Merrin wandered through the halls of shelved books and scrolls, leaving Adanil to do what he thought best as she had a very vague idea of where to begin. Having amassed a pile of things that looked promising - most enscribed with titles in every language except the common tongue Merrin knew - she spread them on a desk and began to ponderously work her way through.

In the middle of a lengthy essay on every battle between the Renegades and Meiltha seemingly dating from the dawn of time Merrin realized she'd been skimming the last two pages. Occupying the majority of her thoughts were things Merrin pushed out with disgust, wondering if she was fated to be perpetually cursed with a one-track mind. Propping her chin on her hand she forced herself to pay attention.

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At last the knight either ran out of inspiration or decided his throat was getting dry, to which he politely told his audience to leave and never return. He settled down with two more of his friends.

Kendath approached them at an angle, evincing a bogus grin that always ended up looking a little ominous no matter how hard he tried. Even pretending to be optimistic was just not his thing. "A giant?" he gushed, helping himself to a seat. "I can't believe you walked that far from the city! To enter the mountains at this time of year - "

"Not mountains," the storyteller-and-warrior-in-one amended, his initial waxing grin turning down into a frown. "I said tundra."

You did? Sorry, I was sleeping. "When's your next quest?" he pressed, wisely changing the subject.

The knight exchanged glances with his friends. "We're out to slay a minotaur at daybreak tom - "

"Even better, your next battle?" He shuffled his cloak just in case it'd fallen to reveal the Meiltha insignia on his falchion.

At this, the knights puffed their chests in high hubris. "The next big battle? That's confidental information, that is."

Kendath snarled into his mouth and bit down on his tongue to hold his grin. The effect, of course, was quite the contrary of what he'd originally intended. "Not tell me?" he wheedled, making as if to rise from his seat. He glared - one thing he didn't have to fake. "Have you been confined to your barracks then?"

"No, but - "

"What kind of knights are you, to have giant blood on your boots instead of Meiltha?"

"Ah, Meiltha blood! Now that you mention it" - and here the grin edged on borderline smirk - "there is a battle in three days. Mighty big, it is. Could just decide the fate of the world." The knight nodded sagely. "Can't tell you where, though. That's confidential - "

"My thanks," Kendath returned, now free to glare at the imbeciles at free desire. The things a man would say over a mug of ale. Satisfied with the information - though more than a little concerned about the time schedule - he saluted them and exited the commonroom.

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Artifacts of Folklore and Legend. That was the latest in the pile of scrolls and dusty tomes, which Merrin was working through in a state of exhaustion, awake purely through force of will. Skipping past 'Bandor's Key', which she doubted strongly had ever existed in folklore or not from its gushing decription of unspeakable power, Merrin moved on to something called the 'Celestial Eye'. Miraculously she could make this particular entry out, and it did not fade off into fifteen-syllable words Merrin had never heard before.

Located currently in the Valley of Ancients, the Celestial Eye (also known as the Window of the Gods) is reputed to be an artifact capable of allowing the gods to see into our world. As their omniscience is debated, the usefulness of this artifact is also debatable, however -

There Merrin stopped, and frowning slightly gazed out the window for a moment. The Valley of the Ancients...that rung a faint bell. Exhaustion was not conducive to extremely coherent thought, so she put it aside to ask Kendath about. He would know that, she conceded to herself, despite her earlier assertion that he didn't know everything.

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Adanil strolled among the bookshelves, at a loss for what he was supposed to do. He did not even know why he and Merrin were here, or what they were looking for. He had been taught his letters, but he had never practiced reading, so it was a struggle for him to make out what these scrolls and parchments said. Occasionally there was book, but they were far outnumbered by the far more fragile scripts.

"What are you looking at?" he asked Merrin--she seemed to have become particularly interested in one scroll, with an expression of increasing satisfaction. Maybe she found what they were looking for, whatever that was.

Not knowing what the two Dragonriders were involved with was starting to make Adanil nervous--they seemed somewhat different from others, judging by their attitudes and conversations, some of which he pointedly had ignored. What was going on? They did not seem entirely associated with the Renegades, yet they certainly seemed against the Meiltha. However, the male did not seem interested in the gods.

Whatever was going on, he wanted to know what it was. Maybe then he would feel useful.

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Merrin came out of her reverie abruptly and pushed the scroll across the desk toward him. "Just that. It's, well, I think Kendath might find it rather more interesting than the rest of these." She indicated the widespread piles of books and parchment around her. It was proving difficult to explain to Adanil exactly what they were doing without having to reveal the fact that she and Kendath were from far in the future, a future where dragons dwindled to fractions of the size and power they embodied now.

"The bit about the - er - Celestial Eye, I believe," she added after a moment.

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It was nightfall by the time Kendath made it back to the library. At this hour, the archives lacked the quiet hum of activity customary throughout the rest of the day. Walking among the towering shelves, he sighted the occassional lone savant or wizard, but that was all. Navigating among through the erudite labyrinth proved wearying, and it was only after he heard familiar voices ahead that he concluded his search. It was only when he registered his faltering steps that he realized he'd lapsed into contemplation.

Strange circumstances make strange companions.

Remaining unseen behind one bookshelf, he looked out between a gap in two enormous tomes to quietly observe. His pondering gaze shifted first to Merrin. Fatigue slumped her slender shoulders and shadowed under her eyes. She wasn't homely, but neither was she particularly striking like a few young woman he'd seen around Vryngard. Yet there was something about her that struck a chord, he found himself thinking. There was something beautiful in that smile that could, for a moment, put any princess to shame... and that blue-eyed stare that spoke of innocence but could somehow pin down the very walls of his soul...

And Adanil? Certainly he didn't think much of the simple peasant, whom he doubted would be of any practical gain to their cause. But he sensed more to the young man than met the eye. He didn't seem to harbor some devout faith in the gods, but nonetheless there was a sense of purpose there behind his eagerness to help and his resolve in avenging his village. Perhaps, if things had turned out differently...

Strange companions indeed.

Kendath moved out into the open soon enough, casually approaching them from the side. "Find anything?" he asked by way of greeting.

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Merrin was just opining to Adanil that she had very little faith in the credibility of this particular record, ancient artifacts or no; but she forgot entirely what she was saying in a moment, gaze immediately fastening on Kendath as he stepped into their dim circle of candlelight.

Her hair fell disordered around her shoulders, the flickering candles enhancing its faint copper hue, as though in her perusing of the many parchments that now lay scattered about she had repeatedly run her fingers through it in absentminded concentration. "Just this," she answered, pushing the fragile scroll toward him across the oaken desk and resting her elbows upon that said sturdy piece of furniture. Very little to show for a good two hours, she thought disconsolately. "I thought you might know better than I about the place it speaks of - the Valley of Ancients."

Merrin didn't ask what he'd been about. Even her earlier inquiry and the subsequent answer or lack thereof made her want to withdraw, not to press him. Perhaps memory of an evening not so long ago, when the Kendath she saw now had seemed different, lingered still and made her wary of saying the wrong thing.

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Kendath's restless eyes scanned over the slanted calligraphy. At length he nodded. "Fair enough. I know its location." He looked at them both. "Three more days." He paused to let them assimilate this, then continued, "I found an inn not far from here." This to imply that sleeping in a city with adequate soldiers and battle mages seemed far safer than sleeping out in the open, where all manner of dark shadows may still be after their guts.

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Merrin could have, at that point, gone to sleep with her head pillowed on her arms atop the desk. With a nod she rose, throwing her silver-grey cloak about her shoulders where it caught the candlelight like the scales of her dragon. Even now she felt the faint pull to return to him, the inward restlessness of any dragonrider separated from her counterpart.

Extinguishing a few of the candles Merrin moved to leave, a glance outside telling her that already the moon hung luminous over Baste, spires and towering pinnacles gleaming a cold ivory under its light. It was a quarter moon, and a sudden chill ran down Merrin's spine as she considered. Three days until the battle she knew to be the most devastating cataclysm to ever descend upon Renegades or Meiltha. Three days until the lives of thousands ended...she shuddered involuntarily.

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The night bore a chill, so Kendath reflexively quickened his pace. His booted steps padded quietly against the flagstones as they left the wealthy district behind and entered the marketplace, its empty stalls now ghosts of their former vitality. The night crowd had arrived - travellers and horsemen whose silhouettes appeared all the more forbidding under the periodic torchlight the night patrol paraded by.

He passed the Traveller's Friend right on by, having no intention of bumping into the giantslayers again, and continued onwards to a promising place called the Three Gargoyles. A fire blazing merrily in the hearth had already attracted a healthy abundance of patrons. Glancing at Merrin, who appeared ready to drop where she stood, Kendath ordered their rooms without mention of supper save for a small bundle of bread and cheese. This he split among them before leading the way upstairs.

"You'll be all right?" he asked Merrin outside her door. Without waiting for an answer he waved impatiently at a door a few steps down the candlelit hall. "You know where to find us if you need anything." He recalled all too vividly the wraiths that'd pursued them - and were still pursuing them for all they knew. He wasn't willing to bet their lives on Baste's security no matter how many giantslayers happened to be in the city.

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One hand upon the handle of the door, Merrin turned to look at him before replying. "Aye, I do."

There seemed little else to say, but somehow the dimly lit hallway provoked a sense of deja vu and Merrin hesitated before retiring to the little room. "What I asked you earlier," she began, and stopped momentarily. "I...I haven't forgotten."

This to indicate that she would press him further, much as neither of them wanted it, when circumstances better suited the inquiry. With this and a murmured, "Good night," Merrin disappeared.

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(but he hasn't been on in ages.....please post....pwetty please.....pwetty please with ice cream....with a cherry....with chocolate cookies....)

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Made by Lembas

[what I had in mind needs Curunir... if you could get him on here that'd be great]

The room Kendath and Adanil shared boasted two beds, a candle on a nightstand, and a single wash basin. Finding himself ravenously hungry, Kendath bit into the bread he'd brought from downstairs. Then he stripped off his bloodstained cloak and leather. Not a basin but a tub would have been nice, he thought as he splashed his face and neck with cold water. Bare-chested, he fell onto the bed and lay sprawled there, staring at the ceiling, for three full minutes.

At length he rolled over. Gyre.

Kendath. The reply came as a contented purr effected by a successful hunt. Wyvern and I are in a cave a few miles east of Baste. How are you? In response he relayed everything Merrin had related to him in the library. The Valley of Ancients, she mused. I know the place. Is that all?

A pause. Yes. Before she could terminate the link, he added brusquely, Caution. Remember what hunts us.

Gyre credited his masked concern for what it was and smiled through their link. Take care of yourself, Kendath. She lapsed into indulgent silence, which her rider interpreted as slumber.

Restless despite his exhaustion, Kendath sat up with a shake of his dark hair. He glanced askance at the quiet Adanil. He studied the farmer in his peripheral vision for a long while before feeling himself relent. Finally he said quietly, "I'm sorry about your village."

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Merrin, chewing meditatively upon a hunk of bread and cheese, rested her elbows on the windowsill and let her exhausted thoughts wander, where they predictably fastened on the one thing she really would rather not have contemplated.

She felt her cheeks flush and was fervently thankful that she was alone, free to feel the tingle that raced up her spine upon remembering the touch of a certain black-cloaked dragonrider's hand. The next reddening of her cheeks was from shame. What utter stupidity...to be so completely captivated by even a glance, a touch, when the fate of the dragons hung in a balance only to be tipped by her. To think more about how his hand had felt about hers than the fact that they had three days to alter history.

It was with tangible relief that she felt a familiar touch in her mind, an inquiring presence. Merrin?

I see you've eaten. She could feel his satisfaction, the sensation of hunger sated, and it made her smile. Not at the expense of any poor farmer, I hope.

Of course not! He was indignant until he sensed her teasing tone. Oh. No, a few mountain goats. And you?

Merrin synopsized their day, leaving out a few tidbits that he sensed anyway. Now wry amusement reached her through their link, but he said nothing other than a mild, Good, you're healed. Will you have spent enough time in Baste by tomorrow?

Merrin relayed her unsurety as to this and severed the link with a yawn. Before a minute had passed she was fast asleep upon the narrow bed, boots discarded on the floor and washbasin unused. Perhaps the faint smile upon her lips that came and went, but made an appearance with regularity nonetheless, told that her dreams were more lighthearted than they had been of late.

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The inn was huge. It was at least three stories tall, and even if there were taller buildings in Baste, it still seemed big, because it was around twice the size of the one in his village. Former village he thought, feeling the grief welling up again. It would take some time to get over it.

It wasn't that he had never experienced death before--close friends of his had died, through hunting mishaps, or accidents, or other things--but never had someone so close to him died. His entire family. If he had their bodies, he would bury them, but he doubted that there would be much of anything left to find--they most likely would have been stuck inside the house, while his father defended the front door. That wouldn't have stopped it burning down around them.

The grim Dragonrider was watching him. Adanil wasn't actually looking at him, but he had spent too much time hunting in the forest to not feel something staring at him. In the forest, too often whatever you were hunting would try and hunt you in turn. Hopefully Kendath wasn't thinking anything of the kind.

"I'm sorry about your village," the dark-haired man finally said. It caught Adanil by surprise. Of all the things the dispassionate Kendath could have said, that was the least expected. So far he had shown very little emotion except for irritation.

"I thought at first that you and Merrin could save it," Adanil said in response, "but I see now that those were foolish hopes. Dragonriders are not so mighty as I thought, but certainly more different. I do not know why the Dead attacked my village, but it seems that I can best avenge it by staying near you and biding my time. If you do not mind, I would like to do that."

He didn't think that Kendath really would mind, but without a Dragon of his own, he had to hitch a ride on Gyre, and Kendath might be getting tired of that. But still--it looked as though the two Dragonriders were not against any aid they might get, as long as few questions were asked.

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Kendath emitted a grunt that could be interpreted either as acquiescence or the fact that he really didn't care. Vengeance was a motivation he could all too easily empathize with. Despite this, Adanil was taking his loss with a steady resignation that most mediocre men twice his age would not have had the discipline to exert. He is strong, this farmer by trade, Kendath admitted albeit grudgingly. Unlike...

And here he bit off the thought before it could fully formulate. He waited for Adanil to fall into bed before leaning across to snuff out the candle, plunging their room into darkness.

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The next day's journey was, in a word, uneventful - much to everyone's relief. The skies were overcast, making navigation in the higher altitudes difficult. Gyre had to drop down beneath the clouds, and though this offered a wonderful view of the forested terrain racing by, it demanded more flapping and less cruising.

Understandably enough, both Wyvern and Gyre were exhausted by nightfall. They'd reached the mountain foothills, and they promptly found a small clearing and started a campfire. As the dragons seized their rest, the humans ate a quiet meal of dried bread around the campfire.

Kendath volunteered for first watch. Wanting to be alone, he moved out from the circle of firelight and settled himself against one slender tree trunk. He felt at home merging with the shadows, but even he could not keep his gaze fixed on the shadowy forest for long. His eyes were drawn to the north, where the cold majesty of the mountains stabbed above the forest canopy like silent sentinels. The clouds had parted to admit a breathtaking panorama of stars, dousing the velvety montane backdrop in ice.

If I remember my history correctly, elves roam these woods. Gyre's drowsy voice tickled the back of his mind.

The dying race of elves in present tense was but a legend sung by bards and told to children. Swarms of elves, eh? I'm liking this era less and less.

Not swarms exactly. But yes, they are more populous now... then... here.

We'll be careful.

Careful? A gentle laugh. Careful in human terms does not begin to compare with elven stealth. If they want to hunt you, Kendath, I'm certain they'll find you.

A cheery thought.

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