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Message: <blockquote data-quote="BoldItalic" data-source="post: 6773253" data-attributes="member: 6777052">The injured and terrified hawk did what all sick, injured or startled birds do, which is to hide in a tree and keep very still until it stops being sick, injured or frightened. Meanwhile, up in the emergency fallback nest high aloft, the larger chick, under the approving eye of its mother, dealt simultaneously with the lack of breakfast and the annoying presence of its younger sibling, by eating the latter in lieu of the former. The mother hawk was a Neo-Darwinist and was pleased to see natural selection in action. There would be no weaklings in her nest."We must get away from here, before the hawks come back," declared Rynethaz as he cleaned the earth from his shield and picked up what fragments of mirror could be saved. "We should head north.""What about the priest?" asked Fingers. "He seems to be able to stand up now, but he's as mad as a moorhen."BoldItalic took Clotbert firmly by the elbow and spoke slowly. "Gandalf, Gandalf, listen to me. We must follow Aragorn to Rivendell. Éowyn is waiting for him. Do you understand?""Eh?" said Clotbert. He looked around wildly and, seeing Fingers, bent down to embrace him crying "Frodo, lad! I though we had lost you in Mordor! Still wearing Bilbo's mithril shirt, I see? Did you bring the ring?"Fingers looked helplessly at BoldItalic, who winked and said in a loud voice "Frodo is keeping the ring hidden. The Nazgûl are on our trail. We must make haste.""Yes, yes, of course. I should like to see Elrond again," said Clotbert, "But remind me, I see by your staff that you are one of the five wizards but I seem to have forgotten your face. You are not Saruman, are you?""I am Italic the Blue. I have returned from the east to aid you in your quest."That seemed to satisfy Clotbert and he lapsed into silence. Noticing that he was still somewhat unsteady on his feet, Rylnethaz picked up a long straight branch that had fallen from the tree and gave it to him as a walking stick. To Clotbert it was a magic staff, but that didn't matter; it was something for him to lean on, anyway.They set off through the forest and soon picked up a trail. One way led eastwards, towards a range of snow-capped mountains many day's march away; the other led westwards, down through fertile plains towards a mighty ocean."Ah, I see we are in Forlindon," remarked Clotbert suddenly, "This was the realm of Gil-Galad in the Second Age. I remember him as if it were yesterday.""Would you like to talk about him?" asked Fingers. It seemed best to humour Clotbert. He was living in a fantasy world, but as long as he kept walking and didn't start hitting anybody, it seemed harmless enough. What they really needed was a temple where he could be properly attended to, but there was no sign of habitation for miles around."Gil-Galad was high king of the elves, who came from the west at the end of the first age and made his citadel at Forlond, south of here on the Gulf of Lune," began 'Gandalf'. "He fought alongside Elendil in the great alliance of elves and men; that very Elendil who was your ancestor, Aragorn," and here he nodded to Rylnethaz before continuing "Few save I now remember that Gil-Galad had a daughter, who was wondrous fair. Her name was Infántilë, which means 'Goldenhair' in the Sindarin tongue."At this point, Rylnethaz began to pay closer attention to the ramblings. "Can you describe her features?" he asked, casually. "Was she by any chance about so tall, with eyes of a golden hue flecked with hazel, finely arched eyebrows, and a small mole on her left cheek just about here?" and here he pointed to a spot on his own face."Why yes, you have described her perfectly. Where did you read about her? I was not aware that any of the histories mentioned her, and certainly she is not in the traditional tales of the bards.""We are going the wrong way," announced Rylnethaz. "We should be heading south, not north."</blockquote>

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