Brotherhood, A Story from the Last Alliance:RPG thread

[Daniel Telcontar]

Elendil rode, as usual, on his grey stallion, and normally he would give some attention, pat it now and then, but not today. He had just left the army where it was encamped south of the Nimrodel, and with his son he followed Gil-galad and Oropher into a place where few mortals had ever been: The Golden Wood.

Elendil, ever the King, hid his state of awe, but his eyes greedily swallowed every impression of the golden trees, and the elves that now and then were to be seen. Likewise, Isildur hid is emotions, but his motive was different; he did not like to think how it was impossible for even the men of Númenor to conjure up an image comparable to this.

The four men and elves reached Caras Galadhon, and unmounted. A servant led them up the stairs of a huge tree. Gil-galad was in the front, unimpressed by the sights; he had clearly seen such wonders before. Oropher also kept his gaze in front of him, acting as if he was a bit bored, whereas the two men could not stop gazing in every direction, to the mirth of the elven maidens who sat in the treetops and watched the visitors.

Finally they reached the top, and entered a kind of room on the top of the majestic tree. A table stood in the center, with chairs around, and a few guards stood posted around. Then three people entered the room; Malgalad, king of Loth-lorien, and Celeborn with his wife Galadriel.

Isildur's eyes were caught by Galadriel, and it was not the fact that she was the most beatiful and mysterious elven woman he had ever seen; but her gaze seemed to pierce his soul, as if she knew his every secret. He gasped and looked down in the floor, not able to lift his gaze.

Gil-galad greeted Malgalad and Celeborn solemnly, and then embraced his kinswoman Galadriel, who let out a pearly laughter.
Oropher did the same, though his greeting to Celeborn was the most enthusiastic.

It became clear to Elendil that these were relatives, and this was not just a meeting of war, as much as a reunion of friends. He and Isildur were introduced, and when the turn came to Galadriel he bowed deep and kissed her hand. Even Isildur bowed when Gil-galad said her name, but was due to the fact that he did not dare meet her stare.

They sat down around the table, which Elendil discovered where a part of the tree, and conversation erupted. Elendil soon discovered why Galadriel was present; her knowledge of Sauron was great, and it seemed to him that the others willingly accepted her word. He himself was becomingenchanted, and he could feel the magic of the elves drawing him into another world, were it not for one thing; his son, who sat sullenly next to him.

[Cuthalion]

Not being able to bear the sight of her any longer, Arthain urged his horse on ahead of the others. "Damn the woman! Why did this have to happen? I cannot believe how she used me!" Anger and loathing filled him and he felt the sour taste of bile in his mouth. How long had it been since he had eaten anything, he wondered vaguely, then decided that once they got to Lothlorien, it would cease to matter. He dug in his saddle-bag for an apple and his hand encountered a soft pouch. Curious, he withdrew it and opened it up.

A flash of brilliant green met his gaze, tears filled his eyes unbidden. Melost's stone...the one he was to give to Anwenelme should Melost... No! Never would he let her soil its beauty with her touch as she had stained his own soul. He drew a shuddering breath and slipped the chain over his head and set the stone near his heart. "Where are you, my friend? Have you found your way amid the winding mountain passes, or are you injured with no one to aid you?"

These thoughts began to haunt Arthain and he entertained wild ideas of forsaking his duty and riding off to seek Melost, yet he knew he could not. His own sense of responsibility was too ingrained, that had been one of the many things he had learned from the Elf. Honour and and loyalty would always be foremost.

Suddenly he pulled his horse to a stop as he thought about that a moment. Where had duty gotten Melost? It had brought him betrayal for trust, loneliness for honour, and in all probability, an early death. The one thing he had sought his entire life to avoid. The fact that Arthain had been the instrument of Anwenelme's revenge was so ironic, he had to luagh. "May Melost's curse come home to roost on both of us, witch! We both richly deserve it!" He kicked his horse sharply in the ribs as he turned its head to return to the others. "The sooner we have this over and done with, the sooner I can go in search of Melost."he thought grimly as he went in search of Dorlas.

[ July 16, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya pretended not to have been straining to see and hear anything that had passed between Arthain and Anwenelme. Arthain passed Menelya and proceeded to go searching among the people that were behind her. Menelya looked behind herself and saw Arthain go to Dorlas.

Menelya took that opportunity to move up towards Anwenelme. She opened her mouth to speak to her daughter, but then saw the look Anwenelme was giving her, and stopped her horse in surprise. The look contained such hatred than Menelya had never seen. Menelya fell behind a bit before starting her horse up again.

The company rode in near silence all that morning and afternoon. It seemed that the shock of what had happened even had the twittering ladies quieted a bit. They did not seem to have the courage to complain about the rigorous riding schedule or meager lunch they were dealt during their lunch rest.

Soon, the sun began to make its way from overhead to its setting location in the West. The women slowly became more intrusive in their queries for a rest spot for the night. Menelya rode a little way apart from all of the women and other members of the company. She hoped they would stop soon. She was getting sore from the saddle and she just wanted to sleep.

It began to grow dark as evening approached the stunned company.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Maikadilwen]

As darkness fell, Anwanelme grew more tense and withdrawn, deep in her own thoughts.
She could not stop thinking about Melost and how he was now all alone somewhere, not even having his sword with him so he could defend himself should anything happen.
Everything had escalated in a way she had not foreseen and now she began to doubt her own actions. She had never meant for him to leave the way he had, to completely disappear without a trace but now it was too late to change any of it. What had happened had happened!
With a sigh she looked up and her gaze fell on Thelian who rode ahead of her. Ever had he been like a shadow cast by Melost, only seldom leaving the side of his friend and master.
So why was he here when he should be with Melost, helping him, making sure he would be alright?
Why had he simply abandoned his duty? Was it because that boy, Dorlas, had told him to?

Finally Arthain ordered a halt and a relieved sigh came from the ladies, all of them soon competing about who was most sore from riding.
They set up camp and a good supper was prepared to make up for the very small lunch they had had and soon the crows were well into their usual gossipping.
Anwanelme refused both food and drink, but sat in silence, gazing in the direction from which they had come, a worried look on her usually frigid face.
Noticing Thelian sitting alone, Anwanelme warily went closer and sat down behind him, her head bowed.

"You left him...your master. Your best friend..."
Her voice was quiet but Thelian had no trouble hearing her words and she could see his body grow tense at her words.
"Was it because that boy told you to leave him behind? Have your loyalty turned towards Men now?"

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian heard Anwanelme's voice, and at first he thought it was inside his head. But then he saw her and realised she had really spoken. He thought of his beloved Melost, and controlled his hatred and
bitterness:

"You treat this as a game, do you not? You try to create as much mischief and sorrow as possible! Stay away with your pretty face, that is merely a mask for your devious tricks! If I befriend a man, what matters it to you? He is more honest than most, and harbours no evil, unlike many elves. I had never thought I would say this, but your actions make me wish I was his kind!"

Anwanelme's face did not reveal if his words affected her at all. She merely continued whispering:
"Well, I will not interfere in your business with men. I know from personal experience how enriching a friendship with them can be."

Thelian froze, and his self-control shattered. He grabbed the hilt of his short sword, and flung it out of the scabbard, point turned towards Anwanelme. If he was going to strike her he never found out, for a strong hand closed around his own.
"Let go of your weapon!" Arthain said with a hoarse voice.
"You defend her? Do neither of you feel any kind of remorse? Do you not realise what you have done?" Thelian's eyes were alight with pain, and neither were sure what would have happened, had not Dorlas interfered.

"Arthain, remove yourself. Thelian, relax. Neither of them is worth that you spill their blood."
All looked in shock at the young man, who seemed to have grown taller than all of them.
"Dorlas," Arthain said with a voice ladden with pain," do you abandon me now?"
"You give me little choice. You have allied yourself with the witch twice now, and Thelian is innocent in all of this. I will not allow you to harm him, nor that he take any action he might regret later."

"You will not allow?" Anwanelme laughed, though it was a false laughter with no joy in it, and her face revealed a flash of fear.
"Dorlas is stronger than any of you, and he has seen further than any of us." Thelian replied quietly, and dropped his sword. He removed Arthain's grip on his wrist, and then he slowly turned, walking away with Dorlas.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Dorlas is stronger than any of you, and he has seen further than any of us," Thelian had said softly, and it had been the end of the conversation and argument. It was true, Dorlas had seen it all. He had seen strong friendships shattered, he had seen betrayal and distrust, and so much more in only one day and night. What could he do? There was nothing he could do while still being behind his Elven friend and serving his master at the same time. Dorlas could not back both companions if all they could do was fight.

But had he perhaps prevented Thelian from doing his duty? No, Dorlas had done what was right at the time. He had prevented Thelian from hurting himself with uncertainty being the reason. Perhaps Melost was hurt or wounded, but what could they do when they could not find him in the first place? Dorlas did not see the point in losing Thelian when Melost could be fine or already beyond help.

And what of Arthain? Dorlas did not know Arthain anymore. More than anything else Dorlas wanted to know what his master thought and what Dorlas could do. Was there anything Dorlas could do or be other than the peacekeeper? Was he merely the stitches that kept the group from acting upon impulse? All Dorlas wanted was to help and make things better. However, nothing was better in the aftermath of the night before.

"You and I are bystanders in all of this. We are the ones that they affect without thought. I am not sure if they realize how much it hurts to not be able to help," Thelian murmured when the two squires had found a seat next to the night's fire.

"I think they believe that the extent of their fued reaches only to themselves. Perhaps they do not see that the pain goes much farther than themselves. There is little we can do but watch and make sure it does not escalate out of hand," Dorlas continued, agreeing whole-heartedly with Thelian. Dorlas was glad to have someone there that was in the same position as he.

"And that serpent does not help the matter," hissed Thelian, glaring back to where Anwenelme and Arthain were aguing with expressions, not words. Dorlas was afraid that it would become more than just empty glares and emotionless stares in little time, but decided to let the apprehension slip until something really did happen.

"She treats what she did as if it is a trivial matter. Anwenelme probably believes what she did to Melost was all in a good day's work! Her heart is empty, and in the name of Eru I hope her spirit goes not to the halls of Mandos, but into exile with Morgoth," Thelian continued ranting, until Dorlas handed him some lembas and a water container with a pat on the back.

"There is nothing we can do to change the past," Dorlas reasoned, nibbling on some lembas. "But there is no point in trying to settle the score when Anwenelme will get what she deserves in the end anyway. What we must concentrate on now is getting the women to Lothlorien. Then we can move on to war, and your mind will be taken off of Anwenelme. Perhaps there is still hope to meet up with Melost."

The two ate in silence, a silence that was somehow loud with the thoughts that rang in both squires' minds. It was a contemplating silence, in which neither Dorlas nor Thelian spoke, but perhaps both wanted to. Dorlas was the next one to speak.

"Thank you, for defending me and my kind against Anwenelme's harsh words. It was very honorable of you," Dorlas said gratefully, and Thelian merely nodded.

[Cuthalion]

"You have allied yourself with the witch twice now..." Dorlas words echoed in Arthain's mind as he watched the two squires walk away, Dorlas' hand on Thelian's shoulder in comfort. As Melost and I once were... Arthain hear a mirthless chuckle behind him and spun to see Anwenelme, her head cocked to one side as she looked at him in mock disbelief. "Why did you stop him, Arthain? Your guilt could have been assuaged with one sword-slash after all. Thelain hates me as much as you do since I ran his precious kinsman off. Why have you spared me?"

Arthain narrowed his eyes at her. "I would not have Melost's kinsman become ensnared by you in any way, woman. He has proven far more loyal to Melost than I, I who counted him my closest friend. Torture me if you must, but leave Thelian alone!" She moved away from Arthain slowly, provocatively. "I will do what I please, with whom I please, mortal. Nothing you can say, nothing you can do can keep me from..." Her eyes widened at the look on Arthain's face.

Unbeknownst to her, Arthain had been fighting a battle of his own, a desperate fight to keep himself from throwing away all that he had learned from his friend in the way of honour and friendship. Had that one act changed his entire life that much? The fact that what he had done was so irrevocable, so finite, he was sickened by his own presence...and hers. Her presence tormented him. Her perfumed hair, her lips. He put a hand to his pounding head as he tried to get a grip on his emotions.

Her contemptuous tone shattered his self-discipline and he strode over to her swiftly and grabbed her roughly by the arm. He put his face close to hers. "Yilsa....ah, beloved...how I missed you..." He gritted his teeth as he shoved the false memory from his mind. "Stay away from him, woman. Should you choose to ignore this warning, I will be the one visiting you in your tent, and I swear...I will not be gentle!" He flung her away from him then stalked away, seeing before him the stricken look on Melost's face and the disillusioned one on Dorlas'. He had failed them both and, knowing in his heart he had amends to make, he walked along the edge of the small camp until he came to where Dorlas and Thelian sat in companionable silence.

Thelian started to rise, but Arthain gestured for him to remain seated and crouched down next to him and drew a long breath. He nodded to Dorlas, who returned his gaze briefly, then rose and stretched. "Looks like I'm off to bed, Wake me for my watch." He brushed past Arthain and squeezed his shoulder before he vanished into their tent. "He has much insight for one so young." Arthain looked into Thelian's eyes. "Aye, that he does." he returned softly. "Thelian, I...I cannot attempt to explain what happened, nor why. I want you to know that I grieve that Melost is not yet returned to us. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for the part I played, unwitting though it was." Thelian merely gazed into the fire as the stars wheeled overhead.

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian stared into the fire, not knowing what to reply. He wished he could strike Arthain, and use him to vent out all his anger. He had a harsh reply on his lips, he wished to throw the worst insults in his face, but when he turned and looked at Arthain, he noticed, perhaps for the first time, that his face was nothing but lines of sorrow, and grief.

"He suffers as much as I do, or even more," Thelian thought, and when he admitted that to himself, he found out that maybe he could not forgive Arthain yet, but he could perhaps try. Hesitantly he formed the words, and then spoke them out loud:
"Do not- do not think more upon this matter. The past is the past, and we can not correct its errors. My only concern now is Melost."

Arthain sat down next to Thelian, and it seemed like he wanted to engage in more conversation, but Thelian rose quickly. He still felt anger towards Arthain, and a mere apology could not settle things right between them.
"I am following Dorlas' example." he said, and walked away, leaving Arthain to his dark thoughts.

When he had settled himself in his tent, he thought of how Arthain's relationship was with Melost, and he realised how similar it was to his and Dorlas. Despite his gloomy mood he could not avoid smiling at the irony; what if Dorlas was to hurt him the same way?

He knew that would never happen, though; for not only was Dorlas to honest to ever do such a thing, but, Thelian thought to himself, he was not as vulnerable as Melost had been. Melost had opened himself up for Anwanelme, not knowing that she would take terrible vengeance if she thought he had failed her.
"No," he thought, "I shall never allow myself to love another so much, that they can hurt me so deeply."

[ July 19, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Arthain's heart felt immediately lightened as he heard Thelian's rather hesitant words.

"Do not- do not think more upon this matter. The past is the past, and we can not correct its errors. My only concern now is Melost."

So the squire had forgiven him? Arthain knew not how he had managed to do this, but he felt infinitely grateful for this gesture, especially after what had passed today, for that would have given Thelian an easy excuse to form an even deeper grudge towards Arthain. The man stood and sat beside Thelian, thinking to make a reply which might ease the tenuous bond between them further...but Thelian stood, quickly, stepping away, his expression almost one of disdain, it seemed to Arthain.

"I am following Dorlas' example." The elf said hurriedly, before walking away briskly. Arthain watched him go, and as the squire moved into the darkness, Arthain's heart and mind settled into the same. He thought more deeply on the some of the words which Thelian had said: "Do not- do not think more upon this matter."

Do not think on this matter? The matter of the snake? How could that even be possible?! Arthain felt anger rise in him as he stared fiercely into the fire which suddenly matched his feelings, and thought of the way in which Thelian had departed so suddenly when Arthain sat down beside him, standing quickly and stepping away, as if Arthain was dirty. And Dorlas had abandoned him, left him for the elves, for a member of the race that had been his downfall, that had caused him so much pain...

He slumped, and shame overwhelmed him suddenly as he realised the foolishness of his thoughts. Thelian had acted valiantly in trying to put his mind to some sort of rest, although it was impossible for it to come to such, and for that he should not be angry at the squire. And Dorlas... well, why should I blame him for going, Arthain thought bitterly. Why should be ally himself with one so soiled?

"Dorlas, do you abandon me now?"

"You give me little choice. You have allied yourself with the witch twice now,"

No! The thought was so strong in Arthain's mind that he almost yelled it out aloud as he stood abruptly. It was wrong! He had not allied himself with the viper, as he now called her always, he had done nothing of the sort! If his squire had known what had gone on in his mind before and as he grabbed Thelian's wrist- it was not the viper he had been protecting! It was an instinct, the sense of duty that lived in him, the oath that he had sworn to uphold. The oath that he would never allow an innocent or woman to be harmed. And when Thelian had raised his weapon, all Arthain had seen was an image of the woman he had loved, and who he had thought he had been with that fateful night, a blinding flash in his mind. The image of a woman who had had no protection. Yilsa.

So much was misunderstood here, and was misunderstood by the one who was meant to understand Arthain better than any- for in battle what would become of them if this apparent rift was still there? Arthain deserved to die, as Melost would have wished, but for the second part of the elf's 'curse' on Arthain to be fulfilled? For the one he loved most to die in his arms? Impossible. All who he loved had turned from him, or their spirit had left this world completely.

Arthain tore his gaze abruptly away from the fire and gazed into the night, staring out the shards of broken light which flickered across his eyes after staring into the fire, and for a few moments simply stared into the darkness which surrounded the camp. Then, his heart heavy and thoughts of what was to become of all who were, or had been, close to him, he departed to the tent where he would lie sleepless until morning.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelya and the others sat away from everyone else. The women talked loudly with one another about Thelian's attempt on Anwenelme's life. Menelya kept shooting glances over at her daughter, trying to catch her eye. Anwenelme never looked towards her mother though.

Menelya sighed loudly. This whole ordeal was Anwenelme's fault. If the strumpet had not committed her acts of bitterness, none of this would have happened. Menelya would not be the center of scorn and mockery and Anwenelme would be well on her way to marrying Melost, furthering Menelya's position. Instead of being higher than these giggling dolts, Menelya had fallen to the bottom of the social ladder. It all happened to suddenly. A week ago, Menelya was sure that at that time the next week, she would be revered by the idiots that now sat teasing her and showing false sympathy towards her situation.

"And did you see the look in his eyes?" one woman said, her shrill voice penetrating Menelya's thoughts, "I would not be surprised if he ended up killing someone! I just hope it is not one of us. If my husband was here...he would not stand for such a display! That boy would be sent away!"

"And that girl! Menelya! How could you let that girl grow up to be so...so...how could you let her be that way? It is all her fault though. Maybe the boy should have gone through with his deeds," another said.

"Shush!" another said, "We should not blame Menelya! Although she does show the same low class as the girl, the girl's low class does not directly reflect Menelya's behavior!"

"Maybe you all should keep your noses out of what is not your business," Menelya said coldly, "We do not want more deeds of a 'cold-blooded' nature while you sleep, do we?"

"You would not dare," the first Elf woman said, challengingly, "Do you know what that would do to your reputation?"

"Frankly, I don't see how it could bring me any lower down," Menelya said quietly, "And it might feel good. What about you?" she indicated to the woman, "Would you be dreadfully offended if your blood was spilled on this night."

The woman looked at her in shock. "I suppose you would mind then?" Menelya said, thoroughly enjoying her little game, "Oh well. A woman can dream still, can't she?"

The women all fell silent, their own games no longer fun. Menelya continued to glare at them for some time, then she looked over at the group. Arthain had left for his tent, it appeared. This was all Anwenelme's fault. And yet, Menelya still felt a strange twinge of pride. Anwenelme certainly knew how to take her revenge. She had managed to ruin the lives of every one of those that she felt had oppressed her. Yes, it included Menelya, but the Elf mother was still proud. Anwenelme had shown more of Menelya's own traits in the past few days than Menelya had ever seen displayed in her daughter.

Menelya looked at the silent women, who were looking at her in both rage and fear. Menelya again noted Arthain's disappearacne.

"Well, it seems as though Master Arthain has gone to bed. I suppose you all should as well. I think I will stay up...no: don't worry. I am merely checking on the well-being of my daughter. She must have had just an awful night," Menelya said, making a show of looking over and Anwenelme sympathetically. She really had no intention of approaching the girl this night.

The women looked at Menelya closely as they left one-by-one for their tents. Menelya sat staring out into the dark, not really intending on sleeping on that night or even going into her tent, if she had any say in that matter.

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Dorlas slept soundly, trying to figure out why all the recent events were bothering him so much. He was woken up in the early hours of the morning by Thelian, who was half-asleep and asking Dorlas to take watch. Dorlas sat by the fire after this, poking the largest pieces of wood with a twig as he contemplated what would happen after Lothlorien.

It was better than thinking about what had already happened, Dorlas had decided. He couldn't change what had already happened and he certainly could not help Arthain and Melost in any way other than to show them how they are just like he and Thelian. But Dorlas could consider the future.

His confused and dreary thoughts were interrupted just before dawn as Arthain came to sit next to him. Arthain said naught, but he stared at the flickering embers idly as Dorlas looked to him in slight disbelief.

Part of Dorlas thought Arthain was insane to sit next to Dorlas as if nothing had happened. In this act Dorlas thought he had become all to like the viper and it frightened Dorlas slightly. At the same time Dorlas told himself that he should never be surprised at what Arthain would do, for he was an open book that could be read anytime. Unfortunately, Dorlas was beginning to think the open book that was Arthain was written in a foreign language to the squire.

"I don't understand you Arthain. Do you not realize that you are just like Anwenelme? Can't you see what you have done to Melost? Can't you see what you've done to me...even to Thelian?" Dorlas whispered angrily, trying to contain his voice so as not to wake the women. Arthain turned his head to face Dorlas slowly, and his eyes were cold and distant.

"Do you realize what kind of effect this has on me? Can you honestly blame this all on me? Thelian has made peace with me, why can't you?" Arthain growled back, trying to keep an even tone and not upset the young squire into rage. Dorlas stood and went to toss another log onto the fire as he thought of a reply.

"You have not made peace with yourself. How can I believe you when you are still unsure of everything that has happened yourself?" Dorlas shot back, sitting back down. Dorlas knew everything he wanted to vent out and scream at Arthain, but he could not put it into words. There were so many things Dorlas wanted to blame on Arthain, but he couldn't say it! The words were empty in his mouth, and his questions were only the simplest he could think of.

"You do not understand what has happened-" Arthain began, but he was cut off by Dorlas immediately after this phrase, for he had said the wrong thing.

"Do you know why I don't understand?" Dorlas asked, finally raising his voice to a shout. "I don't understand because you don't talk to me! You aren't telling me anything! I don't understand because you won't let me!"

With that, Dorlas abruptly left the fireside to go and wake Thelian. The sun was almost up and they needed to prepare for the new day. All he had truly wanted to say to Arthain had been said in that one last shout, and he had nothing more to say until Arthain could explain himself. Thelian woke up groggily, and it reminded Dorlas strangely of him on all the midnight horserides they had taken a few weeks earlier.

The women woke up with muffled comlpaints, knowing they would hold no sway over Arthain, or Dorlas for that matter. All the young human squire wanted was to go off to war and leave the silly matters of the elven women behind.

[Cuthalion]

A night, a day, a night, a day...Melost moved wearily up the rocky incline of the Redhorn Pass, under the watchful eyes of carefully concealed denizens of the mountains. His tormented mind had long ago torn itself to shuddering mangled bits. The faces of those he had loved, had fought beside, had admired, flowed together to form a single image which seemed to have embedded itself forever in his brain, like a dagger driven deep in a killing stroke.

He had long ago howled away his voice, he had no tears, no emotion left. Betrayal on such a deep level had slain him, all that remained was for him to realize that he was dead. Stubbornly, his body pressed on, determined to prolong the agony of existance. Melost's despair was slowly killing him and his mind had already sought refuge in Valinor.

Pain radiated through his starving, parched body, but he refused himself comfort of any kind. Voices and visions had filled every moment since he had stumbled out of Arthain's tent. He never even moved aside from the small rock-slide that claimed his consciousness and left him partially buried.



He was free...he was drifting...Melost had escaped the torture of life and was now able to do as he pleased. His first thought was of Anwenelme. Surely it had been a mistake, surely she still loved him. His spirit flew swiftly, seeking her out. It was dawn and there she was, her raven hair spread fan-like in her sleep. Her brow was furrowed....why? He went to her and brushed her lips with his own. She stirred, then sighed. He drew away from her, captured in this moment by her beauty. He loved her, she had not betrayed him, she was still his. He smiled and lay down beside her, his body telling her what his words never had. She writhed in her sleep, then gasped aloud..."Arthain!"

He screamed, the pressure of a hand on his shoulder had forced him back. Melost struggled against the hands that held him...then opened his eyes blindly. "Arthain, is that you?"

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

Anwanelme had quietly gone back to her tent when Arthain had left her, still shocked by the fact that Thelian had almost tried to kill her. And Arthain had actually saved her. But why? She expected that he of any would want to see her dead. Unless...no, he had no feelings for her. That he had made clear to her. She had only been concerned about Melost, that was the only reason she had spoken to Thelian. But apparently they all now believed her incapable of any kind of emotion and only saw evil in everything she did.
She found it hard to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she would see Melost, not the way he had always been, but with the mad-stricken look that had covered his face when he had found her with Arthain.
Tossing and turning, wondering if he would always be haunting her like this from now on, Anwanelme finally drifted into a restless sleep.

She felt his lips on hers and sighed, smiling, glad that he had come to his senses and returned to her.
Opening her eyes as she felt a touch she was startled when she saw not Melost, but Arthain, the same way he had been that night, caring and loving but suddenly feeling weak and unable to resist, she gave in to him.
Smiling she pulled him close. "Arthain!"

With a start she woke up, ripped out of her dreams and she looked around the tent, convinced someone had just been there. She had dreamt about Arthain but she knew he hadn't been in there.
Still feeling the sensation of the last kiss, Anwanelme slowly ran her fingers over her lips, recognising the soft touch.

"Melost?"

Swiftly she jumped up and wrapped her cloak around herself, then stepped outside the tent, but there was no trace of him. With a sigh she realised that had he really been there, he wouldn't have been able to disappear this fast.
He had not come back...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More grumpy than ever, having been pulled from their camp into this forsaken place by Khalad, Vlad looked around the place where he stood. Nothing but rocks. With a deep sigh he tried to figure out what an Elf would do out here on his own, a warrior even. And where did he come from?
In his usual silent way, he knelt down next to the lifeless body they had found, halfway buried under stones and rubble from what seemed to have been a minor rock-slide.

"You're sure this is the one you saw?"

He looked at the tall Númenorean beside him but the younger man only nodded which caused Vlad to smirk. Khalad usually tried to say as little as possible when he was alone with him, since the more noble manner in which he spoke would mostly cause the older man to tease him without mercy and Vlad was fully aware of that.

"I believe you were given a tongue so you could put it to good use, Khalad!" he said dryly and checked to see if the Elf was alive. He found a pulse, slow but steady and he caught himself wondering what had happened. It wasn't his concern, all he wanted to know was if this one had been alone or if more could be expected.
Vlad reached for the water-skin in his belt and he sluiced some of its content over the face of the Elf, both in order to try to wake him up but also to rinse off some of the blood that covered his face and made it impossible to determine his condition.
Moaning, he stirred and Vlad placed a hand firmly on his shoulder to make sure he didn't make any swift movements. He had seen that although the Elf appeared to be a soldier he carried no sword, but there was no way to say if he carried other weapons and Vlad didn't wish to take any chances.

The Elf seemed to regain consciousness and began to struggle, forcing Vlad to make a firmer grip on both his shoulders, when suddenly he opened his eyes and relaxed a little.

"Arthain, is that you?"

"Don't try to speak. For now! You'll have plenty of telling to do later on." Vlad said quietly, releasing his grip on the Elf's shoulders, then turned to the extraordinary tall man who had been standing behind them, scouting for any poor soul who might be foolish enough to get too close to this place.

"Fidrohir! We're taking him with us back to the camp. You and Khalad will carry him. I'll go ahead and tell the others. If Snyd hasn't fallen asleep on his watch again, in which case I'll kill him before getting Jaheira to make herself useful and take care of this guy's wounds. I want him alive so he can answer some questions."

Fidrohir mumbled something inaudible, obviously not content with having to drag a nearly unconscious Elf into their camp with Khalad but he was clever enough not to gainsay Vlad. He was their leader and the fools who had dared to question this, had soon learnt why. And Fidrohir knew that now was definitely not the time to anger Vlad any further. Their provisions were running short and now it seemed they had another person to take care of.
"He must be getting soft!" he whispered to Khalad, nodding towards Vlad as they picked up the Elf. "Why question this one? On all other times he would've killed him."

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad did not reply to Fidrohir's question, only shrugged his shoulders the best he could without losing the elf. He was examining the elf, and could easily tell from his clothing and appearance that he was important, not a common elf. But he could not guess more of his identity; the elves were rare in the south of Gondor, and he had never studied them much, nor interacted with the elves in the nearby woods.

"What do you reckon he was doing 'ere, by himself?" Fidrohir asked. "You are almost half-elf yourself, so you should know." he said it without of scorn, but it stung Khalad anyway; he knew these outlaws would never forget that he was very different from the rest of them.

"I do not know. But there is a war on the march, and I assume he is a part of it. There can be little doubt he is a warrior." Khalad did not bother to correct that the númenorians were not half-elven more than Fidrohir was, for he knew such details were lost on the big outlaw, whose use was in his strength and not his brain.

"Little doubt, eh, Khalad? Well, I have more than little doubt about you. Always playing with that sword of yours, are you. Not planning something dirty, are you?" Vlad snerred.

Khalad kept his silence. He knew Vlad was merely trying to insult him, and the best reply was to be silent. If he spoke again, Vlad would just use Khalad's own words to scorn him further.

He looked at the elf, and hoped that Vlad would keep him alive. Khalad missed the company of others than the outlaws, and the elf appeared promising. At least he would not scorn Khalad for his speech, or background.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira frustratedly sharpened her tools for lockpicking, despite the fact that it had been weeks since they had been used. There was not much else to do in the foresaken spot Vlad had led them to. It was Snyd's watch, but Jaheira had woken when Vlad had been taken from camp by Khalad. Not able to get back to sleep, Jaheira had taken a seat next to Snyd sitting and leaning against one of the many trees in the camp area. Snyd had already fallen asleep, but as long as Vlad did not catch him, he would be fine.

Jaheira was dully putting away her tools when Vlad came storming back into camp with Khalad and Fidrohir behind him carrying something along with them. Jaheira yawned wearily, slid her tools away, and nudged Snyd with her elbow.

"Wake up, Snyd. Unless you want to die at Vlad's hand. Besides, it's almost daylight anyway..." Jaheira whispered lowly, and Snyd blinked slowly and blearily. He stretched in the shadows of the night, before Vlad crouched quietly next to him to see if he was still awake.

"What've you brought us this time, Vlad?" Snyd grumbled, trying to see what Khalad and Fidrohir carried with them. They dropped their burden roughly near the dying fire of the camp, and returned to where Vlad was crouched. Jaheira yawned again, eyeing what looked to be some sort of human by the fire.

"An elf. Just one, and a warrior by the looks of it," said Vlad evilly. Snyd had a questioning look upon his face, as did Jaheira. Why would an elf be alone? Why would Vlad bring it to camp? Just one elf couldn't have been such a threat that they needed to hold it captive!

"A lone elf? Vlad," Jaheira reiterated, shaking her head slowly and defiantly. What was he thinking this time? Not for the first time Jaheira began to think that Vlad had gone mad, but then again, Vlad always turned out to be right about such things. "You know we don't have enough food to care for anyone else. Not to mention he looks pretty dead already to me..."

"He will be dead if someone doesn't look after his wounds. He's barely concious, and he's got a bunch of gashes," Fidrohir added, and Khalad nodded agreement. Jaheira sighed, and crawled away from her spot by the tree to go and find the small pack of healing mixtures and bandages. Then she went over to the fire where the elf was crumpled on the ground, breath shallow and slow.

He's a handsome elf, Jaheira thought as she examined his cuts and gashes. She had rarely chanced to see a live elf, for Vlad always had anything that came too close to camp killed. The elf warrior flinched and winced subconciously as Jaheira put medicines to protect from infection on his open wounds. Most of his wounds were simple cuts or slightly deep slices of skin, but Jaheira could not tell if it was from self-infliction or not. As she dressed his wounds with the bandages and cloth she had in the pack, the elf grabbed Jaheira's wrist involuntarily.

"Arthain!" the man whispered softly, and Jaheira lifted a brow. Who was Arthain? Jaheira dismissed the question, knowing Vlad would take care of it when he questioned the elf.

"What should we do with him now?" Jaheira called to any listening, keeping her cold grey eyes on the elf writhing in pain before her.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Cuthalion]

Gentle hands greeted his rise to consciousness and Melost relaxed. "Just like that skirmish when we hunted down those orcs and killed them in the Ered Luin, eh, Arthain? I took two sword cuts and you tended me then as well." His breathing eased and he left himself drift. Male voices only enhanced the illusory image his wounded mind conjured for him that he had been wounded and been taken back to camp.

Suddenly a female voice asking for more bandages caused his eyes to snap open. His vision was blurry from a head injury but he made out a beautiful, slender woman with dark hair that looked down at him with concern and...speculation? His eyes narrowed and he pushed her away. "Stay away from me witch! Was it not enough? Do you seek to finish me?" He tried to stand, but a flash of pain from his head nearly caused him to black out.

Vlad was on him in an instant and Melost found the gleaming tip of a dagger at his throat. Melost's eyes grew wide in confusion. "Arthain? What..what has happened? Put the knife down, man. Were injured in the attack as well that you do not know me?" He reached to touch Vlad but was pushed back onto the hard ground. VLad leaned down close to his face so that only Melost could hear. "If you touch my woman one...more...time, I will cut those pretty ears of yours off and feed them to you, understand?" He shoved Melost roughly, then rose and stalked away. Melost lay still, totally lost. His woman? Arthain has a ...? In a rush, his recent memories rushed back to him, but in a mosaic pattern, fragmented, shattered, incomplete. The pain of loss drove itself deeper. This was not Arthain, yet Anwenelme was here...touching him, tending him, wanting him? His breath became ragged as he struggled to comprehend what had happened. others began to gather near him in threatening postures.

Men. I have been captured. I...I will die now. Arthain, where are you, my brother?

[Maikadilwen]

As Jaheira went to the fire to tend to the wounded Elf, Vlad sat down nearby, leaning back against a tree.
He was watching her, studying her movements as she treated and dressed the wounds, admiring the grace with which she did it. He remembered well more than one occasion where he had been the subject to her medical treatment. She knew what she was doing.
It was no wonder she had become a successful thief. Her nimble fingers were skilled with the lock-pick and when it came to emptying ordinary pockets, few did better than she.

Jaheira turned her head and looked at Vlad for a short moment, seeing the almost possessive look on his face as her eyes met his, before she turned her attention back to the Elf.
Vlad kept watching the scene, a smile playing on his lips. She was angry with him right now but he knew it wouldn't last. It never did.

He watched as the Elf apparently came to and suddenly grabbed Jaheira and pushed her away. In one swift movement Vlad was on his feet and then almost on top of the Elf, his dagger against the Elf's throat.

"If you touch my woman one...more...time, I will cut those pretty ears of yours off and feed them to you, understand?" he snarled and shoved him back onto the ground, then left, running his hand over Jaheira's hair as he passed her.
He vaguely noticed that the others were slowly gathering around the Elf, their weapons drawn and he sat down, with a sigh.
Who is he and what has happened to him? And who's this Arthain?
He looked up and saw Khalad staring at him, an almost pleading look in his eyes. He sighed again and slowly shook his head as he rubbed his face, knowing he was most likely going to regret his decision to let the Elf live.

"Let him rest! He's not going anywhere."

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad's heart was gripped by fear, as Vlad put his dagger to the elf's throat. His eyes asked without words for mercy. Vlad removed the dagger, and gave the order to let him be. Khalad's relief was so great, that he could feel his heart pacing at its normal rhytm again.

He felt protective of this elf, though he had no apparent reason. But the elf was unable to defend himself, and who knew what would happen to him if nobody stood up for him.

Khalad pondered why he felt this way towards the elf. The last time he had felt protective against someone was his sister, and that had resulted in his flight north, and it was the reason why he was with these outlaws.

He ended up with a conclusion, that it had to be his background. The Númenorians had always held the elves in high respect; well, at least the Elendili had. And though Khalad and the outlaws were all humans, he knew that he was more akin to the elf than to any other in the camp.

He thought again over the identity of this elf. Arthain he had cried. His thinking was stopped as Vlad gave him a small push to the shoulder and asked:

"What do you make of him? Where's he from, and what is his business here?"
"I cannot tell his origin, only that he must be of noble family. His clothing is of rare material." Vlad's eyes shone upon hearing this remark. "And that name he says, Arthain. It is a name common in Gondor."

"Why would an elf call out for a man? Aren't they to stuck-up to be dealing with men?" Vlad said, but only to make Khalad irritated. He did not doubt the young man's words, and his mind was filled with these riddles, that the elf presented. But, these questions would be answered later when he was rested.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jaheira watched silently as Vlad walked away from the Elf, following his movements carefully with grey stare. She sighed, returning her gaze to the Elf that blinked slowly by the fire. Vlad rarely made such a scene, overprotecting Jaheira or making threats for her. Not that Jaheira wasn't used to Vlad or his many threats and strange roughness. In fact, she had become quite accustomed to it.

Jaheira leaned over the Elf one last time, curious and intrigued with the handsome, but grimy and bloody warrior. His eyes were distant and grey, they matched Jaheira's. His hair was black and it was tousled and full of dirt and twigs. Jaheira tried to reach out and fix one of the bandages, but the elf's eyes flickered open alertly, as if he were waiting for her to make such a move.

"Snake...Arthain..." he mumbled angrily, which made Jaheira pull her hand back away from him. Jaheira began contemplating whether or not to tell Vlad that the Elf was useless and had gone completely mad. Jaheira decided not to risk further interaction with the Elf, so she walked away to where Vlad and Khalad were talking lowly.

"Khalad," Jaheira began, hoping and yet not caring if she was interrupting something important. Vlad gave her a sidelong gaze, and Jaheira smiled back weakly. "Do you think there are more nearby? Do they travel in groups like us?"

"Why do you ask?" wondered both Khalad and Vlad simultaneously. Jaheira took one last glance to where the elf laid...was he trembling? Then turned back to Khalad and Vlad. It was best to tell him that way, with Khalad as a possible explainer. After all, Jaheira had always been told he was close in kin to the elves...or at least closer than most.

"Ahh, no reason. What do you think happened to him?" replied Jaheira with a question as she twidled with her hair idly. Khalad and Vlad exchanged looks, and Khalad shook his head.

"Could be nothing," was Khalad's blatant answer. "He is dilusional, you know how badly he's wounded, Jaheira. Could just be he's gone mad. He could have strayed from his camp or may have been cast away. The Elf is almost definitely from an army of sorts, or at least is of more high social status."

Jaheira glared at Khalad. It was always so hard to tell if he was telling everything or holding back important information. Of course he knew that sort of thing, what else was Khalad good for? Vlad was giving Khalad the same, cold glare. The outlaws were supposed to be a close group, but then there was little notice for who you could trust. Khalad felt some sort of necessity to protect the Elf in a way similar to the way Vlad protected Jaheira, it had been obvious in his eyes when Vlad had threatened the Elf. Brotherhood, perhaps, Jaheira did not know.

"Why this Elf, Vlad?" Jaheira asked, turning to the rugged leader of the outlaws. Then she glared menacingly at Khalad. "Why was this one not killed? Strays and wanderers should not be trusted any more than the scum and unworthy of our group."

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad did not like the turn the conversation had taken. He was grateful that Vlad had spared the elf, but Khalad did not want Vlad to question himself why he had done it; maybe he would change his mind.

Nor was he happy that Jaheira had mentioned they killed strangers, like the scums of the group; was she implying that he was one of them? It seemed that both she and Vlad knew he had not told everything he knew about this elf. And he would have difficulties explaining why he did not kill him when he found him.

"Well," he began, "When I saw him I could see he was in a bad shape. He could not be any danger to us. And his appearance told me that he was no commoner; he walks rather in the halls and courts of kings than beneath the trees in the forest."

Jaheira didn't look to pleased, but she was probably still in favour of killing him. Vlad, on the other hand, who had already spared his life, seemed to accept his explanation.
"You thought along the right tracks, Khalad. Maybe we can squeeze a few coins out of him, whoever he is."

Khalad was relieved to hear that, though he didn't like the word "squeeze". But if he was lucky, he could convince the elf to tell him the truth, and Vlad did not have to order his brutes to do anything to force the truth out of the elf.

--------------------------------------------

Thelian rode next to Dorlas, as he usually did, though neither of them spoke much.

The events of these past few days lay like a heavy burden on them both, despite that they had not acted wrongly. But both of their lords were in danger, though Thelian was more concerned with Melost's whereabouts, and Dorlas feared for Arthain's sanity.

Suddenly Thelian straightened up, his sleepy attitude gone, and his vigilance awaken. He looked around the company; the ladies were chatting merrily, and occasionally laughter could be heard, though not from Menelya who sent Thelian a look of malice. He quickly looked away and turned his attention to the front, where Arthain rode alone.

"What do you see, Thelian?" Dorlas asked, who also looked around himself though he had seen nothing unusual.
"It is not what I see, my friend, but what I smell. There is a distinct foul smell around here, and if I didn't knew better I would say it came from a band of orcs, probably hiding from the sun. With the wind direction they would be in front of us, though it sounds unlikely; There should not be any orcs by miles near this route. Still, stay alert."

He sat for a few seconds, not sure if he should tell Arthain. He wasn't to keen on engaging in conversation with him, especially with this matter. But he decided the safety of the ladies where most important, and rode up at the front to speak with him.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Helkahothion]

Fidrohir looked at the scene before him. The elf was pulling on Vlad and it was not amusing at all. He took out his crossbow and loaded it up with an arrow. Snyd went for his weapons too. But the storm passed and it was not necessary. He locked the weapons and pulled the arrow off. While putting it back in the quiver, he saw Jaheira glancing at the elf again. So did Khalad. The elf seemed to be very interesting. Fidrohir couldn't see what was so interesting. The elf had a pretty face and pointy ears, so what?

"I can cure him of those ears in a few minutes." Fidrohir muttered.

Snyd was snickering next to him. He glanced sidelings and gave the man a smile. He walked over to the elf and looked down on him. The elf seemed to be passed out since his eyes were closed. He bend down next to him and looked at his clothes. They seemed to have been pretty. The fabric was fascinating. Fidrohir slowly touched it but his wrist was suddenly locked by the elf. In an immediate reaction, Fidrohir drew his short sword and placed it on the throat of the elf.

"Back off elf-boy. Or I will give you another hole to breath trough."

The grip loosened and Fidrohir stood up. Khalad walked to him and had a deadly look on his face. He grabbed Fidrohir by the shirt.

"What did you do to him? Speak up."

Fidrohir looked down at him and just smiled.

"Don't worry, your precious elf is save and sound. I'm fine too."

Khalad glanced at Fidrohir and then his look went passed him to the elf. Fidrohir stood aside and went to Vlad. He stood leaning against a tree and looked the man in the face.

"I still don't understand why you didn't smash him open." He said with a tone of envy in his voice.

[Cuthalion]

Anger flared in his mind as Melost lay still a moment after the man had threatened him. It was obvious that something was very wrong and part of him urged caution for he was far from battle-ready, yet all his mind knew was that he was in danger. Instinct took over and he rolled to his feet, his boot-knife in his hand. Vlad tensed as he watched the Elf, but appeared relaxed, ready to move in case the Elf attacked. He eyed the Elf as one would a potential enemy. He had moved with grace and speed, probably had strength as well, but was pretty banged up and therefore not too serious a threat.

Melost watched the reactions of the humans closely. Why had these people left the army? Who were they? And why was a female with them? His head pounded from the sudden movement and he had to fight not to sway on his feet. His eyes roamed over each of them in turn. The man with the cultured voice and kind eyes grinned at him shyly and he nodded to him without lowering the knife.

His eyes slid side-ways to rest on the woman. The very sight of her beautiful dark looks stirred something within him, but he felt repulsed, and he retreated from her.

Two insolent looking men stood lounging against a tree trunk, snickering at him and muttering comments as they looked him over. Melost straightened and returned their disrespectful looks with one of his own. He twirled the knife in his fingers and smiled lazily. "Ah, so it was you who soiled my clothing with your filthy hands! When I have acquired new ones, I will expect you to clean them!" He had dealt with new recruits in such a manner and it came easily to him. The larger one might outweigh him, but he began to feel lighter as adrenaline flowed through him.

His glance flickered to that of the man who had been calmly watching him the whole time and he was mesmerised. The man was lean, muscular like an archer or swordsman. But it was his utter calm caused Melost to take notice. He knew the man was assessing him and Melost sheathed his knife and moved toward him slowly, hiding the pain of his injuries. He extended his arms out to his sides, then stopped.

"Mae govannen! My name is Melost. Are you of Isildur's army? Have you seen Arthain?" Silence greeted his questions and fear clenched his gut as he watched the others exchange glances. What had he stumbled into and why couldn't he remember?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Gil-galad and Elendil had been in conference for two days with Malgalad, Celeborn and Galadriel. It could hardly be said that Isildur had attended for he had sat glowering in a corner in order to distance himself from the others. His pride would not allow him to skip it entirely, so he had removed himself as far as he could while still being able to listen. Elendil had been shamed by his son's actions, but the Elves did not appear to notice. Elendil at last found himself needing to escape the oppressive silence that hovered about his son. Gil-galad noticed his friend's discomfiture and offered to walk with him as he went his way.

That morning had dawned crystal clear and as they walked amid the great silver trunks of the mallorn trees. Elendil marvelled at the peace and timelessness of Lothlorien. He felt contentment as he had never felt it before. Suddenly Gil-galad gasped and clutched his head as his knees buckled. Elendil caught him and knelt beside him in order to steady him. "Gil-galad, what has happened?" His voice was taut with concern as he awkwardly mumbled words of comfort. At length, Gil-galad drew a deep breath and looked sadly into his comrade's eyes. "Melost..he seems to be badly injured, possibly dead...I can no longer sense his presence."

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Maikadilwen]

"Mae govannen! My name is Melost. Are you of Isildur's army? Have you seen Arthain?"

'Arthain'...There it was again. Who was this man and even more important, where was he?
Vlad ran a searching eye over their surroundings but he didn't seen anything or anyone. No one was there, that was for sure. He might have lost one eye but the remaining one had never failed him yet.
Having watched the entire scene with Fidrohir in silence, he now went to him and without a word or the slightest warning, he back-handed the man.
The force of it combined with his own surprise, caused the tall man to stumble backwards and as he accidentally stepped on a large stone, he lost his foothold and fell to the ground, cursing and swearing loudly at the one-eyed man who stood towering over him.

"I told you to let him rest, Fidrohir!"

Vlad's voice was calm but those who knew him could sense the restrained anger.
Slowly he turned back toward Melost, watching him, measuring him.
So he was a soldier, but why would an Elf ask about Isildur's army?

"We are no part of any army, nor do we care for any who are."

His voice was cold and his face revealed no emotions but inside him a battle was raging.
Why had he refrained to kill this stranger? The others were questioning his decision and he knew it might very well have been the wrong one to make.
And yet this Elf seemed to be non-threatening. He had sheathed his knife without even having been asked to do so and something told Vlad that he might even be someone who could be trusted.
If only Vlad had ever been able to trust anyone, that is. Perhaps he was the leader of this group of people, but he didn't trust a single one of them, not even Jaheira although she provided some comfort.

"We have seen no army or troops of any kind nearby and yet you appear to be a soldier although you carry only a knife and an empty scabbard. How did you get here, where is your company and how many men are in it?"

If Melost was a scout sent to spy on them, he had certainly failed his mission but Vlad wished to take no chances. They all had a price on their heads and it wouldn't be the first time someone would try to claim it.
Melost's eyes suddenly flared as they focused on something behind Vlad and he turned, only to see that Jaheira had stepped a little closer.
He knew she hadn't seen the Elf before so it couldn't be some quarrel from the past but Melost seemed to be angry with her for some reason.
He turned back toward the Elf, his eye narrowed and his jaw clenched.

"But first you tell me why you tried to attack Jaheira!"

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad was not much surprised that the elf spoke to Vlad, perhaps he could recognise him as the leader of the camp. And his words answered some of the questions.

He thought over what the elf had said. He had been right, then, that this Arthain was a Gondorian, a part of Isildur's army. A sudden longing swept across him, to see his countrymen again. An entire army of them, camped not far away! If it was possible, he would take this elf with him to the army. Hopefully, the elf's gratitude would protect him from the errors of his past.

He had no more time to dream, though, as Vlad became agressive once more. The elf disliked Jaheira for some reason, though Khalad could not guess what it was.

"But first you tell me why you tried to attack Jaheira!" Vlad demanded, but before Melost could reply, Khalad came to his defence.

"Remember his condition. If he has been attacked, it could explain his lack of weapons. And if the first thing he saw after his attack was Jaheira, it is likely that he thought she was one of them." Khalad reasoned, hoping he could persuade Vlad.

--------------------------------------------------

Elendil looked at Gil-galad with sympathy. He did not know this Melost, though Isildur had spoken of him at one briefly. But he was apparently a kinsman of Gil-galad, and Elendil knew what sorrow the elven king was feeling. He imagined if one of his own sons died, and how he would feel.

Gil-galad had no sons, but it was possible that this Melost was as close to him as one. The sudden outburst of emotions told Elendil that the elf was deeply touched, for normally he concealed hos feelings.

Slowly, hesitating, Elendil reached his hand forward and placed it on Gil-galad's shoulder. The elf looked up, and his through his face of grief a smile found its way, and though it was filled with sorrow, it warmed Elendil's heart.

"Tell me about Melost," Elendil said quietly, and Gil-galad began telling of their relationship.

Although he listened, Elendil could not stop thinking of Anarion, who would join them along the road, and Elendil looked forward at seeing his youngest son. It was the only real joy he could find in this war.

Little did he know, that from a treetop Isildur watched them both, and if he could read his father's thoughts, they would have angered him, even more than seeing him and the elf together in an obviously intimate conversation.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

"I attacked no one. I know no Jaheira." Melost struggled with the fear that was welling up inside him. He knew none of tese people and looked like none of the many men who joined the ranks of Elendil's army from many of the out-lying villages as the armies had swept east-ward. His fear stemmed mainly from the fact that he had no recollection of what he was doing here or how he had arrived. His head was pounding so hard his vision was blurred and he could sense hostility emanating from almost all the men. Except one.

Melost needed to sit down, but he knew he could show no weakness, therefore he drew himself up to his full height, which proved to be greater than that of all the others save one. He glanced over them, one by one and his eyes settled on the one who had spoken in his defence. "We march against the East and the dreadful Power that lies hidden no more, but will soon break forth upon this land like a raging storm. You, you speak as one from Numenore, surely you know the tale of Annatar, the one who deceived your people to their destruction? He it is whom we seek to destroy. We are Elves and Men, united in a common cause, that of survival! The High Kings, Gil-galad and Elendil are marching even now toward that darkness. Why are you not with us?"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Melost is a close kinsman of mine, one I hold dear to me. He has fought and nearly died for me through-out many lives of Men." He sighed heavily. "I must tell Galadriel, it ir possible that she cam discern more swiftly than I if the escort has been harmed as well or if there is yet hope. By Iluvatar, I can only hope I have not sent him to an early death!" Elendil grasped his hand and helped him to his feet, then clasped his shoulder again. "I understand. It is never easy to lose one close to you, especially when that one is a warrior." The shadow of sadness that tinged Elendil's voice was not lost on Gil-galad and he stopped to look closely at his friend. "Elendil? What is this sudden melacholy. Why...?" Elendil shook his head and cut him off. "High King though you are, it is none of your concern. Come, let us return to the others. We have been gone too long." He strode on ahead of Gil-galad who followed more slowly, lost in thought.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthain was about to have more on his mind than brooding on the fate of Melost, for out of the foot-hills came a small band of orcs even as Thelian rode to his side. "Get the women into those rocks! If any can weild a sword, give it them!" he shouted. He still had time, as they were still some distance away. Fortunately, there weren't many, only six, maybe seven. In his present frame of mind, he felt he could take them on himself.

Thelian rode back toward Dorlas and called to him to get the women hidden as quickly as possible. They knew the odds were in their favour and by keeping the orcs in the open, they had a far better chance of escaping without serious harm.

An arrow flew by Arthain's head. "Damn! Crossbows!" He reached for his shield hanging by his horse's rump and set it before him. "Melost, damn you! Where are you when I need you!?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Get the women under cover! If they can, let them wield the weapons we brought!" Thelian cried back to Dorlas, who stirred from his daydreams into immediate action. Thelian and Arthain rounded on their horses as seven or eight orcs scrambled into view, and Dorlas moved even quicker to get the women hidden in the brush. Some fled their mounts, running to where Dorlas had ordered them to hide, others galloped over to Dorlas, who was herding the women under the cover of several bushes and trees.

"Ladies, please discard your mounts and hide," Dorlas pleaded, in no mood for valiant but foolish heroics. Then he remembered Thelian's original orders. "Unless you can wield a weapon well! If you can, go over to the cart and find yourself a suitable weapon!"

Dorlas hid the horses in nearby shrubbery as four of the Elven women rushed to the cart to get weapons. One of them was Anwenelme, but this was only a fluttering thought to Dorlas. Menelya had scrambled faster than any of the other women to get to the hiding place in the trees. Dorlas drew his sword, fumbling at the sheath with nervousness. He had never seen real fighting action during his time as squire, and had never been personally involved in a skirmish.

He did not have time to think of his inexperience any longer as soon the Orcs were upon Arthain, Thelian, he, and the four women.

~*~

Jaheira rolled her eyes. Perhaps Khalad was right and the Elf...Melost...really was losing his mind. What was he blabbing about? Who was Annatar? Jaheira was a pickpocket and a theif, not a historian or a storyteller! The Elf must have had a serious knock to the head, rambling on about High Kings and such. Or perhaps Jaheira and the rest of the outlaws had just been away from civilization for too long.

"We should not waste our food on this Elf. He is hardly sane or worth questioning," Jaheira murmured audibly, dismissing Melost's question despite the fact that it was directed towards Khalad. Why had the Elf backed away? Jaheira had never met a live Elf before...she was from Rohan! She had done nothing but heal the Elf and tolerate his ignorance! And still Melost eyed Jaheira with anger and hostility.

Khalad took a step to the Elf, as if readying to protect Melost should a conflict arise. This was equally troubling to Jaheira, knowing that any minute Khalad could and probably would turn on the outlaws. Not that she wouldn't do the same, however. It was such a delicate balance...

Jaheira stepped slowly to where Vlad stood, tensed and ready to kill the Elf should it make a move. She wound her arm around his, her grey eyes on the Elf as if Melost would attack if she broke the gaze.

"Vlad, he is an Elf. He will regain his strength quickly. He will rebel when someone like Khalad is on watch and they will flee here after killing us all," Jaheira whispered into Vlad's ear. It was true! Jaheira did not trust the handsome stranger, and she didn't trust the unfaithful Khalad either.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad's heart was pounding hard, as Melost spoke to him. It all made sense. His grandfather had made sure he knew much of Númenor's history, and some of the elves, and it all made sense.

But this meant one thing; Annatar was alive! They had all believed he had died in the Akallabeth, how could he be alive? Khalad took a decision. Annatar was the foe of all the Númenorians who were faithful, including an outlaw like him. Feelings of patriotism stirred in him, and he knew what he had to do.

"My life is forfeit anyway," Khalad thought to himself. "I will make sure this elf returns to the army, even at the cost of my life. And if I can, I will join the army as well. This fight is on a grander scale than living a petty life here among these brigands."

It seemed Jaheira had guessed some of the thoughts that ran through his head. She whispered to Vlad, and no doubt she accused him of treason. Khalad did not wish to betray the outlaws; after all, he still owed them too much to not honour any bonds he had with them. But not at the cost of this elf.

He whispered to him: "I know of what you speak, and your words are true. Fear not, I shall do all in my power to get us both out of here, and back to the army. But we must convince Vlad, the man with one eye, that you pose no danger."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thelian's sword leapt out of his scabbard and into his hand. It seemed like disaster followed upon disaster. He and Dorlas stood in front of the four women who had taken a weapon each, and stood determined to defend themselves. They all knew what would happen, should they fall into the orcs' hands alive.

The orcs came close, and engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Here and there bolts from a crossbow flew, but as far as Thelian could gather in this chaos, nobody was hurt yet. He thrusted his sword into a orc's chest, and quickly withdrew it to block an attack towards himself.

Suddenly, Arthain's shield came up close to his head. An arrow struck against it, but felt harmlessly to the ground. Thelian nodded quickly to Arthain in gratitude, before rushing forward to the aid of the women. He was not allowed to think much in the turmoil, but one thought pressed in between all the noise, and stench of blood and death; he owed his life to Arthain. Why did the Valar torment him like this, putting him in life debt to the one who had caused him the most grief? His only comfort was the grim thought that Arthain was mortal; at some point, time would erase it. But could time erase the memories of these events that was etched in his heart?

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Maikadilwen]

Feeling a soft grip around his arm, Vlad looked down to see Jaheira winding her arm around his and his expression softened a little. He could see she was about to say something and he leaned down his head to listen.

"Vlad, he is an Elf. He will regain his strength quickly. He will rebel when someone like Khalad is on watch and they will flee here after killing us all."

Slowly Vlad pulled his arm away from Jaheira's grip and then placed it around her shoulders instead, pulling her close with a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. He kissed her on top of the head, then tightened his grip on her arm as he leaned his face close to her ear.

"You don't trust anyone, Jaheira, not even me, I know that. But no one trusts you either, so don't give me counsel on how to deal with this situation. I risk a whole lot more than you if we're caught and if this Elf is telling the truth and there are indeed armies moving around in this area, t'would be wisest to get as much information on their movements from him as possible. After that....we'll see!"

As he let go of her, Jaheira pulled away from him, rubbing her arm, her eyes flashing, but Vlad only sent her a sly smile. He had always found her even more attractive when she was angry.
Turning back toward Melost and Khalad, he looked at both of them for some time, thinking over what the Elf had said.
Vlad had been roaming the lands through most of his life and he had seen many places and heard many a strange tale. Fully aware that a lot was at risk here, he looked sharply at Khalad, then at Melost.
"Khalad!"
The younger man's head flew up at the mentioning of his name and as Vlad motioned for him to come closer, he did so slowly, the knot in his stomach tightening. He could feel Vlad's sharp gaze upon his face and he knew that whatever he said right now, Vlad would know if he lied.

"What do you know about this, Khalad? Is he telling the truth or has he lost his mind?"

"From what I know, he speaks the truth, Vlad."

It took some time before Vlad moved his gaze from Khalad to Melost but as he did so, it was obvious to Khalad that he had made a decision.

"Everyone, get some rest! I'll take this watch since we'll all end up dead if Snyd's sleeping. This Elf...Melost, may hold information which can be important for us, so if anyone as much as touches him, I'll personally make sure it'll be the last thing you do! Now go!"

He turned to go, but then cast a glance at Khalad, thinking for a moment.
"Keep an eye on him and make sure he gets some rest. He'll need it!"
He then looked at Melost, noticing that he seemed less tense than before and he nodded slowly, then walked away to take up his watch. He needed to be alone so he could think.

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Helkahothion]

Fidrohir lay on the ground. Cursing out every word he had at Vlad, but it seemed that Vlad did not care. Fidrohir raised himself to his full length again and cursed the stone that made him trip. He played around with the idea of his crossbow. One arrow was all it would take to get rid of the horrid Vlad.
Why he staid was still a mystery to him. Just like always, nobody liked him. He had hoped on some comradeship in this group, but everyone seemed to mistrust everyone. Much did he longed to go and find his parents that sold him away. Not to kill him, but to find what he had never experienced in his entire life: Love and affection. Just a kind word was enough. But no one ever gave it to him, only making him harder and more hostile to his environment.
From the very beginning Vlad had questioned if Fidrohir was to stay when he arrived. He was young and had been very hard to control. And now he still was. Many times did Vlad have to strike him down and never was there a hand to help him up. Always on his own, except when they needed something done. Than they were ordering him around. Even though Fidrohir was older. But Vlad had more experience in those things. So he just accepted the fact that his life had failed and that there was no cause whatsoever.

Khalad was muttering something to the elf and the elf was babbling about high kings. Fidrohir could not imagine what a high king was. He himself was pretty tall, so they should be enormously big. Fidrohir wondered what they were. Never had he heared tales of ancient times. Only orders and insults. Fidrohir envied this elf. He must have someone loving him back home and parents willing to tell him stories of old. No doubt he had been in those stories as well. And where was Fidrohir himself? In a pig stable. He walked away from the group, he had enough. In the dark he leaned against a tree and softly started sobbing.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad took a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine from their few supplies. Some of the others muttered angry words at this, but Khalad ignored them. Vlad had ordered them to let the elf allow to rest, and with that to back him up, Khalad felt his courage rising.

He sat next to Melost and offered him the food. The elf accepted it, and though he had to be starved, he ate slowly, with graceful movements.

Khalad watched him, amazed, and knew beyond doubt that he was more akin to Melost than the outlaws. This knowledge strengthened his resolve to help the elf.

His only dilemma was which course of action to take next. He wished he could simply sneak away with Melost; it should not be to hard to find the army, considering its size.

But he knew it wasn't easy, and if they were discovered, then Vlad would no longer be merciful. And Khalad felt, after all, that he owed Vlad some loyalty still.

He decided to stay in the camp, and let Vlad get his information from Melost, though he would not allow the brigand to torture the elf. And then, he would try to convince the outlaw to let them both go. He knew the chance wasn't great, but he felt it was the only way he could be loyal to both Melost and Vlad.

Melost had finished eating, and Khalad decided to try some conversation.
"Is it true, that Sauron has returned? And that Elendil and Gil-galad has formed an alliance to defeat him?"
The elf nodded, though it seemed he knew little more of this matter; he did not elaborate further.

"What were you doing here, in the mountains?"
The elf shook his head, but this time his melodic voice spoke:
"I do not know, mellon nin. I wish I did. But I wonder why you are here. It is easy to see that you are of the noble race of the Númenorians. Indeed, you remind me of someone dear to me, though his name slips from my mind. Why are you here, and not at the army?"

Khalad did not answer, though he guessed who this Arthain was; A Númenorian, in the army, who was a close friend of Melost. Perhaps this friend was dead? If indeed Melost had been attacked. Now that Khalad looked again, it didn't seem like it.

These puzzles filled his mind, and he knew he had no answers to them. And as long as Melost could not remember his past, they would not be answered.

Khalad wished he could forget his past; but such mercy was not bestowed upon him. He hoped he could find some rest in his sleep, knowing that it was Vlad who stood guard, and that he wouldn't allow the others to harm them while they slept. But deep down he knew, that even sleep offered only temporarily comfort.

[Cuthalion]

Melost found himself drawn to this quiet young man and he pondered why he was here. The wild certainly didn't suit him, he was obviously well bred and knew the ways of hospitality. He sighed. Too many questions. He felt unusually tired and he knew he had to stay awake. He had seen comrades with severe injuries go to sleep afterward and never awaken...but where had he seen this?

Melost listened to Khalad as he spoke softly, and wished that he could provide the answers for him. He chewed slowly, grateful for even this stale loaf. After a few bites and a swallow of wine, he gave Khalad the rest and leaned back against a tree trunk. arms folded across his chest. His eyes closed of their own accord and he slipped away...

Men and orcs fought viciously, hacking at one another. A shining band of Elven cavalry rode swiftly across the plain to aid the stricken men. One man stood out, a friend? He was about to receive a killing blow and Melost drove his sword through the orc's chest. The man smiled at him and raised his sword in salute...A woman...Elven...she turned to look at him with proud eyes. He went to her and she melted into his arms....A tent, the man and the woman...together in love.

He snapped awake with a cry and Khalad's hand went instinctively to his sword. "What is it, Melost?" he asked with concern as Vlad came walking toward them through the trees. "What's going on? You, Elf, you want to get us killed? We're not exactly on a pleasant journey here. Keep quiet!" Melost looked from one to the other and he was shaking. What did that mean? I knew them, the man and the beautiful woman... I've... held her before, but then, why..was I in love with his woman?"

Melost held his head in his hands and tried to calm himself. He heard a movement and a warm hand gripped his shoulder and he placed his hand over it, grateful once again for the comfort.

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Dammit Melost, where are you when I need you?"

The thought came unbidden to Arthain's mind, and it hurt as badly as if one of the orcish arrows had pierced his chest. But there was no time to dwell on such things- the orcs approached, and Arthain felt only anger.

The arrows were being shot from behind while the other orcs pushed forward. It was a perilous plan for the orcs, as they risked shooting their own, but it also meant it would be doubly hard to fight the orcs while dodging the arrows. Dashing out from behind the rock where he sat, Arthain whirled his sword around at the orc he had heard coming up near him. He judged the distance perfectly, and his heavy sword sliced straight through the creature's chest. Arthain's hands jarred slightly as his weapon sliced through flesh, bone and muscle, and Arthain felt the adrenaline of battle course through his viens. The orc bellowed in pain and rage, but Arthain followed up his first slice with a straight stab through the creature's neck. Withdrawing his sword sharply, he cast a glance around, searching for his squire. If anything was to happen to Dorlas in this skirmish, while they were still in such terms...

Arthain found himself not next to Dorlas as he fought though, but next to Thelian. There was no time then to dwell on the whereabouts of his squire as the arrows were still coming thick and fast over the heads of the orcs. One long, thick arrow, hewn simply straight from a tree it seemed, came shooting towards them, to Arthain's left side. He shot out his arm with the speed of a rattlesnake, blocking the arrows course straight towards Thelian, protecting him as he would his own squire in a battle.

The elf didn't even have time to look startled, but nodded gratefully to Arthain before ducking out, spinning with elven grace towards another orc. Arthain couldn't help but pause, watching him, memories of another who moved with such smooth elegance stirring in his mind. But he lingered for too long, and an orcish blade was coming towards him so fast, as if it had come from nowhere. Arthain barely had time to move to the side, but not fast enough, and the stabbing blade caught his side, piercing his tunic in a chink where he had not had time to fasten his armour. The pain flowed through his side as the blood flowed through his tunic, and he bit down on his lip hard, nearly drawing blood there to stop himself crying out.

Anger fuelling him even further, he barely noticed the elven women as they joined in the fight as he twisted agily, dispatching the orc with a powerful thrust of his sword.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

After Vlad rejected Jaheira's suggestion, the girl had stormed off in momentary anger to sit behind one of the many trees, leaning on its trunk. She was not far away from the fire pit where Melost and Khalad sat, merely a tree or two away. Jaheira tried overhearing their conversation and succeeded in catching snatches of Khalad and Melost's words, but those were enough to get Jaheira suspicious of both of them.

Khalad had asked something about someone named Sauron, and he asked about an alliance. That was all Jaheira could hear before a bout of silence overcame the area. Jaheira turned around just in time to see Melost nodding his head yes. Then Khalad asked why Melost was in the mountains, but Jaheira could only see Melost's lips moving in answer; she could not hear his soft reply.

After this Jaheira turned back around to face away from Khalad and Melost, contemplating what to do with her new-found information. She could tell Vlad or she could keep it completely to herself. Jaheira began to think that secrecy was the best way to hold the conversation and information. Besides, Vlad himself had reminded Jaheira that she trusted none in the group and none trusted her. Why waste such knowledge on a man that would never truly trust her?

Lost in her thoughts, Jaheira was vaguely aware of a slight whimper from a tree nearby. As the area around Jaheira became steadily quieter save for the sobbing, Jaheira stood to find who was making the noise. Surely 'tis no one from camp, Jaheira told herself. The outlaws were too strong to cry. Maybe it is one of Melost's friends, come to save him!

Jaheira drew one of the many daggers she had and began to walk towards the tree from which the noise emanated. Rounding the tree, Jaheira lifted her arm to grasp the neck of the being in a headlock. Jaheira missed completely, for the human was too tall! Her arm smacked its back instead, and in the dim light her opponent whirled around with an axe in hand.

It was only Fidrohir, so Jaheira soon came to realize. Jaheira snorted as she saw glistening tears falling from his green eyes. He lowered his sword when he saw it was only Jaheira, and Jaheira lowered her dagger in turn.

"What're you crying for?" Jaheira murmured, laughing inwardly at the man before her as he sobbed and sniffled. "Outlaws, theifs, bandits, warriors...we don't cry. Crying is a sign of utter and complete weakness and cowardice."

Fidrohir glared at Jaheira, as if what she had said confirmed whatever he was thinking. Jaheira rolled her eyes and turned on her heels to walk away from Fidrohir. He was certainly not the smartest person in the band out outlaws, not the bravest or the most clever. Perhaps the only reason he was in the group was because his height proved to be a simple advantage at times. Jaheira still remembered the night she had picked the lock of the local jail, and let some of the criminals that were still in the group free. Fidrohir could be replaced if he was such an insubstantial and impuissant being.

Jaheira walked away from the weakling Fidrohir, looking for Vlad. Oh, there was so much to tell him! Besides, Jaheira thought, He may not want my counsel, but perhaps he may need some...comfort...

With that last thought, Jaheira weaved through the wounds, finding Vlad standing against a tree just out of earshot from the camp. He was being moody again, Jaheira knew. Most other days he was more jolly and merry, but something was troubling him and it was obvious to Jaheira.

"Vlad, are you alright?" Jaheira murmured, her voice audible, but only to the man she was now standing next to. Jaheira smiled at him, wondering what he was thinking or what he was planning.

~*~

Dorlas fought and parried blows with the orcs as if it were a game. He noted every mistake he made, every flaw and everything he could have done better. Dorlas would think to himself as he blocked a blow to his head that Arthain would have been disappointed or that Arthain had taught him to do something before he needed to block. It was as if he saw the skirmish from someone else's eyes, and under Arthain's scrutiny. Despite this, Dorlas felt he had done all he possibly could to fight in the manner that Arthain had taught him.

Dorlas saw Arthain deflect an arrow from hitting Thelian, and began to wonder if Arthain would have done the same for him, in such a state their relationship was then. Dorlas had been cold to Arthain and had turned away when Arthain had tried to make amends. And now there was no telling when they could make amends. It was not a huge battle or life-threatening war, but in the back of his mind Dorlas still felt a tinge of worry.

Then Dorlas saw an Orcish blade being withdrawn from Arthain's side. Dorlas could see blood slowly oozing from where armor had been carelessly thrown on. Arthain bit his lip, but his rebuttal was twice as strong and fatal to the opponent. The Orc dropped, and Arthain doubled over along with it, clutching his side.

Dorlas couldn't let their fight keep him from helping Arthain.

Arthain's squire sprinted across the grass towards his master and was distracted only once to dispose of an Orc along the way. Dorlas dropped to his knees when he came close enough to Arthain, and examined his master's wounds. Healing it would be beyond Dorlas' skill, but perhaps it would all be well with the help of Thelian or one of the Elven ladies. How badly did it hurt? Dorlas couldn't ask such a question. Arthain refused help or Dorlas' orders of cease, but nodded gratefully at his squire's willingness to give said help.

[ July 27, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[ July 27, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Maikadilwen]

"Vlad, are you alright?"

The soft voice next to him ripped him out of his thoughts and he turned to look at Jaheira's smiling face. All her anger seemed to have disappeared or at least she was hiding it well and Vlad couldn't help but smile back at her.
With a tired sigh he sat down on the ground, leaning back against the tree and rubbed his eye. He had slept for only a couple of hours when Khalad woke him up, rambling on about the wounded Elf and now he had to deal with the result of his decision not to kill him, which had given him a splitting head-ache. But why had he decided to keep this one alive?
It would've been so easy to just...

Feeling a hand run over his shoulder and down his back, Vlad turned his attention toward Jaheira who had crouched down next to him.
"You want something?" he asked her, for a moment amused by the look on her face, almost able to hear her thoughts. He knew very well what that look meant.
With a light chuckle, Jaheira told him about her encounter with the weeping Fidrohir and the horrified look on Vlad's face nearly made her laugh aloud. Vlad only looked up at the sky and shook his head.
These people will be the death of me!

"Any further trouble with the Elf?"
Jaheira shook her head, then went quiet. She thought for a moment about telling Vlad the few things she had heard from the conversation between Khalad and the Elf, but then decided not to. It might be of use later on, so it could wait. Or it might not be of any use at all, in which case it didn't matter anyway.
She rose with a smile and began to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder.
"Maybe Fidrohir should take over the watch. I think you need to rest. I'll tell him!"

Vlad sat for some time looking after her, then smiled and shook his head. Indeed he needed to rest but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to for some time.
He decided that he would deal with Fidrohir another day and so he left the moment he could hear him, knowing exactly where to find Jaheira.
As he passed the two by the fire, he winked to Khalad and grinned, mumbling that someone else had taken over the watch for the rest of the night and that he would go get some rest.

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Durelin]

"Oi! Fid! Fid, you sheep-gut! Where are ya?" Snyd called, swaggering around and peering into the trees. Snyd kind of liked Fidrohir, and they got along pretty well, but sometimes…sometimes Snyd just didn't understand the man. He was gloomy at times, wrapped up in himself in a sad sort of way. Not the same as with Vlad and his moods, but still a sort of temperament. But now, Snyd was pretty sure he understood. They should slit the elf's throat after getting as much information out of him as they could and be done with it. It would save a lot of trouble for all of them, including the elf. Melost, or whatever. What he didn't understand was the sympathy from Khalad. He saw them talking, talking! Like over a cup of tea!

"Fid!"

There still was no answer. But then he heard the heaving breaths of sobbing. Sobbing? Who under Illuvatar…? Peeking out from behind a tree, Snyd stared in disbelief at the wretched form of Fid, slouched beneath a tree…and crying. "What are you doing Fid?" he said quietly, walking over to crouch in front of Fidrohir "Wha--" He cut off, unable to think of anything to say. Still, he thought that that was enough to let Fid know that Snyd…was confused! And I thought I understood the man, he thought. Again, it was just one of those moods. Snyd waited not too patiently, sitting down and then switching his position every few seconds, until Fid finally spoke. "What am I doing? What does it look like I'm doing? Weeping, like a fool."

"Ahw, come on, you're no fool. If you're weeping, you've most likely got reason to. And even if you don't… everyone's foolish at times, but that doesn't make them a fool." He paused for a moment, wondering whether he had gotten those words right. He remembered hearing that from someone before, but he had never had a very good memory. "What happened to ya? You were in good spirits a while back." He grinned. "Don't worry, you'll get a chance to stripe that pointy-ear's hide." He stopped again, and his grin faded as Fidrohir looked up at him with a face full of both sadness and anger, each fighting to gain control. What am I thinking! Fid could never be that foolish! "But…you wouldn't be all to pieces over that…so… You still haven't answered my question, and you know what I mean! What are you doing?"

[Daniel Telcontar]

Khalad sat next to the fire. He couldn't sleep, and nor could Melost. Or did the elf need sleep? Khalad could not remember. He only knew the elf sat, starring in the ground. Every minute Khalad spent with the elf, even when they simply sat like this in silence, made him remember his childhood, and all he had known about the glory of his ancestors. The glory of Númenor.

And now it was in danger. The survivors were threatened by the horror of their past; Sauron, the enemy himself, whom all had thought was dead. He was merciless; altough Khalad had never known him, or lived under his regime of terror, the many tales of his grandfather had painted a clear picture of how horrible and terrifying it had been for the Elendili.

Khalad looked around at the sleeping outlaws; they lived in their simple worlds, thinking that they were important, and did not hesitate to kill if someone offended them. What did they know of the West, or the greater affairs of Middle-earth.

He knew that if Sauron was the victor in this war, there would be no survivors. The Númenorians and Elves were too great a threat that any should be left alive; and Khalad felt shame, that he hid here in the mountains, instead of defending his home.

Khalad thought if he should begin a conversation; there were many things he desired to know from Melost. He had not heard much news about the events of Middle-earth since he joined the outlaws, and he wished dearly he knew more about it.

But before he could speak, Vlad passed them by. He was headed in Jaheira's direction, and when he said a few words about another being the guard for the rest of the night, followed by a grin and a blink with the eye, as from one member of a conspiracy to another, Khalad did not have difficulties guessing what Vlad's business was tonight.

Melost, on the other hand, was more puzzled.
"What did he mean, Khalad?" he asked, not sure if Vlad was a friend or foe. Earlier it had seemed like he had little respect for Khalad, and now he acted like the two was old friends.

Khalad sat, a bit embarassed, not sure how to explain this.
"Well, you see, Jaheira and Vlad are more than just friends. Or, perhaps it would be more correct to say that they think the other one is attractive; I'm not sure if they feel any friendly emotions towards each other. But they can still-find pleasure with each other."

Melost was silent for awhile, and realised what he meant.
"You mean, they are together like that? And I suppose, when they wish, they simply break up, if they don't backstab the other first! It seems that men lack certain standards." He did not speak further, for suddenly, he knew that some of his own race was not better than these humans; but he could not remember more. It made him feel bad, that his own people could behave like this. For although he did not remember any details, he knew without question that at least one elf had behaved even worse than this; and the thought was like a knife in his heart. Or was the pain present because of something else?

Khalad did not answer, nor did he seem to take notice of Melost anymore. He thought about his own sister. Indeed, in Gondor they did not do things like this; and this probably meant that had his sister survived, she would have lived the rest of her days inside their father's house, never leaving it, hiding her shame, and always remaining a shadow which was to be ignored.

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Cuthalion]

A subtle shift in inflection caused Melost to glance at Khalad sharply. "You seem saddened, my friend. Perhaps I shall come with you on watch." He rose in one fluid movement, then reached his hand down to Khalad, who hesitated, then clasped it firmly. As they began to walk the perimeter of the camp, Melost looked back the same way Vlad had gone, then shrugged. No! Do not allow yourself to feel...to feel means to suffer." said a voice at the back of his mind. Something was there which whispered and nudged at his memory. It taunted and teased him with bits and pieces memories and he shook his head voilently as he tried to clear it. This proved to be a mistake. He staggered and nearly fell as blinding pain lanced through his head. Khalad stopped and went to his side. "Melost?"

"Melost?" Who's voice was it that called his name with such...longing? His eyes flew open as one memory suddenly stood out as though back-lit by a bon-fire of pain. Here was Arthain and there...there was his beloved...she of the ebon hair and beautiful eyes, in Arthain's tent. Together.

He wrenched away from Khalad with a wild cry and felt for his sword. Upon finding his scabbard empty, his wild eyes turned on Khalad. "Give me your weapon, human! It would not be wise to stay in my way!" Melost cursed as Khalad called out to his fellows for help, his expression one of confusion and anger. Had the Elf gone mad? Why had he cried out like that? Before he could react, Melost was on him.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Vlad had found Jaheira easily. It was no surprise to Jaheira as she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head upon his shoulder. She liked Vlad and she was attracted to him, Jaheira felt that much. But there was no true love in their relationship. Merely 'comfort' and enticement. It didn't matter to Jaheira though, and it didn't seem to bother Vlad either as she kissed him softly.

Jaheira and Vlad had not been alone long when they heard a loud cry echoing through the woods. It was Khalad, calling for help. The words were muffled as they rang through the trees, and became strangled off suddenly for some reason unknown to Jaheira and Vlad. The two immediately seperated and tried to determine where the yelp was coming from before darting off to their left through the thickets.

"It's that damn elf!" Jaheira cried to Vlad, who was running through the trees just in front of her. Jaheira knew this would happen! She had told Vlad from the beginning that this would happen! Then again...why was Khalad the one yelling for help? Jaheira had thought that if anything involving mutiny or rebellion and the elf would have Khalad there along with.

Jaheira's thoughts were immediately interrupted as she nearly collided with the stopped Vlad. She peered over the momentarily indecisive leader to see Melost attacking Khalad, despite his lack of a weapon. The moment's hesitation from Vlad and Jaheira was soon interrupted again by the sound of pounding feet nearby: undoubtedly Fidrohir and Snyd. Then the group immediately went into action to get the elf away from Khalad.

[Helkahothion]

Fidrohir and Snyd heard the yell. Fidrohir had not paid attention to it at first. Could have been Vlad getting mad at Khalad again. He was still cheering out of his mind due to the kind words from Snyd. But the screams were getting louder and it was not out of pain, it was a call for help. He shot up and ran to the sound. Snyd right behind him. Fidrohir had his axe out and was waving it against the branches that would get in his way. He reached the spot of trouble and found that Vlad and Jaheira were already there. He ran to the elf, which was now un top of Khalad. With a hard wave he whacked him of Khalad. He jumped up and wanted to attack Fidrohir.

"Arthain!" The elf shouted. For what reason, Fidrohir did not know or care.

Vlad jumped him from the back, grabbed the wrists of the elf and turned them on his back. The elf struggled harshly and Khalad was still on the ground. Snyd wanted to assist Vlad, but was kicked in the stomach and in the face since he doubled over. Jaheira took one of her daggers, but the struggling elf kicked those out of her hands too. Fidrohir ran to the elf but the rat kicked him in the groan.

Those legs are the first thing going of when we get to play with him." Fidrohir thought as he loaded up his crossbow.

He aimed for the chest and caught the eye of Melost.

"Stop moving or you will become our new coat rack you little rat." Fidrohir said with his crossbow in his hand, raised to his full length above the elf.

Melost stopped kicking and Khalad was up and about again. He looked at Melost, his eyes filled with disbelieve. Over what, Fidrohir did not know. Vlad dragged the elf back to the camp and threw him down by the fire while cursing at him. Fidrohir just walked along with them. Vlad looked very angry.

"I will watch him now. It seems that our lovely friend Khalad here was is not able to watch over a single person."

Firdrohir went back to the three where he had been and resumed watch.

[ July 29, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Thelian threw a dagger into an orc, and it dropped its crossbow. The fight was over, the orcs were slain. It had seemed like it had lasted several hours, but when Thelian looked at the sun it had barely moved.

He looked at Arthain, who held a hand to his wound in the side. Thelian considered what to do, but only for a few seconds. Arthain had saved his life, and even if he hadn't, Thelian could not refuse to give aid to a wounded.

He approached Arthain, and, extending his hand towards the wound. "Here, let me see it. I have a few herbs that will stop the blood."

Arthain looked at Thelian with surprise, before allowing him to remove his armour and take a closer look at his wound. Arthain had a medical kit himself, in his pouch, like every Númenorian soldier, but he saw a chance for being reconcilliated with Thelian, and he would not waste that chance.

Soon after, Arthain was patched together, and expressed his gratitude towards Thelian.

The latter said nothing more of the matter, but searched the wagons to get a view of the damage. He pushed away the body of an orc, which still had black blood flowing from it.

Thelian thought at the matter, that Arthain's blood had been red. And so was his own. "Perhaps, elves and men are more alike than I have believed so far. And Arthain spilled his blood for me. Perhaps - perhaps it is time for forgiveness, and not hate."

The last thought came with hesitation, as if spoken aloud, but Thelian knew that it was true nonetheless.

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Khalad watched as Vlad pushed Melost to the ground near the fire, and then stared in each direction, giving Khalad an angry glance.

Khalad was not angry that Melost had attacked him. He was convinced the reason for the attack was in Melost's past, or his wound. If the reason lay in the former, then perhaps there was a connection with this Arthain. After all, there was a good chance that Khalad and he looked alike, so perhaps Melost had thought Khalad to be him.

His concern right now, though, was on what to do. There was no use in pondering more over these matters, as only Melost could answer them. And Vlad, who was guarding him, probably didn't feel friendly enough to allow Khalad to have a chat with the elf.

The best thing to do would be to let Vlad cool down, and see what tomorrow might bring. But as Khalad lay down to sleep, a grim and ironic thought came to him: "If this is how elves and men are united, I fear Sauron shall have to little resistance."

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]