Elenlith knew what she was about on this quest.

She laughed. "Why yes." she answered. "I know nothing else." Marsilion didn't speak for a moment, and the two rode on in companionable silence.

[ April 12, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Orual]

Anson looked back at Rivendell, fading into the horizon, and felt a pang. He was refreshed and re-energized after his stay, and wished that he did not have to leave. He saw the wistful looks in the eyes of those who had kin or friends that they had to leave behind, and Peony's look of regret, and looked down in guilt. They had to leave. There was no time to spare. People were starving, animals were dying, and how long until people started to die, as well? What if he returned and did not have eight children any longer? What if he returned, and did not have a wife?

Fiercely he pushed these thoughts out of his mind and shrugged his pack higher onto his shoulders. If he thought of such things, it would drive him mad. He had to think that his family would survive. That he would not have to bury a child. He shook his head until he was dizzy, and ignored the puzzled stares of his companions. It would not do to dwell on that.

He heard a howl in the distance, and he fingered the hilt of his short sword, sharpened in Rivendell. Those wolves were closer, if he was hearing right, and in such matters he was rarely wrong. He found himself glancing back at the road behind them. How much time did they have?

[ April 14, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Eressië Ailin]

'It all went by so quickly. We only stayed in Imladris the night,' Luin thought. 'Though it is probably better that way.' She sighed, watching Elen and the ranger. 'All of the Elves there, they acted like they had missed me.' Luin spat on the ground in disgust. She knew better than to trust them. Kicking a small pebble, she thought of when they had entered Imladris, not too long ago.

After Elrond had greeted them, she had been led to her old room, and Gondolin and Andunériel had been led to their rooms also. Sleeping in the same bed, being surronded by the same Elves, and all of Imladris had brought back far too many painful memories for Luin. She remembered her precious horse, Thalion, as he was dying. Wiping tears from her eyes, she recalled the conversation between the two Elves just outside her window. Luin heard the taunting voice inside her head whispering, 'We can care for your steed... you must trust us to heal Thalion... your horse will be healed... we cared for him... tried to save him... we were too late... too late... too late...' The voice. It was disturbingly familiar.

Luin began to hear the voice again. 'Who is it that lead my beloved Thalion die? she asked herself. She tried to get the voice out of her head. But it would not leave. The voice that she was hearing was no longer just in her imagination. Luin looked up, frantically trying to find who the voice belonged to. She looked from face to face, face to face, when she saw lips moving that matched the words she was hearing. Luin looked at her in disbelief, she stared, shocked, at the one who had let her horse die. It was Andunériel.

[Orual]

The broad brush-strokes of the sunset were fading into the uniform blue of twilight before Anson decided to stop for the night. They had been walking almost nonstop all day, and they were all weary, Anson not the least. His legs protested every step he took and his breath was labored when he finally sat down.

"I'll find some kindling for the fire," Anson volunteered, though every muscle in his body was screaming for him not to get up again. Perhaps a fire would ward away those wolves he kept hearing.

The crossing of the ford had been easy, and they had had the aid of the elves. He feared that the Glanduin would not be so kind, but that was a problem for another day, though he knew that it would not be a far-off day. He could picture the roaring, foaming white waters, and he could picture also the raft that they would have to build, and in his mind's eye it was flimsy at best. He shivered. He had a true hobbit's fear of water, and was not looking forward to crossing the river.

He had nearly a full armload of firewood when he heard a crunch behind him. He whirled around and there was nothing there, but he could have sworn that he saw a glint of gold behind the trees.

He hurried back to the campsite and deposited the wood he had collected. "Arm yourselves," he said. He drew his short sword with the others. "Wolves are behind me. I don't think that we have much time before they're on us. Peony, Luin, try to build a fire. I hope they'll stay away from that, and we'll at least be able to see when they come."

While they built the fire, Anson looked around the circle, breathing hard. Wolves had been the bane of his existance as a farmer, and now his life was threatened by them. If he hadn't been trying to breathe normally, he would have thought it ironic.

Time seemed to slow down when Anson first caught another flash of yellow. He gripped his sword until his knuckles turned white, but another one did not come until the wolf lunged.

[Himaran]

Gondolin had no time to think or even breath. He saw the wolf lunging at Anson, and dove forward, grabbing the beast around the neck and pulling him to the ground. With the full weight of the wolf on top of him, Gondolin could not reach either of his knives to slay it. Luckily, Anson ran over, his sword held high, running it through the wolf's neck.

Shoving it off of him, Gondolin alowed Anson to pull him up off of the ground. But there was no time for chatting, other wolves could be heard coming toward them.

Gondolin had some experience fighting these creatures, and called out to the company; "Get long sticks from the fire that are burning, hold them in front of you. Those with bows, get into the middle of the company."

As the wolves came, the elves released arrows into their ranks, while others were slain by a swift stab with a sword. Even the hobbits slew several.

[maikafanawen]

Although her callow appearance made her seem otherwise, Peony was no namby-pamby hobbit. Her friend Balbo had once informed an older hobbit less than five years ago when she had first been taught to use her dagger. The words encouraged her only slightly. The huge wolves had caught her off her guard and she stood momentarily stunned beside the fire. Then Gondolin’s voice brought her back to her senses.

"Get long sticks from the fire that are burning, hold them in front of you. Those with bows, get into the middle of the company." Grabbing a stick with fire on the end, she slashed the air before her, threatening any wolf that came near her. Grinning ferociously, a wolf tried to dodge around her and snap her stick in half. The malignant and unfortunate creature was met with a flash of Peony’s silver dagger before it neatly slit its throat. Grunting in disgust she backed away from the body, her stick was still burning.

Several more wolves approached her, snarling. Three were taken down by elvish arrows Peony poked it challengingly with her torch. It roared in pain and lunged. She stepped out of its path at the last second, and Gondolin met it with a slash of his sword. Laughing at the wolf that had been caught off guard, she re-lit her ember-dying branch and turned to meet the second onslaught of carnivores.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion wished he had a bow with him. However, his wish didn't last long as the hungry wolves charged into the company. He no longer had time to think of anything but battle. Wielding his sword with both hands he stood near the edge of the firelight, ready to protect the halflings if need be.

The first wolf that came too close was quickly knocked down by a slice of his steel blade. He finished it with a well placed stab with his dagger. The hobbit, Peony, had just killed one with the dagger she carried, but many more were eyeing her from the shadows. foul carrion! Marsilion thought , aiming for the smallest among us... they shall not have her! he resolved. Several wolves fell to arrows all around him, and breifly, he feared to be hit. But the repeated attacks on the hobbits enraged him, and soon he didn't care.

As one particularly large wolf leapt snarling toward Peony, Marsilion sprang in front of it. Its weight bore him to the ground, and for one moment they were eye to eye. Its teeth raked his left shoulder and he felt the blood begin to drip down his arm. With a cry of pain Marsilion threw the wolf off and decaptiated it with one fell stroke. Peony grinned and called out "Thanks!"

Marsilion shook his head, that girl is something, she is... he thought as he gently explored the wound on his shoulder with his fingers. It was not deep, though it bled profusely. His arm was a little stiff, but no matter. He still needed it tonight. Gripping his sword with both hands he eyed the remaining wolves and waited.

[ April 15, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Arien]

Only a few wolves were left now, and they seemed to be targeting the smallest of the company. Elen put down her bow and quiver and drew out her kuni, They glinted in the light which came from the fire which was now lit. Elen lunged forward at an oncoming wolf. It pounced on top of her, and covered her totally so she could not be see. It fur smelt of decay, it was warm and musty and also very heavy. Elen could feel herself getting pressed against the hard ground. There was only one thing for her to do. She slowly tried to pull her right kuni under the wolf’s heart. Then she drove it in as hard as she could. Warm blood fell over her clothes and drenched them. It went all over her and she could taste it in her mouth. She quickly heaved the wolf from upon her and got up.

There were still a few wolves left. Marsilion was fighting a particularly large one and obviously hadn’t seen the one behind him. Elen ran to the fire and grabbed a fiery branch. She then ran up to the wolf and gabbed the branch at it. It howled in pain an reeled backward. Elen unsheathed one of her kuni and threw it straight at its head. And with a last yelp it died.

All the wolves were gone now and the company started to gather themselves around the fire. If only there was a river near. I will stink if this blood dries and it may also attract other animals that we dont want to come into contact with. Elen got up and picked her pack up. She walked away from the company ans stood next to Nimroch. There she changed into her spare set of clothes. Her father always asked her why she brought a spare change of clothes on journies. He said it was not needed, but this time it was. No doubt those wolves were infected. And I dont wish to wear their foul blood and find out. She cleaned her face and washed the blood out from her mouth with a spare canteen she had. She also had alot of them. She knew they might run out and it was always wise to bring a spare. She kissed Nimroch's head and then went back to the campfire.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Manardariel]

The wolves were gone. Warm, golden relief flooded through Andunériel´s body. For today, they had won the fight. Andunériel watched the others come closer to te fire. Some seemed under shock, shaking all over, horror painted on their faces. She found her voice back.

"Is anyone hurt?" She called. "Come here, please. There´s no need to play the hero; the last thing we need are wounds."

Marsillion emerged out of the shadows. He had a cut on his shoulder, not deep, yet bleeding. Carefully, she aplied some herbs and bandaged his arm. "Be carefull with that arm" she told him. "Don´t move it to much, and have a good rest tonight." He nodded.

Suddenly Andunériel noticed eyes glancing over to her. It seemed she was being looked over by someone, someone who didn´t seem too friendly. She glanced over. It was Luin. Her keen elven eyes were staring at Andunériel with a strange impression in her eye. Suprised, Amdunériel looked at her, and smiled. Luin looked away. Oh dear. She took a deep breath, and then walked over to the elf.

"Luin?"

[ April 15, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Orual]

Anson took a shuddering breath as Elenlith killed the last of the wolves. The beast gave a dying roar and was still, but even so, Anson found himself glancing at it uneasily, as though it would rise again and finish what it had started. He shook his head, chastising himself for letting the attack get to him. Once a wolf was dead, it was dead, just like anything else.

As Andunériel bandaged Marsilion's wounded arm, Anson looked around at the company. Disheartened, shaken, and bruised, they were in no condition to go forward. But forward they would have to go, and the very next morning. He glanced bitterly at the moon, already passed its brightest. Soon it would fade into the cruel morning, and they would have to be off to Dunland.

He threw his sword down on the ground in anger, and it gave a metallic clank as it hit the rocks. Absorbed in examining minor wounds or cleaning weapons, no one turned at the sound. He sat wearily on the dirt, burying his head in his hands. It had been a long night, and the day would be no shorter. They had many miles to go before they reached the Glanduin, and he could not help but feel that time was growing short.

He looked up, and at Peony. The girl seemed all right, but he wanted to make sure. He walked up behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped a little bit, and he walked around to face her. "Are you hurt, Peony?" he asked.

[maikafanawen]

Peony sighed, “Yes, I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry.” It was a hobbit’s usual excuse. She played it out by patting her stomach and looking around the camp as if she was in her pantry looking for a cake she had saved. Anson nodded. Peony in truth wasn’t scratched a bit, much to her delight and surprise. But her brain still rushed with the agrenilin she had worked up in the fight. In an attempt to calm it down she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she guessed she had reduced her pulse to half of what it was.

“You?” she asked peering at the older hobbit. He brushed off his sleeves and shook his head standing.

“No, I’m fine. You said you were hungry?” Peony shrugged.

“A bite wouldn’t hurt me none.” Peony fingered the pocket on her dress and walked over to where she had laid her pack. From within she withdrew an apple and sat down beside Anson who had lit his pipe. As Andunériel finished with the patients, they slowly began to settle down.

Peony glanced inconspicuously around at the other warriors. Coincidently, every one was silent, and staring into the fire. She desperately wanted someone to say something, a story, a plan, a comment, anything to break the unbearable silence.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion winced as Anduneriel bound up his wounded shoulder. The herbs inside the bandage stung against his raw flesh. He flexed his shoulder experimentally, to see how stiff it was. Stiff. Anduneriel reminded him, rather sharply, to be careful.

Grumbling to himself he retrieved his sword from where he'd laid it earlier. The blood of the wolves was still coating the blade almost to the hilt. Marsilion looked at it with distaste. Grabbing a handful of leaves he wiped the blade as clean as he could. He'd clean it more thoroughly when he could see. The flickering light from the fire made it difficult to see what he'd already cleaned, and what remained.

He moved to slip the sword into the scabbard at his waist, then stopped. The sheath was an heirloom of his family, delicately scrolled with leaves in silver. He didn't want to fill the insides with wolves' blood. He'd better leave it, and clean it thoroughly in the morning.

Marsilion spread his cloak out on the ground and lay down on his uninjured side, throwing a blanket over him. It would soon be morning and Anson would have them on the move again at first light. He lay awake for a few minutes, watching the sparks fly upward from the fire, getting lost among the stars. Then he slept.

[Arien]

Elen came back and lent on a log near the fire. Most of the company were asleep now and she was not suprised, it was late and having to fend off killer wolves was not the best thing to do when you were tired. She opened her sack, and drew out a cloth for cleaning. She wiped her kuni slowly and then placed them back in their sheaths. She then took out a parcel and quietly unraveled it to reveal cake. She took a small bite, though she longed for more and then wrapped it up and placed it back into her sack.

Elen then went out side the circle and collected all her arrows that she could find. Placed them back into her quiver and put her quiver and bow next to her log. Now she decided to burn the wolves. The disease would feed of dead corpses and multiply even more if the wolves were left there to rot. So one by one she dragged the foul smelling creatures into a pile. They were extreamly heavy and she could hardly lift their legs, but she was stubborn and once she had decided to do something she would not give up. It took her hours to move all carcasses but she did it. Her arms were covered in blood again and they ached, they felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets. But she continued her work. She picked up a branch and walked over to the fire. Everyone was asleep now so she tried to be very quiet. Lighting the branch she went over to her sack and took out a medium sized canteen filled with very strong ale. When she had arrived at the pile she threw a few drops of the contents of the canteen on the wolves and then threw the branch on. It was a good job that she stepped back beacause they caught ablaze quickly. The fire lit up the night and she could see all around. There were still a few wolves which she had missed.

"Great...." she wispered to herself as she dragged the remainig three over to the bonfire. Her eyes were gatting heavier now and her lack of sleep was starting to tell. So when she had finished she returned to her log. Elen then took a couple of sips from her canteen, the strong ale burned her throat but she did not care she had done it before. She placed it back in her bag and as soon as her head hit the ground she fell asleep.

[ April 16, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Orual]

Anson shrugged his blanket off and sat up. He was in a sour mood from the previous night, but time and tide wait for no hobbit, and the Glanduin wasn't getting any closer with the company just sitting there. He went to arouse everyone.

He hesitated when he got to Peony. The girl looked peaceful, and she was so tired. He sighed and shook her gently. "Time to get up, Peony."

She bore up bravely and stood up, stretching. Anson smiled fondly and went to gather up his things and repack. It would be a long journey.

The trip to the Glanduin took nearly ten days, but they made good time and did not stop when it was not necessary. The wolves faded from their minds, and they regained their strength and spirit. They spoke cheerfully of their homes, and of their families, and they told the sort of amusing stories that can only come from families. It eased some of Anson's pain to talk about his children. Though he still missed them, it brought them closer to speak of them.

It was midway into their ninth day of travel when Andunériel, heading up the group, stopped short. Everyone stopped behind her and strained their ears; she was listening for something. "It's up ahead," she announced. Nobody had to ask what "it" was. They had arrived at the Glanduin crossing.

Anson looked around at fallen limbs; a storm had passed. Good, and bad. They would have wood to build a raft, but the river would be high and fast. He shivered a little bit, though the day was warm. He hated to think of the river, and crossing it. He looked over at Peony, whose face was set. He couldn't imagine that she was any happier about it than he was, but he had to put a brave face on the whole matter. After all, he was doing his best to lead the group. Showing that he was afraid of this step wasn't going to bode well for their actual stay in Fangorn. Surely the river was no worse than the forest.

When the river was in sight--foaming and frothing and churning sickeningly, to Anson's eyes--they divided up to get limbs to build the raft. Marsilion, Tinüsel, and Elenlith formed the limbs into a raft while the others roped it tight. It was a dubious-looking contraption at best, and Anson eyed it with some distrust. Somebody's got to get on it first, Anson Hornblower, and you're the one who got the fool idea to travel all over the world, he thought. He took a deep breath, and faced his companions.

"I'll try it out," he said. There were the beginnings of protests, but he held up a hand to quiet them. "I'm going to do it, and there's no talking me out of it." He tied a rope to one end of the raft. "Keep hold of this--this isn't for me to cross, just to make sure the thing's seaworthy."

With everyone gripping the rope and watching Anson uneasily, the hobbit clambered aboard the raft and shoved off.

The waves rocked the raft, and Anson clung for dear life to the grooves in the wood. As he grew more and more nauseated he wondered why he'd ever volunteered, but it was too late to go back now.

White water rose around him, and he shut his eyes to it. He was nearly a quarter of the way across the river now, and he hollered for those ashore to pull him back in. They complied, but the waves were getting stronger. They picked up the raft and set back down heavily. Anson clutched the makeshift hand-holds, but to no avail. With a cry, he felt himself flung into the water.

[Carlas]

The sun rose steadily up into the sky, and spread her rays across the cool damp ground. The leafs of the trees and plants in Fangorn lifted up to face her and bask in the soft light of morning. The few animals that inhabited the forest woke, stretching their stiff and tired limbs, making ready for another day of scavenging.

Everwood, opened his eyes wide and looked about the forest. He smiled as he saw the plants about him tall and green, he new all the different plants that grew in the forest, though probably not as well as he should. He had never known them by their names, but knew by their looks, everything that any ent would really need to know.

He lifted up his leg, though hardly bending it at all, twisting his toes out from the dark soil. He moved slowly through the forest, his body seemingly not to bend at all. His slow, constant steps echoed silently about the forest as he descended down a small slope, happy to be moving about. As he reached a small river at the bottom of the slope he stopped and looked down into the gurgling water. Over the past couple of years he had grown more and more depressed and sad, though not for himself, for his friend Greendale.

In their youth they had walked about the forest everyday with some of the elders, chatting and learning about Fangorn and its great variety of plants. Greendale had loved all the plants and had wanted to learn everything he could about bulbs, bushes, flowers, herbs, seedlings, shoots, shrubs, slips, sprouts and weeds. They had grown up together in the forest talking about plants and animals, and on the odd occasions, the world outside Fangorn. But as they grew older, Greendale had started to slow down and prefer to stand among the other trees, and Everwood, growing discouraged started to hike about the edges of the forest. Greendale had come once or twice and now stayed closer to the edge of the forest, if ever Everwood really needed him. But he still prefered to stand about, thinking.

Everwood sighed, he found it easier to think when he was striding through the forest. Alas, Everwood thought to himself, it seems everything is slowing down in Fangorn...

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

As Anson disappeared into the river, Peony cried out and made to follow him in. Marsilion caught her by the wrist just as she was about to jump. Shoving her back onto the shore somewhat roughly, Marsilion flung his cloak aside and dived headfirst into the river.

The water was cold and fast moving. As the Ranger's head came above water he blinked hard, peering around for Anson. The hobbit's curly head was bobbing slowly downriver. He was treading water, but was still slowly being pulled away from the raft.

Marsilion struck out toward the hobbit, briefly regretting not taking the time to remove his boots. As he was about to reach out for Anson's reaching hand, a mouthful of water sent him sputtering and swept Anson just out of reach. Coughing and spitting Marsilion kicked to the surface, and swam faster toward the struggling hobbit.

As he reached Anson the hobbit was losing consciousness. Marsilion gripped him around the waist and pulled him back to the shore. Gondolin and Elenlith reached down to pull them both to safety. Marsilion fell limply to the shore as Anduneriel took over with Anson.

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Orual]

Post for Andunériel

"Bring him here, Marsilion," Andunériel said, taking her herbs out of her pack. Anson was very pale, and alarmingly still. The Ranger gently laid the hobbit on the ground in front of her, and she scanned him with her grey-green eyes.

"Fool hobbit," she murmured, trying to push the concern away from her thoughts as she dug for the right herb. "Scared to death of water, no experience with watercraft, but had to satisfy his pride. Should've stopped him." She kept on muttering to herself, hardly paying attention to her own words. She mixed some fine powder into a glass of water, stirred it up, and opened Anson's mouth. She grimaced as she poured it slowly, remembering having to drink it herself. The mixture had a bitter taste, and an even worse aftertaste.

"Open your eyes, spit it out, wiggle your toes, do something," the Elf pleaded, watching the motionless hobbit closely, praying that something happen.

Suddenly Anson's brown eyes flew open and he began to choke. Nearly laughing with relief, Andunériel pulled him to a sitting position and pounded him on the back. "Blast and bebother it, what was that foul taste?" he spluttered, glaring indignantly around him.

"You're a foolish hobbit, Anson Hornblower, but at least you'll live to regret it," Andunériel laughed.

***

Post for Anson

As he plunged into the icy water Anson remembered all of his mother's warnings about bodies of water bigger than the bathtub. That he should have listened to them was the last thing he thought before he fell unconscious.

"...do something!" He heard Andunériel's voice, but it was foggy. He struggled to open his eyes, and though his eyelids felt like they were glued together, he managed to pry them apart.

Something disgusting was in his mouth, and he sat up and began to splutter in a most undignified fashion. "Blast and bebother it, what was that foul taste?"

He did not see anything to laugh about, but Andunériel seemed to disagree. "You're a foolish hobbit, Anson Hornblower, but at least you'll live to regret it."

Once he recovered, they waited for the river to calm and crossed it. Only the mountains remained between the company and Fangorn now.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara lay on her pallet with her arms behind her head, staring at the dirty ceiling. I ought to sleep she kept thinking. I'll need all my strength to keep that Raken from getting up to something. There's- what?, 5? 10?- of them and just me.
Still a slow smile spread over her face none of them are exactly bursting with brainpower, and you need more than brute strength to get round me! The only one who's any kind of an opponent is Raken. Mara felt a grudging respect for him, although she didn't like him one bit. Who needs to like him? He's my best chance of getting money. And revenge...

She turned on her side, determined to rest anyway. Her breathing began to slow into a rhythm and thought was drifting away from her when she was jerked awake by a hand on her shoulder.

"My but you are a pretty one" said a low, rumbling voice behind her. It's not like Raken to bring us home...amusements"
Mara sat up slowly. This man was very big, and her knife was just out of arm's reach. Fool! she berated herself. Slack brained, addlepated...
On the outside she made herself smile at the man.
"Amusements?" she asked softly "Yes, you may find it amusing..."
In a moment she reached towards him and took his own knife from his belt. With a swift movement she held it to his arm, slashing where he aimed to go for another knife hidden somewhere. She cut his palm, so he couldn't hold one, and only then did she slowly move the knife to his throat.
Still smiling she asked "Was that amusing? I am sure your friends would find it so. Bested by a woman"
Her face changed and she pushed him away."
Her face changed and she growled "Get used to it!"

As she stood there watching the big man walk away, Mara was interrupted by a slow hand clap behind her. Turning she saw raken.
"Very good little Missy" he said, with the smile that didn't seem to leave his face and gave no indication of what he felt.
"Do you want a turn?" she growled. Stay calm! she told herself furiously. He likes to wind you up. That's his amusement
"When do we leave?" she asked in a flat voice, the best attempt at calmness she could find. She didn't need rest, she needed action!

[Arien]

After Marsilion had saved Anson from the river, the company rested for a while and then they were on their way again. They crossed the river now with ease as it was calm and not so trecherous. Elen sprang upon Nimroch and once again rode at the rear of the company, her eyes keeping watch.

They had been riding for about half a day now and the sun was beginnig to set. Elen took a drink for the canteen at her side. The cool water filled her body. it was good to know that it was not infected unlike the countryside around her. They were seeing the effects of the disease and it was much worse. There was no one about, not even animals. It was silent apart from the gently sound made by the horses.

"Shall we stop or not? Night draws in and with it comes danger. Shall we continue? If we do we cannot expect the hobbits to walk. They need to rest their legs, unless they want to walk into the night." she said to the company.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Orual]

Post for Andunériel

"Shall we stop or not? Night draws in and with it comes danger. Shall we continue? If we do we cannot expect the hobbits to walk. They need to rest their legs, unless they want to walk into the night," Elen said, her hazel eyes flicking over Anson. He was trudging along, trying to look as though he hadn't nearly drowned earlier in the day.

Andunériel frowned up at the sky. It was coming to be fall, and a chill was in the air. They had been gone for a long while, and the citizens of Eriador would not be able to live off of their stores forever. But Elen was right. The hobbits could not walk forever. Already Anson was stumbling, muttering under his breath and trying not to let anyone notice. Peony was keeping a close watch on the older hobbit, her crystal-blue eyes filled with worry. Anson would try to comfort them with reassuring smiles, but the weariness in his face was starkly obvious, compared to his usual vigour.

Andunériel brought the group to a halt. "Elenlith brings up a good point. Do you want to stop and rest? We grow short on time, but I do not suppose that one night would put us back too far." She tried to keep the reluctance out of her voice, but failed.

"I'm fine," Anson said stubbornly, striding a few paces to the front of the group as though in proof. Andunériel met Luin's eyes and grinned. Men were men, whatever their race.

"I think we've been taking it a little slow thus far," Tinüsel said. "We don't have much time. I say we shouldn't stop tonight."

Andunériel frowned, then turned to Anson. "How do you feel? And Anson, please tell me the truth."

***

Post for Anson

"...please tell me the truth."

Anson leaned on his walking-stick and sighed. All these women frowning at him...it wasn't like his ribs didn't ache, either, but he was supposed to be leading this expedition! How was he--but Andunériel's grey-green gaze stopped those thoughts in his track. It reminded him of Della's own look of truth, the one that his children always caved in under. Anson caved in under the Elf's.

"My ribs ache and I hit my shin on the raft," he admitted. "Sometimes it hurts to breathe, but not that often and not that much. I'm all right, and I could probably go on today." Could probably, he said. It wasn't exactly a lie.

Andunériel nodded, with an infuriatingly knowing look on her face. "Climb on, Anson. Peony, Ferdibrand, get behind someone else. We'll ride on tonight."

Anson got behind Andunériel, and Peony and Ferdibrand found rides. Dunland passed below them and around them, and the Misty Mountains loomed ahead. If we had this much trouble crossing the river, how much more will we have crossing those mountains? Anson wondered glumly. There could be rockslides, and there would be problems with the horses. There could even be bandits, or more wolves, or goblins. He coughed once, pushed those thoughts out of his mind, and focused all of his attention on staying awake.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]