Aurandir slowly digested what he had heard. He had a few ideas, and though they were improbable, they were not impossible.

'Are we to assume then that these are Dark Dwarves? Or are, at the least, connected to members of that foul ideal? As well, I would like to pose a perhaps-rhetorical question: Is there a connection between the stablemaster and the stranger? One that the man who gave this pouch to Rho does not know of, or think of? Or are these two occurrences simply fate? I do not take these positions, yet when one searches for a precious thing, he leaves no stone unturned. As well, when we seek to defend one of our brethren, or to clear the shrouded waters of mystery, we should leave no possibility unexplored.'

He glanced around at the other Knights gathered with him, seeking their thoughts.

"A hunt is on then," Mirdain remarked idly. "The dwarves' actions confuse me even more now. I do hope we cath them alive, I have to talk to them myself. I am mostly ready, since I have not completely unpacked yet from the earlier search with Aurandir. I will fetch my shield, and more arrows since we will likely be fighting, and then meet you all swiftly at the gates. Lord Elbren, I too am worried about Erinhue; do you think perhaps he has been kidnapped?"

"Actually, now I must hope that. There's a dark fear growing in me these dwarves did something terrible to him, then to the guards, then fled."

"Let us hope that is not the case. As to your inquiry Aurandir, you bring up some interesting points. As I said, the matter is confusing to me, I am not as intimately connected with it as some of you. For now, I will be satisfied to hunt our adversaries, and hopefully force some answers out of them. I'm ready to taste battle again."

Idril had been deep in thought about all the particulars since she arrived in Edores. She had come to help with the initiations and yet immediately upon their completions, there had arrived the first dwarf and all this ruccus has started. She was trying to place the events cronologically in her mind so that she could think on them later. Now she thought on them and knew that she would have to give an accounting to King Éomer, someone she had not seen in many years. She wasn't sure that he would even remember her, she hoped not.

She watched as Rho made and took notice of the paper and the writing on the paper, the insignia on the two packs and the determination of their age's that Elbren and Aglanor found, the empty box lined with red and the fact that they were all curious about the stranger who had divulged just enough information to get their curiosity up. When Elbren had risen to go to the stables, she had decided that she would see if she could find out anything from the people that worked here, maybe whom answered the door initially and the stance that the dwarf had at that time; hostile or friendly might make a difference. She was on her way to find Athelos and was told that she had born a message to Lord Elbren in haste. Idril knew that something dire had happened and went to prepare her weapons just in case.

She readied herself quickly and put on her Mithril Cloak. Her long hair was loosely braided and tied back and she had her sword hidden behind its mass. She walked out the Guild House door towards the stable when she came upon Athelos' returning and she was told what Elbren had said. She thanked her and quickly asked her the question that she had to ask her and received the answer she expected. She then asked her to let the other Knights know of the new plan and to not forget to let Erinhue know upon his return. She then made her way into the stable and found Thalion already excited so she quickly brushed him and readied him for departure. She listened to every thing and she took notice of some interesting markings on the beam near the stalls. She then thought she saw something in the straw near her feet and she bent to pick up something golden and shiny but obviously just a piece of a bigger puzzle.

"Elbren I have found something here."

"Could it be? Tuck that away safely for now and we will look at it another time. Let us ride now." She did what she was told after she had taken a good long look at it outside after they had mounted and were making their way towards the Gates of the City.

As they approached the gates to Edoras, the wind picked up and with it blew the promise of a bitter cold. Elbren drew his Cloak more closely around his shoulders and clasped it shut. He placed his helm upon his head and then pulled the hood of his cloak up and around it; it did not shut out the wind completely, but it offered some relief.

"Athelos," Elbren said as they all drew up and waited for everyone to gather, "come here please."

Athelos moved her mount beside of Elbren's and looked at him questioningly.

"I want messages sent by carrier pidgeon immediately to the Guild Houses in Erebor and Mirkwood. I need to know if indeed the Arkenstone has been stolen or if there is any sort of trouble in the North," Athelos nodded as Elbren continued, "and one more thing....have you received any word from the Dark Knight recently?"

Athelos stammered something and looked away quickly.

"As I thought," Elbren nodded, "not to worry. I thought as much. Did he leave anything for me?"

"N-no, M'Lord," Athelos finally found her voice.

"Then please go back to the Guild House and send those messages post haste and await their reply," Elbren turned his horse and rode over to Idril and Tempest, "well, it is as I thought from the markings in the stable."

"What?" Tempest asked.

"Rholarowyn's stranger was none other than the Dark Knight--"

"OUR Dark Knight? Our Guild Brother?" Idril asked.

"Yes," Elbren replied, "it was indeed he who sent us to find the pack."

"How can you be so sure?" Tempest looked doubtful.

"The markings upon the beam in the stable were his," Elbren explained, "I recognised the lettering and the symbol of the Mace. I also asked Athelos if he had been here recently and she confirmed it. I have not heard from him in over a year...the box from that pack must be a very important clue."

"But, what does it mean?"

"Indeed....what does it mean..."

When Elenath heard that the dwarves had fled, and that the Knights were joining in the hunt, she wasted no time. Going quickly to her room, she changed from her tunic into her travelling shirt and vest. One of her knives was already in her boot: the other she now strapped to her belt. She picked up her bow and quiver, then headed for the stables. Although Elenath regretted the situation with the dwarves, she welcomed the chance for action. Ever since her Initiation, she had been a little edgy. Her vision had affected her deeply, bringing old memories and feelings back to the front of her mind. Their hunt would give her a chance to work through some of her pain.

Elenath quickly saddled and bridled her horse, then settled herself in the saddle, drawing her new cloak around her. The wind was biting as she rode, and she drew her hood close about her face. There was already a small group of Knights at the city gates, and Elenath joined them silently. Elbren was speaking with Idril and Tempest: she watched him closely, eager to be off.

Saddling his horse, Aglanor reviewed the past events. From a simple quest to find graverobbers to an enigma full of intriges, lies and conspiracies.

Hearing about a group of dwarves, kneeling to the dark lord, was something Aglanor wouldn't have expected. It was frightening as well. Who of the dwarves can we trust now we know this? His question remained unanswered for now. The poem Rho had found could hold the key to the theft, but what had the dark dwarves to do with the Arkenstone? There was no note of them in the poem. And for how long did they exist?

Then came the news of the Dark Knight aiding them, after disapearing a long time ago. Aglanor wondered what his part was in this, and how much he hadn't shared with Rho.

After saddling his horse he rode full speed to the gates of Edoras. Most of the Mithril Knights had been gathered around, waiting until the full party was gathered. Aglanor joined them, and prayed the Valar were on their side. This quest could get very ugly....

When Elbren requested that the stables be searched again, Rho knew exactly the area see wanted to check out. She and Chirion quickly made their way back towards the stables, and once there, the two went around to the side to check out the area were the stranger had exited from the barn. After spending almost an hour searching for any sign of clues, and following a trail that lead to nothing, Rho returned to the stables and found that Aglanor was about to leave on his horse to go join the others. He quickly filled her in on a few of the details that had been discovered the previous hour and told her where she could meet him and the rest of the knights.

Rho quickly went to tack up her horse. Then she, Chirion, and Tamir, headed off towards the gates of the city. As she rode up to the group of knights, she wondered about this dark knight that Aglanor had mentioned. It was he that Elbren suspected who had approached her in the stall, but Rho knew nothing about him. She was hoping one of the knights would be willing to share some bit of information about this mysterious man, as well as explain why he wouldn't want to share his identity with her if they were both Mithril Knights.

"Shall we ride?"

Elbren had been deeply in thought on the poem found by the Knights and the box. An ancient tale about the origins of the Arkenstone as a relic of power? Or a fraud? Had the empty box with the broken lock once held the Arkenstone? Or was it an empty clue designed to turn them away from the truth.

But, the truth of WHAT? Elbren wondered.

The chances of Falin Broadbeam knowing that Elbren would be in Edoras were slim to none. Yet, when Elbren had left Caras Galadhon some weeks ago, it had been known that he would journey to Orthanc. However, even he had not known at that time that he would be summoned to Edoras.

Yet, Falin could have come to Orthanc and been told that Elbren had gone to Edoras; that was no secret.

"Elbren, shall we ride?" Tempest repeated the question as the cold winds began to dance upon the grassy plains before them.

"Yes," he nodded, "yes, let us ride, indeed."

***************************************

The path that the Dwarves had taken must have been clear; it was hard to tell for the pursuing Riders of Rohan had chopped up the trail rather thoroughly with their horses' hooves and other signs of passing.

"Look for any of their party that might have strayed," Elbren said as the Knights kept a steady pace.

But, there was no need. The path of the both the Dwarves and the Riders was steadily and unerringly Eastward. It followed the Snowbourne for just over 50 miles until it joined with the Entwash, and it was there that the Knights halted their chase.

"We have ridden hard this day," Idril said as she dismounted, "shall we go on or rest?"

Elbren, too, dismounted from Erelas, his mighty mearas, and began to stare across the river towards the plains beyond.

"The Riders look as if they crossed the river and continued East," he said, "they are no more than an hour perhaps two ahead of us."

"The Dwarves are making for the Emyn Muil," Tempest suggested, "and then to where? Mordor?"

"The Riders should have overtaken the Dwarves by now," Elbren mused, "but whatever the outcome, they will return by this route. Let us rest here and I will scout ahead and across the river. Idril, ride with me and the rest of you check our supplies. We may be on this chase for awhile just yet."

***************************************

Elbren and Idril traveled North until they found a suitable spot to ford the river, which was cold, though not bitterly, but its current was swift.

"I wonder how the Dwarves crossed so easily?" Elbren muttered as Erelas climbed atop the opposite shore. "Were they mounted?"

Idril nodded her head as she drew her cloak closer about her, "They must have been. Otherwise the Riders would have overtaken them long ago."

Elbren nodded in return but something tugged at the back of his mind. Why hadn't the Riders overtaken the Dwarves yet? It was almost as if the Riders were deliberately keeping their distance...

"That's it," Elbren said aloud.

"That's what?" Idril asked as they cantered their horses back South and caught the trail again.

"The Riders haven't caught up to the Dwarves yet because they do not wish to," he replied.

"Hmm," she mused, "curious as to where they are going?"

"Perhaps...hold up," Elbren said as he tugged on the reins of Erelas and slowed him to a walk. "Look....just ahead in the sky....carrion birds."

The keen Elven sight of the two Galadrim Elves could easily see the circling carrion birds overhead. A stillness lay upon the plains ahead of them despite the chill winds that continued to blow and buffet the land.

"Perhaps the Riders finally got their answer and rendered their justice?" Idril asked.

"Perhaps, be on your guard," Elbren said as he unsheathed his sword and urged Erelas forward.

***************************************

What they found shocked and dismayed them both: The Riders had been ambushed and slaughtered. Slaughtered. Keeping a wary eye upon the grasses that swayed with the dying afternoon sun, Idril and Elbren searched the battle scene.

The signs were tell-tale: The Riders had ridden into a trap where they were outnumbered and killed quickly. Some of them had not even unsheathed their weapons. Elbren surveyed the scene and was even more unnerved to find that some of the Riders had been shot with arrows. Orc arrows.

"Yrch," Elbren said, showing one of the projectiles to Idril.

"Did they kill the Dwarves, too?"

"No," Elbren shook his head, "it looks like the yrch were waiting for our Dwarven friends and together they slew their pursuers."

"Dwarves in league with orcs," Idril's face was dark and her voice unbelieving. "How long ago?"

"No more than two hours...perhaps three. They did not tarry either; the Riders still wear their armour and their weapons," Elbren glanced around again, "but they did take their horses."

"Still headed East," Idril pointed.

"Yes, they're making a direct line for Nen Hithoel and the Emyn Muil," Elbren agreed, "and Eru only knows what number of orcs await them there."

"Are we going to pursue them?"

"As far as we can, but we must send messages back to Edoras and give these Men their proper burial," Elbren nodded.

At that moment, a low moan caught their attention and they quickly searched the bodies to find one of the Riders still alive.

"Ahh....." the Man tried valiantly to speak, "A....mon..."

"Don't talk," Elbren said as he and Idril searched his wounds.

Even in the fading light, the loss of blood was more than apparent and the deep gashes in his abdomen and groin, though dried with black blood, were indeed death wounds. Idril and Elbren shared a knowing look of sadness and loss.

"Listen," the Rider said suddenly with vigor, even as his eyes glazed with pain, "they....spoke of the Hill of Hearing....the orcs....they want the stone put into the Seat.....why?" His eyes grew wide as his body spasmed suddenly and red blood gushed from his wounds again, "WHY?!"

"How many orcs?" Elbren asked.

"Tw---twenty....not many more....than that...."

"Mordor?"

The Rider shook his head as blood began to trickle from his mouth, "No....a sign...I've never seen.....not the Eye."

"What was it?"

"H--hhammer.....wicked looking hammer.....blood red...."

The Man's eyes began to roll back in his head, but then he looked from Elbren to Idril with desperation, "You will avenge us? You will avenge the Rohirrim?"

"Yes," Idril and Elbren said together.

With that, the Rider closed his eyes and drew his last breath.

****************************************

An hour later, Elbren and Idril were back with the other Knights and had reported the incident.

"Some of us will take the trail and seek Amon Lhaw," Elbren finished, "but we must get a message back to Edoras concerning the fate of the Riders. We will also need reinforcements. We could probably handle the ambush party," he grinned, "but my guess is that more of these Orcs and Dwarves of the Red Hammer await us---"

Even as he said it, it sounded familiar somehow.

"Orcs and Dwarves of the Red Hammer?" he repeated and then he looked to Tempest.

"Red Hammer? You must be mistaken," Tempest insisted.

"The man was clear about that. They carried the symbol of a Red Hammer," Idril replied.

Tempest uttered a curse under her breath in the Black Speech, causing the other Knights to wince in pain. She paced back and forth for several moments, every muscle tense.

"You know it? The symbol?" Elbren pressed.

"You know it as well," she shot back, then an idea struck her. "And you say the Dark Knight was present at the Guild House?"

Elbren nodded.

"This is ill news indeed! He knew! What other reason would he have to come? But as always, he is little help to us, only arriving when it is too late!" she said angrily.

Idril started to protest, but Tempest cut her off. "His oath may be to us, but never forget where his heart lies! I remember it well enough!"

"Still, he did give us important informati....." Aglanor began.

"Who is this Dark Knight?" Rho spoke up.

Tempest turned her dark eyes towards Elbren. "Perhaps you should enlighten her as to the allegiance of our so-called Guild member."

Elbren's eyes were frozen upon Tempest as his mind whirled with the revelations transforming.

"Riders...." Aglanor said, turning back to the West, "probably fifty. Approaching rapidly."

Elbren nodded, "Those with bows take to the deep grasses and flank us, the rest draw weapon and wait," he said briskly, hoping that it was Rohirrim. "As for the Dark Knight," Elbren cleared his throat, "he is indeed of our Order and swore the same Oaths as all of you," When Tempest made a disgusted sound, Elbren continued, "and it is also true that his loyalties lie with the Darkness that once dwelled in the far North."

"North?" Rholarowyn frowned.

"Angband," Elbren's face showed no emotion, save for a darkening of his eyes.

The cold wind and shadow that fell across the plains at that moment held a whisper that carried an icy chill.

The thunder of hooves came into the distance, and the Knights prepared to defend themselves. There was no need, though, for the sight of the Elves in the group saw well before their approach that they were indeed Rohirrim.

When the Riders reached them, the sun was near to setting and the night promised to be bitterly cold. Elbren told the tale of what they knew to the Marshal, who called himself Earwyn, save for the sigil of the Dwarves and Orcs; that of the Red Hammer.

"How far past the river was the battle?" Earwyn asked when the tale was concluded.

"Not far," Elbren replied, "do you wish to go there?"

"We will see to the dead once we deal with the Red Hammer," Earwyn said as he dismounted, "we will rest for awhile and then ride forth again. The moon is still nearly full and the clouds are gone with the winds. There will be plenty of light for swift travel. You will ride with us?"

"So Rohan knows of the Red Hammer," Elbren said as Earwyn's eyes narrowed, "how long have you known that such an enemy has arisen?"

"I cannot say," Earwyn pursed his lips.

"Cannot or will not?" Elbren asked, "no matter. We will ride with you for we must make all haste to Tol Brandir and Amon Lhaw. Do you know what they plan to do, Sir Earwyn?"

Most of the Riders had dismounted by this time and were resting their mounts, but all were listening intently to the conversation between the Elven Lord and Rohirrim Marshal of the Mark.

"No," Earwyn finally said, clearly uncomfortable.

"They plan to work some evil with their stolen Arkenstone and the power that resides in Amon Lhaw and Amon Hen. Do you know what one can do with the power that the Numenoreans placed in those sacred sites? The Argonath is more than just two magnificent statues, Earwyn. It IS a border...a border that in days long ago could not be passed by any enemy of Gondor. Much of the power for that border lies within the Falls of Rauros and the two Seats. It has long lain dormant for few no how to harness and use it. I say FEW, Earywn, for the darkness that has been growing in my mind and heart since I came to Edoras now tells me clearly that these Dwarves have found a way to do just that. Had Eomer shared this with me when the incident first occurred, we may have been--"

"Do not presume to think that the King of Rohan is obliged to tell you all that is known to him," Earywn said slowly as his hand strayed to his sword hilt.

Some of the Riders murmured amongst themselves while others became keenly aware of the tension. Even the Mithril Knights were making sure that their weapons would be fast to draw.

"I presume nothing," Elbren replied, "and now is not the time for us to quarrel. We will ride with you and be your ally in this chase. We should ride as soon as possible."

Earwyn turned on his heel and walked back to his Men while Elbren motioned for the Knights to gather around him.

"We must ride like the wind that now blows upon the plains, mellyn," he said in a low voice, "and we must stop the Dwarves from placing the Arkenstone upon Amon Lhaw. My heart tells me that a great power will be rekindled if that happens; and it will be a power of ancient Numenor that none of us would welcome." Elbren's eyes met Tempest's evenly, "none of us."

As the Knights prepared to ride again, Elbren called Rholarowyn aside and spoke to her.

"Rholarowyn, I fear that we may be too far behind the Dwarves..and orcs...to overtake them ere they reach Nen Hithoel. If that is the case, then we will need to know exactly what was in that box that we found."

"Do you not think that it is the Arkenstone?" Rho asked, frowning.

"I am not certain. It could be many things," Elbren replied, "but, we won't know until someone translates the Runes for us."

"Can none of our Order do this?"

Elbren nodded, "The Runes are Dwarven and I believe that the language is that of Khuzdul and of that tongue I know very little. Go to Edoras and retrieve the box and then take it to Orthanc where Thalos is, you remember him? Tell him of our plight and what has happened. Hopefully, he can read the runes for us. Are you up to this?"

Rho was engaged in an interesting conversation with Aglanor about the poem, when Elbren called her over. Handing her reins to the elven knight and motioning Chirion to stay where he was, Rho quickly went over to where Elbren was standing and listen to what he needed.

'Are you up to this?" He finally asked when he was finished.

Without a moments hesitation Rho replied, 'Yes! I shall leave right now if you'd like.'

'That would be best.' He replied.

When Rho went back to where Aglanor was standing, she quickly informed him about Elbren's request and then added, 'Perhaps I can look into the history of the poem if time permits or I will at least put it to memory so I can ponder it while I'm on my journey.'

'Yes, I wanted to talk to you more about this poem, but now we will have to save that conversation for later.' He replied.

Aglanor then handed her Tamir's reins and Rho thanked him.

Walking a short distance away, Rho mounted the large grey gelding. As she turned her horse towards the group of knights, she looked at them, and was surprised by the slight sadness she felt. Even though her intitation had only been two days earlier, the sense of belonging to the Knights was already becoming a part of her.

Glancing one last time at Elbren, she looked at him confidently. For she understood the importance of the mission he requested of her. She would not to let him down.

Finally after motioning Chirion to come along side her, Rho turned Tamir away from the group and urged him into a lope. The three of them were heading back to Edoras.

Tempest was muttering in a strange tongue under her breath, so that Idril leaned forward to catch whatever she was saying. As she came closer, she recognized the Black Speech and abruptly drew back. Tempest noticed her then and gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, sometimes I forget myself."

"It is the language you grew up with," Idril said with understanding.

"Yes, but I know it pains you to hear it spoken. This business with the Red Hammer surprised me. It seems I often revert back to the black tongue when I am taken unawares," Tempest smiled.

"What does the symbol mean?" Aglanor asked, overhearing their conversation nearby.

"For that information, you would have to go back to more ancient times. I know not what the symbol stands for, but I do know WHO it stands for: the fallen dwarves from the Eastern lands." Tempest replied.

"From the East?" Idril repeated.

"Aye, though I thought they had scattered or perished after the War of the Ring."

"Did you work with such creatures during your time in Mordor?" Aglanor asked.

"Rarely. The only dwarves I had contact with were the ones I..." Here Tempest paused and looked away and after a significant silence had passed, she coughed uncomfortably.

"Oh," Idril said softly.

"However, I wonder what Elbren can be talking about when he mentions this 'Power' they are trying to revive. I did not know such a place existed, at least not to be used in such a way as he suggests. Do you know anything more about these 'seats of power?'" Tempest asked Idril and Aglanor, hoping they could shed some light on the shadow that was creeping around her mind.

Elbren strode up to Tempest, Idril, and Aglanor just in time to hear Tempest's inquiry. The night was becoming deeper and colder and the shadow upon Elbren's mind was taking the same course.

"I have sent Rholarowyn back to Edoras to retrieve that box," he said, adjusting his sword as it lay in its scabbard, "and then she is off to Orthanc to have Thalos try and interpret it."

"What is it that you think is going on?" Tempest said curtly, "exactly."

"I don't know exactly," Elbren replied.

"Okay," Tempest sighed, "what do you think is going on?"

"When we were at Orthanc last week, working with Rho, Aurandir, Elenath, and Nurvila, we discovered a pattern of Seven towers and monuments built by the Numenoreans. Amon Hen, Amon Lhaw, Amon Sul, Osgiliath and others. We also found a secret chamber that was....looked to be built for some ritual purpose involving the Sickle constellation," Elbren began.

"And?" Tempest was skeptical.

"It seemed to us that the monuments and towers had been built as a line of some sort of defense. Amon Lhaw and Amon Hen appear to be a part of that line," he continued, a little agitated, "if that is true, then what if the Red Hammer Clan can break that line of defense--"

"You said just a moment ago that the power that once resided in the Argonath was long extinct."

"I said that it was long out of use," Elbren retorted, "that doesn't mean that it can't be awakened and harnessed again."

"To do what?"

"Rather than a guarded gate to Gondor, perhaps it could be changed to be a guarded gate for the Eastern shore of the Anduin," Elbren replied, "I simply don't know. Yet, my heart tells me that the Red Hammer must not put whatever it is that was in that box upon the Seat of Amon Lhaw."

"We're never going to catch them in time," Idril whispered.

"Not if we delay any longer," Elbren agreed, "so let us ride and see if we can reach them ere they begin crossing the lake."

"Yes, let us ride!"

They all had mounted their horses quickly, thankful for the swift-footed horses of Rohan. They fairly flew across the wide plains, the wind on their backs, each entertaining thoughts of what was to come if they were able to reach the dwarves in time, and what might happen if they did not.

Tempest kept replaying her encounter with Falin in her mind, trying to analyze every glance and every word he had uttered to her. She still could not place where she had seen him, but her heart must have remembered because it beat fiercly within her breast.

"Evil does not rest. It does not sleep, nor does it forget...." she found herself repeating in her head. Where had she heard those words before? She shook her head. She had been too many nights without sleep, and her mind was weary.

In the distance, she could see the lake and she wondered how much longer it would be until they reached it. "How much further?" she called to the Riders of Rohan who rode near her and she made it a point to speak to them in their native tongue.

"Not far, though only time will tell if we ride in vain."

Weary and a bit footsore, Dirk was happy to see the wooded vale of the Mering Stream upon the horizon. As they jogged closer, the pair saw that the Fenmarch, as it is called by the Rohirrim, was nestled in a shallow vale filled with birch, elm, and beechwoods. The sun was already past its zenith when they descended into the groves and settled down beside the lively stream to rest and eat and drink of its cool, clean water.

As he ate, leaning against an ancient white-barked beech, Dirk contemplated the information Parador had shared with him. In particular he puzzled over the stolen Arkenstone. The vast majority of the first eighteen years of his life were spent within sight of the Lonely Mountain. Yet he knew very little of the Dwarves of Erebor, save what little he had heard from those who stopped at The Golden Dragon, his foster father's Inn at Laketown. When he was a lad, he was told stories time and again about Thorin's company, and retaking of Erebor from Smaug, after whom Drake his foster father had named the Inn, and of the rebuilding of the great Dwarven city, Erebor. The Arkenstone was only mentioned in passing: they called it the Heart of the Mountain, most revered of the Dwarves' treasures among their vast hoard. The only other information about the Arkenstone that Dirk knew was that it was placed on the breast of Thorin Oakenshield by Dirk's hero and inspiration, King Bard I, when he was buried beneath Erebor.

"Why would anyone steal the Arkenstone?" thought Dirk, "It can't be sold. Aside from that, this would perhaps be the greatest crime that could be committed against the Dwarves - especially given their intense, passionate reverence for their fathers, which borders on deification. Surely anyone could see the folly in bringing that kind of wrath upon themselves.."

Dirk's thoughts were shattered by the sound of slow hoofbeats from the opposite side of the Stream. His heart leapt into his throat as he sprung behind the beech. He deftly strung his bow and nocked an arrow in the blink of an eye.

Warily, he watched as the source of the resonant hoofbeats came into view. First a riderless stallion appeared, in full saddlery. Moments later, Dirk was mystified to the point of nearly dropping his bow to watch Midnight, also in full tack, including Dirk's saddlebags, follow the other horse to the edge of the bank.

Dirk ran to the water's edge. Instantly, Parador was by his side. The sable-clad youth put his fingers to his lips and whistled, to which Midnight responded by rearing up and giving a great neigh. Both horses crossed the shallow stream easily and Dirk embraced his steed as he would any unexpected old friend - especially one that was particularly in need, as Midnight was just then.

Dirk stroked the jet-black warhorse's flanks lovingly. Parador's steed, Luinsul, greeted the Lady Knight with enthusiasm. 'Radagast has come through again''Dirk overheard her whisper to the horse.

Indeed, both horses snorted and stamped the ground, despite their obviously long and hard journey.

Without further hesitation, the Knight and her apprentice gathered their belongings, mounted, re-crossed the stream and spurred their horses to full gallop almost due west, towards Edoras.

Dirk and Parador arrived in Edoras at noon. They had traveled without stopping for the night and were exhausted.

Parador took the lead as they trotted into the city. She was forced to introduce the two of them, as they were challenged by royal guards of Meduseld, who had tightened security in the capital city of Rohan in the wake of recent events (or so they were informed after a quick inquiry). Parador's indentification as a Mithril Knight caused the guards to cast wary looks at one another. However, since there was no official quarrel with the Knights and since they recognized Midnight, they were allowed to pass into the city without delay.

Parador led them to the guildhouse, where grooms took charge of their mounts and took them to the stables. They were ushered inside quickly and apprised of the situation as those who remained in the guildhouse knew it. After hearing of the slaughter of the Rohirrim upon the East Emnet, Dirk understood why the city was arrayed as if they were at war - they percieved that they were. The Marshals had been called in and the men of Rohan were beginning to Muster.

Parador and Dirk were given a hearty meal, after which Dirk was shown to a room. There was a small adjoining bathroom where he induldged himself in a hot bath. While he soaked, he thought about the effects of the events that had transpired in Edoras. Not since the War of the Ring had Rohan mobilized thus. The whole thing smelled of a conspiracy to Dirk. He traced the pattern of events in his mind, and this pattern seemed familiar, but he could not grasp its origin with his mind.

Perhaps he was too tired, he thought.

He dried himself with the linen towels that hung near to the tub and dressed in the clean linen sleeping attire that was folded upon the bed. He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he strode across the room to pull the curtains. The insignia of the Mithril Knights adorned the breast of the nightshirt. He stood and stared for a moment, sucking in a deep breath and proudly holding up his chest and chin. "The Mithril Knights," he thought, "I am among them, in their guildhouse. Soon I may be one of them. I hope. I hope." He repeated in his mind. Knighthood meant the world to Dirk. It legitimized the feelings in his heart. Strong feelings that he had some significant part to play in the history of Middle-earth. It legitimized the feeling that he held in heart that he belong among the peoples of the Light, despite the sins of his father.

He sighed heavily and crossed the floor to the window and closed the curtains. He lay in the comfortable bed only a minute before drifting into troubled, restless sleep.

He awoke several times over the next few hours, plagued by nightmares. He could only remember snatches of the dreams. Images of fire and shadow. Heat and unbearable cold. Cacophony and eery silence.

He awoke just after nightfall. This time he remembered something of his dream. This time it was too vivid to sleep again. A silent, black void. At first he was alone, then there was a voice, deep and powerful.

Laugshat kurr flo. Evil never sleeps. The Black Speech echoed in his head.

He dressed and set about cleaning and preparing his clothes, weapons and gear. Something told him he would be summoned soon.

There would be no more rest for Dirk. Not until the evil that did not sleep was stopped...

*********************************************

Dirk remained in his room for the remainder of the evening, pondering his disturbing dreams.

Around midnight, there was commotion in the Guildhouse as a Knight returned from the field. Dirk dressed and went downstairs to see what news there was.

The Mithril Knight who had returned was Rholarowyn. They exchanged introductions and she explained her mission to take the mysterious Dwarven box to Isengard to have its inscriptions translated. The box was retrieved for her and Dirk was allowed to examine it. Once again, Dirk wished he had paid more attention to the Dwarven culture that literally shadowed his boyhood home; for alas, he could not read the runes either. Neither had this box ever been part of any of the tales he had heard as a boy.

They then spoke about all that had happened since the arrival of the dwarf, Falin. Dirk paid special attention to Rho's eyewitness account of those events which she had seen. Rholarowyn excused herself after a short while, saying that she did not plan to stay in Edoras for long - her mission was far too urgent to linger. Her plan was to take a small bit of rest, gather the knewest Knights in Training as well as suppies for the road, and head out for Orthanc before sunrise.

Dirk returned to his room to sleeplessly await the dawn of the new day.

Mirdain rode to keep pace with Idril. Even though they had not been apart long, the recent alarming events made it seem so? "How are you feeling? We haven't spoken much since you left for Edoras with Elbren."

She smiled slightly. "It's hard to tell. I am indeed glad that we're back together, but still disgusted at what happened to those poor Rohirrim, and even more so at the possibility of the vast evil that threatens."

"Understandably so. I worry about these things too. It seems somehow foreign to me. As you know, I was born not long before the Last Alliance. For long after that, I did not leave the borders of Lorien. I'm not as intimately familiar with the ancient powers at work here as some of you, though i've read much in stories. Do you have any insight as to what exactly it is that Elbren might be afraid of?"

"Some, perhaps. The ancient border we are making for was once the most fearsome place in Middle Earth for the dark forces. I'm sure you must've guessed that though, from the stories. Tempest and Elbren know more about it, though i'm not sure they would be willing to talk more on the subject now."

Mirdain smirked; "I did guess. But you know, my home was always a fearsome place for evil as well."

"Ha. Wherever you go is fearsome to your enemies. Let's hope we strike due fear into the hearts of these evil dwarves and their allies."

"I'm sure we will, my love. And I fully intend to do the striking while at your side this time. Certainly not the first one we've fought together eh?"

"And certainly won't be the last," Idril said somewhat seriously. Mirdain looked over and gave her a warm smile.

The moon was indeed a silvery torch kindled within Elbereth's starry sky as the Riders and Mithril Knights galloped over the Plains of Rohan. Thundering Eastward, there was little speech and high expectation. Elbren's mind was burning nearly as brightly as Isil as he furiously tried to unravel the mysteries before he and his Guild mates.

Glancing up, he could clearly see Menelvagor moving towards the West; to the North, the Sickle; and back in the West, Soronúmë, the Great Eagle.

Elbren's eyes were drawn back towards the Moon; was that a shadow beginning to form upon its Eastern edge? Erelas galloped on and the grasses were a blur beneath his great hooves, but still Elbren's gaze was fixed upon Isil.

Yes, it was indeed a shadow and it was growing.

"Tempest!" Elbren shouted to his right where Tempest galloped upon her borrowed steed.

When she turned towards him, he motioned with his head for her to look at the moon. A look of confusion and then concern crossed her face as she guided her mount closer to him.

"An eclipse?" she asked.

"Yes," Elbren nodded, "and I wonder if this is more than just a coincidence."

***************************************

Less than an hour later, the Moon was nearly half covered with the darkness and both Rider and Mithril Knight had become aware of it. They had no time to spare, though, and they continued their furious pace to Nen Hithoel.

When the terrain began to a slow decline, the hunting party slowed their pace and set a battle formation. They did not wish to be caught in a snare as had the Rohan Royal Guard.

Coming over a hilltop, they could see the vast lake before them now, shining with the light that remained from the Moon. Elbren was dismayed as his keen Elven eyes discerned boats already upon the waters. He had no sooner uttered the curse when the enemy leapt from the grasses and set upon them.

Dwarves and Orcs. Howling. Beating their shields and screaming in some tongue that was completely foreign to Elbren's ears.

But they will bleed, Elbren thought grimly to himself, and so they shall.

He drew forth his father's sword and armed his shield as he kicked viciously at a Dwarf near his stirrup. The clear ringing of battle weapons filled the night as the Riders and Mithril Knights met the challenge.

Even though the Dwarves and Orcs were no match for the mounted warriors, Rider and Knight alike, their purpose was not to defeat. It was to delay. Even as the Red Hammer Clan gave ground towards the lake, the boats reached the Shelving Shore.

"We are too late!" Mirdain shouted as his sword stabbed deeply into the chest of a screaming Dwarf.

Elbren said nothing, but, he knew that Mirdain was right. They were too late. What would be the price?

"We will soon find out just what they are planning to do," Elbren shouted back as he felt the sting of an axe's blade cut into his knee.

The battle raged. The Dwarves and Orcs fell back and fell in death, but their purpose was served. Even as the last of the enemy breathed a final breath, and the Knights and Riders reached the shore, a darkness fell upon Middle Earth.

Looking up, Elbren saw that the Moon was gone. The stars, as his stomach tightened in anticipation, faded from view. The Sickle was the last to disappear from the heavens.

And then the crackling of lightning penetrated the dark. The horses began to dance in panic as a cold and foul wind began to blow across the water. Streaks of pale blue light shot forth from across the lake, from what must have been Amon Lhaw, up into the heavens, and then down again into the waters of lake, continuing towards the Falls of Rauros. The lake began to boil with energy and the roaring of the Falls became deafening.

"What---" someone shouted.

The rest could not be heard for yet another lightning bolt shot forth; upon the wind rode a voice that was growing in volume. One of the Riders of Rohan fell from his steed, threw off his helmet, and tried in vain to cover his head. His horse fell to its keens in agony as blood began to flow forth from its nose and ears.

"Cover your ears and that of your horses'!" Elbren shouted as loudly as he could.

He dismounted quickly and removed his cloak. Covering Erelas' head with the cloak, Elbren stood near the beast and covered his own.

It seemed as if it would never stop and Elbren even despaired of that very thought. It was not until the first sliver of the Moon reappeared that the volume of the hideous screeching and the roaring Falls began to diminish.

Erelas was shaking like a leaf and as he patted the horse, Elbren could see that his own hand was shaking in a similar fashion. Unwrapping the cloak, Elbren looked around to see that most had been able to survive the cacophony; though, to his dismay, there were some bodies upon the ground. One horse was groveling in pain nearby. Another lay too still.

Looking across the lake, an eerie bluish glow now stretched from the Eastern side of Tol Brandir, across the Falls, and up to Amon Lhaw.

Dirk's head began to hurt not long after he returned to his room. The throbbing pain in his head beat a steady pulse - like the cadence of marching soldiers. He peered out his window and saw that the moon - which was full two hours before, when he went out to meet Rholarowyn - was now a crescent, as if it were only a day or two waxed from the new.

An eclipse.

Moments later, the last light of Isil faltered in the eclipse and he threw himself upon his bed, holding his ears and writhing in pain. The throbbing had turned to an acute, seering pain. It could have been a figment of his imagination, but Dirk thought that there was a chiding, mocking - yet familiar - voice intermingled with the flashes of pain that shot within his mind like lightning.

Then it was suddenly gone. The pain had completely subsided and the voice was a mere echo, fading into the distance of his consciousness.

But he could no longer sit idly by and wait. The situation was beginning to draw him in and he would not wait for the pain and the voice to return.

He would ride out to confront it.

He considered the invitation to join Rho and the other KiT's in her quest to Orthanc to decipher the box. At least he could appease the guilt he felt for not knowing its meaning. But something told him that he would be running away from the source of the trouble - and away from where he could do the most good if he followed Rho.

Without further thought, he girt himself with his weapons and the borrowed armor, wrapped his plain grey cloak about his shoulders and left his room. He contemplated waking Parador, but thought better of it. If she got hurt because he asked her to follow him into the jaws of some unknown peril, he would not forgive himself.

As it turned out, however, waking her wasn't necessary. A few steps down the hall a door opened, nearly hitting Dirk. It was Parador and she, too was fully dressed and armed.

"I heard your screams, are you alright?" she asked.

"It has passed. But it will return, evil never sleeps. I must go and find its source before it kills me or drives me mad." Dirk replied, still walking down the hall, the Lady Knight in tow.

"Where would you go?"

"East, back to Amon Hen. My instincts told me to have a look around when we were there a week ago. But we were on another mission and had no time." Dirk continued only half paying attention to Parador. It was as if he was hashing things out for himself, only out loud. "The voice, the pain; they must be related to the nagging urge to climb Amon Hen that I felt. Who or what was lurking there?"

"Dirk!" Parador shouted, snapping his string of inane babble. "Do you remember what Rho said? The Seat of Hearing and the Seat of Seeing are related to this whole mess with the Arkenstone. That was where Elbren and the other Mithril Knights were going. Whatever is going on there already happened tonight. I saw the light beyond the eastern horizon from my window."

Dirk was now returned fully to the present. He recalled the conversation with Rho. "Then we must get there even faster, for there is greater danger than orcs and dwarves upon those hills. As to your accompanying me - I am a warrior, I can take care of myself. Do not feel that you need to protect me. However, I would welcome your companionship and your sword beside me if it should come to that."

Parador shook her head, "No Dirk. Think about it. Rushing out there alone could be suicide. It is wisdom and not bravery that must prevail in this circumstance. If there was trouble, the Mithril Knights and the Riders of Rohan have already taken care of it as best they could. We are too late to be of any help. We will wait here until we hear word otherwise."

Her voice changed, taking a less-commanding tone, "Remember, Dirk. You must listen and think before you act. Do not let your youth cloud your mind with hasty judgement. Now, try and rest. Tomorrow, we should hear word of what has transpired out on Nen Hithoel."

Reluctantly, Dirk agreed with a nod of his head. She was right. In his haste, he may have gotten them both killed.

She smiled in a consoling manner, "I can see that you carry much pain, young Dirk. One day you will confront its source. But for now, we must exercise patience."

He nodded again, then returned to his room. He removed the armor, weapons, and his boots and lay upon the bed until dawn, meditating upon all that had transpired.

Elenath had her bow at the ready as they crested the hilltop. She was uneasy, and it seemed that many of the others were also. So she was ready when the Dwarves and Orcs sprang at them, felling a few with her arrows before she was forced to draw her knives. The long blades flashed, Elenath and Asgar moving as one, the horse knowing exactly what she needed from him. She fought silently, intensely, the hatred burning hot within her. An orc-blade reached her leg, slicing down her calf, but it was the last cut its wielder ever made.

Their attackers were defeated, but even as Elenath sheathed her knives the darkness fell. Elbereth, she sighed, and looked up to see the last stars vanish. Her stomach knotted and a fear fell on her heart. Then came the cold, dark wind, and with it, the Voice. Elenath muffled her ears and Asgar's as well as she could, but the pain was almost unbearable. It seemed an age before it finally diminished. Looking around, Elenath noted with sadness the bodies on the ground, then lifted her eyes and beheld what seemed to be a blue, glowing mist stretching from Tol Brandir to Amon Lhaw. A shiver ran down Elenath's spine: whatever that thing was, it was not friendly to them. She limped the short distance to where Elbren stood, and began to speak, but stopped when she couldn't even hear her own words. Shaking her head, she gestured with her hands, pointing at the group then out over the lake. Should they try to go investigate?

The moon of Arda began waxing over in both shadows and darkness as Parador watched from her bed'the shadows creped through the window adjacent from her moving slowly across the room'the light of the candles flickered until it was smothered by the hand of darkness. The Mithril Knight remained fixated on the moon's changing ambiance. Rising from the bed she made her way to the window'her heart beating faster and faster with each step she took'something terrible was about to happen. Could this have something to do with the Arkenstone Elbren and Radagast spoke of? Yes, she nodded to herself. What else could it be'what other forces of power were at play at this time'Dwarves and Orcs'in alliance with each other. Her jaws clinched tightly as her hands coiled into fists of anger at the thought of Elbren and the others in battle against a perilous awakening of an unknown power'were they ok? She could only hope. Her eyes shot toward the door as cries of pain screamed throughout the halls.

The chanting of a familiar ancient tongue known to her as a child took control of her thoughts filling every corner of her mind'It grew louder and louder; pounding its powerful fist against her temples. It then evolved into a high pitch shrill'the evil voices cascading over the lands of Rohan and beyond capturing all who were within the grasp of the menacing sound. Harsh and painful were the voices'Parador went to her knees'not able to think clearly; instinctively she grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her head thinking it would drown out the merciless reverberation.

At last it began to fade away leaving Parador restless and relieved from the pain that had held her captive. Catching her breath and standing up again'she could here movement outside her door. Were the other's ok? Dirk'she had heard him screaming into the darkness earlier. Her heart quickened once again; Luinsul, Midnight' the horses'were they effected by this to?

Although no weapon need not be drawn in defense or in battle while in a Guild House, Parador knew this was not to be the case this time'she was not about to take any chances. She was already dressed in a clean set of riding clothes...with the events that were unfolding she wanted to be prepared and on her guard. she walked to where her weapon stood sheathed against the wall...taking the sword of Flame into her still shaking hand she quickly opened the door without any hesitation or concern on her part'

Dirk grabbed the door to stop it from hitting him. Parador looked at him without even wondering why he was standing there. If he experienced anything like she just did her question would be already answered. Still feeling tense from the experience she lowered her sword all the while starring into the eyes of one who was ready for action.

'Are you alright Dirk?' 'she continued to watch him with a form of caution'not because of any danger to herself, 'but to himself. She knew the look all too well'she too shared the heart of a warrior and knew he was ready to ride'but, this was not the time to leave.

**"It has passed. But it will return, evil never sleeps. I must go and find its source before it kills me or drives me mad." Dirk replied, still walking down the hall, the Lady Knight in tow.

"Where would you go?"

"East, back to Amon Hen. My instincts told me to have a look around when we were there a week ago. But we were on another mission and had no time." Dirk continued only half paying attention to Parador. It was as if he was hashing things out for himself, only out loud. "The voice, the pain; they must be related to the nagging urge to climb Amon Hen that I felt. Who or what was lurking there?"

"Dirk!"' Parador shouted, snapping his string of inane babble. "Do you remember what Rho said? The Seat of Hearing and the Seat of Seeing are related to this whole mess with the Arkenstone. That was where Elbren and the other Mithril Knights were going. Whatever is going on there already happened tonight. I saw the light beyond the eastern horizon from my window."

Dirk was now returned fully to the present. He recalled the conversation with Rho. "Then we must get there even faster, for there is greater danger than orcs and dwarves upon those hills. As to your accompanying me - I am a warrior, I can take care of myself. Do not feel that you need to protect me. However, I would welcome your companionship and your sword beside me if it should come to that."

'The only protection you need is from yourself Dirk'Think about it. Rushing out there alone could be suicide. It is wisdom and not bravery that must prevail in this circumstance. If there was trouble, the Mithril Knights and the Riders of Rohan have already taken care of it as best they could. We are too late to be of any help. We will wait here until we hear word otherwise."

**'She smiled in a consoling manner, "I can see that you carry much pain, young Dirk. One day you will confront its source. But for now, we must exercise patience."

Little did he know, she too was ready to ride when she came out of her room'but within her heart she knew they must stay put. She felt the pain for him as well. As a knight and as a friend, they were all linked to each other one way or another'

**-**(quotes taken from SB's post)

"Evil does not sleep. It only waits to be awakened!!!!"

Tempest heard the voice scream into her mind as she held her hands over her ears to drown it out. That voice! Those words! That ancient tongue! Even as she buried her face against the side of her horse, she tasted blood in her mouth. Her hands were shaking long after the voice faded into the distance. The stillness that it left behind was almost worse.

She heard moaning nearby and watched a horse writhing in pain. She drew her sword and drove it hard into its heart, relieving it of its agony. Its blood ran dark against the ground and she seemed to hear the voice again, relishing in the killing and spilling of the blood. She sank down to the ground upon her knees and stared out at the gathering blue, unable to utter one word. She tried to speak, but she found she had no voice. Looking around, she saw that others were trying to speak as well, but could not. Panic welled up within her and her mind cried out, "Eru save us!" At that moment, her tongue was loosed and she was able to speak again. The survivors all looked at one another, all thinking the same thing.

"What do we do now?"

"See to the wounded," Elbren's voice finally came out in a hoarse whisper.

"We must cross the lake!" Earwyn cried out, his eyes wild and his sword still drawn.

"No," Elbren shook his head, "I would not risk that."

"And I do not ask it of you!" Earwyn turned to his Riders, "those that can, follow me!"

Elbren grabbed Earwyn's arm only to have the Rohirrim Captain violently shrug him off.

"How do you plan to cross?" Elbren asked hoarsely, "we brought no boats."

Earwyn grumbled something angrily and mounted his horse, "See to the wounded," he hissed and then spurred his horse down the steep incline towards the churning waters below.

Several of the Rohirrim followed their leader, but the Mithril Knights stood and watched.

"Shall we not follow them?" Elenath asked.

"No," Elbren replied, "see the light that lingers there? It watches us; can you not feel it?"

The Knights tried to tend to those that still lay unconscious in the grasses; three of the Rohirrim were dead. Others could not be awakened and their nose and mouths continued to bleed. The moon was full again and the stars were clearly seen, but a mist was now forming upon the lake; a mist that began with the Falls of Rauros and drifted back upon Nen Hithoel.

Within the hour, the Rohirrim must have discovered boats left on the shore, for they could now see four crafts upon the water, heading for the Eastern shore. It was clear, though, as the boats moved farther out onto the lake, that they were struggling.

"The current is too swift," Elbren observed quietly.

In horror, the Knights and wounded Rohirrim stood and watched the disaster as it played out before them. The current of the lake was indeed stronger than before, much stronger. The boats were soon turning and moving at a rapid pace towards the Falls. Soon, some of the Rohirrim were abandoning the vessels, but their mail and weapons were too heavy while others stayed in the boats and tried in vain to defeat the current.

There was silence as the boats disappeared over the Falls.

"Go to the shore and retrieve their horses," Elbren's voice was devoid of emotion, "then we shall rest and make our way back to Edoras."

"Shall we not find some way across? We will just leave this?"

"There is no way to cross here," he replied, "and I would know more of what has happened ere we pursue the enemy."

There were no further arguments, for in truth, none wished to attempt the crossing of the lake. As dawn creeped into the Eastern sky, the Knights and Riders were mounted and ready to make their way back to Edoras.

"We shall have bitter tidings indeed for King Eomer," Elbren said as they made ready to ride.

"Bitter tidings for all," Tempest whispered, "that is my fear."

Mirdain, being among the nearest of their party members to the concealed enemies, was somewhat caught off guard by the attack. A dark dwarf leapt from the grass by the feet of Alatariel and struck Mirdain in the head with a mace. The fact that his horse reared, and his sturdy helm prevented Mirdain from being knocked out or killed by the blow. As it was, he swooned and half-fell, helf-leaped from Alatariel. To the bewilderment of the dark dwarf, Mirdain seemed to disappear into thin air as soon he hit the ground. Mirdain recognized what had happened, quickly drew his bow, and felled the Red Hammer dwarf. He had time to loose two more arrows and fell two orcs before the battle was decidedly over. He was just about to thank his savior, when looking up, he noticed the commotion on the opposite shore of the lake.

"We are too late!" he shouted.

Then the nightmare began. The moon and stars disappeared. Mirdain wasn't sure a more dreadful sight had ever come before his eyes than when the Sickle of the Vala vanished from the sky, and he nearly screamed. The fell-voice sounded, and Elbren shouted, "Cover your ears and that of your horses!"

Mirdain copied Elbren, wrapping his cloak around the head of Alatariel, then covering his own ears. He closed his eyes as well, against an unknown fear. He silently prayed that Idril was doing the same.

When the sound subsided, Mirdain was again able to take stock of the situation. Looking around, he saw the stars and moon were again in the sky, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw Idril, who had a pale, frightened look on her face, but seemed otherwise unharmed, and he smiled slightly in spite of the situation. Then he saw what she saw; the eerie glow of the lake, and the bodies of some men and horses. Mirdain felt tremendous pity for them, knowing the ears of the mortals and the horses were even less equipped for the torture than his own. Thankfully, Alatariel was unharmed, though shaken up like many of them.

When Earwyn resolved to follow the enemy across the lake, Mirdain was deeply dismayed. As brash as he had been in the past, he agreed completely with Elbren's reasoning about the danger of the lake. He wanted to stop the Rohirrim, but would not go where the rest of the Knights weren't willing to at this point.

Reluctantly, Mirdain tended to the wounded with Idril. With some herbs from his saddlebag, they were able to make a paste that halted the nose and mouth bleeding of one of the Rohirrim, though the soldier still wouldn't wake. Mirdain looked up at Idril. "I want to thank you for using the veil to help me back there," he said, gesturing to Nan Hithoel behind them.

"I should have used it on the whole party. It might have saved us some trouble" she said, somewhat dejected.

"You don't deserve any blame, so don't bring it on yourself," Mirdain consoled. "The attack came suddenly. You must've barely had time to defend yourself. Your veil save my life again, and i'm grateful for it." With that, he kissed her on the cheak, and they both smiled.

"Anytime," Idril added. Then, her expression changed to one of surprise and her eyes darted to the shore. "Look!"

Mirdain spun around and saw that those of the Rohirrim who had left had found boats and were making their way across the lake. He was filled with new dismay. Looking at Elbren, Mirdain imagined that their leader must have been feeling the same sense of futility. Mirdain noticed the swiftness of the waters, and realized what was about to happen. "Earw...!" he began to shout, but the warning was caught in his throat and some of the Rohirrim began to dive overboard in their heavy armor and were drowned. He watched with horror as the rest were swept over the falls. Mirdain silently cursed the Red Hammer, which he hated with a new passion, and swore to avenge the unfortunate Rohirrim.

When Elbren asked them to retrieve the horses of those who had been lost, Mirdain immediately complied. Idril, went with him, along with the strongest remaining soldier of Earwyn's company, who wept the whole way down the embankment. When they reached the waters, that soldier cried, "farewell, brother and capatain!" in his own language, drew his sword, and hurled it toward the place where Earwyn had gone over the falls. Mirdain drew the short sword he carried, and in an attempt at solidarity, did the same.

After the three returned to the others, a small camp was prepared. When dawn finally came, they readied themselves to depart.

"We shall have bitter tidings indeed for King Eomer," Elbren said as they made ready to ride.

"Bitter tidings for all," Tempest whispered. "That is my fear."

Mirdain clenched his fists over Alatariel's reigns and bowed his head.

The ride back across the Plains of Rohan was solemn yet watchful. The Mithril Knights and Riders of Rohan were not large in number, and Elbren worried that more of the Red Hammer might be lurking in the wilds. That being the case, he insisted that the group travel in a defensive formation, complete with scouts in the forefront.

It was not until they had reached the site of the first ambush that they halted for a brief respite. Elbren wanted to be back in Edoras as soon as possible; his nerves were completely on edge ever since the eclipse. He could not get the blue light that now rested over Amon Lhaw out of his mind's eye. In fact, he had felt as if they had been watched for many miles even after the lake and falls were far behind them.

"Should we bury them here or take them to Edoras?"

Elbren had been standing near Erelas, deep in thought, with his gaze cast back towards the East. The wind was still chill, even though the sun shone brightly, and an even colder chill was penetrating the Elf's spirit.

"Pardon?" Elbren asked, turning towards the Rohirrim Officer who had approached.

"I was not sure how long you had planned for us to remain here, Lord Elbren. Do we have time to bury our fallen?"

Elbren then looked behind the Officer to see that the dead had been moved together, horses and Men, in anticipation of burial. The thought of another mass grave upon the Plains of Rohan troubled Elbren greatly. Yet, despite the need of haste, the dead should not be left in such a manner.

"My apologies. Yes, we should bury them," Elbren sighed, "even if it is with less honour than they deserve. Let us do this swiftly as I wish to be in Edoras ere Eomer sends more troops to find us."

The ground was still soft from recent rains and had not yet hardened deeply with the coming of winter. Still, the task was grim and hard work. Some of the Rohirrim were stripped of their armour so that it could be returned to the families as a remembrance of their lost loved one. There were several horses who had survived the recent battles, even though their masters had not, and these were used to carry the helms, hauberks, and weapons that would become heirlooms of the fallen. They did not burden them needlessly, though, or with anymore than a single item from a fallen warrior for the day was waning already and Elbren's heart urged him to get the group moving again.

Finally, the grave was covered as best it could be and a moment of silence was observed. Then, donning his helmet and mounting Erelas, Elbren called for them all to ride once more.

**********************************************************************

It was an hour or more after sunset when they returned to Edoras; an Edoras that was made ready for war and where the guards' eyes were wary and their weapons loosed in readiness. They were challenged at several points, the first time well away from the Rohirrim capital, but by the time that they reached the city itself, news had reached Eomer that they had returned.

Riding through the quiet streets, empty except for soldiers by this hour, Elbren halted near the Mithril Knight Guild House.

"I will go and report to King Eomer what we witnessed," he said, "the rest of you go to the Guild House and get some rest and see what news may have come. Idril, I need for you to please find the star charts for the next moon phase'perhaps the next two moon phases, if you will. Aurandir, find those documents about the Sickle and the seven watchtowers of protection. I will see you all shortly."

Without waiting for a response, Elbren rode to Meduseld and was shown to King Eomer's chamber. Elbren told all that had happened upon the Plains and at Nen Hithoel. There were more riddles than answers, this he knew, and he was careful not to press Eomer for information that the Rohirrim might have about the Red Hammer Clan. However, Elbren watched Eomer's face closely and saw signs that indeed, it seemed, that Eomer did already know something of the Dwarven Clan from the East.

Still, the Rohirrim King said nothing.

**********************************************************************

Returning to the Guild House, Elbren was delighted and relieved to learn that Erinhue had been there and no harm had come to him. Athelos informed him that no word had yet come from the Erebor or Mirkwood Guild Houses, but she did tell him that Rholarowyn, Erinhue, and the two Knights in Training had left for Orthanc.

"All of them?" Elbren asked.

"Erinhue felt that it was not safe for Rholarowyn, or anyone, to travel alone across the Plains," Athelos explained, "and a relatively safe jaunt for the Knights in Training as well."

"Aye," Elbren nodded, "true enough. Thank you."

Elbren took his meal in his own quarters where he also bathed and changed clothes. His need for sleep was calling, but he also felt the call of something more powerful. He put on a simple dark blue robe and light boots and went in search of Parador. He found her in the library, as he suspected she might be, and greeted her warmly.

"You look a bit weary," she smiled, gesturing for him to sit near her and the blazing fire.

Elbren grinned in spite of it all, "I am," he said simply and took the offered seat.

"You will be very proud of my protégé, if he can be called that, Dirk," Parador handed Elbren a mug of warm tea.

"Thank you," he sipped the tea gratefully, "and it is of Dirk and the mission that I wish to speak. How did it go?"

Parador relayed the tale of the gift giving while Elbren listened patiently. He was very pleased with what he heard and even more glad to hear that Radagast had been close by when they had been in need.

"These are good tidings'especially amidst all that has happened since we came to Edoras," and here Elbren told Parador of what adventures had befallen him and their fellow Guild members.

"That is hard news," Parador said when he had finished.

"Yes," Elbren nodded, "but, we have need of more research and more watchfulness ere we act. Whilst I am here, though, I see no reason to delay Dirk's Initiation. Do you?"

"No," Parador smiled again, "not at all."

"Good, then I shall go to him and inform him of the news," Elbren stood and prepared to leave, "where is his room?"

************************************************************

Some time later, Elbren knocked upon Dirk's door and heard a muffled confirmation to enter. Stepping into the chambers, Elbren was first struck by the Galvorn armour that lay upon the table and then his eyes caught the magnificent sword that was nearby.

"Greetings, Dirk of Esgaroth. I am Elbren of Lothlorien, Guild Master for the Mithril Knights," he said and offered his hand, "it is my pleasure to inform you that your Initiation shall proceed very shortly. Please, sit and let us talk for a bit. First, though, from now until midnight, you must not eat or drink of anything save water, if needed. You must also remain in your chambers and do not draw weapon or don armour no matter what you might hear from the walls outside. We will send for you not long after midnight and you will be escorted to the Initiation Chamber."

Elbren then studied the young man, "I have heard something of you, Dirk, from my cousins in Rivendell. Your lineage'" Elbren hesitated, "is known to me. As a Mithril Knight, you will be sworn to uphold the ethics and code of our Order. Not all of that will be made known to you until you bear witness to the Giliath Londe. Yet, you have been called to us, it seems. So, let us prepare for the event and open the doors for you to the mysteries of our ancient Order."

Dirk did not sleep that night and spent the following day in his room, leaving only once to seek out a meal at midday.

As the sun began to set, he removed one of the chairs from its place at the small table, which now bore the galvorn armor, and placed it before his west-facing window. The streets of Rohan's capital were abuzz with citizens preparing for the matial-law curfew that had been set as well as soldiers forming ranks for the night watches. However, the sullen Dúnedan was oblivious to all except the dazzling display of warm hues over the western horizon and his own reverie.

It was thus, some hours later, that he still sat when the knock came to his door. Startled from his thoughts, he stood and said, "Enter."

It was Lord Elbren Galadrim, the famed Guildmaster. Dirk gave a small but courteous and respectful bow of his head as the elven Knight introduced himself, remaining silent while the instructions were given, nodding his head slightly to show that he understood.

At the mention of the young man's lineage, Dirk blanched slightly, but quickly recovered his bearing.

When the Guildmaster had finished speaking, Dirk cleared his throat to no avail and responded in his harsh whisper, "Rest assured, Lord Elbren, that I have made a conscious and ...well informed... decision to reject the powers that my father succumbed to."

Dirk steadied himself and continued, "Becoming a Mithril Knight is no small matter in my heart. I shall be prepared to take the oath solemnly and sincerely when the appointed time comes."

Dirk was now more determined than ever to begin his life under the oath of the Knights. If for no other reason than to be known as one who overcame the failures of his father and became great by his own merit. Perhaps by doing great works with the Knights, he could finally step from beneath the shadow of the Witch-king.

The youthful warrior held the elf's eyes with his for a few moments, hoping that he could read in the deep grey orbs that he spoke the truth.

Elbren regarded Dirk's determination with a silent study of the young man's features. Then, glancing down at his hands and remembering so many things that were tied to the Rings of Power....a childhood in Eregion...a father of the Mirdain....the destruction of Hollin and the closing of Moria's doors...the exodus to Lothlorien...

Elbren snapped his head back up and regarded Dirk solemnly, "The Rings of Power changed the world, Dirk," he said quietly, "I have seen both beauty and destruction result from their creation. The corruption of some who held the Rings was...to be expected. It awakened the lust for power and drove their Bearers to the ultimate price to try and gather as much power to themselves as they could. And, in the end, it was only an illusion." Elbren wiped his hands across his face and sighed, "Pardon me, I have had little rest and now I begin to speak of things that should, perhaps, wait for another time."

The Elven Lord almost seemed to look through Dirk as he nodded and then smiled, "I will leave you to your preparations. Dress comfortably for when you are summoned. I shall see you in the Initiation Chamber and be your guide for the journey. Remember, do not leave this room until you are summoned. Namarie, for now."

********************************

An hour before midnight, Elbren strode into the Common Room of the Guild House and then stopped at the huge double doors. He opened them, peered out into the darkness of the deep night, waited a moment as if listening, and then shut them again.

He drew a key from around his neck, and locked the doors with a loud, audible click. It even sounded like the doors whispered something as a light breeze blew through the room and then a silence descended.

As the night wore on, distant sounds of battle horns, horses' screams, sword upon sword, the twang of bows, the scream of dragons, the dreadful cries of horrid, nameless things...the distinct clanging of metal gates resounds through the Guild House and the city of Edoras....

Tempest lay with her head upon a pillow and her face towards the window that stood beside her bed. Her body ached with fatigue, but her mind would not allow any sweet respite tonight.

"The dead walk abroad on such nights," she thought to herself and shivered. She suddenly regretted the earlier burial of the Rohirric soldiers. "We should not have left them so....so exposed," she murmured to herself.

And still, burning against the background of her mind was that horrid blue light. It sank into the recesses of her memory and brought back the most terrible images, the darkest visions that she had sought her whole life to forget. They came now, one upon another, sweeping through her brain like a wind of fire, searing everything in its path.

Suddenly, Tempest sat upright in bed, her breathing labored and irregular. She was at the window in three steps and flung open the panes. The wind screamed in and shook the Guild House, but she let it be. She stood, listening, straining every muscle to hear the voices on the wind. It was the same as before, yet this time there were thousands of the same voice, all repeating the same words, but in different time. She did not know if she alone heard this, or if she were mad and the whole world with her, but even as she slammed the windows closed again, she could hear the voice whispering, melting her heart within her breast.

She fairly flew down the Guild stairs to find another Knight, anyone who could tell her if she was indeed going mad. She finally drew a deep breath and steeled her nerves, calming the wild look that had come into her eyes. She opened the door to the study and glanced inside, but no one remained within. She shut the door quietly and then heard a slight noise in the kitchen. She almost pounced on Erinhue as he was coming through the door, obviously enjoying some sort of sweet from the pantry. She seized him by the shoulder and he coughed slightly as the dragonharp gave a warning note.

"Erinhue. Is all well? Have you...have you HEARD anything strange these last few minutes?" she asked him in an almost pleading tone.

Elbren stood in his silver robes, lighting the candles in the meditation chamber as the incense layered the room in misty gray. He had the oils prepared on the tray, each one meticulously infused with the ancient recipes. He looked up to see the massive mural that surrounded all four walls...

The Elven Lord paused for a moment and slightly turned his head...listening. A fierce wind was blowing across the Plains of Rohan from the East and with it came cries of despair, hate, and hopelessness. Elbren cringed at the resonance and again when the winds engulfed the city of Edoras. The Guild House stood strong, though, like a Sentinel of stone and wood, and as the wind approached the building, a rumbling began beneath the foundations, and the wind suddenly turned and fled.

Elbren stood rigid and reached out as far as he could with his mind and spirit to try and touch the presence that had come with the wind; but, it, too, had fled. Sighing, he turned his mind away from the darkness and back to the task at hand.

Dirk would face first the East wall where the battle of Dagor-nuin-Giliath was portrayed. Elbren's keen, grey eyes traveled the length of the painting, noting the intense life-like expressions of the paints. He shook his head; it was still impressive, even after seeing it so many times.

In the top left corner was the arrival of Feanor, his sons, and the Exiles with them, landing in the waste of Lammoth, the Great Echo, at the shores of the Firth of Drengist. They all had their mouths open and their fists raised as they screamed a mighty challenge to Morgoth that they had arrived.

Farther up, near the dark mountains, were orcs, Balrogs, and other dark creatures that were clearly listening in bewilderment and then anger. Elbren winced a bit as he fancied hearing the growls and foul language of the dark creatures, but then, he knew the murals contained life and energies of their own.

Elbren's eyes continued along the colors until he then focused upon the Exiles as they traveled the Firth into the land of Hithlum, and then finally to the long lake of Mithrim.

Elbren's heart stopped and his mouth went dry as he looked up to see the hosts of Morgoth moving at an unnaturally rapid pace through the passes of Ered Wethrin and then falling upon Feanor's people, completely caught off guard, with no defenses built or permanent dwelling yet raised.

But the Noldor were mighty and filled with the spirit of Exile that had led them back to Beleriand. The orcs actually fled from them, defeated and baffled at the incredible energy coming forth from the Exiles. Then there was the figure of Celegorm, pointing and drawing his sword, as more orcs joined the fleeing host. It was no matter; Celegorm's band fell upon them and left them in mounds of death. Ten days the battle lasted. A handful of orcs made their way sullenly back to Angband.

Morgoth was not pleased.

But then, Elbren's eyes moved near the end of the East wall mural, and there was Feanor, in his anger and white heat, pursuing the orcs alone and into certain peril. There he was, in his shining mail, his sword brandished mightily, fighting valiantly upon the Plain of Dor Daedeloth before Angband, Feanor's laughter echoed upon the iron walls before him.

Balrogs were let forth from Angband and with swift precision, surrounded Feanor, who stood alone.

Feanor never faltered nor did his pores issue the scent of fear; he fought on, determined, though he was wrapped in fire and lashed with whip again and again. Finally, though, a mightly Balrog, Gothmog, stepped forth and smote Feanor such a blow that the Elf Lord fell to his knees, dazed, and his sword fell from his hand.

His sons came then, finally, and drove off the Balrogs. But, Feanor had taken his death wound, and he knew it. They carried him from that field and tried to get him to their new home for tending, but Feanor, when they reached Ethel Sirion, he bade them stop. There he cursed Morgoth thrice and as death drew near, the veils between the spirit and mortal world began to intertwine. With anger in his heart, he was granted the foreknowledge that the Noldor would never overthrow Morgoth on their own.

He spoke to his sons of their Oath, and they kneeled next to him, swearing it again and swearing to always serve their own hearts and their own minds above anyone else's. Feanor then took one of the mightiest of talismans and gifted it to Maglor.

When he died, his spirit was so hot and full of fire that his body was consumed and turned to ash before their very eyes.

Thus ended the East wall mural.

Elbren stepped back, sweat upon his brow and his heart pounding. No matter how many times one studied the mural, its power was never lessened in any way. The power of its creator was pulsing like a Silmaril.

He then walked to the doors, opened them, and waited for Dirk to enter and begin his dreamquest....

************************************

The summons for Dirk came just after midnight as Athelos and Parador came to escort him to the chamber.

When the Guildmaster left him, Dirk returned to his bed, though he did not sleep. He lay on his back with his eyes open and meditated. Soon even the ceiling faded from view.

Elbren had told him to dress comfortably. He was only comfortable in his travelling clothes: tall riding boots and leather breeches, black linen shirt over soft ecru undershirt. He was as comfortable as he could be, since he was forbade any weapon or armor. Without these, especially Neleg Amlug he could not feel truly comfortable; he felt naked, defenseless.

He lay perfectly still for those last hours, despite the sounds of battle that shook the guildhouse. Steel upon steel and the blaring of great horns, the battle cries and final screams of the dying, impaled upon some unseen shaft: Dirk heard all of these and resisted the urge to take arms and rush to the battle that he surely heard; he had not even gone to the window to have a look for himself. Lord Elbren had warned him to stay in his room until he was summoned, no matter what he heard. He took this to be a test, that the tumult was false, intended to assess his patience and ability to take orders - even against his own judgement.

The most difficult test for the young man's will to master his fear and reflex to fight was the return of fell voices using the Black Speech. Again, they exhorted him in a familiar way, mocking and chiding like a childhood bully. He deepened his concentration and hardened his will all the more. He would pass the Mithiril Knight's tests, no matter how difficult to bear.

So Dirk remained perfectly still, concentrating on his own breath and blocking out all external stimuli. However, he was roused by a knock at the door just after midnight. Instinctually, this sound was separated from the others he had heard and he returned to full consciousness at once. He noticed the silence immediately for at that moment, the cacophony of war had ceased.

He swung his booted feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. Blood trickled from his bottom lip. He had inadvertanly bit it in his determination not to cry out at the horrific voices.

He stood, straightened his clothes and pulled his hair back into a tight tail and bid the knocker to enter.

It was the Lady Knight, Parador and another who was introduced as Athelos. They spoke very little, only informing Dirk that he was to follow them. The Knights led Dirk down the corridor and stairs, towards the initiation he had awaited his whole life.

As she was sent to find the star charts for the next moon phase, Idril had time to reflect on all that had happened since she had ridden with Elbren from the stables. It had been a long and eerie time. Alot had happened in only a short time and they had chased what seemed to be a whisp of cloud, something of a dream shadow they could not catch. But the reality of it was all to real.

She was looking for the charts when she had a strange feeling that she would not find them here no matter how hard she looked. She had looked in the library and then in Elbren's office and then in the study but without any luck. She sat down by the fire to warm herself and to think. But the thoughts that came to her were unbidded and unwanted.

She could only remember the ride and chase of the dwarves that they did not find. And then coming upon the dead, dying and injured Rohirrim and she felt again her anger rising and a deep feeling of uneasiness. That feeling that she got when those around her were beyond healing. And when those around her had been robbed of life. Then they were moving again, riding hard. When they did stop it was only for a quick look out towards the Falls of Rauros. The fact that she had worn her hair loosely tied had aided her in helping Mirdain.

Then the evil that befell them all when they were found by the dwarves in a sneak attack out of the surrounding bushes. Then the heaviness of the darkness weighted upon her heart, mind and soul as the stars and moon vanished before her eyes and the evil Black Speech was heard. She had heard it before and it always bode evil for all in Middle Earth. She had only had time to take her cloak and cover Thalion's head, trying to keep it covered, while he was taken by the madness. It seemed an eternity before it lifted and she had been able to hide her bleeding ears in her hair and was able to quickly wipe away the blood dripping from her nose. She sat reliving the whole experience in front of the fire with only a candlestick on the table behind her.

Then she remembered something. She had seen someone with what she thought was ordinary parchments tucked under their belt but they were thicker than the normal writing paper. She started to stand, ready to investigate a hunch that she had when she heard the noise's that she knew meant an initiation was to start. She hoped that she would have found what she was sent to find by the time it was over. She found another log and placed it on the fire before leaving, grabbing her candlestick as she moved past the desk and out of the study. She worked her way towards the rooms that had been occupied by the dwarf that had been with them only a short time before all this trouble started.

She found his room undisturbed or so it seemed in the darkness of midnight. She placed the candle on a small table and closed the door for privacy. She looked through the room from the middle, turning slowly around in a complete circle. Then she walked to the window. There outside the room was a sturdy trellis leading down to a roof which was a long roof that lead away from the main building. She pondered it as she thought it would be an easy exit or entrance for that matter. She knew that the dwarf had only been shown to this room and had literally seen it and then left it right away. As she turned back from the window, she walked slowly taking all aspects of the room into perspective. The bed, table, window and the direction that it faced. The lamp and even the pegs on the wall, the door and then slowly the floor. As she grabbed up the candle again, she looked more closely at the floor starting from the door and working left. She went row by row around the room, moved the meager furniture and when she moved the bed, she noticed a stone that looked out of place.

As she tried it, it was definately now the proper stone that was there as it fit tightly into the whole along the concept of putting a round rock in a square hole. Just doesn't quite fit right. As she couldn't just take this rock out of the floor she looked for something to pry it with. She tried the stool and table legs but all were in tact. Then as she was thinking to go out and downstairs to get something, she looked at the pegs on the door. She wondered if by chance the dwarf had possibly used one of them? She went over and tried them. The farthest one from the door opening, was loose and came easily and quietly out of its hole. She turned back to the rock in the floor and noticed then that there were very small lines where the bed had been moved ever so slightly. Being stout and sturdy, she supposed that the dwarf picked up the bed and would occassionally misjudge his distance and have to shove the bed just a bit more out of the way.

With the peg in hand, she made quick, easy work of removing the rock. And there below the rock were papers, just like the ones that she had noticed in his belt the first time she had seen him climbing the stairs. She took them out and thought to herself "just like a dwarf to dig into rock to hide something whether it was his or not" which she suspected that the papers were not his but the missing star charts. What she didn't expect to find among the papers was a map of another kind. She confirmed by the firelight that these were indeed the charts that Elbren wanted and then she glanced at the other map and couldn't believe her eyes at what she saw.

She replaced the rock, the peg, the bed and then made sure that it looked as undisturbed as possible and that she hadn't missed yet another obvious clue. She then went to the door listening for any sounds. When she heard none, she slowly opened the door and walked through it then shut it behind her. She made her way down the staircase's to the doorway outside the initiation chamber. She listened for a moment and when she confirmed that Lord Elbren was indeed starting the initiation, so she turned to leave. She would wait for him in his study. She stopped and decided that she needed to leave something to alert him to her whereabouts. She took her leather hair thong out, retied it into an arrow and carefully laid it near the door, pointing towards Elbren's study. Then she made her way there, let herself in and then closed the door behind her. She built the dying fire back up and sat down at the desk, lighting the candlebra so that she could study these charts and the other 2 maps that she had found so secretly hidden. She did not like what she saw and her unease returned as she studied all the charts.

Elbren turned to see Dirk enter the Initiation Chamber. He motioned for the young man to sit on the floor. There were comfortable rugs and furs piled throughout the room.

Elbren went to the brazier and took some warm oil and several sprigs of rosemary. He walked to Dirk and anointed his forehead with the oil, whispering words in Quenya that could just not quite be heard, and then he handed Dirk a sprig of the herb.

To Dirk he said, "This represents the life within you and the life around you, keep it in your hand, smell its aroma, know it is in this room, and when you wish to return, it will bring you here."

He walked to another corner of the room and retrieved a large, ceramic liquid vessel and put what looked like a piece of metal into it. He kneeled before Dirk, holding the metal piece, which was hollow, towards his mouth.

"You have come to answer the summons of the Ancients, Dirk of Esgaroth," he said, "within this room lies the future and the past...and to know one's self, one must see all aspects. Drink...and know the origins of this Order."

The metal tube was black, so an observer could not tell if the liquid was ingested or not.

The moment Dirk entered the ceremonial chamber, a change came over him. He would later learn that the heightened senses and the mantle of calm that that enveloped him was caused by the herbal incense that was burning. He immediately became aware of the immense fresco on the east wall that fairly dominated the room. The mural commanded all of Dirk's attention. He saw nothing else. He was drawn in by its power, its emotion as if the artwork were a living, breathing thing.

He then became aware of the Guildmaster's presence. Dirk was beckoned to a comfortable arrangement of rugs upon the floor. His head was annointed with oil; and he was given a pungent sprig of Rosemary.

"This represents the life within you and the life around you, keep it in your hand, smell its aroma, know it is in this room, and when you wish to return, it will bring you here," spake Elbren.

Dirk sat, Rosemary in hand, transfixed upon the image of Dagor-nuin-Giliath until Lord Elbren returned and offered the young Dúnadan an odd bit of metal, rather like a spoon, but fully enclosed.

Again Elbren addressed Dirk, "You have come to answer the summons of the Ancients, Dirk of Esgaroth," he said, "within this room lies the future and the past...and to know one's self, one must see all aspects. Drink...and know the origins of this Order."

The would-be knight closed his eyes, took the contents of the metal implement into his mouth and swallowed the thick, bitter liquid.

At once, he experienced the awareness of the elixir's journey through his body: Down his throat and into his stomach, then very quickly into his bloodstream. The sensation was that of warmth coursing throughout his entire body, completely navigating from the center out to his fingertips and toes, then back into his heart.

Then he opened his eyes to darkness. Not the foreboding darkness of evil, but the exhilarating darkness of the pre-dawn hour before a long-anticipated morn. He became aware that he was now standing.

The first sensation was that of a bitter cold wind. Then, blackness gave way before him to a bright twilight, revealing a barren wasteland, a plain devoid of flora or fauna. As his sight increased, he saw before him a great cloud of dust. Still more of the slowly waxing starlight (as he now understood it) completed the scene in which he now stood:

Beyond the cloud of dust there were a few black figures standing in contrast against the dust. Looming above the entire vista before him were three vast peaks of naked black stone. He recognized them immediately.

Thangorodrim.

Dirk stood on the plain of Ard-Galen before the very gates of Angband. He was still dressed in only his shirt, breeches and boots. No armor, no weapons, not even a cloak to ward off the blustery weather.

Suddenly, a cry went up from his right, "They have stopped running!"

He turned to see that he stood amongst a small company of tall, fair elves in bright mail. He had not realized it at the time, but they spoke in Quenya, a language now little used, except for ceremonial purposes, in Middle-earth.

Then beside him on his left a powerful voice answered in a deathly serious tone, "Nay, they still run, but no longer in retreat. Morgoth has sprung his trap."

Dirk turned to see an elf-lord more regal than any he had ever dreamed of. Then another elf beside the lord spoke.

"My Lord Fëanor, there are more than orcs approaching."

Fëanor! thought Dirk.

Looking out to where the lieutenant pointed, Dirk caught a sight that sank his heart into despair.

Balrogs... led by the fell father of Balrogs: Gothmog. Balrogs had issued forth from Thangorodrim and were descending upon the elf-warriors and the solitary mortal man. In hopeless desperation, the elves, with the single exception of Fëanor, turned and fled before this grim host. The leader of the elves in exile instead ran headlong at his enemy, shouting battlecries of vengeance.

Dirk was stuck were he stood. He could not retreat and he could not follow after Fëanor. He stood out upon the plains as a lone figure, a member of the race of Second Born, apparently unnoticed by the High-Elves, standing unarmed, surely to meet his doom at the hands of the evil creations of Morgoth, the demons of flame and shadow.

Fear gripped Dirk. He watched in horror as Fëanor was surrounded by his attackers until the Lord of Elves was no longer visible. Dirk opened his mouth to scream in horror and sorrow, but he was unable to utter a single sound.

Then, contrary to the story as Dirk knew it, Gothmog turned and marched towards him. Struggle though he might, Dirk could not escape. The heat and the dread that spread before him hit the young man like a giant wave crashing on the rocks below Mount Taras. He reached Dirk with impossible celerity.

The Lord of Balrogs reached down with his mighty taloned hand towards Dirk's throat...

Darkness.

Utter, clinging, suffocating blackness.

Dirk found himself in a place devoid of light, sound, and smell. He neither stood, nor lay, nor floated. He could not speak, nor move, nor even breath.

He simply was.

He existed in a place which deprived him of any stimuli.

A vacuum.

A Void.

He dwelt there for an immeasurable amount of time. Unfeeling.

Then a voice seemingly from within himself, but simultaneously from every direction without himself as well, shattered the silence like the sound of a mountain falling about Dirk's ears.

"Welcome to the home of thy Father; the home of thy Father's master, and in turn, his master before him."

Dirk regained his voice - his pure, unbroken voice.

"Who are you?"

"I am he whose home thou stood before moments ago...or was it ages?"

"Melkor?"

"Thou knowest me, young one. Thou knowest me and cannot deny me. Thou art chosen. And where thy father and the ruined Maya failed wilt thou succeed."

"Never! I have rejected the powers that enthralled my father! You have no hold on me, phantom of the Abyss. You have no power over me nor any other thing, alive or dead. You are merely ghost in exile, banished forever in the Abyss that exists far befyond the lands of Illuvatar! Leave me be!"

"Thy conviction is strong, little one," mocked the fallen Vala, "But thou and all your ilk will fail in the end. I am mightiest among all beings, no matter where I dwell. Follow me and thou shalt be at my right hand when I return. Thou shalt be mightier even than Sauron the Great. But forgo my offer and I shall deny you the Gift of Men and this banishment I shall grant thee: to exist in madness in the Abyss for ever."

"Foul deciever! You both offer and threaten that which you are powerless to deliver. I have seen the corrupt world you would have me live in and I have rejected it at great cost. You shall never have me!"

By a force of will that astonished even himself, Dirk broke the illusion that seemed to hold him at the mercy of the banished Morgoth in a shower of light, like a million shards of a broken diamond...

His consciousness looked now from above into a large room. The windows of the room were unglazed, and a warm tropical breeze with the smell of the sea upon it blew the curtains inward. At one end of the room was a great dais upon which an ornate throne sat. Resting upon the throne was a tall man, with long raven hair capped with a circlet of gold.

His vision drew him in closer and he could see that a scroll, written in the ancient flowing script of the elves, Fëanor's script, lay upon his lap. The man opened his clenched left fist to reveal a ring.

Still closer his perception took him until he beheld the sorrow and pain in the man's grey eyes. Dirk cast his sight downward upon the ring. It was gold, with intricate filigree-work. The man slipped the ring onto his right index finger.

This lord of men's head snapped back, his mouth open in a silent scream. Suddenly his hair flashed white as driven snow and his skin paled before Dirk's eyes. He stood.

Where once a strong, noble man was, now a withered thing, enslaved with an insatiable hunger now existed. The shell of the once great man advanced upon Dirk with an outstretched hand...

Light.

A warm, inviting springtime sunrise.

Dirk now stood upon a green hillock facing east. Below him a small encampment of tents encircled the dying embers of the night before's fire.

A woman's scream echoed off of nearby rocks.

Inside one of the tents, a woman, flanked by two other women, laid upon a pile of furs. Dirk saw that she was a beautiful woman with chestnut brown hair, jade green eyes, and skin like the unblemished petal of a white lilly.

She was about to give birth.

Pain.

Agony.

So much blood.

A child's wail.

The women burst into hysterical sobbing.

The child lives.

The mother dies.

"No, Minya, no! First the curse of the child's father. Now you give up your own life to bring it into the world! No!"

The swaddled child is taken by strong hands and delivered south.

Dirk looks once more into the now lifeless face.

"Mother?"

Blinding light and searing fire.

Dirk was now again in corporeal form upon the Ard-Galen. Before him, the prostrate form of Fëanor lay amongst his sons. A bier was fashioned from the shields and spears of the fallen and Fëanor was borne away from the wretched land of Angband to die elsewhere with dignity.

One of the Elf-Lords sons (later Dirk surmised that it must have been Maedhros, his eldest) turned and placed his elegant hand upon Dirk's shoulder.

"Listen to your heart, atan. Only you can shape your destiny."

The fresh aroma of Rosemary filled Dirk's nostrils.

Darkness.

It was dark like a restful night, like the comfort of a warm bed after a large meal.

Dirk awoke upon the floor of the ceremony room too physically and emotionally exhausted to process what had just occurred. As his eyes began to focus he realized that he still sat before the mural.

Elbren's voice roused him further from the dream-state.

Elbren watched as Dirk's mind opened and took his spirit to the Battle of Dagor nuin Giliath...and beyond. His job was to monitor Dirk's body, make sure he was comfortable, did not thirst, and bring him back, if matters became too intense for him. So, he lingered near Dirk, feeling for his breath with his hand, checking his heart rate, and offering him water by holding a mug just at his lips.

Elbren walked to the brazier, using a gold covered spoon-like tool, he shoveled much of the visionquest incense into a golden bowl. The bowl had a chain that could be attached to it for carrying, and this is what Elbren did. He drew the hood of his midnight blue cloak up over his head, drawing it down in the front so that his face was in complete shadow, and then took the bowl of incense into his hands.

He walked to the middle of the East Wall mural and began to walk up and down it, swinging the golden bowl to and fro, and chanting words in a language that was as old as the stars themselves.

...light of the stars will be shown to thee.....and you know that the power of the starlight can be used.....great power and strength......behold the makings of the Spirit of Fire, which resides in the stars...and the stars reside in him...and in thee....you have been chosen to witness the first giliath....BEHOLD!

Within the room, the ceiling became the starry, twilight sky of the First Age and Dirk began to glow with a silver aura. The middle portion of the East Wall mural, the Battle of Dagor nuin Giliath, began to move and sway as the figures came to life, battle screams and shouts emitting and echoing from it.

The hosts of Morgoth were moving at an unnaturally rapid pace through the passes of Ered Wethrin and then falling upon Feanor's people, completely caught off guard, with no defenses built or permanent dwelling yet raised.

But Feanor himself had not been idle during this time, and using his skills to work with the Starlight, he had fasioned what would later become the icon for the Guild of the Mithril Knights. Using this for the first time, the orcs actually fled from the Noldor. Defeated and baffled at the incredible energy coming forth from Feanor, the orcs went nearly mad.

For ten days, Feanor held aloft the shining object, and ten days the battle lasted. A handful of orcs made their way sullenly back to Angband.

But, having held the object for so long, Feanor was unable to control the power. He was weak in mind, spirit, and flesh, and nearly mad himself. He pursued the orcs alone and into certain peril. There he was, in his shining mail, his sword brandished mightily, fighting valiantly upon the Plain of Dor Daedeloth before Angband, his insane laughter echoing upon the iron walls before him.

Morgoth then sent his answer: Balrogs were let forth from Angband and with swift precision, surrounded Feanor, who stood alone.

A distant horn sounded and Elbren turned to the mural, his eyes focusing upon the scene where Feanor was dying. He saw the figure of Dirk appear on the mural, as if by magic, and Elbren thus knew that Dirk of Esgaroth was now a Witness to the Giliath Londe.

He walked to the Northeast corner of the Mural Room and opened a wooden cabinet with a key that hung from his belt. Drawing out a midnight blue, almost black, hooded cloak of velvet overlaid with a layer of wool, he walked back to where Dirk was sitting, still in the trance.

The cloak looked lovely from a distance, and it was both warm and cool as needed, but when closely inspected, runes of power and Elvish script could be seen woven into the fabric in many places. On the inside of the hood was a map of the night sky.

Elbren took the cloak and laid it around the shoulders of Dirk, who stirred slightly. On the mural, Feanor was holding aloft a small phial that was filled with brilliant blue and silver light, and all around, his sons and others, were kneeling and seemed to be speaking in unison.

"Welcome back," Elbren said to Dirk and then offered him a plate of fruit and cheese along with a mug of rich, red wine, "don't move yet. Sit and rest, eat and drink, trust me, you will need the grounding."

Elbren smiled at the new Mithril Knight, "Mae Govannen, Dirk of Esgaroth, I am honoured to call you Brother."

Crumbs clung to the corners of Erinhue's mouth as he flashed Tempest his broad, bright smile. "You needn't look so frightened, the house is full of noise tonight. Elbren is initiating another member into our Guild...."

"Another member? At a time like this!" Tempest growled, but released Erinhue's shoulders.

"What better time! We need all the allies we can from what I hear," he replied.

"I suppose. Who is it that he initiates?" she asked.

"Dirk."

"Dirk? I do not know him. Well, if anyone needs me, I'll be in the library. There's a few questions that I need answers to, though I doubt Elbren keeps books that are written in the Black Speech."

"Black Speech? What exactly are you looking for?"

"A song, or a poem I once heard. I keep remembering a phrase from it, and just now, I thought I heard a voice on the wind repeating the same phrase. It is curious, and I don't believe in coincedences. If you see Idril, tell her to look for me there. Goodnight."

Lady Idril had made the fire up and sat looking at the new maps that she had found. She turned as a kettle, kept here for the ease of serving oneself, was almost ready and she grabbed a mug and readied it with some leaves for tea. She was at this moment trying to make sense of the 'chicken scratchings' on one of the maps. Nothing on this map was written in a clear language and she hoped that they were words and directions. She feared that it was or could be written in the worst language, The Black Speech, for she knew Dwarven and this did not look familiar to her. She was careful when touching it just to be sure. She used a writing utensil to turn the map this way and that.

The kettle boiled and she quickly turned to it and grabbing the hot pad, she got it off the fire and poured herself a nice hot tea. She replaced the kettle, just off the side to keep it hot. Then she turned back to her cup. She then added just a bit of cool water to her cup so she could touch it as she debated upon adding a 'seeing herb' to the tea. Knowing its strength plus being alone was a detriment but she felt that she needed to know this map and the other one's secrets. So she carefully took out her secret herb bag and found the herb she wanted, crushed a small amount between her fingers and then placed both fingers quickly into the hot tea, stirring it quickly. It was still hot but she needed to 'see' what thess writings meant and the only way she could do so was with the tea. She knew not how long Sir Dirk's quest would be so she drank of the tea as deeply as its heat would allow.

She stood over the map and still concentrating on it, she watched as it started to change ever so slightly. The writings still were not familiar to her but they were making more sense as she waited for the liquid to act and she was also waiting, expectantly, for the Black Speech to elicit into her mind the meanings on the map. She thought that it would be the same kind of thing that had happened at the Lake. At least this time she would be prepared for it and it would not catch her off guard. She did not think to seek out Tempest for she did not want to offend her nor did she want to inflict anymore pain upon her friend and fellow Knight. She did not know how this would look to the others, nor did she expect it to be so strong.

She was suddenly hit with a loud screaming and then a think tongue spoke of what the map was. There were directions such as North, South, East and West and place's like Gondor, Arnor, Angmar and Mordor. The lake was a small star on the map marking where they had felt the fear and hear the Black Speech in their minds. But the other mark near there was still undistinguishable. She threw her head and drank more of the tea, unknowingly & inadvertantly adding more of the herb to her tea. She drank the rest of the cup. Then she saw the sickle and the moon on the map and again relived what had happened at the lake. Death surrounded her and yet she knew it was not of things past but of things to come. She was in another vision quest all her own and it took all her strength to contain it and not let it devour her.

She took out the other map that she had found. This one was of the stars and she was barely able to stand, but somehow managed it. She sat the candlebra nearer to the maps and looked at it deeply, finding a small star upon the map. She laid the star map on top of the other map then held them to the light of the candles, but not to close. There it was ... the sickle and the moon. It was there and made perfect sense to her. They were to be overlapped and used in that way. She suddenly heard the Black Speech again in her mindseye and she let the two maps fall upon the desk, one atop the other as she had held them. She grabbed the candleabra and moved it away and as she tried to maintain sanity, she put out the candles so that the only light was the fire in the hearth. The Black Speech gained in velocity and verocity and became so loud that she could not keep her sanity. She turned to the fire where the 'voice' seemed to come from and it seemed that there was an eye in the flames.

She screamed not knowing that she had really screamed outloud and all in the house heard her. She fell to the floor in a heap, her hair all around her loose from her shaking her head.

And thus, we have come full circle, none the wiser, and by far in worse situation. A trap is being woven; who is the weaver?

Aurandir sat back from his desk, contemplating the words for a few moments. He had picked up the habit of writing in a diary long ago, keeping them as a sort of chronicle of the ages for himself. Though he was only an occasional correspondent, writing down his thoughts helped him to think, to analyze. He sighed, for this time writing was only helpful in the fact that his words reaffirmed that there was no explanation of the weird events coming to his mind.

He sighed and leaned back, crossing his fingers behind his head and forming a pillow thereby. Amon Lhaw - the Hill of Hearing. And a dazing noise had followed the activation of the seat, when they inserted the stone. What were they seeking? What was their purpose? Frustration rolled over Aurandir's thoughtful countenence. Was conjecture useless in this situation?

Amon Hen. Why hadn't they gone to Amon Hen? It was said the Numenoreans had been able to see for hundreds of miles in all directions from that seat. If power was added, perhaps it might be that the sitter would truly see all that went on in Middle-Earth.

A frightening thought.

Were they without the stone that would unlock the inborn power that resided in the High Seat? Did they seek it now? He sighed again. Perhaps it was all useless, sitting at his desk thinking, the thoughts racing down their courses and running into dead ends.

But he would speak with Elbren about it, go seek the elve's counsel. At the least, Elbren would serve just to hear Aurandir's ideas aloud. As he got up from his chair, he tapped himself on the head impatiently. Of course! There was an initiation tonight! As he debated what to do, a fell voice, in a tongue he hated passionately, whispered, it's foul breath tainting the air around him.

"Durbat bubhosh burzum..."

Even before the voice faded sinesterly away, before a scream of pure terror had broken the quiet again, Aurandir was streaking down the stairs and towards the quarter it had come from.

As he fairly flew around the turns in the wall, his keen elven memory kept replaying the sound, and where it had come from. A few minutes after the voice and scream, turning what he guessed was the final quarter, his foot caught itself upon some object; he looked down at the leather thong, then looked about him. In front of him was a long hall, with bright banners hung upon the wall. The voice had not come from the far end: now which door would he choose? Acting upon a guess, he rapped on the first one on the right.

Not a word came from a human voice, but the black tongue still spoke, though now in far reduced tone. It was so low he could not make out the words, only hear the crude, harsh syllables. He grabbed the handle and let himself in. All was taken in in a glance. The Lady Idril lay upon the floor, disheveled and bleeding from a scalp wound. And in the fire an eye looked out into the world, its raw, burning gze surveying the room.

'Vanya! Go!'

Instantly it disappeared, and the dark mutterings ceased. He knelt by the prostrate elven lady. Nothing looked wrong with her, but he was not a Healer. Gently he picked her up and put her upon the large bed on the other side. He found a cloth and basin, and proceeded to do the only thing he could without herbs, wiping away the clotting blood from the scalp and forehead.

Dirk felt the warmth of the luxurious new cloak about his shoulders.

"The honour is mine, Lord Elbren. I only hope to prove worthy."

He had done it! But at what cost? The nightmarish images of his father's transformation and his mother's death still swirled in his mind's eye. Why had these tormenting images been shown to him? Something in the power of the mural took him there. Away from the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, where he should have been, and to these other places.

Dirk drank deeply from the wine and nibbled at the food he was offered. He stared at the mural.

'No,' he thought, 'The mural's power only facilitated the transportation. Where I went was a function of something in me. Memories? Nay, I could not have memories of any of those places or events.'

He sat in silence upon the floor, his eyes now downcast, unable to clear his mind.

'Perhaps the ring...' his thoughts continued. Dirk had borne a ring of power. One of the Nine. The very one that Sauron had used to enthrall his father. The stump of his missing left index finger burned af it were thrust into a smith's forge. That was the answer he had been looking for. Although he only worn the ring for a short time; it had changed him. It had altered his mind and heart. It had instilled a gift (curse?) of vision that until moment had been dormant. But were the visions false? Could he trust something created by an artifact with so foul a history. He trusted his sword, though it had the same, if not worse, sordid history. Perhaps the power's nature, for good or evil, depends on the bearer. And Sauron, who had perverted the ring's power, no longer existed on the same plane as the ring. So, he concluded, the vision was a combination of the ring's power instilled in him, the mural's power, which triggered it, and his own heart, which guided it.

Would he ever experience the vision again? Would he ever have control over them? Or was this just an isolated incident, brought on by the power of the mural? Dirk's contemplation gained him no insight - only more questions.

He was roused from his dark reverie by Elbren.

"Go now and rest. Return to your room and sleep. You will be summoned in the morning for we are embroiled in a dire situation, and you will be called upon to do your duty as a Mithril Knight."

Dirk slowly got to his feet, turned to Elbren and gave a small bow.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Namarië, Sir Dirk."

With that, he exited the ceremony chamber and was escorted back to his room, where he hung his new cloak upon a peg, removed his boots and lay down upon the bed. Immediately, he was asleep; and mercifully, he was spared from dreams that night.

A radiance of light escaped through the tightly sealed door of the Mural Room'the boom of battle cries echoed past Parador and Athelos. Stepping closer to the door all the while staring hard at its historical etchings as if trying to capture the visionquest herself; Parador tried to envision Dirk taking his place for the witnessing of the Giliath Londe. She reached out to touch the door but Athelos' quick hand diverted her path'

'Never touch the door of the Mural Room during a witnessing Lady Parador'the power of the past can cause great pain to those who have no affair with its travels. The knight-in-training will fair well in his quest'I know you have come to respect this highly gifted young warrior. You see yourself as his protector now'but you were only his mentor'he can take care himself. Sir Dirk will see things that will shed light to a better understanding of his own search of the path that led him here. He will face the memories that have been troubling him and awaken again the pain of a birth of whose darkness he will reject once and for all'he will emerge the victor.'

Athelos' reassuring smile was the balm needed after Parador's experience from the evil cries of insanity last night''Athelos, where do you'er, how do you know so much? Is it true that a servant's ears and eyes are more busier than her hands'?'Parador smiled warmly at the wise lady that stood reverently before her'a greater respect of roles was emerging with each spoken word between the knight and loyal servant of the guild house.

Chuckling to herself'Yes, so it seems. I watch and observe then again I have been here far longer than even Ilúvatar's first thoughts of creating life began'

laughing softly''a long time indeed Athelos'

At that moment amidst the smiles and the awakening of a friendship, the door to the Mural Room opened. Elbren emerged with a pleased but tired look upon his face and conveyed these feelings to both Athelos and Parador through the smile he bore them. He walked quietly past the two'Athelos felt the need to escort the Elven Lord to his chambers. The day had been long making the night even longer as he would be waiting news from the tasks appointed to Lady Idril and Aurandir. Sleep is what was needed'but the urgency for answers would keep him awake for now.

Parador patiently lie in wait quietly by the door for Dirk to emerge from the Ceremonial Chamber. Never had she felt such a kinship to a fellow warrior as she did with the newest of the Mithril Knights'

'M'Lady''echoed the words from the chamber causing the knight to come back to the present'slowly but carefully she stepped through the massive archway leading into the chamber. The living Mural fell upon her heart'ever since her witnessing she has held a reverential respect for Fëanor. Her life she would give gladly in exchange for the cause the knights fight to maintain'that of protection and peace throughout Middle-earth'and protecting its past as well.

The growing ambiance of a man's spirit who has conquered and excepted his past only to begin this day in planting his feet firmly in his future was a feat in itself to behold. Parador walked toward the sullen warrior. Dirk reached out his hand'the brazen knight took hold of it has she quickened her pace to reach his grasp not allowing him to wait any longer than he had to. Clasping their hand around the cusp of each other's elbow Parador pulled the mighty warrior to his feet'a smile pedaled across the face of a very proud mentor'

'Mae Govannen, Dirk of Esgaroth, I too am honored to call you Brother.'

'I know you probably grow weary of my words of wisdom my friend. But too much is better than none at all''

Parador smiled as she continued to speak the last of her mentorship to the new yet seasoned Mithril Knight. Carefully she placed her words correctly as she remembered them spoken to her by her uncle in Mithlond so many years ago'the language of the Grey-elves was an ancient tongue of the Eldar taught to her by her uncle and by those she trained with as a Ranger of the North. Although it is now considered a less noble language than that of the High-elven tongue, Parador continued its usage with dignity and honor in remembrance to those who gave her, her life back'

'Uuma quena en'mani lle ume (ri'mani lle umaya). (Uma ta ar'lava ta quena ten'irste'.)

'Don't talk about what you have done (or what you are going to do). (Do it and let it speak for itself.)'...

'I don't know why I tell you this...your actions exemplify this already. Hmmm...I will now stop and leave you with your thoughts Dirk. I sense much has taken place since your witnessing within the Mural Room'

Both Mithril Knight's walked down the hall quietly each step breaking the silence'echoing the announcement of their presence down the long corridor. Parador left Dirk to himself once they reached his room. His hand reached for the door turning the knob, quietly he pushed the door open'with the mantel of knighthood now placed upon his shoulders, his heightened silhouette passed through the doorway as he contemplated all that just took place within a room where the past lives on'

*******************************************************************

Aurandir flashed past her as screams reached Parador's ears'without any hesitation she followed after him knowing his search would bring them both to the source of the cry...Aurandir, with his keen elven sense was listening for the voice that would lead them to where the cries were coming from. Still not sure of where the evil utterances were coming from, the youngest of the Mithril Knights acting on a guess, rapped on the door with an excited vigor rattling the door on its hinges. Not waiting for a reply they both entered the room to fine Lady Idril lying on the floor unconscious...'Good guess Aurandir'...

The fire in the hearth caught Aurandir's attention while Parador quickly made her way to unconscious knight...'Idril'can you hear me?'

''Vanya! Go!'...spoke Aurandir from behind her...

It was not long before Elbren and Athelos made their way to the incident. Parador stood up marking the way for Elbren to approach Idril...both knights stood in a guarded stance. They would be ready if anything else were to happen in these seemingly unsettling times taking place in the 4th Age.

Elbren was indeed weary;' but, something had come to him during Dirk's Initiation that had given him both reassurance and a sense of relief. He smiled to himself as Athelos walked silently beside him down the hallway.

"He came to you, didn't he?" Athelos asked in an ancient, long forgotten tongue.

Elbren turned his head slightly and nodded, "Aye, he is with us and he is angry that the waters of the Anduin have been arrested from his immediate grasp. He will work with us to unwork what the Red Hammer has begun."

"Will you still send for Carnimiriel?" Athelos opened the door to Elbren's chamber and they both stepped inside.

Elbren chuckled as he removed his cloak and sat heavily down near the fire, "It still amazes me how you know my thoughts....and I suppose it should not." He took an offered mug of wine, "Yes, I will send word to her of what has happened, although I'm sure she has some idea. The working was too powerful for her not to have felt it. She may have even heard the voices."

"What now?"

"Well," Elbren drank deeply of the wine, "I want to see the star charts. The eclipse and the claiming of Amon Lhaw coinciding was no accident. They planned that and they planned it well. The Emyn Muil is more dangerous than it has ever been. The lake is treacherous and the waters of the Anduin, at least at that point, belong to our new enemy."

"And what will the star charts tell you?" Athelos raised an eyebrow.

"There must be some way to reverse what has been done...if the absence of light allowed them to steal the power of Amon Lhaw, then there must be some way to move the heavens to our cause," Elbren replied tiredly and yawned.

"In the meantime, we have Ulmo as our guide and patron," Athelos said.

"Aye, He will aid us, so he said. We must also ask for Orome's assistance in this matter; we should send for the Spear and have it with us. We will send a party to the Guild House by the Sea to retrieve it and to make offerings to Ulmo on the shore. In the meantime--"

A piercing scream startled Elbren into silence. Athelos and Elbren both scrambled to their feet and rushed out of the door. Others were also responding to the cry of pain and soon there were several Knights gathered over the unconscious form of Idril.

Elbren kneeled next to her and put his hand near her lips, "She breathes," he said quietly, "Athelos, get her to her room and tend to her. She is badly shaken and needs to be called back." Athelos nodded and with assistance, Idril was lifted from the floor and taken from the room.

Glancing at the table, Elbren espied the documents that lay strewn about, "What's this?"

Lady Idril had heard herself scream yet it was more like an echo in her mind. It had seemed an eternity to her, like ages had passed, as time slowed down, when in actuality it was only moments later that someone had come into the room that she was in and spoken the words ...

"Vanya! Go!" ...

which seemed to ease the sounds reverberating in her mind. But the sounds were torture and she was not where she had thought she was. She seemed able to look around at where she was and she thought that she was in Mordor, in chains. This could not be as she had just bee ... where had she just been? She couldn't remember but thought that she had been somewhere safe. She tried to wake herself but as she shook her head, it 'seemed' to her that she was trapped and alone somewhere underground. As she tried things that she knew that she would feel 'in a real world setting', it seemed to her that she was, unfortunately, in the real world! Her head hurt and she thought she felt something trickling down it. Then she realized that it was blood and she then decided to stop fighting this 'alternate reality' and accept it as it came at her, at least for the time being.

She remember some maps and she figured that those were how she had found her way to this place. She wasn't sure about several things, especially the feeling in her mind of being misplaced, but for now, she would deal with things as they came. She took one cleansing breath of acceptance and was again filled with the evil voice in her mindseye that she was sure had been there earlier. It confirmed her own suspicions yet had told her only a little of what she had been looking at before it came. The maps that she had found were the key and by her 'seeking answers' she had found herself here, where ever here was. It's will was strong, yet her will for life was stronger. It tried to crush her mind, seeking answers of its own but as it probed, she shut doors inside her mind quickly until she was thinking of nothing. Her mind a blank and unreadable, "IT" seemed to leave her alone. But the pain lingered and she could still sense an evil place, somewhere that others do not go. A place of stories told around a fire.

She heard others near her. She heard things that did not make sense to her mind and she felt that she was being betrayed. That she was somehow in the presence of pure evil, an evil of another age.

"She breathes," he said quietly, "Atleos, get her mind back as she has somehow blocked my way; wake her anyway that you can! I have left her alive but she has gone somewhere else. Only a few know this way ... she needs to be called back."

It was as if a weight kept her soul locked down tight and would not allow her the freedom that she craved. She realized that she was in Mordor!

Tempest was just running her hands over a few volumes in the library when Idril's shriek filled the house. She froze, every muscle suddenly tense, for she did not know if she were simply hearing things again, or if the scream was real. She heard footsteps on the stairs and a few muffled shouts and realized that someone was in danger. She hurried with delibrate, yet cautious steps toward the place from whence the sound came.

It was Idril, and the room was already full of people.Elbren was glancing over some maps on the table nearby and Aurandir was explaining what had occured when he entered the room. When he mentioned the presence of the flaming eye, Tempest immedietly perked up.

"An eye? What do you mean?" she demanded.

"It was there in the fire, just watching us," he said.

"Watching? And she was already on the floor?"

"Yes. I commanded it to go and it left, withdrawing its voice as well."

"What voice! Did you understand the speech?" she said breathlessly.

"No, but I recognized it."

"What's this?" Elbren muttered suddenly, picking up two maps that Idril had been looking at. One was a star chart and the other a map Tempest had not seen before.

"She must have somehow called it forth. What could she have been doing that caused it to appear?" Tempest asked, stepping forward to glance over the maps. She looked at the fire for several moments, then back at Idril's silent form. She touched her hand and felt the clamminess. It was no mere fainting fit, but her soul was far away. "Idril," Tempest whispered.

She turned again to Aurandir. "This is important. You said you recognized the language the voice spoke, as most creatures do recognize the Black Speech. But was it the olden form, the ancient language of Mordor, or the kind the orcs speak today. That would tell us much of what kind of evil we are dealing with."

She thought that she had heard a voice speak a name "Idril" but who's name it was she was not sure and then there was a soft touch. But the softness had turned quickly to a burning, like a large, hot ember, was placed on her hand. The pain grew up her arm yet she would not let 'him' see her in pain. With a great strength, she ignored the pain and then suddenly she heard the 'voice' again, speaking to her.

"You see how they hurt you? Why do you not turn from their ways? Pain is all that you have lived through, all these ages. Yet all I have to do is blow on your burn and it will cool." From somewhere a breeze blew directly onto her hand and as if a fire burned there, it was blown out and began to cool. "You see, don't you? All that you have missed is right here. The one that burned you, used to know me. She has turned to the evil side and she is their minion now. She will come after you and will try to do you more harm. There are others, that were once my friends. They too will search for you. All you need to do, is deny them. For to do so, will answer all your questions and relieve your pain."

She heard the voice again as if it were all around her. The breeze was cool but as soon as the 'voice' stopped speaking, the pain returned. She opened her eyes only a little to see why and whom was causing this excruciating pain and saw a face. She burned it into her memory as she watched her hand begin to blister, peel and the raw flesh of a fresh wound take its place. She would remember that face for future reference.

Then with the last of her strength she spoke, with her teeth gritted, in anger and at her limit of pain endurance.

"Antolle ulua sulrim. (Much wind pours from your mouth.) Mani ume lle merna? (What do you want?) Amin khiluva lle á gurtha ar' thar! (I will follow you to death and beyond!) Morsul (The Black Wind) 'Ksher (Evil One)"

Then as the voice once again entered her mind, searing her, burning her soul, driving her insane, she lost her control and once again she screamed. It was long and heard by all inside the Guild House and outside along the streets of Edoras. All who heard it, cringed in fear as it sent their blood running cold. Many hid as quickly as they could, knowing that it was a scream of the doom to come.

Mirdain was asleep in his chambers when the first scream sounded. He was startled awake, but wasn't sure yet what had awoken him. Sluggishly, he moved out of bed and dressed himself. It dawned on him that something was clearly wrong, as there were hurried footsteps out in the hall. Opening the door to hallway, he was practically bowled over by Tempest, who looked obviously in distress. Mirdain grabbed the crystal out of his mithril knight cloak, fearing he might need its protection for something, then walked hurriedly down the hall. Tempest had disappeared quickly around some corners, and he was not yet sure where everyone was going. Then he heard the second scream and new Idril's voice instantly.

Mirdain dashed to the room where all the commotion was. His eyes grew wide upon seeing Idril in her condition. "Idril!" he tried to scream, but choked on the words. Taking her hand and looking at her face, Mirdain was so filled with sudden despair that he was not sure if he could bring himself to speak. Trying again, he managed to whisper her name. She squeezed his hand for a moment, but that was all. Idril began to jerk violently as if in tremendous pain. The hand that Mirdain was not holding seemed to be burning, but there was no fire.

Almost on instinct, Mirdain ripped the crystal from around his neck and clasped Idril's bad hand around it. Her hand clutched it tightly, then slowly opened. Her arm relaxed, and her face did not seem so full of focus and anguish.

Mirdain kissed Idril, and breathed his breath into her, hoping to any further help any way he could. He then straightened out her beautiful hair. It was something of a treasure, he thought, and to see it disheveled like so was a pain in itself. Mirdain stood and continued to regard Idril solemnly.

"I know what you are feeling," came Elbren's voice, "but there is nothing more you can do for her now. It seems she used an herb to put herself in this trance." Elbren held a pouch up for all those present to see. "Once I figure out what, which shouldn't take long, I might be able to find something to bring her out of the trance."

Tempest now looked at Idril, the concentration etched on her face. "I wonder..."

"Well we must do something immediately!" Mirdain shouted louder than he would've liked, his emotions still running high. He gathered his composure, stooped to lift Idril, and carried her towards her room. On the way out, he passed the new knight.

"It's hard to get sleep around here, it seems," the knight regarded. "My name is Dirk. You must be Mirdain. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting."

"No I don't believe so. I've heard a lot about you. Congratulations on your initiation, brother. I wish we had met under better circumstances."

"Truly. I couldn't help but notice that crystal you wore. It has been touched by a ring of power hasn't it? I too have been touched by a ring. I would like to know more about your experience, when you have the time."

"Indeed. And I would like to know more about yours. For now, there is the more pressing issue of Idril's condition." Mirdain walked out the room and down the hall, pondering the nature of the new knight, and how Idril could be healed.

"It cannot be Sauron," Elbren said, mostly to himself, as he continued to study the maps. "Where did she get this map?"

Aurandir shrugged and no one else offered an explanation. Elbren studied the map again, "See this? It's the Anduin with Amon Lhaw and Amon Hen marked with this strange sign."

Athelos, standing at Elbren's elbow, peered at the map, "Aye, this is a map and instructions...that is a spell in a tongue that I do not recognise."

"You do not know it?" Elbren asked, truly surprised.

"No, it looks like a variation of Southron, but the words are strange."

An image flashed back into Elbren's mind suddenly of when he had recently been at Orthanc with Idril, Rho, Aurandir, Elenath, and Nurvilya. One of them had seen something upon their arrival that stormy night. An old man....

"This isn't Sauron," Elbren said again, "but we know little of the powers in the East. We know that Saruman went to the East with the two Blue Wizards long ago....and who knows what evils they taught to those foreign lands and peoples."

"Do you think that this is the work of the Blue?"

"No," Elbren shook his head, "I do not. But one needn't be an Istari to wreak havoc and chaos, nor to understand the weaving of spells and harnessing of powers. The spirit of Saruman may very well be whispering, though, and guiding the Red Hammer. Things were strange in Orthanc when we were just there...."

"Perhaps Erinhue and Rho will be able to discern more," Athelos suggested.

"I only hope that they do not find them too strange," and a worried frown lay upon Elbren's face as he said it.

Despite her distraction with Idril, Tempest had noticed the new knight enter the room. She tried to size him up in one glance, but the fire cast shadows on the room, so she was forced to attempt a smile and stepped forward to give him greeting. "Welcome," she began to say, but the words died on her lips, for as she reached out to clasp his hand, she sensed something almost imperceptable and she shrank back suddenly as if he had slapped her.

She stood silent for a moment, her eyes searching his for an answer to an unspoken question. Then, without speaking, she nodded her head once in greeting and passed by him in her way out of the room, never lowering her eyes from his face until she was gone from his presence.

"Well," she thought to herself as she went down the dark hall. "I am surprised I did not know of him before."

Then she shook her head. She must focus on the task at hand. Elbren would analyze the herb Idril had used and find a way to bring her back. She would leave that in his capable hands. She, on the the hand, would return to the library, for she had caught pieces of Elbren's conversation about Saruman, and a sudden thought had sprung into her mind.

The Red Hammer. Falin. She had seen them before. Was it possible she had seen them somehow associated with Saruman? Could Falin's displeasure with seeing her have anything to do with the fact that she knew the person behind all this mischief? Why could she not remember?

Falin. She knew his face, but not by that name. That was it! He was called something else! It was on the tip of her memory and she somehow felt it was important.

She needed a map of the South and East and quickly found one, spreading it out upon one of the many tables in the library. Why was it that evil always seemed to thrive in Mordor and her Eastern neighbors? What attraction did the land possess that welcomed such darkness? What was Idril trying to do when she took that herb and poured over those maps?

Tempest frowned. Her mind was foggy with weariness and she couldn't think straight anymore. It had been too long since she slept. She sat back and rested her eyes, the struggle of the last few days finally setting in upon her. She would rest, but just for a moment. She closed her eyes and slipped into a troubled sleep that haunted her with terrible nightmares of Idril and a strange Red Hammer.

"If only she knew that I already carry more than a lifetime's sorrow and worry, despite my young age. Perhaps, she would not see me as one in such need of wisdom," thought Dirk as his former mentor walked with him to his room, "But, she genuinely cares and understands what a warrior's needs are." Unlike his foster family, an innkeeper and his sons, who could never understand wanderlust and the need to root out injustice and risk one's own life for the sake of strangers.

"Parador may continue to feel the urge to guide me. But I do not object. I am sure that she, and all the Mithril Knights, will grow into my new family," he thought after she had imparted a bit of wisdom in her native language.

They reached his door and parted ways for the moment.

He entered, removed his boots and cloak, and fell onto the bed exhausted. In the few moments before he fell into sleep, he tried to remember if his mother's face had been revealed to him in his dream. No. His father's wise and noble face had been shown to him; the face he had worn before he was enslaved. But his mother's was obscured, and would likely remain a mystery for all his life.

He fell fast asleep.

In what seemed like only seconds, his slumber was disturbed by a blood-curdling shriek. He sat bolt upright, then got out of bed in a flash. He quicky re-donned his boots and cloak and headed in the direction of the dream.

Still exhausted, adrenaline and something else drove him - something he could not palpate, almost, but not quite.

The house was a flurry of activity. He found himself following the sounds of the incident to a study on the first floor. Outside the room, he met a Knight named Mirdain. They exchanged a few brief words and Dirk expressed his interest in the phial that he carried. But as soon as they had met, he was off, moving swiftly on his urgent errand.

Dirk slowly entered the room through the open door. Inside, the Guildmaster and others poured over the prostrate form of an elven maiden. She seemed to be in no immediate physical danger, and those around her were trying to piece together what had happened.

The room was lit by a roaring fire in the hearth, which threw dancing shadows upon the faces of those gathered. One particular face drew his attention. A female knight with blond hair - probably Rohirric. But her dark eyes spoke of other, deeper alliances.

She began to speak, "Welcome." But when their eyes locked, she stopped short. The words forming in Dirk's mind were torn from him as well.

"Mordorian," the single word ripped through his consciousness. He knew that there were Mithril Knights from every land. But meeting this dark lady was an strange experience. He was revolted and drawn at once. Afraind and intrigued. Would she prove to be an ally in his quest to break from his past?

In the awkward silence that followed her single word ot him, their eyes remained locked and Dirk caught sight of the recognition in her gaze. "She knows me. Not me, but who I am. What I am." he thought. As long as they shared the same space, he never took his eyes from hers.

They exchanged curt nods of the head as she exited the room, also on an errand to help unravel the events that led to the apparent injury of the woman on the floor.

Dirk then approached Elbren and Athelos. He heard talk of the Ithron Luin and Saruman. And the negation of the possibility of a return by the fallen Maia. He was reminded of his vision. Morgoth, too said that Sauron would not be the one to come forth in the name of darkness. Was is Sarmuan's spirit? As a member of the race of Ainur, he had dwelt in the halls of Mandos since his death. Has his reach grown long enough to touch the lives of those in Middle-earth once again, as Elbren speculated?

"My Lord Elbren, may I be of assistance in any way?"

Elbren turned to see Dirk standing near him and asking if he could be of assistance.

"Aye," Elbren nodded, "in fact, you can, Sir Dirk. I will need to send you on an urgent errand. Very urgent, in fact. Prepare for a journey of two days to the coast. You will need all the speed that you can muster, thus, I will send you alone. Prepare yourself and then meet me in my quarters in an hour." Elbren gestured to Athelos, "Please make sure that he has all that he requires."

Late, Elbren was in the Initiation Chamber digging through a large chest in the South corner. He was muttering to himself as he lifted one thing and then another, shoving large bags to the side and then digging in again.

Idril was locked into some kind of trance; a visionquest type of trance that had her spirit far, far away. She was in pain...torment even. In fact, Elbren feared for her very greatly.

Finally finding what he had been seeking, he rose up and strode with purpose to a table nearby. He quickly began to mix a variety of herbs together as he heated some water. He was going to try and bring her back with the same tincture that the Knights used to return from their Age quests...though, he was not at all certain that it would work.

Still, he had to do something.

And all the while as he prepared the tincture, his mind's eye was upon the unknown lands of the East. The Free Peoples of Middle Earth really knew little about those foreign lands.

Except that Saruman and the Blue had gone there together. Saruman had returned; the Blue had not. Saruman had a lust for power; for the Rings of Power. He had fashioned his own Ring and worn it. Ring-maker he had called himself.

But had his lust been awakened so long ago when he and the Blue had gone to the East?

Elbren suddenly froze as an idea came to him; what if Saruman had managed to stay in contact with the East? What if part of Saruman's grand plan had been to have the Far East move against Middle Earth during the War of the Ring? Elbren had never been convinced that Saruman would ever concede to Sauron's rule...not when it was all said and done. He had made the Uruk Hai and made war upon Rohan...had he a weapon that had never been revealed? A weapon that had never had time to be shown?

Could that secret weapon be the Red Hammer Clan? Were these Eastern Dwarves and their orc allies all a remnant of Saruman's plot to become the ruler of Middle Earth?

If THAT were true, then Eru only knew what Saruman may have taught them. Had gifted to them. Had promised them.

Ulmo had come to Elbren and given assurance that He would assist in the matter; WHY would a Valar thus become involved in this...unless the matter were grave indeed.

Grave indeed.

Clearing these thoughts from his mind, Elbren completed his task and then quickly made his way to Idril's quarters. She still lay very still and looked ghostly white. Mirdain was with her, as was Athelos, but they both stepped aside when Elbren entered.

"Lift up her head, Mirdain," Elbren instructed as he sat down on the bed.

Mirdain did so gently as Elbren opened Idril's mouth slightly and poured a few drops of the tincture into her mouth.

No response. Not even choking or cough.

"More," Athelos urged, peering closely at Idril's face.

Elbren nodded and did so...and waited.

Blackness was all that she knew. For how long, she did not know but when she was again 'awake', there was no voice and that in itself was a repreive and a blessing. She could tell that she was laying down and she could tell that she was still underground. She thought that she could smell fire but where it was, she did not know. She was cold and she was thirsty but she would not think on those things. She could not and would not allow 'the voice' to know that she wanted for anything. Her strength waned but her spirit was back. She had never felt the kind of pain that she had just been privy too and she was not sure how to keep from experiencing it again. Maybe if she acted like that last encounter had changed her mind? Maybe she would be spared the immeasureable pain and it would also allow her to gain and keep control of the situation. Someone would come for her, at least she hoped that someone would. It seemed to her that she had friends ... somewhere ... although she could not remember their names or faces at this moment. Probably something to do with the intensity of the pain.

She lay there and suddenly murmurings started from a distance, voices that sounded familiar yet still very far away and as she lay there, she wondered if she was now insane due to the pain that had been inflicted upon her mind. She tried to focus but as she did, each time closing her eyes (or so she thought), she would see an eye of flame and that was enough to make her open her eyes. Then as she lay there she felt something in her mouth. It was bitter yet not too unpleasant to the taste. Then it burned as it slid down her throat, but it burned in a different, yet familiar way. Suddenly there was more of it and she almost welcomed this burning but she did not know why. She could not figure out how she was feeling and tasting something in her mouth and a warming of her body yet she had not drank anything for what seemed many days.

How long had it been since she arrived here? She could not recall and that seemed odd for her. Then she had a thought. What if this was something to make her more willing to do the bidding of 'the voice'? But it was too late as she had swallowed all of it. She sat up and tried to spit but it was impossible as in her reality she had a dry throat. What was this strange form of magic that she was now in? She decided it was preferable to 'the voice' so she relaxed and let the liquid warm her throughout.

~~~~~~~~~

Idril lay with her head in the hands of Mirdain and as Elbren poured a little of the liquid down her throat, her color changed only slightly. Athelos saw this and encouraged Elbren to give her more. He did so but was unwilling to give it all to her.

"It is too strong to give it all to her."

'It might be the only thing that will work and she might need all of it. Do you doubt her strength?'

"Yes in this state I do. I am not even sure that this will work. But I had to try something."

'I suggest that you give her all of it. Her color has changed only slightly, but it has changed.'

"Her color has changed? How do you change white and gray? She looks the same to me. And her breathing is so shallow, she could pass for dead. If it weren't for her occassional breath, I would think she had died."

'Do not say that Lord Elbren, please. I can not imagine it ... ' said Mirdain.

Idril lay still as death and as white as the sheets with a grayish blue tint to her lips. Elbren sat the rest of the tincture on the side table and watched her carefully. Then it began anew as her ears and nose began to bleed.

Elbren immediately and none too gently pulled Idril forward so that she did not choke on her own blood. Mirdain uttered a cry of despair as the crimson liquid began to stain the pillow and sheets.

"Give her the rest of the tincture, Lord Elbren; her spirit is still far away!" Athelos urged.

Elbren pursed his lips in anger and helplessness, but then he nodded. Together, with Mirdain cradling Idril's head against his chest, Athelos and Elbren poured the rest of the liquid down her throat.

Using the ancient tongue of Quenya, Elbren began to call Idril's name, over and over, and even sang the hymn of Elbereth in a whisper to her. Athelos began to pile blankets upon her as Elbren wiped away the blood from her face and throat.

"The bleeding has stopped," Athelos observed, "I'll be right back."

As Elbren and Mirdain continued their vigil of watching Idril as she lay there so still, Athelos returned with a basket of rosemary. Singing a song of her own, she began to burn the fresh and pungent herb upon the brazier in the chamber. Immediately, the room was filled with the aroma of rosemary.

"Call her home," Elbren told Mirdain, and then to Athelos, "please go and find Tempest. I have a matter to attend with Dirk. I will return."

**************************************

Elbren felt his body yearning for sleep as he walked to his quarters. He was overwhelmed, and yet, the adrenaline flow from the challenges facing the Guild kept him burning with energy. As he opened the door to his chamber, he saw Dirk turn the corner and nod his head in greeting. Elbren motioned for the young man to enter with him.

"Please sit," Elbren motioned to a chair near the cold fireplace as he took one opposite. "I will be direct, Dirk, for time is of the essence. During your Initiation visionquest, I had one of my own...a message from one of the Valar. Ulmo will aid us in reclaiming Nen Hithoel, but to destroy the power that has been placed upon Amon Lhaw, we will need one of our relics: the Spear of Orome. It is housed in our Guild House near the sea which is about two days ride from Edoras, towards the coast. Athelos will give you a map and the password for that Guild House's entry. You will know the Spear once you enter the armoury; there is no mistaking it. It will be covered in a dark cloth, for it carries much power. Leave the cloth around it and return here as soon as your mount will allow it."

Tempest was awakened by someone shaking her gently and calling her name. She blinked several times before she could recognize Athelos and as she raised her hand to pass it over her forehead she asked "What is it?"

"Elbren has requested that you stand watch over Idril. She has yet to regain herself, but he is hopeful that she may soon do so. He had to attend to another matter and asked for you to stay with her."

Tempest nodded and got up, glancing briefly at the map she had been looking at before she had fallen asleep. The Eastern lands stretched far out across its face, beyond which she had never traveled. She sighed and followed Athelos to Idril's chamber, where the Knight still lay motionless upon her bed. Mirdain was beside her, whispering and pleading for her to return.

Tempest stood beside the fire for several minutes with her back to the scene, trying to remember every spell or counterspell she had ever known. She could not recall anything like this happening before, and Elbren's strong herbs had not even been able to wake her.

Suddenly, Tempest turned around and came along side the bed. Mirdain gave her a questioning look and she said softly, "Watch her closely as I speak. If you see her move or change at all, say so immedietly. I'm going to try something."

"Be careful! Last time we tried anything, she began to bleed."

Tempest nodded. "There are some spells, some trances from which the sufferer can only be awakened by a word, a sort of password. I'm going to go through all the languages I know, many of which I know little except a few words, but we shall see if anything breaks through to her."

She leaned forward. "Idril, awake! Hear my voice!" she began, placing her hand upon the woman's brow and repeating those same words in different speeches. Mirdain winced at some of them, but his eyes were fastened upon Idril's face, hoping for any change that might bring his beloved back to the land of the living.

"It isn't working," Mirdain said dejectedly.

"No, her spirit is being held captive, though how it is being done, I do not know. She must have allowed herself to fall into the trance and another, more powerful spirit took advantage of her vulnerability. But for what purpose? To gain access to her mind? This cannot be the work of dwarves or men. Perhaps this is Istari afterall," Tempest said in frustration.

Suddenly, a vision passed before her eyes in which two banners flew against a black sky. On one she saw the angry red of an imperious hammer, and on the other, a white hand. Where had she seen those two flags together? She remembered feeling contempt only, and echoing the sentiments of her orcish counterparts when they whispered "Saruman-glob búbhosh" or Saruman the great fool.

Saruman. So, he and the members of the Red Hammer had met at some point before the War of the Ring. She remembered that now. Perhaps it was there that she had seen Falin. Yes, that was it. She had been sent by Sauron to assess the strength of the fool Saruman, "sharku".

"He was not such a fool after all," she reflected, staring down at her injured friend. "This is the work of Saruman," she said aloud.

"You are certain?" Mirdain asked.

"Yes. There is no one else. Give me that crystal," she said suddenly, pointing to Mirdain's light. "It is not as strong as Carnimirel's, but it will be enough." She held it in her hand and pressed her other hand against Idril's forehead.

"Saruman! I am here!" she said, opening her mind, hoping to entice him.

"Are you mad? Do you wish to fall victim yourself?" Mirdain cried.

"There is no other way, besides, your crystal will offer some protection. There! I can feel something, something almost imperceptable. Yes! A presence...."

Her world dissolved for a moment and she was far, far away. She did not recognize the place, though it very well could have been the belly of Barad-Dur or one of her familiar haunts. All she was aware of was that she was alone and it was very cold."Idril!" she called, but suddenly there can a mocking laugh that rang sharply in her ears.

"Ghâshbúrz," the voice said, and she recognized the name he had used to call her.

"Sharkû-glob,(foolish old man)" she spat. "So, you have come to trouble us again."

Again the voice laughed, though it was hollower now and more distant. A single phrase beat against the stronghold of her mind, threatening to pound her to dust. "Thrak burzam búbhosh! Thrak burzam búbhosh! Thrak burzam búbhosh!" She cried out in pain, though the voice was receeding a little more each time.

"Stop it! Idril! Idril, where are you? Release her!" she shouted in vain as the vision faded and she found herself back in the room, with Mirdain shaking her violently.

"I thought you were gone! What was that you were saying? It sounded terrible!" he said.

"Thrak burzam búbhosh," she said softly. "To bring great darkness."

Idril could 'see' that something had happened to her, yet she was unable to stop it from progressing. There seemed to be blood every where running down her clothes. Then suddenly the hot liquid that seemed to be more refreshing than burning was again poured down her throat. She heard only a little of the voice from there and she was able to distinguish other's voice's clearly for the first time. She struggled to reach that place ... where the voice's were at.

Then after a time, she felt herself being hugged and pleaded with. As she tried to answer that she was there, just below the surface, she was spoken to again. This time her heart stirred and she knew that it was someone who care deeply for her. She was so close, yet so far away.

Then another voice entered her mind as there was a woman speaking to her, or more likely through her, so she thought. It said "Saruman! I am here!" She realized that this was true, the voice was of that misguided wizard and that he was now very powerful. She wondered if he was still living or if he was more like Sauron of old, a 'ghost' of sorts, without a body but with a strong spirit, still living. She would believe anything after this encounter for she had been burned deeply by this experience. Then she heard a name spoken that aroused her spirit to aliveness again. It was as if she was rising from the darkness or from death.

"Idril!" she heard called, but when the mocking laugh started it was not as sharp as it had been in the past, as if someone now shared it and like she was in another room, hearing it from a distance in her ears. Then there was another speach that she understood and made her cringe in another type of pain.

"Ghâshbúrz."

'Sharkû-glob,(foolish old man)' the woman's voice spat. 'So, you have come to trouble us again.'

Again the voice laughed, though it was hollower now and more distant. A single phrase beat against the stronghold of her mind, threatening to pound her to dust, but she seemed to be only a bystander this time, not the object of 'the voice's' ranting. "Thrak burzam búbhosh! Thrak burzam búbhosh! Thrak burzam búbhosh!" Idril heard another cry out in pain, as the voice receeded a little more each time. She was pretty sure that this was not her that cried out this time, but another, a voice that she recognized as a friend's.

"Stop it! Idril! Idril, where are you? Release her!" she heard shouted, as the vision faded and she found herself still locked in a dark room, still alone. After hearing a voice that she recognized as a friendly voice, she felt even more alone than before. She heard herself shout out "I am Here! In the dark! Help me! Come back and help me, for I do not know the way out." But she thought that she had only dreampt that she had heard another voice, one that did not cause pain. Silence and darkness was all that Idril could see.

But her voice had found itself and shocked Tempest and Mirdain to silence as she whispered ever so slightly to them for help.

Dirk, excited by his important mission, hurried about his preparations for departure to the secret guildhouse. He went to his room and dressed for travel, strapping on his baldric with its ancient enchanted blade and brace of throwing knives. He also donned the galvorn armour pieces, remembering that he had not as yet had time to speak to Elbren about them.

Once he was arrayed for travel - or battle, chould it come to that - he made his way to the stable. Endlómë stamped and snorted. He was refreshed by the rest and the air of his birth-land. The great black warhorse always had a sense of anticipation about these things and this instance was no exception. He knew he was about to fly free across the plains of Rohan, with the promise of battle and could hardly be restrained.

Dirk saddled and bridled the steed, strapping his bow and quiver to the saddle within quick reach.

Athelos met Dirk in the stable with waybread and a waterskin.

"Lord Elbren wishes to counsel you regarding your mission. I will see to the horse." said the elf.

With a slight bow of his head, Dirk handed the reins to Athelos and strode toward the house.

He found Elbren in the hall and was motioned to enter a nearby room. It was Elbren's own chamber, unused since he had returned from the Nen Hithoel. The hearth was cold and the bed still neatly made. They took seats beside the dark fireplace and Dirk could see the fatigue and worry and wisdom in Elbren's ancient eyes. There, he was instructed on his mission.

...return here as soon as your mount will allow it." concluded Elbren.

"I will, my Lord."

"May the light of the Valar protect you."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Elbren began to rise to depart the room but Dirk's voice delayed his exit.

"My Lord?"

"Yes Sir Dirk."

"About this armor..." Dirk paused, looking for the words, "I learned after I chose it that it is forbidden for a petitioner to choose such as this to use." Elbren could see in the young Knight's eyes that there was more, he waited until the youth was able to express himself. Dirk cast his eyes to the floor.

"It seems that it was made for me. Or perhaps that it has been waiting for me. I am drawn to it and cannot explain exactly why - not yet." He paused again.

Dirk raised his head and asked, "My Lord, may I wear it a bit longer? I feel that it has a part to play in my destiny. I know it sounds far-fetched, but although my mind tells me that I am not worthy of such a gift from the Mithril Knights, my heart says that these," he held out his arms, causing the black metal to glint in the candle light, and looked at the breastplate, "these were meant for me and could be worn by no other."

"I only consider it a loan, my Lord, until I have earned them."

Dirk held the elder elf's eyes, trying to read his thoughts until he voiced his answer.

Elbren reached out as if to touch the glistening black mail, but then, just as quickly, let his hand fall to his side. His eyes met Dirk's.

"As I said to you earlier, ere you witnessed the Giliath Londe, you were called to us, Dirk. All....who witness the Giliath Londe are called to our Order. This mail," Elbren admired the workmanship, "was indeed crafted by the Elven smith, Eol the Dark. It was taken to Gondolin by Eol and when he was slain upon the rocks, it was kept in the Guild House and Turgon forbade anyone to wear it. Yet, it is a thing of beauty and craftmanship not seen before...or after, and Turgon would not have it destroyed, despite the bitter memories of his sister's death. Who took it from Gondolin when that great city fell, none now know, but a Mithril Knight it must have been, for it came next to the Guild House in Lindon. None would wear it for rumours came that it was cursed with the malevolence of Eol and his bitterness of the Noldor. It came to the Lothlorien Guild House by my hand, actually. Not long after my wife and I had wed, we journeyed to the Grey Havens, her homeland, and there we saw the Ringbearers take ship and leave Middle Earth. It was in that Guild House, at the Havens, that I was made Guild Master...and it was there that I saw this mail. I had no desire to wear it...but to know how it was fashioned....that intrigued me. I brought it with me home to Lothlorien and made a few feeble attempts at discerning how Eol used the star metal in his craft."

Elbren looked up to see Dirk waiting expectantly, "Well?" the young Knight asked, "what did you find?"

Elbren laughed at that, "I found that star metal is not easily found and that I lack the skill and patience to make chain mail. Hence, the mail was put into the armoury. I never thought that anyone would want to wear it....knowing the means of Eol's death and the bitterness that he wore like a thorned crown." The Elven lord began to stack wood into the fireplace, but still he spoke, "I wondered that no one would claim it or even ask to wear it. But when I knew that you had petitioned the Guild and I remembered Elladan speaking to me of you, I wondered...."

Elbren took flint and tender and began to light the fire. As a small flame burst forth, he turned slightly to look at Dirk, "You remember the tales of Beleg's sword, Gurthang? You remember that it had a voice?"

Dirk nodded slowly.

"I would not be surprised," Elbren went on, "if any item fashioned from star metal possessed such powers."

Standing back up and eyeing Dirk with an even gaze, Elbren finished, "You should be on your way, Sir Dirk...and know that it is not up to me...or you.....to decide if the mail is yours to wear. If it does not accept its wearer, you will know."

Mirdain was more than a bit distraught over Idril's present condition. None of there administrations to her seemed to work. Mirdain was angry with himself for not having taken more time in the past to learn of Saruman's ways and the subtleties of the dark forces, though he couldn't he foreseen the need for such knowledge. He visibly shook with frustration over his inability to solve the problem his way.

Tempest was better skilled at dealing with this sort of thing, but she seemed lost in her own world. Suddenly she spoke out loud, though it seemed to herself. "Yes, it is the work of Saruman."

"Are you certain?" Mirdain had a hard time believing it, though he was sure Tempest must have come in contact with Saruman in her past life.

"Yes, now give me that crystal." Mirdain was a bit startled by her request. He barely ever let others use it, but he knew that it would better serve Tempest here, given his complete ignorance on the matter. When Mirdain handed it to her, he found that it wasn't as difficult to do as he'd imagined. Of course; not as powerful and not as hard to give up as a ring of power, he thought to himself.

Tempest clutched the crystal in one hand and pressed the other against Idril's forhead. "Saruman, I am here!" Mirdain was astounded by her statement. He had not thought she would try to confront Saruman, only perhaps use the crystal to aid with some healing ritual.

"Are you mad? Do you wish to fall victim yourself?" he cried.

"There is no other way, besides, your crystal will offer some protection. There! I can feel something, something almost imperceptable. Yes! A presence...."

Tempest then seemed to fall into a trance similar to Idril's. "Elbereth guide her," Mirdain whispered. Tempest's facial expression shifted, reacting to whatever was happening in her trance. She spoke something that he recognized as the Black Speach, though he didn't know the meaning, and it disturbed him. Tempest was shaking Idril now, both hands around Idril's shoulders, the one barely holding onto the crystal. She shouted "Idril come back! Come back to us!"

Mirdain was afraid that Tempest had gone too far in, and he also feared for Idril's safety. So, he pulled Tempest off of her and shook Tempest until she came to her senses. A million questions ripped through his mind, but he could only manage one. "What was that you were saying? It sounded terrible."

"Thrak burzam bubhosh," she responded. "To bring great darkness."

Mirdain did not like the sound of that at all. He did not press Tempest further, because Idril suddenly reached for them. She opened her mouth as if talking, but no words came out. Mirdain thought it seemed that she was looking at them, but then he realized she just as well have been looking right through them. Idril then went back into complete stasis.

"I'm tired of this!" Mirdain shouted. "The dead wizard is not going to bring darkness here, and he will leave Idril alone if I have anything to say about it." He leaned full-length over Idril and looked directly into her unseeing eyes as he clasped her face in his hands. "Saruman!" he shouted. "You are not fooling anyone, leave Idril alone and go in peace."

"Ha ha ha," came a voice in Mirdain's head, or was it in his head?

Mirdain decided to try something else. "Fight me Saruman! You have done enough damage to Idril." Her body began to move strangely in Mirdain's grasp. He kissed Idril full on, and prayed that the spirit would confront him. It did.

Mirdain's world turned to darkness as he felt himself knocked from Idril's bed. He writhed on the floor and screamed as the worst headache of his life took hold of him. A terrible voice, strong and potent, uttered the Black Speach in his ear. He could not understand any of it, except for the name of his father, and that puzzled him.

The voice did fade and the darkness receded after a few minutes that seemed like eternity. Mirdain could see Tempest standing over and realized that she had placed his crystal back in his hands.

"You are lucky. I knocked you from the bed when I realized what you were doing. Saruman could not take a firm hold. I was able to drive him back with choice words, but it seems his spirit still affected you. I'm not exactly sure how, but I guess that he was probably more interested in holding to Idril, since he has a firmer grip over her. It was a brave thing, but you should not have attempted it!"

"Thank you" was all Mirdain could manage at that moment. Clutching the crystal to his chest, he realized he had broken into a cold sweat.

"Mirdain, I have to go see Elbren now, for he must know of this. You must remain with Idril, and for Eru's sake don't try anything else until we return. I do not know why Saruman would hold Idril like this, but the fact that he is even able to exert this kind of control worries me greatly. Continue to talk to her, and make sure that you use elvish. There is power in such words." She nodded and grapsed his shoulder before she left the room. She nearly ran into Athelos in the hallway outside and quickly asked where Elbren was.

"He is seeing the new knight, Dirk, off on a mission," she answered.

When Tempest finally found him, his face was very grave. "We have a problem," she started.

"Is Idril still unable to wake?" he asked in concern.

"It's more than that. It is Saruman, as you guessed, though how he is able to still exist in this plane, I do not know."

"You are certain?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, and what's more, I remembered where I saw Falin and the symbol of the Red Hammer: Orthanc. I had been sent to see what progress the old wizard had made, but even then Sauron had only contempt for him. Saruman was no fool; he knew Sauron would never keep his word. He was surrounded by the histories of Middle Earth. Who knows what horrors he unearthed in his old books?"

"That would explain the reason for Ulmo's guidance. The fate of Middle Earth may again be in peril," Elbren said grimly.

"It's worse than that, Elbren. If Saruman has found a way to weave his evil from the safety of the Halls of Mandos, then even the dead are not safe. There are others who wander those halls who would seek to do us ill. We have encountered the sons of Feanor before, we may have to face them again."

"They would never aid Saruman," Elbren insisted.

"Let us hope they would not, or others like them."

"It's worse than that, Elbren. If Saruman has found a way to weave his evil from the safety of the Halls of Mandos, then even the dead are not safe. There are others who wander those halls who would seek to do us ill. We have encountered the sons of Feanor before, we may have to face them again."

"They would never aid Saruman," Elbren insisted.

"Let us hope they would not, or others like them."

Elbren sighed and turned slowly away; he began to pace the room, his hands folded before him. He stopped suddenly and spoke, "During Dirk's Initiation, I received a message from Ulmo, Lord of Waters. He will aid us in regaining the Nen Hithoel and the Falls. I have sent Dirk to the Guild House by the Sea to retrieve the Spear of Orome; with it, we shall have to find a way to cross the Anduin and destroy the energy source now radiating from Amon Lhaw."

"With the Spear?"

"Aye," Elbren nodded, "Ulmo warned me that it would be dangerous and the energy unleashed might be deadly to the one who strikes the blow." Elbren then quickly sat down and leaned forward expectantly, a gleam in his eye, "Now that you've remembered where you saw Falin, I am beginning to see how this might all be stemming from. I do not believe that Saruman meant to share Middle Earth as its conqueror, no more than Sauron did. Had they been victorious, the two of them would have eventually warred between themselves. Saruman was no fool; it is my belief that he began long...long ago to build an army in the East, ere he even gave thought to the Uruk Hai or knew how to fashion his own breed of orc. Who knows how large the Red Hammer army is? It could be vast, Tempest."

"You are so optimistic at times that it's startling," Tempest said, but she had a smile behind her statement. "What would you have us do?"

"Deal with first things first, I suppose," Elbren grinned back and then frowned again, "we shall do Ulmo's bidding. We will formulate our plan while Dirk retrieves the Spear and while we await word from Rho and Erinhue and their task at Orthanc." Elbren pointed to a map that was unfolded upon his desk, "we can cross the Anduin either above or below Nen Hithoel. We must move with stealth and avoid detection. An open fight might very well get us all killed--"

"Who will go?" Tempest interrupted.

"I shall ask for volunteers, of course," Elbren replied. "I will go...alone, if necessary. In fact, it might be best to split into two groups and try both paths. What do you think?"

"What of Saruman's spirit"?

At that question, Elbren's face went slack, "Aye...well....when I was told of his manner of death, I wondered if he would called to the Halls of Mandos or be doomed to wander aimlessly, much like Sauron did after the Fall of Numenor. Only the body perished....."

"It hasn't been long enough for him to rise again, if that is even the case, though...."

"No, perhaps not....but what if Saruman made a talisman of sorts with his spirit within it and perhaps THAT is what was in the box?"

"And now it resides upon Amon Lhaw."

"Drawing power from the Falls and growing every minute," Elbren nodded gravely.

Spirit of Saruman, Part Two