Chapter 50

The Gift of Color

~o~

He thought he saw a candle. It was faint.

Moments later, a different candle. This time, it lit a face like Gandalf's, a younger Gandalf perhaps. He wanted to ask him so many things but nothing would come. He did not remember the other dreams. They were neither frightening nor reassuring.

A new candle, but this time Orlo was beside it. "You are awake now? Good. Remember this. You will need it next time."

It was not the voice of the garden but the man seemed no older. Nag Kath tried to speak. He had no sense of his body, nor could he move to change his line of sight.

Orlo said, "You have been several years coming back to me. It took long to find you. To speak you only need think your words."

The Elf tried. "Where are we, Orlo?"

"In a wretched ice cave in Angmar. I miss the warmth of Mistrand."

"But you were never there."

"Yes, I was, but not as you saw, never as you saw."

Nag Kath thought, "I saw Gandalf."

Orlo seemed surprised, "Gandalf? How do you know Gandalf?"

"He was my teacher. He came in my dream, only minutes ago."

Orlo whispered, "Was it he who gave you the gift of color? It was the tiniest spark of life to rekindle you."

"That was the Huntsman."

"Oromë?"

Nag Kath willed, "Wild Huntsman, his Maia. I remember him."

"I remember him too. Nag Kath, I do not have much time. I was sent to do good also. To avoid destruction, I became a spirit, to return only three days each year."

Nat Kath imagined whispering; "Gelansor. I saw candles too."

"Just so, young man. I have been with you four years. We had been waiting almost two thousand. Our work is nearly complete. You will sleep one more time. When you wake, there is power in the corner of the cave. Destroy it. I have no physical form or I would myself. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Do I see you again?"

"I do not know if I can manage this, but when you see the candle, look for a single seed. You will know when to plant it. Goodbye, Nag Kath. Thank you."

~o~

A new candle awoke in his mind. But this time, it came with pain; searing, unimaginable pain. It was the smack on a baby's butt to make it breathe. Nag Kath opened his eyes. He tried to turn his head but it was too stiff. Another attempt brought the slightest movement. He was so cold. Renewed life energy was thawing him. Hours later, he was able to look around.

He was lying in a pile of frozen bodies. Some were his soldiers. Others were the dead women from the tiny village grimacing in agony. His leg was tangled in solid limbs. It took days to warm as the power of the color slowly thawed him. Sitting up, something tiny fell from his chest and landed in his lap. Slipping it in a pocket seemed to take an age. So did standing.

Nag Kath felt power, evil power, the power that brought them here who knew how long ago? He was drawn to it. Remembering Gandalf … why Gandalf? ... he lit his hand and shined silver in the darkness until it found the source under frozen rivulets. With a weak fire spell, he enflamed the ice until it melted enough to collapse a pile of rocks. True to form, Mr. Yvsuldor was not very original. In the rubble was the Witch-stone, much like the one on the Celduin but alive with menace. The light of his hand turned sickly green when it seized the stone and he groped his way out of the cave into the first sunlight he had seen in seventeen years.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Litash was a three miles away, what was left of it. The sun felt like high noon. He was still cold, so cold. No right-minded person came to the cave, although the little village at the foot of the cliff had been looted. With no one between here and Litash, he put one foot in front of the other until he reached a hut with smoke streaming from a mud-brick chimney.

He was unexpected. A woman screamed in the low light and a lad of ten, perhaps a small twelve, grabbed a much larger sword than he could swing and stood between the Elf and his mother. Nag Kath sat on the floor and said in Westron, "Food."

Something jabbed his thigh. He reached in his trouser pocket to reposition his quill-knife. There was money too. Nag Kath held a silver coin towards the motionless defender. That was fortune in Litash. The child snatched it before retreating. Again, the Elf rasped, "Food." He tried in the Black Speech. Silver to the good, the woman recovered her wits and fetched a bowl of stew off the clay oven. If he had thought to worry, there was no meat in this hovel. He ate, fell backwards and slept. This time he dreamed real dreams.

His hosts let him lay three days. The coin earned him peace. Neither of them cut his throat. Hopefully he would give them more. A household noise woke him. Staring at the ceiling for several minutes, he slowly rose and went outside to relieve himself. Fields not far away had wheat about thigh-high. It was summer, just after Gelansor.

Nag Kath did not remember much of his life. He was sure those memories were waiting for him. Two others memories jumped to mind. He reached in his inside pocket for the bit that fell from his chest; a grain of gureeq. That was a southern crop, never found here, capable of long storage if kept dry. In the large pocket of his tunic was a hard, heavy stone. Removing it brought back all the bad. It glowed green in his hand again, even in the sun and quarter moon. The Dwarf Ring had called to him, soothed him, offered him comfort. This rock just seethed with malevolence. Nag Kath was still unsteady but he carried the glyph past the wheat field and set it on a large rock. Raising another rock over his head, he smashed the Witch-stone between them.

A burst of energy not felt in a hundred years flew to every corner of Middle-earth. Nag Kath was knocked twenty feet away with the pulse of green-light radiating across the land in all directions. Rock shards buried in his shins. No structures were damaged. His hosts were watching from their doorway and a few other brave souls in the scantily populated former capital came out to see the devilry. They felt it in Dale and the plains of Rohan, in Khand, Dol Amroth and the White City. Hundreds of thousands of people felt the pulse travel right through them with no harm. Remaining servants were slain.

Nag Kath staggered back to the hut and asked for more food.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

He stayed with the mother and son a week. They were the richest farmers in Litash by the time he was fit to travel. Nag Kath had almost two Florin in nippers, silvers and coppers but if he had a thousand, he could not have bought a horse. Leaving meant walking. He could get a cheap sword. Eldarion left them where they lay. Some of his groats secured a supply of hard biscuits and skins for water.

Every day he grew a little stronger, walked a little faster, remembered little bits of someone's past, he thought his. When he found rivulets coming from the mountains he recalled water flows downhill. Occasional travelers gave the disheveled soldier a wide berth. Twelve days later he reached the forest before Shedûn. There was a brook large enough for fish to swim back and forth in the eddy. He remembered them too.

Shedûn was not more than a village but the grandest thing he had seen in this new life. There was a trading post with two bored Arnoran troopers on the porch bench. When they saw the pale, towering man carrying an Angmari sword, they drew their own weapons and asked his business.

He wasn't sure. He was just trying to go home. Battle was coming. He was sick. They asked him about the green surge from the way he came and he answered as he sat on their bench, "It was the stone."

The other four men of the half troop arrived at a trot and beheld the blond man in rags clutching the enemy sword. Corporal Ulimb thought to get it from him safely and said affably, "Fine weapon you have there."

Nag Kath considered it a moment and handed it to the soldier. He had other swords somewhere. His sense of time was returning, "What year is it?"

One of the troopers looked at his mates in silent confirmation that this poor soul was truly simple. He said gently, "It is 118 of the Fourth Age."

The vagabond counted on his fingers but said nothing.

~o~

These fellows' hitch in this forsaken place was up when their replacements arrived in a week or two. The nameless stranger pottered about the station talking with people in whatever language they spoke and gradually got his tongue to match his thoughts. Groats bought bread. His sword in safekeeping, no one paid him much attention until the relief half-troop arrived with traders. As they spoke among themselves, he wandered up and said he would give a gold coin for a horse. It was a slight dereliction of duty but an impossible sum of money for the man who accepted. In the end, Trooper Graydollan decided he could stay another three months and Nag Kath was on his way to Fornost.

Ten days later the quiet man remembered his name. The other soldiers called him a liar. Nag Kath died seventeen years ago in the Angmari war! A man should respect the dead! At campfires on the way back he said that several times. Finally, Corporal Ulimb had enough and was going to set him straight when a beam of silver light hit him in the chest. It did not flatten him, but he did stop. They rode the rest of the way faster.

Ulimb took the curious traveler to his Sarn't and both men walked him to the Provost office. Colonel Prayveshorn of the Fornost garrison had been a lieutenant of lancers in 101. One look at the threadbare survivor was all he needed to cry, "Lord Kath! How is this possible?!"

The Elf said thoughtfully, "I am not sure, and it may be some time in the telling. I remember this place too."

Prayveshorn blurted, "Sir, you rode with the Heir!"

Nag Kath opened his mouth but nothing came out. He shook his head and mumbled, "Yes, yes I did. Where is the King?"

"In Minas Tirith, My Lord."

"Then I must go there."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The Elf had to take his time. He was given food and clothes. Small things were coming back to him. He saw images but could not associate them with others. He clearly remembered the fat child with poison swirling about him, his last living thought before the blackness. Nag Kath was sure that was real.

After a week of slowly collecting his wits, he told the Commander he was going to leave by way of the High Pass and down the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. There were two stops he needed to make on the way to the White City. A woman of the town who was said to know ancient lore managed to bake him fair Lembas. The Colonel found him a saber. Someone, he could not remember who, gave him a warm coat for the mountains.

~o~

Nag Kath stopped at Rivendell. If there were Elf Keepers still there, he would be kept.

Elrond's homely house was a little the worse for neglect but still a marvel when viewed across the Imladris Valley. His beast was Trailblazer, a decent mount in his day now long past, extra incentive for his owner to trade for the nipper in Shedûn. Trailblazer had no trouble with the narrow path over the defiles. Nag Kath tied him in front of the main entrance and made better time than he expected trotting up the long stairs.

Nothing had changed. The Elf walked over to the Quenya section, pulling a volume he remembered because it had pictures. After a while, he was so absorbed he didn't hear the gnome, but then, he never had.

"Orc Six. Welcome back."

"Why thank you, Mr. Fencïl. I hope you and the missus are well."

"Hughmmmm."

"I thought as much. Are the Elves all gone?"

"The last left here seventy of your years ago. Will you join them?"

"I have never been invited, Mr. Fencïl, that little matter about having been an Uruk-hai. They are very sensitive about such things."

"Hughmmm. Will you be here for some time?"

Nag Kath looked at the book rack, "I am here to heal after long confinement in Angmar."

"Hughmmm. Yes, you were eaten by wargs. I will tell Mrs. Fencïl you will join us for dinner."

The Elf stayed a month, leaving when he was almost himself again. He knew that could not be complete until he had an emotional grounding for the facts spinning in his head. He remembered the sorcery. He remembered his wives, but not their order. He had picked grapes and sailed. Understanding must wait until Minas Tirith.

~o~

His reason for the detour was just over the mountains. Trailblazer was very slow up on the climb but kept his feet. He knew his limits. Oats from Fornost were almost gone when they made the Anduin.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

One wall had finally collapsed with the roof dumped to the ground on that side. The other side was drunkenly standing so the Elf slipped in the crack of a doorway.

Radagast's chair was now entirely thick roots attached to every living thing in the forest. Only brown threads too embedded in the grain hadn't been taken to make nests. The wizard was absorbed by his woods. He no longer needed to travel among his birds and trees. He was of them.

In good light, Nag Kath looked for other clues to the gentle wizard's long legacy. He left his sparrow pictures on the shelf. The roof crushed a bewildering array of pots and jars on the other side of the room. Radagast's staff had become part of the living forest but the little crystal had separated from the gnarled root head. He slipped it in his pocket next to the seed.

Nag Kath had a lot to think about on the ride south. Radagast chose this and he wished him well. But the Elf would dearly like to have asked the brown wizard why he had seen Gandalf in the five years of his awakening. Had some element of his spirit remained here as Radagast's had done? Orlo left behind a little seed. Now there was the bulb of Radagast's staff. Were they both Maiar? Did they think Nag Kath might someday be invited to the Undying Lands to bring them home? Wards around the wizard's house would keep mortal men away for a thousand years. Nag Kath would take them or no one would.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath nosed old Trailblazer past the Mithril Gate to Reyaldar's home on the fourth. He asked himself many times on the ride south if he wanted to know who would open the door. The man would be seventy or so by now. He decided he did and knocked loudly.

A woman of about thirty-five answered and was told, "My name is Nag Kath and I would like to see Reyaldar Conath."

She nodded and said, "He is right here. Please come in."

Rey was sitting on the couch in the main room reading by the mid-day light. He looked over his spectacles and froze stock still. The Elf finally blurted, "Someone told me there was a big Northman living here."

"By the …" The big Northman rose with a stretch and walked over slowly for his bear hug. Reyaldar put his hand alongside Uncle Nag's face with wonder in his eyes and said softly, "How is this …" Changing to his usual hearty voice he called, "Heuris, come see what showed at our door!" Back to the Elf, "This has to be your best story yet. Come, sit down."

The Elf waited until dear Heuris came from the back room. All the blood in her face drained away. A ghost! When he seemed real she got her more delicate hug. Nag Kath told them of the attack, being frozen, the return of Orlo and dragging his way back. At times he faded into recollection. Neither great grandchild interrupted.

~o~

Rey was officially the manager of Kathen but his son Fieldar had the reins now. Heuris was holding-up well too. Their three children, five grandchildren and four great-grandchildren were all fine, although Heuris thought a couple of the grandchildren were quite spoiled.

Reyaldar said, "Nag, when you were eaten by wargs, we divided your estate. I'll make sure you get it back."

Nag Kath considered that for a moment and replied, "No; that is yours now. I have enough." He was quiet again, finally saying, "I must see the King."

Heuris put her foot down, "You aren't seeing anyone, let alone royal persons, smelling like a swamp wearing clothes folk can see through." She turned to the younger maid, "Mairn, find Dorach to fetch bath water. Then take two silvers and get ready-clothes in his size." She thought the unhemmed full-length trousers might be long enough. Turning to old cook; "Miss Mandis, be a dear and get some fresh fish to go with the chicken tonight. Off you go. And both of you, not a word!"

Nag Kath said, "Thank you for looking after your old Uncle Nag. I might be a while regaining my wits."

~o~

A bath and clean clothes helped. His hair had not grown in the ice cave but it was almost Elvish length now. He walked back into the main room barefoot and flopped on the couch next to Rey asking, "Is anyone in my old house?"

"It is rented, well, the top two floors. There are a few boxes left on the first."

Nag Kath said, "Good. I should get some things. Do you have the key?"

Rey thought a moment, "It is at the office. I need to write you a note. Nessa won't know you, likely call the guardi if you dance in and ask for it." Reyaldar dashed-off a quick message for his office girl. Nag Kath took Trailblazer to the stable on the third and walked back up to the office.

Rey was right. The young woman anchoring the desk at Kathen Properties knew the name but had no idea who this creature was. She read her employer's note twice and handed the blonde stranger a key. His smile did not remove her scowl.

~o~

Memory flooded his frozen mind. All the life, parties, Phylless, Flor – he had to include her – dragging home many times after some impossible adventure like the last, it was all there. He stared so long the tenant walked out the main entrance on the second floor and asked if he was lost.

"Nay, sir. I used to live here."

"It must have been when you were a child."

Nag Kath did not remember having said this before but replied haltingly, "I was never a child, but it does seem ages ago. I have come to get some things from the first floor so if you hear trolls in your basement, do not be alarmed."

The fellow was friendly but wanted to be sure the tall man wasn't a burglar, "It is locked behind a stout door."

The Elf took the key from his pocket. Now concerned about his lodgings, the tenant reminded him, "We have a lease with Kathen until next June."

Nag Kath shook his head and smiled, "Please, do not fret. I am staying with family. I shouldn't be long."

The man called down, "Can I help?"

"I do not think so. On second thought, tea would go down very smoothly right now. Please, do not put yourself out."

The man went back inside as the landlord turned the old-fashioned key in the lock. Both large windows facing east were closed with heavy shutters on the inside. Nag Kath fought the latches and opened them to a mist of dust. About that time, his tenant brought down two hot mugs and handed one to the Elf saying, "Fredithorn."

"Nag Kath, pleased to meet you. Ah, this comes first." He walked over to the picture folio and gently slid the dust cover off the hanging files. They did not smell of mold or mice. He hauled it to the open door and looked at the first file, handing an aqueduct rendering to Fredithorn saying, "Not too much the worse for time."

His luck was not so good with the clothes. Moth grubs found that crate. When he tried to pull one of his sweaters from the pile, it came out like a bird's nest. Nag Kath closed the top and looked at a smaller crate he thought would have books. They seemed undamaged. Taking two of them and a small box from Phylless' things in another crate, he dropped them in the folio before dragging it to the switchback to wait for a man-cart.

Tenant and landlord sat on the rock fence by the path, Nag Kath took a long pull of the tea and said, "Thank you for this. I thought it would be dusty."

Fredithorn replied, "I've been here three years and you are the first person to come."

That was good. A quick look at the stove showed the grout around the base had not been disturbed. No one would have climbed the beams for the diamonds either. He would decide what to do about them later. "I might be back as I get settled-in. Most of those boxes should be thrown away or given to the needy." With a conspiratorial smile, "I expect my family got the good things."

It took a quarter-bell for a man-carter to lope by and load the file rack. In that time, Fredithorn told him who he might know from twenty years ago. Nag Kath remembered quite a few folk and most of the businesses. Some were the next generation of owners but often the same families. Nag Kath thanked the man for his help and followed the carter over to Rey and Heuris'.

~o~

Dinner was leisurely. They rehashed his horrifying tale. Maid and cook strained their ears for every word, enough that Heuris repeated after the meal they were to keep their tongues in their mouths until high Lords were consulted. Easygoing Rey was like his da Shurran and let his wife manage staff in this household.

By lamplight, the elderly great grandchildren sat to either side of Uncle Nag as he paged through the folio. Reyaldar had seen them many times but Heuris looked in wide-eyed wonder. Like with almost everyone else familiar with the curious Elf; they mostly believed his outlandish exploits if told by reliable sources. Seeing his own renderings of events confirmed both the inspiring and frightening. He spent extra time gazing at the Wild Huntsman, terrifying to Heuris, but giver of the gift that brought him back from death. Had he met Mandos in his sleep?

Since Rivendell, Nag Kath knew he needed these images. This was not sentimental. He had to reclaim the emotional context behind disjointed memories swirling in his head. His brain was repairing itself, but just as when he became an Elf, the thoughts inside were more than flesh and blood. Pictures glued them in place. At times he would stop, lost in remembrance, and then take comfort knowing they were in order of time. He saw them in as much wonder as the children had, lingering on some longer than others. When he shut the last binder, he knew he was home.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

There was a throng at the sixth gate the next morning. He could not remember the secret name to mention so, like all the other supplicants, Nag Kath walked to the clerk, saying he was there to see King Elessar. As if it was of no moment, she wrote a note on one of their official forms and told him to have a seat not a dozen feet from where he and the portly gaoler sat over a century before.

Two hours later, a page brought him to a long table of higher clerks on the other side of the wall from the Provin. Under-Magister Groathan looked at the sheet and up at the looming blonde saying, "Mr. Regnieu, I cannot make heads from tails of your petition."

"I make no petition. I have come to see the King."

"Name?"

"Nag Kath."

The functionary flipped the sheet face-down and sorted through the pile finally saying, "Mr. Kath. One does not simply walk in and see the King."

"Would you take him a note?"

Under-Magister Groathan would not play that game. "I can give it to my superiors."

The Elf took a sheet of paper and a pencil from Rey's satchel and drew the symbol Fûl on one side and Orlo on the other with his chop. After being handed the note, Groathan sniffed, "And the secretaries will know what to make of this?"

One adjustment the changeling made, somewhat unwittingly, was that he wouldn't mind showing powers as much he had. The snotty clerk got a blast of yellow light before an Elf Lord order; "You will take this to the King's personal secretary yourself. I will watch your station until you return."

Like a puppet on strings, the Under-Magister unwillingly jerked up from his chair and forced himself down the corridor towards the stairs. Nag Kath slid across the table taking the seat between two startled secretaries and read something from the battered little bag. It wasn't twenty minutes later when two large guards in palace livery brought the confused Groathan back and told Nag Kath, "Sir, please come with us."

~o~

King Elessar Telcontar was sitting in his garden in a wheeled-chair with a blanket over his knees to help the warm autumn sun. His hair and beard were completely white and the wrinkles of being over two hundred years old had finally caught him. Lady Arwen was by his side. For a face that never changed, he thought it showed strain. His own did.

Nag Kath bowed to both and the Queen motioned for him to take the chair across from them. Aragorn said in a thin voice, "An impossible tale, soldier of Gondor."

"I missed most of it Sire, My Lady." He gave them a patchy recollection of the advance group, the sorcerous child, Orlo, as much as he could remember. Arwen was almost a statue. Aragorn was animated a few times, asking questions as a warrior would of the engagement. Eldarion would hear them when he returned from Lossarnach.

As he wrapped his presentation, Nag Kath asked, "Did you feel a surge, a gust of power to raise the hair on your neck?"

Arwen whispered, "Yes, a feeling to chill the soul."

The King added, "I was only a few miles away from Barad Dûr. Not as strong as that but yes, the same pulse.

"That was when I smashed the Witch-stone, the real one."

Arwen said grimly, "On that day, the bodies in the Dead Marshes vanished."

Nag Kath grinned a tired grin, which the Queen did not mind as much as she had. "Then, sir, ma'am, I think we finally got him."

"Indeed, Nag Kath. Indeed."

The Elf continued, "We lost another soldier, in a manner of speaking. Radagast has become one with the forest. Years ago, he began slowly melding into the roots of his beloved woods. Now he has joined with them in body as well as spirit. It is certainly by design. I thought you should know. He was my friend and I will honor him."

~o~

Arwen excused herself to speak with a retainer who appeared near the door. When she was out of Elf hearing, the King said, "Will you do more sailing, my friend?"

"I am sure I shall, sir. First I will visit Dol Amroth to see all those kin. Then, a longer trip east to mend body and soul from Angmar. The sea will beckon in its own time."

Aragorn reached over and gripped the Elf's wrist with surprising force saying, "Please, remember the sea, for my sake. Go for my sake. Remember the beckoning!"

The Queen returned and the King loosed his hand. Aragorn told her, "Our Nag Kath has yet more plans for adventure, my dear."

Arwen offered her enigmatic smile, "Go always with our best wishes, sir knight."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Back on the fourth-level, Nag Kath saddled old Trailblazer and took him to the main cavalry stables on the first. The Lieutenant was not at hand so the Master Sarn't spit something yellow and walked over to the tall greenbottom. "How can I help you sir?"

He meant 'sir' as a slight, an inside-gibe for a city gentleman rather than a superior officer. The White City was well past the age of warrior/merchants. Nag Kath knew that but said cheerfully, "I came here to purchase a Lossarnach stallion, four to six years old with line training. Are you the man to see?"

The Sergeant would have some fun with him, "Did you think to exchange this fine animal?"

"No, I bring him for you to give a trooper who might be short on the ready, horse, saddle and tack."

That was a generous gift but nowhere near the price of the King's best. Sarnt Greshamn had been reprimanded before for insulting a rich-man's son so he asked solicitously, "And where might we call if such a horse is available?"

Nag Kath gave him one of his old cards with Rey's address crabbed in the corner. His name was on it and every soldier of Gondor would have heard it. The unlettered Sergeant Greshamn looked as if reading and then folded it in his pocket. He promised to give it to his stable-officer and spit something yellow watching the tall man walk towards the prow.

~o~

The next stop would be less public. The Elf peered in the windows of the healing shops. Most of the windows were filthy so he put his head inside the first to find two Haradrim who were sure they had whatever he needed, no matter what it was.

It took three more shops before he saw a woman inside who might qualify. She was nearing forty and not hard to look at, probably not surly enough for inductive healing. Always starting with the least upsetting need he asked, "Excuse me, I seek someone who can pull a mild infection."

She appraised him for a few moments before replying, "Those are rare skills, sir. Are you asking for yourself?"

"Yes, but not in the way you think. Call this research."

She snapped tartly, "You will have to ask elsewhere."

When courtesy doesn't work, bribe. Nag Kath pulled two silvers from his pocket and said, "These are for the man or woman who can answer my questions."

Man? That was unnerving. The only known male sorcerer in her lifetime was buried one bone at a time in Angmar. On the other hand; two dented kings were two more than she had in the till. She walked to the door and locked it before returning to the counter and saying, "I can draw an infection."

The tall man asked, "Four months ago there was a surge. Did you feel it?"

"Dougsh yeah! About doubled me over."

"Did it change your powers?"

"I am stronger now in cures of womenfolk."

Nag Kath questioned her about that healing; things a man should not even know to ask. He was looking for tells to witchcraft. Getting none, he asked, "How about applied maladies?"

"The woman recoiled, "Sir, however would I know of such things?!"

He raised his eyebrow.

"I pulled a hangover from a lout who refused to pay, so I gave it back."

"After the green pulse?"

"Two weeks ago, he had it coming."

Nag Kath prompted, "Was that stronger too?"

"Yes! I mean, it might have been if I had ever done something like that before."

The Elf put the two silvers on the table along with a third saying, "No need to mention this to the guild. That extra is for you to deliver this list of herbs and roots to this address on the fourth, name of Solvanth."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath took a few minutes to pick at the yellows on the garden mural below the switchback and then wound his way up to the second-level shop of master bowyer Augustor. He was an old codger from Dale who offered bows in the Northman style. Reyaldar met him ten years before. As a direct descendent of Bard the Bowman and Kath of the Celduin, they had a lot to talk about. The man heard the bell over the door and came out looking over his half-spectacles. "Good morning, sir. How can I help?"

"Good day, sir. I want to order a Dun Breathen pull in my height. I am told you are the man."

Augustor gave him the same look the stable Sarn't did earlier. It was the bowyer's policy not to make weapons in the two top tensions for just anyone who wandered in the door, except those who overpaid in cash up-front. Still, he was the picture of attention. "Here, sir, let us have a look."

The man strung the test bow at the notches second closest to the grip and handed it to the young archer. Nag Kath pulled it several times in the right posture without straining. He handed it back saying, "It has been a while but yes, that is the pull I've always used. My first was by Fridth in Dale and the second by Tunverid after he took the shop."

Augustor was intrigued. Tunverid's grandson taught young Augustor the bowyer's craft. When the next generation took mastership, it was time to try southern pastures. "I am sorry sir. I did not catch your name."

"Nag Kath. My kin Reyaldar Conath sent me."

This was the Elf that shot Frûnzar at a gallop. "Forgive my suspicions Lord Kath. You are considerably less dead than described."

That earned him a wan grin. "It is a curious story, but I have returned, and in no hurry for the weapon. What is your charge, Mr. Augustar?"

Famous or not; "Three silvers."

"Good, and eight dozen arrows, half target, half game heads. Goose quills on the gamers."

Augustar calculated, "Add another three silvers. I'll include extra strings."

"And a wrist-guard."

~o~

There was one more stop. The Royal Bank of Gondor was on the sixth astraddle the wall, open to the public but very secure in the vault. He said who he was and signed the card so the assistant manager could compare it to the files. The man returned a bit shaken. He started, "Sir, our records show that your heirs were paid your estate fifteen years ago after you were eaten by wargs."

Like the banker in Dale, Mr. Juestigsh was bracing for the explosion of this man's money being gone. What he got was, "As it should be. There was also a trust entailed to charity if I did not claim it some years hence. Can you tell me the balance there?"

Assistant Manager Juestigsh, who did not look all that Khandian, left the Elf at his desk and went back to the vaults. A quarter-bell later he emerged with a note pad and said, "According to our records, that account has one hundred eighty Florin and twenty six. It receives regular rents from Osgiliath, and it received payments for jewelry until the stones in the vault were all sold."

"Ah, good. Let that stand for now."

"Sir, there is also a smaller account that once paid a pension for a woman also named Kath. It still has a Florin and twelve."

He didn't want to know when those ended. "Hmmm, I forgot that one. I'll take that in nippers now." He would need some for the horse and saddlery. The Colonel in Fornost said the advance scouts' horses scattered when the orcs came. Nemren was found and given to a trooper who lost his. Ten Florin and several diamonds were sewn into the saddle. A fine work, the saddle would find its way down in owners' affluence until it fell apart, making the last owner the richest man in his county.

Reyaldar was lying on the couch and called, "Get what you needed?"

"Mostly. I had to buy another bow."

Rey slapped his forehead as he always did when he forgot something. Shuffling to a closet next to the kitchen, he rummaged noisily among neglected things, returning with his great grand-da's sword. "The soldiers brought this back with them."

Nag Kath drew the weapon and marveled at its balance. Even with the stone troll scratches, it was a masterwork of form and grace.

~o~

On the third day back, Nag Kath went to Suldath and Leotulden for fitted clothes. None of the garments in the basement were salvageable. Suldath junior remembered him and saw that his measurements had not changed in forty years, very considerate of clients to keep their figures. The Elf also ordered new boots and shoes at a newer establishment next door.

While he was being the same size, Mairn answered a bold knock to see a King's trooper with two horses behind him. "Mr. Rey? Someone to see you."

The Northman ambled over to hear the horseman say, "The bay is courtesy of a friend, Lord Kath." Before Rey could correct him, the young trooper saluted and climbed on his own mount. It had been nine years since Conath had owned a horse, but as Thain-kin of Buhr Austar, fine mounts were in his blood. Reyaldar was still scratching behind the horse's ear when Heuris returned from the lacemakers with granddaughter Kathlie who was overawed by the beast.

Nag Kath walked inside ten minutes later saying, "Nice horse, Rey. Your back must be feeling better."

With his wife and bairn in earshot, Reyaldar bit back his initial comment saying, "We thought he could pull ale casks up the Celduin."

Someone in high places must have read his note. After a century of owning horses, Nag Kath had only paid for two of them, including Trailblazer. He looked at Rey and asked, "Does he have a name?"

Scampering from the hallway, four-year old Kathlie shouted, "Daisy!" Nag Kath decided on Orlon, except when Kathlie was in the room. Then he introduced himself to the little girl whose ears grew groats.

~o~

The Conaths had several small dinners with their children's families so folk could meet the celebrated Uncle Nag. Those separately included the boy and girl Heuris thought were indolent. They seemed bored.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The Elf bowed to Prince Barahir and Princess Talienne. They had not aged as quickly as the rest. He was fifty six, she forty seven. Barahir inherited both the Principality and Stewardship a year ago after the good Prince Elboron made it to 91, joining his beloved Angalica with their ancestors.

Formalities completed, dear Talienne ran to his embrace while Barahir settled for a handshake. Talienne kissed him on the cheek and drew away saying, "We heard from the seventh. It is still impossible to believe. You must tell us all!"

He did. For two hours he went through everything he could remember, which was about all of it now. The couple had three children and a grandchild was on the way. Things had gone just as they hoped. Ithilien was strong. The old Elvish colony was run by men, and run well. Enough of his little Coloma seeds had sprouted to fertilize themselves and make more. Those delicacies were very popular.

Talienne quietly spoke of her beloved granna Eniecia. Nag Kath was sorry to have missed her. The quiet Elf would miss Legorn too. He made it to one hundred-eighteen. The trip to Angmar was supposed to be two years, not almost twenty. Cal was still well. The Elf said he would go there and then return to the retreat to restore himself. They hoped not for long.

He stayed a week, thumbing through the library, meeting children who did not remember him, sitting on the porch with tea like he had with Faramir when the aqueduct was only a dream. At times, Nag Kath would drift off with remembrance like he had at the Conaths. Everyone knew not to speak. Memories continued seeping in, good memories. The bad ones came with temperance. They had been overcome.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Caladrion was much like his father. His hair was white but he had most of it. Now one hundred and two, he had moved from the large family home to smaller quarters in the same building as daughter Callistra, now widowed. Neither of them had lost their spark and still saw Catanards. The box seats gained with the Elf ship plans had been a family tradition ever since. There was one more show in the season, now extended to seven. It was a comedy.

Dinners were arranged with family. All three of Cal and Eniecia's grandchildren living here were well with broods nearing marriage age of their own. Derissa married later than her brother and cousins with a boy of eleven and daughter of eight who were the babies of the family. The lad introduced himself with a bow and handshake, well on his way to the Prince's service. Raniece lived in his old house. There was regular trade with Thân zîrân, Umbar too. Cal suggested a statue for the late Lord Kath some years back but never got enough votes. That got the family their first belly-laugh from thoughtful Uncle Nag.

For the show, Raniece, her husband Borond, Menalgir and his wife Halita along with Cal and Nag Kath enjoyed a performance the Elf had not seen. As with all last-of-the-season Catanards, it was short and sweet. They had wine afterwards.

Nag Kath stayed with Cal. Neither was sleepy. They sat on the small porch with tea listening to the crickets. Cal said to the night, "Necia was sorry to have missed you. She never really recovered when we heard you were lost in battle, but she had been failing. It was time. Do not hold yourself to blame. I had her for the very best years of my life." A tear dripped down his cheek.

Nag Kath had his cry. Eniecia was the last tie to his first world. There was joy in it too, joy for her and the good life she led, her brother and everyone who came before them. There was joy that he could still feel it. His greatest risk was coming. Cal was a grandchild too. Then there were all the children that came and kept coming from those fragile beginnings. He loved them in their way. He was not turning from the men and women even if they were forgetting him by the generation. A dark lord or selfish creature would, until they had nothing in common with those they subjugated. He felt for the woman with more laundry than time in a day, her husband taking pride in mending a gate. It was all those thousands of tiny things that made a life.

Nag Kath told Cal he had to leave for the east before long. The freezing still needed healing and rest. His proximity to that stone raised questions. He might be forgotten there too, but that was the way of things. With luck, which he hoped he still had, he would be back for more Catanards before too many years. Caladrion would have to love all of his children for him until then.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~