Journeys

[Earniel]

When Tyaron finally woke the others, Hallindel noticed with some surprise it has only a little while before sunrise. The light of the distant rising sun was but just piercing through the blue veil of night. Why had they let her sleep until morning? Hadn’t they agreed to watch in turn?

Alariel had coaxed last night’s fire back alight for some warm tea and Hallindel joined the others for breakfast.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Hallindel asked. “I thought we each would keep watch in turn this night.”

Tyaron looked just a tad guilty. “You were sleeping so peacefully, and I was not tired so I woke no one. But have no fears, there will be more nights to come.”

Hallindel felt a little guilty as well, and annoyed for not having woken up herself. She felt blood rising to her cheeks, hoping she could pretend it was just the hot tea.

“Ha-“ Halweg began but his sister cut him off.

“I just don’t want to be coddled, that is all,” she said, “I don’t want to feel like I’m escorted to Rivendell instead of travelling there with friends. Next time, please just wake me.”

She bit her tongue to stop herself. Now she had probably offended them, when they had meant well with letting her sleep. Not the best way to start a journey.

“I better go pack,” she mumbled embarrassed and rose quickly to gather her bed roll and other belongings.

[Willow Oran]

After Rameldir left, Glorfindel sat back down at his desk, letting his head drop to its surface with a soft ‘thunk.’ What had he gotten himself into? He was no healer to command Rameldir to face a persistent and awful memory like that! And yet... it was the right thing to do. He was certain of it. Glorfindel’s memories of the space between bodies were unclear, but somewhere in there was judgment, he knew, and after that had been healing. He knew it had happened, could feel the effects, but could not recall how. Maddening!

Reaching beneath the desk, Glorfindel retrieved the loosely bound book of scrap-parchment he used to record his thoughts and flipped it open to the most recent page:
Faces in a ring, names scribbled to the side. Below them one face more, ageless, male? Glorfindel thought he remembered the person it belonged to fondly. He had drawn a kindliness into the eyes. Then what had he written?

First you forget.

What was that supposed to mean? His memories of living were all here now. Intact and vivid, whether he wanted them or not. Could he have forgotten at one time? It would make sense, he decided, considering the idea. Forgetting would solve the problem of becoming once more innocent through the obstacle of memory. But it hadn’t lasted.

Then you remember scenes.

The memories had been just pictures at first, paintings on the inside of his mind. Interesting, they had evoked aesthetic reactions from him. He had judged his life as lovely or ugly, nothing more, when first remembering.

And finally it hurts again.

But only when he was himself once more. No emotions until he could remember his name and speak again. Even then, emotions were... blunted. And now the very idea felt foreign. Had he really been able to greet Idril for the first time in his new body and feel only joy? Remembering now, he imposed the nervous regret he ought to have felt on the scene, and then stopped himself. What was he doing?

Glorfindel froze momentarily, thought back to all the memories of his first life he had encountered over the past few days, then picked up his pen and wrote:

Note: I must remain aware that all emotions I feel regarding past events stem from me-now and not from as-I-was and that my current interpretation of how I felt may be inaccurate as recollection.

and then:

Am I two different people?

followed by:

No. A certain detachment from the past is to be expected. Question: Could the effect be taught? Detachment clearly meant to be beneficial as it lessens the weight of memory on the féa = healing. Perhaps should discuss with mortals, who are said to forget things naturally. Not sure I believe that, the mortals I have met have had excellent recall for the most trivial of details. Should probably check with Elrond too. May have some advice I should know before subjecting mutual cousin to mental healing experiment. Even if does not, would be courteous to inform him.

Enough of this. Glorfindel closed the volume and hid it away once more. Going outside he stretched and set his sights on a friendly looking outcropping in the valley wall, high above the waterfall where the river exited the valley and tiny in the distance. He needed to run.

[Earniel]

The five Elves made surprisingly good progress. The grasslands around them were pleasant and peaceful. Neither Men or Elf still lived here, due to the war. And the Númenoreans only seldom travelled this far inland for lumber for their every hungry ship-yards. Left in peace for all those years, game and fowl was abundant and unwary in these parts. The Elves hunted if they could, trying to spare their provisions for times when game was sparse.

They came across a sweetly murmuring river. It ran in the same direction they were travelling in so they followed its course, ensuring a permanent water supply. One day, a little before noon, they at last reached the place where the unnamed river joined in a broad and impressive-looking river, the Baranduin.

Here they paused to get a good bearing on their position. By now they had nearly travelled half the distance that separated Mithlond from Rivendell. Crossing the Baranduin and finding a suitable fording site to do so would take some planning. All five were good swimmers, but the sedate pack-horse would be less inclined to exert itself like that. And it was important the pack the horse was carrying was kept dry at all cost.

While the luggage was wrapped in several layers of water-tight cloth, a prolonged dip in the water could still cause water seep in and damage the precious books inside. Cirdan had entrusted these to the travellers, just as Elrond had once left them in Cirdan’s care when he went to war. Now that the war was over, and Cirdan hinted at a possible new permanent residence at Rivendell (the Elves never could work out how the Shipwright knew such things without any messenger arriving in Mithlond), it was decided it was time the books were returned to their owner. Cirdan had included a number of empty books and book-binding materials, saying Elrond and his people would soon find use for them. And so, with this precious cargo, the five travel-companions stood at the bank of the yellow Baranduin.

To the right, beyond the river, they could see a thick-growing forest, with green hills looming behind them. They would have to pass both on their journey to Rivendell. Alariel happily obliged to climb in a lone tree for a better view. Quick as a squirrel she went up, and sitting on a sturdy branch, she studied the scenery before her.

“There appears to be a ford, a few hours up-stream,” she called down a while later to her companions. “The river widens there. I don’t know whether it’ll be too deep but I can see reed growing almost across the whole length of the river.”
“Thank you, sister,” Alagos called up. “You can come down now. We can use the reed to make a raft to ferry the horse or the packs across dryly if need be.”

The water at the ford proved high, coming up to Hallindel’s shoulders, but the current was nevertheless weak and they would be able to walk across. They spent most of the afternoon on making a small raft from thick reed stems bound together with plaited rushes for their luggage and packs. Halweg led the horse across while Alagos and Tyaron would see to the raft. Hallindel and Alariel went in first to determine the best path among the reed-beds.

Hallindel could not resist the opportunity to cut some reeds to make a reed-flute from later. And only the presence of the precious pack detained Alagos and Tyaron from engaging in a manly splashing battle. Alariel made up to them by royally splashing water into their faces as soon as the pack was safely on dry land. They repaid her by dunking her under water, for which Hallindel came to her rescue but then her brother had to come and rescue her. And soon all five were loudly laughing engaged a small water-war while the pack-horse contently grazed on the bank and looked on.

When all were tired and thoroughly soaked, they made camp on the other bank at the edge of the forest. They gave the horse an extra share of food, for its brave crossing, while they dried their own clothes and hair before the fire. Entering the forest would go better with morning light.

[Earniel]

They decided to follow a merry little stream that left the forest to meet the Baranduin. They knew the forest would have no paths but the river would no doubt spring on the hills behind the forest, so it would be a good guide.

Their trek through the forest was by far the most difficult part of their journey. They had to slowly pick their way through the trees, keeping the murmuring little stream ever within hearing distance. The horse was not happy with this uneven footing, but it allowed itself to be petted, encouraged and led deeper into the forest. Although they made but slow and tiring progress, the Elves did not share the negative opinion of their horse. For the forest was beautiful and the brook gently sang without constraint, accompanied by the occasional croaking of frogs and the rustling of the wind through the reed. Birds twittered relentlessly among the tall trees.

But during the next day their luck changed as clouds gathered above the trees and poured forth an endless rain. While the trees shielded them for some time against the downpour, the entire forest, every leaf and branch, was soon damp and dripping with water, and even the Elven cloaks started to soak up the moisture. All forest-animals were quiet now and only the continuous sound of water trickling on leaves could be heard. They could hardly hear the difference between the stream and the rain, both merely sounded like falling water. The terrain became more steep, fickle and demanding. And finding no dry place to sit out the shower, the Elves had no choice but to toil on, hoping the rains would soon cease. They were so focussed in reaching the forest-end that none of them noticed the uneven forest-floor under their feet had changed into a inundated but small and well-used path along the river-bank.

Even though they stopped frequently for rest, all were deeply weary and chilled to the bone when at last the forest ended abruptly and the hills loomed before them in the last evening-light. They sat down with a sigh, no longer caring to get wet as they were as soaked as the ground was. The horse stood by them dejectedly, water dripping from its nozzle. Halweg and Alagos had sacrificed their own cloak to further protect the luggage-pack and were shivering from the wet and cold, although neither wanted to show it. For a moment they sat there at the forest-edge, their heads down, uncertain whether they should continue today in the pouring rain or keep to the poor cover of the trees.

“There’s a light!” Hallindel said suddenly with some surprise.
“A light? Here? Who would live here?” Halweg asked, disbelieving.
“Darned if I know,” his sister said slowly. “But there’s a light, higher up the hill. I’ll say even more: I’m pretty sure it’s a candle.”
“She’s right, Tyaron spoke up. “And what’s more, there’s a path leading up that hill as well. Look at it, all that chalk is not natural, that was put there by someone.”
Alagos stood up and looked from the hill back to the forest. “We’ve been walking along it for some time now,” he added, sounding surprised. “We were all just too tired to notice.”

Alariel stood up too and shouldered her pack again. “What are we waiting for, then?” Let’s see if they will allow five weary travellers and one horse to dry themselves before their fire.”

Her brother took hold of her arm. “Let’s not rush headlong towards that light. For all we know it could be trolls, hoping to dine on five weary travellers and one horse,” he warned.

But Alariel shrugged. “Strangest trolls I have ever met, then. Trolls normally don’t make nice, bordered chalk paths.”

“I, for one, am willing to take my chances with them,” Hallindel said, rising to her feet as well. “There’s no harm in checking it out, even if it turns out to be trolls with an unnatural talent for house-keeping.”

As they came nearer, struggling uphill on the wet path, they could see with some relief that the light came from a small, pleasant cottage at the end of the chalk path. The door flew open when they were still a couple of yards away from it. In the lighted entrance a strange figure appeared. It looked like a man, but was surprisingly short. And although he sported a long brown beard, he didn’t look much like a dwarf either. But the blue eyes stood merry and the mouth smiled welcoming.

“Come in, come in, my friends!” he said. “We’ve been expecting you. But today’s Goldberry’s washing day and that’s not a good day for five Elves and a horse to be outside. So come in and dry your self before the fire! Come in, come in! There’s cake and cream and warm tea on the table and a nice log crackling in the hearth.”

This unexpectedly warm welcome baffled the Elves but they gladly entered the cottage to be out of the rain. Tom took their soaking mantles and cloaks and hung them to dry next to the fire-place while his guests took in their surroundings. They were in a long room, with many lamps hanging from the ceiling and bright candles on the neatly polished table. They could hears someone singing upstairs, in tune with the rain. Five chairs stood already waiting at the fire but their host first led them to second low chamber. The men had to stoop a little inside.

“You no doubt would want to refresh,” he said, “or rather- change into something drier. Here you go! Ol’ Tom will look after your horse and luggage! Ring a ding dillo!”

And with that he stepped out of room, leaving his guests mildly confused but amused. They could hear him talk to the horse in the same manner as he led it to some unseen stable.

The Elves removed their packs from their backs and looked around. The wall was hung with pleasant green tapestries and yellow curtains. On the left side of the door stood a table with jugs and bowls of water, some steaming and some cold. Next to them lay soft five towels. On the other side lay three mattresses on the ground against the wall, and as Hallindel pushed aside a curtain that was hung from the ceiling, dividing the room in two, she found two more.

“Three on one side, and two more behind here, they were indeed expecting us and no one else,” Hallindel remarked.
“Where did we end up?” her brother asked, not sure if he should find this unusual welcome suspicious or not.
“We’ll soon hear, I reckon,” Tyaron said.

They quickly changed into dry clothes from their pack and washed their hands and face. In the other room, they could hear Tom and a second voice singing, mixed with the rattling of cutlery and plates. They could smell freshly baked bread and realised how hungry they actually were.

[Varnafindë]

Oh good, Rameldir thought as he entered the other's room, Glorfindel doesn't look like he's going to enjoy this any more than I am. Having him gloat over me would have made it even worse. Now we both see it as an unpleasant duty.

He saluted the other as a subordinate soldier would salute his captain, and received the appropriate gesture in response.

"Did you sleep well," Glorfindel asked, "or did last night's ... adventure ... give you nightmares?"

"No nightmares," Rameldir answered. "I guess that my mind had already processed what it needed to process about that encounter. There was no need to carry on at night."

"I cannot guarantee that there won't be any nightmares after this," Glorfindel admitted, "as I don't exactly have any experience. But I intend for us to have short and frequent sessions, rather than dragging this on and on. It - it just seems to make more sense.
One more question before we start - would you have been able to let go of the sword earlier than you did last night? Or did the vision compel you to hold on to it?"

"No, there's nothing in the vision that forces me to endure it," Rameldir answered, "it was purely for your benefit - I held on to the sword as long as I could, to show you what I was talking about. I could have thrown it away immediately."

"Good," Glorfindel nodded, and moved aside, revealing six different swords laid out on the bed, "We will start from there,” he said, pointing to the short sword on the end. “I thought maybe it might help to vary the type of sword you try as well, see if the reaction differs for any of them."

Looking back at it in the evening, Rameldir was glad that it had been a short session. Glorfindel had made him hold each sword for only a few seconds at a time, and had him try to observe how the vision came and went. They talked a lot, and tried the swords several times. Rameldir was exhausted when Glorfindel said they had had enough, and was surprised to see how short a time had actually passed. If this was a short session ...

But he had to agree that if this process could make him less uncomfortable around a sword, it would be a good thing. He was far more vulnerable with only a dagger. It had been a close thing, that day in Eregion twenty years ago. If Borin, the Dwarf that he hadn't met since then, hadn't hacked his way through the throng of Orcs, Elrond's archers would have lost their captain.

Perhaps it had more to do with enduring the vision than anything else. Or perhaps - with practice - he could learn to control it to some extent?

Another thing was worrying him as well today. Glorfindel had asked him about Calimon, their expected host.

"I don't remember him from Gondolin, or from the early settlements," he had said. "Where did he live? Did he come out of Valinor, or was he born in Middle-earth?"

"He came from Valinor," Rameldir had answered, "he's older than you, in fact. And he escaped from Nargothrond. I'll leave any other details for himself to tell."

Glorfindel hadn't tried to press him for any more details, but Rameldir felt a bit uncomfortable anyway. He would surely ask more eventually, and there were others who might as well. He had written to Calimon with that in mind...

I know that you aren't trying to hide your past, But even so I think it's only fair that you should be able to be the one telling about it yourself - I don't want to make anyone prejudiced before they meet you. I'll tell everyone that you were born in Valinor and that you escaped from Nargothrond, and if they want to know more than that, they will have to wait until you can give them the details.

The first time he had met Calimon, more than a thousand years ago, he had been sent as a representative from Gil-Galad's court at Lindon to a festival arranged by Celebrimbor. Gil-Galad wasn't too eager on going for himself - he was still a bit cautious about the Fëanorean. Granted, Celebrimbor had repented of his father's ways, and been a true subject to Finrod's nephew - Rameldir's uncle - in Nargothrond, but the world had changed, and Gil-Galad wanted to wait and see now whether Fëanor's grandson would be as ambitious as his grandfather, before getting on cordial terms with him. They had become closer later on, but at that time Gil-Galad had sent one of his captains rather than going himself.

Calimon had been invited to the festival because he was not only Celebrimbor's close friend, but also a member of his family - possibly the closest family the other had left. Calimon's grandfather had been the brother of Nerdanel's mother, so he and Celebrimbor were second cousins once removed. He was a scribe, and had, as his father before him, worked as a secretary to Celebrimbor's family.

Rameldir had got into a discussion with him over an old manuscript. It had been given to him by someone from the Sirion settlement, and Calimon claimed that the information he had been given about it, simply put, had to be wrong. He had argued that the type of Tengwar it used had to be from a different period, making the manuscript considerably younger than what Rameldir had been told.
Rameldir accepted the older Elf's expertise, and was in turn shown some of Calimon's own treasures - manuscripts that he had salvaged out of Nargothrond. Rameldir was more interested in history than in lettering, but these manuscripts encompassed both topics. They had soon become close friends.

During their early friendship, Rameldir had noticed Calimon's attention to people around him. He tried to help others whenever he could, both with his professional services and in other ways. His wife was a very friendly lady as well, another survivor from Nargothrond. He had asked his friend about it, and Calimon had become very quiet for a while before answering.

"I have a debt to pay," he had finally said. "A debt from Alqualondë. It took me far too long to realize how wrong we were there. Yes - I was a Kinslayer. I don't know how much it will take to pay that debt."

Rameldir didn't know at first what to answer. Finally he had murmured something about repentance and forgiveness. They had both been quiet for some more time. Then Calimon had asked in a small voice whether Rameldir would be able to forgive, and Rameldir had answered that he hoped he would. Then they had shared a smile - and it hadn't hurt their friendship. If anything, it had strengthened it.

Rameldir hadn't seen Calimon since the death of Celebrimbor. He had told him some details of the battle in a letter - easier than facing his friend knowing that Calimon felt guilty for leaving all those years ago - more than five centuries now. He ought to have been in Celebrimbor's army, he had written back, to pay his debt - if he had known how serious the situation had been beforehand, he would have returned, but he hadn’t and though he had joined the company sent by Amdir to harass the enemy, by that point it had felt too late.

Rameldir could not help but hope that it would be many centuries before Calimon got another such chance to absolve himself through battle.

[Earniel]

Somewhat hesitant, not wanting to disturb their strange hosts, they entered again into the large room with the fire place. A young, beautiful woman, clad in dark green and yellow was putting plates on the table. Daisies were woven into her long, golden hair. She smiled warmly when she saw her guests and stepping forward, she took Alariel and Alagos, who had entered first, by the hand and led them to the seats near the fire.

“Be welcome, ‘she told them with a radiant smile. “Please sit, and let the hearth-fire drive away any lingering chill and cold! Tonight you will be dining with Tom and Goldberry!”

“My lady,” Hallindel began hesitantly, for she right away felt that this was no ordinary woman, neither Men or Elf, but of a different blood. “We did not wish to intrude nor cause you any trouble. Let us at least help-”

But Goldberry brooked no opposition. “Sit now, dear guests,” she said. “Warm your feet and warm your hands! Tom and Goldberry will see to the rest!”

Not wanting to offend their hosts by insisting, the five took place near the fire.

“Did you-” Alagos began.
“Yes,” said Tyaron, he too had noticed they were not among mortal Men tonight.

The Elves sat in silence, but it was hard not feel pleased and content in the comfortable seats, and the fire was indeed pleasant and quickly expelled any remaining coldness their journey through the rainy day had brought them.

Tom entered again, and he looked hardly wet. He was carrying the large pack with ease and put it down on the tiled floor before the fire.

“Your horse is dry and satisfied with fresh hay and here is your pack. Elrond of Rivendell can be reassured, his books will arrive safe and dry!”

“How did you know where we are going?” Hallindel exclaimed with surprise.

“Tom knows many things,” The bearded fellow said. “These are my lands you are journeying through. Can’t have Tom not knowing who passes through and whereto, no, no, no.” He turned to address Goldberry. “My lady in green,” he said with a bow, “I see our guests have many questions but answers don’t fill stomachs and that must be seen to first, is dinner ready for them?”

“It is,” answered Goldberry in turn. “It needs but the host present.”

And so Tom beckoned his guests to follow himto the table , while leading Goldberry to her seat that was decorated with carvings of daisies and daffodils, while Tom’s seat was carved with oak-leaves and acorns.

The Elves did not speak much, but they laughed all the more, for Tom did talk profusely during the dinner, regaling his guests with many a funny story or a silly anecdote about the wildlife of his domain.

When their guests had finished, Goldberry and Tom quickly cleared the table, and even that was a joy to see. For both were singing a joyful washing-up song, and their movements looked at times more as a dance, than just cleaning up. Even their very distinct movements, Goldberry’s graceful steps, and Tom’s jumps and hops, occasionally accented by a ‘Hey!’ and ‘Ring a ding dillo!”, worked together well.

Their song inspired Alariel, and she rushed towards their guest room to fetch her harp. When she returned she was also carrying Hallindel’s flute, which she threw with a wide arc towards its owner. Hallindel deftly caught it from the air, and put it to her lips. While Alariel quickly checked the tuning of her harp, Hallindel’s flute already joined in with Tom’s and Goldberry’s song. But Alariel did not stay behind very long, and soon the sweet notes of the harp added to the symphony.

The washing-up song changed into another, and soon Hallindel and Alariel found themselves playing songs of old of Gondolin they hadn’t played for many a year, without realising how they had come to them.

[Earniel]

The Elves had lost count how many an hour had gone by as they enjoyed the music in the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. Many of the candles and the fire had at last burned down, but the red-glowing embers in the hearth still cast a kind light and warmth into the darkened room.

Ten notes into a new song, the flute suddenly faltered and Hallindel stopped playing. She only then noticed her cheeks were wet. “I-I’m sorry,” she said haltingly, as she was quickly wiping the tears away, trying to hide her embarrassment. “I haven’t played that song since-since…” she trailed off, lost for words. For a moment nobody knew what to say.

“Beautiful was the City of Song and Rock,” Tom said at last, to everybody’s surprise. “Dazzling were its lights and splendour, casting its shadow far into time, so that millennia later, its children still sing of Gondolin, both in joy and sorrow.”

Hallindel had to laugh despite her tears, for she felt he had judged the situation accurately.
“Even of that you know, my lord” she said, “although it seems impossible that you should. Will you not tell us who you are?”

And so the question was finally in the open. The other Elves shifted uneasily, the question had been on their minds too all evening, yet they had been unwilling to ask it for fear of offending their host. But Tom didn’t seem to take any offence.

“Of many things, Tom can tell,” he said with sparkling eyes. “But songs are for evenings and stories are for day-time.”

“Indeed so,” said Goldberry. “And even evenings, pleasantly spent, must come to an end. Look! The fire has gone out and long have we kept our guests from sleep.”

“Tomorrow will be a wet day,” Tom went on, “and even Elves may find the roads tedious. It is better to stay with Tom and Goldberry!”

Curious though they were, the Elves were content with waiting. Rising from their seats, they thanked their hosts again, and bade them goodnight before returning to the low guest-room.

[Earniel]

Goldberry had handed her guests a candle each and by that candle-light the Elves undressed in their assigned guest room. The room smelt of dry straw and lavender. Outside the night was dark, and thick rainclouds hid the stars. Hallindel and Alariel chose the two mattresses on the right side of the curtain, while the men took those on the left side.

Elves could – if they so chose- go many a day without full sleep. But the passage through the forest and the long night spent in song and tune had been tiring. Possibly there also was a sleeping-spell woven into the soft feathered pillows, for every Elf slept soundly that night under Tom Bombadil’s roof.

Hallindel dreamt of the sea.

Not just any sea, a beautiful sea, with many a different hue of blue, grey and green mixed together, topped by white foamy crests. The crashing of the waves was like a song. The beach too, was one she had never seen, although it somehow felt familiar as she walked along it. Amid the yellow sand, shells as well as colourful precious stones shone, as if they had strewn around by a generous hand. Snowwhite gulls flew above her head, crying their piercing shrieks. One wore a blue jewel on its forehead.

To her right a city of white and blue stone rose with many a long wooden pier that bordered the sea. Only a handful white ships gently rocked there on the swell, like giant sleeping swans. Lanterns were lighted in the city. Lanterns of all sizes and shapes came to life along the walls, casting each a colourful halo. Their light was reflected everywhere, making the buildings look like they had been carved from rainbows. A second song now drifted on the wind towards Hallindel, coming from the city this time. There were many voices, some which she knew, and they seemed to call to her.

Halweg’s dream was less clear but no less pleasant. Afterwards he remembered only images and sensations: The ringing of hammers on metal. The sharp, heavy perfume of burning pine logs that was accented by the occasional ping or crackle when a log split in the flames. Molten crystal shining like liquid light, its reflection blended with the red torchlight on the stone walls. A heat that penetrated deeply and filled one’s very essence with welcome, soothing warmth. Moving shadows and snatches of songs, indicating the presence of others in the gloom.

And Losseloth looking up to him, smiling.

[Rían]

The night wore on, and a light rain started to fall. Alagos, in the manner of experienced warriors, was quick to wake up to the new sound. As he was already facing the window, it immediately registered in his brain that the sound that had awoken him was not a cause for concern, and he slowly released the breath he had been holding.

He quietly sat up and, catlike, enjoyed a long and luxurious stretch. Turning to lie down on his other side, he caught a glint of Tyaron's bright eyes in the darkness. Old habits never died; Tyaron had also awoken at the new sound.

Alagos smiled at his friend, then lay down and shut his eyes, and also in the manner of experienced warriors, was sound asleep again in a matter of seconds.

He dreamt of rain at first - rain falling from the sky at night, thousands and thousands of raindrops coming from the heavens, lit by the moon, flashing and glinting like tiny arrows from the stars whose light was hidden by the clouds. "Don't forget us, don't forget us - the clouds may hide us, but we're here!" they sang in their clear, bright voices, and in his dream, Alagos turned his face into the rain and smiled. He raised his arms towards the clouds and watched as the rain bounced off of his fingertips, then ran down his arms in miniature rivulets which combined into larger streams and then dropped off his body to form tiny lakes at his feet.

The rain fell harder, and sharper, and Alagos cried aloud, for the rain was hurting him. He drew his arms sharply in, and the rivulets running down his arms were now running red, and he was holding his bow in one hand and a broken arrow in the other. There was a cry next to him, and he turned to see a kinsman from Gondolin fall, his throat pierced by an ugly, dark-fletched arrow, an obscene, red river flowing in pulses out of his dying body from his final heartbeats; and the lakes at Alagos' feet were red.

The sky was raining arrows, and death, and he could do nothing, and they were coming. Frantically he searched the ground around him for arrows, for something to fight with. The only arrows he saw were in the bodies of his dead and dying companions. With a cry of grief, he reached down and wrenched the arrow though the throat of his dead friend, and with fingers shaking from disgust at the touch of the thing, tried to nock it onto his bowstring.

"Come on, come on!" he urged under his breath. He could not get the arrow on the bowstring. It was so slippery with the blood ... and they were coming ...

Outside, a slender maiden, dressed in blue, came up to the window. The rain around her softened, growing gentle and caressing again as she started to sing in a voice that wove its way in and out among the drops.

Alagos' body relaxed, and, still sleeping, he drew a deep breath. In his dream, he looked down at his hands, and what they held were no longer arrows. They were the size and shape of arrows, but they were soft and smooth, fragrant and alive with golds and greens - the reeds of the Land of Willows, enchanted Nan-tathren. No longer was he surrounded by the dead and dying; there was life around him again, gentle and growing and strong and tender.

He sank to his knees in the fragrant grass, amid the fragrant grassflowers and butterflies. The reeds closed above his head as the gentle rain fell, mingling with his tears.

[Willow Oran]

" – and I think if we build the main hall facing this way, we won't have to worry about erosion of the foundations…"

Glorfindel made a face of distaste, "But then the whole thing is asymmetrical."

"So long as it won't fall into the river," Elrond said, hiding a smile. "Tell me again what you've been up to with Rameldir?"

"I – We – decided he might like to be able to use a blade without being terrified of it," Glorfindel said pointedly, "Seeing as it's the sort of thing that might be useful. You want your house to have symmetry, Elrond."

"I'd prefer it to not fall," Elrond responded, pulling the sketch back before Glorfindel could change it, "The ground near the water is too unstable."

Glorfindel leaned further over the table between them, extending his reach, "So build on the stable ground on either side of the water and have a bridge in between. Here, just let me – "

"No." Elrond grabbed the charcoal and held it away, "That's ridiculous, what's wrong with the way it is?"

"It's not aligned right," Glorfindel complained, tracing the offending lines with a finger, "The entrance and main halls should be on the north-south axis."

"Which they can't be due to the river," Elrond sighed, "Would east-west be acceptable?"

"I suppose…" Glorfindel said reluctantly, "Anyway, I was hoping you'd have some advice."

"About?" Elrond asked.

"For helping someone stop having…" Glorfindel waved a hand vaguely, "you know, associations, bad ones, problems with their memories that impair actions and such."

"If I had that advice, I'd be the first to take it."

"Oh."

"Quite."

"I had a thought," Glorfindel said after an awkward silence, "that if I could remember how to forget fear, I could teach him that. But I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Remember being afraid clearly enough to remember how to forget it. How can I teach someone to ignore something I don't feel anymore?”

“If you can't, then you have to teach him something else,” Elrond suggested.

“Teach him what?”

“Perhaps how to live with it. Why is he terrified of the blade?”

“Because of what happened to his mother. I suppose he must have told you ...”

“Yes, he's told me how his mother died,” Elrond interrupted. “Are you saying that this is the reason why he's an archer?”

“You could put it that way.”

“Well, something good came of it then … Does he refuse to even touch a blade?”

“No, he can bring himself to touch it,” Glorfindel answered, “but it gives him nightmares. Immediately.”

“Oh.”

“Quite.”

“What have you been doing with him so far?” Elrond asked.

“Nothing much. Giving him different swords to hold for a little while, to see how size affects it – having him tell me the difference ... we didn't go on for very long.”

“And next?”

“I would try to have him hold them longer, see if he can control his reactions, perhaps see if he can stop the nightmare ...”

“The approach seems to be sound enough. If you don't press him too hard, it shouldn't harm him. Be careful, though, and gentle,” Elrond said, “And I can't promise that it helps – but it might. If he can learn how to function along with the nightmare, control what he's doing while the nightmare is running, that should be good enough. If you can get that far. Are you saying I should redraw this from scratch, using the east-west axis?”

"I promise not to be too harsh with him," Glorfindel said sincerely, "and yes, you should redraw along the east-west axis. It's best to build along the cardinal points as much as possible."

"Have you always been such an architectural perfectionist?" Elrond asked, teasing.

Glorfindel nodded seriously, "Perfectionism is the family hobby."

"Ah, yes. But that doesn't explain the architecture."

"No?" Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, "Remember who had charge of my education, that it was an era during which practical methods of learning were rather necessary, and that engaging his nephew in city planning appealed to Turukano's protective urges far more than allowing said nephew to join in the more military activities available."

"City planning does seem like the more useful skill in the long term…" Elrond said in defense of his great-grandfather.

"No argument. But I could hardly forget that we were in the middle of a war, and it was skill in battle that got recognition in our family, unfair as that was."

“Did he not allow you to join such activities at all?”

“Oh, he had to, to some extent, very reluctantly – he had to admit that I needed to know enough to defend myself. But he did tend to be rather intensely protective of what was in his care.”

“I guess you weren’t too pleased with it,” Elrond remarked.

“You can say that again. I tried to get away with having more training than he meant me to. It got into something of a game of its own. Not very helpful for teaching me to accept his authority, I guess – I wanted to assert myself.”

“And did you get away with it?”

“Sometimes. Did I ever tell you about the Games at the Mereth Aderthad?”

"No," Elrond said, curiosity evident, "the Feast of Reuniting is a part of our history that is all too often forgotten, I'm afraid."

Glorfindel smiled sadly, "It's no wonder. At the time it was a monumental event – but in comparison with all that followed… but anyway, a major part of the festivities were the Games - sports events, modeled after the athletic competitions that had been held periodically in Valinor. There were competitions of various sorts: general athletics, running events, archery and other, more military activities. Turukano was… less enthusiastic about it than many, but he accepted it, if only in order to have a say in putting limits on the types of competitions. When ill-advised competitions were suggested, he acted as the voice of caution. Things were still dangerous.

"He might have seen more of a point of the Games if they had been focused purely non-violent competitions, or on individual efforts. He knew that warriors needed to excel in physical activities – But the Games were more than that – it was a competition between the Houses of the Princes. A first place in a competition would give so many points, a second place would give slightly less, and a third even less – and the House would get the points. All the points were finally added together, and one House would be the winner of the Games. Turukano, and he wasn't alone in this, wasn’t sure that it was such a good idea to encourage a lot of competitiveness between the Noldo Houses; especially given the presence of the Sindar ambassadors.

"In the practice competitions leading up to the Feast, The House of the Golden Flower used to do quite well. Though its lord in name only, I represented my House in the running events. Turukano encouraged me to distinguish myself in those relatively safe competitions, and I did so, gladly. You know I enjoy running – that hasn't changed a bit. Unfortunately, the nature of the other notable competitors in those events led to a… rather humiliating misunderstanding one night after a particularly difficult race against Nerwen, as Galadriel was still called when she competed. It was late, and we had been celebrating…"

Glorfindel waved goodnight to his cousins and friends as they left the fire circle outside of Nerwen's tent and drifted off to their respective Houses' sections of the Noldo camp.

"Erufailon is staying to say a special goodnight to Arindis again!" Itarillë exclaimed gleefully the moment they were out of earshot, "Did you see how they've been looking at each other, Laurë?"

"I saw," Glorfindel grinned, "Do you think they saw the race earlier at all? Or did they realize Nerwen, Aredhel and I had taken the top three places only after we dragged them off to revel?"

Itarillë giggled, "I'm not certain they realize it even now. It's good of Nerwen to stay up and chaperone them. Maybe she'll be tired enough tomorrow for you to beat her, as well as Aredhel."

"Doubt it," Glorfindel said, blushing, "have you ever seen Nerwen tired?"

"Point." Itarillë conceded as they reached Turukano's area of the camp, "Aredhel was though. She retired early. I hope she isn't too annoyed that I stayed out so late…"

"She left the lamp lit for you," Glorfindel observed as they neared the tent the two ladies shared, "She can't be too mad."

"I suppose not. Goodnight, Laurë. Don't wait up too late for Erufailon to come back."

Glorfindel laughed, "I won't." He waited for Itarillë to disappear into the tent and then turned and was about to continue on to find his own when he heard the sound of laughter coming towards him from the direction of the path leading to Findekano's section of the camp. Glorfindel instinctively moved into the shadows to the side of the path, and then felt silly for doing so. Everyone here was an ally. That was the entire point of this festival. Coming back out into the moonlight he walked on, listening to the voices as they came closer and closer. Curious, he recognized his uncle's voice, and Findekano's, but the other two were strange – accented and wholly unfamiliar – two of the Sindar guests, he saw as the group came into view, and by the way they were moving, all four of them quite drunk.

"Laurë!" Findekano waved cheerily as they stopped short of running into him, "Still up?"

Glorfindel shook his head, "Not for much longer. Nerwen decided we'd all been up late enough and sent us off."

"Been out celebrating with the ladies, hey?"

"Mmhm," Glorfindel nodded, then edged past the group, "'Night, Findekano, good night, Uncle," and continued on his way. Behind him, he heard the Sindar, who had been silent during his and Findekano's exchange, started chatting again.

"Who was that?" one asked, "Your niece, Turukano?"

Glorfindel stopped walking abruptly. Niece?

"Haven't got a niece…" was the confused reply. Glorfindel winced. From the sound of it, his uncle would not be waking up happy come morning.

"Well then who was that?"

"Who?"

"Just now? Called you uncle?

"Oh!" Findekano's laugh was really loud, Glorfindel thought, scowling as he hurried away, ears burning. "Laurë's his nephew. You saw him run today, remember?"

"Really? We haven't seen him in any other competitions. Besides the other runners from your family were ladies… they all dressed alike, who could tell?"

The voice's faded back into the distance as Glorfindel reached his tent and dove inside. They had been drinking a lot, he reminded himself, and surely didn't mean what they had said…


Glorfindel trailed off and looked inquiringly at Elrond, who had started laughing, "What?"

"Let me guess-!" Elrond exclaimed, "You were so horribly offended that you set out to show them all and mysteriously managed to trounce everyone?"

"Are you mad?" Glorfindel cuffed his friend on the shoulder, shaking his head, "Like I was saying, they had been drinking, a lot. I was over it by the next evening. I did enter the swordplay competitions without permission to – ah – prove a point, you might say; and I lost; thoroughly, and somewhat painfully. That was the point. After showing off how inept I was, Turukano had to let me start training more to save face."

Elrond stopped laughing and considered this, "Sneaky," he said, finally, "and disappointingly anti-climactic."

"Mm… yes. Sorry. My storytelling's off today. What were we talking about before?"

"Architecture. And Rameldir."

"Right!" Glorfindel stood, stretching, "Speaking of which, I should go find him. Nightmare's may prove trickier than disapproving uncles."

[Rían]

(placeholder for dream post if I come up with one ...)

[Earniel]

The morning came, all grey and wet. But the weather, it seems, could never dim the comfortable and pleasant atmosphere in the cottage of Tom Bombadil. The Elves woke from their deep slumber almost at the same moment. They felt refreshed in ways they could not describe. From the main room of the cottage, the delightful smell of freshly baked toast and breakfast wafted into the guest room.

Apart from the lavishly set breakfast table, the Elves found the main room empty: neither host could be found and the front door stood open. Outside, the murmuring rain poured down steadily, obscuring the world five feet from the cottage in a uniform grey curtain. The rain water coloured white as it ran down the chalky path. But as the Elves looked out into the rainy world, Hallindel imagined she could hear Goldberry’s merry laughter coming from out of the rain, further down the hill. Alagos and Tyaron briefly braved the endless rain to quickly check up on the pack-horse, which they found in a small stable behind the cottage. The pack-horse was happily munching away on greens in the company of a second horse, a sturdy, well-mannered horse that sedately chewed his own share of food.

Assuming their hosts hadn’t meant for them to wait, the five took place around the table and made good work of the breakfast. New dry logs had been placed near the fire place and soon an inviting fire was burning in the hearth.

Tom appeared a little later, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. His clothes were dry, but there was moisture glistening in his beard and his eyes shone brightly. He hung his hat with a large peacock feather on a peg and joined them at the fire. He asked his guests to excuse Goldberry for the day, the river-daughter had gone to visit her mother.

Today was no day for music. Instead, they just talked and found their talk strayed to many places and many aera’s long past and they found that Tom’s knowledge of them all wasn’t lacking. Tom talked of many things, just as he had promised, and took his audience further and further back in time. He talked of the mighty Sirion glistening in the sunlight, the pleasant grooves of Tasarinand, of fragrant fields in the seabreeze in Nevrast. He slowly moved beyond even his five guests’ long memories, taking them into endless forests dreaming under eternal starlight, a world that was not bound and only just filled with waking song. The first rain drop whispering, the first acorn falling, a sea that rolled steamingly onto new shores, a land that still singed with creative energies.

The Elves sat listening, mesmerised.

Hallindel stirred, as if waking from a deep dream. All was silent, even the rain had stopped, she noticed, but she hadn’t noticed just when. Today or yesterday? Had they only arrived at Tom’s cottage yesterday? It seemed like much longer.

She noticed Bombadil was looking at her, his eyes practically twinkled in the fire-light. “Have I answered your question?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding faint in her ears, “fuller than I imagined possible.”

[Earniel]

Soon after, the Elves were treated to a nourishing meal, the last they were to have in Tom Bombadil’s cottage. For the rain had stopped, and Tom predicted the night would be cool but pleasant and excellent for travel.

An hour before nightfall, the Elves had changed back into their travel gear while Tom saw to it that their packhorse was ready and loaded. The horse was as reluctant to leave the cosy stables as the Elves were to depart. But they had already stayed longer than they had intended, and they did not wish to impose any longer on Tom and Goldberry. And Rivendell was waiting.

Goldberry returned just in time to bid her guests farewell. She gave them a pack of food for on the road, three freshly baked bread-loaves, a pound of cheese, a pack of fragrant butter and a sealed bottle of mead.

In return Alariel gifted Goldberry with her new blue cloak, woven expertly by the weavers of Mithlond. Hallindel gave the reed flute she had made earlier while Halweg offered Bombadil an ornate dagger he had crafted himself. He doubted his host would ever have need of it, but his Elven forsight told him that Tom Bombadil was a host to many in need, and perhaps a future guest of the cottage would find use of it. The exchange of gifts was accompanied by many a fair word.

The world was still when the Elves stepped out of the cottage. The sun was edging towards the horizon. The rainclouds had disappeared, leaving a fresh, somewhat fragrant wet smell. Raindrops glistened like diamonds in the grass. The sky was clear, promising a magnificent starry night.

Tom told the Elves of the path ahead to Rivendell, showing he had great knowledge of that too. The Downs beyond Tom Bombadil’s house were easy enough to cross, but they had to avoid being caught in the Midgewater March, which was an unpleasant place for any warm-blooded creature. If they managed to keep it to their left, they’d only have to travel east to reach the Mitheithel river which was one of the last hurdles they would have to take.

“But take care!” Tom Bombadil warned their guests. “For the area beyond the Mitheithel is wooded, and Rivendell is a hidden place, even to keen Elven eyes! You would do well to seek out Elves in that area to guide you the last few miles.”

The Elves thanked the pair for their hospitality and advise and set off east. Towards Rivendell.

[Earniel]

With renewed courage, the five Elves made good progress. Tom Bombadil’s cottage lay already several weeks behind them and true to Tom’s instructions they had safely crossed the hills and successfully avoided Midgewater and its unpleasant inhabitants.

The road ahead still wound on.

When they reached the Weather Hills, they tarried for a while to climb the tallest mountain to get a good view of their surroundings. The lands around them lay silent and slumbering. Neither Man or Elf, building or smoke plume could be seen for many miles around. They compared the view with the map Cirdan had provided. But even with the magnificent sight before them, they had failed to get a clearer bearing on their destination.

Rivendell remained hidden from view.

Crossing the Mitheithel proved far easier than their crossing of the Branduin. But in contrast the road became less certain after that. They had reached the forrested feet of the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains. Paths were few, and most of them winding game paths and dried mountain streams. Uphill, they encountered deep-cut gullies and high-walled valleys. Often they had to detour to circumvent an impassable ravine.

And so, several days after the river-crossing, they found themselves utterly and utterly lost in the hills. They were stranded in sight of the harbour, or rather in proximity of the harbour for Rivendell had to be close but remained undiscovered.

“How about that path, then?” Hallindel said, indicating a faint path at a crossroad.
“No, it’s no good,” Halweg said. “That won’t get us anywhere.”
“How do you know?” Hallindel asked with a frown. “You haven’t even looked.”
“I know it’s no good, since it’s leading away from the Mountains, and if you forgot, sister, Rivendell is that way.” Halweg pointed towards the mountains behind him that by now obscured a good part of the Eastern sky.
“As if these paths go in one direction only! We’ve travelled dozens of paths already going in every way imaginable! Up! Down ! Left! Back! Right! Sideways! Or did you fail to notice that?” Hallindel said, angrily throwing her hands up.
“And clearly that hasn’t helped us any further, did it?” Halweg reminded her curtly.
Hallindel’s cheeks flushed. “Hah, looks who’s talking, did that path you were so sure of yesterday help us any further?”

Tyaron was about to intervene to soothe flaring tempers, but Alagos stopped him with a barely perceivable head-shake. Everybody was irritable by their failure to find Rivendell, but Halweg and Hallindel, being the youngest of the group, needed to vent their frustrations first before they went any further. Only siblings could rant at one another without meaning injury.

“If you have any worthwhile ideas, Hallindel, I’m all ears.”
“Why? So you can dismiss them out of hand again, like you did just now?”
“Oh, spare me the righteous indignation, you don’t know any better where to go next then I do.”
“At least I’m trying! And not giving up in advance like you.”

For a moment, brother and sister regarded each other, fuming silently. Halweg turned away first.

“Fine.” He said. “You four make camp here. I’ll be back.” Putting down his pack he started to walk away.
“Where are you going?!” Hallindel demanded, as if she did not want to be bereft of bickering that easily.
“I’m going to check out this bloody path of yours so I can prove it wasn’t good to begin with and say ‘I told you so’ without you getting on my case for once that I hadn’t looked.”

For a moment, Hallindel was speechless, she wanted to have the final word, but a good quip wasn’t immediately forthcoming.
“Fine.” She finally said to her brother’s back. She turned to look at her three remaining companions, silently daring them to make a comment and sat down in a huff.

“Make camp, it is,” Alagos said with a sigh.

Tyaron readied a fire, to be lit when night started to fall while Alariel and Alagos gathered firewood. Hallindel remained seated, still brooding and doing a passable attempt at moping.

With the camp ready, they waited for Halweg to return. None of them had anything to say. But tired of the oppressive silence, Alariel unpacked her harp and started tuning it, seemingly out of habit. If no one had any interest in talking, they might as well be silent and listen. And if she knew Hallindel well enough by now, the young Elf wouldn’t be able to resist a cheerful tune for long…

[Willow Oran]

A fortnight into working with Rameldir to remedy his visions Glorfindel had to once again stop to remind himself that he had never expected this to be a short process. Healing wasn’t. He knew that. Still, the visions remained constant in their appearance, and the lack of change was frustrating. After this morning’s session, Rameldir had excused himself to find Ainon and see if his friend would join him for some hunting outside the interior of the valley. Not a bad idea. Let his ease with the bow sooth Rameldir’s upset.

Glorfindel was calmer now, after an hour of solitude swimming in a quiet pool near the head of the valley. But getting out of the valley altogether didn’t sound so bad either. The late spring mists from the river that had been so pleasant this morning lingered humid and stifling in the warming air, and his still sweaty shirt felt clammy against his skin. On a different day it might have filled him with lethargy, and he might have spent the afternoon on his back in the meadow, watching the birds through eyes half-closed against the sun. But not today.

Today he was going to be restless if he didn’t find something to do. He could feel the impatience prickling beneath his skin and knew that no amount of running within the confines of the valley would satisfy. Well that was all right. The guards at the entry points above needed checking on, and if Glorfindel happened to join one of the patrols for a short sweep of the borders… that was all right too. Elrond might not approve of the spontaneity, but during a peaceful lull there would be no harm done.

Impatience channeled into a plan, Glorfindel arrived at his quarters, and left them again as quickly, having changed into clean(er) clothing and his leather armor – unlikely to need mail today, and with the heat why be weighed down?

[Varnafindë]

If nothing else, it's training my perseverance, Rameldir thought.

A couple of weeks now, and they were no further than when they started. He still had no way of controlling his visions, and he was no better at enduring them. A certain stubbornness made him determined to go on, though. That, and the fact that he knew that Glorfindel was right - he needed to master this eventually. And the fact that he had made a promise.

Still, he was rather glad that Glorfindel had let him off early this morning - or so it seemed, anyway. His cousin must have noticed how upset he was. Coming to think of it, Rameldir thought that even Glorfindel seemed upset. Lack of success?

The swordsman had had no objections when Rameldir announced that he would go hunting with Ainon for a while. A long hunting trip, if Ainon agreed. Out of the inner valley, into the hills closer to the foot of the mountains. A deer or two - perhaps even a stag. Concentrating on his tracking, his shooting, on stealth, on aiming at his target, on killing with as little suffering for the animal as possible - this might take his mind off this morning's lack of success.

Ainon was eager to come along. Rameldir gave him a suspicious look. Had he noticed Rameldir's need to get away for a while? No, it was probably no more than the usual enjoyment of a mission in the forest on a sunny day.

And what if it were? Perhaps Ainon had a right to know. He knew about Rameldir's nightmares, had witnessed them a couple of times when they had camped under the stars together, after a skirmish where a dagger had been used - and in a few weeks' time they were going to travel together again, and Rameldir was supposed to have sessions with Glorfindel during their journey.

He ought to tell Ainon. To let him know what was going on. He would find a way to do so. One of these days. When there was more of a success to tell of.

[Willow Oran]

Check on the guard post at the west entrance and shadow a patrol for the afternoon, Glorfindel. It was a perfectly sensible plan. He satisfied his restlessness, and something useful happened out of it.

Instead, Glorfindel was… stealth climbing his way up the sheer cliff face. Because whilst standing at the foot of said cliff about to climb the path to said guard post, a little voice had risen from the back of mind, and it suggested that it might be more interesting to ignore the path and check on the guards by an unexpected route (never mind that they weren’t guarding the valley’s interior from which he was arriving), and only now, clinging precariously to a slim ledge and a crack in the stone did it occur to Glorfindel – that inner voice had sounded suspiciously like Aredhel’s. Another time, another valley, and she might have been standing below, egging him on while Idril hovered, keeping a look-out for anyone likely to get them in trouble one moment and then turning around, urging him to ignore Aredhel and just climb back down already! the next.

Glorfindel had felt bad, disobeying Idril and worrying her all those times, but Irissë’s words had always gotten under his skin, brought out his own usually suppressed penchant for stupidly reckless deeds. Well… that was irritating, to still possess internalized that particular skill of hers.

Sighing, Glorfindel noted it aloud, softly; he was still sneaking, “Never go along with Aredhel’s plans, Laurë. Even if they happen to be your ideas. It never ends well.”

Right. Next time he would remember that. For now – finish climbing up the cliff, check on the guards, shadow a patrol.

But stealthily. Just until they noticed him. They were good elves, these guards, and hadn’t Celeborn accused him of being an involuntary beacon and the least stealthy elf east of the sea no fewer times than once a week on the retreat to Imladris? Hyperbole brought on by exhaustion, surely, but not wholly untrue. He’d be spotted immediately and his original, sensible plan would resume at the top.

[Willow Oran]

Hoisting himself over the edge, back onto the flat ground at the top of the cliff Glorfindel rolled to his back, letting out a soft whoosh of laughter. Free climbing the side of the valley off the path - ! What a stupid thing to try! What a stupidly exhilarating thing to actually do! And nobody had seen to wonder what in Arda he was doing it for. Even better. Indeed, Glorfindel realized as he sat up, his endeavor to find the sturdiest foot and hand holds (slipping would have ended in some awkward explanations after all) had taken him a little ways off course, and well out of sight of the sentries he had planned on meeting.

Well then.

Though the grueling climb had settled his restless energy somewhat, the voice of mischief that had persuaded him to climb in the first place proved still vocal. He should absolutely not give his presence here away and keep right on being covert. Hold. Glorfindel ran that thought through his mind one more time. Did it still sound like a good thought?

Hm... It wasn’t a bad thought. It would be an effective way of testing the alertness of the sentries up here. The thought felt more like a game he or Idril might have suggested long ago in Mithrim, even Nevrast, less like one of Irissë’s dares. Continued stealth it would be! He did need the practice.

Glorfindel rolled into a crouch, taking a moment to breathe, inhale the scent of trees, and look down. From here, had he not just come from within, the valley seemed inaccessible; a sheer sided rift in the foothills carved by the river running through it far below. At this angle the future site of Elrond’s house was wholly invisible, and the rest of the valley floor made to seem deeper and more broken by obscuring mists and groves of trees clinging stubbornly to the banks of the river’s off shoot streams and waterfalls. The upper edges were he stood were pure illusion: cliffs so covered in thick moss and dotting pines that they, until a person stood atop one and looked straight down, would appear as unbroken moorland.

There was little cover to hide behind up here, only to the southwest, near the ford and the road did the terrain become more truly forested; yet the sentries were themselves hidden in a grove of pine to the side of the proper path, just below the lip of the valley. He would be creeping around in a wide arc to approach them from above and behind – directions they ought to be (were less likely to be) keeping an eye on. Keeping low to the ground, Glorfindel concealed his own brightness in Anar’s midday glare and crept forward.

[Varnafindë]

When Rameldir and Ainon passed by the building area, Elrond was there overseeing it. This at least seemed to be a success - as far as it had got. There was still a lot left to be done.

Rameldir greeted him and told him about the hunting trip they were going on, expecting to be back before dusk, if not even earlier.

"Good," Elrond grunted, "some extra meat always comes in handy, although there's no urgency at the moment. Have you seen Lord Glorfindel, by the way? I've got a question for him."

"I left him about half an hour ago," Rameldir said. "I don't know where he is at the moment. When I told him about going hunting, he had no objections, saying that getting out of the inner valley for a while might be a good idea. Perhaps he meant for himself as well, I don't know. Would you like us to find him for you before we leave?"

"No, it can wait till this afternoon," Elrond said. "Just some architectural details again. He has seen the building of a city, you know. And he has opinions about it - strong opinions, sometimes. When you see him, tell him to come and see me."

"We will," Rameldir and Ainon said, and they left.

---------

A few hours later, they decided to call it a day. Even the hunting hadn't been such a great success - only one deer, although a large one - but when they finally had found it and tracked it down, and Rameldir had killed it with one single well-placed arrow, he found some satisfaction in just going through the movements of preparing the animal for the transport back. Most of the butchering he would leave to the cook's staff back at the settlement, but there were things that needed doing right away.

They took it in turns to carry the deer. When they were close to the guard post at the west entrance, Rameldir suggested that they took a rest with the guards before starting on the descent to the settlement. They walked in in full view, not being any real challenge to the guards, and before long they were talking and sharing a drink of water. It was midday, the sun was glaring down at them, and the cool water was doing them good.

Rameldir noticed some arrows lying on a piece of rock and went over to study them. They were larger than usual arrows. He picked them up, one after the other, weighing them in his hand, narrowing his eyes. They were far too heavy. The smallest one might work, barely - but the largest one ...

He weighed it in his hand again. He might be able to build a bow that could fire such a large arrow. A very large and very strong bow. But he would need some very, very strong warrior to wield that kind of bow. He doubted he would be able to do so himself. Perhaps a Dwarf? But would any Dwarf be tall enough for it?

"Is this yours?" he asked Kemmótar, one of the guards, who had approached him. Kemmótar nodded, biting his lip.

"I guess you are experimenting," Rameldir said, "and that's always a good idea. But I suppose you'll find that these arrows are too heavy. This one especially. My bow isn't strong enough to send it very far. And if it were, I wouldn't be able to handle the bow. So what exactly is it you're trying to achieve?"

Kemmótar looked embarrassed.

"They aren't meant to be arrows, Lord Rameldir," he said. "They are throwing-spears. Yes, I am experimenting - how light can a spear be and still be useful? When won't it pierce anything if I just throw it? How light can it be before it needs the power from a bow to work properly - before it becomes an arrow?
That small one over there doesn't work very well without a bow. But the one you're holding, is heavy enough to do its own work - it's still a spear."

A spear?

Rameldir looked again at the object in his hand.

A spear?

He froze, his eyes glazing over. Two pictures flashed in front of him. A brief vision of Gil-galad cutting down Orcs with his mighty spear Aiglos - and then the vision he had been battling for the last fortnight. He dropped the spear, and the vision faded. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, clearing his throat.

"Fine," he said to Kemmótar who was now staring wide-eyed at him. "You go on ... experimenting. Tell Lord Glorfindel about it ... when there is anything to report. For now, I just ... well, they might be waiting for us."

"Would you like another drink of water before you go?" Kemmótar asked, hesitating a little.

Rameldir nodded.

"Yes, please," he said, "some more water would be good."

Ainon accepted some as well, and Rameldir gave him a small smile. There was no real need to rush, it was still hours till dusk. He only needed some time to calm down again, and the cool water was perfect for that. He slowly sipped his drink.

[Willow Oran]

Glorfindel

Imladris was perhaps a quarter mile wide where entrance to the west path was hidden on the southern side, and ran on for a lesser distance westwards before tapering to a close. Glorfindel had scaled the north wall along a face hidden from the guard post by a column of worn, weather polished granite protruding from banded layers of softer stone. Now, even moving slowly, taking extra care not to be easily seen, it had taken him no more than an hour to get around the end point, aiming to circle and sneak up on his sentries from the south-east. His luck today, distracted again: for there was Rameldir with Ainon, already returning from their hunting with a deer.

Glorfindel had detoured to simply follow them. Still unnoticed. The first few minutes he’d been pleased with himself, and then mildly displeased with them – he wasn’t that well hidden. Just what were they - ? Ah. That was it.

Kemmótar testing new weaponry again, and Caranlas watching it as often as he did the path. Had Glorfindel met them just today, and not on the retreat from Eregion, he would never have guessed that the two were competent, experienced scouts. He could only hope their comrades, who would be taking their turn on the afternoon area patrol, were less lulled by the peace of the day as they swept the surrounding locale.

While thinking all this, Glorfindel had left off following the hunters and crept along the upper edge of the cliff above the path to a point where the guard post built into the valley wall was directly below him. It was hidden from intruders by stubborn, clinging evergreens and a thick growth of moss on the roof; the drop about twice Glorfindel’s body length. He lowered himself to the mossy rooftop by the trunks of those cliff growing trees, landing near soundlessly. Then, laying himself flat on his stomach, Glorfindel watched Rameldir frown over the weight of Kemmótar’s throwing spears. No adverse reaction beyond disapproval for the design. Hm… Oh. He thought they were arrows. Glorfindel nearly broke cover when his cousin went pale, but stayed. They had it under control. Still, Rameldir was fine until he learned exactly what the weapons were. Now there was an idea… But later.

Glorfindel remained hidden and said nothing, for here were the other two sentries returning. Haledhel and Thôndir, who were good scouts, though incorrigible gossips, and from the look on Haledhel’s face, they returned with news of some sort.


Rameldir

Caranlas looked over at Rameldir when the other sentries arrived - would the captain want to take over the command, as he was present? Rameldir saw his questioning look and smiled and shook his head a little - he was just taking a rest, he wasn't even on an official inspection.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rameldir saw an object on top of the roof - one that didn't belong there. Something lying on the roof. Someone. He turned his head slightly, enough to see properly.

Oh. Glorfindel. How long had he been there? Sneaking around on them, and no doubt enjoying himself immensely. He caught Glorfindel's eye and winked at him, getting a small wink in response. Rameldir wouldn't break his cousin's cover. Not yet, anyway.

Caranlas greeted the sentries, who seemed to be about to burst with the desire to speak. "What news?"

"Interesting news, my fellows - and Lord Rameldir!" Haledhel only just had the presence of mind to acknowledge the captain. "We've seen a group of Elves just here down in the forest. A small group, only four people, two males and two females. They seem to have made camp for the day - they have prepared a fire, which remained unlit, and one of the ladies is playing her harp! Perhaps they have lost their way and will continue later? We need to send somebody down to guide them to Imladris."

"I guess Ainon and I could do it," Rameldir suggested, "seeing as we're on our way back anyway."

"But that's not all, Lord Rameldir," Haledhel continued, "there's another Elf as well, a male, and he's running along one of those false paths there are so many of here. I wonder if he could also belong with that group? If they have sent him out to find a path, they definitely need our help ..."

"You are right," Rameldir said, deliberately looking at Haledhel and Thôndir and not at the roof, "and with two parties to look for, we need to be more than just Ainon and myself. Glorfindel, I would like you to come with us. You're expected back soon anyway - Lord Elrond wants to discuss architecture."

"Glorfindel?" the others asked, and then gasped as the Elf in question sat up from the roof.