The Messengers

Two months earlier a small troop of men had left the White Tower of Gondor, Minas Anor, 'Tower of the Sun'. Their mission was to escort two messengers to 'Imladris' bearing a message to Prince Valandil and the Lady Cathirwyn from King Meneldil, inviting them to Anor, for further "training and study" for the young Prince. They were to then escort and guide the Prince's retinue, including what house retainers he felt necessary to bring, back to Minas Anor.

 Curious as to the disposition of High King Isildur's body, even more so the One Ring, they were to travel up the great river Wilderland now renamed the 'Anduin', keeping a close watch on the banks for any signs of fallen King's body. Crossing the Misty Mountains at the Redhorn Pass then dropping back down to Rivendell. In the area of the Gladden Fields, their troops had split, half to a side, covering both banks of the river.

 They'd come upon and been attacked by a large force of Orcs. The Orcs, after surprising and defeating the force on the west bank, had crossed over at night using hastily built rafts, attacked and defeated the second force. The only survivors were the two messengers. Beaten, starved and driven with whips the two were brought in front of the Orc's Captain, A Black Numenorean,  in a chamber deep in the heart of the northern Misty Mountains, hidden even from the Goblins of nearby Mount Gundabad. Goblins being Orcs who had lived below ground for so many generations that they had evolved shorter, squatter, bodies and larger eyes better adapted to the dark. The Orc's chieftain had already won some Goblins to his banner. Trained by Sauron before his fall, in the dark arts, he used his knowledge and tools to set his plans in motion.

  The Hidden Hall

    Uduthar, one of Sauron's top lieutenants, had escaped from the fall of 'Barad-Dur' during the end of the seven year siege. After hiding in the Black Mountains for a few years, he and a small band of Orcs raided 'Minas Ithil', Tower of the Moon. Built by Isildur near the end of the second age to keep watch on Mordor, only a small force remained, many having returned to their homes in Gondor. Finding a light garrison, they'd scaled the defenses by night and killed everyone they found. Uduthar's goal had been to steal the 'Palantir', one of the Seeing Stones of the Kings of Numenor, that was kept there. Having learned the use of Palantirs from Sauron he planned to steal and use one to find the One Ring, take command of the Goblins of Mount Gundabad and drive the Dwarves  out of Khazad-Dum, thereby controlling a large central area of Middle Earth, along with the rich mines of the Dwarves. Then kill off the Heirs of Elendil. With that done, he'd rule the whole of Middle Earth for himself.

  Uduthar laughed as the two Gondorian messengers were thrown at his feet. The two men were beaten and starving, he found this amusing. Weak, weak! The weaker the better! Now to overthrow their minds with my black arts! In their weakness I will bind them to my purposes! Though he'd failed to find the One Ring, he felt it was only a matter of time. His plan was coming together! He hadn't planned to move against House Elendil yet, but here was a perfect opportunity. The stolen palantir had shown the Kings orders to the messengers. He knew what they looked like and where they'd be when he wanted them. At the least, it would provide a distraction to Men and Elves.

 "W-Why do we yet live?" asked Paulin, soldier of the King, in a near whimper. His fear had grown in him as he'd been abused again and again on the nightmare journey. Upriver from the Gladden Fields to and across the High Pass. From High Pass to the area known as the Ettenmoors, From there turning up a short ways into the mountains. Driven by the lash and drug by his bound hands and finally carried over some foul Orc's shoulder. Uduthar just laughed at him. Langdos, the other messenger answered him instead "Tis for foul sport, I'd wager." he was surprised that they'd not been harshly disciplined, whipped or beaten, for speaking.

 Uduthar sprang towards them, sickening insanity showing plainly in his eyes and on his face. Grabbing the two bound men by their hair he pulled them together as he leaned close, foul breath gagging the men, and hissed, spittle flying with a maniacal gleam in his dark eyes. "You sssshall sssserrrve me, I have a plan for you!"

  Langdos spit in his face "Never! Spawn of stinking slime!" Uduthar jerked back his arm, hate scrawled across his ugly face then gathered his control once again, lowered his arm and slowly he leered, again leaning close.

    "No, no my pretty prey, I will leave no mark, but I allow you the privilege to watch my work." he whispered in his hate. Crossing to a waist high dais, he whipped aside some foul covering from an object which lay upon it. Both men recognized the Palantir for what it was, though neither had seen one before. Uduthar slapped his claw like hands to either side of the Palantir and made great show of calling it to life, throwing back his head, a grinning rictus of effort contorting his sneer, his body somewhat squatting with successful effort.  Great fear permeated the chamber and all manner of evil images spun to sight within the Palantir as it blazed to life.  A horrid cry filled the chamber from the Palantir itself as the face of the Witch King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgul, spun into sight within the now fiery ball.  Short, bright blue discharges, like lightning, struck out unpredictably while staying anchored in the ball. Turning his face towards the guards, head still thrown back, 

    Uduthar grunted and jerked his head and shoulder towards the Palantir, indicating Paulin with his sneer. Two pounced on him, jerked him half to his feet and drug him to the Palantir, laughing, while averting their faces as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Cell of the messengers

Paulin landed in a heap against the back wall of the cell, he lay with one shoulder and head, neck stretched, up against the wall. Langdos shuddered, he'd been forced to watch Uduthar's overthrow of Paulin's mind, spirit and body with the Palantir to weaken, then using his sciences. Transfixed by the Palantir, held off the ground by Uduthar's mad will alone, suspended. 

    At some point, Paulin had stopped screaming to stare open mouthed, eyes glazed in horror. Uduthar had finally released him. Paulin had fallen to the stone floor like an empty wineskin  . Langdos last sight of him had been as the Orcs had dragged him, Langdos, from the chamber. Paulin still laying slack while Orcs had poured some vile liquid down his throat. He'd been thrown in this small stone cell, joined by Paulin a few minutes later.

    Now Paulin lay where he'd landed, slack and empty of all animation, other than dried tear tracks cutting a trail down his face through the dirt and blood, and saliva leaking from the lower corner of his mouth. He looked dead, or worse, like his very soul had been jerked away. No sound and no movement from him. He just laid there. Langdos hadn't been able to see what had showed itself in the Palantir, with the first screeching that'd come from it he'd recognized the call of the Nazgul from battles with Sauron before his fall.  A Black Wraith! He'd thought them banished to some hell with Sauron's fall. Was the Palantir able to call them back? Or make some kind of contact with them?

    Surely Uduthar wasn't all that powerful, though Langdos  thought him obviously mad. He squeezed his eyes closed and panic threatened to overwhelm him again, he clenched his teeth to keep it at bay a little longer. Trying to stop his sudden shakes. The cry of the Nazgul still echoed in his head. He clenched his jaw tighter. Those cries had chilled him to the marrow of his bones! He'd soiled himself in fear. The Nazgul's voice had called a long time, draining his will to fight back against their, he and Paulin's, tormentors. And from other things he'd heard and the Orc's laughter, it must have been bad! Worse than he or anyone could imagine. Though probably useless, he moved to see if anything could be done to help Paulin. The smell of excrement cut through the damp and moldering smell of the chamber. Langdos was scared to death. He knew he was next.

  Uduthar's Mischief

Uduthar ordered the two messengers released on the east side of the mountain range, below the Ettenmoors . Their altered consciousness held mental triggers, that would alter their actions when they delivered their message to Prince Valandil. 

    They would remember everything up to being captured, and still own enough personal volition to finish the journey to Rivendell. And if successful, memories wouldn't matter. If they weren't then they'd be dead. There was no way to lose! The message from King Meneldil would seem to be one of death. If they killed the Prince then so much the better, if not, then perhaps their actions would foster a war between Valandil and Meneldil. Any distraction should grant him the time to be sure the war he'd begun would be past stopping.

    His war had began well. He'd heard rumours of Goblin passages in an inaccessible section of the Northern Misty Mountains. Using his stolen Palantir, he'd located the opening and the blocked entrance to it's chambers. After driving his small army to clear the entrance,  he'd entered the hidden passages, and using the Palantir, he'd gained much of secreted treasures. Using these  caverns for his base, he'd then sent his combined army against the Stone Giants. They'd lived so long in the Northern Misty's, North of High Pass and south of the Ettenmoors, that no one could remember when they hadn't been there. Keeping mainly to themselves, rumor had it they played some bizarre game with boulders in small valleys. The sound of which had been mistakenly thought to be a thunderstorm. They were a folk tale to most people of Middle Earth, no creditable witnesses having ever been produced. So far the only glitch in his plans had been a party of dwarves crossing into Arnor when the war had started. They'd been almost out of the pass when his army had hit the giants with catapults and arbalests set in secret on the southern side of the pass. 

    With the giants bombed by rocks, huge bolts and flaming chunks of wood or anything else that would burn, they'd taken losses. They countered with boulders, taking small toll of his forces. Then withdrew into the interior of their demises. Uduthar had sent some of his forces after the dwarves. His captains reported none had survived. The hunt for the giants had continued.

  The message delivered

Captain Gandemere, trusted retainer of House Elendil and veteran on the War of the last Alliance, had been called to the entrance of Rivendell. Arriving there he was introduced to two men at arms from Gondor, messengers from King Meneldil. They introduced themselves as Langdos, the tallest and the shorter Paulin. He offered water from a nearby rill. As they drank waiting for Prince Valandil and Master Elrond, he looked them over with a practiced eye.

    They wore the soldierly of Gondor, a heavy long sleeved shirt of linen with a sleeveless tunic of wide leather strips. riveted and sown. Both had born bows, knives and swords, which they'd laid aside by request. But it was the hard use of their gear that rankled. Even battle shouldn't have caused that kind of wear on so short and easy a trip. Many gouges, rips and tears, especially on the lower front of their leather breeches, grabbed his attention and made him wary and alert.

  "A rough trip? Were you beset by Orcs, wolves, or men?" he asked the taller. Langdos turned his haunted gaze to him "Yes, Orcs." he replied. "They hit our patrol above Loeg Ningloran in strength as has not been seen since the fall of Elendil's heir. Our comrades sacrificed themselves to win our safety. This we greatly rue," sounding flat and expressionless.

    Loeg Ningloran, The Gladden Fields again! That's the same area where Isildur and the three oldest boys were killed,  mused Gandemere to himself. Stroking his sun bleached thick moustaches, he asked, "and how grows the White Seedling?"

    "Well and quickly." answered Langdos. "May the sun shine long on Gondor." Still not the response Gandemere expected from him. Even exhausted, there should be some emotion in his voice.  Gandemere studied the many dark stains on their breeches and tunics. He'd seen enough of that to know what it was. Master Elrond had arrived and now spoke with the messengers. Gandemere stood to the side, still pondering (the marks on their lower legs, drag marks?)  A warning bell was tolling at the back of his mind as Dournil and Valandil approached the messengers. Valandil slid him a glance with his sea grey eyes, he knew something was amiss! 

    Gandemere knew that there were a couple elven archers high in the rocks behind them, but, By the One! It had been a long time since he'd been caught with his breeches down! The dried blood stains still bothered him.

    "Rise messengers of Gondor, Greetings! What tidings do you bear? I am come to hear you." Prince Valandil spoke to the bowing men before him. Closer study had revealed the men wore the leather boots and breeches common to the soldier of Gondor. The dark stains, rips and gouges showing extremely hard use. Something about the stains, though. The two straightened before him.

The taller of the two spoke. "Prince Valandil we bear a message from Meneldil, King of Gondor". As these words left his mouth, the two men twitched as if a spasm suddenly took them. The shorter's left arm flashed in a quick downward snap, showing a long Gondorian dirk. Even as his knees buckled, he turned the bending of them to a quick lunge towards Valandil, bringing the dagger in to a straight on stabbing posture.

      Valandil's long rigorous training took over. Quicker than thought Valandil's left arm, held loosely by his side flashed up to the handle of his eket. Closing on the pommel, thumb forward, as his hand passed, turning the move to a forward draw. The wrist bent down bringing the flat of the short sword against and covering his inner forearm, as his arm reached eye level, extended out and up from the elbow, blocking the oncoming dagger up and away. With a step in and to the right, without changing his grip, he plunged the eket into the man's lower right rib cage. With his right hand, he grabbed the man's tunic to further immobilize him for the strike. The messenger, Paulin, stopped in his tracks as an arrow from the top of the rock wall behind the messengers thunked solidly into the man's seventh vertebrae.

    The messenger of the King gasped a torturous breath as he slumped into Valandil's arms. Horrified at result of his actions, though they'd been necessary, Valandil barely managed to retain his grasp on his eket as the body fell at his feet. The other body lay at Captain Gandemere's feet, on it's face, a dagger in it's out stretched hand, an arrow protruding from a similar spot. Gandemere nudged his man with a boot, satisfied, he bent to wipe his hunting knife on the dead man's jerkin, pointedly not stepping in the pool of blood beneath the body's throat, then returned it to it's sheath at his back.

    Valandil stood rooted to the spot, as reaction set in. He fought to keep his knees from trembling, holding his bloody sword, staring at his handy work. There was silence for a long moment. Two elven archers swung in to view from the shrubs and trees that had concealed their position on the wall. Elrond's covert hand signal stopped them there, his nod told them the danger was over. They didn't relax but waited where they were at, poised and ready.

    Elrond turned back to Valandil, who stood holding his sword slightly away from his body, flat turned so that he could see the blood, face white with after action shock. Elrond, being wise in the craft of men and battle spoke in a soft firm voice "Prince Valandil are you well?" to break the spell.

Valandil turned to him, drew a shaky breath and replied "Yes Master Elrond, I am well. I thank you for your concern, and you?" Valandil asked automatically.

    Elrond smiled easily," No threat was offered us," indicating Valindil's mother, who smiled and turned away, ashen faced,  a glitter, as if the starting of tears, in her eyes. She lowered her head slightly, settled her skirts with a flip of her hands and withdrew up the path towards her apartments. Now Gandemere stepped forward, his face alight with pride of his pupil, belying the concern in his eyes.

    "By the One! Well done my Prince! Your training and reflexes serve you well! He glanced at the blood on Valindil's sword and back to his face. Valandil bent and quickly cleaned it on the dead man's clothes, returning it to it's sheath. He was now blooded. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Evening Council

    Valandil took some time to reflect on recent events at his favorite pool, back against a large, shady tree, with his legs sprawled comfortably out in front of him. Instead of his usual schedule of a quick breakfast, hand to hand and weapons practice, a quick dunk, and on to lessons with Dournil, things had gotten serious, unexpectedly, with the messengers.

Dournil was off making examinations of the bodies with Captain Gandemere, leaving Valandil an opportunity to pull himself together. Gandemere had told him of the brief conversation he'd had with the messengers. The taller saying they'd been attacked by Orcs around the Gladden Fields.  Gandemere had stated that he did believe that the two were sent from the King.  So, was Meneldil trying to get him out of the way? Perhaps the title and lands of High Kingship were playing on his mind. Royal assassination wasn't unknown, Valandil just had some major doubts about Meneldil trying something like that. They were related after all.

    Gandemere did say something about the dried blood stains and particular marks on their clothes, as if he was seeing something subconsciously, but couldn't quite get a grip on it. Someone was going to have to make a trip to Minas Anor.

It probably won't be me though. Valandil thought to himself. It wouldn't make much sense for me  to walk right into the den of the lion, if said lion was actually trying to kill me!

    Then there was the matter of his first blooding! He wished fervently that his first kill had been other than a man. An Orc, for instance, would have done nicely. How many times had he dreamed of battle and great deeds? To be as great as his brothers and father! Well, he thought, he'd been told training counted. And today it had probably saved his life!

Then he'd stood in front of the people who'd trained him and stared at the blood, bodies and his own sword like a troll at a bath! Fool! Ten kinds of fool!  Some of those people even looked to him for leadership! What was it Elendur had told him once? "Self recriminations may be healthy, sometimes, but too much of anything can turn to poison, recriminations included. Learn from your mistakes, don't make the same one again." He prayed to Iluvatar he wouldn't.

    People were counting on him to step up to a high position of responsibility, the highest, in fact, he had better be up to it. Thinking of 'better,' it was time he'd better go see what was happening. If nothing new about recent events had come to light, there was always firewood to cut and carry,  gear to mend or clean,  supplies to store away, or a dozen other daily tasks.

    It was after the evening meal when Valandil appeared at the evening council. Present were all the leaders of the House Elendil and Rivendell, as well as advisors and captains. Customarily, Elrond's people sat to his right and left in the first three chairs, on each side, with Elrond sitting at the tables head. House Elendil sat on the right, usually taking four chairs. Others sat where they would. The room itself was sparsely furnished, though the walls were hung about with weavings and other works of art, bringing a warm feeling to the room. The table itself was a long rectangular affair, of closely fitted planks, planned and finished and waist high to a common man.

    Valandil took a deep breath as he entered and nodded to those present, but kept his silence. He took his place between his mother and Dournil. These councils were held regularly, but no one had to tell him there would be one held this evening.

    His mother looked like she had something to say, he could see by the way she held herself, straight and firm of jaw. Her hand lay on the table beside him, he covered it with his own and she smiled at him as she grasped his and held on. "I saw my life flee before my eyes today," she said. Before she could continue, Master Elrond stood, cutting short anything else she might have said.

"Good Eve, we have much to discuss, as well as new developments. I ask first for a report on the Gondorian messengers." Dournil and Gandemere exchanged a quick look, Dournil stood then and began.

    "After examination of the bodies." he went on to tell of the bruises and curious marks found under the two men's clothes, as well as patches of dried blood on the clothes along with gouges and scrapes. The examiners had concluded that 1; They had been in battle; 2; They were messengers from Gondor, as they'd had their papers in their pouches. 3; There was evidence to show they'd been dragged, but there was no evidence to show they'd ridden horses, and none of their gear was the type used when riding (such as the longbows they'd both carried.) 4; They'd in all probability been whipped. Very little more could be ascertained.

Now Master Elrond stood again. "After the events at the gates, I sent some patrols"..... Steps were heard from the outer room. The door stood to right of Elrond's position, at the table head. Valandil couldn't see what was happening. Elrond nodded to someone in the outer room and continued, "A patrol of the area to the North, along the river, turned up a dwarf in bad shape. He has had a chance to refresh himself and wishes to address us," Elrond said, turning to look steadily at Valandil. This drew everyone's eyes. Valandil tried not to blush and look embarrassed.

    By the One! he thought to himself, as he felt the blood rise, they look upon me as if I had something to do with it! A Dwarf probably meant something official. His interest was suddenly peaked.

    Elrond gestured at the doorway and in came a sturdily built dwarf, dressed in a dark green cloth shirt, with a much blackened leather vest embroidered with runic designs, after the fashion of their people. An empty scabbard hung at his side, while a wide baldric still hung about his shoulders with a most curious, but empty sheath hung on the back. Valandil, as well as most everyone in the room knew what that usually held. The dwarf had a long, brown, curly beard, hanging to just above his belt, and wore a brown hood. His boots showed hard use, singed and filthy. His face looked haggard and drawn.

    Standing where all could see, he directed a fierce glance about the room, making his beard and shaggy eyebrows bristle, passing then coming back to lock on Valandil. Valandil met his glance, and nodded in greeting. From the other room, Elrond produced a high chair for him to sit on, and moved his own chair to the far wall.

    "We are all friends here, please be seated and at your ease," Elrond said, indicating the chair. Before sitting, the Dwarf stated, looking at the elves and men about the room, "I bring sad tidings of battle and war to this house." Shocked silence filled the room, nothing moved but dust motes, floating on the gentle currents of air. The Dwarf turned to Master Elrond, who in turn nodded, gesturing to the high chair. "Please" he said. The dwarf nodded and sat, feet off the floor, but head and shoulders close to the same apparent level above the table with the rest of the people gathered.

    Finally, the Lady Cathirwyn, from a decanter in the middle of the long table, set about by empty flagons, demurely drew forth a measure of wine, and rising with all grace, set it by the Dwarf's right hand. He nodded to her. "My thanks good Lady." She only smiled, returned his nod with a small dip in curtsey and returned to her seat.

   After slaking his thirst, the Dwarf began, "I am Huthorin of Dain's Folk, Lord of Khazad-Dum. Four days ago, I left our halls for a mission of trade in central Arnor. With me were fourteen of my folk. I am the only survivor.

Huthorin's Tale

    "We left the halls of my people, entering into the thick clouds for which those mountains are named. The door we used, little known and secret, lies near the Eastern side of High Pass. From the top of the pass the wind blew clear our view and before us was the great beauty of Northern Arnor. We were midway down the Eastern slope when, a sound like none we have heard before caused us to look behind, and we saw mighty balls of flame crossing the sky from the Southern crest of the pass, and with great impact, strike the far Northern slopes. A rumbling shook the ground beneath us, and on the Northern side we saw the Stone people in the distance. They threw boulders and sailed flat, wide slabs of rock, like leaves at their enemies.

    These stone People were like none we have seen before. Tall and dark, we were hard put to note details. We knew not who their enemies were, nor the manner of their attack! Some of these slabs and boulders bounced and rolled down both sides of the pass. Several bounced over and rolled close by us, some missing by the narrowest margins. We ran. One slab, passing near in wild career, smashed into a promontory on the North side before us. A great rent was made, and near the bottom, a passage was revealed." Huthorin paused for breath and drank deeply from the flagon beside his right hand. Everyone in the room took a breath.

    "We did not stop at this time, but continued until we found shelter. After awhile the rumbling of falling rock, the flaming hiss of fireballs abated, but we did not venture forth until late in the day.

    We then investigated the opened tunnel. Imagine, if you can, the surprise and dread that we, builders and citizens of great Khazad-Dum, felt at seeing passages so near, yet not of our craft! Ten of our number elected to enter, promising to return before sleeping. We outside waited and slept and waited again, they never returned. Some, myself included, ventured a short ways in. There was no sign. We made ready to leave, intending to return to our halls.

    We started at sunset, but hadn't got very far when Orcs began coming down the pass, screaming and yelling, waving their weapons about. Once again, we ran, for there were many upon many times more than us! We thought to make our stand in the passage opening, for it could be defended by a few, but as we came to it, Goblins began pouring forth like a black spilth, and so we ran down the pass. Only By great craft and cunning did we manage to lose them in the dark. Come the morn, we found ourselves far from the pass and mountains, having gone straight North, into Arnor.

    We began the return to our halls, intending to use the East gate, but before we came near, Rock Trolls appeared before us so suddenly that they must have been laying about on the ground, in wait of us. Once again we ran, but none can stand against Rock Trolls. Nay! Not even could we fight back against an enemy so large, without at the least, bows! But we fought as we might. Still we were overwhelmed, The trolls smiting down the last two of us, and rolling us over and about. I, bashed into an early sleep by a troll, knew nothing, until, upon waking, saw Orcs bearing down from a distance. My cousin and kin lay killed nearby, I fled south, winding up where your people found me near the river.

    His face was downcast, eyes stared at the table in front of him. He lifted his flagon, this time draining it to the bottom. "That is my tale. I come before you to bring warning and ask you all to honour old friendships and vows. To ask aide. To ask Prince Valandil, heir of Elendil to intervene in some fashion. To do what he might to end this madness."

House Elendil's reply

    Valandil collected his thoughts. Of course House Elendil would honour Huthorin's request!, This is part of a Great houses responsibility, after all. To answer request's for aide from, not only allied peoples, but the common, everyday people who needed their assistance. Elendil's idea was that there should be none in great need of the basics necessary to life, food and shelter. If nothing else, a man could enlist in the military forces, so collect the dues of a soldier. There weren't enough people in Middle Earth, Valandil reflected. vast area's were uncivilized wilds. Only a few roads had been built, nothing more than paths, often enough. Now Valandil turned his thoughts to the recent happenings. Was there a connection between the messengers actions and the dwarves report of war? And who was involved? What reason for war, any war? That's a simple one. thought Valandil. Some one wanted what some else had! Who? He could only see one way to answer that, ride! Now to make answer to this dwarves request in a manner befitting a great house. The initial answer was simple. Valandil had been taught that, in matters of state craft such an answer should be made in the high speech of Numenor. The room full of people waited for Valandil's answer, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. 

    "Valandil, Prince and Heir to House Elendil" Valandil said with a courteous bow to the dwarf by way of introduction. Valandil continued. "What new power arises? The Witch-King has long been smote to mortal ruin in the North, and the East has host the fall of Barad-Dur a few short years ago! Aye. House Elendil stands ready to assist how it may. Though the seat of power is far from here, in Minas Anor and Ithilien, I will do what I may! My house here, has few soldiers. No more than a company. But we will assist you as we might. I personally will ride to High Pass, to see what might be done. Messengers will be sent to your King, if you wish, and also to Minas Anor." replied Valandil, meeting the dwarf's eyes.

    "That is well," replied the dwarf, "your answer honors your Fathers and vows of old." Valandil nodded and returned to his seat. Now, Master Elrond rose, Since he already had met the dwarf, no introduction was necessary. "My house, also stands with yours, Prince Valandil," he stated, facing Valandil. Elrond then turned to Huthorin and said. "And by your people, Huthorin. Orcs and Rock Trolls so near to the civilized lands affects our three races. Gondor is far off and would be most of two turns of the moon to send a message and receive reply," this, with Prince Valandil's agreement, my house will undertake." Valandil nodded agreement. "So it falls to us to make do of this situation. Now, let us make what plans we might."

  Plans within plans

    It was just before first light when Valandil left his apartments. Last night the Captains had been sent to check men and equipment. They were to make their reports this morning. A group of horsemen would leave as soon as possible, to try to scout the situation. Only so many horses were available, the men of this land were more used to their feet, than horseback, and could make eight leagues a day fully loaded, in no hurry, twelve leagues a day for a short over all march. This march would be a long one, so perhaps ten would be acceptable. One thing in their favour were the wains could be pulled by horses, instead of by hand, Elrond had some large work animals in his stables.

    Valandil's men totaled a weak company. Elrond had four full companies that could be called up in a couple days time. Last night Elrond had wanted to take all these elves with them. Valandil wanted men and elves to share the risk equally, so had requested that Elrond match his men with an equal number of elves. That hadn't really been settled, Valandil expected to hear more from him about it. Valandil knew what Elrond thought of the strengths and weaknesses of men in general, and Isildur's personal will power. He, Valandil knew it wasn't much. Not after a long and bloody war to win the One Ring of Power, then stand at the brink of Orodruin and refuse to throw it in, claiming it for himself. And which had at the least contributed to his overconfidence, allowing his downfall. Regardless of what anyone thought, Valandil still thought highly of his father. He suffered none to speak ill of him in his presence.

    Speaking of Elrond, he was sitting, or waiting (probably for Valandil) on a bench near the hall of council. Valandil nodded and smiled tightly.

    "Good Morn, Elder Elrond" Valandil greeted Elrond as he approached. Valandil knew he was going to have to watch how he handled this encounter, he knew that their relationship was going to change, had already begun to, in fact. Valandil was going to have to assert himself from now on. Use of titles were a large part of this, he needed to make his position clear to one and all who's house this was, Elrond's of course and who the Prince of Arnor was and the difference between the two. Valandil had absolutely no intention of usurping Elrond's place, especially in his own house, but wouldn't be either puppet or step, at the same time.

    Though one couldn't tell by looking, Elrond noticed the different greeting right off. Perhaps he was going to try to sit hard on Valandil. Valandil sat on the bench next to Elrond. Better to get it out and over! thought Valandil. They needed to be allies in the coming weeks.

    "Well met and Good Morn, Young Prince". It seems Elrond thought a return shot was called for! 'Young Prince' indeed! Elrond was usually quite careful addressing Valandil, especially so since he had come to age! "I'm glad we have this chance to meet privately, there are high matters of which to speak!" The tension was palpable. "I would like to call attention to your 'message' from King Meneldil." Blind sided! I wasn't thinking of that. Thought Valandil. Quickly, before Elrond could continue, but not so that he seemed rude, Valandil spoke.

    "I have spent much time on this matter. It seems to me that King Meneldil has a large realm, and knowing him some what, I don't believe that his message would be murder. I would've expected mayhap an invitation of a kind. Not an attempt to eliminate. I know not what to think of the event. I find it puzzling at the least. Effort must be made to answer this riddle. I must, at some point go to Minas Anor, but the current crisis must be dealt with firstly!"

    "I believe you may have the right of it." Replied Elrond. "This message needs be answered at some future point. Perhaps, that would be your most pressing issue? I myself, would undertake to lead this host to the Northern Misty's. Then thou could travel to Minas Anor, for the enmity of Kings is no small thing! Failing that, travel to the pass with the host, then cross over and travel down the great Anduin, to Minas Anor. A report of the happenings there, could be made, in person, to the King, and the setting to rights of his message! I would council taking senior retainers of your house, as well."

    Valandil made reply. "I feel most strongly that my travel to Minas Anor would be laying aside my responsibility as Prince of Arnor! When one, no matter of race or creed, comes to me for aide I may not step aside or put back an answer! Or deed. My personal feelings and relationships must be set aside, until the crisis is abetted. Then may I follow my own volition." The sky to the East was lightening.

    Elrond's reply was a few moments in coming, as he looked over the new day. "It seems you have learned well your duties. I mean no insult, but I must speak plainly! You are young and inexperienced in matters pertaining to war and strategy. I feel a more experienced leader is needed, to pursue this matter to it's successful conclusion!"

    "I know you have thoughts and feelings of this nature. Mayhap, I even perhaps know somewhat of your reasoning. My father betrayed your trust in claiming the ring! I am not my father! I would destroy it, if I had the chance! All who touch or come upon it are tested, but they do not hate! Nay! It has taken my Father, and brothers with him! My hate for this evil knows no bounds or limits!" spoke Valandil becoming louder, passion jerking him to his feet, as his anger at the cause of his great loss came over him. Taking a deep, settling breath, his anger eased, face smoothing once more. He sat down once more.

    "Let not your hate of this thing, or he who made it, rule your actions. Do not blame your father for what he could not control. Do not blame myself for not stopping him, I tried! In times of stress and action, cool heads must reign. Keep your hate, but let it not over rule the sense 'The One' the one has granted you in this life." Said Elrond.

        They sat, lost in thought for a few minutes. The sun wove fingers of deep colour through the tree's outside of the valley as the upper edge started to come up to the horizon, the sky showed no clouds. Golden light started to fill the valley.

    Elrond turned to Valandil on the bench, and put his hand on his shoulder, smiling a bit. "You have been as a son to me. I was glad to take on your wardship, for as you know, your father and I were great friends and comrades. It has been exciting and rewarding to watch you learn and grow. The people of both our houses have great respect for you. You are a young man, strong, hale and proud. But, thought Valandil.

    But, perhaps, this situation calls for more experience and wisdom in a leader." said Elrond. Valandil offered a small smile and turned to watch the sunrise. He was quiet with his thoughts, is this the last quiet before the storm? He turned back to Elrond, for the first time , he addressed him as "Uncle, always I have heeded your council, now I have reached a crossroad, I must take up the mantle of my destiny, I must follow in the steps of my Fathers! I must use the skills I have learned. Huthorin came here and to my face asked directly for my help. I will lead my men, be it folly or no. I would like, Nay! Need your backing and council, as well as an Elven army to march with us. But only the same number as I have men." He turned then, and the full golden glory of the sunrise washed over them.

    Finally Elrond stood, "Prince Valandil, I must away to prepare for the council, perhaps some thought will bring new sight for both of us." Elrond turned away, then stopped and turned back.

    "You begin to remind me of your Grandfather, Elendil, perhaps my greatest friend. He would be proud of you this day, I believe." Elrond smiled a sad smile, Valandil was gazing into the sunrise and didn't see the love in his eyes. Then the memory of Isildur at the heart of Orodruin claiming the ring washed through him like a filthy tide of black water. His love and peace of spirit fell away like ashes. He turned and walked away. He didn't want to recognize the tears that had started rolling down his former ward's cheeks.

I'm crying thought Valandil. He watched his tears splatter on the cobbles at his feet. To be compared to his Grandfather was probably the greatest thing Elrond could ever say to him. By the One! his own emotions were like trying to ride a dragon in flight! So many things sad in this life, great victory and great loss. No stress and no pressure would indeed be a welcome event! The release of tears brought relief so great that tons of rubble seemed to slide away from his shoulders. After awhile, he wiped his eyes. Someone approached from the direction Elrond had gone. The soft sound of slippered feet came to him, he knew his Mother's steps anywhere. She took the situation in at a glance, the tear tracks and red eyes apparent to her. Granting him space to grow, like mothers everywhere she sat on the opposite end of the bench and spoke not for a long time. They watched the new day together in silence.

  Elrond's worries

    Elrond walked deep in thought as he made his way to the council room. Now the glory of the new day was lost to him. He'd lived a long time, and would live much longer unless he met with an accident or fell in some battle. The House of Elendil had raised all fine warriors, honest, straight forward men of their word. Except. Isildur, claiming the One Ring. The one black spot on his, Isildur's, and the house's history. Elrond could still feel the despair and sadness in his heart, still see it like yesterday. Back lit by Mount Doom's lurid, ruddy, river of fire, the madness on his face, reflected in his eyes as the One Ring whelmed him over. It still took his breath away, blew through his soul and left him weak and light headed. He dreamed about it, most every night. And Elendil's fall, how that had hurt!, like losing more than a brother, like losing a kindred spirit.

    He glanced down at his blue ring of power, 'Vilya', air, in man speech. Made by Celebrimbor and the Mirdain of Eregion in the middle of the second age. Held safe from Sauron by the great Elven King, Gil-Galad and for great service given to himself, Elrond.

    Valandil is growing, if he survived this war, he'd probably be ready to assume his Kingship. Elrond hadthought that Elendil's line strong enough to resist any temptation, that had been proven wrong, of course. Now, as much as he cared about Valandil, he had serious doubts about him. But, after this morning, they were alleviated somewhat.

    Not his strength of arms, or ability to lead or even his sharp mind, his power of will. It seemed all leaders had to face the beck of the One Ring, if his chance came what would he do with it? Elrond knew in his heart that he could allow no one to claim the ring, in front of him, again. He would smite them down! And destroy the evil thing himself! for he had had a chance to claim it, and had beaten it's call. But it was strong. Almost as strong as life itself!

A Mother's love

    Lady Cathirwyn had watched in horror as her youngest son slew the King's messenger only a few feet in front of her. She'd seen the deadly grace and speed that marked the weapons work of the men of the line of Elendil. Obviously, he had it as well. She'd seen the shock on his face as the full import of his deed came through to him. First blooding on a royal messenger! King Meneldil wasn't going to take kindly to it. To think of ruination for her last son happening so young was more than she could bear, she'd had to escape the situation, and settle.

    But after last night's surprising visitor and his story, she was wrung with worry for her house and all it's retainers as well. Valandil had made her proud, last night when he gave House Elendil's answer to the dwarf's request for aide. Now, he sat, after an emotional cleansing, seemingly at peace.

    Had Elrond been at him about Commanding the armies? She thought it highly likely. She could tell Elrond didn't trust too easily, any more. Not after Isildur claimed the Ring. Elrond had much love in his heart for Valandil, she also knew that Elrond was like a trusted elder of House Elendil to Valandil. In time, she thought, would come trust and more respect between the two. Right now both couldn't see the forest for the trees! They'll be shooting more bolts at each other yet. She had had some things to say to Valandil, but changed her mind, she would show everyone that she had the utmost confidence in him, more so show him, but the time wasn't yet, but it was approaching rapidly. It had better be, the host would probably ride in a day or so at the most.

    She rose to her feet and offered her hand to him, along with a radiant smile. Looking up, he grasped it, and returned her smile. "This will be a busy day my son, let us slake our thirsts and fill our bellies. Come away from your drear thoughts and feel the life of the morning!" He rose and took her arm, they moved off down the path.

    The leaders were again present in the council chambers. House of Elendil in it's usual spot on the right. Huthorin sat midway on the left side. Elrond rose to begin, and spoke firstly to all assembled. "Good Morn. I trust that all have had what rest they may, for the elves will be prepared to march at the next sunrise." He now slanted a look to Valandil as he spoke. " Has anyone had further thought on who might lead our combined Host, small as it is? I do strongly believe that experience might well make the difference before our road comes to it's end."

    A thundercloud came and sat on Valandil's brow, and he made as if to rise, before he could, the Lady Cathirwyn rose to speak. Pride in her son at war with the thought of her youngest leaving the security of Imladris; She made introduction of herself to the dwarf. 

    "Lady Cathirwyn, House of Elendil ." Huthorin nodded his respect, acknowledging her right to speak and her title. " Honored guest, My son, respected elders and leaders, I will not say again all the words spoken over the last years, of duty and responsibility, of heirs of House Elendil. Valandil, you have grown into a young Prince to make proud your father and his father before him. For me to let go is hard, but what must be, must be. The Eagle does indeed fledge and must away from the nest in it's own time! How other to rule the sky, to swoop on broad wings and learn to vie with enemies and so cast them and their works down. So for you as well, to grow to flower and bloom to the boldness of your fathers! Well have you learned your high lessons. Well have you learned the studied art of making war and commanding men. Your brothers too, came to this pass and your father before them. Your Grandsire had a House to build for all us. Now the time of your challenges lie before you. How then can I, or any of us, stand in your way longer when my heart speaks of your call to duty?"

    Elrond didn't look happy but spoke no word. Valandil's look gave thanks to his mother. Now Huthorin stood and looked from Elrond to Valandil.

    "Friends," he said with just the right emphasis and a pause to let it sink in, "It seems that Prince Valandil's time to stand forward, has come upon him. I, for one, have heard not but good from the retainers of Houses Elendil and the people of Rivendell concerning the Prince. I look forward to his company and leadership on the road ahead." Huthorin bowed to Valandil. Valandil returned a nod and grim smile. Elrond rose again, asking for the Captains final reports. The route of march was discussed and agreed upon. Agreement made also that they would leave on the morrow. None cared to gainsay Valandil's leadership, so it was that, finally, Prince Valandil would ride to war.

  The High Pass

    The sun approached it's zenith, warming considerably the late spring day. Around the company of travelers, Burgeoning new grass climbed from the last browns of winter and wild flowers of red, yellow and lavender reached for the cloudless blue over head. Brambles showed their red berries and trees threw shade in patches.

    Huthorin had grown more quiet and withdrawn as the days had passed, continuously scanning the landscape, more so as they drew closer to High Pass. Though some men had never learned caution, to their downfall or had cast caution to the winds of change, others had learned from those mistakes.

    Valandil's Captain, Gandemere, had set sentry post's every night, a practice that Valandil heartily agreed with. Hard had come that lesson at the cost of Valandil's family. On the right hand or East lay quickly climbing timbered ridges up to the snow capped peaks of the Misty Mountains. To the left hand lay the low rolling hills of Eastern Arnor, dotted with groves of trees, brambles and thickets. At the head of the Host rode Elrond, on the far left, Dournil, Valandil, Huthorin, and Gandemere on the far right. Behind came the army in four columns, Elves on the left and Men on the right, when possible. Captains and Lieutenants rode while the men at arms walked. Supply wains came behind. Elven scouts ranged ahead and to the sides, out of sight. Though drying from spring rains, the ground was wet enough for small splattering's of mud, which over a days ride, built upon the legs of horses and men and their gear, making necessary nightly cleanings and repairs. Dournil viewed this as a small addition to their company's evening's camps.

"Dryer would be somewhat better, but alas! the beasts step easier for it." Dournil observed. "Aye. At the least heavy rains lay behind us even as we left." replied Valandil, riding beside him. But small work for the hand provides some measure of relaxation to the mind and eye." Turning with a smile, on Valandil's right, Guard Captain Gandemere added "But less work is always well come to a soldier. For there is toil enough in the life of an ohtar. Also, fellowship of others of like mind."

"and the open road." Dournil.

"Stars in the even sky." Valandil.

"Let us not forgo mention of the great moon!" Gandemere.

"Nay! nor the wonders of the sun itself!" Valandil.

Companionable silence reined for a space; then, Dournil began the exchange again, low voiced, lost in memories, facing the horizon, "The distant baying of a beast of an eve."

"Deeds accomplished, great and small."

"Rest, after a hard day's labour."

"Good fare."

"Love."

"Peace...... But 'tis a bore 'ere long for one whose life ha' been riding and fighting, 'tis easier on thews and heart, mark you. Friends stay about longer seemingly." qualified Gandemere, his thoughts on past campaigns. "Memberance of those who have gone to Iluvatar's bosom before us allows life beyond their allotted time."

Valandil turned to his Captain, loss burned in his eye's like a signal beacon for a space , then; "Sometimes choices go awry, but men must ever strive for life, forsooth, the battle lies within as well as without! The hours of the day whiled away in such talk. Huthorin held on to his silence grimly.

  Evening Camp

    They camped that night on a rise, a few leagues from the mouth of High Pass, in an area of hills and vales, wooded low and rocky and wind swept high. Valandil stood out from the camp, in the dark, facing the pass, taking the measure of the night. A three quarters moon stood low on the horizon behind the peaks, backlighting the mountain peaks, making them seem to glow.

    More to his right, directly into the peaks and valleys came the howling of a wolf, very distant. Steam from his cup of mulled, hot wine rose in a tantalizing column around his face, as he sipped it again, more of the pack answered the first wolf. Far to the North, strange flashes lit the peaks of the Misty Mountains. There was no knowing what might make these flashes, a storm? A dragon? Something completely unknown?

Valandil stewed over the messengers. What was the message and orders from King Meneldil? To eliminate him? Valandil shook his head again at the thought. He felt in his heart that some evil had befallen those two men. He promised their memories that he would learn as much of their fate as possible. He felt responsible for them somehow. Did they have wives and children? Parents and Grandparents? While Valandil thought most leaders didn't have time to worry over such things, direct blood relatives were extremely important to him, he didn't have any but his Mother. Family gatherings were quite small.

    He found himself wishing for a way to communicate quickly with Meneldil. A palantir would be just the tool! There was one in Minas Ithil that belonged to his father. Perhaps after taking up the crown of Arnor, and building himself a hall, here, that one could be brought. Time. He knew much of Palantirs. They could only be safely used by the blood lines of Numenor! No others had the strength of will to command them! Madness would be the result of ones weakness. But now weariness of the long ride North began to steal over him.

    Perhaps the morrow would bring some answers. Surely not all, though. But some. Valandil turned back to camp, nodding to the sentry as he passed, he thought over the camp arrangements and could find no fault. The tents stood in orderly array. Fires were kept burning for the sentries since wood was plentiful. They would probably be camped here for awhile, he reflected. The troops would be busy tomorrow, building defenses. Tomorrow he, Elrond, Gandemere, and Dournil, led by Huthorin would ride to investigate the pass area. Seeking answers.

 Situational Assessment

Bad Timing

    Dournil once again approached the end of the plateau. Hiding from the Troll was hard, they weren't fast in this broken ground but could get a scent right off the rock. Also, being so tall, could look right down, over a rock he was hiding behind. Rounding a rock at the back of the plateau, he came in sight of the path again. Orc's from the other small plateau were reaching the top of the path. The Troll he'd shot was nowhere in sight. This was big trouble, and was going to call for desperate measures!

        Reaching the far end, he looked down. A hasty plan popped into his head. He ran back to the rocks. A detonation as if sudden combustion stilled the air momentarily. He didn't have time to wonder at it. The Troll was rounding the outside of the rock to his left front. He crouched, waiting for the right moment. As he rose, there came a second concussion. He sprinted to the right, towards Valandil's position. Orc's began to stream out of the rocks a few rods in front of him, looking to their left.

    His plan wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to get back to Valandil anytime soon, if at all! He slid to a stop as the Orc's spotted him, on their right. Reversing his direction, he ran right into the Troll. Knocking his breath out against the great knee and thigh. The Troll had stepped from behind a rock, not sure of where he was. The Troll raised his great hammer and pounded as the lithe elf sprang left and right, like one tries to swat a mouse or insect, but Dournil was inside his reach. Here the weight of the weapon worked against the Troll for he could not lift and swing so quickly. He missed several times.

    In a frustrated fit the Troll gave voice to a great cry, and swung a two handed lateral sweep. The handle crashed into Dournil's right shoulder. His bow flew out of his hand. He flew back to the rocks. Landing on his side. His collar bone hurt, dimly he wondered if it was broken. His shoulder didn't hurt at all, it was numb!     He lunged to his feet. Blinded by pain, struggling for breath, he stumbled for the edge. Now Dournil had no thought but survival. He stored pain for future retrieval. As he passed his bow he scooped it up, whipped an arrow from quiver to string and drew, as he leapt from the cliff. He rolled sideways in mid air, and curving his shoulders, let fly. The arrow whacked home into the Troll's open, bellowing mouth, disappearing up to the feather. He saw smoke rising from somewhere on the plateau, then the wide sky. There was a brief moment of weightlessness. Then he knew no more.

    Time froze for Valandil. His heart seemed to stop. The Troll's small black eyes and smooth black skin held him as if in a geas. A branch in the strengthening fire crackled as he crouched, breaking the spell of a moment in time. Years later he'd remember that moment, again and again. The Troll lunged at him and he lunged also. Right across the fire. Instinct took over. Knocking the pommel of his long sword on the ground, rolling, he came to his feet. He dodged left before even a look or consideration. The huge hammer crashed into the rock where he'd just been. He couldn't think of a good way to fight a Rock Troll. His Numenorean bow was back at camp.

    He needed reach. He ran. A huge, bare foot slapped down in the spot he'd just vacated. Into the rocks at the back of the plateau, the Troll right behind. This was no good, the Troll would be on him in another moment. He spun around the rock, using his hand on the rock to help sling him around. Now he was heading back the way he'd come. Passing the fire, he grabbed up a couple burning sticks with one hand and the pouch with the other. A rock the size of his head bashed the ground beside him. The Troll had swatted it, off the larger up thrust one he'd just come around. It served to spur him on.

    As he headed towards the Eastern side of the plateau, he saw the machines, covered with liquid from the pouch, and veered left, toward them. The Troll screamed and bellowed with rage. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Troll's hammer cocked back to throw. The hammer whistled through the air as he just dodged, the greasy thong on the handle whipping across his cheek. He thought it probably drew blood. No time to find out.

Unencumbered by the hammer, the Troll was faster and more agile. A pile of debris, he veered towards it, grabbing a smaller log as long as his arm. Arriving at the first machine, he slung the pouch over his shoulder while tossing one burning branch on the machine. The Troll made as if to hug him with both it's massive arms, Valandil ducked. Flipping the one remaining branch over his shoulder, towards the next machine an arbalest, he jumped aside as the Troll slapped it's foot down, trying to flatten him. Quick as thought, teeth bared in a rictus of determined effort, he two handed the log, cocked over his shoulder and pounded one big toe, so hard his feet left the ground. The black, ragged nail split and blood splattered in all directions. Foul, black blood seemed to cover Valandil, he gagged, as the Troll bellowed so loud that the very rock seemed to tremble. Grabbing his injured foot, the Troll jumped on one foot twice, face screwed in pain, then fell on it's side.

    Valandil headed for the arbalest, tucking the log clumsily under his arm. He snagged the flaming faggot as he passed. With a concussive 'BOOF'! he could feel air move as the first machine caught fire. Valandil reached the giant arbalest, but flaming embers or rope from the first, a catapult, were floating down wind towards it. He hoped it would be enough to ignite the second one. Where was Dournil? He ran East.

    The Troll was up and running awkwardly, to see a Troll run was something in itself, the pain and pure murder written on it's face were horrible to see. It covered ground in huge strides, and it was going to catch and kill him, probably by ripping him apart. Valandil was out of breath and out of ideas. His heart hammered madly in his chest, there wasn't enough air. The pouch! There was a little of the liquid left! He had to get rid of the log so he lifted it with both arms over his head, and tossed it, hoping to foul the Trolls feet. Valandil jerked the pouch off his shoulder, or rather tried to, it caught on the pommel of his long sword. He wasn't going to make it! The second machine blossomed into fire just after the Troll passed, staggering it forward, to one knee. This gave Valandil a few more seconds, the pouch came free. He ripped the spout open, splashed some liquid on the burning branch. The branch flared up. Jabbing it through the pouch with all his strength, it passed halfway through. His hand began to throb with pain, the branch was burning him! He took the thong, and with one quick sidearm swing, wound up and let go at the now running Troll.

The Troll fended the pouch away with it's hand. The skin of the pouch, weakened by the corrosive effects of the liquid spilt apart, fairly covering the Troll. Another concussive burst stripped Valandil's hair back. Momentum carried the huge flaming figure forward. Valandil launched himself back out of the charging Trolls way. He landed flat on his long sword, smacking his head down on rock. There seemed to be a scream somewhere in the background. The sky seemed to whirl away, with a stomach clenching quick twist, on the smoke passing over his body.

    Huthorin and Elrond stood back to look at their hand work. The had moved enough that a skinny man might get through. It had taken all they had to get it that far. The keen Elvish senses of Elrond caught a whiff of smoke. Elrond jerked around, motion above the inner pass caught his attention. Smoke clouds from up top of the pass! Huthorin's startled gasp beside him brought their glances to each other. "Trouble there is!" was Huthorin's tense comment. "To the horses!" he added. Elrond nodded and they were running. Elrond got there first. He loosened Huthorin's animal as well as his own, and stood ready to assist Huthorin when his shorter legs should bring him along.

    Away up the pass came a pounding of hooves on the fly, beating eerie echoes off the rock walls. There wasn't much doubt who that was, but they drew weapons anyway. Gandemere hove into view, and upon approaching them, sat back and stood driving the horse into the bit and slid to a stop. Even as his horse sat on it's hocks, he called out. "Orc's!, half-men!, Ware! We must ride!" With out preamble Elrond jerked out a question. "Quickly, man!"

Gandemere answered in all haste. "Just into the inner pass, over the rise, an Orc camp! I was seen as soon as I could see them! By the one! They were warned somehow to be on watch! They follow!" The sounds of a horde coming down the pass reached their ears. Bouncing echoes hiding the harsh, guttural language of the Orcs. Elrond shoved Huthorin up onto his stout pony. "My pardon, Master Dwarf! We must be quick! Elrond vaulted into his saddle without using the stirrups, just grabbed the saddle horn and jerked himself off the ground, throwing a leg over the animals back. Gandemere added. "Only have they seen but a lone man!, best not to see all, nor a sight of any! They have seen naught for some little whiles!" They wheeled their horses about, facing down pass. Elrond gave word to all their thoughts. Then best we ride! They laid heel to flank, with shouts and oaths, launched away down the trail in a cloud of dust and bouncing pebbles.

    As they raced for the mouth of the pass, Elrond shouted to Gandemere. "How many?" Gandemere shouted back. "More than we have!" The brief look he'd had, didn't allow for much estimate. Gandemere knew there were more Orcs in that camp than they had in their army. They reached the mouth of the pass, and they let the horses stretch out.

    Dournil swam back to consciousness. "Must be alive, hurts." he mumbled. He felt cold or numb, he couldn't figure out which. Slowly he opened his eyes. The light revolved sickeningly, throwing an arm over his face, he tried to keep breakfast down. After a few minutes, he tried again. This was more successful. He lay stretched out on his side, half up against a dark, shadowed wall of rock. The cliff above overhung the ledge he lay on. The ledge itself rose at a steep angle, and stuck out past the overhanging cliff. He'd landed on his shoulders/back and rolled down to the inner wall. It was a long time before he tried to move.

    Valandil spun back to reality. The reek of burning flesh mixed with a bubbling and popping close at hand served as a wake up notice. Gingerly he rolled on his side and saw the Trolls body. The stench became ten times worse. He looked around. He spotted a troop of Orcs, to the southeast, in a group, looking over the cliff edge. His mind was starting to function again. Dournil? Over the edge? It seemed the only answer. They might be looking for or at him. Not much activity over there, must be looking for him. His situation crashed down on him. I'm laying here in full sight! He drew in upon himself, hoping that by not paying attention to them, he wouldn't attract their attention. He got up slowly, not looking in their direction. He limped and drug himself back to the cover of the rocks, and sat against a boulder, to gather his wits and breath. They'd probably come looking soon.

    Elrond, Gandemere and Huthorin pulled up at the western lip of the valley. The sun stood straight overhead, Valandil and Dournil were nowhere in sight. The three exchanged worried glances. Words weren't necessary. They faded out of sight, just back into the edge of the timber. They waited for a while before dismounting and settling into watch the valley towards the pass mouth and along their left front for Dournil and Valandil. Elrond naturally took unspoken command. "We shall wait! Gandemere, Huthorin, get some rest. When wars start happening, rest becomes a weapon in itself! I shall watch."

  Just more questions

    Elrond lay in a depression, just at the tree line, underneath a bramble. To his front lay the valley, open to the mouth of the pass, to his left he could see the crest curving away into the distance Huthorin wormed up under the other side of the bush. "How long do we wait?" He asked. "As long as possible, though we must needs return to camp fore the westering of the sun." Elrond replied grimly.

       Overhead the sun stood well past noon. Elrond slid back into the timber, stood and started toward Gandemere. Gandemere sat up as he approached. "What is your wish, Master Elrond?" He asked. He didn't look one bit sleepy, rather he looked wide awake.

    "I wish you to ride for the camp, I expect an attack by those Orcs. They never showed from out of the pass, you know as well as I their hate never wavers! Prepare the camp. Stay put as long as possible. Pull out if you have to. We shall stay and wait here, for Valandil and Dournil. I plan to return by dark."

    Gandemere walked to Myras and started tightening the girth. Then checked the other gear, lifted her legs and checked shoes and feet. He returned to pick up a couple pieces of stray gear where he'd been laying. "I shall ride." Gandemere clasped Elrond's forearm. The look in Gandemere's eyes told Elrond that the Guard Captain was worried. "Be at peace my friend, I will yet live long and so too, our missing friends!" Elrond said, smiling a little.

    "I hold you to that!" Gandemere didn't smile at all. He held Elrond's eyes a long moment. Then without a backwards glance mounted and rode back in to the timber, out of sight. Elrond turned back to the bush, only to meet an unreadable glare from Huthorin. With a sigh he slid back under.

    Now that he'd gotten his breath back, the reality of what he'd survived came crashing down on Valandil. And where was Dournil? What had happened to him? It seems pretty obvious. He was probably gone, Valandil might never know what happened to him. More immediate, he had to move! Those Orcs weren't going to stand about very long. He levered himself to his feet, and peered around the rock. The Orcs were busy still. Good time to go! He trotted towards the trail that led to the ledge around the mountains wall. With a last look around to make sure he wasn't needed by Dournil or being chased, he half slid down to the ledge. He sat next to the trail head, back against the mountain side. Looking out over the pass and farther, he thought about the situation. A glance at the sun showed him he was late to meet the others, at the western end of the valley. Dournil was missing and the area was crawling with Orcs and Trolls. Stay and wait or look for Dournil or go to meet the others? The life of one person couldn't be allowed to stop this report. A combined army's security could very well be at stake. The best he could do for his friend now was pray and hope for a better outcome. He swore he would come back when he could!

    "Great Iluvatar, The One, hear the plea of your humble servant, Valandil. Watch over my beloved Uncle this day and all days. Keep him safe on his travels in this world and the next. Being merely mortal, I ask nothing for myself, only for my friend and mentor Dournil. From the heart I thank you." Valandil raised his head and looked over the great open vista in front of him. An eagle soared on the wind, far away and the scream of it's voice seemed to be a message from The One. Hope and feelings of certainty that Dournil still walked the land brought a sudden burst of strength and joy. Firming his jaw, he rose to read the breeze with his senses. Time to continue on, no matter what had passed.

    Elrond and Huthorin lay under the bush, moving as little as possible so as to not attract notice. Something was happening at the mouth of the pass. A little while back, evil looking men had passed between them and the mountains, going into the pass. They'd been a good distance off to the right, and caught no scent, nor heard them. It was better to know such were about than to be surprised. It was getting late. They'd have to leave soon. Elrond thought there'd be something to see down in the pass soon. Elrond's senses tingled of a sudden. There was no sound but Elrond knew that someone or something was behind him. He turned very slowly.

    Just in sight, back in the timber, two elven scouts crept noiselessly from tree to tree, through the underbrush. Elrond gave a short, quiet recognition signal by pulling his lips in tight against his teeth and blowing sharply. They looked in his direction, and moved in. Crawling up beside him, one of the scouts, Adenelle, spoke. "Master, Well met! Captain Gandemere hath sent us to relieve you and Master Huthorin. We brought no horses and are prepared to stay here as long as needed. What is the situation?"

    "We wait and watch. Prince Valandil and Captain Dournil have not returned from a scouting foray from the top of the pass. Doubtless, the Captain has told you what we observed while in the pass. A short time ago dark men rode in to the pass. I believe they reported on our forces for they came from that direction." filled in Elrond. "Aye. For we found sign of observation on our journey here." reported Adenelle.

    Elrond nodded and continued "Now something goes forward in the pass, we won't have long to wait for activity." finished Elrond. Adenelle nodded. They settled down to wait. They noticed all the creatures of the wood had fallen silent, there was no sound but the sighing of the breeze. There was an expectant feeling laying heavily over the valley. After a span of time, Orcs and a few Rock Trolls began to issue from the pass at a trot. Which way would they turn? Still they came straight on, and still no end to them. Moments passed in trepidation.

    Finally they swung to the left or North. The four watchers exchanged looks of surprise and consarnation. "North?" The four watched them go up an intersecting, smaller valley, that wound through the foothills. After a time all had disappeared from sight. "There are more of them than of us!" Adenelle bespoke the obvious. "But why North?" Elrond reached over to Huthorin. This we needs must find! Come good Huthorin, we must to camp! "We will probably follow with our forces." Elrond spoke to the two scouts. "We shall continue the vigil!" answered Adenelle. "Go with The One!"

    "And yourselves." was Elrond's rejoinder. Elrond and Huthorin slid to the rear, out of sight. After readying their animals, they led them out of sight, into the woods.

    Valandil stood and checked his gear. He began to inch out onto the ledge. He never saw the figure looming up over the top of the trail, at the plateau's edge. Valandil was out of sight of the slope, when he heard someone following along the ledge. Hope flared anew, Dournil? He waited for long moments.

    Another Rock Troll came into sight crabbing along the trail. It's bulk belying it's incredible agility on the small ledge. "Not again!" Muttered Valandil. With a snarl of vicious hate, it unlimbered it's great hammer, and raising it, sprang forward. As it sprang, it completely twisted in the air, landed, bringing it's right arm to the fore. Now it's front faced into the wall, instead of it's back.

    With a resounding crash, it smote down on the ledge, causing it to tremble. Again it sprang, and smote with great impact. Valandil crabbed quicker along the ledge. Driven by fear, he tried awkwardly to draw his long sword. His knuckles rasped painfully against the wall behind him, he lost his grip on the sword's pommel. It fell back into it's sheath. It served as a wake up call. Ignoring the pain, he once again grasped and drew. This time successfully. The Troll,  facing the wall, sprang forward again, then again before striking. This put Valandil well within reach. Fear pounded through him, almost forgetting he was on the ledge, Valandil started to turn to run, stopped himself and took a giant sideways lunge, mimicking the Trolls movements. The hammer came down again. The ledge trembled more violently beneath them.

    Now the Troll changed it's swings, and swung sideways, pounding the wall itself. Shards and chips flew in all directions, cutting Valandil like small daggers. Foiled, the Troll bellowed and seemed to swell with rage and frustration. It swung horizontally again, powering more fragments from the wall. This time Valandil leaped back into the Troll's reach and ran a smooth cut across the underside of it's forearm. Incensed beyond reason, the Troll pounded once and again on the ledge, roaring out it's rage as Valandil sprang back out of reach again. The ledge seemed to flap beneath them, Valandil leaped back in and ran a cut across the top of the Troll's right thigh. Slam! came the hammer again and again and again. Valandil back peddled blindly as shards and chips shot out in all directions. He threw an arm over his closed and adverted eyes for protection. Once more he spied an opening and leapt, the Troll had caught on though, and reached a quick grab over his hammer. The great hand missed by the slimmest margin, as Valandil ducked, using the hammer to shield himself. Too close! The Troll dropped the hammerarm. 

    Valandil had to crawl backwards, shoulders first, butt down, sword clenched in hand and hanging over the edge. Screaming hatred drove the Troll forward, pounding and missing, pounding and missing, pounding and missing. The ledge began to flap violently again, Valandil's last resort was to cock back his sword arm and throw his long sword like a spear.

It struck the Trolls chest and struck deep. The Troll sat down hard. Flapping changed to a rumble as the ledge gave way entirely, sliding down the mountainside. 

    The Troll, had no chance. It fell backwards, tumbling over and over, smashing again and again into the mountain face. It's screams of fear and rage cut off before disappearing from sight. Valandil didn't have time to scream. 

    As the ledge slid beneath him he turned and leapt towards the unbroken section. He caught himself as his already sore ribs crashed painfully against the edge. With his wind knocked away, he clung and scrabbled as his legs swung wildly. Using the momentum of his legs, he managed to swing one up onto the ledge. Halfway up, left hand on the edge, left shoulder below the level of the edge, head above, and right arm and leg on top, he hung precariously.

    By main strength, he began to pull himself up. The knives along the front of his baldric catching and stopping his progress. "Iluvatar's Children!" muttered Valandil as he used his left arm's strength to maneuver his body outward. The knives came free and his body rolled onto the ledge. Valandil scrambled up to a sitting position, and placed his back against the wall.

    For long moments his heart beat so wildly, he thought it would explode! He drew laboured breath between his clenched teeth, his panting sounding like high pitched moans. Slowly his breath returned and he found the fear retreating also. His clenched jaw slowly relaxed as well. "Well," he surmised. "No pursuit from that direction will be possible,... nor will Dournil be able to return." He leaned his head back against the rock and closed his eyes. "I'm getting broke in of a certainty!"

    After a span of time, he arose, and made his way back along the ledge to the slope above the horses. He didn't want to stiffen up, sitting. As he made his way down to the horses, his many aches and pains reasserted themselves. His knuckles hurt from the rock wall and his burned hand throbbed painfully, as the blisters had popped at some unknown point. His check hurt as well, blood had dried on his cheek and neck down into his collar and he stank!

    Trolls blood, the reek of the flammable liquid, burned Troll flesh and his own sweat caused a most vile smell. He could not imagine what he looked like. Dirt, two colors of blood, ashes and cuts. Sore beyond imagining and starting to stiffen, his exhaustion levels reached maximum. Reaching the rock enclosed dell, he managed to find the entrance and fall through, spooking the horses with his smell and method of entry.

    Gandemere studied the map before him. Though it was probably about sunset, the tent flaps had been dropped awhile back, necessitating candles and torches be lit. Shouts from outside, muffled by the tent fabric, brought Gandemere and the others in the tent bolting through the flaps. A lurid red sunset glowed in the West. The sound of horses at canter came from the other direction also. Elrond and Huthorin pulled up in front of the tent, from the lowering dusk. Men came forward to take their reins, as they swung off their mounts.

Wandering feet

Shouts from the soldiers of "The Prince?, The Prince?" and "Valandil?" told of the awareness of the men that he hadn't returned. Men gathered quickly around Elrond as he stopped short of the tent entrance, and turned to them. He held up his hands for silence. The faces he saw in the hastily lit torch light showed fear, love and worry for Valandil. The amount of concern these men held thundered home to Elrond. More than the greatest part of these men had seen the most fearsome battles of their time. Many had known the Prince and his family for years and had volunteered for this duty. The high regard they held him in showed plainly on their faces. Future leader of men indeed! To such love, esteem and loyalty, I must reply!

    "Prince Valandil and Captain Dournil left this morn to scout the Southern crest of High Pass. They did not return to our meeting place. Watchers remain even now. Some activity was noted by we who were down in the pass. So it would seem one or both live yet. We will not abandon them! This I promise! Rest now for we move at dawn." Elrond spun on his heel and entered the tent. But searching would have to wait.

    Elrond was making plans. The camp was rising, the new day was near. He summoned one of his lieutenants, "Overus, find a rested scout, sneaky, and veteran. Preferably one that knows this pass and other side of the mountains, including the river." "I know just the one!" he replied. Then was gone out the flaps. Huthorin entered then, "Fair mornings blessing!" he said as greeting. The stodgy little man didn't smile a bit. Elrond decided to lighten the mood slightly. "Blessing of a fair morn to you, Lord Longbeard!" He said with the best smile he could muster. A glint of humour showed in Huthorin's eye's. "Yes,...well.." Was all he could answer. Elrond swiftly pressed ahead. "We break camp soon, to begin the Northward march." He began. Overus ducked back in the door flaps, looking askance. Elrond nodded to him. Overus turned and half left the entrance again.

    A few quiet words and he turned and came in all the way, clearing the way for another Elf to enter. This one wore the raiment and look of a scout. "Tierowyn, my lord." introduced Overus. The scout that he'd brought was a woman. Long fair hair braided almost to her waist, wound about by a leather thong. An eket, scabbard tied down to her leg above her knee, hung low at her side. A large hunting knife rode the opposing hip and throwing knives the front of her baldric. An Elvish longbow rode her back, along with a full quiver. Dressed in green and brown, with soft leather boots, she gave the impression of being able to disappear at a moments notice. Elrond knew of her skills. She was almost legend.

    Beautiful, hale and proud, she snapped a salute, clenched right fist over her heart with a satisfying thump, back straight, feet snapping together. Elrond didn't much care if it was a he or she, as long as they could do the job! Overus was reading his mind it seemed. "Master, she is fleet of foot, hard to track, and likens to catching the wind! She is the quarry that graduates our students!" Elrond studied her another moment. "You are known to me." he said to her. Then waved her over to the table, indicating the map. "This is your mission." he said to her. She became instantly serious and professional. "You will travel to Minas Tirith, and deliver this report to King Meneldil's hand, personally."

    So saying, he turned to hand her a tightly rolled and sealed small bundle. "Let me give you up to date details of our plans. We march North to follow the Orc forces and discover their mission and leader. I will personally search for Valandil and Dournil, then catch up to our Army. I have sent a message to Imladris for more forces to join us." Now he turned towards her and continued. "I don't have to tell you that this is valuable information. In the event of capture you must do what is necessary to protect it!" He looked deeply into her eyes to see if she understood. Awareness was readily apparent. Indicating the map he asked "How do you plan to travel?"

    She didn't look again at the map. "I will cross thru the mountains farther South, then build a small raft and travel by the Anduin, to Osgiliath. I estimate a half moon of travel, am I to travel alone? Two can ride a raft non-stop, but for necessaries!" Elrond considered briefly, "Have you someone in mind?" "Yes, Lord!" she answered immediately. "Then I leave it to your experience. Leave when you are ready!" She took this as dismissal. "My life for my people!" With a salute she whirled and strode purposefully from the tent.

    Elrond watched her go, and thought to himself, The spirit of a warrior is beautiful to behold, but must have proven a difficult road for any woman to tread. Women warriors are nothing new to Elves and Dwarves, but were much harder for Men to accept. Pity.

    Overus stood nearby. He cleared his throat, seeking Elrond's attention. Elrond nodded to him to begin. "Lord Huthorin seeks council with you my lord." "Now is a good time, show him in." Huthorin strode thru the flaps. "Lord, I wish to take council on our plans." Huthorin stated. "Have you something in mind?" asked Elrond. Only that I wish to go in three directions! What do you plan? Elrond considered briefly then answered. "At dawn our army moves to follow the Orcs. At this time information is what I seek. We will pass well away from the mouth of the pass. At that time I will leave the host to check on the scouts and hear their report, then I will follow the Prince's trail until I find him."

    Care you for another set of hands and eyes? Asked Huthorin. But I am torn between searching for the Prince and Elder Dournil and making sure that not only did my people receive and believe your messenger, but have taken appropriate action. Sending an army is what I believe this situation calls for! "Let us see what the day brings first, Master Dwarf, Then your course will be more clear.

  Moves

    Gandemere was brushing Myras. Speaking softly and slipping her treats. She was all he had for family. He had survived a goblin raid on his village at the age of 14, and had helped lead the surviving women and children to the High King's tower. There he had gained notice of King Elendil and had been offered a position as stable boy. As he matured, he'd joined the army of House Elendil and climbed thru the ranks during the War of the Last Alliance. He'd fought in the battle of Dagorlad, seen the battle in which Anárion had fallen. Then a season later the very earth had cried out when Gil-Galad and Elendil were both lost in the same battle. Yet that day had been the most momentous ever! Isildur struck the One Ring from foul Sauron's hand and felled him, and the siege of Barad-Dur had ended with the breaking of the tower!

    He'd gained a commission as Captain during the seven year siege of Barad Dur. When he'd heard of the disaster of the Gladden fields, he'd applied for and received command of Valandil's guards. He then set about building the company in to a fine fighting force, and made sure Valandil's instincts were properly honed. House Elendil had been his family for so long that he felt that this was where he belonged, swearing to himself that he'd see Valandil come in to his own. He'd never forgotten Elendur and Ciryon's kindness the day they came to assist the survivors of his village. Unfortunately, his blood family hadn't been among them.

    His hate of the dark races knew no bounds and he was glad to kill as many as possible. One day they would kill him, he knew, so he wanted to take as many with him as possible. He hid this hate well, but some could see through his facade. Elrond, Dournil, Valandil, Overus and lovely Tierowyn, to name a few. He wanted to repay House Elendil for all they'd done for him, employment, keep, decent treatment as a mere stable boy all the way up to his present position.

    This is loyalty! Now by seeing Valandil in to his own, he felt that, maybe, if he still lived, when Valandil didn't need him as a Captain anymore he might retire to some small holding and raise horses for him. And here was his first brood mare, he thought patting Myras. It would be hard to find her a worthy stallion!

    He did have one secret, or so he thought, Tierowyn. With a fiery warrior spirit to match his own, he was quickly losing his heart to her. He smiled as he patted. He would have been appalled to learn that fully a quarter of the combined army knew this "secret . " He had been trying to keep it hushed up. She hadn't. Though it was unusual to see elf and man in this way, it wasn't unheard of. Now, a new, unknown threat to peace had raised it's ugly head, and plans of a peaceful life ended. The dark ones again! How many could there be in this world! The sooner killed, the better! His rage began to stir .

    "Fair Morn, Captain." His reverie was broken and he turned to behold a footman of infantry. "Fair morn, how mayst I be of service?" he replied. The man held a folded message out to him. "A message from the scouts, Captain!" Gandemere accepted the message. "My thanks Goodman!" The soldier gave salute and wheeling, marched off. His rage forgotten for the moment, he opened the message and read in a woman's flowing script;

Guard Captain Gandemere

Dear heart, please bring thy golden thisps to the rear of the officers mess with all dispatch. I must away on a mission of length and importance.

T

Suddenly the day seemed brighter, false dawn seemed like noon! And the sun not up yet! He stowed his gear and departed. As he strode through the camp, his mind was far away from faces that turned toward him searching for some sign. A sign of hope or news. Some might have known the direction of his thoughts by the slightly vacant expression and the length of stride. The earliest risers were waking and starting about their mornings as the sky lightened in the east. Soon all would be up and breaking camp. "What news , Captain?" called one of the men, as Gandemere passed. Gandemere didn't answer because Gandemere didn't hear.

    At the officers mess, several junior officers snapped salutes as he passed. As he disappeared around the corner, they rushed back inside, pushing and shoving, laughing silently. They rushed silently to the rear wall and quickly found seats. Affecting great innocence, they waved for hot drink and settled down with open ears. This wasn't the first meeting behind the tent.

    Gandemere rounded the rear corner, a cloaked and hooded figure stood a few rods away. Gandemere's heart began to beat faster, and his blood ran hotter in his veins. The figure turned to him and waited. He stopped in arms reach. Slowly the cloaked figure raised it's arms and lowered it's hood. It was her, of course. With the light of tenderness in his eyes and care in his touch, slowly, as if to make linger the moment, he reached out to caress her cheek. As his fingertips brushed her cheek, she appeared to tremble ever so slightly, her breath caught in her throat momentarily. She clasped his hand, nuzzling into the palm with her eyes closed. Then she returned his deep, searching gaze. Then they came together, lips seeking, finding, meeting.

    Finally, breathless at the last, they parted. Their arms remained wrapped around each other. "Dear heart, I leave for Gondor before the sun. I do not know when I shall set eyes on you again! I bear messages to King Meneldil." She whispered breathlessly. "We shall see each other again do not fear! This I know to be true with all my soul!" Gandemere came back. Smiling, She shot back. "Well are your instincts known! So, too, shall I trust! Her smile dazzled him, as usual! The scent of her caressed him, filling him. She had a way of making him feel like a whole, virile man. He loved her for that and many other reasons. Soul mates, unspoken but always recognized!

    Catching up her hand, he raised it to his lips. Strong and soft at the same time, like a fine grain leather, he marveled over it briefly. He lifted his eyes to hers and chose words carefully. "My Lady, I shall miss you terribly! My very heart breaks at the thought of your absence. The longer we come to each other, the fonder I have become of you. With your leaving, I find I needs must speak my heart. Never have I found a lady I hold as dear! I have been considering discussing plans of a peaceful life. But again, they are snatched from me, seemingly!" Gandemere paused for breath.

    "Speak more plainly!" she implored him. Her eyes burned with focused intensity. She knew what was coming! "Know then lady that I love you as the Eagle loves the air, as the bee the flower! The Moon the Sun! As The One loves his children!" Once begun, his feelings tried to pour out at once." I'm not practiced at smooth speech and gentle words, but I love you!"

    Now Tierowyn pushed forward slightly, emotion burning in her eyes like a torch in high wind. There has been so little time for us to grow together! Know, my soul mate, that I too, have come to love! I love you, there is no doubt in my heart! A life of peace seems a dream from long ago or the unseeable future! I had no thought of it for so long! You have kindled that dream again for me. Glad I am to hear you speak to me of love and life! If we should survive that which is before us, then this dream mayhap shall come to pass!"

    "Aye, let us survive first, my Elven Lady! Though other thoughts wanted to express themselves, he wrapped her up once again and they crushed each other in a long and passionate kiss. Gandemere continued, smiling. But my love will carry me through! I have enough for two!

    "I have my own and need no more! Keep yours for our next meeting! Keep this as well!" She pressed a chain and locket into his hand and closed his fingers around it. He raised her hand to his lips once more,

"Think of me when the chance occurs." Tierowyn faced him with a direct look. "Though I bid you do not think less of yourself if you find the chances come but rarely. For I would that survival came first!"

    Gandemere slid a wide silver bracelet from his wrist, wrapped in leather for battle. An Orc blade had scored it during the battle of Dagorlad Plains, saving his hand, and probably his life. "This was given to my mother by my father, she to me. I give it to you as a token of the truth and love between us!"

    Tierowyn stepped back, clutching the bracelet to her bosom with both hands. Words of refusal failing, she managed to stammer. " Now our duties call us to service! Think of me and the words that have passed between us, dear heart! Remember hope when all is dark."  Emotion rippled across her face as she spoke.

    Gandemere replied. "I shall never forget! We will meet again! This world or next. I shall find you out. "I will hold you to that vow!" She graced him with her dazzling smile. Flipped up her hood and faded away into the camp.

    As he rounded the corner, Gandemere paused to fasten the chain of the locket around his neck. He noticed as he did, the mountings for the chain were wrapped with golden-brown locks of hair. Her presence engulfed him. And the smell of her, like new leather, a mountain vale of wildflowers and woman all rolled into one. A dream, he thought. I have lived to love! When I had thought all I'd ever have was vengeance, hate and killing. But more evil has reared up to foil my plans! Orcs and half men and their allies will pay dearly, when the time comes.

    Perhaps a quick cup of coffee or something hot before the tent was broken down. Entering the tent he noticed a group of young officers at the back, looking quite subdued. One or two raised their eyes to him and averted them again, quickly. He was barely conscious of one who held his hand to his brow, covering his eyes, elbow on the table. Children, he mused momentarily. Probably about to heave up his food. Scared to be facing battle. He'll get over it, I was younger and got over it. He really didn't mark any more of their actions as he raised the locket to his nose a took a deep breath, smiling gently.

Dark places

Valandil finished checking his horse's tack. He squatted at the grotto's entrance to check the ground before and below him. He knew he was overdue, but was not about to foolishly rush off. Checking the back trail he and Dournil had used earlier, nothing looked out of place. Everything appeared to be quiet. He knew better. His instincts screamed at him.

After watching a bit, need over rode caution. After dumping out the small measure of grain they carried in their saddlebags, he unsaddled Dournil's horse and cut the hobbles. Hopefully Dournil would be able to find it if he managed to return.

   Valandil mounted his own horse and started down. He was making good progress when a party of Orcs came over a rise below and to his left. Up here he could not outrun them. They were pretty far off, yet. He didn't know if they had seen him. They would if he kept moving in the same direction. So, to the right he would wind up over in the mouth of the pass. Once on open ground, he would easily out run them. "Left it is, then." Valandil spoke out loud. Laying over his reins, his horse swung to the left and headed down.

    He'd easily reached the leveler ground above the pass. Though he had been, and still was out of sight of the valley head, he thought he should be able to reach the meeting sight shortly. The hillside dropped too steeply where he was, forcing him to ride into the pass a little ways.

    Finding a path down into the pass he cleared the hill and cut back towards the pass mouth. Noise came up to him, What a relief! Probably some of our company come to explore this passageway. Maybe people searching for Dournil and myself. A sudden hope flared in his heart. Dournil may have found a way back and joined up with the others. With this thought in mind he rode ahead with a tired, expectant smile. Rounding a sharp turn he stopped, the smile faded. Reality brought him down. In front of him, down the trail, was the largest group of Orcs he had ever seen. An army of Orcs. Slowly, he backed his horse out of sight. Then turned and started back the way he had come. In it again!

   Dournil stirred and groaned. Using his arms to help lift and support himself, he slowly sat up. The world spun, causing his gorge to heave. Leaning against the cliff wall, he closed his eyes while the vertigo slowly subsided. He began to take stock of himself. His entire right side hurt. Using his left arm, he began to test limbs. I fell on purpose. He thought to himself. Trolls and Orcs were chasing me, and I jumped over the edge of the plateau. I must have landed on the ledge below, it looked like perhaps a rod or a little more. I'm extremely lucky to be alive.

   Dournil was rapidly coming to his senses. He took stock of his situation. Going up was not possible, so sideways or down. Shakily he rose to his feet, and approached the side of the ledge. No way down here, crossing to the other side, a possibility showed itself.

   About half a rod away a ledge, little more than a ridge of rock, stuck out from the wall, his eyes followed the ridge down and down, until it disappeared from sight. There was no way he could jump to it. Scanning upwards, a small series of holes became evident. Water leaked from them, a couple of them looked good enough for handholds. And they were in about the right place. Dournil walked about on the ledge, shaking his limbs and stretching to loosen up. He approached the side again, took a deep breath, and jumped for the holes. His hands struck high and slid down into the holes. Running assorts, he swung towards the small ridge. His foot found purchase. He used his arms to throw his upper body forward, in a bid to put his posture back in balance. It was just enough. He was standing on the seam of rock. He began a perilous descent. The next couple minutes brought him scared and gasping to the end of the shelf. There was a sheer wall ahead.     

    He looked down. Behind and below him, another shelf ran along the cliff face, this one was shoulder width. It extended back along the wall, out of sight. With no time or place to rest, and becoming disoriented, he pushed ahead. He turned, putting his back to the wall. The wall belled out below him, swelling as it dropped over and towards the shelf. A breath and he was off. Relying on Elvish sure-footedness he ran, keeping his shoulder as close to the wall as possible. As he came to the crest of the bell, where further running was impossible, he jumped.

    He landed with both feet on the jutting shelf. Momentum, carried from the speed of the run and jump, slapped him down on the shelf face first. He rolled head over heels and off the edge of the shelf. Elvish quickness and a penchant for the right move at the right time brought his hands to the edge as he rolled across his shoulders. He twisted enough to latch on as his body fell below the edge. Hanging, he looked down.

    He now saw the floor of the pass had been rising as he had descended. The wall below canted outward enough to slide on instead of falling. With a twist that landed him on his backside, he slid about two rods length, and crashed onto the trail. Now I can hurt! His left shoulder, knees, back and hands as well as his head all throbbed, burned, and just plain hurt. "I canst believe nothing is seriously injured!"  

    Shaking his head at his luck he looked up in wonder at where he had been. It was along way up. The sky dizzied him with height. He sat up against the wall and looked both ways. The pass was clear in both directions. He pulled a Lembas cake from his wallet and began to gnaw it as he considered his next move.

    It served to take his mind off his pains. The sun stood low over the peaks. I know there are Trolls and Orcs above me. There is at the least a patrol of Orcs ranging about the mouth of the pass. I know that I dare not try to circle back, and it would seem that forward is out. Mayhap I should circle North, around that peak so to come back to the camp from the northeast. That would be the safest way. I would need to go up over the crest of this section of the pass, then cut North on the other side. His decisionmade, he rose to his feet and began moving up the pass. 

    Valandil also chewed his way through a Lembas cake. Heading up the trail, he was at a loss to come up with a plan. I suppose I might try cutting North on the other side of this peak. That seems as good a plan as any! As he progressed up the trail it became steeper, and rougher. He wound his way through the fallen timbers with satisfaction. "Looks like someone must have pushed these off the top" He said as if it was a mystery. The timbers had made the pass more difficult to navigate. Laying helter-skelter, some cocked up against the walls while others lay crossed or parallel on the trail itself. Finally he dismounted and led his horse. As he progressed Valandil reasoned to himself. There'll be no quick retreat through here! Though I need to make time, dying is not really acceptable! I should scout ahead, then return for my horse if it seems clear. Valandil tied his horse and continued on foot. 

       The crest of the pass loomed ahead. His hair on the back of his neck rose. He slowed and crept forward. Senses alert he looked over the crest, below he could see the remains of a large Orc camp. He knew it was an Orc camp because there were still Orcs about! They were readying to march.

    Valandil was not going to wait around. Slowly, to avoid detection, he withdrew. As he returned to his horse the dilemma posed itself as unsolvable. The only thing he could come up with was another trip down the pass. The hidden passage! If he could find it he might be able to hide. That meant losing his horse. It would be dark soon. The animal might be better off on it's own.

    As he came lower in the pass he decided to loose the horse and continue on foot. Carefully he came down the pass. He dismounted, creeping forward again. Darkness was falling quickly in the bottom of the pass. Finally he thought he was close to the area of the open passage. Slipping the bit from his horses mouth and tying the reins as loose as possible, he left it free and resumed his approach.

    The glow of a small fire showed itself ahead, as it cast a flickering light on the surrounding rock walls. At the last, Valandil eased around a rock and saw an Orc beside a small fire. Behind it was a boulder. This was the passage! Valandil knew it in his bones. Thinking fast Valandil bent and felt about until he came up with a palm sized stone. Retreating behind the rock, he fired it down pass as hard as he could. In the dark, quiet pass it made a racket as it bounced and rolled. The Orc jerked up, snarled, then crouched as it drew forth a primitive sword like weapon. The firelight ran like liquid along the blade momentarily as the Orc began to move silently out to the trail. It stopped and listened, then slunk down the pass out of sight. 

    Once again Valandil wasn't about to hesitate. After a moment to be sure the Orc was out of sight, he sprang forward. He rounded the boulder and saw a narrow opening. He was sure he could squeeze through. Returning to the fire he lifted several logs for torches and one from the fire, already burning. He started back towards the opening, then stopped. Returning to the wood pile he grabbed a similar sized log and laid it in the fire. He pushed the wood pile back together a bit and went back to the cave. At the boulder he tossed the extra logs through the crack as quietly as possible then started to squeeze through. Heavy steps and Orc mutterings became audible out on the trail. In a momentary fit of panic Valandil shoved himself through the crack and into the passage. Grabbing his pilfered "torches", he headed off down the passageway.

    The passage was dank and dust covered the floor. It was also a little warmer than outside. For that, Valandil was grateful. Footprints going in both directions showed in the dust. He pushed on. Finally he came to an intersecting passage. The prints stopped a few feet in both directions. Valandil held his torch up to see if the air came stronger from one direction. He reckoned he had been moving east for a while then turned North.     

    "I do believe I shall keep to what works. Ahead!" The sound of his voice, any voice, bolstered his confidence. He pushed on North. After an immeasurable time he became so tired that he sat against the wall his torch was getting short. Carefully he laid it on the floor then laid the end of a fresh one on top. Leaning his head back and wrapping his cloak around himself he fell asleep.

   Dournil came to fallen timbers in the trail. "A youngsters mess" he observed wirily. The grin faded as he pondered Valandil's fate. The boy is smart and fast, good at strategy and gifted in woodcraft. Able to adequately defend himself. He is alive! I know it! I can feel it! He picked his way through the timbers. Coming to the crest he looked over cautiously, an Orc camp lay below, though it did seem that most were absent. He drew back to regroup. Safely hidden among some rocks on the West side of the trail, he considered his options. There were none that he could see. Simply put, he must clear this camp. With a sigh, he looked up. Above him was a route he could climb. Wearily he began to ascend. The sun was half behind the surrounding peaks when he started his descent down the inside of the Northern face of a mountain. Back in the pass, out of sight, the darkness was much advanced. Up here the sun still lit the sky, but not for long. Dournil hurried to get as low as possible before the light faded entirely. By the time he was down, full eve had fallen.

    Overhead shone the 'Sickle of the Valar', Valacirca, the seven stars of enduring warning to Melkor and his servants. On the horizon, 'The Red Swordsman' began to climb the sky. Isil had yet to make an appearance. Dournil thought to rest a bit before continuing. He found a small, protected grotto, wrapped up in his cloak and laid down to sleep.   

  Light in dark places

    Valandil was using his last torch. This section of tunnel was ancient. Cobwebs spanned the passage in many places. The floor was undisturbed by footprints. The sound of dripping water led Valandil to a small trickle running down the wall. By torchlight he followed it until it ran under the wall. Thirsty, he kicked the wall in frustration. A hollow sound came back. Surprised, he stepped back a moment. Then kicked out hard. With a cracking sound a doorframe appeared in the wall. On one foot he hopped back and kicked again. With a splintering of stone, the slab gave away and fell in. The air that rushed out smelled sweet by comparison. Valandil stepped through the doorway. The sight that met his numbed senses was awesome. 

     A cavern spread out before him, rainbow colored rock lined what he could see. Multi-colored stalactites hung from the ceiling far above, the rest of the chamber was out of his torch's light. Turning, he saw an ancient torch set in a bracket set in the wall. It lit! Damping his stick, he lifted the torch from the bracket, replacing it with his. Now more of the cavern's magnificence could be seen. A freshet ran down the center. He knelt and lifted a palm full. It looked good so he tasted it. Bliss! Wonderful! Kneeling he drank his fill. Then he sat and ate Lembas. That taken care of, he was ready to explore.

    Following the stream, he realized the cavern was grander, larger, than any hall. Torches in brackets hung from the walls every so often. He had lit a few; he guessed every third of a furlong.  Ahead he saw light. Closer he recognized sunlight coming through some gap, high in the wall. Then he saw what lay in the light.

    The floor rose at the cavern's end like a platform. Two stone bowls, huge, stood at the fore. Both held rich earth, and a small tree apiece. The smaller Golden, the larger, Silver.

   He gaped, shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It could not be. Telperion, the silver and Laurelin, the gold. The 'Trees of Years,' that had brought light to the Valar before the making of the sun and moon.

    It just was not possible, yet here they grew. They must be offshoots! Seedlings or saplings! And they are tended to by someone!
    That much was obvious, now that he looked. The floor was clean and swept, and a vessel for water lay on the lower floor. This was a sacred place! Valandil felt a wild burst of emotion blow through his soul like a clean sea breeze. Tears sprang from his eyes as he fell to his knees, over come.        

    He lowered his head as if a supplicant at an altar, and clasped his hands together on his lap. "Iluvatar, The One, humble words nor High Speech canst express the  gratitude of this discovery. I thank you for this gift, for the fair races of Mid-gard! The light of your children of Valar lives and grows yet in this world! So, then does hope and the pure things of light and love. All the goodness of the Valar, of which my Grandsire, Elendil, taught to his sons and family, still is shared with the races of Middle Earth. If ever there be future darkness, these then will grant light in the dark. Iluvatar, we thank you!

    So saying this prayer, the slanting light fell full upon him and seemed to explode away, lighting more of the cavern. He seemed to glow, limned in Silver and Gold. Yet did he hang his head, for he felt unworthy of this gift. The wrongs and misdeeds of his life seemed laid out bare on the cavern floor before him. But Lo! The Two blossomed forth; unfurling their leaves and pushing blossoms open in the light. A pure, fresh breeze blew through the cavern lifting two blossoms and gently bearing them to Valandil. Watching in awe and wonder at their approach, Valandil opened wide his hands to receive the gift. The blossoms landed on his open hands like twin kisses. One blossom each of silver and gold.

    Even as he knelt, hands open, vision slightly blurred with tears, the blossoms pulled in, rounding and hardening until two seeds lay upon his palms. He felt his sins and misdeeds washed away, as well as his loss and pain. In that moment a King was born! From that day forward, a light like that of the Seven Stars was born in his soul, never dimmed, shinning forth from his eyes and manner. Carried down through his sons and finally fading away generations later, only to be born again in the dark times to come. In one who would bring the High Kingship to Middle Earth once again.

    Yet, there in the shadows, a watcher stood taking in all that occurred.  Still full of awe and wonder, Valandil pulled from his wallet, a leaf wrapping from a Lembas cake. Carefully bundling the seeds, he secreted them inside his tunic. After a while Valandil stood and bowed to honor the Two and saw a chamber in the wall behind, from which the light came. Valandil crossed to the chamber and there beheld a dais.      Held by a flowering vine, which wound about, rested a sheathed sword. Valandil laid his hand upon the pommel and sheath and sword came easily to his hand.

    Drawing forth the blade, it shone darkly for it was black, and Dwarvish runes were carved upon it. And Valandil, not knowing the old tongue of the Dwarves read this one time: Forged by Telchar, from the sky comes Thilnar, the blade that rings,  Baruk Khazâd. For this was a blade forged of sky metal, black, perhaps a brother to Gurthang, Iron of Death, borne by Turin. And the Smith! He who made Narsil, blade of his Grandsire, Elendil!

    Intuitively, Valandil recognized the instructions written in runes, and he stepped to the doorway of the chamber. Sword in right hand, he struck the doorway with the flat. A ringing of clean steel, high pitched and lasting issued forth. Stepping into the cavern, he raised the sword over his head, shouting in a great voice; "Baruk Khazad"! Thilnar blazed white, banishing all shadows, revealing all. Lighting the cavern beyond sight, and settling to a bright white glow. Thus stood Valandil, son of Isildur, only surviving direct descendent of Elendil. Thus stood Valandil, feeling the call of battle and deeds both great and high. Thus stood a young King!

    Dournil traveled by moonlight. At a run he worked his way North. Passing ghostlike out of the inner valley and using the bottoms of valleys and ghylls to pass the highest ground. As the 'Swordsman' reached his apogee and began his descent, Dournil started to traverse steeply rising ground. With the 'Sickle of the Valar' long below the horizon, and the Swordsman halfway down the star-studded vault of the sky, he crossed a saddle between high peaks, on top of the snow in the manner of light-footed Elves. The rise of 'Vasa' found him at the top of the last peak. Below him 'The Heart of Fire'  slowly revealed the land of Northern Arnor. Dournil perched on a rock to study, with Elven sight, the panorama below him. First the farthest horizon and then progressed, advancing towards his feet. A dark mass moved slowly to his front, slightly right. He could barely make out, at this distance, dark moving figures. Too many for the two companies of Elves and men. Orcs! An army moving towards the "Coldfells". Dournil now searched this army's back trail but could find no sign of his companion's army. No problem, He would find them.

By the light of Vasa

    Valandil's passion faded, as it did, so too, the light of the sword. He lowered it to his side and turned to focus on what light had revealed.  With a voice full of gentleness, still full of wonder, he spoke. "Come forth and be known." Valandil realized that he still held Thilnar. Unsheathed, this might be a cause of concern to a benign being. From the shadows on his left stepped forth a being, tall as a tree, smooth skinned and dark grey. Of a race as old as the 'Years of the Trees', mistakenly called 'Stone Giants'. Known later in the third age as 'Entwives'. Speaking with the higher pitched voice of a woman she addressed Valandil.

    "Hooomm! Ho! Hooomm! I am the called Watcher in the speech of your people. 'The Two' have waited long for your coming. Now our time here is over. Soon 'The Two,' accompanied by we wives of Ents, shall pass into the East. Your time here, also, is over. Return to the passage and continue in the direction you were going, for your destiny lies at the end." 

    Forsaking the myriad of questions boiling in his mind, Valandil bowed, as to recognize the wisdom of a respected Elder. He shoved the sheathed sword into his belt, and departed down the cavern.

    Elrond lay under the same bush as he had the day before. He watched the riderless horse in the valley below. He had been watching for some time. Behind him far out of sight, the army of Men and Elves moved North. Ahead of them a scouting party shadowed the Orc army.

    Under the other side of the bush, Huthorin grunted as he tried to get comfortable.  Out in the valley, the horse stopped to graze again. Elrond had waited long enough. Nodding to Huthorin, he rose, settled his gear, and took off down the valley, towards the pass. The horse threw his head up and nickered as he went by.

    At the pass, Elrond started looking for signs of Valandil. The first section showed nothing but Orc sign. Farther up he saw signs of Valandil's wondering horse. Nearing the passage, Elrond caught a foul scent. Orc! At the entrance, he saw the remains of the small fire. The scattered refuse told him who had built it.

   Looking at the entrance to the passage, he was sure Valandil was inside. Stopping only long enough to kindle a torch he squeezed in. Valandil's prints topped all the others. Seeing Valandil's footprints gave him a feeling of urgency. Feeling some great destiny lay ahead, Elrond was suddenly in a hurry.

    Myras chewed her bit impatiently as Gandemere kept her slowed to the army's pace. The sole rider now, he felt the loss of his companions sorely. He worried about Dournil of course, but Dournil had five times more life experience than Valandil. Men tend to learn a little faster, perhaps, than the other races. He reflected. The fact that they don't live as long seems to make that a reasonable assumption. The strong blood of Numenor runs in our veins. Without that, I foreswear! The race of Men would dwindle and lessen in strength, intelligence and longevity. A chill ran down his spine as the very idea of a world of Men, without the blood of Numenor in them, was born. Though Numenor was gone from the Earth, Elendil and a few others had taught the high ideas and values of the Valar to the peoples of Middle-Earth.  Loyalty, honor and incorruptibility, all the high  standards of the Kings, empathy, care and responsibility, taught by deed and example. Most of the baser things of Numenor blood had been lost when it sank beneath the waves. Only those with pure sight, good instinct and strong will, survived. Sauron, also had survived along with his minions. Gandemere was not too worried about Elrond or Huthorin. They had years and experience both. Also Elrond now wore "Vilya the Blue" again.

    At midday the scouts changed and not long after, he met with those coming off detail. The Orcs were still moving. Ahead the land, though still rolling, started to change character. Already the trees were becoming  sparser and the wild flowers of these mid regions were becoming scarce. The Ettenmoors lay ahead, commonly called the 'Coldfells'; it was a land of rolling brownish-green, short grass, bereft of tree, shrub or flower. Desolate and cold, Gandemere did not want to cross it unless necessary. His army was already supplementing food rations by hunting and gathering as it went along. If their destination is Mt. Gundabad, then our current assignment is ended. We will follow until we are without doubt. Another day or two at most. I will send a small patrol well forward and bring the army along slowly. He decided. Gandemere dismissed the scouts.

    Valandil was quite glad that he had packed his wallet tightly with Lembas before leaving camp. The mess steward had smiled widely as if a child was plundering his larder. It had rankled at the time. Valandil gave a short laugh, now. A good idea, and one more lesson learned! And I shall continue the practice, when in the field. Wrapped in leaves, Lembas would remain eatable for long, long periods of time. Valandil tried to make sure he left nothing but prints behind. "Iluvatar's Children! I wish this forsaken tunnel would end!" His voice echoed hollowly along the passage. With a sigh, he shoved the Lembas wrappings back in his wallet. At least the passage is high enough to walk upright. Valandil usually chose to recognize the positive aspects of a given situation.

    Elrond was past "a sense of urgency"; he was running.  The flame of his torch streamed back, almost in to his face. He held it to the side, at the forward most reach of his arm. His ring glowed bluely on his finger. He hoped that it was reacting to his inner turmoil. It did not matter enough to cause him to stop, whatever the reason, wherever these feelings or warnings were coming from, it had to do with Valandil. Perhaps he had failed Isildur at the "Crack of Doom". He had never believed that, and still did not.  Regardless, he would not fail Valandil! Elrond had no preconceived notions of "perfect people." He'd lived too long already, and seen too much. Obsessing with these ideas and thoughts, he failed to notice the low spot in the ceiling that stretched him out on his back. 

    Tierowyn scanned for a pile of driftwood, as they came down slope to the river. Her partner, Siphus, spotted one first. He pointed, she saw, and nodded shortly. Siphus, she reflected, was new come to the scouts, very promising, all he needed was seasoning.

   When they reached the pile, Tierowyn could see there was about half of what they'd need for the raft. As Siphus set to work, Tierowyn started searching for enough driftwood to finish the raft. 

    Gandemere watched smoke rise from the northwest. The scouts had brought in a couple of children, found wondering. They had told of Goblins tearing through their village in the night. Most of the people had been taken prisoner. The Goblins had left well before dawn. Everyone knew what Goblins and Orcs did with prisoners. On foot Gandemere's army could not catch them. They had marched hard, already. They had to be strong enough to defend themselves in the event of an Orc attack. Now it looked like his army was between two forces. As if being out numbered was not bad enough!

   Huthorin pouted for something to do. Stuck under a bush! Not a fitting place for a Dwarven Warrior! He grumped to himself. Grumpy or not, he could still keep a sharp eye out. The day was growing late. And still no sign of Elrond, Valandil or Dournil. I will wait as long as possible, then I must go to my folk under the mountain. We must send aid to Valandil's army! He thought to convince his King. Huthorin settled back to wait. I shall cleave some Orcs in twain ere long.

    Uduthar was enjoying himself immensely. His goal of the destruction of Men, Elves, and Dwarves of Arnor was progressing quickly. Perhaps, He thought, the Dwarves crossing high pass during his attack on the Stone Giants was indeed fortunate! By now he knew that at least one Dwarf had survived to carry a warning to 'Imladris'. The Stone Giants fled the fury of my army! They are beaten! I now control the Northern Misty's from High Pass to Mt. Gundabad. The Messengers had failed to kill Valandil, but had caused him to come forth with a token force. The Stone Giants had fled. His army from the pass was almost set to trap Valandil's army. More and more of the dark races heard of his power and success. They were swarming to his banner, now. In his euphoria he was missing other forces on the move.

   The Orc army had stopped at last, or so Gandemere's scouts reported. They were half a day out in to the Coldfells. His army was half a day behind. A village had been found to the west. Supplies were being brought back.  They would camp as far as they could get by sunset.

   Huthorin had enough of waiting; he wanted to clear this area before full dark fell. He scratched a message in the ground where he'd been laying. I will return.

    Valandil saw light ahead. Probing forward with all his senses, he could detect nothing. The hairs on the back of his neck remained quiescent. Taking that as a good sign, he moved ahead more strongly. Laying down the torch as he approached the end of the passage, Valandil saw the floor rise up steeply, and a cave beyond. Instead of rushing in to the fresh air and light, Valandil moved more carefully. Entering the cave proper, he scanned all visible surfaces. Nothing of note. Valandil began to relax as he moved to the entrance. His eyes took time to adjust. 

    Checking about once more, he stepped out in to the free sunlight and air. Throwing back his head, stretching his arms wide, and drawing a great breath, he smiled and tasted the clean, high mountain air while he reveled in the sunlight. His head spun briefly, causing a short bout of dizziness, then settled quickly. Now he began to look about more thoroughly. 

   Vasa stood high, yet the hour was early. Distant peaks marched away north, bluing into the distance. To his left or west, closer peaks towered or rose; grey mist covered the lower slopes and valleys. Snow capped the tallest ones. Valandil looked behind him. Raising his eyes, then finally craning his head back, he saw that he stood partway up a snow- capped peak. Closer down, he saw a carved lintel and doorframe around the opening he had come out of. Graven in the rock were leaves of various trees, flowers and vines that crawled and twisted their way around the whole frame.  On the outer sides,  fluted columns were hewn into the rock. "A design put forth by a woman, the architecture I don't recognize, though. Mayhap these Entwives have been here longer than I realize." Valandil thought that his voice sounded strange, not realizing the thin air made some difference.

  Before him, at his feet, the rock fell away in terraces that wound to his right, bringing to his sight what lay in the distance, on his right. A wide green valley and on the horizon, a green smudge, dark with distance, that started northeast and ran South out of sight. Valandil was sure he knew where he was. To confirm his position he started down the terraces until he had dropped well down from the level he had started from.         

    The great river, long called Wilderland, now proclaimed "Anduin" by King Meneldil, glistened in Vasa's light like jeweled stars in the night sky. That made the smudge running south, Greenwood the Great! Nodding to himself, Valandil thought;

    I have passed northeast to the far side of the Misty Mountains. A long trip! But, By the One! most direct! How will I find my companions now? How will I find our army? Swoop like an eagle indeed! Valandil remembered how his Mother had spoke in support of him before all the council back in Imladris.

Ah, but it could not be helped. My steps seem to have been chosen by other than myself for long and long. Though I can not see it, the reason surely will be seen ere' the road's end! His hand brushed the sheathed sword's pommel at his right side as if to say "Remember me!". Again, all that had passed crashed down on him, but this time he stood straightly under the assault. Then my path is clear, I must continue on and find my way back to my army! This eagle needs must swoop on some fell Orcs! For why else does a gift of steel come to a man! Sky Steel at that! And a great gift of old Valar rests in my tunic, wrapped in that which has held my body's sustenance and now holds the sustenance of my spirit! I must never allow myself to forget these great and high gifts! I must live up to the deeds of my forefathers, so that peace and light may come to this Kingdom and my people might live in plenty and happiness. Tharnil, I thank you for the Memberance. So saying, Prince Valandil turned to the lowering terraces as they headed north along the mountain face. 

    After a little while, the sound of running water grew from a small noise to a roar and he stopped. Looking down over a high cliff, a rushing torrent ran from under the mountains running East; fell to feed in to the great Anduin. This was where the river Hoarwell came from under the mountains. There was no way to go forward. Looking right, he saw below him a last ledge and on the ledge what seemed a pile of white sticks, but before he could examine them further, the clank of metal gear and heavy boots caused him to lift his eyes to the horizon, and, as the sounds ceased, turn around. Orcs stood behind him, two steps up, as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Drawing and brandishing their weapons, and with foul curses, they sprang forth from the ledge they were on towards Valandil.

Valandil cross drew both his Eket and Thilnar, as he jumped up on to the terrace that the Orcs now landed on. He did not have time to think, feel or plan. With a great cry he charged in to their midst.  

    Elrond picked himself up off the passage floor. His head ringing like a great bell. It had been long since something of this nature had befallen him. Now he knew that something of great import was happening or about to happen. This was a sign that he progressed too quickly! He started forward again, but at a gentler pace. He picked his way over a rock fall where the left side of the passage seemed to have fallen down, splashed through a small puddle of water and hurried onward.

    Much later, after spending a long time traversing the passage, his body began to tingle, time to speed up! He did so. Soon he saw light before him. Closer he saw a cave opening out. I am close, I can feel Valandil's need! As he came in to the cave, he stretched out, running at full tilt he burst like a raging torrent from the cave mouth. Light and cool, thin air hit him like a rock or tree limb. He staggered with it, righted himself and glanced about. The belling of steel came to him from straight ahead. He ran again. 

       Quickly approaching he heard the foul cursing of Orcs and Valandil's strong tenor shouting oaths back. The sound of sword play was much louder, suddenly breaking in to full report as he came in sight of the combatants. Below him, on a terrace step was Valandil. Facing him, were several Orcs, engaging him in a contest of arms. Two or three Orcs lay about on the ledge, down and unmoving. But most surprising was the white glowing sword that Valandil swung and struck out with. Even as Elrond watched, an Orc fell away in two different directions as Valandil cleft it in two. The glowing sword passing thru the Orc as if water. The white glow left a trail in Elrond's vision. Elrond's blades were in his hands and Vilya answered the white sword with a brilliant blue aura, as Elrond jumped into the middle of the fray. 

    Valandil met the first Orc's rush, blocking with his Eket. Bringing Thilnar in his left hand, up and around, he smacked the Orc's iron helm on the side, making Thilnar ring. Punching the Orc in the midsection with his Eket's pommel, he stabbed it home into its sheath while the Orc doubled over in pain. Now he laid his right hand to Thilnar's pommel and cried out in a fierce war cry; "Baruk Kuzad!" Thilnar blazed forth a white corona of light as Valandil slashed at an angle from overhead. From the collarbone, to low above the rock, at the opposing hip, the Orc was cleft in two. Snarls and roars came from the others as they pressed their attack. Up on his left foot from the force of the swing, Valandil spun and punched Thilnar's glowing blade through the next Orc's midsection, easily passing it out the second Orc's side and chopping into a third. Now three more pressed in. One swung full at Valandil's neck, Thilnar was there to block, a quick twist took the Orc's arm at the elbow.

    Four now rained blows at Valandil, slowly backing him up towards the edge. Thilnar seemed to have a mind of it's own, as it blocked each blow. The combination of man's skill and swords magic caught another from the side of the neck, the head went one way, body another. Suddenly, as the Orcs forced Valandil back and back, Elrond was there whirling in to the Orcs, bathed in a blue nimbus, fighting with two blades, Elvish style. Valandil took a head butt from the Orc missing an arm, but Thilnar took the front of the Orc's skull, chin to crown, as Valandil flew backwards into space. He crashed down onto the last small ledge with a crackling as if small sticks breaking. As Elrond spun and put both blades through the last Orc's breast to the hilts, Valandil pulled a stick out of his back and brought it around for closer inspection. He stared at it in incomprehension momentarily. What he held in his hand was a rib bone. Still pumping adrenaline from combat, Valandil surged to his feet. He had landed in a large pile of bones! With a course yell that brought Elrond to the edge above, he kicked and kicked at the pile, knocking them over the edge, into space, twirling and flipping towards the base of the cliff as they disappeared from view. 

    At length, battle fury winding down, and finally managing to quiet his stomach, Valandil mastered himself. "Ech!" He turned to Elrond. "Well come Master Elrond! Though I would have our meeting otherwise, you come well timed!" Valandil smiled up at Elrond. Elrond smiled back grimly, breathing hard. 

       Valandil began to study the area on which he stood, casting about for sign of who might have owned the bones. Orc gear! Sheathing the now quiescent Thilnar, he immediately felt a strange pull. Something winked from a pile of rotted gear. Valandil moved to investigate.

    Elrond stood rooted to the spot, breathing hard. Something tugged at his soul, a muted whispering that he knew from the last age! Isildur's bane, was crying out to him once again! Before he could say a word Valandil kicked aside a pile of rotted gear and bent to pick something from the debris, small, round, golden.

There was no doubt in Elrond's mind what Valandil had.

    To say Gandemere was worried was an understatement. The scouts were reporting three different armies, from three different sides, closing in. Gandemere had started a withdrawal. The only way open was back. Clearly they were trapped. There wasn't enough time to withdraw out of range. Gandemere was just looking for a place to make a stand, if such was to be found. One of the armies would catch up soon. To have any chance, the men would need some rest before battle. Gandemere refused to think about any dire outcome, though he had to admit, it didn't look good.

    After less than a day on the river, Tierowyn and Siphus had worked out a system. Right now, she was steering, and would continue until dark. Siphus would take over at that time. On the right, the Misty's slid by at a rapid pace. On the left a wide valley climbed up to the limit of sight. Brush and brambles mixed with small trees and scattered wild flowers.. Though it couldn't be seen from the bottom or the river valley, on the horizon rose the Shadow of Greenwood the Great. As they ran along with the current, Siphus suddenly sat up, looking to the right. Tierowyn followed the direction of his glance. On a hill, about a furlong away, sat two riders astride horses, they were moving now, towards the river coming down off the hill. Siphus and Tierowyn exchanged glances. No words were necessary. Men and Elves rode horses, there was a good chance that the riders were friendly, still, Tierowyn's hand tightened on her bow's shaft as it lay near at hand. Likewise she noticed Siphus draw forth an arrow from his quiver, and set it to his string, but he didn't yet raise the bow.

    The two horsemen had been out of sight, as they came up the backside of the hill, now they came into sight again, much nearer. The two scouts could see they wore the gear of Gondorian Calvary as they reached the bank and turned to pace the raft. Tierowyn slowly stood. 

    "Hail men of Gondor! What news?" One made comment to the other, then called out. 

"Greetings of Gondor and Good day! Might I inquire as to who I speak?" The man smiled widely and she began to relax. "Scouts of Prince Valandil and Master Elrond! Gondor is far from here, what brings you thus?" "Dark deeds have been done to the people of House Elendil and the King of Gondor, and we search for those who have done!" "Perhaps our errands run the same trails, a closer speech seems to be indicated!" Tierowyn called back. Again the wide smile, "Then I bid you, fair Lady, land your craft, that we may take council at whiles!" Tierowyn graced him with her dazzling smile, but paid no heed to the compliment, otherwise. "Our mission is one of importance to King Meneldil, mayhap we have no time to dally at the banks while our mission lays in balance!" His mien grew more serious as he called. "Then we are well met indeed! For King Meneldil rides forth, we be his scouts!" He waved an arm in the direction of the mountains. "Stay you on your raft, we will bear these tidings to our King. He is down river some small ways! Look you for our army, there put into shore, bewhiles, we will ride!" With a wave, they spurred off, down river. The King rides forth! Great Evil must ha been done! Mayhap I will see my Dear one sooner than either dreamed! Tierowyn remained quiet until the army was sighted a little while later, hoping that Gandemere and her comrades were still safe.

Everything that glitters

    Huthorin was marching south. A dark moving mass on the horizon had caught his attention. An army on the move. He seemed to be right in the line of an advance. Watching from concealment, he first saw many glints of light, then he was sure it was an army advancing, he had a pretty good idea whose, from time and position. As he came closer, he knew he'd been spotted, and the army stopped. Banners waved in the freshening breeze. He recognized the banners near the van. Grimly he smiled to himself. The banner in the fore he recognized instantly.  Then Elrond's message had been received and understood. Wise and always ready to take action to defend their halls, Dain V, the King of Khazad Dum, had come forth!

    Elrond watched as Valandil straightened. Gold gleamed dully in his opened hand. Valandil stared, his face gone grey and pasty. For long moments he stared, then red began to suffuse his face, his jaw tightened and his teeth showed in a rictus of madness. He looked to Elrond, on the ledge above. There was a fierce burning in his eyes. Elrond's vision swam, and on Valandil's stubbled face, he saw the once familiar bearded face of Isildur. The madness in his eyes and written on that face seemed the same as the fire and madness on Valandil's. Vilya pulled like an army on Elrond's hand. Valandil spoke, but Elrond could not make out the words. Some trance or geas suddenly snapped and his vision cleared. Valandil stood before him once again.

   NO, not again! I won't let someone I care about claim this evil! I will not let it be his downfall as well!

The whole of Middle Earth will suffer great loss! Who knows what will come from the shadows at the rings call. Elendil, my brother! Forgive me! Elrond gripped tight his blades, I will take it from him and bear it to mount Doom! I shall take it even should he resist! Elrond's posture showed his conviction as his face set in a determined flatness. Elrond jumped lightly down to Valandil's ledge, points of blades raised. A light akin to madness showing in his eyes!

Valandil was in shock at what lay in his hand. At first his mind could not handle the reality of what he was seeing. The One Ring of Power! Oddly enough, it never crossed his mind that this might not be what he thought it was. His spirit recognized the power of this object, before his subconscious could sway his mind to doubt! I could rule all of Middle Earth! None could gainsay me! I would reign supreme! The image in his palm began to wax and waver. The shock receded from his mind in a blaze of white fire. Where lays the body my Father? From everywhere and nowhere came muted, evil mutterings.

    Old miseries began to re-exert themselves. Mayhap some few of these bones be his? Nay! I say. Nay! The days of yammering are gone past regret! Valandil shook his head. The vile betrayer of all I held dear!     

    Think I stronger in will than my father? Too well do I remember the hurt of my Brothers and Mother! Too well do I remember the change in my father! Too well and too many hurts! This evil destroys all who touch it as it waits for the master's hand once again! But... I could use its power for good! Surely such power mastered could be of benefit to Middle Earth! In truth the Master is gone from this world. Mayhap a new Master .... No.. No! It must be destroyed! 

    The sudden truth blazed home in Valandil's heart. Well-nigh it is wayward! It is too much for a mortal to safely bear for long! It is even affecting Elrond! It seeks Vilya's subservience! Valandil looked up at Elrond. Even would it call forth in evil fashion, all the remaining Rings of Power! And all, not lost, are worn again, since the fall of Sauron! Then the beck of the ring pushed Elrond from his mind. 

    Thilnar vibrated slightly against his leg, bringing Valandil back to reality. Thilnar, driven by his own passions, an emotional truthsayer, of sorts, was reminding him of the truth of his convictions. Sky Steel? God Steel, belike! Thilnar had broken the thralldom of the Ring. Now the dreams of power promised by this periapt cleared from his mind, like the parting of a veil of mist or darkness! The golden-red late afternoon sun and cool mountain breeze, broke through the ice that seemed to be incasing his heart.

   Valandil's hate of the ring surged forth, like water from a geysering fountain. All the years of hurt for the loss of his family, of the fall of the greatest leaders of Middle Earth, Gil-Galad and his own Grandsire, Elendil. His father and three brothers. The plundering of dark armies, the suffering of the common folk of Arnor and of all Middle Earth. Even his own Mother! For Valandil was a true son of Elendil's line! Raised to lead, raised to rule, raised to care. Red-faced with a mad passion of anger, howling from the depths of his very soul, he whirled round and threw the ring for all he was worth. Cocking back his arm, he took two  steps, leading with his hip. His arm came forward and as if in slow motion, the Ring left his hand.

     It sailed up and away, becoming  a speck as it fell merging into the raging cataract of the Hoarwell, as it raced to feed the Anduin. It was gone. Not to be seen again for thousands of years. There was not even a splash to mark the passing.