# Stranger in a Strange Land



## baragund (Mar 14, 2005)

PROLOGUE 

This was John Bates’ first vacation since high school and, at age 27, he was exhausted. 

He had graduated from college with a degree in engineering five years earlier while holding down two jobs to help pay his tuition, and immediately entered a trainee program for NorCon, one of the top five international construction companies in the world. Thus began a routine of 70-80 hour workweeks, including most weekends, on the construction of a billion dollar oil refinery located on the Gulf coast of Mississippi. Fourteen-hour workdays, six days per week were the norm and much of his salary went to paying the student loans that put him through college. He slept in a plain one-bedroom apartment in an inexpensive part of town and his main source of diversion was his participation in various company-sponsored sports leagues like softball, soccer and flag football.

His was a work ethic marked by thoroughness and willingness to take on even the most mundane of tasks. He had an unobtrusive yet engaging personality that earned him friends among laborers and management alike. Soon he was marked in the company as an employee worth keeping and nurturing but at the same time wringing every last bit of production out of him before he “burned out”. Shortly after his third anniversary with NorCon, John was offered the opportunity to return to university for his MBA while continuing his work as a project engineer. He was being groomed for senior management. True to form he eagerly accepted and effectively doubled his workload by attending night school while maintaining his regular job responsibilities.

For the next two years, John’s life became an endlessly repeating cycle of work and study. Five hours of sleep on a given night was considered an unaffordable luxury. At times, he would ponder why he was subjecting himself to this but he reasoned a short time of crushing work was worth a lifetime in a secure and prosperous career. During this time, he met, fell in love and eventually became engaged to his classmate Jennifer Mullen, an ex debutante, a blueblood who saw in him the means to a continuing life of wealth and power, the wife of a bright young star with a promising career in one of the most powerful corporations in the country.

Somehow he got through the program. He successfully defended his thesis and graduated. Now, before beginning serious planning for their upcoming wedding, the young couple was on a two-week vacation in Bermuda. They booked a picturesque cabaña on a private beach shaded by palm trees and they spent their time swimming, snorkeling and relaxing on the beach.

One day John booked a daylong deep sea fishing trip, plying the waters west of the island. Jennifer had wanted to spend the day shopping; shopping was not one of John’s favorite activities so this arrangement was considered a “win-win” for both of them. 

He set out at first light with Stan and Martin, residents of a neighboring cabana he had befriended and they soon arrived at the municipal docks. The boat they were hiring was on the small side, about forty feet, but it seemed serviceable enough. The captain was a gregarious Jamaican who had a broad smile, but a quiet air of competence that resulted from many years on the water. They stowed their fishing gear along with coolers full of cold beer and sandwiches and set off, heading west by southwest. 

It was a hot, still, cloudless day and it wasn’t long before the men peeled off their shirts in the bright sun. The sea was calm, like a pond, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of a breeze. Still, the companions enjoyed themselves. Even though there was a curious lack of fish, they swapped stories, ate, drank and enjoyed each other’s company, as their boat made it’s way further out to sea.

They made their way thus for several hours. Shortly before noon, the western sky began to grow dark as if a bank of thunderstorms were approaching them. “Bloody weathermen,” cursed the Jamaican. “They said no rain today. Well, we’ll take a long slow turn an’ cruise home just ahead o’ the thunderheads. No loss though, you’d sooner catch a cold than catch a fish wi’ your luck!” 

John didn’t mind. He was starting to get a headache from all the beer he drank in the hot sun, and he didn’t mind not catching anything. Being out on the open sea with good companions, no deadlines and no pressures was more than enough for him. He reclined in his seat, pulled the bill of his ball cap down and closed his eyes so he didn’t notice the look of concern that creased the captain’s face when he started to make his turn but his compass did not indicate any change in direction. From looking at the boat’s wake, the captain reasoned they should be headed more or less north but the compass still showed south by southeast. He began tapping the side of the compass, thinking it was stuck when the engine sputtered, coughed and died.


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## baragund (Mar 16, 2005)

DEPARTURE

John sat up and looked around when the engine died. The black thunderheads were noticeably closer but it was still dead calm where their boat lay. The captain was now cursing a blue streak and the tone of his voice was starting to veer off from mere irritation to genuine concern as he removed the access panels to the engine and began searching for the cause of the breakdown. Stan was helping by producing a toolbox from the hold and shining a flashlight into the dark engine compartment. Martin sat down next to John and, while opening another bottle of beer, said in mock concern, “Well, we are in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle you know” and he started humming the theme song from “The Twilight Zone”. 

“Shut up, Butthead,” John laughed, but he was starting to get worried. The thunderheads looked like it menacing and, judging from how hot and still it had been all morning, he did not want to be stuck on the open ocean on a drifting boat in what could be a nasty storm. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call his fiancée Jennifer and his eyes creased with concern when he discovered it was dead.

“Hey, let me use your phone. Mine’s dead,” he said to Martin, now listening with greater attention as Stan and the captain continued working, unsuccessfully, on the engine. “I want to give Jen a heads up.”

“Oh you are so whipped already”, Martin joked. “Have to call Mom at the drop of a hat.” John mouthed an expletive in reply. His joking stopped when he retrieved his own telephone from his backpack and discovered it too was dead.

“What the hell…” he murmured. “I charged this thing this morning. 

“Hey Stan,” he now called. “John’s and my phones just crapped out. Let me see yours.” 

Stan tossed his phone to his friend while the captain tried unsuccessfully turning over the engine. The starter motor started cranking slower and slower and, finally, stopped altogether. A quick look revealed that Stan’s telephone was just as dead as the other two. A breeze began to pick up and the boat started rocking gently as the thunderheads blotted out the noon sun.

“I’m a-callin’ for help,” the captain announced. He reached for the radio that was located next to the steering wheel and discovered it worked no better than any other mechanical device on the boat. “What the f--- is going on?” he cursed. “How can everything stop working at…”

He stopped in mid-sentence and stared in disbelief at the compass. Whereas before it was stuck in one direction, now it was rotating at a steady pace of about a revolution per second even though the boat was still motionless. 

The captain looked up at the three men with a look of real fear etched on his face. “You best get your life-jackets on, an’ get ready for anything”, he said in a sober tone.

The first puffs of wind and raindrops arrived as they donned their gear and within the next minute, it escalated to a gale and a torrent. Powerless and adrift, it would not be long before the boat would be swamped. Already, the waves had turned the boat athwart and each subsequent wave made the boat rock more dangerously. The fishing boat was too small to have its own life raft but too large to maneuver with oars. All they could do was pray that the storm would play out before they were sunk.

But it was not to be so. The storm rose in intensity to the point where it looked like the sea was boiling. A wave came that rose half again as high as the top of the cabin. It crashed over the boat, capsizing it. The men were tossed into the sea and separated. As he was being tossed, John’s knee hit the gunwale hard and stars flashed in front of him from the pain. Fortunately, he was a strong swimmer so he had no trouble getting away from the boat as it foundered and sank. A large white ice chest that was to be used for their catch bobbed by and he grabbed onto it. He called out to his companions but there was not response. It was dark as a deep dusk so he could not see clearly more than twenty or thirty feet and he saw no one. 

A couple of bungee chords were attached to the handles of the ice chest. These he managed to wrap around his arms at the armpits to secure himself better to his makeshift life raft. Even though it was full of water, it floated well enough to support him.

So this was how he rode the storm. Each time a wall of water would crash on him, his ice chest brought him back to the surface. He did not know how long this lasted, for his Rolex watch also stopped working, but he guessed it had to have been a couple of hours. 

But the storm did stop. The clouds broke, revealing a brilliant sun low over the western sky. The earlier hazy, hot, humid weather was now replaced by a crystal clear blue sky with a fresh breezed out of the west. It was noticeably cooler now and John began to shiver, for all he wore were shorts and a golf shirt. His sneakers he kicked off so to swim better. The pain in his knee gave way to a dull throb but he could feel the swelling and he knew he could not bend it very well.

He looked about him and there was not a trace of the boat or his companions. There was not even a trace of debris or an oil slick from the fuel tanks. But he had never smelled air as fresh as he did when the clouds broke and the late afternoon sun shone down on him.


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## baragund (Mar 17, 2005)

John took stock of his situation. Although he was trim and a decent athlete, he realized he did not have a lot of time before thirst and weariness would overcome him. Also, cold was becoming a major concern. He noticed the water temperature was significantly lower after the storm than before, and the temperature was dropping noticeably as the sun set. The ice chest to which he clung was made of white plastic so, he reasoned, any aircraft searching for his party should be able to spot him. Fortunately, the sea was not too rough despite the stiff breeze out the west and this enabled him to somewhat climb on top of the chest. Also, he was grateful that the skin around his knee was not broken even though it hurt like hell. He knew that any bleeding into the water would attract every shark for miles around. 

So a cloudless night fell with John half lying, half clinging to his ice chest. And it was the longest night of his life. The air became quite chilly and he was soon shivering violently. His limbs were stiff and sore but he could only move with the utmost care or he would tumble off of the chest into the cold water. Agonizing cramps alternated with excruciating numbness. To pass the time he sang out loud in a croaking voice every song he could think of. Rock and roll, country and western, show tune, even Christmas carols. When he exhausted everything, he looked at his watch it only read 11:00 PM. He cursed in despair and wondered if he would get through the night. In his gloom, he took to simply watching the second hand sweeping around the dial of his watch; minute after minute after minute. 

As his spirit wallowed, thoughts of ending his suffering crept into his mind. It would be so easy to just unfasten the bungee chords, let go of the chest, take off his life preserver and sink below the waves. He checked the time: 2:00 AM. So long until dawn and the warming sun and so easy to just let go…

But now an odd thought popped into his mind. When he checked the time again, he noticed how bright it was that night. He picked his head up and saw, for the first time, how the stars blazed as if, well, as if they were closer or as if they were brand new. It was as light as if there would have been a full moon but there was no moon that night. John puzzled over this. In his first days with Norcon, he worked as a roustabout on oilrigs in the Gulf of Mexico, so he was familiar with how bright the stars can be on a clear night far from the lights of any town but this was something different. He turned himself as best he could to study the sky better.

He took an astronomy class in college and now he tried to pass time by identifying individual stars, planets and constellations. This is better than seeing them through the telescope at the university, he thought. As he gazed he noticed a constellation far in the north he did not remember. It had seven stars and it was sickle shaped. “What is that?” he wondered aloud. He went through all the stars and constellations he could remember from his class again and again but he could not recall what it was. But as he continued looking at them, the desire to slip into the sea that had been growing in his mind somehow faded and went away.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 18, 2005)

Cuivienen...creation, awakening. 

The distant sound of horn and hoof...these were Nilme's first memories. A great being, born on a great steed led them Westward and as they travelled...he met a kinsman, a kinsman who would become his master...for a time. 

They discovered that they were named...Quendi, People of the Stars and the great being, who called himself Orome, loved them. Many feared him, yet Nilme was among those who followed.

Long years passed and in that time, kingdoms were established, and the Elves flourished in all things. Doriath was one of those kingdoms and there he came under the apprenticeship of Eol. He admired Eol's independence and so, when Eol chafed at being within the Girdle of Melian, he took with him a small band of willing servants, each cunning and skilled in their own endeavours. Nilme's strength lay in attention to detail and his love for birds of prey. Eol made him steward to his household and thus it remained...until the Lady came.

Nilme winced at the memory even as he sat on a hillside, looking out over a harbour he knew not the name of. He sighed heavily as he remembered his lord's anger at finding the Lady and his son gone. He and the other servants were forgotten and many left to go their own way, but he had waited, until at last word came to him that all, all of the house of Eol were slain. Grief took him and he began wandering he cared not where.

His birds, ever faithful, stayed with him. Aran and Tari, a mated pair of peregrines and Alcarin, his pride. She was a beautiful falcon, much larger than the pair, her feather pattern beautiful bars of black and brilliant white. As he sat, she settled on his shoulder and began preening. Nilme ruffled her chest feathers lightly and her black eye fixed him with a haughty stare. High above, the pair glided effortlessly, no doubt hunting the evening meal.

Sadness filled him as the thought of yet another friendless night made itself known. Never very open, Nilme nevertheless enjoyed the companionable feeling of having someone there, someone to converse with. _Regrets, Nilme? You? When did you ever need anyone or anything? You..always so self-relaint and strong?_ He grimaced at his inner voice, then rose and began walking, this time down to the harbour, hoping to drown the voice inthe rushing noise of the surf below.


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## baragund (Mar 18, 2005)

ARRIVAL

5:00 AM. Another hour before sunrise and John was struggling to stay awake. But he had to stay awake. If he dosed, he would loosen his hold on the chords and slip beneath the waves. So he began banging his head against the hard plastic of the ice chest to introduce a new and different source of pain. And he recited aloud anything he could think of: children’s stories, letters he had written, the Declaration of Independence, anything. With maddening slowness the time passed.

The slightest hint of pink and orange appeared in the east. He stared at it, not yet daring to believe that daylight was finally coming, but the colors grew and the night stars began to blend in with the morning sky. Morning had come. Normally he was not the spiritual sort, but this morning John uttered a prayer of thanks.

At the earliest light there appeared to be a bank of cloud on the eastern horizon, but as the light grew and gave definition to the shapes, he realized that was not cloud but land! Beyond his wildest hope the western breeze that blew all night and the previous afternoon brought him back to the shores of Bermuda.

Or was it? As the sun broke the horizon, he saw this was not the low-lying tropical island coastline he left the day before. This was a great land, with rugged bluffs tumbling down to white beaches. And the hills were clad in mixed forests that mark a temperate climate, with broadleaf trees and pines, not the palm trees and other tropical plants he was expecting. Absent also were the towns, resorts, watercraft and other signs of human habitation. It was completely empty. “What is this place,” he wondered. “This is too big to be Bermuda, and the climate’s all wrong.”

He figured he must have somehow entered the Gulf Stream and was blown north as well as west. But where? He went through the possibilities in his mind: The Canary Islands? The Azores? Good God this can’t be the Portuguese coast! No, all those places were hundreds of miles away and he was adrift for less than 24 hours. 

As he studied the shoreline trying to solve this puzzle and find some sign of human habitation, his eyes rested on a great promontory of land that jutted out into the sea away south. On this promontory there arose a great tower of stone. It was huge, at least as tall as the Washington Monument but more massive, with openings and ledges on multiple levels. It looked like it could serve as a lighthouse, but also as a medieval fortress. And its architecture indicated it was old, ancient even, but it looked like it was well restored, or even new. John wondered at the architecture and tried to place it but couldn’t: Moorish, Gothic, Romanesque? None he could think of quite fit but it had an organic quality that he found quite beautiful.

He started to try to swim toward the tower but quickly realized that the current was bearing him north. His disappointment turned to new hope as he now saw the opening of a large bay or harbor to the north and the current was taking him there. What’s more, it appeared the tide was going in. He guessed he was a couple of miles from shore and he wanted to make land before the tide turned. He had to swim to make it.

His muscles and joints, which had been locked in one position all night, resisted fiercely as he untied the chords, heaved himself off the ice chest and began to swim. Sharp stabs of pain coursed up his leg from his injured knee as he kicked his legs. Often he had to stop and rest, letting his life jacket hold him above the water, but slowly, the shore came closer. 

The sun was almost at its zenith when John rode a wave to the beach and he touched the white sand. He had never been so spent in his life. He pulled himself up the beach as far as was needed to keep the surf from pulling him back out and there he lay for many minutes, chest heaving, staring at the clear blue sky. After a while, he gathered enough strength to try to get himself out of the water altogether. Slowly, painfully, he tried to stand, but his injured knee buckled under when he tried to put weight on it and he crumpled back into the surf. Spitting sand and salt water from his mouth, he half crawled half dragged himself past the surf line and onto dry sand. He stopped, letting the warm sun caress his back and, within a minute, he was fast asleep.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 21, 2005)

Dawn found Nilme no less pensive than all the years in recent memory, however..._this_ dawn had brought him at last to the sea.

_The Sea!_ 

Of all the songs orchestrated by Iluvatar, the most loved by the Teleri. His face lit by an unaccustomed smile, Nilme made his way down to the water's edge, his avian friends disdaining to share in his joy. They rode the currents of the air as he plucked several shells from the waves and turned them over and over in his hands. 

A cry from above called his attention down the shore to where a figure lay in seeming sleep. Curious, he began to walk along the beach, tucking his newfound treasures in his pouch to inspect later. As he neared the prone figure, he halted. Something was very wrong about this person. For one thing, the clothing was very strange. He appeared to have a short vest of brilliant orange and very short breeches...and no boots. Why?

Nilme began to fear the Elf was dead and sorrow filled him. He ran the last short distance to the body and knelt beside it to see whether or not..._Valar aid me!_ He thought as he recoiled. This was no Elf! His ears were rounded and he had hair on his face...what _was_ this? Nilme retreated slowly lest he awaken whatever, whoever this was. Was it some form of Orc? Surely it was no Dwarf...he had seen and spoken with many of the Naugrim while in Eol's service. Hand on his dagger, he slowly paced a circle around the fallen figure and thought. _It appears to be half-drowned, yet it lives and is possibly gravely injured. Should I aid it? _ 

Many things caught his inquisitive eyes, such as the band on it's left wrist, the reddened skin that now bore blisters. He felt he should do something, but his distrustful nature nearly made him turn away. A groan made him glance reluctantly back over his shoulder, only to see he was being watched. Without conscious thought, he drew his dagger and waited.


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## baragund (Mar 21, 2005)

MEETING


Three things caused John to wake up. First, the breeze freshened again and despite the warm sun, chilled him through his wet clothes. Second, his mouth was as dry as if it had been stuffed with cotton wadding. He had had nothing to drink in over 24 hours and he could not work up any saliva in his mouth no matter how hard he tried. Finally, hunger and thirst had given him a headache that could kill a mule.

Groaning, he lifted his head and looked in front of him. The beach was perhaps 30 yards to where the jagged bluffs tumbled down meeting it. At this spot they were around 100 feet high and they were topped by dense old-growth forest. It had to be old-growth for he had never seen trees of such a height or girth. 

A feeling that he was being watched crept over him. He looked to one side and saw nothing. He looked to the other side and saw, standing not five paces from him, what he thought was a man. The stranger was white, youngish-looking, slender with long straight dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore clothing that John did not recognize and would not associate with beachwear. He wore a well-tailored shirt or tunic, tight-fitting knickers or breeches and supple boots that laced up to the knee. But what really got John’s attention was the knife in his hand and the crouching stance that showed this person was about to attack. “Oh great”, he thought. “After all this, some ***hole wants to rob me.”

Still lying on his stomach, John held his hands over his head and said in a loud but croaking voice, “My knee is hurt and I can’t walk. I’ve been in the water for over a day with nothing to eat or drink. I was on a fishing boat that got swamped in the storm yesterday.” And then he proceeded to tell the newcomer the name of the boat and the port he sailed from in Bermuda. 

“If you help me, I’ll give you a reward that would be better than what you’ll find in my wallet,” he concluded. “But I need water, and we need to contact the Coast Guard.” 

The stranger did not answer but assumed a less threatening pose. John didn’t know if he understood so he repeated himself in Spanish. Still no response. He tried greetings in other languages where he knew a few words: French, Italian, German, and Portuguese. Still nothing. 

He slowly and painfully rose to a sitting position, studied the stranger more closely and noticed for the first time his pointed ears. Now he tried hard not to stare but this was a first. John had heard of cultists and others out on the fringe who alter their appearance: crackpots who file down their teeth to look like werewolves or vampires. But he had never heard of anybody who cropped his or her ears, like a Doberman Pincher or a Boxer. “Must be one heck of a Star Trek fan,” he thought to himself. Still, he needed help from this person so he was not going to do or say anything to offend.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 23, 2005)

Nilme lowered his dagger as the being before him spoke. He used several dialects that Nilme had never heard before, but it was obvious to him that this one was quite intelligent. He moved slowly toward the person, who winced in pain as he shifted position in the sand. Could this be a messenger from Ulmo who had somehow become injured? Could one of Ulmos's messengers even _become _ injured? He sheathed his dagger and opened his hands, palm outward, to show he meant no harm and the person held very still as Nilme crouched next to him.

"Whence come you? Have you been sent to me from Ulmo?" The man's face looked dismayed and Nilme sighed. Apparently Sindarin was not among the tongues this one knew. Nilme carefully looked the man over and noticed that his knee was swollen and bruised. "Can you move it?" he asked, bending his own knee at the same time. The man's eyes followed his movements and he shook his head in negation. The Elf stood, looking along the beach and gave a satisfied chuckle. Not far up the beach there lay a large piece of driftwood, large enough to be fashioned into a staff with any luck. Without wasting another moment, he ran along the strand to the wood, which upon inspection turned out to be too long. Silently cursing, he wondered why he was going to the trouble of helping this unknown creature. After all, hadn't he been happy living alone, venturing when and where he would? The answer came back to him, _"No, thou fool...you cannot hide forever. This one has done you no harm. Trust!"_ 

With a sigh, he had to agree with his inner voice. Perhaps by aiding someone, Nilme could at last learn to trust again. But first, he had to find a way to get this foundling up the steep sandstone cliff. Doubtless he was hungry and thirsty and from the look of his skin, probably in pain from more than his knee. Nilme looked around and there against the base of the cliff lay another. smaller piece of driftwood. This he caught up and brought back to the man. 

The man groaned when he realised what the Elf intended and he spoke several harshly inflected words. Nilme let the "staff" fall as he helped the man to rise. He let him lean on his shoulder to get his balance, then bent swiftly and helped him grasp the staff. "Come with me." Nilme said, hoping his voice sounded encouraging even if he wasn't understood. They hobbled together a few steps and the man stopped, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. "John." he said, pointing to himself. He then gestured to Nilme and shrugged his shoulders, a question in his eyes. The Elf smiled, for what felt like the first time in years. "Nilme..." Then he held out his arm and whistled shrilly. Within moments two small falcons came to rest on his forearm and John ducked as a third landed on Nilme's shoulder, only to take flight again. Nilme chuckled. "Alcarin." he said, his eyes following her upward spiral. "Tari i Aran." The pair looked at John fixedly, then he tossed them skyward with a laugh. John shook his head and they began again the long trek up the cliffside.


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## baragund (Mar 23, 2005)

John was grateful that the stranger sheathed his knife and held out his hands in a gesture of assistance, but he was still wary that this person was armed. But then the stranger spoke and much of this suspicion gave way to curiosity coupled with an unexplained reassurance.

It was a language he could not place; it was musical and soothing and it somehow put him at ease. One word seemed to stand out from the others: _“Ulmo”. _ He had no idea what that was. When the stranger ran off to retrieve the piece of wood to be used as a makeshift crutch, John wondered if that was his name. As he was making their way up the beach, one arm on the crutch and the other around the stranger’s shoulder, John stopped, indicated his own name then pointed to the other asking, “Ulmo?” The other laughed out loud in reply, a sound that struck him as clear, as pure, as joyous a sound as the pealing of silver bells. This sound put his mind further at ease, and the remaining suspicion over the dagger faded away. Still chuckling, the stranger then indicated that his name was Nilme and they continued on their way up the beach.

As they reached the head of the beach, John saw steps cut into a deep cleft in the cliffside. These steps were smooth to the point of being polished and broad with a finely wrought bronze handrail fastened to one wall. These steps took no small level of skill to cut. They were cut into the rock with no fillers or other materials to smooth and even them. Yet they were perfectly shaped and spaced. Slowly they made their way up the steps and when they reached the top, a sight greeted him that made him softly whistle in admiration. 

It was one of the most exquisitely built and sited homes he had ever seen. It was constructed of stone and timber in that unfamiliar style similar to the great stone tower he had seen away to the south. It was not particularly large but the stone and wood included a delicate curvilinear pattern of fitting and of detail carving that indicated a level of skill possessed by only the finest craftsmen. The roof was slate and steeply peaked. The house was situated in a kind of glade in the forest of gigantic old-growth trees in such a way that the tree canopies seemed to cradle and protect it, but a roofed patio extended from one side that offered a spectacular view of the ocean and harbor. After seeing the strange tower, this person who spoke in a language he had never heard and who could command falcons as if they were pets, and now this other-worldly home setting, a unsettling thought began to grow in John’s mind: “Where _am _ I? This is not like anyplace I have ever been or read about.”

Within the roofed patio was a grouping of comfortable chairs and couches. Nilme guided his unexpected guest across the immaculately manicured lawn to the patio, helped him ease into one of the couches and propped up his injured leg. He then retreated into the house and soon returned with a large pitcher of water and a cup. 

John gulped down two cups of water as if his life depended on it. When he started a third, Nilme motioned to him to slow down or he would get sick. John nodded in understanding and began to pace himself. As he continued to drink, he drew his wallet from the pocket of his shorts, pulled his driver’s license out and handed it to Nilme. He held his hand up to his ear with the thumb and pinkie extended in what he thought was the universally understood pose of making a telephone call and said in a slow and carefully enunciated voice, “I need to call for help. May I use your telephone?”


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## chrysophalax (Mar 27, 2005)

Nilme found himself quite puzzled by John's actions. Why was he making such odd hand gestures? He divested himself of the small pack he carried with him and settled himself on the ground near where John sat. The small oddly coated piece of aprchment in his ahnd drew his attention and he looked at it carefully. Interestingly enough, it bore John's likeness, though his face assumed a peevish, impatient look in the image. There were also many symbols and when he turned it over, it flashed in the lowering sun. He handed it back to John, who looked at him most urgently. "Well?"

With a heavy sigh, Nilme pondered. He had always been good at dialects, having even picked up several Orcen phrases from several raiders. Quenya he chose not to speak as it seemed to be the privilege of the High Elves alone. Therefore he took this as a challenge and if he were to help this one, it was imperative that they understand one another. John held up his fingers again in that same odd sign and Nilme shook his head, shoulders shrugging. John's fingers clenched around the cup so hard it cracked. John yelped as water spilled into his lap and Nilme, despite himself , began to chuckle.

A string of strongly worded invectives were hurled at Nilme, along with the remains of the cup which he easily dodged. He rose and disappeared into the home of Linwen, a healer whom he had hoped would be able to help John, but she was probably out gathering herbs somewhere. He rummaged around and brought out an old grey tunic that was clean, then returned only to find john struggling to rise from the couch he had been disposed on. Nilme went to his side but was rebuffed. He raised a sardonic eyebrow and tossed the tunic across John's lap, resuming his seat on the ground. If John was going to be stubborn and re-injure himself, he could do it without the Elf's aid.

His face red with anger and frustration, John had stripped off what was left of his shirt and was trying to dry off the cold water. Couldn't this guy see that he was in trouble? Miles from nowhere, no decent hospital probably...He ran his hands throgh his hair, trying to think. If he couldn't make Nilme understand him, he would be s.o.l. and he knew it. He picked up the tunic Nilme had dropped in his lap and was amazed at the softness of the material. It was nothing fancy, but the texture was like silk, only thicker. After looking it over, he pulled it on over his head, then nodded curtly. "Thanks." Nilme bowed his head graciously, going more on the tone in John's voice than anything else.

John spread his arms and looked about him, then back at Nilme. "Where is this? Is this yours? Your house?" Again, Nilme shook his head, trying to think how to get through to John. He reached for a shard of the cup, holding it up. _"Yulma."_ He reached forward and touched the tunic. _"Laupe...Linwen's laupe."_ He then gestured to John and touched his own tunic, a question in his eyes. For the first time since the accident, John grinned. Eagerly he replied, "That's a shirt and that..." he pointed, "is a cup. Now...where in hell _am_ I?"


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## baragund (Mar 29, 2005)

Breakthrough


John immediately regretted his flash of anger. It was not Nilme’s fault that they could not understand each other. His feelings of frustration were now being replaced by puzzlement and curiosity. John again took in his surroundings. This was a most gracious home; it’s quiet, unobtrusive and harmonious setting could easily distinguish itself in the most exclusive suburban neighborhoods of New York, Boston, London or Paris. Yet, as he studied the house and its surroundings, he realized that there was no sign of electrical service. No power lines leading to the house, the fixtures besides the doors were clearly lanterns of some sort, and there were no electric lights or signs of any electrical appliances in the house. He then studied the tunic that Nilme had given him. The quality of the garment was better than what one would find at the finest department stores yet it was obviously used like it was as ordinary as a well worn sweatshirt. 

He looked at the pieces of the cup on the ground and the large fragment that he hurled at Nilme and he felt like an idiot. He pointed at the fragments and spoke apologies as clearly as he could. Then he gestured at the cozy _laupe _and said thank you as clearly as he could. Nilme nodded in understanding.

As John removed his wet shirt and put on the _laupe_, an idea crept into Nilme’s mind. He had wondered at the generous helping of body hair that covered John’s chest, stomach, arms and legs, not to mention the four-day growth of what promised to be a thick beard. “He has hair like a Dwarf,” he mused. “But he’s taller than me. Could this be one of the Edain?”

Nilme had heard of these newcomers, who had wandered into Beleriand from the East some twenty years earlier, although he had never met one. He knew that some of them were closely allied with the Noldo Finrod and that they had settlements to the north. They had their own peculiar manner of speech and he tried to recall the phrases he had picked up from other scholars.

He motioned to John to get his attention and then began to speak in a slow and measured tone. There were a lot of words that John did not understand and there were unfamiliar words that sounded like proper names such as “Beor” and “Hador”, “Dorthonion” and “Hithlum”. But then there was a phrase, heavily accented like he had never heard before, that sounded like “…from whence you came”. John sat up in attention, stopped Nilme and repeated the phrase. The Elf brightened and repeated very slowly, “Tell me from whence you came.”

Finally, John thought, a breakthrough. He will tell this helpful but strange person where he’s from; he’ll get to another house that has a telephone and get himself rescued. He picked up his driver’s license, pointed to the address and repeated the name of the town on the gulf coast where he was presently living. The Elf shrugged his shoulders. John pressed, “It’s on the gulf coast of Mississippi”. Nilme responded “Mississs..?” “You know,” John continued. “In the U.S.A.” “Yoo-Esss-Ayyy?” Nilme answered in an uncomprehending voice, and then asked if John came from “beyond the Eastern Mountains.”

Frustration began to build again. John asked, “Do you have a map?” Nilme indicated that he did and retreated into the house. He returned a moment later with a rolled scroll of parchment. He unrolled it and showed John a hand-drawn map of Beleriand and the lands of northwest Middle-earth. John studied it, confusion growing within him. The lettering was in a fine beautiful script but he couldn’t place with any written language he had ever seen. And although he knew his world geography pretty well, the depicted lands depicted on this map was of no coastline he knew. 

With a sickening feeling in his stomach, John got up from the couch with the aid of the piece of driftwood. He hobbled to the edge of the patio that overlooked the ocean. “Where I am from,” he prompted to Nilme. The Elf nodded his head eagerly. John pointed to the horizon at the setting sun and said emphatically _“U.S.A.”. _


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## chrysophalax (Apr 6, 2005)

An unbelieving eyebrow was lifted as John pointed to the West, apparently claiming that was his homeland. He was on the verge of kneeling to him, when Linwen came walking down the path which led back up the slight hill behind her dwelling. She was bearing a basket filled with fragrant flowers and several herbs, nearly full to over-flowing. Nilme called out a greeting and went to her, speaking rapidly as he gestured to where John sat impatiently.

"Linwen, I found him on the beach. He's injured, lost and he says he comes from the West! Is that possible? He's not an Elf...I don't know...will you help him?" She cut him off with a laugh. "Nilme...so foolish, of course I will! You spent far too many years cloistered away with Eol, my friend! It's obvious to anyone with eyes that he is one of the Edain and as for coming from the West..." Here she looked the man over critically. "There could be many islands of which we have no knowledge. Perhaps he comes from one of those." She knelt down next to the man, who looked at her in fascination. She too had gracefully pointed ears and was taller than most women he knew of. However it was her eyes that held him. Silvery grey they were, filled with wisdom far beyond anything he'd ever imagined. He would have found himself attracted to her, but while she appeared quite young, the eyes told him that she, like Nilme, were deceptive in their looks.

She looked at him questioningly as she knelt beside him and he cautiously nodded. He'd never been triaged like this before! He grimaced as she carefully explored his cuts and abrasions first, then his knee. Her brow furrowed she she probed gently, bending it slowly. John bit his lip to keep from crying out as she manipulated the knee carefully. He was sweating by the time she finished. She spoke softly to Nilme, then picked up the basket and went inside. Nilme came over to where John sat grumbling, then crouched at his side. "Linwen will help you." he said, speaking carefully. "She tells me that you are _atan_ , one of the Followers. Perhaps your island is one not on our maps. Tell me of this place. It may help to distract you while she tends your hurts."


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## baragund (Apr 7, 2005)

It took a moment for John to find his voice when the second Elf approached him. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her hair was the color of honey and she wore it in a single braid that extended almost to her waist. Her skin was a lighter shade of the same hue and contained not the slightest blemish, freckle or imperfection. But it was her silvery-gray eyes that held him. They gleamed like they had a light of their own and they seemed to peer through him as if he were made of glass, seeing every thought, fear, feeling, memory and desire he had. This effect was at first frightening and he had an impulse to turn away, run and hide. But within a couple of seconds, this fear was replaced by a feeling of reassurance, of well being, of understanding that she was aware of his flaws and nevertheless welcomed him. 

Those warm feelings were in turn quickly replaced by sharp pain as she started manipulating his knee but it seemed to him that she knew exactly what she was doing so he did his best to cooperate. Presently, she finished her examination retreated into the house to fetch some medicines. As he stared after her, he realized Nilme was speaking to him in that strange yet pleasant accent. ‘Atan’, ‘followers’, ‘my island’: Things that made that nagging feeling of unease grow in the back of his mind. 

“My island?” he murmured and the Elf nodded. John thought for a moment. Is it possible that this person never heard of America? How can that be unless you are some kind of hermit or a pygmy in the deepest part of the Amazon or someplace? And Nilme certainly is neither of those. So John started to describe landmarks and other things that he thought anybody who didn’t live under a rock their entire lives would recognize: The Statue of Liberty, baseball, McDonalds, Niagara Falls, the Beach Boys, the Grand Canyon, the Golden Gate Bridge, Coca-cola to name a few. Incomprehension and a growing look of amazement etched Nilme’s face as John talked. 

Linwen returned bearing a broad stoneware basin and long strips of soft cloth. The basin was filled with steaming hot water that looked like it was steeped with herbs of some kind. An aroma unique but vaguely reminiscent of cardamom filled the patio area that soon made John feel extremely relaxed. The Elf knelt in front of John and began dipping the strips of cloth into the warm water and tightly wrapping them around his injured knee. A feeling of warmth soon began to penetrate to the center of the knee joint but it was soothing and pleasant, unlike the harsh heat from, say, Ben-Gay or some other muscle-ache salve one would get at a drugstore. “Your knee is strained but there is nothing broken,” she told him. “I will change these wrappings every few hours and in a couple of days you will be able to walk.”

Already he could feel the ligaments in his knee loosening. As she worked, he found it hard not to stare at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the scent from the herbed water but before he knew what he was saying, he found himself blurting out stupidly, “Your ears and your husband’s. How did you have them done? Was it surgery or are they prosthetics?” 

Linwen stopped, gazed at John in the eye with a curious look, then over at Nilme. Then the two Elves erupted in laughter that had that same sound of pealing bells. John felt at once sheepish but not humiliated for the joyous sound of their laughter had no trace of malice or mockery in it. “We are not joined, Johnbates,” Nilme told him. “I am only sojourning here for a short time. But what you ask is so strange! All of the people here appear thus. It is you _Atani_, you Followers, who appear different, with rounded ears and hair on your face and body like a _Naugrim_.”

The soothing effect of the scented water was being replaced with a sickening feeling in John’s stomach and his throat felt like it was being squeezed. With a tight sounding voice he asked, “And who are you people? Why do you call me Follower? And what the hell is a Naugrim?”

Again the two Elves looked at each other. This time Linwen spoke: “Well, Nilme is one of Eol’s people, so he is _Avari_. I of course am one of Cirdan’s people so I am _Teleri_ but we are both _Quendi_ naturally, just like Finrod, to whom your forefathers pledged allegiance.” She saw a vacant look of incomprehension in John’s eyes. She and Nilme spoke to each other in their own language for a moment, then she continued in a matter-of-fact voice, “I believe the word in your tongue for _Quendi_ is Elves.”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 8, 2005)

John's jaw dropped open. "_Elves?_ ohhhhhhhhhhhkay..." He rolled his eyes and eased himself back on the couch. Glancing at each other, the Elves sat down near him, the better to answer his questions. Nilme spoke first. "We are the Children of Iluvatar, the Firstborn. You are Atani, the Secondborn, a Follower. _Naugrim_ are..." Here he looked to Linwen and he spoke a question in his won melodious tongue, then nodded. John could have sworn he heard..."Dwarves, I believe you would call them. You look much like them with the hair on your face and chest."

The looks and the sense they were both getting from John told them he was as lost as they were. Drawing a deep breath, Nilme closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "It is always wise to begin a tale, or a friendship at the beginning. Therefore, I will tell you of our beginning, if you will." John waved his hand expansively. "Sure, go ahead! I should have known...a cult..._Children of Iluvatar..._ " He snorted, then was suddenly chastened by the look on Linwen's face. "Go ahead.." he mumbled.

Nilme's countenance took on a serene expression as he spoke, his words unfolding like a treasured scroll long denied the light. "Iluvatar created this...Arda...the world upon which we live and breathe. We live in the land of Beleriand and that...is the Bay of Belagaer." He said, pointing to the westering sun. We are the Firstborn...first made of Iluvatar...and you...all the Atani came after. You are the first I have encountered. I sojourn at times with Linwen when my steps bring me to the sea, but oftimes I travel east of here, in Doriath where I dwelt for so long with my master, Eol. I was among the first to awaken in the east."

A flash of humour lit his face. "How old do you think me?" John looked Nilme over for a few minutes, then shrugged. "Thirty?" Silvery laughter made his ears burn. "You flatter me! I am many millenia old and will continue on for many millenia after this day has passed. In truth, none of those who first awakened know their true age, for time has only been measured since the appearance of the Sun."


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## baragund (Apr 8, 2005)

The rational side of John’s mind was screaming at him that all of this was a hoax, that these were kind people but they were odd recluses or cultists. But then he studied their faces, which looked youthful but also had a depth he could not explain, and he was not sure. His surroundings, which did not fit into anything he could think of, added to this doubt. Even the stars, which now began to shine with the deepening dusk and displayed that otherworldly brightness that he noticed the previous night, stopped him from making any more skeptical remarks. As he looked at the stars, a thought seized him.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself. “I didn’t get through last night. It was so cold. I must have slipped off the cooler and drowned. I’m dead and I passed on to… where?”

“No, you have not passed,” Linwen said in a soothing voice. She calmed him by placing her hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “But I think you have come from afar. Tell us, from the beginning, from whence you came.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly. “It’s best to start at the beginning.”


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## baragund (Apr 13, 2005)

“But tales are meant to be told on a full stomach, and I daresay you could use a good meal,” Nilme interjected. 

At the mention of food, John’s stomach began to growl and he began to realize he was feeling a little shaky from hunger. After all, he had not eaten since breakfast the previous day. Linwen produced a quite serviceable crutch and, with help from the Elves, John hobbled into the house.

The interior of the house was as comfortable and inviting as the outside. The doorway that connected the patio to the house led to a kind of sitting room or study. Deep overstuffed armchairs were gathered about an inviting stone fireplace while bookshelves and a writing desk lined the walls. A seascape painting occupied the wall above the fireplace that included sailing ships of a kind John had never seen before. They were reminiscent of Viking longboats but much more graceful and beautiful. And instead of the prow being fashioned to look like a dragon or gargoyle, these mimicked swans. On another wall hung a painting of a medieval battle scene; with one army of people who appeared like Nilme, but who appeared filled with a terrible rage and the other army of… he was not sure what. They did not appear quite human. Indeed, they appeared almost like gargoyles or something like a child would have nightmares about. It appeared in the painting that the army of people that resembled Nilme and Linwen was decisively beating these…beings.

The Elves deposited John in one of the armchairs and propped his leg on an ottoman. Nilme began to build a fire in the hearth to ward of the evening chill while Linwen retreated to the kitchen. “Nilme, I really appreciate everything you two are doing for me,” John said as the Elf worked. “I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know what happened to me. This place doesn’t look like any place I know. Not in person, not in books, not on TV. Not knowing what’s going on scares me and if I sound like a jerk, that’s the reason. But I am thankful that you two are being so nice to me.”

“I can see you are uncertain, and that frightens you,” Nilme responded. “But I think after we break bread together and talk fully and freely, we will understand each other better.” 

Nilme went back to building the fire without saying anything more. John looked at the books lining the shelves and dully shook his head as he realized that the print on all of their spines were in the same alien hieroglyphs he saw on the map the Elf showed him. 

Soon a cheerful blaze was crackling in the fireplace and candles were lit. At about the time Nilme finished his work, Linwen returned to the study carrying platters of cold meats, cheese, bread, butter, salad and pitchers of a mead-like drink. John ate and drank with relish and he had to try pretty hard not to wolf his food, but eventually he had his fill. Between the full stomach, warm fire, the mead and the aromatic wrappings around his knee, he was now feeling very relaxed and some of the anxiety had ebbed. 

But despite feeling better and despite Linwen’s earlier reassurance, he still semi-believed he had drowned the previous night. He had a feeling that he entered some kind of afterlife and that Linwen and Nilme were his guardian angels perhaps? Or maybe they will judge him, like Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates? As he drained his second goblet of mead, he decided to tell them everything about him.

So he told them the story of his life as a confessional. He described his childhood as the youngest son in a large family growing up in the suburbs of New York. He talked about his coming of age, his enlistment in the U.S. Navy after high school, going to college and his career. He talked about the times where he behaved badly: The time when he was an altar boy and he stole a bottle of communion wine and used it to get drunk with a buddy in the church parking lot. The times when he cheated on exams. The time he hit on his best friend’s girlfriend in college. He confessed a short temper, a tendency to judge and a lack of charity as his biggest personality flaws. He talked about his fiancée and how it was a marriage of convenience and a strategic alliance: He was marrying into one of the oldest families on the Gulf Coast and she was marrying an upwardly mobile professional in a lucrative and powerful business.

And then he described the events that brought him to these strange shores. The fishing trip, the unexplained break-down of the boats’ engines and instruments, the sudden storm, the boat being swamped and his separation from his companions, floating alone through the night, the appearance of the stars and the never-before-seen constellation in the northern sky, the strange yet majestic watch-tower he saw from off-shore and finally his landing on the beach.

As he talked, he made frequent allusions to the world he knew. He described suburban life with its’ tract housing, shopping malls, highways and automobiles. He talked about life in the military and his service on a destroyer. He described the cities and the countryside of the eastern United States where he lived or visited. He talked about his job as a construction engineer on a billion dollar oil refinery.

The fire had burned down to embers by the time he finished. When he brought his hosts up to the point where they rescued him on the beach, his voice was hoarse. Silence filled the room. He poured himself another goblet of mead, took a long drink, looked at the two Elves and asked in a nervous voice, “Well, what’s to happen to me? Did I lead a good enough life to be let in?”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 19, 2005)

The two Elves exchanged glances as John looked at them, concern and anxiety in every line of his body. Nilme moved to sit beside him. "John, we are not here to judge you. You have not gone to Mandos, if indeed your kind can enter therein. You are in Beleriand which lies in Middle Earth. The sea is Belegaer which glitters in the dying rays of the sun. I beg you, calm yourself. You have suffered much and rest is what you need." 

Linwen rose soundlessly, vanishing into the darkening house as Nilme assisted John to his feet. "Come, _mellon._ Sleep yet awhile. We will watch over you, you need have no fear. Once you have rested, I will do all I can to help you find your way." John nodded wearily as he slowly made his way through Linwen's home. Even in his current state of exhaustion, he couldn't help but appreciate the simple touches of beauty throughtout the small abode. Here a wind-chime of shells, bits of horn and wood tinkled, moved by the light evening breeze...and there, a harp-like instrument leaned in the corner. He sighed as they entered a small sleeping area at the back of the house. Soothing candlelight and a sleeping pallet piled with furs almost made his eyes drift shut of their own accord and he swayed where he stood.

Nilme's arm steadied him and the Elves made him comfortable as he gingerly lowered himself onto the pallet. His mind wanted, needed to know more, needed to find the answers to all his questions and he struggled briefly to stay awake, the thought occurring to him that he was being entirely too trusting. At Linwen's urging, Nilme left the room and she spoke to John softly, setting a pitcher of cool water and a cup on the table beside his bed. Weariness took him at last and he drifted, listening as the gentle sound of the harp came to his ears, a sound he found oddly comforting. 

Linwen watched John's eyes close in sleep, then left the room to join Nilme as he sat near her hearth, his fingers deftly plucking the strings of her instrument. He greeted her with a smile as she sat across from him. "Tell me what you're thinking, my lady."


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## Mirelena (Apr 19, 2005)

Concern etched the features of the fair elf as she drew near to Nilme. She was consumed by the appearance of 'John.' He was unlike any Linwen had met before, few though they had been. This man, while he resembled the Edain in body, seem foreign in spirit. They were strong, innocent and at peace with themselves. John, in contrast, was deeply supicious, agitated and self-conscious.

"Tell me what you're thinking, my lady." Nilme's voice broke through her reverie.

Linwen kneeled down, leaning lightly upon a large cusion and repeated her thoughts. Then her face broke into a smile as she added, "Though I cannot say I would feel differently were I him." Linwen's musical laughter stole out softly in the darkening room. Oustide she could see the brilliant stars, pinpricks in the vastness of the heavens, cast faint shadows upon the earth with their frosty light.

"His body is weary," Nilme said, "Perhaps after a night of rest, he will see things differently."

The healer nodded. "I believe he may have been soothed by your skill with the harp," Linwen hesitated a moment before continuing. "Perhaps you have soothed others, sir minstrel? Your master, Eöl, it is rumored, was troubled in spirit. Mayhap it is that you were destined to aid this man.
"I can heal his body, but his mind is beyond my skill as a healer. Herbs and salves can only do so much," she added wistfully. "But my home is his, as long as you stay."


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## chrysophalax (Apr 22, 2005)

Nilme smiled wanly as he set aside the harp. He had cringed inwardly at the mention of Eol's name, for he would have given everything to be able to soothe his master's troubled, restless spirit. However, he also knew that without it, Eol would never have crafted such fine weapons, pouring into them his essence, much as Feanor had in his own handiwork. He raised his head and looked toward the door to the room where John lay now in fitful sleep.

"Your words are kind, Linwen, and I thank you for them, but neither healer nor minstrel am I. As my name implies, I am faithful to those whom I trust." With a sigh, he looked away..._Trust, are there any I trust now?_ "But I will help him as I may. It would be cruelty not to." He slid his eyes to look at her as a thought occurred to him. "He may stay as long as I remain? Why is that, Lady? I know you have sheltered many under your roof that needed succour for a time. My presence has never been a requirement before....or does his strangeness frighten you?" He shifted forward on his seat to look at her more closely and touched her hand. "I detect no evil in him, no more so than lies in any one of us. He is merely...alone."

Again a chord sounded deep within him as he spoke and he felt a sudden kinship with John. They were both lost, displaced, though under entirely different circumstances.


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## Mirelena (Apr 25, 2005)

*The Healer's curse...*

The almost imperceptible blanch in Nilme's expression did not escape the notice of Linwen. His pain was summed up in one word- "Alone." It hung like a vapor in the stillness, darkening her sight and numbing her; numbed even to the warmth of Nilme's hand upon her own.
The healer was suddenly struck by the irony of her calling. To have the gift of restoring a body, but not a spirit. Linwen had a special love for all things living and a love for natural beauty. It showed in all she did. Her home was a reflection of herself. Again she was forced to recognize the sadness that tainted everything she did. The ability to restore in body only... That was her grief.

The silence grew stifling as Linwen flushed with shame and lowered her gaze. Nilme still awaited answers to his questions. Why _did_ she ask her friend to stay? Was she so disquieted by the appearance of the stranger that she would fear to be alone with him?
Nilme's words echoed faintly in her memory, _No evil in him..._ The fire snapped and popped, casting dancing shadows upon their faces as Linwen replied in a soft voice.
"Though I must confess a certain unease in the presence of the Edain, the source of my concern has little to do with himself. I wonder what is to happen to him. Those who dwell under my roof come only for a time. They seek healing and rest, and when they have found it, they go.
"It shall be no different with this one. I do not think he would remain long content in my home. Where then would he go? What would he do? I do not foresee him finding his home by returning over the sea.
"You know that I rarely travel abroad. I would be of little help to even point him in the right direction!"

Suddenly, Linwen laughed at the humor of it all. Her own self-pity that now seemed so distant and the strangeness of John, so far from everything he had ever known (_What he must be thinking!_) struck her as amusing. The darkness lifted from her sight and she again felt warmth and life in her blood. She felt merry and as she smiled she said, "Give me my harp, my friend..."


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## chrysophalax (Apr 27, 2005)

Distractedly, Nilme caught up the harp and handed it to Linwen, who began tuning it to suit her higher voice. He then rose and wandered back toward the bedroom where John lay sleeping. Soon, a sound of soft music filled the small cottage, causing Nilme to smile briefly. Never at ease, ever eager to set his feet to new pathways, he leaned against the opening to where the man lay sleeping and wondered what would come of this chance rescue.

John's chest rose and fell slowly, sleeping the sleep of the totally exhausted. Having satisfied himself that the man was well, Nilme walked back through the main area of the cottage and out into the night. A light breeze lifted his hair, making it waft like a banner behind him. Stars shone above him. Every night he sang a song of remembrance to them, the first light to greet the eyes of the Elves upon waking in the East. As he sang, his heart was gladdened to hear that Linwen's ear had caught his music and had quickly adapted her playing to compliment him. He felt certain that the stars turning above him delighted not in his song as much as he reveled in their beauty, but he cared not, as long as he able to tell them.

A sudden melancholy crept into the song as his thoughts turned again to John. How would he, Nilme, react were _he_ to find himself washed ashore in a land, in a time he had no reckoning of? The words faltered and died on his lips as the enormity of the man's situation sank in. _What if there is no returning for him? What if he is an exile here, separated from his kin, from everything he has ever known...how will he live with that knowledge?_ Icy fingers of fate closed about him and he shivered, though the wind held no chill. 

Dawn would find him gazing out across the water from the cliff's edge, wondering why Ulmo had chosen him to guide this stranger from a land far stranger than his own.


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## baragund (Apr 28, 2005)

That was probably the soundest and deepest night’s sleep John Bates had ever experienced. It was the kind of dreamless sleep where it seemed he had closed his eyes for a brief moment when in fact many hours passed. But his waking was gradual. First he was aware that he was awake while his eyes were still shut. He listened to the distant murmur of the surf, a gentle breeze whispering in the trees outside and blowing through an open window, the song of meadowlarks, the tinkle of wind chimes. He smelled the fresh sea air enhanced by a subtle scent of blossoms. He felt the softness of the bed linens under his body.

At first he thought he was back in Bermuda in the bedroom of the beach house he had rented with his fiancée Jennifer. But then he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a small bedroom with wood paneled walls, a wooden beamed ceiling and candle sconces on the walls. A small wardrobe and writing table stood against one wall. The open window looked inland into a primeval forest. At that moment he noticed the dull throb in his right knee, looked down and saw the cloth wrappings. Then the memory of the last two days flooded back to him. “Idiot!” he muttered to himself when he recalled the part where he stated to his rescuers his belief that he had died. The ache from his knee, the sting from his sunburn and other assorted minor hurts from his being shipwrecked told him pretty clearly he had not left his body… yet.

He got to his feet and found, if he was careful, that he could put weight on his injured leg. He gingerly walked to the window and took in his surroundings. He studied the trees that were for the most part recognizable varieties but they were enormous, as if they were hundreds of years old. Yet they had a vibrancy, as if each one of them had been dosed with Miracle Grow each year of their existence, that was not found in any forest he had ever known. It was becoming clear to him that this place was like no place he knew on God’s green earth. Then he thought about his hosts, Nilme and Linwen, and his brow knitted further in concentration. They too were different. Like the trees, they seemed to him youthfully vibrant yet old and wizened at the same time. “Elves?” he asked himself. The term conjured ridiculous images of Tinker Bell and Santa’s helpers. These people were no more like that than he was, but they had an otherworldly quality he could not put his finger on. 

Turning his mind back to figuring out where he was, he recalled the history of unexplained disappearances on the seas west and south of Bermuda, of planes and ships that vanish without a trace, of compasses and other navigation equipment going haywire, of whales and migrating fish losing their sense of direction. There were hypotheses that The Bermuda Triangle was some kind of portal to another world or another time. Was that what happened to him and his fishing boat? Given the only other alternatives he could think of were death and insanity, this was becoming a more palatable option.

He turned from the window, crossed the room and opened the door leading from his bedroom to the rest of the cottage. Other than the tinkle of the wind chime all was quiet. He made his way down a short corridor to the kitchen where he found Nilme seated at the table reading a book in the same alien script he noticed last night in the study.

“Hey there,” John said in friendly greeting as he sat down. “I’m feeling a lot better now, but I would kill for a strong cup of coffee. Does Linwen have any?”


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## chrysophalax (Apr 29, 2005)

An elegant eyebrow arched upward as Nilme glanced up at John next to him. "Coffee?" John lowered himself carefully onto the bench across from Nilme. "You know...coffee. A drink brewed from coffee beans grown in South...nevermind, forget it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to show his impatience with the situation. _No coffee...perfect!_ 

"Would there be breakfast then?" he asked hopefully. Glad that John was up and walking again, Nilme set aside the book and went to the window under which the table sat and spoke rapidly to someone outside whom John suspected was Linwen. His suspicions were confirmed as she entered the cottage through the back entryway a few moments later, bearing a basket brimming with fruit and what looked like a second cousin to the tomato.

Her face was flushed, her smile brilliant as she greeted both of them, Nilme with a chaste kiss on the cheek and John with a light pat on the shoulder. John grinned at her, his mouth beginning to water as the smell of fresh berries reached his nostrils. Nilme had gone to fetch bowls, mugs and a pitcher of some kind of fruit juice, all of which he brought to the table on a large wooden tray. John sat back as he watched the Elves, marvelling at their grace as they wove back and forth past each other in such a small space without spilling or dropping anything. 

His thoughts began to drift to intimate dinners he and Jennifer had made together, brushing against each other, teasing and whispering..._No!_ He closed his eyes briefly. It would do no good to think along those lines now...He opened his eyes to see two concerned faces looking back at him. He drew a steadying breath, then reached for a mug, which Nilme filled with the ruby-coloured liquid. John sniffed it cautiously, then sipped it. It's taste was tart and sweet at once and before he knew it, he was holding out his mug for more. 

A small tray of honey-cakes caught John's attention as Nilme and Linwen served him fruit from the basket before serving each other. Cakes soon followed juice, then berries that tasted vaguely like raspberries. "I'm pleased to see your appetite restored. You mend quickly!" John grinned at her as she turned to Nilme and tapped him on the arm. "And you...you were outside on the cliff brooding all night. Does something trouble you, _mellon-nin?_"

Nilme carefully cleared his throat. "Nay, Linwen...nothing. I was...watching the stars." John hadn't risen swiftly up the corporate ladder without knowing something about character and Nilme's words rang false to him. What was the Elf hiding?


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## baragund (May 3, 2005)

John watched the two Elves with quiet admiration as they worked together in the kitchen. They moved together as if each knew the next move of the other ahead of time, or as if their motions were choreographed. “Either they’ve been living together for decades or they can read each other’s minds,” he thought to himself. This scene of domestic tranquility made him recall Jennifer, his parents, his brothers and sisters, and he closed his eyes, giving in for a moment to a feeling of helplessness, that he would never see his home or the people he loved ever again.

When he opened his eyes and saw his hosts watching him with curious expressions, he blushed, feeling rather embarrassed. He owed his life to these people and they were showing him such kindness, he did not want to seem difficult or ungrateful. 

The breakfast of delicious but somewhat alien fruits and cakes allowed him to bring his mind to the current situation. If he could learn more about the surrounding area, maybe he would find a clue or a reference to the world he knew. When Nilme spoke about watching the stars last night, an idea came into John’s head. “Are you interested in Astronomy?” he asked. So far, the night sky was one of the few things that were common between this place and the world he knew. 

“As-tron-o-my”, Nilme sounded out the word slowly. Obviously, the term was not known to the Elf. “You know,” John pressed. “The study of the heavens, the stars, the cosmos. It’s a bit of a hobby of mine. I’ve always enjoyed the night sky and I know the basic constellations. The other night when I was floating out there,” he jutted his chin in the direction of the ocean, “I had a lot of time to stare at the sky. Where I live, the sky is the same as here except for two things. For one thing, I’ve never seen the stars so bright! Now I’ve spent time at sea and in the country where no light from nearby towns would dim them but here they are so bright, you can practically read by their light. And second, there are seven particularly bright stars in the northern sky that are in the shape of an arc, or a sickle maybe. I’ve never seen that constellation before. Do you have any idea what might explain those things? 

“Also, I saw the most amazing structure yesterday morning as I was reaching land. It was a tower of some sort or a maybe monument, located a few miles south of here high on a headland and it has a commanding view of the ocean on three sides. It’s huge, at least 500 feet tall and based on the stonework and styling, it should be ancient but it looks like it was built just a short time ago. Either that or it's been restored. Who built it, and what purpose does it serve, and how long has it been there?”


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## chrysophalax (May 3, 2005)

Glad to have escaped any enquiries into his comments, Nilme spoke up quickly. "It gladdens my heart to know you enjoy the lights of Varda as well. The sign you see in the night sky is the Sickle of Varda, set there as a warning to Melkor, he of evil name. We speak of him with hatred for he it was that...along with Ungoliant, a foul spirit in spider-form, drained the light of the Two Trees, so it has been said...though I was never blessed to have seen them.

Linwen's face took on a look of sorrow at the mention of the Trees and Nilme reached out and took her hand. "Forgive me, Linwen, I should never have spoken thus in such a peaceful dwelling as this." He turned again to John. "I see that I speak of that which you have no understanding, forgive me once more. You are...a new experience for me. I will attempt to explain more fully."

Nilme leaned across the rough-hewn table ashe began to speak in earnest. "Varda is one of the Valar, as is Melkor. There are many Valar, all of which took part in the Music which sang everything into being...even myself. I am among those who first beheld the stars and I have always loved them. Linwen was born to this world, here on Arda, whereas I have no sire save the Music. Many have been the battles Valar have fought amongst themselves...and death has even touched some few of us as well. You see...we are deathless, John. We cannot die, save by sorrow or some mortal hurt. You Edain have been given what some whave called a gift, the gift of Death. I myself wish to never discover this gift of your people." 

His face grew dark and he feared that he would make the others uncomfortable as well. " No story-teller am I, for my thoughts drift and have no reason. It has been far too long since I have been in the company of others." He sighed. "I...have neglected my friends. I should go and see to them. They sometimes become restive if I become distracted by other things." He grinned for a moment. "They are much like younglings at times. Linwen...please, tell John of the tower. I will return soon." The Elf left quickly and they heard a piercing whistle outside as he called the falcons to him. John and Linwen were left looking at one other awkwardly, uncertain what had darkened Nilme's mood yet again.


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## Mirelena (May 6, 2005)

Linwen was as intrigued by John as he was of she and Nilme. Even while she was preparing breakfast, she could hardly take her eyes off him. The initial shock had worn off, along with her instinct to comfort and care for. In its place there was an almost childish excitement.
_So strange, so foreign, so... Different._

The feeling was very similar to when she was small. Everything was new and wonderful. Her blush escaped the notice of her guests as she somehow channeled that energy into her role as hostess. The expression she wore as she seated herself at the table was a mask of cool composure.
The healer expressed her gladness that her ward was mending well. He had a goodly appetite! She briefly wondered if she had prepared enough. Her thoughts then turned to her other visitor.

Nilme had always been quiet, but his mood was darker than it had been for any of his other stays. Linwen felt that John had something to do with it. She wondered again what the future might hold for these two. She felt strongly that they had been fated to meet and, at least for a time, journey together.
Linwen was saddened that Nilme did not trust her enough to confide his disquiet, but she was not offended either. _Time heals all wounds,_ she thought, _but whether it heals well or ill..._

When Nilme and John discovered they had simliar interests, the lady smiled. John asked many questions and Nilme would answer, but soon his disposition shifted like the wind and he was making his excuses and retreating from their presence. John watched the tall elf until he turned a corner and was lost to sight.

"'They are much like younglings?'" he repeated to Linwen with a look of curiosity. "What was he talking about?"

"Nilme finds pleasure in many things. The heavens, as you know, weaponry and falconing. He caught a pair of fledglings many years ago and their descendants belong to him still. They keep him company in his travels."

"A man of many talents, huh?" John asked.

"Indeed," Linwen replied with a brief smile. Her expression became somber again as she continued, "Now, your other questions about the tower. It was built by the Lords Finrod and Cirdan. It was they that built the havens of Brithombar, which lies nigh to the south on the river Brithon, and also Eglarest. The name of the tower is Barad Nimras, Tower of the White Horn. It watches the sea to the West, a sentinel against our enemy. Nilme has told you of the Valar and the one named Melkor," Linwen shuddered before she was able to continue. "You cannot know how much horror even the mention of his name inspires. His deeds are great and terrible. When the elves dwelt under the stars, without light of sun or moon, we lived in fear of his malice. Many are the stories of the loss of a loved one to the deep darkness. We did not know what became of them until they returned, broken by cruelty in body and spirit, not knowing who they were.
"Blinded by pain, fear and hatred, they devastated everything beautiful. They became slaves to his will, hating even their own kind. I cannot even imagine the-" Linwen choked on a sob before she could finish.

John lowered his eyes, shocked and embarrassed. He was amazed at the story she wove for him. This was their _history!_ Something John would have imagined in a horror film back home was what they lived with. He felt clumsy with his knee raised and wrapped heavily in poultices. He wished he could comfort the distraught elf, but some hacked sense of prudence prevented him.

"I- I'm sorry," he muttered lamely.

Linwen shook her head, then looked at him and smiled. "No. I am sorry. I shouldn't have troubled you, of all people, with my own fears and sadnesses. I am sorry."

John cleared his throat, trying to fill the heavy silence. "What, um, what purpose did you say it served and how long has it stood?"

"It is a sentinel against our Enemy," Linwen repeated, more brisquely this time, "I do not know how best to tell you how long it has stood. I have heard that men reckon time far differenly than the elves. I suppose that you would best understand it to be nigh on two hundred years of men."


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## baragund (May 6, 2005)

John was concerned that he said something to cause Nilme’s abrupt exit. “I’m sorry,” he told Linwen after the other Elf departed. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” 

“Nay,” Linwen replied soothingly. “Your words did not offend. But your presence here is as puzzling to us as it must be to you. Still, Nilme has been preoccupied of late.” This last part she murmured, almost to herself. Something was bothering her longtime companion and she worried for him. 

Brightening, she encouraged her guest to help himself to more breakfast and then announced that the wrappings on his knee needed to be changed. As she set about preparing the warm aromatic liquid that aided the healing, John decided to broach what has tying his brain in knots. He had to get off his chest the sheer incredibility of this entire situation.

Nilme’s talk of being ‘among those who first beheld the stars’, and of being “deathless” was still too much to fit into John’s perception of reality. Then there was Nilme’s description of these ‘Valar’. They sounded to John like gods of some sort, but gods that lived in a physical place, in this world, and that one could go visit them. 

“Linwen,” he began earnestly as she started to place fresh wrappings on his knee. “You need to know that, where I come from, there are no such thing as Valar, and there are no such thing as Elves, or Quendi. And I suspect there are other things here that do not exist in my world. Yes, the term _Elves _exists, but they are known to me and my people as nothing more than myths, fantasies, the stuff of children’s stories. As for these Valar, they also do not exist where I come from. Depending on how we are raised, we have our own beliefs regarding gods or, for most people, a single God. But where I’m from, the only sentient beings that exist are what you call Edain. 

“If you are telling the truth, and I have not completely lost my mind, then I must be in a fundamentally different place…or time I guess.” 

He paused a moment then continued, “You mentioned the names of those Lords who built that tower I saw, Finrod and Cirdan. Who are the current rulers or Lords in this area? Maybe they traveled throughout what you know your world to be. Maybe they know enough to, I dunno, help me get back home or at least explain how I got here.


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## Mirelena (May 11, 2005)

Now it was Linwen's turn to be confused and bewildered. As she wiped her hands on a linen cloth, she tried to understand exactly what John wanted to know. To her surprise, she found it was a challenge to explain the things she had always known. Her reality was so far removed from his... _Where to begin?_

"I believe you to be sound in the mind," Linwen assured him, "Strangely displaced in body perhaps, but not deranged. Quite simply, neither Nilme nor I can find the words to explain to you just how different your world is from ours.

"The _Falas_, or coasts," she said deliberately, "Belong to Cirdan. Finrod has lent him aid many times in the past. They rule their lands in watchful peace and will do so until this world ends. The elves are deathless, John. Perhaps you do not fully grasp the meaning of that. There are those, like Nilme, who have been alive longer than time has been counted."

In the contemplative silence that followed, one of Nilme's falcons called to the other as they soared lazily in the clear sky overhead. The sound faded into the incessant rush of the waves, the cool breeze blowing in from the vast sea and the lonely cry of a seagull.

"Our worlds may be almost completely different," John said, "But some things seem to be the same no matter where you go. The ocean, pesky birds on the beach, and-"

"And dishes that need washing, I'm sure!" Linwen said, laughing softly. "Come, we can talk more as I clear the table.
"If it truly is your wish," she continued while gathering the empty bowls, "I think that we can arrange for you to take a journey to the city of Brithombar. It may be that you must continue on to Eglarest to find Cirdan. Perhaps then you will come closer to finding the answers you seek.”


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## baragund (May 21, 2005)

A week passed before John’s leg was healed sufficiently to make the journey to Elgarest. During this time, the two Elves started to understand just how alien their guest was to them, even for an Edain. Everyday activities would lead to a discussion that would leave Linwen and Nilme shaking their heads in wonder or dismay. One such exchange took place as Nilme returned from a morning of hunting. John was exploring the forest surrounding Linwen’s house, testing how far he could push his knee without re-injuring it.

“You look like a passable Teleri wearing my old cloak but you need to shave. And you make more noise in the forest than an entire company on parade!” Nilme laughed.

John was startleded so badly he jumped. The Elf had come up behind him completely silent. “God, you scared me,” he exclaimed after hurling a few epithets. But it was all in good nature and soon the two were laughing and joking.

Nilme was holding a wild turkey in one hand and his bow and quiver were slung over his other shoulder. “I see you bow hunt,” John stated, obviously impressed. 

“Of course,” Nilme replied. “How else would I shoot game like this?”

“Well, don’t you have a shotgun?”

“What is ‘shot-gun’?”

John blinked stupidly for a moment, not comprehending that someion who can live off the land does not know what a shotgun is. “You know, like a rifle?” Nilme shook his head. “Firearms?” Nothing. “Gunpowder?” Still nothing.

So John proceeded to explain the operating principles of firearms, of their beginnings during renaissance times and how they evolved over the centuries, of how common they are and how armies have used them exclusively to fight wars.

When he finished, Nilme was staring at him with a mixture of amazement and fear. “These weapons that hurl projectiles by fire of which you speak, they sound like some evil conjured by Morgoth!”

“I don’t know about this ‘Morgoth’ fellow,” John said. “Gunpowder came to us from the Chinese and we simply built on that to invent these weapons and then refine and advance them over the generations.”


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## chrysophalax (May 25, 2005)

Shuddering at the thought of such destruction, Nilme shook his head, trying to clear the images conjured in his mind by John's words. "How can you live in such a place? Life to we, the Eldar, is eternal, sacred. This...gunpowder, these weapons of which you speak could steal the lives of many at a single stroke." The implications of what John had said filled him with sadness and horror. He slung the turkey over his shoulder and began to head back to Linwen's cottage, moving slowly so that John could keep up.

"You heal swiftly, my friend. Perhaps it is time to satisfy some of your curiosity. Would you wish to visit Cirdan?" John's footsteps faltered. Nilme turned to glance at him as a look of puzzlement spread across John's face. "Cirdan? Linwen told me about him. Shouldn't he be dead?" Nilme grinned, then chuckled. "Cirdan and I are the same age, John...we have been on Arda many generations of the Edain. Indeed...I know not truly how old I am by your standards. However, I do know that if you wish to learn more of my people...and perhaps, your own, I ask you to come with me."

In companionable silence, they returned to Linwen's cottage and as she prepared it, Nilme spoke further of his decision to move on. "If you can ride, we will travel overland to Eglarest. There you will meet others like myself and Cirdan, who is counted wise among us. As you sleep, I will travel to an acquaintance of mine. He owes me a debt and I will ask him to repay me by lending me his horse. If you can manage, you will ride. If not, we can go double. Are you able?"


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## baragund (May 27, 2005)

“I would very much like to go to this place ‘Eglaraest’”, John told Nilme as the three of them prepared dinner. John knew his way around a kitchen and he was eager to repay some of the kindness his hosts have shown him over the past week. He had prepared an herbed stuffing for the bird and a dry rub of seasonings. A delicious aroma filled Linwen’s cottage as the turkey slowly roasted in the kitchen hearth.

Despite the camaraderie of preparing a meal together, John sensed a distance had developed between him and the Elves since he told them of the nature of warfare and their weapons. The Elves were still pleasant but they were more reserved, almost fearful, in how they addressed him. He tried to address the matter as they took their supper. They were seated around a small table on the lawn beside the cottage beneath the shade of a gigantic oak, glimpses of the western sea’s horizon could be seen through the trees.

“I’ve told you about some of the more unpleasant aspects of my people,” he began, not sure how to address such a sprawling topic as human nature. “We have fought many horrendous wars throughout our history; wars that I think would make your ‘Battle Under Stars’ and your ‘Glorious Battle’ look pretty tame. But you need to know that is not all what we ‘Edain’ (as you refer to us) are about. We create lovely works of art, music and literature. We love our children more than ourselves, we respect our parents and elders, and for every act of hate and cruelty, there is an act of love and kindness. For every wicked tyrant there are selfless statesmen who place the welfare of their people over his own.

“As for me, I’ve known love and hate, anger and joy and sadness. I’ve been generous and stingy, forgiving and ruthless, loving and vindictive. I try to be a good person and treat others the way I would like to be treated, but it’s not always easy, or it’s easy to forget. Most of my people are the same way. So I hope I haven’t painted an overly evil picture.”

John refilled his cup with wine before continuing. “So I hope you are still willing to take me to see your leader Cirdan. At least I can be led to where other ‘Edain’ dwell. But I must warn you. I’ve been on a horse only once before. If I need to go anywhere, I just hop in…my…car…”.

He rubbed his forehead in resignation as his last statement drew yet another look of complete bafflement from his hosts.


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## Mirelena (Jun 14, 2005)

During a hushed discussion with Nilme, Linwen again began to feel apprehensive about allowing John to stay under her roof. Of all things the elves feared, treachery was the worst. John had described his people as fickle and prone to fits of passionate rage. Everything that loved order and peace rebelled in the healer's mind. _But... _She glanced at the man wrestling off a pair of boots that she had found that fit him. When he noticed her looking at him, he smiled and gave a nervous chuckle. _I cannot believe they are all alike,_ she thought, smiling in return.

Even so, the evening meal was prepared and eaten in somewhat strained silence. Despite her fears, Linwen gave credit where credit was due. John's skill as a cook was worthy of admiration.

Linwen had grown more accustomed to the men lodging with her, so she was not afraid of silence. She finally felt free to listen and consider the picture the Edain before her sketched of his people. _Not all alike... So very diverse. Indeed, we are not as different as we appear, I think. _But the healer's confusion was compounded yet again when John mentioned 'his car.'

_Of course, _she thought with a smile as John sighed in frustration, _It would be far less entertaining if we had everything in common._

Quickly hoping to ease the discomfort of the situation, Linwen brought the conversation around again.
"I have a horse you can ride, John," she said, touching his hand, "She is quite well behaved. Nilme can show you how to mount and hold your seat tomorrow while I pack satchels for your journey."

"Thank you, Linwen," Nilme said with a curt nod, "Two days."

*****​Later that evening, as the fire burned down to glowing, red embers, Linwen sat playing her instrument. She had tied herself so completely to the music that she didn't hear John leave his room and seat himself beside her. When she suddenly became aware of his presence, her hands faltered and the strings sounded dischordant. Promptly, she placed her palms flat on the strings to cease the noise.
"You surprised me," she said softly. Her eyes bore a hint of accusation.
"I didn't mean to," he replied while rising to his feet, "I got up for some water." He showed her his cup as evidence.
"Of course," she murmured, "Good night."
"Good night."
"John?"
Obligingly he halted and turned to face her, but she was distracted and silent. "Yes?" he prompted.
Still gazing at the distant images in her mind she continued, "I believe you shall find what you seek. Be willing to learn along the way. You often discover truth in surprising places."
When it became obvious she would say no more, John returned to his bed. Deep, soothing sleep enveloped him as the harp, played by unseen hands, filled his dreams.​


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## baragund (Aug 10, 2005)

The next few days saw John and Nilme preparing for a long journey. Bedrolls, extra clothing, food, skins filled with clear water, tools and other supplies sufficient for a journey of many days were gathered and packed for travel by horseback. John was given the same kind of tunic and breeches of his hosts so that he now appeared like them, except for the thick growth of dark brown beard that had been accumulating. 

“It is a pleasant journey,” Nilme told him while they were packing food into their rucksacks. “The terrain is gentle, the forest is kind and well stocked with game and things to forage. And with the Siege, evil things hardly ever enter these lands. Still, it is customary to be armed while traveling so I would rest assured if you carried this.”

The Elf presented a long curved hunting knife that could easily kill a man if wielded properly. It was sheathed in a black leather scabbard. John gently pulled the knife from the scabbard and saw his reflection in the polished blade. It was obvious it was sharp enough to slice a silk handkerchief tossed in the air. He looked at it dubiously and said, “I don’t know how to use this. Once I was in a fistfight in a bar with some jerk that tried to hit on my girlfriend but I don’t know the first thing about fighting with weapons. And what ‘evil things’ are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry. I will teach you,” Nilme reassured him. “And none of Morgoth’s creatures has been sited in this forest for decades.” John said nothing more but these references to ‘evil things’, ‘creatures’ and a siege bothered him. There will need to be more discussion of this, he promised himself.

The day the two friends would set out dawned cool and overcast. Nilme had his own mount but Linwen ‘gave’ her own horse for John’s use. “I can’t accept this,” he protested. “Nonsense,” she replied. “I am lending her to you. She will protect you and keep you on the best paths. Her name is Rana, after the Moon.” Linwen’s mount was a beautiful jet-black mare that in a later age would be known as a mearas. The horse looked at John with a mixture of contempt and resignation, as if saying ‘I am doing this for my mistress’ sake, and you have no idea what a gift you have been given’. He mounted with considerable ineptitude, barely managing to not fall off. “You realize I don’t know a thing about horseback riding, don’t you?” he said. “Yes I do, and so does she,” she replied. “You are in good hands”. 

Nilme was already mounted and trying his best not to laugh at the Man’s clumsiness. John thanked his host profusely: “You saved my life and have given me so much. How can I repay you?” “There is nothing to repay,” she replied. “I only pray that the Valar guide you and help you find the answers to your questions. Fare well wherever you fare!” 

Linwen raised her hand in farewell, her silvery gray eyes looking on him with reassurance and fellowship. John could not help but feel a little in love with her at that moment. With that, the two turned their mounts and rode off onto the forest path.

They will travel in an easterly direction, cutting across the cape that separates the two bays that contain the cities of Brithombar and Eglarest


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## Mirelena (Aug 11, 2005)

Linwen watched her guests until they disappeared over the crest of a hill. Silently she returned to the house. A strange stillness lay within the healer's dwelling.
A sweet song suddenly filled the hall. A lark had alighted outside a window and begun singing with all its might. Seizing a berry basket, Linwen smiled and followed the sound.
Her friends would be all right. For now, she must prepare for their return...


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## baragund (Aug 18, 2005)

A path paved with green grass and wide enough for the two companions to ride abreast wound through the forest. Oak, beech, hickory, chestnut and other hardwoods formed a cathedral-like canopy yet the gray sky peeked through here and there. An under story of dogwood, rhododendron, laurel and other varieties gave the forest a lush and vibrant feel yet somehow stopped short of becoming tangled or overgrown. The forest floor was covered with various ferns, grasses, and ivies along with a soft carpet of last year’s leaves and a generous sprinkling of various berries, nuts and other edible plants. Here and there bubbling streams of cool clear water crossed their path. There was an air of wholesomeness and well being in the forest that led one to think that a small child could wander alone at will without the slightest danger or the risk of going hungry.

They spent the morning riding at a gentle walk, stopping at streams to water the horses and allow them to graze. The conversation was pleasant with John describing various aspects of the workaday life he came from and Nilme doing the same. Around midday, the path they had been following joined a larger and more improved road. “This road joins the tower of Barad Nimras with the cities of Brithombar and Eglarest,” Nilme explained. “We will continue east but soon we will come to a fork with the left fork bending north toward Brithombar. We will meet more folk on this road. But first, let us take our midday meal.”

They stopped about a quarter mile further east where the larger road crossed a good-sized stream with a gracefully arched bridge of stone. A floodplain meadow of grass and clover lay next to the road and here they allowed their mounts to graze and drink at will while they ate a leisurely lunch of cold meats, flatbread and dried fruit. As they ate and lounged in the meadow, John broached the subject that troubled him that morning:

“Nilme, this morning you made reference to ‘Morgoth’s creatures’ and ‘evil things’. You also mentioned a siege. Despite the peaceful setting we are in, it sounds like you are at war, and your enemy isn’t exactly, well, normal. Funny, but to listen to you talk, it kind of sounds like they’re not even human! Isn’t that funny?” John laughed at his last remark but it was a little forced.

“So who is this enemy? What does he want? What’s the purpose of this siege and is it close to where we are? Why not make peace with him instead?”


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## Gúthwinë (Aug 25, 2005)

((Mind if I join?)



Cadmiel stumbled along the hill, he had been observing the two closely since they had appeared from the hill. Yet he was assured that they were peaceful creatures, The half-wild elf swung from the branches of a chestnut tree and spoke to them though out of sight. "Who are you?" His voice boomed, he drew his bow and put a Bodkin arrow to the string. " Friend or foe?" He silently shifted from one tree to another, he was gazing at them, trying to figure out their weaknesses. He kept concentration, so that they would not make any sudden movements.


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## Mirelena (Sep 15, 2005)

“It is impossible,” Nilme replied simply. He began to pack up the provisions and indicated that John should follow suit. After slinging his saddle bags over his horse’s back, he silently helped his companion mount.

“Is that it, then?” John asked. He sounded perturbed as he continued, “Don’t you have to at least _try_ before you can rule out a diplomatic solution?”

“He will not be respond to diplomacy, John. Morgoth is a dark tyrant who wishes to break all to his service. Before the siege, there was a great battle and many of our kin were ruthlessly killed before our eyes. It is the siege and the threat of the powers in the West that keep him at bay.
“The realm of the Dark Lord is in the north. The kings and princes the rule the lands closest to it keep watch by day and night. They are our first line of defense should the Deceiver ever issue forth with his hoards.”

“That’s the other thing I don’t understand,” John interrupted, “Who is his army? _What_ is his army?”

“_Yrch,_” Nilme spat. The malice in that one word made John marvel. The blackness of his countenance belied the fairness of his face. “Foul, twisted forms that Morgoth shaped by his own means. Orcs are the mockery of elves. Elves who were stolen from their homes and kindred, then tortured and the Valar alone know what else. They are among the least of _his_ servants, but the devastation they cause is immeasurable.

“There are other, evil things he uses. Wolves, were wolves and dark-hearted animals. I am certain that there is validity in a rumor that he is gathering corrupted spirits to his service.” Nilme sighed in frustration, “What are we to do against such powerful hatred?”

The day was clear and pleasant, but the mood was dark and stifling. As night came on, the breeze became chill. Silvery stars began to dot the twilit sky and the cry of sea birds was stilled.

A passing fox stopped to sniff the air and twitch its ears at the passersby. John had found his seat upon the bareback mare and was riding easier, though a far cry from the light grace of his elven guide. The fox barked a laugh before continuing on to his hole where several pups were whining for supper.

"Nilme?"

"Yes, John?"

"Don't you think it's time we stopped? I mean, it's getting to be night and, I have to admit, I'm kind of hungry. But if you don't want to stop, I can keep going. It's no problem!"

After considering what the man had said, Nilme decided it was time for a break. John's leg had recently been injured and he had complained little for his first day of riding. _That_ would come tomorrow, the elf knew. "Of course," he replied, "There is a place I know not far from here. We will camp there for the night."

They continued on in silence, but as he drew near to the sheltered spot, Nilme grew increasingly uncomfortable. The ground had fresh hoof prints and the acrid smell of smoke reached his nostrils. A few hundred yard further and he could see the red light of fire. Soon the sound of laughter and song reached his ears. "I believe that we will not be camping alone, John. We seem to have company. With any amount of luck there will be hot food ready to share."

Nilme spurred his horse to a faster gait, John following suit and cursing slightly under his breath.


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## baragund (Oct 6, 2005)

The road broke out of the forest into a clearing that apparently was intended as a wayside rest area. The cleared area was carpeted with a lawn as lush and well manicured as anything John had ever seen. A fire pit lined with stones with firewood stacked nearby, and a well occupied one corner. The space was obviously intended to accommodate large parties.

Seated around a cheerful blaze in the fire pit were three figures. They were cloaked in black and their hair was black. They had the same wiry yet graceful build and similar facial features as Nilme. “Elves,” John thought to himself. He still felt odd using that term for actual flesh and blood people but seeing more of them were in a way comforting to him. It validated that he was not having some kind of giant hallucination or that Nilme and Linwen were not isolated freaks of nature.

_“Mae Govannen”, _Nilme called out as the two companions entered the clearing. The seated figures called out in return and rose to greet them. They were speaking differently from the language that John had been learning from his hosts. It sounded similar, but more formal, like the difference between Italian and Latin. He had to listen hard to make out what they were saying, and there were a number of words he could not decipher.

Introductions were being made as John gingerly dismounted. He was not used to the saddle and his knee was throbbing again. Nilme seemed to know them, if only by reputation. “Nilme, of the House of Eol,” he said at which there were handshakes and more fair words of greeting. “I am Annael, and this is Curunir and Edhrahil. We are of the House of Caranthir and we are journeying to the tower to join our kin there and take our turn watching the seas for signs of the Enemy.” With that there was renewed friendly banter. It seemed that both Nilme and the three strangers had skills as craftsmen who specialized in metalwork, and they soon fell into talking “shop”, commenting on each other’s work and describing particular projects.

Feeling a little uncertain, John walked into the circle of firelight where the others had already taken seats. “Hey there,” he said as cheerfully as he could. The three fell silent and their smiles quickly faded into looks of concern bordering on suspicion and disdain when they saw for the first time his beard, his short cropped hair that revealed rounded ears and his relatively stocky build.

Annael stood and regarded John as a school teacher would a naughty student who did not do his homework. His eyes were ice blue and they were cold and hard as flint. “And who might you be?” he asked condescendingly. “Nilme, I did not realize it was so difficult to find an attendant that you had to recruit among the _Engwar_”. The other two laughed derisively and Nilme looked uncomfortable.

“You look like you hail from Dorthonion,” the Noldo continued, “but your speech sounds strange. Are you from the East?”

Before John could reply, Nilme broke in: “Yes, he has recently journeyed over Ered Luin and is seeking his kin in Dorthonion.” 

“Well, better here in Beleriand than living with the rest of savages in the wilderness,” Curunir interjected. Resentment at being treated like some kind of inferior reared up inside John but, seeing as the three wore long swords at their sides, he did not feel altogether comfortable with arguing with them so he decided to follow Nilme’s lead. 

The three Noldo had opened a cask of wine and there were a couple of freshly dressed pheasants that were about to be roasted over their fire. They welcomed John and Nilme to share in their meal. Nilme retrieved some fruits and seed cakes from his pack to contribute to the meal and soon the five of them settled in around the fire eating and drinking and talking.

Edrahil was seated next to the wine cask and asked John if he wanted his cup refilled. The man nodded in reply and reached out to hand his cup to the Elf. In so doing, he exposed his wristwatch, and the firelight glinted off of the stainless steel band and sapphire crystal. Annael regarded what he first thought was a trinket with some curiosity. But then he sat up and his eyes gleamed with curiosity when he saw the dial and the hands. Gesturing to the watch, “What is that?” he asked with some interest. “May I see it?”

“Um, OK”, John replied. He set down his cup, unclasped the watch and handed it to the Elf. 

It was a Rolex diving watch that had been given to him by his fiancée as an engagement gift. It had a mechanical rather than the usual quartz movement so it was not affected by his journey across the sea. It featured a date indicator, a second hand that swept around the black dial, and one could hear the soft tick-tick-tick when held up to the ear.

The look on Annael’s face went from curiosity to amazement as he examined John’s watch. “What is this device?” he asked with a hungry interest. “What does it do? How does it work? This is like no craft I have ever seen. Where did you get it? Is it from the Naugrim?”


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## Elorendil (Oct 18, 2005)

The sound of clear, tinkling laughter filled the crisp evening air, accompanied by the crackling of a fire. In a small clearing, three elves sat gathered together beside a roaring fire, preparing the evening meal. A few horses grazed nearby, waiting patiently for their masters to resume their journey at first light. Starlight glinted off a silver blade as the tallest of the trio wiped it clean and returned it to its sheath. "Curunir, are you nearly finished dressing that pheasant?" he asked. "I have already cleaned the other two entirely!"

Curunir turned and regarded Annael. "Yes, I have finished. Forgive me if I am not as skilled at the dressing of game as you are, O Master Huntsman," he said sarcastically. Curunir produced the pheasant in question, at the sight of which Annael burst out laughing. 
"Is that what you call preparing the game? That pheasant looks more like it has been massacred then dressed!" Annael exclaimed, surveying the mangled fowl. 

"It is well that you are more skilled at smithying than you are at the dressing of game, my friend," he laughed, surveying the game, "Else all your works would be little more than mutilated lump of metal! Next time, remind me to dress the game."
Edrahil joined in his laughter and the sound of their clear laughter rang out through the darkness. Curunir's opened his mouth for a cutting retort, but the words were stilled on his lips by the sound of approaching hooves. The trio looked up to find two riders approaching. 

"Mae govannen," called one as they drew near. Annael rose and returned the greeting. Curunir and Edrahil followed suit. The travelers came to a halt before them and dismounted. The taller of the pair introduced himself. “Nilme, of the House of Eol,” he said. 
Annael stepped forward and extended a hand. “I am Annael, and this is Curunir and Edhrahil. We are of the House of Caranthir and we are journeying to the tower to join our kin there and take our turn watching the seas for signs of the Enemy.” He gestured for Nilme to seat himself by the fire and soon the foursome were engaged in a lively conversation regarding their craft as metalworkers.

Annael had all but forgotten the other traveler when he stepped forward into the firelight. "Hey there," he said. Annael and his companions ceased conversation as they got a better look at this traveler. To his disgust, Annael realized this was no elf, but one of the Atani, the Aftercomers. “And who might you be?” he asked in a patronizing tone. “Nilme, I did not realize it was so difficult to find an attendant that you had to recruit among the _Engwar_,” he mocked. Curunir and Edrahil laughed contemputously at this. Annael returned his attention to the Hildor. “You look like you hail from Dorthonion, but your speech sounds strange. Are you from the East?”

The Atani seemed to be searching for a reply, but Nilme cut him off. “Yes, he has recently journeyed over Ered Luin and is seeking his kin in Dorthonion,” he said. 

“Well, better here in Beleriand than living with the rest of savages in the wilderness,” Curunir interjected. Annael and Curunir joined him in derisive laughter. Once their laughter had died away, Annael invited Nilme to stay and share in their supper. The Elf accepted gratefully and soon the travelers were gathered around the fire, sharing a meal of seed cakes, pheasant and wine. Annael paid little heed to the Man, choosing instead to converse with Nilme, until the gleam of metal and jewels caught his eye. He regarded it curiously. "What is that?" he asked curiously, pointing to the strange trinket clasped about the man's wrist. "May I see it?"

“Um, OK,” the man replied, removing the wristlet and passing it to him. Annael examined it in the flickering firelight, intrigued by its strange make. The band was wrought of a silver-like metal with blue crystals set into it. In the center was a strange, round dial with runes Annael did not recognize and small lines pointing toward them. To Annael astonishment, one of the lines moved! 
As he scrutinized the marvel, undoubtably the work of a master crafstman, his keen hearing picked up a faint ticking sound. He looked back up at the Atani before him and asked in amazement, “What is this device? What does it do? How does it work?" He demanded, eager to know the secret behind its making. "This is like no craft I have ever seen. Where did you get it? Is it from the Naugrim?”


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## Mirelena (Dec 4, 2005)

The deliberate slight on the part of the noble elves did not escape Nilme's notice. Nor did the flame of greed that was kindled in the eyes of Annael. Nilme shuddered at the memory of that same light gleaming in the eyes of the High King. In an instant, his mind was made up to give no reason for John's presence.

When John cast a bewildered look in his direction, Nilme quickly intervened.
"I believe my friend is weary," he said, indicating the yawning man, "We have been riding most of the day and he is unused to it." This information elicited another round of scoffing as John said a hasty 'good-night' and extricated himself from the circle of light. Nilme watched his retreating back and sighed.

"What troubles you, Nilme?" Edrahil inquired.

Nilme regarded the trio with distaste. "Only twice before have I been so ashamed by my own race," he said simply, rising and preparing to follow his companion.

"Be cautious, old-one," Curunir replied, rising with Nilme and clamping his hand upon the elder elf's forearm, "By our hospitality you have been fed and warmed this night. It would become you to show more gratitude."

The tide of anger that came over Nilme required him to maintain a stoic silence. Hatred seared his veins like ice and hardened his eyes. Curunir met his gaze, but wisely released Nilme and dropped his fisted hand to his side. _Son of snakes,_ he thought, _my effort is wasted upon you._ The silent confrontation ended only when Nilme spoke his peace. 

“And it would become you to display better courtesy,” Nilme said with a voice under tight control. “Even if you are of noble blood. Though he is one of the second-born, it does not bestow upon you the right to mock him. There is more to his story than what meets the eye.”

“Oh?” scoffed Curunir. “I pray you would enlighten us. As I have heard it, men east of Ered Luin are barbarians. The vassals who dwell in Beleriand would be no better but for the charity of Finrod. I see little use for them except as miserable serfs. Furthermore, it would be of interest to me to learn where he acquired that pretty trinket. I'll warrant he's dishonest. I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that he is a crook- and a friend of the Dwarves, besides!”

"I doubt it, Curunir," was Nilme's vague response, "I sincerely doubt it."


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## baragund (Dec 29, 2005)

“And it would become you to show some common courtesy,” Nilme said with a voice under tight control. “Just because he is one of the second-born does not give you the right to mock him. And there is more about him than you know.”

“Oh?” scoffed Curunir. “How, pray tell? Men east of Ered Luin are barbarians and the vassals here in Beleriand would be no better if it were not for the charity of Finrod. Other than being a malleable source of cheap labor, I don’t see a use for them. And I’d like to know where he got that pretty trinket. By no honest means, I’ll warrant! Thievery, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn! He’s a crook and a friend of the Dwarves, not unlikely!”

“I don’t think so,” Nilme said. “He is not from the East, but he has not dwelt in Beleriand either.” 

Nilme took a deep breath and told the Noldo the strange tale of how he found the Man on the beach by Linwen’s house. He described the foreign language, clothing and artifacts that accompanied the castaway. He described the most incredible account of the Man’s homeland: a place where only Men dwelt and there were no Eldar or many other inhabitants of Arda, a place of seemingly endless contradictions, of war and tenderness, love and hate, beauty and ugliness, of fantastic machines and devices yet crushing poverty, a place where Morgoth but also the Valar were unknown.

The others snorted in derision when Nilme finished. “I think the Engwar has been taking advantage of your good nature,” Annael said. “If what he says is true, then he would have come from the Blessed Realm. Rubbish! We who have dwelt ther know better, Dark Elf. You and Linwen should count yourselves lucky that he did not rob you blind while he was helping himself to your hospitality. On the other hand, I think I recognize the styling of Maglor’s folk in that bracelet of his. It should be recovered and returned to it’s rightful owner.” 

During this conversation, John was lying awake in his bedroll feeling tight as a drum. The Elves were speaking very rapidly in Noldorin and in low voices so he could not follow much of what was said. But from the tone of the voices and the suspicious looks cast his way by the Noldo, he did not feel at all comfortable and he started to wonder about his safety. Then he heard some snippets of Linwen’s description of where John really came from and he shuddered with fear. It was apparent that he was trying to reason with the other three but they were not buying it. 

Presently, the Feanorian named Annael walked up to John where he lay and said in Sindarin, “Get up! You have questions to answer.” John rose, pulled on his boots and followed the Elf back to the fire ring. Nilme looked worried. The others had cold, hard expressions. 

John was invited to sit but he shook his head in refusal and remained standing in the firelight looking steadily at each Feanorian in turn. “Tell us how you came by that bracelet,” Annael commanded. “It was a gift from my fiancée, my wife-to-be,” John replied, the anger he was feeling starting to be heard in his voice. “What does it matter to you?”

“We think it was made by our kin who live north and east of here and we want to ensure that nothing of ours was obtained by ill means,” Annael said. “You will accompany us to the house of Maglor, and if we learn that the bracelet was stolen, the consequences would be most severe.”

“I am not a thief, you…” John hurled the epithet at the Elves in English so they did not understand it, although the tone and the harsh consonants clearly conveyed it was most uncomplimentary. “I don’t need this abuse. Nilme, I’m leaving. I’d appreciate your coming with me but if you’d rather stay, you can go to Hell along with the rest of these jerks.”

John turned and went to gather his things. He was starting to tie up his bedroll when he was ordered to stop. He got up, turned around and saw the three Feanorians confronting him with their swords drawn. “You will accompany us to the house of Maglor,” Annael repeated. “Even if we have to drag you there bound and gagged.”

“Right, who are the thieves now?” John asked scornfully. “You know every bit as well as me that my wristwatch could not have been made by anybody around here, let alone one of your cousins. My watch is just about the only thing I have to link me to my home and those whom I love. If you want it, you're going to have to take it like the thieves that you are. Look how easy it is for the three of you, with your fancy glow-in-the-dark swords, to gang up on me, especially unarmed and with a bad knee. Oh and don’t make yourselves feel like you’ll win a fair fight by lobbing me a weapon. I’ve never picked up a sword in my life and I know how to use one about as well as you can program a VCR!”

John was standing with hands clenched in quivering anger. The three Feanorians stood with their swords leveled at the Man’s chest. Nilme stood to the side with his head bowed trying desperately to figure out how to diffuse the situation. But when he heard John say _‘glow-in-the-dark swords’_, he looked up and saw with growing comprehension and horror. 

“Wait, you fools!,” he hissed. “Look at your swords!”


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## Elorendil (Dec 31, 2005)

Annael was beginning to run out of patience with this Man. Though he did not understand the insult aimed at him and his companions, the tone it was delivered in made its meaning clear enough. Annael stood, seething. The nerve of this baseborn _mortal_ both astonished and angered him. Determined though he was not to lose his temper with the Atani, the accusation of thievery was too much. Annael raised his sword, leveling at the Atani's chest. 

"...Oh and don’t make yourselves feel like you’ll win a fair fight by lobbing me a weapon. I’ve never picked up a sword in my life and I know how to use one about as well as you can program a VCR!" John said, ending his tirade against the Elves. Annael glared at the Man, his displeasure at being accused of stooping low enough to steal from a Secondborn etched on his every feature. He was considering how best to teach this impetuous Atani not to speak to High Elves in such a manner when Nilme interrupted his thoughts.
“Wait, you fools!,” cried the Dark Elf. “Look at your swords!”

Annael shifted his focus to his weapon. To his dismay, the edges of the blade gleamed blue in the moonlight. "Orcs!" He spat the name with such vehemence that John started at the sound. Annael fixed him with a piercing glare. "Mark my words, Atani, if it is your presence that has brought these foul spawn of Morgoth upon us, I will-"

His threat was cut short as the orcs in question appeared around the corner. They made so much noise that Annael wondered how he could have not heard them coming. The group lurched noisily to a halt as they suddenly found themselves in the blazing light of the fire, surprised, perhaps to stumble across a group of travellers in such a little-habited place. Their stunned silence lasted for only a moment, but it was long enough for Annael to take account of their number. There were nine of them, all well-armored and equipped with the curved scimitars favored by the evil beings. For a moment, the two groups stood staring at one another. When they recovered their senses, pandemonium broke loose.


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## baragund (Jan 27, 2006)

John turned, looked at the group of newcomers gathered along the tree line at the edge of the clearing and tried to comprehend what he was seeing. At first glance, they appeared to be people. But as he got a better look at them in the firelight, they were as wasted shadows, once elven in stature and build, yet horridly mutilated. The gleam of their rheumy eyes was feral. Their once fair faces were distorted, devoid of compassion or love and filled only with hatred and loathing. Filthy tatters of clothing clung to their emaciated bodies beneath armor that was dented and stained with filth and dried blood. Dirty blonde hair hung in dank greasy locks down their scarred backs. Most of them covered their faces, heads and any other bare skin with ritualistic steel piercings and scarrings. Their limbs and posture looked like their bones had been repeatedly broken and incorrectly set, so that the legs looked stunted yet the arms were overdeveloped and long enough to hang below the knee.

No, this was something out of a child’s nightmare. Again, the thought that all of this was in his imagination, that he was having some kind of unbelievable realistic hallucination, reared up inside him. “Right John,” he said to himself. “Now is the time to wake up in your bed, in your house in Biloxi, with a pleasantly naked Jennifer curled up in the crook of your arm snoring peacefully away”. That was when he heard, or rather felt, something rush an inch or so past his ear. He turned and saw the quivering spear embedded in Annael’s chest, a look of shock etched in the Elf’s face as he crumpled to the ground and expired.

With cries that were a mixture of the rutting call of a stag, the snarl of a bear and the grunt of a pig, the orcs burst into the clearing wielding lethal looking curved swords. Within seconds, each of the remaining Elves were locked in mortal combat with at least two orcs. Two more advanced on John making sniveling, guttural sounds that seemed to him like laughter. One was smaller than the other and the small one seemed to be goading or ordering the larger one. That was when he realized that the smaller one was speaking. It was Nilme’s language but it was horribly distorted and awful to listen to. Still, he could make out the gist of what it was saying.

“Rip him, Snaga,” it said. “Fresh meat tonight. He don’ know ‘ow to fight so you can play with ‘im. But I gets his heart an’ brains, got it?”


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## Uminya (Feb 27, 2006)

Shûaz'rha grumbled and slipped his boot back on after dumping out the rock that had been driving him mad for the last quarter mile. "Orcs," he muttered as his associates went charging off madly towards a campfire up ahead. He leapt up to his feet again and adjusted his helmet, taking a moment to consider the nasty-looking hammer that he was holding. "Nah..." he said, shaking his head, and hung the weapon from his belt. He pulled the shortbow from his back and stalked forward to the edge of the clearing, peering out and fitting an arrow to the string.

Sometimes--_sometimes_, mind you--he really couldn't stand those rotten, stinking orcs. But they were good for a hard day's work, and that's all that mattered. His pale, blue eyes scanned over the brawling elves, orcs, and...what was that? No, surely his eyes deceived him. A dwarf? But far too tall, and what kind of scraggly, pathetic beard was that? No nasty, pointy ears, though. He toyed with the arrow in his fingers and hesitated, the desire to find out what this creature was began to overwhelm him. Was it a captive of the elves? It was fighting the orcs, though...maybe it hated orcs more than elves?

"What could it _be_?" he wondered just under his breath. He lowered his bow slightly and kept watching. The desire to find out some new secret began to overcome his temporary business contract with the orcs. After all, wasn't it _he_ that spared the orcs when they wandered into _his_ home? He decided it would be best to wait, and so he held his bow and an arrow in one hand while stroking his long, black beard with the other, just within the shadows around the edge of the clearing.


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## baragund (Mar 3, 2006)

John’s body and mind seemed to be working in slow motion, like when you are dreaming like you are being chased by a monster and you are trying to run away but your legs feel like they are heavy as concrete. The larger orc advanced on him, an evil leer on its face, its teeth blackened and broken. The greasy fingers of both hands gripped the hilt of its sword and they flexed with anticipation. Again, jibbering, sniveling sounds came from its mouth that conveyed a sense that it was relishing the violence it was about to commit practically to the point of sexual arousal. 

“I’m going to die,” John thought to himself. “This guy is going to take that cleaver and chop me in half with it and then he and his buddy are going to eat me for dinner.” The thoughts drifted through his brain in a dull detached manner as if he was observing the actions of another person that was far away. At that moment, the orc lunged at him with a louder grunt/snarl and slashing at him with its’ sword. A self-preservation instinct kicked in and he jumped out of the way, but not before the blade sliced through the sleeve of his coat and a painless line was drawn down his forearm. A moment later, a warm thick fluid he soon realized was blood began running down his arm, off of his hand and onto the ground. 

Both orcs were laughing at their helpless prey but when they saw the blood they were whipped into a frenzy. The large orc raised his sword over his head and made a mighty swing that would have cut John in half had it connected. By now something seemed to take over; he was somehow able to act even though his conscious thoughts were still in a slow-as-molasses mode. The orc’s swing was over extended and threw the creature off balance. John was able to dodge the blow, tackle the orc from the side and bring it to the ground in a wrestler’s take-down move. The sword was pinned under the orc’s body and when they fell to the ground they were next to the ring of stones that contained the camp fire. John struggled to keep on top of the orc while he reached over and grabbed a stone about the size of a small melon. He sat back on his haunches and raised the stone with both hands over his head. At that moment, the orc was able to turn around so it was looking him in the eye just as he brought the stone down with all of his strength into the orc’s face.

The orc’s head imploded like a rotten pumpkin that was hit by a baseball bat. Blood, bone and bits of matter splattered John from the waist up, got into his eyes and blinded him. He heard breathing next to him and, without thinking, launched himself in the direction of that sound. He tackled the smaller orc and started to reach for the rock but then realized that the orc was out cold. 

He was now able to wipe the gore from his eyes and look around. The fight was still raging but things seemed to be now favoring John and the remaining Elves. Nilme and Edrahil each now had a single opponent but Curunir still had two and he appeared to be tiring. He was backed up to a large tree and it was all he could do to fend off the blows from his two opponents. John hefted the rock in his hands but then his eye was caught by the glint of the large orc’s blade where it protruded from underneath it’s body. 

John struggled to his feet and pulled the sword free. The blind instinct of self-preservation was now replaced with red rage, a blood-lust that made him want nothing except to annihilate these creatures that wanted to destroy him. This feeling extended not only to Nilme, who had shown him such friendship and hospitality, but even to the others. Even though they had been quarreling, nobody deserved the fate that surely would have awaited them if they had been subject to the tender mercies of these gruesome beings.

He strode up behind one of the orcs trading blows with Curunir. He must have looked fearsome because a look of surprise and a little bit of fear flashed across Curunir’s face when the Elf saw him. Not realizing he was copying the move of the large orc he just killed, he raised the sword high above his head and brought it down with a loud grunt on Curunir’s first attacker where its’ head meets its shoulder. 

The sword clove through the shoulder blade and clavicle, and the orc crumpled in a bloody heap. John pulled the sword out of the body, turned and saw the second orc holding up its sword fending off a blow from the Elf and leaving its side exposed. John took his sword and drove it through it’s ribcage.

The second orc fell over dead and John stared at the body as the red rage left him and was replaced with confused feelings of relief, disgust and remorse and triumph and horror. Relief that he was alive, disgust and horror at the savagery he committed, triumph over a foe that tried to kill him and remorse over the taking of a life. By this time the other Elves dispatched their remaining foes to the Void and were gathering to where he was standing. Muttered comments flew back and forth but they meant nothing to him:

“By Aule, what are these vermin doing in the Falas? None of Morgoth’s creatures have been seen south of Ard-galan in over 450 years.”

“Is it an attack?”

“Will Barad Nimras be under attack?”

“We must hasten to Eglarest with these evil tidings. It is closest.”

“Nay, we must continue to Brithombar. Cirdan will know what to do.”

“I owe my life to you, Atani. I beg you forgive the unkind remarks of me an my kin this evening.”

At the last remark, a gloved hand warmly clasped John’s shoulder. He looked up and stared into Curunir’s smiling face with a dazed expression not knowing what to say. His hand still grasped the orc’s sword and he now realized it was still wet. He dropped the sword and looked at his blood-soaked hand and forearm.

“You are wounded,” Curunir said, the smile fading from his face. “Come and let me tend to that, friend.”


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## Mirelena (Mar 6, 2006)

Nilme stood over the last of his vanquished foes. He saw with satisfaction that John had defended himself and had but a scratch to show for his first victory over the enemy. He was obviously shaken, but there was a gleam in his eye that had not been there before. Nilme was confident that John would quite altered after this.

While Curunir tended to the shocked man, a face caught Nilme's eye. He let out a sad sigh and walked slowly to where the body of Annael lay beneath the filthy corpse of an orc. Once the offensive corpse had been removed, Nilme called for Edrahil to assist him in washing the face and hands of the lifeless form. Curunir finished dressing John's arm and helped Nilme and Annael begin digging a shallow grave for their elven kinsman. They sang low, mournful songs as they worked and finally laid their companion in the ground.

"We should pile the carcasses and burn them," John pointed out after a long silence, "It's a better alternative to just leaving them here to decay."

"Well said, my friend," Nilme replied quietly. He looked to Curunir, "If any more of those foul creatures are about, they will see the flames and find us. Should we wait till morning?"

"I do not know how you feel," Edrahil interjected, "But I cannot abide the thought of resting through the night without being rid of those accursed orcs."

"Truly, Edrahil, I feel as you do, however I feel it is best to make our preparations and perform the burning at dawn. Our new friend seems to be fainting from weariness and it is not fair to ask him to travel further this day."

Try as he might, John had been unable to stifle a gigantic yawn. The initial adrenaline and shock had worn off, so he found himself intensely drained. After further consultation, the elves decided to let the man sleep, if only for a few hours. The blankets were mostly undisturbed, but John dragged them a little closer to the embers of the scattered fire. Nilme helped him with a grim expression on his face.

"Now there are fewer of the Enemy's black servants to do his bidding," Nilme produced a small bag with victuals and a skin of water from somewhere within the bedclothes, "Evil does not work in the light. We will travel hard tomorrow, you will need your strength- eat."

"Thanks," John replied, accepting the offered provisions, "I'm astonished that I'm hungry, but- I guess that's how it goes, isn't it? When will I learn to expect the unexpected?"

Nilme stood abruptly and turned away. He had taken only a few steps, when he stopped short because of a hail from the darkness of the trees...


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## Uminya (Mar 6, 2006)

The dwarf continued leaning against a shadowed tree, completely invisible--or so he guessed--in his black armor. It was his favourite suit, made himself, about two decades before. While he was so secretive he never so much as thought about how he made it, it was very very strong, and very very black; a dull black that reflected no light at all from its plated surface. He had a strong breastplate with thin chain beneath, pauldrons covered with black spikes, barbed gauntlets, bladed greaves, and a helmet with a crest of spines running down the middle over a fearsome-looking visor. Spikes were something he liked, especially after a troll had tried to grab him all those years ago. When it happened the next time, he vowed, things would go differently, and he would be more trouble than a rabid porcupine (though he had yet, in fact, to run into the troll in question a second time).

Shûaz'rha shook his head suddenly, noting that his reverie was nodding him off to sleep. He licked his lips and peered out again. The whole scuffle was over with, and he wondered how long it would take for someone to notice him. He really didn't care if they did or not. He wasn't about to get hassled by any of those point-eared ninnies like those poor sods had. Thoughtfully, he tapped the arrowhead against his bottom lip and watched the bearded fellow again, trying to decide whether or not to go ahead and walk into the clearing. It would probably be most amusing, he determined, to wait until they sat down to appear. That would irritate them the most, and would let him see them squirm a bit.

He set down his backpack, placing the black helmet neatly on top of it, and replaced the bow to his back and the arrow to its quiver. Drawing out his large hammer, he rested it casually on his shoulder and then stepped out into the clearing, his pale-blue eyes gleaming with reflected firelight. His face was now visible to those who might look, with a long, crescent-shaped scar opening on the center of his face and crossing down over his right eye. A well-braided beard fell down over his armour and the same rich, glossy black as the hair on his head (which was arranged into a low pony-tail on the back of his head). While he didn't look what most would consider "evil", he looked very irritable, and not the sort of person that one would want to cross.

In a loud voice, he called out to make himself known, using the Westron tongue, "And where are you headed, my orc-piling friends?" He spoke with emphasis on every 'd' and exagerrated the breathiness of each 'w', 'h', and 'y'. He pulled back his lips and grinned at the elves fiercely, not flinching at all as they scrambled for their weapons.


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## baragund (Mar 7, 2006)

Curunir led John to the campfire, sat him down and examined his wound. It was a deep cut that extended the length of his forearm and would require stitches but it did not cut any tendons or arteries. “It is not serious,” the Elf told him. “But it must be cleaned immediately. The blades of the Glamhoth are filthy and wounds caused by them will fester.”

Curunir began to heat water which he used to clean the cut on John’s arm. Then he retrieved a small case that contained medical supplies. He extracted a needle and thread finer than any sutures found in a modern hospital, and stitched the cut. John gritted his teeth while he stitched but did not flinch. He then took out a packet or herbs and made a poultice that he bound to the wound using strips of clean cloth. They continued talking while he worked:

“I am in your debt,” he said. “There are no oaths of allegiance between us yet you saved my life. It seems my cousins and I underestimated your worth.”

“Yeah, well, don’t judge a book by it’s cover,” John replied. The Elf gave him a quizzical look at the expression and, as he thought about it, a smile came over his face. 

By this time, Nilme and Edrahil rejoined them. They had almost finished piling the orc corpses and were coming for the small orc that John had knocked out and taken for dead. They stooped to pick up the sprawled figure and then jumped back in surprise when it groaned and squirmed in their grip.

“This one still lives!” Edrahil exclaimed, dropping the unconscious orc back on the ground. “But not for long…”

He drew his sword and was about to run it through when John stopped him. “Wait! Let’s find out what we can from him. I’d like to know who these people are and why they attacked us. You called them _Glamhoth._ What is that and why are you just as intent on killing them as they are of you?”

At that point, they heard a new voice coming from the edge of the forest. "And where are you headed, my orc-piling friends?" The Elves scrambled to their feet in surprise and John strained to see where the voice was coming from. Finally he saw the short stout figure standing at the edge of the trees. The newcomer was wearing armor in a flat black that seemed to absorb any light that came near it. His helm was the same and his hair was black so the only thing he could clearly see was the fair complexion of his face (at least the portion that was not covered by a thick black beard) and startlingly blue eyes that held a mischievous light. He was short, only about four and a half feet tall but solidly built, almost as broad as he was tall.

“_Naugrim_,” Curunir muttered, not in an endearing way.

Edrahil spoke up to the newcomer: “What an odd coincidence. First, Morgoth’s creatures appear in these lands after a 450 year absence and now you, whose kind have not been seen in the Falas for at least as long. Tell us, is this a coincidence we can expect to see more often?”


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## Mirelena (Mar 15, 2006)

The night was cool and clear. The stars shone bright upon the gently undulating ground of the fields of Brithon. Wisps of smoke rose into the sky, then dissapated as the wind caught them and carried them further inland. Stillness reigned, except within the ring of firelight where not even the light, which danced wildly, defied the peaceful surroundings.

Nilme had been somewhat aware of a disturbance in the forest, after all, he was most at home in the dark. And, even though it was black as pitch, Ancarin - faithful bird! - had heard and alerted her master of the the movements of the observer. Thus, when the Naugrim stepped out from the shadow of the trees, the Dark Elf was the least suprised. As the harsh cry disturbed the silence, Nilme drew a dagger from his boot and held it at the ready. _What is it that a Naugrim could possibly want with elven lords? He cannot be so foolish as to believe a warm welcome awaited him,_ he glanced at Curunir and Edrahil as they hastened to retrieve their weapons, then hailed the intruder, _Any delusions on his part should now have been certainly eliminated._

The short figure stood with his weapon cockily upon his shoulder, glaring sourly at his reception.

"I don't know what our travels have to do with you, Naugrim. If you desire to know something of us, we wish to know something of you and your travels," came Nilme's measured reply. "What has brought you from your deep dwelling? Had you anything to do with the attack this night?"

A low rumble, which the elves soon recognized as a chuckle, rolled out through the darkness. The sound made the hair on the back of Nilme's neck rise.


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## Daranavo (Mar 30, 2006)

Grunog felt his eyes had opened but he could not see and his head throbbed terribly. He brought his hands up to his forehead and wiped them down the front of his face. He felt moisture and smelled the salty scent of orc blood…his blood. For a time he did not remember what he had been doing or what had wounded him. Slowly, he sat upright. As he did, his eyesight began to return however his head ached and he suddenly felt nauseous. Not because of his wound but…something else. A disgusting smell he could not place right away. He heard voices and movement all around him_. It is elves that I smell! _He thought to himself. He frantically looked around where he sat but no weapon did he spy within reach. He saw Bork and several others of his men all slain by the white devils. He muttered a curse under his breath in Black Speech. “Nink Aaths!” (white dogs) He gritted his teeth and chuckled when he saw one of the elves had been killed. 

It did not come to him quickly he did have blood in his eyes and all he could smell was the disgusting scent of elves all around him. He focused his eyes upon John and slowly took in what he saw. He appeared to have hair on his face and his ears were not pointed. He was somewhat stouter then the elves as well. He had never seen his like and strangely he became curious about him. He looked up at him and pursed his eyelids. Whatever he was, he was obviously in league with the elves that would soon take his life_. I will tell them nothing! _He said to himself. He looked downward at his own legs and awaited death to take him.


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## Uminya (Apr 3, 2006)

Shûaz'rha grinned broadly, then let his hammer slide down his shoulder to hit the ground with a thud, the grip of it still in his hand. He gestured to himself, speaking with his peculiar accent, "I am so very pleased you speak this tongue, rather than that twiggy monster that you normally speak." His voice was mockingly amused, "And for that I thank you."

He used the hammer as a sort of cane and sauntered forward, looking quite confident and relaxed, despite being just over half the height of the assembled elves. He gestured to each of them haughtily and asked, "I might ask you as well what *you* are doing here. But then again, you would claim that these are your lands, and you may walk in them whenever and wherever you please." He held up a finger, "But to that I should say that you were not always here, and the land belongs to itself. But this does not matter. I am not the slinking fox. I am here on business, and it just so happens that you were fortunate enough for me to come across you, O stimulant ones."

He wandered forward and nudged the half-living orc with his boot, "Hoy there. You're an orc, haven't you got your draught of that disgusting beverage, nor that foul paste?" He shook his head and looked up to the elves sternly, "So you've damaged my guide. Now how am I going to find the Hall of Uzod? Hmm? Well since you've interfered in my contract, you now owe me succor, my altitudinous friends! I will journey with you, until I wish to leave. If you choose to refuse, then I will follow after you anyhow. If you try to slay me, well, I'm sure that _somebody_ is watching you. And I am sure that _somebody_ would be displeased if you killed an innocent dwarf, who had not raised his hand against you!"

The dwarf smiled suddenly, "But I'm sure you won't refuse. After all. You could use some sensibility in this foppish lot." He cast a glance at John, but spoke to the group as a whole, "I'm sure that we could....learn much from one another." He head jerked to face the elves, "So. What do you say?"


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## baragund (Apr 28, 2006)

“Who are you and did you try to kill us?” John asked the Dwarf. Of course John did not know that Shuaz’rha was a Dwarf, what a Dwarf was or even that Dwarves and Elves were different races. “You mentioned this ‘Hall of Uzod’. What is that? Is it in the city Brithombar? That is where my companion and guide Nilme here is taking me. And why do you all of a sudden want to travel with us when five minutes ago your men wanted to chop us into little pieces?”

At this point John regarded the dead orcs around him with a mixture of horror and curiosity. Again, he did not know what they were, that they were yet another race of beings. “Good God, what happened to them”, he murmured as he studied the misshapen limbs, the pitted, scarred and discolored skin, the rags they wore for clothes, the crudely made armor and the unlovely but lethal looking weapons. He turned to face the Elves. “I heard somebody say _Glamhoth_. What is that? Do you know them? Do you know what happened to them to make them like this? They sure seemed to know us because even I could feel their hatred.”

_“Nink Aths…” _At this raspy and altogether unpleasant sound John looked down and realized that one of the orcs was not dead. It was sitting on its haunches and it was looking at the ground as if waiting for something. He crouched in front of it and noticed that its face was covered with something that looked like used motor oil. Looking around he saw the first aid kit that Curunir had used in tending to his wound. He fetched a clean cloth, soaked it in cool water and returned to the orc. He sat down in front of it and reached out to clean its face. It recoiled and looked like it wanted to rend John to pieces with its bare hands. John drew away but proffered the cloth to the orc. After glaring at him with intense suspicion, it snatched the cloth away, mopped its face and then threw the cloth back at him. 

John looked at the hideously abused face of the orc and noticed fresh blood oozing from a gash on its head, and then looked down at the cloth in his hand. “That’s not motor oil,” he thought to himself with amazement. “That’s…_blood?_ What is this person?”

He leaned closer to the orc and said in Sindarin, “Who are you? What are you doing here? Why did you attack us?” At the sound of the Elvish words the orc reacted as if it were listening to nails on a chalk board and responded with a long string of foul sounds that might have been in at least two languages and he thought he recognized a couple of them. He thought for a moment and then tried again in English, speaking very slowly and enunciating each word as clearly as he could:

“Who did this to you? Who tortured you and dressed you in rags? Are you _his _prisoner?” This last part he cocked his head toward the Dwarf. “Why did you try to kill us? Were you wronged by these others?” The Dwarf and the Noldo could not understand what he was saying. But Nilme spent enough time with this stranger to learn English. He did understand and he shuddered at the implication.


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## Uminya (May 3, 2006)

The dwarf laughed and slapped his plated thigh, speaking with gruff amusement, "Full of questions, aren't we, eh? Not very polite to go asking all of that without introductions!" His smile faded and he eyed the elves before looking to John again, "You've got a beard, and I ain't seen no elf with a beard before. So maybe that means I could trust ya, and so maybe I'll tell ya that my name is Shûaz'rha. That's all, just Shûaz'rha. No fancy titles like your twiggy friends here probably have." He leaned to one side and flashed a fierce grin at one of the elves, then straightened up and looked over the human again.

He gestured to the orc, "Ya ain't gotta ask him, he's all mucked up anyhow, no telling what he'd say. Probably something nasty, eh? But in answer to yer query, Beardy Longshanks, I'm as I said. I don't try to kill nobody, I either kill ya or I don't! No time to waste on _tryin_ instead on doing, of course." He gave the human a dark look, "My business in the halls is my own, an' I certainly ain't going to go and just *hand* it out."

Gesturing with his hammer to the orcs on the ground, he commented, "And I don't know what you mean by 'men', but they certainly aren't my orcs. If they're not their own orcs, then they're You-Know-Whom's orcs." Shûaz'rha gestured vaguely northward, again with his hammer and an ominous expression. He suddenly smiled and placed his hammer on his shoulder again, clapping his thigh and laughing, "And why wouldn't I want to travel with ya? Like as I said, if I'd have wanted to kill ya, I already would've! Nay, nay, by my reckoning if you're traveling, and I'm traveling, well, maybe we ought to do it together? I'm sure you all would like the company."

He eyed the orc for a moment, then swept his gaze over the elves and then back to John, waiting.


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## chrysophalax (May 3, 2006)

"I know not where this Hall of Uzod may lie, Dwarf, but as my friend has told you, I am his guide in this land. If your path lies with ours for a time, then so be it. As to _that_, said Nilme with disgust as he glared down at the wounded orc, "You say he is your guide and yet you speak of his kind with scorn. How is it that you have chosen one of his foul race to guide you to your destination? He can bring us nothing but trouble and while I would gladly slit his foul throat, he is yours to do with as you see fit." 

Without waiting for a reply, Nilme went to John's side and inspected Curunir's handiwork. He smiled, relieved that John had taken no serious injury and thanked his kinsman quietly. Unasked and unanswered questions lurked in John's eyes, but Nilme only glanced at him and whispered, "_Quilde, mellon...shhh. Later._" A hushed conversation then ran between Nilme and Curunir, punctuated by many glances in the Dwarf's direction. Finally, they seemed to have reached a conclusion and Nilme stood once more.

"Stay or go as you like Master Dwarf. We will neither harm nor hinder you, whatever your choice. My friend must rest, at least a little while before we can continue on. He is new to this land and there is much that he knows little, such as, how to tell friend from foe." A sense of foreboding had been creeping over Nilme after watching John address the orc as though it were capable of reason and he felt an over-powering need to explain to him the danger of such accursed creatures. 

Curunir went then to help his cousin finish disposing of the offal, which allowed Nilme to speak briefly with John. "We have no time now to talk of this as we should, therefore I ask that you trust me as you have done. These...are the _yrch_, orcs I once spoke to you of. The twisted, corrupted beings that were once...even as I am, Elves as you call us. They hate us, for I believe that some of them must remember their lives before they were...changed. They are deadly and not to be trusted, remember that if you remember nothing else!" He gripped John's arm hard and looked at him with an intensity that made John wince. "You have seen this land in her beauty and now you see her in another light as well. Rest, and soon we will talk again. For now, know that we are here and that you will come to no harm." He turned to walk away, then he paused and turned back. "Something has come to my mind that I wished to ask _you_. When my cousins accused you wrongly and you grew angry, you told me I could...go to Hell with them...is that correct?" He tipped his head in curiosity. "From the tone of your voice, it sounded in no way pleasant. Will you tell me of it?" Startled, John watched as Nilme walked over to stand near the Dwarf and was left with his thoughts.


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## Daranavo (May 4, 2006)

The orc listened intently as words were exchanged around him. As the others spoke, he looked over toward Helag, another orc killed by the small skirmish, who laid face down in the leaves. Black blood slowly oozed from underneath him. However it was not to mourn him. He noticed that he still had his pick in his hand. His eyes fluttered over to him then back again to the strange one before him. He had began to surmize how long it would take him to retrieve the pick when his attention was turned to the conversation around his ears. 

He thought he understood several words and phrases spoken between the Dwarf, Elves, and the strange one. Though his understanding was quite broken, he tried to remember the speech that he had scarcely learned long ago. He almost forgotten it alltogether but now he dredged deep into his memory and with great effort, he uttered a few angry words. "You no...no come heres! Orcs enemies...White dogs are enemies. We eats you heart...orcs kill you if be here." He told him in a lengthy, gutteral snarl. The orc quickly stood and faced him but did not move from his spot. "Dark one...take you flesh." He growled.

Grunog seethed will anger and hatred. Some small part of him wanted to know who or what this strange one was before him, however his malice for the Elves began to win over. He could barely stand to be this close to them. He wanted to eat their faces and rip their organs from their bodies while they screamed in agony.


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## chrysophalax (May 16, 2006)

"Silence, _nauca onna_! Nilme spat as he advanced on the orc, who glared back at him, filthy teeth bared. John was stunned as he watched Nilme strike the orc on the side of the head with the flat of his blade, hard enough to render it unconscious. He then kicked it in the ribs to make sure it would remain down for awhile, then without another look, he joined the other two Elves.

Normally patient beyond measure, Nilme now found himself at the end of his tether and his kinsmen were about to bear the brunt of his anger. Curunir saw him coming and hastily whispered to Edrahil, who quickly straightened, his eyes narrowing in assessment. "Why does your face resemble a thinder-cloud, mellon?" asked Curunir in a soothing voice. Nilme sneered in answer. "Well may you ask, though your wit is indeed dull if you cannot fathom the cause. Why did you allow Annael to treat my companion as though he were a common thief? He threatened someone whom I have taken under my protection and _both_ of you would have let him have his way! Has the noble blood of the Noldo become so swiftly diluted that you are reduced to such tactics to gain whatever you desire? Are you then become as the Naugrim in your lust and greed for mere _things_?" Nilme could feel his blood heating his cheeks as he watched the Feanorians faces become grim masks.

"Granted that I am not one who has ever seen the Two Trees, nor am I among the greatest of the Moriquendi, yet I count myself blessed that I have not so great a pride as does your House, for I am still capable of compassion, able to succour those in need, as it seems you are not!" Curunir tightened his jaw as Nilme spoke, the muscles taut as a bowstring. "You Dark Elves...you know so very little, yet you claim such great knowledge." He glanced over at John, then at Nilme's ice-pale face. "We have no desire to quarrel with you, Nilme, nor would I have allowed Annael to take your friend anywhere. He was merely having a jest..." Nilme's mouth flew open and Curunir jerked his hand up for silence, then pointed to the mound where Annael's body now lay buried. "Look at him now! What more harm can he do, Nilme? He journeys now to Mandos' Hall. What more can you ask of him?" With that said, Curunir and Edrahil turned their backs on him and began to sing once again over their fallen comrade.


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## baragund (May 18, 2006)

John responded to the Dwarf. “I didn’t mean to offend anybody with all of my questions but, I’m not…”, he struggled for words because he did not trust these newcomers and he did not want to get into his whole story, “…from around here. My home and my people are… quite far away. There is not much around here that I am familiar with.

“My name is John, John Bates.” He held out his hand to the Dwarf. Shûaz'rha eyed it for a moment as if he did not understand the meaning of the gesture but then carefully extended his hand and there was a strong but wary handshake.

John continued: “I have no problem with you traveling with us but my companions know you a lot better than me, and I will rely on their judgment. But we just had a sword fight, all these people are now dead,” he gestured to the bodies around him, “and everyone here is acting like this is…_normal._ Shouldn’t we notify the authorities?”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘authorities’,” Shûaz'rha responded. “I dare say that high and mighty pair over there is the closest thing to ‘authorities’ as you will find in these parts.” Shûaz'rha gestured to the two Noldo with this last remark.

“But I would not concern yourself over this little tangle,” the Dwarf continued. “These Elves and Orcs have always been at each other’s throats. They kill each other as soon as say ‘Good Morning’. It would be quite a trick of you can get them to make nice!” 

At this point Nilme approached John, appealed to him to defer his questions for later and then addressed Shûaz'rha. When he reminded John that that these orcs were once like Nilme, John started to ask why one could not make up with them but then thought that was a better question for later. But when Nilme asked him to explain Hell, he almost laughed out loud at the enormity of the question.

“Nilme,” he responded. “That is a question best answered at a quiet time, like when we were back at Linwen’s house looking out over the sea. It touches on issues of my Faith, who my people believe we are, why we are here in this world and where we go when we die. Let’s just say for now that it’s an expression that is used in anger to express scorn for somebody. I lost my head and I apologize for that remark.”

As John and Nilme were talking, Curunir and Edrahil stiffened and reached for their weapons. John turned and saw the surviving Orc had gotten to its feet. 

_"Dark one...take you flesh," _it finished. 

_“‘No comes heres’ _it said,” John mused to himself. “So it’s a land dispute. I wonder who took who’s property. ‘White Dogs’ I can figure out, but who is the ‘Dark One’?”

_"Silence, nauca onna!” _Nilme spat in return. John’s unasked and unanswered questions deepened as he watched what was a most unexpectedly vicious and unprovoked attack by his companion on what seemed to him was an unarmed and disadvantaged prisoner.


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## chrysophalax (May 18, 2006)

_I can only imagine what you must be thinking, mellon._ thought Nilme as he saw John looking at him warily, as though seeing Nilme in a new light. _I must look as savage as that piece of orcish filth lying there._ He walked over to John and crouched down near him. The dwarf meanwhile just grunted and shook his head. _Elves! Now he'll probably show "concern" for his friend. Gah!_ 

Nilme glared over at the dwarf as though divining his thoughts, then returned his attention to John, who looking rebellious. "You wonder why I stopped the orc, do you not? Because he would have killed either you or one of us, John! Their sole purpose to destroy and descrate that which is beautiful in this land." He paused, gauging how much to tell John that he might understand. "From what you have told me, this must seem very violent to you and so it is. But, if I remember aright, your land has violence as well. Why then does this shock you? Is not violence and hatred the same in all places?" He cast down his eyes as though weary. "If I had been alone, I would have slain him. However, he seems to have been with this dwarf in some capacity and therefore I had no right to. I did however keep him from harming anyone further, as I know he would have, John. You must trust me in this."

Being in the company of this particular Edain was proving a challenge at times and Nilme found himself seeing not only himself, but his people and even his world being brought under scrutiny. He began to feel as though he were a herald of some sort, a bridge between his reality and John's and the thought was daunting. Suddenly, he knew beyond any doubt that he wanted to understand this man and to be understood by him. He looked John straight in the eyes. "I did not answer you properly earlier. Yes, I would like to hear more of your...faith and what your gods say to you. You did not need to apologise earlier for your anger. It was well founded. All I ask now is that you continue to trust me and I will continue to learn from you as well as we journey together. Are we agreed?" He held out his hand to John and waited.


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## Elorendil (May 25, 2006)

Curunir glared balefully at the prone form of the unconscious orc, barely restraining the fury that urged him to put an end to the foul creature that had killed his kinsman. Distracted by Nilme's movement, he turned to see the Dark Elf approach, anger darkening his features. "The Dark Elf approaches," he whispered to Edrahil in warning.
In no mood for a confrontation and seeking to divert Nilme's wrath, Curunir spoke first. "Why does your face resemble a thunder-cloud, mellon?" he asked soothingly. 

"Well may you ask," snapped Nilme, "Though your wit is indeed dull if you cannot fathom the cause. Why did you allow Annael to treat my companion as though he were a common thief? He threatened someone whom I have taken under my protection and _both_ of you would have let him have his way! Has the noble blood of the Noldo become so swiftly diluted that you are reduced to such tactics to gain whatever you desire? Are you then become as the Naugrim in your lust and greed for mere _things_?" 
Curunir and Edrahil exchanged a dark glance at this insult. To imply that they would stoop to the level of the Naugrim... 
Nilme continued before either could respond. "Granted that I am not one who has ever seen the Two Trees, nor am I among the greatest of the Moriquendi, yet I count myself blessed that I have not so great a pride as does your House, for I am still capable of compassion, able to succour those in need, as it seems you are not!"

The muscles in Curunir's jaw bunched in anger as Nilme spoke and went taut. "You Dark Elves," he said, indignation and disdain coloring his tone. "...you know so very little, yet you claim such great knowledge." He cast a look over Nilme's shoulder at the Atani, then returned his gaze to Nilme's pinched face. "We have no desire to quarrel with you, Nilme, nor would I have allowed Annael to take your friend anywhere. He was merely having a jest..." He quickly raised a hand, cutting of Nilme's protest and pointed to new grave where they had laid their kinsman to rest. "Look at him now! What more harm can he do, Nilme? He journeys now to Mandos' Hall. What more can you ask of him?" 

Through talking with the Dark Elf, Curunir turned his back to him, ignoring any reply Nilme might have made. With a shake of his head, he resumed the lament he and his companion had been singing over their fallen kinsman.


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## baragund (May 26, 2006)

“I understand why you needed to knock him out,” John answered Nilme, gesturing to the unconscious orc. “And I do trust you, but after the time we spent together, seeing you haul off and clobber him like that is just… surprising. What you did was a very, um, _human _thing to do, if I understand right the history your two peoples share.

“But what bothers me is when a person, never mind an entire class of people, is characterized in absolute terms. ‘Their sole purpose is to destroy and desecrate…’ Hmmm… I know of very little that can be labeled in such black-and-white terms. It’s a rare thing to be absolutely bad or absolutely good. There are always shades of gray. 

“Nilme, you told me that these, what did you call them, orcs were once like you. Well, isn’t it possible that under the bad skin and broken teeth and abuse there might still exist the good people they once were? And if you are as old as you say you are, there could not have been too many generations since they were kidnapped or however they were separated from you. This guy you just laid out might be a first or second cousin for all we know. Wouldn’t it be something if you could reach him?

“In my land there is a lot of history where whole races of people have been persecuted and slaughtered because they were considered ‘evil’ by somebody else. Most of it was nonsense and boiled down to different cultures that happened to worship different gods and each side was convinced that they were right and the other was wrong and heretical. The most awful wars were fought and the most savage violence was committed because people thought God was on their side. But once you break through the outer shell of dogma, you will find that most people are pretty much alike. If you were to ask that orc laying there on the ground what he wants from life, his hopes and fears, how he sees himself and his place in the world, you might find you are not so different after all.”

The camp fire was burning down to embers and the night air had grown chilly. A small shiver ran over John’s body as if he just realized he was cold. Addressing the assembled group he continued, “Well, in any event, it’s clear that these orcs are enemies of yours and they don’t belong in these parts. It seems to me we need to let somebody know. Also, I don’t really care to spend the rest of the night with a bunch of corpses so why don’t we move on? Do we continue to the city Brithombar where this ruler of this country Cirdan lives, do we move back to the watch-tower by the sea where the garrison is stationed, or should we split up? And what do we do with the orc? Try to get information from him or just put him out of his misery?”


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## chrysophalax (Jun 7, 2006)

Nilme shuddered when John compared him to humans almost instinctively. What little exposure he had had to them had been less than pleasant, fraught with suspicion and slant-eyed glances. Until meeting John, he had considered the Second-born almost an insult. Had his own people and, of course, the dwarves, not been enough for the Valar after all? The race of Men seemed to be continually questioning, questing, never satisfied with the beauty and harmony that existed in the very air they breathed. 

With a sigh, he searched the night sky, then held out his arm. Aran and Tari settled there within moments, their bright eyes fixed keenly on his own. Above, he heard Alcarin's call. His shoulders relaxed as he stroked each bird's breast, happy in the knowledge that his feathered companions had come to no harm. John's voice continued, speaking of things he, Nilme, did not understand and then...more questions. _He is my friend and is helpless here. Though my heart is grieved at his words, nothing will be accomplished if I have no patience._

The Elf turned away from his mourning cousins and the Dwarf, who's continued silence had ceased to concern him. John was shivering in the chill air and was looking up at him miserably. "Come with me, John. We will continue on to Brithombar, alone if needs be." Here he glanced sharply at the other elves. "They have ill-used you, my friend and I have have been remiss in allowing you to sit in the open, wounded as you are. There is shelter to be had in the thickets of the forest. You should rest at least an hour or two until the sun has risen and you have eaten a little." John seemed fascinated by the birds and appeared to be hearing little of what Nilme was saying. The Elf grinned as he settled down on his haunches next to John. "They will not hurt you. They know you are my friend as well. May I?" He reached out and let Tari hop onto John's left shoulder. After a moment, the man slowly reached up to stroke a wing very lightly. When she didn't flinch away, John smiled. "Will you look at that. I wish I had a camera!" 

Nilme raised an eyebrow at that, but was glad to see that John's humour had not entirely gone. He helped him to his feet, then tossed Aran aloft. Tari followed and they flew into the branches of a nearby tree. John cradled his arm as he walked into the woods at Nilme's side, more weary than he had been in quite some time. 

After a short walk, Nilme found what looked like a traveler's lean-to Gratefully, John sat down with his back against a large beech as Nilme made a small fire. He then covered John with his cloak, checked him for early signs of a fever and gave him some water. "Rest now. Later, as we make our way to Cirdan, it will be your turn to answer _my_questions! You said many things this night that make no sense to me and confusion is never a good friend. So, I will stand watch for now. Sleep!"


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## baragund (Jun 16, 2006)

John awoke to a clear crisp morning with a fresh breeze from the sea whispering through the trees of the forest. Birds sang in the trees and dappled sunlight played across the ground. It was a singularly peaceful setting and he allowed himself to become immersed in the gentle sounds around him. “What a beautiful county,” he thought to himself. “If I can’t get home, there are worse places I can be. But those orcs! If they are as Nilme says, shoot! I don’t want to be within a hundred miles of any of them!”

He got to his feet and stepped out of the lean-to where he saw Nilme tending to a pot of something cooking over the camp fire. The sun was rising over a range of rounded tree-covered hills on his right and to his left the forest sloped downward but leveled off in the distance. The smell of the salt air told him they couldn’t be more than a few miles from the sea. His arm throbbed a little but it had been tended well the night before and he noticed the same remarkable rate of healing as had happened with the knee he had injured during his time at sea. The Elves had some kind of skill or they knew what plants to use in their poultices that made his injuries heal faster than if he was receiving the finest care in the best hospitals.

“Good morning,” he said to the Elf, crouching down beside him. Nilme smiled in reply. “That was some night, huh?”, he continued and his companion nodded in agreement. “I guess those other jokers decided to go their own way”, and Nilme nodded again.

Nilme spooned something out of the pot into two bowls and handed one to John. It resembled porridge but was much more fulfilling, not to mention delicious. As he ate, he felt new vitality course through his limbs and by the time he finished he felt as if he could march all day without a break.

As he ate he tried to gather his thoughts. Finally he spoke up: “Those Orcs that tried to kill us last night, they are called “Goblins” where I come from. And the short guy? Naugrim you called him. That’s “Dwarfs” in my language. Everyone I’ve met since I washed ashore, including you Elves, has been something from our myths and legends… otherwise known as fairy tales. Stories we tell our children when we put them to bed at night.” Nilme did not answer and waited to see where his friend was going with this.

John fell silent for a while. Then, tilting his head to one side he asked, “How old do you think I am?” Nilme indicated he did not know.

“I will be thirty this summer,” he continued. “Thirty years from the time I was born. That must be a blink of the eye to you, but I’ve already passed my peak in terms of physical strength. I can’t run quite as fast as I could, say, ten years ago. Ten years from now, especially if I don’t take care of myself, I’ll lose more strength and my muscles will start to turn to flab. If I were thirty years older I would consider myself lucky to be strong and healthy enough to make this journey. Eighty years would be considered a long life for me and, most likely, I would be pretty feeble for the last ten to twenty years. Have you ever met one of our elderly?” Nilme said he had not.

“As we age", John continued, "our skin sags and becomes wrinkled, our hair turns gray, or falls out, our teeth turn yellow or wear out, we may develop a paunch,” at this he put his hands on his stomach to illustrate the point. “We lose our muscle tone and our joints start to creak. All sorts of things happen to us that I guess you have never seen before. But it is as natural part of Men's existence as breathing. All of this must be as strange to you as the notion of your being immortal is to me.”

“What happens when you die?” asked Nilme. “Are you reborn? Does Mandos have separate halls for you?”

“Nobody knows for sure,” John said. “There are some who believe in rebirth of some kind or another and I don’t know who ‘Mandos’ is or what his halls are. But most of us believe that we have a spirit, a soul, which continues after our bodies expire. Now in different countries and different cultures there are many variations but basically, those who follow his God, lead a good life and treat others as he would like to be treated will have their spirits enter Heaven, or paradise, when they die. Those who do not are sent to Hell. Our spirits go to one of these places for all eternity and, as you might guess, one would want to enter Heaven and avoid Hell. Heaven is described in terms of eternal bliss and Hell is described as eternal torment. 

“There are others who believe there is no enduring spirit. That when we die, that’s it. We just cease to be.”

“So now you know what ‘Go to Hell’ means,” John said with a smile.

“Will you go to Heaven when you die?” asked Nilme.

“Haven’t a clue,” responded John. “Like I said, nobody knows for sure what will happen to them. That’s why some of us are afraid to die while others have extraordinarily powerful faith in what they believe."

“What about you? You’re immortal but you can be killed. What happened to the one who caught the Orc’s spear last night?


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## chrysophalax (Jun 17, 2006)

John's description of what it meant to grow old to Men filled Nilme with sadness as he looked at his friend. What he saw before him was a man fit and healthy, with a good mind and strong enough to fight well. He had noticed that John had appeared somewhat out of shape when he had found him, but the air and exercise had strengthened him almost before Nilme's eyes. He found it hard to imagine John in only thirty short years becoming so frail. But did it have to be so? He began to wonder as John spoke. Had John's people been cut off some how from Iluvatar? How had these tales come to be? The need to know more burned in Nilme's breast and he eagerly wanted to ask questions of his own.

When asked what would happen to him after death, Nilme looked long at John before answering, suddenly sobered. He pushed at his food for a moment, then set it aside. Softly he began to speak. "Mandos is the name of of the Hall of the Dead and Namo is guardian of the dead. It is said that when those of my kin die, our fea go to dwell in his Hall and wander in his gardens. Some are called to live again, though I do not know if it is by choice. Death is...a very difficult thing for one who is immortal to contemplate. Iluvatar, the Ainur, all who created us and all that you see did not give us the gift of natural death as he did to Men. We can only die if slain, starved or grief takes us. Nay, Iluvatar made us one with Arda, the world, if you will. We hear the trees speak! If anything should ever happen to her, we, all of us, will die too for our spirits are bound with hers."

He stood then and walked a little apart, threw wide his arms and inhaled the morning air deeply. Looking over his shoulder at John, he said, "So you see? To think of death is to think of everything withering, dying. It is not a thing spoken of lightly." John opened his mouth as though to speak, but Nilme spoke first. "You say you tell tales to your children of us, eh? Know you then of Dragons? Of magick?" He smiled wickedly. "Ah, my friend. I know naught of "fairy tales", but from what you say, this is the land from whence your tales come. There are kingdoms here and kings and queens who rule them. There are the Valar, gods you would call them if I understand you aright. Many are good and one...one who is not. He it is who turned many of my kin into orcs and it is he against whom many of my kinsman fight! Listen well when I tell you that you must use caution here, for all is not as it seems. Here, the tales are life itself!"

John's eyes widened as Nilme spoke, for rarely had he seen the Elf so animated. Not for the first time, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. Nilme meanwhile began to clear up the remains of their breakfast and to make ready for their journey. John finished hurriedly, then helped Nilme as he could. Soon, they were making their way through a strip of forest in the direction of the coastline. The tang of sea air lifted their spirits and soon Nilme was pointing out different flora and fauna to John. Ever driven by curiosity, it wasn't long before Nilme began questioning John again. "Tell me. Why is it Men die so soon where you come from? Here, it is said, Men live hundreds of years before they fail. As you are here now, might it not be the same for you?"


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## Uminya (Jun 19, 2006)

Shûaz'rha sat with his stumpy legs out in front of himself as he basked in the morning light. Now that there was no longer the ambiguity of night to mask his features, he could be clearly seen to have what was unmistakably grey skin. He scratched his head, then smoothed out his beard to take another spoonful of the porridge which he had failed to have been offered (but helped himself to anyhow). As John and Nilme sat speaking, he grumbled to himself, "Going to be a long bloody trip, yah..."

He pulled a biscuit from his pack and dipped it in the porridge, tearing away a chunk of it and chewing mechanically as he stared at his surroundings. He spoke as if to himself, but loud enough for anyone listening to hear, "Nice place you've got here. Don't fancy it over a house of stone, myself, but I suppose all yer flowers make it nice." He inspected his biscuit, "Don't have many flowers in the old home, eh?" He shrugged as if to toss a brooding thought off of his shoulder and went on talking, gesturing to John with his biscuit, "Need to figure out where he's from. He's no dwarf, and he ain't an elf or an orc, but he's heard of us. And I don't fancy being known without knowing the knower, aye."

So he stuffed the rest of his biscuit away into his (cavernous) mouth, and slurped up the last of his elven-cooking, then clambered up to his feet. The dwarf tucked his beard away into his belt--obviously proud of the length and volume of said beard--and sauntered over to where Nilme and John were speaking. He cleared his throat and looked up at the sky, "If I'm going to be stumblin' along with you lot, I reckon I might as well make nice and get to know ya, eh? No sense in bein strangers the whole time." He stroked his beard approvingly, thinking himself quite amicable and benevolent for offering so generously his time to these silly beings, but suddenly found that he wasn't sure what else to say. "Err...hm. So...where did you say we were going? Kerr-dan? Boats?"

He thought of clapping Nilme on the shoulder, but thought better of it and clapped John's instead, hardly giving either of them a chance to respond, "Oh and no worries about those orcs, eh? Nasty things. Fierce as badgers, dumb as posts, and they've the conversational skills of a badger with his eyes put out and his tail on fire." He paused and grumbled something about them also not being worth a spit, but he apparently didn't think that much worth speaking up about. Looking at John again, he seemed to grow very curious, and the tone of his voice changed considerably, becoming much less gruff and much more friendly, "So...where do you come from? Why are you here? And does it bother you if I ask you lots of questions?"

He grinned amicably and gave the man's beard an appraising look.


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## Elorendil (Jun 30, 2006)

As the sun's first light crept over the top of the trees, Curunir stirred at last from his long vigil over the grave of the fallen Annael. Edrahil looked up at him as he rose and walked slowly around the clearing, contemplating the best course of action. The appearance of orcs was most disturbing, for their kind had not been seen in over 450 years. Could this be a sign that the Enemy was regrouping and preparing to launch yet another assault? That thought had been troubling Curunir, hanging over him like a storm cloud about to burst forth with rain, throughout the long night.

Edrahil broke into his thoughts. "What are we to do, now, cousin? Should we not return to Hithlum and warn the High King of the reappearance of the orcs?" he asked.
Curunir regarded his kinsman, considering. "Yes, he must be warned," he agreed. "But what of Nilme and John? The Atani saved my life and I owe him a debt. It seems to me that we should accompany them to Brithombar. There may be more orcs lurking about, and it is likely they might prove too much for one Elf and a Man who knows little about battle."

"And, in doing so," Edrahil said, following his train of thought, "We could insure that Cirdan hears of the orcs, and repay your debt. From their, we could return to Fingolfin, ourselves, bearing the news, or send a messenger."

Curunir nodded, grateful that his kinsman understood his wish to see the Atani safely to the harbors of Cirdan. "We should move now, before they get too far ahead of us."
The Noldo summoned their horses with a piercing whistle. Soon, the stamp of their hooves could be heard as they ran through the underbrush. A majestic, black stallion appeared, followed closely by Edrahil's smaller, fine-boned dapple gray mare. The two Elves quickly mounted and set off, following the still-fresh tracks of John and Nilme. 

It didn't take them long to find the small traveler's lean-to where Nilme and John had passed the night. Curunir and Edrahil exchanged a look of distaste as the voice of the dwarf they had encountered the night before met their ears as they slipped from their mounts and approached the camp. 
Curunir stepped into the lean-to and greeted Nilme, ignoring the fact that he was interrupting the dwarf. He quickly told the Dark Elf of their wish to accompany them to Brithombar and awaited his response.


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## chrysophalax (Jul 3, 2006)

As if the suddenness of the dwarf's arrival and declaration of intent to join with he and John hadn't shocked Nilme enough, the re-appearance of his "cousins" did nothing to lighten his mood. They arrived so certain of welcome...proud, noble Noldo that they were and Nilme ground his teeth in silent anger. They told him that they wished to accompany he and John wheresoever they were bound. Again...so certain of welcome. John, who had never really prided himself on being overly observant of his friends, now noticed how tense Nilme looked as the Elves addressed him and he knew there was definite trouble on the horizon.

"Curunir...Edrahil. Follow me." Oh, yes...that soft, deceptively quiet voice confirmed it. The Elves glanced at each other, then followed Nilme a short distance away from the lean-to. As soon as they were out of earshot, Nilme rounded on them. "I will have nothing said against John. Is that understood? He is a stranger here...lost, confused and in need of aid. He is unlike anyone I have ever encountered, like one of the Ainur! I feel that Ciradan might know how best to help him, but I will have no more Noldorin discourtesy nor incivility, therefore do not presume upon my patience, for I find I have very little to spare of late." Odd how he felt more at ease with the Naugrim that John was now entertaining than he did with his own people. He looked at the both of them steadily. "Are we in agreement then? If so, you are welcome to join us, for I fear that we are more likely to see more orcs than I would wish."


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## baragund (Jul 5, 2006)

Like a single candle being lit in a darkened room, real understanding began to grow in John’s mind as he listened to Nilme. The accumulation of things he has seen and experienced since washing onto these shores added up to a tipping point where the rational side of his mind, the engineer’s side where only that which can be quantified, documented, scientifically tested, verified and peer reviewed, began to reconcile with what he had felt on an emotional and intuitive level but could not quite bring himself to believe. Until the encounter of the previous night and now listening to Nilme, there was a part of him that believed, still, that the end of their journey would bring them to a recognizable town, with recognizable people and telephones and cars and McDonald’s, and he would contact the authorities so he could go home. 

He was at the same time relieved, fascinated, sobered and afraid. Relieved that the uncertainty and doubt that nagged at him since he came to these lands was being resolved. Fascinated over the prospect of exploring an entire new world that, given what he had seen so far, contained wonders he could only dream about. Sobered at the thought that he may never return to his home, never see his country, his town, his family and friends, his Jennifer again, afraid of the orcs he encountered and whether there were many more of them about.

“Dragons? Magic?” he murmured, half to himself. “Yeah, our myths and legends have a lot about those, and lots of other fanciful beings and creatures besides. Animals you could talk to, and creatures that are part animal and part human. I would very much like to find out what else I will find here. What the kingdoms are and what they are like.”

John had not seen Shûaz'rha sitting by a tree as he and Nilme were talking, and he startled when the Dwarf started to speak. There was so much more he wanted to say to his companion but he kept quiet as he did not altogether trust this newcomer. He listened pensively but grew distinctly uncomfortable when the Dwarf brought his hand down on his shoulder. It felt like his hand was made of stone and it had the same force. The blow bent him over as if he was a weakling, and he had to work to suppress a yelp of pain.

The discomfort only grew when Shûaz'rha’s tone changed. Was there an… amorous tone… in the Dwarf’s voice as he grew more friendly? “Oh great,” John thought to himself. “He’s gay and he likes me. So that’s why Snow White had nothing to worry about…”. This last thought made him put his head in his hand and bite his tongue hard to keep from laughing out loud.

“What’s so funny? Do I… amuse you?” the Dwarf asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

Still suppressing his laughter, John replied, “Never mind. You just reminded me of something very… silly.”

Trying hard to change the subject, he got up and busied himself with cleaning the breakfast dishes. “So you want to know where I’m from and what I’m doing here.” He gave an inquiring look to Nilme and he returned the look that seemed to say ‘Go ahead, you might as well tell him’.

So he began, “Well, the ‘why’ is pretty easy. I shipwrecked and washed ashore just north of that watchtower at that point on the coast. Nilme here found me unconscious on the beach. I was hurt pretty bad and he and a friend of his got me back on my feet at their house. He’s showing me the way to the city of Brithombar to get advice from the ruler there on how I can get home.”

“Why do you need advice?” Shûaz'rha asked. “It’s pretty simple that you just sail back down the coast the way you came.”

“It’s not that simple,” John replied. “I didn’t come up or down any coast. I came… across. And from what Nilme here tells me, that’s supposed to be pretty much impossible. So that’s why I need advice.”

John stopped what he was doing and peered closely at the Dwarf. “Are you… alright?” he asked. Shûaz'rha indicated he did not know what the Man was talking about. “Your skin, it looks like putty. Is that…typical… for your kind?”


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## YayGollum (Jul 5, 2006)

The vibrations and brush noises easily gave up the secret that something large was moving towards the building. What it was remained a mystery until, with heroic music accompaniment by way of a fiddle and a red-haired and Dwarflike man's signing voice, an unnaturally small mumak ambled into view. When the guy spotted a human and a Dwarf, he tossed a carefree smile and a wave over, and, although his song was of the catchy and entertaining ilk, he thought that halting it would be polite. After dismounting and tethering his mumak to a tree with an old rope, he trotted right up to them, doffed his helmet at them, and bowed. "Greetings, fellow travellers! Would you object to company?" While waiting for a response, his eyes drifted about and ended on the mumak, who was tearing at the bark of his tree with his tusks. "Blunderbuss was hungry, and I smelled something good for me to eat coming from here."


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## Uminya (Jul 6, 2006)

Shûaz'rha wasn't sure how exactly to take implications that he was either silly, or with a putty-like face. He harrumphed mightily and stroked his beard, eyeing John's in return and taking half a moment to touch his own cheek. He felt the skin, which was scarred a bit from battle, maybe a bit hard from long days in the cold wind of years gone by...but putty? Surely the man had a different meaning from the word. And how very likely that must be, since only a cracked sort of person would claim to be from across the sea.

Unless...

Suddenly, in a rush of excitement, the dwarf realized that this could be a messenger from Mahá himself! He bowed deeply before John, and then glanced up at the man, "My skin, sir, I am not sure what word would best describe it. I am as the Great Mahál created me, and I of course am so very grateful that he did!" He straightened himself up again, a bit unsure if he was being gracious enough to the potential representative of the very father of all dwarfdom. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then spoke again, "Ah, perhaps, you were only expecting to see some of...the other Houses, sir? I know for certain that they have a more--" he paused and gestured to the elves-- "like-that appearance. I admit that I am so very far from home...but as I said, I am looking for the Halls of Uzod."

He scratched his head, wondering why he suddenly felt like a youngling again, even though this being that named itself as '_Dzhôn_' didn't look a day over...well it was hard to tell. He knew that elves didn't really seem to age at all, ever. And yet he wasn't an elf...and so he thought of his own people, where one could live out a rich, prosperous life to over a few hundred summers. But he wasn't a dwarf, either. Orc? Impossible. And he certainly didn't look like one of the terrible...things...that his people found themselves fighting against as they bored down deeper into the Earth. So the only solution seemed to be that he really _was_ from across the sea, and that he could very well be the messenger from the Maker that he first suspected!

All of these thoughts passed through Shûaz'rha's mind in the blink of an eye, and he took in a sharp breath, drawing himself up proudly--not wanting to look silly. Then another thought crossed his mind, and he seemed to slump a bit. _Surely Mahál's messenger wouldn't go to the *elves* for help..._ he thought to himself. So of course he asked the obvious.

"Ah, but I ask you, friend, why is it that you seek out the elves for advice?" he leaned forward intently, looking up at John with intense curiosity, "Why not ask the _dwarves_ for advice?..."

Like all great questions, however, this one was forced to await an answer as the dwarf's slate-colored eyes darted over to a rumbling sound coming from the woods. A moment later and a figure appeared, perched on top of a great beast and looking almost as like a dwarf as the human did, much to Shûaz'rha's confusion. He stood perplexed, not quite sure if he was going mad or if this was was just the beginning of more strangeness than was quite healthy for him.


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## baragund (Jul 7, 2006)

When the Dwarf spoke the name _Mahal_, John thought for a moment and then figured it was the name of the deity that was worshipped by that particular race, just as Nilme and the other Elves worshipped a god named _Iluvatar._ Simple variations in culture, he thought to himself, but he reminded himself to speak carefully lest an offhand remark could cause offence or even a quarrel with these beings.

"I have two parents, four brothers and sisters and a fiancee who probably think I drowned at sea," he answered. "If your people can help me get home then I would most appreciate your aid. Nilme here has not been across the sea himself but a lot of his people have. The folks in this city of Brithombar seem to be the experts in sailing so that's why we are headed there."

The conversation was interupted by the sound of heavy tromping through the forest accompanied by a hearty and cheerful singing. Presently, a type of elephant that was somewhat unlike what John was used to seeing at the circus or in National Geographic, ridden by an odd red-haired fellow lumbered into view. The rider halted the beast, dismounted and greeted the group while asking for breakfast. He was rather short and heavy set like Shûaz'rha and at first John thought he was another one of the Naugrim. But on closer inspection, he saw the familiar features of a human. "You're a Man!" John cried. He gave a whoop of joy and relief, and embraced the newcomer in a bear hug. "You can tell me how to get out of here right?" he asked after calming down and exchanging greetings. "I'll bet I drifted all the way to the coast of France or Spain. Tell me, are we in that Basque Region up at the top of the Iberian Peninsula?"


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## YayGollum (Jul 8, 2006)

Accustomed to adapting to varying customs, the short human took it all in stride and hugged gamely back, although he had grown a perplexed smirk. Easily picking up John's excitement for reasons of his own, he looked around again, as if he had to get his bearings. "Of course, fellow Man! Any direction will lead you out of this forest. It would help if I knew where you were trying to go, though." After glancing at the Dwarf with a concerned frown, he turned back to the human with eager eyes. "I am afraid that I have never heard any of the names you just mentioned. France? Spain? What was it? Bask region? Which peninsula? I am sorry, but I am still unfamiliar with the lands this far west. Are there any other names that those places go by? I do have a map somewhere, but I find that the journey is far more enjoyable with surprises behind every hill." He squinted at them through a childish grin, then eyed the remnants of the last meal to be had.


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## Elorendil (Jul 10, 2006)

Edrahil scoffed at Nilme's assertion that John was like unto the mighty and god-like Ainur. "Like one of the Ainur?" he exclaimed incredulously. 

Curunir shook his head as he regarded Nilme, pitying this Dark Elf who had never seen the light of the Two Trees or the white shores of the Undying Land. "I have seen the Ainur, Dark Elf, and, mark my words, they are nothing like this mortal Man," he said, adding emphasis to the word_ mortal_. "I dwellt in their presence long before the Atani first walked these lands. John is no different than the other Aftercomers I have had dealings with, Nilme. There is nothing exceptional about them, save it be the shortness of their fleeting lives. To compare them with the Ainur-" he stopped short, knowing that completing his thought would only anger Nilme. His voice softened as he continued. "I will grant that John has more courage than many of the Atani I have met. That does not alter the truth that he is nothing more than a lost and confused mortal Man."
He paused for a moment. "I might remind you, Nilme, that Noldorins are not the only ones capable of discourtesy and incivility," he said pointedly. "But-" he went on, holding up a hand to cut off Nilme's reply. "We are willing to put aside our differences and 'incivilities' to see that this errand done. I, too, think it likely you shall encounter more orcs on your journey. We will accompany you to Brithombar and lend our swords to the protection of this Atani."


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## chrysophalax (Jul 12, 2006)

A scathing retort on his lips, Nilme was suddenly interrupted by a sudden unaccustomed trembling of the ground. All of the Elves looked around, startled. A stranger's voice reached Nilme's ears and he quickly returned to the camp, only to find John in an animated conversation with another man. A man who's mount was unlike any the Elf had ever seen.

Since there appeared to be no immediate danger, he approached the animal, which seemed friendly enough. It was busily tearing small limbs off a tree, so Nilme left the creature to it's meal, shaking his head in fascination. 

The dwarf was watching the two men talk, so Nilme decided to join him. "When did they arrive? It seems almost as though John has found has found long-lost kin! Tell me...what do you make of..whatever you may call the beast? I've never seen it's like!" Nilme watched as the newcomer distractedly tried to answer John's questions, but seemed to be having no better luck than Nilme had had upon first encountering John. The man kept looking at the remains of their food wistfully. That made up Nilme's mind. 

"Come, traveller! Sit down while I prepare you some food. Tell us of your journeys." He tossed the man a waterskin from his pack as he set about making breakfast for their guest.


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## YayGollum (Jul 12, 2006)

Mostly focused on staying ready to react to such a friendly human, he only noticed the elf's presence when it spoke out to him. He caught the waterskin and nodded his thanks before taking a sip, then lowered himself to the ground as quickly as he could while watching his benefactor work. He was too distracted by the food to gather his thoughts well enough to decide on an adventure to relate, for a while. When he eventually obtained a bit of focus, he looked around to size his audience up before attempting to repay the kindness. 

After spotting the other elves and waving them over ---> "Ah! Come closer, Quendi! How lucky am I, to have met such a rare troupe! It reminds me of a circus in Harad that I had the opportunity to join! I'd still think that some of them were at least half Ainur, if I hadn't been able to pilfer old Blunderbuss there so easily!" A reminiscent laugh and a mischievous grin were given but he seemed to be expecting everyone to gather around before he continued.


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## Elorendil (Aug 15, 2006)

Curunir regarded the newcomer, yet another of the Atani, with a mixture of curiosity and vague suspicion. Edrahil stood beside him, staring at the Aftercomer with undisguised suspicion and disgust. For his part, Curunir was actually interested in this stranger. His unusual mount intrigued the Noldo. Curunir had heard of the oliphants, but he had never seen one until now. From what he had heard told of the beasts, he had expected them to be a bit bigger.

The Atani seemed to notice him for the first time. "Come closer, Quendi!" he said, beckoning. His conversation with Nilme still fresh in his mind, as well as his promise to "put incivilities aside," Curunir took a step towards this strange, fire-haired Adain, despite his reservations. "How lucky am I, to have met such a rare troupe!" he continued. "It reminds me of a circus in Harad that I had the opportunity to join! I'd still think that some of them were at least half Ainur, if I hadn't been able to pilfer old Blunderbuss there so easily!"

This piqued Curunir's curiosity. "You have been to the Harad?" he asked with interest. He had heard many rumors of the far off place and its colorful inhabitants. Mindful of Nilme's watchful eye, though the Dark Elf seemed intent upon fixing a meal the their guest, Curunir seated himself beside the Atani in what he hoped looked like a gesture of goodwill. "My journeys have not taken me as far as that land. Tell me of it."


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## YayGollum (Aug 18, 2006)

With more elves than anything else around, the human bit his lip while wondering about what sorts of conversation they might prefer. He repositioned himself excitedly, though, so as to include everyone in his explanation. "As a matter of course, my friend! Hm. Let's see... Ah! For one, it is full of happy, hard-working people. The farther west we go, the more conflicts we seem to find. Harad is lucky to be so far away from such things. It is much warmer there, too. I can understand why most that I have met in the west are so quiet. Not as much heat to light the path to your passions, I'd suspect. And they have mumaks, for one thing. Smarter than any horse I've ever met, old Blunderbuss is! Well, Harad was a fun place. If you want to see the whole thing, though, plan on staying and getting lost several times. It's much larger than anything they call a country up here! Heh. But I am just a wanderer. The world is my home. Every part has its charms. Er, at least so far!" He paused only a beat to take the time to glance around at each of the others. "Now, would you let a man die from suspense? No. You look like good people! What, if I may ask, is such an odd gathering collected for?"


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