Part 23 – Of Emerald and Gold
Darkness extended throughout the forest. It was cold. Bitterly cold as it cut through cloth and flesh and hit right to the bone. The still damp air clung to Theomin and offered no hope nor sense of warmth. Its only purpose was to chill him to the extent where even the clothes his father gave him was not enough to ward off such chill.
Theomin thought back on all those warm summers back in the Wold. Laying in the 
Wold grass staring at the windmill with his sister after a morning of work. There was always that break in the day, after eating, where he would rest his bones, staring up at the windmill just after he brushed the horses or tended to the crops or repaired what needed fixing. His afternoon meal would fill his belly and he would just lie there next to the well, just staring up at the mill as it gently turned in the calm Wold breeze. Every once in a while a traveler would come by. His horse’s hooves clompetty clomping down the dirt path. His destination he knew not nor did he care. Yes, those were the great days of home. Just lying there, enjoying his life, day after day.
Now that reality faded from his memory, he looked around in the bitter cold of the forest. It was a stark contrast to his home. The men who took him in, where they friend or foe? They wore tattered and dirty black and gray outfits, concealing their identities with masks and hoods. They would look like robbers of very little importance had it not been for the telling mark on the breast of their dirty warn shirts. A seven sided star, not unlike the one Theomin had on his childhood blanket. He stared at the star of one of the dark cloaked men for a while until he spoke up.
“What is it stranger? You have been staring at me for some time now.” He said in an accent he had never before heard before.
“The star,” Theomin said, still unsure about the grim man by the fire. Is he a friend or foe? “What does it represent?”
The man looked back on another behind by some tents. The man behind shook his head, silently telling the man no. “Now is not the time, traveler.” He picked up a stick and poked the fire a bit, moving some of the incinerated spent logs away to make room for more fuel. “I would like to know where you are from and where you were going. It is obvious to us you are no Dunlanding, and have not the appearance of a man of Rohan. Are you a spy of Saruman?”
Theomin did not want to reveal his true purpose, but did not want to give the impression of being in league with the traitor, Saruman. “I am no spy. I hail from the Wold.”
The man cocked his head to the side, seemingly not believing his story. “Not long ago, I met a Dunlanding who saw through Saruman’s schemes. He knew Saruman was a manipulator who had a tongue of silk, weaving schemes of lies to ensnare them in his trap to kill all in Rohan. He had no want or ambition to fall into the web of lies Saruman spun but he had no favor for Rohan either. All his life he heard tales of the golden haired men running them out of their rightful land. I could see in his eyes the hate he had for the men he called, ‘straw-heads’. If you are a man of the Wold of Rohan, as you claim, you have not the appearance of a man from Rohan. Your hair is thick with brown, not golden hair. Your eyes of that of my lands. If you were to say you were from the north, I would believe you, stranger. I have only the evidence in front of me to tell me that but the tale you spin does not match the look I see.”
The grim man had Theomin caught in a bind. With his quick wit, the man removed his option to stay anonymous. With great reluctance he explained, “I do come from the Wold but I am not from the Wold. Somehow, I know not how, I was found in a Gondorian tower all alone with not but a blanket. A blanket with the sign of a seven sided star, the star that sits on your breast. In that tower, so many years later, I found a map. In it, there was a number one just east of a place called Fornost.”
“Where is this map and blanket? Do you still hold position on these items?” The man asked quickly.
He remembered Bragga, she was lost. “They were lost when my horse ran away. I was heading north through this wood when she was spooked, bucked me off.”
“So you have not but a broken story and nothing to show for it.” The man stood up and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “No more games.” The man sternly said. He and the others forcefully picked up Theomin and pushed him facedown to the ground and searched him from head to toe. They took his staff that was sitting next to him. The man then placed a hand over his pocket. “And what is this?” he asked, feeling something inside. The man dug into the pocket and pulled out the emerald necklace surrounded by golden leaves. The man gasped as did the others. They paused, still holding down Theomin. Finally, “How came you by this?” he asked, enchanted.
“I found it,” Theomin grunted as he was held down tightly with his head in the dirt. “I thought it belonged to a refugee woman in Harwick not but seven days past.”
With a commanding voice, the man said, “Release him.” The two others let go of Theomin. He stood up and brushed himself off as well as possible. The commanding man looked at the women’s beaded necklaces, “With that he swore with necklace shown the golden leaves around the stone” he said in a low voice. “This necklace came to you how?”
“I told you,” now frustrated and flustered. “I found it. In an Easterling camp it was. The girl who bore it must have perished there.”
The man looked at the others in his party. He looked not like he knew what to do. He just held the necklace tight in his hand. “I believe this is an omen, traveler. What is your name?”
“Theomin.” He said quickly. He did not want to be roughed up anymore.
“Theomin,” the man whispered quietly. “Our true purpose I dare not tell. I will only tell you we are not your enemy. We are the Rangers of the North. Dunedian we are called.”
“Dunedain,” Theomin said with wonderment. “It was said your people had faded into legend.”
“And we intend to keep it as such. We are all that is left of the great Numenorian people, hidden in exile until our chieftain reclaims the thrown of Gondor. There are more. This is but a small camp of some of my most loyal men. Some are in other camps scattered throughout this place. Some we lost on our way south. Another had returned north to bury our fallen kinsmen.”
“I am sorry to hear your loss.” Theomin said but needed to hear more of the necklace. “What of this necklace? What is its significance?”
“It is called Amar Calad and its significance is known only to those who know the stories best. Tis no mere chance you possess the necklace and are traveling north, I know that. About its past history I only know as fable and even then know not if it holds true. Only the wisest among us know of its importance. Our companion knew of such relics.”
“Where is this companion?”
“On our way south he was lost,” he paused, “among others. Candaith was his name. He was a sore loss as he was a most generous friend.” The others bowed their heads. By the looks, great pain plagued them. It seemed this Candaith meant much to them. The head man then spoke up, “Since you are heading north, seek out Saeradan, just northwest of the town of Bree. If he knows not the story of your necklace, he will know who possesses that knowledge.”
“So, you are releasing me?” Theomin asked, just to be sure.
The man nodded, “Yes, you are released. That necklace,” the man continued, “is an omen. It does not come to you by chance.” The man then looked at the rest of the company. “Sleep, for tomorrow is a day of much to do,” he looked at Theomin, “for all of us.”
Theomin slept, but restlessly. He was troubled by the revelation of the necklace. He knew not what the necklace meant but somehow his fate was tied to it. What fate, he wondered, was that? Soon, night became day and another woke him.
He whispered, “Theomin, we must take our leave.”
Theomin looked at the man who had awoken him. He then looked about his surroundings. It was still dark. He sat up and wondered if all of what he remembered was a dream. The men standing about him and the one in front of him realized it was all real. He was amongst the strange men and chief among them was the one interrogating him the night before. He stood there, before the flames of the fire, waiting for Theomin to speak. One beside him spoke out quickly, “We must leave, it is early and our road is long.”
Theomin looked around at the men who harbored him for the night. He then, graciously said, “Thank you for all you have done.”
One of the men nodded. “Remember about Saeradan, stranger. He can answer the riddle of your necklace.”
Theomin nodded and looked at the other who stood beside him. The man was cloaked, much like the others. His cloth was dirty and tattered and, like the others, he bore a single seven sided star on his right breast. One aspect that differentiated him from the rest was the shield he carried. “Are you ready to travel through Gravenwood stranger?” The man confidently said.
After just a moment, Theomin nodded, “I am ready.”
The two looked at the one in charge. “I wish you luck, stranger,” he said. “May the blessings of the Grey Company travel with you to the North, stranger.”
All Theomin could do was nod. He then looked at the other who looked at him and nodded. They were then off through the path of the Gravenwood.
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