Before changing into his Guild Robes, Elbren read over the letter again that had been delivered that evening. Frowning, he sat down at his desk and took a piece of parchment from a drawer. Quill in hand, he composed a letter to Lady Parador, who was at the Lothlorien Guild House...

Lady Parador,

I trust this will find you well. The Initiations are beginning tonight at the Edoras Guild House. If all goes well, I shall be settiing forth for Lothlorien in just a few days' time. In the meanwhile, I have received a petition to join the Guild. It is from a young man named Dirk who hails from Esgaroth. I am sending word to him that he should travel to Lothlorien to meet with you. I shall task the two of you with making the journey to Drœadan Forest to meet with the Chieftain of of the Woses. It is merely a courtesy visit from the Mithril Knights to the Drœadan where gifts will be exchanged and friendships renewed. I trust that you can choose an appropriate gift for the Drœadan. Instruct the Lothlorien Scouts to keep an eye out for Master Dirk and escort him to the Caras Galadhon Guild House. I shall see you back in Lothlorien and look forward to hearing of your visit to the Drœadan and more of Master Dirk.

Namarie,

Master Dirk has told me some of his history in his petition letter, and if I recall correctly, Elrohir once told me of a youth with this same name that has a very rich and...interesting lineage.

Elbren then sealed the letter to Parador and had it sent via carrier bird to Lothlorien, where it would arrive the following day.

To Dirk, he sent this:

Greetings and well met Master Dirk of Esgaroth,

Your petition to join the Mithril Knights has been reviewed. You should make all haste to the borders of Lothlorien where the Galadrim will guide you to the city of Caras Galadhon. You will be taken to the Guild House and introduced to your Mentor Knight, Lady Parador of Gondor. You will accompany Lady Parador on an ambassador mission for the Guild. She will tell you more as necessary. I will be in Lothlorien upon your return and look forward to meeting with you in person.

Namarie,

Lord Elbren Galadrim

Guild Master

This letter was also sealed and sent with all haste to be awaiting Master Dirk at his next destination....

The black-clad warrior, Dirk the Daring, reined in a half-mile from the eaves of Lothlorien and dismounted his mighty warhorse, Midnight.

Dirk had halted the night before upon the field of Celebrant, having crossed the River Limlight in the morning. In the distance to the north, the shadow under the leaves of the Golden Wood could be seen as a deep black under the purple and blue of the twilight sky. The young Dœnedan decided that it would be better to approach the Wood under the face of the sun, when the watch would be less wary and friendlier, so he made his camp.

Cousin to the legendary Mearas line, mounts of the Kings of Rohan, Midnight carried himself proudly, tossing his sable mane, even in lonely places where there was not another soul to see the grand steed " or was there? Dirk had felt the uneasiness of one under surveillance since he crossed the river onto the plain of Celebrant.

Presently, it was late morning approaching noontime, and yet the dew still clung to the tall grasses, likely because the first chills of autumn had crept into the air that early October morn. The tall would-be knight removed his baldric, with its sword, Neleg Amlug, and brace of throwing knives and lashed the lot to his saddle, beside his unstrung Mirkwood bow and quiver. Having never before entered the Wood, Dirk, in an uncharacteristic moment of forethought and prudence, thought it better to approach unarmed.

He took his waterskin from its place on the front of the saddle, drank deeply and returned it. As he did so, he leaned his head on Midnight's neck, who whickered approvingly at the touch, and said, 'You feel them watching, too? Well, what say we go and see what they think of us?" With that, Dirk reached up and scratched between the beast's ears. Then with movements swifter and more graceful than his size and youth would portend, the young warrior was in the saddle.

As he approached the forest, Dirk thought of the letter he had received weeks before at Minas Tirith. Elbren, the Master of the Mithril Knight's Guild had accepted his petition to train to be a member of the Order. His elation was soon tempered, however, by the realization that he would not likely be spending the fall, and probably not even the Yule, as he had planned: in the warm climes of Lebennin, or perhaps the Pelargir with his love, Leoba of Ithilien. (They had been at Minas Tirith to beg leave of the king to reside in Gondor for this period of time, perhaps longer.) He knew however that Leoba would understand. She knew that Dirk still had many years of roaming left in him. She knew that until he realized Glorfindel's premonition of great deeds, that wanderlust would hold sway in Dirk's heart. She also knew full well how much becoming a Knight meant to Dirk. 'Yes, she understands. That's why I love her." Dirk thought.

Because of his reverie, Dirk had not realised that he was very near to the boles of the mallorns. Again he dismounted, this time to walk his horse slowly into the Wood.

As quickly as he had thought it would happen, he was challenged. Coming to a halt just within the shadow of the leaves, Dirk was hailed by a fair, yet forceful voice that seemed to emanate from above.

'Halt, stranger. You enter the Land of Lorien, where few are welcome. State your name and your business. If you are expected, you will be welcomed. If you are not, but are fair and truthful, you will be turned away amiably. But be false or enemy, and' Well, there are ten bent bows around you now; you do not want to be false."

Dirk lifted his voice as loud as his broken larynx would allow. It sounded like a strained whisper, and was grating - like rocks scraping against one another, 'I am Dirk, foster son of Drake, of Esgaroth. I am here to see the Lady Parador. I've been sent to her by Master Elbren of the Mithril Knights. I was told that I would be expected."

He fell silent and awaited the answer from the sentries.

The same voice answered from above, "Stand fast where you are. You are indeed expected."

Moments later, three Galadrim Elves descended the trees and approached Dirk, their bows strung and arrows notched, but their stance was friendly, if watchful and a bit wary.

"Mae Govannon, I am Galathil of the Anduin Guard. We are to escort you to Caras Galadhon by Lord Elbren's orders," Galathil paused in his speech and his eyes narrowed, "Some of the paths by which we take you are known only to the Galadrim; you must permit me to blindfold at these times. It is the law of our people since the time of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, and Lord Elbren and Lady Carnimiriel still uphold it."

Dirk did not immediately reply, and before he could, another of the Elves spoke, "Do not think it an ill tiding, Dirk, son of Drake--"

Then all of the Elves fell silent and appeared to be listening. Several heavy minutes later, three riders approached, all clad in shining mail and cloaked with the unmistakable silver sheen of the tell-tale sign of a Mithril Knight, the Mithril Cloak of the Order.

"We will take him, Galathil," spoke one of the Knights, "I am Edlund of Lothlorien. Mount your horse and we will take you to Caras Galadhon. Lady Parador is waiting for you at the Guild House."

"Mae Govannan, Galathil," returned Dirk with a nod of his head.

When the elf told Dirk of the mandatory and expected blindfolding, (He had heard of this from others who had visited the Golden Wood, as well as the history of the eight walkers who emerged from Moria, bearing the Ring...) Dirk fell silent, wondering what he should do about Midnight. For the great steed may not suffer himself to be blindfolded. And as ridiculous as the idea sounded, if these elves truly wished to keep the way secret, the would need to keep it hidden from Midnight as well, for he could remember most of the paths he had ever trodden, and could often return easily to any point that he had once visited. Dirk contemplated his choices: tell the elves of this and let them decide whether or not to attempt the shielding of the horse's eyes, or keep it to himself, for he knew within his heart that neither he nor the noble Midnight would betray their secret, or to simply set the horse free on the grassy plain of Celebrant and travel on foot beneath the leaves of L—rien.

He must have looked as if he disliked the idea of the blindfold because one of the elves remarked, "Do not think it an ill tiding, Dirk, son of Drake--"

Dirk was about to make his reply when the elves fell suddenly silent, craning their graceful necks as if listening - their superior ears had detected a sound beyond Dirk's mortal aural abilities.

Moments later, the delegation of elven knights made Dirk's decision for him, bidding him mount and follow. Once again, Dirk bounded into the saddle with speed and grace (but without flourish) unlooked-for in such a man.

"Mae Govannon, Edlund. Lead, sir, and I will follow."

The knights wheeled their mounts about and Dirk took up position amongst them. Soon, the four of them were traveling the secret paths of Lothlorien towards Caras Galadon.

The last few days were tranquil for L—rien. Parador had at last relaxed her mind enough from the last quest to let go of Tom‡s unsettling comments for a time. Talking to Elbren helped to settle the matter even more giving credence to the idea he had feared was collimating with the old Mithril Knight order.

Sitting in front of the fire, Parador sat in deep thought...the fire reflected in her eyes the test of time long past. The parchment she held in her right hand rested upon her knee...having read it she began to contemplate its contents. She felt honored to have been asked by Lord Elbren to mentor the newest of petitioner for Knighthood: Dirk, the son of Drake, as they journeyed to the Druadan Forest on an Ambassador's mission bearing a gift and of friendship.

She had heard of the Woses or better known in the earlier days of Arda as the Pœkel-men. She had not dared to venture into Druadan Forest for it had been told to her by the Men of Gondor long ago to shun this place. The habitants were a strange and forgotten race of men...'Wild Men' was a term she had heard often referencing it to be the Woses spoken of at this time by Elbren. And a gift to those she knew little of...her heart would have to be the guide on this latest request from Elbren...a request she would make sure would bear the best of gift's.

A knock on her door pulled her back to the present...'yes, come in please'...

'Lady Parador, Edland and the Lothl—rien scouts, who are escorting our new arrival, they come quickly up the path'

'Thank-you, I will be there shortly'

Folding the parchment neatly, the Mithril Knight placed it within a compartment inside her bodice...walking over to where the Mithril Knight cloak was hung, she grasped it carefully...its silver sheen glided respectfully around her shoulders. The mighty sword of TœrRuin's blade reflected a signal from the fire in the fireplace flashing into Parador's face as if reminding her of its place on the journey...'I will be back faithful sword of TœrRuin's flames...our journey will begin soon, I Promise'

Along the path to the main hall, Parador looked to the wall hangings decorating the steep massive walls. She had not the chance to take advantage of the time given her to reap the rewards of all that the guilds' held. So much history had been written and preserved yet, these very walls spoke to her as if reading from the great books of time. It was a feeling of comfort to be surrounded by the likes of such paintings of great kings and valiant knights from a time when Sauron held Middle-earth within his evil alliances. She immediately thought of F‘anor...Beren and Lœthien. Will there be a time they will meet again? She wondered...

A special painting she came across held her gaze for a moment...she knew Edland would be escorting the new initiate, Dirk, into the main hall soon...she would have to make it another time to look more closely the beauty and life the brush strokes had made by whoever painted this scenery.

Edland was already leading Dirk into the room as Parador enter from the other end of the entrance hall. She walked straightway to Dirk, but not before acknowledging Edland...

'Thank-you Edland',...placing her hand upon his shoulder in a gesture of friendship and gratitude, he returned the salutation then turned to Dirk...'May all that we hold sacred within Caras Galadhon's guild house be with you on your quest Sir Dirk...to wish you luck and safe passage upon your quest comes not as a gesture of hopeful words and good will but, as words that will be tried and tested as you prove yourself the heart and strength of a Mithril Knight and the wisdom to guide it. Take-care my friend, and may we meet again Son of Drake.'

'Thank-you Edland...I will take your words and carry them as good advise from one who has proven them already'...both men grasped each other's opposite arm in friendship with Edland departing soon after...

Parador felt at ease around the darkened clad warrior...'Welcome to Caras Galadhon sir Dirk of Esgaroth...its good to have you with us...please sit down and rest for a few minutes...let us talk'...She reached for the flask of wine and fruit that had been placed earlier for his arrival...as she poured the wine into the goblet the sound and rich red color quickened Dirk's already parched mouth even more...it had been a long ride.

The tradition of the Galadrim wherein they blindfold strangers whom they lead to Caras Galadhon, in Dirk's mind, was uneccessary. There were no marked paths beneath the Mallorns and the golden canopy overhead precluded the use of the sun during the day as well as the moon and stars during the night. Beautiful as his ride through L—rien was, he had no doubt that were he left alone to walk its acres of woodland, without training from the Galadrim on its navigation, that he would surely wander lost until he starved or was captured.

However, the sable-clad Dœnedan wasn't alone - he was escorted by the elven warriors of the wood. Neither was he blinded - but allowed to experience leaf and bough, bird and beast of the enchanted wood. Dirk thoroughly enjoyed the day's ride, for it was warm and pleasant.

Soon, the spaces between the trees began to widen. The flets that the Galadrim used as shelter began to be visible in the trees overhead. Dirk was convinced that the high dwellings were interspersed throughout the wood, but only here, near to its chief city, were they in plain sight of mortal eyes.

Suddenly, as if its approaches were hidden even within a few yards, he was in the city of Caras Galadhon. One moment, he was in the quiet yet watchful forest, the next he was in a bustling elven city, with its many buildings, both on the ground and in the trees.

He was led to one of the larger ground-built houses by Edland. Midnight, the usually high-spirited steed allowed himself, seemingly gladly, to be led away by an elf.

As the laketown youth was led through the halls of the house, he became immediately aware of the history of the Mithril Knights, with the many portraits and tapestries that lined its walls. He passed formal halls with long, polished wooden tables, libraries full of tall shelves bursting with tomes of knowledge, and cozy parlors with plush carpets and overstuffed chairs and sofas.

He was led to a great hall that appeared to be a combination of all of these, for its walls were painted with beautiful frescoes and it was set about with comfortable chairs and tables. At one of these sat Parador, his Mentor Knight. He knew very little of the Lady Parador, save that she was a mortal woman from Gondor. Dirk found it interesting that she was here in the heart of the land of the Firstborn. Did she live here? Was she stationed here? These things he'd find out in time.

He didn't have long to contemplate this because Edland turned and bade Dirk farewell with eloquent words. Dirk grasped the elf's arm and thanked him for the words and the courtesy he'd shown since he first entered Galadriel's wood.

Dirk was watching the departure of the chivalrous elf when Parador spoke. ...'Welcome to Caras Galadhon sir Dirk of Esgaroth...its good to have you with us...please sit down and rest for a few minutes...let us talk'... He was offered a seat, and wine, and fruit. All of which were excellent. The wine in particular, Dirk noted, was very very good. Similar in quality to that of his erstwhile home, Laketown, but different in character, perhaps it was Dorwinnion.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Parador. Of what would you like to speak?" He drank deeply of the rich red vintage and awaited the Mithril Knight's answer.

Parador was about to speak when one of the house servants entered the room...'Excuse me Lady Parador, but this arrived for you by messenger'...he handed her a sealed parchment then turned and gave a gesture of acknowledgment to Dirk as he walked back out the rear hall entrance.

She carefully placed the parchment into her side satchel as she turned her attention back to the Dœnedan...'Lord Elbren's request to mentor you Sir Dirk comes at a time I am in most need of learning. A request I consider an honor to take'...

The Mithril Knight took note of Dirk's anxious vestige hoping this quest would start soon as part of his initiation to Mithril Knighthood. She drew herself up from her chair keeping her eye within contact of Dirk. Eye contact was of importance to Parador; to her the eye's spoke of truths or they spoke of deception and it was for her to discern which one. Dirks countenance shown nothing but honor and truth. He held himself as if it was his duty to become a Knight; a duty he would see fit to complete honorably with the given title of Mithril Knight. This was his goal.

'I hope you are up for a quest Sir Dirk, for tomorrow we will leave before the light of Arda rises. As for the rest of this day...the house servants will escort you to your room. Fresh water and a set of clean clothes await you. Rest further if you need to and please, make your self comfortable while you are here. we will need to meet in the map room before the sun sets to the west's horizon. There we will make further our plans'...a warm smile came to her as she thought of the October journey they would be setting out on. Fall was always a favorite time of the year for Parador. She looked to Dirk again as she walked away from her chair making ready her leave for awhile

'Lord Elbren has requested us to make an Ambassador's run to the Drœadan Forest to meet with the Chieftain of the Woses where gifts and friendships are to be exchanged. To be completely honest Sir Dirk, I have not ever met the Woses nor do I know much about them...I am for certain not many people have. They are a secluded tribe within Drœadan's Forest and were known in the earlier days of Arda as the Pœkel-men. I don't know if you have ever met up with them on your travels through the White Mountains'...

Dirk nodded his head in letting Parador know he knew of the Woses ...'but, enough for now'...Parador grasped Dirks shoulder gently as a sign of trust and the birth of a friendship...

'I will meet you soon then in the Map room; one of the house servants will be glad to escort you the way when the time comes'...

Dirk rose from his chair and stood to his full stature looking to the older knight...'Thank-you Lady Parador, I look forward to the quest'

'My days have yet to be governed by ages long past...my youth speaks of this...experience I have...wisdom...is on its way Lady Parador'...he smiled knowing to what great lengths he would go to prove his worthiness and skill for knighthood.

As she was about to leave she turned once again to the sullen Dœnedan...

'One more item I must not forget. We have a Guild Armory I would like for you to visit before the night is over. I notice you already have a sword at your side but you will probably need more equipment to travel with. It is a place that holds wondrous weaponry and possibly a piece of armory that may play an important roll in your quests as a Mithril Knight if it is to be'

Alas Sir Dirk...I hope you will not make the same mistake I made upon my first visit to the armory as a Knight initiate...this much I will say...not only is patience a virtue...listening is a must.'

Parador took her leave to her room leaving Dirk to wonder what was meant by her words. He would find out soon enough

The Lady Mithril Knight exited the room, leaving Dirk to ponder her words. "'not only is patience a virtue...listening is a must' He stood there long minutes, motionless, speculating on the cryptic message hidden within Parador's kind invitation to visit the Guild's armory in search of items that may be useful.

In the end, he decided to do as she bid. Even though he was well-armed: he had Neleg Amlug, the Dragon's Tooth, in the high speech it was called Carch Urul—ki, which he had always with him, attached now in the hip position upon his baldric, in its black leather sheath bound with fine gilded silver, a gift of his childhood mentor and teacher, Thranduil. Also attached to his sturdy leather baldric was his brace of throwing knives, four blades of hardened, blackened steel affixed cleverly in inverted sheaths at the small of his back devised and forged by the smithy Grechos of Dor-Dormoi, the capital city of Dorwinnion. Also, lashed to his saddlebags, there was the carved ash bow of Mirkwood, with its quiver of matching arrows. He had never lost a single arrow in the many battles he had seen in the short time since he had left his foster father's house in search of his destiny. So long it seemed, since he had been a boy - the son of an innkeeper, cleaning the taproom floor and fetching kegs with his five older brothers. Yet it had only been a year and a half. He had since learned of his true heritage, fallen from grace for a short while and finally, utterly rejected his father's legacy. He truly was a different person. He was a man " a man in search of meaning, in search of the answer to Glorfindel's prophetic riddles.

'Ahem. Pardon me, Master Dirk. The Lady Parador bid me show you to your room, then to the armory."

Dirk had been standing, wide-eyed, still staring at the empty threshold that Parador had used to quit his presence. His eyes were open, but he saw naught of the physical world. Now he had been roused from his reverie by a fair, polite voice. A voice like that of all elves, clean and pure, a stark contrast to the broken and ruined whisper that was Dirk's own. Reaching up and lightly fingering the raised scar that stretched from ear to ear across his throat, he turned and saw an elf clad in white, his raiment adorned with embroidered leaves of silver and gold.

'Yes, forgive me. I was caught off guard by something the lady said. I certainly hope that I haven't ignored you overlong."

'No, Master Dirk. In the span of the lifetime of an elf, a few minutes are as quick as a lightning flash."

He turned without a word and left the Grand Hall through one of its many doors. Dirk followed. Soon they mounted a flight of stairs. They passed two stories on the way to the fourth and top-most floor. Down a long, elegantly wood-paneled corridor, lined at even intervals with many doors, he finally caught up with the mysterious elf. He stood waiting beside an open door.

'Here is your room. You will find fresh water for drinking as well as for cleansing, along with a little bread and some fruit, to hold you over until your supper, which will be brought to you after you visit the armory. There are also some fresh clothes. Leave yours on the chair beside the door when you change and we will see that they are cleaned and mended from their hard road. Also, you may leave your arms in the room as long as you walk in Caras Galadhon. You will not need them."

Dirk's forehead furrowed, for though he trusted these elves implicitly, he also knew of the dangers of the Dragon's Tooth. He was loath to leave it unattended for other's safety alone - because certainly none could ever steal it from him. To even attempt such a thing would mean death to the thief.

But the elf's next statement uncannily addressed the dark youth's concerns, 'We know of your blade, Dirk. Aye, we know it well. You may rest assured than none will disturb it from wherever you decide to lay it."

With that, the elf turned and strode the corridor, his long legs carried him swiftly away, and soon Dirk could no longer hear his footfalls.

Dirk began to undress, placing his baldric across a chair-back, and leaning the sheathed sword against the wall beside the bed. As he disrobed, he became once again aware of the absence of his mithril shirt. One of the parting gifts from Glorfindel, Dirk had worn it ever since the day he stood upon a hill at the Grey Havens and watched the tall mast of the ship that carried the elf fall away beyond the horizon toward the undying west " for ever. He had come to rely upon the mail blindly; it gave him a misplaced sense of invincibility. He had learned a hard lesson when it failed " harder still it was to give up the precious garment. The smooth white scar above his left hip ached slightly as a reminder. He looked at it, as well as the rest of his divested body. Perhaps he might find something of use in the armory. His mortal body was fragile, surely he could find some trusty bit of mail or plate in the Mithril Knight's armory: something that would fit his needs, something that would befit his future status as Mithril Knight.

Dirk found the large basin of cool, clear water and laved his face, neck, head and hands. Folded upon the bed were a woolen tunic and hose of grey, and a pair of the light, flexible shoes that the elves wore. These he donned, placing his black leather breeches and boots, as well as his white linen under-shirt and black linen tunic upon the chair as the elf had instructed.

There was a small loaf of sweet white bread on a plate with and apple, a tall vessel of water and a cup " of a metal that was shined to mirror-like perfection. He poured the water and took the bread. He suddenly realized that he was famished. Alternately munching the soft bread and sipping the water, he found the snack satisfying.

However he was now fairly excited to visit the Knight's armory. Therefore he took up the apple, opened the door to his room and stepped into the hall, intending to call for the elf. However, there was no need, for there was an elf maid waiting silently in the hall. She was clad in a simple white shift, similarly adorned with embroidery to the garb of the first mysterious elf.

'Do you wish to visit the armory now?"

Dirk felt as though he were in a dream. He could not speak. His moments alone and perhaps the few bites of food had stemmed the flow of adrenaline in his body and the beauty and enchantment of Lothl—rien and its inhabitants struck him full, like a leather gauntlet across the face. He merely nodded.

Without another word, she led him back down hall and the stairs, to the first floor. Dirk followed, absent-mindedly chewing on the apple as he drank in the wonder of the place with new eyes. Presently, they left the main guildhouse and crossed a small yard to a smaller building. Low, and devoid of windows, it had only one door; and it was wide and bound with the iron. Another elf, this one in bright mail, set about with a magnificent cloak of iridescent silver stepped from an alcove beside the door. The young man finished his apple, tossing the core across the yard, toward the stables, where it was quickly snatched up by a large grey mare. The to elves exchanged a few words in Sindarin, to low for Dirk to comprehend, and he produced a set of keys, admitting Dirk, led by his escort. As he passed the guardian, they exchanged glances. To the young Dœnedan's mind, the elf warrior seemed to be welcoming him and sizing him up all at once. He proceeded with a nod of his head towards the elf, who returned the gesture.

Dirk's eyes widened as he entered the armory. It was the most magnificent collection of arms he'd ever seen. The walls were set about with racks of weapons: spear and pikes, maces, war-hammers, axes of every size and shape, knives, bows and, oh yes " swords. Dirk's mind raced as he looked and them: thin rapiers, cutlasses, scimitars, giant claymores, of every make he recognized " elvish, Westernesse, Gondor, Easterling, cavalry blades of Rohan " and many more that he did not recognize. There were mannequins dressed in mail: leather, plate, chain and ring. He looked about in reverence for a few minutes, stopping every now and then to marvel at some new thing that he'd never seen designed quite in such a way before.

'Go ahead young master, touch them, try them out. Choose what you would. But choose wisely."

Dirk's childlike wonderment ceased. Here again was the warning of Parador rousing him from the giddiness like a splash of chill water. He stared at the elf, who only smiled, turned and left him alone.

Now he began to inspect the armory's contents in earnest. As beautiful and wonderful as the weapons were, he reminded himself once again that he was well-heeled in that respect. Indeed, he could hardly carry more. He turned his attention to the armor. Remembering the importance of stealth and agility to his wilderness survival, quickly eliminated the loud, clanking, heavy plate armor, as well as the various implements of interlocking rings of steel. He tried a few stout bits of leather armor, checking their buckles. But nothing quite worked for him.

And then a glimmer caught his eye. Upon a shelf, he espied a hauberk that was black as the shadow cast over L—rien when the sun dips below Celebdil westerly upon its setting. But it also shone like the moon full-waxed. Dirk was dumbfounded. He approached the shelf and reached for the hauberk. To his surprise, he found if soft, pliant.

'This cannot be," he whispered to himself, turning the piece over and over. 'It is. It must be. There is only one way to be sure."

He propped the chest piece up against the wall, took up a great axe and struck with all of his might. Returning the axe to its rack, he returned to the hauberk, took it up and checked it over " not a scratch.

'It is," again he spoke aloud to himself, incredulous, 'this is galvorn, Ešl's metal. But it can not be. It is only legend now. No one has seen it since the Valar cast Beleriand into ruins. Ešl, the dark elf of Nan-Elmoth and his works had vanished even before the final battle of the First Age. These Mithril Knights are truly wondrous."

He strapped the hauberk about his chest. It fit perfectly. He bent this way and that; he climbed the racks of weapons. It was not as light as mithril, and neither was it as hard. But Ešl's metal surpassed plain steel on both counts. It reflected only direct light, easily remaining hidden in the shadowy corners. And it was utterly quiet, no matter how Dirk moved.

Dirk returned to where he had found the hauberk, looking for more pieces. He found a pair of matching vambraces, but nothing more. But then it was enough. A helm would hinder his sight and hearing. And his leather breeches were stout enough to fend off a glancing bow or an off-center bowshot. He tried on the vambraces, again a perfect fit. With one more cursory glance around the shelves and Dirk doffed the three pieces of assuredly prized armor and began to carry them towards the door.

Then something else caught his eye " a small knife. Quite an ordinary knife really " with a wooden handle and plain steel hilts in such a sheath as would be fit to conceal in a tall boot. It had no markings of any kind; neither did it sparkle with the polished finish of the elven or Nœmen—rean master smiths. But it was a well-made, stout little knife. And Dirk was oddly attracted to it. He added it to the three pieces in his arms and left the armory. These things he would ask for. Surely the Mithril Knights would not allow him to keep the rare armor, but they would probably not begrudge him this small knife.

The elf maid was there, waiting beneath a young Mallorn. She stepped forward as Dirk emerged from the doorway. He heard a sharp snick as the guardian stepped silently and swiftly behind him to re-lock the door.

'You have chosen. Good. Follow me."

Dirk was led back into the guildhouse to a large room on the first floor. It was set with benches and tables. On the walls were shelves and racks of rolled charts, as well as a small hearth with an inviting fire. The elf motioned for him to sit. He did so, setting the items he'd chosen in the armory down beside him on the bench. This was obviously the maproom in which Lady Parador was to meet him. He was alone.

However, he did not have to wait long. Soon the Lady Knight entered the room, inquiring about the small bit of food, the clothing and the armory.

'They all surpass my expectations, Lady."

'Did you find anything of use in the armory."

'Yes, Lady."

'Bring them to me. Let me see what you have found."

Dirk gathered up the hauberk, vambraces and knife from the bench and set them on a table before the Mithril Knight. She began to inspect the items.

Dirk awaited her reaction to his choices.

The Mithril Knight walked slowly toward the armament lying on the map room's table. As she scanned over the items her eye especially caught the rare Galvorn metal. It is said the secret of its manufacture died with Ešl. How rare a possession this was. Parador reached out to touch it pulling her hand back quickly. Her mind immediately descended back to a much earlier time in her life when she lived in Ered Luin...a place where she was brought to as an infant. The only possession she could lay claim to was a golden jewel that was placed around her neck on a mithril chain. The Jewel of Anar...given to her by her parents of whom she knew little of.

But the reason for the sudden departure to the past of many years gone by...was the Galvorn metal. It was rare to see the highly prized metal being used by the people of Middle-earth; but she knew of someone who did...and it is for that reason she shuddered to think of its usage by a Mithril Knight initiate.

Parador stepped back away from the table in great thought as to how to handle this situation knowing it was of her own doing for not explaining the rules in selecting equipment from the armory for an initiate. It was obvious Dirk knew of its history; so by choosing the hauberk and vambraces made of the Galvorn gave her an idea.

'You have chosen well Dirk...I am impressed with what you have selected.'

'Thank-you Lady Parador'...he knew something was wrong and waited patiently for her to finish

'When I had made the comment of 'listening being a must' it was because of a mistake I had made during my initiate. I had not listened to my mentor when told the rules of selecting from the armory. I apologize Sir Dirk, I yet make another mistake; I did not pass those rules onto you.'...The sullen Mithril Knight walked around the table feeling the responsibility of Mentorship heavy upon her...as she made her way to the other side she turned and faced Dirk. She held his gaze as she spoke...

'Only one weapon or armor is allowed to be selected, but because of your mighty sword Neleg Amlug this left you with one more selection. There are limits placed to selecting a weapon or armor...Mithril mail, Mithril weapons, and Relic weapons along with the armor may only be used by Initiated Mithril Knights. As for road supplies, there is no limit.'

'Because the error points to me Sir Dirk, the knife is yours for the keeping. But as for the two pieces of armor, we will let them decide as to who's true ownership they belong. I need not remind you of the darkness that is veiled around the Galvorn's history nor of the consequences that may arise during the course of its time in proving ownership. Only time will tell...I now leave this choice with you.'

Dirk listened with great interest to what all was being said by his Mentor Knight...Yes, it was a good find...and one he hoped to keep; but what will it cost him...his soul perhaps? His mind and will were strong; but better yet he had an advantage...One that would prove him to be the true owner of the two pieces of armor. Maybe it was meant that he should find them...

'We will leave before the sun touches the morning horizon. We must make haste Dirk. There is trouble brewing in the North. Lord Elbren will be in need our help soon. I will explain along the way.'...Unrolling the maps, Parador pointed to the great Anduin River...Dirk followed her fingers as she traced the route they would be taking leading them to Druadan Forest.

'We will take an Elven boat and ride down the Anduin River until we meet Rauros Falls. The boat will hold two people of our stature comfortably. Once we arrive at the mouth of the falls we will take to the land and carry the boat down along side the great fall in the North Marshes only to meet up at the base of the fall to finish our trek on the Anduin River. The Elven boat is made of Mallyrn bark and will be light to carry. The river is swift and will carry us at a much faster pace than on foot alone. An—rien will be our next destination. There we will secure the boat and make the rest of the way on foot crossing the Sun-lands until we reach Drœadan Forest.'

Dirks mind was running as swift as the great River itself trying to take in all that Parador was requesting of him. The excitement of the journey to knighthood was forefront in his thoughts. And what was this of Lord Elbren needing their help? He was glad he made the choice to come here...whatever it was he could do to be of assistance to the people of Middle-earth...for that was a Mithril Knight's purpose: to defend and protect the mighty lands of kings and queens, Elfs and Dwarves,...Men and Hobbits of both past and present

'One more thing Dirk',...Parador finally gave a reassuring smile to the already overwhelmed knight...'we will need a gift to take to the chieftain of the Woses, Gh‰n-buri-Gh‰n. The guild house yields many treasures in which to choose from. Elbren has asked that it be something that represent our long time friendship with them. A gift I would think appropriate would be something to aid them if ever they need our assistance in a matter or to come to their defense. I will leave this with you to take care of Sir Dirk. This is one of many roles a Mithril Knight plays. A good role to be proven on this journey.'

After letting him know she would meet him at the River's edge with the Elven boat come morning's eve...she bid him a goodnight and descended to her room to read the Parchment that was delivered to her earlier in the day...

'Thank you indeed, Lady Knight. I have an inexplicable feeling that this armor has been waiting in the armory for me specifically." He paused, thinking.

'As for their dubious nature, my own sword, the Dragon's Tooth, has a similarly " storied " past. I have been tested by it, and the other artifacts that were its mates, and have yet managed to survive, even gain wisdom from the experience. Something hidden deep in the fibre of my being drew me to these three pieces, among all the beautiful collection." He shifted his weight slightly and smiled. 'Thank you for the opportunity to earn them, whether it be the Knights or the armor itself that chooses whether I shall bear them beyond this mission or not."

Parador then explained about their current diplomatic task and the speed with which they must carry it out, for the Lord Elbren had requested their attendance as soon as possible in the north. Though she was not more specific, Dirk was quite proud that he would be asked to take part in the matters of the Mithril Knights, especially one that appeared so pressing that they would be asked to make haste in his original initiate mission.

The Lady then requested that Dirk decide on what stately gift they should present to the king of the Woses. After instructions on where to meet to begin their journey south and east, she took her leave of the Knight-initiate.

Dirk was once again escorted to his room by a well-dressed elf. There he found that his supper had been laid out upon the small table. He placed his new-found weaponry beside Neleg Amlug, which was left untouched by the room stewards as promised, and sat at the board. While he ate, the light from his west-facing window turned from brilliant red to orange, then finally faded into the violet of the premature evening caused be the considerable shadow cast by the mighty peaks of the southern Hithaeglir.

While he hungrily ate his meal, he considered his task of determining what gift to present to Gh‰n-buri-Gh‰n. Finally, he pushed himself away from the table and opened the door to the room. As he suspected, one of his elven hosts was waiting quietly in the corridor.

'Was your evening meal to your liking?" he asked.

'It far surpassed my expectations. The Galadrim are kind hosts." Dirk replied with a small bow of his head.

'Tell me, does the guildhouse have a gallery or treasury that I might see? I have been tasked to find a suitable gift for a diplomatic mission and due to the short time we have been given to complete our mission, I regrettably cannot search out an artisan to craft for us such an object. Therefore, I must choose from what might be found at hand here in the guildhouse."

'Aye, Master Dirk, if you would like I can take you to the gallery now."

'Yes please, lead the way."

The elf led the young warrior back down to the first floor and down the corridor that led to the map room. Not far from the room where Parador had given him the task of finding the gift, the elf stopped before a pair of massive walnut doors, at least twice Dirk's height and more that then breadth of his hand thick. The elf opened the doors and motioned for Dirk to enter first.

Dirk entered the dark room first and even before the elf had lit any lamp or candle, he could feel its voluminous presence, the sanctified air. As one by one the lights began to burn, Dirk saw the glinting Gold and Silver in the dancing flames. When the room was fully illuminated, he wandered between display cases, marveling at the precious objects. On the walls hung tapestries and portraits, as well as a few weapons, swords and shields, many bearing the heraldry of the great houses of Middle-earth - from all four ages.

As he meandered amongst the great treasure, he paused and asked the elf for the story of several objects. His host was a wealth of information and willingly told all that Dirk wished to hear about each item.

After a short while, a particular item upon a column-like pedestal caught Dirk's eye: a drum. The instrument was made from wood and stretched hart-hide drawn taught with sinew. I was decorated with carved images of great oaks and maples, with the rising sun on one side and the waxing moon on the opposite. Dirk asked the elf to recount its history.

It had been gifted to the Mithril Knight's in gratitude for their faithful service by the Sylvan Elves of Ossiriand during the First Age.

'The First Age? Were the Mithril Knights founded that far back? I was not aware of such a history." Queried Dirk.

'No Master Dirk, they were not founded in the ancient times," the elf smirked, 'You still have much to learn."

He then went on to speak of the drum's creation and its significance. Although it was of elvish make, it was made from craft derived from the ancient Pœkel-men. The elf went on to explain that even though no tale was ever written, nor any lay ever sung, the elves of that riparian region had sporadic dealings with ancient ancestors of the Woses. The drum was created by a highly skilled Sylvan artisan who imbued it with the power to call friends in time of need. Whomsoever the drum is gifted to can beat the drum and thus call upon its giver who, from any distance can hear the drumbeat and respond with aid. It does not, however project the sound of its beat across the portals of time, and therefore the Mithril Knights cannot use it to call upon the Sylvan Elves of Ossiriand."

'Which means?"

'Which means, young man, that it would make a fine gift to the Woses. I believe that the Lords and Ladies of the guild would wish to use this object in the diplomatic manner which you intend."

Dirk gently lifted the drum from its pedestal and inspected it while the elf extinguished the lights. Leaving the treasure gallery of the Lothl—rien Mithril Knight's Guildhouse once again in its silent darkened reverence.

Dirk brought it back to his room, wrapped the drum in his cloak and gingerly placed it among the weaponry and armor that was leaning against the wall. He then poured a goblet of the rich red wine and went to the window, where he looked out upon L—rien and her capital city until he began to tire.

After changing into the linens that were laid out for him to sleep in, he laid himself down and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

He awoke at dawn the next morning to the sound of knocking at his door. He rose and opened it to find the smiling face of his elven host, who was brandishing a silver tray laden with fresh fruits, more of the soft bread and a pitcher of cool, clear water. He accepted these and ate them cheerfully. He then found that his traveling clothes had been returned, darned and cleaned, and were folded neatly on a dressing table. He changed clothes quickly, buckled on the new armor, over which he placed his baldric, and taking the bundle wrapped in his cloak, he left the room.

He was led the elven host to the waiting boats moored on the northern bank of the Celebrant. They went on foot to the river, and Dirk was assured that Midnight was very content where he was and that upon the return trip north, they would go on horseback, stopping again in L—rien for their mounts. There, among the bustling elves readying the boats for departure was Parador, whom Dirk approached and opening the folds of the cloak to show her what he found, he asked if the drum would make a fitting gift.

'Will this suffice for our gift, Lady?"

The drum laid boldly in his hand...the curious workmanship was a unique piece of artwork to behold. Parador was more than pleased to see the drum and to see it held ever so gently in the mighty warrior's hand...

'I am impressed with your choice of gift...it speaks well of you. The heart of a knight who takes care in his responsibilities chose this gift. Remember always, a knight's weakness is not in the softness of his heart...but in letting it not be careless with the responsibility bestowed upon him.'

'Gh‰n-buri-Gh‰n will be pleased with the gift. Even though I have yet to meet him, I know I myself would find this drum of practical use to a people who live secluded deep within the forests. This would tell me of the respect the people of Arda have for a peculiar people such as the Woses.'

Parador turned to the Elven servant and thanked him...then taking the boat's elongated neck of the carved swan as support she stepped easily into the concaved carving of artwork. The Elven race never did anything simple...the continuous beauty that abounds their everyday life has always left Parador in awe and fascination.

The boats would be their best bet in reaching the Woses in a timely manner. Horses would be supplied at a later time and place. Dirk quickly and carefully wrapped the drum again and placed it inside a satchel he was wearing. He thank the Elven servant once again graciously and turned stepping into the boat with balance and ease. The servant pushed the boat out into the open waters. The cold air wisped around them sending a shiver through the voyager's bodies. The water splintered against the boat's outer skin as the current clutched to its underbelly leading it out into the water's bounteous folds; beyond the reach of solid ground.

Both Parador and Dirk were left to their own thoughts as they quietly traveled upon the currents of the Great Anduin River...What more could she teach this young, wise and noble warrior who sat next to her. She was sure he was thinking of how they would approach the Woses. It had been along time since the Mithril Knight's last meeting with Wild men of the Druadan Forest. Will they be welcomed or turned away...?

Parador's thoughts then turned as swiftly as the currents that were beneath them to a time when she was in training...which was not too long ago...the words came to her and she began to recite them to Dirk...

"A Knight is sworn to Valor.

His or her heart knows only Virtue.

His or her blade defends the helpless.

His or her might upholds the weak.

His or her words speak only truth.

His or her wrath undoes the wicked."...

'These words were spoken to me by a valiant Mithril Knight, Lady Idril, during my Knighthood initiation. I now speak them to you. She called them an unspoken 'Code' we all must live up to. Remembering the words will come easily to you Dirk...you speak them already'

With this said, they both remained quiet until they reached Rauros Falls

Dirk's youthful pride swelled within him at the kind words spoken to him on the riverbank. However, he had learned the hard way that personal pride is a dangerous thing. It must be held in check and humility must be allowed to rule. Some pride is good: pride in one's achievements, pride in one's country and alliances, pride in one's family and friends. But if a man becomes too proud of himself it can lead to arrogance, which is the chair upon which evil sits. Arrogance leads one down a path to sure and dishonorable death. He knew this because he had tread that path. Dirk was lucky for he had escaped with only a slit throat and one less finger. He could have died. He could have spent eternity in the abyss.

He smiled and bowed his head humbly to Parador in response to her words.

He had asked for a small satchel to carry the gift in, for he usually bore no pack save his saddlebags. He had traveled on horseback since he left Esgaroth twenty months before. Along with the satchel, he wore his baldric with Neleg Amlug in position at his back; his bow and quiver he laid in the bottom of the boat near his feet; the brace of throwing knives lay concealed beneath his grey cloak, attached to the baldric as well; and the small knife he had chosen in the Lothl—rien armory in his left boot. He wore his tall riding boots, a black linen tunic over an ecru linen undershirt, and black leather breeches. Neither helm nor hood covered his long black hair, which was plaited in a single braid that extended to his mid-back and tied with a small blue ribbon, symbolizing Dale.

Along with his black leather gauntlets, he wore the galvorn hauberk and vambraces, which he considered a generous loan until he was able to come before Lord Elbren, hopefully as a Mithril Knight, and ask for them formally. He and Parador agreed that even though the choosing of relic armor was against the Mithril Knight rules, these pieces seemed to be custom-made for the young Dœnedan. Beyond their physical fit, there was a sense of destiny about them, as if they had been waiting for Dirk, calling to him when the time was right. However, he did not share the Lady Knight's sense of foreboding towards the ancient elven-made armor.

********

Now they had paddled downstream on the Great River for some time, when the Lady spoke to him again, this time reciting the lines of the Old Code. He had of course heard them before. Since recovering his failed attempt to reach out to a false destiny, he had attempted guide his words and actions by those six lines. He sat in silence now as Parador recited them. It had hit him only then that he was truly on the path to becoming a Mithril Knight, the highest honor among warriors of the Light, and a dream of Dirk's since he first heard of the order during his childhood.

As if on queue, while the profound words of the Old Code still echoed in Dirk's ears and his thoughts dwelled on great men and women and honourable deeds, the swan-boat rounded a bend and revealed the mighty likenesses of Isildur and An‡rion, hundreds of feet tall with hands outstreched forbidding passage into Gondor for those who were not welcome: The Argonath. Dirk had never seen them before, and they further deepened the sentiments he was feeling.

Soon, they had passed the iconic images of the kings of Dirk's people and paddled over the calm waters of Nen Hithoel, the lake above the majestic Rauros Falls. They slowly approached the southern shore, finally landing their craft at Parth Galen: the fabled grounds in which the Fellowship of the One Ring battled the Uruk-Hai, and the site of the death of the mighty warrior Boromir. After disembarking, Dirk looked about in reverence. There were the hills of Amon Hen and Amon Lhaw, as well as the Tol Brandir, where no man had ever set foot. Ever they were surrounded by the mists of the great falls, and ever the noise of them filled their ears.

The Lady Knight's urgency, which confounded Dirk somewhat, cut short his exploration of the hallowed Parth Galen and surrounding area. They ate a small meal in silence and were soon on their way. Dirk switched Neleg Amlug to its hip position, slung his quiver onto his back with his carved grey ash bow. Carrying the light-weight Mallorn-bark boat, they descended the many steps of the North Stair, which wound from the Seat of Seeing upon Amon Hen down to the bottom of the falls and the plain of Rohan, and found themslelves angling somewhat to the east, with the swift waters of the Mouths of the Entwash to their right.

As night fell, they made camp beside the road near to the stony embankment which marked the boundary of Rohan and Gondor, known as the East Wall of Rohan. Parador sat beside Dirk and spread out a map. The next day, she told him as she pointed out the way on the map, they would set the boats once again into the waters of the Anduin and continue to follow it south-east until they entered An—rien, the Sun-Land, the gateway to Gondor. They would then beach their boats near Cair Andros, eventually ending up on the Great West Road. Parador said that they expected to approach the Druadan Forest in the Stonewain valley by nightfall; and on the morn of the following day, they should enter the forest and fulfill their mission.

After she finished, they had a small amount of food and a mouthful of wine together. She excused herself and Dirk prepared to sleep. He was given a blanket, into which he rolled himself and his sword. he laid his head upon his folded cloak and lay down to sleep, still pondering the strange sense of urgency that Parador showed.

Why did she feel the need to hurry? This was a peaceful diplomatic mission. There was no danger. And yet, she made clear the need to hasten on the journey. Was there something she wasn't telling him?

The questions mounted in his mind. But in the end, he determined that all would make itself clear when the time was right, and he would not now dwell upon them.

He drifted into sound, dreamless sleep until he was roused just before dawn, it was time to move once again.

Upon his sturdy shoulders rested the Mallyrn Elven boat...Dirk carried it with ease down the meadowed slopes of the North Marches with Parador in the lead. Out of the calm of the morning an abrupt cold breeze broke through the crisp air clutching its icy fingers around them. Parador gasped at the sudden intrusion. Dirk stood quietly for a moment...He was not sure but, he thought he saw a dark shadow, a few staff lengths to his right, tapered against the sides of the crested rocks then disappear. Knowing they had little time to spare to further investigate he shrugged it off and continued down the path leading to the mouth of the Anduin River.

Arda's horizon was now awake with the sun's great power of warmth and light enclosing around them. High above the Ambassadors head's screech an owl adding further to Arda's awakening. Parador stopped in her tracks scanning the horizon...she had recognized the screeching sound and smiled when her eyes met up with the owl. He flew above them in a commanding gesture...Once again Radagast was in their midst's.

Dirk, not knowing the Lady Parador for very long, was sure of the integrity she bore as a Mithril Knight and would reveal to him in time that which was troubling her and why the haste of their journey...he knew something was astir. They continued until they made contact again with the Anduin River...Dirk placed the Elven boat back on the waters resuming their journey to the Druadan Forest. The plains along the river buckled under along the rows of mounds created by the wind and erosions of years long past...desolate of any greenery few foliage found root in the barren grounds and survived. Once again the Great River's current carried the giftgivers swiftly to the lands of Anòrien.

Once on dry land they took the boat and laid it upside down off the shores of the river...grabbing their gear and beginning their last leg of the journey Parador spoke looking ahead to the Sun-lands vast region...'This is where our strength of body and legs of power will prove us in the rest of our journey...riding in saddles of comfort or boats of laurels makes for a challenge when on foot alone'...Gently and in deep thought she touched Dirk's arm to get his attention then guided her finger to the air with Dirk following with his eyes; she pointed to the owl who was faithfully still with them

'Radagast sends us greetings...something tells me we may be in need of our friend's services.'

'Radagast...his he not one of the Istari Wizard's?

'You have heard of him then...I'm not sure if he is close by or is simply sending our owl friend as an escort for the last part of our journey'...Parador looked to the Dúnedan again with her thoughts forming as she spoke

'We will not be entering the forest Dirk. King Elessar proclaimed a law that no one other than the Woses is to enter their land.'

I have never been a believer of coincidences...things have a way of playing out as they should...we are the navigators...we guide our lives and those around us, as we journey through our trials, to its rightful destination...but only if we listen though. Always listen Dirk...and watch. Learn to trust your instinct...but above all...your heart will be your true messenger.'

So let us see what awaits us at the end of this journey...We only want the Wild men to know we respect their wishes and honor our friendship with them and if ever they need our assistance we will be there by the beat of a drum'

And even as the words left her mouth, a slow drumming began in the distance. Moments later, three of the Woses seemed to materialise from the wood before them. They said nothing. Bowing before Parador and Dirk, they then motioned for them to follow.

When they disembarked and began on foot, Dirk was troubled. Not because of the mission that lie before them. What little he had studied of the Woses, at Imladris and under Thranduil's Halls as a child, told him that they would pose no danger- so long as they did not trespass or threaten the ancient tribe in any way. Instead, it was Lady Parador's strange sense of urgency, and now the appearance of this owl. The raptor appeared once again in the sky above them. The Lady Knight pointed the great bird out and proclaimed it to be the herald of Radagast, the reclusive Istari.

'Radagast sends us greetings...something tells me we may be in need of our friend's services.'

'Radagast...is he not one of the Istari?"

'You have heard of him then...I'm not sure if he is close by or is simply sending our owl friend as an escort for the last part of our journey'...Parador looked to the Dúnedan again with her thoughts forming as she spoke.

Dirk did not speak again, he only nodded to affirm Parador's question. Yes, he had been given what knowledge there was of the Istari. But of Radagast little was known, only that he was a Maia of Yavanna, formerly dwelt at Rhosgobel on the borders of Mirkwood, and that he had an affinity for -and ability to communicate with- the beasts and birds of the earth. His name was Adûniac for 'tender of beasts'. Only of the Blue Istari, who traveled deep into the East and South upon their arrival in Middle-earth, was less known.

'We will not be entering the forest Dirk. King Elessar proclaimed a law that no one other than the Woses is to enter their land.'

'I have never been a believer of coincidences...things have a way of playing out as they should...we are the navigators...we guide our lives and those around us, as we journey through our trials, to its rightful destination...but only if we listen though. Always listen Dirk...and watch. Learn to trust your instinct...but above all...your heart will be your true messenger."

'So let us see what awaits us at the end of this journey...We only want the Wild men to know we respect their wishes and honor our friendship with them and if ever they need our assistance we will be there by the beat of a drum."

Again Dirk nodded his assent. Even at that moment, the shadow of the eaves of the Drúadan Forest began to loom before them, black against the azure sky above.

Faintly at first, but then steadily growing in dynamics and intensity, the beats of the great drums of the Púkel men fell upon the ears of the Knight and her apprentice. Just as they approached the first of the overhanging trees, with the owl still overhead, three squat figures broke from the shadows beneath the leaves.

They did not speak, only bowing so low that their foreheads touched the ground. Dirk remembered vaguely reading about this custom. Parador and Dirk returned the bows, only not as low. The dark-skinned, thickly-muscled warriors carried wooden cudgels and short knives of bone, which appeared to have greater utility in hunting than warfare. Of a sudden, before Dirk could find the words of greeting, the three turned and with a gesture that they were to follow, reentered their forest.

They walked at a surprisingly quick pace given the short legs of the Drúedain. The forest was dense and lush; yet not so dark as it appeared from the plain. Here and there, the bright rays of the autumn sun burst forth through the foliage in brilliant shafts, lending a quiet yet lively air to the wood. The forest was darker than Lórien, but not stifling like the deeps of Greenwood the Great. Less than two hundred paces into the trees, they broke suddenly into a clearing; the bright light of the sun stunning them for a moment after the shade of the forest.

As their eyes adjusted, the Lady Knight and the squire saw that perhaps fifty of the tribesman were gathered in a semicircle. At the center was ...a strange squat shape of a man, gnarled as an old stone, and the hairs of his scanty beard straggled on his lumpy chin like dry moss. He was short-legged and fat-armed, thick and stumpy, and clad only with grass about his waist...** This old man ambled forward and bowed low, touching his forehead to the ground.

'I am Ghân-buri-Ghân, headman of Wild Men," he said in halting Common Speech.

Parador and Dirk emulated his bow. Parador looked at Dirk, it was time for him to speak. This was his test. That he could fight, the Mithril Knights must not have doubted, for they did not choose for him a task requiring martial skills; but rather his test was to show that he held the principles of diplomacy and chivalry that were inherent in the code of the Mithril Knights.

Dirk stepped forward half a pace and spoke in as dignified a voice as his broken larynx would allow.

'This," he indicated Parador, 'is the Lady Parador, a Mithril Knight from the land of Gondor."

Dirk bow his head slightly, 'And I am Dirk from the laketown, Esgaroth in the north.. We come on a mission of peace and diplomacy. We have been tasked with delivering to you a token of the friendship between the order of the Mithril Knights and your people."

Dirk reached into the satchel he had carried from Lothlórien and brought forth its contents. At once, Ghân-buri-Ghân recognized the drum, for it held significance in the lore of his people. Softly at first, but then gaining in volume, the men gathered about sang a slow and proud song in their guttural tongue.

'You return to Wild Men what they gave to elves many, many seasons ago."

Dirk, bending slightly at the waist, proffered the drum to Ghân-buri-Ghân with both hands. The flat-faced chieftain accepted the instrument with a wide grin. He lifted the carved drum above his head and shouted a proclamation in the language of the Drúedain to the still-singing Woses; who responded with an enthusiastic shout. He turned back to the Knight and the apprentice.

'Wild Men very happy. Mithril Knights true friends to Wild Men. When we need Mithril Knights, we play drum, Mithril Knights come."

'Yes," said Dirk, 'this pact we now make: Upon the honor of the Order of Mithril Knights, if you or your people have need of the Mithril Knights, play upon this hallowed instrument and we will respond with all haste to you."

'Very good," replied Ghân-buri-Ghân, 'If we need, we play drum. Also, Wild Men will make new song about Dirk and Lady Parador and return of sacred drum." His leathery face twisted into an expression of grave concern. 'Now Dirk and Lady Parador needed, but not by Wild Men. Before you come, birds of the forest tell Ghân-buri-Ghân about the great owl from the north. He flies now in the trees of Woses' wood. Great owl comes to take you to the wise one in brown cloak. Owl says trouble in the land of horse-men. Many gorgûn and bad naugrim. You go now. Many thanks of Wild Men go with you. Come back when you can, we will eat great feast. But now you must go."

Abruptly, he turned and disappeared into the trees, with all but one of his tribesmen in tow. With a wave of his stumpy arm the remaining Drúedan motioned for the two of them to follow. Without waiting to see if his gesture was acknowledged, he walked off in the direction from which they had arrived only a few moments earlier.

Following their escort, who again moved through the gnarled branches and roots of the forest with surprising swiftness, Dirk whispered to Parador.

'Radagast? The wizard sends us an urgent message? And what could that mean? Ghân-buri-Ghân used the words for orc and dwarf. He made it sound as if dwarves and orcs were in league for some evil purpose that we must stop."

'It doesn't make sense to me either, Dirk," answered Parador, 'Dwarves and orcs have been mortal enemies since the first age. We can only follow the owl and meet Radagast. Then we will know more."

At the edge of the forest, the escorting Wose stopped and pointed. Tracing the arc made by his finger to a branch at the pinnacle of a great oak, they espied the owl. In the same moment the owl took to wing and the Wild Man disappeared back into the trees.

The owl's flight angled north-westward across the meadows and glens of Anórien, taking them to southernmost tributary of the Mouths of the Entwash.

The sun had long since set when they arrived - in fact, it was past midnight when they came within sight of the coruscating ripples of the swift-moving stream. There, the owl finally landed on a branch in a grove of young maples along the bank. They were exhausted, having traversed fifty miles in thirteen hours. Both the squire and the Mithril Knight collapsed against the trunks of the immature trees.

Without a sound, the Wizard appeared before them as a shadow detaching itself from the other shadows. Dirk leapt to his feet and drew Neleg Amlug in a flash. However, he found himself frozen where he stood.

'No need for steel, young Dúnedan. I am the one you seek, Radagast the Brown. Won't you please sit and take refreshment?"

Dirk found that the spell was gone as quickly as it took control of his limbs. Sheathing the blade, he sat beside Parador, who was now surprisingly comfortable with the situation; and received from the ancient Istari a gift of Lembas and cool, clear water from the nearby river, drunk from earthenware mugs.

The two sat in relative silence, munching the Mallorn-leaf-wrapped wafers and listening to the Wizard's strange tale of murder in Edoras, evil Dwarves joining forces with orcs, and a relic jewel stolen from the Lonely Mountain. In the end, the wizard was adamant that they get themselves to Edoras and the Mithril Knight Guildhouse there with all the haste that they could muster. He allowed them a few questions, to which he answered, 'You will learn more at Edoras."

After perhaps an hour of conversation, the wizard took his leave, bidding them rest now while they could, then head due west when the dawn breaks, not stopping until they reach the capital city of Rohan. It would be a grueling 150 mile trek, he said, but they must not stop for rest and longer than absolutely necessary along the way.

His last words before he departed were, 'Remember, time is of the essence, a potential war between the races looms, not to mention that the lives of several Mithril Knights hang in the balance!"

Then he was gone.

They slept until the twilight just before dawn. After another wafer each of the Lembas that Radagast had left them, they set out at a dead run to the west and did not stop until they had reached the Mering Stream.

Ghân-buri-Ghân had beamed with pride upon receiving the ancient drum, this brought a humbled joy to both Parador and Dirk...the giftgiving had gone well for both the Mithril Knight and her apprentice. Parador was more than pleased with the young Dúnedan warrior. The humility he carried gave credence to his already earned knighthood. There was more to just being a warrior'as Dirk had come to learn. Deep down Parador felt honored to be a part of his initiate into Knighthood for she too learned many things of herself; as well as from the examples Dirk displayed throughout their journey.

She spoke little after their departure from Radagast...It was good to see the old wizard again...but the news he bore spoke eerily to the two well seasoned warriors. What was transpiring between the Dwarves and Orcs? Never had there been such an alliance between the likes of these two curios of bad blood and declared enemies of years long past'

'A lust for power is at the helm of this new tale''spoke Parador aloud as she was in deep thought''Power and greed'it always mixes well with those who have no conscience."

'You are Knight of few words at times Lady Parador'but when you do speak you have my attention. I mean not to pry or barge into something that does not invite me in, but I feel this does concern me too as a knight initiate and one who needs to know exactly what is going on. I do not like to walk into unknowns'it leaves me unguarded and without any disadvantage in defending those around me. I know of what Radagast has told us but is there more?"

They both slowed down their pace and then Parador stopped, turning to the sullen warrior her eyes met his'she spoke in a tone that even made her feel uneasy thinking of what could take place if Elbren and the other's did not stop the Dwarves and Orcs alliances of power. Now that their mission of peace and diplomacy was complete and having had Radagast fill in what she had partially already knew after receiving the parchment delivered to her before she and Dirk left for the Drúadan Forest the Mithril Knight knew the time had come to answer any other questions that might be perplexing his thoughts.

To save on precious time in their hurried quest to Edoras they both continued to walk toward the Mering Stream's that lay ahead of them'

'I had received word from Lord Elbren the day before our departure to the Drúadan Forest that trouble was brewing in the North. He told me of the Arkenstone being stolen but by whom they knew not. One of our Mithril Knights, Tempest, was being accused of injustice toward a dwarf named Falin. A court was to be held'"

'But this was not why his sense of urgency gave way to our hurried mission of diplomacy to the Woses. It was the darkness filling his heart and mind since his arrival in Edoras that spurred our journey."

'From what Radagast as told us I would say the story has grown more weary and much more dangerous."'Dirk nodded in agreement still listening...Parador was already feeling the pangs of a long trip rippling throughout her body. Her sword seemed especially heavy with having traveled by foot since their landing at Anorien shores. She continued to walk putting her discomforts out of her mind and focused on what more needed to be said...

'A warrior such as your self who has gained experience in times of war and having fought in many battles comes to earn a sixth sense. I know you were aware that something unsettling was taking place.

I did not want your thoughts to be troubled any further with news of unrest until the mission was complete."

'This is why I choose the Anduin River as our method of travel'the rivers current during this time of year is much swifter than the running hoofs of a steed and safer."

'Begging your pardon m'lady, I mean no disrespect to your plans but as you can see we are need of haste and yet we walk'

Parador smiled nodding in acknowledgement of their dilemma and a bit amused at his comment''yes, we are on foot'for now that is'all things have a way of working themselves out for the better if we are just patient'

As they walked closer to the Mering Stream two images appeared within their site'Dirk's heart leaped in excitement as his eyes caught site of Midnight'the mighty steed reared up in acknowledgment of his friend and began to cross the waters pacing himself in grandeur with each step he made. Parador watched in awe of the display of grace the magnificent Mearas steed exemplified. Dirk caught up with him showing a great joy in his reunion with Midnight. He ran his hand down the horse's strong neck and gentle mane'then patted him warmly with a love that could not be concealed between man and beast.

Parador eyed Luinsul coming across the waters to greet her'she was glad to see her old friend. They have had many a journey together with many more to be made''Radagast has come through again''she whispered to the horse'Luinsul pawed the ground in agreement raising his head up and down.

Both mentor and apprentice mounted their steeds at the same time'without needing to signal any command the horses made for a full gallop toward the guild house of Edoras'.their presence was in great demand at this time'all would need to pull together'perilous was this new quest in that the hunger for power once again wet the appetites of those with no conscience.