Later that day, Arwund, Enorwin, Bedreigh and Maréin got together in a deserted corner of the tavern. They sat around a small, circular table. Enorwin bent towards the others and said: "Arwund, would you mind telling us what you have discovered about the Servants of Darfith?" 

Arwund leaned back into the wooden chair. "First of all, they're after my necklace," he said, nodding at the pendant hanging from his neck by a thin, leather string. "Or at least, Carlard is. I don't know what he wants to do with it, but I was originally trading it for my freedom." He chuckled. "Turns out that he completely forgot about the thing." 

"You were lucky," Maréin said. 

"Maybe," Arwund said. "I don't know if it would have mattered much. Anyway, apparently, Darfith isn't as dead as I believed him to be. According to Carlard, he has been sleeping. Or at least sort of. The Servants are apparently trying to make him the ruler of Garowain." 

"We nobles have protected those commoners for years and this is how they thank us," Enorwin said angrily. 

"My apologies, Sir Enorwin, but may I point out that we are not talking about the commoners here?" Maréin said. "This is a small group of people who are apparently dissatisfied with the Garowainian regime. On top of that, I strongly advise you not to judge their motives too quickly. Of course, since you are far superior to me in social status, you are completely free to disregard my advice if you so desire, my lord." 

Arwund smiled. He couldn't help but notice the hint of irony in Maréin's voice. 

Enorwin, however, appeared completely oblivious of this irony and said, "Very well, Maréin. It is good that you know your place." 

Maréin simply gave him a polite nod and Arwund bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt not to burst out laughing. 

"Anyway," the draconic human said, after he had pulled himself together, "apparently this hanger is important to the Servants. Or perhaps only to Carlard. He also mentioned that the Servants are a rather large group. On top of that, it seems that we're up against a dragon." He smiled wryly. "It would appear that we are hopelessly outnumbered." 

"Perhaps not," Enorwin said. "Maréin, doesn't the prophecy state that the 'black-scaled one' will be slain? By a prince?" 

"It does," Maréin confirmed. 

"That could mean I am indeed going to slay a dragon," Enorwin said, to no-one specifically. 

"Come on, it's a prophecy!" Arwund said. "Do you really think the future is set in stone like that? I'm sorry, but this is the present; your glorious age of chivalry, magic and princes destined to slay dragons is kind of over." 

"Why don't you just wait, Arwund?" Enorwin asked. "Just wait until I slay Darfith. Then we'll see who of us is right." 

"Fine by me," Arwund said. 

Maréin looked at Bedreigh. "Do you know anything about Arwund's necklace?" 

Bedreigh stood up and leaned slightly towards Arwund, so that he could inspect the object. He frowned. "Carlard may have mentioned it at some point," Bedreigh said carefully, "but he has always been vague. I believe he spoke of a 'Sign of Wainur'." 

"Oh no," Arwund said, "now don't go telling me I've got some legendary item hanging from my neck." 

"It would appear so," Maréin said. 

"This whole thing is getting more clichéd by the minute," Arwund murmured. He looked at Maréin. "Speaking of clichés, I don't believe you've told us where you came across your prophecy." 

Maréin's eyes shot wide open. Arwund arched an eyebrow. Why did Maréin seem so taken aback by such a simple question? 

Finally, the wanderer seemed to compose himself. "That's correct," he said. 

"Well, tell us!" Enorwin urged. 

Maréin leaned back. "A couple of years ago, I was in Puerdomonte..." 

"Puerdomonte?" Bedreigh asked. "Sounds Southern." 

"It's the Southern name for Portmunt, the capital of Garowain," Enorwin explained. 

"Now that you mention it, yes, in the Middle Lands, it's called Portmunt," Maréin said. "Does any one of you know the Royal Library of Portmunt?" 

"I've been there," Enorwin said. "My father had an audience with the king two years ago. He took me with him. It's a big library." 

"I wouldn't call it 'big'," Maréin said, smiling slightly. "That would be an understatement. I suppose it's better described as 'colossal'. Anyway, while I was exploring the library, I came across a peculiar bookcase. The bookcase seemed to have been moved aside a bit, revealing what looked like a hidden entrance. I was curious what could be behind that bookcase, so I decided to push it a little father aside. And I was correct: there was a hidden room behind it. I entered it. It turned out to be some forgotten, underground part of the library. It was filled with bookcases with old books in them. However, in the very centre of the room, there was a pedestal with only one book on it. I approached it and looked at the leather cover. On it, in golden letters, it said, The book of the Order of Wainur." 

"The Order of Wainur?" Enorwin asked. 

"I don't know any more about them, either," Maréin said, perhaps a little too quickly, Arwund noticed. The draconic human decided to watch Maréin's body language a bit better from now on. First that shocked expression when Arwund had asked the question, and now this overly hasty reply... He could not deny that the wanderer was behaving suspiciously. 

"The book fascinated me, however," Maréin continued. "I skipped through the pages, looking at interesting details, reading things here and there. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the kind of information you only really understand if you're an insider. At the very last page, though, I found a little text. Apparently, it was a prophecy." 

"Are you telling me that this prophecy was written down by a group that honours that ravenous beast Wainur?" Enorwin asked. "I don't think they're very trustworthy if they respect that monster." 

Maréin's face cringed slightly when Enorwin referred to Wainur as a 'ravenous beast' and a 'monster'. Arwund glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Fascinating, he thought. 

"But if it's a prophecy, it can't be subjective, can it?" Bedreigh said. "I mean, prophecies usually aren't made up by the person uttering them. I suppose the prophecy is still accurate, even if it was recorded by followers of Wainur." 

Enorwin nodded thoughtfully. "You may have a point, Bedreigh." 

"You two are discussing the objectiveness," Arwund said, "of something we don't even know for sure to be true. Let's not waste our time discussing this prophecy and instead think about where we're heading next." 

"Yeah, I guess we should," Bedreigh said. 

"Bedreigh," Maréin asked, "has Carlard told you anything about Darfith's whereabouts?" 

"He said he sleeps in a mountain in the Northlands," Bedreigh said. "That's all I can tell you, though. I'm sorry." 

"Then I think we need to figure out where Darfith is," Enorwin said, "and then I'll slay him." 

"On your own?" Arwund asked disbelievingly. 

"Lannhil slew Wainur alone as well," Enorwin said, as if slaying a dragon were the simplest task in the world. 

"I don't think Lannhil stood much of a chance against Wainur when it came to combat," Maréin said. "It's likely that his approach was different from the way it's described in all those epic poems." 

"What do you know about Lannhil?" Enorwin retorted sharply. 

"I'd almost say you feel personally offended when someone questions the authenticity of the stories written about Lannhil," Maréin remarked. 

"Lannhil was a courageous hero, not some backstabbing..." 

"I didn't mention backstabbing," Maréin interrupted. "You know, there are different ways to resolve conflicts than backstabbing or fighting 'fairly'. An example would be not fighting at all." 

"Lannhil was a knight, not a diplomat," Enorwin said. 

"If you say so," Maréin said nonchalantly. 

"My lord," Bedreigh said, "I understand you wish to slay Darfith on your own. However, please bear in mind that Lannhil was not just any man. His skills were certainly above average by the time he fought Wainur. Maybe it would be wise to ask for assistance. Your father, the earl, may be able to provide you with a squad of soldiers. That way, in case Darfith is too strong for you after all, you'll have other warriors to fall back on." 

Arwund looked at Enorwin, curious how he would respond. 

"I'll consider it," he said. "As for now, I suggest we travel to the Northlands. We'll find out where Darfith is and, if necessary, we'll travel back to ask for assistance afterwards. The border is not far from here: we could get there in a day." 

Wow, Arwund thought to himself, someone gave him a suggestion and he didn't get mad. 

"Then I suggest we pay the innkeeper and get going," Maréin said. 

They got up and Enorwin and Maréin walked towards the bar. Bedreigh wanted to follow them, but Arwund dropped a hand on his shoulder, bent towards him and asked in a low voice, "How did you do that? You gave Enorwin advice and he said he would actually consider it instead of yelling at you!" 

"I don't know," Bedreigh answered. "I guess I was just... nice?" Then he walked away. 

Arwund looked after him, frowning. Then he raised his eyebrows. "Nice, eh?" he mumbled to himself.

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It was noon now and Arwund, Enorwin, Bedreigh and Maréin were on the road again. The horses were slowly walking through the snow-covered forest. Although it was cold, there was barely any wind and the sunlight was reflected in the bright blanket of snow. 

Enorwin rode in front of the others and said nothing. Arwund thought he was probably just wallowing in his feeling of superiority again, but he decided not to comment. Instead, he just quietly hummed a tune he had heard as a child. 

Maréin rode up to him. "I know that song," he said. 

"Have you been to the Northlands?" Arwund asked. 

"I have," Maréin said. "I even speak the language." 

"I was born there," Arwund said. "I left for the Middle Lands, though. I've lived in the Flaming Lands for more than a decade now." 

"I'm sorry, how old are you?" Maréin asked. 

"57," Arwund answered. "Breathers have a pretty long lifespan." 

Maréin nodded and Arwund went back to humming the Northlands folksong. 

"Di drach flogge uf Lannhiel tu 

Di knacht hievve sien schwärde nu 

Di köngich hadde et hiem egäben 

wan hi namme des tirans leben," Maréin sung to himself. 

"You know the lyrics?" Arwund asked in surprise. "Even I don't know them." 

"I know a lot of songs," Maréin said. "It happens when you've travelled as much as I have. That song of yours is called The ballad of Sir Lannhil." 

"It's about Lannhil? Wow, how original," Arwund said ironically. 

"I gather you're not a big fan of his?" Maréin asked. 

"I'm not a big fan of this 'hey, let's go slay all those stupid dragons because they're so evil' mentality," Arwund said. "It's led to a lot of prejudice against my kind, that's for sure. As soon as someone only hears the word 'breather' these days, they look at you as if you're some kind of village-burning monster." 

"Must have been hard for you, growing up like that," Maréin said. 

Arwund chuckled cynically. "That's an understatement." 

"Anyway, I know what it's like when people regard you as the complete opposite of who you really are," Maréin said. "I don't know why, but many people have always had the impression that I was very violent and dangerous, when all I've ever wanted is to ensure that people don't kill one another." 

"Wow," Arwund said. "Sounds horrible. How did that happen?" 

"Reputations can be deceptive, I guess," Maréin said. "In fact, my reputation was the very reason I became a wanderer in the first place. I wanted to have nothing to do with the person I 'used to be' anymore. I wanted to begin anew." 

"I've never heard of a Maréin being very notorious before," Arwund said. "How old are you?" 

Maréin flashed his typical enigmatic smile. "Old," he said, "a lot older than I look. Just like reputations, looks can be deceptive." 

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm beginning to wonder who Lannhil really was," Arwund said. "We all know him as the Golden Knight. But who was he as a person?" 

"Maybe you'll figure it out someday," Maréin said. "You know what I'm wondering?" 

"No?" 

"Whether I can entrust you with a secret. Or rather, with the keys to a secret." 

Arwund grinned. "Sounds interesting." 

"You talked about my notoriety earlier," Maréin said. "I suppose you don't speak the Southern language?" 

"How did you know?" 

That enigmatic smile again. "Logic," he simply said. "Listen, if you ever meet another Southerner, if I'm not travelling with you anymore by that time and if you're still curious who I used to be, then you may want to ask that person if they have ever heard of a man called Maréin Aurácez." 

"Ow-RA-theth," Arwund repeated, struggling with the pronunciation. "I hope I'll remember. Should I ask anyone in specific?" 

"Most people know the name," Maréin said. "I don't want to brag, but I dare say that in the Southlands, the name is only a little less famous than 'Lannhil'." 

"Interesting," Arwund said. "By the way, why did you ask me whether I spoke Southern?" 

"Well... now I know that... if you're going to ask a Southerner, you... you know... don't speak their language," Maréin stammered. 

Arwund laughed. "You're a terrible liar." 

"I know." 

Arwund didn't ask anymore. He knew by now that Maréin was the type to hold on to his secrets quite stubbornly. The wanderer wasn't just going to give anything away if Arwund asked him. 

They rode in silence for a while. Then Arwund asked: "Maréin, you're not entirely... human, are you?" 

And there was that mysterious smile once more. "Not at all," the wanderer confirmed, before urging his horse forward a little and proceeding to ride beside Enorwin. 

"I knew it," Arwund whispered. "I knew it."

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A/N: For those of you interested in Arwund's song, here's the English translation: 

"The dragon flew towards Lannhil 

The knight raised his sword now 

The king had given it to him 

when he took the tyrant's life" 

The Northern language was made-up, but I mostly based the words on Germanic languages like Dutch, German and, to some extent, English.