In remembrance of those who have left us for their Undying Lands, dear JRRT and all those who we have come to regard as our family in Middle earth, I want to thank each one of you who share this love with me; a love of reading, and hearing tales of friendship and hope and sorrow which bind us more closely ever as we turn each page. More than a family you are to me, you are like facets in a jewel; reflecting all the different possibilities and faces that together make a thing precious and valuable, and utterly unique.

Chapter Nine, Finding Hill

Dropping through the strange density of clouds, my breath is torn from my body as my feathered cloak fills with air and jerks me roughly by the collar to a slower plummet. Woven shafts and webbed vanes catch the wind and I begin to spin sickeningly into a spiraling descent. I am blind through the clouds and when they thin and disappear the grey hills below are frighteningly close. Without hope or control I claw at the air and begin to tumble. My mind goes white in utter terror.

With an impact that shakes my teeth I hit upon a surface that yields beneath me. Gasping, I grasp with fingers wet with blood and feel the feathers cut as I slip and slide off...

...To fall on another downy back! A flight of Great Eagles has risen below me, and like a ladder they cross their great wings and the fledgling bounces from one to the next, buffeted by vast pinions that break my deadly fall. Finally I manage to grab a firm hold with one hand and stay my bruising journey. Gently the world soars downward, and I see above the golden wings of a phalanx of mighty birds, dim in the fading light of the evening. Their sharp eyes seem like yellow stars peeping early from the darkling sky. I close my eyes and focus my will to hold on.

I wake when I at last touch upon the cold stone, slipping from the feathered neck of the valiant bird that bore me earthward. Every inch of me feels bruised and burned, and lying still makes me strangely sick. I totter to my feet, leaning against the stones to praise their solidity and warmth. The eagle watches with impatience, clacking his beak at me.

"You are now in Heborodin, the mountains that encircle the Hidden City. Recover your wits quickly, for there are eyes even here. Where is your burden?"

My hand seeks the pack that bound the Coat to my midriff, but to my dismay it is gone. I sink to my knees, defeated. "My pack! It was in my pack! I must have dropped it when I fell."

The eagle shook himself, and with a great hop he cleared a place for another larger eagle to land. I observed the graceful entrance of Thorondor, King of the Eagles of Crissaegrim. "More luck than any other rabbit have you, dark elf. Shall I be always plucking your from your folly? Are you whole?"

I hug my useless arm to me, saying, "Lord, could it be that one of your sharp-eyed flock saw where my pack may have fallen? Without it my errand is failure and all sacrifices for nothing."

"Your burden fell into a crevice where we cannot reach. It is some distance from here; we will bear you as close as we can to it when the light returns. You must retrieve the Coat and return to Gondolin soon. Enemies fill the lands beyond the borders, and other eyes have these hills than ours. Rest now while the clouds hide the moon. See to yourself, dark elf."

Several chilly hours pass as I wait, left with the young eagle that had observed where the Coat lay after its fall. When the wind scooped away the clouds, he bore me up and drifted silently toward a stream that carved a ravine through the stone. Airborne, I look ahead and see nothing but more hills for as far as my eyes stretch. The eagle lands and dips his head; I dismount.

"You must climb down to find it, elf. It landed in the stream but came to a bar of pebbled stones some distance below a shallow fall. Go downstream from here to find it. I cannot bear you closer, nor carry you away. The stream is your path toward Gondolin; keep the sun behind you. The Hidden City lies yonder," he scored the stone with an adamantine talon, a deep line pointing north-by-west as I reckoned. "If it were possible for you to climb back, I would wait, but without your wing, I cannot see this done. Farewell, elf! We will be watching, though what help we can give I cannot guess."

"Already you and your folk have served the purpose well. My thanks to you and to King Thorondor and all the magnificent Eagles. Let it be that I survive this task and can someday serve you in return, for all that you have done for me."

The eagle bowed his head with a jerk, his eyes liquid in the starlight, "We serve only the King of the West. Your preservation was necessary. But I hear your thanks with a good heart and will bear your words. Farewell!" And he rose into the air and was swallowed by the night.

I scrambled down the ravine; steep but broken enough to find easy purchase even with my battered limbs. Once I reach the bottom finding the pack was easy, and I splashed noisily through the shallow rivulet of icy water to pick it up joyfully, digging into it to assure myself that the Coat was still safely inside. I fastened it to myself again, and slogging upstream I hurry to come home. My heart burns more than my wound, to see the White Lily of Tumladen and my golden-haired lord again. As the sun rises off of my left shoulder, I come to the issue of the spring, and now I must seek a way through the pathless hills.

For two days I scramble through gullies and over ridges, nibbling lembas from my pocket and drinking fresh sweet water where I find it. On evening to my joy I heard singing distantly, coming it seemed from beneath the earth. I guessed that it must be delvers, seeking ore for the smiths of Gondolin to craft into their wondrous art. I contain my excitement; easily these could be folk of Maeglin's house, and though valiant and true they would report me to their lord and all efforts and sacrifices wasted.

I creep cautiously forward, and find a bowl of bare stone wherein a gathering of folk are taking repast, singing merrily. The smells of their larder make me dizzy with hunger, for the waybread of Melian satisfies the need of the body, but not the desire. To my further delight I see that they are not Mole Folk, but dressed in the livery of the Hammer of Wrath. Nearly sobbing with relief, I come forward and beg for help.

Before I can state my need, the delver-elves take me in hand. An elf who named himself Amon spoke to me urgently that his lord Rog, at the request of Tuor, had been setting his people about the hills searching for a missing elf. He sent a runner ahead to bring news to his lord and they gave me food and wrapped me in furs to bear me back to the city. They were not overskilled in healing, but the fresh water and waybread had worked much good on me. I relaxed in the arms of Amon as he lifted me easily as a bundle of straw; his strength from wielding hammer and pick making me a lesser burden than thought, as he jested to his mates. I clutched the pack with the precious shirt and let my prayers of thanks trickle free along with my tears. I was going home at last.