Dinúvren put down the two rabbits he had caught in the traps north of the marshland, and stomped the mud off his boots.

   “I'm back, and I'm hungry,” he announced loudly, discarding his cloak and hat on the floor near the entrance. “You made supper, didn't you?” he asked Nilana, who came to greet him.

   “I did,” she said, and her tone was slightly indignant when she handed him the bowl of fresh soup. He took it with a grunt, then looked at the man he had helped to rescue.

   “Still breathing, eh?” he said with his mouth full, spilling some soup over his brown, unkempt beard as he sat down. “He's got some strength in him, I'd say. There are not many, who'd have survived this.”

   Nilana followed his gaze and found it strangely annoying that the man had been rescued only to be expected to die the following day.

   “Bradolla brought some herbs, and I made a poultice.” She exhaled, chewing on her lower lip. “Have you got any idea who he is?”

   “Nay, and that thing he had bound to him… ah, I never saw something so ugly and…so horrible. I wonder what it all means.” He gulped the rest of the soup, and gave his sister the bowl, wiping his wet beard.  She looked at him inquisitively. “I mean if he's a good fellow or a bad one.”

   “You saved him,” Nilana said with the hint of a smile. “Even if he's not good, he's grateful. I saw it.”

   “Aye, you saw it,” Dinúvren nodded, and held her in the stare of his knowing, brown eyes. “I know what you wish, sister. And I hope and pray you will get it.”

   Nilana was more embarrassed than she would admit. Quickly she turned to take back the bowl to the pot. Dinúvren stared at her back, and then noticed the guest was awake. With three strides he crossed the short distance to kneel at the bedside.

   “Finally awake, hum? Good to see our efforts were not in vain.” The stranger gave him the smallest nod, unable to do more. “Right, no need to thank me, but I accept it anyway. You were lucky we were out there. We usually don't go there, but Daevan had found some deer tracks, and we tried to figure out where they went.” He smacked his lips. “Wouldn't mind eating some deer for a change.” He chuckled and prodded his big hands on his thighs. “But what were you doing out there in the Marshes? It's dangerous and evil. No one ever wanders there if he wants to live. You had business there?” he asked when he realised that the stranger was not able to talk. He received a small nod. “Aye, with that… thing?” Another nod. “Thought so. But it almost ripped off your hand. Quite a price…” He shook his head, and his gaze found the bandaged hand resting on the blanket. “It was an dreadful sight, stranger. Your arm sticking out of the water and bleeding like a fresh slaughtered hare! You were almost drowned when we got you out. And that thing… I cut it loose, and it still tried to bite me! But Gaellyn chased it away.”

The stranger closed his eyes, and Dinúvren thought this behaviour quite strange. When the man looked at him again, there was an expression of utter loss in his haggard features. Dinúvren did not understand it, shrugged, and went on, “You were lucky, as I said. Forget about this thing, and enjoy being rid of it! Well, I am! I pressed so much water out of you that I thought you’d never stop bringing it up!” He smirked suddenly. “Never thought that one man could have swallowed so much water at a time! Could be that I was a bit harsh with you, but… see, it was the only way, I think, to bring you back alive.” Again he received a nod of gratitude. “Aye, it’s all right, stranger, you’ll feel bad enough for some time. Even without your ribs being bruised like they are.” The wanderer lifted his eyebrows, and Dinúvren understood. “You’re not the first trying to walk through the Dead Marshes. There is no way through; we know that now, but at that time…” He drew up his nose. The memory was evil, and he did not wish to recall it. “We lost some of our friends out there, and swore we’d never venture there again. It’s like walking into a field full of traps.” Dinúvren saw the stranger wet his lips. “Thirsty? Good, I’ll take my leave.” He rose and turned to call for Nilana, but she already stood behind him with a cup in her hands. “Well, stranger,” he concluded with a look that said more than his words, “you’re in good hands, so don’t dare to die.”

-o-o-o-o-

   From the depth of the mere a solemn figure rose to stare at him with pitiless eyes.

   “How can you dare to wander here, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the man, who betrayed us all?” the pale Elf spoke, and his fair hair, which had once been braided, now floated with the soft rippling of the water. He spoke the words soundlessly, but the hatred poured out of each and every one of them. “It was your ancestor, who made all our sacrifices but a futile slaughter of Men and Elves with no reason behind it! How can you dare to come here and face us, the Dead, who have suffered only to witness the utter weakness of Men? It was your lineage, which could have brought the Evil to its end, but greed made Isildur falter. And you… would you go to the end, in days to come, were the power laid in your hands? No, you would not!” The once blue eyes of the Elf sparked cold fire. “There is no courage and honour in your veins. You would be weak and greedy, hungry for the riches this kind of power could deliver upon you!” Hands with remnants of white flesh stretched out to grab him, and there was no place to hide. The captive's lungs were too tight to breathe. And there was water all around him! He could not move. He could not get up and run away! He was pulled further down, where the light grew dim. “So you shall not live to see this future, for I will not let you surface again and become the bane of your people and mine!” With that the grip around his arms tightened.

   There was no escape.

-o-o-o-o-

   “Wake up, lad, you have to wake up! O, Dinúvren, help! Please, I cannot… Ouch!” Nilana held the right arm of the stranger with all strength when his left hand hit her face. Tears streamed over her cheeks – out of pain and helplessness –, but still she held on, trying to calm down the man in the bed with her words, not knowing what else to do. He was fighting her grip, fighting an unseen enemy, who appeared to hold him too tightly to let him breathe. Nilana wept in worry as the stranger struggled to sit up. His face was contorted with both pain and fear he could scarcely endure as he tried to free himself and get away from her. He was breathing heavily now, coughing as the air irritated his throat, and saliva trickled into his beard. Fragments of words, hoarsely passed his lips in a language Nilana did not understand, seeming to plead for help and release. “Dinúvren, please! I cannot hold him down!”

 Dinúvren, robbed of his pleasant evening relaxation, knelt at the bedside grudgingly.

   “Wake up!” he cried as he grabbed the man's shoulders to press him back on the pillow. “You must wake!” Gurgling noises passed the stranger's lips, and he fought with even more vigour. His eyes were pressed firmly shut and his teeth were grinding together. The fisherman was astonished about the strength still left in the sick body, but it did not match his own. “Come on, lad, wake up!” Dinúvren clenched his teeth and held tight when the stranger's coughing turned to heaving, and he made sounds as if he were being throttled. Nilana's face turned pale.

    “You hurt him!” she accused her brother.

    He shot her an angry look.

    “If I let go, he'll tumble out, won’t he?” Dinúvren hesitated a moment, but, realising he could not stop the stranger's struggle; he quickly slapped the man's face.

Nilana shrieked – “No!” – as if she had been hit, and quickly put her hands on her mouth. Dinúvren did not heed her. The man's eyes flickered open. “Aye, stranger, wake up! Stop dreaming !” he shouted, but did not dare loosen his grip, though the man's haunted look full of fear troubled him. It reminded him of the expression soldiers bore, returning from a battle that had been lost before it had even begun. “Are you with us now?” he added to break the tension he suddenly felt.

The man recognised him, but the same instant he threw up what little food he had eaten. Afraid he would suffocate suddenly, Dinúvren quickly turned him to his left side, but did not move fast enough. “Ah, nay! By the creations of Ilúvathar, that's…” He broke off, and turned away, shaking his right arm. Nilana immediately took his place and supported the man's back until the heaving was over. She felt his heart race, and was even more afraid of his condition when he leant back on the pillow. Tears of pain filled his eyes, and only the weakness of his body had finally stopped the coughing fit. He was deadly pale, and his face glistened with sweat, while his eyes wandered restlessly through the room as if he had to re-orientate himself.

    “Calm down,” she said, patting his arm compassionately, “It’ll be over soon.”

    “Not soon enough,” Dinúvren mumbled. “How shall I get this off me?”

    Nilana had only once before seen her brother so angry: when her daughter, Nelin, had ruined his new fishing rod. Torn between two tasks, she quickly rose to fetch water. She wet a cloth and handed it to her brother, silently praying he would not regret having saved the stranger, and took a second to wipe the sick man's face. For a long moment she thought he had stopped breathing, but then she saw his chest rise and fall, and sighed with relief.

    “You will make it,” she whispered. He looked at her with deepest regret, and she smiled feebly. “It must have been a terrible dream.”

    “I’d bet my catch on it,” grumbled Dinúvren behind her, throwing down the cloth, but turned up his nose at the distinct smell. “I'll be outside, and you'd better clean this up.”

    “I will,” she replied quietly, thanking the gods for their gratitude. “You will recover,” she stated emphatically. He parted his lips, and she quickly put her fingers on them. “No,” she told him, “don't talk . Dinúvren brought you here, and I know you'll thank him when you can. Just be still. I will take care of you.” She gave him water to drink, and then wrung the cloth in the bucket to wash his chest and arms.

    That moment she heard soft footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and welcomed her little daughter, who had stepped up beside her, and on receiving a kiss, stared at the man with wide eyes.

    “Uncle Din is so upset. Is this… a bad man?” she whispered in her mother's ear.

    “No, he's not.” Nilana put back the cloth into the bucket and covered the man's chest again. Only then she noticed the soaked bandages and sighed. “I have to change that.” She rose, but stopped when her guest raised his right hand an inch from the cover. “Yes?” She looked in his face, trying to make sense out of his searching gaze and small gestures. He was so exhausted she could hardly imagine that he needed more than rest. Frowning she offered, “You want something of yours?” He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “Your clothes? I let them dry. They are here, but…” He shook his head so slightly she wondered if she had seen it at all. “Not your clothes… Your weapons? They are here too, don't worry. Even that broken sword.” Nilana put down the bucket again and knelt to watch the stranger's face intently. As did her daughter, who seemed silently amused at the fact that the man did not speak. He mouthed a word Nilana did not understand.

    “Is he mute?” Nelin asked in her high, childlike voice, but her mother did not seem to hear her.

    Nilana frowned as he tried again to give her an idea of what he wanted. To no avail. Nilana took a deep breath in frustration. The stranger panted and fought against a coughing fit. Nelin looked around. She had been here the night before – only to be sent to her grand-father, a fact, she did not like – and she remembered there had been something else about him.

    “Your pack?” she offered hesitantly, and he immediately looked at her, nodded an inch, trying to reward her with a minuscule smile.

    “Pack, aye,” Nilana repeated flat-voiced, and pulled it from under the bed. She gave her daughter a queer glance, and the little girl grinned triumphantly. “What do you want from it?” the woman asked as she opened it. He made an effort to lift his head from the pillow. “I wondered what you carry around. Some strange things, I think.” She waited until he had searched the contents and took out a small pouch to hand it to her. “What shall I do with it?” He closed his burning eyes, worn out by the strain of the past minutes. “That’s good, lad. I’ll take it, and you tell me about it later.” Shrugging she held the pouch in her hand and put away the pack.

 Nelin looked at the man's haggard features when he tried one last time to gather strength to make himself understood. It appeared to her that it must be something important, but he had to give in to his weakness and was carried away by it. “I better change the bandages and make a new warm poultice, lad,” Nilana closed softly. She left for the fireplace to heat water. With a last look she put the pouch beside her cooking place and hurried to clean up the floor before her brother returned.

    Nelin waited patiently until her mother ordered her to bring bandages and fresh cloth. She crouched beside the small bucket with hot water and watched the sleeping stranger.

    “He looks awful,” she stated quietly as if she expected him to hear her within his dreams. “So… sad and tired.”

    “That may be.” Nilana sighed. “But he's a good fellow. He's only sick. Very sick,” she added as her gaze travelled from her small daughter, who looked so much like her husband, to the stranger. “But he will get well again.”

    Nelin wrinkled her nose, and stroked a dark brown curl away from her forehead before she buried her hands again in the pockets of her mud-stained jerkin.

    “Really?”

    The high-pitched, frightened tone made Nilana shudder and almost brought her to tears. She had not wept for a long time for the loss of her beloved, but now Nelin had touched a raw nerve she did not like to feel.

    “He will,” she nodded decisively, and wrapped the warm poultice around her patient's neck. The man did not stir. The coughing fit and heaving had left him too exhausted to do more than sleep. “And you had better walk over to your grand-father’s and go to sleep. It's already dark, and the fires will be out soon.”

    “Can I not sleep here again? He snores.”

    “I know, but it won't be for long.”

    Nelin grimaced disappointed, and watched the strange person on her uncle's bed.

    “Grandpa says he swam in the Marshes. And that's stupid.”

    “He was not swimming,” she rebuked and uncovered the man's right wrist. The deep gash of the rope was covered with dried blood, and the skin around it was dark and bruised. “He's teasing you again.”

    “Ai, what did he do?” Nelin asked, repelled by the ugly sight.

    “'Twas a rope.”

    “With that beast on it?” Nelin shuddered visibly, and eyed the sleeping man with a grimace of disgust. “He got it on a leash? Such an ugly thing?”

    “No.” And after a pause she added, “Well, I don't know why he did this. And he won't tell for some time.”

    “So he's mute then?”

    “Only because he's ill,” Nilana said. “He will get his voice back.” She bathed the wound and wrapped a fresh bandage around it. “And you will be polite with him, no matter what others say.”

    “I will,” she promised solemnly and kissed her mother's cheek. “Can I sleep here? Please?”

    Nilana looked into brown eyes so full of love that her heart ached at the thought of sending her away for another night.

    “Yes, my dear, bring back your bedroll and sleep here. We'll share my bed.”

    “Yesss!” Nelin jumped up merrily and was out of the hut before Nilana could say a word about being quiet. Sighing with silent happiness over her healthy little girl she turned back to her patient. The bite wound on the left hand looked worse than the night before, and she winced with fear. Where the beast had left its marks the flesh was swollen and dark red. She did not know what else to do than cleaning it with fresh water and applying a new bandage, but she sensed that it might not be enough. Again unbidden memories flooded her mind, and she swallowed hard.

    She had to talk to Bradolla again.

-o-o-o-o-