Like A Fish Out Of Water (OPEN) March 3010

March in Dol Amroth was full of blue skies and fair winds. There was just enough chop in the waters to make the smaller boats of the port to think twice before heading out into the bay. Calon would have liked to have been enjoying a good hunt in the woods on a day like this on any other occasion, but this day he had another task that he wished to attend.

Narbeleth’s family was soon to be completing the journey from Minas Tirith to Belfalas once more. That meant Faeldor, the former head of stables and the man he reported to for a time when he there lived, was going to be in Dol Amroth. Both he and Beleth knew Faeldor was going to be looking for word of Gilwen, his betrothed—and so far, he and Beleth had come up empty.

Today, he was starting with the Edhellond Road Inn, the one that was soon to be renamed Starlight Inn for its new owners coming. His own heart was heavy, and for a moment he wondered if Faeldor would still change the name if no sight nor word was unearthed regarding Gilwen’s whereabouts.

He did not want to think such dour thoughts, but the man was unsure how a young woman could disappear so well in the span of a month’s time—even in Dol Amroth. If she reached Dol Amroth.

The city itself was bustling, his wife out with one of the expecting mothers she worked with. He was unsure how late she would be; such was the schedule of a midwife, he supposed. Calon was going to spend the day looking. If he could find word of Gilwen, Beleth’s heart would ease.

Nendir and Indilwen, the innkeep and his wife at Edhellond Road Inn, had been looking and listening for word of a young woman of Gilwen’s description. Today, though, Calon was curious if anything new had reached him. If any travellers stopping along the way had seen travellers from Minas Tirith waylaid upon the road.

Calon knew that winter had been a harsh one this year; there was a chance that they had succumbed to some trouble along the way.

Fundaroch, his powerful and large golden stallion, was carrying him swiftly from his house through the streets. The day was pleasant, though, and the call of a ride was just too tantalizing to pass up. It was, perhaps, a longer way to the inn, though a pass over the cliffs would get him there eventually anyway.

So, Calon adjusted his course.

He road for a time, smelling the salt of the air, feeling the fingers of the gusts coming from the water, and hearing the laughing call of the gulls as they swooped about the frothing waves and rocky crags.

Normally, the path was empty. Today, though, there was a man, staring out over the grey-ish blue ocean. Perhaps he, too, needed an escape. The blacksmith did not recognize him, though. Perhaps he had news of Gilwen.

“Good day, sir!” Calon called, tugging the reins upon his stallion, the obsidian, thundering hooves falling to a halt. “Sorry to disturb you today—I am looking for word of family. Have you seen a young woman, small, brown eyes, dark hair? She was supposed to arrive here from the White City weeks ago, but my wife and I haven’t gotten word of her coming. She travels with her mother and father.”

Likely, it was going to be a fruitless endeavor. None yet had seen Gilwen, nor heard of anyone remotely similar to her appearance entering the city. It was, however, becoming a desperate endeavor to search for her. Something, Calon could feel in the very pit of his stomach, was wrong.

The minute the man turned around, Calon’s stomach flipped. The scar crossed the man’s eyes, a reddish, pinkish mar that immediately made even Calon, a man of good humor, feel his smile falter.

“And good day to you! I am afraid I have not seen anyone, Sir.”

“Ah, no trouble,” Calon remarked blithely. He was unsure what to say. Apologize? But would that not just draw attention to the man’s wound? Narbeleth would have known what to say; as it was, the man was going to have rely on his usual, bright nature to see him through. His smile widened, and though such expression itself was useless, the tone of the man’s voice lifted in kind. “My wife and I have been asking everyone,” he added.

Perhaps he would not think he was singled out.

“If anyone has seen her it would most likely be the people who are keeping the Inn. Shouldn’t be too far from here.”

“Nendir and Indilwen,” Calon hummed in agreement. “I am on my way there now, actually. If not them, maybe someone staying there…” His voice trailed away, the sound of the frown forming on his face slipping into his words.

“I know they’ve been keeping an eye out,” the blacksmith sighed. “I suppose you’ve heard they are retiring, if you know them. The woman I’m looking for—she and my wife’s brother are to take over.”

Momentarily, Calon wondered if such would be the case if Gilwen was never found, though he could not let his mind linger long there.

“What is the lady’s name? Perhaps I have heard of it and might of heard news of her passing by.”

“Gilwen is her name,” the man responded. “She should be traveling with her mother, Niniel, and her father, Beregar. Perhaps…you’ve heard of them? Beregar is likely looking for work, I would think. They’ve just come from Minas Tirith…”

Calon had certainly heard of good things of Nendir and Indilwen; Beleth and he had stopped in to see them on occasion, wondering if any word had come of Beleth’s missing Gilwen. They seemed kind hearted amongst their hard work. The Edhellond Road Inn was a quiet place, cozy despite the heavy stonework, likely due to the work they put in. It was cleanly, and full of folk going one way or the other. If anyone had seen the missing family from Minas Tirith, it was going to be someone who passed through there, Calon was certain.

“Oh, I see! Well now I know who’s taking over the Inn. Well, it is good to finally know and finally meet someone that’s family to them.”

Calon laughed, the sound bright like the sunlight bathing down overhead. “Well, at least by marriage. My wife, Bel, she is Faeldor’s younger sister. Though, their demeanors aren’t quite the same,” he added with a grin. No, indeed his Beleth was bright and energetic as the windy bay itself, and while Faeldor was always one for song and music—indeed Calon could recall the royal stables never being devoid of his whistling, humming, or words—he was a more grounded sort, grimmer, and with more of a temper than he had seen in his wife.

“Perhaps I’ll bring Bel by the inn for you to meet,” he added. “Though, I wouldn’t judge Faeldor too similar!” He laughed once more.

That was when Orodreth introduced himself. Calon smiled. “Well met, Orodreth,” he remarked, his tone nearly a song in and of itself. Perhaps Beleth’s manner of speech was wearing off on him, though his energy had long been soaring and of the ilk of such frivolity. “My name is Calon. I am the blacksmith of The Quarry, up in White Town.”

“You know, that sounds a little familiar. Sounds like a soldier I might of heard being spoken about. Other than that, I’m afraid I am no help good Sir.”

That made Calon pause in hope, and he caught his breath. “I hope you’re right,” Calon hummed, for a moment his tone darkening. “Bel and I’ve been asking all around Dol Amroth—I don’t think there is a person in the city who hasn’t heard her name or description. She is…betrothed to my wife’s brother. No word on her yet, though. We’re…worried.” She had been so sick when she had left—the letter had spoken lightly of it, glazing over the details. Truthfully, Calon had mulled over the words in his mind a thousand times, each time her sickness growing worse, or different. There was, he assumed, a chance she was too ill to have even made the crossing from the city in the winter. He did not know how frail they meant she was.

“Perhaps if we venture off the the inn one of them will know. There’s many people there and surely someone has heard of this Lady Gilwen who has lost her way.”

“I would be glad for the company,” Calon said. He swung his leg over the saddle, boots crunching down upon the rocky, well-trod path that wound its way down to the Inn from here.

The man eyed Orodreth, marking the dark hair and the dark beard that clung to his face. In truth, he did not see many about the city. In Minas Tirith it had been odd that he could not boast one. Perhaps Orodreth had come from the land of stone to the sea himself. “So tell me, Orodreth,” Calon began pleasantly, as he waited for the man to make his way toward them so they could set off together. “Do you hail from Dol Amroth? I’ve not seen many men about with beards. I have just returned myself, I took some time to live in the White City and serve in the stables there. I thought I would like it…but I missed my wild spaces and open places,” the man laughed.

It had not, he supposed, been all poor. Beleth he had met in the market, and that had been the greatest gift of his life.

“I’d love the company. I’m sure Nendir and Indilwen would love to meet all of you as well.”

“They very much know us,” Calon laughed. “Edhellond road inn used to be owned by—well, I suppose he’s my Uncle-in-law.” He paused to laugh at the sound of the term, wondering if such was how he should now refer to him from now on. “He’s owned it for a long while, always had Nendir and Indelwen to run it though. They want to retire, so Faeldor bought it. I’m surprised, actually. I thought for certain he would wish to serve the Prince in the stables. He was head stable master in Minas Tirith—I worked for him, for a time.”

Calon was rambling. It was something he often encountered when he began to speak, especially to someone on a fine and pleasant day. He was beginning to feel hope that he had not felt in many a week, and his heart was fueling his words beyond what even he was used to.

“Well met, Calon. I am pleased to know that you are the blacksmith. I, too, have a fascination with weapons.”

“Honestly, I ran away from it for a time. I’ve loved horses more than smithing, I think,” Calon grinned, toothy smile gleaming in the bright sunlight. “Warm, but not sweltering, rewarding work…though, blade crafting and iron work are less boring than they were when I was apprenticing the first time. My poor father had me for a student!” The man laughed.

“Perhaps she is running late. I’m sure her travels were safe so long as she had someone with her. Do not worry, my friend. There is still hope and I bet she will be here soon if not already here.”

That dimmed a bit of Calon’s spirit. He, too, thought perhaps the young woman could have been running late, if it were not for the rest of the news that had come in the letter. Illness, the time of her departure. It was a fair ride from Minas Tirith, but they were well late indeed if they had yet to arrive and were still on their way. Months overdue. “They should have arrived by the end of January,” Calon explained. “The letter that came said she was…very ill.” His voice had dropped in timbre, and it matched his expression like dark cloud.

“I understand. I could not imagine living anywhere else but here. The open space and the salt of the sea is certainly astonishing.”

“You know, in the city there are few who have ever seen such waters,” Calon hummed. Ahead he could see the inn, and Fundaroch snorted as they approached, knowing full well he was about to be stabled for a small bit of time. “It was always so interesting to talk to them. They know so little about what life in nature is like. So few green spots—only gardens. And the tower and palace so high above…well, it is beautiful in its own right. Even if not to my liking.”

It was, perhaps, safer. The Rammas Echor was a great wall of protection for even those of the farmlands directly before the gates. The city itself was walled as well. “Bel is one for the sea air, too. Perhaps a trip down to the shore sometime?” He suggested.