“Why?” Alagedh asked suspiciously, hoping for more of an explanation. Emerald gave him a pointed look and snipped that he was lucky she had told him what words to look for at all, and not just told him to look. He should know better than to push his luck. So he sighed and settled back and began flipping through a dusty old volume.

The search was boring and, as Tegryn complained, he learned far too much in too short a span of time. In two rainy mornings and afternoons, they learned everything from how many kings had sat on the throne of Minis Tirith to how many inches of snow fell in the Shire four hundred years ago. It was tedious and dull and Emerald more than anyone ached for the freedom to run around in the sunshine and frolick in the fields. That wasn’t possible here anyways, however, and so they searched as much as they could while dining with Saruman and each taking their turns talking with the domineering old man.

It was Alagedh who finally found one of the magical words, suddenly sitting bolt upright in his chair and announcing, “Ivorwen.”

“What?” Beven pressed, while Emerald leapt up, demanding, “Did you find something?”

“’Was fortunate enough to host the Meeting of the Maiar, this taking place within the walls of my very own fortress of Dunharrow. They had requested my kindness that they might have some place of great privacy but small discomfort, and this could I them offer. Of what was said, I cannot say, for they were shut up in a room of great length, and remained in Dunharrow two nights only. Of them was the great Curumo who is their head, and Olórin who is as significant as he, also Aiwendil, and Alatar, and Pallandro. Arriving and leaving with Aiwendil was a woman Ivorwen whom did not sit in on their meetings but was rather most kind to my wife and myself. Her daughter has just born a son—“

“That would be Aragorn!” Emerald hissed.

“-- she told me, her daughter being the wife of the chieftain of the Dúnedain, and for that my wife required lamb for some small celebration. It is so rare, as of late, we are given reason to delight with the fortress being kept empty in this time of peace. They have left us tonight and it is quieter here now than before,’” Alagedh finished. He stuck his finger in the book to explain, “It’s the captain of the guard of Dunharrow’s log. That entry is dated twenty-six March, Third Age twenty-nine-thirty-one.”

“Definitely Aragorn,” Beven nodded. “But . . . the Meeting of the Maiar . . . I’ve never heard of that. And who did he name?”

“I don’t recognize any of those names, though I suppose one of them must be Saruman and one must be Mithrandir,” Hergest shrugged.

Emerald gasped, “Of course! May I borrow the book, Alagedh?” She pulled it out of his hands and went bustling from the room before anyone could ask anything further. She easily found Saruman in his study, his eyes staring distantly out the window. Perhaps he was thinking, but he looked like a corpse.

“Pardon me. Saruman?”

“Yes, child?” he asked, turning and grinning at her most severely.

“I was wondering . . . well, you see . . . it’s silly really but . . .”

“Yes? Out with it, then, is the way to go.”

Emerald sighed and sat beside him, “Well you see, I’ve always been fascinated with the story of the Entwives.”

“Ah.”

“And I thought I might look for them.”

“They are gone,” he assured her.

“Well I know, but I thought I might look all the same. It’s something to do on a rainy day, isn’t it? But you see, I was told that a woman Ivorwen might know something. Do you know where I could find her?”

“I am sorry to tell you that she is long dead.” He seemed so sure of it that Emerald’s heart fell; she had still been secretly hoping Ivorwen was to be found alive.

“Oh. Well, see, I found mention of her in this log, and it also names Maiar, but I’m afraid I don’t know who is who, but you would, wouldn’t you?”

Saruman’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and for a moment he looked like any other doting old grandfather as he took the book from Emerald and perused the page, “Ah, yes, at Dunharrow. I will tell you that Curumo is none other than myself, Olórin is that fool they call Gandalf and not nearly so significant as I, might I point out. Aiwendil might be known to you as Radagast, but Alatar and Pallando will not be known to you, for they ventured East with me but did not return with me.”

“Oh.”

“However, if you wish to know more about Ivorwen, perhaps you should pay Radagast a visit. I have not spoken with him in some time but perhaps you might find him at home. He usually is there, after all, sequestered away like an old fool afraid of life itself.”

Emerald grinned, “Would you mind very much if I went? I’m awful curious.”

“Not in the least. A young lady’s curiosity should be indulged, I believe, and who knows if you might find something of interest after all.”

“Thank you, my lord! I suppose we’ll be off in the morning, then.” Saruman watched her hurry from the room, grinning to himself.

“You put us in a bad position, Emerald,” Tegryn mused, shifting with the weight of his horse as he rode alongside his sister. “Because I certainly was ready to be out of that dungeon Saruman lives in, but I did enjoy having a bed for awhile.”

Emerald pointed out, “You could have stayed in Imladris. I did warn you.” She had a point, but Tegryn wasn’t wanting a solution, he was simply wanting to air his grievances. It was now the third day since leaving Orthanc and the group was remembering how unpleasant it was to make a campsite every night and hunt for fresh meat before they could eat. Saruman had offered them travel packs, but seeing as no one really knew where his kitchens were or who was working in them, it was no surprise that the food he gave them went stale rather quickly. It had rained the day before, and the air grew colder as they ventured north.

It was an interesting change, Alagedh thought to himself, that Princess Emerald had not complained once. He hadn’t noticed any great change in her in general, which was perhaps why the realization felt as significant as it did. Alagedh cared for the royal girl very much, of course, and he meant no harsh criticism in stating that certainly Emerald had always been a bit spoiled. That is to say, she had endured no hardship, had not grown up camping or traveling the way her brothers had, and one would have expected her to dislike the bitter cold and hard ground and harsh winds and lack of good food very much. She had certainly complained a great deal during their initial trip to Imladris, but he couldn’t, when he thought about it, remember her voicing one complaint since leaving Imladris this past time. Maybe he simply wasn’t remembering. But the truth was that she was behaving . . . well, more maturely. She was growing up right before his eyes, and, if Alagedh was going to be honest with himself, he didn’t like it.

He was very relieved, then, when they made camp that night and Emerald began singing some silly little song to herself as she spread out her bedroll. It was nonsensical, something about a unicorn falling in love with a lion and their children running around with fuzzy horns, something she had probably learned as a small child.

Emerald saw him watching her sing and did a playful dance as she sang louder, stomping her feet and leaping about the tight circle they had made with their things. Though they weren’t wood elves, they had felt so much safer camping within the darkness of the forest. Out here on the plains they felt exposed, though the sky really was breathtakingly beautiful. The mountains had long since disappeared to the west, and soon the thick eaves of Mirkwood would loom up before them – tomorrow, perhaps, which meant they were possibly two days from Radagast’s home in Rhosgobel.

“Lovely, Emerald,” Beven assured her without any sincerity. “I’m glad you aren’t letting these dark times drag you down.” He was, of course, teasing, because he knew she felt the pull downwards on her heart sharply.

Emerald insisted, “Yes, well, there’s just so much seriousness, isn’t there? I’m rather sick of it all.” She plopped down on her makeshift bed and watched as Alagedh and Hergest struck up a fire; Tegryn had killed several squirrels earlier with his sharp shooting and he walked a short distance away to skin them. The last thing they needed was squirrel skins and guts attracting late-night visitors.

As they sat around picking at the chewy meat –none of them were exactly cooks—Tegryn inquired casually, “So, what exactly is going on between you and Saruman?”

“What ever do you mean?”

“I mean . . . is there a wedding in the future or something?” While Alagedh and Hergest laughed at the glare Emerald shot Tegryn, he shrugged and insisted it was a valid question.

“No! There’s nothing going on between us. He’s simply fond of me, is all.” Emerald decided it best not to mention her pseudo- partnership with the dark wizard.

Alagedh shook his head, “That’s a bit of an understatement, if you ask me. I wish you wouldn’t speak to him alone. You should see the looks he gives you . . . like he’s going to reach forward and devour you at any moment.”

“That’s actually a spot on description,” Beven nodded. “I agree. It’s an unhealthy, sort of grotesque fixation he’s got on you, Em.”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh, it’s nothing like that. He’s just a creepy old—“

“Hold it,” Alagedh interrupted, suddenly rising. Immediately the chatter and laughter died down; though levity was certainly welcome, since leaving Imladris there had always been the understanding that danger lurked everywhere. Snapping twigs and echoing bird calls frequently made someone’s ears perk and their eyes narrow, and everyone would quiet, listening for any telltale signs of danger.

“What is it?” Emerald asked, rising as well. She too could hear the footsteps, which suddenly froze as though understanding they were being watched. They weren’t human, though; something low to the ground and traveling on four legs. Not a horse, either.

Alagedh and Tegryn both set arrows in their bows, and Emerald desperately wished they were better archers. Shooting blindly in the dark was a bad thing. Simultaneously Alagedh and Tegryn let their arrows fly, and an animal yelp announced that one of them had hit something. But sudden snarling and howling warned that they had only wounded, and suddenly the creature was moving again, this time circling their camp like the predator it was.

“A wolf,” Hergest breathed.

Emerald shook her head, “A werewolf. Saruman’s. Just like last time . . .” Her comment was lost, though, as Alagedh suddenly sprinted forward, drawing his sword and yelling as he slashed blindly. Beven immediately drew his own blade, and Tegryn wasn’t far behind as they jumped into the fray, into the fight that was waging just outside the glow from the fire. Hergest put his hand on the hilt of his own sword but gulped, and Emerald immediately grabbed his arm, making the decision for him.

There was a sudden shout of pain from one of theirs, a shrill squeal from the werewolf, and then silence. The men returned, Tegryn dragging the body of the man that had melted from the form of the wolf, and Beven helping Alagedh along, blood oozing from a deep bite on his arm.

Emerald gasped and rushed forward but he waved her away, “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is, I think. Thank goodness it’s my right arm and not my sword arm, though.”

“Here, Alagedh, I’ve got some extra cloth in my bag,” Hergest offered, already pilfering through his things before pulling out a roll of cotton gauze. “I figured it would be Emerald most likely getting hurt. It usually is, isn’t it?”

“Glad it wasn’t this time, though. Those teeth were pretty sharp,” Alagedh sighed, sitting where Hergest motioned and not minding when the younger prince took it upon himself to wipe the wound down and wrap it. Two of the werewolf’s teeth had lodged themselves in his skin, and these he handed to Emerald with a laugh. “You seem to be collecting odd things. Care to have them?”

“As a reminder of the time you fought a werewolf in the dark on a moonless night? That was awful stupid,” Emerald retorted, taking the teeth nonetheless. Alagedh took her scolding for the care it actually was and appreciated it.

Tegryn, having been looking the body over in the firelight, mused, “What are the chances we would run into two werewolves? I haven’t heard of any other travelers being followed—“

“Oh,” Emerald suddenly gasped. “Now that I think about it, we might not should have killed it!”

“What? You tell me that after I sacrifice my arm?”

“Well you didn’t exactly ask me,” she insisted.

“But why not kill it? Surely being followed isn’t a good thing,” Beven pointed out, to which Emerald responded, “The werewolves are Saruman’s spies.”

“But why was he—“

“To make sure we’re going where we said we were going, no doubt,” Emerald interrupted. “He’s not stupid. He’s . . .” How much could she say? Hesitantly, she offered, “It’s in his best interest, let’s just say, to make sure I’m not running off to Imladris or Rohan.”

Hergest pointed out, “You’re going to visit another wizard, though. How is that in his best interest?”

“Well that’s probably what the spy was going to do, see what we talked about and report back. And now that he’s dead . . . well, he can’t report back and say I was faithful.”

“The werewolf could have just been killed by anyone along the way, though. It doesn’t necessarily implicate us.”

“No,” Emerald agreed, slightly frustrated that they weren’t understanding. But of course not; she was being too vague. “However, how it dies doesn’t matter. What matters is that it would have given a positive report back and I could have benefited from that.”

“Why, Emerald? What have you gotten us into?” Tegyn suddenly asked, standing and looking down at her as she sat beside Alagedh.

She frowned, “I haven’t gotten you into anything; you’ve come along on your own accord, and Saruman knows you’re oblivious. Only that I need to remain in his good graces, and proof that I’m doing as I said I was doing would be helpful.”

“Well, it’s pointless to argue now,” Alagedh shrugged, wincing as his arm jostled. It would probably be sore for some time. “If he sends another spy, which I’m sure he will, we won’t kill it until you say so, Princess. If he’s as smart as everyone says, he won’t send just one spy to do the job.”

He made a good point, but still Emerald worried. The mood was more low- key as they went back to their squirrel, as they drew night watches, and as they settled back to fall asleep staring up at the stars. It was a clear night, and although the land around them was as dark as the inside of their eyelids because of the absent moon, the stars twinkled like tiny pinpricks in a sheet of velvet held over a window.

Emerald, who was almost always given the first watch regardless of the draw, spent a good deal of time staring up at them, ignoring the stiffness that settled into her neck. She knew better than to lie back, lest she fall asleep. The dying fire warmed her fingers and toes, and it finally occurred to her she ought to check the book while there was still enough light to see by.

Her parents remained the same back home, and Elrond was sleeplessly pacing the halls of his empty House. Arwen had, after a brief stay in Lothlorien, begun her journey back to Imladris that morning under heavy guard. And the Fellowship . . .

Emerald’s heart leapt into her throat. She sat up straighter and leaned as close to the fire as she could to read the page again, and again, and then again and again until her breathing was coming in ragged gasps and the tears clouded her vision too much to see anything except a blur of orange and black. She clutched her hand to her chest, wondering what it was that was hurting so badly, like some great bubble was swelling inside between her lungs. For a moment she wondered if this was what it felt like to die. She couldn’t breathe, and her sobs, though racking her entire body, were silent. But no, she could only conclude: this was what it felt like to lose someone. Worse, to be the cause of the loss of someone, for Emerald could find no one in the world to blame except herself, and the knowledge was unbearable. She bent forward and let her tears fall, making tiny muddy dots on the cold ground.

Mithrandir had fallen to a balrog of Moria.

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