Chapter 2: Of the Rising of the Winged Sun over Beleriand

Anar the Fire-golden, fruit of Laurelin, the Valar named the Sun. But the Noldor named it also Vása, the Heart of Fire, that awakens and consumes; for the Sun was set as a sign for the awakening of Men and the waning of the Elves… The maiden whom the Valar chose from among the Maiar to guide the vessel of the Sun was named Arien…and she was chosen because she had not feared the heats of Laurelin, and was unhurt by them, being from the beginning a spirit of fire, whom Melkor had not deceived nor drawn to his service. Too bright were the eyes of Arien for even the Eldar to look on, and leaving Valinor she forsook the form and raiment, which like the Valar she had worn there, and she was as a naked flame, terrible in the fullness of her splendour.

Tilion had traversed the heavens seven times, and thus was in the furthest east, when the vessel of Arien was made ready. Then Anar arose in glory, and the first dawn of the Sun was like a great fire upon the towers of the Pelóri: the clouds of Middle-earth were kindled, and there was heard the sound of many waterfalls. Then indeed Morgoth was dismayed, and he descended into the uttermost depths of Angband, and withdrew his servants, sending forth great reek and dark cloud to hide his land from the light of the Day-star. The Silmarillion: Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor

“It is a beautiful thing,” Amdir said as he settled himself on the broad branch of an oak where the golden shafts of light that danced amongst the leaves could fall on his upturned face. He squinted skyward, admiring the wisps of soft pink that floated above them and the fiery orange that burned on the horizon.  “And it paints the sky with the most marvelous colors.”

A derisive snort sounded below him. Clearly, not all of his four companions, who had climbed into the oak for a clearer view of the sky, agreed with Amdir’s assessment of this new wonder.

“It hurts the eyes,” his younger brother Amglaur replied while turning his back to the bright disk that blazed above them. He leaned against the trunk of the tree, sheltering in its shadows.

“And it hides the stars,” Engwe added, joining Amglaur in the shade.

Oropher scowled at Engwe as Amdir’s smile faded. “I agree with Amdir,” he said firmly. “The colors that this light has revealed are some of the most vibrant I have ever seen. My friend Celonhael—the one who paints,” he paused until the others nodded in recognition of the name. “He has spent hours already just studying the fine variations in the shades of blue in the sky—not to mention the pinks and purples in the clouds and the way the light sparkles from behind the clouds when they pass in front of it. He is busy developing new techniques to mix paints so that their hues are true to the vibrancy of the colors we now see and he is developing new ways to capture the light in his paintings. Lord Thingol was very impressed by what he has done so far and has promised to hang the first piece he completes using his new style in the Great Hall when it is finished.”  He paused and peered through the branches at the heavens. “The Lady says that, just as Tilion steers a flower of Telperion across the sky, this is Arien and a fruit of Laurelin,” he continued with a softer tone.

Amglaur made a sour face. “If a mere flower or fruit from Telperion and Laurelin casts this much light,” he said with a dry tone, “I am glad to have never seen the whole of the Two Trees. Aman must be a very uncomfortable place,” he concluded, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the light.

Amdir laughed lightly, shook his head and looked away from his brother, abandoning the argument. He turned his face back towards the sky.

Oropher, on the other hand, scowled. “My point is: these gifts—I wonder why the Valar have chosen to share them with us now. They have never before bestowed any such boons on the Elves remaining in Middle Earth.”

Engwe shrugged, also bored with the argument and his brother’s typical bickering with Amglaur. “Perhaps to help drive away the evil creatures. Apparently the Orcs flee from the light as if it burns them.”

“It does burn,” Amglaur muttered.

Galathil, who was highest in the tree in order to best escape the debate, sighed loudly. “The trees like the light,” he said as a fresh, green leaf caressed his cheek. “They turn towards its warmth and their song is joyful. Indeed the whole world is in bloom. Such a thing can only be good and that is all that matters.”

“Well said, muindor nin,” declared a voice below them.

All eyes to turned downward to where Celeborn stood looking up at them from the base of the tree. They had not been able to find him when they decided to forgo breakfast to further investigate the new light. Galathil smiled, clearly pleased his brother had found them, and motioned for him to join them in the tree’s embrace. Celeborn complied, leaping into the branches.

“And if you are wise,” the silver elf continued while climbing towards them and looking at each of his friends in turn, “you will maintain an equally respectful attitude in lord Thingol’s presence.” He reached their height in the tree and straddled a branch. “Does that remind any of you of anything? Are we not all supposed to be somewhere?” he asked with a meaningful, if slightly teasing tone.

Galathil tensed. “Is it already time for us to be in court? It is impossible to keep track of the time without the stars.”

Celeborn smiled. “I think it is the song of the trees that is distracting you, little brother. But yes, adar sent me to find all of you. Lord Thingol has already arrived in the Great Hall, but fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your point of view—Eöl waylaid him as he entered. If we hurry, our tardiness may go unnoticed by everyone but our adars.”

Oropher looked at Celeborn sharply. “Eöl is in court today?” he asked, voice rising with amusement.

Celeborn shook his head and leveled a forbidding glare on his friend. “Do not think to jest about this situation, Oropher,” he warned. “Lord Thingol had already heard more from Eöl than he cared to hear when I slipped out to look for you.”

Oropher simply smiled at Celeborn. “I only intend to watch,” he said with a mischievous grin as he began his descent from the tree.

But now the trees of Nan Elmoth were the tallest and darkest in all Beleriand, and there the sun never came; and there Eöl dwelt, who was named the Dark Elf. Of old he was of the kin of Thingol, but he was restless and ill at ease in Doriath, and when the Girdle of Melian was set about the Forest of Region where he dwelt, he fled thence to Nan Elmoth. There he lived in deep shadow, loving the night and the twilight under the stars. The Silmarillion: Of Maeglin

Eöl gave Anglachel to Thingol as fee, which he begrudged, for leave to dwell in Nan Elmoth; but its mate Anguirel he kept, until it was stolen from him by Maeglin, his son… that was a sword of great worth, and it was so named because it was made of iron that fell from heaven as a blazing star; it would cleave all earth-delved iron. The Silmarillion: Of Túrin Turambar

When Oropher and his cousins approached the High King’s throne room, the guards at its doors stood aside to allow them entrance, and as they passed, the guards bowed. Oropher did not acknowledge the courtesy—he was too busy scanning the room for the king and his cousin. Next to their places around the table at the foot of the dais stood Cellon, Oropher and Engwe’s father, along with Galadhon, Elmo and Tathron, the parents of his cousins. Oropher glanced at his father as his gaze swept over the room, taking in the other nobles also gathered in the Hall. Cellon’s expression was impassive. Nonetheless, Oropher could feel its intensity and it was that warning that prevented him from allowing amusement to show in his own features when he finally spotted Thingol and Eöl.

They stood in a corner at the back of the throne room, Thingol with his back to one of the pillars that supported the high ceiling. Eöl had clearly herded and trapped the king there as he entered the Hall. Eöl stood nearly toe-to-toe with him, whispering and gesticulating in an animated fashion. Thingol’s eyes were closed. As Eöl continued to speak, Thingol rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

“It burns the eyes and hides the stars,” Oropher heard Eöl whisper. Thingol’s brows drew together and Oropher could not repress a snort in response to the High King’s reaction to Eöl’s statement—the exact observation that Amglaur and Engwe had made earlier. Oropher looked at his brother and cousin to make sure they had seen the king’s scowl. Their frowns indicated that they had. Before Oropher could gloat, Celeborn pushed him further into the room, past where Thingol stood with Eöl and towards the table where their fathers awaited them. Even if he could no longer see the king, Oropher along with everyone else in the room heard Thingol’s response.

“And that is where this discussion began, if I recall correctly, Eöl. You have made your complaints abundantly clear. Less clear is what you expect me to do about them. I cannot undo what the Valar themselves have done,” he said in an overly patient tone.

“Well, what about her?” Eöl asked. “She is one of them. Can she not do something?”

As Oropher took his place at the table next to his father, he turned just enough to peer at Eöl. He was pointing behind himself in the general direction of the throne where Melian stood awaiting her husband. Oropher’s eyes widened slightly in response to Eöl’s tone as he referred to the Queen. They widened further when he saw the King’s response--Thingol’s expression had turned as cold as the stone that surrounded him, but the heat of his anger was clearly evident in the intense glare he leveled on Eöl.

Before Thingol could speak, Melian answered in a soft voice that echoed throughout the Hall. “Neither can I undo what the Valar themselves have done, Eöl,” she said, walking towards her husband.

Eöl turned towards her sharply. “You can imprison our people with these mists that you have caused to swirl about the forest, but you cannot use them to protect us from this burning light? What good is that?” he demanded.

“It is precisely the ‘protection’ that I, your king, commanded,” Thingol answered. “And the light is the protection bestowed upon us by the Valar. The evil creatures cannot abide it. I would not order it extinguished or hidden even if the Queen had the power to do so.”

“Nor would I choose to extinguish it if I could,” Melian agreed, coming to stand next to Thingol. “The light that now shines over Middle Earth gives life to all that has, until now, laid under the Sleep of Yavanna. I am Yavanna’s servant and I rejoice that finally the beauty of her works may delight Middle Earth as they have long brought joy and solace to the Gardens of Lorien.”

Eöl loosed a short, scoffing laugh. “Well this light brings me neither joy nor solace. I love the stars and I miss their beauty. I will not accept this ‘gift,’ nor will I be held prisoner by you in this forest.” He focused on Thingol. “If you can do nothing, I am going to Nan Elmoth. It is ancient and dense. The trees there should be able to provide what you cannot.” With that, Eöl turned to leave the Hall.

From the corner of his eye, Oropher saw his brother’s jaw drop and realized that his own was hanging open as well in response to Eöl’s disrespect. Thingol’s next words demonstrated he was no better impressed.

“If you think,” the High King said with a hard, forbidding tone that stopped Eöl in his tracks, “that I will allow you to dwell in the same forest where I courted and wed my lady wife after you have spoken to her as you just have, you are a greater fool than anyone ever imagined.”

Only the seriousness of the situation prevented Oropher from laughing openly at that statement—many people had referred to Eöl as a fool, but never to his face.

Eöl turned back to the king, hands balled tightly into fists, his stance tense. But Thingol did not pause to give him time to speak.

“If you are so anxious to be hidden from the light, I will gladly oblige you. I will lock you in a cell in the dungeons before I will see your presence defile the beauty of the forest where I first met my lady wife if this is the way you would treat her. I promise you that there, the light you hate so much will never find you and you will learn the meaning of your accusation—you will learn what it means to be truly imprisoned.”

Eöl’s eyes widened and then swiftly narrowed in response to that threat. The guards at the door of the Hall took a step towards the King and Eöl, unsure how they should react to Thingol’s words and Eöl’s threatening posture. Oropher, his cousins, and indeed all the nobles in the hall watched in tense silence for Eöl’s response, knowing the temper of both elves.

It was Melian’s soft voice that intervened.

“An evil doom lies before you, Eöl, whether you go or stay,” she said. Then she laid a hand on Thingol’s arm. “But the lesser evil will arise from his departure, I believe. My counsel is that you let him go, my lord.”

Eöl’s brows drew together sharply. “My fate is my own and will not be dictated to me by you or anyone else,” he spat.

But Thingol ignored him, instead holding Melian’s gaze for a long moment before turning back to his cousin. “So be it,” he answered quietly. “But you will answer for the disrespect you have shown your Queen.” His voice hardened. “You will forfeit something dear to you in exchange for insulting the person most dear to my heart. You may go to Nan Elmoth, but the price of my leave to do so is Anglachel and Anguirel. Give me those swords in payment or I will not allow you to go—my guards will arrest you if you try,” he pronounced.

Oropher glanced at the sword that hung at Eöl’s side—Anglachel—and watched as Eöl’s face contorted in anger. That sword and its mate, Anguirel, were Eöl’s dearest possessions, the work of his hands and heart. Since he had forged it, long before the battles or even the attacks upon the elves in Beleriand had begun, Eöl had worn his swords proudly. Oropher knew Thingol could not have named a higher price and he knew it was one Eöl would not willingly pay. He found himself moving away from the table and towards the king and queen. And he was not alone. His cousins, father and uncles were all silently doing the same.

Eöl opened his mouth to refuse Thingol’s demand; he shifted his stance, willing to fight if need be. As he did, he saw that Thingol’s council had moved from around the table and now surrounded the king and queen. The guards had also come forward and stood behind him. Scowling bitterly, he drew Anglachel from its sheath on his belt.

Instantly, the guards drew their own swords—eyes wide, clearly horrified to by this turn of events, but still determined to do their duty and protect their king, no matter the adversary. Thingol stepped between Melian and Eöl, arms wide as the noble elves surrounding him stepped forward to lay hands on Eöl.

But Eöl threw Anglachel to the ground at Thingol’s feet. “Take it. But you will not have Anguirel. It goes with me to Nan Elmoth,” he said, and he turned to face the guards behind him, clearly intent on charging past them.

All looked to Thingol for his command.

“I care not at all for swords,” Melian whispered.

Thingol loosed a long breath and waved his hand. The guards stood aside and Eöl stormed from the Hall.

Thingol watched him leave, his jaw clenched tightly. Then he reached for Melian’s hand and brought it to his lips. “No sword nor anything else made by the hands of elves or even the Valar themselves approaches the worth of my wife or my daughter,” he said. Then his gaze turned to the doors through which Eöl had disappeared. “But his insolence should not go unanswered.”

“Nor shall it,” Melian replied, “But others will answer it at another time.”

Thingol nodded and glanced at the elves assembled in the Hall. “As you wish, my lady, “ he replied. He placed Melian’s hand on his arm and covered it with his own. “We have other issues to discuss and we are much better off without Eöl’s hot temper interfering while we do so,” he said, leading her to the dais and gesturing to his courtiers to return to their places.

Oropher found himself releasing the breath he had been holding as he walked behind Thingol to the table.

“I told you this situation was not one to play with,” Celeborn whispered into his ear.

“Indeed not,” he replied. “Of course anyone could predict Eöl’s arrogance would one day lead him to trouble.”

Celeborn looked at Oropher sidelong, a reply on his lips, but instead of speaking, he smiled and shook his head.

“What?” Oropher demanded in a whisper.

Celeborn again shook his head. “Discretion, in this case, is definitely the better part of valor,” he replied and moved to take his seat opposite Oropher. Oropher glared at him narrowly.

Fëanor went up the long Firth of Drengist that pierced the Echoing Hills of Ered Lómin, and passed thus from the shores into the great land of Hithlum; and they came at length to the long lake of Mithrim, and upon its northern shore made their encampment in the region that bore the same name. But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lam-moth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion….

From the Grey Elves of Mithrim the Noldor learned of the power of Elu Thingol, King in Doriath, and the girdle of enchantment that fenced his realm; and tidings of the Noldor’s great deeds in the north came south to Menegroth, and to the havens of Brithombar and Eglarest. Then all the Elves of Beleriand were filled with wonder and with hope at the coming of their mighty kindred, who thus returned unlooked-for from the West in the very hour of their need, believing indeed at first that they came as emissaries of the Valar to deliver them. The Silmarillion: Of the Return of the Noldor

Thingol looked out over the nobles of his court assembled before him.

“The last time I gathered you together, it was to discuss how we fared against the evil creatures and how we would defend ourselves against future attacks. One question we left unanswered at that time was the means by which the orcs were driven from lord Cirdan’s Havens.” He paused and nodded towards an elf that Oropher recognized as a lord of the Nandor.

“Is that not Saeros, Ithilbor’s son?” Engwe whispered in Oropher’s ear. “What could he be doing here?”

Oropher smothered the smirk he wished to bestow on his little brother, but he could not hide the amusement in his eyes. Engwe and Saeros had long been rivals. “It seems he has found some favor with the King,” he whispered, biting his lip to restrain his laughter at Engwe’s sour face.

“Late last night, the scouts Beleg sent north towards Mithrim returned,” Thingol continued, causing Oropher and Engwe to fall silent again. “Saeros was one of them and I will let him tell what he learned there.”

Saeros stood and bowed to the king, but when he faced the others to speak, his posture clearly betrayed a pride that brought an open scowl to Engwe’s features.

“The news I bring from Mithrim is great indeed,” Saeros began.

Engwe snorted softly, gazing at Saeros with unconcealed contempt. Oropher’s eyes narrowed slightly as well and he saw Amglaur roll his eyes, causing his brother Amdir to turn his head to hide a smile. Celeborn looked a warning at all of his friends that his grandsire Elmo echoed.

But Saeros, oblivious, continued his story. “I was with Beleg when the King ordered that he and his warriors hurry south to aid lord Cirdan. Reaching the Havens, we learned the orcs had turned north of their own accord, not driven by any host of lord Cirdan. So Beleg chose me to lead scouts north to be certain the orcs were not beleaguering our people there.”

“I heard Beleg sent him to be rid of his arrogance,” Engwe whispered.

A hand closed over Engwe’s wrist where it rested on the table, gripping it firmly. “I heard Beleg sent him north to give him purpose so that he would not fade after learning of his adar’s death on Amon Ereb with lord Denethor,” Engwe’s father, Cellon, whispered coldly. “Be silent. And if you cannot feel pity, than at least be respectful of the High King’s messenger.”

The younger elves glanced at each other and returned their attention to Saeros, with impassive expressions firmly in place.

“When we reached Mithrim,” Saeros continued, “we found there, camped around Lake Mithrim, a host of elves whose banner I did not recognize—it bore what appeared to be a winged, golden sun of sixteen points on a blue field. We learned from the Grey Elves that these strangers were responsible for the slaughter of many orcs, including the ones that attacked lord Cirdan. We were told that a host of orcs came through passes in the Ered Wethrin to attack the strangers at unawares as they were setting up their camp. They fought back and drove the orcs to Ard-galen. The orcs assaulting the Havens came north to aid their brethren against the strangers, but were all destroyed. Thus, the Havens were freed.”

“And did you learn who these mysterious ‘strangers’ were, Saeros?” Amdir asked when Saeros paused. His tone was dry, near enough mocking that his father, Tathron, raised his eyebrows disapprovingly.

“That is why you are here, Amdir. To find out who they were,” Thingol responded, looking at the young elves evenly. “Continue, Saeros,” he said with a nod as Oropher and Amdir exchanged a rueful look.

Saeros bowed again and looked back at Amdir with his chin high and an irrepressible gleam in his eyes. “The Grey Elves told me that the strangers are princes of the Noldor—the sons of no less than the High King, lord Finwë, himself—returned from Aman. They say they were sent by the Valar to defend us from the Evil One, who they have named Morgoth,” he declared.

Stunned silence reigned as all present absorbed that information. Then the murmurings began, quickly rising in pitch until voices echoed throughout the stone hall. Thingol allowed it to continue for a long moment before holding up his hand. The room quickly fell silent and all looked to the King with a mixture of wonder and concern.

“My thanks, Saeros, for bringing me this important news,” Thingol said. Then he looked out over the elves assembled before him. “I am pleased to hear news of my friend, lord Finwë, for I have always regretted being sundered from him. And I am hopeful to hear news of my brother, Olwë, from these Princes of Valinor.” He paused and his tone grew more serious. “Indeed, there is a great deal more information that I want.”

Saeros looked at Thingol regretfully, but the King shook his head.

 “No Saeros, you were right to not to tarry in delivering this news. But now that I know what has happened to the orcs besieging the Havens, I have still more questions, for while I will not refuse aid in defeating the Evil One, long have I been King in Beleriand and the ordering of its protection is mine to command.” He paused again and his tone was distinctly frosty when he continued. “Since the sons of Finwë have not yet seen fit to send messengers to the King of the lands they now inhabit, I intend to send my own representatives to them. But the journey north towards the Mountains of Shadow where the Noldor are camped is long and dangerous. Only one with proven skill with arms might undertake it. But this task is not one I will trust to any soldier.”

“I will return, my lord,” Saeros offered at once.

Again Thingol shook his head. “I have more need of you here, Saeros,” he answered.

“Then, if it is your will, my lord, I will go,” Oropher said, standing and leaning forward slightly over the table where he sat next to his father.

Thingol smiled at him. “Along with the rest of the pack that you run with, no doubt,” he said, his smile broadening when Engwe, Amdir and Amglaur all stood and nodded as one.

Thingol looked at Celeborn and Galathil.

Celeborn stood. “Like Oropher, if it is you will, my lord, I would very much like to meet our kin returned from Aman.”

Thingol nodded once. “It is indeed my will that you should go to Mithrim. And this is how you shall speak for me to the sons of Finwë: I am grateful for whatever aid they lent my people in the Havens; and I am anxious for news of my kin and friends in Valinor; but I expect the recognition that I am due as King of Beleriand. They will send a representative to me and quickly to speak to their intent in my lands.”

Oropher and his cousins bowed to signal their understanding and, as Thingol moved to dismiss the assembly, they exchanged pleased and excited glances that were poorly hidden by their bowed heads.

*~*~*

Oropher carefully inspected the blade of his sword before slipping it into its scabbard and girding it securely about his waist. It was the last of the belongings that he had gathered for his journey west and north. He was reaching to heft the bag that contained his clothes and other supplies when the door to his chambers opened. Expecting to see Engwe, his brows rose when, instead, his father entered the room.

Cellon glanced at Oropher’s hand upon the strap of his bag and his held his own hands in front of him, palms out. “A moment, please, before you join your brother and cousins,” he said.

Oropher frowned, but released the strap.

Cellon studied him closely. “I am not surprised that you volunteered to represent the King,” he began, his voice carefully neutral. “And I am pleased the King would choose my sons and nephews for such a serious responsibility,” he continued, placing heavy emphasis on the word ‘serious.’

Oropher sighed and struggled not to roll his eyes. “I will perform that duty faithfully, adar. This is not the first time that the King has asked my cousins and I to bear news in his name to distant parts of the realm.”

“No it is not,” Cellon answered. “But this is the first time you have volunteered to be his messenger. In the past, that has been a duty that you tried to skirt in favor of more pleasing pastimes, like racing your horse or disappearing into the forest with your cousins. So forgive me if I am suspicious of your motivations now. Please tell me what they are,” he demanded.

Oropher scowled and studied his father, judging the likelihood of dodging this conversation. It was immediately obvious there was no chance at all. He sighed again. “I have many reasons, adar. I am curious to meet the elves returned from Valinor and hear their stories…”

“I doubt that,” Cellon, interrupted. “You have never been one to have the patience to listen to stories.”

Oropher’s frown deepened. “And I want to see for myself that my friends near the sea all survived the battles,” he continued as if he had not been interrupted.

“That is more believable,” Cellon said. “Go on.”

“And I want to see the mists that Eöl spoke of,” he admitted with a slight growl to his voice. “I want to know what it is like to pass through the lands that the Lady protects and I want to see for myself if it is truly now impossible to wander freely as we always have.”

“And now we light upon the truth of it,” Cellon said, but if Oropher expected his father to be angry, he was mistaken. Cellon was clearly distressed. “Another of your adventures. The lands outside the forest are no longer safe, Oropher, and this journey will be no game. You will not return if you look upon it as one.” He took a step towards his son and gripped his shoulders. “I will not see my own sons die so soon after seeing so many of my cousins perish in battle. Swear to me that you will be careful, ion nin.”

Oropher’s expression changed from one of irritation to concern. “I was in the battle, adar,” he replied softly. “And they were my cousins too. I will not soon forget naneth’s tears when we returned. We will be careful. And we will deliver the King’s message faithfully.”

Cellon loosed long breath and released him, taking a step back to assess his preparations. “I know that the King chose well when he asked you to represent him, but I worry about you Oropher. I always have,” he said quietly. “In this instance, as in so many before it, I will take comfort in the fact that the King saw to it that Celeborn and Galathil are going with you. At least they can be counted upon for being cool-headed.”

Oropher raised his eyebrows in amusement as he lifted his pack onto his shoulders. “You think so, do you?” he asked provocatively, before stepping around his father to move towards the door.

Cellon put his hands on his hips with a scowl, but he did not stop his son from exiting the room.

*~*~*

AN: Sorry for the outrageous delay in updating this story. I hope that my schedule will now allow me to alternate between updating this and Interrupted Journeys as I originally intended.