Changing of the wind
Valandil was almost asleep, clinging to the stallion's mane. The jolting landscape roused him; he looked around to try to gather his bearings. The vistas still slid by at an amazing rate! Slowed now and then by a narrow path or steep climb. To the East, the horizon was beginning to cloud up with a gathering storm. The sun was three quarters down the sky. The herd still raced tightly over the mountains. Turning to look for Elrond, Valandil saw a distant dust cloud behind and to the southeast, over Elrond's shoulder as he seemed to flow as one on the mare's back. He touched his blade's hilt in determination, jaw firming.
Turning to the stallion he bestrode, he spoke loudly, "Stallion!, Company!" The stallion turned his head to see, Valandil threw his chin in the appropriate direction. The stallion looked in the indicated direction, watching, then blew through his nose, looking to a young black stud, running off Elrond's mare's opposite shoulder. The stud dropped back and peeled away, pounding up a side ravine, tail high and mane whipping. The stallion snorted a nod at Valandil.
Valandil looked back to Elrond, Elrond held stern, but his eye's smiled and twinkled. He seems to enjoy this! Thinking back, Valandil knew Elrond's history, to a point. "Elrond is a warrior and leader at heart! To sit in peace for long, at Rivendell would become boring. Valandil remembered the ride from Rivendell, and Gandemere's comment; "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." Mayhap it is a truer statement than Gandemere could know! Why would it only be true for one? Whatever the race? Does that also apply to an Orc? Or a troll? Valandil had a hard time with that concept! Yet those foul, dark races, what do they do when not warring with us? Breed and fight amongst themselves, no doubt!"
Movement off to his right attracted his attention, a thin trail of dust approached rapidly from that direction. There was no doubt that the stallion was aware of it, and was unconcerned. Rapidly, the oncoming speck transformed into the young black stud, curving in from slightly behind and drawing even.
Conversing in body language, the tongue of their people, the stud relayed his message. The stud finished and dropped back to his former position. Valandil was rubbing at his eyes, he might swear to seeing sparks from the hooves and fire from the stud's nostrils, as it had come down the valley. Incredible thought!
Now the herd stallion half turned his head, "Wargs chase us! They will be among us before we gain open lands! There we will leave them behind in our dust! Until then, I must look to the aged and weak! We shall remount you two legged!"
"Nay, stallion! If we not be a burden in the coming battle, allow us to give aid, we are not defenseless! Even might we be of some assistance!" shouted Valandil, drawing forth Thilnar. The stallion seemed to consider briefly, then gave reply; "It will be a running battle of defense! Do not fall, for any that so do are lost! One hill remains at the end of this valley, then open lands. See, they draw hither even now!"
Valandil looked over his shoulder, seeing Elrond do the same; he was close enough to hear the mighty voice of the stallion. Obviously he had been following the conversation. A dark mass, trailing a spume of dust was resolving into first, gleaming teeth and red eyes, then, coming closer in huge bounds, into giant wolf-like creatures, fully large enough to give the Mearas pause.
Valandil would swear in later years the stallion blew a twin jet of flame from his nostrils as he boomed with a snort, "Prepare!" Valandil clamped tight to the stallion's barrel with his legs. In a swirl of mane, the stallion braked to the right. In an idle thought, he was glad for all the weeks on horseback, to strengthen his legs, just getting to High Pass.
Valandil's perception of time began to slow down. The herd flew past, as if in a dream. The lurid light of late afternoon, the clear Westering sunlight and the Easterly storm front all became more than real. Colors became richer and full, and small details and his sense of smell became magnified. The flinty smell of dust, equine sweat and cool stone assaulted his nostrils. Small details like the fire colors inside the Mearas nostrils, chips of stone that flew from their hooves, deep glinting depths of intelligence and savage anger in their eyes, even the coarse texture of mane and tail. Dreamlike, as if he could not turn his head fast enough, he saw the scaly, wiry misshapen hide of the Wargs, their red malicious eyes burning hate and insatiable hunger, and slavering maws filled with gleaming white teeth. He found he had plenty of time!
The three Mearas launched forward again, now at the rear of the herd with the golden mare at the stallion's right quarter, the black stud, the left quarter. Elrond's blades seemed to leap into his hands, Vilya's presence bathing him in a blue aura. Seeing Elrond's blades moving so fast, when time was slowing brought a great joy and new respect for his mentor! The Wargs closed in to the right and behind; Valandil leaned down to drag Thilnar against a passing rock, ringing the blade. He swung the blade about his head crying out "Baruk Kuzad!" [Axes of the Dwarves!] Thilnar burst into white light as the fury of his fathers began to roar through his veins!
The first of the Wargs leapt from behind, the mare's body twisted in air as her rear hooves met the warg in mid jump, impacting the throat. The warg choked as it fell, landing heavily and rolling over and over, knocking down several more. No time to cheer as three more pressed in. One lunged, snapping at the stallion's front legs, and Valandil poked Thilnar deep into the lower neck, in front of the shoulder. It snapped again at his face so close he could smell the disgusting breath, as it fell away, Thilnar burned through the throat and out on edge. A second had tried for the black stud's back legs, and met a hoof from the mare, squarely in the eye, momentarily rearing the head up and back. The black cracked it in the mouth, as if a passing thought. Valandil and Elrond both flinched slightly as they saw the truth of impact. Teeth, blood and spittle sprayed out across the mate, running to the right. The third, from the rear right quarter position, leapt for Elrond himself! Elrond, quick and experienced, even for an Elf, lay back, letting the warg pass in front, landing harmlessly across the mare's back. He sprang to his knees on her back, and stabbed both blades hilt deep into the beasts back, then pulled back on one and forward on the other, like twin levers, severing the spine in two places. It died lying across the mare's back and she gave the shattered hulk a forward kick from the left rear as Elrond moved to shove it aside. The slain beast flipped neatly backwards off the mare's back, slinging a fair amount of blood about. Time now regained momentum as attacks against each of the Mearas began. The action came faster than one might relate!
Elrond surged to his feet, still on the mare's back and spun lightly, facing rearward in a balanced crouch. Another beast was sailing through the air at him. Tips of blades together, forming a rough triangle, he met the rush at juncture of skull and neck. The parts separated in air as he scissored his blades. The bared teeth of the skull grazing deeply Elrond's arm as it passed, Elrond braced himself as the body crashed into his shoulder and off the mare's hind quarters, knocking down another warg.
Now the Wargs had formed a thick crescent around the three Mearas, and some from the rear swung out to the left to chase the Mearas herd ahead. The stallion needed to divert attention from the herd. Valandil heard the stallion crack his tail after the manner of a whip and the black, running at his quarter, to his left, gave over. The stallion dropped back to the black's quarter. This drew the Wargs in, thinking they would have a reward of fresh, warm meat. Instantly Wargs came leaping from all sides, scrambling over each other's backs and opening their maws wide. The stallion stumbled and almost went down, Valandil did not see the cause. Valandil was reminded of a boiling caldron. Without a seconds hesitation, as if horse and rider were truly one, Valandil shouted a mighty oath and swung blazing Thilnar two-handed about his head. Three times with his eyes closed and all the strength, speed, and concentration at his command. Thilnar bit and bit and bit, Valandil didn't even try to keep count. He felt deep in his soul when their leaping attackers were knocked down. Valandil popped his eyes open and took a quick survey around. He didn't see the results but had some deep scores on his right leg and one across his back. They had survived! There was much howling and pandemonium falling rapidly behind. The stallion now came up on the black's left.
Elrond and the mare were beset as well. When the stallion dropped back, a gap was opened in the center of the Mearas. Elrond dropped lightly to the mare's back. Wargs, from the outer right quarter, jumped on the backs of ones closer and landed in the gap, clawing and snapping at the mare's hind quarters. Elrond laid back to reach one going nearly over his head, slitting it along the foul belly, it tumbled away. Gore covered him. On his right, one reached and snapped at the mare's belly. He nimbly reached down with a blade and sheared a front leg, the beast disappeared in a tumble of dust, nearly knocking down the stallion, behind. Suddenly a heavy weight crashed into Elrond's back, pushing him over the mares rear left haunch. Covered with gore, he started to slip over. The weight kept moving past but he hung looking at the ground blurring past and a powerful quarter and leg pounding a small distance from his face. Off balance, the mare lurched from an outside attack and caught Elrond a blow to his chin with her hock that set his head spinning.
Without losing his blade, he clutched the tail in his left hand and pushed himself back. He looked up in time to see death coming at him in the form of an open jaw and wicked fangs; he smelled the horrid , foul breath of the Warg and tried to block with an arm. Slick with blood and gore, grasping a sword, his left arm slipped from under him, down the mare's side. He started to slide off sideways. With a yelp the great jaws jerked to a stop and in one continuous motion reversed. He had a glimpse of the mangy backside all askew, then his vision cleared long enough to see. Elrond saw the black, warg hanging from his mouth by the scruff, flex his massive neck muscles as he pitched the Warg up, over and away, landing somewhere on the far side. Elrond hooked his opposite heel and righted himself. He inclined his head to the black, {Thank you.} The black returned a snort, {You are welcome.} Elrond shook his head in disbelief. The speed, skill and intelligence of these, called the 'Kings of Horses' astounded him. An awesome people! He could have sworn the black was smiling crookedly.
A solid line of Wargs formed in front of the three Mearas, trying to slow them down further, for some of the Mearas' defense was in their speed. The three bit and kicked the slowing beasts as they came hard upon their haunches, in tender and strategic spots. More Wargs pressed in from the rear. One, running close alongside of the stallion, shouldered into him. Hardly breaking stride, the stallion smashed the knee from the side, with a lightning strike from his fore-hoof, drawing a squeal of pain as the warg crashed nose first to the ground and disappeared from sight.
But the Mearas were not without injury. Numerous cuts and bites marked all three. Still they showed no sign of weakness. Man and Elf were in similar states. Valandil saw ahead the bottleneck pass through and over the trail as it climbed the foot of a peak.
The herd had gone over and dust hung at the verge where rock became predominant. This then, would probably be the last effort from the Wargs. But the Mearas must be there first!
With no time for thought, Valandil called out. "Stallion!" Valandil lunged forward over the stallion's head, his lower chest on the poll. Unprepared, the stallion stumbled forward. With an extended, one-handed grip on Thilnar's pommel, he swiped across the last two Wargs on the near end of the wedge. The stallion's stumble actually helped! A great rend opened across both rear ends, accompanied by snarls and howls. The two went down beneath the stomping hooves of the stallion and the black. The stallion threw Valandil back to his withers with a toss of his head. Valandil slid down the neck and jolted to a stop. The breath rushed out of him greenly as his manhood was caught between. The world grayed as he clung to the stallion's mane, struggling for breath.
But the Mearas had slowed, and the Wargs pressed in from all sides. The mare and stallion fought to stay out of reach of tooth and claw, while the riders hacked and cut.
A breach was open through the wedge of Wargs ahead and the black seemed to fly as it powered through in two great strides. Passing through the wedge, it blasted the next closet warg with a cannonade of rear hooves to the shoulder, even as it turned to rend, racking it back into the rest of the wedge and taking most of them down. The black accelerated, clearing the way for the mare, with the stallion close behind. Elrond, Valandil saw, had righted himself on the mare's back. They thundered into the bottleneck, the remaining Wargs close behind.
The stallion, half turned again calling; "Hold!" Valandil clamped tight as the stallion planted his rear end in a sitting slide. The Wargs plowed in to them, Valandil had what little breath he had managed to regain knocked out of him once more as falling, tripping, twisting Wargs made a huge pile somewhat against his back. Pushed into the stallion's spine and withers, he grunted with each new impact. He thought he would split. But the maneuver had blocked the trail long enough. The herd was safely gone from sight. Once again the stallion launched forward, almost snapping Valandil's spine and unseating him. Some of the latter Wargs jumped up to the walls on either side avoiding the pile up. Hardly breaking stride, they were back on the trail in moments.
The dust settles
The black, in the lead, reached the open lands of the foothills. Valandil could see the scrub trees and brownish-green grass of Northern Arnor spreading before them. A half dozen or so Wargs still pursued them, but at a small distance. He returned Thilnar to her sheath as the first of the grass came beneath the stallion's feet. The three ran abreast, blowing from their nostrils, their ears waggled and eyes rolled. The black leapt away left, to follow the herd. As if they had been walking before, the stallion and mare sprinted to the right. The riders crouched low to avoid the wind of their passage. Behind the Wargs began to howl as their intended quarry pulled away.
Uduthar spat in disgust. Watching the palantir, he saw the Mearas pull away until nothing could be seen of them. He let fall the geas of hate that he used to drive the Wargs past their normal limits. "These Wargs will be useless to me for days!" He turned to a large Orc, who stood behind him. "Gormug!, ready our mounts, our time of victory draws near!" Gormug made what passed as a smile. A vicious, evil leer on his ugly face.
Uduthar broke away from the palantir. Gormug was the strongest commander he could find for his combined army, he ruled by fear, intimidation and strength. These were the qualities that Uduthar needed to keep in check the hate and need for violence in his soldiers. He had fanned the flames regularly, until the army's bloodlust was at the highest point. That was when he sent his first army to High Pass. As more creatures came to his banner, he found he had three times as many soldiers, so after preparing them the same way, he split them into three more armies and sent them to ravage the countryside. Then the Elves and Men had come to the pass. The Wargs would have them, Uduthar and Gormug, to their army before the night was over. Uduthar had a surprise for Valandil, a challenge, of sorts. He thought Valandil would accept it and fail. Without ever knowing what it was. Uduthar shoved the palantir into a foul smelling sack, and slung it over his shoulder, grinning evilly. Yes, many surprises.
The ground they traveled over was crossed by many footprints, the scrubby brown grass crushed by many feet. It made a darker path to the North. Valandil watched the short jets of flame stab out from their nostrils as the Mearas blew to maintain their breath at this pace. The Wargs were long behind, but Valandil doubted they would give up easily. He felt confident that they would have to slow up, maybe stop on this long run North. Surely only Eagles could fly this fast, this far! The stud had split off earlier at some direction from the stallion, he had not reappeared since. Above, the sky was clear, but a freshening breeze was sweeping down from the North, bringing a deeper, impenetrable blackness. Vicious looking black thunder heads sweeping down on the wind. Oddly enough, no lightning discharges showed themselves.
The Northern Arnor air grew colder as the day grew later. The light had a peculiar brassy tint, coloring everything it touched a copper like edge. Exhaustion, and the wind blowing the grass in the opposite direction, combined with the buffeting speed of their passage, put Valandil in a surreal state of mind. The path of trodden grass they followed, showed darker as it merged with a second swath, both running together and running to his right, up ahead. Instead of following, the Mearas cut off at forty-five degrees. They began to slow. He was glad that the wind lessened. They seemed to coast up the hill, slowing more until they just made the crest. The Mearas sidled sideways at the crest, inadvertently giving Valandil and Elrond a clear view of the lay of the land before them.
Before them stretched a wide, long valley, covered by the same brownish grass. Two hills rose from the mountain side of the valley. An army lay camped on the Eastern side of these hills. The waving grass and copper tint of the air seemed to make the ringing of Valandil's ears suddenly audible. How can just wind be so loud? He focused back on the army. That looks too big to be our army. Surely these Mearas know the difference between ours and Orc's!
The Mearas gave no opportunity to inquire; they raced down the slope, side by side. As distant figures came clearer, Valandil could see sentries, alert, with leveled pikes. A call was raised and men began to stream out from the camp, donning Armour and brandishing weapons. Then, sitting tall, Valandil was recognized.
A new call came from the now grouped sentries, as they stared in amazement, and lowered their pikes. One turned to spread the news at a shout, Valandil was close enough to hear them. "Prince Valandil returns! Valandil and Elrond!" The Men and Elves running towards the sentry lines slowed and stopped, dropping weapons to their sides and staring open mouthed at the approaching riders, now close enough to make out. The shouts ran back through the camp as they passed the sentries, who snapped salutes and tried not to smile widely. Valandil gave a smile and thumped his closed fist over his heart as the Mearas blew past. That set the tone for the strung out reinforcements from camp, they, also gave obeisance as they were passed, many kneeling.
Not so in the camp proper! Men, Elves, seemingly more Elves than Valandil remembered and .....Dwarves?, rushed together to form a pathway for the riders. Valandil looked to Elrond to see him nod and smile, obviously he saw the Dwarves and recognized what that implied; allies had come to join them. Shouts from a thousand throats came to Valandil's ears as : Prince Valandil! Valandil and Elrond! Hail!
The Mearas proudly arched their necks and slowed, now that so many crowded around. Along with the shouting, the clashing of swords and spears or pikes, on shields, cut through the din. Men, Elves and Dwarves pressed forward to touch the great horses and riders. The Mearas suffered to allow them, prancing highly. Ahead, through and between the ranks the leaders stood in great gladness, in front of the command tent.
The Mearas stopped in front of the semi-circle of the leaders. Elrond and Valandil swung down, and smiling towards the leaders, turned to the Mearas. A quick, small nod from Elrond told Valandil to continue. The soldiers closest pressed forward, hushing those behind, until all the great gathering was finally quiet. All strained to hear as Valandil paused to let the army settle and consider all the Mearas had done for them. Looking for the correct words. The two Mearas stood a little way off, meeting Valandil's gaze one-eyed, in the manner of any intelligent horse. Then Valandil spoke in a quiet voice.
"What then is the name of the wind in the grass, the snow falling upon wide plains, and the rustling of leaves in a high mountain, autumn wood?" The stallion turned to look directly at him, in the manner of people. Impossible, horses do not have over-lapping fields of forward vision! A collective hush fell across the gathered army. I hope thanks is not what these, our allies want. I do not believe it is. It is important to me to honor them for their assistance. I believe that some bond has been forged between us after battle against a common enemy. The stallion cocked a slightly raised eyebrow, his gaze became more intense, as if reading Valandil's thoughts. One ear flicked back and forward again. After some few moments of consideration, he made reply, all within hearing gasped as he slowly looked about at all the faces ringing them, his gaze carrying a physical impact. He then looked back to Valandil. "Life."
Valandil nodded his respect, all within hearing gasped or made no sound in shock and awe. The Mearas both inclined their heads and wheeled to retrace their steps. The gathered leaders bowed. The army had closed in to encircle the scene, all gave back until an open path led to the outer perimeter, past the sentry line. The Mearas launched into a proud trot. Valandil thrust his arms into the air above his head and shouted at the top of his exhausted voice; Mearas! Hail! The Mearas increased their gait to a gallop as the army took up the shout. Mearas! Hail! and then broke into a riotous roar as Men, Elves and Dwarves added individual cheer and whishes of thanks and good fortune. The clashing of shields now rose to cut through the tumult once again. Between the camp proper and sentry lines, the two accelerated, passing the sentries, some of which gave salute or bows as they passed. The Mearas swiftly gained the hillside and passed without pause over the crest.
Valandil and Elrond stood side by side, watching until the horses disappeared from sight, then turned to each other, smiling. Elrond threw his bloodied arm about his former ward's shoulder as they stepped forward to the gathered leaders of the army. Valandil was awestruck once more by this display from Elrond. If his enemies knew his depths and strengths, well might they choose another to hold issue against! thought Valandil.Elrond's eyes, from a couple inches away, seemed to smile love and respect at Valandil, but his face remained deadpan. Valandil wondered if Elrond could see into a mind or if he was an extraordinary reader of language of the body. But Valandil's mussing did not last. Elrond spoke quietly; "No, I can't." Valandil's mouth twisted sourly, but he did not look at Elrond. Elrond smiled.
The soldiers did not slacken in their revelry, but rather closed ranks and pressed inward once again, still shouting and clashing shields, even tossing small items high in the air. Elrond and Valandil stopped before the leaders. King Dain raised his arms for silence, and the revelry died away. In a commanding voice that reached all ears gathered, he spoke out. "Little enough has there been cause to cheer! Welcome! Welcome back Prince Valandil and well done Master Elrond! Now we must take council and Prince Valandil needs must rest! He stood ramrod straight and thumped his chest with a clenched fist, giving the two before him a salute. As if on cue, the mass of soldiers, leaders included, adopted the same posture, thumping salutes and snapping feet together. Elrond and Valandil returned the salutes to first the gathered leaders, then to the army in general. The precise sound of over a thousand clenched fists, striking down to legs echoed through the valley and all turned away, smiling and much relieved, filled with some small hope, to their various duties.
Tierowyn looked over the camp of King Meneldil. It stretched out thru the valley of High Pass. The remains of a large Orc camp, and blockages in the last section of trail, had stopped Meneldil's army. Even now, men would be laboring to clear the pass. As the sun had dropped below the surrounding mountains, a great darkness was seen coming down from the North, blocking out any possibility of sight of stars or moon. The tension in camp was palpable, affecting people even as they tried to hide it. The air had a charged feeling, at least here in the pass. Like some major event was about happen. Tierowyn thought she might have a pretty sure idea of what. An attack on the Imladris army. Standing out from the camp gave her an opportunity to test the scents of a clean breeze. Meneldil had listened to all she had had to tell him of the events of the last couple of days. Then called his commanders together, she had given details on the terrain. No doubt they were taking the threat seriously. After the meeting, she was told the bad news, a few months ago a force of Orc's had raided Minas Ithil and stolen the palantir that was kept there. King Meneldil had ridden first to Minas Ithil, then followed a cold trail up the Anduin to the area above Lothlorien, where they'd found she and Siphus. Now, given horses from the spares, the two rode with the King's army as mounted scouts, leading the way to the army of Imladris. They knew the army of Imladris was out numbered, but not how badly! Come first light, the trail should be clear and the army would leave the pass and ride North. The ride North promised to be a wet one, judging from the gathering storm.
The off-duty scouts of Meneldil's army had taken to Tierowyn immediately. The two scouts from the Imladris army were taken under their wings, and kits and rations produced. Now they had the same gear and equipage as those of Meneldil's. Welcome at any fire ring, they were making fast friendships, and were becoming quite popular. The wind, coming from the East spoke dark tidings to Tierowyn. A faint, acrid sent told of great changes, or so it seemed to her. She could feel some unspeakable evil in her gut as she watched lightning flashing in the blackness to the East.
Now, alone and with a few moments to think and ponder, an unbidden image of Gandemere spilled across her thoughts. With a sigh of longing, she sat upon the grass and looked off into space. Gandemere. His moustaches and acerbic wit. The fire in his eye when he looked at her. His simple wants and simple giving. She asked her heart. Why a Man? Not an Elf? One of her own? The heart was perhaps a wayward and fickle organ. It only could speak of what it knew. She sighed, and noticed she had been tracing his face with her forefinger upon the grass. She turned her hands over in the moonlight. Calloused, and rough, for an elf. Why her? Why her to be separated from her great captain in a time of war? When she would rather, much rather, be close to his hand. The answer was simple enough; duty. Why her? To be falling in love with a male of a different race? There would be more problems for it! Yet she thought she'd come to realize that she did love him! There was no doubt that he was feeling the same things she was. "I will find you ere' the end! I promise this. If our fate is life or death, we will share it! Together." She buried deep her feelings, slamming down a mental barrier to hold at bay her heart. Surging to her feet, she glanced eastward once more. She turned back to the camp, struggling to leave her pain behind.
Valandil occupied a tent with Dournil. Valandil had delivered a report on all he'd seen and experienced, then came to this tent and fallen asleep, Dournil had had not much to report, came to the tent and still couldn't quite relax enough to sleep, yet. Valandil was definitely coming into his own. His return, and the manner of it, had been an event that would last in everyone's mind for a long, long time! Valandil was of his Grandsire's blood! There was no doubt in Dournil's mind, now. Then again, there never had been! Yet, Valandil had to lead in battle successfully to prove it to himself. They both, Valandil and Dournil, needed rest. Sleep is a weapon.
Elrond still conferred with the other leaders, apparently still not prepossessed to sleep. The charged atmosphere of the camp, resulting from the building storm, and the approaching battle made for little or no rest for most of the camp. The arrival of allies and the return of Valandil, as well as the incredible actions of the Mearas, had raised morale considerably. The rumble of thunder in the distance didn't bode well for any forthcoming sleep. Dournil finally drifted off, even as his mind chewed at the items he could not change.
A few leagues away, two Wargs raced towards three combined armies of fell folk and creatures. The riders whipping and cursing them ever on. Their haste drove the creatures to madness, for madness is a disease that passes one to another. More so the time spent within the grasp.
In the command tent of the army of Imladris, the other leaders conferred, discussing all that Valandil had reported. Dain was speaking; "Can we believe all that has been told? Of The two tree's, and Entwives and swords and even of a ring?" Elrond now spoke, face taught and haughty. "To not believe Prince Valandil is to disbelieve a King of Elendil's direct linage! Further it calls me false!
Dream Vision
Valandil lay in the relative darkness of the tent, with Dournil a short distance away. Safe! A great weight lifted from his shoulders, now Valandil's mind turned to his ally's arrival and what this signified. A great day for the fair races of Middle-Earth! Even with the loss of some of the greatest leaders of the land, in years and battles gone by, still all came together against enemies of peace! Valandil held great hope for Middle-Earth's future. The questions and wonders of his times and experience still crowded together in his mind, creating chaos. Valandil thought he'd never get any rest. Dournil's measured breathing of sleep never penetrated his thoughts. Valandil never realized his eyelids had slammed closed as exhaustion over rode brain activity.
The sun dropped below the horizon to the West, as Valandil's exhausted mind and body found the rest they needed. Hours passed as, to the East, the sky had become blacker and blacker as the last faint glow of day fell from the sky. A breeze began to blow from the East, chilling the bones of all it touched. The blackened Eastern sky was lit from inside , occasionally by lightning's. The storm seemed to stall on the near horizon.
He just found himself in a dream without conscious realization. A stiff breeze blew across the small hill on which he stood. The breeze was strong enough to move his waist long braid. (Braid? I don't wear a braid!)
The sky seemed close enough to touch. A sky full of dark clouds that blew down wind impossibly fast. The very air seemed to smell of smoke and blood, carrying the stench of burning flesh. The brassy, metallic taste of it soured on his tongue. Valandil's skin tried to crawl off his body with revulsion. He looked down on a nightmare scene of battle. The longer he watched, the more faces he recognized momentarily from the swirl, only to lose sight of them again. His stomach churned at every sight. His instinct was to charge to the rescue, but his feet were rooted to the spot, he found he couldn't open his mouth to shout encouragement, or move to draw his sword. He realized then, his hand rested on the pommel. Lightning struck down at the area of each recognized face, leaving blackened, unrecognizable corpses behind until the battle filled the space once more.
The air just above the battling armies carried a red tinge as if a spray of blood. As he watched, the lightning began to fill with what appeared to be a face, as if behind the clouds and the very air, was a face as large as the whole scope of his vision, the lightning wiping away an obscuring veil, so one could glimpse the face. A flash of vision through a portal of sorts.
The lightning grew wider as he gazed on it, revealing more and more of the face, until it seemed to fade into being opposite him filling his vision, taking up the whole of the sky. The face now stood revealed as a Black Numenorean, madness written plainly on it's features and lit from the lower front by a surreal, whitish light, throwing sharp shadows across the face. Now it was speaking, looking directly at him. Slowly the words it spoke became audible. .........A curse on your family, sires and decedents! May thy peoples Mothers milk rot in the breast and curdle the suckled babe. Darkness, craven fear and pain of long death be your legacy! Then the sound of it faded away. Finally, the face began to laugh, and turned to the source of the light. Valandil looked as well. Somehow he found himself looking through the others eyes. Before him lay a Palantir. Though the images within were indistinct, the Palantir was unmistakable.
In his dream, Valandil thought he knew something about the origins of this particular Palantir. A feeling that grew stronger the longer he watched. Though the thought niggled and teased at his brain, all he could do was shake his head in frustration. The images cleared suddenly, and great fear washed over him. His knees began to shake, his teeth to chatter. On the verge of panic, his hand spasmed on his pommel, as if he would draw it forth in defense.
His old familiar, leather wrapped pommel. Where was Thilnar? Valandil looked down, moving his hand away and the leather was turned to Thilnar's hilts and pommel. Valandil relaxed and just as quickly, the leather was back. He remembered an elder mentor of his , who used to say "Put your mind to it." He did, Thilnar was back.
Now something unrecognized began to pull at the back of his mind, he could not pull it forth, to recognize it, though. With a little experimentation, he found that if he relaxed his guard, the sword would change back. Al most as if someone was fighting to keep Thilnar from his sheath. It hit him hard, making his mind reel! "Some one fights me? In a dream? Who...of course! My nameless enemy! He who started this war! But how can he see into my dreams? Much less affect them. Thilnar was in his sheath as the heir to the house of Elendil began to discover his own strength of will. For the true blood of the Kings of Numenor ran in his veins and pumped through his heart! The gifts of the Valar still strong and true in this line.
In a tent surrounded by three armies, Uduthar struck the Palantir with a clenched fist in a fit of frustration. His prey had begun to find the inner strength that could foul his plans! This must be prevented at all costs! None would be permitted to alter his plans! Valandil must not seize control of the dream from him! Though he had other and more important plans, Uduthar's insanity would not allow any concessions to any one. There could only be one master. Now that Sauron had fallen, his trusted lieutenant would take charge. In his other hand Uduthar held what he thought to be a most powerful talisman of evil. Made by Sauron, and given by his hand to Uduthar, a stone called the "Dragon's Eye Stone", rested against the Palantir. Sauron had laughed secretly at Uduthar, for he had lied about it. The "stone" was nothing more than a piece of colored glass. No powers, evil or otherwise resided in it.
Sauron had laughed: "Worthless! The fool had thought himself so great and worthy! Oh yes my trusted general! Your Master knows your loyalty and rewards it with a periapt almost the equal to my rings!" The groveling idiot had lapped that up like a starving hound! But it had served Sauron's purpose. Uduthar would do anything for him now. And thought himself among the great.