June: Summer 2977

It took less than a week after returning from sea for Imrahil to be packed and ready to disembark on the long journey to Minas Tirith. His father was openly against his son's decision to travel by horse; he gave in when he saw that Imrahil had inherited his strong will. Imrahil drew up his preparation on a map, outlining his planned path of travel. He would take the coastal road to Annúmben, then travel northwards to Linhir, then to Pelargir where he would follow the Anduin River eastward through Lossarnach, finally reaching Minas Tirith. Imrahil estimated it would take ten days to reach the City of Kings.

Packed, saddled, and ready, Imrahil kissed his mother farewell in the great chamber, while embracing Ivriniel tightly. "Give this to Finduilas," Ivriniel said, handing her brother a pocket-sized package. "Give it to her with my love."

Imrahil nodded. "Farewell, Sister."

Imrahil nodded at his father and clasped hands with him. "Represent our fiefdom well in the court."

"Yes, Father." It was all the young prince could say. Sure, he had been away from his family on sea-voyages, but this was the first time he would make progress through Gondor via land without the company of his parents or sisters. Was he afraid? Imrahil was not entirely sure. One could never be confident in venturing out into something they had never experienced before. And it was not as if he was travelling alone. Along with his band of guards, Lord Toven was to accompany him to Linhir, his home. Imrahil enjoyed Toven's company. Sure, he was several years older than he was, and already an accomplished man; knighted, happily married for seven years, two children, and a wife with good family connections. What more could a man want in his life? Imrahil was already knighted, and even though the thought of a lifelong companionship in matrimony did appeal to him, he was not ready to commit himself to it. If his father had his way, Imrahil would eventually be arranged into wedlock with a high profile woman from within the court. It was a necessity for Imrahil to marry, but he did not want it to be a necessity. He wanted to choose for himself, just as Ivriniel had done.

"Arranged marriages are not always bad," Toven said as they rode south along the coast. "My marriage was arranged."

Imrahil laughed. "But you are one of the few men in this world who finds positive outcomes in everything."

Toven gave a self-depicted shrug. "Sure, my wife may not be the most beautiful of women, but I love her for whom and what she is. It took time for that love to grow, but it's here now."

"I am not even ready to be married!" Imrahil complained loudly. "Besides, my father has no right arranging my marriage. He chose my mother out of love, not through politics or because she brought with her a grand dowry."

Toven merely shrugged. "Matters of the princedom family elude me."

"How I wish it eluded me," Imrahil replied more to himself. "Poor Finduilas."

"Poor Agoron," Toven added. "I believe he was just as heartbroken during that time."

"It was not fair," Imrahil said childishly. "The steward and his son arrived in Dol Amroth for Ivriniel's wedding, and then left expecting Finduilas to be swept away to Minas Tirith to be Denethor's wife. How could they even think that we would easily give Finduilas away like that?"

"But your family did," Toven retorted. "At least your father and grandfather did. It was a good match; everyone agreed on that."

Imrahil merely shrugged. "I suppose I am biased towards the whole situation. After all, Agoron and I will always be good friends. I could not muster any sort of conversation with Lord Denethor during their wedding. What type of lord gives only one-worded answers during his own wedding? That is to say, that Lord Denethor seemed besotted with Finduilas. He should have been feeling thrilled, talking nonstop."

"Perhaps you intimidated him," joked Toven, grinning.

Imrahil laughed aloud. "You cease to amuse me, Friend."

They enjoyed the peace of the coastal road. Imrahil found it to be a beautiful part of his lands. Whoever built the road must have had a great love of the sea, as the road ran right along the coastal cliff with only a waist-high stonewall protecting them from the great fall one would experience if they toppled over. It was breathtaking; closing your eyes one could feel the cool summer breeze wash over you, messing your hair; your skin became salty from the ocean gusts that carried up over the cliff. The clouds above them roamed freely, clashing with each other forming shadows on the freshly grazed grass in the meadows on the other side of the road. The waves of the ocean below clashed with the fallen rocks of the cliff; white foam erupted everywhere, covering the earthen rocks with its spuds.

"It seems this area of Belfalas will always remain untouched by evil," remarked Imrahil.

"Indeed," Toven replied, watching the peasants working in the fields. The grass was always greener along the coastal road. The cliffs were located so high up that, it made it impossible for any pirates to raid the villages nearby. The farmlands were in constant abundance; the mills full of grain. This was a great aspect, for the villagers walking by their prince were kind, friendly and showed no sign of hate, jealousy, or envy. Many of the townspeople of Dol Amroth pulled such features. It was to be expected, Imrahil thought. Living in a great city where many noblemen would ride through, dressed in rich leather, jewels, and armour. Who could blame the poor man standing on the sideline, offering his hands up to these lords, begging for just a small coin to feed his family? As much as Imrahil loved Dol Amroth, he hated seeing the poverty side to his city. It was nothing out of the ordinary, for all great cities – Minas Tirith included – had the poverty side to it. The balance had to be kept in order.

The town of Annúmben was located several long hours of constant horseback away from Dol Amroth. Imrahil found the town to be at a good distance from his city. By the time he reached Annúmben, his horse, Belan was starting to lag, and Imrahil himself was in desperate need of rest. The young prince had only been to Annúmben twice before, and every time he found good cheer there. The taverns were stocked plentiful of ale and salted meats, and if he was in the mood, the ladies were also excellent company. By the time he arrived in the courtyard of his father's house, it had already been aired, the stables replenished with food and hay, and most importantly, the kitchens were roaring away, preparing many delicious meals for the night ahead.

"Captain Aithron," Imrahil said, walking over to the older man. "See that our men are housed appropriately, and then you can be relieved of your duties for the remainder of the night."

"Yes, my lord."

Imrahil admired the captain of his guard. He was a good man, loyal and never raised a voice in question. Faithful to the end, that is how Imrahil liked his knights. The young prince walked into the great house and up the flight of stairs. He was to have his usual room that was located at the end of the house, overlooking the back courtyard. He collapsed into the chair by the lifeless fireplace, leaning his head back. He was exhausted! His pageboy entered, bringing a jug of fresh water and fruit. He gave the boy his usual tip of one silver coin for each job well done. Drinking deeply, Imrahil wondered what was on the agenda for the night. He was to leave by midmorning the next day, but the prince wanted to have some fun. After all, he had just recently won a sea battle and now he was taking a rather informal summer progress to Minas Tirith. He was not going to stay indoors for the entire time. The thought then struck him. He was going to go for a swim.

Imrahil soon discovered that Toven had passed out in the solar, too exhausted to make it to his own chamber. Imrahil grinned at the sight, then leaving the house, taking a fresh horse with him down to the small patch of beach at the bottom of the cliff. It was a steep narrow path to take that led to the shoreline. Imrahil had to dismount his horse and guide it down the pathway, holding onto the wooden railing. There were not many people swimming in the ocean, save for the few women who stood at the edge of the sand supervising their children playing in the shallows. Imrahil tied his horse to the path's railing and removed his shirt. Some of the mother's looked away, blushing at the sight of a young, fit man.

The water was cool, relieving him from the hotness of summer. He dove into a wave, resurfacing on the other side. He brushed the strands of hair out of his face, relaxing in the water. The clouds had dissipated as the afternoon drew on, the sun starting to set over the horizon. Out in the distance, the water shone a deep orange from the large round sun that hovered above. There were only a few things in existence that were more beautiful than a sun setting over a large bask of water. Imrahil dipped his head in the water again and slowly swam back to the shore. Swimming was so refreshing for him, that even in the coldest of days he would venture out in to the ocean. It was the one place where he could clearly think, a place where beauty existed far more in his observations. Reaching the shore, he noticed that the mothers had packed up and left with their children; he saw them making slow progress up the path as the children scream and chatted excitedly. He lowered his eyes and noticed something to his left. He frowned, seeing a cave. Realisation hit him hard in the face – it was the cave, which he had seen in his dream. Frowning, Imrahil made his way over to it, peering inside. The setting sun made it hard for him to get a clear view on the inside, but noticed soft sand at its entrance with tiny green plants growing out of the foot of the rocks. He tried to remember what had happened in the dream. It was here, at the front of this cave where he had encountered the woman... but she had spoken 'Pelargir' to him. This was not Pelargir; it was Annúmben. Pelargir was still at least a good three days ride away. Shaking his head, Imrahil began to think noting more of his dream. Obviously, it was a creation of his mind, for he was sure to have seen this cave before during one of his previous visits to Annúmben. Only he had forgotten all about.

Making his way up the path, he placed his tunic on, deciding to walk the rest of the way home. It was a pleasant evening; the summer breeze had become warmer, and the town's atmosphere was buzzing with people making their way to the town hall for a play. The large building was alight with many candles, with many citizens chatting joyously outside, waiting for admittance. Imrahil had never been a man for plays or jesting. While he did enjoy a good humorous story, plays had a tendency to bore him. It was a trait he knew he had received from his father, for his mother had loved holding plays in the great hall of their home. At least the people of Annúmben were enjoying themselves. Nobody could ask for me.

"You are a poor source of company," Imrahil said to Toven, entering the dining hall of his father's house.

"It was not my intention to fall asleep," Toven replied, enjoying his spiced wine. "In any case, once I return home I fear my sleeping pattern will be ruined once more. My son, Duirrodor is to celebrate his first birthday this winter, and my wife insists on having the nursery connected to our chamber only by an arched doorframe."

"That sounds inconvenient," Imrahil remarked, pouring some wine.

"When you finally come to fatherhood, use your authority as heir to the princedom to refrain your future wife from making such a decision. It will be the death of you."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"So where did you venture off to?" Toven asked curiously. "Find a pretty lady to dally with?"

"Unfortunately, no," Imrahil replied humorously. "I went for a swim down along the beachfront. The only ladies there were mothers with their children."

Toven laughed. "Thank the Valar the children were there then. The last thing we want tomorrow is to be chased out of town by a gang of angry husbands."

Imrahil rolled his eyes. "I never sleep with married women. I do not like the idea of tarnishing that sort of reputation."

"Then I am comforted to know that my wife is safe when you visit our house."

"It is a shame you have no sisters," Imrahil joked. "I may have been contented to wed one of them."

Toven's eyes narrowed. "I am not sure if I should feel relieved or disappointed at having no sister."

Imrahil laughed aloud, then quieting, thinking of the very idea of matrimony. "Oh marriage, why do you haunt me?"

Toven shrugged. "Try not to think about it. Then perhaps your mind can be at more ease."

"You are a man of wise words."

That night, Imrahil tossed and turned in his bed. His dreams were haunted by that cave. This time round, he saw the sand glow bright white, the small plants blossoming into white roses. He noticed something half buried in the sand. He kneeled, brushing the sand aside revealing a silver chain with a large, rectangle-cut emerald pendant. His attempt to pick it up failed as it vanished from site. He dug around in the sand trying to find it; he had to find it for a reason he did not know of. A gust of wind swept through the cave from the ocean, causing the sand to blow about the cave. Imrahil shielded his eyes from the coarse sand, trying to find some sort of shelter away from the cave. He ended up walking into the side of the cave, falling back to the ground. The sand had settled; he stood up and saw the wind had created something in the sand. It was the letter 'R'.

"Argh... argh," Imrahil said in his sleep. He was shaken awake by his pageboy. "What are doing in here?"

"The sun has risen, my lord," the boy replied, bowing his head. "You wanted to be awoken by the seventh hour."

Imrahil narrowed his eyes as the bright sunlight beamed in through the windows. "Perfect. You may fetch my breakfast to me; I will eat in here."

The prince lay back on the soft pillows. He felt he had only been asleep for a few minutes; he hated it when that happened. During breakfast, he thought of the cave, the necklace, and the letter that had been drawn into the sand. Was this a riddle? A game? Imrahil just shook his head, thinking himself a fool for wondering such things. How could his mind be creating a game just for him? He doubted the anatomy of man could do such a thing. In any case, he decided he would visit the cave one last time before heading off towards Linhir.

"Have the men packed, saddled, and ready to disembark by the time I return," Imrahil said to Aithron.

"Where are you going, my lord?" Aithron asked curiously.

"I have one little matter to deal with before leaving this town. I shall not be too long." Imrahil mounted Belan and rode quickly through the streets, dismounting once more to take the narrow path down the Cliffside. Once at the bottom he did not bother tying Belan, he just ran over to the cave. He collapsed to his knees at the entrance, digging through the sand, trying to find the necklace... or anything in that matter. As nothing appeared, he rested his hands on his knees and looked further into the cave. There was no long narrow walkway... or a deep black spot of nothingness. The cave ended only several metres in. Nothing was special about the tiny cave – no necklace, not letters drawn into the sand, and the little green plants still looked like weeds.

"Am I losing my mind?" he muttered under his breath. "Why I am becoming so obsessed over a mere dream?" Groaning in annoyance with his curiosity, Imrahil scuffed his way back to Belan, heading back up the path. He was going to bang his head against a wall if he ever dreamt of that cave again. Valar be dammed! He did not have time for this nonsense!

Imrahil reached his father's house in no time. His men were prepared, as he had ordered. "Move out," he shouted, turning his horse back towards the gates. Toven and Aithron rode up beside him.

"We will have to make camp for one night before reaching Linhir," Aithron said. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"There is a tiny village about eight hours from here. We can make camp there. The people are friendly enough, but mostly keep to themselves," Toven answered. "In the past, the villagers allowed my men to camp in the fields just outside of the village."

Imrahil nodded with approval. "Then I trust you to lead us to this village. Does it have a name?"

Toven shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. I do not know if it should even be called a village; it is so small. Perhaps five families."

Imrahil shrugged his shoulders. "If that is their way of living, I have no objections."

The village was located further inland, down a dirt-built road with rickety fence lines. Grass fields had large oak trees scattered around with cows lazing about in the cool shade. In the distance, a forest was seen with deer roaming around. The area was an ideal place for hunting.

"Do not overexcite yourself, my prince," Toven said, watching the deer. "The people here do not enjoy hunters coming to their fields."

"As much as the thought excites me, I do not wish to offend them." Imrahil sighed; his mood had been uplifted at the prospect of a good hunt. "I do not see any buildings. Are we close?"

Toven nodded. "Their houses are built in a curve of flat land in the forest."

Imrahil frowned. "An odd location to build a village."

"As I have said; these people prefer to keep to themselves."

"They are Gondorian?"

Toven nodded. "Indeed they are. They follow the fiefdom's laws and dress in Gondorian fashion. There is nothing suspicious about them."

Toven, Imrahil, and Aithron broke off from their group as they reached the outskirts of the forest. They saw several men lumbering nearby; they stopped their labour and looked blankly at the newcomers. The houses and mills were made of grey stone, and a large well had been eradicated near the centre of the village. The first thing Imrahil noticed about the area was that there were no stables to house their horses. The prince dismounted, his men following suit. He approached the nearest man, smiling. "My men and I seek shelter for the night."

The man nodded. "We have no houses available for such hospitality. However, if you have the equipment, you can erect tents out in the field."

Imrahil nodded. "We have tents with us, thank you." He looked about. "May I speak to your chief?"

"We do not have a chief," the man replied. "We live as a single unison of people."

The young prince was rather surprised at that. "Then who makes the decisions around here?"

"We all do," he replied without insult. "When the situation calls for it, all the community comes together; everyone is free to express their opinions and solutions."

"An interesting way of governing your village."

"Do your men require anything of us?"

Imrahil looked at Toven and his captain. "Do you have hay and water for our horses?"

The man pointed at a small stone building adjoined to what appeared to be a house. "There is hay and other foods in there. You can water your horses down by the lake. It is not too far a walk down that path." He pointed towards a stone path that led into the forest. "During your stay we require one rule; please do not hunt our animals. We prefer to live among the flora and fauna in peace."

"You do not hunt yourselves?" asked Aithron.

The man shook his head. "No; the only animals we keep are chickens, goats, and cows; we only use them for milk and eggs. We do not eat meat."

What an odd community, Imrahil thought, quite perplexed. "If those are your ways, we shall not hinder them. We thank you for your generosity."

Heading back to his men, Imrahil could not help but feel intimidated by the villagers' stares. None of them was rude or stared inappropriately. In fact, they were all friendly enough. But their way of living; not eating meat, living as one – it made Imrahil feel as if he and his friends were doing the wrong thing.

The men put up their tents without complaint, and made sure their horses were watered at the lake. By nightfall, Imrahil lay comfortably in his cot, sighing heavily. It was a full moon and the nocturnal insects roamed around the grass, buzzing and cricking away. They had situated their camp just off the road, so when the villagers decided to walk past, their footsteps were heard. Imrahil sat up, frowning with curiosity. He got out of bed and buckled his sword around his waist, heading out of the tent. The rest of his men were sleeping, but the villagers could be seen further up the road. He followed them. These people were so strange to him; he wanted to know what they were doing.

They walked out into the field, over to a large tree stump. The children were placed around it, kneeling, looking up at the sky. The adults knelt behind their young ones, their hands clasped, their heads facing upwards.

"We are doing nothing illegal." Imrahil spun around and noticed an elderly man with a grey beard. "It is merely a way of worshipping this earth."

"What are they doing?" Imrahil asked, turning back to the group of people.

"Praying to the moon," he replied. "Every full moon we come out here and pray for good harvest and weather. We believe that the entire visibility of the moon is like a portal to another world - a world of the Valar. That is why we pray now."

"But the moon is no portal," Imrahil said realistically.

The elderly man smiled. "That may be so, but there are many things in this world that are unexplainable. The moon included. Who knows what its true purpose is. Only rarely does it shine so brightly, lighting up the entire night. We also believe that the moon is our protector from the darkness of night. It shines its light down upon us, protecting us from the evil that lurks in dark places. We believe that when the moon is not completely showing, that a great battle is taking place up there between darkness and light. The nothingness tries to take away all light, preventing us from seeing, from believing that morning will come. But the light of the moon always comes out victorious. It is a great example showing that no matter how long you fight, no matter how much of the moon is covered by evil, goodness in this life will always come out on top."

Imrahil gazed up at the moon. "I never thought of it like that. Who taught you that story?"

"We do not know," he replied. "Our community formed many decades ago. Our reason for coming out here was to live in unison with nature, away from the industry of man. We are not bad people; we just prefer a more simple, natural way of living. We are happy here."

"Do you trade with other villages?" Imrahil asked.

"We have no need to. Nature provides us with everything we need."

"Thank you for that tale, it was quite an eye-opener," Imrahil replied. "My men and I will be leaving at dawn."

"I wish you a safe journey."

Heading back to his camp, Imrahil gazed at the moon, wondering if it was true that a battle was taking place among the stars. All his life the stars had guided him home from sea, from hunting trips. They were always so bright and peaceful. Evil seemed never to touch the night sky. Lying back down in his cot, he could see the moon's light creeping in under the tents flaps. He watched it dance back and forth, as the flaps moved about in the wind. From now on, he would never look at the moon the same again.

Prince Adrahil – Imrahil's father, current ruling Prince of Dol Amroth

Lord Agoron – Imrahil's mentor, best friend. Also Finduilas' first love interest and ideal candidate for marriage.

Lord Toven – Younger brother to Lord Tarondor: Lord of Linhir

Princess Ivriniel – Imrahil's older sister/Adrahil's eldest child

Captain Aithron - Captain of Imrahil's guard - married to Imrahil's first cousin on his father's side.

Annúmben is a city along the coast of Belfalas: it is of my creation