Faramir Fiction Archive

Out of Memory and Time (PG-13)

Written by Shireling

30 March 2008 | 58682 words

Chapter 8: A Safe Haven

For the residents of Bag End, the winter following Frodo’s departure was bleak. For many months friends and relatives had observed and worried as the Gamgee household floundered under the weight of their grief. Sam barely ventured out of doors; his garden was abandoned to its own devices and the wider environs of the Shire were once again bereft of his green-fingered care. From the moment he had stepped over the threshold on his return from the Havens the bright spark of his loyal and generous spirit was quashed under the suffocating burden of his grief. He tried to rouse himself for the benefit of Rosie and Elanor but his heart was broken and he had little left to offer his loved ones.

Rosie’s family, the Cottons, did what they could and Merry and Pippin channelled their own grief into helping their stricken friends to weather those turbulent and painful months. But gradually as the months passed Sam managed to forge his way clear of the melancholia that had gripped him and only then did Rosie tell him that they were expecting another baby, news she had delayed for fear that the added burden of responsibility would prove too much for her beloved Sam. And so life in the Shire for the survivors of the Fellowship once more settled into its peaceful pattern.

One of the many positive innovations to have occurred following the end of the Ring quest was the establishment of a regular messenger service between the Southern and Northern Kingdoms. Every month messages were relayed from Gondor, via Edoras, to the regions of the north, including the Shire, the Elven lands and further north to Lake Evendim, where the remaining Dúnedain were busy re-establishing a seat of power for the King under the direction of his Northern Steward, Lord Andorn.

Merry often ventured beyond the borders of the Shire to where the Greenway passed close by and there he would meet the messenger or hail the caravans of goods and workers as they travelled north to where the King’s new palace was being built. All manner of folk travelled with these caravans; men of Gondor and Rohan, Elves and many Dwarves. Ever eager for news, Merry would ride with them for a mile or two before returning to the Shire to share his news with those in the Shire who cared to hear about the goings-on in the land beyond the borders.

And so it was into Merry’s hand that the messenger placed a satchel carrying three very special scrolls, each tied with a red cord and sealed with the King’s own cipher. Merry had to quash his impatience as he saw to the comfort of the exhausted messenger, arranging care and stabling for his mount and food and lodging for the man. Only when these duties were done did Merry peep into the satchel to discover that one of the scrolls was addressed to himself, one was for Pippin and one for Sam. As well as these official communiqués were personal letters for the three written in the King’s own hand.

The scrolls were official invitations to the three travellers and their families to attend the Royal Court when the King and his entourage travelled to the Northern Kingdom in early autumn. In the personal letters Estel explained that he was making an official tour of the Northern Kingdom and would be basing his Court at the new palace near Lake Evendim until spring. He entreated his Hobbit friends to attend, explaining that there would be many familiar friends amongst the party, all of whom were looking forward to being re-united with them.

In Brandy Hall and the Great Smials the invitations caused great excitement and a flurry of activity as those invited planned for the journey. At Bag End the summons was greeted more soberly. Rosie, in the last stages of her confinement was too preoccupied to get overly excited, even going as far as to suggest that it might not be fitting for her to travel with a newborn. Sam, too, seemed strangely reluctant to commit himself to attending and only at Merry and Pippin’s insistence did he finally agree. And so the Hobbits of the Shire continued their preparations, counting off the weeks until they could expect the King’s troop to arrive at the Brandywine Bridge to escort them safely to their destination.

Ranan approached the familiar campsite from the north, leaving the river and working his way through the dense forest by tracks forged by beasts and utilised by the Old Ones. He edged towards to the top of the escarpment with care and spent some time observing the scene below. He could see the little donkey grazing placidly in the dappled shade. In a brighter, sunnier spot he spied clothing spread out over the bushes to dry and over the fire the sun reflected off the surface of a small metal pot hanging from a wide tripod of sticks. Of the occupant of the glade there was as yet no sign. The quickest route down the escarpment to the glade was difficult, especially when burdened with a heavy knapsack. The traveller was in no hurry and so he chose to take a longer easier route.

The donkey ceased its grazing and approached him without caution, nuzzling into the hand that caressed his ears. Only as he greeted the animal did he finally spy the man about whom he had heard so much, though the youngster did not see him. The old man took a moment to observe the current resident of the glade. His first impression was that he looked remarkably young, true his hair was silver but in sleep his face was unlined and carefree. It was a refined face, the sculpted cheekbones and noble brow hinting of an ancestry of ancient Númenor. There was not an ounce of spare flesh on him, indeed he was thin to the point gauntness but he had the long-limbed, broad shouldered physique that promised wiry strength. He was deeply asleep, propped up against the trunk of an ancient oak; a knife lay on the turf beside him, his hand clutched around a half fashioned carving in his lap.

The traveller made no effort to disturb the sleeping youngster; instead he topped up the cooking pot over the fire with water and with provisions from his own pack. Still the youngster slept on and he had to wonder how he had fared so well on his own given his obvious vulnerability. The traveller thought over what the Old One had told him of the youngster’s solitary travels, of the nigh time terrors that had often brought the silent neighbours to check on him, of his silence and of the horrendous scars that marred his back. The Old One has described him as tormented and yet as he slept, so oblivious to all his surroundings, he seemed so tranquil.

The aroma of the broth finally seeped into Min’s awareness and he was instantly alert and wary, though he made no move other than to slowly inch his fingers down to the handle of his blade. He opened his eyes to find himself under the intense scrutiny from an aged, brown-robed stranger. The old man made no effort to close the distance between them, indeed he settled himself more comfortably, sitting cross-legged, his voluminous robes tucked under is knees. Min could see that the old man was speaking but was prevented from lip-reading by the old man’s bushy beard and moustache. The old man continued to speak, holding his hand out in a gesture of peace. He was confused by the youngster’s reluctance to speak with him. He spoke more loudly, enunciating his words more clearly and eventually the younger man threw up his hands in frustration.

“Forgive me but I cannot hear you,” the youngster whispered, his voice rusty with lack of use.

“Ah, I see. You are deaf?” the old man said, only realising his mistake when the youngster’s puzzled expression confirmed his inability to hear his words.

Realising that communication was going to prove difficult by conventional means he moved cautiously towards the youngster with one hand extended and the other raised in a gesture of peace. As the old man approached him, Min’s instinctive reaction was to retreat but the tree at his back prevented him moving out of reach. He clutched his knife to his chest ready to lash out at need. Still the older man moved slowly toward him. Min couldn’t help but flinch away when the old man’s warm but calloused fingers came to rest just behind his ear.

“Forgive the intrusion,” the old man said, “may I share your fire for a little while?”

Min nodded and relaxed slightly, easing the grip on his knife as he sensed no malice in the stranger.

“Have you always been deaf?” the old man asked. Min could see him shaping the words but he ‘heard’ them, not with his ears but directly into his head.

“As long as I can remember” he replied aloud, not sure if the old man’s skills worked in reverse.

“And how long is that?”

“Two years,” Min explained.

“And before that?”

“There is no ‘before that’. My life as I know it began when I was rescued from the sea. They told me I was gravely injured and near death… when I recovered, I was as you see me now. I have no hearing and no past.”

“And what about the future?” the old man asked.

“This is my future. I am content here.”

“This is not a life, this is an existence. Why are you here alone? Where are the ones who rescued you? Are they not your friends?”

“They are my friends… the only friends I can claim.” Min could not suppress his rising anxiety at the stranger’s questioning

“So why are you not with them? True friends would not leave you to such lonely isolation,” the old man persisted.

“They are true friends but it was time to move on. I was becoming a burden to them.”

“Did they lay that charge on you?”

“No!” Min pulled away, breaking contact with the older man, “do not seek to judge my friends!” Min stalked away from the clearing leaving the old man to his thoughts and much to ponder. He trusted the Old Ones to ensure that no harm came to the youngster and while he awaited his return the old Man reacquainted himself with his old haunt, a refuge he had not visited in countless decades.

By the time Min returned to the glade the old man had unpacked his own belongings and set up his bedroll by the fire. He had also scouted along the lower edge of the cliff face to where the ruins of an ancient shelter lay tumbled against the rocks, half buried in brambles and saplings. He found there what he sought; though cracked and misshapen, the slate tiles would answer his purpose.

He made no further effort to make physical contact with the youngster, but offered the slate and a lump of chalkstone to him as a peace offering.

“Forgive me. It was never my intention to upset you. Let me introduce myself, I have many names but to the folk in this region I am known as Ranan,” he wrote.

“And what are you known as in other regions?” Min asked facetiously.

“Old man, Wanderer, Radagast… my brother called me Trouble!” he wrote, raising a smile from the youngster. “I prefer Ranan. .. it means Wanderer in the old tongue. And what name are you known by?”

“Min… short for Minnow. I was named by a young friend who took care of me when I was injured. It was meant as a nickname until I could tell them who I was but I couldn’t remember and so the name stuck… it is a good a name as any.”

“Hardly a fitting name for an educated man,” Ranan offered.

“Educated! Why do you think I am educated?” Min asked dismissively.

“Do you have no idea about your past life?” Ranan wrote.

“None that I would lay claim to. Trying to remember causes me to become ill… I have dreams… terrible dreams… jumbled, terrifying images of fire, of treachery… of treason… the echo of my dreams follows me when I wake and yet when awake I cannot brings those images to mind. The healer told me it is my mind protecting itself from memories too terrible to recall… so I am left with the terror without knowing the cause.”

“And is that why you sleep in the day out in the sunlight… to keep the darkness at bay?”

“It helps… a little. And now I have found a sanctuary here where my distress will disturb no one,” Min explained. Ranan was almost tempted to tell him of the vigil kept over him by the Old Ones, but realised that the knowledge would likely only distress him further.

Min felt strangely comforted by the old man’s presence and over the next few days the two men learned more about each other, though they often spent many hours in silence, both so used to their own company that they didn’t feel the need for idle communication. Min was fascinated by the way the glade was suddenly teeming with birds and small animals all seeming eager for the old man’s company and Ranan was intrigued by the effortless way Min had of living in harmony with his environment, one night as they sat by the fire he asked the younger man about it.

“Where did you learn your skills; to hunt and fish and live off the land?” he wrote.

“I don’t know. I assumed it was instinct… I feel more at home here than I did on the ship and with my handicap I found being in the company of strangers… difficult!”

Ranan was curious about something he had detected when in physical contact with the youngster. “May I ask you something?” he wrote. Min nodded his acquiescence. “When I touched your head to speak to you, I noticed a strange buzzing. Are you aware of it? Can you hear it?”

“It has been like that since I recovered from my injuries. At first it used to drive me to distraction but I suppose I have become used to it. The only time it really bothers me now is if I get worried or distressed, then it gets louder,” Min explained. It was true, he realised; he was so accustomed to the constant noise that he could usually blot it out.

“And if you could be rid of it?” Ranan wrote.

“It is not possible. The healer said the organs of hearing were damaged when I was struck on the head. I am resigned to living with it… it is a small price to pay for my life and health.”

“If it were possible to heal it, would you take that chance?”

“Are you saying it is possible?” Min asked.

“I have some small skills… I cannot claim to be able to cure the condition but I might be able to alleviate it to a degree.”

“So it could come back?”

“Possibly!”

“Then I will stay as I am. I can live with it as it is but if you stopped it, even for a short while, learning to cope with it again when it returned would be too cruel. Better to live as I am than to suffer false hope.”

Whether it was talk of the past or just coincidence, but that night Min experienced his worst nightmare in many months. Ranan was woken by the screams and pained whimpering of the younger man as he thrashed, still imprisoned by the death-grip of terror-filled sleep. Unable to wake him, he pulled Min up to sitting and got behind him, restraining his thrashings by holding him tightly against his chest. Min fought his grip but, despite his youth, he was no match for the old man’s veiled power. Using one arm to restrain the lad he used his other hand to hold Min’s head against his shoulder. He soothed with his voice, using the contact to speed his words directly into the younger man’s mind. Eventually Ranan’s ministrations paid off and Min gradually relaxed, the relief of tension leaving him slumped with exhaustion. While Min was on the cusp of sleep, Ranan used his connection to get an insight into what the boy had experienced. To himself he justified the invasion of privacy against the boy’s obvious and continued suffering.

What he saw in the youngster’s sub-conscious shocked him, for if only a portion of what was revealed to him was true then the boy’s survival was a miracle. The Old One had told him of the boy’s scars, glimpsed from a distance, but Ranan had not observed them himself, now he had an inkling of how they had been inflicted. The other images he had seen were too jumbled to make any sense. Ranan was now sure why the Valar had directed his steps to Min’s side. Using his power he nudged Min into deep, dreamless sleep and once he was sure that his young friend was settled he wondered back out into the night to seek counsel from the stars

Ranan sat on the shore of a sandy cove and watched as Min and the old sailor manoeuvred the flimsy craft through the waves. Sailing was not one of the old wanderer’s favourite modes of transport, especially not in a boat so small that one could dangle ones fingers over the side and into the water. It was little comfort to him that the sea was calm and that the boat was in shallow waters close to the shore. Still he worried for his young friend.

As he watched, the sailor tapped Min on the shoulder and directed his attention to the net. Min nodded and started hauling in the catch, expertly decanting the fish into wicker baskets and coiling the emptied net ready for another cast. But there was no need to carry on fishing as the baskets were full and dusk was fast approaching. They turned the boat towards the shore and, with Ranan’s help, hauled the vessel up beyond the tide line into the soft sand. Such a bountiful catch was greeted with joy by the villagers and they all came together to help mend and dry the nets and to unpack and clean the fish for smoking. Great bonfires were lit and the cleaned fish were threaded onto long sticks and placed in rows on square wooden frames over the fires. With the chores completed it was time for the villagers and their guests to enjoy an evening of feasting on the beach. Both Min and Ranan were dragged into the dancing and Min’s obvious enjoyment of the festivities was not spoiled when his lack of hearing and the frequent changes of tempo in the music caused him to stumble and falter. The children of the village hung on his hands, picking him up when he fell and patiently and with great humour teaching him the steps. It was a revelation to Ranan to hear Min’s joy-filled laughter ring out into the night, a sound never previously heard from the normally serious and self-contained youngster. In the firelight Ranan thought he caught a glimpse of the true nature of his young friend, a nature blighted and buried by the horrors of his past.

It had taken Ranan many weeks and a great deal of persuasion to convince Min to leave the sanctuary of the glade and travel with him on a journey northwards towards the Haven of the Elves in the Gulf of Lune. Finally Min agreed, accepting the old man’s invitation with no small degree of trepidation. One difficulty had been that the bulk of the journey was best accomplished by sea and that meant leaving the donkey behind and taking only what the two men could carry. They gifted the faithful beast to the Old Ones of the forest, the only time that Min had met his secret neighbours.

Using the Brandywine as their guide the travellers followed the river through the forest until they came upon a coastal fishing village. Ranan sought a passage north in one of the fishing vessels, a convenient though unwelcome necessity. The headman only agreed to the commission in return for the travellers’ labours for a month; Min assisted with the fishing and Ranan worked the land. The villagers obviously knew of Ranan by reputation, though none were still living who had been alive when he had last passed through the region. To begin with Min was treated with more caution, his ignorance of the local language and his deafness rendering him totally unable to communicate with their hosts expect by rudimentary hand signals. But his industry and skills of sea craft soon endeared him to the fisher folk and a glimpse of his scars as he worked elicited compassion rather than the scorn he had expected. He spent most of his free time surrounded by the children; he watched their carefree games and joined in when he could, fashioning trinkets from driftwood or drawing pictures for them in the sand with sticks. With the tolerance of childhood they accepted him as he was, caring nothing for his deafness, nor his scars nor for the disturbance of his night-terrors, disturbances that not even Ranan’s ministrations could suppress. Each time the youngster was so stricken Ranan caught another glimpse of his past and each revelation convinced him of the urgency of getting Min to one who could offer him the possibility of healing.

With their month of toil at an end, Ranan, Min and Sasael, the fisherman boarded the largest vessel in the village’s small fleet; a single masted, open decked tub of a boat, much too small and flimsy for Ranan’s comfort or peace of mind. The passage north to the Gulf of Lune was a journey of many days, the wind aiding their speed if not their comfort. Sasael was an experienced sailor who knew the waters well and knew when to put a greater distance between their flimsy craft and the treacherous rocks that hugged the coast.

“You are late! Nearly a year too late to be exact!” The Lord Cirdan chided as he greeted Ranan’s first thankful steps onto solid ground.

“My Lord Cirdan, to paraphrase my ‘brother’ ‘a wizard is never late’” Ranan replied, bowing low to the Elder, a good friend of long acquaintance. The Elf Lord laughed and hugged his visitor before continuing in a more sombre tone.

“I am afraid there is no boat ready to take you hither, Radagast, my old friend. It will be many years before you may now go home,” Cirdan explained sadly.

“What are a few more years? It seems that my task is not yet done,” Ranan explained, turning Cirdan towards where Min was helping Sasael to secure the boat.

“What is this? You have taken another stray under your wing! I take it he is the reason for your tardy arrival.” Cirdan took the opportunity to observe the youngster as he worked.

“A stray indeed … and one much troubled by great suffering.”

“His features tell of a noble heritage… of Númenor and the First born. Tell me, who is he and what is his story?” Cirdan asked.

“He names himself Min but he has no knowledge of his past nor his heritage. He considers himself an outcast… he has suffered greatly!”

“He seems hearty enough.” Closer observation of the two in the boat drew the Elf Lord’s attention to the fact that they were not speaking but were communicating with hand signs and gestures. “He is hurt? You have brought him here for healing?” Cirdan asked.

“Aye, deafness is just one of the consequences of the trials of his past. Cirdan, he needs greater skills than I possess to offer him any hope of healing. I have not even begun to help him.” Ranan explained sadly.

“Perhaps you should introduce us,” Cirdan suggested, noticing that the youngster was now standing uncertainly on the quayside, two oilcloth wrapped packs at his feet.

“My Lord Cirdan, may I introduce my friend, Min,” Ranan spoke the words slowly and clearly, facing Min rather than the Elf Lord.

“It is an honour and a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” Min replied, bowing low, his right hand pressed to his breast.

If Cirdan was surprised by the cultured tone or the innate elegance of the gesture he gave no outward sign. He smiled. “The pleasure is all mine. You are most welcome.” Cirdan beckoned over a much younger looking elf and turned back to Min.

“Thorian will show you both to our guest quarters where you may take rest and refreshment. Please make yourselves at home and do not hesitate to let us know if there is anything we may do to ease your stay.”

As Thorian led a slightly stunned-looking Min away Cirdan detained Ranan for a moment.

“An enigma indeed!”

“Aye, There is much trapped within his mind that he has suppressed. I will say no more, I think it best that you make your own judgement about my young friend,” Ranan explained, “but I fear that, despite outward appearance, he is fragile still.”

“I see great hurt and grief within his countenance,” Cirdan observed to his old friend.

“His mind is troubled but he is a good man, I think; one of great courage, if what I have glimpsed of his past is any indication.”

Over the next few days Cirdan observed his young guest as he settled into the Elven colony. Min was quiet and unassuming, spending many hours in the suite allocated to his use. He was clearly shy and yet had an obvious admiration for the art and architecture of his surroundings. He was captivated by the Elves of the Havens and he once again regretted his loss of hearing. He longed to be able to hear the voices and songs of the Elves. He had little difficulty in understanding their speech in individual conversations, for all the Elves he met seemed to understand his disability and endeavoured to speak in such a manner as he could understand them, but in communal situations, such as meal times or the evening gathering he struggled and he turned his frustration inwards, avoiding those situations that caused his distress.

The rooms allocate to him were bright and elegant with a wide view of the Haven’s and the sea beyond. To begin with he felt overwhelmed by the opulence, accustomed as he was to the spartan and crowded life aboard ship or the harsh realities of his life in the wilds. To sleep in a comfortable bed with soft linens and to have available basins of hot water and fine soaps to wash in were luxuries indeed. His hosts even provided him with new attire fashioned from fine linen and wool: leggings and long tunics in the style of their own attire.

When the Elves discovered his interest in art and his skill at carving and drawing they showed him to a studio where the artisans worked and offered him the use of whatever equipment he required. Amongst his many other works Min laboured for long hours on a charcoal drawing of a fortified sea side castle and harbour viewed from the land. When Ranan saw the sketch he recognised the view immediately and hurried to bring the picture and its import to Lord Cirdan.

Cirdan noted much about his young guest and Ranan supplied what information he could. His council explained one aspect of Min’s behaviour that puzzled the Elder; Min often retired early for the night but would than rise when the rest of the community were asleep to spend hours in the studio working or would wrap himself in a cloak and steal to the far edge of the harbour to sit and watch the stars and waves through the long hours of the night. And often he would disappear in the daytime for hours at a time. Cirdan knew where he went, as he knew everything that occurred within his realm and he knew when it was time to confront the youngster.

One evening when Min excused himself at the end of the evening meal, Cirdan and Ranan escorted him from the Hall.

“My Lords!” Min queried, clearly disconcerted by this sudden attention. Cirdan smiled to offer reassurance and ushered Min to his chamber. Min noticed that during his absence an extra easy chair had been placed in his room and his apprehension grew. He flinched when the Elf Lord gently but firmly pressed him down into the middle of the three chairs.

“Peace, Min. All will be well,” Ranan assured him, his hand just touching the youngster’s ear to speak directly to him.

“May I?” Cirdan requested, extending his own hand but waiting for Min’s nod of acquiescence before proceeding to place his hand on the side of his head. For several moments the Elf Lord was silent though Min could feel a warm thrum of energy pass into his mind. He at once felt not only a lessening of the maddening buzzing in his ears but a profound sense of peace washing over him. As time passed he experiences an overwhelming up swell of emotion and he focussed his attention and all the willpower he possessed to force back the urge to weep, though he had no notion as to what he had to weep for. His eyes and throat burned with the effort to remain in control and he gasped against the crushing pressure in his chest.

“Do not hold back your tears… let go, Min… allow yourself the relief of tears.” He sensed the Elf Lord’s gentle compassion and he could no longer resist the urge to give his emotions free rein. He curled over until his forehead rested on his knees and he allowed his tears to flow. The two Elders maintained their contact to him, each using their free hand to gentle and soothe the distraught youngster in their care. Their eyes met above his huddled form and they shared a look of relief mixed with sorrow, for none could be unmoved by the young man’s suffering.

It took a long time before Min was calm enough to talk.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. Ranan disappeared into Min’s bathing chamber and returned with a cool damp cloth and gently sponged away the tracks of his distress.

“Why do you ask for forgiveness? What is your offence?” Cirdan asked gently.

“For being a burden… for being weak!”

“I see no burden nor do I see weakness. I see only one who has suffered and who deserves peace.” Cirdan assured him As the youngster further calmed the Elf lord continued, “May I ask you something, Min? Why did you accompany Ranan here?”

“He persuaded me that if I came here I would find companionship and peace. I had been travelling alone for a long time and I found I no longer wished to be alone. He said that there was one here who might offer me sanctuary.”

“And what do you seek?”

“It seems you have already accomplished it. You have quietened the torment in my ears. If it lasts you will have given me all the healing I can hope for.”

“That is a meagre measure of hope!… and if this improvement persists what would be your wish? What are your plans?”

“I have no plans. I would be happy to stay here if I may find some useful occupation so that I may contribute and not be a burden…”

“I have said before that you are no burden and you are welcome to find sanctuary here for as long as you wish… but I believe you have other hurts that need addressing!” Cirdan prompted.

“I assure you I have no other injuries.”

“I spoke not of injuries but of hurts… tell me of your night time wanderings and daytime sojourns.” There was a sternness and a compassion in the Elf Lord’s manner that allowed no room for dissembling and despite his reluctance Min felt compelled to answer.

“I do not sleep well, even with the comfort of my chambers. I find comfort under the stars…”

“And you do not risk alerting or alarming others with the distress of your dreams?”

“I do not wish to trouble others with my wea… !”

“Do not say it!” Cirdan admonished, sharply. “Min, I am reckoned by my people to be a good judge of character and I tell you again that I see no weakness in you… other than your reluctance to reach out and take up the offers of healing and friendship that are offered to you. Ranan was guided to you and offered to bring you here because he saw that you were in need… and yet you deny that need!”

“What need… I seek only peace.”

“Tell me of your dreams, of your nightmares… Tell me of your past,” Cirdan urged.

“I have no past. My life began more than two years ago when I was pulled from the water, more dead than alive.”

“I do not seek to distress you but from what I have observed and from what Ranan has told me, whatever happened to you was horrific but, my friend, you cannot write off all of your previous life. There must be friends and family out there somewhere who are grieving over your loss. Why do you not seek to find them?”

“Do you think they would welcome a traitor and a felon back with open arms!” Min shouted, breaking contact with the two Elders and pacing angrily. “Do you think I would inflict that upon them? If there be anyone out there who would have grieved for me then they are well rid. I am dead to them and they can move on with their lives without me to taint their future.”

“You speak of treachery… how do you know this?” Cirdan asked, hoping that Min would read the question upon his lips.

“I cannot remember my dreams,” Min said tiredly, all anger leaching away. “I cannot remember the details, though the fear and the shame follow me into waking and those are the words that echo over and over when I wake… traitor… coward… murderer… !”

“But, my friend, dreams are a poor way to judge the past,” Cirdan explained, standing to once again reach out and make contact with the distressed youngster.

Min again shook off his hand, breaking the contact. He turned his back on his companions, pulling his tunic off over his head and baring his back to their inspection.

“Perhaps this is a better method by which to judge,” he said. If not for his deafness he would have heard the gasps of shock from the two Elders as they saw closely for the first time the full extent of the scaring that marred his back from shoulders down to the waistband of his leggings. He shuddered as he felt the Elf Lord’s hand ghost over the surface of his skin, gently mapping the puckered and angry wheals.

Cirdan turned Min to face him, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet his gaze. He was not surprised to see the anger or the tears coursing down the man’s cheeks.

“You scars tell nothing but that you have been terribly and viciously abused… they mark you as a victim… not a felon nor a traitor… they are not a sign of judicious chastisement!” At this pronouncement Min slumped down into the chair and shrugged on his tunic.

“Will you not allow me to help you decipher your memories?” Cirdan asked.

“I do not want to remember. In this I am a coward… I do not want to remember,” he choked.

“Would it not be better to face the past, young one?” Ranan urged.

“To what purpose. To have my transgressions ever before me.”

“Maybe you would learn that you have no transgressions to face,”

“If I decline your offer would I still be welcome to stay here?” Min asked.

“You may stay as long as you need, we place no conditions upon your residency and the offer remains open for as long as you are here. Would you at least consider letting me attempt to ease your physical hurts. I believe I may be able to lessen the scaring and I hope I may be able to further improve your hearing.”

“But you would let the past be?”

“If that is your wish.”

“Very well, I thank you for your generosity and I will accept your kind offer of hospitality .”

“I will also formulate for you a draught to assist you to sleep; you are exhausting yourself in trying to avoid your dreams.”

“I have tried potions in the past,” Min explained, “but they tend to make things worse.”

“But not ‘my’ potions. I believe I may be able to prescribe an aid to assist you to achieve restful sleep.”

“May I make a request in return, Sire?” Min asked.

“Of course, if it is within my power to grant it.”

“I have noticed that there are many empty villas on the outskirts of the harbour. I would be more at home away from the bustle of the main area,” Min explained.

“I do not think it a good idea for you to isolate yourself,” Cirdan cautioned.

“I do not seek isolation… just a little distance, so that I do not need to worry about disturbing others.”

“Will you agree to take your meals in the Great Hall with the rest of the community?”

“If that is your wish,” Min answered, echoing back to Cirdan his own words.

“You have not lost your cheek, I notice, “ Cirdan admonished with a grin and a hug.

Min chose a villa on the hillside just above the harbour wall. It was a small but cosy dwelling that was blessed with the early morning light and in the evening offered spectacular views of the sunset. Beside the villa a walled garden was ablaze with a riot of flowers and plants long ago abandoned to their own devices. Min filled his days with peaceful occupations; he drew and painted, often taking the bounty of nature as his inspiration. He pottered in the garden, not seeking to tame the abundance but only to enhance and nurture the natural order. He often had company as he worked as the Elves sought his company offering friendship and gently guiding him in his endeavours. And each evening after supper he would make his way to the Healing Halls where Cirdan or one of the other healers would massage salves into the dreadful scaring that extended from his shoulders right down to his feet. His inherent shyness made the first few treatments a trial for him as it meant baring himself for their ministrations but their consideration for his feelings and their detached and professional manner soon put him at ease. Cirdan himself treated Min’s ears, massaging warmed oils down into his ear canals to calm and heal the shattered eardrums and channelling his healing energy to the hearing pathways. In time the buzzing was completely eliminated and though the hearing in his left ear was beyond even Elven healing he did regain a degree of hearing in his right ear. He could still not hear clearly but with concentration he could make out some sounds.

Min had been settled for many weeks in the Haven’s and the glowing colours of autumn were painting the leaves with inner fire when Lord Cirdan was alerted to the imminent arrival of an unexpected but honoured guest; only as he was hurrying up the winding lanes to where the gate-ward awaited him did the significance of the date occur to him. Lord Cirdan’s face lit up with delight as he recognised his visitor and he greeted his guest warmly.

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