Elden woke to the sound of birdsong. Warm light was playing across his eyelids, and when he opened them he found that it was coming through a set of large open windows, accompanied by a cool breeze. Shortly thereafter the events of the previous morning came back to him, along with the myriad of associated aches and pains. Had it been the previous morning? It was afternoon now, but whether it was this or that afternoon, he knew not. His eyes hadn't seen a calendar in a long while. He had even forgotten which day of the week it was, which was a first for him. The planting season was carefully coordinated and the work began early, so it paid to know time like you knew your own skin. He could judge the time of day to within fifteen minutes, and often when he walked past the sundial on the road back to the cabin he would close his eyes and guess before checking. Even to this day, Elden's mind woke itself before first light, although now that he did not have farm chores to attend to he usually allowed himself to drift off back to sleep.

Unbidden, his father's face drifted to him like a scrap of dream still stuck to his vision. It was a lined and cracked face. Weather-beaten. Honest. When he smiled, it looked the whole thing changed shape, making you laugh too. Despite having a rather simple wit, he was a deeply philosophical man, and one corner of the cabin held a set of shelves containing worn and beaten books, some of his most prized possessions. He would often tell Elden stories about places Elden had never heard of and that was not sure existed. Sometimes he would make up stories, and it was rather hard to tell them apart from the true ones, especially because he could not exactly verify what he was hearing. The nearest library was in Gondor. Rohan was too vast, too agrarian to have much use for such things.

His father liked sayings as well. When Elden would inevitably grumble at being woken at the crack of dawn to milk the cows, his father would reply cheerfully "So teach us to number our days, that we may acquire a wise heart."

Suddenly, he realized that his eyes were burning. He wiped the moisture away, angry at himself. Now wasn't the time for self pity. He tried to picture his father's face, lying dead on the distant sands of Umbar next to his steed. He tried to picture that honest old face staring lifelessly up at the sky, and to feel nothing as he did so, but even after two years the face was still smiling that cheerful smile.

After a few minutes he regained his composure and put it out of his mind, to the extent that it was possible.

With some effort, he pushed himself upright, and immediately regretted it. His entire body let out a painful jolt of protest, in particular the small of his back and his right leg. Pain was nothing new to Elden, so he gritted his teeth and ignored it. Still, it took him some time before he was confident enough of his own balance that he could stand without holding on to something. His clothes had been stripped, and were piled neatly beside the bed, cleaner than he had ever seen them. Feeling somewhat uneasy with the knowledge that an elf he hardly knew had undressed him while he was unconscious, he slipped into his breaches and pulled the grey tunic over his head. His socks were so stretched from travel that they looked more like stockings, but he put them on anyway as the boots were not forgiving footwear without them.

The room was elegant and beautiful, as was the bed that he had been lying in. A full-length mirror lay up against one wall, and in it he saw a version of himself that looked like it had taken a good thrashing, which it had. There was a thick bandage on the side of his face where the arrow had sliced him, anchored around the back of his head and chin by way of a strip of gauze. The underside tingled something awful, but he resisted the urge to rip it off and scratch it.

His pack lay on a table beside him, its contents exhumed and neatly arranged. Three rabbits, his battered book, a fire-maker, a length of rope, his cloak, a small set of crock pots, a few sticks, and a knife with a handle so worn it carried the imprint of his hand. What was remarkable about the items was not what was there, but what was not: a map, a compass, directions of any kind. It described a journey without a destination. He felt a brief twinge of unease, but when he put his hand to his chest the ring was still there. Odd, he thought, that he couldn't feel it unless he pressed his palm against it. The chain and its contents had almost become a part of his body.

Questions were pressing at him, such as why the elf had not ended his life as she had had every right to, and why she was being so hospitable. Perhaps it was simply a matter of not having visitors in an awful long time, or perhaps there were darker designs. Over the top of this symphony of thought, the note of hunger played in a deep, loud baritone that overwhelmed all else.

Question providence later, his stomach would have grumbled, had it possessed the ability to speak. Food first.

The elf was nowhere to be seen, so he hobbled out into the hall and from there out to the veranda, a reconstituted pack in tow. From it he produced some kindling that had been harvested previously, but not yet used. It had been smashed to bits by his departure and sudden re-acquaintance with the ground, but there were still enough long pieces to make a teepee. The rest he shoved underneath. He went and filled the pot from the stream and set it atop the construction. With a patient hand he skinned the remaining coneys and extracted all the edibles, placing them in the water. For several moments he was confounded, as the fire-striker produced no sparks. Then he looked more closely at it and realized that one of the pieces of flint it had contained was missing, rendering it useless. He removed the other piece and got up again, wincing as his leg twinged painfully. Where the smooth stone gave way to grass and dirt, he felt around for a rock, discarding several that were not the right shape or texture. Even this small activity was fairly grueling. His back would not allow him to bend over fully and neither would his leg allow him to crouch fully, so he did a little bit of both.

The rock sparked nicely against the flint, so he cut a small portion of rope from the rest and teased it apart into its constituent fibers before crumpling this into a ball and placing it at the center of the woodpile. Still, it would not light. No matter how many sparks he showered the piece of rope with, all it would do was smolder fitfully. He was about to hurl the rock from him in disgust when the fire sprang up unexpectedly. He looked up and saw the elf standing beside him. If he had been the nervous type he would have jumped out of his skin, as he had not heard her approach, but thankfully he was not.

The horse was obviously a Maeras; she had known it since she had first laid eyes on it. The way it carried itself was obviously different to Elden's horse, which lay half-asleep underneath the shade of a holly tree, but the dead giveaway was the eyes. They spoke of intelligence, wisdom, and yes, pain. Those eyes regarded her mistrustfully as she approached, but it did not move away.

Nellas stood there a while, not wanting to reach out with her hand in case the horse was nervous.

I am sorry about what happened to your master.

At these words, the piercing gaze was broken, and the animal lowered its muzzle to graze.

Don't be. Vorath was cruel and savage. I was given to him as a prize and I am glad he is gone.

She wanted to say more, but something caught her eye.

The mercurial boy she had treated the previous night was awake and hunched over a pile of sticks, trying to start a fire without much luck. Her bare feet made no noise as she moved over to him. A wad of something fuzzy was smoking at the center as it was showered with sparks, but it seemed in need of some help. Nellas closed her eyes and breathed out deeply. When she opened them again, a small flame had caught that grew quickly, leaping from its starting point and chewing into the fuel left for it with an unusual swiftness. Elden turned and met her gaze.

It surprised her how easily he could do that, and how steadily he could hold it. In times past, the few humans that she had met seemed loathe to meet her eye, as though the sun were shining just behind her head and it hurt to look upon.

His eyes were rimmed with red, but she decided that now was not the best time to bring it up.

At length she came and sat down opposite him. She wasn't thrilled he was doing this on the stone, but the black scorch mark would come away easily. Elven hewn marble was not just fireproof, it was nigh indestructible.

"Thank you." He said.

"For what, might I ask?"

"For not killing me."

"You are most welcome." She replied, maintaining a polite and diplomatic tone.

"I'd offer you some, but you don't eat meat, do you?"

She shook her head.

"No, but the gesture is appreciated. Can I offer you a bed inside tonight?"

A ghost of a smile played across his face.

"Thanks, but I've spent the night on the ground so many times, I don't know if I could fall asleep anywhere else. Besides, I will be on my way come first light tomorrow."

"Perhaps it would be wise to stay longer, considering your leg…"

"I'll manage."

After a long pause she mentioned the thing that had weighed most on her mind during the time that he was unconscious.

"That ring is very dangerous, you know."

The water was beginning to boil, and the bubbles that floated to the surface released a rich, gamey aroma. Elden stirred the pot with a knife and tasted the broth collected on the flat side of the blade.

"So am I. We get along just fine."

We? Nellas thought with some alarm. Who is "we"?

"If you keep using it to hide yourself from the world, eventually the effects will be permanent. You will become a wraith."

"I already am. When those men get back to Edoras and tell of my death, I will be a ghost in all but name. That is perfectly fine with me."

His answers had a way of leaving her speechless. Not because they were audacious or rude, but because she simply hadn't expected them. This was quite troubling. She decided to leave him alone and not press the issue, but it would come up before he left, she was certain of that.

Nellas was not about to let something like that simply leave her sight. It was not an artifact that could be entrusted to a mortal man alone.

Afternoon crept into evening. The honey light of the sun kissed the valley, reminding her of the glory of the old kingdom. Normally she let such thoughts of the past leave as quickly as they came. It did not do to dwell on it, on the people that once were here. The memories could drive one crazy.

The sound of splashing reached her ears, and she went over to the other window. Elden was bathing in the courtyard stream, his clothes left on a bench beside the fountain. She could not help but steal a peek at as his body.

His frame was thin and muscled. He was built like a weasel, tall and compact. There were several large scars on his back, obviously the remnants of the lash. They glistened in the fading sunlight as he bent to get his arms wet, scrubbing furiously.

Feeling somewhat childish, she let him have his privacy, but only after another sidelong glance.

Evening turned to night. Honey glow receded into bruised plum, and then into velvety darkness. She considered going to bed, but she didn't really feel tired, and she had also seen a light on in the hall, one that she had not set.

I set my sail
fly the wind it will take me
back to my home, sweet home

With her acute sense of hearing, she could pick up the faint sound of humming drifting through the air. It was soft and low, like someone singing a lullaby to a baby. She followed it.

Lie on my back
clouds are making way for me
I'm coming home, sweet home

The hall across from the house of Elrond was slightly smaller, but it was not subdivided by rooms, allowing the massive oaken shelves to stretch up to the ceiling. Every inch was crammed with books of every size and shape, carefully bound scrolls leaning up against musty tomes and volumes in a matched set, some of these sets numbering twenty books long or more, vast histories of Arda charting the rise and fall of every kingdom since the secret fire was first breathed into the world. Here and there were glass cases, bottles of this and that, extraordinary insects preserved in amber. The humming was louder in here, but still soft and wavering, like a reverently recited prayer.

I see, your star, you left it burning for me
Mother, I'm here

Eyes open wide
feel your heart and it's glowing
I'm welcome home, sweet home

She caught sight of him between gaps in the shelving. He was standing near the center, not reading just looking, gazing up at the vastness of the collection. The bandage had been removed from his face, the lips of the wound underneath already closed thanks to her medicine. He would have a scar there for the rest of his life, though.

I take your hand
now you'll never be lonely
not when I'm home, sweet home

I see your star, you left it burning for me
Mother, I'm here

A cherry red glow lit his facial features for a moment and then went out. A thick cloud of smoke blossomed like a flower into the air.

"You can look, but don't take."

Apparently he had not heard her approach, because he looked at her with a half-startled, half-indignant expression.

"I'm not a thief!" He said, quickly.

The smell of the pipe was rich and piney. It made her want to sneeze.

An absolutely inscrutable human habit, she thought.

"What you mean to say is that you are not just a thief."

"Not a thief of books, anyway-" Elden continued. "Besides, who would I sell these to? We're miles from the nearest market and they're probably cursed or something."

"They are not cursed. How much of the language can you read?" She said.

"Queyna? Hardly any."

Nellas ran her hand along a spine gently, brushing away the dust.

"Some of them have beautiful illustrations, if you know where to look. Just make sure you are gentle. These are the only copies and they must endure."

Elden was no longer looking at the books.

"For how long?"

It was an odd question, but somehow it cut to the root of these last ten years she had spent in solitude. It made her feel a sense of foreboding, but she couldn't quite fathom why.

"I- don't know. Long enough."

"Is that why you staid behind? To watch over the book collection?"

It was her turn to feel indignant, but she did not allow her voice to betray it… most of it, at least.

"Rivendell is much more than just a book collection."

Then they both pretended to be examining the spines, as it was more comfortable than looking at one another. There was a long pause before Nellas spoke again.

"You still haven't told me how you came by that mark."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand twitch slightly at those words.

"We've all done things we are not proud of." He said, softly.

"Yes, but not all things carry the penalty of death."

He did not answer, but instead continued to browse, his hands clasped against the desktop.

"Are you embarrassed?" She asked.

Nellas felt that since she had indirectly helped him out of the fate that the mark signified, she was obligated to at least a few answers about its origin.

"More ashamed than you can imagine." He whispered hoarsely.

"Is that why you don't want to tell me?"

"I don't really care if you know; I just… don't want to say it out loud anymore. It's been on my mind enough without it being on my tongue too."

His pipe lay on its side, and as she watched, the last ember faded into black once more. She almost smiled as she considered what she was about to say.

"I will tell you why I really staid behind if you tell me how you got that mark."

He considered her a moment, obviously torn between privacy and curiosity. Much to her satisfaction, the latter won out.

"I was one of the Eorlingas once. I joined when I was sixteen, or was forced to join, rather." He said. "My father had just answered the muster to go south and fight, and I… cultivated a habit of theft, for which I was eventually caught. Since the crimes were petty and able bodies short, I was given the choice of the iron pit, or service behind the shield of Rohan. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but those were hard times all around and I wanted to be able to hold my head up high."

He looked supremely uncomfortable, but Nellas wanted the truth.

"They wanted to send me south as well. I didn't want to go. I tried to run away and desert my company. When they caught me they took me back to Edoras and flogged me. I was left in the square for three days with no water or food. I escaped on the third night. They were going to hang me in the morning."

"Why did you leave?" Nellas asked.

"Slaying a stray band of orcs that wanders into farmland is one thing. Éomer's campaigns are quite another. That is where they wanted to send me."

"Éomer's campaigns? You must forgive me; I have not received news of anything beyond this valley in a decade."

Obviously thankful for the change of subject, Elden elaborated, not noticing that Nellas had not fulfilled her end of the bargain.

"After the War of the Ring ended, there were still scores to settle. The men of the south had aided Sauron. Men of Harad, and corsairs from Umbar had done almost as much damage as the orcs. King Ellesar and King Éomer rode together, first against the corsairs and then against the nomadic tribes of the Haradrim. Many of the southron territories now belong to Gondor."

"What happened to your father?" Nellas asked, although she already knew the answer.

"He made it sixteen months, survived the first campaign, but just before the voyage back from Umbar he caught dysentery. They tossed him overboard on the way to Gondor, as his body was decaying too fast to return to his homeland."

"I am sorry to hear that."

Elden smiled. It was a false, mask-like smile, a grimace meant to convey that he did not care, even though she could tell he did.

"So was I."

There was a long, awkward silence.

"So the kingdom of men is expanding, then." She said, lamely.

"Yes. There is even talk of bringing the rest of the Dark Numenorians into the fold, if they can be brought to heel."

"And if they cannot?"

Elden smiled again. This one was grim, but genuine.

"Then they will walk in the circles beyond the earth, as you put it."