The fields blew gently in the wind, disturbed only by the horses and those that rode them as they passed threw. Khamul and Indur had fallen behind, their forms hunched in the saddles, faces hidden beneath the draping hoods. Above the ground Faramir cursed and rubbed his chafing thighs as the dragons scaly neck wore down the leather of his breaches. (So much good the blanket did, it didn't last more than a minute after Legolas's turn! oh my legs…) The dragon arched its neck, shooting the steward an inquiring look.

Legolas chuckled softly,(I wonder if he'll last another minute… maybe two…)

"Enough!! I can take no more! Land! Land darn you!" The fellowship on the whole grinned at the exasperated cry. Anantaboga pulled his wings to his sides, and with a huff dropped to the ground, landing with a bone jarring crunch behind the Ringwraiths steeds. Faramir remained seated a moment more, then, looking shellshocked, leaned and fell. Swiftly the others drew around him. "Are… are you well Faramir?" The steward looked up into the others eyes and gave a small laugh. "All right? All right? I'll be riding sidesaddle for months!" Gimli guaffed and offered the poor soul a hand. "Up you get Faramir! You'll be alright!"

Faramir hobbled to his horse, winced as he pulled himself into the saddle, and all laughed at his gasp of pain as the animal moved beneath him. "I think I shall walk! It's better than this!!"

Indur shook his head, (They are all so strange… do they realize what we are moving towards? They seem so… so, so unhurried, without fear, or regret…) the breeze blew his cowl from his face, and Frodo stared for a moment at the king of old before the hood returned to its place. …Light filters threw the trees… and the breeze blows threw the glen… It seemed all else had fallen silent, Frodo gazed on even after the face was gone, an almost whispered tune, haunting, old…The streams all flash with silver… from the little fish within…

A smell so clean to clear my head… below my skies so bright…

A sun with rays all golden spun… and perfumed hours of night…

Gandalf turned his head, eyes wide with recognition.

I love this land I call my own… I love each field and glen,

Each piece of bark from every trunk, the moss within each den…

Khamul chuckled softly, his eyes glowing in his cowl. (They sang no songs such as this in my home… we sang of battle and victory and of hard days and wild nights…)

The towering stalks of grain we've grown, the labor of our men,

And every mother's face, to see her children home again…

The tune stopped, not more than a whisper whilst sung it lingered in the fellowships minds, replaying itself over and over again. At the front of the group Aragorn raised a hand to wipe a tear from his eye, unsure of what had made it fall. The wind swept them within the fields, the horses trod in silence, it seemed too fragile a thin to risk shattering by making a sound. Gandalf held the main of the beast he rode thoughtfully, his eyes deep and bright. (I feared our task might be for naught, but to feel that, I know better now. the Valar knew, these are still men, still good men somewhere deep, and a waste to throw to the winds…)

"Gandalf, where are we now?" Pippin and Frodo drew near, both looking slightly fatigued by the constant travel. "I believe… we may be in Eastfold now, if the stars last night read true." Frodo nodded, still craning his neck to look back at the Ringwraiths. "When do you think we will stop again? We have traveled three days now, and in all that time have barely paused to rest." The wizard nodded, "We press hard, but I believe we shall stop at nightfall, the horses are in need of grazing, and we of sleep." Legolas pulled his horse closer to join in the discussion. "If we rest at night, then we rest knowing they are at their strongest, and Aragorn will be at his weakest. I like it not." Gandalf sighed, "We must put the past behind us Legolas, and we have not the time to dwell."