Castle Maladil - RPG

[piosenniel]

Olo stood in the shadows of a great Oak tree when Holly found him, staring at Nardol as he sat eating one of the cakes Bethberry had given him. ‘The Elf’s leg must be quite painful.’ she murmured to herself, as she saw him move it gingerly to ease the strain on it. ‘I should take a look at it.’ was her next thought, but she recalled his sharp words to her and held back. She glanced at Olo, noting that his eyes fell not on the Elf as she had thought, but watched his horse as it walked about, cropping the meager grass in the camp.

‘A lovely creature, is it not.’ she remarked to him. ‘And with a fiery spirit to match his rider.’ Olo’s face was marked with a frown. ‘There’s something not quite right about his gait.’ he said low and to himself, his attention fixed on the horse as it walked in his direction. He whistled gently, and stepped into the sunshine, standing very still. He called the horse’s attention with soft words and sounds, his stance open and non-threatening, watching closely as the horse stepped in his direction.

‘It’s his left foreleg.’ he whispered to her. ‘A small problem now, but a hard one to deal with if it goes on much longer. Go back and leave me to see to him if he’ll allow it. You and Peri may put the wind up him if you stay, and I would not see him suffer any longer from something I can remedy.’

[Belin]

Around the corner and back into the library. There.

Celumëomaryu had finished her pacing, and was glad to return to her usual haunt behind the bookshelf. She had seen Anna come in there with those rabbits, and by the aroma in the room, the stupid girl had known nothing better to do with them than simply scorch the beasts in the fire. The accountant shook her head. Once they'd had a cook, a talented and cheerful individual who had prepared the most delectable of feast for them, and had hung about in the kitchen, grinning rather offensively at the appreciation of the others. Celumëomaryu had never expressed any such appreciation; the savor of the food had been a matter of course and a detail beneath her notice. She had never expected to pass beyond the ability to taste it.

Just as well, she thought with a sniff, if there was to be no better than what Anna could provide.

Provide for...? Celumëomaryu walked to the landing of the stairs and tilted her head, listening intently. Yes... voices.. the voices of the living. She stood very still.

"Who are they?" she whispered. An idea was forming in her mind. The voices came, not from below, but from the dungeon above; Calimiel had mentioned prisoners. She took a step forward and was surprised to find that, even after all these years with no flesh, her fingers could still tremble violently enough to prevent her from properly grasping the banister. As her hand slipped through it and around it, her mind raced. Prisoners, the living, here, here... hers. She took two more steps up the stairs and had to stop; she refused to chance someone seeing her fall down.

Should she see them now? She wanted to think; she had to have a plan. But she couldn't. She sat on the stairs for a few moments, not quite paying attention to the thoughts that were passing through her mind, and then she stood, composed and distant as ever, and walked into to the dungeon.

Kenelm stood there, and Calimiel, and the infuriatingly everpresent Anna as well. Celumëomaryu hovered silently near the wall, unnoticed, feeling the strange thickness of the air that the living had been breathing, hearing, after the quietness of long years, the rustling of their clothes against their skin and the beating of their hearts. Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. She stared through the bars at them, with a slight, grim smile. One of the prisoners suddenly turned a pair of large, anxious eyes upon her and shrank back still more under the force of that gaze. Celumëomaryu did not speak to them, but her lips moved slightly, forming the words, "For me..."

But Anna had seen her and had moved to her shoulder. Do you admire them, Celumëomaryu?

"Where did they come from?"

Anna shrugged. Does it matter?

She turned toward the girl with a sudden fierceness. "Yes," she rasped, "Yes, I think it does. Yet I have, perhaps, a more interesting question--why are you here? What business, housemaid, do you have with the living?"

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Belin ]

[Susan Delgado]

Anna gave the Elf a scornful look. Why did Celumëomaryu always ask such insultingly obvious questions? She'd been watching from her usual hiding place; Anna had seen her. So why was she asking why Anna was here? She decided to limit the day's strife by answering as if Celumëomaryu had asked a reasonable question, however. No use upsetting everybody more than necessary.

Feeding them.

Celumëomaryu stared at Anna in consternation. Obviously she wanted a different or perhaps simply more complete answer. Anna stared back, a deliberately insulting half-smirk on her face. Finally, Celumëomaryu said, "What were you doing up here that you saw they needed food?"

There she went. I heard sounds, so I came to investigate. Calimiel says I can have one of the women. This was not at all what Calimiel had said, of course, but it was fun to say just to see the expression on the accountant's face, and her vocal reaction almost approached Maladil's level. As she watched Celumëomaryu stalk toward Calimiel to ascertain the truth, Anna noted that Celumëomaryu's screams had not helped the prisoners' peace of mind at all. The living folk actually seemed to be trying to hide under the bodies of their dead companions. Interesting. She remembered having something of an aversion to dead flesh when she'd been alive. Now, of course, she didn't care.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Celumëomaryu--she had raised her voice again. She really seemed quite upset about what Anna had said, and soft-spoken Calimiel was having a hard time keeping the outraged Elf calm. Well, Anna could do something about that.

It's all right, Celumëomaryu.

Celumëomaryu broke off mid-rant and whirled - a particularly impressive move when made by a noncorporeal creature - toward Anna. "What?" she said, voice still raised.

Leave her alone. That wasn't what she said to me.

Celumëomaryu said nothing, but antagonism flowed off her in waves.
Behind her, Calimiel gave Anna a grateful look before vanishing into mist.

She didn't tell me I could have one of the women. She told me you wanted one and now that the other one is dead, there aren't enough for me to have one too.

Though still annoyed at being tricked, the Elf was slightly mollified by the explanation. She looked at Anna for a moment through narrowed eyes, then said, "What do you want to do about it?"

I propose a contest to deteremine who gets our woman.

Celumëomaryu snorted at the phrase "our woman" - as if anything to do with she and Anna had ever been communal - and said, "A contest? What sort of contest?"

A singing contest.

Celumëomaryu was intrigued despite herself. "How would we know who'd won?"

Anna rolled her eyes. This was the woman who'd spent the last three thousand years in a library?
Haven't you read the Histories? As the ancient Elven King did battle by song with the Lord of Darkness, we would know who won when it happened.

Oh. Celumëomaryu had forgotten about that particular volume of History, but now that Anna mentioned it, it did sound familiar. "Very Well."

Anna nodded. This had gone better than she'd hoped. Very Well. Are you ready? You may go first if you'd like.

[ December 25, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Calimiel, in mist form, pondered. She twisted vaguely as a moth with tattered wings, a venemous vapor struggling against an ill wind. Kenelm ... what if he went to Father to ask about the prisoners? No, that must not happen, not now! Calimiel would shadow her brother's every move. Though blind, Calimiel could sense the location of the living and the dead according to the strength of the pull she felt from the direction of the particular being on her mind. *

* At the first sign that Kenelm's presence was moving in a direction dangerous to her plans, at the first plaintive-stringed note or piteous voice moving towards Father, she would pounce. Distract him. And oh, Calimiel knew how. The harp. Take his harp, and Brother would be hers to command. Destroy his harp, place it beyond his reach, throw it outside the boundaries of the Castle grounds, so that it would be forever banished from his touch ... But could she take such a step? *

* Anna and Celumëomaryu could battle through song for the weaker of the two women left alive. Calimiel had first pick, and had chosen the stronger female. The Butler would take the remaining male. Mothlike, Calimiel was drawn towards the light. Wanting to see ... *

[ December 25, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

Shifting his weight on Mornen, Volondil considered closely the perplexing question, asked by Alearindu. How was he to enter the castle? He was fairly comfortable as long as he did not move about much on the horse. And by tomorrow he expected to be feeling even better. Even so, should he be able to walk into the castle with the rest of the company, he doubted he would be much use in any skirmish that might occur.

He caught sight of Holly leading Peri as she walked back to where the red-haired woman waited. They spoke, their heads drawn close together for a moment, then parted smiling. The gregarious Hobbit must have made a new friend. Volondil twisted round on Mornen, looking then for Olo. A sharp pain in his side cut short his search, and he eased himself back to a position of comfort.

‘Alearindu,’ he said, glancing down to where she walked by Mornen’s side, ‘if you would, please ask Holly to step over here. I need to speak with her.'

[VanimaEdhel]

"Aye," Menelduliniel said to Hinura, "It is simple. Estelarion, play the basic melody."

Estelarion played the melody on his flute a bit.

"Do you understand it?" Estelarion asked.

"Yes," Hinura said. She strummed a few chords gracefully, matching the melody.

"You should play this song with us when Gandalf tells us to sing it," Menelduliniel said.

"I believe I shall," Hinura said, smiling.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aislan was distracted from her thoughts as she heard the playing of Estelarion's flute ahead of her. She smiled, remembering how the Inn sometimes had mintrel's visit. Aislan walked up to Estelarion, Menelduliniel, and Hinura.

"You should play the song with us when Gandalf tells us to sing it," came Menelduliniel's voice.

"I believe I shall," Hinura answered.

"I have only heard a few chords, and it is already more beautiful than most I have heard," Aislan commented as the three turned and looked at who spoke.

"So many elvish songs are, to mortal ears." Estelarion spoke in return.

"Ah. What is it called? The song, I mean..." Aislan asked, looking from Estelarion to Menelduliniel.

"Nallal," Menelduliniel answered.

"Lovely, can't wait to hear it." Aislan finished as she called to Eruntale. Eruntale came trotting up to Aislan. Aislan smiled and mounted the mare with grace learned over the years. Aislan rode up farther towards Alearindu and Volondil on Mornen.

"How do you feel?" Aislan asked, looking at how Volondil tried hard not to move to much on Mornen.

"Better..." Volondil's gaze darted here and there, and he seemed preoccupied. Aislan smiled let him go about what he was doing.

Aislan sighed, feeling a bit useless at that moment. But she knew that being out was better than being in. She wondered about the Castle, wondered about what they would find when they made it there.

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu looked up at Volondil and nodded. 'Alright, hold on. Aislan? Could you watch over Volondil and Mornen for a moment? I have a few things to see to quickly.' Aislan smiled and nodded, and then Alearindu glanced around, looking for Holly. She spotted her, and then jogged over.

'Holly? Sorry to interrupt anything... I'm the Ranger Alearindu.' She smiled. 'Volondil wishes to talk with you. Over what? I know not. But, I must go talk with Gandalf for a moment, as well.' Alearindu smiled at Holly once more. 'So, if you'll excuse me,' Alearindu bowed her head, and then caught up to Gandalf.

'Gandalf,' Alearindu bowed her head. 'I was wondering about Volondil and him entering the castle. Are we to take horses into the Castle? I'm not quite sure how Volondil would be about walking by the time we got there. What should we do?'

[piosenniel]

Holly made her way to where Volondil sat on Mornen. The horse looked none the worse for wear from it's previous ill fated encounter with the pit, but its present rider looked pale and ill at ease. He motioned her to help him down from his seat, and she spoke softly with Mornen to keep him steady while Aislan held the reins.

Volondil slid slowly to the ground, bearing much of his weight by the strength of his arms. He stood for some few minutes, bent over, hands on knees, willing his breath back to some regularity. At last he raised his face to her and stood up straight, a fine bead of sweat breaking out on his brow. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and leaning on her for support, bade her take him to where Peri and Andreth stood waiting.

'Do you not think you push yourself too fast?' she asked him as they walked along. 'Your wound pains you greatly still, though I see your strength has begun to come back somewhat.'

'Yes, and by the time we reach the castle, I need to have the majority of my strength returned.' He splinted his side with his hand, taking deep breaths, as they walked. 'I need your help. I cannot be carried all the way to Castle Maladil on the back of the horse. I will still be as weak as a kitten, and worse, useless, should I do that. I must walk some as we go along and in the end be able to wield my blade should the need arise.' He squeezed her shoulder, causing her to stop and face him. 'I need your help.'

Holly turned a frowning face to him, and shook her head. 'Foolish Man!' Seeing the resolve in his eyes, she shrugged, and answered that she would do what she could, if he agreed to her conditions. They had reached the pony and Andreth by then, and Volondil sat down on a grassy rise, smiling weakly. 'And what conditions might those be Mistress Holly?'

She outlined for him that he must let her check his healing wound each day, and she would be the judge of how long he should walk each day and when he needed to let Mornen carry him. His strength should come back in increments and not impair his healing. As to his use of the sword, the quickness and turns he would need to maneuver with it, she said she had a thought at how that might be accomplished.

She asked Andreth to fetch the Ranger's pack. The woman returned quickly with it, placing it before the man, who looked expectantly at Holly. Untying the pack, she bade him find the boiled leather vest he wore beneath his mail. Once done, she checked the dressing over his wound and found it dry and intact. She motioned for him to stand and put on the vest, leaving it unlaced. Picking up a spare shirt of his from the pack, she folded it to fit against the area of the wound, then laced the vest tight against it.

'Now try your sword - a little!' she urged him, standing back as he drew it. His face was a twinned mirror of delight and effort as he made a few, gentle passes with his blade. She reached out a hand to restrain his arm as he prepared to practice more. 'Wonderful!' he cried softly, leaning now on the pommel as he rested from the brief excecise, the tip of his blade secured against the ground before him.

'Yes, well, but perhaps you should not be too enthusiastic as yet. I think you will be more ready by the time we have reached the castle, but don't go off on your own. You will need your companions about you should trouble arise.'

She laughed to herself as he took a few more passes in the air. 'Just one small shove from this small Hobbit's hand, and you would go sprawling, blade or no.' She watched as he resheathed his sword; then, taking the vest from him, she checked his wound once more and bade him rest for a moment before he remounted Mornen.

[Mithadan]

As the group had travelled towards Tharbad, a great deal of animated discussion had taken place concerning the Castle and its inhabitants. Yet Nardol ever held himself aloof from conversation. Indeed, few spoke to or even approached him as they continued down the Old South Road, save Bethberry who tended his wound from time to time. Even she had few words for him; his gruffness and unfriendly demeanor deflected her few attempts at conversation. Even the other Elves avoided him, though this was to his satisfaction as he understood them to be of Galadriel and Thranduil's people and he was not fond of either the Lady of the Golden Wood or the Lord of Wood Elves.

They suffered no further mishaps along the road and made relatively good time considering the injuries sustained by several members of the group. Perhaps two days away from the Castle, they made camp on the south side of the road in a small clearing. Nardol dismounted and limped about attempting to stretch his wounded leg. Even as he lowered his pack to the ground, he noticed one of the Half-Men approaching Rustal slowly. Do they not learn? He stalked forward, but halted as the Halfling whistled quietly, then turned toward him and said, "His left foreleg is injured. May I examine it?" Nardol considered the short Man for a moment, then nodded curtly. He murmured a few words to the horse who stilled as the Hobbit examined the Stallion's leg.

"Here," said Olo. "A thorn has torn his skin and lodged in just by the joint. It is irritated but it is not infected. May I care for him?" Nardol nodded again and watched as the Hobbit carefully extracted the thorn, washed the scratch and applied a balm to the injury.

Olo smiled broadly. "A fine beast," he said. "He's taken no harm and will be well on the morrow." Nardol nodded again and stood as an awkward silence fell. Olo's friendly face began to fall into a frown. "Maybe Elves do things different but where I come from..." the Hobbit began. The Elf interrupted. "Thank you," he said simply. Then he turned and walked back to his pack. Olo shook his head. "A fine piece of work he is..."

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[piosenniel]

Olo shook his head. ‘A fine piece of work he is...’ he thought to himself, then cut off the unproductive thought. It was hard not to dismiss the Elf when his manner was so stand-offish. Still the horse was his first concern, and the Elf had been less abrasive than usual. He squared his shoulders and strode off after him.

'Excuse me, Master Elf! I should like to give you this to use on his leg.’ Nardol looked up from where he sat, his face reflecting neither irritation nor invitation. Olo held out his hand with the small pot of unguent in it. 'Use this please, once a day after you wash away the crusted area. As I said, it should look quite a bit better in the next day or so. But please continue to care for it for at least two days after it looks healed. Appearances can be deceiving, when it comes to pain and festering. Wounds oft go deeper than we see them on the surface.’

Nardol looked the hobbit squarely in the face at this last remark, finding no hidden trace of pity or disgust evident – only the simple exchange of information from one horseman to another. His brow furrowed and he took the proffered unguent from the Hobbit’s hand. Another simple ‘Thank you’ followed by another awkward silence. Nardol stared down at the pot as if it were the most interesting item in the entire camp.

The Hobbit’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Elf. ‘My word!’ he thought to himself. ‘He is much like that dappled warhorse those traders gave to my Da in exchange for one of our sturdy ponies. Ill used by those nasty orcs who captured his rider, his spirit was just as scarred, if not more so, than his flanks where they had beat him and cut him with their lashes. Starved, he was, as much for contact as for food. Wary, though, and mean if he felt threatened in the slightest way.’

‘Nardol . . . your name is it not?’ he said casually, drawing the Elf’s attention back to him. ‘Mine is Olo. Olo Gardener of Michel Delving.’ He waited for a moment to see if even this simple gesture would be spurned, then plunged on. ‘We’re setting up camp over there’. He motioned with his chin toward where Holly and Andreth were setting up a small site for themselves and their companions. Peri and Whinny grazed on the grasses along the path’s edge, and Poppy sat on a log near the fire pit, laying the shavings, tinder and wood for a cooking fire later that evening.

‘There’ll be plenty of food and sweet-spice tea, and a pipeful of Southern Star, if you’re so inclined, though I know that most Elves find the habit not to their liking. Come, if you will . . . when the sun’s a finger’s width above the western rim.’ He turned and walked away from the Elf, waving a fare well.

‘Oh,’ he called back over his shoulder as he walked toward his companions, ‘and don’t worry about Holly. I’ll see to it she doesn’t try to poison you . . .’

[ December 27, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

'Gandalf,' Alearindu bowed her head. 'I was wondering about Volondil and him entering the castle. Are we to take horses into the Castle? I'm not quite sure how Volondil would be about walking by the time we got there. What should we do?'

* Gandalf tossed an oaken log onto the campfire, holding out his pipe bowl towards it. The log thudded a momentary solid comfort against the falling twilight. A chorus of sparks snapped outwards, leaping up so high that the people sitting nearest jumped with a slight start. Gandalf’s pipe bearing Holly’s shared Southern Star came ablaze from the fire’s stray touch. * Safe for Volondil to enter the Castle? There will be no safe place, Alearindu, inside nor out, once arrived at our destination. The reach of the age-old curse of Maladil has grown beyond the boundaries of household. Volondil already has felt its clawing.

* Gandalf’s expression gentled as he turned towards the still-hobbling ranger. * Volondil, though you wish you could do more, your being is worth more than your doing. May the healing of your injuries bring healing to others.

As for taking horses into the Castle, ... * Gandalf smiled. * Horses should fare better than we, if only they could climb the stairs. Nay, at best the horses and ponies should be stabled on the grounds of Laurëondo, the better to protect them from Orcs. That is, if the horses don’t spook. Aislan can help us with the horse tending, and someone should accompany our good hostler. None of us should walk alone undefended on the Castle grounds. Even Poppy will be guarded … by Maladil himself, I’ll warrant. For despite all the evidence, yet I cannot believe he has forsaken his honor, however misplaced that honor has been from the first utterance of his oath.

* As the company assembled around the campfire, Gandalf presented them each with three long, thin rods of metal with thick heads on one end, like tiny cattails ... Aislan, Alearindu, Andreth, Bethberry, Estelarion, Hinura, Holly, Menelduliniel, Olo, Volondil. All except for Poppy, and Gandalf’s only answer when the gold-bearing Hobbit questioned why was a cryptically muttered "Maybe later." As for Nardol, Gandalf held three metal rods in readiness to present to the warrior-Elf as well, should he approach the campfire and join with the rest. *

* Midnight grazed peacefully enough, wandering freely as a shadow within sight of camp. *

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Bêthberry]

The crackle of the campfire and the scent of tobacco mixed with burning oak brought the strange company into various moods of mellow reflection.

Bethberry rose and accepted her cattail-like rods from Gandalf with a sombre nod. "As you know, Gandalf, I will not be entering the Castle. My footsteps will take me to the garden, where lies my concern. You will, I know, explain later what you would have me do there, unless you wish me to be guided by my own wits." The grey wizard nodded in reply, between puffs on his pipe.

The daughter of the Old Forest then retreated, for she wished to speak to Andreth. On her way over to the young woman of Bree, she stopped behind Aislen, who had just returned from caring for the horses. "Have you asked Olo about Nardol's horse, or perhaps Nardol himself? Speak directly to him if you have concerns about the animal, but do not upbraid the elf. Rest assured that wherever such defenses lie, there lies also good reason."

With knowing eyes, Aislen answered, "I will ask about the horse and I will hold my tongue further. Once bitten, twice shy."

"No, the wrong reason, Aislen. Be more patient in your youthful enthusiasm."

Seeing Nardol leaning against a tree, just outside the light of the circle, Bethberry then sought out Andreth, but her movement caught the elf's eye.

"Andreth, the beauty of your embroidery has caught my attention. You have been anxious to escape the confines of home, but I see you have brought something of home with you."

With a half smile and slight shrug, Andreth gave an equivocal answer.

Bethberry continued. "You have asked if perhaps I know the Ancient Tongue of the elves. That I do not, so you must call upon Nardol's help in the translation thereof."

A look of interest and a raised eyebrow from Andreth brought out greater explanation from Bethberry. Nardol, too, looked up, to listen.

"While it is true that I know the sorrows of the early Ages and grieve still the loss of Nogrod and Belegost, it has never been my gift to empathize with the elves, but rather the dwarves. From before the breaking of Thangorondrim I was taught the secret tongue of the dwarves, for I could fathom their love of beauty and of creation as it was always free from possessiveness. They love creating but not hoarding and thereby have mastery of themselves, a mastery I understand so well from my father."

"This I cannot understand about the elves and their love of creation, for beauty masters them rather than their own accord. Beauty buys time for man and dwarves, but I do not think it can do so for the elves. Rather it imprisons them, binds them in cruel chains, forcing them link by link into vindictiveness, petty jealousies, betrayals, kinslaying. Both words and jewels, things of created beauty, seem to matter more than life itself to them, which they would break first before their creations. Perhaps Curufinwë, in never knowing his mother, was too unacquainted with Nienna; I do not know and I do not understand."

Andreth, not knowing the stories of which the forest woman spoke, looked perplexed but was too polite to question, for she guessed that the story was directed less at her than at Nardol--a true enough point, as Bethberry's next words made clear.

"Nardol, perhaps I have completely mischaracterized the elves' making of things. What can you tell me to teach me otherwise? How should I understand the hold of the Simarils upon you and your kind?

[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Mithadan]

Nardol's face darkened at first. But when he spoke, his words were carefully measured. "Of Dwarves and Elves, there are some of both races who are greedy and love overmuch the works of their own hands. But others of both races give of their work freely or at a fair price. It is unfair to say that one or the other is greedy."

Then his face lightened and he seemed to perceive a vision from afar. "The Silmarils," he said with a sigh. "At a time of festival in Aman, members of Finwe's house were called together to the great hall in his house on Tuna in Valinor. None knew why they were summoned, yet a rumour had gone forth that Fëanor had undertaken some great work. So many were gathered in that hall, all arrayed in the dress of festival and there were musicians and all were happy for no shadow had yet sullied the light of Valinor. I remember it well..."

Andreth interrupted in amazement. "You were there? That was ages ago!"

Nardol looked at the woman with an amused look upon his face. "There are yet some few of the Noldor living in Middle Earth who were born in Aman ere Morgoth the accursed slew the Trees. I am one of these."

The faraway look returned to his face and he continued. "Finwë called for the torches to be dimmed and the curtains drawn. And even as the room grew dim, Fëanor stepped forward bearing a case of black leather bound in silver. As he opened the case, a light came forth more fair than the glow of the stars. He drew forth the Silmarils and they were set in a circlet of Mithril and he set them upon his brows. At first they glowed and burned softly with an inner light. Then they blazed forth with the blended light of the trees, illuminating the room like the dawn."

He seemed almost to be talking to himself while wandering lost in a vision. "And when their light first filtered through the room, I beheld her. Gilwen, the fair, maiden of the stars. She who would be my wife. And while all were enraptured by the gems of Fëanor, I could see nothing else but Gilwen, her hair lit by the light of the Trees that dwelt and even now dwells in the Silmarils. I walked to her..."

He grew silent and his face dimmed as if a shadow had drawn over it. "Your wife?" asked Andreth. "Where is she now?"

He clenched his jaw and his eyes blazed. Bowing his head, he answered. "Gone! Driven away by the evil of Men. She has passed over the sea into the West with my son.' And with that he stalked away...

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[piosenniel]

'Well,' said Bird, 'looks like Olo's dinner guest won't be making an appearance.' She picked up the extra bowl by the pot of stew and ladled herself out a generous helping, making sure that she fished out all the pieces of mushrooms she could find.

Holly watched her friend, as she finished the bowl and licked the last bit of gravy from her fingers. 'Guess the grub hunting wasn't very good today, eh?' the Hobbit looked at the slight, slender woman and scratched her head wondering where all those extra helpings went to. ‘Must use a lot of energy changing shapes!’ she thought to herself.

Olo and Holly both sat at ease before the small cooking fire, each content with a pipeful of Southern Star. Volondil had shared supper with them, and lay close to the fire on a blanket, watching the sparks fly up into the gathering evening dusk.

Bird finished her stew, sighing loudly at the bottom of the empty bowl, and was now busy searching through Holly's food bag, looking for dessert. Olo raised his brows at Holly, who simply laughed and called out to her friend, 'Help yourself, Bird!'

'That I will!' She rooted about in the pack a moment longer, muttering to herself, 'I was sure she packed some dried fruits in here. Now where are they?'

'The other pack, Bird. The one near Peri's food.' said Holly, laughing. She pointed with her pipe stem toward the small bag perched on the log by Peri's feed bag. Content, now that she had found something to satisfy her sweet tooth, Bird sat down on the ground between the Hobbits. In her hands were the three metal rods Gandalf had given Holly earlier.

'What are these for?' she asked, waving them over the tips of the flames. Holly grabbed them quickly from her hand and laid them well to the side of the fire. 'Those are something Gandalf gave us. I have no idea what we are going to be doing with them. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked at her friend. 'But, you know the wizard's reputation for fireworks - best you not wave those things around the flames.'

Bird’s mouth formed a small ‘O’, and she pulled her knees up under her chin, clasping her arms about them. Never one to sit still long, except when in Ent form, her right hand soon strayed to a stick by the fire, and she began to beat a soft tattoo on the stew pot which stood just outside the fire pit. Soon a hum escaped her, and then words, as she began an old song.

There were three gypsies a come to my door,
And downstairs ran this lady, O!
One sang high and another sang low,
And the other sang bonny, bonny, Biscay, O!

Holly picked up the next verse, beating the rhythm on her thighs with the flat of her hands

Then she pulled off her silk finished gown
And put on hose of leather, O!
The ragged, ragged, rags about our door,
She's gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

And both sang then of the bewildered husband who’d come home to find his lady gone.

It was late last night, when my lord came home,
Enquiring for his a-lady, O!
The servants said, on every hand,
She's gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

O saddle to me my milk-white steed,
Go and fetch me my pony, O!
That I may ride and seek my bride,
Who is gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

O he rode high and he rode low,
He rode through woods and copses too,
Until he came to an open field,
And there he espied his a-lady, O!

‘Let me sing the Lord’s part now’ said Bird, a merry gleam in her eye.

What makes you leave your house and land?
What makes you leave your money, O?
What makes you leave your new wedded lord?
To go with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

‘And I shall be the Lady gone to the gypsies, I suppose.’ laughed Holly

What care I for my house and my land?
What care I for my money, O?
What care I for my new wedded lord?
I'm off with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

The last two verse they sang together, Bird’s sweet, piping harmony wove closely about the clear strong melody from Holly.

Last night you slept on a goose-feather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely, O!
And to-night you'll sleep in a cold open field,
Along with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

What care I for a goose-feather bed?
With the sheet turned down so bravely, O!
For to-night I shall sleep in a cold open field,
Along with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

‘Haven’t sung that one for a long time, have we, Holly” mused Bird, as she poked at the fire with her stick. ‘Good song! Though were I the Lady of it, I would have taken some of my Lord’s gold with me. The wandering life’s not all that romantic when you’re pounding down the road with a hole in your shoe, an empty belly, and a flat purse.’

Holly nodded her head at the statement. ‘True. But still there’s a certain irresistible pull to the open road that’s hard to deny.’ She poked her friend in the arm, giving her an impish wink. ‘You must admit that if one is clever enough and keeps her wits about her, there’s always an opportunity that presents itself to rectify the problem of meager monies.’

‘I’ll give you that.’ said Bird yawning. ‘Speaking of which, when do we reach the castle?’ Holly shrugged, saying Bird’s guess was as good as hers. They sat for a long while, round the fire, watching the glowing coals hiss and pop. Bird’s hand wandered once again to the metal rods that lay to the side of the fire pit, and she held one up, staring at it.

‘You sure we can’t try even one? It would be fun!’ She waved it slowly in front of Holly’s face, like a snake mesmerizing its intended victim. The Hobbit’s hand darted out quickly and snatched it from her, then secured all three of them within her grip.

‘No, Bird! Not even one!’

‘Killjoy!’ squawked the jackdaw now standing next to Holly. Hopping from foot to foot in an agitated manner, the small black and white bird launched herself upward, flying to a nearby beech. She perched on one of the lower branches, ruffling her feathers a bit, and then smoothed them out again. Tucking her head beneath her wing she settled in for sleep.

‘Good night, Bird!’ called Holly. She tapped her pipe on the rock before her and thumped the burnt pipe weed from its bowl. Refilling it, she settled back for one last smoke. There was much to think about. She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke rise upward as it streamed over the dying fire.

*******************************************
Child Ballad, #200

[ December 31, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[*Varda*]

Poppy had kept very much to herself since the realisation that she would have to face Maladil alone. All along the journey she had felt everyone’s eyes upon her, until she felt like a mouse about to walk openly into the jaws of a cat, waiting to pounce.

And then, of course, there was Holly’s plan. Poppy sat by the campfire thoughtfully. She may as well help out, providing she survived the impending encounter with Maladil.

Poppy shuddered. What was she doing? This was clearly no place for a young hobbit like her, Tookish blood running through her or not. For a moment she rued that day adventure and boiled and bubbled up in her heart, and she had decided impulsively to come along. The excitement had simmered down again, and Poppy looked to the road ahead, resigned.

“Well, no point predicting the future before it happens!” she said to herselfr. “Look at Mr Bilbo, he went off on great adventures…he disappeared, that’s true, but he was still hale and hearty when he went.” With some hope renewed, Poppy listened to the music around the campfire.

Poppy looked curiously at the strange items Gandalf was giving out to everyone. Everyone but her, she noted. Strange thin rods…thick heads. Poppy wanted to know what these were for, but on questioning Gandalf further, received no answer but a mysterious ‘maybe later.’ This did not satisfy Poppy’s curiosity in the slightest, and she wanted to know why she did not receive one.

Realising she was to receive no answers from the cryptic wizard, Poppy settled down by the fire again, and let the music drift over her, washing away her worries and fears, for now at least. Blowing some smoke up into the dark night sky, she jumped slightly as she saw a mass of wings and fluttering next to Holly, before realising it must be Bird. Poppy laughed slightly, she would never get used to all this changing.

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu thought about what Gandalf had said. 'So, I take it we are to travel in at least pairs.' It was more of a statement, than a question.

Gandalf then handed everyone three metal rods. Alearindu turned hers over in her hands, wondering what their use was. She supposed they would know eventually, so she quietly stood up, and went back over to where her pack and Mornen.

She gave Mornen a pat, and then let him graze. Alearindu put the rods by her pack, and then laid back on the grass, and gazed at the stars. She noted a few constellations; Anarrima, Menelvagor, Remmirath,Wilwarin,Telumendil,and Soronume.

She smiled and sat up, looking around the camp. Some were already settling down, and others were preparing. She noted Gandalf was still sitting by the campfire, and stood and walked over to him, then sat down near him.

'Gandalf, I don't believe I will be able to find sleep tonight.' She said, staring into the fire. 'I feel too vunerable when I sleep on journeys such as this.' She scowled at herself a bit. 'Anyhow, when do you expect to reach the castle?'

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aislan held a confused look on her face as the three rods were handed to her. She dared to take a guess at what they were, and considered the idea that it might be for light in the castle, or to scare off ghosts. She couldn't be sure though, for Aislan knew naught of Gandalf's plans. Few ever did.

Aislan strode from her place near the fire to speak with Nardol. Aislan had also noticed the small problem with Rustal, though she had feared to anger Nardol. She was sure the Hobbit Olo had done a fine job healing, but Aislan just wished to check.

"Hello. How is Rustal? Olo caught it just before me," Aislan knew she was lying a bit, and maybe Nardol knew she was actually half-terrified to anger him. "Mind if I..." Aislan looked questioningly at the elf.

"Go ahead, don't hurt yourself down by his hooves." Nardol said quietly, and Aislan couldn't even read his voice or face to see if he felt annoyed.

"I've done this many times before. My own horse Eruntale had something much the same happen," Aislan started talking again, as she bent down to check Olo's effort. "Olo did well. Rustal will not be bothered much. Shouldn't feel even the slightest sting by tomorrow," Aislan stood back up, and smiled at Nardol.

"I apologize for pestering you earlier, and hope you find the light in this company which seeks such a dark destination. I have not seen what you have, or been where you have. I know not fully the perils and the dangers that lie ahead or have laid behind, but I hope that it won't matter as long as we can work together," Aislan smiled once more as she made her way back to the fire.

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

[Belin]

Celumëomaryu blinked at Anna. The overweening, ridiculous girl wanted to compete with her ? What right had she? What foolishness had induced her to compete with an Elf in a matter of song?

But there she stood, nevertheless.

Celumëomaryu closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. It had been long and long since she had sung. She was a secretary, not a bard, and her work had been done in silence, and the silence had deepened since her death. She had avoided thinking of meanings since coming to a place where the Atani lived; the nearness of their death had seemed to render unnecessary any songs of hers. What understandings could ever come to these short-lived people? What could she reach for, lost among so many of their kind? She'd always thought Maladil a fool.

She gave a soft, bitter laugh at the irony of it.

So long, so long, but her memory held a song or two still, a song or two of silence. She did not move, but she opened her eyes and sang, softly at first.

Where in the deep night sky
The stars lie in its embrace
The courtyard still in its sleep
And peace comes over her face.

She did remember. Her voice grew stronger, and Anna took a sudden and involuntary step away from the strange and brilliant light in the Elf's eyes.

"Come to me," it sings
"Hear the pulse of the land
The ocean's rhythms pull
To hold your heart in its hand."

And when the wind draws strong
Across the cypress trees
The nightbirds cease their songs
So gathers memories.

Last night you spoke of a dream
Where forests stretched to the east
And each bird sang its song
A swan joined in a feast

And in a corner stood
A pomegranate tree
With wild flowers there
No mortal eye could see

Yet still some mystery befalls
Sure as the cock crows at morn
The world in stillness keeps
The secret of babes to be born

She arched her eyebrow at Anna, mimicking the gesture that the girl had made so many times at her.

She heard an old voice say
"Don't go far from the land
The seasons have their way
No mortal can understand."

The last note faded slowly from her voice.

[Susan Delgado]

Anna had taken a step back during Celumëomaryu's song, and now stepped forward again. She knew the Elf's song was powerful, but she would not let that daunt her. She was stubborn too and the smug expression on the Elf's face was making her angry.

Very well
Up every morning
Long before day
Cooking her breakfast alone
She quietly dresses
And pulls back the shutters
And sits in a corner all alone

But nobody ever comes by anymore
Nobody ever calls
Most days she just sits and stares
At the windows and walls
Windows and walls

Children all gone
Husband passed on
Nothing but time on her hands
Most of her mornings
Are spent in her dreams
Or making her sad little plans

Maybe she'll go into the town today
And speak to a friend she hasn't seen
Or just escape for an hour
From her windows and walls
Windows and walls

The clock on the mantle
Chiming the hours
Must be the loneliest sound
She washes her floors
And tends to her gardens
And afterwards has to sit down

Sometimes she still can remember a child
Playing with dolls of rag and straw
Now all that she's left
Are these memories and windows and walls
Day after day, windows and walls

She finished her song and glared at the Elf in defiance.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Calimiel could stand the waiting no longer. Kenelm, infuriatingly playing that harp and asking nosey questions about the prisoners. Celumëomaryu and Anna singing to decide the fate of the weaker female prisoner ... and ... and ... Calimiel could sense victory had been determined, somehow. The air pressure had changed, and swirled around her. A dark mistrust choked the daughter of Maladil ... what if the loser moved quickly to claim Calimiel's own prey? *

* With a mind-rending shriek, Calimiel plunged into the pile of living and dead bodies on the dungeon floor, pawing about until she recognized the stronger of the women of the race of Man. Her victim flopped about struggling for only a few moments. Then, Calimiel stood. Stood! And felt the floor beneath her feet, through thin wool stockings and hard leather shoes. She sighed, breathing. Breathing air! She shuddered at the stench of decay already starting to gather. Sight came to her, and she smiled, even at the dismal gloom of her accursed surroundings. Black iron bars swam into her line of vision ... unyielding, for she could no longer simply drift through them. *

* Calimiel blinked suddenly, then spoke, with the strong timbre of a physical voice. *

The keys. Where are they? I wish to come out from behind these bars.

[ January 02, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[The Fifth]

Kenelm stopped playing his harp in surprise, staring upon Calimiel, who was now a human -- no longer a wailing, blind spirit of an Elf, but that of a living mortal. Now he knew what it was all about ... the living. There were still two of them left. But who was going to take over them?

Kenelm stood quietly, looking hesitant for a moment, then drifted through the rusting iron bars, and then floated towards the stairs, stepping noiselessly down the decaying steps and to the second floor of the Castle. He arrived to the door of Maladil's bedroom, and, hearing no plates crashing or screaming, peeked in. Nobody was there.

He supposed his father was somewhere in the Great Hall, and drifted downwards to the ground floor. He still did not know whether to tell Maladil or not concerning the prisoners and their uses; the way Calimiel was glancing at him earlier with those veiled, eyeless sockets warned him not to, somehow. However, he continued to look for Maladil.

[Susan Delgado]

Anna knew it as soon as the last note faded. She had lost. She was doomed to be a Ghost forever. She felt her body fading as Celumëomaryu's shriek of triumph filled the dungeon where they'd battled.

Anna let herself fade out and for the first time didn't envision a destination, just vanished, and for a moment she felt nothing, then opened her eyes to a featureless grey world, like being in fog so dense as to be solid. In a panic, she thought of Calimiel's herb garden and in a moment she was there.

How very odd. She tried again, and got the same result, only this time she knew what to expect and didn't panic. She tried to move but had no reference to judge her success. After what she judged a short time, she rematerialised in the dungeon. One of the female prisoners was there, beating on the bars. When she saw Anna, she loudly demanded the keys, but Anna scoffed and vanished to her room. That prisoner had asked for the keys before and Anna was not about to be the one who freed the prisoners prematurely. Let the Butler do that when the time was right.

She drifted up through her ceiling and above the roof. She stared into the distance. She knew how unlikely it was that any other mortals would come to the Castle. She was truly doomed to remain this way, and now she wouldn't even have the stimulation of friends and enemies, or even Maladil's ravings. They would be mortal now, and would leave her alone with the servants, none of whom had made much of an impression on her. Maybe she would befriend that scullery maid, Tella. She seemed to have more spirit than the others, though she did allow herself to be bullied by the Butler. She wondered what would happen if she were to go into that grey place and remain. Well, she had plenty of time to experiment now. She closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun and let it beam on her and through her and considered her future.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel held the rods still in her hand. She had been thinking all this time and had remained silent, nearly worrying Estelarion. Menelduliniel was never silent and, when she was, it was usually when she was scheming of some horrid plan that would get them both in trouble.

"Estelarion," she whispered to him, getting a very small nod on his part. She knew he was dreading what she would say, as he had no clue what it would entail. "Estelarion," she tried again, "I was thinking. Should we not sing something more...joyous? For, if we are to sing to calm, should we not sing of jovial things and not of torment and sorrow?"

Estelarion's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the thought.

"I did not consider that," he said, in a surprised tone, "You may be right. What were you thinking of? Wait, I know what would be fitting. We should sing Celaid Myrn. That is a merry song."

"Yes, but it is also calming. It would not upset any excitable foes we would meet," Menelduliniel pointed out.

"Yes, then it is settled. We shall change our song. And we could even repeat that song. It has no set beginning nor end, so it would make sense, as we could sing it for some time."

"As long as my voice did not give out," Menelduliniel pointed out, although knowing quite well that her voice would not give out.

They both grew silent again, and stared into the fire...

[tangerine]

Hinura's eyes brightened when she heard this. She looked over towards the two Elves. "There is a song or two I know that is merry. They are meant to be dancing tunes, and they are very light-hearted, especially Bog a'Lochain. I'm sure I could come up with a few more."

[VanimaEdhel]

"Maybe you can teach them to us," Estelarion said, to Hinura, smiling. "We shall teach you the songs that we know. That way, we can play together. More instruments are always better for most of these songs."

Estelarion shifted positions so that he was not only facing Menelduliniel, but so he could also face Hinura as well, in case they decided to speak more. Menelduliniel was obviously engrossed in playing with the rods. She was so very much like a raccoon sometimes, it seemed. Anything that glimmered or could be played with was an object of amusement for the Elf for quite a bit of time. Estelarion laughed as he thought of this.

"What?" Menelduliniel asked.

"You are a raccoon," Estelarion said. Menelduliniel looked at her hands, for Estelarion had made reference to her raccoon-like habits before, and laughed, realizing she was playing with the rods.

"I do not even notice when I do that anymore," she laughed.

They both laughed, then stared back into the fire...

[Mithadan]

Nardol tossed and moaned in his sleep. As was so often the case, the night brought him no peace.

I can bear it no longer. There is too much sorrow here. Too many memories. I must go.

No! Do not leave me. Stay. We will befriend their kind no longer. We will separate ourselves from their ills.

They were worthy of our friendship. That is not the point. When their foes came and their people had fled, they hid me. They were true and suffered from no ills. And I watched. They stood alone, unarmed. They slew him for no reason other than that he was there. And she...they tormented her with knives and carved upon her body for their amusement as she lay screaming. They were our friends. She died in your arms and you gave her solace such as you could. Our friends were not evil. Stay if you must. I am weary. I must go. But do not turn away from those of good heart.

They have caused this. Their kind. They are faithless. But do not lose faith yourself. I did not endure the torment of Angband to lose you. Stay but a while longer!

It is you who have lost faith. Perhaps that is why you must stay. But I am worn thin and have seen too many seasons. I must go.

Nardol's cry tore through the night and woke the camp. Gandalf rushed over to stand by him with a light burning at the end of his staff. Nardol could not meet his eyes nor bear the gaze of the others around him. He buried his head in his hands. "It was nothing. I am sorry..."

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Nardol ... you're not alone.

* Gandalf's tone held the softness of true understanding. For a dream he'd had many years ago, a dream that had come true, now returned to the wizard in a flash of clarity more immediate than the light of his staff. *

I dreamed I was aboard a ship just set out from the Grey Havens, but not with the destination of sailing West. Rather, with the responsibility of completing a quest for ... of all people, Master Elrond ... which entailed sailing South with several companions. Bethberry was one of these.

A violent storm arose with a lashing wind that threatened to blow the ship back East and run us aground. Using what wizardly skill I could muster and intense concentration, I focused on combatting the effects of the wind, focused towards the West, and found myself tempted to simply drive the ship as far West as I could, overcome with longing to see the Blessed Realm. But there came a voice interiorly, commanding, "There yet remains much for you to do."

Immediately then, I walked to the Southernmost part of the deck, to concentrate on steering the ship South.

That was the dream, Nardol. When it came true, however, things did not go as smoothly. But each of us did the best we could together, and that is what saved us from an otherwise certain death.

And now here it is again ... the road leads South, at Master Elrond's bidding. I've something yet to do, Nardol ... and so do you. Rest easy, now. I'll be near.

* Gandalf placed an encouraging hand on the Elf's shoulder, then turned and walked gingerly away. *

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[piosenniel]

Bird opened one beady black eye, and fixed the noisy Elf with a frigid stare. Such a pleasant dream she had been having. A craggy mountain range . . . . early morning sun on her back, and the warm thermals from the valley below holding her aloft in their soft hands. Gliding, glorious gliding . . . . so far and so long . . . . without effort. The river below a silver sliver between grey walls.

She ruffled her feathers and unclenched her feet from round the branch on which she slept. Flitting down to where Holly lay sleeping, she grasped a beak full of curls and tugged hard on it. She hopped back, squawking loudly in the Hobbit’s ear as Holly’s hand reached up in her sleep to slap away the offending creature. Bird cocked her head to one side and watched as Holly settled back into sleep. Hopping close to her again, she hissed in her ear. ‘Wake up! I need some company.’

‘Oh Bird!’ came the drowsy mumbling of the Hobbit. ‘First the screaming Elf, now you. Let me sleep. Please!’ Holly pulled the blankets over her head, shutting her eyes and ears against the insistent jackdaw.

‘Bird! Is that you?’ Volondil’s voice carried from the makeshift shelter in which he had lain resting. Should have been resting, that is, except for the dull ache of his healing scar. No matter the position he tried, he could not get comfortable. For hours now, he had lain silently awake, turning from one side to the other, listening to the sounds of the camp in darkness. Nardol’s pained cry had rent the muted murmurings of the night, bringing Volondil to a sitting position. The suddenness of the movement made him gasp softly with pain, and now he sat holding his side, willing the misery to subside.

‘Come help me up.’ he called quietly to her. A soft flutter of wings brought her to his side. Then a momentary flutter of her small image in the darkness played tricks with his eyes, and there she stood before him, offering a hand up. ‘Thank you.’ he whispered, holding tight to her small hand.

He put his arm about her shoulders, as if for support. ‘Walk with me. I need to stretch my legs.’ She saw him wince in the moonlight as he took the first step, and she slipped her arm about the small of his back to offer more support.

It was only a brief walk. He grew tired and Bird helped him back to his bed. ‘Stay and talk just a little, if you will.’ he asked her, sighing as his muscles relaxed, and the ache softened. He kept her hand within his own, and his eyes closed against his will.

‘I’ll sing you a song to lull you to sleep, to bring you sweet dreamings. She sang softly, watching his face relax, and his breath come slow and even.

What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till thy little wings are stronger.
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till thy little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby too shall fly away.

Bird gently drew her hand from his and walked back to where Holly lay, her head resting on her arm, eyes open, watching her friend approach. ‘Not a word!’ said Bird, shaking her finger at Holly. ‘Not now!’

She leaped, spreading her wings, and taking flight, a small jackdaw once again. Placing her head beneath her wing, she willed herself to sleep – back to dreams of riding the mountain thermals. But sleep did not come easily. She ruffled her feathers, flapping her wings in annoyance. Restless, she flew to a small, nearby clearing and landed in the center of it.

Raising her wings upward, she felt her feet sink deep into the ground beneath them, spreading out, gathering nourishment from the earth. Branches reached for the night sky, torso thickened and stiffened. Time slowed down for her. She needed to think.

_________________________________________

Lullabye by Alfred Lord Tennyson

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Andreth slid out from her bedroll and walked gingerly over to the edge of the campsite where the Elf lay quietly on the ground, his eyes wide open, staring out into the darkness. She could not get the words out of her head that he had spoken to her earlier that evening. How his face had glowed when he spoke of the Silmarils and the fair maiden Gilwen with the starlight in her hair. It was as if he had been another being completely, one far removed from the tormented soul who now raged and ranted at his companions.

She had heard his anguished cries from the other side of the campsite, and had even made out some of the tormented words he'd spit out in the agitation of his sleep as well as the wisdom and comfort that Gandalf had tried to offer him. And a small bit of it had touched her heart. For she too had dreams that wrenched her soul. At the beginning of this journey, she had pledged to undertake this matter out of respect for her father. For the tales had said a son or daughter must be sent rather than one full grown. But now it had gone beyond that. It was her own wish as well.

As they came closer to the Castle, her visions were becoming ever more vivid. It was almost as if someone inside was reaching out to pull her in with them. A shudder ran through her body. Andreth felt there would be no rest for her until her kin and their household could find some glimmer of peace.

Uncertain what to do, or how she could help the Elf, she went over to the brook nearby and drew a flagon of clear water. The brook babbled with sweetness, holding waters cold and sparkling. I have heard, Andreth thought, that goodness lies in water, and the spirit of Ulmo rests over all such places, especially for those in dire need. May it be so in the simple cup I offer him.

Andreth walked up to Nardol and knelt by his side. She held out her hand with the cup of water. "You are troubled, and I can do little. Much that you say I can not even understand. But even a Child of Man can sense sadness, and feel some desire to help. Here, drink this, for you are hot and restless."

Nardol sat up and accepted the cup, and softly whispered his thanks, but said nothing else.

"I do not know what great matter keeps you here, instead of following the one you love. But you must be an Elf of great honor to stay here when this world brings you such torment."

"I am but a mortal, but if there is anything I may do or say to help you, I will try. Your words have touched my heart. Perhaps this is because I too have a deed that draws me on, and visions that come unbidden in the night. My own tale is brief and lacks the depth or torment of yours, but still it tugs at my heart as we journey closer to the Castle."

Andreth hesitated. She was truly afraid to say anything else, as she did not think Nardol would approve of her or her kin. But she did not wish to deceive him. She found herself spilling out her story to the silent figure on the ground, hoping for someone to hear and understand.

"Those folk in the Castle are my kin. My father is the last descendent of Adela's older brother. Do not say you do not approve of the union. To be truthful, I too feel they would have done better to take an easier path in life, and stick with their own folk. But I can not change that. Nor can I turn away when they come to visit me in the night with their tears and torment."

Andreth began to cry, "We have letters, letters from Maladil to his wife. They are personal things, of no use for this quest, but they are filled with love. One time he was different. And the children suffer so."

"I know this is but a small matter to one of your lineage who has seen so many things of great import. But could you find it in your heart to help us? Your body is here on the quest. I ask for a piece of your heart as well. And if there is any small thing that my family or I can do to help you find your way homeward or to fulfill the doom that awaits you, we will gladly do so."

Andreth hunched herself into a small, miserable ball on the ground, wondering if she should have said anything, and whether or not Nardol himself had a son or daughter somewhere which would perhaps soften his heart. But she was not at all certain. She waited for the Elf to send her away with sharp words of disdain.

[ January 05, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Maladil lurched into the Private Sitting Room off the Great Hall. The master of the Castle found himself standing in the middle of a small mahogany table with legs carven as of winding vine tendrils encircling slender tree stems. He backed away, ethereal fingers curling about an unadorned white porcelain vase ... But no, he would not smash this. For it still contained, alive and freshly blooming, the last flowers Adela had ever seen. Lilacs of kingly purple, sprightly magenta, purest white. Their aroma shone out ten times stronger than what mere nature had given them. *

* Calimiel had picked the lilacs that evening, just before dinner. Adela had hugged her daughter in thanks, smiled, set the vase down, proceeded to the dining room, alone, just before dinner. Minutes before dinner. *

* And had Adela died a respectable death? A death majestic in its tragedy? A death nobly becoming of her beauty and grace? A death consoling to the memory in any way? But no. She had not aged into any peaceful passage from a long life, nor lapsed into mournful illness, nor died heroically in childbirth, nor even been attacked by Orcs envious of her worth, nor of anything remotely worthy of song. *

* Nay, but the Valar had seen to it that Adela's fate be so ludicrous and humiliating as to not even be worthy of the stately sound conjured up by the very name of "fate." The Lady Maladil had simply met her end by choking on a bit of meat and bone, unable to even cry out. By the time Maladil, unawares of what transpired, arrived to join his wife for dinner, Adela had already slumped over into her final earthly pose. There'd been a wine glass smashed on the floor under her chair, staining the carpet. *

* Kenelm entered the Sitting Room to find his father carefully replacing the vase onto its table, then launching into a recital of curses against the Valar. Maladil cursed them all. From Eru, for being, to Mandos, for doom's cruelty, to Ulmo, who would offer Adela no friendly passage across the Western Sea to the shores of Aman, to Manwë, who withheld the living winds of air and breath from Adela's throat, to Elbereth, whose brightest starlight could not replace the light of Adela's spirit... the list went on as always, ... to Yavanna, for growing the lilacs that now outlasted his wife. *

[piosenniel]

Holly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groaned as she turned over once again. Her bed was uncomfortable, rocks seemed to sprout like onions beneath her, and a bone chilling cold had crept up from the ground and gnawed its way into the marrow of her bones. 'Olo! Are you awake?' Her only answer was the soft, regular snoring from across the fire. Nothing to do but get up.

She dug down deep beneath her blankets, fishing for the sweater and vest she had stuffed in with her to keep them warm. Hastily pulling on the extra garments, she crawled reluctantly from her bed roll.

A handful of wood shavings, followed by a small pile of kindling, and Holly bent to the embers of the fire, blowing them into a bouquet of small red and yellow flames. She huddled there for a few moments, a blanket drawn round her shoulders, hands and face drinking in the warmth. Taking the pot of water they had left for breakfast tea, she placed it on the grate over the small fire, and dug through her small pack for the canister of tea.

The rustle of leaves from above told her that Bird had returned. ‘Yes, I’m awake now, Bird. Come down and sit with me.’ A soft whirr of feathered wings passed by her ear as the jackdaw sought to land beside her friend. Then the figure of the small woman sat hunched beside Holly, knees drawn up beneath her chin and held close within the circle of her arms. She stared intently at the fire, its flames dancing across the mirrors of her dark eyes. The Hobbit reached behind her and grabbed another blanket to place round the tiny form beside her.

Holly busied herself with the heated water and the making of tea. She poured a steaming mug of fragrant sweet spice and handed it to Bird, then poured a mug for herself. A comfortable silence enveloped them. Only the sound of the fire crackling and popping as more wood was added to it broke the quiet spell.

Bird sighed and moved restlessly within the tent of the blanket. Holly cringed, fearing what she might say. She placed her hand on Bird’s arm, feeling the tension running through her. Holly spoke softly, before Bird had said a word. ‘Don’t go, Bird. Don’t fly away this time. We can talk this through.’ She gazed at her friend’s profile, the expression a jumble of unresolve and sadness. ‘Stay, won’t you?’

She turned her drawn face to the Hobbit. ‘And what if I should stay. How will it be different from all the other times?’ She laughed, a harsh, short sound.

[ January 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry settled back into her bedroll, surrounded by her wool cloak, and pulled the rough blanket tighter around her. She lay back on the hard ground and smelt the musty aroma of the earth mingle with the faint whiffs of grass and woodland. Turning to the fire, she watched the sparks, spinning and twisting, dance up to the ebony vault overhead, to be lost among the stars.

"He found his love by the light of the Simarils," she said to herself, "but they were eclipsed by that love. The personal once again intruding on the universal, overwhelming it."

Bethberry thought then of Maladil and his family and their overwhelming pain of the personal, the particular. "There is nothing to take them out of their pain, beyond their burdens," she reflected, looking again up at the stars, the light of which absorbed the little campfire sparks. Quietly she watched for some time the interplay of spark and star before she finally fell asleep.

[ January 09, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[*Varda*]

Poppy lay in deep slumber, as shadows drifted around in her mind, haunting her sleep. Suddenly she sat up, breathing heavily, darting glances around at her sleeping companions. She knew not what had caused her to wake so suddenly, or to be so startled upon awakening, but the heavy darkness, broken only by the small glow of light emitted from the fire, did nothing to ease her panicked thoughts. Finally, hearing the murmur of voices, and realising that at least two of her companions were still awake, she settled back down on the ground, and attempted to get back to sleep. It could only have been a nightmare, or some such thing. She was ordinarily a heavy sleeper, and felt somewhat ashamed that such a little thing could have woken her up. Thankfully, no one had observed her shocked awakening.

A moment or two later, she was sleeping as a hobbit might, after a long pleasant evening filled with food, ale, and pipeweed, with her hand firmly on the bag of gold next to her head.

[piosenniel]

‘Just tell me plain what you mean by “all the other times”, Bird.’ Holly picked up a long charred stick and poked the fire, sending little sparks flying upward in the rising heat. Bits and pieces had come out, along the long course of their friendship, about the skin-changer’s checkered history with romance, most ending with Bird’s comment that it just wasn’t in the cards for her. Holly had always let the subject drop with that statement, respecting her friend’s need for privacy. But she knew that the half-joking way in which Bird said it belied the pain that prompted it.

Now the words tumbled out. ‘Here’s plain for you, Holly. Men don’t like us skin-changers. We’re not quite beasts, but we surely aren’t Men. They don’t know what we are. And what they don’t know they fear and hate and hurt.’ She took the stick from Holly’s hand and jabbed savagely at the heart of the fire. ‘They use us because we can do things for them. But they never, ever “see” us for the creatures we are.’ A tear escaped down Bird’s cheek only to be hastily wiped away with the back of her hand.

A certain silence fell between the two women. The flames of the fire flared up, throwing the features of their faces into sharp relief. Holly's low voice broke the quiet with a question. 'How can I help you?' Bird hunched her shoulders against the question, saying nothing.

‘Then let me speak plainly for now.’ continued Holly, when several cold, silent minutes had gone by. ‘I like him. There is a sense of easy friendship that we have grown into. I’ll admit at first I saw him as I usually do the big folk, thinking he would see me as an overgrown child to be taken care of and tolerated as something amusing. But I’ve found him to be thoughtful and considerate of my opinions when we speak, taking them seriously, even when he disagrees.’ Holly smiled as she thought of her first encounters with the Ranger. ‘For all his rule-bound man-headedness, Bird, I count him a fair and gentle friend.’

Bird snorted at this last remark. Holly chuckled, saying, ‘But then I think I’ve grown quite accustomed to my friends’ range of quirky attributes in whatever shape they appear. My thanks to our long friendship for that!’

The day’s pale morning light was just starting to seep through the trees. Holly yawned and stretched, then knelt close to the fire and built it up. ‘It’s going to be a long day, Bird. Get out the packet of strong tea and the dark honey, if you will. My energy is flagging already.’

Olo stirred in his blankets as the sun rose higher. He sat up as the scent of tea assailed his nose. ‘Heads up, Olo!’ cried Bird, as she pitched a wizened apple across the fire to him. He smiled and pointed to the mug of tea she sipped at, miming that he would like one to drink. ‘Come round and get a mug of tea yourself, you lazy git!’ she called. ‘Or did you think I should throw one over the fire to you?’ Olo shrugged, mouthing ‘sorry’ at her, and came round to claim his tea.

Holly heard Volondil as he woke from sleep. Grabbing her bag of medicines and dressings, she motioned for Bird to come with her. ‘Come distract him with your early morning charm, Bird. I need to clean his wound and change the dressing.’ She strode off toward the makeshift shelter. ‘And bring him some tea. He needs plenty of liquids to build up his blood, get his strength back.

‘Nothing to do but follow directions when Holly starts organizing things.’ grumbled Bird as she grabbed another mug of hot tea, and trotted after the quick footed Hobbit. The scalding liquid sloshed from the mug, landing on her hand. She dropped the mug, and swore at it like a brigand. Sucking the scalded patch she ran after Holly.

Olo sipped at his own mug of tea and shook his head at the unfolding scene. ‘Early morning charm, eh?’ he laughed. ‘I sincerely hope he has grown an extra thick skin along with his new scar, else he’ll never survive it!’

[ January 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Mithadan]

Nardol looked up sharply at Andreth. "I am here, am I not?" he replied hotly. "I have joined this venture and will do what I can to aid you and Mithrandir. Do not imply that I would do less than I can!"

Andreth stood her ground and met his gaze evenly. He took a deep breath as he pondered what other insult he might fling at the woman to make her leave him be. At that moment, the sun peeked over the horizon filling the campsite with a golden but uncertain light. Whether it was some trick of the light or some vestige of his dream, Andreth's face was veiled briefly in shadow while her hair shimmered in the morning's early glow. And she reminded him of another; one whom he and Gilwen had befriended many centuries before.

He exhaled slowly and his shoulders sagged with the weariness of the ages. Why will this one not leave me be? Then, to his own surprise, he spoke quietly. "I do not know why I chose to stay here in Middle Earth either at the close of the First Age or when Gilwen took to the Havens with my son," he said. "After the War of Wrath, Gilwen would have passed into the West, but I wished to remain and she would not be parted from me, so recently returned to her from the pits of Angband."

Andreth started at this and he read the shock on her face. "Aye," he continued. "I was with Maedhros in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and when the accursed Men of the East proved craven and unfaithful and went over to the side of the Dark One, I protected the flank with my friends and was wounded and taken captive and brought to Angband. I will not willingly speak of that dark place now, nor do I think that you would wish to hear the tale.

"We dwelt together for an Age revelling in the beauty of Middle Earth and fearing the new darkness which drew across the land. But after the Last Alliance won the field in Mordor, we believed that perhaps the peace and beauty which we had known would return. This was not to be.

"A few hundred of your years after the War, a small town of Men sprang up not far to the west of Imladris. Gilwen and I often journeyed there and we befriended the lord and lady of that place, Dalmir and his wife Ithwen. And there, for the first time, we witnessed the grief that is the brevity of the life of Men firsthand. Yet, we remained friends and when they had grown old, Gilwen wished to visit them and journeyed to the town."

His eyes were lost in the shadows of the morning and it seemed that the birds stilled their songs to hear the tale. "A band of outlaws and theives fell upon the town and the people fled before them; all but Dalmir and Ithwen who would not leave their home or abandon Gilwen to the chances of the wild. They hid her and met the bandits in the open, unarmed. Dalmir they slew in cold blood with little thought. But they held Ithwen, demanding that she reveal the location of any valuables. Then, dissatisfied with their takings, they tormented her and drew foul markings on her body with knives.

"The people of Imladris heard of the impending attack and I led many warriors and riders to the rescue of our friends -- too late. We drove the bandits off, but found Ithwen suffering and near death in the town square. I held her as she died even as Gilwen came forth from her hiding place. She had seen what had taken place but could do nothing and she wept as Ithwen closed her eyes and her spirit fled."

Nardol's eyes grew cold and distant. "Gilwen could bear Middle Earth no more. She passed over the sea and my son with her. I was not ready to leave yet. But I swore to never again befriend one of the Atani who had so often proven unfatithful and evil." And with that he turned away from Andreth and sat silently as the sun rose higher.

[ January 07, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf allowed himself to relax a little longer, stretched out between wakefulness and sleep, hat brim pulled down over his eyes, as morning conversation fell like pebbles against the pool of dreaming. He was in fact running over other conversations in his mind, from the time of his first meeting Menelduliniel. *

* Oh, he'd had reservations about travelling with the dramatically tragic, lovelorn Elf at first. Her present life squandered by a guilt-darkened past and dizzily-light approach to the future, Menelduliniel had placed herself in an exile deeper than that duly ordained by justice. Thus, she'd wanted to share Gandalf's road for the purposes of small amusement, self-distraction, and sightseeing … to see "strange and wonderful things." What Menelduliniel sought was escape from her very self. *

"Strange and wonderful things," eh, Meneli? * Gandalf had smiled wryly as they set out from the Prancing Pony. * Yes, and dangerous. Come with me, and you might discover your own direction in the dedication of others' lives. ... Yet, I hesitate to bring you with me, for though I do not look for trouble along the road, there is plenty of it to be found unlooked for these days.

* Menelduliniel and her friend Estelarion rankled on Gandalf's nerves as the journey had progressed. On the road to Sarn Ford, it took all of his concentration on the lessons taught by Nienna the Weeper regarding pity and patience for the wizard not to explode with the full extent of his anger. As it was, he'd called them "fools of Elves" when they'd insisted on galloping off into an ambush even after Holly's pony Peri had prudently blocked the road ahead, sensing danger. And at the Trade Inn, Gandalf had sputtered and laughed at Menelduliniel when she tried to arrange a search party for Holly, who as it happened was not lost at all, but in fact had merely gone out in search of some privacy and a bit of fresh air.*

* Some days later, on the last leg of the journey to Tharbad, it had surprised him when Menelduliniel, telling her life story with all its usual woe to Poppy Took, added a new twist to her tale. "I feel that, if I ever am allowed back into society, it will be Mithrandir's doing," she'd said. Why, to attribute such a thing to him! Something had held Gandalf back from replying that nay, it would be Menelduliniel's own doing, of Menelduliniel's own deserving. Better to let the Elf make the discovery for herself. The thought then began to cross Gandalf's mind that whereas the ghosts of Castle Maladil would find peace by leaving that place, Menelduliniel might find peace by her arrival and questing there. *

* And finally, Gandalf nearly fell over as if struck by a lightning of gladness on overhearing Menelduliniel speak with Estelarion, just this very night past. For she had decided to change her well-practiced song of torment and sorrow to one of accepting calm joy. He smiled again at the thought of this music, glad to have Menelduliniel along on this journey ... for the sake of the trapped suffering spirits in the Castle, for her own sake ... and for his. *

[The Fifth]

Kenelm stood silently, as Maladil uttered each and every curse. He was used to such behavior even now, for his father had been quick-tempered and gruff all the time he had known him, but only especially now that Adela perished. When the storm of words soon winded down to spiteful mutterings, Kenelm drew closer.

"Adar ... " he spoke softly, but also urgent in manner and tone. "I have news for which I need to speak to you of." He looked at the floor and the wine-stained spot, afraid that his father would do something to him, although he was already not of the living. He continued. "There is something going on, in the dungeons above us. Living prisioners of Mannish origin. A few are dead, and three remain alive. But ... only two still are free." He clung onto his old harp tightly. "Calimiel had taken one ... she now walks on the ground, breathes, and sees once more ... I do not know who will seize the rest." He stopped, after feeling unusually talkative.

His gaze diverted towards the bunch of lilacs in the vase, memories sifting slowly through his mind. He remembered when he was but a small elfling, and we would walk the gardens with Adela, timidly clinging onto her soft hands. The flowers were rich with colour, and spread out in the sunlight. He remembered that fateful day, when his mother had presented him with a beautiful harp, wrought of mithril, designs of swans gracefully encarved in it. He would play music for her, and the sweet sounds floated about. He remembered being excused early from dinner, walking towards his quarters when it happened.

And so Kenelm looked back towards Maladil, drifting back slightly, waiting for a reaction.

[Susan Delgado]

Anna had returned and was watching the remaining female prisoner jealously. She had expected Celumëomaryu to take the woman as soon as she won the contest, but she hadn't. She had gone away somewhere, probably the library, and left the spoils unguarded. She wondered why. Calimiel had understood immediately as soon as the contest was over what might happen to her prisoner, but Celumëomaryu being very trusting or very stupid. Since there was no love lost between herself and the Elf, Anna favored the latter. No matter. The prisoner was unguarded, and Anna was not about to let herself be above temptation. Keeping her eyes open for any sign of Celumëomaryu's return, she moved toward the woman huddled on the cell floor...

[Belin]

Oddly, Celumëomaryu had hesitated, staring into the living face that had taken on such a strange resemblance to Calimiel’s. The features, though lovely, were nothing like those of Maladil’s daughter, yet the way she held her head and the sudden smile that crept across her face in a direction totally incompatible with the lines of its past were intimately familiar to the secretary, and clearly unfamiliar to the neck and the lips that they were using. The eyes stared back at her, wide and unblinking, as if she had nearly forgotten how to see. Inexplicably, Celumëomaryu shivered. Was that how she would look? Disjointed, unnatural… monstrous? How did her prisoner smile?

She glanced uneasily into the corner of the cell, where the other female prisoner was sitting with her face in her hands, but Calimiel repeated herself impatiently, this time directing the words to her. “The keys, Celumëomaryu. Get them. Let me out.”

Yes. The keys. She shook herself. She was to have a body, she was to have the physical strength she’d longed for, and all would change. Why should she stand here worrying about her beauty? It was no more than that, she told herself, and in any case the jarring appearance of the face was sure to change with time. She shivered again, turned, and went to seek The Butler.

******

The Butler sat before the fireplace in his own quarters, deep in thought. Celumëomaryu had not been in this room since he’d lived there, and found that it did not surprise her much. The room was windowless, colorless, and dim, with its air slightly smoky from the candles and its tables immaculate. The Butler sprang up from his straightbacked chair the moment she walked in.

Who told you you could come in here?

Celumëomaryu ignored the question. “I need the key to the cell in the dungeon.”

The Butler smiled grimly.

“I need to let the prisoners out. And Calimiel.”

Calimiel? The Butler looked startled, but only for a moment. She’s claimed one already?

“Yes. I’m not such a fool, myself. I want a body so that I can be free, not so that I can languish in a cage until you decide to let me out.”

I might say the same thing to you.

“I will return it, later, when I’ve finished with it, of course.” Celumëomaryu measured her options as she spoke. She had no art for begging, nor for flattery, and brute force was not only beneath her, but seemed unlikely to be effective. Bargaining, perhaps? She eyed the Butler’s bookshelves with some surprise as she considered. Celumëomaryu, though she read little, knew enough of books to recognize this as an impressive collection of valuable tomes and old, enough to be the envy of the library. The library.. She hesitated, remembering what it had been like to smell dusty pages... and fruit trees.

The Butler was looking at her with an expression of disdain. Of course.

“Would you like my haunt?” she inquired in a low voice.

The Butler laughed. Your haunt? Another room in this castle? Just what I need. You can wait until I’m ready myself. I have something to think about.

“No!” Celumëomaryu was surprised to find herself shrieking for the second time that day. Well, so be it. If composure was to be lost on him, she would have to be more forceful. “No. I cannot wait. I have earned this prisoner, I have done battle for her, and I have waited long enough. These years in the Castle... I have had enough years in the castle. I am not who I was, and I want to return to a body while there’s still enough of me left to appreciate it.” She stared hard and compellingly at him. “Give me the key. Give it to me. I can always go mad more quickly, you know. Or you could take my beautiful library and be grateful for it. You can sell the books back to Maladil for all I care. You can take my treasures. You can have Calimiel’s necklace and Maladil’s papers for all I care. But give me the key.”

Maladil’s... what?

She smiled. “Do you want them?”

The Butler hesitated for only a moment. Yes. I want them. Done.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]