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Carcharien sits with his knees drawn to his chin and stares at the glowing embers in the small hollow of earth at his feet. He tries to recall how he came to this particular place, but, as soon as he feels a sense of familiarity, the memories drip and slide from his grasp. It is as if clarity of thought had begun just now, with the cracking and hiss of fire and the small, tight dance of light and shadow about him. He looks up at the moon over the western rise, its light slipping through haze and darkened tree, branch and leaf. It tells a tale of time he cannot comprehend. He cannot account for its shape and position in the night sky. As he struggles to focus on this thought, fear swells, knotting his stomach and the muscles in his calves. The memory of the moon is submerged and he knows not whether he fights to comprehend the next thought or to repel it. Yes, he has something that he must tell his kindred. It is something of great weight. They must know, and soon. But, what is soon, how long has it been? Another wave of fear breaks over him. His heart races and perspiration slides from his temples. He again struggles to break through to the next step along this wisping trail. But, fear then battles with a longing to be home, a desire to be among familiar faces. It sets his thoughts on the path of old, clear memories that bring an ache to his throat. Another thought drifts to the surface. Where has he been that would bring such bittersweetness to these memories? Before he can dip any deeper, the desire to be home and among those he loves floods over him in full force. It wipes out all other thought in its wake and brings him to his feet. He looks around him at the rise of land at his back and the trees about him, tall oak and pine. He smells the air, keen, but with a musk of early autumn leaves. No longer feeling the fear, Carcharien does not know why he is sweating. But, he knows that he must be home. He knows he is not far. He scoops the moist earth back over the hollow at his feet, dousing the fire, and wipes his hands in the wet grass and leaves. He wraps his cloak about him against the chill night air. He chooses his direction with confidence and presses on, without desire for food or rest. ********************************* Carcharien stands at the door to the armory, his eyes closed in the light of the late afternoon sun that streams into the room. He leans the side of his head against the doorframe and loses himself in the sun's warmth and the soft sound of voices drifting from the surrounding structures. Dimereg sits in the cooler shadow of the room. In his hand, he rolls the whetstone he had been using to sharpen his long knife when Carcharien entered, as he considers all that he has just heard. Dimereg, to Carcharien's back, "You were right to come straight to me with this." Carcharien opens his eyes and focuses them on the present. Dimereg continues steadily, "Lord Maethor is six weeks gone. He delayed as long as he could, hoping to have news of you before he left. All the other scouting parties had returned long before and we could find no sign of you and Guruthurin. He had especially hoped to have your report, as you were sent further south than most. But, what information he had, Lord Maethor has by now brought to our liege, King Thranduil." He paused and rubbed his thumb reflectively along the rough surface of the stone. "You were greatly missed, Carcharien, for many reasons. I believe Anbarad would have searched Dol Guldur itself if we had given leave. As it was, he required stern warning to not attempt it on his own. It was a hard order to give, as our hearts would have had us follow him." Carcharien, distressed to have given such pain and anxious that his news is too late, turns to look at Dimereg, "I came back as soon as I could." Dimereg gives him a small smile before speaking again, "I am sure you did." He spins the whetstone on the table in front of him. "Do not worry so, Carcharien. Much of what you have to tell of our Enemy's movements is already known or could have been foreseen. We have been making preparations and Lord Maethor's consultation with the Lord Thranduil will set in place the last of our defenses before the storm breaks upon us. All that was unknown was the time that the first tip of the shadow would reach out for us and the exact shape it would take. And that we now know, thanks to you." Carcharien nods tensely, "We will have to move quickly," he urges. Dimereg stops the stone in place and looks at Carcharien, "Aye. But do not fret, you have returned in time. In fact, just in time." Dimereg picks up the whetstone and packs it away in a small pouch that hangs from his belt. Dimereg then picks up an oilcloth and slowly and carefully begins to polish the blade. "Lord Maethor is expected at any time; tomorrow at the latest." He stops momentarily. "It is good that you did not tell Esgallyg your news and I will ask that you not tell others until after Lord Maethor returns and has been informed." He resumes the long swipes of the cloth on metal. "He will want to hear your tale from your own lips, I expect. Our people will feel more at ease knowing that he has returned and can provide for them. We will need their confidence, Carcharien." Carcharien frowns, "How then should I respond to their questions? There is much that they will want to know of me." Dimereg, folding the cloth in precise squares before he packs it, too, away, "Yes, and much you will need to tell for your own sake. I would not deprive you of what you need from them. No, no, you can tell them all, all but for just how quickly we are threatened. That, I think will be best to withhold for a little time. The rest they have the right to know and you the right to tell as you will." Carcharien nods, but looks away. "I must ask you, Carcharien, have you taken no hurt in your travels? No hurt to body or mind?" Dimereg looks intently at Carcharien, who feels a sudden inexplicable confusion of his heart, but responds, "None, I am well." Dimereg releases his breath and returns his attention to his knife. "Then Elbereth must have watched over you closely, for I do not doubt you were ever in grave danger." He pauses, "To have you returned to us unscathed is more than we could have hoped." He looks back up at Carcharien, a dark center in a halo of afternoon sun. Dimereg muses, "I think I have kept you to myself long enough." He smiles, "You are eager to see those who await you. If you could stand any closer to the doorway, you would be outside the room." Carcharien returns Dimereg's smile. Dimereg snaps his knife into its sheath, stands and quickly fastens it to his belt. "And they will be eager to see you, as I expect that Esgallyg has returned from the outer watch by now and gone before you with news of your return." Carcharien's smile deepens, his confusion forgotten. "I do not think I have ever seen Esgallyg so surprised." Dimereg laughs as he joins Carcharien at the door, "I would have liked to have seen that. He is not one to lose composure easily." He stops at Carcharien's side and chuckles, "Though many have tested this, especially you and Anbarad when you were younger. But, you were never as successful as Guruthurin. He has a deviousness that few can match. Come, I will walk with you to the common room; I suspect that our friends will be gathered there." They walk into the sunlight together. Dimereg speaks, his voice full of suppressed amusement, "I seem to recall something about Guruthurin trimming Esgallyg's arrow feathers so that every shot veered wide. Firnelin particularly enjoyed that one." Carcharien replies through his laughter, "Aye, and then begged Esgallyg to teach us the finer points of aiming at a moving target from the branches of an oak. I cannot say that Esgallyg taught quite what he had intended." Dimereg, choking on a laugh, "Aye! He nearly took off my ear with one of his shots!" Carcharien continues, his eyes alight, "And yet he never broke his tranquility, or at least the appearance of it. You, on the other hand, looked ready to hang us all by the back of our tunics from the uppermost branches and leave us there." "Aye!" Dimereg exclaimed, "Had not Firnelin fallen from the tree in his laughter and broken his arm, I would have done just that and left you to fend for yourselves." The dwellings are structured so that each opens onto gardens and grassy open areas on either side of the pathways on which they walk. Murmurs, song and laughter float about them, but the community is relatively quiet in the heat of the late afternoon. Carcharien continues, "Esgallyg's calm was ever a fortress that seemed to beg for assault. Though, it would not surprise me if he had cultivated it just to give us the opportunity." They have reached the entrance to a larger hall. They lightly climb the few stairs to the wide porch that spreads out along the structure and pause at the doorway. Dimereg places his hand on Carcharien's shoulder and smiles fondly at him, "He enjoyed your youth very much, Carcharien. Anbarad was born not long after his own young son had died and you followed soon thereafter. I think the two of you eased his heart." Carcharien, touching Dimereg's elbow briefly, "Then I am glad to have been so much trouble." |
| To be continued... |