Journeys by Aria

‘A journey may start at any time or in any place, but where and when that journey will end, only the wise can tell, perhaps it never shall...'

He did not know when he had begun to walk there, many, many years ago it was; though that was barely a fraction of the time he had lived.

He had watched from the chalk cliff when the white ship had set sail, heading into the West that long night past. Bearing both mortals and immortals alike along the Straight Road, to the Blessed Realm, to Tol Eressëa, the lonely isle or, perhaps even to Valinor and Eldamar itself; to the Swan havens of Alqualondë, or the shining white walls of fair Tirion upon Tûna...

But that was not where he was walking to, no, he was walking south following the coast; well, he had been following the coast. But many a day ago, he had, somehow, turned eastwards and begun following the mountain ranges. He had seen great horsemen, like unto the people of Hador, with their straw like golden hair; riding over the green plains of the land. But they were easy to avoid. Orcs though were the greater problem, for many had fled into the mountain caves after the fall of Gorthaur. But, they too were easily avoided if one knew where to tread.

He had passed, many weeks ago, a city, or township of the Straw-headed folk; with a great hall, thatched, as if with gold, that shone far over land. But soon did he pass this, not willing to stay too long else he was discovered. Journeying onwards, he saw many smaller villages of Men, built, most oft of wood, and thatched with straw. But none were as magnificent as that great hall upon the hill.

Many streams and many rivers did he cross. But ever onward did he walk, towards where he knew not; but ever onward did he walk following the course of Rána, and of Vása in their journeys to the east. Many times did Gil-Estel rise and fall, ever lighting his path, and ever still did he walk on.

Under rain, under sleet, under snow, under hail, under fog and under burning sun did he walk. Through night, through day, through bitter twilight, yet still did he walk onwards. Singing of his regret and pain, seeming as a wraith he walked and yet, for all his frightening countenance in the night, the people within their homesteads held no fear towards this wandering minstrel. Rumour spread, that when he passed the people were blessed by him and, that their crops, and all their business' would flourish; for the Powers were watching over them, protecting them from harm.

Many days did he pass through, and many lands also; and in all did he witness the spread of the Second-born children of Ilúvatar, the Aftercomers, the Atani, the Hildor. And in all did he witness the decline of the Elder races of Arda; of the Quendi, the Elder children of Ilúvatar and, of the Naugrim, the adopted children; who were made by the Vala Aulë in the deep of time. For, while the Atani spread, and grew, and prospered, the Quendi passed into the West, or retreated to the woods where the call of the sea could not haunt them so easily. As for the Naugrim, they retreated to their halls; their halls of stone delved deep within the mountains, where few can ever reach them.

And so, pondering the fates of the Elder races, he realised not that he had passed through the land of the Straw-headed folk, with their reverence for horses; and, had now passed into the land where men built their houses from stone more oft than wood, and where they had built a great stone city that looked to be carved out of the mountainside. And, it was near to this city that he found himself.

Intrigued he was, by the craftsmanship that he saw from outside the city walls; for he saw the gates were wrought with Dwarven craft, for who else could craft gates wrought of mithril and of steel. Intrigued also he was by the festivities that he could hear from within the city's walls; and, by the traffic of people entering through the gates even at this early hour of the morn. So intrigued was he, that he found himself joining those who sought entrance to the city; for the Wanderer was still one of the Eldar folk, and that folk are curious by their very nature.

And, so it was that he entered the great stone city in the hours of early morn on the first day of the Summer solstice celebration of the year forty-five of the Fourth Age; to seek answers to the questions that had begun to plague his mind when first he did set eyes upon this stone city.

None stopped him as he made his way slowly through the stone city driven on by an unseen force; whether that force was indeed his own curiosity or perhaps a higher power he knew not, all he could feel was the lure of the city, or, perhaps, something within it. And, not even the guards who would on occasion appear halted him for long; for one of those who had beheld the primeval lights of Aman was he, and none could hold his gaze for long, and indeed more than one found themselves in awe of this bedraggled stranger. Though why that should be, none did know.

The hour was still early as he began to explore the streets of the city, and yet, for all Vása was only beginning to rise in true might in the heavens, they were already beginning to fill with people.

From the large banners suspended above the streets, to the brightly coloured festive clothing that the children wore; reminding him of the festivals that he would celebrate when he was but a child. Colour was splashed all over.

He walked slowly up through the city's circles, so unlike anything he had ever seen before. He marvelled at the constructs of these Atani, so distant from anything that they had ever wrought in their youth. The white city walls glimmered in the early morn's rays; while the banners played in the wind making rainbows appear upon the walls and streets of the houses. It was, as he stared up at these banners, that one in particular caught his eye. Held up high where all could see, it was not bright and cheerful, but a great sable standard where on flowered a single white tree, with seven stars about and a high crown above. And this standard held him in thrall. It was solemn and noble and though he knew not yet why a white tree did stand upon the banner; the symbol in itself was not completely unknown. For it was clearly derived from the Two Trees of old, or the younger tree of Tirion; but why that should be this peoples emblem, he knew not.

He was jolted suddenly from his thoughts as a small body knocked into him. It was a young child, her dark hair loose about her shoulders but flowers were entwined within; while her garments were a simple sea-blue dress, that was faded and clearly too small, over what appeared to be a plain white shirt. Clearly the girl was dressed in her most festive clothes. Quickly did she turn to call out an apology to him; though her pace did not slow.

Intrigued by what the child found so important that she would forgo proper manners for, he walked after her, never losing sight of her though she did run and the streets were bustling with people attempting to sell their wares, while others haggled over prices, and yet more just tried to simply navigate the crowds to go about their lives. But even through all of this hustle did he manage to follow her, leading him through all the inner circles of the city; and, as he walked through the streets the morning light slowly gave way into the brilliance of the mid-day sun.

She led him into a tunnel like street, climbing upwards towards the mountains summit. Though he had entered through the lower parts of the tunnel four times previously, this last time was different. Earlier the tunnel merely connected two parts of the same circle, so each entrance and exit was upon level ground. But, this final one, lit by glowing lamps that it made it stiflingly hot during the summer days led upwards.

He was forced to raise a hand to shield his eyes, so as to prevent Vása's rays from blinding him as he exited the dark tunnel; and he entered into a large paved courtyard, containing a wide stone fountain, set before a high white tower. But, it was not the tower that caught his attention, but rather, what stood before it, in all its splendour; and finally, the riddle of the banner was answered.

A tree stood before him, a great white tree, one of the scions of old Galathilion in Tirion that was planted before another white tower; that one, the Tower of Ingwë, the Mindon Eldaliéva, and it was planted there long years before even he was born. But this scene before him now, was alike unto that which he saw when he was but in his youth...

"It's beautiful!"

Moving away across the courtyard the boy with the braids' words carried far, "I still think Galathilion is beautiful Grandfather; well, as beautiful as a tree can get..."

Shaking away the old memory he turned hurriedly away from the scion of Galathilion, who in turn had been a scion of Telperion, eldest of trees. He could feel himself shaking from the power of the memory; he could still feel the amount of emotion that the image caused him to feel. But, he could also feel the old fear of that time coursing through his veins, as much later he was forced to watch the Tree's light fail.

Turning swiftly he found himself confronting a wide stone fountain, with crystal clear water that cheerfully bubbled and flowed into the deep pool beneath. But, it was not the fountain that held his gaze but rather the man who sat upon it's edge in front of a small group of children; including the dark haired girl that had led him here. The man who held them all enthralled, to all appearances looked perfectly normal; about middle-aged with dark hair and a beard, closely clipped to prevent it from becoming too unruly. But, it was what he was doing that was fascinating. He was clearly telling a story, and, much to the children's delight, was wildly articulating along with what he was saying.

Another man also sat within the children's midst. He sat, leaning against the stone side of the fountain; his hood drawn back to reveal, two dark grey eyes, that burnt with an intensity rarely seen amongst the Second-born, and, the face of a man caught between child and adult-hood. His hair was so dark as to be nearer black, while clenched between his teeth was a long stemmed straight pipe, which would constantly puff smoke. But, spoiling his rather broody countenance was the company he kept. Two young girls sat with him, the elder of the pair, about eleven years, as mortals count age, sat, nestled into his side, her head laid against his shoulder, while his arm held her gently within his grasp; her eyes, slowly drooping as she listened to the story-teller weave his tale. The younger of the pair meanwhile sat, barely, upon his knees. So excited was she on the man's lap that she lent, closer, and closer, to the story-teller as the story progressed. Her grey eyes shone in the mid-day light, showing the innocence of all young children in the ways of the past; but, a deeper understanding shone in them also, as she listened in rapt attention to the storyteller's narrative. Yet for all her fixation on the storyteller it was she, and not the watchful man with whom she sat, who first noticed the stranger watching their group.

"How now stranger!" She called to him with the over-exuberance of an excited child, which is, what she was.

Hearing this though, the man upon whom she was sat started; and glared up at this new arrival, who did both interrupt and, startle him. The children also did start and the child whom the wanderer had followed looked most abashed at seeing him again. But, the storyteller meanwhile did not glare, nor did he start, nor did he seek to deter the stranger from remaining with them, and he spoke to him quietly in the same tongue as the child earlier had used, but, for the most part the wanderer could not understand what either's words to him had meant. And so, he was forced with great reluctance to read in the minds of the pair what it was that they wished from him; and what the storyteller said came as a bit of a shock to him;

"Hail stranger! It is not oft that others will come to listen, but, if that is what you wish then come, and partake in our merriment; listen to our stories and mayhap tell a few of your own if you wish. For I can see clearly that you are well travelled. So sit friend, and be welcome."

Eyeing the storyteller in curiosity, the wanderer did as he was bidden, and sat, upon the edge of the group so as to not intrude too far. As he sat, and made himself comfortable by wrapping his long dark cloak about his sparse frame making sure his head was covered, although it was an extremely hot day. The storyteller continued with his telling of the Princess in the tree and, of her lover, who for a bride price had to retrieve a jewel for her father; and, as the story continued the wanderer began to get lost within his own memories of that time and, so lost was he, that it took the young girl three tries to finally break him from his thoughts of the past, and back to the present day.

The girl had moved off her guardian's knee when the wanderer had been otherwise occupied, and, had now sat herself in front of him, staring up in unashamed curiosity, and not a little annoyance at the fact that she had been ignored.

Finally though, the wanderer noticed the girl and gently asked; "Aye little one?" quietly so as to not disturb the other children from the story. He only remembered after he spoke, that he had questioned her in the Sindarin of Mithrim and not in any of the mannish tongues. Yet, although the girl scowled briefly at him and her brow furrowed in concentration, she responded in a similar form of the language resembling the tongue of Doriath; though it was halting and uncertain, much to the amusement of the elder girl still nestled into the smoking man's side; whose eyes seemed to be attempting to burn a new hole into the wanderers battered cloak.

"I said," she said with some show, "what's your name?"

Smiling gently at the girl the wanderer replied cryptically; "I have many names; and yet, I wonder who you might be fair one?"

Giggling slightly at his small quip, to her guardian's true annoyance, but her curiosity now truly piqued, she answered; "My name is Lothiel. But, what do you mean you have many names? How many names?"

Deciding to have a little fun with the child; he replied, with a twinkle in his eye that had long been missing: "what I do mean fair Lothiel is, that, different people do call me different names." Purposely avoiding her true question with such an accustomed ease, that he appeared born to. Unfortunately, to Lothiel's guardian, the wanderer with whom his charge was speaking was nothing more than an unwelcome annoyance and so; he decided that, it was time to curtail their banter with a question so straightforward, that it was all but unavoidable not to answer.

"What she means to ask, sir, is, by what name do you most oft go by? Or, failing that, what name were you given by your parents at birth?" An edge had crept into his voice as he spoke and, this was not lost upon the wanderer; although, he chose not to let it affect his answer with again, an ease that he seemed to have adopted numerous times before.

Replying, with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders he began, "well my Lord, I was simply attempting to have a quiet converse with the young Lady here, but," he continued, "if you would know what my parents did call me when I was young then I shall tell you; my father did name me Kano. But, now my Lord and Ladies, I believe these other children are expecting this story to be ended ere they must retire to their homes later this day. So, I believe that it would be best if we did curtail this conversation for now."

Realising that they had indeed been attracting attention from the other children with whom they sat, though few, if any, could understand what was being said; and so the man, who had been revealed by his speech to still be nearer child-hood than adult-hood, nodded his head in acquiesce, before, holding his hands out for the young girl to go back to him. But, shaking her head in the negative she proceeded to plop herself down beside the wanderer, as only a child can; deciding, that he would make for far more interesting company than the man upon whose knee she had been sitting on for most of the afternoon; and, she couldn't have been closer to the truth.

~~~~

As the day had worn on the child Lothiel had slowly begun to inch closer to him. At first she had simply sat beside him, doing naught but listen to the storyteller as he wove his magic about them. Making them feel as though, they too were with the Lady as she saw her father in his great hall, and were with her during the days of her waiting for her love to return. That they were with her love when he went to another kingdom for aid so that he could fulfil the quest that had been charged upon him; and they were there when treachery came and the King of that land went with the Lady's love with ten companions alone to do the quest, for no others would go with him.

Listening to the tale he remembered when he had first heard of their treachery. That they had sent a Kinsman into death for nothing, for nothing had been gained, yet much had been lost.

The child crept closer to his side as the tale darkened and the dark one, Sauron, captured them and how the King fought against Sauron in songs of power and the teller told them that;

"He chanted a song of wizardry,

Of piercing opening, of treachery,

Revealing, uncovering, betraying.

Then sudden Felagund there swaying

Sang in answer a song of staying,

Resisting, battling against power,

Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,

And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;

Of changing and of shifting shape,

Of snares eluded, broken traps,

The prison opening, the chain that snaps.

Backwards and forwards swayed their song,

Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong

The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,

And all the magic and might he brought

Of Elvenesse into his words.

Softly in the gloom they heard the birds

Singing afar in Nargothrond,

The sighing of the sea beyond,

Beyond the Western world, on sand,

On sand of pearls in Elvenland.

Then the gloom gathered, darkness growing

In Valinor, the red blood flowing

Beside the sea, where the Noldor slew

The Foamriders, and stealing drew

Their white ships with their white sails

From lamplit havens. The wind wails,

The wolf howls. The ravens flee.

The ice mutters in the mouths of the sea.

The captives sad in Angband mourn.

Thunder rumbles, the fires burn-

And Finrod fell beneath the throne..."

It was then, when the storyteller paused after reciting a part of the Lay of that tale and fell into a short respectful silence before continuing on with the tale proper, that the wanderer noticed that a large number of the children had stopped watching the storyteller with his tale, and, had begun to instead stare at him in open curiosity; much to his own puzzlement. It was then that he heard giggling coming from the girl, Lothiel, what was she giggling at?

Raising a questioning eyebrow at her though only made her giggles increase, although after this glance the vast majority of the other children stopped staring, at least, they stopped doing it quite so noticeably. After a short while she eventually managed to get her mirth under control enough to answer his unvoiced question.

"You were humming." Before she succumbed to the giggles once more.

Looking more than a little shocked at this revelation, the wanderer glances around the group, his eyes, passing over each festively dressed child, who feel a tingle run up their spines as his eyes alight upon each in turn. The young man though, still smarting from earlier, glares back at the Wanderer who had hurt his pride; but, the wanderer had long since passed his gaze away from the young man by the time he had finally managed to achieve a satisfactory glower. Finally the Wanderers eyes alighted upon the Storyteller who, not batting an eye-lid nor pausing in his tale, simply smiled a slight grin at the Wanderer causing the former to frown and go deeper into thought concerning the storyteller.

~~~~

The rest of the afternoon soon wore on and by the time the Wanderer returned from his thoughts Vasa's light was beginning to wane causing the heavens above to break out into extravagant colours. With pink, orange, blue, white and red splashed across the sky like a painters canvas. The tale also was coming to a close with the youngest of the children falling asleep in their elder sibling's arms.

"‘So it was," the storyteller finished, "that alone of the Eldalie she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Luthien the beloved, whom they have lost.'

Now my young friends, sunset is coming and this story is ended. And before you leave for home I shall tell you something of this hour. For the Eldar do not count the passing of days as we do, instead the Eldar count the sunset as days beginning, for they journeyed through darkness under the light of the moon, and he celebrates that kindred but, at sunrise the Second kindred awoke and the elder folk waned, so, they reckon from sunset to sunset; just as we reckon from sunrise to sunrise." He laughed as the children looked at him in suspicion certain that he was lying, and one young boy, with short black hair did tell him so. "Nay my son, I am not lying to you, but, the full-story I will save for another day."

"Please!" The girl with the dark hair and blue dress begged him, her eyes shining. Causing him to laugh yet more and tussle her hair in affection.

"Aye little one, I shall, but, not today."
The Wanderer smiled slightly at the children as they began to depart for home chattering excitedly about the tale they heard tell and they wondered also what this other tale could be about; and what ancient heroes it might star. Some, desperate to find out more from their entertainer went up to him asking questions their tongues not stopping except when waiting for an answer.

He felt movement along his left side and watched as Lothiel wriggled to push herself up and away from where she had cuddled into his arm while his mind had been walking in old memories. As he looked down at her she beamed at him in return.

"I didn't think you would mind..." she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed about her assumption.

"Indeed I did not." He quietly replied, smiling a little to try to set her at ease.

Relief flooded back into her as she stood in front of him allowing her to able to look eye to eye with her new found friend. She opened her mouth to speak but, her guardian appeared behind her carrying the elder girl with whom she had sat before.

"Lothiel we must go ere mother or father becomes worried," grasping her hand he began to lead her away; but, he had only moved her a little way when she pulled her hand sharply away from his and, much to his shock, skipped back to the Wanderer.

"Lothiel!" He called to her in annoyance.

"Nay Eldarion I was talking!" Turning swiftly away from him, she settled her gaze once more upon the Wanderer who had been watching the exchange in much amusement. "Kano," she began, remembering that as the name he had given her earlier to use, "will you be coming again tomorrow?"

The Wanderer, Kano paused slightly before answering softly, "I do not know child, though, it is possible that I shall."
Not really satisfied with his answer, but guessing that it probably meant yes, Lothiel flung her arms around his neck, making him start in shock; before she rushed back to Eldarion who straight away began to scold her for her actions.

The Wanderer meanwhile did not move, and he sat staring in shock at their retreating backs until they departed from his view and he was left with only the bubbling waters of the fountain for company.

Chapter End Notes

Extracts are taken from HoMe three and the Silmarillion.

He watched as the children departed from the courtyard, too stunned to move. It had been a long while since any person, adult or child, had touched him, and now for one so young to embrace him, unafraid and with such trust it moved him all but to tears. Indeed, if he had not at that time realised that another's eyes watched his back he may well have done so; but now, his pride, little as he did still hold, did reassert its hold upon him and he turned quickly to encounter the strong aged gaze of the storyteller who after little time was forced to avert his eyes before he could speak.

"The children like you."

"Do they?" Káno replied almost tiredly, unwilling to strike up a conversation.

"Aye. So I have to ask, where will you stay tonight?"

Sucking in a quick breath, his eyes darting up to hold the gaze of the mans own; he stared in a shock borne out of suspicion and surprise. Yet, the other, noticing this simply chuckled.

"I have a room in one of the inns in the second level of the city. It's not a particularly savoury place but it has a roof and is relatively warm. Besides, I've slept in worse." He shrugged and nodded at Káno's own raiment. "And, I think, so have you."

Stiffening, still suspicious of the man's motives and, vaguely affronted he pulls his cloak tighter about his shoulders even though the heat atop the city leaves him stifling. Yet for all his suspicions he found himself strangely intrigued by the idea of sleeping with a roof over his head and the implied suggestion of friendship. But still..."Why? Why would you offer me this? What do you wish in return?"

"Why?" The Storyteller's asks his face puzzled, before he laughs and shakes his head. "You are too suspicious my friend, far too suspicious. Alright, I'll tell you. Pity for another free-singer who has found himself in dire straits. Do not look so surprised. Only the most unobservant of people could fail to notice the fine, if not old instrument you carry. Besides the fact that your eyes, shadowed though they are, never once left my mouth as I spoke and sung today; and the way in which you quite oft joined with what I sung. So you see my friend, as I have also found myself in such straits I offer you shelter with me."

"I need no mans pity." Káno replies softly, turning from the Storyteller he stands, gently lifting the harp; although he still makes no move to leave the courtyard.

"No." The Storyteller agrees. "You don't need pity, so forgive me for speaking such a word. However I do offer you aid for the night; and I will not ask anything of you except for you to return upon the morrow for the child's sake. So come, it will not take us long to reach it."

Turning back to face the Storyteller who stands cradling his lyre, a twinkle in his eye, he sighs. "I thank you but-"

"But you will accept." Chuckling, disallowing for any further refusal. "Besides, where else will you stay? The City's soldiers will not allow any to sleep upon the streets so come." Grasping Káno's elbow he steers the slighter man out of the courtyard and down into the lower circles of the city.

~~~

Standing in the second circle of the city the tavern was old, little more than a small hovel, built long ago before the Dark One's second rising in the land beyond the dread mountains. The beams supporting the ceilings seemed to almost sag beneath the weight of its own history. But though the brickwork seemed nearer black than grey, still in places did it show itself proud in white. Proving that at least at one time the walls had been whitewashed and shown care.

Its patrons yelled loudly at each other, arm wrestling being the sport for the night as the inhabitants of the taproom drank themselves insensible. Not allowed to stop and look around in curiosity at the place where he had been brought, Káno was bustled up the creaking stairs by his newfound companion, while the said new patron flips a coin towards one of the barmaids informing her that it is payment for another body to share his room; and could she please ask her master to organise two hearty meals befitting two tired minstrels.

Laughing as she turns away, pushing customers out of the way so that she can reach the bar and escape into the kitchens to do as she was bidden by the Storyteller.

Arriving at last at their destination after travelling up two flights of rickety wooden stairs probably dating from the taverns construction. The door in front of which he is halted looks like all the others that he had passed further down the hall, although it was perhaps not as rotten as some. Watching in fascination as the Storyteller rummaged through his pockets, turning them, literally, inside out in his hunt for a certain item of seemingly vast importance. However just as he is about to turn his knapsack out and spill the contents out across the halls floor something seems to spark in his eyes for he shortly gives up upon his bag to thrust a hand down his tunic looking triumphant as he pulls out an old brass key upon a chain.

"I always forget I leave it there. Must be my age catching up on me." He mutters by way of explanation as he swings the door noiselessly upon its hinges. Clearly the room was in frequent use to have all of its brass work to be so well oiled and polished, for not once did it stick as it swung inwards to reveal the room within.

Not lavishly furnished with but a single pallet next to the window, a woebegone looking wooden chair, an old set of drawers missing more than one handle and, a built in wardrobe upon the opposing side to the drawers upon which rested a solitary mirror and numerous brick-a-brag including cloths, paper, oil, string and who knew what else. But, it was not this assorted collection of oddments that caught Káno's attention but rather the large rug that covered the otherwise bare wooden floor.

Made out of dyed sheep's wool, the crafter or perhaps mad man, who had created the object had seen fit not just to dye the rug a simple blue but had drawn patterns upon the wool in different dyes. Red and yellow swirls crossed across the blue backdrop like sunbeams cutting across a fresh sky.

"My mother made it when I was but a small child." The Storyteller tells him softly with a smile. "She was very deft with her hands but, this now is but one of the few things that I have left that were created by those hands. Much that was beautiful and cherished was destroyed by the war."

"War destroys anything, and all that is beautiful." Káno replies stiffly wrenching his eyes away from the rug to look out the window where the sun is setting to a myriad of colours: pink, orange, red, blue, as assorted as a painters pallet.

"True. That is true." The Storyteller acknowledges. "But is not beauty also born out of war, or at least the end of it." He raises his hands in a pacifying gesture as Káno spins around to face him abruptly.

"Explain." Comes the sharp response, a command not a question. The storyteller smiles noting his new companions almost distrustful tone, he sits himself crossed legged at the end of the pallet before proceeding to pat it and gesture Káno to sit. After a moments hesitation he yields and lets go of some of his stubbornness to perch upon the very edge of the pallet; forcing the Storytellers smile to grow.

"Before I explain though I think it is about time that we had true introductions. I know that your name is Káno for you did say it so at the fountain. As for myself I am called Falborn. Now you asked me what did I mean that beauty not just ruin can come from war and so I say this; look around you at the peace within this city. This city was born and tempered in war. Look at our King and Queen themselves. If not for the war the Lord Elessar would never have come south and been accepted as King. For the Stewards prior had ordained that none of the line of Arnor could take the throne." The man paused to chuckle at the irony of that particular situation; stretching his arms above his head. "Furthermore the Lady Arwen would never have been born if not for war. Since it was war that allowed her parents to meet for the first time. As such I would argue that war does indeed create beauty."
Káno had closed his eyes during Falborn's speech, finding it easier to concentrate if deprived of sight. For as of late, indeed mostly over the past few days, nay since he had first been found by that other, he had found his concentration to not be what it had been during his youth. Where once he could spend hours listening to others speak, now he found that often he could barely spend more than a handful of minutes listening to others without his mind wandering onto other, often less welcoming subjects. He shifts his position sighing as he realises that the other expects a counterargument then stands to once again stare out of the window, to look out upon the city and plains far below. "Mayhap some beauty does come from war. But how can that beauty ever atone for or counter that which was destroyed, and the lives that were taken in its course? How can you explain to those who have lost loved ones in the war that it does not matter that their kinsmen are dead for new beauty will come of their sacrifice. Those words are no comfort. There is no comfort."

"Indeed there is not. That is why I am glad that I am no Captain as my father was to have to explain such things. For all such things can be said in hindsight, as you did say; ‘such words are no comfort'. But now, all this debating has left me hungry, and you yourself look like you could do with a good meal inside of you." This last was an understatement of the most severe, for although the large cloak that Káno wore covered him from top to toe, and so bulked him out somewhat. It was clear to any who looked long enough that he had not partaken of a good meal for many a day. Standing Falborn gestured to his guest to leave what meagre belongings he possessed and follow him back downstairs.

Sighing Káno pushes himself away from the window, he had not wished for any place to remain or wanted another's charity; but seeing that he had little choice in the matter and unwilling to slight the mans generosity he does as he is bidden. Depositing his satchel and harp upon the pallet Káno, after a last lingering look at the sunset turns his back and, pulling his cloak tighter around him in response to some unknown chill he heads back out into the hallway.

Raising his eyebrows briefly at the antics of his newfound guest, Falborn shrugs. Although intrigued by him he knows better than to pry. His story would be revealed in time and he could wait.

Rowdy music drifts up the stairs as the pair once more descend into the taproom; Falborn having locked the room once again had had to coax Káno to return downstairs the music and smell having at once an adverse effect upon the other.

Smiling once again Falborn shoots Káno a look, quipping; "I did tell you that it was not a particularly savoury place." Káno however, his face hidden in shadows, stays silent.

With no reply forthcoming Falborn shrugs accepting the latter's silence and continues downstairs.

If they had thought the taproom full before, now it was bursting. With the sunset had come the shopkeepers and workers, those whose trades only existed during daylight hours. Now it was the duty of those trades existed to serve the nights responsibility. Although the City guards were under orders to remove any and all persons attempting to shelter in the cities streets to more suitable accommodation; there was no curfew in the city, and so no need for any to rush home to their darlings and sweethearts if indeed they had any.

Pushed, jostled and shoved, this way and hat Káno, even with his keen sight would have long since lost his companion amid the rowdy patrons. As was, Falborn had the sense of knowledge to grasp the edge of Káno's cloak and so pull the other in his wake. Talking, bantering with those of whom he was acquainted asking them for passage, promising them a song or two near the end of the night, it is a while before the pair can make their way to the bar to signal to the maid with whom Falborn had earlier had words, that they were both now ready.

With a smile she gestures for the pair to find a seat. A quest that takes them little more than five minutes allowing the maid to bring their meals to them with nary a concern.

"My thanks, Lirael." Falborn says to her as she sets two bowls of hot stew complete with slabs of bread and butter, and a mug of ale each. With a grin he slips her a few coppers out of his pocket.

"Oh Falborn..." She says quietly, exasperated.

"Just don't tell old Elegos and you'll be fine." He whispers in reply.

Shaking her head Lirael does not attempt to further scold Falborn, instead she pockets the coppers, dropping a light kiss of thanks upon the latter's crown, then leaves.

Still smiling as he turns his attention back to Káno, Falborn explains. "Lirael has worked here for almost ten years and though Elegos does attempt to pay the maid well; with a small babe it is not always enough." He shrugs. "Not that you are overly bothered about such things. Still, this stew looks a mite better than last evenings."

They ate in silence, Falborn surreptitiously studying his companion when he was not greeted by another patron. It was clear that the Storyteller was well known amongst the people of this particular establishment. Káno too studied the man sitting before him out of the corner of his eye, as his attention seemed to be riveted upon the meal before him; eating one handed he found to his chagrin was not as easy as he would have liked but still he managed. The stew was still steaming by the time he was nearly finished, having found that the bread, if dunked within the stew created a rather pleasant taste. He had attempted to eat the bread on its own but unfortunately had discovered that it was dry even with butter spread upon it, clearly the ends of yesterday's loaf. The meal was not the best he had ever eaten, in no way was it so, but he did admit to himself privately, he had eaten worse cooked by his own hand that was barely palatable. Moreover days of eating nothing, or close to nothing, did somewhat negate your taste buds; your stomach taking full reign.

Amongst his ponderings he had missed when Falborn had finished his meal, he remains of which lay where their prior owner had left them; simple crumbs being the only morsels left upon the crockery. The mug of ale however had not been left with its crockery companions, Falborn seeming to have moved it with him. Mildly bemused by the bard's disappearance Káno's eyes scan the patrons looking for the wayward lyricist; he did not however cease to chew as he did so. Finally he located his erstwhile companion sitting upon a stool near the tap, clearly not still drinking the original contents of his mug.

Talking with the patrons Falborn seemed little out of place, blending amongst them as though he were a regular; which Káno thought to himself was a possibility.

Leaning against the bar Falborn was gesticulating wildly as he talked, generating smiles and laughs, sniggers and chuckles, one man laughing so hard he falls off his stool; causing an explosion of laughter to erupt from all those standing near. Even the centre of the laughter continued in his mirth. Grinning, clearly happy with the reaction his words have caused Falborn stands, offering a hand to the downed an who after accepting it pulls his friend into an embrace, slapping him on the back. Pulling away Falborn throws his head back laughing uproariously, leaning forward again he speaks close to the other mans ear, the words lost over the din of the taproom but the response could not have been missed by even the most unobservant observer as the man pulled Falborn back to him throwing his arm over his shoulders before releasing him with a laugh and shoving him back towards where Káno sat. Calling good-natured insults over his shoulder Falborn walks back to the table and sits with a sigh.

"Maer, a good friend, but one hell of a drunkard. His wife's kicked him out again because of it. But..."he trails off throwing his hands up in the air with a small smile.

Káno doesn't speak but simply nods his head, his mind travelling back to a time when another wife kicked her husband out for a number of nights because of his decision to get stupidly drunk; he too had simply ended up drinking more.

"Are you wed?" The question startles him out of his musings. He pauses before replying.

"I was...yes. I am wed. Although my wife and I have not met in many a long year."

"An argument?" His curiosity now piqued and with the added alcohol in his system Falborn's tongue chooses to wag forgetting his earlier decision to be patient.

"Of sorts. We disagreed over a certain matter and so, I haven't seen her since." A careful, guarded reply; unwilling to divulge more of his past than was strictly necessary.

"Ah..." Sense almost getting the better of him Falborn trails off, but sense soon leaves him as he continues. "I would presume from that that you have no children."

"No." A curt answer followed by a sigh. "We never did have children-"

"A pity." A short reply but a leading one, asking if more could be said; while he took another swig of ale from his tankard. In response Káno stretches, ducking his head briefly to stare at the table.

"My younger brother had a son. But he died, a very long time ago."

Falborn winces even drunk as he is. "I apologise. I never meant to stir old memories."

A small, tight, smile. "The memories you stirred my friend could never be forgotten; so you need not have feared. I have far worse memories than those of my wife and brother-son."

"I see... Still, I apologise."
Silence reigns for a moment, the only noise that of raucous laughter from the other tables -someone had just won at cards- in the silence Káno takes the time to examine the crockery as Falborn takes another drink from his tankard. The man then grins lopsidedly leaning against the wooden surface, one hand resting protectively around his ale the other, knuckles worn, props his head up.
"I have a daughter." He smiles softly. "A wee little thing only about," he moves his hand briefly from his tankard to indicate a height level with his head off the floor. "This high. But she's a little firecracker. Dark haired, blue eyed. She's thirteen now, may the Valar bless her. She's beautiful." He pauses briefly to take another drink. "But I decided I wanted to travel, spread the stories and the road's no place for a little one. So she's at home with her mother down in the South." He smiles a fond smile before chuckling, his wits not completely dulled by alcohol. "But here I am going on about Mirima and Beriadwen and you look about ready to fall asleep. So," standing abruptly Falborn stumbles and would have fallen if not for Káno's sudden silent appearance beside him; grasping his elbow and guiding him safely out of the taproom and back up stairs, his last mumbled words being; "I think they'll have to wait ‘till tomorrow for a song or two..." before he is ushered inside their now shared room where two pallets await and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the soft pillow.

Chapter End Notes

I apologise to everyone; somehow I thought that I'd already posted this chapter. Hopefully it shouldn't be too long until the next. I'll also apologise for any formatting errors that may occur, it's been a while since I posted anything.

Káno had not slept much the previous night. Although tired, he had found that he was surprisingly restless so had spent the night watching Falborn sleep, and studying the brig-a-brag upon the chest of drawers; taking a strange delight in finding a book written in some odd dialect of Sindarin similar to that which the Storyteller had occasionally sung in yesterday. But of even greater interest than this book was another. Written in the characters developed by Fëanor the actual language was that which he had noted seemed to be the common tongue of most of those people with which he had met or overheard. A hybrid of the Elvish and Edain languages the book was a joy for any who had once studied languages and made it his duty to master as many of those languages as possible. Stories, tales, poems and parts of chronicles filled the pages. A compendium of writings for use by the Storyteller in his tellings. Notes and comments littered the margins of the pages, extra sheets pushed inside with additional writings only added to the magic that Káno perceived from the book.

    The sun had not yet risen but light was still available from the fullness of the moon and it was with this light that he found himself reading. Opening one of the window shutters, the one without the creaky hinge, he settled himself cross-legged upon the floor, his back to the cool wall, and he read.

    Poetry appeared to dominate this book, strange little verses seemingly made by the Storyteller, his own musings in verse upon the world at large whether they be of war or of the seasons of the year. They were nothing truly special, at least not by his own standards, but Falborn had clearly enjoyed their creation, his notes and crossings leaving their own history as to each poems construction. Old poetry, some that he recognised, also abounded within the bindings, in some cases two or three versions warred with each other for dominance and then later he would find a rewritten version of the tales with the versions combined to create one whole.

    Time had no meaning for him as he read, not that such an idea had been held of worth to him for many a long year, but now when time did hold at least some sort of meaning he found himself lost within his study of the pages. The sun rose gold and magnificent into the blue of the early morning sky but he missed its passing; just as he missed the sparrows alight upon the window ledge above his shoulder, their light singing in his ear not gaining his attention. A soft chuckle of amusement and the weight of eyes upon the side of his head did however conspire to break him from his reverie.

    "My books are to your liking I see." Falborn states offhandedly when the Wanderer sitting upon his floor looks up in puzzlement at the sound. Still laying beneath the covers of his bed the man has propped his head upon his forearms studying the curiosity leaning beneath the window.

    The Wanderer bows his head briefly to stare once again at the pages within his hands. "I have read little in a long time." He replies honestly.

    "Ah." Falborn nods before sitting up and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "I drank too much last night." He comments not expecting an answer. "My apologies, I should not have. Still," and now he attempts at a smile. "We should wash up before heading down to break fast I think." And so saying he stands and stretches, walking over to the door he unlocks it moving to step out into the hall.

     The Wanderer however did not move from his position beneath the window, his head, still covered by his dark hood, a fact the Storyteller did not miss but declined to comment upon; thinking it only as one of his guests eccentricities. The lack of acknowledgement as to food and a wash however does prompt Falborn to sharp speech. "Whether you have the wash or not, the food you will have."  

     Moving quickly away, missing Káno raising his head in astonishment at the tone levelled upon him, Falborn exits their shared quarters and walking down the wooden hallway knocks upon one of the other door's requesting a bowl of warm water if it would be at all possible. With that accomplished he makes his way back to his room rubbing tiredly at the dark stubble upon his chin. A shave would perhaps also be a good idea, unless he wanted to frighten any children away by his appearance. Sucking in a deep breath he pushes open the door ready to confront a potential argument instead what he finds makes him grin. Káno, it would seem, after Falborn's abrupt departure and initial shock at being ‘told' to do anything, had decided to move. Not far admittedly, but he had stood at least and moved away from his floor space beneath the now fully open casement to sit upon the previously untouched pallet that had been brought up for him to sleep on. His bag, which Falborn had admittedly forgotten about, lay open upon the bed, most of its contents spilling out. Shells, twine, paper, quills, an old tunic, the dried husk of a number of different berries, leaves, even the odd harp string or two lay cast out onto the bed next to their owner who appeared to be carefully sorting through his things under the watchful eye of two small speckled sparrows, their little black eyes watching with interest as he examined each of the objects in turn. What exactly his mysterious friend was doing with the objects Falborn didn't know, and even though his curiosity begged him to at least ask, he stayed silent and simply joined the birds in their watch.   

      Well aware of the audience he had gathered but uncaring as to what they might be thinking Káno continues to examine each of the objects within his bag. The leather spoilt, cracked and dry in places from its over usage. It had been a gift, as had been most of its collected contents from an old friend who had visited him on occasion to talk; even though the old man had mostly talked to himself. Káno had listened to his words only on occasion and at first he had listened not at all when this strange man had sort him out in his exile. Finally rolling his eyes at the birds he whistles lightly to them, offering them the few berries that he possessed that they had fixed their eyes upon. Exactly when they had arrived he was not certain, certainly not long after Falborn had left the room. But the moment the Storyteller had returned from his small walk down the hall Káno had been well aware of. The steps of a slightly hung over man are much louder than those of two small birds. Refusing to look up when the man had walked in Káno had instead carried on with his task of sorting through his bag. Only when a knock sounds upon the door and Falborn, still too concentrated upon watching him sort through his things, pays no attention to it does he finally act: "someone is at the door." His voice is quiet but it has the necessary effect upon the man. Falborn jumps as the spell he was under is lifted and he stares bemusedly for a moment or two before opening the door and collecting two steaming bowls of water.   

       Feeling more embarrassed than he'd care to admit towards the other, Falborn mutters a word or two of thanks to Káno before placing the two bowls upon the chest of drawers and proceeding to unabashedly remove his clothes in order to wash himself. Purposefully ignoring anybody else in the room.

    Smiling, a small smile that does not quite reach his eyes, because he feels that no smile should, Káno finds himself slightly amused by this reaction. Undaunted by his companions embarrassed silence he proceeds to break the silence himself. "Where did you learn all of these tales?"

    Brief silence greets his questions as the storyteller pauses in mid-wash, the cloth that he had collected from atop the drawers dripping water. "Many places." He finally replies. "Some are myths and legends. Stories that adults like to tell children at bedtime. Some are ones my own parents spoke to me when I was but a lad, others I learned from my wife, our friends, and their family. From anyone I can ask. Others I discovered in written manuscripts within the libraries of the great cities. I travel a great deal you see and every tale or poem, ballad or legend that I come across I write down as best I can. In some cases I have tried my hand at penning my own. Not that most should ever be read, but I have tried. Since the coming of the King and Queen it has become easier to gain access to materials what with the friendships Gondor has made with her neighbours and the fact that Gondor and Arnor are once again united." He shrugs. "Once I hear a tale or read a tale I see no reason why I should not tell others." He pauses again and turns to look at Káno quizzically. "Why do you ask?"

    The Wanderer does not meet his gaze instead lifting a small conch shell to his ear, how he had fit it into such a small bag Falborn had little idea, while watching the two sparrows fight over who could have the most berries. "I was merely curious. Some of the tales within your books I had thought no-one would think to listen to." He replies distractedly. "I would have thought people would have considered them, eccentric."

    With a strange look Falborn pulled on a different pair of trousers, his dark hair dripping water down his back. "A strange comment from a bard."

    "It was you who came to that conclusion, not me. I said nought." Came the quick reply the Wanderer once again refilling his bag.

    "Perhaps. But I stand by my word. Who else would carry instrument strings in their bag?" Falborn shoots back, running a hand through his knotted hair before grabbing a spare tunic off a nearby chair.

    "A mad man." Comes the quick response.

    Falborn chuckles. "True. But a mad man could not keep a sane conversation going. Now, have a wash if you wish my friend. I'm going to see if I can't find us something to eat." And with that said and leaving Káno to shoot an amused look at his back Falborn walks back outside of their room heading off downstairs on the hunt for someone that could provide them with breakfast.

    Still uncertain as to what Falborn might want in return for his hospitality Káno is slow to move away from his pallet. He has no change of his clothes on him other than an old tunic that his unlooked for friend had once provided; and that was hardly clean.

    Listening to his companion's footsteps echo down the hall, getting further and further away from their room, Káno finally overcomes his hesitation and pulls his black cloak away from his shoulders. Its weight taken away he straightens and looks at his reflection in the clean water. He barely flinches as he takes in his grubby features, reaching for a cloth Falborn had left out for him to use he dips the material in to the water spoiling the image. Scrubbing away at his face, not bothering to be gentle Káno looks in disgust at the muck on the cloth when he pulls it away. Relishing the feel of the hot water but despising himself as he does so, he pulls quickly at the ties of his tunic. The strings slick with dirt they move easily, it had once been a dark maroon tunic, one of his favourites once upon a time. Now though it was simply a ruin of its prior self. Placing the cloth against his skin, the moisture a welcome relief, he once again begins to scrub at himself, layers of dirt falling away. His arms, chest, back, not clean but certainly not anywhere near as filthy as before are left with a strange red glow from the heat of the water and the roughness used against them.

    Pausing briefly to listen for Falborn's return but hearing nothing Káno finally untied the laces of his trousers, stripping out of his mud splattered clothes. Repeating the actions used upon his face and upper body upon his legs, Káno felt a welcome relief, his mood lightening for the first time in years as he feels himself become cleaner. Relishing the feeling of relative cleanliness as the wind coming through the open casements wraps about his form.

    Putting his still mud covered trousers back on and tying them awkwardly the Wanderer sighs then looks with curiosity at the two bowls of rapidly cooling water in front of him. That which he had used was brown, almost black from the muck upon his body, he grimaces when he compares it to the barely darkened water that Falborn had used. Letting out a breath of air he pulls his slightly cleaner tunic out of his bag, he had only worn it a few times at the urging of its giver, but that had not stopped it from gaining a well-worn look. Shrugging, he tugs it over his head. The tunic might have been of the same material as the other, although this was a dark green, but it felt lighter, perhaps, he thought in black humour, that it's lighter simply because it has not become quite as dirt covered as its companion. Tying the laces of the tunic with the same difficulty that he found in tying those of his trousers, Káno lets out a sigh of frustration, staring in annoyance at his bandaged right hand he takes in the dust covering it. Irritated, but disliking the idea of attempting to unwrap and then rewrap the hand, he looks calculatingly at the under sheets of his pallet. Biting his lip briefly, but only briefly, he listens once again for any footsteps in the hall, hearing none familiar he un-tucks a corner and rips off a strip of the material. Nodding in satisfaction, he deftly wraps the strip about his hand, using it to stop the older bandage from coming loose.

    Stretching his back, and hearing it pop, he winces and reaches back to rub the offending point. Feeling the tangled mass that was, and remains, his hair, he winces once more, as he attempts to run his hand through the tattered raven mass. Giving up, not prepared to fight with it today or indeed on any day soon, Káno lets it go. There was no use attempting to win that particular battle with a mass of hair that was all but the same length as his back and, so salt encrusted he was lucky that he had even managed to get any fingers between the knots. Finally he reaches for his cloak. The dark material was made of a long lasting fabric and had been another present from his well-meaning old friend one of the last times they had met.

       Kano had barely acknowledged his friends presence that time, his mind too caught up with the sea. He had sat and listened to the grey one tell of strange things that reminded him too much of his past. He remembered his old friend sighing though at the lack of response he was getting, finally he had stood and leant upon the Wanderer's shoulder muttering words along the lines of: "you haven't heard a word I've said this time have you?" He had sighed again and patted Káno upon his back, a wince travelling through the old man as he felt the bones beneath his hand. "And you haven't been eating either from the looks of things. Well, this will not help with that problem but still."

        And then there had been warmth. It had taken a while for this information to get through Káno's befuddled mind and when it had, it hadn't been truly understood. He had looked up then. The old man had turned away from him muttering words along the lines of. "At least you'll be warm; you wandering old fool. Just," and the grey man had paused then turning to look back at Káno from under bushy eyebrows, his eyes registering surprise as they met the grey of the Wanderer's. "Just look after yourself."

      Káno had replied then, after a somewhat long delay, his voice unintentionally harsh, long after the grey man had begun to walk away. Five simple words: "you just look after yourself." Simple words, very simple words from a man used to using many, but they had caused the old man to turn, his face crinkling into a smile, he tipped his head to Káno and then was gone.

    Coming back to himself with a sigh, Káno pulled the cloak close to him before slipping it once again back around his shoulders. Frowning he looked at the hem, noting again its frayed bottom; resigning himself to the thought of patching it before the year was out.

    Unnoticed by the quiet man, Falborn slipped back into the room, how he did so silently without his companion noticing not even he would be able to explain, but he did so. Carrying the heavy tray filled with breakfast foods his eyes do not stray from their task of watching the bowls and mugs like a hawk; shutting the door with a bang, Káno's shock at being taken by surprise going unnoticed by his present companion. Quickly he flips the hood of his cloak up covering his head fully; trust can only be taken so far after all, especially after only meeting each other the day before.

    "Breakfast!" Falborn says with a smile, finally looking up, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the Wanderer. "I would have thought it too hot to wear such a thing. Midsummer and you're wearing a black winter cloak." He shakes his head with a smile. "Rather you than me. But still," he offers a bowl and mug towards Káno after placing the tray down on his bed. "Scrambled eggs and weak tea. Not sure about the tea but the eggs I won't complain about." Perching haphazardly on his pallet the hot mug gripped between his knees, the bowl of eggs in his hands he is soon eating like a starved man. Káno however, after taking hold of his own crockery stands for a minute simply watching Falborn, an unseen eyebrow raised. Finally he sat cross-legged upon his own pallet, tea on the floor, bowl upon his lap, knowing well enough that he would not be able to balance the bowl and eat with one of his hands so encumbered.  

    "Why the tale of Beren and Luthien?" The question is asked suddenly, sharply, not without curiosity but so sharply it causes Falborn to stop chewing for a minute in thought.

    "I thought it appropriate. What with it mentioning Sauron, and the joining of an Edain and an Eldar, many people like the story because of the joining of Lord Elessar and the Lady Arwen. Certainly it can be related towards it, even if," he takes a drink of his tea pulling a strange face as he does so. "Even if Sauron is defeated people must remember history. It's the only way they learn."

    "I see." A short reply. The Wanderer sighs harshly the response had not been quite what he had hoped for but still; he did not know really what it was he had expected. "And what will you speak of today?" If a hint of bitterness had crept into his voice it had not been intended, but was not missed by his sharp-eared companion.

    "The rising of the Sun and Moon of course." The Storyteller replies with a grin, purposefully ignoring the apparent bitterness in the other's voice. "That is what this festival celebrates after all. It will also mean I can answer the question as to why Men and Elves account their days differently. We will not be up by the fountain for long today since the main festival starts so early tomorrow the children must be in bed about sunset. Otherwise they'll be...they'll be...ah what's the word," he trails off then clicks his fingers and adds with a grin. "Upset tomorrow and spoil the day for everyone."

    Káno gives a quiet huff in agreement recalling times when many a young child that he knew was upset in the morning after being up too long during the night.

    "Ah, I see you agree." Falborn laughs. "But come, we ought to be heading up there soon. The children seem to wake earlier every year and dislike being kept waiting by old folk such as me."

    The Wanderer nods in understanding and after drinking the last of his tea, stands and picks up his belongings, unwilling to leave them alone. Grinning Falborn tells him to not worry about their crockery; "we'll take it down to the kitchen later." Gently picking up his lyre from where it has been resting wrapped against the wall he cradles it in his arms. With a nod the pair set out.

     Unlike yesterday when the Wanderer had walked through the city it is only midmorning and many of its inhabitants have still yet to rise from their beds. Many businesses' still showing the closed sign in their windows. With a look of understanding the Storyteller tells him that because of the festivities the city adopts a much lazier atmosphere. Where but a week before the city streets would have been a beehive of activity, with its inhabitants enjoying the good weather and late evenings the city does not fully open until late morning. Acknowledging this fact barely, the Wanderer slips into his own quiet thoughts as they once again wander up the levels of the city. The much slower pace and lessened numbers on the streets providing him with a perfect opportunity to visually explore the city, to take in its well ordered streets and defences, its unique design. Enthralled as he was, following Falborn up the winding streets instinctively, it was not long before they once again entered the highest level of the city, where stood upon its paved courtyard the fountain and tree, and where below stretched its spectacular view of the white capped mountains and green planes for miles about. Certainly he had been higher in his youth, but that was in the dawn of his years, now approaching as he saw the sunset of his life, it had been many long years since he had been as high. Yesterday had been a day of memories, an assault that he had not relished. Today he knew would be little different and if he kept dwelling upon that time when he had travelled higher he knew that many unwanted thoughts would assail his mind ere any tales could be told to spark his memory.  

      A number of children had already arrived; laid upon the stone they watched the clouds, seemingly without a care in the world. One, a young dark haired girl, was the very same girl that he had followed the day before in his curiosity and so had arrived here. Dressed still in the same faded blue dress with only a few more grass stains along its hem. Where she had managed to find the grass to stain herself with in this city of stone the Wanderer knew not, but grass stains were they all the same. Smiling he remembers the many times in his youth when he or a kinsman had returned home with grass stains upon their knees from kneeling over long in the early morning grass; still slick with night dew. The tongue-lashing he had received had certainly never discouraged their antics if not it had only added further enticements, to see how far their parents could be pushed.

     "Káno!" A glad shout breaks him from his musings and he has only just enough time to look up and register a little body running to him before small arms are clasped about his legs. "I had feared that you would not return!" It was his young friend from the day before, Lothiel. Her scowling guardian walked behind her at a much more sedate pace, his face seeming set in a perpetual scowl; their other companion of the day prior however is not in tow. "I told you he would come Eldarion!" She crows, turning to look at him with a beaming smile. "He said that I should not hope for you to return here, although you did swear to me that you would. He just does not like strangers."

     "A wise man," the Wanderer replies softly kneeling before the child. "A wise man is he who does not simply trust all he meets at face value. But I gave you my word that I would most likely return here on the morrow and so I have. But I did not swear that to you, I do not swear oaths to anyone."  

      Partially ignoring his words Lothiel instead moves her hands to clasp about his neck staring into his hood watching his lips move. "My Naneth says that you should not swear oaths or things like that, although," she frowns slightly. "The guards swear loyalty." Her forehead creases in confusion. "But Naneth is usually right."
Confused himself at first, the child's words making little sense to him but soon realisation hits him, as he understands, somewhat, what the girl was suggesting.

      "Guards swear oaths of loyalty. Your Naneth talks about oaths of action. They are different."
     

       Not really understanding what the Wanderer is talking about Lothiel utters only an "oh" to his softly spoken explanation. Knowing well enough that it is the correct response to give. "Eldarion still said that you would not come."

       Smiling a small tight smile, Káno ducks his head in order to stop the small girl seeing the amusement dancing in his eyes as he recognises the irony in the older lads name; son of the Eldar. The lad, he thought, had probably never met one of the Eldar and though he looked fairer this morn than he did last eve; his face was, to the Wanderer's eye, not so fair as that bright folk.

       "Elanna felt sick today so she could not come. Mother said that it would be not right for her to make others ill." The child continues quickly, explaining as to the missing presence. "But she'll be fine tomorrow. Elanna often feels ill, then gets better really quickly. Nobody really understands why; she probably just eats too many sweets. Oh and I told-" 

        Looking up briefly from his little friend's excited face he meets the broad grin of Falborn who holds a finger briefly to his lips asking for silence.

        Nodding in understanding Káno brushes his fingertips over the child's lips, stilling them. "Falborn is about to begin." He whispers quietly into her ear, "we shall talk later."

        Breathing a little huff, unhappy to be silenced so when wishing to tell her friend what news she brings, Lothiel quickly remembers her manners and stills herself. Perching upon Káno's knee and turning so that she is facing the Storyteller, her back rests against the ever cloaked mans chest. Eldarion, after the barest of hesitations sat across from them, a look of barely concealed mistrust apparent upon his face.

         And so, with his audience quiet and still, Falborn begins: "I spoke yesterday children of how the Elves reckon their days; from sunset to sunset. Heralding the rising of the moon as the birth of the new day. I also told you that a story lay behind it. Would then you like to hear it?" He pauses now awaiting their reply. With a unanimous cry of "yea" he continues. "You would it seem? I am glad, for though this tale is both long and old, it is a good tale. And so, I shall begin:
Of old the light in this world that we call home was not given to us by our Sun and our Moon. But still was there light or so it is told. Light came to the world as a gift, a gift from two trees, Laurelin and Telperion. One was golden and the other silver-"

      "How can trees give light?" A small boy interrupts to ask, his voice both curious and sceptical.

      "I know not, Lad. All I know is what the tales passed down tell us, for the time I speak of is from before our race awoke." Scattered gasps and mutters are heard from amongst the gathered children as Falborn speaks. Smiling to himself, he is pleased at their reactions and so he allows them to talk quietly among themselves for a moment before raising a hand for silence. "It is true my young ones, it is true. They grew in the Far West in the land that we now call the Undying Lands, Valinor. Yavanna, the Lady of the Valar who created all green things, so too created the Trees. One had leaves of dark green that beneath were shining silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling, and the earth beneath was dappled with the shadows of his fluttering leaves. The other bore leaves of a young green like the new-opened beech; their edges were of glittering gold. Flowers swung upon her branches in clusters of yellow flame, formed each to a glowing horn that spilled golden rain upon the ground; and from the blossom of that tree there came forth warmth and a great light. Telperion the first one was called in Valinor, and Silpion, and Ninquelótë, and many other names; but Laurelin the other was, and Malinalda, and Culúrien, and many other names in song beside.
In seven hours the glory of each tree waxed to full and waned again to naught; and each awoke once more to life an hour before the other ceased to shine. Thus in Valinor twice every day there came a gentle hour of softer light when both trees were faint and their gold and silver beams were mingled. Telperion was the elder of the trees and came first to full stature and to bloom; and that first hour in which he shone, the white glimmer of a silver dawn, the Valar reckoned not into the tale of hours, but named it the Opening Hour, and counted from it the ages of their reign in Valinor. Therefore at the sixth hour of the First Day, and of all the joyful days thereafter, until the Darkening of Valinor -of which I shall speak soon-, Telperion ceased his time of flower; and at the twelfth hour Laurelin her blossoming. And each day in Aman contained twelve hours, and ended with the mingling of the lights, in which Laurelin was waning but Telperion was waxing. But the light that was spilled from the trees endured long, ere it was taken up into the airs or sank down into the earth; and the dews of Telperion and the rain that fell from Laurelin Varda hoarded in great vats like shining lakes, that were to all the land of the Valar as wells of water and of light. Thus began the Days of the Bliss of Valinor; and thus began also the Count of Time. Now one day, as I have said, the light of the Two Trees failed. And evil came to those lands, for Morgoth the first Dark Lord brought destruction with him and killed the Two Trees-"

        "The Silmarils! He took the Jewels that Beren and Luthien took back from him." The dark haired girl from the day before shouts in understanding.

        "Aye, Maris, aye. He took them then and so the War between the Elves and Morgoth began." The Storyteller agrees with her, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction that she could remember. "Now the deaths of the Trees meant that the World was plunged into darkness the only light being that of the Stars. But the Darkness that came was more than simply a loss of light. For in that hour when the Trees' light failed, the Darkness that was created seemed to be a thing of its own: for it was made by malice out of Light, and it had power to pierce the eye, and to enter heart and mind, and strangle a person's very will."

        Lothiel, listening with the rapt attention of the very young, shivers upon Káno's lap as she hears this gloomy tale. Enchanted she had been by the description of the Blessed Trees but hearing now of their end her enchantment gave way to horror. Her breathing hitched in fright. Feeling the unsettlement of his companion, and feeling himself unsettled, his memories warring to break loose, Káno tentatively at first, wrapped an arm loosely about her small frame in an attempt to calm her and distract him. Appreciative of this action she shuffles herself further into his chest, attempting almost, to shield herself from the evilness of the tale.

       "But," Falborn continues, "it was not long as the Elves accounted the days before, when they in their revolt they found themselves being bathed in a new glory. For as those of the Lord Fingolfin's following crossed the Helcaraxë, the dread ice that once stood in the North, a new light ascended into the heavens. For when the Valar learned that the Noldor Elves had passed out of Aman, they arose and began to set forth in deeds those counsels that they had taken in thought for the redress of the evils of Melkor. Then Manwë bade Yavanna and Nienna to put forth all their powers of growth and healing; and they put forth all their powers upon the Trees. But the tears of Nienna availed not to heal their mortal wounds; and for a long while Yavanna sang alone in the shadows. Yet even as hope failed and her song faltered, Telperion bore at last upon a leafless bough one great flower of silver, and Laurelin a single fruit of gold.

       These Yavanna took; and then the Trees truly died, and it is said that their lifeless stems stand yet in Valinor, a memorial of vanished joy. But the flower and the fruit Yavanna gave to Aulë, and Manwë hallowed them, and Aulë and his people made vessels to hold them and preserve their radiance. These vessels the Valar gave to Varda, that they might become lamps of heaven, outshining the brightest stars, being nearer to Arda; and she gave them power to traverse the lower regions of Ilmen, and set them to voyage upon appointed courses above the girdle of the Earth from the West unto the East and to return.

      These things the Valar did, recalling in the twilight the darkness of the lands of Arda; and they resolved now to illumine Middle-earth and with light to hinder the deeds of Melkor against the children of Iluvatar.

      Isil the sheen is the Moon called in the old tongue, flower of Telperion in Valinor; and Anar the Fire-golden, fruit of Laurelin, they named the Sun. But the Noldor named them also Rana, the Wayward, and Vasa, the Heart of Fire, that awakens and consumes. The Moon was the first to sail the heavens above and so was the first the Noldor saw in their exile and so it is because of this they account their days from Sunset to Sunset. But, at the first rising of the Sun the Younger Children of the One awoke in the land of Hildorien in the eastward regions of Middle-earth; but the first sun arose in the West, and the opening eyes of Men were turned towards it, and their feet as they wandered over the Earth for the most part strayed that way. The Atani, were we named by the Eldar, the Second People. But they called us by other names beside; The Hildor, the Followers, Apanonar, the After-born, Engwar, the Sickly, and Firimar, the Mortals. Also, the Usurpers, the Strangers, and the Inscrutable, the Self-cursed, the Heavy-handed, the Night-fearers, the Children of the Sun." Here Falborn pauses once again to look upon his audience, their eyes enchanted and bewildered in turn.  "Now why did I tell you that tale?"

       "Because you said you would yesterday." One of the lads says petulantly.

       "True, true. But another reason."

        "Because it is the Gate of Summer tomorrow and so we celebrate the first dawn." One of the girls replies from her place next to the Storyteller.

         A smile like to the sun radiates from Falborn as he looks at the girl; pleased with her answer. "Indeed it is Ariel. But there is another reason. And this reason you should all know-."

        "It is because of the White Tree." A low voice interrupts forcing all of those present to turn to meet it. It is the eldest of all of the children there assembled who speaks; Lothiel's elder brother, Eldarion his voice pitched low as he explains. "Our White Tree is descended from a shoot of Telperion the Silver and so we are linked to the Moon, though this city was once called Minas Arnor, Citadel of the Sun. You speak of the Two Trees and their fruits so that we shall not forget where it is we are come from."

         Silence reigns for a few moments as all eyes turn to look where the White Tree stands tall next to them. Its branches so laden with blossoms, a number of its white petals have fallen about upon the ground like snow while others dance upon the wind. While leaves sway and flicker from green to silver to green as the unseen hand teases.

        "And why else?" Falborn asks softly once more, his face turned to watch the dancing leaves.

        The answer does not come immediately to any there present and when it does, it comes from a source that would not normally have answered but his thoughts had been turned inwards during the telling. His mind mulling over the words there spoken.

       "Hope."

        Lothiel tips her head back to look up to the face of the man she leans against, her mouth parted slightly as she listens. Káno had spoken only quietly, his answer more of a murmur, a voice to his thoughts.  

        Falborn's warm face crinkles into a slight smile as he recognises the voice.
"For hope indeed." He agrees. "For once again Light comes from Darkness. And that the Valar still look over us, helping us and guiding us in continuing on in the light." Silence surrounds the small group as they think upon his words; a silence that does not last long however for breaking his solemnity Falborn grins suddenly broadly, a laugh bubbling up from the depths. "I also told you that tale because it makes an exciting tale does it not?"
    

       The mood quickly lightening the smallest children giggle in delight, the elders chuckling to themselves, sharing glances of amusement. Káno too chuckles, a sound that only Lothiel, in her unique vantage point hears causing her to giggle all the harder. It is a while before the laughter dies down and quiet chatter replaces it.

    Lothiel too joins her peers in talk, her fit of giggles calmed only slightly the small girl launches into quick speech. Spurred on by Káno's own amusement, throwing her head back to look up at him, she returns once again to their earlier conversation as though there had been no story told:  "And I told Nana and Ada all about you. Elanna wanted me to be quiet; she wanted to talk about the stories that we'd heard. And Eldarion was just jealous that Nana and Ada were giving me attention and not him. Nana was really curious about you. And Ada said later, before bed, that he wanted to meet you and Nana said that you should break fast with us tomorrow."
With her back resting against her strange friends chest she feels, but pays no heed to the fact that his breath appears to catch in utter bewilderment at this statement. So dazed is the Wanderer that he can utter nothing but stunned silence. "I think Eldarion told them more after dinner. Not that he knows anything." She adds offhandedly as an afterthought. Startled and more than a little uncomfortable by this request Káno shoots a look over towards Falborn who is standing close by talking in quiet tones to the young man lately mentioned. Lothiel however does not seem to notice her strange friends nerves and continues talking, barely pausing for breath. "I think we're going to have treacleberries for breakfast, at least I hope so. They're lovely, really juicy and really sweet too!" She grins looking up with glee. "Eldarion hates them though, he says that they're too sweet, but nothing can ever be too sweet! And he says that they're not real berries at all, they're just sweets. But he doesn't know anything!"

       Finally finding his voice, or a little of it at least, the Wanderer murmurs a small "oh" in response to the child his mind turning desperately trying to understand his current situation. Lothiel meanwhile taking his word as a spur for yet further talking carries on regardless of the mental anguish she is causing her ‘friend'. "Really he doesn't at all. Although...I guess treacleberries are sort of like sweets because they're sweet but why would Ada let us have sweets to break fast with even if only on special occasions, Nana probably would...but Ada...Ada wouldn't. So they must be berries!" Working through the logic that her father would never allow her or her siblings to break their fast with sweets she grins in sheer delight as she believes that her elder brother is wrong in his assumptions and that she of course, was correct in hers. Bemused by the child upon his lap, Káno offers her a tentative smile that is mostly hidden within the confines of his hood but understanding his meaning her grin, full of gaps where her small baby teeth have begun to fall out to be replaced by their larger adult versions, is full of glee.

       Sibling rivalry Káno muses, even after so many years it still exists even amongst the youngest of children. Shaking his head a soft smile upon his lips, whether in bemusement or amusement not even he knows. "So your parents wish to meet me?" He asks quietly attempting to redirect her attention back to the matter at hand.

       She nods emphatically, her hair bouncing up and down in time. "Yes! Please say you can come Káno, please!"

       Still more than a little uncomfortable by this turn of events the Wanderer does not speak for a few moments. Unwilling to look at the child whose face is so full of hope; instead he turns his gaze to stare about the great courtyard in which they sit. The brilliant White Tree -a scion of a Tree he knew long ago- whose blossoms swayed in the light breeze dominates his view. The fountain beside it, a pale imitation of its beauty as it attempts to masquerade with the White ones reflection, even bejewelled as it is by sweet scented blossoms floating upon its pure waters. Behind this living beauty lay a mighty, strong structure, this city's citadel and high tower. White or grey either colour appeared to be a suitable description of its stonework depending upon the intensity of the light breaking forth from the clouds overhead. Banners fluttering dark and silver in the wind, the breeze not strong enough to blow them taut, but more than powerful enough to let the Sun's rays glisten upon the silver thread glinting brightly. Sighing, as though finding inspiration to speak from his surroundings his words are soft: "we met only a day ago young one, how do you know that I shall not embarrass you in front of your parents?"

       Lothiel frowns, twisting a lock of hair about her fingers. "But..." she bites her lip. "But you're Káno.... You're an adult. So... you have to be embarrassing. You're an adult." She nods a little to herself her teeth worrying her lower lip, uncertain as to how to answer.

       Káno once again bemused -and not a little amused- by the child's reply falls silent deep in thought. To be trusted so much by one so small was a feeling, an idea that he had thought would never occur again, why should it? He had spent uncounted years of his life avoiding all contact with any of the children of Arda. Certainly he had never searched anyone out, any contact that he had with others, no matter how fleeting was not of his own making.

       Lothiel however was not willing to allow Káno time to quietly order his thoughts, annoyed by her ‘friends' lack of immediate agreement she stands, hands on hips -the very image of a woman scorned- glaring at him, before finally dashing over to where her brother still stands deep in conversation with Falborn.

       Startled by his sister's sudden appearance at his side Eldarion jumps -to her immense delight - as Falborn offers a chuckle. Lothiel meanwhile simply offers him what she hopes is a winning smile.

      "Eldarion..."she begins, her voice high and slightly wheedling.

       Recognising the tone the response is a less than discrete roll of his eyes heavenwards, an action only halted when the young girl pulls at his arm.
"What?" He finally enquires with a long suffering sigh to which he receives another grin before she frowns, puckering her brow and turning a baleful eye upon the Wanderer.

      "Káno won't say that he'll come." She mutters solemnly to her brother.    

       Clearly not altogether surprised by this turn of conversation Eldarion crouches down to his sister's eye level his voice equally solemn. "I see. Did he say why?"

       The little girl shakes her head twice, catching her brother's hand. "He just said that he might be embarrassing, but...but," she worries her lip in thought, wanting to explain her earlier conversation. "But, he's an adult Eldarion, they're always embarrassing so that doesn't matter." Huffing softly she looks pleadingly up at the older boy. "Could you talk to him Eldarion, please?"

        Listening to the conversation between the siblings, watching them with an observant eye Káno offers a sad smile of his own before looking up and catching the still standing Storyteller's eye and offering a half-hearted shrug to his unasked for friends raised brows.  Noticing this, Falborn places a hand upon the crouching lads shoulder, "I think it would be a good argument to win and certainly I can make certain he gets to where he needs to be tomorrow, Eldarion."

        Huffing quietly to himself Eldarion nods once curtly before standing, leading his sister back towards the lone sitting figure, -most of the other children are playing a game, their raucous shouts echoing across the courtyard- with Falborn following closely behind. Half expecting an altercation, half curious as to what the young man will say to him Káno goes to stand but is halted by the young mans waved gesture and so remains seated upon the stone floor; Eldarion himself being the one to crouch, sitting upon his heels beside the older man. "My sister says that you will not commit to coming and breaking fast with us tomorrow, may I ask why not?"

       Internally chuckling the Wanderer's reply is as courteous as any Lord as he studies the appearance of the boy before him. "I do not like to commit myself to any action, child. My will is my own and I would not have my word broken if any trouble should arise between now and then. But, if your family would have me break fast with them it would seem I cannot refuse else be thought of as worrisome. Therefore, as my Lady asks." He finishes and this time he does chuckle although it sounds slightly forced, as though the effort of being courteous has taken some strength that would otherwise have not been used. Eldarion however makes no move so as to acknowledge this and merely nods.

      "My thanks, Sir. But now," he says, turning back to the Storyteller. "Needs must Falborn so no more stories for us, thought provoking though they are. Time has gone on and we're expected back home." He gestures skywards. "The bells have tolled for third hour already and we were supposed to return before the quarter of the second. I shall see you tomorrow." He says and inclines his head to the Storyteller, offering a curt nod to Káno. Standing he holds a hand out for his sister who stands beside him staring in deep thought at the ever cloaked Wanderer; ignoring her brother once more.

      "Lothiel?" He calls to her but still she does not answer instead she reaches out and grasps Káno's bandaged hand pulling it gently towards her, hearing him let out a soft pained gasp however she relinquishes her hold and lets him place it upon one raised knee.

      "What did you do to your hand, Káno?" She asks in concern reaching out to touch it gently.

       For a moment the Wanderer is silent and almost, the young girl repeats herself, but ere she can he replies; his voice low and quiet, nigh inaudible except to those who stand close by. "It is an old burn child, nothing more. I was not always quick in my youth and a torch got the better of me before I could douse its flame. The hot oil splashed my hand."

       Upset upon her friend's behalf the child's reaction nonetheless comes as a shock to all as she leans forward and kisses the injured limb. "That's what my mummy does, it makes me feel better and all the hurt stops." She smiles then, a sweet smile and pats him gently on the knee before taking a hold of her brothers proffered hand and leading him away from the gaggle of playing children towards the citadel.

      Once again shocked by the girl, Káno sits swallowing convulsively, attempting to clear the now large lump in his throat, his eyes fixed upon his knee where the bandaged hand rests. His mother had not been thought of in many a long year and, that was how he had preferred it, the memory of red hair and bright eyes too painful to be dwelled upon. As a hand rests gently upon his shoulder he starts slightly, turning to stare at the Storyteller who offers a small smile of his own. "You have a good little friend there."

       Nodding faintly his throat still tighter than it had been in years Káno can only trust himself to respond with a weak, "I know."

       As he turns to watch the children's retreating backs a brief strong gust blows a single blossom in to his sight, attracting his attention away from his distant thoughts and back to the present. He sighs again, shutting his eyes tightly exhaling a long breath. Having regained control over his emotions he looks up at Falborn offering the man a better smile than he feels in his heart and says, to the pleasure of those children still present: "now, what story is next?"

Chapter End Notes

As usual not beta'd, I'll leave that until the very end when I finally finish this monster. Thus all mistakes are my own (including formatting), but feel free to point them out.

It was yet early. Even Vása, that great solar body, had not yet arisen from her short summer sleep and yet, it had been still earlier than this when the Storyteller had awoken, his sleep disturbed by the knocking at his shared rooms door. And yet for all his ever vigilance his friend, the ever-watchful Káno, had not awoken at this knocking; his sleep deep. And, though the sheets upon his pallet were rucked, he was quiet. His entirety, even in sleep, remained covered by his ever present dark cloak as though to ward off unseen eyes. His head tucked low, resting upon the pillow provided, his uninjured hand wrapped around his torso as his bandaged limb lay tightly cradled against his chest as though to ward off some unknown foe. Stifling a call as he returned to his still darkened room Falborn chuckled as he observed the still sleeping Wanderer, although the tray in his hands grew heavier he almost does not go to wake him but, remembering his own promise the day before to Eldarion, Falborn sighed. Placing the tray upon the chest of drawers that had just a day earlier been used for similar effect, he kicks the lowest drawer and places the tray down with a clatter.

Waking with a start, propelling himself upright into a sitting position, -Falborn's actions having been used to great effect and, achieving their purpose- Káno is immediately awake and alert, his eyes roving quickly about the room searching for the unknown disturbance.

Almost laughing in impish delight at causing Káno's abrupt awakening, his whiskered mouth upturned in smothered amusement, Falborn could only gesture wordlessly towards the tray beside him. His companions eagle-sharp eyes pinpoint the disturbance and stare in silence at the middle-aged -and extremely awake- culprit whose fist lay clamped between uneven teeth.

Raising himself slowly upon one arm -he had dropped back against the pillows once he had realised who had caused the ruckus- his features locked into a frown, the Wanderer eyed the tray -and its bearer- with suspicion. Falborn rolled his eyes good-naturedly at this notion of doubt. "It is food Káno. A rather strange looking frumenty. I think it's left from last night,but it's food none the less. Eat up before it gets cold. We need to be up by the citadel long before sun up. We're racing Vása this morning." His voice effectively bright in an attempt to bring some enthusiasm to his companions shadowed features.

Káno however merely raises a long suffering eyebrow at his friends effected tone seeing well through it to the tiredness that seeps from Falborn's frame. Too many late nights and early rises bringing shadows to his features. "What time does the festival begin?"

"Fourth bell, although most does not begin until the fifth. It's just after second. I thought it might be a good idea to attempt to get near the front. Especially considering your invitation." He smiles good-humouredly to himself, his back turned. Picking up the two bowls from atop the tray he walks the short distance to Káno's pallet and hands one of the pair to the latter's waiting hands -after he has sat up properly, the blankets pooling about him- before dropping down with a sigh to sit beside him. He laughs as he picks up the spoon. "It won't bite you, friend; honestly. Thick and unappetising it may be but, it is hearty and will give you enough energy to last until you break fast truly."

At this casually dropped reminder Káno appears to visibly withdraw further within himself, his gangly frame hunched around the bowl. Noticing this Falborn frowns. "You're not thinking of not going. For one, I won't let you not go, you've listened to me spin yarns for the last few days and need to see what the fuss is all about. There's one thing to be told, quite another to see. But more than that, you'll break that little ones heart if you don't go."

"I made no promise." The response was quiet, barely audible.

"Mayhap, but a word spoken to a child may as well be a promise." Falborn's tongue is sharp but his face does not belie his words, in contrast it is soft and not without some remorse, for the words needed to be spoken and when he speaks again his tone reflects this. "Come now friend, finish breaking your fast, it would not be right to keep the maid waiting o'er long; that and we'll need to move quickly to get a good spot for the festivities."

Though his features are troubled the Wanderer nods and lifts his spoon to his lips, barely noticing the taste of chicken upon the wheat, his thoughts far from the present.

Deciding the topic closed Falborn nods back, then shifts his position upon Kano's pallet. "Mid-Summer Sunrise about the top of Minas Tirith is a sight that must be seen at least once in a person's life, if it can't be done every year. I remember as a child, hearing about it from my cousins whenever they visited at harvest; on and on they would go, and on and on I would go at my parents but they refused to go. They used to say that we couldn't afford to simply pack up and leave everything behind; that we had responsibilities in Ithilien. My first time, I was about fifteen and father was called to the Citadel, I don't remember what for now, never really knew then either but, it was nothing short of magical." He smiles whimsically his spoon stopped in mid-air. "Thousands of people, an entire city in silence and then, the King speaks as Vása begins to rise upon the horizon." He shakes his head ruefully then turns to face Káno, "I won't say anymore, it'll spoil it. But magical it certainly is and then, when she has reached the point where her rays reach the White Tree, we all celebrate. Truly a wonderful sight."

Káno nodded, more in mechanical response than agreement; he had remained silent throughout Falborn's monologue, thinking it best to stay quiet and simply allow the man's words to roll out and carry about the candlelit room. That, and he had been concentrating on eating the clearly left over frumenty from last nights supper; the inn it seemed did not see the need to cook first thing on mid-summer. Either that or Falborn had pilfered from the kitchen before anyone else was awake. After some thought Káno decided that this was likely the actual reason for their rather, interesting meal, for it seemed unlikely to him that people would simply stop cooking.

Suddenly Falborn laughed, "and this year it will be even better since Eldarion invited me to stand up beside the wall." He smiles at the Wanderer's look of astonishment. "Yes," he says cheerily, "you're not the only one going to have a wonderful view. I knew there was a reason I liked going to the Citadel.

Now," the storyteller stands, lifting his bowl -he'd eaten it in between sentences- and wanders over to the chest of drawers. "Now, I would suggest having another good wash ‘ere we go to the citadel but I fear we will not have enough time." Falborn smiles crookedly, tossing Káno a damp cloth, its wet folds landing heavily in his lap -he had not reached to catch it. Noting his companions stillness Falborn laughs. "I won't watch if it's prying eyes you fear, friend. Although I doubt you could be as hideous as some of those veterans I have seen from the Harad wars. But I warn you, it‘s going to be your turn to fetch and carry next. I‘m getting too old to be wandering up and down those rickety old things ten times a day." Still chuckling the Storyteller is as good as his word, lifting their bowls and, juggling them with the empty mugs, he leaves the room heading back downstairs; his hands full.

Sighing Káno wearily slipped out from beneath the sheets that still covered him. He had remained fully dressed beneath them, unwilling to remove his clothes even before a drunk man -for Falborn had once again drunk far too much ale than he otherwise should have the night before. Walking over to the door he shuts it, its hinges squeaking noisily in distress. He leant against its wooden frame briefly 'ere pushing himself off and covering in two strides the distance across the room to pick up the damp cloth that Falborn had thrown at him and which he had simply allowed to drop onto the bed covers. Lifting it -a large wet stain being revealed beneath- Káno looks at in semi-distaste, the bowl from whence it came still resides atop the drawers but he is no mood to clean himself as thoroughly as he did the day before. Instead, simply stripping himself of his heavy cloak and tunic, leaving them to collect in untidy folds upon the colourful rug he dips the cloth back into the bowl, wrings it out and goes about having a simple, quick wash-the water is cool against his skin, neither hot nor truly cold- the water running in long rivulets down his skin. Rubbing the cloth over his face, not a little ungently, his features gaining a reddish glow he once again debates brushing his hair -a hand drifting backwards over it- but once again he decides against it. It was simply an annoyance that he had learned to live with, moreover who was he ever going to allow to see it, he thought wryly to himself. He had never been particularly vain, and that tendency had only increased over the years.

Dumping the now dirty -yet not as dirty as the day before- cloth back into the bowl, its folds coming up to float just below the surface, he picked up his tunic, fingering the hemline absentmindedly as he walked towards the window, its shutters thrown open to allow in the starlight. On the street torches flutter in the early morning breeze, if morning it can be called, and voices drift upwards from the lower level where people are beginning to waken and make their way towards the Citadel. Leaning far out, resting his hands upon the window ledge Káno stares out onto the lower ramparts of the City and looking further he is able to see out upon the plains below. Unlike when he first arrived at the City the plains are still and silent it still being too early for anyone to be journeying so far afield. The great Dwarven gates sealed shut. Looking out further across the green Plains his eyes can pick out the buildings of another city built upon the banks of a river, its ramparts surrounded by wooden scaffolding indicating the presence of construction and the start of a burgeoning metropolis.

Humming to himself, absently he tugged his tunic back over his head and ran his fingers over the creases. Walking back to his satchel he rummaged through it and uncovered a number of crumbs, which he promptly threw to the sparrows who had been attracted by his humming. Hopping down from the sill the three begin to peck, their delighted chirruping causing a brief smile to emerge upon the Wanderers mouth. Hooking his cloak off the floor he rests it over the back of his arm and, minding the birds, walks back to the window. So intent is he on watching the City life unfold beneath that he doesn't hear the door shut quietly behind him.

Falborn had huffed and puffed his way back up the staircase, he had attempted to run up the stairs -after receiving a scolding for taking things from the kitchen by the maid- but had soon given that up. Winded but unwilling to disturb his guest he had entered the room as quietly as he possibly could, wincing at the noise of the squeaking hinge, he stole a glance towards the Wanderer who stood staring out of the window while birds jumped around his booted feet, but he had not noticed. Curious, and unashamedly so, the Storyteller walked as silently as possible across the boards towards Kano whose back remained turned from him. Staring unabashedly at his friend he took in the slight form and long hair, dark and matted, once more. Suddenly understanding that Kano had truly not realised that he was no longer alone within the room, and strangely embarrassed, Falborn coughed loudly turning around and busying himself with airing out a nearby sheet.

Sensing, more than hearing Kano start in surprise and hastily throwing his cloak back around his shoulders, the hood lifted to cover his head, Falborn speaks into the unnerving silence. Kano clearly not having appreciated being caught by surprise.

"We ought to have left by now. The Lower Levels of the City are already awake according to Lirael, and I'm sure you've seen people starting to wander up towards the Citadel; and no matter if we are guests of the Royal Family the people will be unwilling to let us pass." Folding the sheet after snapping it a couple of times in the air he turns back to the frowning Kano with a bright smile. "So if you and your feathered friends are finished we should get going."

Still frowning Kano nods slowly, sparing Falborn little more than a glance as he lifted his satchel onto his shoulder and walked out of the room. Sighing heavily and looking wistfully at the bowl of water on the drawers, Falborn can only move quickly to catch up. Knowing that the other man has no true idea of where they are headed other than towards the upper Levels the Storyteller has little choice but to catch up with him. Slipping his own much lighter cloak over his shoulders and grabbing his satchel he hastily jogs out the door turning the key in the lock he looks up and stops short. Káno hadn't wandered down the corridor. Starting in shock Falborn let out a long breath and a short laugh, clapping Kano on the shoulder.

"You said the Royal Family?" Kano's voice is soft and somewhat muffled beneath his cloak. Whether the affront Falborn has caused has been forgiven is not clear, but it seems that the Wanderer has at least decided to ignore it for the moment.

Nodding, eager to forget what had transpired between them Falborn gestured for Kano to proceed him down the corridor and into the, surprisingly empty, taproom. "Yes. Although how you could not have realised that my friend, I am surprised."

"I have not been to this City before." Kano replied barely pausing to wait for Falborn to catch up as he walked through the taproom into the still darkened streets.

Snagging a torch from the wall outside the inn Falborn huffs, displeased at being rushed, he barely had time to utter a quick goodbye to Lirael, Kano having set a pace that was little to his liking. The pair disappear amongst the crowd, who appear like ghosts out of the gloom. "I thought that. Indeed I think I said as much to you the other night. All the same I did think it a bit of a question without reason; why else would those children go home in the direction of the main citadel." He smiles, avoiding some broken cobbles. "Eldarion, Elanna and Lothiel are the children of our King Elessar. As I said earlier, we have been blessed in that we are guaranteed a wonderful spot to watch the dawn. I should thank you, I think, for making friends with Lady Lothiel and so attracting her brothers attention. But now I think less talking and more walking otherwise these good people will reach the summit before us. That and if I have to pause to draw breath to speak again I will never be able to start once more, my knees are hurting today."

Ducking his head, chagrined at the response Kano muttered an affirmation and gave his companion a slightly worried glance, which was waved away immediately with the response of: "I'm not that old. And look where you're going before you walk into that cart!"

Doing as he was told, a soft smile gracing his lips, Kano neatly sidestepped the cart lying stationary in the middle of the street, its owner clearly not having thought to putting it out of the way the night before. His attention now drawn away from Falborn -although the Wanderer does keep a discreet eye upon his friends huffing and puffing form- Kano studies the City streets. Unlike the last two days he had spent in the City climbing its streets this day was unlike the others. Whilst the first he had journeyed through during midday with merchants shouting and calling, encouraging people to buy their wares and the second had been calm with the early morning business. This, the third day he had spent in the City, was quiet but hummed with an undercurrent akin to lightening, nervous excitement coursing through all the inhabitants as they all chose to awaken before dawn to watch in the midsummer sunrise. Resembling strange ghostlike apparitions, their faces picked out in craggy detail by the light of a thousand burning torches. The people talk and laugh, their voices a hushed murmur in the stillness of the night.

Hurried along by the ever increasing throng, Falborn picked an even path through them, dodging and weaving. His torch held high so as not to burn any person unlucky enough to stand too close but low enough so as to not cause him further hassle. The brand lit their way through the crowds and through the tunnels cut into the mountainside. Six levels they climbed until finally they broached the City's summit and entered the Citadel's courtyard where the White Tree flowered and they could look out upon the City to see far below into her streets and far and wide into the Plains and Valleys at her base, unfolding like a hidden tapestry. To the river where the new city was being built to the green woods and fields and yet further to the shadowed mountains. From the top of the mountain little was left unrevealed even to mortal eye. Not even the early morning mist, which clung to the summit, dampened the untrammelled view; though cold did it make the morning. Hundreds stood upon the City's summit, the seventh and highest level, and hundreds more within the sixth, it seemed that even though Falborn had declared it early to be going up to the Citadel the rest of the City had decided to move early also. For this clearly, was a celebration that the people looked forward to and thought not to be missed.

000

Solemn silence.

Sobriety descends, all chatter ceasing as the people reach the summit of their climb, the guards armour shining like the stars under the torchlight. Falborn, snagging Kano's cloak pulled him after him as he weaved amongst the crowd towards one member of the guard. Explaining their situation he points the pair towards the summits edge and the wall, low in comparison to all those on the City's lower levels. This wall it seemed served no defensive boundary as those of the lower levels did but rather acted to afford a safety barrier against the long drop. Standing over seven hundred foot above the plains, the highest level of the Stone City is open to the elements yet well guarded from threat, little being able to reach so high, not perhaps even the Dark One himself, although thoughts of that creature are loath to be thought upon.

Watching the dawn, Arien slowly beginning her climb above the shadowed mountains of the east Kano, as is his wont, is silent. Lost in memories of past mid-summer dawns and viewings of Vása rising high into the heavens...

"Darkness has fallen, light has come again.

We Celebrate this day as it was upon this day that both lights traversed the heavens and the darkness was driven back.

That darkness may have returned, but we know that we are not forgotten and that darkness fell and light returned. We live now to see that darkness will never reign! As was said at that time of first light; darkness has fallen, light has come again.

So will it be!"

So his brother spoke atop the walls of another great citadel, though that was much less in stature than this White City. Though of no lesser import. A fortress and a home, the Evercold, although no less homely for its name. Brothers gathered upon a wall watching the dawn, a time for family as much then as now.

The King, dark haired, silver crowned stands upon the Citadel Wall's. Although never before had the Wanderer seen the man, he knew that it must be him -and not simply because of Falborn's nudge and nod. Surrounded by his family, resplendent in the bright colours of summer, no other amongst the gathered throng could attract and hold the attention of so many with nary a glance.

As the Sun maidens' rays begin to leak out from the tops of the jagged peaks he begins to speak. His voice reigns loud and clear in the silent morn echoing off the mountain peaks.

"Darkness has vanished once more and today more than any other Arien is happiest and at her true strength. For it was upon this day that the Dark One was driven away; and so she rejoices, and we with her.

Out of night has come the day.

Darkness has fallen, light has come again!"

At these words Vása's great light paints the surrounding mountain peaks, and spilling down upon the City nestled amongst them, the light touching the Walls it causes them to shine almost as brightly as the stars of Elbereth; radiant in the new light of a new day. Stunned more by the speech than the appearance of the Sun maiden, Kano does not move as all around him, cheers and shouts of joy echo and ricochet throughout the mountainside, the City itself seeming to speak in exultation. He had not expected the speech greeting the new dawn to so resemble that one from so long ago. Joy and sadness mingled as in all midsummer dawns, first dawns. The first greeting of a new day or of a new Age of the world. Dawn is both a renewal, a birth of new things a time for great joy and a time of death and departure, as the old gives way to the new.

000

It is a long time before Kano becomes aware of the world around him once more. With the speeches over, the Royal Family having wandered back towards the Citadel, and the people beginning to depart, slowly -some to return to bed, others to cook for later in the day- Falborn touches Kano upon the shoulder. Bringing him out of his wistful reverie the Storyteller whispers into his ear.

"We need to move. Your friend and her parents have retreated into the gardens where they cannot be disturbed without pressing need. They will not leave there for some time yet, although they have likely placed a servant on the lookout for our arrival." His mouth crinkles into a smile. "I told you that this dawn was not to be missed. Beautiful, as always, although my father used to dismiss it and swear that it was little different to that ceremony under the Stewards. But that's old men for you."

The Wanderer nods, acting like a line for a sailor in strong winds, his gaze still somewhat lost Falborn's words ground him, and he takes in a shuddering breath. "Arien went above and beyond the call of duty, as always."

"Ah, perhaps she likes the pantomime?" The Storyteller quirks his lips, "or perhaps she is somewhat vain. I always thought she sounded vain in that old story."

Kano allows a small smile at that and ducks his face in amusement. "Last I heard, most women like being complemented."

Falborn laughs, "true! Very true. It is good to hear you joke my friend, I was not certain you knew how to. You do so little.-"

"There is little to find joy in." Kano mutters somewhat darkly below his breath, unwilling to share such thoughts with the Storyteller but needing to speak them aloud all the same.

"-Still, we should move." The Storyteller continues, unknowing of the muttered words, his focus upon moving towards their destination with the children. An invitation to break fast with company that they should not disrupt if only through forgetfulness.

Walking somewhat quicker than he had before when the pair had made their early morning rush to the Hill of Guard's summit, Falborn directs Kano with little erring and few comments, to a walled off part of the Citadel facing east towards the far off mountains and Vása had begun her early morning journey. Lost in thoughts still, his mind mulling over the events of past and present dawns the Wanderers reactions are slower than usual and he does not notice the fact that they have stopped in front of a pair of heavy wooden gates and two people stand before them. The smallest figure, easily identified as the child Lothiel throws herself into Kano, her excitement at seeing him more than slightly palpable as she giggles and laughs in joy, and relief that he had not broken her promise.

"You came!" Startled out of his reverie by the child's actions and shout, if not for inbred reactions honed by years of experience would have fallen in shock. Falborn, clearly having expected such a reaction had placed an arm behind his friend in case of such an event, an action that he was more than slightly glad had not occurred. Stepping backwards briefly to regain what balance had been lost under the girls assault, the fact that his arms wrap around the youngster in replica of her own actions; a move that is quickly retracted once he realises what he has done but not before Lothiel has bequeathed him with a smile almost as bright as Vása. Snatching his hand up in her own the young girl pulls the Wanderer forward towards the figure waiting at the gated entrance. "Kano, this is my Nana. Nana, meet Kano; he's Falborn's friend, the one Eldarion and I told you all about. He's the one who sang during the retelling of the Leithian."

The woman, revealed as the child Lothiel's mother smiles fondly at her daughter. Her hair dark, her face pale, her eyes clear Kano's breath stops for a moment in shock. He doesn't speak for a moment, then two, but before such a silence could become truly noticeable although with how little the Wanderer cares to speak such a silence may be very long indeed; the Lady herself speaks.

"Good morning." Simple words, but simple words are all that is needed to break the simplest of spells.

"Good morning, my Lady. I mean not to be rude but," Kano pauses, for a being so skilled in words as the Wanderer it would appear that finding the words he needs when greeted by such a sight are somewhat lacking in coming to his tongue; though eventually, as they and he must, he continues. "I am glad to see, unless my eyes do trick me, that the Calben still have not all yet left for the West."

"Nay, they have not; and I shall not, for that way is lost to me now. Halfelven only am I and I have chosen as was my due." The Lady continues to smile although it does not reach her eyes, instead honest curiosity can be seen tinged with a long felt pain. "Still, I wonder, you use the word Calben, Lord? It is long since I have heard that name in common usage, in script yes but in speech no. Rather they say that they are Edhil, or in the Common tongue, Elves."

Sorrowful yet soaked with a pride that feels itself stung by her words, the Wanderer speaks not in anger but with a force that he has used little of for many a year. "And yet it is what we are, were and forever shall be since we are of that group. Or we should be called Quendi, the Speakers. Those who sung at their awakening when first they beheld the stars. Indeed we sung before ever we learnt the art of speech with one another."

The dark haired lady smiles softly and not without her own amount of sorrow. "So it is said. But I know none from that time. Many years have passed since then. Neither term is used now, except by the Loremasters."

"Perhaps too many..." Kano trails off, his voice thoughtful.

Lothiel however still hanging onto his hand, gives his arm a sharp tug, unwilling for her friend -who has become strangely talkative- to fall back into introspection. Moreover, as her voice and face show she is more than a little perturbed by the fact that it is to her mother that he has chosen to speak with at length and that, from his words it would seem that they had more in common than would otherwise have been thought. Her voice is thus rather accusing. "You're like, Naneth! Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends, Kano!"

Falborn, standing near chuckles, whispering below his breath- "out of the mouths of babes," Then biting his tongue to stop himself from adding his own accusations along a similar line ‘ere he is distracted by more of Eldarion's questions about the Sothron lands; for the young man had arrived quietly from within the garden during the Wanderer's and the children's mothers speech.

"Not all wish to announce to the world whom they are child." The Lady answers her daughters accusing questions. "Such is life, it is never without hardship even for one of the Eldar." The last is said with a sideline glance at the Wanderer before adding to all assembled. "But perhaps we should continue our conversation within the garden for no doubt everyone is hungry. Well met once more Falborn, as always you have entertained Minas Tirith and I am grateful for it. But 'ere you ask, Lord; I am Arwen daughter of Elrond, wife of Elessar whom you have seen and will soon meet for I am well aware that he wishes to break his fast shortly and the both of you have been invited to break yours with us."

Extending her hand to her youngest's free one and counting upon Lothiel to keep a tight hold upon Kano's own hand to prevent him from getting any thoughts of making a hasty exit. Although interested before in the Wanderer whom her son and daughters had spoken of at some length over dinner the last few nights, Arwen, after meeting the shadowed man who remained hidden in the folds of a ratty old cloak of a weave similar to one she knew of old has become somewhat determined to verify her own thoughts as to his identity. She had noticed the cloaked figure standing beside the Storyteller easily enough and staring at him as he stood lost in his own thoughts she had noticed a feeling of familiarity at the time, a feeling that had grown ever since. Talking quiet nonsense describing the garden and telling her children's friend and Falborn how she and the people of Lasgalen had helped it to grow lush once more after the Fall, an event she had little doubt that the Wanderer had little enough knowledge of, but the results of which could not have been missed even from one retired from the world as he.

As for the Wanderer he heard little of the woman's inane chatter lost as he was in the past once more remembering two young Halfelven twins, their voices upraised in calls to Elbereth, to battle, to each other, to him... Squeezing his eyes tight and pinching himself sharply unwilling to get lost in any memories be they good or bad at this time the action does not go unnoticed by Falborn who looks at him in concern. Kano however has only eyes for the scenery he passes deciding that now knowing from whom three of the people he walks with are of descent known to him it is safer for him to focus upon such a thing as the memories become less tangible then. It is strange he feels to find such greenery in a stone city, not that he has not seen it before, but upon so high a hill within the hither lands it is certainly...an odd occurrence. Lush grass and trees that have clearly been transplanted from far afield, this Kingdom of Lasgalen he supposes to himself, the effect is to create a haven of nature enclosed within stone, a melding of the arts of Aule and Yavanna. A place both natural and unnatural, as his eyes dart around the enclosed space lingering briefly upon palace servants nestled as unobtrusively as possible about clearly awaiting some unseen signal they fall upon the groups destination. Beneath an oak sits a table, the dishes upon it awash with bright colour still from the early dawn while at it sit two people. The man, still resplendent in his own brightly adorned robes from the ceremony that morn and a girl, not seen since his first day in the City. Elanna, elder sister of Lothiel and younger of Eldarion sits in a gleaming yellow dress talking animatedly with the man clearly her father and Lord of the City.

Eldarion noticing the fact that his sister was unwilling to relinquish her fathers attention no matter the fact that the rest of their family had returned with guests in tow interjects with a "'Lana, we all know you like him but we don‘t need to know the details thank you." Smiling sweetly at her as the younger child blushes up to her roots and stammers, while her father quirks an eyebrow at his elder children.

Arwen, while thankful for her son's interruption and thus allowing Aragorn to take heed of their visitors without stopping Elanna from speaking, but wishing he had managed to do so slightly more diplomatically sighs, but instead of taking him to task she smiles somewhat amusedly at her husband.

"My Lord husband, I would have you meet someone. Falborn, Master Storyteller of the Reunited Kingdoms you know of course, but this, is Kano a Lord of the Noldorin Exiles from old Tirion." Noticing the silent figure seem to withdraw and Falborn start and stare hard at him whilst her own husband pauses in stillness uncertain what entirely to make of this revelation, Arwen smiles gently at the Wanderer. "You need not worry, Kano. Though your eyes be shadowed, as is your wont, I would recognise that light in even the darkest of places after seeing it for so long reflected in the eyes of my grandmother."

The man, revealed as Aragorn, named Elessar, stares hard at the Wanderer his gaze searching for what not even he is certain. Kano holds that gaze briefly ‘ere lowering his eyes, to see only a great stone of a clear green, set in a silver brooch wrought in the likeness of an Eagle with outspread wings...

"Atar!" Two young boys cry, rushing towards a whistling dark haired man.

"Hail, my sons!" He calls back as they hurry towards him to be enveloped within his arms. "Though I had not believed myself gone that long, I do believe you have grown!"

"Atar." Giggles come from the younger child.

"You have been gone so long! What did you make?" Asks the elder child in curiosity.

"Nothing for you Russandol, nor for your brother. This is for your mother." He kneels beside them, opening a small drawstring bag knocking the contents into his hands. And within his hands he held a brooch containing a great green stone set within a silver Eagle.

"It's beautiful father, mother will love it I am certain." The eldest says breathlessly, eyes shining.

"What is it called?" The younger child asks in awe.

"It is called..."

The image shifts...

"The Elessar? Father you cannot give me this!" It is the elder child, grown now and weeping, leaning over his father, grasping his hand tight. Red angry welts cover the father's body; burns that will never heal bleed freely. He coughs a wracking cough, and yet more blood trickles from his mouth.

Five other men also crouch next to the father, so alike as to be kin, of which they are. One holds their father steady as the coughing fit begins to subside; it is the younger child from before. He, like his brother is weeping as their beloved and cherished father speaks his final words before passing into ash; like all great fires must when their time has ended.

Suddenly a young child's wailing is heard close by...

"Kano! Kano, are you alright?"

Coming back to himself he finds that he has knelt upon the grass, the child, Lothiel is before him her fright almost palpable. For he has felt such fear many times before, both his own and others. Not trusting himself to speak he simply nods, for his throat is tight, his mouth tasting vaguely of bile. The memories of the stone, if the one he knew and the one before him were the same conjuring images both foul and fair to his mind; the wonder of the first unable to be thought of without the terror of the last. The memories of warmth of life both giving and departing, merging in his mind the latter destroying the peace of the former. The blood and pain, nauseating in its horror and shocking in its reality; the memory still as fresh as the day it was formed.

A hand descends upon his shoulder startles him out of his reverie, the Half-elven, Arwen, Elrond's daughter, -his granddaughter...?- crouches beside him and looks long at him before speaking quietly. "Perhaps I was wrong in saying that the grief of that time has not taken you. Perhaps I would be more correct in saying that it has not fully overtaken you, yet."

Ducking his head the Wanderer refuses to meet her eyes, knowing well enough that her time amongst the Elven kindred's will have taught her of the grief, and he has no wish for her to know all of him even though she is not of the Eldar.

"For my part I am glad that not all of the Eldar have departed Middle earth; for these lands would be much the bleaker without the presence of the Firstborn." Aragorn adds, his voice cutting into the silence. At Kano's adverse reaction at laying eyes upon the Elessar he had stood, indeed he had been rising to greet this odd person his children had discovered in Falborn's company and had so occupied their attention for the last few days. But seeing Eldarion move quicker to steady him he had stopped and stood, staring feeling uncomfortably wary of the stranger who had enchanted his children and his wife it now seemed to him; although he was not without some sympathy for the strangers plight.

"But I think we have had enough of this silence, it is Midsummer a time for joy and for our family a time for celebrating hope and it is long since past time we all broke our fast. So Ladies, and gentlemen," he adds with a slight twinkle in his eye as he sees his son stiffen at first in perceived affront. "To new beginnings! And Falborn my friend, I tell you now that I have wish to hear every tale you have of the goings on of our Sothron friends, even if you have already told most of them in those wretched inn's you insist upon staying in..."

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was one of the earliest planned chapters and is must be said is one of the pivotal for introducing characters; almost all the necessary characters for this part of the story having now been introduced. The second set of memories concerning the Elessar was in fact the second part of this entire story to be written, the first being the final chapter, proof that I do indeed know where this story is heading as is the proof that the Epilogue has been written, however neither are likely to see light of day on the internet for a very long time yet.

As the story is currently planned there are another two chapters before we hit the interlude and then we begin the homeward struggle in part two which will likely consist of four chapters. Part two is partially sketched but, only sketched. This story has surprised me more than a little by the way in which it has grown, no doubt it has surprised you as well since the first chapters are little more than a thousand words each and this latest is over seven thousand, hopefully however it is detail well spent.

I will freely admit that this chapter has taken a long time to write mostly because it has also been one of the most difficult due to the fact that I suddenly have to write for characters that I have never written before, namely Aragorn and Arwen. Hopefully they have stayed true to their characters, if not feel free to tell me how I can improve their portrayals I have no wish to mutilate a character.

I do find it intriguing however that I have managed to not once mention the Wanderers official published name and yet everyone knows who I'm talking about. Then again since you're all reading this in the Silm section of FF.net (or on the SWG or HASA) if you didn't realise whom the character was perhaps I should be more worried. Hmm... note for the future, keep the readership guessing for longer...

As hopefully you cannot tell, although you no doubt can, this chapter has been written over a number of years and has been affected by rewrite after rewrite, the first outline not even mentioning Falborn for instance due to the fact that he did not exist at the time. Dialogue has been chopped and changed and more than a little has been lost since it didn't seem to fit the new version. Indeed it wouldn't shock me that if at the end of this I do an outtake post upon Livejournal as I do miss some of the dialogue between Arwen and Kano; although some may be appearing in altered form in chapter six I haven't quite decided yet if it'll fit.

But now a number of notices about the chapter contents for those who don't know the Silm. and HoMe like the backs of their hands, oh look a spot....

Kano and Arwen engage in a discussion about the names of the Elves, Kano as an old poet from before the Waning remembers the older forms of the names, Arwen, as a Half-Elven who has grown up during the Waning knows of the older forms but corrects him on their use. Those used are: Calben (Sindarin for Calaquendi) meaning Light Elves; although technically only used for those Elves who first journeyed back from Aman during the Darkening Kano is able to recognise Arwen's kinship to these Elves hence his use of the term.

Edhil pl. of Edhel. (from Quendi and Eldar) literally star folk, or the name of the Elves in Sindarin.

Quendi, literally the Speakers or those who speak. This was the first name of the Elves that was adopted when the Elves first awoke at Quivienen. The terms Calben and Edhil are taken from HoMe 12.

Initially in the story outline Kano vocally and mentally differentiates Arwen from being one of the Eldar, to me this is a natural distinction for him to make. Arwen is not an Elf she is Half-elven the same as Elrond and further more she has made her decision to join her life to that of mankind, she will eventually die. Kano, in my mind would recognise the fact that she is different and is not one of the Eldar and thus would not have the mental powers of those people but, she is descended from Melian a Maia, her daughter Luthien who was well known for such mental prowess, and Galadriel an Eldar of not inconsiderable will of her own it is quite possible that she would be of good mental prowess. Following?

Situation in the Sothron lands: at the time this story takes place war is ongoing between Gondor, Rohan and the Men of the South, at this precise moment peace talks are underway. Falborn as a Storyteller no doubt travelled with the soldiers heading down to war doing his best to keep their spirits up but also using it as a chance to gather more stories for his mental and written collections. There is a chance that this situation will affect the story, but to what extent I am currently uncertain. The situation is also not completely without precedent since I seem to recall Tolkien mentioning such an episode in the appendices.

The Elessar: Well known in the Lord of the Rings as the brooch Galadriel gives to Aragorn, the Elessar has a rather convoluted history. In the case of this story I have chosen Feanor as the creator, it in my mind making the most sense. As to how it reached Galadriel I envision something like this: Feanor created the Elessar and gave it as a present for his wife- Nerdanel, on her husband and hers final parting Nerdanel returned the Elessar to Feanor. Feanor at his death gave the Elessar to Maedhros who eventually passed it to his sister-son Celebrimbor, who in turn gave it as a gift to Galadriel. Galadriel in turn gave it to her daughter, Celebrian who returned it to her mother upon her departure. Finally as a wedding token Galadriel, representing her daughter bequeathed the Elessar to Aragorn. As can be seen, many stories lie in its history, stories that may or may not be told within this tale.

As you can no doubt guess after this chapter Journeys very much retreats to the notebooks, there will be more chapters have no fear of that, one might even pop up later this year but it will no doubt be a lot later. When it does appear it shall be named "From Sunrise to Sunset, from Sunset to Sunrise." Here's hoping that it shall make a speedy appearance but, happy new year!