Clouding of a Star (December 3009-March 3010) [Faeldor]

Cloud grey eyes blinked and squinted in the cold January breeze and a door slammed behind her, causing her to startle. The baby did not cry, however, only whimpered lightly, squirming and kicking within the swaddle she was wrapped in. It was so bright. She turned her face away from the sunlight and huffed.

“You don't like the cold? It's all right, just a minute, sweetheart.” Large green eyes hovered near over her face, and her mother's kiss landed on her crinkled forehead before the woman shifted her to block the wind. Melian settled against the familiar smell of Miriel's dress, and let out a small contented sigh.

The comfort, however, did not last long, for the warmth soon left once more. Mother's arms were gone, and the grey sky was once more above. There was a rustling and creaking before her and Melian began to whine as the wrinkled hands of her Grandmother held her tight and rocked her. It was only moments before she was passed into another smaller pair of hands. Though he was yet little, Faelon's grip was protective on her, and he cradled her head as he walked to the front of the carriage and pressed her back into Miriel's arms, pausing a moment himself to kiss her and smile down at her.

“You be good for your mama, Meli,” Faelon grinned. “I get to ride Lumiel today.”

The wind was now gone, and as the motion of bodies settled on the benches around her, Melian once more took in her mother's warmth. Her eyes stayed open long enough to see the dark hair of Mother fall about her and the sound of her lullaby mingled with the sound of horses hooves and creaking wheels.

“Lullay, lullay, my tiny child,
Too soon you’ll know the world so wild,
Yes all too soon, you will be grown,
And I’ll bide here, alone, alone.
The rushing billows you shall ride,
And the light of the North Star will be your guide,
But yet awhile, I’ll have you stay,
Lullay my sweet one, my child lullay.
For you shall run in meadows green,
And sport with otters all in the stream,
And you shall chase the dappled deer,
And swim with salmon in waters clear.
To pluck the small birds from the sky,
On the tail of the South Wind you shall fly,
And take the high hills for your home,
Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

---

Stiff fingers poked through the gap in the crate and a soft purring immediately erupted. Haliel could not quite unfurl the fingers of her left hand, but the cat didn't mind and it's pink tongue licked and licked, while it's head butted against her. Black and orange fur pressed through the gaps in the wood, and the tip of a slender tail poked out. Lilotie did not need Haliel's fingers to bend well for petting. She could do most of the work herself.

“Lilotie,” Haliel giggled at the feel of her soft fur and rough tongue. Ever since her cat had returned home, shortly after Faeldor's arrival, the little girl's spirits had brightened considerably. With Lilotie home, and Faeldor, and Mother, it did not matter so much that she was yet stuck in her leg splint and had not been able to walk for over a month. Faeldor could carry her easily, and so could Mother. Grandmother was much happier now as well. Melian was here with them, and Miriel even let her hold the baby if someone was sitting with her, for though Haliel tried her best and knew how to support the baby, she could not quite make her arm work properly to do so, and at times her shudders took over. Either way, Miriel said that once Melian was a bit bigger, she would not need to be held so carefully.

The only one missing now was Gilwen. Though Haliel had always loved the woman, from the first she had met her, she had grown even closer with her the past months since she had lain abed recovering from her illness in their home. Haliel had spent hours pouring over her lessons during the day in the chair beside Gilwen's bed, or even upon the bed with her. Coursing over her picture books, and reading her lesson's aloud to Gilwen.

Yet soon she too would be with them. There they had been traveling some days now, on the grandest adventure of the little girl's lifetime! Haliel had never left the stone walls of Minas Tirith, save to go round the outer walls and lay flowers upon the grave of her Father once a year. The Pelennor had been vast and open. There were grasses going on for miles. They moved further from the tall mountains, though they could still be seen on the horizon, along the south road. They took the carriage through forests and over hills and plains. The sights were all a wonder to Haliel, like something out of her picture books.

Faeldor had said this was the long route, but to travel with the carriage they needed to take the smooth roads. Haliel looked up out the front window of the carriage. Her brother was steering the draft horses, Faelon riding by his side. Haliel sighed. Both Marileth and Faelon had been able to ride with him. They had also been able to take turns upon Lumiel when they wished, though right now the horse was simply tethered to the back of the carriage as they walked. Haliel though had not the balance to stay safely upon the front seat nor could she ride the horse by herself. She could do none of it truly with the splint on her leg, even if Faeldor had been atop with her. The cushions on the floor of the carriage had not been unbearable though. There was Miriel and the baby. The best part of the ride had been Grandfather's stories. He had always been a storyteller, but the stories seemed to come to life with the ever changing scenery. Myth and legend intermingled with histories, though in the eight year old's mind, each word was living and true.

The carriage slowed, and Haliel drew herself to look out the window once more. Faeldor had stopped to talk with Mother, who was driving the other team of horses which pulled the covered wagon with their belongings. “It's the Crossing of the Erui,” Tinuves said knowingly before the little girl's questions started. The silver ribbon which had once seemed far off was now right in front of them, the current fast moving, and the banks far apart. “It is not deep. We'll be fording this one, and we'll be in the fiefdom of Lebennin on the other side.”

Melanir's smile seemed to grow. “Do you know the story of the Lone Lady?”

“Oh no,” Haliel answered, smiling back for she knew Grandfather would now weave his tale.

“She is a river-daughter, wise and old, and powerful, and she dwells here in the River Enui. One of the five sisters of Lebennin. Roamingstar, Grey-eye, Silverfroth, Truetongue, and the Lone Lady. They are ageless daughters of the river-woman. Born in the waters, and guardians over the waters. Silver of hair and raiment. We shall cross over the rivers of each on this journey. Once there was a time when the five sisters were friends with one another but now only four remain in friendship. The Lone Lady has gone wild over the years. Breaking her trust with the others. She uses the waters from the mountains with a force that rivals all others, sending waves and floods to wash men from the fords.”

“Grandfather, you're going to scare her,” Miriel interjected.

“I'm not afraid,” Haliel answered though her blue eyes were wide. “Why is she wild, Grandfather?”

Melanir had expected the question, and looked to Miriel for a moment. His own grey eyes only caught the blur of the eldest granddaughter rocking her child before he turned back to the little girl. “In the days of eighteenth King of Gondor, a woman married into the family who was not of Dúnedain descent.”

“Like your Mother,” Haliel commented.

“Yes, like your Great Grandmother,” Melanir confirmed. “Queen Vidumavi was of the North Lands, and though many loved her, there were those who thought less of her for here bloodline. They did not wish the Kings to dilute their lineage with the blood of an outsider. There are still those today who feel strife in the minglings of blood.”

“But blood does not matter,” Haliel pointed out. “Nobody is lesser for their blood, for all blood serves the same purpose and runs the same color,” she repeated rote from memory. Words Meleth had taught her already years ago.

Miriel frowned lightly, though tried to hide her change in expression as she looked down to her infant. Melanir could not see her look, and Haliel was not paying attention, yet Tinuves noted her granddaugther's expression. She knew the guilt she had felt over the very same thing. She had been so disproving of Faeldor's choice of Gilwen, for both the girl being of lower class, and the common blood. Even little Haliel had known better than she.

“That's right,” Melanir answered. “Yet there were still those who did not have that wisdom, and feared that the Queen Vidumavi's blood would diminish the lifespan of the Kings. Right before her son Eldacar ascended to the throne, there was a revolt, and a great civil war broke out across the Realm of Gondor. Castamir was close to the crown, a Belfalathrim of full Dúnedain blood, and chosen as the new king of the divided people's and followed by the men of Belfalas, Umbar, and Pelargir. He had great forces in war, and he took the city of Osgiliath and Minas Tirith as his own, driving the true king Eldacar back to the northlands. Castamir though was not a good man, and the people soon learned this when he murdered Eldacar's son. Castamir was called the Usurper, and he ruled with an iron fist. He was harsh and cruel to the people of the kingdom, even though he was of noble blood.”

“After a time the North gathered enough forces to send down and army to banish the usurper forever. Eldacar led them south, all the way here to the crossings of the Erui, and a great battle was fought. Eldacar himself slew Castamir in the waters, and the lives of many men were here lost to ensure the throne be given back to it's rightful heir. Castamir's sons escaped with a number of the southern forces to Pelargir, then later back to Umbar. That is why Umbar is no longer part of Gondor to this day.”

Faelon was leaning over on the bench from the front of the carriage, his face in the window listening. “The blood of Castamir is in the Corsairs. The pirates!” he exclaimed, as he near tumbled off his seat. Faeldor's hand had reached to grab the back of his tunic and steady him, but the eldest brother's grumbles could be heard from the front.

“The Corsairs, yes, and they're a story for another time,” Melanir nodded, his eyes sparkling. Of course talk of the battle would draw his grandson into the story.

“But what about the river-daughter?” Haliel asked. “Why did Castamir make the Lone Lady wild?”

“The River Erui ran red with blood that day, and the bodies, hundreds and hundreds still line the bottom of it. It is said that men have seen the apparitions of the armor rise up out of the water when the floods come down. The Lone lady hated the blood, and if she wills it, she will never have an uprising in her waters again. Many a traveler has had trouble getting through the Fords, especially if they are coming from the south from Umbar or the Haradwaith. She will not let another kin-strife occur. Never does she wish the men of Gondor to war with one another, for there are much fouler things for us to set our sights against these days.”

Haliel leaned against the window on the side of the carriage, looking out as the carriage began to slowly move toward the waters of the ford. First the horses hooves splashed, and soon the rushing of the river was on all sides of them. Haliel gasped and clutched the wooden framed carriage as it jerked on the stream bed. Grandmother had been correct though, the waters were not deep and the carriage did not lift from the bottom of the river, though it took some time to cross.

Blue eyes coursed over the waters. Upstream, and down, searching as if to spot the silver clad river-maid, or the armor of ancient armies. Yet nothing was to be seen yet. Then, off in the distance, a sun flare on something moving across the waters. Was it an apparition of a dancing maid? Or just her imagination?

“I think she was right to go wild,” Haliel murmured to her Grandfather. “I would not want the southern armies to invade either. Nor do I wish for another kin-strife. Blood is blood, whether Dúnedain or not.”

“You remember that, child,” Melanir nodded. His story had come to fruition.

---

He had never seen the Anduin before. No more than the clear silver stripe running off in the distance from the walls of the seventh tier of Minas Tirith. Now that Osgiliath was fallen, Pelargir was the greatest Port City on the Anduin, and the nearest to Minas Tirith, though they were over a week out from the city. The river's expanse was vast. Land could hardly been seen on the far shore, but the clear waters were dotted with ships and sails of all types.

Faelon had found himself wandering down one of the docks, in awe at the ships great and small. They had stopped an an inn in the city, and Mother had convinced the cook at the inn to let her make the supper herself, and to use their kitchen for baking for the next leg of their journey. Meleth had expressed a want for the fresh fish, so Faeldor had taken his little brother down to the wharfs to find the best and freshest that he might. It was only when Faeldor had taken too long deciding that Faelon had found himself drawn to a public dock jutting out into the river. Men moved up and down, taking wares in carts to and from to their ships, arriving and departing in brief stops. There was so much activity and motion.

“Looking for someone?” a bright eyed, tall man asked suddenly, stooping down to look the boy in the eye.

“No, I was just looking at the boats. I've never seen ships before,” Faelon answered pleasantly.

“Are you by yourself?” the man asked.

“My brother's up there on the wharf,” Faelon pointed. It was quite a long way off. “Looking for some fish to buy for Mother.”

“Ah,” the man flashed him a smile. He had a tooth of gold at the front of his grin, and Faelon was quite in awe by it. “So you've never seen a ship before? Here's mine,” he pointed to a beautiful, large vessel.

“Oh, it looks a fine one!” Faelon exclaimed.

“Do you want to come look at it? Come on, it's fine,” he smiled, taking the boy by the hand and leading him toward the plank.

“Are you a fisherman?” Faelon asked, looking for the netting and tackle hooks, though he saw none.

“No, this is a merchant vessel,” the tall man released Faelon and crossed the plank, jumping down onto the deck. Other men were rushing about, working ropes and sails, and an older man approached. The tall man gave him a nod, then looked back to Faelon. “Do you want to see the Captain's cabin? I'll show you the helm and let you give the ship's wheel a spin.”

“You're the Captain?” Faelon asked. He started, taking a careful step onto the gangplank.

It was then that another man grabbed him by the back of the tunic, stilling him in his movements. He was tall and thick, black haired, black bearded, and his skin was brown. He was the darkest man that Faelon had evers seen. The speech was quick and slurred. “He don't wanna see yers. He's cominta see mine, right boy? I'll take ye aboard. Ye've only a few minutes though before my crew sets out. Gonna be a sailor someday, eh?” The man clamped down on Faelon's arm with a large hand and moved him forcefully off down the docks.

“I don't… I don't know...” the little boy said worriedly as the man steered him toward a dilapidated ship and lifted him to carry him across the gangplank. “Hey, put me down!” Faelon shouted, his voice wavering.

“Sure ye do,” the man pressed him forward, paying the protests no mind. “Where's yer Pa?” he asked the boy before setting him down on deck.

“My Father is dead. I'm here with my brother… and my Mother's at the inn.” The boy tried to turn back but the big man was too much for him, urging him onward.

“Where are you sailing?” Faelon asked curiously.

“Off the coasts of Umbar.”

Faelon gasped. The man was blocking his escape back down the gangplank. “Are you a Corsair?” he asked quickly, fear rising in his voice.

“Hah!” the laughter was deep. “Do ye see the black and red sails of my ship?”

Faelon looked up to see the white sails billowing as the men began to loose their ropes and set to go.

“We're a fishing vessel,” he added. “But you shouldn't be so trusting here at these docks. Is that yer brother?” He pointed toward the curly haired man doing a swift jog down the docks, looking this way and that as he passed by each boat.

Faelon looked and saw his brother's bearded face. “Faeldor!” he called waving.

“Hey! That's my brother!” Faeldor called as he approached the vessel. “What do you think you're doing with him there?”

“Givin' him a snack,” the man answered gruffly, pressing a canister of salted fish and crackers at the boy. Faelon's grey eyes shot nervously up to him. “What are you doing up there without him?” he called back.

“Trying to buy fish at the docks, and he wandered off on me.” Faeldor edged to the gangplank of the ship, and started to board.

“Y'know where he wandered?” the man asked grimly.

“They were showing me their merchant ship, and he pulled me off and dragged me here and carried me on,” Faelon complained, crossing the wooden deck quickly to stand behind his brother.

“That merchant ship?” the man pointed toward a ship that had the sails flying and the oars rowing to take them back to the river. “I'd bet you half a bar of gold them men be slavers. I've seen the likes o' those on the seas many times. I pulled yer brother off'n their boat.”

He looked from Faeldor, back to Faelon. “Never know where the slavers might turn up on the coasts. They'd lure a strong young one like ye quick. Sell ye for a pretty gold coin, they would. Someone'd buy ye and maybe tryta sell ye back to yer family fer two coins if they could… or maybe just set ye to work on one o' them Corsair ships. If ye gone in that cabin o' theirs, ye wouldn'ta come out til ye reached the port of Umbar. I can promise ye that.”

Faeldor's face paled as he looked back to the men standing on the quarterdeck of the departing ship, then to the ruddy fisherman standing in front of him.

“I'm just an honest fisherman. But I can tell ye two ain't from 'round here.” The man pointed at Faeldor with a thick finger. “Ye best keep a watch on yer little brother.” And he pointed back to Faelon. “And ye best stay with yer family, an' not wander onto any strange decks. Don't matter now nice the men look. Ye never know.”

Faeldor shot a look down to Faelon, and the boy looked back to him with a similar expression.

“If ye want ter come fishin', stay right there, but if not, ye better head back for yer fish.

Faelon started back to the main dock, and Faeldor turned and followed. “Try the fish, boy. It's good. Salted it myself,” the bearded man laughed. “And ye ask for Haarith's fish at the wharf,” he looked pointedly to Faeldor. “Freshest ye'll find. Ye may not like the looks 'o me, but I'll tell ye I'm an honest fisherman.”

Faeldor paused, unsure what to say, and even as he did so the ropes were being pulled, and the fishing ship was shifting out toward the river. “Thank you,” Faeldor called back to the man.

“Tell yer mam ye met a man o' Umbar, boys. Though I ain't a Corsair. My Pa was though.”

The two brothers stood wordlessly for some time as they watched the fishing vessel sail away, heading back out to sea.

“Do not wander again,” Faeldor finally chastised.

“I won't,” Faelon answered quickly.

---

They had traveled along the Anduin road for a few days now. It was well tended here, and easy going, and there was much to see and do along the way, as the family made their way through the last stretch of Lebennin. The last river crossing stretched ahead. Not a ford this time, but a great gabled stone bridge, the Iant Linhir. They crossed the bridge and passed by the Lebennin Gate, coming into the small city.

“What is that smell upon the air?” Marileth asked.

“The sea,” Meleth hummed, feeling a vigor flow through her veins. Linhir was only twelve miles up the Anduin from the delta, though they were long from their journey's end, and would now turn north to follow the mountain range to the high pass, not seeing the endless stretching waters until they reached the Edhellond road.

When they had arrived and settled within the Inn, Meleth was unsettled. “I need to walk,” she had announced, and though the rest of her family was tired, Marieth sought to join her mother. They had meandered through the quiet streets of the city back to the overlook of the river, and Meleth stood breathing in the air, her body tingling with a feeling of home. Once they passed from the city gate, they would be in Belfalas.

“What bird is here?” Marileth asked.

Meleth turned her head, and her eyes brightened. “A swan! Oh, how beautiful it is. It's been years since I've seen one.” She watched the bird swimming and ducking beneath the waters at the confluence of the Rivers Gilrain and Serlin. It's white neck was arched and graceful as it swam beneath the Iant Linhir, joining with other waterfowl in the estuary beyond.

“Oh, I know of the great swans… but this one, Mother. The scarlet one,” Marileth pointed to the top of a tall pine.

“A kirinki!” Meleth delighted in awe, her eyes glimmering in girlish delight. She took in a deep breath and released it, but her eyes could not leave the bright red bird nestled within the green boughs.

“It's beak is piping, yet I cannot hear it's call,” the young girl mourned. She did so love the birds, and knew them all by name and song, though this one had been a surprise. A kirinki. She had heard of them before, though never in her years had she sighted one. They lived only along the Anduin near the mouths, and the coastal cities. Only within Belfalas.

“Their song is too sweet and high for the ears of man. Only the elves can hear it,” Meleth answered, watching as the beak opened and closed, willing herself to hear the tune. Meleth had sought out the nesting grounds of the birds in her youth, and had delighted in watching them for so many years. Yet still, she had never heard them sing, nor did any in the port she imagined.

“Elves...” Marileth wondered.

“You are Belfalathrim, Mari. There is elf blood within. Perhaps you will be able to tune your ears to it,” Meleth smiled. Her Father had once told her the same thing. Though the blood of Milthrellas was eons past, perhaps… she had always thought perhaps the time would come when her ears could catch the notes of the kirinki.

Though Marileth had not noticed the change yet in the people they passed, Mother had told her she soon would. The Belfalathrim were tall. Tall as Faeldor, and even moreso. He had been considered of a great height in Minas Tirith, though in Belfalas he would be no more than average. They would have grey eyes, and be fair of face. Beards were a rarity among the Faithful, as they were called, and she had been told her brother would stand out among them. It was not always for the best, her Mother had added, for the Dunedain were not often as polite to 'outsiders' as they were their own, and Faeldor could be considered one lest he choose to shave the scruffy beard off his face. When Mother had gone as far as to suggest it to him, the man had scoffed. “Gilwen likes it!” He had exclaimed in finality.

She would meet her Grandparents on her Father's side. And there were Great Grandparents, and Great-Great Parents. The men and women lived long lives and many generations of families presided at once. Some of her family were even nobles, living atop the Ost-en-Ernil near the Prince's castle. Her Grandfather Calaeron, her Father's father, was of the great line of Swan Knights.

“I hope I should hear the kirinki before I am an old lady,” Marileth said thoughtfully.

Meleth laughed, “Then you have a long time yet to hear it. For you will not be old for many years.”

“Til I'm grandmother's age?” Marileth asked.

“Or even later, for your Father's blood was purer than mine. You should live a long life. And all your siblings,” Meleth told her. The topic had come up again and again on this venture. It had never been of great discussion with the young ones, though now they wondered ahead to the land where their family was from. What it would be like, and how the people there lived.

“But what of Gilwen?” Marileth wondered. “She is of Gondorian blood, not the same as us. Will Fael live longer than she?”

The woman sighed, looking back to the bright feathered bird, with it's beak opening and closing in the wind, though silent. The children continually brought Gilwen back to mind. Her leave had been near as hard on them as it was on Faeldor, she considered, and on herself. Would Faeldor live longer than she? It was certain, if they lived to their natural ages, that he should outlast her by a lifetime. Though… she wondered if the young woman had even lasted long enough to make it to the shores of the sea, and felt sick within her stomach at the thought.

“The men of Gondor may live to eighty years, yet the men of Belfalas; twice that. One thing is certain; and that is we do not know the length of our days. Even your Father was Belfalathrim, yet did not make it to his fortieth nameday,” Meleth answered.

“Faeldor would be sad alone,” Marileth frowned.

“It is his choice to make,” Meleth replied pointedly

Marileth paused for some moments, watching as the kirinki took flight, it's beak opening in the air, and the red blur of feather's soaring high beyond over the buildngs of Linhir. She frowned for a moment; sad to see it go. “I will marry a Belfalathrim man someday. When I am older.”

“You know this?” Meleth asked, amusedly. “How do you know you will not choose a Gondorian? Or someone of lands even further afield?”

“I have already found him, of course,” Marileth answered, glancing sideways up to her Mother and grinning.

Meleth was slightly aghast at the notion, for she had never heard her young daughter mention the future in such a way before; though she supposed, the girl was no longer a youth like the others. She was growing in height and stature and soon would blossom into a young lady herself. Though, if she considered, Miriel had talked of boys at the age of twelve… it had been some time ago since those days, and though Marileth had aways been sweeter in nature, she much took after her older sister in many ways.

“And who shall be my new son then?” Meleth wondered, worried for a moment that they had left behind in Minas Tirith someone who may have been quite important to this daughter.

“Calon,” Marileth answered assuredly, looking back to the swan, and thinking of the man's ocean eyes and curly hair. Her cheeks turned a tinge of pink, and Meleth had to press a hand over her lips to keep her smile at bay.

“He is a fine man, indeed… though, do not set your heart so far off. I think your sister has her own eyes set on that one.” Meleth would not be surprised if he became a son of hers sooner or later as well. She had not heard a word of him in Narbeleth's recent letters of course, and had wondered if they had stopped corresponding though… she knew the man had left the Steward's service, and Faeldor had taken to replacing him some month's back. Meleth had taken a few inclinations that she was not about to reveal to her young daughter at his point.

“Grandmother said she doubts Beleth will ever marry,” Marileth protested. “And he's so handsome, Mother, and his eyes so lovely, and his laughter… did you see his smile?” She trailed off in a girlish fancy.

“Do not let Fael hear you speaking like that.” The mother reached to squeeze her daughter's hand. “Come, our bird has flown, and we should get back to the Inn before nightfall.”

“Isn't his voice larksome though, Mother?” Marileth pressed.

“I suppose it is,” Meleth laughed.

---

The bed was warm. Miriel sighed, and curled back against the warm body behind her. She felt his hot breath in her hair, and the weight of his arm pressed down over her shoulder. He felt solid, and real. More a reality than he had seemed these months and months past. She smiled, and turned in her sleep to face him, burrowing her face against his chest, and taking a deep breath, waiting for the smell of heady incense to fill her mind. But no… It was not incense which covered her, but the smell of horses and campfire. Miriel took in a deep breath; the air was cold in her lungs.

Miriel's eyes shocked open and she gasped.

“I did not mean to wake you, I'm sorry,” Faeldor whispered. “The air is so chill, I was checking Melian.” Miriel's head turned at her baby's name, and she glanced back behind her now to see Faeldor's hands upon the swaddle, wrapping the wool blankets more tightly around the nest Miriel had built for her safely near the wall of the carriage. “Her cheeks are quite warm. I do not think she feels it at all,” he added.

Miriel stiffened and groaned. It had been her brother's arm over her. He had most often on the journey slept outside by the fire to leave room for the others, but since they had begun to move near the mountains again, making their slow way uphill en route to the high pass, the whole family had found themselves moving the benches aside in the carriage, and rearranging the other wagon, that each person might sleep in a huddle on those nights that they were between the Inns. It was not completely unbearable, for there were many bodies to stay warm amidst.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Faeldor wondered.

She paused before answering. “Yes.” Perhaps it could be considered a nightmare. It was a dream she never would have willed herself to have.

“It will be dawn soon,” Faeldor tried to comfort her, laying back down on his pillow, and pulling the pile of blankets up further over them. Marileth shifted against his back, pressing near, and he head Haliel mumble in her sleep at their feet. She had the most blankets of all, for she was the only one short enough to fit widthwise in the carriage, though she seemed not to mind, with Lilotie purring near her head.

“You can lay near,” he whispered. “It's fine, you're still my little sister,” he teased lightly. “Don't you remember camping with Father when we were young? You'd rather sleep by me than the fire.”

“You've always slept hot,” Miriel remembered. “I could not get close enough to the fire without rolling right into it,” she smiled in the dark.

Miriel turned back around to face her child, settling with her back against her brother, though her eyes no longer had sleep in them, and she lay remembering the dream. Durion. She loathed Melian's father… she had loved nothing of him, save his embrace, and it had not taken her down kind road. It was long past the time when Faeldor's breaths once more became deep and even, and she still lay warm, but not asleep, that her eyes began to take in the dusky morning twilight.

She looked above to the western window of the carriage. The mountains were white and stark blue with snow beside them, and seemed to stretch on for endless ages. Miriel wrapped the blanket more closely around her shoulders, looking across to her infant daughter so soundly sleeping beside her; her little chest rising and falling, and her eyes contentedly shut.

“You won't remember Minas Tirith at all,” she hummed to her at the dawn of morning. “I shall never set foot in the White City again, nor ever take you there. Promise me you will not go seeking what lies behind, little one.”

---

“Alphanar, Esgarel, Angbor, Thoron, Nemir, Daeron…” the grey eyed innkeeper strung through the list of names in his record book. “I don't see a Beregar here,” he offered apologetically.

Meleth's hand came to rest on her son's sleeve. Faeldor had questioned every innkeeper they had visited. Even at the inns they passed in the light of day, with no plans to stay at, he had stopped to inquire within, and as day by day went on, his pleas became more desperate, and the tone of his voice harsher. He wished to see the books, he wished to ask on descriptions of the travelers that may have passed in and out near the turn of the year.

Faeldor sighed and turned, storming back up the stairs to the room he had settled in, leaving the rest of his family below. Meleth watched him go, her mouth left open in astonishment at his discourtesy, though her face soon turned to pity.

“I'm so sorry… my son has not been well these last weeks,” Meleth apologized. “He's usually personable, but I'm afraid the mental anguish has been too much for him...” The innkeeper gave a look of concern, and turned to see his wife's face marked with the same expression. “He's looking for a girl, his betrothed, like a daughter to me already… she was ill and...”


The bright sound of the fiddle hummed from the first story of the hall several hours later, and laughter rang below, yet Faeldor could not bring himself to join the rest of his family in their festivities. He listened to his Grandfather playing, but his eyes moved toward the window where he watched the fall of snowflakes as they glinted in the firelight that escaped the room.

“I have dinner, and tea,” a knock sounded upon the door and a bright female voice called inward. Faeldor had been the only one to not eat in the dining room with the rest, and the Lady of the Inn had sought to bring him some nourishment.

Faeldor looked up from his arm chair. “Come in,” he answered kindly, regretful that he had been so coarse with the Innkeepers earlier. They had seemed kind people, and he was letting his anger get the better of him far too often.

The woman opened the door skilfully, though she had a tray in hand and began to set the meal and drink out upon the table. “Your Mother said you're on your way out to the Edhellond Road Inn. Why didn't you say so before? We're always sure to rest there when we make for Dol Amroth. We know the old Innkeepers, I'm surprised they've stayed working this long, though the Belfalathrim blood is strong,” she rambled kindly.

“What was your name again?” Faeldor asked, his tone once more polite. He knew they had been introduced but his mind had been wandering when they entered.

“Gaernith,” she replied with a smile. “I'm from Dol Amroth myself.” The meal was set, and now it was her due time to leave the man in peace though, she had come upstairs with reason, “I heard you speaking with my husband earlier, about the family you're seeking after.”

In fact she had heard a great deal more from Meleth after Faeldor had stormed from the room. What had sparked the memory had not been the descriptions Meleth had given, but the way she had apologized for her son's unease. “Forgive me. My daughter…she’s been sick for a long while.” They were so similar to the words that had been spoken to her husband those weeks past. Those travelers had almost slipped her mind, for they'd stayed so quiet and unobtrusive in their room, and she had barely spoken words with them save to leave the small meals they ordered outside their door.

“There was a family awhile back; I cannot recall exactly when nor their names, yet it was a man with his wife and daughter. The girl… well. She seemed to match your Mother's description. Though I did not get a good look at her. When she'd mentioned she could be so ill...” Gaernith pressed her lips together to keep from saying more. Meleth had not only mentioned that the girl was ill, but the woman had broken down in tears crying that she feared she was dead.

“She… there was a young woman come through with her parents near the turn of the year,” she repeated herself. “They were headed from Minas Tirith to Dol Amroth. She was ill, and her mother was seeking the coriander for her fever. She slipped me extra coin when I brought up the last meal, and whispered that I pack extra food and drink in the bags on one of the horses and not tell her husband. I thought it strange at the time… They must be in the log, I don't remember their names. Dark hair and eyes and fairly short. I couldn't say what age the girl was, but her mother was small too I suppose. Alagastor said she...”

Alagastor, the Innkeeper, was standing in the still open doorway to the hall and upon this, he stepped in and Gaernith allowed him to finish himself. “She asked me to send word to someone in Minas Tirith, and I'm afraid I did not do it then, though perhaps I should have attempted. It could have been you… Faeldor. The name rings a tune, but I cannot recall if I'm simply imagining it. Her Father took her off upstairs and told me she was mentally ill… had confusion with her name.”

Faeldor startled at the words. Her name. He'd been given no hope nor hint from any of the innkeeps past, and had begun to suspect that Beregar had not stopped at a single one on their journey. “He is going to change her name.” Niniel's words came to him again, and he frowned. Had he been asking after the wrong name all along? Perhaps there would have been more news…

“He said she had hallucinations about a man who was going to marry her… not to trouble over her words. She was quite ill, it seemed sensible at the time to not take heed, and I know my wife offered what remedies she could for the fever. They left again as soon as the pass was clear.”

“I… thank you,” Faeldor said standing up from his seat. Gaernith took a step back to let him past, as he seemed to make a few frantic paces toward the window, and then back again toward her. “Could I have the names written from your log? From early January?” Perhaps… well Faeldor had no clue what Niniel had meant by the words but now, perhaps, he did. Perhaps he had changed her name. Perhaps he had changed his own.

“Of course,” Alagastor stated. “I'll copy them down for you tonight.”

Faeldor was back to the window, his eyes looking out over the hedges and wrought iron gate toward the high pass beyond where the knew the road would wind up the black razorback of the mountains, and then descend down to the beautiful Ringlo Vale. They were not far from Dol Amroth now, though the mst difficult part of the journey was yet ahead. In his mind he pictured Gilwen quite vividly. Chestnut brown eyes looking up to him, stars embedded within, and her soft whisper, “I love you, Fael.”

He completely missed the look that passed between Alagastor and Gaernith as the two quietly slipped from the room and shut the door behind them.

---

“Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.”

Meleth sighed as she rocked her granddaughter, swaying and slowly spinning, lightly dancing over the pale grasses that were springing from the hillsides. Her shoes were left in the carriage, and the damp earth felt a fine welcome on her feet. “Your Grandfather used to sing that to me, when we were young together,” she murmured to the baby. “I will never forget his voice.” Melian's grey eyes were bright and awake, and she clutched a handful of Meleth's dress.

“The closer we get… the more I remember.” The tufts of thick, black hair ruffled in the breeze upon Melian's head and Meleth carefully worked to re-swaddle the child. Though the air on this side of the valley was warmer and the obvious signs of spring were coming forth, it was still cool. Winter had a slight hold on the region. It felt as summer compared to the snow and blizzard of the high pass, however!

It had taken three days up the winding switchbacks. She had thought her son was going to take frostbite for the number of times he had stopped to dig out the wheels of the wagon and the carriage in the blinding snowstorm. She had feared an avalanche, and feared the horses would lose control. Feared her children and her grandbaby would freeze. Yet, extra precautions had been taken. Faeldor had hauled wood from the Gilrain valley and they had stayed warm with fire in the evenings and whenever need came upon them. Nobody had talked or sung those three days as the keen ears of Melanir listened for the whumpf and rolling thunder that would signal the shifts of the snows. The family had blankets and clothing plenty for the temperature. Everyone had come warm and safe to the end, and descended into the vale with delight.

“Spring comes early in Belfalas,” Meleth smiled to the baby, raising her up in her arms once more, and listening to her gurgle.

“And spring brings babies… you will have cousins soon, I am sure,” Meleth preened aloud, for nobody could hear her from up the hillside where she had gone. Her trunks of stitched baby clothes were in the wagon, waiting.

---

The grasslands stretched onwards for miles. Fluffy sheep dotted the landscape, and the blue sky also was filled with the puffy white clouds. She was certain the rain would come later, but for now, the breeze was fine. Tinuves sat stretched inside the carriage, her needlepoint at hand, and all the windows drawn open to let in the breeze. She stitched tiny colorful flowers upon a bonnet for the new baby. The spring weather would be beautiful to have the child outdoors in.

Melian had grown larger; near doubled her size, and had been held constantly, though she never cried. She was as happy a baby as any could be with with all the attention she received.

Haliel was laying upon blankets on the floor, whining and weary from the month of travel. Grandmother had told her once they reached their new home, she could have the splint off from here leg, but not a moment sooner, for she did not wish to have her jostle something and injure herself again in the bumping carriage.

“Can I really get a lamb when we get to your home, Grandmother?” Haliel asked.

“Yes,” Tinuves answered. “But you'll have to learn to care for it yourself. It will be your own responsibility.”

“I'll name her Fanien,” Haliel simpered, thinking on the sleek white wool, puffy as the clouds.

“Hadn't you ought to meet it before you give it a name?” Tinuves asked.

“No, I know what she looks of already,” Haliel answered.

“What if it's a black sheep?” Melanir questioned.

Without pause, Haliel answered, “Then he'll be named Roston, for the rain clouds.”

“Well, the girl has her mind made up, it seems,” Melanir laughed.

“I should not wish for a lamb,” Faelon commented through the window.

“I would think not,” Tinuves commented. “You'll be far too busy with the sea and the cliffs, and that horse your brother has been promising you.”

“Once we get settled he said we will start training one for me.” Faelon was smiling proudly.

“He's been a good help with the horses on this trip. I think he'll be ready for it,” Faeldor added from the front, placing a hand on his little brother's shoulder. The boy beamed back up at him.

“I don't wish for any animal,” Marileth chimed. “A bird perhaps, but then I would feel sorry to have it in a cage. I would rather watch them flying in the trees, and set out seed for them to come peck from the window ledge. Miriel and I can paint them as they come and go.”

“That's a fine idea,” Tinuves commented.

“What about you, Fael?” Haliel asked. “What are you going to do when we get to Dol Amroth?”

Faeldor had heard the question, though did not answer. His own thoughts were turning back to bitterness. He knew what he was going to attempt to do. It should only be a few days until they reached the city, and he had prayed to the Valar for days on end that Beleth had Gilwen with her, or at least knew where she was. His heart ached thinking that she could yet be alone in the city somewhere. The wharfs, Niniel had said.

“He's going to take care of the Inn. And the horses. And swim. And play music. And climb the cliffs,” Marileth answered Haliel for her brother.

“And kiss Gilwen,” Faelon laughed teasingly. Faeldor looked down at him, a terse smile on his face.

“Faelon,” Tinuves warned. She had urged Meleth and the children to still their talk of the woman, for she saw the way her name tortured Faeldor every time she was spoken of. At least, for the journey. At least until he was near enough to know, and strive to do something over it. To see if the girl's name was carved onto some stone tomb in the crypts.

Tinuves sat back against the wall of the carriage, the wooden window frame bumping and jostling against her back as she watched the hills roll by one after another. The grasses were a sea themselves, with trees dotted between. Soon the shores of the true sea would greet them, and the family be back home where they belonged.

Time would mend their ills. It had taken time for Meleth to endure the loss of Faelon. Perhaps she was still not yet mended, though, she was young yet, for the days of a Belfalathrim were long. Faeldor would endure his loss the same way. He would grieve and mourn for some time, but the day would come when he opened his eyes and saw that people come and people go, and eventually a new woman would catch his eye. He did not have the spirit to remain alone. Gilwen had been sweet and good for him. Perhaps he could find another like her.

Time would bring them forward. Life would go on. All these would marry… perhaps not Haliel for her weaknesses, but she would be well cared for it was to be certain. And perhaps not Narbeleth for her spirit, though she would certainly still have joy. There would be husbands, and wives for the rest of them. There would be happiness and hardship. There would be grandchildren. Many grandchildren, and great-grand children. And perhaps she would even be blessed with great-great grandchildren before she took her journey to Mandos.

---

“It smells like home,” Melanir chorused happily. He was tucked upon the bench of the wagon seat with Tinuves by his side, as his wife held the reins of the draft team. They had just passed over the peak of a hill, and the salt wind had flown over him like a song.

Faelon, Marileth, and Haliel had all gasped, and their voices had rung out from the carriage ahead of them, and Meleth, who had taken it upon herself to ride Lumiel today had gone ahead of them, spurring into a laughing gallop once they had crested the hill, black hair flying behind her. The sea was in view in the morning light, and it shone endlessly silver. Melanir could only see the blur of the open landscape, but he had known the smell miles off.

Tinuves sighed, “It looks like the sea air has made your daughter wild again.”

“My daughter?” Melanir chuckled. “Maybe she's as wild as I once was...” he paused. “But she has every bit of your temper.”

“Melanir,” Tinuves clucked at him, pressing her lips in a tight frown, but the corner began to curl up until she too was smiling.

“She is the perfect mix of us,” Melanir commented. “And it did not turn out so badly as you thought,” he added pointedly. “Look at all the fine grandchildren she has given us. Even a great-grandchild of her line now. And now to see the others. And have them all together again for once.”

Never had he had the whole of his family together now as they would be. All of the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even one great-great-grandchild by their eldest son they had received news of since last they were in Dol Amroth those eight years ago.

“I think Melian brings our total to… sixty five?” Tinuves questioned with a smile.

“No, you forgot two. We've sixty seven now,” Melanir corrected, clapping a hand down on Tinuves' leg and laughing. “Did you ever think we'd have so many? And the number always growing!”

“Two?” Tinuves wondered, trying to quickly re-add in her head. She would not have forgotten any.

“You've forgotten Gilwen and that young lad Calon,” Melanir stated knowingly.

“Gilwen isn't… I'm not sure she...” Tinuves started. She was not even sure the girl had survived, and she'd voiced as much to Melanir many times in the days since she had been taken from their home.

“She's strong. I've always said so. The boy will find her and marry her before you can even count all those grandchildren again,” Melanir affirmed. “Beleth might have found her for him already, I expect.”

“And Calon? That boy?” Tinuves waved her hand. She'd only met the young man perhaps twice in her days, though young Narbeleth had prattled on endlessly about him after that. “He was just a fancy of hers. That girl won't marry.”

Melanir laughed again as they reached the bottom of the Hill. The bridge of the Edhellond Road Inn was rising in front of them when they stopped the wagons, and the sea was shimmering. “We'll see...” he commented. “She's every bit her Mother's daughter.”

“And Faeldor his father's son,” Tinuves had to agree.