All Roads Lead Home

Off to his right, Haluin could hear Eldarin chuckling softly to himself. "What do you find so amusing about this particular situation, mellon? he asked distractedly. They exchanged glances and the wicked grin on his companion's lips nearly made Haluin smile as well.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Eldred. Can you not see you've very nearly frightened the younglings to death?"

The man so named peered closely at the elf, then threw back his head, laughing heartily. "By my father's bones! Eldarin? What brings you this far west, you scoundrel?" His fellow rider relaxed in the saddle but remained alert as the elf approached Eldred, extending his arm in friendship.

"Mae govannen, mellon nin! My friend and I are escorting these worthy dwarves to Ered Luin. As to these..." Eldarin glanced darkly at Goran and his captives. "we travel the same road with them until we reach Bree...unless you are willing to assist them?" he asked hopefully.

Leaning forward to rest on horn of his saddle, Eldred chewed his lip thoughtfully. It had been long years since he last encountered this elf and he understood well Eldarin's distrust of men. "If I do this for you, what do you give in exchange?"

Jokim stomped forward at this, beard bristling. "Elfred, or whoever you call yourself-who are you to demand anything from Eldarin? He asked you a question...though why is beyond me..." he muttered darkly. "Aye or nay, which is it?"

Both elves and both riders stared in astonishment at the dwarf, then at each other. Eldred's shoulders began to shake with mirth. "Well asked, good dwarf! Old friend, it seems you've fallen in with someone who will keep you honest at last. As you wish, master dwarf, aye. Is that plain enough?"

A chorus of complaint broke out behind the elves. "Wait! No! You can't hand us over to hi-them! What if they..." Both men rode forward a few paces and dismounted. Goran backed away slowly and discreetly as they approached the runaways.

Gently, Eldred lifted his hand to brush the girl's hair from her face, then he searched her eyes for many lang moments. His companion did the same with Merrill. "I see nothing but youth and foolishness, Eldred. He is a but a callow, harmless boy." Eldred nodded, then looked at Goran, who returned his appraising stare directly.

"I'll take your help, if only to be shed of him." he said, pointing at Eldarin who raised his chin defiantly. "I don't like his look nor his kind."

"His kind, are the eldest living, save the Ents and deserve honour and respect. Know that we do this for love of him and his kind, not for you." spat Eldred contemptuously, then turned his back on Goran and re-mounted. "Go your way, my friends and-Master Dwarf?" Jokim gazed levelly up at him, hands planted firmly on hips. "I wish you both good fortune and long life in your new home. We are at your service." Both men bowed their heads in acknowledgement, then waved the others to join them. The youngsters glanced pleadingly back at the elves, but both refused to meet their gaze.

"That was interesting. " mused Haluin as they began to walk northward of the Road. "Do you have other friends that will be aiding us at whiles a swe journey, or was that just a coincidence?" Eldarin smiled. " A happy coincidence, I'm afraid. Eldred and his brother are renegades of a sort themselves, even among the rangers. It seems that I attract that sort of person." A shower of pine cones greeted that assessment and he spent rather a long time that night combing pine sap and seeds from his hair while the others chuckled at his expense.

“I like four,” Haluin said to Eldarin as their feet crunched along the trail to Bree. “Four is a good number to travel with.”

And then he ducked as a snowball came hurtling his way. He and Druri had been engaged in a battle of wits all morning, each trying to catch the other off guard with a well-placed snowball toss. As noon approached, the tally stood at Haluin 2, Druri 0. But that did not discourage the lad from trying to even the score.

Eldarin and Jokim were humoring the contest by doing their best to ignore it.

“Yes,” replied the smith, as Haluin’s head popped up again. “And had I had any say in the matter, it would have stayed at four.”

“But you must look at it this way...” Haluin stooped down to begin assembling his next projectile. “Had we not brought Goran and the two younglings along, you never would have met your old ranger friends again.”

“I would not call them ‘friends,’ exactly...”

“You named Eldred ‘mellon nin,’ did you not?”

“Well...”

“How did you cross paths with them before, at any rate?” Haluin peeked over Eldarin’s shoulder to see that Druri was wisely marching in front of his uncle, using Jokim as a shield.

“By mistake, of course. And let that be the end of it.”

“Oh no, I imagine we’ll be seeing those two brothers again in Bree. And then let the story be told in full!” Haluin’s arm twitched instinctively as he saw Druri’s head pop out from behind Jokim. The snowball went sailing through the winter sky in a long arc, glancing off of Jokim’s hood and hitting the ground.

The dwarf turned around with an angry, arched brow.

“Seems it’s two against one now!” called Haluin as he went dashing off the trail. A volley of snowballs followed in his wake.

---

Haluin was still wiping the snow from his hair as the group sat down to lunch. Jokim had a strong and accurate arm, as it turned out.

“Where did you learn to toss like that, friend?” Haluin settled himself beside the dwarf as Eldarin prepared the midday meal.

“Upon the slopes of Erebor, naturally.” Jokim kept droll and deadpan even as Haluin ribbed him on. “The winters were filled with snow and sport for young dwarves. Our games could grow quite vicious. So one learned rather quickly how to defend himself with a snowball.”

“Now I am beginning to understand the forces that shaped you, Master Jokim.”

The dwarf gave Haluin an unimpressed look, as Eldarin began sending around the vittles. Although deep into their march from Rivendell, they still had a decent spread before them: dark bread and pungent cheeses, with apple slices and grapes to go around. Even Jokim’s “cram and jam” recipe made a surprise reappearance on the menu. All of this was much to Druri’s delight, as he stuffed everything he could fit into his mouth.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Haluin saw fit to spark a conversation. “Now... all of this fine fare has me wondering: what is the best meal each of you has ever had?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Druri said between mouthfuls. But then he seemed to freeze up, and gave his uncle a timid look.

Jokim rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and say it. I shall not be offended.”

The lad gulped down a handful of grapes before continuing. “That feast in the Hall of Fire was magnificent.”

Haluin clapped his hands. “An excellent choice! I still remember that pheasant dish like an old acquaintance. And you, Eldarin?”

There came a smile and a cough. “Well. You have forced me into an embarrassing memory, mellon.”

“Then I am glad I asked the question. Do tell.”

“There was... many, many years ago... a lass that I did fancy.”

“Ah! A secret romance!” Haluin edged forward with his characteristic smirk in full gleam.

“Not secret in the least. The whole realm knew how we looked at each other.” Eldarin chewed on a slice of bread, letting his mind slip back to those distant years. “I had hoped to impress her, and so hit upon the idea of cooking breakfast.”

Haluin stifled a snigger and motioned for Eldarin to continue.

“I had the realm's chief cook show me all of her tricks. You must understand... I studied for weeks for the sake of one meal.” Eldarin smirked at his own expense. “And I daresay it went well. Salted eggs, garnished with freshly sliced vegetables. Blueberry toast. Chilled apple cider. I can still taste it. We shared our dishes over the morning sunrise. She complimented my work, and I floated through the rest of the day in a cloud.”

“Ah! What a lovely picture you’ve painted.” Haluin reached over to pat Eldarin’s shoulder. “But what became of this dining partner of yours?”

Eldarin shrugged off the question. “We were young. In time she found another, and they have been quite happy ever since.”

“But does he cook for her?”

“I cannot say.” Eldarin looked eager to drive the conversation elsewhere. “Now how would you answer your own question, Haluin?”

“Hmm. I knew it would come to this...” Haluin rubbed his chin with his good hand. “I must say that every meal my mother ever cooked was the best one I had ever eaten.”

“Pah.” Eldarin waved a dismissive hand. “You are ducking the question.”

“It is no idle boast! That acorn dish you saw in Rivendell...” He paused, allowing the dark memory to come and pass. “... She fixed it on special occasions, and I could swear that it tasted better every time. It would do her a disservice to single out one meal above the others.”

“Hmm. If that is your answer, then...” Eldarin turned his eyes to Jokim, and the others did the same.

The dwarf had spent all of this while munching on his provisions, seeming to pay the conversation little mind. But with everyone’s attention now on him, Jokim furrowed his brow and squinted an eye. He popped one last apple slice into mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, looking to each of his companions in turn as he did.

Finally, he swallowed, and then pulled down his hood. “My favorite meal, I would say, was the first one I enjoyed after... acquiring this.” He rubbed the crater on the right side of his head.

The others fell silent. Druri inched forward expectantly.

“Aye. I suppose I have kept you waiting too long for this story, haven’t I?” Jokim smirked and folded his arms. “I fear you are all bound for disappointment. There is little remarkable about the tale. But let me tell it, and you can form your own judgments.”

He settled back against his bulky traveling pack, evidently getting comfortable for a long yarn. Wordlessly, the others crowded around him, Druri sitting right beside him.

Jokim folded his hands behind his head, glanced over the others once more, and began. “Well! As you all know, I am a Grey Mountaineer by birth. That was one of the ranges our folk settled after the fall of Khazad-dum, many generations ago. But in time, that colony too would collapse. I was five years of age at the time. My mother, grandparents and I fled in the first evacuation, as the cold drakes claimed our home one deep at a time. My father Jurgan stayed behind to fight them, and there he was slain alongside many other sturdy warriors.” Jokim glanced to Druri. “Your mother, Froma, was born along the march to our new home at Erebor.”

“Now... for many years after that, there was a yearning on the part of those of us who had lost our homes to claim them back by force. Four of my friends and I trained together in the name of that dream, and vowed that we would serve in the infantry when the campaign came. We called ourselves the Grey Legion. Ha! Imagine that...”

Jokim pictured his younger self, filled with ideals and misplaced faith.

“Well, our dream came true. We five enlisted together, and the campaign to recapture the Grey Mountains began. That is where I took my injury.” He traced the borders of the wound with the fingers of his right hand. “I... do not recall any of the actual details. My memories of those times have been somewhat... unreliable since I took this blow. But as I am told, our unit cut too far ahead of the main host. We were too hungry for revenge...”

Jokim paused, and seemed to willfully skip past a few parts of the story. “I took this blow from a cold drake, in fact. It swung its tail at me, and I did not duck quickly enough.”

Druri winced, and Jokim reached over to pat his shoulder before continuing. “Everyone who saw the impact thought me dead. But one of my comrades... Ghari, it was... picked up my body as the others fended off the beast. He ran with me draped over his shoulders from the third deep, all the way back to the surface. ‘Twas only when he laid me down on the ground that he realized I was still breathing. Of course, he would always call me ‘hard-headed’ after that, and always with a wink.” Jokim chuckled, while the others all exhaled at the momentary break in tension.

“But at any rate... the blow crushed my helmet into the side of my skull, you see. It took several hours of work at the infirmary to cut the blasted thing off. As I’m told, I still have a few slivers of metal lodged in my head.” Jokim tapped the side of his skull, a strange look of pride crossing his face. Then he sat up and stretched, appearing through with the story.

“And what about this meal you had?” Haluin studied Jokim closely, for these moments of openness were rare from him.

“Oh.” Jokim drifted back to his reclining position. “Well. I did not wake for several months after that. They carted me back to the Lonely Mountain and housed me with the other war invalids. To me, it was like one long night’s sleep after too much drink. But for my loved ones, the days stretched without end.” Only now did Jokim avoid the stares of the others for a moment, glancing to the clouds overhead.

“But I began to come around a little bit at a time. My eyes would flutter, I’d mutter a thing or two and then slip under again. They held onto hope. And finally, one morning, I opened my eyes and spoke. Froma was at my bedside, as she often was during those days, and I said ‘good morning’ to her.” He smiled. “I remember this exchange very well. She leapt up from her chair, and began to shout at me, for fear that I might fall asleep again. ‘Jokim! Jokim! Good morning!’ Of course, I did not see what all the fuss was about... I had no inkling as to how long I had been convalescing. So what do I say to her? ‘What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry.’”

Haluin laughed, grateful for the story’s happy ending. “And now we see where Druri gets his appetite.”

“Perhaps so. But remember, they had been stuffing nothing but cold porridge down my throat while I slept. I was used to heartier fare. So Froma, bless her, stays by my side until the healers arrive to examine me and throw her out. She spends the rest of the day gathering up my family and friends. Together, they cook up a meal for me, the likes of which you cannot fathom. So by suppertime, they have five courses prepared. And in they come to my little room at the infirmary: Froma, my mother, some cousins and a few of my comrades from the infantry. Each one carrying a dish!” Jokim roared and slapped his knees. “I daresay I had overestimated my hunger that morning! I was still somewhat sick from the blow, and could only pick at the ham and the beans and the tarts. But everyone else pitched in to finish the spread. We had quite the party around my bed... over the healers’ objections, of course.”

The old dwarf gave a beaming look to his nephew. “And you know, Druri, there was another guest that night... your father, Dwoin.”

“My father?” Druri sat up, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Jokim nodded. “He was my neighbor at the infirmary. He had taken a bad fall in an infantry drill a few weeks before and separated his shoulder. So he and Froma met there, rather by chance, and came to enjoy each other’s company.” He placed his hand on Druri’s shoulder again. “And so, in an odd way, I am thankful for this old wound of mine. Without it, I would not have you.”

The lad startled with a sudden pang of emotion. He had done his best over the past two years to put his parents out of mind. Just thinking about them had been unbearable at times. But Jokim’s story had summoned them back into his imagination, smiling and holding out their hands to him. Overwhelmed in that sudden rush of memory, Druri turned away from the others and tried to hold it all in. But soon they could hear his muffled sobs.

Jokim’s expression turned sour. “Now, now... there’s no need for that...” He gave the Elves such a glare that they immediately stood to begin packing up their things, giving the dwarves their privacy. Jokim reached to turn Druri around. He grabbed each of the lad's shoulders and held him at arm’s length, staring into his watery eyes. “Now this simply will not do. We’ll be in Bree soon! It is a merry place. So what do you cry for, eh?” He rose to his feet. “Dry your tears, lad. You are better than this sort of thing.”

Hearing those words yanked Druri up from the ground, as he wiped fiercely at his cheeks. “You are right, uncle. Forgive me. I... it shall not happen again.”

Jokim gave a stern nod, and then reached out to hold Druri by the shoulders once again. They locked gazes for a moment, before Jokim released his nephew and turned to recover his traveling pack.

As he knelt to gather his possessions, Haluin watched the dwarves from over his shoulder...

The rest of the day found the companions joking, laughing and telling tales, all that is, except Haluin. The normally gregarious elf had listened to them and as he did, a feeling stole over him, wrapping itself around his heart as would a vine around a young sapling, slowly squeezing it to death. It took him a long while to discover the cause and when he did, he felt ashamed.

Envy. Haluin was envious and more to the point, he was jealous. Jealous of the ease with which his comrades conversed, each feeding off the others until they finally burst out laughing, or growled back and forth in heated discussion. Much as he and Dæron had.

Unbidden, his eyes began to sting as he simultaneously recalled both Jokim's brusque comfort when Druri had begun to cry and a similar time long ago when he himself had comforted Dæron after his sire had decided at long last to sail into the West.

Never again, he felt, would he allow someone so close and the thought caused the vine to tighten all the more greedily. Friendship and camaraderie had always been such an important part in his life and now...yes, he had friends, but, as with all mortals, they would die and leave him bereft once more.

Fool! he thought to himself, You have no right to feel envious of young Druri. The youngling has lost nearly everything, yet he still has his uncle, who would race into the mouth of old Smaug himself to save the lad. Would you have it any other way?

"What grim thoughts haunt you, mellon-nin?"

Eldarin...of course. Haluin closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts, then asked, "Would you have the truth?" The other faltered in his stride, stunned. "Of course! Haluin, what troubles you?"

The concern in his friend's voice tore asunder the constricting sensation in Haluin's breast and he gasped at the suddeness of it. "I-how-Elbereth, Eldarin, what can I tell you that you have not already heard? It tears at me that soon I will be parted from them." Haluin's hand tugged at his braids as words began to spill forth. "Jokim and the youngling...they-what if I never see them again after we leave Ered Luin, tor-nin? Have I not lost enough?"

A firm hand gripped his upper arm and stopped him in mid-stride. "You have not lost all, Galvornion. Look at me." Light grey eyes met darker grey tentatively. "I swore to Jokim that we would be a home to each other. I swear that to you as well. As long as I draw breath, you will be as a brother to me."

Speechless, Haluin hugged Eldarin fiercely.

"I think Haluin feels better now, uncle." observed Druri as they sat on a rock off to the side of the road. "Durin's beard," grumbled Jokim. "Elves...I wonder if that star-metal is affecting his brain? Ha! It could only be for the better!" Slapping his knee, he stood, still chuckling at Haluin's expense, while Druri grinned behind his beard. "Oi! Hurry up, you two! We want to make Bree by tomorrow! Eldarin's been telling me about the ale they serve there!"

"Aye, Master Dwarf, we're coming! Walk on ahead and we'll catch you up!" called Eldarin. He then turned back to Haluin, eyeing him carefully. "I understand, believe me...and it was not easily that you gained my trust. Do you not feel the kinship? We are both...damaged, I suppose one would say. You, by your own kin and I, by strangers. Is it not possible that as we have been scarred, so might we also be healed?"

Long moments passed before Haluin replied. In truth, he didn't know if what Eldarin spoke of was possible, but the earnestness with which his companion spoke, gave him a tentative kind of hope. He nodded, then replied softly, "I will not fail you, Eldarin. As the saying goes, 'Third time charmed.' I owe you everything."

The smith grinned sadly, suspecting it was merely gratitude that made Haluin accept him. It will do for now. he told himself as they began to follow after the dwarves.As for the future...it is too dim for me to see just yet, but there is always time.

As with any journey, the last ten miles to Bree were the longest. With every rise along the hilly path, Jokim could see Druri’s heart visibly leap into his throat, as the lad anticipated spotting the town at long last.

Of course, the old dwarf knew full well how much further they had to go. But he decided it best not to tell the lad outright and spoil the mystery.

Jokim did, however, notice Druri developing a peculiar habit: folding his arms and rubbing them incessantly with his hands. At first, Jokim dismissed the motion as a nervous habit. Then he saw the lad’s teeth chattering.

The wind was pummeling them head-on from the west, with snow drifting in white waves over the plains. As Jokim had feared, the weather bore all the signs of a bitter, early winter.

“You’re not cold, are you?” Jokim dropped the question casually, his eyes steady on the horizon as he and Druri trudged along together.

“Me?” Druri perked up, as a fiery young warrior’s pride stiffened his back and puffed out his chest. “Not at all! Iron Hills winters are far worse than this, you know.”

Jokim had to chuckle at the audacity of that statement. The lad had only lived with him in the Hills for one year, but he was already talking about them like a crusty old coal-digger. “I know that full well. But I’m of the thought that this old coat of yours is no longer doing its job.” Jokim tugged at the garment’s sleeve, which barely reached Druri’s wrist.

The lad’s mother had fashioned the dark green coat for him years ago, presenting it as a gift on his tenth birthday. Her care showed in every stitch, but Druri’s growing body was fast outstripping the coat’s usefulness.

Not to mention the fact that hard months of travel had worn the coat’s lining thin. A hard fall taken along the Redhorn Pass had opened a gash in one of the arms, and Jokim could see the stuffing beginning to seep out.

Druri knew all of this. But at the same time, he thought of his mother every time he put on her creation. “My coat is just fine, uncle,” he said, with a stubborn upward jab of his chin.

“We don’t have to get rid of it, you know,” Jokim said, one hand settling onto Druri’s shivering shoulder. “A good seamstress could sew it into something else... something smaller. Perhaps a vest.”

“You think so?” Druri glanced up, looking hopeful but hesitant.

“I know it. Froma loved to do that sort of thing with old clothes.”

Hearing his mother’s name softened Druri’s stance, but still he withdrew. “I do not wish to be a burden... we do not have much to spend, do we?”

“Come, little one. I sold nearly everything I once owned before we left on this journey. You do not think I could afford a coat to keep my nephew warm in winter?” He shook at Druri’s shoulder, and the force trembled the lad’s entire body.

Druri smiled, said nothing, and their agreement was made.

---

They reached Bree in the late afternoon, just as the merchants who crowded the town’s main square were preparing to pack up their wares for the evening.

“A bargain hunter’s paradise,” said Haluin as they surveyed the stalls. “They will all be looking to make one last sale before retiring.”

Jokim placed his hands to his hips and took in the whole scene. Then he set out at a march down the narrow stone path that ran between the stalls.

“Sir! A whetstone for your axe?”

“Hearty spirits for sale! Perfect for a night of revelry!”

“Tools, tools, tools! Ready for any and every project!”

The dwarf shoved through the sales pitches with knitted brows and gritted teeth. He did not even spare a glance for each desperate plea. But the next one at least attracted a curious eye:

“Winter clothing, here! All sizes! Men, Elves, Halflings, Dwarves!” It came from a tall and greasy-haired fellow, who was waving a set of bright red long underwear like a beacon flag. Jokim snorted and kept on walking.

“Eh... Jokim?” Haluin sprinted up to the dwarf’s side. “I believe that gentleman was offering exactly what you were looking for.”

“I did not like his look,” Jokim muttered, as more sales offers crashed through the air.

“Well, pardon me for saying so, but most of these faces would not look out of place inside a bandits’ den.” Haluin glanced about. “You must lower your standards, my friend.”

The response was unintelligible. And so Jokim led them on nearly a complete circuit of the market, with Druri tagging close behind and staring in wonder at all the items and displays. Eldarin, never comfortable around large groups of Men, kept a watchful eye on the group’s pockets.

Haluin was about ready to hunt down a good coat himself when Jokim brought the group to a sudden halt.

“There we are!” And he set out at a straight clip for a little stall that sat hunkered off alone in the back corner of the square. “Finally, a trustworthy merchant.”

Both of the Elves sighed as they saw where Jokim was headed. There behind the stall, standing with his stubby arms extended as far as they could go, was a dwarf... the only one selling goods in the market that afternoon. The dwarvish merchant’s bright yellow hood and cloak compensated for his lack of height by calling attention to his gaudy fashion sense.

“Finally, a discerning customer!” he roared, and both he and Jokim exchanged chummy laughter and handshakes. “Kabur, very much at your service.”

“Jokim, at yours and your family’s.”

“And Druri!” The lad came jogging up to Kabur’s stall, just as eager to see another dwarvish face after many months on the road.

“Of course! How could I forget Druri?” Kabur laughed, the multiple chins beneath his curly brown beard jiggling as he did. “Your son?”

“Nephew,” Jokim said, patting Druri’s head. “How are your sales?”

“Oh, decent enough. But saying that something is dwarvish crafted doesn’t carry the weight it once did. Ach!” He rubbed his forehead, which was scored with crease marks. “Don’t get me started down that path. I will ramble on until your ears melt.” The Elves were now approaching, having thus far preferred to keep their distance. Kabur glanced to them in surprise. “Oh... eh... can I be of some service to you two?”

“Allow me to introduce Haluin and Eldarin, my companions.” The Elves gave stiff and reluctant bows, as if Jokim had trained them to do so.

“Hmm!” Kabur’s round face turned suspicious. “I have never met a kinsman who knew the name of an Elf, let alone two.”

“Then your acquaintances must not get out past the mountains much.” Jokim offered a slight grin, and Haluin silently applauded his remark. “Theirs are names that I am proud to know.”

“Eh. So be it.” Kabur did not look particularly impressed, and returned his attention squarely to Jokim. “What brings you to Bree, then, and my humble booth in particular?”

“We are nearing the end of a long march from the Iron Hills out to the Ered Luin, where I will be assuming a new station.”

“Ah! I pray to Mahal that your journey has been a safe one?”

“At times.” Jokim glanced to Haluin. “But back to the point. Druri here needs a new coat.”

“Aye, I can see as much. Well! I have just the thing.” Kabur ducked beneath his front display, where he kept a locked pair of chests. His proud backside stuck up in the air as he began his search. “It’s Halfling-sized, but should suit the lad just fine.” After a few moments of rummaging and humming to himself, Kabur popped back up with the coat draped over one arm. It was a deep tan garment, double breasted, with big black buttons, a dark collar and round cuffs.

Jokim gauged Druri’s reaction with a quick glance, and saw the lad’s obvious interest. “Well, lad? Try it on, if you’d like.”

Druri carefully removed his mother’s jacket, handing it to Jokim before slipping on the new one. He was shocked to be able to bend his elbows and rotate his shoulders without fear of the coat ripping. It felt snug and warm to be inside, and the sleeves extended all the way up to the palms of his hands. “Wonderful...”

Kabur scratched his beard. “A bit big on him, yet, but he’ll grow into it.”

“I agree.” Jokim helped Druri out of the coat. “How much for it, then?”

“Oh... I should say four gold and one silver’s fair.”

Jokim snorted, and with a sudden flash of temper leaned forward on Kabur’s display table. “Four gold and a silver? What do you take me for, eh?”

“What’s this? Why, I have to sell it for more than I paid, you know! I have a little girl to feed at home, after all...”

“Oh now don’t give me any of that, you stale sack of goat’s dung.” All of Jokim’s companions blanched in unison. “I could find a coat just like that for two gold and two silver in the Iron Hills.”

“Why listen here, you scabbed-over son of a fig...” Kabur leaned forward on the table, until he and Jokim were nearly nose-to-nose. “I might gouge one of these stupid long-leggers every now and then, but you and I are kin. I can give it to you for three gold, three silver, but that’s my final price.”

“Pah! You can do better than that, you cross-eyed toad-licker! You think I’ll overpay any half-witted merchant with a beard? Give me three gold flat if you really know what you’re doing.”

“Three gold, two silver, and I’m not budging.”

“Three gold, one silver!” Jokim gave the table a smack.

“Three and two, you leafy pansy-picker!”

“Three and one, plus five copper.”

A pause.

“Three, one and five?”

“Three, one and five!”

“Sold, you heartless bastard!”

A terrible silence followed as the two dwarves exchanged coins for coat.

But as soon as the transaction was complete, both Jokim and Kabur burst out laughing and embraced each other. The others still had yet to recover from hearing Jokim say “goat’s dung,” and now they were all the more bewildered.

“Elbereth! What did we just witness?” Eldarin muttered to Haluin.

“Some sort of strange dwarvish ritual, I’d imagine,” Haluin replied.

Kabur clapped Druri on the shoulder as the lad clutched his new coat uncertainly. “Were you paying attention, youngling? Because that is how you haggle!”

To further prove that there were no lingering resentments following their haggling session, Jokim offered to buy Kabur a drink over at the Prancing Pony.

“I have never had the pleasure of a visit,” Jokim said once Kabur had finished folding up and locking his stall. “But Eldarin here tells me that the drinks there are without equal.”

“Aye, he told you true.” Kabur dusted off his hands. “I have spent a good many years... ahem... studying their list of beverages, and still I find something new with every visit.”

Before long, the five of them were crammed around a small table, with Jokim and Kabur carrying on like long-lost cousins... which all dwarves were, of a sort. Each diner had a rather appropriate drink sitting on the table before him: a hearty stout for Jokim, an exotic and strange-smelling concoction for Kabur, a colorful pumpkin ale for Druri, red wine for Eldarin, white wine for Haluin.

The confines were cramped, with patrons bumping elbows every time they made their hand gestures too broadly. Pipe smoke and unprintable conversations filled the air. Peeking around the room, Druri spotted a large party of hobbits convened at a series of tables lined up at the center of the main room. Their drinking songs nearly drowned out the rest of the conversations in the building. As the evening wore on, a few took to the tabletops to dance. It looked like a grand time, and Druri almost felt pulled to rise from his chair and join the throng. But he also kept a hungry ear on the conversation between his uncle and Kabur.

The merchant had been explaining that he did, in fact, have a young daughter, that he and his wife worshipped her, and that he hated being away from “his girls” on business like this, but it was the only way for him to scratch out a living. The new dwarvish colony at Ered Luin was not faring well, with the riches of Belegost and Nogrod but a distant memory. Kabur found himself traveling ever further afield to sell his wares, and returning with a diminishing haul each time.

“Poor times for our folk,” Kabur muttered before taking a long pull from his drink. “But we have survived worse.”

“Aye,” nodded Jokim with a proud glint in his eye.

“Hear, hear!” offered Druri, and all three dwarves drank in unison.

Jokim wiped away the excess foam from his mustache with his sleeve. “So what has become of the King Under the Mountain, then? I last heard that he and his kinsmen had escaped Smaug’s descent and ventured south.”

“And in the south they remain. The story goes that they are roaming the lands of Dunland, reduced to little more than beggars.”

“Shameful.” Jokim shook his head. “Why do they not settle in the Blue Mountains?”

“Pride, no doubt. They wish to found their own colony where none has ever before existed, and claim credit for all the bounty that comes with it. We are beneath their standing, it seems.”

And so the conversation went, with grim expressions and dour tones all around. Haluin, meanwhile, tried to stretch out his legs without tripping any passing patrons. He scanned the room, and though he was not exactly seeking a familiar face, he managed to stumble upon one.

“Oh no...” He locked gazes with a man at the other side of the room.

“Oh what?” Eldarin followed his companion’s gaze. And now he saw the man, too, wading across the sea of tables and chairs. “I do not believe it.”

“Friends! Companions!”

Druri glanced up. “Why, it’s Goran!”

From his flushed red cheeks and swerving gait, it was clear the scruffy horseman had a full belly of spirits bearing him across the room. He grinned wildly, his gaze veering between the others as he approached their table.

“So you finally made it to town, did you?”

“Unfortunately.” Eldarin turned his back on Goran and hoped it would send the proper message.

“Indeed we did...” Haluin, at least, attempted to be civil. “But you must bring us back up to speed. Where have the two rangers and the two youngsters gone?”

“Them?” Goran glanced about before plucking a chair from a nearby table and straddling it sideways. “Well... the two brats returned their stolen goods to the family, and now they’re in stockades at the western entrance of town for the next couple of days. The family thought it would send a good message to travelers.”

Jokim tapped his glass on the table with approval, but Druri appeared less than pleased.

“And what of Eldred and his brother...?”

“They stayed just long enough to satisfy the family and the town’s demands for justice. Don’t know where they went off to next. Who’s to say with rangers, eh?”

“So Merrill and Mirina are your property again?” Haluin attempted to mask the concern behind those words.

“Once they’re set loose, aye. All mine to bring home.”

“Ah... I see.” Haluin glanced to Druri and acknowledged his concerned expression with a slight nod. “Well... it was a pleasure coming across you again, Master Goran.”

“Indeed! But you all must excuse me... I am keeping a new friend of mine waiting.” Goran swiveled in his chair and gave a sly wave to a young woman who sat hunched over the bar. She returned the gesture, looking far from enthusiastic in doing so. The man hopped to his feet, stumbled slightly, and then went waltzing his way back to his female companion. Within moments, he had an arm draped along her shoulders.

“What was that, eh?” Kabur glanced between the others at the table.

Jokim smirked. “Nothing of consequence.”

Druri cleared his throat. “I... eh... I would like to have a look around the rest of the inn. Would anyone else like to come along?” He flashed a quick look to Haluin.

The Elf stood up. “Why, of course, Druri. We can explore this strange establishment together. Come along.”

“Keep a sharp lookout,” whispered Eldarin, and Haluin gave a nod.

“No mischief, you two!” Jokim called to them before returning his attention to the conversation with Kabur.

Haluin began by pretending to point out different sights to Druri, but once he saw that Jokim’s back was turned, he yanked the young dwarf into a long hallway that led back to the Prancing Pony’s kitchen. It was the only private space in the whole building, outside of the guest rooms. “You wish to talk?”

Druri nodded feverishly. “I don’t trust Goran.”

Haluin laughed. “You are more perceptive than I realized, Master Druri.”

“We can’t let him take Mirina... and Merrill. We just can’t. I’m worried he’ll do something bad to them.”

As always, the Elf knew when to turn serious. “I understand your concerns. But what can we do? They violated the laws of the land, and Goran claims no other mission than to return them to the girl’s father.”

“But... but if we can prove that he’s a danger to them... maybe Mirina’s father will dismiss him, then? Maybe the rangers can help.”

Haluin took a breath to reply, but in a flash the kitchen doors burst open. A panting hobbit servant came racing down the hallway, armed with a steaming pork roast for an expectant table. He did not even acknowledge the Elf and the dwarf as he whisked past them.

Haluin paused as the servant passed, and used that moment to formulate a better response. “What you are proposing, Master Druri, is rather audacious... absurd, really.”

The lad sighed and stared at his feet. “I know...”

“Which means we shall have to be extra careful in going about it.”

Druri gasped and looked up. “You mean...?”

“We shall speak more of this after supper.” Haluin gave a sly, cat-like grin. “Now come... we have a tour to complete.”

And out from the hallway they popped, Haluin still pointing around the room as if nothing had happened.

It was a long walk home for Goran that night and he was in a foul mood. Not only was he sporting a split lip ( the young wench had proven to be more choosy that she had a right to be) but his pride was smarting as well.

It's those cursed elves. Everything was going fine until I ran afoul of them! he thought viciously as he strode along the frost-rimed track leading to Mirina's father's farm. The rangers' report had indeed made Goran's life less comfortable than it had been. His master now kept a close eye on the man, which only served to make his temper all the more vile.

Mumbling drunkenly to himself, Goran began to plot. Since his luck had changed so distractly after he had encountered the elves, they would just have to disappear, wouldn't they? The thought of something happening of a fatal nature to his perceived enemies made his face twist into a sadistic grin. Immortal, beautiful, soooo wise. So superior my kind. Ha! I'll show that haughty Eldarin and his friend who's the wiser! But first...I'm going to have a bit of fun. The grin still in place, Goran made his way unsteadily toward the stables.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"You're a fool!"

"Aye, you are not the first to say so, mellon nin." replied Haluin with a sigh. For over a hour he had endured a dressing down such as he had never experienced in his long life from Eldarin and he had gone from irritation, to boredom and was approaching amused.

It was obvious that the elf from Imladris had rarely encountered someone as stubbornly single-minded as Haluin. In most cases, whenever Eldarin gave wise council, he was listened to thoughtfully, his words weighed with due respect. He was not accustomed to having his opinion cast aside without careful consideration and it was wearing on his nerves.

"Why encourage the lad? If Jokim discovers his scheme..." Haluin held up a finger. "Ah! There you have it! If." The elf rose from where he been reclining on the bed, watching Edalrin pace the floor, stretched until his shoulders cracked, then crossed to the window, opening it to let the sharp sting of almost-winter fill his lungs.

He spoke as much to the night air as to his companion in his reply. "You wish to know why? Because he has a kind heart and a fearless spirit. He wants to protect someone he feels cannot protect themsleves. All good and noble things, Eldarin. Indeed..." he turned now, facing him. "how different is it from how you helped me?"

"No. You will not persuade me with sentimental arguments, Haluin. We are the same, you and I. Of course I would help you."

Haluin's eyes blazed. "Do you mean to say-" He almost couldn't find the words. "-that you did all...this because I am an elf? Haluin glanced down at his arm now with something resembling loathing. "I see now how different it is. He wishes to help the helpless, regardless of who they are and that makes his spirit greater than yours will ever be!"

"Nay, Haluin...stop!" cried Eldarin as Haluin tried to shove past him. "Release me before I do something I will regret." snarled the Mirkwood elf. "Only if you
listen!" came the reply.

"Another lecture? Certainly!" Haluin ripped himself from Eldarin's grip and stood stiffly, his eyes filled with anger and pain. "Say it and be done."

Suddenly there came a pounding on the wall and the shout of "Durin's Beard! We're trying to sleep!" reverberated throughout the whole second floor of the inn.

The moment shattered, Eldarin glared at Haluin, snatched up his pack and sword and left without another word, the only sound, Haluin's fist smashing the bedpost to splinters.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Morning brought a surprise for Goran. He awoke to find himself being watched.

"Master Eldarin! What brings you here? More wrongs to right, perhaps? Shall I expect the return of your Ranger lackeys as well?"

Goran had always held his drink well and having such a golden opportunity as this fall into his lap was more than he could have dreamt of. Revenge smiled sweetly.

"What have you come for? Surely it's not my witty conversation?"

The elf sneered. "Hardly. I come with a warning. You will stay away from the children and to ensure this, you will be watched. There are more than human eyes that see, after all."

Goran threw back his head and laughed aloud. "You-you pretend to care for them? Ha! You don't fool me, elf! They're not your kind, what do you care?" The words pierced Eldarin like a dagger. He flew at Goran, plucked him up from where he had lain asleep in the hay and shoved him against the rough wood of the stall. "Do not speak to me of what I do and do not care for, filth. I-ah!"

"Filth, is it?" Goran withdrew the long, slender dagger from between the elf's ribs and watched as he stumbled back, clutching his side. "You dare call me filth?" he rasped. "Because of you, my place here is precarious at best." A calculating smile crossed his face. "But now, you've given me the chance to redeem myself. My master will be most grateful that I was able to thwart the theft of one his best horses and will most likely reward me. I should be thanking you!" he chuckled.

Awash with pain and regret, Eldarin drew himself up proudly, his blood-soaked hand flashing in an instant from his side to the scabbard at his back. Now faced with a goodly length of elvish steel, Goran shut his mouth with a snap. "This is why I despise Men, Goran. You mock what you cannot understand, then destroy it, crushing all that is beautiful and good for your own ends. Well, no more. Not you, at least." He lunged, but Goran managed to turn the thrust with his blade. He cursed, knowing how this would end, but he couldn't resist a parting shot, even with death staring him in the face. "So, my death is so much more right than yours? Elven logic seems oddly flawed to me. Death is death and neither of us will see the sunrise this day, or any other!"

"Die, Goran! Go to the nothing that awaits you." Eldarin cried, trying to drown out the man's words. Desperately, he pinned his opponent to the wall. Goran's eyes flared with pain as the sword's length slashed through his vitals, then fell without a sound.

The elf turned away, sickened, the pain in his side a flame threatening to consume him. He walked into the woods, back in the direction of the inn before he collapsed. "Forgive my words, mellon nin." he whispered, "If I do not see your face again, know that I regret them sorely." With the last of his fading strength, he cried out to the trees around him. "Tell my brother, Haluin of Mirkwood, to come to my aid, my friends. Tell him to come swiftly!" I do not wish to die, not now...Elbereth, not now...

The previous night...

More ale, and more ale still! The two dwarves single handedly kept their server busy long after supper was through, as Kabur led Jokim on a guided tour through the Prancing Pony’s inventory of brews.

Here is how they went about it: First, Kabur and Jokim each ordered a different drink. Then, they raised their mugs and toasted to the honor of one of the Seven Fathers of their race. They clinked glasses, usually sloshing their table with spillage as they did. Once each dwarf had completed his pint halfway, he exchanged mugs with the other and finished off his partner’s work.

As they carried on their quest, a crowd of curious spectators began to encircle the table. Even the wild hobbit dance party broke up to come and have a look-see.

“D’ya think they’ll conquer the whole menu?”

“Dunno. How many drinks ‘re on it?”

“Three score and five, last I counted!”

For his part, Eldarin covered his eyes and pretended as though he had never met either of these rowdy Naugrim. By the time Haluin and Druri returned from their second excursion around the inn, Jokim and Kabur were toasting Durin The Deathless and chugging down their drinks as fast as they could. The crowd was positively delighted at the showmanship.

Standing on the tips of his toes, Druri tried to glance over the taller patrons to see what was happening.

“Here, I’ll lift you,” Haluin said, extending his arms.

Druri gave the Elf a withering look, and then turned to elbow his way through the onlookers instead.

“Ah, I have already forgotten...” muttered Haluin as his hands fell to his sides. “Never offer a dwarf help he doesn’t need!”

The young dwarf made it to the front just in time to see his uncle and Kabur guzzle down their seventh round. Most of the other patrons had assumed that this was some sort of drinking contest between the two dwarves, and a whispering buzz had begun to build as wagers were laid.

“Ha!” shouted Kabur, looking flushed and merry as he wiped at his lips. “What shall we order next?” He pulled up a little slate with the drinks listed in a neat little typescript. Their server, a middle-aged hobbit who appeared ready to turn in for the night, hovered nearby.

Jokim considered the question, but then spotted Druri amongst the small crowd. The uncle had kicked back in his seat, with boots up on the table in a rare moment of carelessness. But now he sat up, stiff and suddenly aware of the example he was setting for the lad.

“I am afraid I must decline, friend.” Jokim straightened his beard with an earnest expression.

“What’s that?” Kabur glanced up, his fantasies for the next round dashed.

“I ought to call it a night.” Jokim stood and stretched his arms.

Their server gave a grateful sigh and stumbled off.

“The fat one wins!” came a call from the crowd. “Pay up your bets, losers!”

“But...” Kabur paused to frown at the heckler. “There are many more names to toast! Telchar, Azaghal...”

“And yet I must preserve some mystery for my next visit.” Jokim gave a polite bow. “It shall do no good if I have already tasted everything that the establishment has to offer. I wish you a restful night, sir.”

“And to you, sir...” Kabur dropped the drink list glumly as the crowd dispersed.

“Come, Druri,” Jokim said, taking the lad by the shoulder. “Bedtime.”

“But...” Druri threw a desperate glance Haluin’s way. They still needed to plan for Mirina and Merrill’s rescue.

“No arguing.”

Jokim was dragging Druri off, but Haluin gave a wink to the lad as they passed. There was no need to hurry things. As Goran had said, the two young thieves would stay in their stockades for the next two days before he regained custody. In the meantime, Haluin and Druri could stall until they found a way to expose the horseman for what he truly was.

And, Haluin thought, perhaps it was time to present the idea to Eldarin...

Druri lay in the darkness and listened to his uncle snore.

The deep, window-rattling claps of thunder that rumbled out from Jokim would have driven anyone else mad. But not Druri. For the past two years, these were the last sounds he had heard nearly every night before he fell asleep. And for all their ugliness, there was a strange sense of familiarity and comfort behind them. Hearing them meant Jokim was nearby, and that was enough.

So as his uncle droned on, Druri was lulled deeper and deeper toward sleep. But every time he was about to slip under, something snapped him back awake, like a pin poking the back of his neck. He was thinking of Mirina.

Druri rolled onto his side to face the window, gazing out into the bluish-gray gloom of the night. She must be freezing out there, locked in the stockades, with the wind tearing at her clothes and the frost setting in on her skin. How could he rest snug in bed knowing her misery? And Merrill’s, besides?

But what could he do? Druri frowned, as his mind furiously warred with itself. It would be a callous act of insubordination, sneaking out from under his uncle’s nose... but no! He had to act, even if he and Haluin hadn’t planned for it.

So with the greatest caution, he began to slip out from under the covers... one leg dangling out an inch at a time. His ears honed in on every little nuance of Jokim’s noisy breathing, alert for any signs of wakefulness. One leg, then the other... yes... now he only needed to find his boots, and then...

“Nay, Haluin... stop!”

The shout rang loud and clear through the wall, and Jokim snorted awake in a terrible huff. Druri froze, knowing that he was done for. But his uncle did not so much as pay him a second glance as he lumbered by, barefoot and dressed only in his long underwear. He was muttering in a strange mixture of Westron and Khuzdul, taking the most vile oaths from each language and mashing them together.

With eyes squinted against the candlelit hallway, Jokim stomped his way to the next door down and smashed his fist against the wood.

“Durin’s Beard! We’re trying to sleep!”

At the farthest end of the inn, a quarreling couple fell instantly silent. Downstairs, the late-night revelry and conversation went dead. On the streets outside the Prancing Pony Inn, a youth who had just kicked a pebble down the cobblestone walkway dropped to his knees in shock and horror.

All of Bree seemed to hold its breath for a few moments after Jokim’s shout.

Then everyone heard Jokim’s door slam shut again, and the world timidly stirred back to life. Druri had not budged from his sitting position, just as frightened as everyone else within earshot. But again, Jokim did not appear to notice the lad as he marched back to bed, throwing himself back under the covers and resuming his snores almost immediately.

At that moment, Druri realized he hadn’t exhaled for some thirty seconds. He let it all out in a controlled gust of air, and waited to hear a few more snores before resuming the search for his boots.

Once he found them, Druri laced each string with trembling hands, and then began his desperate creep toward the door. He timed each step to coincide with Jokim’s rumbling breaths, and in this fashion concealed his escape. Just before he left, he remembered his new coat, and plucked it off the rack near the room’s entrance. Then he opened the door just wide enough to admit his round little body, and slipped out into the hallway.

With that feat accomplished, it now seemed foolish to give up and turn back. Druri tiptoed his way over to a closet he had spotted while Jokim was yanking him up to bed. The little room was filled with fresh sheets, pillows and blankets for guests. Sizing up the inventory in the dim light, Druri began grabbing as many quilts as his arms could handle.

And then, his face completely hidden by the pile of bedcovers, Druri hurried down the stairs. The innkeeper gave the lad a queer look as he passed by the bar, but assumed he was a halfling servant completing late-night laundry work.

“Make sure you scrub all the stains out this time!” he called.

For his part, Druri did an admirable job of not halting his step, and acknowledged the order by heaving his shoulders. “Aye, sir!”

And out into the night he went. Druri had tensed his body in expectation of a frigid shock. But he found his new coat blocked out the cold. With a surprised grin, Druri began to make his way west, toward where Goran had said the youngsters were being kept.

Halfway to the western gate, however, he spied the light from a watchman’s lantern making its way down the street, about to round the corner. Unfortunately, Druri panicked and made a poor effort at hiding. The best his agitated mind could manage was to press himself up against the side of a building and crouch behind a short barrel.

But it was no good, Druri realized. The watchman would find him, and then he would have to explain everything to his uncle! What embarrassment, what shame...

Suddenly, a hoarse shout rang out. “Eleven o’clock, and all’s well!”

The lantern stopped its advance. Druri bit his lip and waited for it to resume. But then came the sound of a window opening, and a second shout, this one from what sounded like an old woman: “Oi, Clovis! You woke me up again!”

“Oh! Sorry, ma’am, but I just wanted to let the town know that all’s well.”

“And that’s just my problem with you! Why d’you carry on and scream about everything being well, eh? Why don’t you save all your shoutin’ for when something bad actually happens?”

“But, ma’am, that’s the way it’s always been...”

“I don’t care how it’s always been! You ought to show some more sense, boy!”

Druri wasn’t sticking around to hear any more of the argument. He had spotted a dank back alley on the opposite side of the street, and went dashing toward it, as his pile of blankets swayed back and forth the whole way.

Now focused on avoiding discovery, Druri took a roundabout course to the western edge of town, where two pitiful forms squatted in the dark. A pang struck the young dwarf’s heart, but he still had to proceed carefully, in case any guards remained posted for the night. Thankfully, the only sentries at the west gate were up in tall towers, and had their eyes trained on the wilderness that lay beyond Bree.

Shimmying along in a half-crouch, Druri approached the first stockade. It was Mirina’s. Her eyes were shut, and her face had gone half-blue from the cold. Gazing at her closely, Druri could see the frozen trails of tears that had rolled down her face that night.

“Mirina...” he whispered, trying to hold his emotions in check.

She stirred, and opened an eye halfway. The young dwarf held a finger to her frosted lips.

“It’s me, Druri! But please don’t make any noise. I’m here to help you.”

“Oh, Druri...?” she rasped, both of her eyes popping open. “What... why are you doing...?”

He gingerly swept a blanket over her body, tucking it in tight around her clothes, and then added two more on top of it. “To keep you warm,” he explained, with a pathetically boyish smile.

“Oh... thank you...” she seemed too surprised to say much more.

“But this is just the first thing we’re going to do for you Mirina.” Druri was trying to explain, but his enthusiasm was carrying him along too quickly for the confused girl to follow. “We’re going to make sure Goran never gets his hands on you or Merrill again! Me and Haluin... we’re making a plan, you see, and...”

“Oh please!” Mirina whispered. “Oh please don’t let him near us, Druri. If he gets us alone, I don’t know...” A harsh sob pierced her speech, and she fell into quivering shakes.

“What, Mirina?” Druri leaned in close, his nose just above the young prisoner’s bowed forehead. “What will he do?”

“Druri...” Mirina choked back the tears. “He has made... advances on me before, do you understand?”

Druri sucked in a gasp, but nodded solemnly.

“And Merrill... he has been the only thing standing in the way. He is so loyal to me... he always lingered when Goran was in my presence... to protect me. But now...”

“Say no more,” Druri whispered, wiping away Mirina’s tears. “We will put a stop to him, I swear to you!”

“Thank you, Druri. But hurry! If the guards catch you, you shall soon join us in captivity.”

“Right!” Druri nodded, but something rooted him to the spot. After a moment’s hesitation, his head lurched forward and he planted an awkward kiss upon Mirina’s cheek. Then he made a quick race over to Merrill’s stall, where he bedecked the lad with his two remaining blankets.

Finally, he gave one last wave to the prisoners and turned to fly back into the shadows. He couldn’t help looking back as he ran, just to make sure no one had noticed his charity mission. But as soon as he turned his head, Druri ran into what felt like a stone pillar. The young dwarf fell to the snowy ground, and rubbed his head as he glanced up into the dark.

A towering shadow loomed over him.

“You continue to impress me, Master Druri. The courage of a dwarf, the appetite of a hobbit, and now, it seems, the sneakiness of an Elf!”

Haluin! Druri’s face lit up in surprise. “Thank you, Haluin! But don’t say as much in front of my uncle. He would take that last compliment as an insult.”

The Elf laughed, reaching down to help Druri to his feet. “Oh, rest assured, your uncle will not hear a word of that, or any of what you have been up to this night. Now follow me, and do as I do. You have a good knack for stealth, as I have mentioned, but there are still many things for you to learn.”

With a look of childlike obedience, Druri nodded and matched the Elf’s steps as they wound their way through the night back to the Prancing Pony.

Haluin and Druri crouched outside of Jokim’s room, listening for any sounds or hints of life. The lad became alarmed when he realized he could not hear the familiar snores.

Druri scrunched up his face, and glanced to Haluin for guidance. The Elf shook his head, and pointed to the bottom of the door. A faint light shone through... that of a lit candle. Druri could not hear it, but Haluin perceived the sound of Jokim’s wakeful breathing through the closed door.

The Elf glanced to his young companion again with an honest and open expression... they would have to face the consequences of this excursion together. Druri’s gaze dove to the floor, but he rose to his feet. Haluin did the same, and turned the knob.

They found Jokim sitting on his bed, arms crossed in expectation. The sole candle lit his glowering features harshly, giving him the appearance of an angry spirit sent to punish the wicked. He raised one hand and beckoned for Druri to enter.

“Sit beside me, lad.” His voice was blank, and that terrified Druri all the more. He had half-hoped to hear a forgiving tone, while still expecting a growling burst, but received neither. So he walked hesitantly, seeming to doubt each step he took along the floor. Haluin said nothing, entering the room but maintaining a respectful distance.

Jokim gave him a dark look. “Close the door.”

The Elf obliged, as Druri settled himself beside his uncle. While Jokim sat fully erect, his nephew slouched meekly, as if expecting a blow from above.

“I do not care which one of you tells it. But I will hear the tale in full, with no lies, half-truths or omissions.” Jokim’s eyes fell upon Druri, and then leapt to Haluin.

Haluin inhaled deeply, prepared to take the blame, but Druri blurted out before he could respond. “I went to help Mirina and Merrill, uncle!”

Silence. And then a single word, loaded thick with accusation: “Why?”

“Because... I thought they’d be cold, out there in the night... and I was worried about Goran. I think he might do something terrible to them, uncle, if they’re left alone with him. Mirina told me that...”

“I do not care what she told you.” Jokim swept aside Druri’s explanation with such a savage parry that Druri made no attempt to respond. He pursed his lips and slouched deeper.

“Haluin.” Jokim refocused that old eagle’s stare on the Elf. “What would you add?”

The Elf stepped forward, as a vassal does before addressing his lord. “Druri brought his concerns to me earlier this evening, Jokim. And I agreed with them. We discussed helping the two youngsters, but reached no plan of action. I did not anticipate Druri would attempt to visit them tonight. However, as soon as I heard him leave, I tailed him at every step.”

“You made no effort to stop him?”

“None. By I followed to ensure his safety. He only went to supply the children with blankets to keep them warm.”

Jokim nodded. And with a terribly thick pause, he considered his response. “You have both schemed to catch me unawares tonight. But you have shown your honesty once caught, and I thank you for that.” This was as mild a rebuke as Druri and Haluin could have imagined, and both of them seemed to ease up.

But then Druri found his uncle’s harshest glare thrown at him. “Never trust the words of thieves, lad. Never. They succeed through deceit, and exploiting the kindnesses of others. This is why I have forbidden you to speak with them. You have a soft heart, and it appears they have cracked it open with sympathetic words and gestures.”

The words “soft heart” were weighted so that they inflicted the maximum amount of shame on Druri, and what little confidence he had regained seemed to deflate in an instant. Haluin held his tongue despite an urge to speak.

“Now. Tomorrow we solve this matter properly. Face-to-face. No more slinking about in the shadows. We shall approach the local authorities, level our concerns about Goran, and see if we cannot arrange some formal escort for the three humans back to their village.”

“‘Our concerns?’” Haluin raised a brow. “Then you share them, as well?”

Jokim’s expression did not stir. “I believe Goran is corrupt, aye. And yet his young prisoners are not the doe-eyed innocents that you seem to believe. I would request an escort for Goran’s safety as much as theirs.”

Again, Haluin decided to keep silent rather than to argue. They disagreed, but seemed to have reached an equitable middle ground of action.

“Now... where does Eldarin stand in all this?”

Haluin looked away for a moment. “I told him of the plan, and the argument that followed was what awoke you earlier, Master Jokim. He then left the room, and I am unaware of his whereabouts.”

Jokim scowled. “That complicates matters. Let us seek him first thing tomorrow, then.”

“Agreed.” Haluin thought he might make an attempt to track his kinsman before dawn, but no... the shame was too fresh. Both he and Eldarin needed time and space to collect themselves again.

“Druri.” The lad glanced up at Jokim’s commanding word. “You and I shall share a bed until you have regained my trust.”

“Aye, sir...”

At this point, Haluin left the room. This time, Jokim had made a resounding impression without so much as raising his voice.

---

Often in dark dreams, a sense of unknown dread oppresses the sleeper. A tightness in the chest, a numbness of the limbs, a feeling of powerlessness before the coming storm.

So it was with Haluin at dawn the next morning, as he stood hunched over the windowsill. He could not place the source of his fear, but he knew it had something to do with Eldarin. Their conversation from the prior night echoed in his mind, only this time accompanied by reminders of what he could have said differently.

He stood rooted at the window, watching as pale winter light trickled through the alleys and avenues outside. Something told him to run and search for his kinsman, and yet something stronger held him back.

Finally, he heard the first stirrings of life from the neighboring room. Shortly thereafter, Jokim appeared at his door with a bleary-eyed Druri in tow.

“To the sheriff’s?” Jokim asked, and his stone-set figure reassured the weary Elf.

“If you know the way,” Haluin said.

“Well... Druri has been touring town quite a bit lately. Perhaps he can show us?” That rare bit of humor from Jokim coaxed a smile out of Haluin, and off the three went.

But after that moment of relief, the feeling of terror oozed its way back into Haluin. The streets were quiet that morning, but something still seemed amiss. The Elf fell behind the dwarves, who were trying to find the center of town. Then, without warning, Haluin stopped entirely.

It was not so much anything he saw, or anything he heard, but something he felt... so suddenly and keenly that he shuddered all over. Something... someone crying out in terrible need.

“Eldarin...”

And then his feet whirled to live, sending Haluin dashing off for the town’s southern gate. Jokim spun about, just in time to see a blur of an Elf disappear down a side alley.

“What in the name of...? Follow, Druri!” And Jokim flew with surprising speed after his friend. Druri jogged behind as best he could, but without breakfast to aid him, his legs quickly failed.

Haluin slashed through the marketplace, weaving in and around the early risers and leaping over crates without breaking stride. Now several seconds behind the Elf, Jokim found the obstacle course harder to navigate, and went crashing through the shocked merchants and customers. Druri was now reduced to a brisk walk, and stepped lightly through the carnage his uncle had left in his wake.

By then the Elf was flying past the gates, his feet aflame as he aimed for the nearby treeline.

“No, no, no, no...”

That tightness in his chest grew stronger, but that only whipped him into a faster sprint. A harsh gust of wind rattled the bare trees as Haluin’s boots crunched along fallen leaves... yellow, orange... and blood red.

Even from the southern gate, Jokim heard the despairing cry. A flock of dark birds took wing from the trees.

The travelers did end up speaking with the sheriff that day, but not in the fashion they had expected to. He interrogated them at great length on what they knew of Goran, and their companion Eldarin, and if either would have reason to attack the other.

Jokim bristled at the questioning, what with Eldarin hovering between life and death in the next room. The dwarf seemed about ready to flip the man’s desk over on its side, but surprisingly, it was Haluin who defused the situation. He replied to the sheriff’s questions in a numb monotone, outlining how they had met Goran, the doubts they all shared about his sincerity, and reiterated the point Jokim had shouted several times already: that Eldarin would never strike another being unless provoked.

The sheriff maintained an aloof mask, but indicated that Haluin had told him enough. Before quitting the room, however, he made some reference to the fact that the dead man’s master would arrive in Bree by the next morning, and he would be harder to please.

They were not allowed to visit Eldarin’s bedside. So, feeling ill-at-ease in the sheriff’s hall, the three travelers retired back to the Prancing Pony, which lay only a block to the east. One of the deputies had proven a great deal friendlier than his superior, and promised any updates of Eldarin’s condition would immediately reach their room.

So it was that Haluin, Jokim and Druri hunkered down together in the dwarves’ room to wait. For what else could they do? The Elf and the young dwarf were both destroyed with grief, for each secretly blamed himself for Eldarin’s plight.

Druri’s brittle composure broke first, and he threw his face into his hands to weep not long after he sat upon the bed. “Oh! If only I had not made that stupid plan!”

Jokim, the only one in the room who had remained on his feet, marched straight up to Druri and gripped both of the lad’s wrists. “Druri: cease.”

The lad stifled a pitiful sob and looked at his uncle with a tortured expression. “But, but...”

“No.” Jokim glared at him. “No, Druri. Your only mistake was one of misplaced kindness. Did you order Eldarin to pursue Goran? Were you there at the stables when they fought? No. Now... cease blaming yourself for something that you could not have controlled.”

Haluin watched all of this from a nearby chair with a frozen, glassy-eyed expression. Jokim had cowed his nephew into a shocked silence, but tears still rolled down the lad’s fuzzy cheeks.

The uncle sighed and sat himself beside Druri. He seemed to wrestle with his thoughts for a moment before speaking. “The world is an evil place, lad.” A broad hand patted Druri’s back. “It will wound you many times before you leave it. But never surrender yourself to despair. Cast yourself into those fires, and all is lost.”

Haluin covered his eyes, and sat on the verge of making his own confession when the door opened. He glanced up, and saw standing there the two rangers from the road.

Eldred was at the front, bowing deeply. “Greetings, friends. I must acknowledge your sadness, but I say this: fear not. Your friend will live.”

“How are you so certain?” Haluin rose to his feet, appearing half feral in his grief.

The man smiled, with both mischief and sympathy in his eyes. “Goran was no great assassin. He struck between the wrong set of ribs.” Eldred pointed on his own body where Eldarin had been wounded. “It is still a wicked blow, and it could kill a lesser being, but I assure you: Eldarin shall not succumb.”

“And are you a healer as well as a jester?” Haluin growled, with nothing left to hold him back. “Where were you, then, as Eldarin lay dying in the woods?”

A look of surprise and sadness crossed the ranger’s face, but he soon bowed again. “I see that my brother and I have made our appearance at a poor time. My apologies.”

“And yet we thank you for it,” said Jokim, rising back to his feet. “We shall speak again, Sirs Eldred and...?”

“Hurod,” replied the silent brother, offering a short bow of his own. And without another word, the rangers retired from the room.

Silence reigned in their wake, until another visitor knocked on the door. It was Kabur, and he nearly prostrated himself with his bow, as he thought back on how contemptuously he had treated Eldarin.

“Friends, my condolences...”

“We’ll have none of those, thank you,” replied Jokim. “Eldarin shall live.”

“Oh... aye, of course.” Kabur rose, clutching a book in his hands. “Well, I suppose the three of you have little more to do than wait, so I brought this book along...” He held it up. “It’s an adventure tale that I’ve been reading to my daughter back home... but I took it along for this latest journey. Perhaps it can offer some distraction...” He walked to Jokim reverently and handed over the volume.

“Thank you, Kabur,” Jokim said, with as much warmth as he could muster.

“I am leaving upon the morrow for the Shire. The halflings have always been fine customers of mine. Perhaps we’ll meet again there?”

“As soon as Eldarin recovers enough to travel, we shall be on our way. And once there, we shall ask for the fat dwarvish merchant in the bright-colored garments.” Jokim grinned.

“You flatter me, sir... farewell!” Kabur gave another awkward bow, and left.

The shadows cast by the window shades lengthened along the wall, as afternoon stretched into an early winter evening. Still no word came on Eldarin.

Haluin sat tensed in his chair until he could bear it no longer. He left the dwarves with only a hurried excuse, and began a meandering walk around the town. His wandering took him to every neighborhood of Bree, where the locals gazed upon the distracted-looking Elf with great suspicion.

He tried to outpace his thoughts, but they kept nipping at his heels. What would happen if Eldarin perished? Haluin imagined a life alone in the wild... imagined Jokim and then Druri growing old and disappearing. Simply him, left to wander without destination.

The Elf shuddered and tore at his hair. No home left for him... no one left to care for or protect. He suddenly felt possessed by a need to leave the town, with all its foreboding walls and sealed doors. Without thought, his legs carried him back out the south gate, back to the woods.

The sun had long since set, and stark shadows now leapt from every tree. Haluin sat beneath the tallest and sturdiest he could find. Many long hours he had spent like this in Mirkwood, sitting in contemplation of the world. In those younger days, it had spread before him in a great expanse of possibility and adventure.

But what could he say of the world now, save to echo Jokim’s assertion: it was an evil place. As if drawn by swift tides, his thoughts flew to every tragedy that had befallen him: first Daeron, and then Hengist so many years later. Those terrible years he spent adrift, driven only to hunt orcs into extinction. He thought of Neniel, her treachery and lust to see him utterly destroyed.

Even Eldarin’s devotion struck him as a blow now. What had the smith dedicated himself to, suffering banishment and injury on Haluin’s behalf? All for naught, all for naught!

Footsteps. Haluin’s head, which had been bowed in meditation, sprung up to see a stout shadow heading his way. Heavy breathing accompanied its approach. Jokim, of course.

“I had thought that I might find you here.”

The Elf sighed and rose, leaning against the tree all the while. For once, he could not think of a response.

“You are prone to these melancholy fits, Haluin.” The dwarf stood at a fair distance, arms folded over his chest. “It is not healthy.”

“I am used to being alone. I thought it would be best...”

“Thought it would be best?” Jokim took a step forward.

“... If I did not burden you or the youngling with my grief.”

The dwarf snorted. “Haluin. What am I here for if not to share your burdens and make them lighter, when I can? After all the nonsense we’ve been through together... what could you possibly have to hide from me?”

Haluin’s stance softened, as Jokim’s words seemed to beckon him back toward the world of the living. “I...” he gave a reluctant chuckle. “No, nothing. I often think that you see all.”

“I only see well in the dark, Haluin. When one has entertained such grim thoughts himself, it is not difficult to recognize them in another.”

Haluin placed a hand to his chest in surprise. “Jokim... what do you mean...?”

“Another story, then. After you and I parted ways in the Rohan, I chose to live in the Iron Hills, safely away from my family and friends. I had never explained to them why I left to wander in the first place. But being around them shamed me. It was cowardice.” Jokim spared a glance to the clouds overhead. The full moon shone faintly through the grey sheets. “So I was not there to protect them when the dragon came. Of course, I would have perished along with all the others. But perhaps... my sister and her husband might have survived in exchange.” Jokim’s arms unfolded and dropped heavily at his sides. “I spent many nights tortured by those possibilities. But in the end, Druri needed me more than I needed those thoughts. Do you understand? For all that you might have lost, there are still others nearby who can defend you.”

Haluin had crept gradually closer while the dwarf talked. So Jokim was not fast enough to defend himself as the Elf gushed forward to embrace him.

“Ach! What is this, then?” Jokim burst free with a grunt. “If that is to be my reward, then remind me never to speak of my past with you again!”

“My apologies, friend!” Haluin gave a full-bodied laugh. “But I know of no other way to properly express my gratitude.”

“Well...” Jokim carefully rearranged his beard. “Then perhaps you can hug a tree when I tell you this: Eldarin is awake and talking. Druri is with him now.”

“What?” Haluin started. “Why did you not tell me that right away?”

“I wished to see you recover yourself without the benefit of that news.”

“Well, well!” Haluin smacked Jokim on the shoulder in a peculiarly dwarvish gesture. “Then I am myself again.”

“Good! Keep it that way.” Jokim returned the congratulatory slap, and they began the walk back to town.

"...and I found where Mirina and Merrill were being held, half-frozen in a mean little prison on the western edge of Bree. I gave them some blankets that I, er, found in our room and then Haluin came..."

"Haluin? Is he safe?"

The weakness with which the question was asked made Druri's heart ache.

What would Haluin think when he beheld his fallen friend, lying so pale in the watery winter sunlight that tried its best to warm the room in which he lay? The lad was doing his best to make amends. After all, it had his plan that had led to this. He had to do something!

A gentle tap on the door alerted Druri that they had company and he scurried quickly to open it. Haluin stood there, looking calmer than the young dwarf would have imagined possible. The elf smiled down at him, then glanced past him to the form lying so still on the bed. For a moment their eyes met and held, but Haluin had not the heart to hold Eldarin's gaze.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on him for me, Druri. Jokim came to fetch me as soon as he heard Eldarin could have visitors. If I may, I wish to sit with him."

Druri waved Haluin into the room. "Yes, of course! There's water and some fruit on the table just there and he's even taken some broth. I'll be with uncle if you need anything." As Druri started to close the door behind him, he grabbed Haluin's hand. "I'm so sorry. I know I'm not supposed to blame myself, but I can't help it!"

Haluin fell on one knee, gripping Druri's hand tight. "You only wanted to help someone in need, Druri. That is never wrong! Listen to your uncle's wise words, youngling and be at peace." He then rose to his feet, gave the lad a quick embrace and closed the door after him.

Before he turned to face the bed again, Haluin drew a steadying breath. The sight of Eldarin's drawn face had shaken him badly. Willing himself not to show his anxiety, he went to the table to pour himself some water, then settled on the bed at Eldarin's side.

The elven smith extended a hand that Haluin took tentatively in his own. The grip he received was surprisingly strong and he looked up, sighing in relief. "I thought..."

"I know, tor-nin, you thought I would leave you. I am made of far sterner stuff, I'm afraid! You must try harder if you wish to be rid of me so soon." Eldarin said with a grin, then grimaced as he tried to shift himself over.

Instantly, Haluin stood and with Eldarin's direction, made the injured elf more comfortable. He then sat himself down on the nearest chair and looked at his friend carefully. "I want to look at what those rangers have done. They certainly took long enough about it! Did you know that thay would not let us see you?"

As Haluin drew back the covers and began to examine the bandages binding the wound, Eldarin chuckled dryly. "It was at my request, not theirs. I needed the time to heal, without your fussing over me as though I were on my deathbed. As it is now, you can fuss all you like, mellon-nin. Thanks to Eldred's expert care, I will be able to harrass you for ages to come!"

Guilt pricked at Haluin's conscience. "I fear I was less than gracious to them. I was so angry..." He ducked his head as tears welled up, threatening to betray just how afraid he had been, as well. "If I had not provoked you-if I had only listened to you, you would not now be lying here in pain."

"Or perhaps it would be you or Druri lying here instead and with perhaps not so good an outcome. Haluin, hear me." he said, with note of pleading in his voice so soft Haluin nearly missed it. "I'm listening, Eldarin. Truly."

Gesturing for some water, Eldarin sipped slowly from the goblet Haluin handed to him. After a few moments, he coughed carefully, then handed the goblet back and began to speak.

"I killed him, Haluin. Let there be no doubt of that. He stabbed me and I killed him before he could strike again. It was not my intention from the start, I wanted only to threaten him into leaving the children alone. I should have known better-he was, after all, a man." he said bitterly. Haluin drew breath to comment, but ceased after a glance from Eldarin. "I was also afraid that you would attempt to confront him as well." he whispered.

Haluin squeezed Eldarin's hand comfortingly. "I thank you for thinking of me, but it should not have been necessary. I said many things I regret, especially after the kindness and companionship you have shown me, not to mention saving my life." He looked away, his hair falling across his face like a shroud. It made Eldarin shudder at the omen and he reached out to push it aside.

"Enough, my friend. Peace. We are both hot-tempered and have both made mistakes. This is not the first time and it will scarcely be the last." He took Haluin's chin in his hand and swallowed when he felt the wetness of tears. "I will not leave you. Mandos himself will tire of my complaints and send me back to your side should I fall, rest assured!"

Haluin chuckled aloud at the image of an irate Eldarin berating the lord of the Halls of the Dead, then wiped his face on his sleeve. "I do not deserve you, but I am glad beyond measure that you find me worthy. Now, you get some rest while I guard your sleep, my brother. Tomorrow may not be uneventful from what I gather from the sherriff."

Haluin's words had the ring of prophecy when there came a fierce pounding on Eldarin's door. Raised voices shouted out in the hallway as Haluin took up his sword and he could hear Jokim arguing loudly with several strangers just outside the door.

"Stay where you are!" he hissed as Eldarin struggled with the bedclothes. "I won't have you ripping your side open!" Mumbled curses warmed his ears as Eldarin stood up, bracing himself on the bedpost. "I'll not be confronted, hiding behind you like an elfling behind its mother's skirts!" "Fine! At least find a sheet." Haluin ground out between clenched teeth as the door burst open.

Two stout men carrying pikes and with breath foul enough to make a dragon re-consider breakfast entered the room. casting suspicious glances at the two elves. A third man followed, while a fourth stood out in the hall looking vaguely uncomfortable with the situation. The third man was tall, well- dressed and had an air of inflexibility about him that made Haluin sneer.

"Who are you and what is your business here?" asked the elf sharply as he dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword.

"I'll ask the questions, elf." the man replied, his voice sounding like distant thunder. Haluin's eyes narrowed dangerously and he could hear Jokim chuckle.
"You." the man addressed Eldarin. "I am told you slew my horsemaster. Is this true?"

"Only after he attacked me." replied Eldarin, as he exposed his side to those in the room. "He was a violent, evil man. I have nothing more to say to you."

Haluin took a step forward. "Sherriff, my brother is not yet healed and I will not tolerate any further disturbance of his rest. You know all that I and my companions have told you and you know that he is innocent of any wrong-doing! Goran was cruel to Merrill and harboured evil thoughts toward this one's daughter." he said, nodding toward the tall man who stood glaring like beast about to attack. "Now, get out!"

The sherriff and Mirina's father began a heated argument, but in the end, it was decided to leave them in peace for the time being. Jokim and Druri glowered at them as they joined the elves in Eldarin's room and shut the door solidly behind them.

Druri gave a huge sigh of relief, then gasped as Haluin spun to catch an ashen Eldarin in his arms as he fell. In a flash, Jokim grabbed the elf's legs and together, they lowered him carefully onto the bed. "Ah, Elbereth...why did you not listen?" scolded Haluin as he snatched up a cool, wet cloth and pressed it to Eldarin's brow. "You...are not the only one who still has-things to learn." replied the smith, his voice thick with pain. "Jokim, find the rangers! I don't care how, just find them!" cried Haluin as he watched Eldarin's eyes slide closed and his breathing become unnaturally slow. "No, tor-nin I forbid it. Damn those rangers! Eldred said he would live. He must, he must..."

Druri stood at the foot of the bed, awkwardly patting Eldarin's feet. He didn't know who to be the more concerned about; Eldarin with his wound, or Haluin with his fear of losing yet another dear friend.

He never knew where it came from, but Druri prayed as he had seldom prayed before. Great Ones, Ai-Ainur, I think my friend calls you. Don't let Eldarin die! We need him, Haluin needs him. Just...help!

And gently, he continued patting Eldarin's feet.

“Your lack of faith is appalling.” Eldred eased the door to Eldarin’s room shut, having succeeded in sweeping the Elf’s companions out into the hallway. “I said he would live, and he does.” The ranger made a casual shrug. “Too much excitement, nothing more.”

Jokim stood at a crossroads between gratitude and a desire to throttle Eldred’s hubris out of him. The ranger had appeared conciliatory at their last meeting, but now seemed merely annoyed that Jokim had hunted him down at Eldarin’s latest setback.

In truth, the dwarf didn’t have to do much work. He raised enough of a ruckus in his search that Eldred simply had to follow the sounds of warthog grunts and thickly accented oaths to their source. There he found an angry set of hands that grabbed him, twisted his left arm behind his back without any apparent explanation, and dragged him several hundred yards along Bree’s slushy paths to the sheriff’s building.

Now they stood in the cramped passageway that led between the sheriff’s living quarters and his holding cells, filled as ever with sullen faces protesting their innocence. The infirmary room in which now Eldarin stayed had sprung from that hallway as an afterthought some years ago, just in case some barroom brawler found himself in need of more than a few stitches.

As Eldarin still sat under suspicion of premeditated murder, he continued to lodge in that unfinished sketch of a room, beneath the baleful gazes of Bree’s sheriff and his deputies.

All of this misfortune weighed on Jokim’s mind as he made an infantryman’s march straight for Eldred, those same hands threatening to mangle the ranger for a second time. Eldred slid along the wall like the shadow, safely out of reach. His compressed, somewhat stocky build masked a fluid grace of motion that he could call to his service whenever threatened.

He waved a mocking finger at Jokim. “Tut, tut. I’ve kept my promise, haven’t I?”

“Listen.” Jokim continued the dance, taking a step forward that Eldred mirrored in the opposite direction. “Since you and your brother seem to be the only ones with any sort of competence at healing in this dratted town, we demand that at least one of you stay at Eldarin’s bedside until he is fully recovered.”

“What presumption! And does the sun also rise and set at your beck and call, dwarf?”

At this moment, Haluin somehow slipped between the two dancing partners before Jokim could make the next move. “Now, please, Eldred. For all its bluster, is Jokim’s request not reasonable? Our friend remains trapped in a dangerous place, and it would help to have a skilled and sympathetic set of hands nearby.”

Eldred rose from his defensive crouch and gave an almost grateful smile. “Well... it might be possible, but Hurod and I have other business to attend to.”

“Such as?” Jokim shoved past Haluin to level his milk-curdling glare at the ranger.

“Proving Sir Eldarin’s innocence, of course.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” This time, Haluin returned the dwarf’s favor, practically leapfrogging over and around Jokim to keep him out of striking range.

“Every deadly tussle leaves footprints, bloodstains, battered walls... tiny brushstrokes that paint the truth. With the sheriff and the dead man’s master as an audience, I can display the proper picture to undeceive them of their biases.”

Eldred’s theatrical delivery of this speech made it almost seem believable. But even Haluin seemed to hold himself back from leaping headlong into the ranger’s promises. He took a step back, with a detached air about him. “Then leave Hurod here to tend to our companion.”

“Yours is not the only matter on our plate at the moment, you realize.” Eldred frowned slightly as he spoke, but soon waved his hand in flippant surrender. “As you wish, then. But you ought to find yourself a leash for that mongrel of yours.” And with a delighted flash of his eyes in Jokim’s direction, Eldred glided down the hallway and out into the streets.

“To think, we are throwing our lot in with that deranged acorn eater.” Jokim had bottled up his rage to deny Eldred any further satisfaction, but Haluin could feel a powerful draft of heat emanating from the dwarf’s general direction.

“You are running short of good insults after your haggling match, it seems...” The Elf smiled.

“Well, I think he’ll get the job done.” Druri stepped into the fray with a gust of youthful passion. “Rangers are masters of tracking, are they not?”

“And Men are masters of stubbornness and shortsightedness.” Haluin’s grin had fled, and the vacant expression that remained in its place gave both of the dwarves pause. “I do not like Eldred’s chances.”

Winter was arriving with a vengeance, Eldarin could feel it. Outside, the wind was howling, stripping the last leaves from the trees, leaving them to huddle naked and forlorn in the gathering gloom.

With his face pressed against the single pane of glass the room in which he was being held afforded him, the smith yearned with all his heart to be back out in the elements again, free from all constraints and complaints his present situation forced upon him and irritation, an emotion he had seldom, if ever, felt, was fast becoming his boon companion.

His wound had healed, seemingly overnight, such was the healing power of the elven constitution and now all he wanted, was out. Where was everyone? He was not normally given to losing his patience, but Eldarin had finally had enough. Stalking over to the door, he began to pound on it, determined not to be ignored any longer.

Haluin, meanwhile, had decided an apology was necessary. The rangers had only been doing as they had seen fit, after all. Maybe a little ingratiation would help him secure Eldarin's freedom just that much sooner. Therefore he went to seek out Hurod in order to win him over. After all, he had never been lacking in charm and his previous experience with the ways of men told him he had a better than average chance of gaining the man's trust.

He found the man at the edge of the woods just to the north of town. The snow had begun to fly and Hurod was hunkered down, scoring the bark of a tall birch with his knife. "Have you asked it's permission?" called Haluin. Hurod spun round, his eyes fierce and Haluin's respect for the man rose considerably.

"Nay, elf. I fear I've neglected my manners in that respect." he replied drily,sheathing his knife. "You speak like a friend of mine. He's always talking to plants and trees. Spent too much time with you lot, I reckon."

Haluin grinned. "One might do worse than spend time with "my lot", as you so quaintly put it." He extended his hand. "I wish to ask forgiveness for my rash behaviour earlier. I-am not normally so quick to anger. You and your brother were only trying to help."

Hurod glanced dismissively at the proffered hand and made as if to turn away, then snarled and clasped it almost cruelly. "I have no love for elves, but...neither do I hate you. I accept your apology for my brother's sake and because...I believe I would have acted the same way were he the injured one."

Haluin bowed his head in acknowledgement, then pulled his arm from Hurod's iron grip. "I think we understand each other then. Come, we should get that willow bark back to Eldarin, if you have no other herbs to find." Together they silently returned to the sheriff's building, but long before they reached it, Haluin stopped for a moment, listening. "Do you hear that?" Confusion filled Hurod's eyes. "Hear what?"

The elf broke into a run. He had heard raised voices and one of them was Eldarin's. Elbereth, what has happened now? He sounds furious! Anxiously, Haluin raced down the street, imagining the worst and when he arrived moments later, he found both Druri and Jokim yelling at the sherriff, who was yelling by turns at Jokim and Eldarin, who was white with rage, demanding to be let outside.

All eyes flew to Haluin as he skidded into the hallway. "Where have you been?!" cried all three of them at once, glaring at him as though he were the cause of it all. Calmly, he raised a quizzical eyebrow at them, smoothed his hair back, then walked over to join the fuming group before him. "Righting a wrong, if you must know. Hurod is following behind with some much needed herbs for you, Eldarin. Now, by Nahar's balls, will someone tell me what has happened?"

Abashed, Eldarin turned and sat on the edge of his bed, while the others told Haluin of the elf's sudden fit of temper. Haluin was appalled. "Why are you so surprised, Jokim? Do you know so little of us? We cannot tolerate long periods in confinement, without the freedom to walk beneath the stars, or the ability to feel the sun on our faces. Just as your people were shaped from the earth itself by Aule, so were we bound to her, heart and soul, by Iluvatar himself when the music was sung. We wither and die, my friend." he said softly. "I'm certain it was only the feeling of oppression that caused to him act thusly...is it not so,mellon[/ I]?"

"Aye, tor-nin. I can feel the earth changing, beginning to slide into the deep sleep of winter...and I cannot wish the trees fair dreams as I have since I was an elfling...not shut away in here!" His voice held such a sadness, that Druri felt his eyes start to sting and hastily scrubbed them with his sleeve.


"How long must we wait for men's justice, sherriff?" asked Haluin in challenging tone. "My kinsman will not remain here much longer, of that I can assure you. He was set upon by a rabid animal cloaked as a man, an animal that even now could have done unspeakable things to one of your own children, had Eldarin not been forced to slay him, also paying with his life in the process! I will not have him languish here. I will not!" As the sherriff reeled from Haluin's verbal assault, the elf went to kneel at Eldarin's side, whispering words of encouragement that only he could hear.

The bloodstains had curdled into black splotches by the time Eldred led Mirina’s father through the stables. No one had made any attempt to clean them. The Bree folk had common sense enough to stay away from such a grisly scene. Not even the town’s elders could recall the last time that someone had met with such a violent death within their city’s walls.

Now whispers darted from every tongue in town, telling of the shadowy Elf who had cut down a Man in the stables. For what they lacked in substantive facts, these tales compensated with fantastical inventions: the Elf stood twice the size of any Breeman, he wore a cloak that could render his form invisible, and his sword was as black as the midnight sky with a sickly curve along the blade.

Torgard, Mirina’s father and Goran’s former master, had rode into Bree after a grueling 14-hour gallop to discover these stories. The news of Goran’s death had come as a near-shattering blow to a man who had already stood overburdened by indignities. Less than a month ago, his daughter had lost her wits and eloped with one of his stablehands, a young halfwit whose family’s social standing resided one rung above dirt. Then came word that these two misfit lovers had robbed an unsuspecting Bree family. Now Goran, whom he had raised almost as a second child, lay dead at the hands of an Elf.

Yet somehow, Torgard had weathered each development with a grim sort of calm. His father had raised him in a militant fashion, branding into him the values that made him such an efficient stablemaster. Rigid posture, precise movements, attention to detail, a harsh but fair sense of discipline... Torgard applied all of these lessons in his stable, as well as his household. And even as these values, one by one, seemed to have failed him over the past weeks, they also insulated him from shock. They became his armored shell, and it seemed as though he could ward off any misfortune.

But then Eldred told him that Goran had struck the Elf first. Had any other person told him as much, Torgard would have whipped the slanderer as he would a misbehaving stallion. Eldred, however, was a trusted voice. In their zigzagging travels throughout Eriador, Eldred and his brother had come to Torgard’s aid on several occasions over the years, almost always with regard to horse thieves. They worked quickly and decisively to track down the criminals, and their ruthless speed only served to impress the stern horsemaster.

When Mirina and Merrill had disappeared, he had hoped to call upon the brothers first. But word came that they were otherwise detained with wolf troubles to the north. Goran, meanwhile, had so insisted to his master that he personally capture the runaways, that Torgard gave the young man his blessing to pursue them. It would be a fine test of his mettle. Now it had ended like this, in shame and disaster.

Eldred walked him through the tracks of Goran’s final battle step by step, forgoing his usual theatrical delivery and adopting a respectful monotone. They started at the narrow trail of blood that had spurted near Goran’s bed of hay. Such a blow could only have come from Goran’s dagger, Eldred said, and matched the wound on Eldarin’s body. And on and on the ranger went, using his deep tracking knowledge to recreate the scuffle, right up until Goran’s fatal fall. At each description that incriminated his trusted servant, Torgard’s mind rebelled. Every part of him wanted to leap upon Eldred, to repeat the murky tales he had already heard from locals. But the ranger’s arguments stood sound and impenetrable. And the evidence spoke loudest of all.

Without abandoning his formal posture, Torgard bowed his head to consider. The flecks of gray that scored his temples seemed to have multiplied in only a month.

“I suppose you never saw him handle horses,” he said at last, with his back to Eldred.

“Only when we returned them to you. He would lead them into the stables, and I would see no more of him.”

“He had a gift, Goran...” Torgard tiptoed around the name. “He set the beasts at ease almost at once, no matter their agitation. And he loved them. Genuinely. There was a great tenderness in him. You cannot convince me otherwise on that count.”

“Perhaps. But I fear that he cared more for your beasts than he did for his fellow Men. And Elves, even less so.”

Torgard recoiled, drawing himself back against one of the abandoned stalls. The stablehands had hurriedly evacuated all of the steeds the day after the death. Now the stables had a ghostly, foreboding air about them, as if they were haunted by more than just Goran’s displaced spirit.

“Do not speak of him thus. You, who hardly knew the man...”

Eldred clasped his hands together and took a step forward, half-contrite but not conceding any ground. “I understand that you had a great deal of pride invested in Goran’s success. You believed in him when no one else would... least of all myself or Hurod.”

“And he proved himself to me, ranger. Day in and day out with his chores, improving with each mistake, always eager to serve on my behalf. You saw none of that.”

Eldred raised one hand, index finger pointed in a sharp rebuke. “But I did see the wild youth who snuck into your stables and made off with one of your best mounts in the night. And I dragged him back to you by the scruff of his neck, as you had demanded.”

Torgard pointed right back. “And we all agreed that he should work off his debt, did we not? That by doing good, he might reverse his ways?”

Eldred sighed, and dropped his finger. His right hand returned to its embrace with his left. “We did. But it never sat right by me. I ought to have told you...” He paused, shook his head, and continued. “I cannot imagine the feeling of having one’s trust in another so violated. For Hurod is the only Man I have ever trusted, and he has yet to fail me. As for you, Goran won your heart, that much I can see. And perhaps he did right by you, in some ways. But talk to your daughter if you wish to know the full tale. That is all the counsel I can provide at the moment.”

Eldred bowed in Torgard’s style, cold and considerate, before turning to leave. The stablemaster tracked him with an incredulous glare. His composed mask began to distort in anger.

“What do you mean, my daughter?” He took several long steps after Eldred, but the ranger did not slow his pace. “What do you mean?!”

But as Eldred faded into the wind and snow outside, Torgard realized that he would have to seek the answer himself.

---

It looked as though a storm had passed through Eldarin’s room, leaving everyone within roughed up and frazzled in its wake. Druri did not sit so much as crouch in a hawk’s perch on the edge of the room’s lone seat. His face still flushed red from shouting at the sheriff.

Jokim, too agitated to sit; Haluin, too weary to stand. Eldarin, still in bed, gaze swimming amidst the snowflakes that danced outside the window.

Eldred walked into this peculiar scene, tearing off his cloak in a swirl of dark brown cloth. He tossed the garment at Hurod, who rather resembled a coat rack in his wooden stillness in the room’s far corner. With all six of them in the cramped apartment, there was barely any space left to stand.

“I hear that you wish to escape.” The ranger looked at Eldarin as if he were the only one present.

Without a word, Jokim slid into the only open space left in the infirmary... directly in front of Eldred. The ranger gazed straight over the top of his head.

“If you would only call off your bodyguard...”

Eldarin sat up with a shake of his head. “I never would have imagined a dwarf as a personal protector.”

That simple remark appeared to put Jokim back in his place, and he reluctantly backpedaled to make way for the ranger. But his eyes still held a tone of caution for Eldred, reminding him that he was being watched.

“I have won you a reprieve, Eldarin,” Eldred said, with a half bow. “I told the sheriff you are fit to walk, and he will permit you an evening stroll under my supervision.”

The instant he had gained even that much permission, Eldarin was on his feet, blankets whipped aside. Once again, Hurod caught the fabric flung his way. “There is some fair influence you must wield in this place, Eldred, for the man seemed intent on locking me up until the spring.”

“Hmm.” The man gave a half-smile, one laced with some irony intended for only Eldarin to understand. “But I deserve only half the credit. From the way the sheriff described it, it was our esteemed pair of dwarves and Master Haluin who softened him up before I arrived.”

Eldred looked at Druri this time, and the young dwarf nearly slipped off the chair and onto the floor. Needless to say, his imagination had already painted a thousand spectacular images of what rangers were capable of. Traveling for days straight without rest or food, shooting arrows through the eyes of beasts from hundreds of paces away, tracking a pack of wolves with only one hair of shed fur to guide them.

Druri had heard their kind spoken of in whispers only, and mysteries outnumbered facts in his knowledge of their ways. For Jokim’s sake, he tried to hide it... but he was overawed by the two brothers, no doubts about it.

Eldarin gave Druri a short look as well before surveying the rest of the party. “Let us leave this sad little room, then, and enjoy what remains of the day.”

And, as if he had been awaiting this signal the entire time, Druri sprung to Eldarin’s side. “That’s the best thought I’ve heard all day!”

Out they went, into weather that most Bree folk would have considered too brisk to face. But there was something magical about the twilight hour in winter, the way the dying light made its last gasp over the frigid hills and leafless trees.

As he tried to sneak a covert glance at Eldarin’s face, Druri saw it illuminated in a strange spectral glow. The Elf breathed deep gulps of the stinging air, his expression blank but glowing with an inner joy. Druri scampered along at his side, attempting to match each of Eldarin’s long strides with two of his own.

Jokim and Haluin were aways behind, and the rangers hung at the rear of the procession like trailing shadows.

Druri had spent most of his brisk jog trying to raise the nerve to break Eldarin’s trance. They were coming up on the grove of trees south of the city, the same area where Eldarin had fallen in dying throes not two days beforehand. Seeing the boney tree limbs grasping toward murky skies reminded Druri of what Eldarin had spoken from his bed... not so much the words themselves as the ache behind them. Of course Druri knew some things about nature... scattered lessons handed down from father, uncle and Haluin. But he had never felt it in the way that Eldarin’s voice had suggested. What secret was the Elf hiding?

“What did you mean about... seeing the trees off to sleep?” Druri made a point of not looking at Eldarin as he asked the question, in order to keep a hold of his composure. But when he turned back, the Elf’s gaze had him pinned. A glint of curiosity had animated Eldarin’s serene expression, and he looked at the young dwarf as if studying him for the first time.

“Perhaps...” He began at a half-whisper, but then found his normal speaking voice again. “You would not understand were I to merely tell you. But perhaps you could learn to see such things for yourself.”

Druri snorted. It was a secondhand expression, passed down from his uncle, and it fit him poorly. He had hoped to dismiss the Elf’s words without a second thought, but a fearful excitement shone through his eyes. Fear, that he had begun down some strange path that he could not turn back from.

“Come with me.” Eldarin turned to look ahead. The trees had grown quite close now, with spiraling branches that seemed to beckon Druri closer. He remembered the first time he had glimpsed the Mirkwood treeline up close, and recoiled from fear’s memory. But Eldarin nudged him forward, until the nearest tree was close enough to touch... thick, stolid, rooted to the same earth for decades.

Eldarin placed Druri’s hand — why was it quavering all of a sudden? — against the rigid bark. Druri instinctively glanced over his shoulder, searching for his uncle, but Eldarin was there again to guide his head back to the tree.

“No, no, Jokim cannot join us.” The Elf spoke as if he were settling a spooked horse, while his hand remained resting atop Druri’s.

“Why not?” Druri squirmed, still resisting.

“Your uncle is a practical fellow. A fellow of stone and discipline... of solid things. I have the utmost respect for his intellect, you understand, but his ears are deaf to the things that you will be seeking.”

“What am I...?”

“No more questions.” Eldarin leaned in closer. “You are distracted, and there are many things you must now ignore. Steady your breathing, lad.”

Druri made a fitful gasp of air, before making a labored attempt at exhaling evenly. He shut his eyes, tensing his fingers against the tree’s outer shell. Another breath. In... out. Two more breaths... slower, steadier.

“Good. Now you must shut out the rest of what surrounds us... the bite of the cold, the whistle of the wind. It is a difficult task the first time you attempt it, but you will improve. There is nothing but us two and the tree.”

Druri pressed his eyelids tighter. He tried to imagine the endless blackness of a deep cavern, where no sunlight or lanterns could penetrate. No breezes, no sounds, just stillness. He grew afraid at the thought, but something he could not name seemed to soothe him. He was safe here.

“Yes.” Eldarin’s voice was a mere whisper now, floating somewhere behind him in the darkness. “Now the most crucial step. You must abandon your thoughts... the little memories and musings that cling to your attention. Let them all fall like autumn leaves, one at a time, until you are empty. Then you are ready to listen, and I need instruct you no further.”

This task struck Druri as impossible. When awake, his mind fluttered in a constant state of near-hysterical energy. There were so many things to wonder about... what Eldarin was doing, what Druri might hear next, what he might be doing wrong. But no, he had to let go.

By degrees, Druri dammed back the incessant burble of thoughts that filled the silence. Instead, he trained his focus on the stillness around him, embracing it, blending into it... but he was not alone. Another heartbeat pulsed in the black. Not Eldarin, who seemed to have faded into ether, but something warm and inviting.

“Closer.”

Druri moved, somehow, closer. The second heartbeat grew louder. Now the young dwarf could sense a great lethargy draping over him, seeping into him drop by drop. He felt himself sinking down, almost melting, but still he trudged ahead.

“Closer...”

He grasped for the other presence, seeking a hand to hold. “I hear you,” he wanted to call. “Let me see you.” But his weariness was overwhelming, and Druri already felt himself tumbling down, down into deeper blackness still, where a great shroud enveloped him...

And now all was still.

---

By the time Druri awoke, blinking off a peaceful haze, he was all the way back to his bed at the Prancing Pony. The covers around him had been tucked in to the point where they nearly pinned him against the mattress... his uncle’s handiwork, no doubt. And there, he suddenly realized, was Jokim, crouching at his bedside.

“Druri? Are you there?” Jokim’s face was pinched with concern, hovering close by.

“Oh...” Druri made a leisurely yawn. “Hullo, uncle. Is breakfast ready?”

Laughter rained down from above, and Druri noticed that the Elves were there in the room, too. A fire blazed in the hearth — it was still evening — and cast grinning shadows upon the ceiling.

“Well...” Jokim gave Eldarin a skeptical glance. “He is still himself, it appears! But you have yet to explain this trance you put him under.”

The Elf shook his head. “And again, I say: it was not I who did the work. I simply set Druri on the correct path, and he did a most excellent job of following it.”

Jokim returned his attention to his nephew. “What do you remember?”

Druri blinked a few more times and shifted in his bed. “Remember? Oh, we were walking, weren’t we? Aye, we were. And Eldarin led me to one tree... and I spoke with her, uncle! I really did. She was very old, and could not speak so loudly, but I heard her. She kept telling me to come closer, but she was very sleepy, and so was I... and the next thing I remember...”

“That is enough, Druri.” Jokim spoke with a clenched jaw. “Rest, now.” One eye settled onto Eldarin, bright and piercing. “You shall give him no more of these lessons, Eldarin.”

Eldarin raised both hands with palms forward, attempting to make peace. “You need not be so alarmed, friend. This sort of reaction often happens the first time...”

“And it will be the last time for him. There is no more discussion. Do not forget who has raised this lad, and where he comes from...”

“Jokim...” Haluin stepped forward. “I am hearing a familiar argument, am I not? Let us set the matter aside for some other time. Druri is quite fine, and quite himself, as you will see. Let us sup, and hope that we shall have a clear path to leave Bree as soon as possible.”

Druri, of course, wanted to contribute his own thoughts to the conversation. But one look at his uncle, who barely contained his displeasure in bowing to Haluin’s counsel, and the lad knew to hold his tongue. The matter was indeed closed, at least for the time being.

Matters had not gone well at the stockade after Torgard saw for himself the appalling conditions in which his daughter and stableboy had been housed.

"I would never keep an animal in such squalor, much less children! " he had roared at the unfortunate who happened to be on guard. As the man scrambled to find his keys, the sherriff arrived and another shouting match ensued, causing the nearby neighbours' ears to prick up and many craned precariously from their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

They were treated to the sight of Torgard shouting, the guard frantically herding the two young people out of the miserable pen /cell they had been huddling in and the sherriff struggling manfully not to punch one of the influential citizens in the region senseless.

"Are all of your prisoners so well treated, Master Sherriff? I hope for their sakes they are not! Look at them! They're nigh dead with cold and the boy looks as though he would eat the next passing dog, if he could catch it! What is wrong with you?!"

The sherriff stood his ground. "I have no excuses, Torgard, but let me say this. Goran's death has set this town on its ear and I've had neither time nor men to spend on anything else except that I, too, am shocked by what I see and I will do what I can to make it right. I can do no more."

The two men stood glaring at one another for a long moment, then Torgard nodded curtly. "I will take these two home now and we will speak no more of this until the matter is concluded, but hear me..." he said, his voice dangerously soft, "I want who did this punished. Do you understand?" The sherriff's eyes narrowed. He was not a man who liked being told how to do his own work. He smiled grimly as his thoughts turned to the elf awaiting his fate.

"He will get what he deserves, Torgard, believe me."


*******************************************

"Why is Jokim so closed to our ways, Haluin? All I did was..."

"All you did was, in his eyes, try to corrupt his innocent nephew with your elven foolishness." The raven-haired elf sighed at the confusion he saw in his companion's eyes. "Foolishness? I sought merely to teach the youngling something of what lies blatantly before his eyes, but that he cannot see. What is the harm in that?"

"Ah, tor-nin. You understand as little of them as they do of you. Jokim is like the earth and stone from which his people sprang. Solid, dependable, hard..." His eyes sparkled for a moment with wicked glee. "...and thick!" They both chuckled as Haluin continued. "He will defend you to the death, this you've already seen. But do not try too obviously to change Druri, for that will earn you his undying enmity. Dwarves seem to me to exist sometimes on pride and stubbornness alone, so yes, I understand your frustration!"

The presence of the rangers, standing discreetly out of ear-shot, sobered Haluin suddenly and Eldarin looked around to see what he was looking at, then turned to face his friend. "Do not worry for my fate, Haluin. Our race is not yet finished, not by a long road. Though I do not trust in Men, those two have hidden depths, which I am certain you yourself have sensed. Is this not so?"

"Aye, Eldarin. But again, that is simple for me to say, for I have not experienced the horrific things you have at their hands. We have yet to meet the girl's sire, after all." In truth, Haliun was filled with dread. Goran's master sounded by all accounts to be a harsh man, but, he reminded himself, all he had to go on were the accounts of the two runaways. Perhaps the man was wiser and more fair than the young ones had made him out to be.

Lazily, Haluin stretched his long legs and stood up from where they had been sitting, on a long-dead tree that had fallen many winters before, blown down in a gale. "Come, friends! Let us make our way back to the inn!" he called to the rangers. "If we must!" came the dry reply, Hurod's most likely.

"Come, you laggards! One last drink together before we hear Eldarin's judgement. Never let it be said that the elves are miserly when it come to wine and good company." Eldarin laughed. "Spoken like a true Sindar from Mirkwood! I've heard many a tale of the merriment to be had around King Thranduil's table."

"And all of them true! Why, one Midsummer about a hundred years ago...or was it seventy-five?" Years?!" blurted Eldred incredulously. "Yes, years. Don't interrupt! Either way, a great feast was being laid on and a grand bonfire was lit just down from the lake, when one of the largest of the spider clans decided to attack. Unfortunately..." "Did you say spiders?" "Yes, spiders. Why? Anyway... this was after we'd been drinking steadily for many hours, so never even noticed that the prince had been abducted! You should have seen his face when we found him the next day, trussed like a goose upside down in a huge old beech about a mile from the lake." He began to laugh.

"What happened then?" prodded Eldred, grinning.

"If only you knew Prince Legolas..." he chuckled, which made Eldarin start as well. "The pristine Legolas...I've had the pleasure, yes. That must have been a sight!"

"I can only tell you, the youngling can curse! Very inventive, I must say and most of it completely impossible, I can assure you! And did I mentioned the mint sauce?"

Haluin did not knock as he entered the dwarves’ room at the Prancing Pony. Elvish manners never bothered with such formalities... every neighbor was a friend, and every doorway was an invitation to enter. Of course, Haluin had attempted to curve this habit in the company of Jokim, whose folk seemed to hold privacy and fellowship in equal regard.

Once again, however, the Elf neglected to take precautions. Within moments of the door popping open, Jokim’s face would twist itself into a stern reprimand, as if Haluin were a child for him to scold. But before Jokim’s brow creased, before his eyes flashed in annoyance, and before his mouth hooked south in a deep scowl, Haluin saw that his recklessness had netted him a strange reward: He had caught the dwarf in an unguarded moment.

Jokim sat in one of his room’s wingback chairs, one hand buttressing his head while the other hung limp over the arm of the chair. He stared at the wall to Haluin’s left, without expression, turning over a thought in his head. He looked old in that moment. Haluin felt startled, seeing as if for the first time the grayed fringes of Jokim’s beard, the crevices that had begun to mark the contours of his face, the deepened bruises encircling his eyes. And in those eyes themselves there lay a profound sadness, for this brief moment fully exposed.

In some sense, Haluin had known it was there ever since he first met Jokim. Back then, the dwarf had been a young and fiery colt who brandished his emotions in wide arcs, with little restraint. His fury, his excitement, his hurt had all blazed wild in his eyes. But in the years since then, Haluin discovered, Jokim had learned to mask himself behind a grim, stonecut expression. A neat trick, indeed, for even the dwarf’s eyes refused to reveal any of his secrets. Even at his most impassioned, they still remained clouded over. The fire behind them shown distantly, like lightning flashing through some thick and terrible storm.

Throughout their entire journey, Haluin had been trying to crack through that stubborn shell. So far, he had precious little to show for all his efforts... only the times when Jokim was too weary to maintain his stronghold, or when he had willingly stood down as a token of friendship. Seeing Jokim slumped in that chair, Haluin’s mind flashed to their conversation in the forest outside of Bree. That the dwarf might have exchanged his own life for those of Druri’s parents...

But there was no more time for this line of thought. Jokim had already hopped to his feet, drawing his face taut and seeming to shed several years of age all at once. “You do not knock? Still?” Behind that fatherly tone, a hint of irony in Jokim’s voice suggested that perhaps he had begun to see the humor in Haluin’s unannounced entrances.

“One thousand pardons, good sir!” Haluin gave an exaggerated bow, his usual apology in these sorts of instances. It managed to coax a giggle from Druri, who was lying on his bed, struggling through the first pages of the book that the merchant Kabur had loaned to his uncle.

Jokim, on the other hand, kept an aloof front. “What is it, then? News?”

“Of a sort. From what I am told, Eldarin’s fate will soon be decided, one way or the other.”

“'The other.'” Jokim repeated the words and considered them. “And if it comes to that?”

“The lot of us may have to make an unannounced departure, I fear.” A gleam of mischief crossed Haluin’s eyes. “Are you good with disguises?”

The dwarf gave a gale-force snort. “Haluin. Do you know that I had once entertained the thought of a peaceful and uneventful journey to the Blue Mountains? But ever since I crossed paths with you it has been nothing short of a traveling circus. Poisonings! Banishments! Thieves! Rangers! And now you plot a bandit’s escape from Bree? This nonsense seems to follow you about, Haluin.”

It was quite a harangue, enough of one to force Druri to shrink a few inches back into the bedcovers and bury his face in his book. So how else could Haluin respond but with laughter? Rightly or wrongly, he sensed a note of humor in Jokim’s speech once again.

“It is not my fault that you have grown unaccustomed to adventure, my dear dwarf. But as you should recall from our days in the Rohan, some journeys are doomed to be frightfully eventful.”

The silence that followed seemed to progress in distinct stages: at first icy and still, before the air between Haluin and Jokim somehow warmed without any words exchanged. Jokim relaxed his fighter’s posture.

“So you have a plan, then?”

“Of sorts...”

“Of sorts! We’ll need better than that.”

“Which is why I’ve come to speak with the both of you. Yes, that is correct, Druri. Stop pretending to flip those pages and join us!”

Druri hardly needed such a formal invitation. He rolled right off the bed, flipping the book away with a careless toss. “Do we really get to wear disguises, Haluin?”

Jokim stared down his nephew, shook his head, and then turned to (alas, once again!) conspire with the Elf.

---

Merrill slumped in his chair and listened to the muffled tones behind the closed door. Mirina’s voice, soft and distant, sparring with the cold drone of her father. He wanted to join them in there, but could not. He did not look at the faces of the others who passed him by in the hallway.

He was a sullen lad of sixteen, with a body of nothing but gangly limbs and sharp angles. His straw-colored hair clung limply to his scalp as though it were permanently wet. Most of his young life he had been content to dream. Now, finally, he had taken his first significant action, and this was the result.

From the reprimanding tones of his jailers and the villagers who had jeered him while he was pilloried in the town square, Merrill got the impression that he was supposed to be sorry for his deeds. He was not. How could anyone understand?

The interrogation went on for some time, and the lad began to fidget. Then Mirina began to sob, and he was on his feet. Ear against the door, mouth agape, face contorted in worry, listening.

“This is all true... you swear that to me?”

“Father, yes. You must believe me... for all I have done...”

“No, Mirina...”

There was more, but it was too soft for Merrill to hear. He strained for a good five minutes, nearly denting the wood with his pressing ear alone. But there were only snatches of words and choked sobs... from both of them? No, that could not be. Merrill had never seen the old man weep or mourn... even when his wife passed.

Suddenly there were footsteps from within the room, heading toward the door. Merrill crashed to his rear, and then scrambled back to his seat. He stole a glance at both father and daughter as the door opened. Their eyes were moist.

“Merrill.” Torgard called him up like a hound. The lad stood, reluctant and obedient, and slunk behind the father. He was no longer allowed to stand beside Mirina.

“What now, father?” Mirina asked, eyes hugging the floor, her gaze hiding from Merrill’s.

“We shall meet with the party that captured you on the plains. I owe them a debt of gratitude for halting your flight.”

“And the Elf...?” There was no question as to which Elf Mirina was referring to.

“I shall speak to him alone.” The mist fled from Torgard’s eyes. Both children looked to him in the gaping silence that followed. He stared straight ahead, and marched dead center down the inn's halls. Merrill’s wrist was crushed firmly within one of his square fists.