In the morning the clouds remained, but the rain had stopped. They took it as a good sign for drier weather, and after a hasty breakfast quickly departed the abandoned steading to continue north. The terrain had become quite muddy during the night; all that day they took great pains to avoid falling into puddles and the like as they tracked the river towards Folstead. Later in the morning they saw a company of riders heading east from the direction of Edoras, but these paid them no mind. There were travellers in abundance throughout Gondor and the Mark in these days of peace; what were three more, though they be so strange a company? For here in Rohan, the legends of an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf in the Riddermark were strong and widely told. And even if the three could not be so accurately discerned as such, it was no odd thing to see a Dwarf or several journeying through Rohan on their way to or from the Glittering Caves of Aglarond at Helm's Deep in the west.

When the noon hour came upon them the land was drier and the clouds above them lesser in number despite their heavy darkness; blue sky began to show, and a strong wind came blowing from the west. The grasses and flowers upon the plain swayed in its wake like the waters of the ocean, and they could see a family of ducks waddling down to the river. In the distance ahead of them, Mirilen could see a town that was as Caladan had described to her. With luck they would reach it by evening. She herself certainly hoped so, for if it were to rain again despite the sun breaking out there was no convenient cover to keep them dry again between where they were and the town. A merry rain she did not mind, but the deluge from last night was another thing altogether.

"Let us quicken our pace if we can; I see Folstead even now!" she said to them.

"Elven sight is strong, but the miles are weary for mortal kindreds." Caladan said in reply, a sad smile upon his face. "We may come there tomorrow, but this evening I would be glad to make it to that hillock there, the one with the trees growing thick upon it."

"Aye, this marshy path we trod is taxing even this stout Dwarf!" Grôfr added, "And though it pains me to admit it I should need rest soon. We have crossed many leagues these past few weeks together, to say nothing of our months alone!"

"The hillock it is, then." Mirilen agreed. "Though if we reach it by late afternoon, I would that we should take a brief rest only and then head on to Folstead before it gets too dark." she added.

"Agreed!" Caladan said. "Then I shall try for as long as I can to quicken my pace." he then nodded, and the other two nodded their approval, hastening their steps across the grassy plains of the Mark.

As Mirilen had hoped, they reached the hillock by the late afternoon. It was crowned with an old oak tree surrounded by three younger oaks, and there was a birch and elm growing nearby as well. Above them, the sky was far bluer than it had been in the morning, and the clouds were heading towards the south.

"Go and bother Gondor with your rains!" Grôfr grumbled towards the retreating clouds. "Or pass over the sea to Harandor and Umbar, in those dry lands where rain is counted as gold!" he added to them, and his companions smiled with mirth at the words.

"We have made better time than I thought," Caladan then said. "We may indeed keep our promise to Lady Mirilen, and reach Folstead by the coming of night, after a further rest."

"And what course shall we take then, once we are horsed?" Grôfr wondered.

"Across the Mark towards the Gap of Rohan, no doubt." Caladan returned, and Mirilen nodded at his words. "At the Fords of Isen is a garrison on either side; there the Rohirrim keep a watch on the Dunlendings, whose lands we must also pass."

"I wonder if we should also investigate Orthanc on our way; many secrets your King Elessar and his allies unearthed when they returned their attention to it, yet Curunir, like his ultimate master, was ingeniously cunning." Mirilen wondered aloud.

"Only the Palantir of Orthanc is now there, insofar as I know; and you, Lady Elf, would know better than I the wrath of the Tree-shepherds, should we try to enter that place without the leave of the king." Caladan said in a warning tone. "And besides, what could even one of the Istari know of the rings and their making or un-making that you do not?" he then asked her, and the faint smile she loved to give came to her face.

"The words are not unfair, and fairly given." she said in answer. "Yet if only to see for myself that there is naught which remains for those determined to enter Orthanc despite the Onodrim, I would dare it."

"Let us wait until we are nearer to discuss it." Caladan said. "Yet, now that you say it, we would miss the garrison at the Fords if we went that way. I have heard of mountain passages that can lead us into the Wizard's Vale from the northeast. Perhaps as we get closer we can find them, and at least we would not be searched."

"At least that," she agreed.

"Do the Rohirrim even search travellers as those of Gondor do?" Grôfr wondered.

"That garrison will," Caladan said, "For they are, as I have said, the guard against the Dunlendings to the west. And though that folk have quieted down and turned back to fighting amongst themselves, the guards will yet be wary of those travelling from and into those lands."

"Then I agree with this course." the Dwarf nodded. "Now then, I feel rested enough; shall we continue on?" he asked them.

"I am ready indeed, if Caladan agrees?" Mirilen said as she rose up.

"Very well! Let us go on." the man himself said, stretching his limbs before standing up so that they could resume their journey to Folstead.

All the while Mirilen suddenly found herself wondering about this level-headed man she had fallen in with; so young, so terribly young he was, and yet he was no less wise or travelled than any of her own kin might hope to be, at least as far as he could be on his own ground. As they made their way towards the town in the waning light of day she caught herself lingering on him, and hastily averted her eyes lest he see. What folly! It had only been a few weeks; she would be leaving them, leaving all of tree-woven Middle Earth behind as soon as their current odyssey had come to its completion. There was no time for such inklings of thought as she might once have dared to yield to, long ago.

The thoughts were at last banished as they came to the edge of Folstead; a watch tower stood above the south-facing gates, which were yet open. They were challenged by a guard, but he was quickly satisfied when Caladan answered in the tongue of the Mark. Mirilen did not know it well, but she could discern that he had told the man they were travellers seeking lodging for the night. He nodded to them, and they passed into the town.

At once they could tell that it was a much older town than Fléoward, and its mead hall far larger than that of the thane's. They could see light emanating from its windows. There was, perhaps, some telling of tales going on within. When they passed by they could hear lively voices lifted up in song, and they smiled at each other. The hall itself sat on the western end of the town; to the north lay the stables, and farther beyond were fields where the steeds and their foals might wander for the day. To the east they saw the Entwash Gate, which led out to the crossing between Eastemnet and Westemnet. An inn stood near to the center of town, just beside a smithy's workshop; the smith, fortunately, had ceased his labors for the night. The three seekers entered it, and found a warm reception awaiting them within. They had a lively supper in the commons (if one quite late) and then they went to rest. Again Mirilen found herself gazing over at Caladan; she could not quite stop herself this time, but he was asleep. Feeling strange, she tore her gaze from him at last to look out at the stars for the rest of the night.

In the morning they departed the inn with thanks to their host, and then made their way towards the stables. Folstead was now quite lively, its occupants going about their lives with a seemingly greater need to do so than in Fléoward. The farmers headed out to their crofts, the smith had started for the day, hammer ringing like a bell, and the stable-workers were also hard at work. A grey-haired man seemed to be their overseer, and he came over to Caladan and the others as they approached.

"Hail, Sunlending! What brings you so swiftly to these stables in the early morning?" he said to them in a friendly manner.

"Greetings, friend! I had hoped to come to an arrangement for horses, if I may be so bold," Caladan said to him, and the Rohirric man folded his arms across his chest, giving him a curious look.

"An arrangement?" he wondered.

"I would ask only that we be allowed to cross the Mark with them, and then to return them to you by way of courier or some other proxy." the younger man returned, and the stable-master considered the words for a long moment. There was suddenly a keen look in his eyes, and Caladan wondered what it betokened.

"I remember you... Caladan, is it? Word across the Mark and in Gondor is that your father is seeking you or news of you. Are you heading south indeed?" the man wondered, and Caladan shook his head.

"It is news to me that he is seeking me, yet I cannot return to him. Not yet. If he seeks only for news, then be glad to tell him I was here, and that I will send word to him myself when I can. But for now," he said, interrupted by a woman of auburn hair and brown eyes.

"For now you only want to cross the Mark in a direction that leads not to Mundburg?" she said to him, and the stable-master nodded to her. She smiled at him, and then turned to Caladan. "Had we known you were here, my father would have hosted you with song and drink!"

"Lady Fréawyn," Caladan said as a smile crept to his features. Mirilen suddenly felt a twitch of a feeling she did not understand. "I would not have so burdened the courtesy of the reeve, as I fear I am in haste."

"Do not think it a burden, my friend." she said to him with a smile. "Yet now that I know your desire, let me handle this. Aldwine, give me three steeds, and have Léafola saddled with them. I will ride with them to where they desire to go, and shall bring the horses back myself." she said to the stable-master, who nodded at once and went to to her bidding, waving for two of his helpers to assist him in the task.

"Very well, Lady of Rohan, I shall acquiesce to your courtesy!" Caladan then said.

"A Dwarf riding a horse!" Grôfr muttered to himself, and Mirilen touched him gently on the shoulder, looking at him with an apologetic grin.

"Fear not, Master Dwarf," Fréawyn said, as if she had heard him. "We in the Mark have learned better since the days of the three wanderers. One of the steeds will be a pony of swift foot, be assured of it!"

"Then I am as grateful as my companion." Grôfr said with a bow to her.

"But tell me, Caladan; what is this strange company? Have old stories gone to your head at last?" she said to the one in question with a strange smile. Caladan laughed at once, shaking his head.

"I cannot tell you all at once; I will say that I and my friend, Grôfr of Erebor, are escorting Lady Mirilen our companion and friend west across the Mark." he told her, and she gave him a keen look, taking him by the arm suddenly and nearly dragging him to a quiet corner away from the bustle of town. Grôfr and Mirilen exchanged a glance, and hastened over to them, the Elf again feeling that strange feeling in her chest.

"Towards Dunland?" Fréawyn asked him, and he nodded uncertainly. "The Dunlending Clans are getting hasty; they may be attacking each other, or they may be trying for the Westfold again. That way is not safe, my friend. Would it not be better to cross the Entwade and ride north if you must needs pass into the westlands again?"

"No!" Mirilen said at once, softly but urgently, and Fréawyn turned to her. "Child of the Mark, your warning is well heeded; but I will not be deterred from my course even by such savages as these Wild Men easily swayed by might and majesty." the dark-haired Elf said to her, and Fréawyn gazed at her with scrutiny. Did she perceive more than Mirilen might guess? Even those of Gondor called the Rohirrim a child-race at times, yet they were anything but simple, being keen of mind and strong of heart. Fréawyn then gave her a smile, and turned back to Caladan. Once more, that feeling came unbidden to Mirilen's heart as Fréawyn gazed at him with a certain air of... by Elbereth, never mind it! Mirilen thought angrily.

"Wherever found you this fearless Elf, friend of my father?" she said as she let go of his arm.

"That, too, is a story I am not willing to tell all at once; not for want of risking your ire, but for the sake of counsels held in close confidence." he told her gently, and she nodded.

"Your words are well-spoken and truthful. I will not press you further, for now. Let me explain things first to my father, and then we shall take to the plains." she said to him then, and he nodded. Fréawyn then made her way towards the mead-hall, and the other two breathed sighs of relief at having kept their errand yet a secret.

"Almost I feel guilty," Grôfr said, "For not being able to trust such a one with such things as we now deal with."

"There is nothing to be done about it." Mirilen shook her head. "I had not truly thought what I would do were I indeed to find these at last, and especially those once held by Dwarves and Men; but the counsels we have taken together and your better grasp of your king's intentions on such matters have aided me. They must not come to light, least of all the Nine." she told them in softer tones.

"Durin's folk will not hide the reclamation of their heirloom, but we will not bandy it about either." Grôfr told her.

"I will accept those words for what they are." she nodded in answer.

At that moment they saw Fréawyn striding back to them, a mischievous and merry look upon her face, inasmuch as Caladan could see. He gave her a look of inquiry, and she smiled as she came up to them, looking quite pleased with herself.

"My father says these steeds are yours, in recognition for your time among us. Ride where you will, and so shall I, if you'll have me?" Fréawyn told him, and Caladan stood amazed at the reeve's generosity.

"I doubt your brothers would think well of me, absconding with their younger sister so readily even though she herself seems to be doing the absconding!" he said to her in reply, and she laughed.

"Never mind them! Waldhere and Wybert are at the king's courts in Edoras. Come now, Aldwine will surely have our steeds ready for us, and we can take to the west roads as we will." she told them, and they made their way to the stable-yards.

Here they found three horses and a strong pony outfitted for the road, just as Fréawyn had said. Her own Léafola was a chestnut-brown steed that she greeted with a loving caress of the mane before mounting. Aldwine nodded to her, and she turned to look at him.

"Aldwine, my father the reeve says these steeds are to be given to them; I pray that does no harm?" she asked him, and he shook his head.

"It is the reeve's command, and our herds are hale and strong." he told her. "Ride well; here is Winfrid for the Lady Elf, and Cena for Caladan; and here also is Acca for the Dwarf. Fear not, he is as swift of foot as many a horse's foal we have raised!"

"I am grateful to you, then; Grôfr, at your service!" the Dwarf returned with a bow, and then went to mount up on the pony.

"Aldwine son of Baldwine at yours, Master Dwarf." the other replied.

When the four of them were all set for their ride, they took their leave of the stable-master and his helpers, and rode slowly through the town until they came to the stable gates on the north side of Folstead. They were open, and when they had gotten clear of the town they urged their beasts to a faster speed, first to a canter and then to a gallop as they got further away. Fréawyn took note of their direction; they were heading along the west banks of the Entwash, apparently following the river towards the north of the Mark. Were they not riding for the Fords of Isen? Or was this errand of Caladan's so secretive that he felt a need to try and circumvent the garrisons there? Whatever was going on, she would have time enough to find out; her father had given her leave to accompany him and his friends throughout their journey.

Not in malicious cunning, but out of friendship--and love--will I keep a close eye on you, O Caladan! She thought to herself as they rode along. For now, she would be patient with him, and wait until he could open up more fully to reveal what was afoot with this strange company.

***

It was nearly four days later when they made camp near the borders of Fangorn Forest. They had held to the river's course, following it upstream past the villages, crofts, and steadings of the Rohirrim, along with several cots where hunters or woodsmen would gather in small numbers to ply their trade upon beast or timber. Several wild herds of horses had passed them by, to say nothing of the occasional deer and the many kinds of birds which flew overhead. When they had gotten as near to Fangorn as they dared it was late in the afternoon, and the number of animals they saw decreased. Grôfr, Fréawyn, and even Caladan gazed at the woods suspiciously, especially the former two, but Mirilen blinked not an eye. Even if the legends of the forest had grown in the telling, she was still of the Eldar, and feared not the forest as others in Middle Earth might.

As for the other three, they knew all too well the stories of that fabled wood both before and after the War of the Ring. In fact, it was the legends which came out of that war in particular that frightened them most of all: the stories of Saruman the White hacking and burning away at the woods which neighbored his home of Isengard, only to have the very forest itself turn upon him and all his forces, bringing Isengard to ruin and inadvertently imprisoning the treacherous wizard in his own tower. It had been one of the many surprise counterattacks in that conflict, but though the Ents had saved the Rohirrim and Gondor alike by doing so, when King Elessar had passed on the stories of their doing so the wood became more ominous. It was said now that if one so much as bore an axe within sight of the wood, an Ent would come forth to step on you or worse. Needless to say, Grôfr kept his axes well out of sight -- or at least as best as he could. Besides their Rohirric companion he was the most ill at ease near to the boughs of what was probably one of the oldest of all forest remnants in all the world.

"If I had known we would pass so near to this place...!" he grumbled softly as he spread some butter over a slice of bread. They had resupplied at a croft now a day behind them, making sure they had all that was necessary for at least a month's worth of travelling. Fréawyn had been most interested in their discussion regarding the matter, but she showed no signs of being suspicious about it. If they were to travel so long and so far, so be it!

"Another three or four days. Then we shall be out of its sight, and away from its wrath, unless you are still intent upon that place," Caladan remarked, directing his last words to Mirilen.

"I feel no unease here. And yes, I am." she returned.

"Strange are the Elves to feel no fear nor foreboding near to this forest," Fréawyn said softly as she also ate a slice of bread, hers with honey upon it.

"We are the ones who woke them, the tree-shepherds; we need not feel fear from those who are as old as we are, and yet far more removed from any other beings in this world." Mirilen replied with a wistful, almost longing tone.

"And you would even dare the wrath of that which we name the Wéardholt?" the Rohirrim maiden then asked; she had heard the gist of their travel plans, at least those meant to take them through Rohan, and was still trying to decide if Caladan and his friends were brave or feckless for doing so.

"They may yet let me, of all people in this world, enter that wood and the tower with their blessing. Only none of you should come with me when I do so; that way, there will be no need to tell lies about your escapades with Mirilen of Imladris which might invite a king's wrath." she told them, and to that none of them had an answer. After a time, Fréawyn plucked up the courage to ask another question, this one of a more curious nature than inquisitive.

"Were you then there when the Elves and the Ents began to speak with one another?" she wondered, and Mirilen smiled.

"Nay," she returned, "But often I spoke with them in later days; yet after the sundering, when the victorious but haggard alliance drifted apart, I rarely if ever saw any of them again."

"Alas for all that has faded and is fading still," Grôfr said in a reverent way, "Peoples, friendships, and kingdoms; when the world is new again, and we all live in peace once more, let us meet again, and spend many hours laughing at our past travails." he said, and then cast an eye towards the wood. "Aye, even with you, who dwell ever in the woods! I will not lay my hand to axe in sight of your bounds, so I pray you let us pass along in peace, that we may meet again in merrier times as truer friends!" he called out, but there was no answer forthcoming.

"Hidden as the Drúedain, yet far more deadly to those who invite their ire." Caladan said as the silence went on.

"Wood-woses..." muttered Fréawyn.

"Rest; I will keep watch." Mirilen then told them. One by one, they drifted off to sleep, grateful for at least one who feared not the mysterious forest whose bounds they were so near. Mirilen thought for certain that she saw gleaming eyes peering out from them at once point, but if it was indeed an Ent, one of the Onodrim, it had most likely decided that these four and their steeds were no threat.

When dawn came, the other three got up quickly, eating a light breakfast with their Elven companion before taking to the saddle again. Directly west they rode, towards the rising peaks of the Hithaeglir in the distance, the Misty Mountains. The tall peak of Methedras peeked out above the morning mists and fog, its snowy cap gleaming in the light of the rising sun. A flock of birds suddenly flew out of the treetops to their right, chirping and warbling in a lively manner as they began winging their way south. Caladan dared a look to his right; he could have sworn that, for a moment, he saw movement, but perhaps it was only the morning's weariness playing tricks on him. Best to wait for wakefulness before deciding if I have seen aught or naught, he thought to himself quietly.

"Woodhurst lies on our road, does it not?" he said aloud to Fréawyn.

"It is so." she nodded. "Reeve Eglaf rules there; but if you are intent on secrecy in your errands I must advise you to pass by that town in some way."

"There is a pass in the southern foothills of the Misty Mountains that leads into the vale, or so I have heard; it should be no hard task to avoid the town and find its beginnings at the edges of the wood." Caladan replied.

"I have not heard of this; is it so?" Fréawyn asked him.

"The Red Book of the Pheriannath reveals many secret ways that those little folk used in their travels during the war." Caladan said. "This particular pass was used by the Ents when they came to Isengard in wrath and threw down Saruman's designs."

"Then there are Ents likely still there, to say nothing of the fell trees themselves!" Grôfr said as he caught the words.

"Only do not bear your axe, Master Dwarf, and they will let us pass by in peace." Mirilen said as a reminder. Grôfr let out something between a grumble and a groan, and began muttering in his own tongue.

They continued riding along the edge of the woods with a respectful silence after that exchange. By the noon hour they could tell the land was starting to go steadily uphill; the sensation became lesser as the day waned into afternoon, and at evening they had found a place to rest at a fair distance from the wood. They were confident enough now to light a fire and so have a warm meal, seated on a ridge a good stone's throw away from the trees. When this had been eaten Caladan took the first watch as the others rested, and then Grôfr relieved him in the late-watches. Again they set off at dawn after a brief but hearty meal, and continued their journey. This second day passed by without much to distinguish it, save that it was cloudy again. The third day was sunny again, and when its evening came they could see lights ahead; Woodhurst was before them. Caladan nodded to the others, and they nodded back. Turning their steeds northwest, they began riding towards the eaves of Fangorn and away from the Rohirric city.

It was no easy task to find the path that led over the foothills and into what was once known as Nan Curunír, especially in the dark of evening, but there was light enough for their sharp eyes to locate it. As quickly and silently as shadows they rode towards it, not daring to stop or rest until they had reached it. Then they halted for only half the night, resuming their journey with the goodwill of their steeds. They rode through the night and most of the morning, and by the time noon had come along they could see it: the former Wizard's Vale, now simply Nan Orthanc, the Vale of Orthanc. Yet it was also named in Gondor as Nan Onodrim, the Vale of the Ents, where the Eryn Tirith lay in a cunning sprawl around that ancient tower which had once been the home of Saruman the Betrayer.

Dismounting their steeds, the four riders led them to an edge of the vale near to where the Isen flowed down from the mountains. Here they tied them to a convenient sapling to let them graze for the day, and set up a more sturdy camp. They lit no fire this time, desiring not to give the garrison at the Fords excuse to investigate any sign of smoke.

When this was done, Mirilen quietly took her leave for the present, subtly nodding towards her pack where she kept the rings. Caladan just as surreptitiously nodded back, and settled himself down to keep watch. Grôfr lit up his pipe, and Fréawyn stretched out upon a sward of grass. Smiling softly, Mirilen stole away from them and began making her way through the Treegarth of Orthanc.

Despite her earlier words, Mirilen did feel a certain sense of trepidation upon entering that mysterious wood which had grown up around the Tower of Orthanc and which continued to guard it against all comers. Yet from the forest itself she sensed something akin to confusion, bewilderment, or even surprise; was it truly an Elf, one of the oldest and fairest of all peoples in the wide waking world? Had they not all gone by way of the sea, or begun hiding themselves ever deeper into forests more vast and strange than even this? What was her purpose in coming, and why now of all times was she here? Nevertheless they did indeed let her pass, if only for the sake of that sense of surprise and astonishment they seemed to feel at her coming.

Passing through them, she came at last to the more open spaces of grass that had grown up again around the tower itself. That black and smooth tower, cunningly crafted in ancient days by the Númenoreans at the height of their skill, stood imposingly before her. Yet whatever echoes of malevolence that Saruman had poisoned it with had long since faded away, and there remained now naught but an empty threat to all passersby.

Mirilen strode boldly up the stairs of the tower, and pressed against the door. It was locked. She looked back down the stairs; there was a tree there she had not noticed upon heading up. Or was it a tree at all? Slowly it turned to her, and a pair of golden eyes opened to look at her. She felt her heart beating with elation and panic; an Onod! Mirilen thought to herself with both awe and fear. Suddenly it began moving, and it made its way up the stairs to speak with her. Her mouth opened, but no words came forth. It stared at her for a moment, and then blinked. The look in its eyes was not unfriendly, but it still seemed quite puzzled as to why she was here, if not totally suspicious.

"Hmm ha hey!" it rumbled out. "An Elf! Hoom, for a terrible long count of mortal years no elf has been seen below the boughs of Fangorn, and now one has come and given the Watchwood many ponderous thoughts, hmm hom hoom! What brings you to this tower, kept by the Ents at the command of the King of Men?" it said to her, not unkindly, and suddenly she found her voice.

"Master Onod, I beg leave as one who walked the lands long before any kingdom of Men to enter this tower and see if there is aught which its last occupant has, in some way or another, stolen from its rightful owners!" she said desperately. The Onod at least seemed to take in her words with care, thoughtfully mulling them over. By all the Valar...!

"Hmm! One of the eldest indeed; Master Onod, she says, but I beg your pardon! Plain old Brethilas will do, Birchleaf, as Men might say. Ah, but entering the tower... without leave of the king?" Brethilas said to her, and Mirilen tried to think of another answer, but then the Ent held up a hand. "For the sake of old times, just this once! But don't be hasty and tell others that you have done so." he said to her as he handed her the keys.

"For the sake of olden days, or whatever your reason, I thank you; and I promise that I will not speak of it to anyone. I have my own oaths to fulfill, which are just as secret, and there may yet be aught in this tower which would keep them from being fulfilled. Therefore I beg your secrecy as well, O Brethilas!" Mirilen said as she accepted the keys gratefully.

"Hoom hom; but of course! We Ents have little to say to anyone but ourselves anymore; fear not! Only return the keys when you leave." he told her, and with that she entered the tower.

Mirilen knew well, of course, that King Elessar had investigated Orthanc after the war to uncover the full extent of Saruman's treachery. But she hoped that there were things which even he might have missed, or perhaps even things that only one such as she or such as Saruman had been would pay heed to. A shadow in the fading halls of another shadow seeking the echoes and remnants of the past, she mused to herself as she wandered the halls.

Eventually she came to what was yet labelled as a library, and she pressed open the door; it swung inward with a creak, and a musty smell came wafting forth. Mirilen coughed for a moment, and then gazed around. Dust and cobwebs lined the walls, but all the books were yet here. Apparently it had been decided that it was better to leave all of them behind for some future scholar to examine and catalogue, but that intent seemed to have been forgotten. And in the wake of King Elessar's further battles to ensure peace in Middle Earth, who could blame them for forgetting? Now it gave her the opportunity she needed.

Mirilen examined each and every book for the next several hours, picking out one by one any and all that had to do with ringlore, whether it had been written by one of her people long ago or whether it was one of Saruman's annotated copies. By the end of it all she had twenty-nine books in a pile, and when she had fully assured herself that these were the only ones that were in the whole of the tower, she wrapped them in a bundle and departed from it. She returned the key to Brethilas, who gave her a subtle nod, and made her way back to where the others were waiting.

***

"It is nearly midnight." Grôfr remarked as the crickets chirped around them.

"Yes, it is." Caladan said in a tired manner, but not without an anxious tone in his own voice; the Dwarf decided to leave it alone, but then he noticed movement.

"Eh? Ah, by Durin, Mirilen returns to us!" he said, and the other two looked over. Mirilen had a bundle slung over her shoulder, which she set down next to her gear upon reaching them.

"Well? What happened?" Caladan said, feeling a sudden surge of wakefulness as she sat down.

"I cannot tell you." she smiled. "I will only say that I have what I came for, and that we can now press on with our journey." she told them, and Fréawyn nodded.

"I deem the secrets of that place are best not to know." the Rohirrim maiden agreed. "But now lest us rest; if you truly want to avoid the garrison at the Fords, we will need all our wits and cunning."

"Agreed." Mirilen said in reply.

"Then we shall rest." Caladan agreed. "Grôfr, is it your turn or mine?" he called to the Dwarf, who only chuckled faintly as he lit up his pipe once more.

"Mine." the Dwarf told him. "Sleep, and I will wake you all in the morning for the next stage of our journey, and hope that it becomes less stranger as we move on!" Grôfr remarked, and the others went to their rest with a smile at those words.

As for Grôfr himself, he held a staring contest with a pair of golden eyes in the wood for at least part of the night; it vanished before the moon was gone over the western skies, and so suddenly did it leave that Grôfr questioned his sanity for a few moments, until at last dawn peeked over the eastern horizon with a warm and welcome light.

The four riders forded the Isen at a place where there seemed once to have been a bridge across it, and continued southwards along the western heights of the vale. Fréawyn rode in front with Grôfr just behind her, leaving Caladan and Mirilen to bring up the rear. This time, the man of Gondor caught himself looking over towards the Elf. Despite her own private thoughts on the matter, he had indeed noticed her staring at him once or twice on their journey. Now he found himself inadvertently returning the favor, and likewise hoping she did not notice.

"How did you come to know Caladan at all?" Mirilen called up to Fréawyn, who smiled back at them as Caladan quickly averted his gaze from either of them.

"He never mentioned me?" she asked with a teasing look towards the man himself.

"He mentioned only that he had ridden through Folstead, and that he hardly knew anyone there if at all." the Elf woman said with a knowing smile, and Fréawyn laughed.

"It is true, in part. I and my brothers, however, rode with his company for a time, and this solemn son of the stone-lands was a more somber soul than now I see him." the Rohirrric maiden told her in answer. "My father was wroth when he learned I went, but Waldhere and Wybert both managed to appease him on the promise that I would not ride with a war-party again until my twentieth summer, and that has now come and gone." she continued, and Mirilen gazed at her curiously.

"Scarcely a shoot let alone a sapling in the reckoning of my people, but a woman indeed in the lifespan of Men." the Elf lady remarked.

"I would not want to live so long," Fréawyn said with a sad smile, "And I cannot imagine what it must be like to know this world as it was and to see it now. Nor would I ever want to." she added, and a gentle smile formed on Mirilen's face as she softly nodded in answer.

"I wonder sometimes if it would not have been better to be mortal myself, rather than spend all the ages of the world in vanity, only to have it all crumble at the whim of treacherous schemers from one age to the next..." she mused softly, but they all heard her, and each of them felt pity in their hearts.

Caladan especially felt a poignant sorrow for her. He looked over at her again; was there a hint of tears in her eyes? Could the Elder Kindred weep as mortals wept, or was it a fancy of his own heart? Suddenly aware that his gaze was again lingering, he respectfully averted his eyes--or tried to. Just as he was about to do so she looked back at him, and their eyes met. For a moment they saw each other's heart clearly, and they desired nothing but to fulfill the ancient longing that comes upon both mortal and immortal within the confines of the world; then Grôfr's voice came to their ears, saying something about scouts ahead, and the moment was broken. They returned to the present, and continued on the southward way. Yet as Caladan rode ahead to catch up with the others, Mirilen shed a tear indeed, hearing the snatches of an ancient lay running through her mind.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Again she fled, but swift he came.

Tinúvuiel! Tinúviel!

He called her by her Elvish name;

And there she halted listening.

One moment stood she, and a spell

His voice laid on her; Beren came,

And doom fell on Tinúviel

That in his arms lay glistening.

In all the ages of the world she had never understood those lines, though she had, as had all the Eldar who sang it, wept at the fate that had taken the fairest of all the Elves from the living. Yet now so clearly in her heart they resounded, piercing countless years of isolation with a pang that had never been there before. She caught her breath, dried her eyes, and then quickly urged her horse onward to catch her companions.

When she had caught up to them again they rode a ways up a ridge that overlooked the river valley below, and then dismounted. Fréawyn pointed to a wooden wall; it was the Isenward, the westernmost defenses of Rohan in the Westfold.

"We have not yet been seen," she told them, "But let us wait for twilight at least to go on, if you insist on sneaking past them."

"I do." Mirilen said. "I cannot be delayed in any way, even by those I should count as friends, however well-meaning their intentions."

"Then so be it." Fréawyn nodded solemnly. They tied the horses and pony to the lowest tree branch they could find, and sat themselves down to wait.

All during that time Mirilen curled up as if she were sleeping, yet inwardly her thoughts were racing like steeds across the plains of Rohan. To be so close to fulfilling her vow, to be able at last to go back to Eldamar after all these millennia of exile and self-imposed exile, and to suddenly realize she had fallen for a mortal at the very end of the road; ah! Why had she ever made her rings, those three rings, those mere trifles and essays in the craft? And why had she vowed to get them back? What a folly it seemed to her now, what a hindrance! Yet despite those thoughts she earnestly wanted to love him. To have spent all the ages of the world with her craft as the only love she ever knew, and to have seen all the works of her hands perish save for these last three rings; what were rings on the hand compared with love in the heart? What were deeds on the battlefield and valiant quests taken to completion, next to the simple life of contentment at home, living comfortably with those who cared most for you? And yet she had rejected the latter twain to embrace the former two with all her being.

Caladan himself was having similar thoughts; over and over his mind went to the most ancient of Elven lore he knew of, stories of Beren and Lúthien, of Tuor and Idril Celebrindal, Eärendil and Elwing, and on down the line to Aragorn and Arwen; what hope had he to love her, deathless to the ages and unravished by time even here, for all his lifetime? Yet she herself said that if she remained, she would fade to little more than a wraith in the ages to come. Better she return to the Far West, to rest at last from her labors and think no more of those lands where she had endured such loss, such pain, as never he could know or even dream. He let out a sigh of weariness, and Grôfr looked over at him. The Dwarf scooted closer, and whispered in his ear.

"Better to give and be shattered than to keep and so fester." Grôfr said to him, and Caladan looked over at him with an inquisitive look. The Dwarf, his empty pipe in his mouth out of habit (just in case the smoke might somehow be seen by some keen-eyed Rohirric warrior), gave him an idle shrug. "You live as long as I have and you learn to read people quite quickly. It's why I knew you were sincere and why I decided to jump a bit ahead of you to Mordor. Most don't give Dwarves any credit for being good judges of character, and especially our own; yet the years have not gone by without softening us, such as we are."

"You knew?" Caladan asked him softly.

"Longer than both of you, apparently." Grôfr remarked wittily, and Caladan stifled a laugh. "Even if all she does is carry your words to the Undying Lands, that's worth something, isn't it?" the Dwarf then asked him with a more serious tone, and Caladan sighed once more.

"I do not know, my friend." he answered quietly. Grôfr frowned thoughtfully, and was about to say something else when Fréawyn's voice called out to them in a loud whisper.

"It is time; untie Acca and the horses, we must walk them until we pass Dol Baran." she said, and with that the four of them resumed their journey into the lands west of Rohan.

***

Nearly seven-hundreds of years ago, Eorl and his folk came down from the north to aid the reigning Steward of Gondor; in return for their aid he gave them the plains of Calenardhon which became Rohan. They then drove the wild men, the Dunlendings, into the west--and the Dunlendings never forgot it. And that mournful landscape of hills and trees which men call Dunland after its occupants seemed a reflection of the mournful memories which the Dunlendings carry even now in these days of peace. Only two times in all their history had they gathered in force to try and take back the lands which had been theirs, and both times they had been repulsed, once by Helm Hammerhand and then by Théoden Ednew.

In the years since, they had turned to warring with each other, fighting over land, herds, and occasionally some unfortunate woman or child that was of great importance to one of the many brenins in the land.

"They have had no one we might think of as a high king among their people since the days of that traitor Wulf." Fréawyn noted as they passed Dol Baran late in the evening. "Many clans and tribes there are, and we have given up on trying to count them. Yet the lands of the people we now travel near are those contested by the Raven, Wolf, and Boar Clans. The rumors we have heard of their massing forces mean that this war is soon to break out, and I fear lest we become lax in our guard of the borders while they tear each other to pieces."

"We will keep to the mountains until we come to the Glanduin, that should keep us far enough away from them and their squabbles." Mirilen said.

"We can certainly try." Fréawyn agreed.

"Is it too late to slip back and go by way of Caradhras? Surely the mountain pass would be less threatening than these Dunlending Clans!" Grôfr remarked.

"The mountain is indiscriminate in its hate, is that it?" Caladan smiled.

"Forgoil they call us," Fréawyn said solemnly, "Usurpers, in their tongue. But riding back to such paths as might avoid them would take longer, and Lady Elf says she has no time. We will risk these paths, then, and hope that the 'Aluc yrn Helvarch' is with us, the Hunter's Luck." she said with the ghost of a smile.

"That is Dunlendish, or I am an Ent..." Grôfr remarked.

"We are not ignorant of our neighbors and their words." the Rohirrim maiden returned. "My father had my brothers and I learn it well enough to show respect, if the occasion ever came to use it."

"Let us hope that if it comes, your respect is honored." Grôfr replied.

"But for now I will hope in secrecy." Fréawyn said, and with that she halted, mounting up on her steed. The others followed her example, and she nodded towards a vale that led northward into Dunland. "Ride now as softly as we can, and with haste!"

The words were spoken while the moon was at its peak in the sky. They kept the King's Road, as it was known to them, at their left. All through that night and into the morning they rode, not stopping until they came to a thickly forested part of the land where oaks and alder trees seemed prominent. A particularly large oak sat on a small hill above the others like a king of the woods, venerable and ancient. The four of them felt a feeling of reverence well up in them, as if it were indeed a monarch, and they bowed to it before taking their rest for the day.

Far in the distance, Caladan could see the signs of a village nearby; smoke rose from a distant valley where the Dunlendings had their settlement. He could see circularly-shaped houses with mildly conical roofs made of stone and thatch, and perhaps some were made of mud and wattle. They were situated in a ring, and further west and a stretch south of them he could see herds of cattle, sheep, goats, and pigs grazing. To the north there were fields for crops; crops of what, he could not discern, yet they were probably some kind of grain. He could not see them very clearly, but the people were, according to their own standards, wildly dressed. He was not even sure if some of them were dressed at all, but he turned his thoughts away from such matters as Grôfr began slicing up bread, cheese, and meat for another cold meal.

"By Durin's Beard, we should have turned north after Orthanc; never mind the pass, my kinsman would have given us a grand welcome, and we would have been out of sight and mind for a week before anyone figured out what had happened to us. I could have delivered to him what I need to deliver to him, and Lady Elf could have ridden along with Caladan to Ost-in-Edhil further west. But no! Cold dinners and sleepless nights through some of the most savage men of Middle Earth!" he grumbled softly, dwindling off into his own tongue to curse the Dunlendings.

"This village we see now is Lhan Culch; further ahead I only know the names of two others: Lhan Trum and Turrau Lûth, the Towers of the Clans." Fréawyn told them as the grumbling Dwarf set out their repast for the day.

"I do not like the sound of this last," Caladan said as he began to eat.

"In older times it was called Galtrev; but in their last war against each other that town was burnt to the ground. The clans rebuilt it with stronger defenses, and now it has the newer name I have given you. Nevertheless, some still speak of it as the older city which stood upon that hill. You are right not to like it; for it is as it sounds, a place where the clans gather." she told him.

"We will not draw close to either of them, I trust?" Grôfr asked her.

"That is my hope, and the mountains are kind to us." the Rohirrim maiden returned. "Let us take what ease we can, and be off at nightfall."

"They may well then take us for some sort of gwirod, riding by in the night." Caladan said with a faint smile.

"They may well do so, and may it give them cause to leave us be!" Fréawyn said with her own smile.

After that they ate in silence, and then took what rest they could in the light of day, silently taking turns at watch by way of nodding at one another when one of them felt more alert than the others. When twilight came along they softly got back on their steeds and resumed their ride at a slower pace out of necessity, keeping to the woods so as to ensure that any who saw them believed them to be spirits or ghouls of the night.

They continued like this for the better part of four days, keeping watch in the day and travelling by night under the moon and stars. Smaller villages they saw, which Fréawyn told them were called cartrevs as opposed to the larger trevi; it was, she supposed, not unlike the difference between a croft and a steading in her own country of Rohan. This was in addition to the occasional cadlus they could espy in some hidden corner of the woods, generally a hunter's camp. They were just passing the Turrau Lûth on the fourth night, which happened to be quite foggy, when their first travail upon the road came at last.

Moving slowly through the mists and staying close to each other, the four companions did they best they could to keep heading north along the Misty Mountains. Every now and again they could see the peaks, and would correct their course as needed, but for the most part it was deeply fortuitous guesswork that kept them in the right direction--if at all. What they did not nor indeed could not have realized was that the Dunlending raiders attacking each other were doing so that very night, very close to their path. In later days it was remembered as a surprise attack; the Bear and Wolf Clans, with the aid of the Hart and Oak Clans, routed the Raven, Boar, and Sky Clans, breaking the latter alliance's control over Turrau Lûth and freeing it up for all the clans once more. Yet unknown to all save the Dunlending Clans involved was that the Wolf Clan, still eager for battle, went scouring the countryside as the fog of the night began to clear.

As it happened, the scouring of these warriors and raiders led them straight into the four riding through Dunland. At once a clash began, Fréawyn and Caladan drawing out their swords with fierce yells and the infamous "Baruk Khazâd!" ringing out from Grôfr, to say nothing of Mirilen's own fierce war-cry, one that had echoed throughout the ages: "A Elbereth, Gilthoniel!". Though taken by surprised, they managed to hold their own fairly well, until something unexpected occurred at the end of it all. The four companions did not know quite how it happened, but somehow or another Mirilen was surprised by her attackers and knocked off of her horse. With astonishing swiftness she fought back, but eventually she was rendered unconscious by a giant among the Dunlendings. Caladan cried out to her in vain, and tried to ride after her, but the remaining Dunlendings hindered him and the others. By the time he and the others were able to fend them off or kill them so that they could get back to her horse she was long gone, and the raiders were running with their prize into the north.

"Devils! Fiends! Curses on these Wolf Clan Raiders!" Fréawyn cried out in wrath.

"Lad, the saddle-bags! Check them!" Grôfr said quickly to Caladan to shake him out of his panicked daze; he did so, and moments later, he gave the Dwarf a nod.

"Only she herself and her weapons have been taken--nay! The weapons are here on the ground!" he said as he examined the area in a calmer fashion.

"Then--well, we have a lady to rescue!" Grôfr said determinedly.

"I can track these beast men even in the dim light; fast afoot they may be, but even at a canter we can overtake them." Fréawyn said to them.

"I can also keep track of them," Caladan nodded as he got back on his horse and took the reins of Winfrid to lead the horse along with them. "They head north by northwest; if my eyes do not deceive me I see another vale that way."

"Aye," Fréawyn nodded, "The Blaidh Lûth lands are up that way, according to the bolder of our scouts and emissaries."

"You are certain then that it is the Wolf Clan, these Blaidh Lûth, as you name them?" the Dwarf asked her.

"I know well the patterns of the Dunlending clans, both the paint on their faces and the make of their cloth; it was them, Master Dwarf." Fréawyn told him confidently.

"Then let us begin our hunt for these wolves!" Caladan said, and with that they were off. He and the Dwarf exchanged a glance; Mirilen's rings had not been taken, fortunately, but it was still a shock that she alone should have been captured, with or without them. A nod passed between them, and they resumed tracking the raiders.

***

When Mirilen awoke she felt a strange sensation. Then she noticed. She was not wearing her customary gear. It had been taken, and she was now wrapped in the Dunlending fashion, a cotton-woven skirt or kilt bound around her waist, a simple wrap around her chest, and soft leather boots upon her feet. Flushing with a furious color of red she all but jumped up from her position on the ground and looked around; if what she had seen of them so far away was any indication, she was now in a large Dunlending hall. If she could have known, she was four days away from where she had been. It was now day five of her captivity; unbeknownst to her, she had been kept unconscious by a peculiar incense the Dunlendings use, and in this way they had kept her under control. For on the second day of her captivity she had also woken up, and fought them fiercely until one of them knocked her unconscious again. They had then decided to use the incense, the deilen-cûsgu, sleep-leaf, administered by one of their shamans which they call the derudh.

And thus this clan of Dunlending wild-men had managed to keep the last of the Noldor in captivity. Feeling thoroughly humiliated, not the least by the attire she had been dressed in unwittingly, Mirilen silently wept. She tried as hard as she could to remember the battle; she could have sworn she heard Caladan calling for her, even as she slipped into unconsciousness. Then all of a sudden she ceased to weep.

What was this prison compared to that of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, where once Beren and Finrod had been held captive? How indeed could it even compare to Angband, that dead fortress now under the waves where Morgoth had held court, or even to Sauron's lesser fastnesses of Dol Guldur and Barad Dûr? She dried her eyes, and berated herself.

"I only weep because I was not brought down by an enemy so mighty as they, but by these fiendish wild-men!" she said aloud.

At that moment, one of them came in. She recognized him. It was the one who had brought her down. He seemed to be a chieftain or a battle-master of some sort. He smiled ghoulishly at her, and chuckled.

"Tulûth-teg lûth, you are now the property of Bran Brenin. You are skilled with a cledhau, this I grant you; but from now on you are as my guraig, my wife and queen, for I have overcome you!" he said to her triumphantly.

"What triumph, feckless fool?" she said to him defiantly as she stood to her feet. "Your men dragged me from my horse and then you struck me over the head. If that is a triumph in your land, then it is no wonder the Horse-lords drove you into the hills!" Mirilen said to rile him. He frowned darkly. She had succeeded.

"I do not like your tone, venû. But you cannot challenge me again. It is the law of the Blaidh Lûth, and you cannot change it." he told her with coldness.

"There were three others with me. One of them will come and challenge you, this I know. Even if you deny me in your cowardice and trickery, you cannot deny them." Mirilen returned to the Brenin at once.

"Yes, the other duvodiad wandering through the wilds have no doubt found the trail. I admit that my rhufelûr, my warriors, were quite careless." the swarthy Bran with his cunning eyes said to her. "But even if they come to Blaidh Brun with its mighty turrau and walls, think you I would simply let them walk in?"

The only response he received was a scornful, condescending smile with a defiant glare. Snorting, he turned, and headed for the door of the hall once more.

"Tomorrow is Gûled y Blaidh; you will sit by me in this very hall as we sing songs and tell stories as my guraig. I will see you then." he then told her, and with those words he departed.

Mirilen let out a sigh. There was nothing she could do but wait. After all, it would not do to violate the traditions of even these petty men, for all it would do would be to bring down a nearly endless horde upon her. Gûled y Blaidh, had he said? Surely there would be many here for that. Surely it would be nearly impossible for her friends to rescue her. Nearly, but not impossible.

***

On that very next day, a waggon with four steeds was rolling up to that place named as Blaidh Brun, Wolf Hill. Four days earlier, three companions had come across the waggon by chance; seeing it mostly intact with its yoke and harnesses still in fair shape, they had devised a cunning plan. One of them, the fastest rider among them, had ridden back to the site of a battle and collected the armour and weapons of the slain that yet lay there. She had returned to find the others just finishing with the waggon, and when she had given them the gear they fastened her horse to the team of four and donned their disguises. The shortest one simply tucked his great beard in his shirt and wrapped his cloak around him tightly, breaking off the branch of a nearby tree and whittling it to look like a shaman's staff, even tying a few feathers he found on the ground to the top of it. It was not foolproof, but they trusted in fortune despite their mishap in the battle, and so continued following the trail to Blaidh Brun. And so it was that Fréawyn, Caladan, and Grôfr were able to bluff their way into that Dunlending city, the Dwarf muttering something about an uncle of his who loved to jest and who would undoubtedly make many at his expense in this situation.

***

"Diurnod teg!" the gate-keeper called to the approaching waggon. Fair day to you!

"A diurnod teg!" the woman replied. "Pa-neûdhion am y'ûled?" And fair day to you! What news of the feast?

"Udû, ma' Gûled y Blaidh heddiu!" Aye, the Feast of the Wolf is today!

"Budh e'n traed'n rhedegh, budh e'n lhesiau'n udo!" Our feet will run, our voices will howl!

"Udû, udû! Deuch i meun, a mûnheuch y ûled!" Aye, aye! Come in, and enjoy the feast!

The exchange was nerve-wracking for Fréawyn, but she felt Grôfr pat her gently on the back from his place behind her.

"Well done, lass!" he whispered as softly as he could.

"Well done indeed," Caladan told her as well, and she smiled.

"Now it is your turn." she told him. "When the feast is on, you will have a chance to challenge whomever it is that took Mirilen to a battle. Listen to me, stone-man; this duel will be to the death. The Wolf Clan show no mercy, and if you do not kill him they will."

"Then let them kill him for his shame, not I." Caladan returned darkly. "Even if I lo--" he started to say, and then cut himself off, saying nothing further.

Fréawyn looked at him sadly. Had he nearly said "love"? When she had first seen him back at Folstead, she remembered well how often he had teased her when they first met about how she would never find a man on account of her fighting ways unless he himself took her as wife. She had laughed then with all the rest of them, but when she saw him again those few weeks ago the words had cut into her heart. Once their adventure beyond the borders of Rohan had been over, she had meant to tell him that she had remembered, and that if he was willing, so was she. But this; she turned away, and looked around at the village. It was not unlike her own, save that the people were dressed differently and the buildings were the wrong shape.

"But then, I have never been this angry before." Caladan then said in an even darker tone. "Perhaps we have been sent us here to end the reign of this fiendish wolf before he does some great harm." he continued, and Fréawyn glanced over at him again with an uncertain look upon her face. Grôfr cast an eye over at him, and a rumbling "hmm" came from his throat.

Caladan then halted the waggon near the largest of the buildings, where many people were gathering, and the three of them got out to head in with the others. Caladan entered first with Fréawyn just behind him, and Grôfr came in last.

Inside they saw an outlandish sight. Mirilen was next to what appeared to be the chieftain, the Brenin of the Wolf Clan. She was dressed in the manner of the Dunlendings and did not look pleased at all until she caught sight of them. Her eyes flashed in recognition, and a sly smile appeared on her face. The Elf-woman then averted her eyes from them, and resumed her disinterest in the festivities around her despite the brenin's prodding.

After several hours of feasting, drinking, and singing, the Wolf Clan were in a fine mood and spoiling for games. Several of them tussled with each other in the hall, and some of them boxed with each other until they were nearly senseless. Drinking contests came about, and a wrestling match, as well as a few wilder games such as are not quite fit to tell of in polite company. Needless to say, the Dunlendings were most deserving of every last implication in the term "wild-men". Yet it was in the midst of these pagan games that Caladan found his opening, when Bran Brenin, as he was made known to them, took to the floor.

"Ah, by the Blaidh-gwirod! Who would challenge me in a game, a gornest nerth?" he called out to them. Fréawyn recognized the words as "strength-contest". But she had noticed Caladan's ire growing stronger every moment as the festival went on and as the Brenin made advances upon his prisoner; surely he was brimming with wrath about now. He stood up; she did not know how right she was until he spoke.

"Bran Brenin! I'r faruolaith!" Caladan called out, and Fréawyn and Grôfr both looked at each other.

"What did he say?" the Dwarf whispered, knowing it was not good.

"I know not how he knows those words, but he has challenged the Brenin to the death!" Fréawyn told him as Caladan himself moved to the center of the lodge with the Dunlending sword he had taken.

The Brenin himself chuckled slowly and with glee. He took up his own sword, a great cledhûv nearly as tall as himself, and joined him in the midst of the hall. Silence had fallen over them all. Mirilen herself suddenly sensed something dangerous was about to happen, never mind the harsh tone of the words Caladan had spoken. He raised his sword towards Bran Brenin, and glowered at him.

"Weak coward that you are, only able to attack women from behind! Let us see how you fare against me!" he said, and the chieftain's ire was drawn out.

"I'll have no more of this s'gurs-athrod in my hall! Your lies die now!" Bran Brenin roared as he all but flew to attack his challenger.

Back and forth across the hall in a mighty clash the two warriors drove each other, hacking and swinging furiously in their rage, one for the sake of another, one for the sake of himself. It took no sage or wizard to guess the outcome of such a battle. Caladan, desperate to save Mirilen and driven by cunning, deftly deflected the heated strokes of the Brenin, saving his strength while the Brenin wore himself out trying to finish off Caladan in one blow again and again. Finally, the big man tripped and fell onto the floor, and Caladan held the blade to his throat. With a growl not unlike that of a real wolf, Bran Brenin dropped his sword and glared with hatred up at his opponent.

"Finish it, bradûr!" he said venomously. Caladan only smiled darkly.

"Your death is the death of your honor, if ever you had any." he replied, and lowered his blade. He turned, and made his way towards Mirilen. At that moment the Brenin sprang back up, but before he could grab his sword and before Caladan could react, Mirilen herself took up the Brenin's own knife which had been laying on the table and hurled it at him, catching him in the throat. The big man sank to the ground pitifully, and fell over dead.

Not one soul said so much as a word, and, silently, the four companions left the hall, with the awed eyes of the Dunlendings upon them. They climbed back into the waggon, this time with their fourth companion, and left Blaidh Brun as the sun was setting in the western sky. No one stopped them, and they rode unmolested upon the road.

Later that night, the four of them were back in their own clothes and miles away from the Dunlending towns. Caladan found himself sitting by the banks of a stream, and Mirilen happened upon him when the moon was just beginning to make his descent. They sat in silence together for several minutes, and she then turned to him.

"I knew you would come." she told him with a smile, yet her voice quavered.

"I had to come." he replied softly. "I..." he started to say, but she only put a finger on his lips.

"I know. I know it, and I feel it; yet..." she said hesitantly.

"I know. You are leaving to go where I may not follow, and I must remain here." he said sadly. "The unions of Elf and Man are but..." he trailed off, unable to say the words; she nodded, tears in her eyes.

"Stories; stories and dreams." Mirilen said mournfully.

"But I don't want them to be," Caladan returned as he looked at her again. Once more their eyes locked. Once more there was a clarity between their hearts. She closed her eyes. He reached over, and their lips met as he wrapped his arms around her.

And doom fell on Tinûviel, that in his arms lay glistening...

Near the waggon itself and their four steeds, Grôfr and Fréawyn sat near to each other, the Dwarf puffing away at his pipe thoughtfully while the Rohirrim maiden sat with a downcast countenance. Grôfr looked over at her; if stories were true, she was not the first of her people to fall in love with a man of Gondor whose heart was captured by an Elven maiden. He let out a soft smile, and coughed gently.

"Would you follow him still, though his love belongs to her?" he said to her in a kindly tone that shook her out of her misery but not her tears. She looked up, and saw a certain wisdom in Grôfr's words. Fréawyn turned to him.

"Do you think he would let me, even if I told him how my heart sings?" she asked him then, half in hope and half in dread.

"I doubt he would turn away so noble a friend, if she couched her words with the true weight of her heart and not with desperate jealousy." he told her, and again she saw the wisdom in his words. Fréawyn smiled then, and gently nodded.

"You are right." she agreed. "Then, I will do so, if only to be at his side like a shield-sister should." Fréawyn decided, and Grôfr smiled.

"That's the spirit, lass!" he nodded.

***

Nearly two and a half weeks later, they had arrived in Eregion without further incident. Deciding that their one kiss was all they needed, Caladan and Mirilen began to steel their hearts for the inevitable departure. They arrived at Ost-in-Edhil, majestic even in its ruined and despicable state, under a grey and cloudy sky, and set up camp near the Tham Mírdain, the Hall of the Jewel-smiths. The four of them gazed in reverent awe at the place, three of them wondering what it had once looked like while the fourth remembered exactly how it had been it its prime; proud and vaunted walls of white, intermingled with green and blue, and the flowing banners of Celebrimbor flying in the breeze. Here Mirilen took the box which held the Nine, and entered that ancient workshop. Fréawyn, now fully aware of the quest's fullness and why they had been so secretive, agreed with all of them that it was best their story never come to light.

"Let the last legacy of those evil rings be cast down forever, no more to haunt us or even to inspire some new legend of terror and death." she said solemnly as Mirilen entered the hall.

"Aye." Grôfr nodded.

"Let them be cast down," Caladan said in agreement.

When Mirilen came to the forges themselves, she smashed the rings one by one, and then after heating the forge with what coal remained she melted down what was left of the Nine into a puddle of glowing metal. Satisfied, she heaved a sigh of relief, and then looked around. She looked around at these halls she had once thought hallowed, and began to ponder. The Silmarils; the Rings of Power; the greatest works of the greatest Noldor had been turned to such evil. Was that to be their legacy? Was it to be hers, to be remembered only as one who aided in the making of things that were turned to use by the enemy?

She frowned. She did not want that to be her people's legacy. She could not let it be said that the works of the Noldor caused only grief and sorrow upon Endorenna, upon Middle Earth. Looking around once more, Mirilen espied a bar of silver, a bar of gold, and two emeralds.

The forge was still hot, and all the tools she needed were yet here.

"A tíro nin, Fanuilos!" she cried out, and then set to work.

Outside, her three companions saw the forge-fires glowing hotter. Grôfr gazed at it with wonder, and Fréawyn blinked in surprise.

"Were those nine so cunningly crafted that the forges of the Elves need such wrathful fire to cull them?" she wondered aloud, but Caladan, drawn to the sight, rushed in to see what was afoot. Fréawyn was about to run in after him, but Grôfr held her back.

"Wait, lass; if we go in there, we may see something not meant for us." he told her.

"Yet it is meant for him?" Fréawyn returned.

"Whether or no, I could not hold him back from it even if I tried. His doom is not ours, however. Let him see, and in later days if we should ask, he may tell us what he saw. But not now." he said to her, and Fréawyn slowly affected a smile.

"You are right, Master Dwarf. Let us wait."

***

Caladan ran through the halls, following the sound of the hammer. He came at last to the forges, where the doors were yet open, and there he saw a sight beyond mortal ken indeed. The Lady Elf who had travelled with them in simple guise had revealed her true self, a High Elf who had seen the Light of the Two Trees; he saw her now as she had once been, a shining figure in Valimar's Hallowed Halls. He fell to his knees in reverence, hearing the most ancient tongue of the Elves pouring from her lips in song as she worked her craft. The words lingered in his heart, etched as if in stone, yet it was not until long after that he could discern their meaning in his own tongue, the words of which he then pondered on many times during the rest of his life, given here in their fullness.

Alas! for the follies of the Firstborn,

That led so many into ruin and death;

Alas, and alas! But no more

Shall the Eldar in their glory be seen

In this tree-woven Middle Earth

Beneath the light of the stars.

O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler!

Hear my prayer; I make these not for my own

Desire, but to share what I should

Have learned to give long ago.

Let hearts be melded and souls

Be bonded, across the deeps of

The Great Sea, the Lands Under the Wave.

And when at last comes the end of days,

The time of renewal, let these

Sundered hearts be as one,

O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler!

All through the night she chanted those verses in her native tongue, the High-Elven speech which would never again be heard from any native speaker in that part of the world or any other part of it ever again. Caladan wept openly, feeling the depths of her love for him radiate from those words he did not yet understand, and he thought for a brief instant that he saw tears in her eyes; yet they were like jewels to his sight, and his own tears like muddied waters. He fell to the ground in slumber, and knew no more until morning.

When he awoke, Mirilen was herself again; or rather, she was more like she had been when first they met. He had a feeling that the radiant form he saw the night before was more herself than she was now, but such thoughts bewildered him. She then turned, and smiled at him.

"You were foolish to come and see, but perhaps that is part of why I love you." she told him gently as he rose to his feet. "Come here, Dúnadan, and see what I have made, last works of the Noldor in Middle Earth." she then said to him, and he hastened over.

There on the table were two rings. One was silver, and it had a cunningly wrought design of intertwining birch leaves holding an emerald, and the inner-band was traced lovingly with the flowing characters of the Elves, the Tengwar. One was Gold, and its design was that of two oak branches wrapping around each other, and a second emerald was set in their midst; it, too, bore the Tengwar characters.

Caladan marvelled, and then turned to her in fear.

"Surely these are not such as were made here long ago!" he said with a sudden terror, but she only smiled at him.

"It is not possible," she comforted him. "They have but one power; to reach across all the leagues and miles and connect the hearts of the two who wear them." she then said. Taking up the gold one, she took his hand, and placed it on his finger. "This is Órëmar; wherever you go, my heart will be at home with yours, and so it is inscribed upon it." she told him, and then she took up the silver one, and placed it on her own hand. "And I will wear Vëredil, the Bond of Faithfulness; even though I sail across the sea, I will never forget you, and those words are etched into its band." she said to him.

Caladan could find no words to answer her. He simply reached down, and kissed her yet again. And perhaps that was all the answer she needed or desired; thus it was that this last and secret union between Eldar and Edain was made.

***

Nearly four months later, three of the four companions arrived at the Mithlond, the Grey Havens. Grôfr had bidden them farewell for a time when they left Ost-in-Edhil, and gone back east to give his kinsman Durin the Seventh the reclaimed Rings of the Dwarves. He promised to meet them at Bree when they came back east themselves, and when he and Mirilen had bidden each other farewell he left them. Fréawyn out of love had stayed with Caladan and Mirilen through the long miles as they took their ease, heading along the Greenway; she had confessed her heart to him, and he had agreed to remain her own true friend, and Mirilen also.

They then took their ease on the road to Bree, riding up through the ruins of Elven Eregion and then the Trollshaws. Briefly they thought to see Imladris, high and hidden in the foothills and ravines of the Bruinen Valley, but Mirilen said that it would only be painful for her now. Past the Lonelands they road, and the mighty works of Ancient Men in that land they marvelled at, coming to Bree at the end of a second month. And then they made their way west towards and then through the Shire, the merry and bright land of the Halflings, and thence to the Havens. They saw no Hobbits, but they had no doubt that the little folk had seen them.

The Havens were now quite deserted, but there was, strangely, a party of Elves that had yet lingered. Mirilen turned to her lover, and smiled at him.

"These are the last of my companions. They swore that if I failed, they too would stay behind, and keep in memory Mirilen of Gondolin until the end of days." she said, and then turned to the Elves themselves, "But now your long vigil is over; Mîranar, Khelekris, and Nólërien are reclaimed. I have accomplished what Fëanor could not, the reclamation of a treasure stolen by darkness! And I have not spent myself in vanity while seeking it, but in love. Ready the ship... it is time; time to go home." she said. At once they hastened to do her bidding, cheering loudly with celebration at her words.

Within moments this ship, possibly the last of its kind, was ready. Fréawyn embraced the Elf-woman, and they kissed each other's cheeks.

"Westu, Mirilen hál." Fréawyn whispered with a smile upon her face.

"Westu, Fréawyn hál." Mirilen replied, and then the Rohirric maiden returned to the waggon.

Caladan and Mirilen embraced, kissing each other one last time, and then she made her way to the ship. Moments later it cast off, and began heading into the west. As it sailed out of the Mithlond and into the Gulf of Lune, Caladan stared after it longingly, wondering if indeed he might not have sailed with her whom now held his heart, into the Utmost West. Would the Lords of the Undying Lands have suffered him to do so? He did not know. There was a flash of green light, no doubt from Mirilen's last ring, the one ring that she wore openly, and then the ship vanished from sight.

Mirilen herself, upon raising her hand to the skies, felt a wave of joy flood over her. There was a sorrow, but there was joy in the depths of that sorrow that knew its day would come again. She placed her hands upon her belly, and sang an unheard name aloud to the skies as their ship raced home to Alqualondë, the home of the Teleri, and thence to Valimar, to Elvenhome.

***

When at last the waggon with its four steeds returned to Bree, the sun was setting in the west with a majestic train of purples and reds tinged with gold. At the west gate stood a Dwarf with a forked beard of golden color. He winked at the two on the waggon, and they stopped to let him on. He got in with a grunt and a grumble, and then sat down behind them with a satisfied sigh, lighting up his pipe.

"Now then, I suppose you know your father has been seeking after you for some reason; isn't it time you and we at least see what that's about, mm?" Grôfr said as he began puffing away.

"As soon as we've had a rest we'll be off again. This time, however, I think we shall take your advice and head over the mountains!" Caladan told him.

"A sound plan." Grôfr agreed.

"And? Then where shall we go, if anywhere?" Fréawyn wondered.

"We'll follow whatever road comes to our fancy, until it joins some larger way where many things await us, and whither then..." Caladan said, leaving the last few words unspoken. He looked down at his hand; Órëmar seemed to be twinkling. The shadow of the rings had passed; the road that had found them would now carry them on to another, and another, and another.

And whither then?

He could not say.