Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[piosenniel]

Rôg walked between the two boulders that served to anchor the rope life lines. He pulled off his gloves, suffering his hands to become quite chilled as he ran his fingers over the knots. He was no expert on them, but the knots seemed solid and well tied. And there was no slippage of them as he gave a firm tug on the rope stretched out from them.

One hand on the line, he followed it out to where the search parties had gone out onto the bay’s ice, being careful not to step any further himself. To be quite honest, the ice scared the wits from him. It was as treacherous, he thought, as the shifting sands from his own home land, but more so, really, since he was totally unfamiliar with its ways. He looked out to where Luindal was inching along, afraid for his friend who probably knew the ice hardly better than he.

Rôg pulled his gloves back on and retreated to the safety of the boulders. He stood stamping about on the snowy ground, sure he could feel the numbing cold catching hold of his toes despite the thickness of his boots and the several pairs of socks he wore. He peeked around the face of the boulder to where the three Lossoth stood. Alaahseey, Hilde, and Freyn seemed to have a handle on watching the ropes and the searchers. Perhaps he could just dart back to where he’d lain his little supply pack. Those knee high foot warmers Bear had given him, made from the supple, cured skin of a white bay bear, were stuffed in one of the side pockets. He’d just fetch them quickly and be back in a trice, he reasoned, before anything happened. Not that it will! he said hastily, his fingers crossing as best they could in the thick gloves to avert any bad luck . . .

[Rinfanawen]

The cold seemed to seep through Diera’s clothes as she sat watching the Elves. They had come not but hours earlier, and the Corsairs were ready. The Corsairs were crouched, weapons in hand, behind small snow banks off to the side of the ice. Diera smiled at the foolish Elves upon the cold, glass-like floor. They were walking carefully, but they did not know what lie ahead. Soon they would fall. The ice was fragile, more in some places than in others, and would break easily when stepped upon. This is what the Corsairs had in mind.

Her hat was firmly placed over her head. It covered her ears completely, for she much hoped to escape the cold. Diera knew the kind of affects it had on her, and she did not want any of them arousing at this moment. This time on the icy ground was quite irksome. She was very much impatient. She knew where the holes had been made, and yet the Elves seemed to be walking so slow towards them! Hurry up! her mind constantly spoke. Why must they be so sluggish now? She watched one Elf grow close to a hole they had made in the ice. He stepped, for what she could see, directly upon it, but it only began to crack. The Elf quickly picked up his foot and continued in a different direction. Diera moaned greatly.

The Elves stopped for a moment...a moment that seemed to be a lifetime of shorter, irritating moments. The Elves unwound long ropes from their packs. Diera laughed to herself as she watched the Elves tie ropes around themselves, thinking that it would keep them above the icy water below. I don’t know what they are thinking, she smirked in thought. This is better. They are only making us more successful! If one falls in, soon they will drag the next one in, and the next one, until all of them are beneath the water. What bliss!

She looked at the long sword in her hand. Its golden hilt glittered like diamonds in the sun overhead. “I might not get to use you after all,” she sighed, but still she kept it close in deep anticipation of when the first Elf would fall.

[Lalwendë]

Hiding behind a bank of snow while waiting for the elves, Tarn hunkered down and pulled the white fur he wore tighter about his head to keep out the bitter wind. It howled wearily and insistently, and he well knew the power of its cold bite, but it was also music to his ears. It spoke of the endless empty expanse of space and time that surrounded the bay, his home. It was a comforting sound to him; when he heard it he knew he was in a place he could understand, and unlike some of the Corsairs, who were uneasy, he was still and quiet. Thynne crouched beside him, as still as his master; he too felt the music of the wailing wind and knew the comfort the sound could bring to a lonely hunter. Both of them held weapons ready; Tarn had his harpoon and a knife to hand, and one of the Corsairs had given Thynne a staff.

Earlier, Thynne had sat with Tarn while they ate breakfast and listened to the plans of the Captain. He had felt a little scared when the Captain warned them to be on their guard and prepared to fight. Scuffling with other boys was one thing, but he had never dared to fight with a full grown man or elf. Daring to whisper a question, he had asked "Tarn, have you ever killed a man?" Tarn had been surprised at the question, but he had not wanted to answer it. "What do you think?" he said enigmatically, without any further explanation. He had never killed another man in a fight; he had hurt a few, enough so that they would defer to him, but he had never knowingly killed a man, it had never been necessary. This was a fact he chose to keep to himself; that other people’s gossip and guessing about him helped his reputation, was something he was very aware of.

Tarn was feeling a tingle of excitement at seeing the elves again. They had not been so easy to observe during the expedition to the caves. He wanted to see just what these creatures that his grandfather had so distrusted were really like. More than that, he was curious just what it was about them that was driving the deep hatred of the Corsairs. He suspected it was something to do with pride and status; it was akin to his dislike of the superior attitude of the Lossoth elders. From what he knew, these elves were high and mighty, and he thought they must have held great store in the fact that while they did not age and wither, the men around them were not so lucky. He could appreciate how it would hurt the pride of the Corsairs if these disdainful creatures got to the treasure first, and he clutched his harpoon tighter.

***

The elves approached the ice with extreme caution. Tarn noted that they had roped themselves together for safety and were anchored on the shoreline. He saw the Lossoth helping them and wondered whether the manoeuvre had been an idea of the elves or of his kin. It was something which hunting parties would do often, usually when up on the glaciers which were particularly treacherous. He was so cautious of ice himself that he would never have attempted to venture onto any ice sheet without first testing it for safety; he thought that roping gave false confidence and was sure that a mishap would soon occur. He had seen the water which surged underneath that ice and he felt sure that even the strongest of men could not fight the current. If they were hoping to haul anyone out of there then the hope might be misplaced.


Tarn was struck by how calm the elves appeared, and how easily they moved. Compared to the Lossoth they all looked very young, and their faces were fair, and he began to wonder how much experience they would have of fighting, but then he remembered that his grandfather had told him that all elves looked young, even the old ones. Tarn's long-sighted eyes picked out the weapons they were carrying, which looked well crafted, and he almost blanched, but then noting how slightly built these elves were, he sneered a little, pulled his leather gloves tighter and cracked his knuckles. As long as he kept away from the Lossoth, he thought, he would walk through any fighting completely unscathed. The Lossoth who went across the ice with them were not as well equipped, and they were all shorter than Tarn, but he knew well how tenacious any of the Lossoth could be in a fight.

Tarn was full of disdain for the Lossoth who followed the elves, thinking they had been coerced into this. He felt superior thinking he had made a conscious choice to be here, that it was his choice to offer help to the Corsairs, as he had no Lossoth elders to answer to. He knew he could just get up and leave now, but something held him all the same. Whether it was the thrill of the chase, the intrigue or the sense of satisfaction he gained from being with these strange southerners, he could not say, but for the first time in many long years he was working as part of a group again.

All eyes were keenly trained on the activity out on the ice. Some of the Corsairs were even smirking, but all felt impatient to see what would be the results of their work. Tarn saw that Marreth was following everything with the eyes of an eagle. He seemed to be suffering from the cold less than the other Corsairs, and as Tarn watched, he realised that it was grim determination which held him there, and it would be this determination which would see the treasure in Corsair hands whatever it took.

[Kitanna]

Nilak had had trouble sleeping the last few nights. And he didn't like the idea of spending a day of drilling holes in the ice, but he didn't have much of a choice. He wanted treasure and it seemed the only way to ensure it was to take out these Elves.

He tried to get away with drilling as little as possible, but that had failed. Sernir had pushed an ax in his hand and watched him like a hawk as Nilak pounded away at the ice. Nilak grumbled and growled because it didn't appear that Sernir was doing much of anything. Nilak wanted nothing more than to take a knife to the Corsair's throat while he slept, but the Lossoth thought better.

Now Marreth's company hid from sight. They all watched as the Elves drew closer. They were weary and seemed to sense the traps laid out. Nilak watched as they tied themselves to together with rope. They were smarted then he thought. Nilak crouched down and watched intently as the Elves began to come across the ice.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Those behind on shore watched and waited as Luindal gingerly led the searchers onto the ice. Alahseey had coiled the end of the rope firmly around her arm and shoulder and was staring at the distant spot where Luindal and the others were searching. Hilde had done the same for Galhardir. Both ropes lay slack on top of the ice, snaking in and out of snow banks and continuing down to the frozen Bay; there was still a considerable length of line that could be unfurled if the companions wanted to continue their search further out on the Bay.

Each of the Elves and Lossoth with Luindal bore a long, pointed prod to steady their balance and help search for evidence of the missing Stones. Every few paces, someone halted and poked a prod into a hidden crevice or fissure to look for any sign of the Palantiri. One time, Galhardir yelled a warning to the others to avoid a particularly dangerous stretch of new ice that still looked to be unsteady.

Another contingent of Elves and Lossoth paraded along the outer perimeter of the beach with their weapons drawn and eyes alert: Luindal had alerted them to stand guard against a possible Corsair attack. Suddenly, out of the stillness, an urgent cry was heard from one of the search parties. The youngest pair of Elves, who had lagged too far behind, now found themselves stranded on a chunk of ice that had broken off and was drifting out towards the entrance to the Bay.

"Grab the lines! Hold tight!" Alahseey urged, her weapon slipping from her grasp as she ran forward and approached the ice floe as close as she could get.

Several Lossoth among the guards immediately surged forward to steady the ropes of the marooned Elves. Adroitly, the two leapt to safety, and the moment of danger passed.

Alahseey trudged back, bending down to retrieve her axe from the spot where she thought she'd left it. But the axe was nowhere to be seen; Hiilde also was gone. She had apparently joined the other Lossoth who'd run off to help the stranded searchers: two other Elves had taken her place at the end of Galhardir's rope. Alahseey quickly surveyed the adjoining shore and was surprised to notice her fallen axe lying some ways off towards the side, perched atop a knoll closer to the Bay. She ran over, picked it up, and slowly stood up....

[Regin Hardhammer]

Mareth had managed to inch further up the beach. Now safely crouched behind a rocky outcrop near the edge of shore, he was only thirty paces distant from the armed patrol and could see and hear everything going on. He grinned at the sight of the two idiotic Elves who didn't have enough sense to get themselves off a moving ice floe. As far as he was concerned, they could all float out to sea and sink to the bottom when the ice melted.

Sitting and watching the parade of events, he was more convinced than ever that the Stones must lie somewhere in the Bay. Why else would the Elves come all this way to stop him unless that was true? He had spent the greater part of the last two months searching on shore and had come up with exactly nothing. It was obvious the Stones weren't on land and that it was useless to hunt for them there. Marreth vowed that, once he got rid of these pesky Elves, he would concentrate his search in the Bay itself: somewhere on the bottom lay the treasure he sought. And he already had the resources he needed: trained seals to find the Stones, winches and ropes to pull them up.

As Marreth stared out at the searchers, he could see that Luindal and the others had just reached the point on the ice where the holes were drilled. Galhardir had forged ahead and was now in the lead. Too bad it wasn't an Elf in front who would take the first tumble! Still, he was going to enjoy this. Even if the ropes kept most of the Elves from being swept away, blades and arrows would do the rest of the job.

Marreth put both hands above his head, waved them in the air, and hooted like a snow owl, the signal they'd agreed to use. All he had to do was lower his arms, and the assault on the beach would begin....

Then he saw her. His informant had crept out from the others to do her mischief. Marreth almost roared with laughter. This innocent, middle-aged Lossoth who looked like nothing special was really a lion in disguise. A woman after his own heart! At least one of the Elves or Lossoth would soon be taking a swim, to be forever swept away by the currents. He resisted the urge to lower his arms at this point. Just one more minute and they would have the diversion they needed.

[Child of the 7th Age]

By now, the sun had risen high enough to be visible from across the Bay. The wind had picked up and remnents of old twigs and leaves skittered across the top of the ice. Thick clouds scudded into place and the soft pink promise of morning gave way to a sullen gray. The weather was turning against them. Luindal could make out Galhardir plodding about fifteen paces in front of him. But then, without warning, heavy sleet began to fall, stinging Luindal's face and hands and making it extremely difficult to see.

Within a matter of minutes, the freezing rain quickened: it was difficult to make out anything more than a few feet in front of his nose. And for those who lacked the Elven gift of far-seeing, the visibility would be even less. Luindal sighed and shook his head. The winds of chance did not seem to favor them. Even he could not hold the Corsairs responsible for a simple change in the weather. The Elf was about to signal his companions to halt their search and retreat to shore when something calamitous caught his eye, causing his stomach to plummet downward.

There was absolutely no sign of Galhardir anywhere. Sprinting forward as swiftly as he could, Luindal approached the spot where he had last seen his Lossoth companion. Galhardir was gone; neither was there any evidence of his rope. The only thing left was his sharp, pointed prod, carelessly hurled off to the side. Beside the prod was a huge round hole through which the waters of the Bay seethed angrily upward. Galhardir's fate was all too obvious. Luindal glanced behind him, straining to see through the thick curtain of sleet; he heard excited cries coming from other searchers who had apparently fallen into the Bay.

He bellowed out a warning to those in his party who had managed to stay upright on the ice, "Turn back. The ice is broken. Help any who have fallen through."

He retreated again to the gaping hole and was about to dive in, heedless of the danger and thinking only of his companion, when he felt a gentle restraining pressure on his shoulder. Off in the distance, he could hear other frantic voices sounding from the beach, "The rope's been cut. Galhardir's rope has been sliced cleanly in two..."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Orofaniel's post for Galhardir

All of a sudden it seemed so foggy. He couldn't see much, except for his feet and the small area of ice around it. There seemed to be no front and no back. What direction should he go? Where was Luindal? His heart beat faster as he panicked. He was lost, wasn't he? He struggled to find the rope around has waist. Luckily it was still there. A sigh of relief crossed his lips as he pulled the rope wit his hands with great effort. Then he noticed it; it had been cut. The split ends were now just in front of him and not in Hilde’s hands as it should have been. How could this be? A sudden panic hit him once again. He tried walking forwards, but he stopped as he wondered if it really was forwards at all. He could be going the opposite direction of the shore, he didn't know. He couldn't do anything but stand there, feeling his heart beat faster and faster for every minute that passed by. His limbs felt cold and uneasy, as he looked into the fog, looking for Luindal. However, it was all in vain.

"Luindal?" he whispered longing to hear Luindal’s voice again. It was nothing more than a whisper He was petrified and scared as he heard no reply from the Captain or any one else. Galhardir then decided to try on direction as he figured just standing there wouldn't get him out of this unpleasant and horrifying situation. Suddenly, he could feel the ice beneath him being torn apart. He didn't know what was happening, except for that he found himself balancing on one of the huge ice cubes. The sound of the cruel water as it hit the ice was drowning all his other thoughts. Never had Galhardir felt so utterly alone and helpless in his entire life. Thoughts weren't welcome in these situations, just actions. He had to gain his balance if he was to keep himself above the water. That was all that mattered; keeping himself above water, because if he fell in, his chances were low. He made a jump and it led him to safety, or so he thought. He then started to run, away form the area with the torn ice, and he didn't notice the big hole right in front of him. His speed was too great, and he didn’t noticed it before he had leapt right in it.

He clenched to the ice, not wanting to let go as half of his body was already in the cold water. The icy water had already gone through his clothes and his could feel it in his limps and bones. His voice tried yet again to call for help, but it was to no use. No one could help him now. He fingers still held tight to the ice, but he knew that he wouldn't manage to do it much longer as his body went cold and his mind flew far away. He couldn't help thinking about Gunnhild, his brothers' wife and his nephew, Rodhal.

Minutes passed, and still Gahardir held tight. He fought against the frost, but he knew he could not win this battle- the water was unbeatable. His hands and fingers were frozen and as a cold wind passed, he let go - Unwillingly of course. He just couldn't hold it any longer. He would fall into the cold water underneath it. He sank slowly, and as he felt his head hit the back the hard surface he knew he was trapped. Even if he had the energy to try saving his life, it wouldn't be impossible because he was now under the thick ruthless ice. With one last try to reach the surface that was still not covered with ice, he was out of breath.

[piosenniel]

‘I don’t think I’m well healed enough to drag two of you out of the water!’ Rôg winced as he pulled Luindal back from the ragged edge of the ice, his left arm twinging at the effort. The waters of the bay lapped up through it, spilling out onto the already slippery ice and making any footing all the more precarious. ‘You need to get back there and organize the effort to haul Galhardir out with the rope.’ He looked down to where the rope seemed to be inching in slowly beneath the ice. ‘I don’t know much about the tides and even less about the currents in the bay. But I can see that the poor fellow is being dragged in even further. And hurry, there’s little time.’

Rôg pushed the Elf back toward where the line of pullers had formed. Even now they could both see how the rescuers slipped forward on the ice, unable to make any headway against the current’s pull on the man at the other end of the line. Luindal took off at a run pausing once to look back, but all he could see was the tip of a dark brown flipper as it slipped into the hole, then disappeared from view.

~*~

He’d watched the seals come up through their airholes on his trip in the earlier part of the year with his Lossoth guide Bear. Awkward seeming out of the water, their large bodies drug about with their flippers and the undulating flapping across the ice that served as their fastest means of moving, he now marveled at the economy of motion with which they could propel and maneuver themselves in the water. He’d taken a deep breath before he’d dived beneath the ice. He’d seen them do that, and now he knew why.

The air streamed out in a slow procession of tiny bubbles from his nostrils as he swam quickly down the rope, his back touching the line as he went along to keep him on track. Only a few short seconds and he had come to where Galhardir was floating, his body bobbing up and down against the roof of ice. The Lossoth’s eyes were closed and he did not respond to the Rôg as he poked his nose hard against him.

Rôg sunk his sharp seal’s teeth into the man’s sodden leather parka and began swimming back along the rope. The current was strong and the heavy clothes the Lossoth wore made it hard to move him against it. Luckily, those on the other end of the rope, now that the resistance against them had gone were able to keep the rope taut. Their efforts combined with those of the little seal brought the unfortunate Lossoth up out of the water and onto the ice. Rôg followed soon after, a decidedly bedraggled appearing and gasping seal.

A number of the Elves and Lossoth had picked up Galhardir and were transporting him back to firmer land. They’d managed, it appeared to get him breathing once more, and he could hear him asking about his nephew. Rôg scrambled back into man form and trudged back toward where the lines had been tied to the trees. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something not quite right about something he’d seen earlier, but the image of it wasn’t clear and had become more muddled as he’d heard the shouts that someone had gone under.

He had little time to recall it into sharper focus before the confusing cries of the attack came to him . . .

[Imladris]

Jynne narrowed his black eyes at the struggling elves and Snow men. For being surprisingly swift in escaping, they were taking their sweet time to creep across the ice. They probably suspected something...a hovering danger. He frowned. It was a curse to all parties concerned. The elves, of course, were always haunted with it while the lurking enemy never caught them fully unawares. He smiled grimly. Elves were never happy. Their death would finish their unlived lives.

The captain leaped from his hiding place and rushed upon the struggling Snowmen and elves. With a soft hiss, Jynne leaped from the snow, whipping the dagger from his belt. He slipped across the snow, sliding to a stop beside a rope that dangled into a drilled hole. Within a Snowman thrashed. Fear contorted his face. Screams, strangled by the icy water's clutching fingers, ripped from his throat.

Jynne gently, almost tenderly, picked up the rope, and fondled it in his fingers, smiling softly at the Snowman.

He stopped his screaming, and just looked the Corsair.

"Can you feel death approach?" whispered Jynne.

The Snowman glared at him.

"Maybe if you beg and grovel, I will save you," said Jynne with a leer.

The Snowman flung his spit at Jynne.

"Such nobleness," Jynne said silkily. "Have you ever noticed that nobility is often the sword plunged within a brave man's heart?" Jynne, with a slash of his knife, severed the rope.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth watched with delight as several of the Elves plunged into the icy cold current, their comrades clinging to the lines and attempting to haul them out. Everywhere there was pandemonium. Now, when all seemed in chaos, was the time to go forward: Marreth swiftly lowered his hand to signal the beginning of the attack.

Immediately, Corsair archers showered a cloud of arrows onto the frantic Elves, as Marreth and others of his crew drew out their swords. After a few volleys from the archers, Marreth gave the second signal to his men and charged into battle at the front of a column of his most trusted pirates. The battle for the shoreline had begun.

Marreth rushed toward the Elvish guards who had been set out on the beach as a protection for the searchers. Marreth much preferred sea battles to fighting on land, but he had learned how to use a rapier servicibly during his numerous expeditions. An Elf stood before him, with a sword pointing in Marreth's direction. The Captain stabbed forcefully at his enemy, but the warrior parried the blow and countered with one of his own. Their intense duel continued for several minutes, but Marreth did not relent. Suddenly, the Elf's foot hit a slippery patch of ice, causing him to fall onto the floor and knocking him unconcious.

His men had taken care of several other guards. With his path partially cleared, Marreth ran zealously foward, other Corsairs following on his heels, towards the Elvish forces farther out on the Bay, who had just finished pulling two of their shivering comrades in from the water. Marreth aimed to return victorious to his ship bearing Luindal's head, as an example for any others who dared to oppose the Corsairs.

[Niluial]

Elwë panicked. Panicking is not good, stay calm, think straight. “What… what do we do?” Andtuariel said panic-stricken.

“Just pull! Do whatever!” Elwë said, still trying to stay calm. “I knew something was wrong, I knew something was going to happen.” He said as he tugged at the rope, using all his energy.

A familiar voice called to them. Annu!. ‘What happened?’ Annû shouted to them. ‘The skinchanger,’ Elwë shouted back, ‘he’s gone in to help.’ Right after he had shouted it the man was out. Andtuariel and Elwë pulled the line with great effort to bring him back. As Elwë did so his arms shot with pain. He was tired and the icy air was biting into him.

Elwë closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. It was interrupted by a sudden shriek, a shriek that sounded like Andtuariel’s and following the shriek he heard Annu yell, “draw your weapons!” To Elwë’s surprise Southrons were charging towards them. “I told you that this day was going to be bad Andtuariel,” he said as he drew his weapon.

[Arry]

Annû

Annû had thrown off his clumsy gloves and untied himself as quickly as he could. The members of his search team were on solid footing, no danger of falling through the ice. Giving a sharp tug on the rope to get their attention, he waved wildly at them, motioning for them to come help pull in on the rope of the man who’d gone under. He sprinted toward where a number of others had gone to capture the slithering rope and added his weight to the pull, the rope grating on his still ungloved hands.

For a while it seemed a hopeless task, for every one step they managed to take back, the strong current seemed to pull them forward two. Annû heard some shouting at the front of the line and a very short time later the pull became easier. ‘What happened?’ he asked those in front of him. ‘The skinchanger,’ he heard back, ‘he’s gone in to help.’ Quickly following came the shout back that the man was out. Those at the front of the pull line ran forward with great haste to assist bringing him back.

Suddenly from behind him came the loud sounds of Elves and men shouting. Annû’s head whipped around, his eyes caught the sight of Southrons charging at those who stood guard along the beach. Arry yelled loudly fro his nearby companions to draw their weapons. Many of the Elves, including Annû knocked arrows to the long bows and fired a rapid volley toward the advancing troops. Then those with swords and clubs, men and Elf alike, charged at the advancing Corsairs attempting to drive them back. They fought hard against murderous spawn battering, slicing, and thrusting as they could. Those Southrons who broke through faced the deadly aim of the Elven archers. Both sides threw themselves hard against the other.

The snow and ice ran red with blood.

[Rinfanawen]

Diera flashed her blade brightly in the sun, as she made ready to face her foes. She was forced to make herself delay the attack longer than the others for the simple fact that she could not keep from laughing. Watching such graceful Elves and already comical Lossoth fall through the icy water caused her to break out in a prolonged laughter, and that’s saying a lot. She breathed deeply. It was time to kill.

She ran forth at an exhilarating sprint onto the ice. Her long sword was raised high above her head in the air. Though a frost was indeed in the area, she felt it not. Her heart beat quickly. It reverberated through her head to the same quickening pace of her snow-covered feet. She felt a slight chill on her legs as she ran, but her focus was directed solely on a lone Elf at the near side of the battle. The immortal one had been leaning near one of the holes trying to help a friend out of the frigid water, but the Elf now stood upright facing Diera. He pulled an arrow from the long quiver at his back and put it to his bow.

“Go on, Elf demon,” Diera shouted as she ran. “Try to resist me!”

The Elf shot a single arrow in the direct path of her, but Diera dodged it easily. Her long, golden-hilted sword soon met the Elf’s short sword in close combat. The force of Diera’s sprint threw the Elf back onto the ice. The Elf was quickly back on his feet with sword outstretched. Diera removed the small knife from the inside of her right boot, her sword being in her right hand. She rushed at the Elf. The Elf stood ready.

The battle between the Corsair and the Elf lasted for many extremely eventful moments. Suddenly Diera saw the Elf slash his sword at her left forearm. True was the strike, and it sliced through all layers of her clothing until it broke her skin. For the first time in a long while, she felt real warmth return. She cried out in anguish. The knife dropped from her hand, lost in the arctic snow below. Diera knelt in great pain. She stared up cruelly at the smiling Elf, and then beyond at the broken ice behind him. Soon you will join your friend in the frozen waters, Diera thought, as if the Elf could read her mind. Diera leaped forward with her sword before her. The Elf blocked her quick blow, and their swords clung together as Diera began to push the Elf back. The Elf resisted some, making the process slow, but Diera pressed on.

“I do not fear you, filthy Corsair!” the Elf yelled as he struggled to push back her sword.

Diera’s eyes widened at the absurd thought of her being considered filth. With all of her strength, she pushed the Elf through the hole in the ice and into the bitter water. She smiled as she spoke, “Perhaps you should have feared me, you filthy land-dweller!”
The Elf sunk below the water.

Diera paused for a moment as the pain in her arm increased. She held the wound firmly with her right hand. Blood started to seep through her fingers in little rivers flowing down her hand. She began to tear off a piece of cloth from her shirt to wrap the wound with, but she was distracted by an unpleasant voice in the air.

"Maybe if you beg and grovel, I will save you," said Jynne, not too far from where Diera stood.

Diera watched as Jynne held a rope to which an unfriendly Lossoth was holding. The Snowman flung his spit at Jynne.

"Such nobleness," Jynne said silkily. "Have you ever noticed that nobility is often the sword plunged within a brave man's heart?"

Jynne, with a slash of his knife, severed the rope. Diera quickly ran towards Jynne. With her blood-covered hand, she gripped hold of his shirt tightly.

“What was that?” Diera scolded angrily. “You listen to me, Jynne. I hate those Elves as much as you do, probably more, and I enjoy nothing more than ending their pathetic immortal lives...but do be humane about it, please! That goes for Lossoth as well.”

Diera removed her grip from Jynne’s shirt. Taking no notice of any remark Jynne might have made to her comment, if he made one at all, she returned to the perilous battle on the ice.

[Arry]

Carandû

From his vantage point, Carandû looked on in horror at the quick and deadly turn of events. His first thought was for his brother, and he cursed the decision that made him stay apart from him. But Annû looked to be alright for the moment – he was still on safe footing and Carandû saw he’d readied his bow and had begun to fire at the advancing Corsairs, taking down a number of those foolish enough not to retreat. The Elven archers were too few though. The Corsairs pushed on. Carandu, whose position was to the side and slightly behind the Corsairs, began firing his own bow at the Southron line. Many of his arrows buried themselves in the backs and thighs of the attackers. A few volleys and then he ran toward the battle, his sword in hand

As he ran, he saw his brother sling his bow on his back and draw forth his ironwood club. It had been a long, long time since the brothers had engaged in any battles. But the skills of war, once learned and then applied, come readily back to the warrior. His thoughts narrowed down to the foe before him; his sword arm recalled the patterns of feint, and slice, and thrust.

Carandû’s one wish was to be at his brother’s side. He would kill without regret those who stood in his way.

[Lalwendë]

At the first signal, Tarn made ready his harpoon and quickly issued instructions to the lad who sat quaking beside him. He could see the fear building in his wide eyes.

“You stay here, with the archers, and keep out of the charge. Your job is to help defend the archers, if any of that lot get near them.” He nodded towards the club which Thynne was clutching to his chest. “You use that and you do not hesitate. Or you will die”.

The second signal was given and before Thynne could say anything in response, Tarn was up and charging with the Corsairs, down towards the ice where confusion was reigning. His long legs and sure footing enabled him to be amongst the first to reach the shoreline, where those holding the ropes were now shouting frantically to their comrades on the ice. A young Lossoth man was holding fast to one of the ropes, unable to let go lest the rope slide into the water, and as Tarn ran up to him he yelled out in fear. Tarn grinned and threw himself against the man with his full body weight, bringing him down to the ground in a heap where he then turned him face down into the freezing snow. “See how you like this, fool” he shouted. The man choked and coughed, trying to break free of the strong hold Tarn had him in. He still did not let go of the rope.

Tarn stood up and the man slowly rolled around onto his back, his face stinging with the shock of the cold, suffocating snow. His breath came in gasps at first, but then it barely came at all and it was clear he was not going to go anywhere. Tarn saw how he still held the rope and grimly bent down and quickly cut it.

He turned then, and seeing the mayhem breaking out on the ice sheet, ran across with his harpoon and knife ready. Already there were several injured or dead laying still. An elf wielding a shining blade parried with a Corsair and had the better of him, then seeing Tarn, he came loping towards him, unsteady on the ice. Tarn, sure footed, roared at him and ran even faster, ready for the attack. At the last moment he stuck out his left leg, catching the elf around the ankle and felled him.

The elf did not land as heavily as he had expected, and he was only a little winded. Starting to run on, Tarn noticed that this elf was about to get up again, and with only a moment‘s thought, he hefted the harpoon up onto his shoulder and hurled it. It landed with sickening accuracy in the side of the elf, who fell back down. Tarn’s eyes flashed for a moment, and then he returned.

Putting his foot on the body to steady himself, he yanked the harpoon out. Blood started to seep across the ice, and as Tarn began to feel a rush of nausea, he heard the shouts of the Corsair men he had helped the day before, who were struggling against several opponents. Adrenalin stifling the strange sensation of having killed the elf, he began to fight his way through to the men.

[Kitanna]

Nilak waited for Marreth's signal. He was tired of waiting. Let's attack and get it all over with, he thought rubbing his gloved hands together. He had his harpoon ready and his dagger was ready to spill some blood.

He heard Marreth's snowowl signal and now waited for the captain to lower his arms. Nilak sat completely still, just waiting, watching. Finally the Corsair captain gave them the signal. Nilak sprang from his hiding spot and fell in the charge with the Corsairs and other Lossoth's.

Nilak charged a Lossoth who had been helping the Elves. He elbowed him hard in the stomach and when the Lossoth was bent over trying to recover Nilak ran his harpoon through. The blood streamed down onto the ice and the dying Lossoth landed inthe puddle that had formed.

Nilak was no stranger to killing sailors and traders, but he felt odd about killing another Lossoth. But he could not stop to dwell on this feeling of guilt, there were still Elves to get. He pulled his harpoon from the fallen Lossoth and charged forward again.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal had clawed his way onto the beach, stopping every now and then to assist those who were battling the Corsairs, or to lend a hand on the ropes. Finally reaching the shoreline, he darted over the crusted snow, halting just once to examine the remains of Galhardir's rope that still lay on the upper beach. He could see that it had been hacked in two, quite possibly by an axe. Moreover, the frayed ends of the rope suggested that there had been two or three successive blows rather than a single master stroke.

The beach itself was almost empty. Most of the rescuers had surged forward onto the ice in their frantic attempts to coil in the ropes and haul out the men who had fallen into the water. Footprints left behind in the grey snow revealed the spots where Corsairs and Elves had grappled with each other; the ground beneath was tinged an ominous red. The Corsairs had trampled over the field of battle, continuing their charge to the Bay where the enemy were grouped in greater numbers. The only ones left behind were Hilde, Alhaseey, and Freyn, each of whom was helping to care for those injured in the fighting. The three Lossoth had found a secluded niche sheltered by evergreens on the far side of the bank where they could tend the wounded in relative peace.

Luindal barged into the glade, shook his head in utter frustration, and growled to Alahseey, "I have come too late. I had hoped to find out who severed Galhardir's line. That had to come from within our company. And one viper from within can do more damage than a hundred Corsairs." He scanned the beach and bristled, "Where is that rascal Carrandû?"

Hilde responded quickly, "I have not seen Carrandû. But perhaps your trip is not in vain. I was able to spot the culprit who did this." She stared over at Alahseey and raised her hand, pointing a single finger at the Elder. "This one!" she glared, her face agleem. "This one....I have seen it with my own eyes. I am ashamed....ashamed that one of our Elders should act thus. But I am certain of what I saw. She raised her axe two, no three times, and cleanly severed the rope."

At this description of the deed, Luindal blanched white and gazed at the Elder, still unsure. "Surely though, you are mistaken."

"I am no traitor," Alhaseey barked. "Why say you this, Hilde?" And then her own eyes dawned with understanding.

"Speak not. Show him the axe at your side. For on its blade rides your guilt."

"That I will do," responded the woman, and eagerly drew the axe from her sheath, handing it to Luindal. At the edge of the blade, Luindal clearly saw the ragged shreds of a rope cut through in two or three strokes, one that bore witness to the Elder's seeming guilt.

"This is a lie," countered Alahseey.

"We have no time now." Luindal glanced about and saw that Freyn had finished treating the injured. "Hilde, stay in this cove and tend to the wounded till our fight is done."

He stared next at Alahseey, "Freyn, take charge of this woman. Bind her in tight cords and give no heed to what she says. After we return to the ship, we will speak further on this matter."

With a heavy heart, Luindal turned and raced back to his men.

[piosenniel]

Battle was something that did not sit well with the skinchanger. He was a bookish sort, given to the study of animals, birds in particular. Fighting was something he tended to avoid if at all possible. But there was nothing to be done about it . . . the Corsairs had sprung a sneak attack on the Elves and their Lossoth helpers. Blood was already being spilled . . . a number of the Lossoth and Elves had fallen into the frigid waters and were in danger of drowning because others of their companions could not get to them through the press of battle.

Rôg had no weapon. He was no bowman and to be honest the only blade he’d ever wielded were the knives he used for cooking. A lance . . . no . . . nor a club, either. He did have the little sling he used for hunting small game. But a quick look at the well padded, well armed Corsairs drove that idea from his mind.

And besides that . . . as a man he really didn’t relish the thought of killing other men . . .

Still, he didn’t like the thought of his friends getting hurt and killed, either.

By this time Rôg had managed to circle round behind the Corsairs’ advancing line. Less fighting in the rear . . . safer . . . but then again he could see the bowmen sending their barrage of arrows toward his companions. Perhaps if he just harassed them, knocked them about a bit . . . disrupted their attack . . .

Aaah! But how to do that. He was already slipping and sliding about on the ice and snow like some ungainly gooney bird on loose sand. And what would he use for weapons . . . He looked down at his empty hands and the snow at his feet. The insane desire to giggle nearly overtook him as he thought of making snowballs and lobbing them at the Corsairs.

In the distance he could see a number of the Lossoth friendly to the Elves fall beneath the blades of the advancing Corsairs. An image came to him, of the great white beast with the toothy smile that Bear, his Lossoth guide, had told him was his family’s spirit animal. They’d seen one out on the ice flows, hunting seal. Slow moving, massive, paws the size of large dinner plates with long sharp claws. The face of the snow bear had an intelligent air as the beast turned to look at him, considering whether the expense of energy to chase after the two humans was worth the meal to be gotten. The bear had risen up on his hind legs to get a better look at the two men who were viewing him. Almost twice the height of a tall man . . . the very size of him was intimidating . . . they had driven their sled away quickly, leaving the bear to his previous pursuit of a tasty seal.

The change took longer than his more familiar forms. Once it was complete, Rôg was surprised how gracefully the massive body of the bear moved over the snow and uneven ground. The pads moved silently over the ice without slipping. He swung his great head from side to side, taking in the figures of the Corsair bowmen. His lips drew back from his long, sharp yellowed teeth in a feral smile. Bears it seemed did enjoy the hunt and relished the kill, he realized . . . and he found himself thinking how delightful it would be to hear the crunch of his prey’s bones as he bit down hard on a leg or shoulder . . . and the marrow, so sweet . . .

Rôg shook his head to bring his thoughts back from the brink of red, ravening madness . . . He loped up silently behind the archers that were still firing and gave a low rumbling growl. Lunging forward, he reared up not quite to his full height and began knocking them down like so many clay pots with brutish swipes of his immense paws, throwing many into the air as he did so.

And those foolish heroes who chose to face him down, he simply knocked flat, swatting aside their blades and bows and spears – his cavernous maw clamping down on their skulls, crunching them as easily as a squirrel does an acorn.

[Taralphiel]

The day had been long for Freyn, longer for the need for attention that many injured in their Company had. Freyn's supply of blams, bandages, and poultices was being well used, and he wondered quietly how long he would have before they ran out. He was still idly throwing this though about in his mind, when his name was called to jolt him out of his daydreaming.

"Freyn, take charge of this woman. Bind her in tight cords and give no heed to what she says. After we return to the ship, we will speak further on this matter."

Freyn saw the distraught look on Alhaseey's face, and the anger the brewed not far under it. He bit his lip a moment, as he slowly stood, looking calmly at her. He began a small mutter of appeal for the woman to come with him, but it ended in his throat when he watched her expression again.

Freyn nodded at Luindal mutely, taking the woman by one shoulder and leading her to where he could safely restrain her. All the way the woman voiced protests, and Freyn paid no heed to them. All the while, he was pondering on what words could calm the situation, at least for Alhaseey.

Carefully, though tightly he bound her, and kneeling before her, began awkwardly:

"I have not much advice to give, save this. Luindal is fair in his judgement, and I have seen little to the contrary. I would wait for the chance to prove your innocence. Arguing may simply be digging a greater hole for yourself..."

Freyn looked at her cautiously, wondering what her reaction would be. He knew what was wisdom in this situation, but he had yet to learn how to best put that forward.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Alahseey gave Freyn a stern look, drew herself up, and scowled, "Fair, he may be. But unless someone acts quickly, many of our companions may died....Elves and Lossoth alike. I am not the spy. But while I sit here trussed up like a game bird, unable to break loose or fight, the real informer is free to weave a web of murder and intrigue. That person must be stopped!"

"Perhaps, Freyn, you and I can come to some agreement. You have known me many years, and we have never had harsh words with each other. I give you my pledge that I will wear my restraints willingly and give you no trouble on our journey back to the ship. I ask but one thing: that you will stand up and speak on my behalf once we reach the ship. I am sure Luindal will call a meeting to inquire into today's treachery. And he will respect our laws and traditions, requiring two men or women to come forth and voice their accusation of me. I do not believe he will find an accuser other than Hilde.

As to the axe, I can explain: it was a filthy trick played by the person who has the most to lose in this situation--the person who is actually responsible for slicing that rope. Most importantly, ask Luindal to listen to my words. I believe I know a way to ferret out this imposter. And, if we are lucky, perhaps one or two others have also seen evidence of this treachery.'

"Can you do that Freyn? I ask you to do nothing dishonorable, nor to break your pledge to the Elf, but merely to speak out on my behalf so that the truth may be heard....."

[Imladris]

Jynne heard a growl and swivelling his head around saw a lumbering bear galumph across the snow. Where had that come from? He had heard stories of bears sleeping peacefully in caves, dreaming of bees and honey as the winter months drifted away. But then again were bears this far north?

No matter. Whatever it was -- Jynne's eyes narrowed -- it was on a rampage. He noticed that it was targetting Corsairs. Those dratted elves.

Jynne glared banefully at the bear before plunging himself into a snowbank and rowling like a newly washed dog in the dirt. Hopefully the snow would smother his pirate scent.

[Arry]

‘Get the wounded behind us, brother!’ shouted Carandû.

The Elf had worked his way methodically through to Annû’s side. A number of Corsairs had fallen, killed or wounded by him, but for the most part he had made his way round the edges of the skirmish, wanting to get to his brother quickly. At one point he had seen the skinchanger lurking about the back lines of the Corsair troops, unarmed as far as he could see. Carandû had almost stopped, thinking that he might have to take the man to a safe place and collect him later. His assessment of the situation, in the slow wink of an eye, had changed radically as the form of a great white bear took the place of the man. The Elf gasped even as he marveled at the bear, but the head of the animal turned toward him briefly, giving him toothy smile before it ambled toward the Corsair bowmen.

Now Carandû had come to his brother’s side. Nearby he could see Elwë and Andtuariel. Elwë was using his crossbow to keep what attackers he could at a distance, while Annû used his heavy club now in the little group’s defense. Andtuariel was armed only with her dagger and stood watch over a number of the Lossoth who had fallen near them.

Carandû fired a number of arrows toward the Corsairs his brother and Elwë were battling; then, slinging his bow on his back, drew his sword again and stood close by Annû, who had already closed ranks now with Elwë. Andtuariel and the others were behind them, and those she could rally, whose wounds were not too severe, she bade them keep weapons ready should their little line break.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Rinfanawen's post

Diera plunged quickly back into the fierce battle on the ice. She dodged many swinging Elven swords as she carefully made her way towards an evil Lossoth on the other side. It's my turn now, Lossoth, she thought. Dreaded creature...this is your last day to live. The Lossoth had recently finished a quarrel with one of the Corsairs, whom, to her dismay, Diera saw lying breathless upon the frozen grave beneath him. She stared at the Snowman in fury. This deep-seated hate had lingered far too long, and it was time to revenge her fallen crewman. Diera almost felt sorrowful at the fact that she did not even know the crew member's name, but she determined to avenge his death nonetheless.

The Lossoth waited cautiously with his bloodstained weapon hanging at his side. Diera slowed her sprint to a halt and bent down towards the snow, not taking her eyes off the Lossoth. She wiped her blade smoothly in the snow, as she did before every new battle, to clean her sword of any blood from a previous foe. Her uncle taught her once that this symbolized respect for the fallen ones. To her, it showed her enemy the true identity of the weapon and how sharp it really was. Diera stood slowly. She moved her wrist in a circular motion, making the sword wind throughout the air. Suddenly she stopped her wrist as the sword met an upright position in the air. She placed her left arm firmly against her stomach to protect it from any further harm. The first move was made.

Diera thrust her right arm forward at the Lossoth with great strength. She felt her blow push back from where it hit the Lossoth's weapon. She swung around to block the swing of her foe. The Lossoth counterattacked with his weapon, but it was to no great use, for Diera had already struck her enemy to the ground. Diera began to walk away. She turned her back on her supposed fallen foe to find her feet being drug from beneath her. She fell suddenly to the snow and landed hard in the impact. The Lossoth began to drag her across the ice toward a broken hole. Dropping her sword in the fall, she had no choice but to reach for her knife with her left hand. A thousand bolts of lightning seemed to shoot through her arm as she struggled to grab hold of the knife. Her arm grew warm again with blood flowing towards the wound.

The Lossoth pulled harder and harder, limping with his right leg as he walked toward the hole. Diera saw the broken ice not far ahead. The Snowman grinned. Diera grew furious at her foe and screamed out in anger.

"No irony is to be made of me!" She yelled trying to pull herself closer to her foe. "I will not die in the trap meant for my enemy!"

Diera hurled herself forward with all of her might, her leg still being pulled by the Lossoth enemy. Using her left hand, she slashed her knife as high as she could, so to not penetrate her own flesh. The knife cut through the Lossoth's lower left thigh. Diera's foot was set free. The Lossoth slid back in pain, but Diera had not yet succeeded in the battle. She stood abruptly. Wasting not even a single moment, she rushed forward and slit the throat of her crouching foe. The Lossoth died quickly.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Lalwendë's post

Three elves and two Lossoth men were fighting hard against three Corsair men, and were slowly driving them back towards a hidden hole in the ice. The Corsairs knew the hole was there but they were losing their strength and their opponents had blocked any chance of escape. Tarn saw the look of panic on the faces of the men and struggled through the battle towards them.

As he got close to the men, he brandished his harpoon and shouted “Come and get some of this!” Then he stood firm holding the weapon ready as one of the elves and both of the Lossoth men turned towards him, grimacing. “Tarn, what a surprise to see you here,” said one of the men sarcastically. “This man might look high and mighty, but I can assure you, he’s no better than a mangy dog” the man said to the elf.

“And you are nothing but a stripling and a coward” Tarn sneered at the man, who was barely out of his youth. “Think you’re something special out here with these elves do you? Nothing but the fifth son of a pauper who pickles pilchards for a living, and still you think of yourself as better than me. You could not fight your way out of a barrel of vinegar!”

The young man’s face turned red with anger and he ran at Tarn, a reaction the older man had been hoping to provoke. With a wry look on his face, Tarn whipped out his knife and stooping quickly, shoved it into the back of the man’s shin as he ran past, missing Tarn’s manoeuvre in his haste. The man stumbled with a cry and Tarn whipped out the knife, jabbing it in the air before the other Lossoth man, who had now come forwards, furious at Tarn’s actions.

“You too? You want to taste this knife?” yelled Tarn, rushing towards the man, who turned and ran away. He shouted at him in derision as he loped off, and kicked the younger man who lay groaning, unable to get up.

Two of the Corsairs had managed to draw off one of the other elves and were driving him back to the shore, and one remained in combat with the remaining Corsair, the biggest of the southerners. But the first elf, who had come forwards with the two Lossoth men was now facing Tarn, and he looked unruffled. He held a slender sword outstretched and did not move. Tarn sidestepped around him holding the harpoon ready. He was not going to make the first move, but he jerked the weapon slightly as though he were about to thrust it towards the elf, who responded by jabbing the sword at Tarn’s stomach. Tarn jumped back and quickly swung the harpoon down at the elf, who sidestepped nimbly.

To his alarm, the elf quickly came behind Tarn and locked his arm around his neck. As he was about to thrust the sword into the man, Tarn jabbed his elbow back hard into the elf’s stomach, winding him. He used all his strength and took hold of the elf, almost as tall as he was, and threw him down. The elf dropped his sword with the force of his landing, and as he struggled to catch hold of it, Tarn saw it lying there.

He went to grab the weapon but the elf was there first and though he was still prone, he took the sword in his hand and slashed it towards Tarn’s shoulder. Tarn ducked, throwing his weight down onto the prone elf, and though he did not receive a fatal blow, he felt the sword slash at the skin on his upper arm, and felt the hot gush of blood swelling up. His head filled with a seething rage, he took hold of the collar of the elf’s jerkin and staring him in the eye, overflowing with vengeance, he bashed the elf’s head with his own.

The elf lay still and Tarn got up too quickly, feeling dizzy with the loss of blood to his arm. He stumbled on the ice and went back down to his knees. As he caught his breath, he saw the elven sword, stained with his own blood, and grasped hold of it; luckily the injury had been done to his left arm. Wincing as he tried to stand again, he looked for the big Corsair man who was nowhere to be seen. The elf he had been battling was now engaged with another fight. Tarn’s eyes widened as he realised where the man must be. The pain in his arm briefly forgotten, he rushed across to where he knew the hole to have been, and crouched down at the edge of the break in the ice.

The Corsair was grimly hanging onto an axe which he had thrust into the ice sheet. Tarn could see his face, turning blue with the cold, but the rest of his body was under the ice sheet, unable to resist the strong pull of the swift current. The man’s eyes were still open and they flashed a look of panic as he saw Tarn; he was unable to talk. Taking his harpoon and quickly working the hook in the blade under the man’s collar, Tarn heaved as hard as he could and managed to draw the man back closer to the opening in the ice. He took hold of the man’s other arm and winced as he felt the cold water yet kept a firm hold. With his injured arm he removed the harpoon and flung it behind him then took hold of the hand which still held the axe, and dragged the man up and out of the water.

Tarn looked at him briefly. The battle was far away from them now and he could afford a few minutes to make sure the Corsair was going to live. He liked the man. He had been more friendly than some of the other Corsairs, and they had spent some time talking about their shared interest in hunting on the previous day. He wanted him to live. Remembering the flask of fiery spirits the man had offered around, Tarn searched his soaking pockets for it. The drink was not frozen, and Tarn poured a little onto the man’s lips. He spluttered and motioned thanks. Finding a fur from a fallen elf, Tarn placed it onto the man in the hope of warming him up, and headed off to find a sled for the man’s rescue.

[Taralphiel]

Freyn listened to Alahseey speak her case, and nodded along with it. Truth she spoke of their long friendship. Freyn had always respected her position, and he knew well she was a strong and dependable leader.

"Can you do that Freyn? I ask you to do nothing dishonorable, nor to break your pledge to the Elf, but merely to speak out on my behalf so that the truth may be heard....."

Freyn knew something had been bothering him about the Company members. He felt that there was danger, apart from what Nature had already dealt.

"Aye, I see something amiss, Alahseey, and so I will do this for you. I also fear this same threat upon our Company, and I will keep my guard tonight, and as long as I must before it is all over..."

[Kitanna]

Nilak continued to advance across the ice. He knocked down a few Lossoth and even one or two Elves with his harpoon. The tip was stained with the blood of men who had not been so very different from him and life. Nilak tried not to think about it. This was just like all those boats he'd help sink in the shore. No different.

Nilak was suddenly hit from behind. Another Lossoth body slammed him, knocking him to the ground facedown. The snow stung his face and he tried to get to his feet. Whoever knocked him down wasn't very strong so Nilak was able to push him off and get back to his feet.

The other Lossoth was still sitting in the snow. Weaponless. He reached out and grabbed Nilak by the leg and attempted to sink his teeth in. The Lossoth was so desperate he was resorting to biting Nilak. Luckily his boots would block out the attempt. Nilak drew out his dagger and ran it through the other Lossoth's chest.

He made a gurgling sound and spit up blood on Nilak's boots and all over the ice. He sat there twitching by Nilak's feet and trying to say something. Nilak took pity on him and decided to end his suffering. He lifted his harpoon high and drove into the other's chest.

[Orofaniel]

The drowsiness made him dizzy as he lay still. He was drifting away. The dreams were all over and he found it hard seperating them. What was real and what fantasy? He couldn't stay on one path only; it was as if he had no control at all. Sighing in his endless sleep he lay there. Around him followed a battle, a bloody battle between the Corsairs and the Elves. He knew this because he was somewhat conscious, but at the same time he was dead to the world. He could feel the warming heath around his throat as he had great difficulties breathing. He struggled against the fever that was about to come over him. He had been in the icy water for a long time and this was the result.

Suddenly, he could hear Annû’s and Carandû’s voice. The words were not easy to understand, but at least he heard the voices of those friendly creatures. He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't let him. Another struggle followed. Two faint shapes were standing in front of him, fighting like heroes against the horrible Corsairs that wanted to see the Elven brothers' blood flow on the ice. The brothers wanted the opposite - he could tell by their way of fighting. As he saw how the Corsairs attacked them, he felt like he was suffocation. He would lie there and watch them fall without doing anything. He struggled again, trying to move his cold body. It worked. His hands clenched to the solid ground, fighting himself up in a sitting position. His vision however, was still faint and he still felt like he was burning up inside.

"Behind you Galhardir!" A voice cried. Galhardir turned, and it seemed like an eternity before he noticed what was coming towards him. A sword was going to strike him right down if he didn't move quickly. His thoughts weren't clear, nor was his vision, so what was he going to do? Fumbeling on all four, he managed to seize a club just in time before it was to late. He hewed it through the air and hit the man that was coming for him. He fell to the ground with a great sound, and found himself now on Galhardir's level. As the Corsair yet again tried to get a hold of his sword, one of the elven brothers then managed to force an attack. The Corsair got up, and fought back; leaving Galhardir was out of danger – for now, at least. Thinking of Annû and Carandû as his good friends as they had saved him from the enemy, Galhardir fell again to the ground as he fainted.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Sprinting down to the ice to take his place beside the other fighters, Luindal had only a moment to dwell upon the strange scene that had taken place between Alahseey and Hilde. The tiny shreads of rope on the axe blade seemingly confirmed Hilde's accusation. Yet Luindal wondered if this was the whole story: perhaps something more was going on than first seemed apparent . Something niggled uncomfortably at the back of his mind, but he had no specific objections to offer, only a vague feeling of discomfort.

For the next few hours, he had little time to think about either of the women. His own hands were full: making sure that his wounded were conveyed to a place of safety, darting in and out to reinforce the small groups that were battling the Corsairs, and going hand to hand in combat with individual Corsairs. Throughout the entire afternoon, Luindal made a point to notice where the Corsair sea captain was fighting. Despite his growing dislike of the man, he could not help but admire an opponent who so craftily used every means at his disposal. The holes in the ice, like the rocks in front of the door of the cavern, had clearly not gotten there by accident.

Several times, Luindal attempted to force the Corsair captain to come out and directly engage him. But the man was maddeningly allusive, and seemed to enjoy playing a cat and mouse game. Luindal could have sworn that the fellow was enjoying poking fun at his earnestness. If he hadn't known otherwise, Luindal would have said that the Corsair leader almost seemed to know him, his likes and dislikes and what strategy he would be most likely to adopt. They seemed to be acting out an old, familiar dance, a fact that infuriated Luindal even more.

Luindal's desire to strike a personal blow at Marreth had at least two motivations. First, without their leader, the Corsairs would be much less effective and might decide to leave the Bay; at the very least, the group should dissolve in warring factions. Yet, there was another element as well: a personal sense that this fellow had played him for an innocent, that he'd had enough of this upstart and would like to strike a blow that would push the smirk off Marreth's face, and avenge the suffererings of his own men.

Luindal had decided to give chase to the Captain with the intent of engaging him one-on-one when the white bear came stumbling through the lines, his long tongue lolling from his great maw and his chest heaving with exertion, "Luindal, we've many wounded. And the men are tired. We can not go on like this. Call a retreat. Our job is to seize the Stones, not to engage in bloody combat down to the death of the final man. I do not think the Corsairs will follow, for they are close to exhaustion themselves. There is a way off the beach under the shelter of those scrub evergreens that will give us cover to get away."

For an instant, Luindal opened his mouth to object: he wanted to chase after his wily opponent and teach him a lesson, not go running off to his ship. Then he thought twice and shook his head, "You are right. These Corsairs make us forget why we are here." Luindal raised the horn to his mouth and sounded the three long notes to regroup and retreat. He watched as men and Elves pulled back from the fray and slowly made their way down towards the southern portion of the shore. He started trotting in that direction beside his friend Rôg and glanced back once over his shoulder. He could have sworn that Marreth was laughing at him....

[Regin Hardhammer]

The combat that afternoon had been harsh, but the men fought with vigor and out of a sense of allegiance to their beloved Captain. Marreth fought alongside them, his brown cloak billowing out behind him as he dashed from one end of the shore to the other, engaging various Elves in hand to hand combat. He had killed or wounded three of them already, although he had fought many more.

Marreth was careful to be constantly moving so as to make himself a harder target for anyone wanting to pick him off. Despite Marreth’s intense hatred of the Elvish warriors and their appearance of being too soft, he had to admit that they were dauntless fighters and very well trained. His own crew was growing weary from the dense and unrelenting combat: several had died and many more were wounded. Marreth did not want to tell his men to retreat, fearing that it might convey weakness to the other side. But if a break in the fighting did not come soon, he felt he had little other choice.

Marreth had just finished skewering the head of another Elf with his rapier when three long, dulcet notes rang through the air, and Luindal’s party began to scamper towards shore. “Bloody cowards,” Marreth roared out to his crew, “Mates, we pounded them like an angry storm thrashing a frigate. But we are tired, and I hardly think that we have any need to finish them off. They have learned never to meddle with Captain Marreth and his crew.”

Despite his bold words, Marreth was very glad that Luindal had decided to retreat first, allowing the Captain to save face. In actuality, the battle had likely been a draw, and Marreth did not see how one side would have been able to gain any sort of clear advantage.

Smiling as he watched the Elves retreat, Marreth froze when Luindal sprinted past him. This meddlesome Elf was the chief obstacle that prevented the Corsairs from obtaining the Palantiri. And, although he was reluctant to admit it, Luindal had proven a shrewd and able adversary. Shivering with excitement, Marreth imagined the Elvish party retreating with the corpse of their dead leader. Now was the prime opportunity to eliminate this threat once and for all.

But taking out the Elvish leader meant much more to Marreth than simply a practical matter of getting rid of the intruder. Marreth’s insides bubbled with steaming anger against the leader. This hatred arose not only from the fact that Luindal had wounded or killed several of his beloved crewmembers, but also on account of his own father driven to madness and murdered by the Elf’s Gondorian allies after they summoned the living dead. In Marreth's mind, Luindal was becoming the symbol of everything that had given him trouble and was responsible for the death of this own beloved father.

Marreth snatched a longbow off the back of a crewmate and steadied his arm as he darted forward and aimed for the vile creature’s heart. Deftly, he plucked the drawstring, hurling the arrow through the air towards the leader. He drew back his arm and let the arrow fly straight and true. But, by chance, a gust of wind came from nowhere and pushed the arrow sideways, so that it grazed the side of Luindal's arm. The Elf looked up, dazed and confused, and saw Marreth’s scowling face. Before Luindal could return fire, Marreth dashed away, cursing the vile wind that had knocked the arrow from its path. Despite the disappointment, Marreth was not unhappy. He consoled himself with the fact that he had wounded and sent a clear message to Luindal. The Elvish leader should take heed of the signal that Marreth had given him: he was in grave danger of losing his life.....

Shouting out to his own men to pull back, Marreth led the Corsairs towards the shore oppsite the one where Luindal and his crew had headed.

[Arry]

Not all the Elves had retreated. The small group of wounded, which the two brothers alongside Elwë and Andtuariel were protecting, were just being helped to their feet as the main body of Elves and Lossoth allies followed after the Captain. Annû heard the horn call that signaled the troops to pull back. He knelt down and hoisted one of the wounded up, putting the man’s arm across his shoulders. Elwë and his sister had already helped the rest of the wounded up and had turned to guide them toward the southern part of the shore.

‘Come, brother,’ Annû said, putting his hand on Carandû’s arm. ‘Let us make haste to join the others. These men need the services of the healer.’

‘Start toward where the rest of our group is headed,’ returned Carandû. Not taking his eyes off something in the distance, he shrugged off his brother’s hand and waved him on.

His gaze was on the one who had just shot at Luindal. ‘Foul men of Harad,’ he muttered. ‘Bedfellows still to Mordor’s shadow,’ he cursed, seeing the shaft graze his Captain’s arm.

The Elven warriors of Rivendell trained long in the uses of their weapons. And by the time he had been sent to escort the Lady Celebrian to the Havens, Carandû was already a master of the bow. He nocked an arrow quickly and drew back his longbow, murmuring a plea to Manwë as he did so.

'O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Firstborn in their need!

His shaft flew true and would have pinned the Southron dog between the shoulder blades, save for the quick jog to the left the Corsair captain made as he sidestepped a small group of dead men that lay in his way. Instead, Carandû saw the shaft nick the man’s right shoulder, then fall to the ground as the Corsair yanked it from him.

Face impassive, Carandû gazed a short time at the Corsair, then turned quickly on his heel and returned to help his brother and the others bring the wounded to safety.

[piosenniel]

Rôg hastened to his friend’s side. Luindal had grabbed his arm as the arrow grazed it, his gaze turning toward the Corsair’s leering face. ‘Don’t stand there like some great Eldar strawman target! Come on now!’ Rôg grasped onto the Elf’s uninjured arm and hurried him along.

Soon they found themselves at a forested area along the southern part of the beach along with the other survivors. Rôg called for one of the healers to come over and look to the captain’s injury. Luindal waved the woman away saying he wanted the others seen to first. ‘Oh, and what will we do when you fall ill from your wound and there is no captain to guide us in through the remainder of this task?’ The healer raised her brow and pointed to the Captain’s arm, indicating he should push up his sleeve and let the wound be seen to. Luindal acquiesced as Rôg reminded him the longer he kept the healer waiting, the longer it would take for others to be treated.

He left the captain in the care of the healer and wandered about beneath the trees. Elwë and Andtuariel had just helped the wounded men they’d brought in to sit down and had begun cleansing their wounds. Annû was busy gathering wood for several small fire pits that a number of the Elves had quickly cleared. Soon, Rôg hoped, there would be hot water for tea and something to eat. Carandû, his brother said, had gone off to bring the reindeer down with the supplies of food and the extra blankets.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The Elven camp was gradually pulling into shape. Several firepits had been dug and wood collected to start a cheerful blaze. Pots of thick meat soup and kettles of herb tea had been suspended over the pits and were merrily bubbling as they cooked.

Most importantly, the healers bustled about the camp tending to the needs of the wounded. Marreth's arrow had only slightly grazed the flesh of his arm, yet he was grateful for Rôg's insistence that he have the healer apply her soothing herbs. In truth, the wound hurt more than he'd expected, While he kept his thoughts to himself, the strained look on his face attested to the stinging pain that now coursed through his upper arm making it difficult to concentrate or do anything more than sit and cradle one hand in another. The healer had assured him that he would be wholy recovered in a day or two, yet for the moment he could do very little that was useful. Added to this was the grim realization that, while all the injured were expected to heal and regain their strength, they had lost five men: two Elves and three of the Lossoth volunteers.

Once the Corsairs had retreated, Luindal had circled back to the Bay and gathered a large bucket of ice both for himself and the others who were wounded, since this seemed to provide some remedy for the stinging pain. Glancing around the Bay, Luindal noted that three of their casualties had been swept away by the swift currents when the men had slipped into the deep waters, but two of the bodies remained stretched out on the ice. Burial was not possible given the frozen tundra, and a large burning funeral pyre was apt to attract too much attention from the Corsairs. Luindal decided to ask his companions to gather up the bodies and strap them onto one of the reindeer's sledge so the Lossoth could be returned to his kin and the Elf given a suitable memorial.

Returning to the encampment with his bucket, Luindal distributed chunks of the ice and then beckoned Carrandu over to his side, thanking him for his parting shot at the Corsair Captain, "Perhaps I've misjudged you, for you've at least given Marreth something to think about . When we get back to camp, we'll summon the Elders and hold a hearing to try and figure out exactly what happened on the ice today. If you'd like, you are welcome to speak on your own behalf to clear your name fully. Meanwhile, we'll keep Alahseey tied up. Get someone to help Freyn watch her, as he will need his share of sleep. Do it yourself if you like, or find another. I have already stationed guards on the perimeter of camp to warn us against any Corsair visitors, but I believe that will not happen now. I had actually thought to leave tonight, but I see no way to do that until the men have rested. We will rise early in the morning and make our way to the ship. Let the men know what will happen."

With that Luindal leaned back on his pallet. feeling that he had gone a way to mend fences with Carrandu. Lying flat on his back, with his arm supported by a block of ice, the Elf nodded to Rôg to come over, telling him of his plans, and then added, "One more thing...I've had enough of this searching on land. We are finding nothing and I feel like a duck out of water. From now on we will be heading into the Bay itself. Give me two days to heal and I swear I will find those blasted Stones if we have to swim from one end of this half-frozen Bay to the other. "

[Regin Hardhammer]

It was late at night, but Marreth did not intend to camp on this frozen sheet of ice until the morning. The wind howled and a violent blizzard had whipped up which saw snow descending heavily around his men. He could not wait until he could return to his comfortable, warm quarters, away from this frigid wilderness. There was no time for burying the dead, and the wounded must be readied for transport. In addition to the abominable weather conditions, Marreth wanted to resume his search immediately for the Palantiri. The Captain wanted to insure that Luindal and his Elves did not get there ahead of the Corsairs.

“We’re leaving now mates,” he announced to his crew as the heavy wind wiped his brown cloak, “We best get back to the ship before we all freeze to death. It’s a long trek, I know. But it’s better than sitting and freezing here.” On the way back, Marreth reflected on the shot that had nearly missed piercing Luindal’s chest. Curse that infernal wind that had knocked the arrow into the side of the Elf’s arm. If only he could get one more chance to do the job, Marreth felt sure that he would succeed. He was still nursing a minor cut he had received from one of the Elves, but he was convinced that Luindal's wound was giving him more pain.

When the Corsairs returned to the ship after an all night trudge, Marreth felt relieved and slightly sullen, still mulling over his missed opportunity. Cold and exhausted, his arm aching slightly. he flopped down on his bed. It felt like a furnace in contrast to the freezing winds outside. Before drifting off to sleep, Marreth began to ponder where exactly he would look for the Palantiri next.

[Arry]

‘Brother, there is something very strange going on here.’

Annû nodded his head in agreement with Carandû, then raised his brows. ‘I’d like to agree with you, but perhaps you can fill me in a little more,’ he said. ‘I’m not quite sure what it is you’re getting at.’ Carandû smiled up at his brother and shook his own head. ‘Little brother, always by my side . . .’ He handed his bowl to Annû. ‘Speaking of “filling in”, I think I need a bit more in my belly. How about you?’

Carandû spoke no more of his concerns until the meal was done. Then he motioned for Annû to take a little walk with him. When they had gone a little ways from the rest of the group, Carandû broke the silence. ‘You know the Captain never really said why I was assigned to reindeer duty and was kept out of the main part of the action. There was some suspicion on his part . . . but about what I don’t know. And now it seems there is a shift in focus, someone else is under suspicion. And once again the reason is unclear to me.’ He glanced over to where the guard he’d set was watching over the Lossoth woman.

‘It’s no suspicion, brother,’ Annû replied, his gaze also falling on Alahseey. ‘Have you not heard? We almost lost Galhardir.’

‘His rope broke; he was pulled into the water. I know that much . . .’ Carandu said.

‘Not broke, Carandû . . . I’ve heard the rope was severed . . . with her axe,’ Annû whispered, nodding toward the prisoner. ‘She stood up with it in her hand. A lot of Elves and Lossoth saw her.’

Carandû’s brow furrowed as he tried to reconstruct that time just before the Corsairs attacked. His brother’s reconstruction of the events did not ring true for him. He was above and to the side of where the searchers were. He remembered checking Annû’s line from that distance – it was tied to a tree and ran out to his brother’s group without break. He’d looked quickly at the others’ ropes, too. Nothing had struck him as out of the ordinary. And the axe . . . that was it! Someone he’d glanced at had had an axe in her hand . . . a woman . . .

‘Listen, Annû . . . I don’t think it was her . . .’

The conversation came to a halt as the brothers heard someone’s steps behind them. It was one of the other Elves. He’d come to tell Carandû that the Captain’s request had been seen to. The crew and their Lossoth companions would be ready at dawn to return to the ship. ‘We’ve cleared one of the sleds for the wounded,’ he continued. ‘The other,’ he said looking away for a moment, ‘we will use to bring back the fallen.’

Annû and his brother returned to the camp beneath the trees. Carandû had promised Freyn he would take over watch of the prisoner while the Lossoth took some rest. Perhaps he could speak with Alahseey then . . . she must feel as confused as he had . . .

[piosenniel]

Rôg stayed with Luindal for a while, talking over the Captain’s change in plans for continuing the search. ‘I think you’re right in switching where we should be hunting for the palantiri,’ Rôg said. ‘We’ve had no luck on land . . . and if you remember, I had an idea about how we could go about finding and bringing them up. Of course, you’ll need to have full use of that arm of yours.’ Rôg chuckled and was about to make some joke when he heard a strange sound. The herbal tea that Freyn had given Luindal to ease the pain had taken effect it seemed and much to the skinchanger’s surprise, the Elf had fallen asleep and was snoring. He covered the Captain with a thick fur and left him to his dreams.

The wounded had been treated by the healers and all the company had filled their bellies with good food and hot tea. Rôg could see the guards that Luindal had set about the perimeter of the camp, their weapons in hand, eyes alert to any dangers. He felt secure as he marked their presence. And there was Carandû he noted, keeping watch over the prisoner. A thought niggled at the back of his mind as he saw the Elf talking to the Lossoth elder. Something he meant to remember before the Corsairs had attacked. He tried to review the sequence of events, but his thoughts were muzzy, his mind and body dead tired from the exertions of the day. He gave up trying to remember and headed off for some rest, himself.

~*~

Rôg was late in getting up the next day. The Elves were up and about, already getting everything and everyone ready to go back to the ship. Luindal was overseeing the move and looking as if he felt much better, though from time to time his hand strayed to his injured arm, rubbing it. The group tramped further down the beach to where the longboats could come in close to the shore. Then, the wounded were loaded into the boats first and taken back to the ship.

Last to go was Luindal who stayed to make sure everyone had gotten off the beach. As a measure of respect for the fallen he came back in the last boat, behind which trailed the smaller craft that bore the bodies of the dead.

[Orofaniel]

Feeling all better, Galhardir was exceedingly happy to be back at the ship. Last night had been a night without much sleep, and he was no left alone in his cabin to rest. Even though he wasn't completely healed, he felt much better. He didn't remember as much as he wanted from the events of yesterday, though. He did remember being lost on the ice, not able to find Luindal. He also remembered the horror he had felt. He shuddered. He didn't believe he had ever been that frightened in his whole life. But the rest of it was very faint to him. The reason he had been lost on the ice however, he remembered too well; his rope. The end that Hilde and Alahseey was supposed to hold was suddenly just in front of him. Speaking of that, it had been quite short, which meant that it had been cut of just before he noticed it himself. He wondered if it really had been an accident or if....Paranoia wasn't his way of dealing with things. He let it go, as he tried to recall the events that had happened later on. He remembered that he had cried for help. Yes, he remembered that pretty well. No answer had come though, which had made him even more insecure and frightened than he had been before. The next things that followed were....Oh, yes, the ice. The ice had suddenly started to move. The ice had all of a sudden been torn apart underneath his feet....Thinking about this, he realised that everything after that was in fact, missing. A big black hole in his memory. How could he fill it? He wanted to remember. He closed his eyes again as he lay in his bed. Focusing on the lost memories he once again managed to pull threads from the previous events. He had in fact managed to escape from that particularly trap; it had been another one who had almost killed him.

Although these were only faint thoughts, he knew that this was in fact what had happened. Even thought his mind didn't fully remember it, his body did. But how had that hole he'd jumped into gotten there? He couldn't recall seeing any such holes in the ice from earlier adventures. Such holes just didn't exist. It was different if the ice had done it all by itself, meaning that the water beneath it had been moving, causing the ice to stir. This was different. Such a hole he had jumped into couldn't have been caused by the water beneath it. It just couldn't. How could this be?

The knocking on the door surprised him, as he had gotten a strict message of Luindal to stay in his bed, preferably, undisturbed. But as he saw his nephew, Rodhal running in, he was delighted to see him. "Uncle!" He gasped as he approached the bed. "My dear Rodhal," Galhardir said feeling his heart beat faster. "I was wondering when you were going to pay your old uncle a visit..." he then said, smiling at the young boy. The boy giggled, as he found a chair, seating himself just next to Galhardir's bed. "Luindal told me that you needed some rest, so I told him I’d just visit you later on...But then I saw you through the cabin window, and you were awake...I just thought I'd see how you were feeling, that’s all," Rodhal then said, looking a bit worried about his uncle health. "Oh, how thoughtful of you. Luindall was right, I did need some rest, but I've rested long enough now. I could use some company too you know," Galhardir said as he pulled the quilt over himself. “It’s is in fact, the best medicine, or at least that’s what they say…”

“So, how are you then uncle?” Rodhal asked innocently.

"I still have a bit of a fever, and a few scratches from the falls I've experienced over the last days," Galhardir said, looking at Rodhal again. "Yes, they did tell me," he muttered, pointing at Galhardir's face. He hadn't noticed it himself, but he had gotten himself a big scratch on his left cheek along with some dry blood. "Are you sure you're alright, uncle?" Rodhal then said full of sympathy. "Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine..." Galhardir said, leaning over to give Rodhal a hug.

"Alright then, uncle. I'll go so you can rest some more. Annû told me that I shouldn't stay too long at a time. I could rather come visit you later on. Is that alright?" He asked as he got up from the chair. "Of course Rodhal!" Galhardir said, smiling as widely as he could. He could feel the pain from the scratch however, preventing him of making his smile look convincing.

Just when Rodhal was about to open the door and leave, Galhardir asked him if he could ask Annû and Carandû to pay him a visit. "If they'd be so kind.. I would be very grateful."

[Niluial]

Elwë was happy back in his cabin. He now enjoyed and appreciated the warmth of his room and the soft bed he slept on much more than before. He did not at all enjoy camping out in the ice cold snow, on the hard, numbing ground. He also felt safer on the ship, not so vulnerable. The knot and anxiety that once sat in his stomach for long was almost gone. Of course he did still feel slightly uneasy. They are out there, we saw what they did today. I may be worried about myself, but Andtuariel… she is more vulnerable. I love here, I really do. Elwë stood up suddenly, curious as to where Andtuariel had actually gone to.

He walked down the long corridor, observant of many things he had never noticed before; a crack on the walls, a few painting of a rough sea and a few others and also ornaments in glass cabinets. He looked ahead and Andtuariel stood talking to a Lossoth, smiling ever so sweetly. Elwë gestured for Andtuariel to come to him. He watched her walk towards him. Her sunflower yellow dress danced about her legs as she walked and her hair was slightly messy, though it still looked perfect.

“I wonder what did happen to Galhardir yesterday, it is all very dodgy if you asked me.” Andtuariel said to Elwë. He watched her eyes, they were filled with curiosity and mischief-ness.

“It would be better for us to stay out of it. I would like to know too. I heard Annu talking about it too. I heard that someone cut the ropes and it wasn’t just an accident!”

“Very odd. I wonder who it is.”

[Arry]

Annû was in the galley fixing himself a cup of hot tea when Rodhal wandered in. The boy’s face lit up when he saw the Elf, and he called out Annû’s name. ‘Well, look who’s here,’ said Annû, waving the boy closer. The Elf drew him close to his side with an arm about his shoulders, ruffling Rodhal’s hair as he asked the boy did he want a cup of tea, also. Rodhal nodded his head ‘yes’, asking if there were any honey left to sweeten it. Annû laughed, and brought out the big pot of honey in the cupboard. ‘You’ve as big a sweet-tooth as my brother!’ Rodhal watched with wide eyes as the Elf scooped up a heaping teaspoon of honey and stirred it into the tea.

‘Hey! Did I hear someone saying something bad about me?’ Carandû grumbled coming in through the entryway. He had just finished changing his clothes and was in the process of pulling a thick tunic over his head. Annû held out a mug of steaming tea to his brother, whose nose wrinkled in distaste as he took a sip. ‘Where’s the honey? You know I like two spoonsful!’ He helped himself to more sweetener, frowning as both Rodhal and Annû laughed. The joke explained, Carandû laughed, too, shaking his head at his brother.

‘Are you two busy right now?’ Rodhal asked, blowing on his tea to cool it.

‘Well, no, actually. Did you have something in mind?’ Annû said, pouring himself a little more tea.

‘My uncle would like to see you two. He told me so.’ Rodhal looked hopefully at the two Elves. ‘He’s still awake. I just saw him not too long ago.’

‘Pour another mug of tea, Annû,’ Carandû said, rustling through one of the cupboards. ‘We’ll bring Galhardir a cup and share some of these.’ Carandû pulled out a plate of nutbread slices from the back of the cupboard.

The three walked slowly back to Galhardir’s room, taking care not to spill the mugs of tea. Rodhal opened the door when they got there and peeked his head in. ‘Uncle,’ he said, a smile on his face, ‘look who’s come with me!’

[Orofaniel]

The two elves followed little Rodhal into the cabin. Galhardir looked at them, smiling warmly. "Thank you so much for coming," he said quietly. "We were hoping to visit you as soon as possible," Annû said holding his mug high in the air. "We've brought tea," Carandû said and smiled; “And nutbread. We thought you might be thirsty and hungry..” he added immediately. "Oh, how very kind of you," Galhardir said, sitting up in his bed. The elves found two chairs and seated as well.

Galhardir then thanked his nephew for bringing the two elves to him. "I'm going to climb the look out post again if I'm allowed," Rodhal then said. "I am getting much better," he then continued seeming a bit proud over his achievement. "I see. Well, hurry up then, and be careful," Galhardir said and waved. “When I’m fully recovered I’ll come and watch you,” he then muttered after him.

Now the three of them were alone and free to talk. Annû started to pour some tea into Galhardir cup. Holding the warm cup of tea, he too felt warm. "How are you then?" Annû said, sipping his own tea. ”Feeling much better, thanks. I still have a bit of a fever, but I expect it to be over very soon," Galhardir said. Carandû nodded.

"After what I've heard you stayed for quite some time in that icy water," he said, looking a bit worried. "Indeed, too long, but at least I'm alive," Galhardir joked. It was good to hear Carandû's merry laughter again.

"The reason why I wanted Rodhal to bring you here is that I wanted to thank you. Both of you," Galhardir then said humbly. "I don't remember much from the battle, as I fainted a couple of times. But I do know that one of you saved me from one of the Corsairs, who would have killed me if you hadn't been there. I was too weak to fight him on my own," Galhardir said with gratitude, because that was what he felt - gratitude.

The two brothers looked at each other. Annû blused a little, as he didn't know what to say. "It's what companions and friends do," Carandû said eventually. "We help each other when we're in danger," Annû added. "Well, thank you," Galhardir then said again, taking a sip from his tea, which had almost gotten cold within these few minutes.

"Who pulled me up from the water?" Galhardir then asked. The two brothers shook their heads. "Hm...I can't say, really..." Annû said.

There was some silence. None of them spoke much, just drank their tea and ate their nut bread. Galhardir ate and drank eagerly as he was quite hungry. It seemed like a merry atmosphere, but at the same time it was affected by something that Galhardir couldn't put words on.

"Do you know how you got lost on the Ice, Galhardir?" Annû then asked. Galhardir did remember some of it. In fact he had cleared almost everything. "Yes, I do remember that the rope had suddenly been cut. I don't know if it was by accident...or.." he didn't complete his sentence before Carandû continued;" We don't think it was by accident," Carandû as did, his eyebrows closing up, making his face look grave and morbid.

"What?" Galhardir asked. He was confused; of course the thought had hit him, but he never imagined it to actually be the truth. "We know that it was cut by a...spy," Annû said. "A spy?" Galhardir exclaimed.

"Please do explain, because I don't understand," Galhardir said, confused and feeling utterly lost. "Luindal hasn't been here, has he?" Annû then asked. "No, not yet. I think he still thinks I'm asleep. He wanted me to rest for as long as I could," Galhardir then explained.

"Well," Carandû started. "There happened something odd," Carandû then said. "I still don't believe it's true," he added. "Luindal found shreads from the rope you had around your waist on Alahseey's axe blade," Annû told Galhardir. Galhardir gasphed, like he was out of air. Holding his hands over his mouth he was horrified by the ill news.

"Say it isn’t so!" he exclaimed yet again. He almost drop his cup as horrified as he was. "I heard it was Hilde who suspected Alahseey to be some sort of spy...I think she reported it to Luindal and took the matters into his own hands, checking Alahseey's axe," Annû continued. Galhardir did believe it. He couldn't. It had been, after all, Alahseey's and Hilde's job to keep the ropes safe on the bay. How could she have done it?

"I don't believe it was her," Carandû then said. "There was something....I can't express it, but I feel there is something here. It's not right..." he then said. His voice told them that he felt a bit frustrated over himself as he didn't manage to fully express himself the way he wanted too. "I can't believe it either.." Galhardir muttered. He was still in shock.

“I think there will be some sort of a hearing,” Carandû said. “Luindal mentioned it, and said I could come…I think everyone who wants to come may do so,” Carandû said.

“Maybe you should go,” Annû suggested. “I mean, since it was your rope that was cut. Maybe you’ll manage to remember something that can clear this up. It may not be Alahseey after all…we don’t know yet.”

Galhardir thought about this. Maybe he had seen something on the ice, but didn’t remember it after his fall. How could he make himself remember it if this really was the case?