A Mariner's Tale

The man off the Elessander held there breath, they had been on sea for two years now, what was supposed to be a simple fishing trip off one month turned out into a two year long trip. Many hadn't survived some due to hunger, other washed away during storms and others which nobody knew what had happened to them. Thoran was one off those men who looked with delight to the coast off Gondor, his home country. For he who passed from simple lad to captain during this trip. But what they all wanted the most, those 20 survivor was run home to there family's and eat meat, two years off fish even if it was enough to survive it didn't filled the spiritual belly off a man. As they started to maneuver in the port they could here people cheering for there return, and before they where attached the whole time was assembled at the docks. Most off the man jumped out off the boat as soon as they could, most almost falling on the floor, they had developed sea legs during the storm's and for the first time in two years they had set foot on dry land, at least most off them.

After the joy off the home coming the town had past to the mooring for the lost men, but most off the family's had already accepted that there beloved ones where death. The town was anxious to hear about there story but even months later non off the survivor ever said a word about it. And most off them became poor drunks relying on there family as non off them ever set foot on another boat again. And so the years passed, and the people that where once young became old. Thoran who had been the youngest was the only one alive. For years people thought he had lost his mind, and children had start avoiding his house that now wasn't more then a few wooden planks nailed together. And the one so kind face turned in a hardened face, covered with a long dirty beard. But what the people feared the most where his eyes, his once beautiful blue eyes turned black and his kind gaze became cold as ice.

A young man strolled happy through the streets, he had been able to buy a boat and he was ready to start exploring the sea, at the great disappointment off his father Dirano never enjoyed fishing and his love for the sea pushed him seek the mystery's off the sea. He had bought the Elessander even if everyone said it was haunted and that was the reason he had been able to afford it. And after several weeks he finally was able to get a crew together he was ready to go on his adventure and nothing or nobody would be able to stop him.

Thoran walked for the first time in many many years in the docks. When he arrived close to the Elessander he hesitated but seeing all those brave but very foolish young man ready to set foot aboard off this ship gave him the courage he needed to after 43 years tell someone what happened on there adventure like so many called what in fact was a big scary nightmare. Thoran walked up to Dirano and tapped on his shoulder. * Young man I suggest you take another boat. And when you have another boat, I suggest you stick to fishing instead off playing the hero.

*It took Dirano some time to realise who stood in front off him. But he then just make himself as big as he could, standing at least two heads over the old and shrunken man.* And why would I do that? It is a fine boat and you can't which to stay the only sea explorer here! * Thoran had a long sarcastic laugh.* I think it is time to teach you little kids a little lesson why we humans aren't allowed to go to far into sea without fearing the wraith off the valar. Gather around because for the first time in 43 years this tale will be told by someone who was there. And it will be the last time at the same time.*

*When the word spread that the tale off the Elessander would be told the majority off the town gathered around the ship. It didn't pleased Thoran but he couldn't blame them as most off the towns people from that time already died and that he was the last survivor off the crew the story already started to become a legend and who could pass by the occasion to hear what happened in a legend from first hand. Thoran took a deep breath to gather his lacking courage and started with an old and rough voice.*

It all started 45 years ago, I was a young man and the Elessander was the first ship I ever boarded. I was hired to scrub the deck, and when the fish came in I was supposed to chop off the heads and put them in ice with some others off my childhood friends. The trip went as planned till the 14th day, the ship had enough fish to go home but we had enough space to store many more when we got hold off a bank off fish swimming. The captain was delighted and followed them they made us go a lot deeper in the water then we where supposed to go but we where all motivated as the sooner we brought them in the faster we would go home. But just as we where about to turn to go home a huge storm cracked right above us. And it lasted for one week. When we got out off it we thought we had survived hell but little did we know about hell.

*Thoran paused, not to create suspense as he figured that waiting 43 years would have build enough suspense that even a bad storyteller couldn't ruin it. No he had paused because even if the time had healed a lot off wounds, some off the things he had seen had wounded him so deeply he just had a hard time not losing his mind by just thinking about it.*

It is that night we knew we where in trouble, as the sun made space for the moon and the star, the sky who always had been a recon forting sight for a sailor as it was easier to locate yourself then during the day, but nobody knew the stars once so friendly. We knew we where lost and we decided not to sail during the night, only to use the sun to give us an more certain course to fallow. But soon we realised we drifted fast and in the wrong direction when we stopped for the night.

We had been lost for two months when another huge storm broke out. It lasted for one full month, it was hell, some off you kids complain when your caught in a little storm for a few hours so imagine the worse storm you ever heard about multiply it by ten and then imagine being stuck on it for one full month. Finally we where picket up by a wave, and got crushed on a little island and the storm cleared in merely seconds. We where all happy and most off the crew jumped out off the boat, but we the younger kids had been ordered to stay on board, make the repairs needed in the inside and count the stock off food and water we had left. Luckily we had had a good fishing trip or we would all have died off hunger, and now that I think about it it would have been preferable.

Everybody that went off board started to have nightmares that night so once the boat was fixed we set sail again. But the further away we got the stranger the men started to behave. One day the captain said, all what land on the beaches off Anitalio stays there. And he jumped in the water. Soon we figured out that he was saying the truth. Men ripped off there flesh out off pain for being away off the beach. And since that day the boat only wants to get back to it, that is why we took so long to get back. It will be your death. The guys who survived went all crazy afterwards and we didn't even touched the beach.

Thoran fell down, when they checked on him he had died. Dirano cut the securities from the boat, and seeing it move slowly against the strong stream convinced him the story was true and thanked the valar for the warning. Since that day no boat has been far enough to lose the town from its sight as a token off respect for there lost brothers off the Elesander who never got home.

By Emus Trask
Winner of Fireside Tales Jan 05

The Radiant Jewel

She slid across the floor gracefully in her heeled shoes. I never did understand how women could walk in those. Frankly, I didn't care for any type of formal wear, but with these gala events as they were, I could hardly show up in anything less grandiose. My beautiful wife absolutely relished the opportunity to get dressed up and parade around a large ballroom full of pompous strangers, all with their, "My, you look lovely tonight"s and their "Ah, it is good to see you again"s, where, if that were true, we'd be having a cup of coffee with them every weekend and sharing the latest news. But, though everyone looked nice on the outside at these galas, they were truly ugly on the insides. Nothing but a bunch of phonies prancing around in shined shoes and glass heeled pumps.

It was another pointless expedition to honor the retirement of some old dog who did something great in his life. I had never heard of him, and, being a fairly seasoned soldier, anyone who was anything, I had heard of. This old sod must have been some political mastermind or foreign emissary, running around with proposals to here and there, and maybe once in a while getting his ankles dusty from stepping out of the wheelhouse into small patch of dirt before the stone steps. Probably was a fat old louse, rounded around the edges with a real hearty laugh, that, half the time, was probably only to win rapport with whoever he was talking about.

If it was up to me alone, I never would have stepped out of my small home except for work, and an occasional trip to the brewers to pick up another cask of ale. It was hard enough to stand watch on the Othram and not throw myself overboard in an attempt to end it all, but then coming to these "parties" made standing eight hour watch seem like a trip to paradise.

But I came because my wife relished the opportunity. And, being the swell guy that I was, I wasn't about to tell her no. It made her happy, and seeing her happy made me forget how miserable I was for a time.

I was wearing my usual uncomfortable slacks and shirt, vest and jacket, all stiff and scratchy and irritating, and not to mention, a bit too small (maybe I was gaining a bit of weight, but I'd rather not think about that). Those black leather shoes pinched at my feet and scraped at my heel, and with every step they gave a barely audible (except to me) squeak; one that was grinding at the finely tensioned cord of my patience and sanity.

My wife, however, had gone all out as usual, breaking out her bright satin red dress, cut into a halter and tying around her neck, sliced down to expose a bit of promiscuity, but not overly much. The shimmering cloth flowed across her curves and hugged her, like any smart man would, tightly, and not looking to let go anytime soon. Her hair was done up, a hairdo that cost me a pretty penny, but was worth every dime of it. She had made up her face in a very humble yet striking manner, and, with every step she seemed to emit golden light all around her.

But, most notably, she wore a great ruby necklace, with a stone that measured nearly three inches in diameter. The matrix of the crystal was truly elaborate, and when light went in, the entire piece sparkled outwardly, for the light was trapped so perfectly within the crystal that it illuminated like a beacon. So as we entered the hall for the party for Gondor's Greatest Someone-or-other, nearly every head turned to check out my darling wife and her new necklace. And, as it always happened, everyone swarmed the entryway to have a word with her, and me. Usually I just threw them off with some cordial nonsense, a high-class joke that wasn't even funny, but that they always chuckled at.

So as we cut the crowd, slashing away at them one by one, telling people it was good to see them, explaining that no children were on the way, talking about how I was hoping to get a promotion here and there, maybe a bit about the last event, we finally made it to our table and sat down.

And as usual, dinner came and was devoured, and speaker spoke and then exited, and music played and people danced. I made sure not to surrender my darling wife to any gawker, friend or not, for who knew what they might say to her, or think in their heads. So, being jealous and stingy, my wife and I danced the night away.

I had discovered that I was mostly right, the man of honor was indeed some fat emissary who was retiring, with a bushy white mustache, clean bald head and awkward chuckle. And as I watched the pile or lard jiggle his way towards us, I knew already that he came to snatch my wife away from me for a moment.

"Ho, ho, so this must be the young lady everyone is talking about, with the red dress and ruby necklace!" he exclaimed, hardly able to mask the scent of his guzzled meal from his boisterous mouth. "Would you allow this old lad the honor of the next dance?" he asked, extending a greasy and chubby hand out to her. As was proper (though I hated to be proper) I stepped aside and allowed her to slip away with Sir Lardbottom.

As they moved across the floor, a bit rigidly due to the good Lord's girth, I took up a glass of wine and snickered to myself at the look on my wife's face, the smile of mere formality, the one she put on when she was miserable but couldn't show it. His hand slipped down a bit lower on his back than was standard, and I watched as my wife's eyes soured. As the waltz closed, he returned with her, thankfully, unspoiled from his oily person.

"My oh my," he chortled, "she is truly a wonderful woman," he said with the phoniest air that I had ever heard come out of one of these pompous pigs. "

Yes, it is a magnificent jewel," I responded, taking a sip at my wine. I could see the confusion in his eyes, and I smiled. And when I looked at my wife, she smiled too. The only thing more beautiful than the radiant jewel around her neck, was the sparkle in her eyes as I made of a fool of the fat man standing before her.

By Arteris Silverquill
2nd place Fireside Tales Jan 05

The Lost Star

It is said that whenever the life of an elf comes to its fullest, it is taken up by Eru and placed in the sky above as a star for those who are left behind, to be guided by their light. It is for this reason, why the story I shall tell you came into being. Once long ago, there was a great elven king who ruled his Kingdom with love, honesty and above all, passion. His queen was said to possess the beauty of both the Arkenstone and the Nauglamir and that her beard hung longer than her Husbands. Yes Dis was a dwarven princess that had fallen for the elven king Ecaps. They had one child, a daughter who's beauty was beyond that of any who had lived before her. Her stature was small, but her eyes were large and they shone like the light of the two trees of Valar. They named her Tinkabell for she was tiny, yet would always be the belle of the ball. For a hundred years they watched her grow to a young woman, within that time the land was beautiful and full of laughter.

The joining of King Ecaps and Queen Dis had reunited the two peoples, and with Naith liathant and Laielinwen being god parents to Tinkabell, all three races were united as one society. They traded and feasted together, mourned and celebrated together and they all worshipped Eru Phil who gave to the land all that they might need. It was at the end of the fourth age that Eru Phil was busy with a new memory and did not foresee the trouble ahead. Tinkabell had fallen in love with Mandallah the leader of a vicious and evil tribe, for her there could be no bad in anyone and all she saw was a noble and gentle creature. Their love had started with an innocent meeting in the wild forest of Fangorn. They had soon become stronger as they would meet often in the land of Ithilien, when she would stay with her godparent's Naith and Laie. At the beginning of the fifth age, Eru deemed his task complete and took a well-earned break, not knowing of the love that grew between the light and the darkness. It was at this time that King Ele Isenfolme and his queen Eleowyn were traveling through Ithilien on their way to Minas Tirith. Bad news for our young lovers as they were spotted by Ele. The sight of Tinkabell embracing Mandallah brought tears of sadness to Eles' heart.

"Tinkabell. Why do you try to hurt your family so, for this will be the consequence when your family find out? Tinkabell begged her uncle not to tell, for she feared that she would be sent home to the golden wood and would not see Mandallah again. Ele agreed to keep her secret as long as she gave up the love she had for Mandallah, for such was the way of Tinkabell that none could refuse her, being consumed by her beauty and innocence. Ele and Eleowyn continued their journey to Minas Tirith and escorted Tinkabell back with them. They were on their way to help with the restocking of the Naith's library as it had recently been attacked by a great worm and many fine works were lost. Many weeks passed by and Ele was happy, he had kept a close eye on Tinkabell and was content that her love for Mandallah had passed. Meanwhile Tinkabell and Mandallah had been meeting in secret almost everyday. Mandallah was a powerful being and had given to her a seeing stone, yes, one of the palantir's of old. It was with this tool that Mandallah distorted what Tinkabell came to see. He had shown her many times how the three kindred's of dwarf, man and elf had attacked and defiled his kingdom. He had shown her how they plotted and schemed to overthrow him and then devour his people and lands. When Tinkabell could take no more shame, he showed her of the meeting of the foul witchking Rohanna and his alliance with Laielinwen as further evidence. Tinkabell wept, as she understood the hardship and misery the people she most cared about had inflicted on her beloved Mandallah. It was for this reason that Tinkabell agreed to become Mandallah's queen, thus hoping to unite the four kingdoms and stop the tyranny of her people. She so desired to be his wife and queen, but would have normally never agreed without the blessing of her mother and father. Now, kindled deep within her heart was disgust for them and for all those that would wreak destruction upon the world. She told Mandallah to come for her on the eve of the new moon, which would be in 5 days time, and to wait in hiding for her by the old tower in Osgiliath.

Three days passed by and a great commotion was occurring throughout Minas Tirith. Naith had organised many balls and games to celebrate Laielinwen's anniversary in the white city. Many prestigious people were making their way to the city to give tribute and celebrate her reign, including King Ecaps and queen Dis. Tinkabell was horrified at the thought of her parents coming to the city, for now she would have to face them and she new how perceptive her father was, he would surely know that something was not right with his beloved daughter. That night Tinkabell made her plans with Mandallah and left the white city for Osgilliath, She took with her only her faithful horse Aralomiel and the ring her mother gave her, the one ring that had been passed from mother to daughter since its creation in valinor by Blackrose-bugg who had sought the aid of Morgoth in its creation. Unbeknown to Tinkabell, Laielinwen had become concerned for her and had summoned her mother and father many weeks earlier and they were now within the walls of Minas Tirith ever watchful of Tinkabells movements. It was Eru Phil himself that had appeared to Laielinwen in a vision and warned her that from a great beauty would come much sadness and ruin. Naith and Laielinwen made their way to the houses of the healing and reported to Ecaps and Dis that Tinkabell had just left the city but Naith had sent Hoyamir to follow her and to leave signs for them to follow. Making their way to the royal stables all four regents mounted their horses and gave chase.

Meanwhile Tinkabell was approaching the tower in Osgilliath, she was distraught so she didn't notice the feeling of danger that surrounded the ruined city. Mandallah greeted her with arms wide, closing them around her she fell into his embrace, "Don't be sad my love, for when our marriage is sealed, our kingdoms will all be reunited". Tinkabell tried to smile and then gave Mandallah the one ring, which was the custom in such times, to offer the marriage ring by way of betrothment (engagement). It is told that when Ecaps, Dis, Naith, Laielinwen and Hoyamir caught up with the pair, that a great duel was fought by King Ecaps and Mandallah that lasted over an hour! Eventually Ecaps got the better hand but as he lunged to finish Mandallah off, Tinkabell jumped to her lovers aide and took her fathers lunge deep in her heart. In Ecaps despair over killing his daughter, Mandallah was able to flee and escape. The others were unable to catch Mandallah who had many orcs placed within the ruined city that now emerged and attacked the group of regents. Driven back to Minas Tirith having had to leave his daughters body where she lay. It is said that it was then that Naith and Laielinewen and Ecaps and Dis did swear an oath, never to have peace with Mordor until the One ring was returned and Mandallah slain. And thus the war of the ring began. It is said that if ever you find yourself lost at night in middle earth, that you only have to follow the brightest star, who was lost to her own and deceived by Mandallah and for eternity will guide the lost back home safely.

By Tarkano
3rd place of Fireside Tales Jan 05

Above Honour

Of all the tales of the Great War, perhaps none was so heart-rending, and yet oft-forgotten by the minstrels, as one particular tale of valour, love and honour. It happened amid the pounding of thousands and thousands of hooves, horses and Men flying wildly into battle, the yelling and screaming of orcs and other fell creatures roaring in the ears of all who would fight for the peace of Middle-Earth, of all free peoples, near and far. On that fateful day, the day of the battle at Pelennor, even as the Sons of Eorl charged into the fray, horns blaring, burnished shields waving, spears glittering in the sun, to join in the aid of Gondor, there was a young Rider in the midst of the charge who would soon help change the fortunes of at least one of his Gondorian brethren.

The screams of the fell beasts flying above came hard, beating down on one and all below, even as the horrid creatures swooped and careened, bearing down on those who still somehow managed to remain on their mounts, in spite of the hatred and fear bent directly on them. Dust was flying over the heads of the Riders and soldiers, their horses neighing wildly with terror in their eyes, and fires were everywhere, burning, choking, smothering everything in their paths. Boulders came crashing down hither and thither, so that no one knew where the crushing blows might fall next. And into the midst of it all, the Riders came hard, flying with shouts and high voices, for the lust of battle was on them all. Anyone listening to such a charge had to take pause, if only for an instant, for there were young and old, apprentice and sage, all with the same bright armour, the same fell voices on the air, singing of battle and glory, of valour and honour, as on they came without a halt. It was in the very middle of this tumult that the young Rider rode hard, his eyes fixed ahead, slaying wildly as he went, hacking and cutting down every orc within reach of his mount. On, on he came, golden hair flying in the wind, his sword flashing to and fro, stained with the black blood of the orcs, and even as he slew his enemies, smiting them down with cold steel, his heart beat hotter and hotter, his purpose sure.

Even as the Riders of Rohan came charging up to their aid, the Men of Gondor fought on. Hideous the creatures now forcing their way into the White City, with fires burning in the first circle, and the heads of slain Men lying now amidst the fires, as those inside the stone walls ran further in and up, to the second circle. Of those that stayed their course and fought bravely, down in the first circle and out onto the fields of the Pelennor, was a young Man of Gondor, tall and stern, his eyes a flame of fire as he slew his enemies. His situation becoming more desperate, he at last found a worthy steed, and mounted him at once, for he had need of haste, and of some advantage over the foul creatures swarming over the land like huge ants or beetles, seemingly endless in their numbers. Riding hard into the plain, he slew as he went, trying to do his part at holding back some of the coming onslaught, trying to prevent at least part of it from reaching the White City, home that he loved. On he rode, his shield held high, his sword flashing, flashing, never stopping. As he went on, further afield, he heard the high piercing screams of the Nazgul above him, and rode harder, doing everything in his power to leave the fear behind. Suddenly, his horse screamed in terror and pain, and down went horse and rider together, dust choking them as they fell, other riders and soldiers falling around them as well, for the Nazgul had come low, and the black breath was taking its toll on all unfortunate enough to have been beneath them. It might have been worse still for the young Gondorian, had his horse not fallen over him, covering his face and chest, and taking the brunt of the terror. As it was, the Man was badly hurt, and, try as he might, was too weak to disentangle himself from his mount, now lying sideways and atop the young Man’s right arm and shoulder, nickering in pain, for he had sustained very serious injuries as well. As he lay beside his injured horse, long blonde hair spilling out of his helm, the young Man of Gondor saw the battle around him closing in, certain that death was not now far off. His sword was there, right beside him, and yet he could not use it, his right arm crushed beneath the horse. In vain did he try to move, to free himself in spite of the pain, yet could not, and in anguish and wrath did he cry out, his frustration and rage growing as his attempts to free himself failed utterly. Was it to end this way, without the valour and honour he sought? To lie on a field of battle, defeated not so much by enemies, as he saw it, but by a broken arm and bloodied shoulder, caught beneath his horse?!

As the young Man lay injured on the field, and the battle grew hotter, the young Rider of Rohan was slaying, slaying, orcs and other foul creatures alike, his sword like a flame in the sun, his shield almost splintered, yet still in front of him, held high. Out farther into the Pelennor he rode, until he found himself in the midst of a killing field indeed, where riders, soldiers, horses and even orcs lay dead and bloodied, almost beyond recognition, and aghast, he pulled up short as he saw the young Man of Gondor, his arm caught underneath his injured horse, for not only was the Man the only living being on that patch of dusty, bloody ground, but the Rider recognized the young Man, and knew him full well. Jumping down from his mount, the young Rider took no more thought to his own safety, but put his full attention to his injured comrade, pushing with all his weight on the Man’s horse, freeing the crushed arm and shoulder of the Man of Gondor. He was sorry, of course, very sorry, that he would have to leave the Man’s horse behind, but there was nothing for it. He would do what must be done. As the rider bent over the young Man, however, the Gondorian gave a cry, and his eyes went wide. Staring back into his own eyes were those of someone he had long missed, whom he had not seen in so many years, that the thought had come to him that perhaps the young Rider had died long ago, caught in some battle far off, and out of reach. But no, there they were, and he knew the rider, knew him well, and there was no mistake.

"Well, my brother, I never thought to find you here", the Rider said gently as he tried to pick up the young Man of Gondor without hurting him further. "How--how did you get here...", the young Gondorian gasped, his breath coming ragged from the pain as he tried to stand, leaning heavily on the young Rider. "Rohan has answered the call to the aid of Gondor, brother, as I am sure you knew. Yet you did not know I was with them, it seems." The young Man of Gondor looked at his brother in wonder, even as he wretched in pain again. It was too much for him to take in now, wounded as he was, almost passing out from the pain of his crushed arm and shoulder, hanging now limply at his side. If he lived, the questions, and answers, would come later. Quickly now, and as carefully as he could manage, the young Rider lifted his brother up onto his own mount, intending to jump up in front of him, desiring only to get them to a place of relative safety, to get his brother’s injuries tended. A great deal of blood had been lost already, and he wanted to waste no time. They were too far afield as it was, and the battle was around them still, fiercely being fought by friend and foe alike. Just as the young Rider began his ascent back onto his mount, however, an arrow came flying, a black arrow, thick and hard, and finding its mark, pierced the young Rider’s back, passing through to his chest. Crumpling against his horse, he grasped his brother’s hand, gasping as he did so, "Ride, brother! Ride to safety!" The young Gondorian looked in horror at his fatally wounded brother, and knew it was hopeless. Beneath the shining armour, blood was gushing forward, spilling out onto the hard ground, the lifeblood of his brother. Grasping his sword in his good left hand, the young Man of Gondor desperately raised it up, even as the orc that shot his brother came nigh, and with one fell stroke, cleaved the head off the foul creature, and it dropped lifeless to the ground. Turning his gaze back to his brother, he saw that the young Rider was fast dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Dropping his sword quickly back into its sheath, he took hold of his brother’s hand, even as his brother reached up to him, imploring him to leave, "You must go...you must hurry! My horse--he will save your life. Ride now, brother...you must leave me here." The young Man of Gondor grasped at his brother, replying, "But to leave you here! Alone, on a killing field of battle, to die without the honour you deserve! I should take you back in honour into the City, even if you died on the way!" Gazing up at his brother, so earnest in his desire for valour and honour in battle, the young Rider replied even as he breathed his last, "Brother, you do not understand. Above honour is love. Remember that, brother, always." With that, the young Rider fell to the ground, dead from the spear wound. Tears coursing down his face, the young Man of Gondor, the rider’s brother, took up the reins and, with one last look back, fled the killing field, flying as fast as he could back through the battle, toward his home, the beloved White City, the last words of his brother still ringing in his heart.

By Daffodil Baggins
Winner of Fireside Tales July 05

A Simple Life

Years ago there lived a man, and though his name has long been forgotten, his story will never die, not so long as a bard in this land still draws breath. He was a warrior of great renown, his skill said to be as incredible as that of the legendary kings of old. For years this man traveled the land, his blade ridding it of all kinds of evil. No Orc could withstand it, and so great was their terror of this warrior that they would flee at the very mention of his name, a mindless terror taking hold of them. Legend holds that even the trolls quaked when they saw him running towards the line of battle, even though he charged alone. Yet not even the mightiest of heroes lives forever, nor can they escape death, no matter how great their strength is. It came to pass that the warrior became ill, even to the very point of death, and in despair he lay in bed for many long weeks, praying that a quick end would come, and that he would have to endure the torture no longer.

Now there lived another man at this time, a far younger warrior, and ever since his childhood he had delighted in the stories of the valor shown by the Champion and idolized him. In all he did he strove to be like the Champion, and he quickly won much fame for his own skill with his blade. But then the Champion disappeared, and no one heard from him for quite a length of time, and the Youth greatly wondered what had become of his hero. With that question in his mind, he set off to find him, and so great was his determination that no one could dissuade him from this dangerous path. Over expansive fields, and towering mountain, through dark forests and deep canyons the Youth searched, following every clue, searching for any lead as to the location of the Champion. At last he found the inn where the Champion waited the death that he knew and hoped would soon come. So great was the sickness of the Champion that the Youth recoiled in disgust when his eyes first gazed upon him, and he did not recognize the man that he had held in highest esteem for many years.

The Champion saw the Youth through half closed eyes, but though his body was all but destroyed his mind yet stayed sharp, and he immediately understood the reason for the Youth's visit. Motioning to the doctor who had been caring for him all of this time, the Champion instructed him to leave the two of them alone. Great was the protest of the doctor, who insisted that the Champion was likely to die if his care was neglected for even a moment. But the doctor's complaints would not alter the mind of the Champion, and after much discussion he finally consented, and hurriedly he left the room.

As the door closed, the Champion reached out and laid his withered hand upon the Youth's arm. He began to speak, but his voice was so labored and quiet that the Youth had to lean in within a few inches of the Champion's face to be able to hear the words that were spoken.

"My child, I know at first glance why you have sought me. You have grown up following my exploits, hearing of my triumphs, and praising my victories. Listen now, to the final words of an old man. Heed my advice, for I have learned much through the years. I claim not wisdom or great intelligence, but much experience I have in this world, and this I now pass on to you. For years I traveled the world, my sword held high in defiance of all enemies of my people. Never did I find anyone who could stand against my blade, though many died trying. No foe could match me, no arm could o'ercome me, save one: Time. I am old, and my body wearied. The strength that once held me high has abandoned me, and now all that is left is the twisted old man you see before you. No longer does my arm have the might to lift a fork to my mouth, when once it swung a sword better that any other man. For weeks have I lain here, and in that time I have though about much. My life I have pondered, and the truth now I see plainly, though I wonder how I could have missed it all this time. For years I sought fame and fortune, a name that would live forever in the hallows of the great warriors. Yet nothing else did I pursue, so that now when I lack the strength to stand I am left with nothing. My name endures for now, that much is true, but there will come another Hero, and his name will soon replace mine. No friends do I have, nor family to comfort my final hours. And in that I have my greatest regret: in my attempt to earn my place in eternity, I neglected to find my place in this world."

As these word's passed the Champion's lips he began coughing uncontrollably, and it was apparent from the sound that he was in great pain. The Youth looked around hurriedly and spotted a bowl of water beside the bed. Picking it up, he gently poured some of the cool liquid down the throat of the sickly man. After a few minutes the coughing spell subsided and the Champion was able to continue. "You, my child, are still young. Your body's still strong, and your spirits still high. Make the most of this time. You spend your childhood desiring to grow up, to get to do adult things, but once you get there you'll give anything to get that freedom of childhood back. Listen to me, and don't make the mistakes that I did. Pay attention to what really matters. Not the momentary fame that comes from battle, not the temporary joy that comes from gambling and drinking. I thought that those things could fill the hole in my life, but I was wrong. They don't fill it, they just make you more aware of how deep it is. Spend you time building friendships, true friendships, and your life will have meaning. Look at me. For all the good I did, all the people who claimed to be forever indebted to me, I lie here alone with naught but a stranger and a hired doctor I don't know to care fore me, and I thank you for coming. But my point is this: for all I've accomplished in life, I am left with nothing, and I can take nothing with me when I leave. I don't even have good memories, but only pain and hardship and toil."

Another coughing fit, this one more intense stopped the old man once more. The Youth tried to get him to drink more water, but the Champion was coughing so much that he could not swallow it. After a few minutes it began to subside, but it was quite obvious that the Champion was weakening, and that he would not live much longer. With some difficulty he managed to continue. "My boy, I haven't got much longer on this earth. I thank you for the kindness you have showed, and for listening to this old fool. But I beg of you, listen for but a moment more, and think about all that I've told you. Seek not after fame or pleasure, but look for the things that really matter. Find a wife, start a family, learn an honest trade and work it joyfully. In this you will have far more than I ever did. I sought an immortal name, but alas it shall not endure for long after I am dead and buried. As for you, though, live a life to make others proud, and your children will not let your name be forgotten. Just be certain that you are pleased with the way that you are remembered." Coughing once again interrupted the man, but he refused to even try to drink any water. When it was over he could no longer even open his eyes, and the tiny whisper of his voice was quieter, if that was possible. With great effort he gathered up every last bit of strength that his wearied body contained, and with that he spoke his last words, then left this world.
"Never…underestimate..the value…of… a simple life…"

By Azdiur
2nd place of Fireside tales July 05

The Crimson Field

The dwarf trudged through the city of Minas Tirith. Rain poured all around as he looked left and right before crossing another street and standing under the safe haven of a building's overhanging. The sign over the door said "The Drunk Dwarf" and the short bearded man laughed at the irony. Creeping inside he saw the bartender, a short stout man with a long beard, not one to rival a dwarf's but long for a humans, handing out an dark ale to a tall gondorian man. The room was filled with the laughter of men and the sound of splashing drinks. Stepping into the doorway several heads looked and then there was a hushing of voices as men pointed and quarried. One man snorted at the mud covered dwarf before turning back to his table. All the sudden the room was full of laughter and talking again. Some about the dwarf.

Marching across the room to the bartender the dwarf shoved his way up to the man and spoke, "I would like to take a drink but have no money to pay for it. All that i once had has been taken by a theif and a liar." he grumbled about it for a bit and noticed the man he was speaking to had not heard. Growling under his breath he shouted up at the Bartender. "SIR, I am sure you know I am here. I would like a drink yet i have no money due to it being taken!" the bartender looked down at the dimuitive fellow beneath him and then smiled, his mustache curling up as he smiled, "Well Hello there, If you can work off your pay I may give it too you. I have some dishes that need cleaning or even better you could tell us a story, if you have one, and entertain us. I am sure an ale is worth the price of a good story." He nodded and then asked what the dwarf wanted. The dwarf responded and was handed a frothing mug of the cool ale. Moving to a table he began to sip on the drink.

Looking up he heard a man speaking in a loud and obnoxious manner. He paid attention to what was said and this is what he heard, "...and by Eru's luck I caught hold of the rock and punched upward with it. The bloody orc let free of the sword it was holding at me and jumped backward, spitting out a tooth. He came at me again and I caught the sword from the ground and stabbed upward. The blood rushed all over me and he convulsed once and was dead. I smiled and stood up when suddenely another orc came rushing me. Iswear this was the biggest orc I had ever seen. It was at least five and a half feet tall and had a hammer with a head the size of me own. I jumped at him, rushing with my sword focused towards the stomach. He bashed at me but i rushed under it and stabbed upward into it's gut. The tough orc fell dead before my feet." The dwarf frowned. Turning around he saw the man at his table, about seven feet away.

The dwarf stood tall and moved over to the table with the man. Speaking in a low tought voice he said his name, "Feldar Boudlerarm be me name, nice to meet ye all." as he sat down the man man who had been speaking, a tall man with a cleanshaven face and a neatly trimmed short haircut, black all spoke, "What buisness does a dwarf have in Gondor, It is rare i see one in these parts!" . He wore the clothing of a military man and had a sword at his side to prove it. Feldar wore only his nondescript clothing, grey colored and had a small knife at his side. Looking at them all he began to speak, "I am here on buisness and wanted a quick drink. I didnt catch all that ye were saying but I did hear something about a battle with orcs. Where did this happen?" as he spoke the man looked at him and laughed, "The Skirmish on Galdor Hill. IT was seven years ago on the border of gondor and the remnant of mordor. A small clan of orcs attacked the men of our troop. Twenty of our men died, one of the most bloody days in many years, but why do you care? You are a dwarf, you sit in your holes in the mountain and dont trouble yourselves with the needs of Gondor." Laughing he winked at his companion, "Besides, what would a half pint man such as yourself do in a real battle?" The dward was shocked that the man didnt consider dwarves to be powerful warriors. All men should know that dwarves are built for battle and are by nature strong and quick.

He frowned at the man and spoke, "Well then you have never heard of the Battle of Darkgul where a patrol of Gondorian soldiers marched near the mountains near Helm's Deep. They were on a journey escorting the Queen and her child to Rivendell. This happened Seventy years ago. The soldiers of Gondor marched into the fields in front of the pass to Rivendell when suddenely arrows began to fly around them. The gondorians rallied around their Queen and made a shield wall around her. A group of orcs had come out of the mountains and had seen the Queen and her child. One soldier had enough time to blow his horn and a nearby troop of dwarves heard. The dwarves were a group known as "The Protectors" and they were from the army of the Glittering Caves built by Gimli. They had been on patrol and had heard a commotion and therefore they had come quickly. Rushing over the hills they came out onto the Fields and rushed the orcish soldiers who were now surrounding the gondorian troop."

Taking a sip from his drink the dwarf thought back as if this was a bad memory, not just a story, and then began again. The men around him looked akwardly at each other but when his voice began to roll out again listened intently to the end of the story "The orcish army, much larger than the dwarves and gondoirans combined split and three-fourths attacked the dwarven patrol. The bearded warriors fought back with such intensity that they defeated the enemy army, routing them. After the battle it was found that almost twenty five of the thirty two dwarves had been injured to a point where they would not live. They had spilled their blood upon the field for the gondorians. The gondorians made it to Rivendell and helped the remaining seven dwarves back to the caves. The fields were crimson with dwarvish blood for your people. Do not say we can not fight and DO NOT say we do not care!" at that the dwarf threw his mug upon the table and stalked from the tavern. The barkeeper looked at the dwarf in shock. The dwarf rushed out, as a tear rolled from his eye. The barkeeper saw this. He did not bother stopping the dwarf, he had saved the Queen. The barkeeper owed him that much.

By Oro Hammerfall
3rd place Fireside tales july 05