Author: Dreamflower
Title: Encounter in Ithilien
Theme: Light and Shadow
Elements:Gapfiller: POV of Mablung or Damrod or another Ithilien Ranger: what did they think of the hobbits? did they wonder why Faramir let them go?
Author's Notes: Much of the dialogue in this story was taken directly from LotR: The Two Towers, Book IV, Chapter IV, "Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit"; Chapter V, "Window on the West"; Chapter VI, "The Forbidden Pool" and LotR: Return of the King, Chapter IV, "The Field of Cormallen" Normally, I italicize such material, but in this case it was too extensive to make that feasible.
Rating: G
Summary: Mablung has never seen anyone like this before...
 

Part I

Mablung halted. That low call, like a rock-thrush, was the Captain's signal. He and Damrod must have spotted something. Mablung gestured, and Gelmir came silently to his side. Mablung returned a whistle of his own. The two Rangers peered in the direction of the signal. There! Just beyond, a faint plume of smoke, barely discernible.

Moving as stealthily and silently as possible, Mablung and Gelmir joined Captain Faramir and Damrod. There was a small clearing directly ahead of them, to one side a small copse of trees with a fern-brake before it. Nothing was to be seen--yet that was where they had seen the smoke. They stared at the scene, and then the Captain gestured with a finger, to the center of the clearing. At first, Mablung could not see anything out of order, but then he realized that an area of the grass had been disturbed. Turves had been cut out and replaced.

"Here!" said the Captain. "Here is where the smoke came from. 'Twill be nigh on hand. In the fern, no doubt. We shall have it like a coney in a trap. Then we shall see what kind of thing it is!"

"Aye, and what it knows," added Mablung. There had been reports from the scouts of a skulking creature--not an orc, but some other type of creature. Yet it had proved elusive.

The four of them moved into the clearing, and then began to encircle the fern brake. As quietly as possible, swords were loosened in their sheaths. The ferns moved, as though a small animal was hiding in it. Mablung briefly thought it would be embarrassing if it proved to be no more than a rabbit. But no, the smoke had been there.

Suddenly, something sprang forth from the ferns. Children? was Mablung's first astonished thought. But these were no children. The two creatures stood back to back, small swords in their hands, fear and determination on their faces.

For a long moment all of them stared at one another.

"We have not found what we sought," said Damrod. "But what have we found?"

"Not orcs," Mablung responded, releasing the hilt of his sword, though he kept his hand ready to seize it once more if needed.

"Elves?" asked Gelmir doubtfully. Mablung refrained from rolling his eyes. Gelmir was young.

"Nay, not Elves," answered Captain Faramir. "Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so 'tis said."

The sandy-haired creature set his legs apart, and looked the Captain in the eye. "Meaning we're not, I take you. Thank you kindly. And when you've finished discussing us, perhaps you'll say who you are, and why you can't let two tired travellers rest."

Mablung was hard put to suppress a smile at the pert remark. No, these were not children, and they were clearly not Elves. Elves were tall, these creatures no taller than a child of eight or nine. True, their ears were pointed, but they had thick hair growing on their bare feet. And they were definitely not "wondrous fair". Yet there was something appealing about them--in spite of the fact that they were travel-worn and clearly weary and fearful, he saw hope in their faces. The brown eyes of the sandy-haired one held a challenge, but also curiosity. And in the blue eyes of the dark-haired one was something that reminded Mablung of the Captain--a certain innate authority and wisdom. He shook his head forcefully; he needed to keep wary until the Captain decided what to do with these beings.

He stood back and listened as the Captain identified himself, and repeated his questions.

This time, it was the dark-haired one who answered, and Mablung could not help notice that aside from their names--rather outlandish names--he was not actually forthcoming with much information, until--

"...They were Aragorn and Boromir, who said that he came out of Minas Tirith, a city in the South."

Mablung could not help it--nor could the others. At the mention of the Captain-General, all four men suddenly exclaimed "Boromir!"

There was a brief silence, and then the Captain pressed his questions once more, a different note in his voice.

The one who had identified himself as "Frodo" asked, "Are the riddling words known to you that Boromir brought to Rivendell?
Seek for the sword that was broken
In Imladris it dwells"

Mablung, Damrod and Gelmir cast a glance at Captain Faramir. This was news to them. But it was clear that it was not news to their Captain, although since the Captain-General was his brother, that was not surprising. "The words are known, indeed," he said, astonishment clear in his tone.

Once more the Captain pressed the halfling, and then he seemed to recall why they were there. "We have business in hand." Mablung was startled, as he realised he had nearly forgotten they had been returning to their patrol with news of Haradrim heading in their direction. The plan was to ambush the invaders before they could reach the Black Land.

"I will leave two to guard you, for your good and for mine. Wise man trusts not to chance meeting on the road in this land. If I return, I will speak more with you."

The halfling bowed. "Farewell! Think what you will. I am a friend of all enemies of the One Enemy. We would go with you if we halfing folk could hope to serve you, such doughty men and strong as you seem, and if my errand permitted it. May the light shine on your swords!"

"The Halflings are courteous folk, whatever else they may be," the Captain answered. "Farewell!" He gave a nod to the two halflings, who now sheathed their small weapons. Turning, he whispered, "Mablung, Damrod--stay you here and watch over these two! It is most important that I be able to question them again! Gelmir, come with me!" Smoothly and silently, the Captain glided away, with Gelmir on his heels.

Mablung and Damrod exchanged a glance, and then looked to their wards. The two halflings settled down upon the ground, and leaned wearily upon one another, drawing their cloaks about them. Was it some trick of light and shadow, that they appeared almost to vanish? Or was it the cloaks? What colour were those cloaks? Green or grey? Mablung could not be sure. The sweat came down from under his mask, and he took it off. Damrod followed suit. They waved their masks before their faces to cool off.

"They appear to be travel-worn," said Damrod quietly. "See the shadows under their eyes? And they are leaner, I trow, than they are accustomed to be."

"Aye." Mablung had noticed that the halflings' garments hung more loosely than they were meant to. "I do not doubt that we interrupted a meal." He realised he had smelled the faint odour of cooked coney in the air. "But they look as though they have been on short rations for a while."

"Hist," said Damrod, and he switched from speaking Westron to Sindarin. "They were listening to us."

"I have no doubt of that," replied Mablung. "Would you not do the same, were you in their plight?"

"Aye, indeed I would. Which is why we should now speak so they cannot understand."

"Even so, let us keep our voices low. We do not know that one of them does not speak the old tongue."

"They spoke of the Captain-General. There has been no word of him since he left Gondor on his errand these long months past." Damrod cast a quick glance at their charges, but they had not moved.

"If the one was speaking the truth, then these two know of his errand. But we should not speak of that, since the Lord Steward and our Captain have not seen fit to tell us what it was." Yet, all the same, Mablung wished he could question the halflings.

All of Gondor had been worrying about the Lord Boromir, and their Captain not the least of those who fretted.

"You are right," answered Damrod. "Still, I ween they could tell us a thing or two, if they would."

The one called Frodo spoke up then. "Who are you, and what are your names, if I may ask?" he said. He spoke courteously, and without any of the fear he must feel, imprisoned as he was by men so much larger.

"You might ask, indeed, Master Halfling," Mablung answered. "Yet this does not mean we will answer." Mablung spoke without heat, yet he was troubled in his mind, for he felt that he should trust them in spite of his orders. Clearly, they could be no threat, with their small size and their tiny weapons. But orders were orders. And Mablung did not wish to think to what end certain standing orders could lead. He was glad he was not the Captain.

The halfling shrugged, and exchanged a wry glance with his companion, who gave a small grin and said, "Now I know how old Strider felt in Bree, when we wouldn't trust him, Mr. Frodo."

"Yes, Sam, I think we can understand. But I also think that we can understand why they don't trust us."

Mablung looked at them regretfully, and was startled when, after a moment of silence, Damrod spoke up.

"My name is Damrod, and this is Mablung. We are soldiers of Gondor, and Rangers of Ithilien."

"This was Ithilien?" asked Frodo.

Mablung nodded. "It still is Ithilien, though the Enemy has made it unsafe for any to dwell here in peace, as in the days of old. Our longfathers dwelt in this land, and it was the Garden of Gondor at one time. The Lord Denethor knows we do not forget that this was once our land, and he chooses among those of us whose ancestors lived here, to harry the Enemy, and do what we can against the darkness of the Black Land."

"There are many enemies here, between the Ephel Dúath and the Anduin. It is our lot to see to it that they do not cross the River," added Damrod.

"It is close on ten leagues hence to the east-shore of Anduin, and we seldom come so far afield. But we have a new errand on this journey: we come to ambush the Men of Harad. Curse them!"

"Aye! Curse the Southrons!" Damrod went on to explain the alliance between the Haradrim and the Dark Lord, and how those of Harad and Umbar were preparing to make war on Gondor, sending Men to fight for Sauron.

"But still we will not sit idle and let Him do all as He would," Mablung spat, and then told the halflings how they would harry these new allies of Sauron as much as they might. "The road may pass, but they shall not! Not while Faramir is Captain. He leads now in all perilous ventures. But his life is charmed, or fate spares him for some other end."

The halflings had been listening seriously, and with widened eyes, as the two men grew heated, speaking of the Enemy. Mablung drew a deep breath. They had said too much already, mayhap.

No one spoke again. The halfling called Samwise rose to his knees, and peered out through the fern-brake, in the direction Captain Faramir and Gelmir had gone. The silence stretched. Mablung knew the ambush was prepared, and would take place not far from this very spot. The Sun rose higher, and it neared the noontide.

Mablung watched carefully, as Samwise crawled further into the shade of the ferns, closer to where his companion lay. Soon both of their charges slept huddled together, hard and deeply, in spite of all the danger about them.

Damrod moved into the trees on one side of the fern-brake, and Mablung moved to the other. The Southrons should be approaching nearby anytime now. There was the sound of horns, and the two men drew their swords, and waited, alert and tense. More horns, louder, and the clash of arms, and the battle-cry of "Gondor! Gondor!". Mablung cursed under his breath, that he was not there, striking a blow against the Enemy. He glanced down at the halflings, and saw they had wakened, and risen to their feet.

"It sounds like a hundred blacksmiths all smithying together," said Samwise. "They're as near as I want them now."

Frodo made no response, but put on hand on his companion's shoulder, in a gesture of reassurance. Mablung and Damrod exchanged glances. They would have to defend these small creatures, if they could.

"They are coming!" Damrod shouted. "See! Some of the Southrons have broken from the trap and are flying from the road! There they go! Our men after them, and the Captain leading!"

In spite of his timid words earlier, Samwise stepped closer to the men. Suddenly, he climbed up into one of the bay-trees. Mablung spared a glance, but decided that the halfling would be safer there than on the ground. Frodo moved closer to the tree, and put a hand against it, as if he too were going to climb up. But they were suddenly and rudely interrupted, as one of the fleeing Haradrim suddenly appeared over the rise, falling to the ground with several of the Rangers' arrows piercing him. Mablung spared enough of a glance to be certain that the enemy was truly dead, before returning all his attention to the battle raging before him.

Before any of them could catch their breath, the earth shook, and a great bellowing trumpet split the air. Mablung did not need Damrod's cries of "Mûmak! Mûmak!" to know what was coming. If the great beast did not veer aside, all four of them were doomed--there was no way they could move fast enough or far enough to miss its rampaging feet! He cast a quick and regretful look at the halflings and was surprised to see an expression, not only of terror, but of wide-eyed astonishment and delight on both their faces! And then, against all hope, the creature veered aside, passing just far enough away to avoid trampling its watchers. On it ran, and was soon out of sight, struck uselessly by the arrows that bounced from its thick hide.

Samwise clambered back down from the tree, and shook a little, as he met the gaze of the other halfling. Frodo appeared to be somewhat amused by his friend's reactions.

"An Oliphaunt it was!" Samwise exclaimed. "So there are Oliphaunts, and I have seen one. What a life! But no one at home will ever believe us. Well, if that's over, I'll have a bit of sleep."

He huddled down upon the ground against the tree, and held out an arm. Frodo sat beside him, and leaned into his side, clearly weary.

"Sleep while you may," said Mablung. "But the Captain will return, if he is unhurt; and when he comes we shall depart swiftly. We shall be pursued as soon as news of our deed reaches the Enemy, and that will not be long."

"Go quietly when you must!" said Sam. "No need to be disturbing my sleep. I was walking all night."

Mablung laughed. What an impertinent creature this Samwise was, in no wise daunted by men twice his size. Mablung wondered how well he would have fared in a similar situation."I do not think the Captain will leave you here, Master Samwise. But you shall see."

 Part II

Mablung had stood among the two hundred men who had taken part in the foray, and listened to his Captain questioning Frodo. Almost, he wanted to object that perhaps the Captain was being too harsh, and yet he knew this was not so. When Faramir had broken the news of Boromir's death, Mablung and the other men had gasped themselves in dismay. There had been rumours, and there had been a messenger from the White City, but Faramir's men had held to hope that the rumours were untrue. Now they heard their Captain proclaim this aloud to the halfling. Boromir, dead!

But in spite of the Captain's accusing tone, and the defiant interruption of Samwise, Mablung could not bring himself to believe these small creatures had any part of the Captain-General's death.

It seemed clear that Captain Faramir agreed with him. The questioning ended, and Faramir stood.

"We must move swiftly from this place to our hidden base, men." He turned to the halflings, and told them they must come with him.

He set Mablung and Damrod to walking ahead, about twenty paces; he followed behind with the two halflings, and the other men were about twenty paces beyond that. Mablung suspected that his Captain wished to continue his interrogation of the two, out of his men's earshot. Still, he could not help straining his ears to listen, although it was fruitless. The only words that floated forth to him briefly were "Boromir" and "Mithrandir", which piqued Mablung's curiosity, but did not satisfy it.

They were, of course, making their way west, back to Henneth Annûn. It was a long trek, made longer by the fact that the Captain was abating his stride to accommodate their guests. Soon enough, the murmur of voices behind ceased, and all walked in silence. The men spread out, scouting as they went. After awhile the trees thinned out, and they came to the river that ran through the gorge which led there. They had come nearly three-quarters of the distance. Here, Captain Faramir called a halt, and explained to the halflings that they must now be blindfolded.

Mablung expected that Samwise, at the least, would object. The Steward's messengers always did, when they came. But they acquiesced courteously, indicating that such had been done before, in Lothlórien, a statement that gave Mablung pause: there was a name out of legend!

Mablung and Damrod did the honours. Mablung did not need his Captain's command to be gentle. He drew out a green scarf kept for that purpose, among others, and carefully folded it before tying it about Frodo's eyes, firmly but not too tightly. He pulled the halfling's cloak hood down, for good measure, and saw that Damrod had done the same for Samwise. Mablung took Frodo's hand in his, and was struck with the sense of holding a child's hand. He led his captive slowly and carefully down the steep slope. Soon the path grew narrow, and he moved behind Frodo, placing both hands upon his shoulders. Damrod was in front of him, with Samwise. They were coming to some very rough areas, and it occurred to Mablung that it might be painful for the halflings' bare feet, but he saw Damrod lift Samwise up to carry him over one particularly rough place, so he did the same with Frodo. They had come to the foot of Henneth Annûn. Mablung and Damrod set their burdens down once more, and putting their hands on the halflings' shoulders, they turned them round several times.

For a while they climbed through the winding ledge shaft that led to the landing. The going here was smooth, but hard and cold. The sound of the water was too loud for any speech. Soon enough, they reached the landing to the hewn steps that led to the caverns. At the landing, Faramir signaled the men to pick up the halflings once more. The steps were smooth, and not especially steep, but they were far too wide and deep for the small folk to be able to walk down them. They carried their charges carefully behind the veil of the waterfall, to the ledge behind, where the gate to the caverns was located. Carefully, they set the two down upon the wet stone of the entrance, and awaited their Captain's command.

"Let them see!" said Faramir, and he was smiling.

Mablung and Damrod removed the blindfolds, grinning themselves at the gasped reaction. Mablung looked up, himself. The sunsets were always remarkable from this place, and as many times as he had seen them, they never grew old. Tonight was especially spectacular--the sky seemed to be ablaze!

Captain Faramir gazed out at the jewel-coloured sky. "At least by good chance we came at the right hour to reward you for your patience. This is the Window of the Sunset, Henneth Annûn, fairest of all the falls of Ithilien, land of many fountains. Few strangers have ever seen it. But there is no kingly hall behind to match it. Enter now and see!"

The sun sank, and light became shadow. They passed under the arch into the stronghold behind.

A number of the men awaited them. Half a score, left behind to guard the base and prepare for the return. Mablung raised an eyebrow as he saw several of them gaping in astonishment at the two small guests. Faramir bent down and spoke to them, and told them they could rest. Then he gestured at one of the waiting men, Eradan.

"Eradan, these two worthy halflings are Frodo son of Drogo, and Samwise son of Hamfast. Show them to the cot where they may rest."

Mablung chuckled under his breath at Eradan's expression of gaping astonishment, not much different than the expressions of the other men who had remained at the grotto. He went to stash his gear under his own cot, sparing a glance at the farconer of the cavern, where Eradan had led their guests. They had been given the bed left for the messengers from the City, or the occasional injured man who needed quiet and isolation. The cot was more than wide enough for both of the small ones. Eradan took the blanket which lay folded at the foot of the cot and spread it over them, shaking his head. Then he headed in Mablung's direction.

The men who were there began to prepare the tables for the evening meal. "Mablung!" several of them asked, "what are those creatures, and how did the Captain come by them?" Damrod, Gelmir and a few of the others who had been on the forray also came in for questions as they worked. Mablung and Damrod knew the most, and told of the amazing encounter just before the ambush.

Gelmir added, "They know something about the Captain-General! They travelled from the North with him!"

"Lord Boromir?" several exclaimed softly, trusting that their voices would not carry to the Captain, who had gone to his own alcove to freshen up. "Has the Captain-General returned? Rumour had him dead!"

"Alas," said Damrod, "our Captain has known that rumour to be true. Our valiant Boromir will return no more! But these creatures said he was yet alive when they parted from him!"

"They said they left him alive," added Gelmir.

Mablung shook his head. "The Captain believed them, I trow, or he would not be treating them as guests and not as prisoners."

"But what are they?" asked Anborn. "Can they really be pheriannath, halflings?"

"That is what they said, though they also called themselves 'hobbits of the Shire'. I do not know what 'Shire' is, nor 'hobbits'."

The Captain joined them then, and began to greet and question some of the other returning men. The gossip ceased as the meal was prepared and laid, but the curious glances to the corner did not.

Captain Faramir gave the order to waken the guests, and the meal began. The two halflings sat near the head of the table by the Captain, and Mablung could not hear their conversation, but they appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Anborn, who sat to Mablung's right said, "They are prodigious trenchermen! Look at them eat!"

Mablung smiled. "I think they have been on short rations for a while!"

Eradan, who had the privilege of wakening their guests, chuckled and said "That Master Samwise is a droll one! When I took them water for washing, he put his whole head in the basin! He told me 'cold water on the neck is like rain on a wilted lettuce'!"

"They are winning creatures," said Mablung thoughtfully. "I do not envy our Captain the choice he must make."

"He will not slay them out of hand, our Captain," said Damrod, who sat across from him. "I am sure he will send them to Minas Tirith for judgment. Let his Lord Father deal with them!"

"I wonder," Mablung murmured. "Captain Faramir is not one to shirk his duty. But there is something about them..."

The meal finally ended, and Captain Faramir excused himself, and led the guests back to the curtained alcove that served him as both his office and his private sleeping quarters. As the men saw to clearing up the meal and putting away the tables, they heard the rise and fall of voices as the Captain interrogated their guests. While all were anxious to know what was being said, none there were who would try to intrude or overhear.

Soon enough, the men sat around for a while, and the day's events were discussed--not only the strange guests, but the skirmish with the Haradrim. There was a hush, as they mentioned the two of their Company who had not returned--lost to the rampaging feet of the mûmak. No one else of their number had been slain, and of injuries, none serious enough to keep the injured abed. Three of the men sported recently stitched cuts, and another had an arm in a sling. Mablung was weary; some of the others had begun to seek their cots, and he was ready to do the same, when they heard a small commotion from the Captain's alcove. The halflings had sprung to their feet, overturning their stools.

Captain Faramir was standing tall and forbidding over the two small ones, who had their backs against the wall. Fear was in their faces. The men wondered if they should go to Faramir's assistance, when he sat down again and laughed. Whatever had been wrong had passed.

Wearily, Mablung went to his cot, and removing his boots, he stretched out and fell asleep quickly.

 Part III

It was the sound of shrieking and cursing that brought him wide awake, fumbling for the sword that lay near at hand beneath his cot. He leapt to his feet, and saw many another man doing the same.

To his astonishment, he saw that there was another captive! This one was a foul and shriveled creature, clearly not an orc, though it had an orc-like look about it. It was thrashing in the strong grip of three of the men: Anborn, Eradan and Beren. Blood was running down Beren's arm. Captain Faramir was behind them, and the halflings looked on in concern.

It was soon subdued, and instead of fighting and thrashing, began to grovel unpleasantly. Anborn was able to handle it alone, finally. The Captain waved the other men off, and began to question the creature.

Beren went over to where the water for washing was kept. "It bit me!" he exclaimed. "The foul thing bit me!"

Findegil, who served as healer to the Company joined him, and Mablung and others went to see what had happened. Findegil shook his head. "That's a nasty bite! He's actually torn a small chunk of flesh out of your arm, Beren!" He washed the blood, and shook his head. "Keep it in the water and let it bleed for a while. Bites can turn septic easily. I do not want to stitch it up--who knows what that creature's had in its mouth!" Beren nodded.

"What happened?" Mablung asked.

It was Eradan who answered, gesturing with his chin to the corner where Anborn held the prisoner, and the Captain and the halflings stood by. "Anborn spotted it in the Forbidden Pool. We were going to shoot it, but the Captain ordered us to try and take it alive. The dark-haired halfling, Frodo, he persuaded it into our grasp. It fought us like a wild animal!"

After a while, Anborn brought the cringing creature away, and bound it. It began to weep piteously, but did not shriek again, but muttered to itself, and kept making an unpleasant noise in its throat, "gollum, gollum", until the men were weary of hearing it. The Captain came back.

"Watch over this thing. It's treacherous enough." He glanced around at his men. "I will be releasing these three in the morning. Mablung, if you would, prepare journey food and water for our guests to take with them. There is not much left of the night--those of you who have no other duties may take your rest." He passed out of the cavern, and stood before the veil of the waterfall, looking thoughtful.

"He's going to allow them to leave?" Gelmir's voice was incredulous, and though he asked the question first, he was not alone in his thoughts. Why would the Captain do such a thing, a thing against all the orders they had been given?

"Has he gone mad?" asked another man, a relative newcomer to the Company of Rangers--Valandil? Valandor? some such name, Mablung tried to remember.

Several voices were raised in indignation. "Of course not!"

Suddenly a conviction came to Mablung--he thought he knew the answer. "I think I know," he said.

All ears turned to him. "What?" asked Beren crossly, and then gasped, as Findegil splashed an astringent on his injury.

"They had been travelling with the Captain General. And they had come from the West! Don't you see?"

"See what, Mablung?" asked Eradan.

"They must be on a secret mission from the Lord Steward! That would explain all--the secrecy, and why our Captain questioned them so closely, to be sure of them, and why he agreed to let the go on their way! Lord Denethor must have sent them--perhaps to spy out the Enemy's land!"

Suddenly, it seemed to all the men that Mablung's guesses had to be the true solution. Of course, such small beings would be excellent spies! Perhaps that was why the Lord Boromir had been bringing them South! Their faith renewed, the men nodded all around, pleased to have discerned the true state of things.

Mablung busied himself packing the supplies the two would need on their dangerous journey. Journeybread, dried meat, dried fruit, plenty of water. Poor little things, such a dreadful task. But they were valiant creatures, and they seemed to have a lightness about them, an air of hope, that would serve them well when they went on their dreaded task. He was not too sure of what role that ugly creature had to play, but he had faith that the Captain knew, and that was enough for him.

He joined them as they led their guests blindfolded from the sanctuary, back to the woods, away from the falls. Mablung and Eradan waited out of the light, in the shadows of the trees, to see the leave-taking.

Captain Faramir stood by the two halflings. "Here is the parting of our ways," he said. "If you take my counsel, you will not turn eastward yet. Go straight on, for thus you will have the cover of the woodland for many miles. On your west is an edge where the land falls into the great vales, sometimes suddenly and sheer, sometimes in long hillsides. Keep near to this edge and the skirts of the forest. In the beginning of your journey you may walk under daylight, I think. The land dreams in a false peace, and for a while all evil is withdrawn. Fare you well, while you may!"

He stooped and placed his hands upon their shoulders, and bestowed a kiss upon their brows. "Go, with the good will of all good men!"

The halflings bowed, and Mablung saw them look up briefly at him and at Eradan. Then at a gestured order from the Captain, he and the others turned and left them behind.

"I wonder," said Eradan to Mablung under his breath, "I wonder shall we ever see them again."

Mablung sighed sadly. "Not alive, I ween. It is a shame, for I have grown quite fond of them in this short time."

Mablung had been wrong. He was glad he had been wrong.

There had been no mission of espionage from the Steward, just a long and dangerous quest by two small and valiant people, to do what even Isildur could not do: put a final end to the Dark Lord and all his works.

And he had been wrong about not seeing them alive again as well--though that had been a question on everyone's mind for two weeks. Yet here they were, looking very tiny and forlorn, in the ragged clothes they had worn into the Black Land, being led by Mithrandir.

They had walked into Shadow and brought back the Light.

He grinned, glancing over at Eradan and Anborn and the others, and raised his own voice to join in the others:

Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise!
Cuio i Pheriain anann! Aglar’ni Pheriainnath!
Praise them with great praise, Frodo and Samwise!
Daur a Berhael, Conin en Annûn! Eglerio!
Praise them!
Eglerio!
A laita te, laita te! Andave laituvalmet!
Praise them!
Praise them! The Ring-bearers, praise them with great praise!