Quest for the Ainereg RPG

[Eressië Ailin]

Anson frantically tried to describe the ainereg plant to Greendale, with very little success. He was murmering about some picture that Andunériel had given him earlier. 'It's a flower,' he said, 'small... yellow, too...'

The Ent waiting patiently, as all Ents do, trying to get a grasp on what ainereg was. 'My friend, I would like to help you, but I cannot find your plant until I know what it is.

Anson was desperate. 'I'm trying!'

Luin tried to remember Andunériel's sketch. 'Did we leave it in Rivendell? Or does she have it?' she thought. 'Wait... Wait!' Luin grabbed Anson's pack, and started to dig through it. Anson's mouth was open to protest, but he stopped himself before any audible words came out. 'Here it is! This is it,' Luin cried, producing the sketch from Anson's pack. 'Are you familiar with this plant?'

Greendale bent down (as much as he could, which wasn't very far) to stare at the drawing. 'Ainereg, you call it?' he finally said. 'Hrum, we know it by a different name. But, hoom, yes, I know this plant! It is not too far from here; I could take you now if you wish!' The whole group sighed in relief, nodding. Greendale started to lead them towards the plant. 'This is all of you, correct?' It was a rather hasty question for an Ent. They all looked down in thought of the others, then solemnly looked up at Greendale.

in progress

[ May 08, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[Orual]

The group's reunion was happy, but cut short by necessity. The ainereg had yet to be found.

"We have your artistry to thank for any chance we have of finding the ainereg," Anson told Andunériel as they walked. At the elf's puzzled frown, he explained Luin's finding of the picture. "It was a fine stroke of luck," he concluded, "but I suppose that most of our journey thus far has been luck." The group agreed wholeheartedly with that. "But this doesn't mean that we can waste any time. It's getting close on to winter, and stores will be running short. Our own stores don't look so good. We need to find the ainereg, and we need to find it soon."

That sobered the group up. Greendale and Everwood spoke softly as they led the way, and Anson's ears, sharp though they were, could not pick up a word of it. It seemed like the reunion of old friends, though, or Anson had never seen one.

"Ainereg, you called it?" Everwood said suddenly. Anson nodded with the rest of the company. Both Ents chuckled, and moved aside.

In the shadows all that Anson could see at first was the trunk of an enormous, ancient oak tree, but Peony's gasp brought his eyes lower. The base of the tree, near the roots, was covered with bright yellow flowers.

Gasping himself, Anson ran over and knelt by the tree. He was not the only one. Several of his companions also began to reverently pick the flowers, untying the bags that they had brought for this purpose and putting the flowers in, with a gentleness that was probably not necessary. Once Anson's bag was full, he went over to Greendale and Everwood.

"Thank you," he began, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, and continued in a stronger voice. "I can't begin to express my gratitude. This whole time I've been afraid that my children--I have a whole pack of them back in Hobbiton--I was afraid that they would go hungry before I could get back to them. I was afraid we wouldn't find the ainereg in time." His voice caught, but he pressed on. "Most of us have families that we've worried about--" Finally he could say no more. "Thank you," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

[Manardariel]

"Anson, you made it! You found it!" Andunériel exclaimed. She stared at the hobbit fondly and disbelieving at the same time. Then she turned to the Ents.

"Lords, Thank you so much for your help. We will always be gratefull and remeber what you have done for us and"- she smiled at Anson- "our families." The Ents nodded and hoomed a bit. Andunériel looked past one of them and saw an already setting sun. "However, we must leave yu and your beautiful realm. Haste is now needed to bring this treasure home. Lords, we thank you again."

The Ents nodded and started to walk away. Andunériel´s eyes followed them for a while, then she turned to the others.
"Out of here, people. We cross the mountains into Dunland and then travel up the Greyflood. We´ll be home in a week at the latest."

While they rode out of Fangorn, still happy, blessed and relieved, Andunériel silently said a prayer to Yavanna, thanking her to have created her noble garden with it´s strange but wonderful keepers.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion almost wept as he saw the two ents point out the ainereg flowers. Going to his knees beside Anson he bent his face down to the yellow plants. They were real. A grin spread quickly across his face as he began to pick them and put them in his pack.

He allowed his thoughts to go back to his family. Argil and his wife would be so relieved. Anorraen, his mother... she'd be able to recover from her sickness.

He shoved a few more flowers into his bag until it was full. Then as he rose to his feet, Anson began to thank the ents in hesitant words. Marsilion felt like his throat was too full to speak so he looked up at Everwood, the ent that had found him first, and just nodded.

As they mounted their horses and prepared to leave Fangorn, Marsilion exchanged a meaningful glance with Elen. Their families were in the same settlement. She smiled at him. A feeling of triumph welled up in Marsilion's breast, he couldn't hide it. His smile stretched his face so wide that he felt like it would break. The road home didn't trouble him at all, they'd found ainereg.

[Orual]

SAVE--for anybody who needs it

[Orual]

SAVE--for anybody who needs it

[Orual]

Anson breathed deeply of the cool, crisp, late-fall air that blew off of the mountains. The cross had been easier than he had hoped, with hardly a rock out of place, much less another avalanche. The horses were well-rested and well-fed, and the company in excellent spirits. Their food store was running a little low, and they had to ration carefully, but it did not affect the general happiness of the companions. They had found the ainereg. Their quest was over.

Anson grinned. "Good thing we left the raft tied to this side of the river," he said. "I don't think I'd be up to building another one."

Comments such as "No argument here!" or "You said it" rang through the group. Good spirits they may have had, but enough rest they had not. They would be glad to get back to Eriador, and they spoke about it much; their plans, where they thought the ainereg would be most useful, who in their family would be healed, everything. But all talk stopped when they reached the Glanduin.

Anson took a few hesitant steps forward, speechless. "It was right here," he said, his voice weak. There was no raft.

The stake was still in the ground, as well as the frayed end of the rope that had tied it to the raft. But there was no raft. There was no raft.

Gondolin bent quickly to inspect the rope, all that was left of their raft. The end was frayed, but the edge was smooth. "Our raft didn't just disappear, Anson. This rope was cut, diliberately."

He looked out over surrounding hills, scanning the horizon. Something wasn't right. He focused on several small dots, barely visible on a hill above them. "I suggest everyone keep their weapons close. We are not alone."

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara crouched, half hidden by a rock and peered towards the band of...of people, but that didn't seem the right word.
"Some are tiny, child sized" she hissed to Raken "and I think-" she paused, uncertainly "I think at least one has pointed ears!"
She could hear the disbelief in her own voice and winced, prepared for a sceptical comment from Raken. However he still seemed in some sort of daze, probably planning his world domination with the Eye. Mara barely stopped a snort, it was madness. For the first time she truly wondered what she had got herself into. Fighting Horsemen was one thing, but Elves? Even the thought shook her, and she shook her head unconsciously. And Raken, he seemed barely aware of the world- wrapped up in his pathetic dreams. He hadn't helped her to cut the rope that held their little raft, just stood behind and watched. In truth she hadn't needed any help to cut the rope, but what if he just stood and watched her fight? Mara hoped that he would snap out of it at the chance for blood.

"When do we strike?" she asked, half turning towards Raken and stroking the hilt of her knife. "Pity we don't have a bow to pick them off at long range." It was the first time she had considered the advantages of bow-and-arrows. Usually it appeared to her that it was a cowards way to fight, and little demonstration of skill- but with Elves any advantage would be good.
"We must hope that the rest are ill inclined to fight us, I suppose" she added, half to herself.
Mara bit her lip, considering. The numbers were not a problem- facing that number of horsemen would have given her no qualms- but again she reached the same problem. Elves. She knew little of them but that they were formidable opponents in battle.

She sighed.
"We should go now. It's no use putting it off. Who knows, it might be enjoyable. A new challenge. Raken?" she queried.

[ May 11, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Arien]

Elen drew her knives and the company seemed to form a circle around Anson and the other hobbits who carried most of the precious flowers. They all discarded their packs and cloaks, for some reason everyone knew there might be a fight to come, but Elen did not know why. She clasped her daggers with anticipation, it was now silent, not a sound but the breathing of her companions. The waited for a while nothing had come.

"But where is the raft?" she whispered to Marsilion as she lowered her knives.

He shrugged his shoulders still looking out into the distance for any sign of an advancing enemy, "I dont know, but keep your guard up Elen," he said pushing her hands back to guard.

"You sound like my father....." she snorted, even though she knew he was only helping her. She smiled, and waited silently.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Durelin]

Challenge... The word brought Raken out of his trance. He vaguely remembered them reaching the river, finding the rafts. Mara had cut the ropes...the people had come. The company with the Ainereg. He snapped to attention, back to his normal self, and drew out his sword. "You're scared, aren't ya?" he whispered. "Those pointy eared cows scare ya? Well, I'll just have to kill one for ya!" Raken chuckled quietly. "Yes," he said even more quietly, more to himself, "it is time." He looked behind him at the rocks and shrubs that hid Dunlendings. They were doing a good job staying unseen; Raken never knew they had that in them. "Get ready to scream your lungs out," he said, turning back to Mara, "Some of the boys are a bit hard of hearing." He grinned, his eyes still, then sttod up and raised up a cry "The storm comes, little ones! With no mercy, with wrath and ruin, and the tearing of flesh! We come!"

Raken threw back his head and howled like a wolf, and the rest of the Dunlendings emerged from their hiding places, including Mara, screaming, "The wild men of the hills!" Then they switched to howling just as Raken and charged at their enemies. Raken decided to draw his axe, too, and with both that and his sword he ran with wild men across the flat, grassy land, soon reaching the head of the mob. The wild men's feet thumped on the ground, rumbling like the hooves of running horses. Their spears and short blades swung wildly around them, their hair wipping around their shoulders. They cried out all different kinds of yells, whoops, and screams, growls and laughter. Raken howled amid his laughter, smiling and licking his lips. Then, still smiling he closed his eyes, with a dreamy look. He was savoring this moment, imprinting it into his memory. Maybe there are certain pleasures in life worth living for… "We will make the river Isen run red!"

[ May 11, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Himaran]

Gondolin watched the band charge them from the hill. Anticipating their move, he aimed his bow, the shaft of which he had already notched, at the Dunlendings. Releasing the arrow, he watched it speed straight into the forehead of an attacker. Other company members were launching shafts with vigor.

As the group closed in on them, he pulled out his knives and dove forward, coming up in the midst of them. His twin weapons flashed in the sunlight, striking several dunlendings hard (and fatal) blows to the neck.

A particularly large a foul-smelling brute appeared before him, axe held high. Gondolin moved to the side, only to have one of his knives knocked out of his hand. Sheathing his weapon, the elf swung out his long sword, catching the axe swing. For a brief moment the two grunted and pushed, as their weapons had become latched together. But then Gondolin momentarily gave in, using one hand to snatch his knife and run the man through.

All around him, the Dunlendings swarmed. The company was holding its own, however. The hobbits were protected in the center, landing blows on an enemy nearby.

Then a man caught his arm, holding onto it while wrenching his sword free. Gondolin swung his knife, held in his other hand, and hacked at the man's face. But another Dunlending grabbed hold of his left arm, forcing the knife free.

Punching the second assailant in the jaw, the elf swung a kick around at the first, laying him flat on his back. The elf then dispatched of the two, and looked around for another enemy to strike.

[Manardariel]

Dunlendings! Andunériel grabbed her sword. This was to much. And they had thought it had been over; thought they would be fine. But they had a last battle to fight. She started fighting wildly, watching the others do likewise. She caught Anson´s eye, who looked frightened and paralized. She looked at him, silently told him not to worry. We´ll survive this. We´ve survived so much. We´ll survive this.

[Orual]

It all came at once. How could he have not heard it? He took pride in his sharp hearing. There had not been a wolf come to the farm during his waking hours that had been missed by his bow, but this attack seemed to have come out of nowhere; if he had not known better, he would have said that they had stepped out of the very air upon them.

Before he had recovered from the intial shock, Gondolin's and Tinüsel's arrows were flying, Elen's kuni knives were whirling, and there were so many swords flashing that he could not tell who was wielding them. Though Peony, Ferdibrand, and himself were protected, he drew his short sword. Andunériel shot him a firm look, one that told him to be strong. He nodded, and gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly. They could do this.

[ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Arien]

Elen was ready, they came rushing down the hill but she had a suspicious feeling there were more to come. She drove her kuni into the first Dunlendings stomach and then another and another. It seemed to go on for ever but she kept fighting. And she was right the second wave came down upon them now. There were more, about five to each of the company including the hobbits! They had started to fight and a valient battle they put up, but it would not help much though Elen was greatful. They kept going.

As she fought she heard a cry from behind her, as she spun round to aid the person who had shouted out she was knocked to the ground. Blood poured over her head and all of a sudden she felt extreamly tired, she wanted to sleep. But there was too much background noise, shouting, clashing. She closed her eyes to try and block the sound out, it worked. She slowly drifted off.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Himaran]

Durelin's Post

Raken ran, laughing joyfully, head held aloft as if he were skipping through a field of daisies on a bright, sunny morning. Raken had chosen his target. Make your way to the elf… The pointy ear looked quite gallant, swinging his double knives gracefully, with great skill. Not enough, Raken was sure. He charged at him with a howl of laughter, screaming, "Here, great warrior! The servant of the Dark Lord will slay all those who do not follow! You elves are most hated! Let the storm smother you in darkness!" He slashed wildly at the elf, who easily dodged aside. Raken's blade hit the ground, but he raised it sharply. He stared at the elf for a moment, finding a strange calm. A smile grew on his face. "Shall we dance?" he asked, chuckling. With a whoop of laughter he charged, the elf throwing up a block. The two danced with death, the swords and knives flashing, slicing. They swung and ducked gracefully, going through the formations like masters. They were constantly switching off, one attacking, one in defense, blocking and avoiding blows. All this they did with overwhelming elegance, each attacking in a form, not charging and slashing blindly. Raken decided to play with his prey a bit, and he began dancing away from most of the blows, laughing all the while. "You will make a pretty prize, little sharp ear! I am enjoying this like nothing before I have ever experienced!" Ducking beneath a blow, he howled like a wolf, swing up with his sword to meet the elf's knives, switching back into the offensive. It went on for years, or so it felt to the two warriors, each receiving his share of knicks, scrapes and bruises. No significant wounds had been made.

Then, with a bear-like roar, a blood covered Dunlending came crashing toward them. Before Raken could tell the pig of a human to leave this to him, the pig grabbed hold of the elf around the neck. Raken shrugged, the elf was helpless, but had he ever fought fairly? He slashed with his sword at the elf's side, the sweet blood splashing onto him, then ran the pointy-ear through with his dagger, the elf jolting. Twisting his dagger around, the blood squirted out around the hole, pouring onto Raken's hands, staining the grass. Finally he drew it out, and the elf, having taken care of the pig, staggered. Raken laughed at him and drew finger up to his mouth to suck the blood off. He did so with each finger, slowly, always staring at the elf with his dead eyes. "It has such a nice, sweet taste," he said as if he were speaking of the weather. Rage burned in the elf, Raken loved it. Strengthed gathered up in the elf, fed by anger and hatred, and he got up from the ground. Raken still smiled as the man lunged at him. "I will have more power in death than I ever did in life!" he cried, "I will be giving more pleasure! Eternal pleasure, my master!" The last thing Raken remembered was a jolt in his arm as his assailant knocked his sword away, breaking his arm. Sweet pain, sweet death.

Slice. Darkness.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Himaran's post

Gondolin then spotted a "chieftain-like" Dunlending. He was heading toward the fallen Elen, axe held high. Sheathing his sword, the elf dove for the falling weapon, catching it and wrenching it from the enemy's grasp.

Roaring, the Dunlending pulled out his sword, hacking at the ground where Gondolin had just rolled away from. Leaping to his feet, the elf swung out his sword. He soon found the warrior to a challenging foe, danceing out of the way of the elf's weapon.

But then another Dunlending, who's friend Gondolin had slain, grabbed him around the neck. The elf was forced to grab his knife to run the man through, but that gave the chieftain enough time to give him a slash in the side and run a dagger somewhere into his rib-cage.

Gasping for air, Gondolin swung his blade wildly, knocking the Dunlending backwards. Finally, in a final effort of strength, he shoved his enemy's sword to the side long enough to cleave through his neck. The Dunlening's head fell to the ground, ending the vicious carrer of the hands which it had controlled.

The elf stumbled back into the circle of warriors. The fight was over, with the fighters being victorious. Elen was being attended to, and the others looked fine.

Marsillion was the first to see him. "Gondolin, your wounded! Come over here, we have some..."

His voice trailed away when he saw the dagger. The elf nodded grimly, and sat down against a rock with difficulty. "Aye, friend, those Dunlendings got the better of me. I'll be gone within the hour."

The company stood shocked, but Marsillion would not listen. "Come now, friend, you'll make it through this. I'll get some of Annundaril's herbs and -"

"No need for that. If you could, just face me toward the north. Toward Eriador. Towards home."

When his request was completed, the elf slowly turned his head to look at the company, speaking softly. "I'm glad we found the flowers. Now Eriador will be saved. Good luck on your journey ho-"

And so the elf died.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Manardariel]

"Andunériel... Gondolin, he..." Anson hung his head, tears steaming down his cheeks. The elf, who had been kneeling next to Elen, stood up. "No," she wispered, shaking all over.

She walked to the rock were he was lying. Marsilion was weeping openly, so were Luin and Peony. Andunériel felt her own eyes fill with tears. The surroundings turned into blurs as she knelt down next to their brave, heroic companion.
******

It was night. Andunériel was alone, sitting on a rock a bit outside the camp they had built. Elen, still a bit weak was sitting by the fire. Peony had only just told her what had happened. About Gondolin. His death.

She started to cry again. Silently, tears ran down her face. She buried her eyes in her robes and wept. Suddenly, someone shook her. "Andunériel." It was Peony.

"I thought you shouldn´t be alone. We all shouldn´t. Can I squeeze in?"

The elf nodded. "Sure." She budged away a bit, and Peony sat down on the rock with her. For a moment they both were silent.

Then Andunériel noticed something. "Look at the fire." she told the hobbit. Peony looked up at her in suprise.

"It reminds me of him." she explained. "It shines far, and brings hope to those that sit by it. And even when we put it out, the memory of the light and the warmth won´t fade, if WE remember it. The fire, the light will shine on in our hearts. If we don´t forget." Peony nodded. "If we don´t forget..." she repeated, trembling. "And we won´t."

Andunériel took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. She felt stronger. Unflinching she walked over to the fire and adressed the company.

"We will leave at dawn tomorrow, after burrying Gondolin. I hope you understand how important it is that we don´t linger. Especially because of Gondolin. He died to save his home. We must move on. If we don´t, we may fail. And that would be the worst treachery we could think of. You understand that, don´t you? Now try to have some sleep. We leave in the morning."

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Marsilion hadn’t let his guard down. It was a good thing, otherwise he’d never have caught the woman in time. She was short and dark, and came flying out of the main group of Dunlendings with amazing agility. Marsilion barely managed to block her blade as she came toward the hobbits. Quick maneuvering with his feet put him between her and the main group, a tiny smile on his face as he concentrated on the fight.

“You think you can beat me easy?” she laughed, catching sight of his smile. “You never fought Mara before.” Her laughter surprised him, as did her quickness. She was right, he’d never fought a woman with such skill with the sword. He drove her back from the group a short way, his main advantage in his size, he determined to use it while he could. Her sword was fast, faster than his. Lighter too, probablyhe thought grimly, as he barely blocked her next attack.

The day was growing hot and the battle in the rest of the camp was fierce. Marsilion lost sight of the others as first his face and then his palms began to grow slick with sweat. Mara’s last stroke had caught him in the shoulder as he tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes, and his arm ached with every clash of swords. He bit his lip, fighting back rage at the Dunlendings in general and this woman in particular. She paused in her relentless attacks and Marsilion flew at her, his sword tracing circles in the air between them. She blocked it at every point. Except the last. His sword blade slid off hers and bit into her leg, just above the knee. Mara’s eyes widened, and she cursed in some language he didn’t know.

Marsilion moved in again, thinking finally, he’d beaten her, but she raised her sword just as his fell. Marsilion cursed inwardly as his felt his sweaty hands slip and his sword fall to the ground. Mara’s grin was wicked as she stood over him with her blade raised. Pulling Glorenwen’s dagger from his belt just as the stroke that would have killed him came, he deflected it with the smaller blade. Mara’s sword sank into his left arm, but it gave him time to regain his sword with his right.

**********
Mara gasped as she swung her sword, her limbs were starting to feel wobbly and every move was an effort. This man was nothing like one of Raken's monsters, or a Rohirrim peasant. He could fight as well or better than anyone she had ever fought before. It was very frustrating. Mara simply was not used to fighting someone her equal! It was strangely exhilerating, despite the exhaustion. For the first time she began to feel a sense of regret that this man would die. It was inevitable, unless she were to die- and that was an even worse thought. Unless...

***********
For a moment they stood there, eyeing each other. Mara with her weight all on one leg and blood flowing freely from the other, and Marsilion with his left arm hanging limp. “Get out of here.” She said, finally. Marsilion held his sword up in front of him, cautiously. “Go.” She said louder. “I don’t kill people I like. Unless your honour would not let you?”

Marsilion’s eyes widened as he understood her offer. “You couldn’t kill me anyway. Look at your leg. But I don’t kill women.” He added in roughly the same tone, but with a twinkle in his eye.

***********
“Ha!” Mara responded, “You mean you can’t kill women.” How much do I trust him? she wondered slowly,If I put up my weapon I would be defenceless Finally she shrugged her shoulders and stuck her sword in its sheath. She nodded with her head toward the rest of the group, “Get out of here.” She said again. “Someone will have to bury your friends.”

***********
With that she turned and headed back toward the Dunlending group, moving faster than Marsilion would have expected. He shrugged his shoulders too, wondering what had made him let her go, wondering who’d have died first if he hadn’t.

He stumbled back into the group, to an audible gasp from Anduneriel. Elen shot him a look and asked “The Dunlending woman?”

“She got away.” he answered.

***********
Slowly, pain stabbing at her leg, Mara went to look for Raken.
We didn't get the Ainereg flower. I was defeated! she thought, with a groan. Still, it was an interesting fight. I shall just have to raid the next village instead of leaving it all for pigs like them
Mara spat on the ground as she approached the stinking, but reduced number of Dunlendings.
"Where's Raken?" she asked the first hairy man, receiving only a grunt in reply. Something tickled at the base of her spine. Where is he? she thought, fear that was wholly unexpected creeping down her back. He may be a madman but... Her thoughts tailed off as she gazed around.

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

They waited for about an hour for Raken, Mara leant against a tree feeling the blood pound in her head. She had bound her own wounds, not letting any of the brutes come near to her. They had left her alone, after she drew her knife on the first to try to exchange small talk. They huddles together now, talking almost quietly. They looked lost, leaderless. After a while she went back to the battlefield. The scene of my defeat! The thought curled her lip. That is why I am upset she told herself.

Mara walked slowly around the bodies of Dunlendings. There were a good number of them. Finally she saw what she was looking for. Raken, blood all around him on the ground. With a sigh she leant over and closed his eyelids. His eyes are scary! she said to herself with a shrug. For a few moments she sat on her heels, the oafs remaining at a respectful distance. More respectful of my sword that their leaders body! she thought. Animals. I've always worked better alone.

Without looking at them she got up, carrying Raken's knife.

"Let us hope he has found what he wanted in death" she said, putting it through her belt with an attempt at a smile. "Bury him"
Without turning back she began to walk off, in the direction of Dunland.

[ May 14, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion collapsed with exhaustion beside Gondolin's freshly dug grave. His eyes stung with the tears he was holding back, but he wasn't going to cry. The time for tears was over, he'd cried yesterday. He bit his lip, gazed at the grave.

The cuts from Mara's sword were hastily bound. Anduneriel had been too distracted for more, and Marsilion didn't care. He absentmindedly played with the ends of the fabric bindings with one hand as he thought about the trip back. It would be a long road through Eriador without Gondolin.

His mind was numb and he felt like his thoughts weren't making much sense. He took out Glorenwen's dagger and turned it in his hands, looking at the notch in the blade from where he had blocked Mara's sword. Sorry it had to be spoiled, he thought, the carved blade had been beautiful.

He took a final look at the grave, as the other companions were beginning to disperse. "May the stars shine on the end of your road, friend." he said hoarsely, dragging his sleeve across his eyes. Then Marsilion stood and faced North. It was time to go home.

[Orual]

Anson stood sadly by Gondolin's grave, his arm around a weeping Peony's shoulders. His own eyes were not dry, and his heart ached. For all of his talk at the Pony about not coming back alive, he had not truly expected to lose a companion. And surely not Gondolin, brave and strong as the elf had been. He drew a deep, shaky breath, and unconsciously tightened his grip on Peony's shoulders.

"Hiruvalyë hîdh ab 'wanath," Andunériel murmured. Anson looked toward her, and saw a single tear shining on her cheek. He did not know what her words meant, but he knew that he shared her pain.

"Brave in life and in death, find peace, Gondolin," Anson said hoarsely, kneeling by the grave and resting his right hand on it. His tears fell on the freshly turned earth, and he stepped back slowly. The others added their farwells, ending with Marsilion, who spoke as they began to leave.

"May the stars shine on the end of your road, friend," he said, and they left.

The quiet lands of the Shire finally lay before him, the rest of the world behind him. He could hardly believe that it was really there; the familiar farms, the softly murmuring rivers, the whispering forests. He shrugged his pack onto his shoulder, and smiled in turn at Peony and Ferdibrand. They were home.

They had taken leave of Luin and Andunériel at Rivendell, then of Elen and Marsilion, and finally Tinüsel in Bree. The markéd absence of Gondolin's leavetaking hit them all like a punch, but the world turned, and life went on.

Any hurts that had remained despite Andunériel's healing--and they were few enough--were taken care of in Rivendell, but the memories would last forever. There were wounds deeper than sword cuts that would take longer to heal, but they would heal.

After taking his leave of Peony and Ferdibrand, Anson went on the journey back to his farm. The ainereg would be dispersed as needed, now that it was in the right hands. He only hoped that the disease had not done too much damage while they were away.

Smoke rose from the chimney as he approached his home, and a slow smile spread on his face. Little Celandine, his fourth child, was out in the yard with Rudy. When she saw him, she gave a shriek and, scooping Rudy up, ran to meet him. The house came alive, and his whole family rushed out--all of them. He was not too late.

Smothered in hugs and kisses, Anson felt his thoughts drifting back to his company. As he embraced Della, he thought,

Thank you, Gondolin...Everwood, Greendale, Andunériel...all of you. My family is safe.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]