Chapter 38

Goodbyes

~o~

With the approval, if not the enthusiasm, of Phylless, Nag Kath wanted to explore a thread of magic. The Pukel-men of the north cape were said to have sorceries unknown to men. He asked Elphir's permission to visit their lands. That was fine with His Lordship but it was up to the Drüedain. On Charlo he was told it would take ten days on a good road to cross Anfalas and reach Celyeten River. From there he was on his own. Most of the Drüedains lived closer to Rohan but the King's protection included this small group, officially still in Gondor.

It was more like two weeks after a good soaking in the Ringlo delta. He should have hired a small freighter to sail him across. Occasional towns dotted the road but were spaced more for commercial travelers. It was pretty. Folk along the road were friendly and curious that someone obviously from Gondor (they thought of Gondor as a mythic place far away) was tramping through their mud.

The Celyeten was an easier crossing and it was another week to the large river inlet of the Lefnun. That was a considerable long bay and it took two more days on good road to reach a crossing upriver at a town called Annoduán. Nice people, good beer, plenty of questions about why he wanted to keep going west.

Some of the friendly conversation was about what he could expect since men did cross from time to time. For the first fifty miles it was less of the same as on this side and then he would reach the lands of the Pukels, Woses as they were called here. Some people scared their children with stories of them. Others had seen them and they were simply shy, homely forest people. There was no trading so that was the end of it. A good ford a little upriver and he was in the King's province of Andrast. The Drüedain were supposedly over a low pass that should be easy to see going west.

A trail led through a forest like Mirkwood with large, hovering trees that seemed to have eyes. They did no more than look as he slowly led Charlo through a pass low enough that it never lost greenery. The windward side was steeper but they were though in two days. There was a presence on this side of the hills. Nag Kath could not identify it but he felt it. He did not feel he was being watched. Perhaps he was felt too. Reaching a pleasant stream leading from a smaller, less ominous forest, he made camp and caught a fish for dinner. His plan was to stay here for a few days and follow his pattern of lazing about waiting for them to find him.

~o~

He heard them on the third day but it wasn't until the fifth that two of the creatures approached his fire. They did not look like tea drinkers. Nag Kath bowed and watched them enter his little camp.

In what sounded like Westron called from a deep cavern, one of them said, "These are Drughu lands. Why are you here?"

"I am Nag Kath and I came to pay my respects."

The two looked at each other, seeming to communicate without speaking. Then they turned to him and were silent. They were the same shape as Dwarves but a bit taller. One was completely bald and the other with hair and a sparse beard. Garments were skins and rough cloth. He could not see any swords or spears, just bows slung across their backs and heavy walking staffs. One of their arms was the thickness of the Elf's legs.

When the quiet was oppressive, Nag Kath said, I was about to take my nourishment. I hope you will share and tell me of your people."

That wasn't appealing but it did make the one speak again, "You will come with us."

They did not move for as long as it took to hastily stow his gear and load Charlo. As he walked the horse to them, they turned to trudge upstream. None spoke. It was at least two hours before they reached a clearing in the forest and stopped. Again, they seemed to speak to each other's minds and waited.

Nag Kath was good at waiting. He calmed Charlo who seemed to have no concerns with these unusual creatures. Six more of them converged from the edges of the forest until they were about twenty feet away. One of the new fellows, dressed no differently than the rest, said, "These are Drughu lands."

The Elf repeated, "I am Nag Kath and I come to pay my respects."

They considered that. "You bring sword and bow."

"I am a warrior of King Elessar. They are not to harm you." The new fellows carried bows too, said by some to shoot poisoned arrows. There might be a few more Drughu behind the leaves.

It was fully five minutes of communication with no more than the sounds of birds. One of them said something in their tongue and others joined in. The one who did the talking said, "You bring sorcery here."

"I heal."

Nag Kath had heard the Ents took forever to discuss things. These lads got an honorable mention. The Elf added nothing else for their consideration. Finally, the speaker said, "You wait here." Two of the new men stayed and the rest made into the forest.

He asked the two guards, "Can I take his saddle off?"

They looked at each other and one nodded, an indication this might take a while. Nag Kath stacked his gear and saddle against a stump and led Charlo to a nearby stream, taking a drink himself. The water tested clean. Walking back to the clearing, he took a bite of Lembas and sat near his things, careful not to have the bow or sword in easy reach. They did not know just how easy his reach was.

At dusk, the two sat down themselves, one at a time, after removing their bows and putting them in their laps. The Elf could not see their arrows. It they were tainted, the tips would have to be kept safe. The day had been warm and the night only less so but the Woses kept their heavy skin coats on throughout.

When he could not take his inhospitality anymore, Nag Kath broke off two large chunks of Lembas from his pack and walked to them. They accepted the gift and did not reach for their bows or staffs. The Elf bowed without a word and returned to his place. They nibbled the curious bread slowly but ate it all. In ways they reminded him of Nenwula of the Viersh, massive and powerful but delicate in their own way.

In the morning, their comrades returned and the leader told Nag Kath they would proceed. The forest was a mix of pines and broad trees and not thick with tripping vines. They walked perhaps another three hours until reaching a large clearing with several dozen rude homes of hewn beams and earth. There were no chimneys. Smoke leaked from the eaves. He was shown into one of the huts, leaving his weapons on the horse.

Sitting on a pile of furs were two creatures no different than the rest. With the broad, weathered faces, there was no telling if they were older. The Woses gestured for him to sit on another pelt and waited until he was completely settled before one said, "You say you come in respect. You bring sorcery."

When those statements didn't bring a question Nag Kath said, "I am the last of my kind." There was no mention of his past or deeds or anything else. These folk would never have heard of him or anyone he knew, save the King, and that was a long time ago. Nag Kath also knew they had been granted these lands to avoid harsh treatment by men of the west. Dropping names would not serve.

"Why do you come?"

"I seek to meet all men of good faith, though I will return to my home if you say."

The looked at each other, exchanging thoughts. Their faces did not show expression, not that he could tell. The speaker turned back to Nag Kath and said, "You can stay."

Both Woses rose and walked out of the building. Without instruction one way or the other, the Elf joined them. Tribesmen and womenfolk gathered around with a few youngsters clutching at their garments. The women were considerably shorter than the men but otherwise the same. He felt for all of them. They had been shunned by the folk who should have been friends. The speaker in the hut spoke to them in a language unlike any Nag Kath had heard. There was nothing Elvish or mannish about it. A great deal could be expressed in very few words. They smiled, he thought, and returned to their business. One child stared but a thought from its parent hurried it along.

The Wose who had been silent in the hut approached and said in almost unintelligible Westron, "This is Elf magic?"

"From Mithrandir." They would know him, no need to mention Saruman.

The man reached to Nag Kath's head and pulled the hair away from his ear. "Nghummph." That must mean the same in any tongue.

"Why you use?"

"The enemy lingers. I serve the King."

"King comes?"

"No, I come alone, to learn, to learn from friends."

"Nghummph."

They walked to a thatch-covered post-and-beam open oven where women were combining meat, vegetables and grains in a massive cauldron. Stew! Nag Kath chuckled to himself that it was his fate. It was not time to eat and he was not offered any.

~o~

A little further on was a small stone temple. The Elf was suspicious of temples lately but this was nothing like in Pelargir, perhaps a bit like the Kings of Numenor staring back home. The rock-work was good. Two of the men were chipping other blocks. Curious that they would live so rudely and yet craft such permanent buildings. Without beasts, these folk must be as powerful as Dwarves to place stone above waist height.

There was a basin in the temple on a lashed-wood stand. Nag Kath looked at his guide for permission to approach, met with a small nod of approval. It was empty. He took the liberty of touching the bowl. It was metal, perhaps bronze, certainly too dirty to be a seeing mirror. But there was magic there; slight and original. The two walked back into the sun and sat in the weeds. His guide said, "Houlouch, me. Kath, yes?"

"Yes."

"You heal?"

"Yes. Not Elvish. Not Elvish only. Sickness also."

"Sickness?"

"Illness. People are hot, cough …" he coughed. "Wounds."

"Nghummph."

Houlouch rose, "Show."

They walked to the other end of the village. Nag Kath suspected they could run at a good speed when they wanted but at Dwarf height and their own muscular build, walking was almost two steps to his one. They entered a hut where a woman who had not come to see him sat over a small child. He, or she, was lying on a bed of furs and straw. The Elf had no idea of ages among the Drughu but he put it at four in mannish development.

The child was alert and frightened by the tall, smooth stranger. So was its mother until a signal from Houloush said the Elf was not a danger. Nag Kath leaned over the patient and held its forehead. It was hot. Then he rose and put his same hand on the Wose's forehead as a benchmark. The child had a fever. The woman spoke to Houloush who interpreted, "He eat Zhund."

"Poison?"

"Bad to eat."

Nag Kath decided he had better find out what Zhund was. "Show."

Zhund was evidently a plant used to make dye and cloth but not to ingest. The dye berries carried the toxin.

Well, he came here of his own free will. Nag Kath leaned over the boy and held his near hand with his own right hand. He placed the left hand alongside the lad's face. As he concentrated and brought fourth the draw, the matching color of the Drughu was reddish, not unlike the Dwarfs'. It lasted minutes. Nag Kath felt himself weakening but held the spell until the boy's color faded. Then he fell back on his bottom and felt sweat pouring down his face. These were tough creatures.

Nag Kath picked himself off the hard dirt floor and went outside to be sick. Houloush brought him a dipper of what he thought was water. It tasted worse than what he had just lost but imagined it had restorative powers if kept down. In a few minutes he was closer to normal.

Houloush went back in for a few minutes and then returned to lead Nag Kath away. The Elf spit and asked, "He is well?"

"Nghummph."

That didn't mean dead so he hoped for the best and was taken to an empty hut with his things already stashed. They had not been rifled. Nag Kath slept until the next morning.

Charlo had been taken to a field with long, lush grass. At no time had the horse been anxious. Two Woses were sitting on a log watching the beast and grinning. So they did laugh. Everyone should laugh. The Elf smiled back and whistled for his mount that reluctantly trotted over, knowing his master did not have any grain.

Nag Kath had been there three days. Since people dipped their own stew, which seemed to be new things added to the last night's stew, he was able to avoid the meat pieces. Lembas was a blessing. The water was good and it was all these people drank. On the afternoon of the third day, a Wose came from the forest to general awe. This one was definitely older than the rest, moving deliberately. He was unarmed except for his staff. Houloush met him and they exchanged views in their tongue. Evidently the thought transfer was not for specifics. Then the two approached Nag Kath.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

He was completely recovered after his long sleep and had seen the youngster at dinner the night before. Houloush said, "This Ourchor." The Wose nodded but did not speak. Nag Kath gave him a slight bow. If he was here to pay his respects, this was the fellow. Ourchor directed them with his hand to a bower away from curious villagers and they sat cross-legged, not an easy thing with such short, powerful legs.

Houloush said with some reverence, "Ourchor heals." News that the Elf was not a charlatan must have been sent. He did not know if the child's ailment was routine or if he had done a valuable service. He did know the boy took enough energy from him to make him sleep nearly eighteen hours. No single illness among men had done that without considerable sorcery behind it.

Ourchor held his right hand palm-forward to the Elf. Showing none of the concern he felt, Nag Kath met the hand with his left. His fingers were longer but the wise-man's palm could have swallowed his. There was an exchange of color. It was not painful or draining but something transferred.

Ourchor pulled his arm away slowly but registered the first look of surprise he had seen among these folk. He and Houloush spoke for several minutes, occasionally looking at their queer guest.

Houloush addressed the Elf, "Colegh?"

"Color?"

"Color."

Nag Kath said, "It was a gift to find the nature of people. Your color is warm and wise." In all his long life, Nag Kath never mentioned to the family-centered Dwarves there might be Pukel-men in the woodpile.

Houloush, "Silver?"

"The color of Elves."

"But not Elf healing?"

"Wizard."

Nag Kath did not mind the questioning. These people wanted to be healthy and left alone. No swarm of Drughu would issue forth to conquer Anfalas. Ourchor seemed to be enjoying this and smiled while rising to say what Houloush interpreted as, "Tomorrow, we show."

Tomorrow was a long way off so Nag Kath pulled his sketch book and started drawing these unique people. As always, kids gathered round and he made quick caricatures of them to take. They would not have been more revered if Timalen had etched them in gold. Two women came; one smiling, one scowling. He captured them for the archive. Two of the men returned towards dusk carrying a deer for the pot. It was skinned and most of the meat used for the stew but other flesh was hung on tree twigs to dry for storage. Nothing was wasted. As it happened, one of the hunters was the father of the healed boy. Houloush said he knew nothing of the malady or the cure so the man must have been in the wild almost a week.

Men were very interested in his bow and arrows. He let them practice. Even with a Dun Breathen pull, they could have snapped it like kindling in those powerful arms. It did not take long to hit what they aimed at either. Upon request, a warrior produced one of their shafts for comparison. It had a steel head so they must either craft iron in one of the unknown number of villages in this forest or trade for some needs. Men carried daggers too, not fighting weapons but to cut food and plants to make the necessities of life.

~o~

Tomorrow finally came. It was a day of worship at the stone temple. The man beside Houloush in the first hut was the Sayer. He filled the basin with water from a clay pot used only in the ceremony and prayed over it. It was all in their tongue and no one saw the need to tell Nag Kath what was said. Blessings must have lasted half a bell before there was that much longer in Saying and Response from the congregation. The children were better behaved than those of men having to hold still that long. These creatures held still very well. Ourchor was a spectator, so not a holy man in a spiritual sense. Nag Kath supposed him a high healer who might slowly travel at need, aligned with the powers worshipped here today, a specialist in flesh.

The Elf was taken to where Ourchor was staying, a hut like any other. With no windows, a board was set outside with a variety of herbs and roots upon it. A few looked local but most were common weeds found in most forests of Middle-earth. Ourchor seemed to be having a good time. He took a small handful of yerth leaves and ground them in a small bowl until not quite a powder. Then he added water and stirred them with his finger.

If Nag Kath had done that with the healer's concentration, his finger would have shined. These people, any healer he ever met, did not issue a color but the Elf could tell power was being transferred. Then the old healer swiped a fingerful into Nag Kath's palm. It glowed silver now, brightly! Not sure what to do with it, the Elf looked at Ourchor who wiped it off with his hand and smeared it back in the bowl.

Another bowl was prepared the same way and handed to Nag Kath. He stirred it with his finger. Nothing happened. Houloush received instruction and said, "Pull, not push."

Nothing. Showing no impatience, Ourchor held up his palm again to be met with Nag Kath's. Ah; pull, not push. He wasn't to add to the mix. He was to draw from it. Not sure how that would work, he tried again and his finger glowed slightly silver.

"What does this do?"

Ourchor knew enough of the question to cough twice. Houloush did too and said, "Chest."

They went through a half-dozen of the different herbs or combinations. Two were for coughs. A combination of two was for fevers. Two more were for wounds, one cuts, one punctures. And the last was for poison. That was what the lad would have gotten if the Elf hadn't used his own sorcery.

It dawned on Nag Kath that this was another way to bind his power to healing herbs. He had only seen it done for harm, excepting the horse purge on the river. This was his thanks for saving the boy before Ourchor could get here. He expected the old boy picked-up a few hints from the color exchange as well. He had too, but it might take as long as the Huntsman's gift to identify.

That night they had a celebration of deer stew and water. Men sang songs. For one, the women sang and the men growled low hums, almost like the large drums lightly rattled in great plays. They were abed not long after dark.

~o~

On the road, Nag Kath thought this was well worth the effort. He learned something valuable about healing and was given a supply of all six ingredients along with their impossible names. He had been welcomed to a fascinating race of men. He healed a youngster. The lad might have been fine anyway but it felt useful. And he just might have left something to make their lives a little easier after an age of being scorned for being misunderstood.

Charlo knew the way.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

He got home on October eighth. Nothing bad happened. Cal and Eniecia were moved into their new home that had a room for the governess and cook, although Eniecia liked cooking too. Cal saw the need to keep fit after not being able to avoid it at sea. He and Uncle Nag often ran or swam to work-off diplomatic dinners.

Phylless was glad he was back. She lay on his chest the way she loved and he told her of the queer forest folk. He also hoped they could continue as they were. The King had granted them lands in a place no one else seemed to want, but the hills and rivers of those provinces looked like other places that had farmers and towns and men of all kinds. Someday they would look across the horizon and see opportunity.

~o~

Time compressed. Phylless was meeting people across the strata and they entertained or joined folk for all the many things to do in the storied port. Mrs. Hürna came occasionally. She had her own friends but kept them out of sight. Nag Kath knew better than to ask. She was fascinated by the Woses' binding spells.

Phylless and he often sat on the small porch looking at the boats bringing life to and from the harbor. If anything, she was more amorous than ever. She knew her man did not have a roving eye for the lasses fluttering their lashes his way. Eniecia privately told her that he was the same for her granna. He was in love.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Over the years, Nag Kath and Phylless alternated time between Minas Tirith, Pelargir and Dol Amroth. She let him take occasional trips to Dale by himself. Most of the time, they were together. Grandchildren came and grew. Shurran and Penni had three babes, although Cal and Eniecia held at two. When Phyll's time of change came, she had exactly the right husband who could ease her discomfort with a touch and herbs learned from the Elves.

It was a time of profound joy for them but also tempered with inevitable loss. Phylless was about twenty years younger than most of the people Nag Kath knew from his emergence. Mülto died when he was seventy six, he reckoned that a good run. Sylveth was nearly eighty and died a year later. Whenever Nag Kath thought of her, he smiled knowing that fulfillment found her late but found her well.

Nothing came of the Witch-King. Ghost stories still frightened or entertained people but nothing worse. The rings were gone. Dulgov's first son was a bellicose fellow but not a strategist. Gondor and allies from Rohan convinced him not to send any more raiding parties. Nag Kath paid particular attention to whether they claimed any sorcery. They didn't.

The Elf painted and worked with Timalen on larger projects. Of course, he and Phyll saw the Conaths and the Toroldinors often. Syndolan was not the same when they were away. Phylless' parents both passed away in FO 54 of a fever sweeping Pelargir. It was not much of a fever, but they were old and such is the way of things. The Kaths went downstream to pay their respects. Back in Minas Tirith, she traveled less after that. They were a remarkable couple; he ever young, she aging gracefully. As her hair got whiter, people whispered he was her kept man. Neither of them minded.

The year Fourth Age 56 started close passings. Talereth, always young at heart, began to fade. Not long after her 80th birthday she fainted and needed long rest. Ecc was ever at her side. She managed tea out a few times but after another fainting bout was bedridden. The Kaths and Ardatha sat vigil to give Ectillion needed rest. Tal stayed sharp and recounted all the lives and matchmaking and adventures each time. One morning she didn't.

Everyone took that hard. Talereth was a force of nature. The Kaths and Conaths stayed close to Ectillion. He was distraught. How could he not be? Fortunately, he had many friends from a career well-lived, the best of men.

Three years later, Ardatha caught a chest complaint she could not shake. Her father did everything he could for her but her lungs could not repair themselves. He was there with Reyald and Shurran when she closed her eyes for the last time. Torrold Conath died the same week in Dale.

Nag Kath was stunned. His beautiful daughter, his son Brenen, Tal, all gone. There was no need for great remembrance. They made their marks in their time.

Reyald considered going to Buhr Austar and living out his life but he was now 82. His son-in-law had been Thain in all but name for ten years. His grandson was heir. He wanted to see them, but they would have to come here. He and Ecc sold their large homes and bought a place together where they each had their own sides but with common living areas on one floor. Neither man's knees could manage staircases. Phylless was an angel throughout. Her two oldest friends in the White City were with their ancestors beyond the circle. She had made many more but there was something about tea with Tal that made everything fine in the world.

Those few years saw more passings than just family. Lady Éowyn and King Éomer both died within six months of each other in 62 and 63, Prince Elphir in-between. It was the closing of the War of the Ring. Younger people could not comprehend the horror that was largely erased within five years after Barad Dûr. It was hard for them to think of the old folk in the street as more than in the way of man-carts. The last of Nag Kath's old friends, Timalen, Reyald and Ectillion all died in the year 65, of different things and reasons but now gone to legend. It happened so fast it almost seemed like one death, a mercy, perhaps.

~o~

One should not think those years were all loss. Wives, husbands, children and all of the people one knows from being friends with friendly people were everywhere you looked. Babies came to the world of men. Cal and Eniecia visited for a long time with their children who played with Shurran's children. Queen Arwen presented her ageless husband with a girl-child in the year 64. They named her Millicend after a woman who cared for the King when he was young. Nag Kath did not see her until she was older but she was said to be a cheerful lass.

After Eniecia and Cal went home, Phyll snuggled next to her Elf and kissed his ear. She was 66. For a few years after they married she was sure she would lose him to a younger woman someday. She had not considered it since. He was steadfast, as Brenen said; a marrying-man. Nag Kath still left for months at a time on his various projects to save the world. Those were getting hard to come by. Right-living folk visited from Khand. It wasn't quite a pilgrimage to him, but he did have to think of things for them to do. They all said the Hurms were civilizing slowly.

About the same time, the Hobbits Meriodoc and Peregrin made a long and triumphant trip through Rohan with a long visit to the Glittering Caves and then came to live in the White City. They were both widowers and retired after long public service. At first they were granted apartments on the seventh but it wasn't long before the drafty echoes of the palace did not suit the sociable Halflings and they took a small house on the fifth, a cook, soon two cooks and a housemaid.

The Kaths were mostly in Dol Amroth and did not hear of them until two years later. They dined about every six months after that. Relations were cordial but sometimes Merry did not want to be reminded of the bad old times. He missed his wife terribly and, as Nag Kath could understand, one can be lonely in a crowd. Master Brandybuck died in the spring of 74.

After a time, Peregrin invited the admirable Eustais and Patience Huskdorran to live with him. They were also from Merry's Buckland and enjoyed the White City tremendously, but could not remember why they left the Shire. Nag Kath saw Pip about every three months after that. Phylless was fascinated and the two of them would talk leaving poor Uncle Nag to fetch more tea. The old Hobbit was sharp as ever and while he didn't mind talking about the Fellowship, he was always interested in the latest gossip north of the prow. They lost him in mid-summer of F.O. 80 at a ripe old age. Tumlen died a month later.

Every so often they saw the King. He and Arwen started riding more on the Pelennor with Millicend. Eldarion was a much larger presence, especially at civic and embassy functions. The young man took after his da with the same blue eyes and strong chin which he kept clean-shaven. Nag Kath got to know him when he deputized for the vacant position of international trade expert. Yet another Bror was more congenial and interested in reviving commerce.

~o~

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~o~

There was another farewell to make.

In late F.O. 81 Nag Kath rode to Osgiliath and cut cross-country to Emyn Arnen. He presented himself at the palace. It wasn't half a bell until the Chamberlain himself came to the reception hall saying, "Welcome, Lord Kath. The prince is resting now. I cannot say when he will be receiving."

"Thank you, Emirin. I will take quarters at the Meadow. If Lord Faramir wishes to see me, I can be reached there."

The Chamberlain said gravely, "Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here, sir." The man summoned an attendant and told him to take His Lordship to the Heuron room. As he was led away, Emerin added, "Your bag will be brought and we'll take good care of your horse. Oh, Lord Elboron is just returned from the south. I will let him know you are here."

Nag Kath knew this was hard and laid his hand on the man's shoulder, "Thank you for all your many cares."

Chamberlain Emirin closed his eyes for a moment. Slowly opening them he said, "I make you no promises. Your chance may come suddenly."

Nag Kath made himself at home in the suite. He would rather have had a room at the inn with the bustle and conversations of people he didn't know. Dinner was brought to his room. Wandering down the hall he was admitted to the family library where he pulled a book on King Turambar, of all people. It mentioned his Queen in only the vaguest terms. The Elf wondered that it might have been written from notes long after the man died. As sunlight failed he went back to his room for rest.

A respectful but firm knock on his door. Nag Kath said, "Enter."

"Your pardon, My Lord. The Prince will see you now."

It would be about the three-bell if bells were sounded at this hour. The attendant led him down familiar halls by lamplight and Nag Kath was shown into the bedchamber. Nearing Syndolan, a full fire was burning inside. The changeling approached and bowed. Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor and one of the last remaining war heroes, lay on his back with his torso supported by a stack of pillows.

Nag Kath had not seen him in two years but knew he was failing. The man coughed and then motioned him over. A smile to his nurse was her signal to leave. The Elf took her stool and held the colorless hand lying near the edge of the bed. The man squeezed slightly and rasped, "I am glad you came, old friend. Emerin says you may visit the sea soon."

"Aye, My Prince. I will visit my granddaughter there."

Faramir coughed slightly and gathered his thoughts saying, "The water blossom! Those were good times."

"I remember, sir. She is a granna four times now. One of the girls is our next Queen Nephtat."

The Lord of Ithilien smiled at that before saying, "You have had many exciting adventures. My grandson …" Again, the dry cough as the Prince closed his eyes, willing his pain to wait. "My grandson keeps lore of the old days."

"Indeed. A few years ago he asked me of the great books left in Imladris. I hope he is well."

"He is. Say hello while you are here … I will not see you again, Nag Kath. Thank you for the water. Thank you for your service to the King ..."

Nag Kath waited to be sure Faramir had completed his sentence before saying, "It was my honor …"

The Prince hadn't finished. He squeezed the Elf's hand slightly harder, as if to be sure it was still there. Faramir licked his lips and barely breathed, "Boromir rests easier now." The man drifted into sleep.

Nag Kath gently laid the Prince's hand on the bed and bowed his head between his knees for a minute. Lord Altheras forgave him for Helm's Deep. Faramir forgave him for Nag Kath's own Captain Lurtz. The book was closing.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The next morning an attendant knocked again and said, "Excuse me, Lord Kath. Lord Elboron hopes you can join him to break your fast." Nag Kath nodded and the fellow added, "Half a bell, sir."

Elboron was already seated when the Elf arrived early. With him were his wife, Angalica and son Barahir. Born late in his parents marriage, Elboron was a young 66, barely half his father's age now with his older half-sister now with her ancestors. Elboron's first wife was of noble birth from the tangle of bloodlines in Dol Amroth. It was a loving marriage until she was lost to the same sort of wasting disease that took Eniece. Angalica, now 52, was a girl of a commercially important family in Osgiliath along the lines of Brenen's and Bard's in Dale, Tumlen's folk too, come to that. She was a full-figured woman with a winning smile.

She gleamed, "Welcome back, Lord Kath. Thank you for your pains."

"Thank you for your hospitality, my Lady. I was fortunate to see your Lord Father last night."

Elboron added, "Yes, good of you to come. You are leaving for Belfalas shortly?"

"I am, sir, a short trip … maybe too long, though."

The heir became quiet for a moment and said, "That is how da wants it. A modest man, he hopes to join his ancestors quietly. He will rest next to mother and be the first of our line remembered here."

Nag Kath said, "And it is good to see you, Lord Barahir. It looks like you have been fighting Balrogs!"

The young man had a small scar in the middle of a purple welt under one eye. It didn't dampen his enthusiasm though, "Worse than Balrogs! I was training a new batch of line riders for the militia and got too close. It is good to see you again."

Elboron would lead the conversation, "Nag Kath, can I ask you to take a letter to Prince Alphros?"

"Certainly, My Lord, though I do not leave for a fortnight."

The heir said, "This is not urgent, but sometimes the messenger sets the priority." He raised an eyebrow which said a great deal.

Breakfast was pleasant, mostly the Princess asking about Nag Kath's experience in Osgiliath. Her grandfather was an aqueduct-man and rented one of Kathen's buildings until he could buy it on the way to success serving the Anduin trade. Never wanting, she was still a tradesman's daughter and did not mind who knew. Neither did her husband. She took good care of him and he appreciated it.

Before the food was gone Nag Kath asked the heir, "Sir, has there been any word of the Elves of Emyn Vierald?"

"No, not in a while. They restored, made better I dare say, the fields and forests you visited. The Elves asked grace away from men. It is father's policy to go when asked and we haven't been asked. I expect that is because they left shortly after you were last there. It has been some time since we saw their splendid foods on the river."

~o~

When they finished, Barahir jerked his head for the Elf to follow. They wandered back to the library and sat in two very comfortable chairs. The young lord asked, "What news, my friend? Have you discovered any new secrets of the past?"

Nag Kath grinned, "Aye, Bara, none written, but you should come to Minas Tirith. I am off to Dol Amroth to see Eniecia but Shurran has all my files if I am not there … things that aren't in the official archives. I scribbled notes after listening to the Elf-keepers in Rivendell.

Bara wondered, "They seem fascinating creatures. They just appear when Elves have left?"

"So it seems. They are there, but didn't get there. They have food but don't grow it, ale too. How is your Sindarin?"

"Poor and getting worse. Most of the last two years I have been earning my Captaincy, including this black eye trying to whip farmers into soldiers."

Nag Kath cried, "Sergeants! Bara, you need a couple of big, tough fellows who understand. Armies live on sergeants."

"I've got them; archers and riders both. Thank you for the offer of your files. I will do that when I can. You understand we need to stay close."

"Yes, sorry. Your grand-da was friend to me when I had few."

Barahir stretched his long legs and said, "When I have time, I will write. Someone must record the deeds of recent times, not just the dusty ones."

Nag Kath agreed, "I should think so. Mind, even men lived much longer then, so they had time. Some are the same story with new names."

The young man considered that, "Like Lúthien and Beren?" The Elf was silent. Barahir continued, "We have such a situation now."

Nag Kath smiled, "If you would write of the King and Queen, do it after time for contemplation, though it cannot hurt to innocently talk with those who remember them." He was quiet for a moment, "I have seen much the same, married for over seventy years, all tolled. We could not have children and their Highnesses have two." He looked directly at the young writer, "There is heartbreak in such tales."

Barahir was not expecting Nag Kath to be so forthcoming. He knew Phylless was well-along in years and that the Elf could never join her with Mandos, if he made it that far. The heir said gently, "Thank you for your advice. I will ask of Shurran, perhaps when things are settled here."

Nag Kath brightened, "Come to Dol Amroth too. Most of the archives are in private hands there. You won't have any trouble with introductions. See the sights, catch some fish, you might meet people your own age."

Barahir nodded, saying, "I expect to be there before long. Prince Alphros is now eighty-six. Our houses need to remind each other of the ties that bind."

The young man stood to shake hands, "Safe travels. I will see if father's letter is ready for you."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Wonder of wonders; The King and Queen welcomed a new daughter to their family in FO 85. They named her Inariel after a relative of Arwen. In a rather astonishing statement from the prim Penni, she cleared her throat at dinner and announced, "Nag, word is that alchemists immediately sold potions and creams said to restore lordship to men after their ardor has flagged."

Shurran stared at the ceiling. Phylless grinned.

On a pretty summer day in 86, Nag Kath rode to Osgiliath for art supplies and herbs. He had done some healing lately and his stocks were low. The plan was for him to stay overnight with Tumlath and be back in the morning. When he got home, Bernielle was crying on the sofa. The cook/housekeeper often cried but this was different. She looked at the master but words would not come. Finally, she pointed up the stairs.

Nag Kath took them three at a time to see Phylless lying on her back in bed, pale but at peace. She had been perfectly fine and fared him well. In the night, a blood vessel behind her heart burst. She would have been gone in minutes. It wasn't anything he could have healed. That didn't make this easier.

Phyll was 87. So was he. They had been together most of their lives. She was his best friend. People seeing the blonde man with the elderly woman could not fathom that he had aged in mind just as she had. Together they had seen the golden years of the King's Peace, welcomed great, great grandchildren into the world, seen things both fantastic and of home and hearth.

For a time he did what he always did, he just did it faster. Phyll could walk the gradual inclines of Minas Tirith but not the switchbacks. His reliable arm was there to steady her. Since she refused to be carried like in one of his Kath Baths, she used man-carts for visits to the other levels. Bernielle was distraught. Calming her helped him. Soothing is healing too. Nag Kath missed the relatively younger women who came to Phyll for advice. She never had the flair or audacity of Tal, but she was friend to many and was missed by more people than her husband could count. Nag Kath took her remains to lie in Pelargir next to her parents and sister. He was never a believer that where you lay when you died mattered. His problems were those who weren't quite dead. In this matter he knew, as he had with Eniece, that people were of place. He was not. He would honor them wherever they found rest.

~o~

An Elf in the world of men would see everyone he loved die. He knew that, but knowing wasn't feeling. His lovely women were the essence of feeling. Eniece was by his side for eighteen years as they both learned confidence together. He was confident and Flor was not, leading to tragedy. Phylless was ready for 50 years of mature love and friendship. He knew he was lucky beyond anyone on earth. It would still take a lot of his endless time to heal.

~o~

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~o~