Maedeth had to suppress a laugh at Elladan's expense. He hadn't taken kindly to the gruff reception they received at the West Bree Gate. The guards were suspicious of them from the moment they laid eyes on the three travelers. She couldn't really blame them. War closed in on their borders and they hardly had any force to resist.

But a gentle smile from Celebrían and a kind word to soothe his mind smoothed over the brewing argument before Elladan had time to dig a hole they could not climb out of. Maedeth loved his devotion to his mother. But right now, they couldn't afford an altercation. She had no desire to camp in the wilds another night if she didn't have to.

They walked to the Prancing Pony with hoods up. Most denizens of Bree treated the elven folk kindly enough, if a bit warily. But there was no need to excite them more than necessary.

Far above, the first twinkling stars of the Swordsman of the Sky peeked through the darkening blanket of evening. Menelvagor reminded Maedeth of her brother. She took a moment in the road to stare up at it.

She hoped Elbereth watched over him, even if the blood of the kinslayers ran in their veins. Perhaps someday there would be some sign of their forgiveness. She turned from the stars and turned to Elladan, who stood watching her in silence.

Until that day, she would go on. There were things to do that could not wait for self reflection or pity. The gears of the war machine ground on. Maedeth had no intention of being driven into the dirt. No. She would do her part to see Arthedain's kingdom strengthened.

"Are you alright?" Elladan asked.

They stood now at the base of the stairs to the Prancing Pony. Lady Celebrían spoke in hushed tones to a young child and her mother, smiling and offering her hand. It took little skill in observation to know that even in a town of terrified humans, the sight of an ethereal elven woman could bring comfort.

Maedeth turned to Elladan, content to fade into the background of Celebrían's grace. She sighed. "Truthfully, I do not know. I am healthy in body, as I spend my time in what passes for comfort these days in Arthedain unlike my brother. But I have found little peace in the last five hundred years."

He nodded. It seemed he could find little to say in response, and she didn't blame him. Few had found peace in the last 500 years, those who had lived through the war with Angmar. Rivendell had seen its fair share of trials as well.

"Mother, we should speak to the innkeeper," Elladan said, leaning into Celebrían. The woman and her young child had started down the road. "It's been a long journey already."

She agreed, and Maedeth followed them inside. Indeed it had been long, or at least exhausting. The roads inside Arthedain closer to Fornost were still fairly well guarded, though the soldiers were spread thin. But the air was cold and lodging sparse. Most inns had boarded up. Often their owners had gone off to war, or could not afford to keep doors open.

Not the Prancing Pony though. Maedeth smiled as they were met with a veritable crowd. Halflings and humans alike clinked mugs of ale and shared laughs or gossip by light of the candles and roaring central hearth. Things were decidedly more cheerful here than anywhere Maedeth had seen in years.

"Me good Lady Elf! You grace us with your presence again, that you do." Barnibas Butterbur, a stout man carrying two trays of dirty dishes, called out to them past a gaggle of loud patrons. "Sit anywhere you like!"

Celebrían smiled at him as the room quieted. "Thank you, Master Butterbur."

Maedeth caught a few wary stares as the room took note of their arrival. None seemed hostile, but she saw fear amidst their wary wonderment. As she suspected. Despite the revelry, war had not gone unnoticed in the Bree-lands.

They took their seat at a corner table, recently cleaned by a boy no older than Prince Arveldir. He smiled at them, bowing awkwardly a few times as he backed up and away. Elladan had a half smirk on his face as he took up the chair nearest the rest of the tavern.

"The Bree-landers are kindly folk," Celebrían said. "I hope the war spares them."

"As do I," Maedeth said. But she knew that for the war to spare the Bree-lands, it would first have to spare Arthedain. "Though they hold little love for our people."

Elladan nodded. "I've noticed that when I ride with the soldiers. They do not understand what Arthedain endures to keep them safe."

"No, they do not," Celebrían said. "But they understand death just the same. I do not begrudge their hesitance to pick up arms against a foe that does not yet seek their destruction."

Maedeth frowned. She leaned back in her chair, looking out over the patrons of the inn. There were no visitors to the Prancing Pony that night, at least none that she could easily tell. Just men and halflings. All likely from Bree-town or the other settlements. What had been a trade hub in days of watchful peace could not now operate without risk.

"And yet, I must find the words to persuade others to do this very task," she said. "Why should the dwarves of Hadhodrond die for a distant mannish kingdom when Angmar is unbothered by them beneath the mountains? Or the Silvan of Lórinand? They already fear the encroachment of Noldor and Sindar alike into their forest homes."

Celebrían nodded. As they were brought mugs of clean ale to drink, she gestured around them. "You have spent years in service to the kings of Arthedain, Maedeth. I trust in your wisdom to see it through. But if you seek my advice, do not spurn your heritage. It may be of use to you."

The thought had crossed her mind already. Her forefather Caranthir had been well known to all the races of Middle Earth in the First Age, especially the dwarves. But his name tied them also to the kinslayings, to the return of the Noldor to Middle Earth and the devastation of Beleriand. She could not be sure which the dwarves of Hadhodrond would think of first.

"The blood in my veins may be of help," Maedeth said, "but it may also put all at risk."

"There are many things in life of which we could say the same," said Celebrían.

Maedeth hummed in agreement. She took a drink, turning to Elladan. But he had disappeared. Odd. She put the mug of ale back down on the table and looked around the tavern.

Near the fire in the center, she found him sharing drinks with three men. They were fairer of face of taller than the rest, and for a moment, she wondered where he had found three men of Arthedain. She excused herself.

As Maedeth dodged sweaty bodies and sloshing mugs of ale, she tried to focus on Elladan's conversation. It wasn't long before she realized they weren't not men of Arthedain, but men of Gondor. Southern accents warped the Sindarin into a very different, but no less beautiful, melody.

"How many bodies?" Elladan asked.

"Forty at least," said one in the center.

Bodies. Maedeth froze in place. But the men saw her, and when Elladan followed their gazes, he beckoned her over. No smirk or smile tried to set her at ease. She steeled herself.

"You are men of Gondor?" she asked, before Elladan could introduce them.

All three bowed their heads to her. The one in the center nodded, explaining that they were traders trying to move goods up from Tharbad. A dangerous trek on a good day.

"They found the aftermath of a skirmish in the Andrath Pass," Elladan said. "Hill-men, orcs, and soldiers of Arthedain."

"Any survivors?" Maedeth asked.

Her heart pounded. For a moment she couldn't hear anything but the blood in her veins as worst-case scenarios flew through her mind. Visions of Arthedain in flames, of Rivendell sacked, of her brother with his body riddled with arrows made the world stand still.

"None that we found, my lady," said one on the right. Elladan introduced him as Maegon. "It seemed to be evenly matched."

"No orc nor hill-man bothered us on our way through the Pass, though," said the center man, Cúthalion. "So I imagine your Dunedain won."

Some comfort, then. She had no reason to believe her brother would be patrolling the Andrath Pass, anyways. The most recent letter Tiniel had received placed him in the northern Weather Hills. And while it pained her that any man of Arthedain had died, at least he was not supposed to be in the area.

The black pit deep in her stomach did not disappear, though.

"Any heraldry on the armor of the enemy?" Elladan asked.

Cúthalion shook his head. But the third man, the youngest by quite a margin, barely older than a boy it seemed, jumped in. "There were two, lord, and my lady. The orcs bore black shields with a purple crown. And I saw the men had a grey standard with a black star."

Elladan frowned. Maedeth knew of one of them, but not the other. The orc heraldry was that of the Witch-king. It was said his sorcery was the same color as the crown on the shields. She had no desire to find out. But she had never heard of this mannish heraldry.

"Thank you," Elladan said. "Please, find your rest. You have come far and likely though many trials."

He turned away, and Maedeth went with him. She longed to ask him what these tidings meant, but he seemed in no mood to talk. When they returned to Celebrían, he took a long drink of his ale.

She could wait no longer. "The heraldry of the men of Angmar troubled you, Elladan? What does it mean."

He looked over, and shook his head. "I do not know, and that is what worries me." But he forced a smile. "The night is dark, and the road has been long. The men of Rhudaur have many different factions. I have no reason to believe this one any worse than others."

Celebrían frowned as she listened to Elladan explain the news over dinner. As they finished up, many patrons of the inn leaving and others arriving, she stood from the table. "Let us sleep. Things will look better in the morning, or at least a bit clearer."

Maedeth agreed. They thanked Butterbur for his hospitality on their way to their rooms. Hers was meager, but welcoming, and she had to admit that even this made her feel a bit better. Celebrían was right, as usual. A bit of sleep would make a world of difference.