"Day is almost upon us, and we still have not been able to reach Fritha," Fródwine pronounced gloomily as he peered through the opening of the murky tunnel. The landscape outside had begun to take on the faint golden tinge of early dawn. "Come, Frumgár, let us go to the top of this accursed doomsday hole and see if we can learn the fate of our brother." He did not hold much hope that the little boy was still alive, but he did not let Frumgár see his doubts.

"Aye, Fródwine," Frumgár murmured as he stood to his feet and handed over the knife to his grim-faced brother, who thrust it under his belt. Taking another look back at the darkness of the collapsed shaft, the two boys ventured out into the open and stood, squinting, as their eyes adjusted to the dawning light.

"Hail, Hallas! Ho Vorondil!" boomed a powerful voice from far above them. The unexpected greeting took the boys by surprise, and they froze to the spot like frightened animals. "Turn around so that I may see your faces once again!" the stranger shouted.

Frumgár whispered frantically to Fródwine, "By Helm's bones! Who is that? What does he want?"

"Some damn fool," Fródwine hissed as the two boys slowly turned around and looked up at the top of the lime kiln. There they saw a tall man whose shaggy hair was unkept and whose gray eyes were gleaming with a mad fire. The man held a sword raised high above his head and was swinging it about wildly.

Fródwine's mind was reeling in disbelief at what he was seeing. This was no orc! But who was this man and from whence did he come? Was he a deserter from the Mordorian army who was hiding in these wild and remote lands far from any village? Perhaps he was a Gondorian who had been taken captive and had escaped from the enemy host. Whoever he might be, he appeared to be very dangerous.

"Please, Fródwine!" Frumgár pled desperately. "Let us flee from this madman!"

"He is between us and our brother! I will not run, but you go now as fast as your legs can carry you!"

"No, I will not leave you ever!" Frumgár insisted, on the verge of tears. "We are brothers!"

"You will only be in my way! Run before he wanders down here in his madness!"

Frumgár stole a sideways glance at his brother. "I will go, but I shall try to double back around the hill and get behind him on the slope!"

"No," Fródwine whispered. "That is utterly foolish! What could you do anyway? Just hide somewhere. Obviously, the man does not have a bow, or he would have used it by now. I will see what he wants and try to persuade him to leave. Now go!"

Turning, Frumgár raced away on shaking legs. Above him, he heard a shout that chilled his soul.

"Flee, Hallas, you coward! I expected you to run!"

Fródwine had heard about people who had lost their reason, and from all he had gathered, he knew that it was best not to provoke them. He leaned casually against his makeshift spear as though it were a walking stick, so as not to cause the strange man to feel threatened. "Sir," he called out, his voice as calm as he could make it, "you are mistaken. There is no one here by the name of Hallas or Vorondil."

"No, of course not!" came the reply. "Like the coward that he is, Hallas has abandoned you to your fate!"

"Sir, let me explain. I am Fródwine son of Fasthelm, and the other boy is my brother, Frumgár. We have never heard of anyone called Hallas or Vorondil."

"Do not try to deceive me! I know who you are! You are Captain Vorondil. Once I respected you, but you keep poor company of late - Hallas, the lying traitor!"

"No, sir," Fródwine shook his head. "I am no captain of anything, only a boy." The dawn was growing stronger, the sun coming over the hills, and the man stood with his back to the light, making it impossible for Fródwine to see his shadowed face. His voice, though, conveyed the man's mood, which Fródwine heard as a cold, angry fury.

"Come up here where I can see you better, and no tricks!"

"Sir," Fródwine replied politely, "why should I come up there? You hold a sword, and perhaps you mean to use it! I feel much safer down here, and why is it necessary for you to see me?"

"Vorondil!" the man shouted. "I must behold your face so that I can determine if you are telling the truth!"

"The truth about what, sir?" Fródwine asked cautiously. "I do not understand."

"Vorondil, do not pretend that you do not know what I am talking about. You were never a good liar. Do not attempt the vice now."

"Sir, I am not lying. I honestly do not understand what you mean."

"I want to believe you. I always did, you know, but how could I? You were in league with Hallas. Why did you turn against me?" A slight twinge of uncertainty had entered the man's voice. "We were always friends, you know, you and I."

Fródwine was an intelligent boy. He had to convince this demented man that he was not Vorondil, but was that really the best way to approach him? Perhaps it would be better to go along with his delusions. He might be able to gain his confidence that way. Whatever he did, Fródwine knew that he must do something and do it quickly. As things stood now, it was not safe either to go back to digging in the tunnel or to climb to the roof and try to reach Fritha that way. The man called him "captain." Perhaps he saw Fródwine as a superior officer. Maybe Fródwine could use the man's delusions to his advantage. Of course, there was always the possibility that this man once held a higher rank than captain, but Fródwine would have to take that chance.

"If I come up there, will you put away your sword and swear upon the memory of our friendship not to raise it against me?" Fródwine offered as a compromise, hoping the madman would believe his ruse.

"Aye, Captain Vorondil. I will agree to that, provided that you relinquish your spear and leave it behind you on the ground where you stand."

"Soldier, to that I cannot agree. There are many enemies about, and I need the weapon to defend myself. Besides, there is really no point at all in staying here arguing with you. I must attend to my duties. You are dismissed." Fródwine nodded in the direction of the man, then turned his back on him and began walking away. He was not accustomed to matching wits with adults, and he was uncertain how this man would react to him. He considered cajoling the man into helping him rescue Fritha, but he did not know if that would be such a wise thing to attempt, for madmen were often completely unpredictable. Fródwine would wait to see the man's reaction to his leaving.

"Vorondil!" the man shouted. "Please do not go!" His voice had changed once again, as capricious as the wind in the spring. Now it was coaxing, wheedling, almost begging. "Come, and we shall talk as we did in old times, as friends, one to another. See?" he spoke to Fródwine's back. "I have sheathed my blade!"

Cautiously, Fródwine turned his head, and found that the man had indeed returned his sword to his scabbard. Fródwine had heard that the moods of the mad could swing in a moment, going from wild raving to calm quietude. Whether the stranger would grow more peaceful or not remained to be seen. Fródwine knew that time was rapidly running out for Fritha, if it were not already too late, and the sands in the hourglass had trickled to the bottom.

"Aye, we will speak together as we did when we were comrades." As he began the assent up the slope, Fródwine attempted to humor the demented man. When he reached the top, he found that the man was still standing at the edge of the kiln. The early morning sun swept across the top of the kiln, and for the first time, Fródwine could see its pockmarked surface. Nothing here made sense to Fródwine. The top was an almost smooth, flat surface, except for the two indentations that gaped like hungry mouths. His eyes were drawn to the widest hole, which showed signs that the ground had recently slipped. That had to be where Fritha was trapped.

"Vorondil," the man walked towards him with his right hand extended, "come, let us embrace in friendship." His eyes seemed to be a placid gray, like a pool of still water, with nothing of the turbulence that Fródwine had expected to find there.

Moving the spear to his left hand and assuming what he thought was a dignified stance, Fródwine walked towards the man. Before the distance between them could be closed, Fródwine saw a quick motion of the man's hand and heard the sound of metal sliding against metal. How could he have been so foolish as to trust this man even for a moment? There was no way to gain his confidence or humor him. He was still just as dangerous as a wild animal. The man meant to kill him!

"Vorondil! Will you flee the way that Hallas did, or will you stand like a man and face me?"

Raising his sword and laughing wildly, the man bore down on Fródwine and struck at his head. Instinctively, the boy lifted up the spear, extending it forward, and caught the blow mid-handle. Though he pushed against the man's sword with all his might, still the boy could not force him back. The man suddenly drew away to the side and Fródwine, off guard and off balance, was deprived of the balancing weight of the sword. He stumbled and almost fell, but caught the madman's next sword thrust with his spear once again.

Fródwine knew that he could not prevail against him. His arm muscles trembled as the madman tried to push him back. Reaching out with his left hand, his antagonist grabbed the spear and tried to wrestle it from him. Fródwine kicked out and drove his foot into the man's shin, distracting him with pain for the moment and causing him to release the spear. Angrily, Neithan reached out and grabbed the boy's long, greasy hair, twisting the matted tangles around his hand and pulling the youth towards him. Fródwine clenched his teeth in pain and then brought the haft of the spear up into Neithan's face. At the same time, he drove his knee up quickly, ramming it into the man's groin in a vicious, savage blow. His face convulsed in pain, Neithan let loose of the boy's hair as though it were a nest of hissing vipers. Clutching his offended part with one hand, he gripped the sword hilt as he sagged groaning to the ground.

This bastard could have killed Frumgár and him! And for what reason? None, except for his own insane fantasies! Fródwine felt the urge to ram his spear through the man's throat and watch as the blood sprayed like a fountain from the wound. Instead he leveled the sharp point at his enemy's neck. "If you move, I will kill you!" he hissed as the man groped for his sword. Stomping his foot on the man's wrist, Fródwine brought tears to Neithan's eyes. The man's fingers trembled as he released the hilt. Keeping the point of the spear on Neithan's throat, Fródwine quickly stooped down and picked up the sword with his free hand, then was on his feet again.

A loud cry of jubilation went up as Frumgár stumbled out of a small grove of trees higher up the slope. He could not help himself when he laughed merrily at the fallen man's distress. "Fródwine, you got him! You got him!" Then he blushed. "Sorry I could not help you, but I had trouble finding my way around through the trees to the top!"

"Frumgár, you missed all the excitement." He smiled at his brother. "Now since you are here, take his belt and bind his wrists behind his back! We will have no more trouble from this fellow." Fródwine's commands were clipped and brisk, but he was immeasurably proud of himself. At last he had proven his manhood. He was all grown up now! He wondered if he would ever be the subject of ballads and songs sung around the campfire in Rohan. "Fródwine and the Madman" had a good ring to it.

"Happily, brother!" Frumgár exclaimed as he bound the still groaning man's wrists.

"Here, Frumgár, take the sword and spear. Guard this man and keep him out of trouble. Watch him carefully. He is a lunatic and very treacherous! Believe nothing that he tells you," Fródwine ordered as he walked away to the edge of the pit and surveyed the menacing cavity. "I am going to attempt to explore the shaft," Fródwine remarked hurriedly as he began to descend into the pit.

While his brother was gone, Frumgár entertained himself by swishing the sword back and forth in the air as he pretended he was battling an orc. The man at last stopped moaning and watched him through baleful eyes. The boy played with the sword for some moments before he grew tired of the game. Should he speak to the prisoner? he wondered as he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Never before had Frumgár spoken to a mad person, and he felt uneasy even thinking about it. Sitting down cross-legged on the ground a few feet in front of the man, Frumgár rested the sword and spear across his thighs as he attempted to think of something to say.

"What is your name, sir?"

Bending down, Lhûnwen playfully put her hands over his eyes as she nuzzled his ear. "Lhûnwen?" he asked in surprise.

"I cannot fool you, can I, my dearest darling?"

"Nay, Lhûnwen. I always recognize your soft touch."

"Now, my darling," she murmured as she gently laid her hands upon his shoulders, "why are you tormenting these two children? You could have killed the older boy, you know. My dearest, I worry about you so much."

"Children?" he growled. "No children are those! They are Hallas and Vorondil."

"No, no, silly love. The older boy is named Fródwine son of Fasthelm and the younger boy is his brother, Frumgár. You must be good to them both and treat them well, for the two boys are lost and far from home. Promise me that you will not harm them."

"Are you sure, Lhûnwen?" he asked in a dazed voice as he turned his head to look up at her.

"Of course, love of my heart. Would I lie to you?" she asked in her lovely voice which was pure magic to his ears. Massaging his temples with her graceful long fingers, she kissed the side of his cheek. "Do you promise me, joy of my heart?"

"Aye, Lhûnwen, I promise you," he murmured as he felt some of the tension departing from his body.

"You must promise me something else."

"I promise you anything," he sighed as he leaned his head back against her breasts.

"You must protect these boys with your honor and even your life, if necessary."

"Why must I do that, Lhûnwen?" he asked, scowling, his voice querulous.

"Because you love me."

"You ask much, Lhûnwen, but willingly I give it, only for you," he sighed as she ran her hand down his arm. "Stay with me. Please, I beg you!"

"Oh, no, I cannot do that!"

"But I love you so much!"

Smiling, she kissed him again on the cheek, and rising gracefully to her feet, she faded into the forest around them. There, before she disappeared into the light of dawn, he heard her whispers in his mind... "I love you, darling. Surely you know that?"