Ereg continued with Brown and his wife a fortnight and in that time taught music classes to any who were interested.  Two or three pupils he found with some promise, if not as minstrels, at least for providing entertainment at the tavern.  He also took advantage of the opportunity to speak to many of Brown's former students, four in particular.  These four men were good friends and visited with the teacher often.  One evening over dinner they began to talk of the town's women and discuss their wives, and former betrothed bride.  None had abandoned Keren willingly, for they all loved her, but when they found out what happened to her first suitor, they were more willing to take the money offered to break with her, rather than risk murder in the night.  Ereg asked them what they meant and one of them, named Garan, after looking out the door and seeing no one else was about, told of Millerson, who had become connected with very powerful and very cruel friends.  None could discover just who these friends were, but that first suitor found out and threatened to expose Millerson if he did not release him from their bargain.  He threw the money at Millerson's feet, left to reconcile with Keren and was never seen or heard from again, alive.  His shredded clothing, staff and boots were found scattered along the river bank.  Keren ran to her father’s house distraught, claiming to have found his body, but when they returned to the place they found only blood spots and foot prints like none they had ever seen before.  At this point in the story the four of them changed the subject, hoping Keren was still alive, wishing her well, where ever she was and saluting her for having the foresight to escape Millerson, thereby ruining him and vindicating all who spoke against him.  Ereg dearly wanted to tell them Keren was alive, well and wanting to return home, but held his peace until they bade him goodnight.  This news was troubling.  Garan was tall and heavy set with curly black hair and a disarming smile.  He had the bearing of one who knew how to handle himself.  All four of these men were strong and vital and yet were not ashamed to speak of their dread of Millerson’s friends.  The fact that threats from Millerson had them cowed and they admittedly feared him troubled the elf

    The next day, after teaching, Ereg roamed about town, trading gossip with the merchants and their wives.  The only places he was unwelcome were the jeweler's and the wine merchants.  When he came to their shops and asked if they would allow him a change of scenery they met him with frowns and grumbling.  In exchange he offered to play for them but they would have none and sent him out again with gruff words and rough hands.

    Ereg fit in easily with the Green family and Mr. and Mrs. Black for they were gregarious and always ready for a tale or a song.  Many other shop keepers gathered at these two shops so they were natural places to listen for the latest news.  He had not traveled to Barad Lomin since before the fall of Numenore but had been on many errands to other regions north and south and found his news welcome for many had relations they rarely heard from in those parts.  When he was able to speak of some by name, he was instantly welcomed into the townspeople's confidence.

    One day Mrs. Black called him aside.  "There is a rumor going about town," she said.  "It is reported that Keren Woodman is a hostage of elves," she said.

    "Hostage?!" asked Ereg, incredulous.  "Elves?  That would be most unusual.  I have not known elves to take a woman hostage.  Are you sure she is not merely under their protection?"

    "Well, hostage was the word used,” her tone of voice expressing doubt.  “I know not the truth of it.  I have no experience with elves, sir, and know nothing of a surety about them.  But it seems you do?"

    Ereg smiled at Mrs. Black’s narrow look.  "I have known elves.  Dealt with them on occasion.  Played for them in my younger days.  But they would have little use for a shriveled old prune like me.  Perhaps from kindness they would let me totter about in their midst, but they have their own elvish matters with which to concern themselves and pay little attention to the affairs of mortal men.  If this girl is with elves, it is likely they took her in, rather than made her a hostage."

    "That is what Mrs. Seamster said, and Mrs. Green.  They would know more about it than I, having grown up near the Black Wood where elves live, they say.  And now you, well, that makes a three fold cord, which breaks not easily.  Thank you sir.  An ease of the mind you have been," Mrs. Black said with a laugh.

    The minstrel played her a tune and went on his way.  Presently he came to the Green's shop.  He asked there the source of this rumor.

    "What?  Heard it too, have you?” asked Mrs. Green.  “Why, it was started by Millerson.  Wagging his tongue about again, I see."

    Ereg assured her he had not heard it from that source but had endeavored to convince someone who had of its unlikelihood.  Mrs. Green made numerous comments about the Millers, all of which her husband asserted to be true.

    “My dear Mrs. Green, I have been told you know elves of the Black Wood, what they call Eryn Vorn,” said Ereg, changing the subject.

    Mrs. Green laughed.  “Know them?  Well, I shouldn’t say that.  Acquainted with a few perhaps.  My family lived for generations along the forest edge.  Rarely did we see them, and even rarer did we speak.  But we had a mutually beneficial relationship, I suppose, trading food for their wares.  But when they came among us we hardly knew they were elves, they looked so like us.”  Mrs. Green then asked Ereg if he would stay to supper.  The old man thanked her but said he was expected at the Browns, however he would be honored to make it another time.  The Greens told him to make it tomorrow then and he said he would.

    The disguised elf walked about for a time before returning to the Brown's home.  On the way he happened to pass Millerson, who was in a great hurry.  Ereg was not in his way and in fact had made an effort to stay out of it, but as he passed, Millerson struck him aside and swore at him, for no other reason Ereg understood than that he was a slow old man.  He was more surprised than hurt by the blow but the wine merchant's daughter-in-law did not know this and ran to help him.

    "That brute," she muttered after assuring herself that Ereg was fine.  "It's no wonder Keren ran from him.  I should do the same in her place.  I know not why my father-in-law employs him or why his father permits it."

    They bade each other good day and Ereg walked on, murmuring an enchantment against Millerson noticing the girl.  Upon arrival at the teacher's house, Ereg was delighted to find that Woodman and his family had come and would dine with the Brown's.  Woodman had also heard the rumor that Keren was held captive of elves, but discarded it as a mere ruse to stir up the indignation of the townsfolk.  His father had traveled widely in the north and held lengthy discourse with all the peoples of that region; elves, men and dwarves.  If it were said of dwarves, he might believe it, for they were known in the past to care for one injured and then to holding him as hostage until receiving payment from the family.  As for Keren, he was sure she was dead.  Now he turned his full attention to the rest of his children, for he had many regrets concerning his treatment of his daughter.

    "Lost but not dead," muttered Woodman.  "Five children have I lost.  One is dead and buried with my wife.  Three would not tolerate my harshness after Miriel's death, and now Keren.  I do not know where she is, but she was wiser than her father." More than this he would not say and Ereg would not press for he saw the father was grieved.

    Ereg stored this away, to ponder at a later time, and asked if any would care for a song to lighten the somber mood which he feared had been brought on by his own curiosity.  All were delighted with this offer and when the teacher brought out his flute and the Woodman sons joined with instruments of their own, it turned into a merry gathering indeed.  Merry enough to draw the attention of merry makers at the tavern.  During the merriment, the great bell of the tower tolled low and harsh, causing several revelers to wonder about it.  But the tolling lasted only a few brief moments and was quickly forgotten.  Presently the revelry migrated to the outdoors and became quite a party, until at last, grown weary, the singers and minstrels packed away their instruments, saying the next day would be full of work for them, and they could not stay in bed until noon, as some could, casting humorously disdainful looks at the old man, who laughed and said he was so old, he needed little rest.  He most likely would rise to greet the dawn as would they.  They took leave saying they would watch the sunrise together and he must perform a suitable song for the occasion.

*******

After thrusting Ereg aside, Millerson strode down the street to his house where he told his father and uncle he had business in the next town and set off walking. Now that Millerson could not afford a life of leisure and worked harder than ever in his life, he was no longer fat.  On the contrary he was slender and tall with brown hair and eyes and would have been counted handsome if not for his harsh expression.  Women cast admiring glances toward him, but only from a safe distance.  He walked at a good pace until he reached a marker indicating the crossroads was only one mile away.  Here he stood and waited.  Presently a cloaked figure came to meet him.

    "Thank you for that nice meal you sent us," said the figure, throwing back its hood.  "Have they yet been missed?"

    "They were not due to return from Tharbad until next spring."

    "That is good for you," said the goblin.  “And the Master is pleased with the stronghold you provided.  We’ve begun 21 new tunnels that...” The goblin paused, grimacing as he sniffed the air.

    "What troubles you?" asked Millerson, annoyed at the goblin's sniffing.

    The creature sniffed once more and looked narrowly on Miller.  "If I did not know better, I would accuse you of consorting with elves," he growled.

    "Elves!  Impossible!"

    "Yet I catch the smell of one on your clothes.  You brushed against one, to be sure."

    "Many have I brushed against today and none are likely to be elves."

    "All the same, there is one in your midst.  In disguise.  They so love to appear as mighty warriors or venerable old men.  If there is an elf about, we want him."

    "If there is an elf about, you may have him.  In fact I would dish him up to you after you roast him, but I think you are mistaken."

    The ogre growled and swore.  "Do not accuse me of mistakes when you have no idea of what I speak!"  He stepped threateningly toward Millerson.

    "Very well!  No need for anger.  Come into town tomorrow night and sniff him out.  But do it unseen.  Now may we go on with our business?"  As Millerson said this, the echo of the bells reached his ears, and he looked back toward town. 

    The creature grimaced at the tower, but said nothing except to agree that they get down to business.  He led Millerson off the road, following an overgrown path into the woods, saying, “There are many ways to gain power.  It matters not at all that no one will select you for a magistracy, or choose you for a counsel.  Someday you’ll be more than magistrate...”

*******

When Millerson arrived in town the next morning he went straight to work for Smith, the jeweler, where he found his errands awaiting him.

    "A little late this morning, eh Miller?" commented Smith's son.  "Worked a little late with Vines' daughter-in-law?"

    Millerson laughed.  "That little snipe?"

    "Hmmm," the boy said, eying him knowingly.  "Not what you called her last week.  Talking of stealing her from her husband, you were."

    "Yes, well, I have decided to go on to better things.  I had business in the next town and hadn’t the time to explain to your father."

    "Explain what?  Never mind.  Tell me later," said the jeweler, who had come from the back room as soon as he heard Millerson's voice.  "Now be off with you.  Seamster will be wanting this music box.  His daughter's birthday you know.  He will be wanting it before noon."

    Millerson nodded and departed the shop with the wrapped parcel which Smith handed him.

    "Now, my boy," said Smith to his son, "what was Millerson wanting to explain?"

    "He had to go out of town yesterday and would be late this morning, I guess," the boy shrugged.

    The bell in the tower struck the fourth hour from sunrise and Millerson muttered to himself as he walked to the Seamster farm.  At one time his great grandfather had owned almost the whole of Barad Lomin.  Now it belonged to Woodman, Seamster and almost everyone other than old Miller, or his son.  Millerson found this irksome, particularly when he considered the glowing promises made to him by the goblin about how his master would reward anyone who aided him in regaining his lost territory.

    "Well, your reward is slow in coming," mused the man as he strode along the south road.  "And others are swift to punish..."  He thought on this a moment. Who in town could be an elf?  He was sure the goblin had been in error, but then again, it would make sense that elves would conspire in the downfall of one who made bold to assist their enemies.

    He passed the New Mill, which now belonged to Woodman and was operated by several young men of the town in his employ.  It had become quite a successful business.  No one worried that Woodman would exchange poor for good flour as they once accused Millerson of doing.  He hated hearing men boast that they could leave their harvest with Woodman and not even inspect the bags for they knew it would be the same wheat, barley, corn or any other grain they may take to the mill to have made into cereal or flour.  Some in town seemed to take delight in saying such things in his hearing.  And Millerson hated them for it, more than he had hated them for accusing him of cheating them, and proving the accusation.

    Who could be an elf?  The question puzzled him.  Why, the last person he had brushed against was that troublesome old man...  He stopped in his tracks.  A smile spread across his face as he again continued on his way to deliver a child's present.  Once his errand was done he returned to Smith's and finished the morning’s other errands.  After the noon meal he went to the wine merchant's shop and finding there no pressing business, he sat with old Vines, the merchant's father, and listened as he reminisced about his childhood.

    "Have you ever seen an elf?" asked Miller, seemingly off hand.

    "An elf?" laughed the old merchant.  "Some say my great great grandmother was one, but that is only rumor.  Family tradition.  She was merely a bit strange.  Lived a good long life, almost 300 years, ‘tis true.  Claimed her great great, I forget how many greats, great grand father was an elf, or half-elven.  I myself have not seen an elf but once.  When I was a small child.  Why do you ask?"

    "Oh just a rumor I heard from someone I met yesterday.  Claimed there were elves among us."

    Old Vines laughed in delight and slapped his knee.  "Well who would say such a thing?  Would that it were true!  I would be delighted to see one again!"

    "When saw you this elf?"

    "Oh, so long ago, but at my age childhood memories are clearer to me than yesterday.  It was after a high holiday and my grandfather took me for a walk at twilight.  This was when my family lived on the other side of the river, north of Duinbar.  We heard the hoof beats of a horse galloping near us and my grandfather bade me be still and watch.  We were in an open place and could not easily hide, but at that time of day if one is still enough he may escape sight a moment or two.  Well, we saw a beautiful gray horse bearing a regal looking man.  Fair he was, with hair the gold of the morning sky just before dawn, wearing breeches and tunic of such a color, we could not discern it for it looked green, then gray, then brown, changing with the hues of the twilight.  I remember he carried a bow with a quiver of arrows at his back.  A sword also, but I only glimpsed it from the off side.  He glanced in our direction and slowed his horse to a side passing trot with but a single word.  It was then I noticed his horse had no bit on its jeweled headstall.  A mere pad on its back the only saddle.  My grandfather raised a hand in greeting and the elf did likewise before passing us by and riding north.  Tales tell of an elven realm there.  Many times have I wondered what his business might have been."  The old man paused and sighed.  "I have often wished to see that elf again.  A pity they do not pass this way."

    "Maybe it was just you who was mistaken for an elf," chuckled Millerson and watched the old man beam with pleasure.  Vines entered the shop and sat with them, but they spoke no more of elves, for Old Vines knew the subject to be irksome to his son.

    When the day was over and Millerson returned to his house, he met his father at the door.  His aged sire was paler than usual and trembled as he peered out at him.

    "Well, let me in," grumbled Millerson.

    "Someone came looking for you," said his father, not opening the door any wider.  "Told me to tell you to meet him at the, the usual place, is what he said.  Said he would be waiting and you should not even be allowed inside the house until he had spoken to you." With that, old Miller shut the door and latched it.

    Wondering what nonsense this could be, Millerson again headed down the south road.  Halfway to the marker the cloaked figure stepped out of the woods.

    "I know who the elf is," said the goblin.

    "Very well.  What do you want me to do about it?"

    "Send him to us," the creature growled, almost a whine.  The goblin's eyes shown red beneath its hood and Millerson was afraid.

    "Who is it?" Millerson stammered.

    "The old minstrel.  The one staying with the teacher.  Bring him to us.  Under any pretense."

    "And if he will not come?"

    "Then we will come for him!"

    Millerson agreed and fled back to his house where he found himself locked out.  He pounded on the door until his uncle opened it.  Inside he saw his father sitting weakly on a chair by the fire, his shawl over his shoulders, staring at the flames without blinking, Mrs. Miller hovering about him like a bird flutters over her chicks.

    "What ails him?" grumbled Millerson.

    "He saw a goblin," said the uncle in a hoarse whisper.

    "Did he?  When and where?"

    "It was from a goblin he received the message for you," responded his mother.

    "How know you this?

    "Because we saw it too.  Tall it was, but squat with big eyes and hideous toothed."  The uncle shuddered and turned away from Millerson to tend his brother.

    Millerson turned from them to find something to eat.

    "The larder is bare," called his mother.  "The beast would not leave until it had consumed every last crumb in the house."

    Swearing under his breath, Millerson left the house and headed for the tavern where he met Barber and the old minstrel, Ereg, talking quietly.  When they saw him they spoke up.

    "Ah!  There you are!," said Barber.  "Someone we have here who knows a bit of goblin scares.  I looked in on your father earlier but must confess, it is beyond my skill to help him.  At his age, I fear there is not much to be done but Ereg here says not to give up hope."

    Ereg smiled and nodded.

    "We were just going to see him now," continued Barber.

    "Then I should be going with you," said Millerson and would have followed but was prevented by the Tavern keeper.

    "Nonsense.  Let those that know deal with it.  You’ve had naught to eat since lunch and are likely hungry," the keeper's wife, Mrs. Barber, said, putting a tankard of ale and a large bowl of stew on a table before him.  "Your father seems to think the goblin was coming for you," she added pointedly and left him.

    "We’ve been worried about you of late," said the tavern keeper, who was a large, blue eyed, sandy haired man not much older than Millerson.

    "Yes, well, seems everyone knows my business as well as I," Millerson muttered between bites.

    "Better, some would say," said a man from a far corner.

    "Oh? And who might you be?" retorted Millerson.

    "I might be the elf you seek.  And I might be the King of the Corsairs, or Malvegil himself in disguise.  Yet I’m none of those.  Just a knight of Arthedain, and not one of great consequence, other than as a bearer of news, for I have tidings of your young kinsmen, if you care to hear it.  But it can wait until after your meal."  The knight walked toward Millerson as he spoke.  He was tall with dark brown hair and gray eyes and carried himself with the confidence of one who knew how to fight, but preferred to jest.

    "What?  Are they dead?"

    "No.  But perhaps it would be better if they were, but we’ll see.  After you finish your meal."

    "I have a strong constitution.  What happened to them?"

    "Nothing yet.  They’re being held in Duinbar and are no longer welcome in Arthedain.  We’ve no need of their lot with us."

    "What have they done?"

    "Two robbed a man.  The other two threatened to kill a merchant and misuse his wife and daughter.  The magistrate of Duinbar knows the magistrage of Barad Lomin will support his decision.  Perhaps he will turn them over to the us to retrain in the ways of civilized behavior and make them pay back what they stole.  Maybe he will deal harshly with them to make an example of those who use squiredom and knight’s apprenticeship for unlawful and cruel purposes.  All the same, if you wish to see them, you must go to Duinbar soon.  They will not be more than seven days in the Magistrate's keeping.  A fortnight at most."

    At that moment Barber and Ereg returned.  Their faces were grave as they approached Millerson.

    "Your father is not well," said Barber.  "Maybe you should go home and sit with him.  He has asked for you."

    Ereg went to visit with the knight and Barber walked with Millerson to his house.

    "Glad I am to see you still here," Ereg said.  "How took he the news of his kinsmen's doings?"

    The man's face clouded.  "Very hard to discover.  He seemed more troubled by some other thing.  As if his kin were a mere distraction.  Even for his father he seemed hardly grieved."

    "I should like to know what that distraction is," mused Ereg.

    The man nodded, then said "and I should like to know who you really are," a glint in his eye, speaking in a low voice.

    Ereg smiled.  "Well, I am what I seem to be.  An old minstrel a touring while he still may."

    "So you seem," said the knight.  "I’ve heard your name from others in the north and they doubt you not, so I’ve no fear you mean harm.  But I’m curious. Ereg, in the elven tongue means 'holly' does it not?  How came you by such a name?"

    "My parents, of course," answered Ereg, mildly.

    "And how long ago was that?"

    "A very long time," said Ereg, a glint now in his own eye.

    "Are you an elf?"

    "Of course!" laughed Ereg.  "Do I not look like one?"

    The knight smiled.  "That you do not.  Which causes me to wonder.  What is your purpose here?"

    "Will you not walk with me a while?  My old limbs feel the need of a stretching," said Ereg, making as if to return to the teacher's house.

    "I’ll most assuredly see you to your place of repose," answered the knight and together they bade the tavern keeper and his wife a good night, who nodded as they busied themselves about their own affairs, having heard not a word of the exchange between the knight and the old minstrel.

    Along the way to Brown's house, which was very near the tavern and could quickly be reached from the back door, Ereg told the knight of Keren's arrival with the elves and the destruction of the goblin troop.  The knight listened intently and hardly noticed when Starfoot stretched his arms, discarding his disguise for a time.

    "My main purpose," he said in his own clear voice, which the knight noticed and started slightly, then chuckled as the elf continued, "was to see exactly why her previous suitors rejected her, and if there might be a connection between them and Millerson."

    "And you found...?"

    "There is," said the elf, with a troubled brow.  "And the more I find out, the deeper it becomes.  We meet at an opportune time.  This sighting of a goblin by Old Miller, the message from the creature to Millerson, causes me grave concern that goblins are again gathering their forces."

    "Think all the elves so?"

    "My own kin are in agreement, which is why my elven lord permitted me this journey.  We stopped that troop of goblins not long ago, moving from the east toward the southwest.  From the east does little news come to us and from the south none at all.  My elven lord has sent me no word of his thoughts on this matter, though I have sent much to him."

    "By what means?"

    "Oh, come now!  The usual birds and squirrels.  Have you not seen me whistling and playing to the creatures in my old man's guise?"

    The knight chuckled.  "I had but arrived this morning and saw you on the school house steps.  I’m embarrassed to say I thought you merely a doddering old fool."

    "Thank you!" the elf laughed merrily, "for you assure me that my enchantments work, if they can fool even a knight.  Now if you will bid me good night," he said as he sat on the step of the teacher's house and once again enfolded himself into the shape of an old man, "I shall do the same to you.  But I think neither of us will sleep this night."

    "Then I bid you good night," said the knight in a normal tone then lowered his voice again.  "Yet I wonder that you ask me no account of myself."

    "Yes, good night my boy," said Ereg, not concealing the elvish light in his eyes when he added in a voice only the knight could hear, "I know already who you are, for much like your father are you in looks and manner.  Good night, Brogan, son of Broluin."  With that the "old man" stood and hobbled into the house to be greeted by the teacher who was eager to hear all Ereg had to say about the events of the day.

    The knight chuckled again and returned to The Ringing Well Tavern and Inn where the proprietor kept a knight’s room always ready.