Welcome to Gaia! ::

In every world where men have resided, this tale has been told and retold. Why, then, one might ask, would it need retelling again here? The answer is simple: It is not told, until it is told.

Traell Harleis has been many things: thief, spy, rat, mischief-maker, hero, and another slew of titles and misnomers that may or may not apply to his personality. Tonight, he was only sneaking. The great metropolis of Minas-Tirith, the heart of Gondor was mostly quiet in the slight drizzle that characterized these sad nights - the same drizzle that brought Traell so to life. It was strange, he mused, how the depressing rainfall had that effect on him, he could stand out in it forever and only feel more and more refreshed. His desire to sleep disappeared, and the night called longingly for him, and he for it, and along the tops of roofs and through dark alleys they played together, only he and the darkness that drew him in with his every fleeting step, and held him close in its tender embrace when he closed his eyes.

The rain belonged to that darkness. It was as much a part of her as the chill wind, or the unintelligible shapes in the distance, and to Traell, it was a part of everything. His reality hinged on nights like this. Tonight, the darkness giggled softly as he checked to make sure no one was looking, and she hid the sound of his steps with her own pattering. He could feel her apprehensive giddiness as he slowly pressed open an invisible doorway somewhere in a dark alley. Stone ground, and sparks made the darkness squint and look away briefly, but then, as he stepped inside, she swallowed him completely.

Traell took the place in - but there was nothing to see. The darkness, the night in here was not that childish obscuring that it was outside. In here, it was deathly serious. Something about the softness, the silliness became cold to the very core, and something about the obscuring became a promise of eternal darkness. Traell now knew what his friend, the night, must grow to become some day, and deep inside, he dreaded it.

But he was not alone in here. Somewhere in the darkness was another form, and he could feel the slightest pattern of warmth wafting through the still air in this person's direction.

"You have come alone?", hissed the voice.

"Only me and the night," Traell replied, smiling at his wit in including his fantastic accomplice.

"There is a candle to your left. Take it. There is tinder to your right; light the candle."

Traell drew from his pockets inside his shirt a flintstone and a steel ring, and soon had the tinder burning. Even the deadly darkness, the mature night backed away slightly, glaring angrily at his fire. She hated his candle, and he could feel the anger smoldering coldly in the bosom of the darkness around him.

"Now, I can see you, but you cannot see me. Have you brought what I wanted?"

"You never said what you wanted."

"Are you a fool? Are you not the son of Jarred Harleis?"

"Jarred Harleis may have been a genius, but he was no wizard."

"The thing was mine, once. I must have it back."

"Can I know anything about it?"

"Yes. You know that I want it; you know where we have met, and you know that it was once mine."

"What is it?"

"If you are no fool, you will discover soon enough."

Traell held the candle out - just in time. In the distance, he could see the darkness shift - a door to the outside had been opened. The man was wise to have Traell holding a candle in his own face, and with a silent curse, Traell blew it out. He waited for the darkness to place her hands again over his eyes, to wrap about his temples her soothing sleeves, and when the last remnants of the closing of his pupils was gone, he stood and stepped back out into the friendly night, away from the terrible darkness.

But something had changed, there in that darkness. He did not take the night by the hand, as so often he had done before, and traipse happily about, dancing freely to and fro and taking what they might - instead, she coaxed and urged him, and he ignored her, making his way to where he would rest - someplace where he controlled the darkness, in order to think.

Startled, Traell turned to face whoever it was had touched him. A light scowl crossed his face as he studied her own, something about this face he ought to recognize - but in that train of thought, a realization hit him with enough force that his green eyes opened wide. How could he have been so stupid?! Without a word to the woman - woman? There were more questions there, but Traell didn't have time to answer them just yet, and again, without a word to her, he fled back in the direction he'd come from.

The man had left from the opposite side of the building as Traell had entered. Obviously, he knew more than he told, and if anything was to be gained, it was to be gained from that old man, not from mindless wandering and stewing. There before him, on the side of the building the man had left through, lay straight rows of streets, lined wall-to-wall with elaborate and humble residences, sometimes sharing a division. A few lights remained lingering late into the night, and Traell realized he'd made an unrecoverable error - he'd given the man too much of a head start. Now, there was probably no way to take back that loss, and it might prove his undoing. A heavy sigh escaped him, and he sat back on his haunches, one hand in his blood-red hair, the other on his knee.

He was interrupted just then, by a low-toned voice querying, "You finally made it, did you?"

Instantly, Traell's head turned to look at the man who spoke, as from the other side came another voice, "Hand it over, quakey, and we'll consider leaving your arms."

So, they wanted hostility. Traell rolled forwards to be more on his knees, and twisted to face the man who spoke first. They were both brutes; big thugs, the kind that rich folk pay far too much for. Traell let them walk in on him without moving, and then rather suddenly lashed out at the one in front of him, hammering against the man's knee with both hands, then rolling off toward the edge of the roof, letting himself fall, catching the edge, and drawing himself up into the overhanging structure.

One of the brutes followed him down, hoping to find him on the ground, and Traell waited. The second had to be around somewhere.

"Did he get away?"

"No sign of him."

"Keep an eye peeled. Boss said he's a quick one."

He heard the other man taking hold of the ledge to climb down, and a grin crossed Traell's face. It was perfect; too perfect. The darkness shivered with delight as the man dropped, and Traell moved his face directly in front of the brute's, and whispered, "Boo."

Startled, the man released the ledge, and Traell knocked him a good one in the jaw, unbalancing him enough that when he hit the ground, he sprawled out. Quickly, Traell spun himself back up onto the roof, stood, and looked down at the two thugs. The one still standing was apparently ready to charge back into the fight, when the man who was still struggling to stand held a hand out in front of him. "Stop. It's not here."

They walked away, and Traell watched them go. They didn't want him, that was good. They wanted whatever he was supposed to be keeping in the city. But whose side were they on? More importantly, for the moment, how did they know it wasn't here?

Traell did the math. Before they fought, the men assumed it was on him. As he fought, and executed more elaborate stunts, it became apparent that it wasn't on him. Barring that the man was holding something back, this meant that whatever it was, it was breakable. Satisfied with himself, Traell began to mindlessly amble along the roofs of the houses, hoping another thought would come to him.

The thought that came wasn't what he expected. The darkness spent the next few moments in intimate contact with him, touching his shoulder and holding his hand as he walked on a thin ledge or sat down to think. She was getting tired, and the great sun was about to appear and chase her into all the little corners anyway, when he saw a figure on the streets, dressed in a curious shade of blue. Traell wouldn't have moved, but even from this distance he could make out the similarities in proportion to the woman he'd met earlier, and out of curiosity, he decided to go say hello. After all, he hadn't much better to do just yet.

With a light step, he made his way across the street, staying out of her sight before moving silently up behind her and reaching up to touch her on the shoulder. He wasn't surprised when she didn't jump, even though he was a bit disappointed.

"G'evenin', ma'am," Traell greeted softly. "You... stopped me in the street. Something you wanted to say?"

"Mostly the reminding bit, I think, although it was too late. Cheering's obsolete these days. Say, you look nervous. Need to go somewhere a little less conspicuous? Don't mind me, I was just curious as to why you stopped me. Y'know, if you ever need me, I have a nest just under the tower there..."

Slowly, he stepped back, waiting for her response before he acted further.

With a jolly "G'night, all!", Nynaeve closed the door of the tavern. A small hiccup escaped her as she rested her shoulders against the large wooden door. The tavern had had such a wonderful variety of wines that she had, apparently, spend the entire night tasting them. She had ordered a cask of each to be delivered to her own inn, where her cousin Elanor would be sure to take care of it.

The young hobbit shrugged on her cloak as she looked up with small eyes at the rising sun. She grunted as the light hit her face, hurting her eyes. She slowly fixed the clasp on the cloak, waiting patiently for her eyes to adapt to the light so that she could find her way to the inn she had booked earlier.

With a last groan, she pushed herself away from the hardwood door, taking about three steps into a somewhat familiar street before stumbling over a stray barrel lying in the street. She caught the sight of two figures in the distance about three seconds before she collided with an empty casket and headed for the ground.

Finding some more steady footing, Nynaeve looked up at the kind lady who had helped her up. With a cheerful grin, she nodded, "Just a lil' shook up, is all. Thanks, so much."
She hurriedly placed her hand over her lips to stifle another hiccup. "Oh deary me - that last pint was a bit too much." Noting the state of her rich velvet dress, Nynaeve groaned, hurriedly whiping it clean as best as she could.

After those ministrations, she looked up at her kind saviour and blinked a time or two, noting the fair skin and unreal beauty. "Oh my!" It took her most of her willpower not to bow or shy away. On the good note, most of her mystified state had dissapeared.

Instead, she smiled kindly (and a bit shakily), "Thank you for helping me, Fair One. I hope I didn't trouble you too much. Were you not conversing with someone?"

"I think I can manage." Nynaeve smiled nervously as she looked about her, trying to figure out her exact location. "You see, I'm just passing through. I have a room in an inn somewhere around here." Once again, the hobbit looked around, searching for a point of orientation.

She smiled relieved as she noticed a small bronze plaque against a building, remembering her way somewhat better. Nynaeve tugged shyly at her cloak, getting ready to take her leave, until she realized that she had missed something previously. "Is it so uncommon to see my kind here, then?"

Her eyes travelled upward, following the tall ones' gaze. She just caught sight of something large moving the sky, but honestly couldn't make out what it was.

She returned her gaze - now calm and friendly - on the Elven woman. "I was just about to point out how I'm no lady, no indeed. My names' Nynaeve, Nynaeve Mugwort. Pleased to make your acquaintance." She held out her hand expectantly, continuing her explanation. "As to why I'm in Minas Tirith - I really wish there was a more adventurous reason than the actual one." She smiled dryly as she looked past the tall woman while pondering, "The reason why I left my fireplace, as you so nicely put it, is because there wasn't much of a fireplace to begin with. I've recently inherited an inn in the Southern part of the Shire. As a Bree-lander though, the single visitor a day couldn't exactly charm me enough to stay."

Her bright eyes returned to the young womans' fave and she wondered how old this being was. She seemed younger than Nynaeve was herself, but with elves, you never knew. "The farther I go away from the Shire, though," she mumbled, "the more I realize that I know very little about the world."