Legacy of Traitors RPG

[piosenniel]

~*~ Everdawn's post ~*~

I remember it as if it were yesterday: The sun was high in the sky, shining gloriously above Gondor. We were just collecting our lives again after the war of the ring under the reign of the King Elessar. My father Miradir Il Galoth had fought then, under the command of the Steward. My mother and I were evacuated along with the other women and children, my elder brothers stayed as they were a little older along with other boys to aid the soldiers and run errands, that type of thing.

Everyone thought I was too young to understand what was befalling us then, but I understood completely. We stayed in Dol Amroth, for my mother thought that was far enough away from the fighting. Heralds often sent news of happenings in the east, it was then only thing people questioned themselves with. One day news came of the battle of the Pelennor Fields, the big battle, we did not know whether father was fighting or not, or whether he was still in Gondor. The next time we heard any news was when Barad Dûr was taken and the war was over. I was relieved and the journey home was the longest one and I will remember it forever.

My father was alive when we returned home, but a changed man. He showed no sign of warmth to anyone but sat day upon day in his study in a remote wing of the house, alone and withdrawn. Perhaps it was my childish innocence, or a consequence of my curious and sometimes irrational nature which made my next actions possible.

One morning I was playing by myself when I stumbled into the dark corridor of my father’s wing. It was a formidable sight to my young eyes, rows of burning lanterns, and black drapes reflecting upon the polished marble floor. I was drawn to it like a moth is drawn to a flame. Slowly I checked for any sign of life before proceeding along it’s impedingly passageway to the end room which I knew was my father’s study. My small arms pushed open the heavy door and saw that the room was empty. A lamp burned brightly on his desk as well as the candelabras on the walls while the burning embers sat in his fireplace slowly dying. I walked over to his desk. I struggled to place myself upon the seat. Upon the desk sat a lone glass box which revealed to case a bloodstained knife. I lifted the lid of the box and extracted the weapon within and turned it over in my hands before placing it back where it had come from. I opened the top draw in my father’s desk and read over several letters which lay on top of various other pieces of paper, Still I sat I my father’s enormous leather chair as he would have done. Mostly the letters were unsent one which were addressed to my mother an others were to my father’s brother, though he had been killed in Ithilien, obviously my father thought it senseless to send them to him. Whilst raiding the other draws I came across one which hadn’t been opened As fast as I could I broke the seal and began to read, as fast as my young eyes could read then I ran my eyes across the letters, It was in my father’s handwriting and it did not have a receiver’s name on it. I read the letter more closely until one particular passage caught my eye.

“After months of not knowing, I have come to find that the traitor is none other than Guriel Il Galoth. I am in two minds whether we should pursuit him straight away or let him have his game until the right time that we can corner him. The course of action is up to you, whatever your decision; I will not let blood ties hinder your warrant for his arrest or execution.”

Eru only knows how long he had been watching me. I glanced over the letter to see my father standing in the doorway. I had never seen my father so angry before, so much so was his demeanour that he even looked like someone else. He yelled at me then, and I remember little of it but he kept saying this room was forbidden, and I should never have come there and that I wronged him by handling the knife, for he had pulled it from the chest of his best friend. He came in one swift move towards me and hit me on the back so hard that I stumbled and fell into the fire grate where my arm broke my fall, an accident. I screamed for what seemed like an eternity before my wrist was lifted. . I saw tears in my father’s eyes when he had realised what he had done. I knew there was something more to why my father felt the need to punish me, not jut his impending madness which had over come him since the war.

It was in that moment I first asked myself “Who is Guriel Il Galoth?” I was nine then and fourteen years later I am still no closer to the truth than I was then. Today is just like that day - the sun is shining gloriously on Gondor and I still bear a scar upon my wrist, a constant, ugly reminder of my question. Today I received a letter answering my message I sent to the king a while ago. I am hoping this will give some clue as to why my father went mad, and better still, where is this infamous relative of mine?

Maén placed her quill down on the top of the stone steps and closed the cover of her journal; straining her eyes against the setting sun she watched the birds flying in the sky on their way home to roost. In the fading light she rummaged through her robe pockets to find the note from the King’s court, she had waited to open it so she could write in her journal. Slowly and carefully she picked off the wax with her fingernails opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. Every word within was like a hot stabbing knife pricking her flesh. “Information Denied!” her face fell. “This is unbelievable” she remarked with an air of misery. The sun had now gone down and the cool air of the late evening had settled into the grounds of her home. Maén packed up her things and went inside, and headed straight for her chamber without dinner where she stayed till late night.

Now thoroughly annoyed with the monarchy of Gondor, Maén resolved that the only hope she had now of getting any answers or receiving any of the Legacy, was to go to her aunt who lived at the north of Minas Tirith, the one remaining relative who would help her. Now, any normal person would have accepted the truth that Guriel Il Galoth would now remain anonymous for the rest of time, until the day would come when the sun rose no more. But not Maén, her fiery personality and obsessive nature made impossible for her to determine when to leave things alone. After hours of storming around her bedroom she decided that tonight she would make a start to find out about her infamous relative.

Checking that all the lights were out in the house, she lit a lamp and in her nightgown she clambered as quietly as she could down the numerous halls of her families huge home, passing her brother’s old chambers, in which they had lived before they moved out and got married, everything that was expected by Gondorian society. “Fools and idiots, bamboozled brothers of mine… what fate shall befall them, those who seek nothing and in return gain nothing?” she smirked in passing, her shadow etching itself further in front of her.

Managing to come by the first floor unnoticed by the life that dwelled deep where dreams lie, in the rooms she climbed the marble stairs two more floors till she arrived at the same formidable wing she grew to hate as a child. Treading softly and swiftly she strode boldly through it to her fathers primary study. Slowly pushing open the door, and listening to it creak for a few seconds, she peered into the study. Her body froze for the slightest minute. The fire embers were still cooling in the fireplace. Maén pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown and peered at the underside of her left wrist. There still she wore a reminder of why she never came in here anymore. A four inch burn scar ran vertically down her arm. Shoving her hand away form her sight she placed the candelabra upon her father’s desk and began to raid the drawers for the letters she so vaguely remembered.

She had sat in her father’s chair for what seemed like an hour. Maén had moved to looking in the draws in her father’s library, throwing books across the room as well as the small statues which lay between the rows of books. Maén was on her hands and knees, she was about to give up until she stumbled across a new letters hidden within a box, concealed in the hollowed out middle of an eagle statue which stood at the base of the last bookshelf, adjacent to the wall. Feverishly she pulled them from their envelopes.

“Mr Il Galoth, we the shipmasters of Freverin & Sons Shipping Co. wish to inform you…”

“I don’t care what a shipmaster has to say!” she exclaimed with ill patience she moved onto the next.

“Miradir,

Give the guards a start towards the city, Osgiliath is waiting for you. I have run across some intelligence which would prove the enemy is weaker.

- Guriel.”

Maén almost dropped the letter with excitement. The next one read.


“Salome,

Pull the men out! Dwell not on the words of Guriel my cousin for he has betrayed us all! My brother is dead along with the other men, for Eru’s sake, do not come, or it will be the death of you all!

- Miradir”

“It’s true! He was betrayed.” She exclaimed. Before noticing one more letter, the seal was unbroken. Returning to her fathers chair she fiddled with it for some time before lifting the wax with her fingernail. Out fell a small piece of paper which in turn read.

“To my dear cousin,

I write to you this letter of gratitude. It was because of you and your noble men that Mordor has been able to get this far. I know now that I am wanted for treason again my country. And to this I tell you, try as you will, you can never find me. In fact the purpose of my letter to you is to warn the king, come not to me, or what will meet you will be even more hazardous than the day I took the lives of your men and your brother. You have seen what I am capable of, kinslaying, and I will never be found. I offer a grand legacy to those who may find me for their trouble and hence they will call themselves “Finder of the impossible” a title which grandly their heirs will remember.

For what I have said, heed my warning; death will come on swift wings to those of Gondor who come for my life.

- Guriel Il Galoth.”

“Dear Eru!” she exclaimed reading over the letter several times. “Kinslaying! My uncle was killed by him then! This is a lot deeper than I originally thought.” She sat and pondered, picturing the scene in her mind. “…Legacy..?” she started at once. “Wait a second, legacy, it has to be gold, like the people in the village said it was.” She dwelled on this thought for some time. “All the more reason for haste, I feel I have an advantage now.” She glanced toward the mantle and on it were the blood covered knife in its glass case, deciding whether or not to leave it in its place. Her fingers extended but she thought the better of it. Gathering up the letters and her father’s journal, a map and the candelabra she hurried from her father’s wing and back to her room.

A nervous excitement filled her body as she swiftly changed from her nightgown into another dress, (she would be riding, it was true, but still she wanted to look like a lady) and packed a bag full of her clothes, quills, and paper. Maén fleetingly looked at her room as she threw open the doors to her balcony. Her mirror stared back at her. She smiled at her reflection before throwing a paperweight at it from its place on her desk. An almighty crash rang out form it as the shards of glass covered the floorboards. She left the balcony for a minute and overturned her desk, cupboards and tea tables. Maén ripped her curtains from their rods and cast them from her terrace on the second floor so they dangled feet from the ground floor. She threw her bags over the edge and looked once more at the disaster she had created in her chamber and noticed her journal on the floor under several other clusters of paper. She recovered it and after making sure the sheets were secure, made for the ground and then away to the stables.

The stables echoed the neighs of horses unsettled from their slumber as Maén hastily searched their stalls for her horse. It was in the last one, a smaller red mare by the name of Hittai.

Maén now growing more optimistic by the minute rode from her home for her Aunt’s manor, slightly north of Minas Tirith, not the safest route for a young woman to be riding on in the middle of the night, or so was the opinion of her Aunt Lysia. Aunt Lysia was well dressed, even in the middle of the night as she stood with her servants to receive her. Lysia thought strange that her niece should visit her at such a time, but as always, she was pleased all the same.

“Why exactly have you come?” she asked Maén who sat fidgeting across from her at her table. Lysia had always been the confidant of her rogue niece, the only relative who did not shun her radical behaviour in the past.

Her niece’s eyes were dull in the light of the chandelier which hung above them, “Guriel” she said. At once Lysia sat up straighter than she already was (not once in her life could Maén remember her Aunt’s back hitting the rear of any chair she ever sat in)

“I thought this day would come, though I rather expected it sooner than this.” Lysia frowned and glanced at a clock on the wall.

Maén was glad that her aunt knew something about this man. “Well?” she asked impatiently.

“Calm child.” Lysia snapped and made her way out of the room to appear minutes later with a leather folder, rather empty but containing several sheets of parchment. “I recovered these from my bureau, Listen hard because I will only discuss this with you once.” Maén need no warning of this, her heat was already still with anticipation. “You know your father has never been the same since the war, and he has good reason. You know as well that my husband was killed along with him.” Maén nodded. “Your father is still suffering from the memories of that war, heavens knows it has changed the best of men, even after all these years. You must understand it makes him do things he wouldn’t usually do-”

“Like hit his little daughter hard enough for her to get trapped in the fire as her little arm began to burn in the embers in his fireplace until the skin had all but melted away?”

Even Maén was surprised by her sudden outburst. Lysia’s head snapped up, she was quiet for a second, and still, and old, so old that you could see all the years of grief and loneliness creep suddenly onto her face.

“Like that.” she murmured. “The government gave me no other reason as to why your uncle died than ‘he died as a hero on the battlefields of Ithilien fighting the enemy.’ Of course with your father back in his present state the only explanation I could get from him was ‘he was killed by the traitor.’ "

Maén was almost jumping out of her seat. “Guriel” Lysia nodded. “Not to be quick, I know that your uncle was in a regiment where a large number of the Il Galoth men were stationed. This is most unusual for a military family but not remote. Out of all the Il Galoth’s who went, only two lived, your father and Guriel. Your father was the only one to return to Gondor. Rumour came to me by the marketplace that they were stationed in an emissary- spy position if you will. And that Guriel, their own blood in fact, had betrayed the whole regiment to Mordor.”

Maén was stunned, “How . . . why . . . ? My father was in the intelligence sector?”

Lysia nodded again and drained the last of her port from her glass. “He was, appointed by the Steward, Few people know of this, I wrote to the Military to ask them and this is the reply I got.” Lysia’s frail fingers pulled one of the few pieces of parchment from the folder and handed it across the table for Maén to read.


Dear Widow Il Galoth,

The Gondorian Army has never heard of any corps such as you wrote to us in your letter. Your husband Miradan died as a hero defending Osgiliath during the War of the Ring, and I revile the people who have spread these untrue rumours, preventing you to grieve as you should. To add to that, we have never retained in our service, one, Guriel Il Galoth, or had him in the service of the city.

Eru be with you in these hard times,

The Gondorian Army

“Never heard of him?” Maén asked still dumbfounded staring at the paper.

“That’s what I found interesting.” Lysia smiled.

“He does too exist, and he was in the same sector as my father. It says so in a letter I found.” Maén tapped her fingers on the table.

“You are quite right, Guriel Il Galoth does live, or I think he does, his fate is unknown to me, but I happened to meet him on one occasion, at your grandfather’s funeral.” Lysia lit another of the fading candles in the chandelier. “So I did some research, which was very limited as your father was uncooperative, well he was sick…

From various sources I gained reports that a man had brought a horse with the same number branded onto its skin as the number given to Guriel during the war.” Lysia handed a stock report to Maén who read as she continued talking. “I also confirmed that a man had sold a large house in the very east of Ithilien to a man called Galoth who paid in a lump sum of gold, now I’m sure that it was a fair way off, but it was too close a match for me not to ignore.”

“A legacy,” Maén interrupted passing the letter which she had come across in her father’s study to Lysia.

“I see,” she said in her cultured voice after reading it. “This may well in fact mean what I think it does, Gold, I am suspect to think it would be gold, this ‘legacy’ Guriel speaks of, though it could well be property. Which brings me to my next point, you don’t even know if he is alive, or dead, you don’t know what happened and that there probably is a good reason your father and Gondor don’t want us to know what happened.”

Lysia paused which gave Maén time to speak. “You said earlier that you had expected me to come, why?”

Lysia breathed deeply. “Because I am too old to go looking, and I know that is why you have come, have you not? To look for him?”

Maén now reminded herself why she liked her aunt; it was because they knew each other so well. “It is.” she said as Lysia handed her the folder to replace the documents.

“I will warrant your search and serve as benefactor; all finance can be done through me. Collect who you will and bring them to me before going on your journey, if I pass them they may go and they will be paid handsomely upon their return.”

Maén was in awe. “Surely it will be too much, the cost!”

To which Lysia waved her hand aside, “I am wealthy enough, you forget, I too came from a well off family, Go now, rest. I will send a messenger to your home and tell them you are staying with me for some time. We will talk more in the morning when you will begin your search.”

Lysia would hear no more that night, and Maén was slightly glad, this night had brought many surprises to her, and now she would be able to seek the answer to her question which had not only plagued her but her aunt as far as she could tell, she now drifted off to a dreamless sleep and she would need it, for in the morning she would search Minas Tirith high and low for the people who would be willing to accompany her on her quest.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:37 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Amanaduial's post

The dark, cloaked figure marched grimly on through the drizzle of the early morning which was rapidly turning into a full blown thunderstorm. Not downpour though, with this wind, he thought abstractly. Maybe…sidepour. He smiled grimly to himself and continued to squelch on through mud until his feet met the more even land of a path.

Atharen looked down at the path and smiled wanly, before raising his eyes to his right, squinting against the rain and the wind. After a few moments of battling with the rain, he gave up, having been rewarded only with a face full of water instead of a glimpse of the city he looked for. But no matter; he could find his way to Minas Tirith blindfolded. Or, failing that, through enough rain to drown a small oliphaunt. Atharen made it his business to visit the citadel at least once every two years – he had friends there, and one of his mother’s uncles now lived there with his wife and daughters. Atharen smiled slightly, recalling that detail – Merien always gave him a fine welcome. A lady, she was, a fine lady; even though she was the daughter of a soldier and a seamstress, the young woman proved that it was not only high birth that could make a lady...

Distracted in his musings and memories, his hearing muffled by the rain, the man did not hear the hooves until they were quite close, and then they seemed amplified, the hooves of a mighty stallion. Whirling around, he pulled the two dirks from his belt and his back in his hands (the sword had the irritating habit of sticking somewhat in the rain, and until he could get warm and dry, getting it out would probably be rather ill-advised if he ever wished to get it back in again), and stood against the approaching horse, left hand in front so the blade was easily visible, the right held to one side, ready to help with the attack if need be. A crack of lightning striking the tableau would have given it a rather menacing look…

…if the horse had not been a rather small, plump mare, upon which was seated a young woman. Because of the rain now coming in sheets against his face, despite his deep hood, Atharen did not realise his mistake until it was too late; the horse reared, panicked, and it’s rider fell with a cry. The ranger sprung lightly to the side as the horse’s hooves started to come down, ducking underneath them and coming to rest by it’s left side, one dirk held to the throat of the fallen rider…and his eyes widened in shock as he realised who the rider was a young woman, in her twenties he guessed, her blonde hair streaming with rainwater, sprawled on the ground. Hastily sheathing one dirk, he held out a hand to the woman, bending slightly. “My lady, I apologise – I did not realise.”

The woman glared hostilely at the ranger and got to her feet herself, gracefully considering she had just fallen. She was some inches shorter than Atharen, but her hazel eyes were fierce. She looked at the ranger with a mixture of scorn and fear, and seemed to be scrutinising him; a man who looked only a few years older than herself, his blonde hair darkened by the rain and falling in bedraggled curls to his jaw, his skin pale from the cold with a scar standing out on one cheek. His eyes kept her gaze and after a moment he felt prompted to make a move; it was freezing cold and wet, and Atharen wanted to make it to the city before the full light of day was upon the city - already the first tendrils of light were appearing over the horizon. “This is a dangerous road for a young woman to be riding on at such a late hour.”

The woman gave a small, angry snort before turning and re-mounting the mare, who glared at Atharen quite as hostilely as it’s owner. “It is not dangerous unless madmen with two swords are lying in wait to terrorise young women.”

Atharen blinked at the comment, then smiled slightly despite himself. “I was not lying in wait. I was attempting to get to the city of Minas Tirith, coming from Rohan, although the weather has not been overly kind.” The woman was watching him again, and she was getting wetter and wetter still. What’s more, she was unarmed. Ever since he was young, Atharen had been raised to be courteous, and had always resented and acted against the way men often tried to treat his mother in the Inn when her brothers were away. In this case, it was partly his fault that the woman had been waylaid, so it would only be polite to…

“May I escort you back to Minas Tirith, lady?”

She stared at him. “Why do you think I am going to Minas Tirith?”

Atharen smiled slightly, but not patronisingly, the night-shadows on his face making his eyes seem even darker and more mischievous. “At this time of night, I hardly think you’d be going this way and travelling anywhere else. Please, you are unarmed, and this is not a safe road – after all, there could be all sorts of madmen with a pair of swords lying in wait.” He grinned and waited for her reply.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:50 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Melisil's post

Aelimur marched into King Elessar's throne room. His uniform on, and his helmet under his arm. When he was a few feet in front of the throne he bowed lowly to his lord.

"You called sire?" he said, standing full height again, "What service may I complete for you highness?"

Elessar, also known as Aragorn by some, nodded. "Yes Aelimur, son of Dalemun. I wish for you to carry out a task for me. I have heard news that Maén, daughter of Miradir Il Galoth- one of our greater soldiers- retired now, is gathering together a group of men and woman to seek out Guriel Il Galoth, cousin of
Miradir, and murderer of Miradir's brother. I am most sure she wishes to seek revenge on him of one kind or another." Elessar stopped for a moment, "Aelimur, I want you and one other member of my guard- whom I will disclose to you later- to join their party. You cannot be known as a member of my guard though, as she knows I do not agree to this. Join them, as a traveller say, and find Guriel with them. If and when you do, I want the two of you to arrest him, before continuing back here at Minas Tirith for his proper... how shall I say... repayment?"

Aelimur listened to all of this very closely. "I understand sire. When will we go, and where will we be going?"

"You will be going to the house of the widow Lysia Il Galoth. That is where she is gathering people." Elessar replied, "When, I am not sure; Three days at most, hopefully two, and if you can, tommorow. In other words: as soon as possible."

Aelimur nodded. "Yes your highness. Shall I return to my watch now sir?"

Elessar nodded, "Yes Aelimur. And after your watch is finished, go to your manor and make ready for the trip you will be taking. Remember though that you should not be discovered as a member of Gondor's guard. And do not worry about the amount of time it will take, if you return him here, arrested(or otherwise in your command) you will be well rewarded. Either way though, I will be glad in you."

"No reward is needed for me to be honored in serving you my lord." Aelimur stated, doing a short bow to the King once more before turning around and marching out of the courtyard.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:53 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Eorl of Rohan's post

Ferethor reined in his horse by the eve of Greenwood the Great, which was once called Mirkwood. The sun cast it's last rays upon the forest ans sank beyond the Misty Mountains.

He was singing what snatches he could remember of a song of lore he once heard long ago, improvising the tune as he went.

"Grey as tears, gleaming silver
Red then it rolled, roaring water..."

When he dismounted and camped for the night, he had time enough to brood over what he was going to do.

"The legacy..." He rolled the thought around in his mind. Then he smiled. "Even if it was true, why wouldn't have the villain or whatever he is used it all?"

He was suddenly furious at the king, though he knew it was not loyal. "This, a special mission from the king? For Illuvatar's gaze! What use could there possibly be in following after a petty villain and the legacy he is supposed to have?"

"What of the Shire, from which I was sent?" He talked the the gathering night. His horse nuzzled up to his face, and was given a piece of carrot. "Even though the time of Darkness is past, orcs, Wargs and other evil creature prowl around the borders of Shire" Ferethor thought with anger. "If soldiers of Gonder does not patrol and defend shire, there would be no peace for these holbytlans. Whither shall they flee from the oncoming dread if we did not protect them? But now we are withdrawn, few as we are, to chase after daydreams!"

Nevertheless, he was wondering how to join the company under disguised name when he fell asleep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:54 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Thengal's post

Carathir shook his head and banged his fist into his palm in frustration. Lysia had done so much for him, first by saving him from the Gondorian king’s judgment, then by befriending him over the last few weeks and teaching him the Gondorian customs. Carathir had been unable to return the favor, though he clearly saw that Lysia carried some great burden. Carathir wanted to rush into the library now, go to the woman, and make her speak her gloomy thoughts to him.

Carathir would not yet be so bold with his new friend, however. He would find the key to her pain in time, he vowed, but right now he had his own dilemma to overcome. Carathir made his way into his private chambers, which Lysia had provided for him, deep in thought.

Carathir was an Easterling, a man from the Sea of Rhun, an enemy of Gondor. His uncle, Ulwarth, was the king of the Balchoth tribe. Carathir's uncle had adopted him when he was 5 years old, after his father had perished fighting at Minas Tirith. Carathir had left his uncle’s hall, on the coast of the Rhun, not more than a month ago. The words of his uncle still echoed in his thoughts, “Go Carathir, my son, go and save yourself from my fate and the fate of all those who trusted the treachery the Dark Lord. Do not be caught in the snares of power and greed, like we all were. Leave this forsaken land and do not return. Go and seek your fortunes in the wide world. Hearts as pure as yours should not be bound here, to wither and die like those of our people.”

After much debate Carathir finally made the decision to leave the home he had known for the 20 years of his life. Carathir’s brother’s called him a “coward” and a “dog of Gondor.” They told him that his father would have been ashamed to call Carathir his son. They said that no man, of any worth, would ever leave his people to run off to the lands of the West because times were bad. After the War, the Easterling tribes had fallen into poverty and despair. They had put all their resources into the war against Gondor and lost everything, including an entire generation of young men. They had petty squabbles over barren pieces of rock, so that they could scrap out barely enough to survive. They were raided by roving bands of orcs who stole what petty land, around the Sea of Rhun, they had left. With the words of his brothers echoing in his head, Carathir rode from the land of his people never to return.

Suddenly, a knock came to his door that shook him from his daydream. He rose to answer the call at his door, but Lysia had already let herself in. “Carathir, I need you to do something for me,” she said suddenly. He was startled by her openness and the troubled look on her face. He wished much to do what ever he could for this kind woman, whom had showed him so much compassion. She paused and he waited for her to continue. “Well it starts like this…”

The entire tale was related to him from beginning to end, twice over. Carathir pondered over every word of her tale trying to fit himself into it somehow. He wished to do what he could, but getting tangled up with a traitor to Gondor, considering where he was from, was not an advisable course of action. “What do you need from me?” he finally asked her. “I need you to go with Maen, Carathir.” “She needs stout companions and you are a splendid choice, my young man.” She looked sincerely into his eyes searching for a reaction to the question. The request surprised he a little, but then the shadows of his past started creeping into his mind. Does this Gondorian wench what me to do her dirty work for her?. He tried to shake the thought from his mind, but it came back stronger.Take the Legacy. Take the Legacy. Carathir thought he left that part of him back home. That evil hate instilled in him from birth. He battled it all his life, he fought to become his own person. He lost the battle against it in a matter of minutes. “Yes!” he suddenly burst out. At first Lysia was startled by the outburst, but then a smile spread across her face. “Good, I thought that’s what you’d say,” she said as she patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll fetch Lysia and tell her she has a new companion!” she said as she scurried out of the room.

Carathir sat alone with his brother’s taunts echoing through him. His thoughts grew dark and clouded. He lost sight of the man he thought he was. I’ll show them. Then we’ll see whose laughing when I return rich and become a hero of our people! He wrung his hands with delight and a wicked smile spread across his face. Then, he rose from his bed and began preparing his things. So, a scheme began to hatch in his mind of how he would recover the gold and slip away without causing too much of an uproar.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:52 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Eladain Moruviel's post

"I’ll give you fifteen for it, and not a penny more!" the shopkeeper shouted.

"Great Eru man, do you take me for a fool?!? I’ll take twenty-five for it and no less!" Delphinous retorted indignity. "I’ll give you twenty, and that’s my final offer!" Del knew that he would find no better offer anywhere in the city,

so he reluctantly handed over the ring his mother had given him so long ago. He had thought he would never part with it, something to always him of his mother, but it would do him no good if he was dead of starvation, and he had eaten the last of his supplies yesterday. Pocketing the money, he went to the large market in the center of Minas Tirith. Twenty silver pennies wouldn’t last him for more than a few days, he would have to find work, and soon too.

He had come to Minas Tirith hoping to find a job, but apparently, they’re weren’t very many wanted men in this part of the world. When his money ran out, he would have to move on. How quickly those few silver pennies ran out, and still no work, but finally, he got wind of something that could change his fortunes forever. The word on the street was that the widow Il Galoth was funding some sort of expedition to find a certain relative, and what’s more, she was paying very well. This wasn’t Del’s usual line of work, but perhaps he could make something out of it.

He went to the Red Fox Inn, where he had made a few "connections" sense had had come to the capitol. The Red Fox was not the most reputable of places, but in his kind of work, it was the best place to start. The suffocating smell of pipe smoke and ale was almost enough to crush him as he walked into the dimly lit interior of the Inn, but he soon spotted his man and quickly went over and sat next to him. "tell me Eladain,what do you know of this widow Il Galoth?" "Plenty, but it could cost ya." replied the man In one swift movement, Del had him face down on the table, arms behind his back "Now, how bout you tell me, and I won’t brake your arm?" He snarled. "Of course, I were only foolin’ I’ll tell ya anything ya need to know"

After finding out all he could, Delphinous headed to the Army department. After waiting several hours, he was finally admitted to see the head officer. "Word has reached me that an expedition to find Guriel Il Galoth. It has also reached my ears that he betrayed a troop of your men to the enemy, resulting in the death of almost all of them. Perhaps the army would pay to have said traitor brought back for trial and execution?" At first the officer looked confused, but then he broke into a smile. " heh heh heh, Now where did you get that idea?" He half turned to dismiss Del, but then he thought better of it "Wait here, I’ll be right back" he said as he left the room.

When he returned ten minutes later, he had a grim look on his face. "Well?" inquired Del impatiently? "what’s the news?" "I’ve talked it over with some certain people, and we have decided that we could pay you the sum of, say

10,000 gold if you could bring this Gurial Il Galoth back, unofficially of course, and no questions asked on your part" Chuckling, Delphinous replied "I knew you’d warm up to me, I’ll get in touch with the widow tomorrow, and then be on my way. A pleasure doing business with you sir! Good day" And with that, Del went out.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:49 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Hama of the Riddermark’s post

Roryn sat in the high branches of the trees of Ithilien smoking his pipe. He was almost invisible to anyone that would have looked up, but there were few people to look up into the trees in search of enemies now. He settled himself with his back to the tree trunk, with his legs bent upward in front of him, outstretched to the extent that is was comfortable, but gave adequate support. His bow hung off a small branch next to him and his quiver of arrows with it. He knew it was reckless to leave them there, but then, he reasoned, it was reckless to go to war as he had done. He remembered the day well of the Pellenor fields.

He let a whistle escape him. He started to hum a tune. He didn’t know where it came from or what it meant; only that it was a nice song. He supposed it was one of his own compositions, but he couldn’t be sure, as he had heard so many songs…


Green be the fields of silver,
Green be the land of ours,
White is the tree restored,
White is the crown of stars.

He knew it was awful, but he chuckled anyhow. It was about Gondor and its beauty, and so it was good enough for a mid-day hum in the middle of a wood. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t really before now truly appreciated what a beautiful place Gondor was, he had seen it ravaged too much by war for that. He sat in the tranquil of the woods and took another long drag on his pipe. He smiled once again, then unhooked his bow and quiver, slung them over his back and dropped down branch by branch until he hit the forest floor. A leaf crunched under him and he sighed, he was out of practice somewhat.

He made his way through the undergrowth slowly, picking carefully his route so as to avoid making noise. There were still things here that would not look kindly on a ranger of Gondor. He reached the edge of the woods within a few minutes and surveyed the horizon, nothing, good. He set off at a run in the direction of Minas Tirith…

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:55 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Crystal Heart’s post

Crystal was heading for Minas Tirith after waiting silently for several hours. The riders from Rohan that bore the crest of her father's army had been searching for her. If she had moved she would have been found. As of late they had been using trackers, but because of the trees’ help they couldn't find her tracks. Crystal hoped that they never would and would one day give up trying to find her. She wouldn't go back, she would kill all that tried to capture her. She would be free.

Yet, this wanting freedom didn't come without a price. A heavy price. She didn't have a job and wasn't sure what a woman of her stature could really do. She had talents and interests as any being did, but talents and interests never seemed to make enough money. She would have to sit down and create a job and that would risk the chance of being captured by her father's men.

That would leave swindling men out of their money. A task that was easy, but her heart always got involved and stopped her from taking too much from the man she was seducing. She hated her heart, hated the way she was so kind. She wanted to be ruthless and take it all.

If only I could find a treasure of some sort that would pay for everything I would ever need for all of my days, Crystal thought wishfully. She knew that if she could find such a treasure then she could settle down somewhere, far away from the reaches of Rohan. Possibly the place she had once visited called the Shire. She was sure she could find a place to stay and live out her days in peace. She hadn't seen any riders there when she was there last, but then times have changed and it was a possibility that her father had thought of that. He always thought of every aspect. That's why he was general. He was ruthless and knew aspects of battle that most men over looked. He was devious and she knew she would have to be aware.

She smiled at the thought that her father would search the rest of his life and yet never find her. They wouldn't find her because she had become a traveler now. She knew the secret ways of the traveler and she knew that her father had no previous knowledge of travelers. He would never find her.

"You aren't anything to me," Crystal's father had said to her countless times in her life. She smiled at the thought. For someone that was nothing he was sure doing his best to try to find her. Maybe the old man had learned a valuable lesson that he wouldn't have learned if she hadn't left. She liked the fact that he was suffering, that he was in pain and in grief at his loss. He had certainly hurt her enough times in her life.

She hummed lightly to herself a song that her mother had sung to her before her death. She couldn't recall the lyrics to the song, but she could remember the tune. Just this general tune set her in a good mood. A good mood, something that she hadn't been in a couple of months. She was in a good mood because she had eluded the riders for the second time that day. This day had been very productive.

Crystal felt her pouch and knew that there was only a couple of coins left. She needed to get to Minas Tirith and try to swindle another man out of his money. She wished in her mind that there would be a treasure there that she could attain. She wanted a treasure to stop this life of crime and to come respectable once again in a nice place. Again she thought of the Shire, which would be a great place to settle down for the rest of her life.

She headed on towards Minas Tirith hoping for treasure and the future that undoubtedly waited ahead for her.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:45 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor chewed gingerly on a piece of cram, wishing that he had not chosen to tread winding forest trails. He had been forced to take this detour into the heart of Greenwood the Great, to avoid the orc-bands that stalked the main road by this time of the night.


“Why didn’t I take the plain road, though it led through a hedge of swords?” He thought as he munched on the last of his cram and prepared to go again. “I’d rather fight orcs!”


“At least I won’t get lost.” He said aloud, hoping to rouse his spirit as he scanned the road. With the aid of his slender blade, he cleared away lush undergrowth as he passed, checking the position of stars now and then for guidance.


“For the sake of Illuvatar, Apple, not again!” Ferethor swore exasperatedly for the seventh time that night, hearing Apple whinny and knowing that his horse managed to get itself entangled somewhere – again.


Apple, who managed to get clear of the vines by a violent thrust with his back legs, came trotting up to him and nuzzled his hand penitently. Laughing, Ferethor pushed the horse away. “You’ll get the chance to run soon.” Even as he said that, the trees and bushes thinned out and the road became more visible. The wood trail joined the Great Road, which led to the gates of Minas Tirith.


As the sun rose over the peaks of the Lonely mountains, Ferethor entered the gate. “Lord Elessar said Aelimur would join me." He said to himself. “Down by the Fountain of the White tree.” Ferethor, upon reaching the fountain, winced at the sight of Aelimur, still clad in silver and sable of the guards.


He recalled his audience with Lord Elessar. "Lord Aragorn! You mean you chose Aelimur of all the soldiers to be my comrade, sir?" He cried. "Help? The young pup will be only a hinderance!"


"Aelimur is valourous and loyal. That's why I assigned you with him - so he can learn to be wise as well as valourous, and to show pity as well as being proud. I trust in him." His eyes danced with laughter as he said, "You weren't any better, I recall, when you joined the hunt for the Wargs instead of your father at the age of seventeen."


At that Ferethor had no answer. "He is a true king, in the sense that he does not command but always persuade." He thought.


Ferethor dismounted and approached Aelimur, who was busy in trying to merge among the people and failing utterly. "Aelimur!" He said quietly, hoping to not draw any attention. "You'll give everything away! Don't turn your head away from gazes and skulk around."


Aelimur leapt up, surprised at being taken unawares. Ferethor sighed in exasperation. Aloud, he said, "Aelimur, do you know where this Maen is supposed to be?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:37 AM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Everdawn]

A new determination filled Maén, so much so that she could not sleep, nor was she tired but glad that her Aunt Lysia understood her situation. Her own family would have locked her in her room had she ever said anything about going to find Gondor’s Traitor, and it was after all Lysia’s husband who had been betrayed as much as her father and the other Il Galoth men were betrayed by cousin Guriel. She paused at this thought, no, not cousin- traitor Maén did not know what to expect from her expedition, and not one part of her wanted to fail, mostly it was for Aunt Lysia, she did not want to fail Lysia.

Maén reached for the lantern on her bedside table , and once it was lit she made the decision to find Lysia. Lysia’s house was not as immense as her abode, but what it lacked in enormity, it doubled in extravagance. What Maén did not expect at that early hour was to find Aunt Lysia walking briskly in her direction.

“Aunt!” Maén stammered , surprised.
“Come with me Maén.” She said with a tired voice and together they set out for Lysia’s drawing room.

“I intend to go earlier than you have said Aunt.” Maén spoke sitting down in one of the drawing rooms vast leather chairs.

“And I shall not keep you from it, heaven knows none can keep you when your will is set, your chamber in your residence was your latest victim.” Lysia smiled a little, before continuing. “I will not begrudge your choices of whom you shall choose for your companions, I trust you that far. But I will tell you this my dear, choose wisely, not only the most safe companions, but ones who will aid you with the finding of Guriel Il Galoth. Most of the men these days will not harm a woman of good family.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure Aunt.” Maén scowled “A woman can still cut a man’s throat.”

Lysia held up a hand, “That may be so Maén, but still, choose to your advantage. You will offer them twenty thousand in gold each when they return with you to my residence safely. Ride now, I think you will find I have already had Hittai readied for you, and everything you will need, as soon as you are changed that is, you don’t want to be riding around Gondor in your nightdress now do you?”

“Oh Really! Aunt Lysia, I thought it was most becoming of me, I should have liked to start a fickle new trend that the ladies of Minas Tirith could have exhausted their father’s money ‘oer.” And with those words she departed to dress in her riding habit.

“The Hollowdale Swan Inn, I will send Carathir to you, in my stead, I am paying him equal to the others, he will be there tomorrow.” Lysia had said, with Maén barley hearing it as she galloped her mare through the gates and towards Minas Tirith. Maén had been riding for an hour and a half, maybe two in the pouring rain and thunder of the very early morning when on the road ahead of her she saw a tall cloaked figure.

That’s odd she said to herself as Hittai neared it, why would you want top be out in weather like this she pushed the thought to the back of her head and kept riding. It was true, Hittai was a smaller horse, but she was reliable, it was the one good ting her parents had ever done for her, though they insisted she rode side-saddle, Maén smiled to see that she now rode her horse like a man. During the time she had been caught up in her thoughts she was brought back to the cold damp reality by Hittai stopping and rearing and finally with Maén being cast onto the mud with a knife to her throat.

Maén breathed heavily, taking in the shock of the passing seconds, until she looked up into the face of the one who was holding her. Dark eyes, and a thin face of a man stared back at her. “My lady, I apologise – I did not realise.” Maén was by now very angry and very wet and cold, her bright hair was tangled and strewn with mud. The man tried to offer her a hand but she found her own way off the mud of the road. Yes, , she said to herself ill offer you a hand- so that you can stand me and stab me in the back! It was then that Maén felt her body go rigid and her stomach drop. This man had to be a ranger, and not only a ranger, but armed, strong and taller than she was. Maén realised that it was not a good idea not to come with a weapon, the one thing Lysia forgot to mention! ! she thought to herself ardently. It was the ranger who next spoke.

“This is a dangerous road for a young woman to be riding on at such a late hour.” Maén froze, he ranger has struch a chord deep within her. If I wasn’t smaller than him…. ignoring him she turned to chase down Hittai who was nipping some grass a few feet away and mounted her. “It is not dangerous unless madmen with two swords are lying in wait to terrorise young women.” She spat at him finally, but the Ranger seemed generally sorry though at this he smiled.

“I was not lying in wait. I was attempting to get to the city of Minas Tirith, coming from Rohan, although the weather has not been overly kind.”

Maén was regretting her demeanour to this man every second.

“May I escort you back to Minas Tirith, lady?”
Maén did not know how to respond at first, but she was begetting within her mind an idea.
“Why do you think I am going to Minas Tirith?” she said tesitingly.
“At this time of night, I hardly think you’d be going this way and travelling anywhere else. Please, you are unarmed, and this is not a safe road – after all, there could be all sorts of madmen with a pair of swords lying in wait.” Said the ranger.

He had a point, as much as she hated to admit, perhaps, maybe he could help me “All right ranger, you may, but at least I should like to know you name, I on the other hand am Maén Il Galoth.” She walked Hittai slowly beside the ranger, (though Hittai still did not like the look of him.)
“Atharen” the ranger replied.
They walked in silence for a while as Maén got her facts straight in her mind, it was around twenty minutes before she told the ranger her plight.
“I suppose you’ve heard of My family.” The ranger said nothing, and Maén did not know what he was thinking. “My family are a prominent military family in Minas Tirith, or were rather, Until my father’s cousin betrayed the regiment which contained nine members of my kin. My father was the only survivor. The man’s name was Guriel Il Gloth and it is said that he lives in Ithilien.”
The ranger’s pace slowed as he listened harder. “My aunt has sent me to form a company who would recover him, and pay them twenty thousand in gold upon my safe return. I would like it if someone like you would help me Atharen.” She noted hopefully as they reached sight of the gates of Minas Tirith. “Or at least, for you kindness and very good attempt at getting me killed, let me buy you breakfast, you look as though you haven’t eaten in weeks, besides. I need to find the “Hollowdale Swan” ” she dismounted Hittai but noticed that the rain had managed to wash away most of the mud from the road. It was hard to tell exactly what the ranger was thinking, “- I mean if you have no other commitments, I do really need to know the types I am taking along with me. Id hate to be in the worng company and surely a ranger would be able to sort them from the rest.”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:26 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn entered the hustle and bustle of the Hollowdale Swan inn. He sometimes felt that he almost liked this place, but he dissmissed this as sentimentality. Of all that he wore his dark brown leather breastplate with the white tree on was the only reminder of his past, the rest was just light brown cloth. He chuckled absentmindedly as he called for an ale. People cast the occasional odd look at him, or more specifically, at his sword and bow. It had been a sad day when he had been released from service, but he supposed it was for the best. He had enough money to buy ale now, and there was no place better to spend your time than Ithilien.

He took out a long pipe and put the end in his mouth. Deep he breathed and let the smoke slowly out of his mouth, attempting to shape it but failing miserably. He smiled once again and leaned back on his chair, watching the door with no real purpose except to see who entered and who went out...

[Eladain Moruviel]

As Delphinous walked the street after his meeting with the officer, a flood of thoughts ran through his mind. “What if this guy is already dead? What good to me is he then?” There was of course the twenty thousand gold for just going, that would be enough for him to live on for a while, but still…

Before he knew it, he had reached the Hollowdale Swan Inn. It was a respectable looking place, and Del had been too far worse on his many hunts. He checked the scrap of paper Eladain had given him, yes; this was the place for sure. So he walked in, and was first met by the smells of tobacco and ale, a familiar smell to Del: one that reminded him of home.

He stalked up to the bar and ordered a stout, glancing around the room as he did so. He noticed a man, hooded and cloaked, talking to the Innkeeper and one of his customers. “A Ranger” he decided, ”but what’s he doing in these parts I wonder? No business if mine at any rate” and so he went back to sipping his drink.

Several drinks later, Del started to wonder if perhaps no one would show, and the fact that he didn't even know who he was supposed to be meeting made it all the worse. But he would be patient, as he always was; something would happen and he would just have to wait until it did. “You haven’t made it this far in life by being hasty!” he told himself.

After a while, he paid his bill “My last coin” he muttered to himself as he walked over to the corner and sat down. He would just have to wait and let things turn out as they should. he started getting drowsy, he hadn’t slept and several days, but now was no time for sleep.

After what seemed like an eternity, a goldenhaired lass walked over to him and motioned for him to follow her. He stood up and stretched nonchalantly, and started to follow. “So tell me lass” he said as they walked,“you must be Maen?”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:30 AM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Melisil]

Aelimur stood firm in his stand. Ferethor had joined him.

"Aelimur!" Ferethor said quietly, "You'll give everything away! Don't turn your head away from gazes and skulk around."

Aelimur looked him up and down for a moment, he nodded his head, "You are Ferethor, I presume? Well, if this is how you think I'll be going, you are mistaken. Ellesar told me to meet you here, not start here. I know I am young, but I am not so foolish as to wear my guards colours when on a mission."

"Aelimur, do you know where this Maen is supposed to be?" Ferethor said, obviously slightly annoyed at him.

"I need to pick up my 'traveling gear' first, from my manor. After then we are to go to The Hollowdale Swan Inn. That is where she is gathering companions." Aelimur informed. He turned to lead them to his house, "Now, what do you know of her, besides her noble birth?"

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal wandered through the city looking for an Inn to swindle money from anyone that was willing to part willingly with their money.

She could feel a change in the air, as if something big was about to happen. Crystal hoped that it wouldn't be anything too important, it might interfere with her plans to get more money.

She found an Inn and entered, the smoke wafting to her face. It was a welcomed smell from and she smiled slightly as she entered. It reminded her of the days that she had spent in other Inns, memories of her youth that were long gone.

Yet those memories weren't wanted anyway. They just got in the way of her goals and plans. Her plans of running away. She looked around the room at the people that were sitting or standing around, talking and drinking. She bought herself a strong ale and stood at the bar. Her attention was everywhere as she tried to listen for anyone that had more then enough money to part with. She watched to see who bought more and who bragged about their wealth in their clothes and speech.

She saw a small band of people that were together. She wondered if they had any money within the lot of them, but kept her distance as she watched them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen glanced surreptitiously at Maen, genuinely surprised at the compliment after the woman's initial behaviour. It barely showed in his opaque eyes as he considered though; not just the woman's proposition, but also the Maen herself. She seemed to trust him, already (although her pony obviously had different ideas), and yet she barely knew him. This idea seemed strange to Atharen, but then, he had never been able to trust that easily; not for years.

The actual proposition didn't take much thinking about. The Ranger was part Dunedain, descended from the same people as King Elessar, and what's more, the White Tree of the faithful resided in Minas Tirith.

"What you speak of is detestable, my lady," he replied, starting to walk again, the pony's rein's held in one hand.

"So will you join me?"

He glanced at her again - she was so eager, so fiery, so passionate. He smiled briefly. "I have some alliance to Gondor and it's king, although it is not my homeland, and these that seek to bring down Gondor may therefore be regarded as my enemies. The enemy of a ally is an enemy also," he quoted one of his father's sayings lightly.

Maen smiled, but the Ranger held up a hand. "And as to your other proposition - I would love a meal. I know the Inn you speak off well." And the Innkeeper won't refuse me a meal either...

~*~

The Hollowdale Swan was a prosperous public house and Inn in one of the lighter parts of Minas Tirith, and was a meeting place for all manner of people, from a young working lad meeting his sweetheart to the soldiers of the guard, old and young. It always seemed exceptionally busy and usually friendly, and today was no exception, even at such an early hour of the morning - or such a late hour of the night, for some of the late night drinkers, and bills were being paid, or rather, the Innkeeper was attempting to get them paid, for not all seemed so keen to pay. One such individual was standing at the bar, arguing heatedly with the portly, red-faced Innkeeper.

The 'Swan had often been a fond place of rest for Atharen, as it was not unlike his mother's workplace, in and around which he had spent much of his childhood, and the Innkeeper knew him quite well - as did several of the more rowdy customers who had passed over the years. But he was still on his guard; the amount of weapons present was clear, and he had no doubt others would be not so visibly worn. Even as Atharen was taking a quick stock of the customers, another man walked in, tall, dark and stocky, bearing both a sword and bow. Atharen looked him over; an ex-soldier it seemed, with an air of purpose about him. The man didn't take notice of the Ranger and the young woman with him, crossing straight away to the bar to wait patiently for the Innkeeper.

Maen slid into a seat by the window and Atharen advanced towards the bar. He waited for a few moments as the agitated customer continued to put forward a series of ridiculous arguements to evade his bill, then decided maybe things needed to be hurried up; the Innkeeper was obviously tired and didn't look like he wanted to be dealing with such a man at this time.

"Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?" he murmured, the lilt of his residual Rohirrim accent and the quietness of his voice covering a hint of something else. The plump, red-faced man turned indignantly, a sneer on his face...then took another good look at the Ranger. Atharen's hood was still up and he was dripping slightly, the plains of his face shadowed by the overhanging hood, the long white scar standing out slightly, his dark eyes glittering ever so slightly, the way his hand shifted slightly under the cloak to draw attention subtly to the broadsword. He blustered for a moment and Atharen smiled slightly, turning to the Innkeeper, who hadn't yet recognised him and was evidently worried about a fight - and about this hooded individual.

"Mr Longshead, is there a problem here?" There was a hint of a smile in his voice and he tilted his chin slightly so the Innkeeper could see his face more clearly. Relieved recognition flitted across it before the Innkeeper continued to glare at the rowdy customer. "Well, it seems so; I'm afraid this man has-"

"-decided to pay and give his compliments to the chef and excellent Innkeeper here." The man's bulging eyes were still fixed on Atharen's sword and with a shaking hand he emptied a few coins onto the bar before leaving with as much hasty dignity as he could muster. Atharen grinned after him and lowered his hood, shaking his head to settle the wet, blonde-ish hair. Garth Longshead grinned broadly.

"Atharen, m'boy, I thank you very kindly - he was beginning to grate of me nerves and I'd left t'club in the back. My my, 'ts been years since you last dropped by; special occasion?"

The Ranger half smiled and inclined his head in a sort of shrug. "I'm not entirely sure, Garth; could well be. However, what I would like are some of your Ada's fine sausages and a few slices of toast, and some cider, if you please. Oh, and how is your Ada?"

Garth beamed. "Doing just fine, Atharen - delivered our fourth last week, would you believe it - a fine young lad, resembles his father somewhat, if I may say so meself." Atharen grinned as the Innkeeper bustled away towards the kitchen, then passed back over the Maen.

"Can I get you something, my lady?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:57 PM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

It was already drawing toward night, and the sun's last rays glittered as it was trapped in the fountain's clear, transparent spray.

'At least he's got some spirit' Ferethor thought, but was not appeased at Aelimur's haughty attitude. He decided aginst showing his annoyance, and shouldered his slender bow wordlessly.

"I've worked with Maen's father in the past, but now he's a broken man. I've nothing but his decription of her daughter yet." Ferethor answered offhandedly.

"You can get changed at your manor while I head for Hollowdale Swan inn." Ferethor added as he set out in search for the inn.

Ferethor entered the inn, surveying the crowd keenly under the pretext of finding a seat. The bustle of the inn effectively screened him from any outward observers, but Ferethor was still wary. The pretty lass over there - it must be Maen.

Aelimur entered the inn. Ferethor turned his head away and sighed as Aelimur headed to the bar, bought a mug of beer, and winked at the lass. "Aren't you pretty."

Maen abruptly dashed her cup of water upon Aelimur's face. At that, Ferethor could not resist a chuckle, at which the girl instantly turned on him. "And what is your business, Mr. Stranger?" She demanded.

"We are looking for Guriel Il Galoth. We have come far to seek him, for we heard that there are tidings of his wherabouts in Minas Tirith." Ferethor said, trying to look frank as possible.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:42 AM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Everdawn]

“No im fine Atharen, I don’t really get hungry very often, besides I ate at my Aunt Lysia’s.” Maén said looking around the inn. It was her won city and yet Maén had never set foot inside the place, though she knew why, her mother would never allow her around places like the Swan, now if she had been born of Lysia, that would have been a different affair.

Maén had watched Atharen’s actions at the bar intently, it was her way of sussing people out, though not only did she watch him, she watched the other patrons in the Inn. Maén was not a typical young woman of Minas Tirith, she was always asking questions when the ‘proper’ ladies held their tongues, Maén always found this odd, it was not like her at all who would willingly converse with the older women and on the odd occasion her brothers and their friends. She had always had a way of putting her finger on the pulse of someone who was diverting around the truth and an uncanny ability to quickly work out problems.

“Ive figured you out a little I think Atharen.” She spoke tapping her anils on the table as she spoke. “Violence and threats are you way of saying hello, and that attempt to cut my throat was just a “hello and how are you doing!” You almost succeeded in greeting that man over at the bar.” she laughed to herself, Atharen just sat there eating, she still couldn’t decipher what he was thinking and it was beginning to make her frustrated. “I am glad your helping me you know, I appreciate it – really. You couldn’t understand what it means to me- to Lysia. Have I ever told you about her?”

Maén thought that some idle chit-chat might make the ranger more approachable. “I love her more than my own mother, she is my uncle’s wife, He was betrayed by Guriel as well. My mother despises her because she thinks that Lysia is a bad influence upon me. I don’t care for being treated like im glass wrapped in cotton-wool as most women are, but you probably have guessed that by now. Anyway, it is Aunt Lysia who is warranting my search, which is generous of her. But it must be done, even if Gondor want to think he doesn’t exist.”

“What do you mean?” Atharen spoke.

“Well, that I will disclose to the whole party, otherwise we would be here all day.” Atharen did not seem satisfied, but did not pursue the matter further. Maén ceased tapping her fingernails and clenched her fists indenting upon her palms little half-moon nail imprints.

It was then that she noticed two men watching her at the bar, she roller her eyes and looked the other direction typical man, staring at a woman as though she were a piece of meat They did not even seem to care that she was sitting at a table with another man, let alone that he was a ranger. She was slightly alarmed that the men approached her. “Aren’t you pretty” the older of the two said. big mistake the thought snapped through her mind light lightening to a rod, and in that instant she cast her glass of water upon his face, the other laughed and she glared at him. “And what is your business, Mr Stranger?”

“We are looking for Guriel Il Galoth. We have come far to seek him, for we heard that there are tiding of his whereabouts in Minas Tirith.” The colour (of what was there already there) drained form her face and she sat up straight in her chair with her breathing shallow and fast.

“Well, ive heard he is in Ithilien, Tell me, why are you looking for him?”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched as couple of men came forward to a fairly attractive woman that had entered the Inn. She watched, her ears were listening intently.

Then she heard a name from the lips of one of the men. A Guriel Il Galoth. A name that rang familiar in her ears, but yet not so familiar at the same time. She was certain she had heard that name before. She stopped herself from moving forward to find out what they were talking about. Listening in on a conversation would never get her any money.

This group of people, at least the woman in the middle of it all, seemed very well off. She began to think of the challenge of swindling money from a woman instead of a drunken man. She smiled lightly at the thought. She always did like a challenge.

Her mind made up, she set her cup on the bar, and walked over to the group confidently. Her hood was still up over her head, glimmering silver underneath and hunter green. Her green eyes shined as she pulled the hood off of her head.

"Pardon me, but did I hear the name Guriel Il Galoth. I wasn't trying to over hear your conversation, but I was merely sitting over at the bar when I heard that name. I was curious on who wanted to know about him," Crystal said, her natural instincts of decorum shining through.

[Eorl of Rohan]

“Ithilien, you say?” Ferethor said lightly, a frown creasing his brow. “Yet I passed through Ithilien when the moon was waning, few days ago. I also sought for news of him there, but it has been of little avail. And as for the reason I seek him,” Ferethor’s hand flashed toward his silver-hilted knife. “Vengeance. I’ve been seeking for him far and wide, to demand payment of my brother’s life, and redeem the honor of our land.”

Ferethor was there on the battlefield with Miradir, Maen's father – a captain powerful yet rational, valorous yet wise. When Miradir knew that he had been betrayed, he gathered the remnants of the soldiers of Gondor and with a last charge forced a way. The long journey over the barren land was harsh – they were forced to battle with marauding orcs, vicious Warg packs, and the incessant snow. He had survived because he was used to cold climate, but the less experienced fell on by one. His brother was one of the those they have left behind on the road. Miradir always tried to arouse hope, while he blamed himself for the misfortune and the each death. And so it was that only a handful of soldiers straggled into the gates of Minas Tirith, after a space of two full moons. Miradir never recovered from the fact that his wrong decision took the lives of soldiers that trusted him, and became a man broken in spirit and harsh.

He had decided to be as truthful to a certain extent, even if it meant stirring up painful memories. “Your brother?” Maen asked suspiciously. “Hirifilen.” Ferethor genuinely smiled, however painfully. “He fell in the battle.”

"I think you know where Guriel Il Garoth is." Ferethor said quietly. "Or at least have a inkling. I heard you mention Il Garoth the accursed in your conversation. If you seek for him also, we'd like to come with you."

"We?" Maen cut him off, her glance straying toward Aelimur, who was drinking beer at another table. Ferethor swore silently, calling for Elbereth.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:20 AM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Melisil]

Aelimur did not take to being splashed all over with water. "I was merely giving you a compliment miss." he said. Aelimur walked over to the bar counter, and asked if he could borrow a towel, this was handed to him and he dried off.

After doing this, Aelimur walked over to a near by table, and pulled a chair over to the table where the others were conversing.

He listened very closely to all they were saying about Guriel Il Galoth. Annoyed at Ferethor, and slightly at Maen, he spoke up.

"Yes, we. You see, we have been looking for anybody with any information on Guriel for quite some time- as my companion here stated- my reasons different then his." Aelimur disclosed, lying slightly, but choosing his words carefully. "So, may we join you miss? I promise I won't compliment you any more." he added, looking as serious as ever; Though there was still the smallest hint of a smile.

[Eladain Moruviel]

“Aye, I am sir, and I will guess that you have come for my prize expedition of The Il Galoth Traitor, then you have found the right person. Then you can help me as can the others, it is that im waiting on my Aunt’s squire with the final details. I will ask you patiently to wait for then, he shouldn’t be too long Carathir is dependable.” Replied the girl.

As Delphinous waited, he thought about the events that had lad hp to his arriving in the capital of Gondor. He had been hunting a gang of highwaymen that were preying on travelers near the edge of Fangorn Forest. After tracking them for several days, he finally came up with a plan, he would pose as a merchant traveling near Fangorn, and hope that they took the bait.

When the bandits finally did come for him, it was just after sunrise; the dew clung to the grass like a reflection of the stars that had just faded from the sky. Del had heard the men long before he saw them, and so he was ready. Hiding his sword and crossbow under his cloak, he plodded along the road, seemingly weary; but in fact, every muscle in his body was tense, like a cat ready to spring.

The four bandits appeared on the road a few yards ahead of Del, and he could see the glint of their weapons in the morning light. They demanded that he give them all of his money and valuables, and started to advance when the first bolt from his crossbow shot out like a snake, planting itself squarely in the first man’s chest. Then a second and a third found their mark, and all but one of the miscreants lay on the ground, soaked in their own blood.

As the fourth realized what had happened to his fellows, he started to run, but too late. Del quickly outran the man, and knocked him to the ground. “Wait, wait!” cried the rogue “I have some information that could be helpful to you.” This grabbed Del’s attention, “What could this man possibly know that would help me?” he mused “Speak quickly” he growled as he whipped a knife out of his boot and put it to the highwayman’s throat. Swallowing hard, the man stammered “ Th there’s a g girl in Minas Tirith, she’s starting a group to go in search of some lost relative or something. I I heard that there’s plenty of money involved too. But but that’s all I know, I swear! P please don’t kill me!”

“hmm, interesting” Del said slowly, running the whole idea through his mind. “but how do I know that you’re not lying?” “Would I lie to a man with a knife at my throat?!?” the bandit demanded “all I know is what a friend of mine told me, I’ll tell you where to find him if you like?”

Del hadn’t had a good job in months, and if what this man said was true, he might get enough to live off of for several months. The reward for these men would be enough to keep him alive at least until he was able to get to Minas Tirith, but after that, well, he would have to see…

After collecting his reward, and getting some supplies, Del headed to Minas Tirith armed only with a name, and a place. That had been over a week ago, and now here he was, about to set off on a quest to find the treacherous Guriel Il Galoth.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:09 AM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Eladain Moruviel ]

[Everdawn]

“I know of him and I too want his blood.” Maén replied quietly observing the types who had now surrounded her table. Still she held her head high. “I will not ask you how you know of my name, or of my quest. I can see you have some degree of knowledge because you seem to know who I am and It was infact you who came to me.” She breathed deeply and surveyed the people around her, one woman, to this Maén inwardly smiled.

If it was a woman who could help her, Maén would be glad, but on the other hand, she had never had any real friendships with women before. All the Minas Tirith ladies in her circles all thought of Maén as an idiosyncrasy and seldom conversed with her, though the times they did it was usually sinde remarks which ended in Maén thretening them loudly to a fight to the death. It was their belief that she was too sharp witted for her own good. This woman however looked cunning, and she was short, slightly shorter than Maén, and she had a look about her which made Maén want to keep her moneybag down the front of her bodice where it would be safe. The other two men were both older than her , the older was tall, almost as tall as Atharan. The younger of the two was pale, but none the less strange, she could have sworn they were familiar.

“It is true, I am leading a recovery party.” She spoke, “And there will be a price of twenty thousand in gold paid out to each of you by the Widow Il Galoth upon my safe return to her estate. If you will allow me a few minutes of consultation with my associate here, I would like to speak to the some of you further.” She sighed as the men and women walked away and Maén was silent, so deep in thought that it seemed that she was in some other place. She did not see what Atharan was doing, a cloud of reasoning had lay itself over her eyes.

Yes, revenge is a powerful thing, the two men, if they speak the truth (and I think they do) they will want his blood as much as I. But I want to take his blood myself. The woman, she may be a surprise. Maybe we may even get along, after all, the female intuition is a powerful thing

It was then that she snapped out of her dream-state and spied a man at the bar, about that intuition
she thought, and then something which she couldn’t explain, she knew in that instant that he could help her. Instantly she leapt up and beckoned the man over to her. “So tell me lass” he said ,“you must be Maén?”

“This is beginning to feel to me like im a celebrity for all the people who know my name.” she mentioned quickly to Atharan before turning to the newest stranger. “Aye, I am sir, and I will guess that you have come for my prize expedition of The Il Galoth Traitor, then you have found the right person. Then you can help me as can the others, it is that im waiting on my Aunt’s squire with the final details. I will ask you patiently to wait for then, he shouldn’t be too long Carathir is dependable.”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:21 AM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

"If you will allow me a few minutes of consultation with my associate here, I would like to speak to the some of you further.” Maen turned thoughtfully to her companion, who spoke little. Ferethor was startled, for the figure raised his eyes and looked directly at him, and the scrutinising glance was hard and keen.


Ferethor took the respite as a chance to snatch a quick word with Aelimur. "Whether we would or not, it is time to renounce the enmity between us, Aelimur. I forbode that this task would be harsh for us all. We'd have to stand together to face the onrushing might and majesty of the storm before us - in the name of Gondor."


Aelimur took Ferethor's outstretched hand. "A truce?" He grinned, but his grin faded as he recalled that Ferethor rarely smiled. To his wonder, Ferethor flashed a quick smile in return. "For now." Then he left in a whirl of his cloak.


Ferethor watched Maen. 'I never betrayed that I knew her name - how did she know?' She was talking to a man. "Welcome to the company." He thought cynically.


Ferethor studied the man from where he was, unnoticed. There was air of a hunter in this man - he moved swiftly and in ease, and nothing escaped his glance. But there was callousness in this man - harsh, and decisive. He would not want to make him an enemy.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:04 AM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal smiled at the prospect of money. This would be a challenge of course, but this is what she had been wanting. A chance to make so much money that she wouldn't have to take it from anyone ever again. Crystal walked over to the man and Maen.

"If you don't mind I would like to accompany you on this quest. It seems admirable enough for me. I am Crystal Heart, daughter of the great general from Rohan."

Crystal curtsied in her cloak, her head bowed in respect. Years of training for dignity took over her body. She rose and watched the woman's reactions. She had never said her full name and lineage before in her travels. She wanted to say safely annoymus, but now she thought that revealing just who she was would help her get into this company of people.

They were all different kinds of people, but that didn't worry Crystal. She had been around worse people then this lot. She knew she would have to be on guard at all times, but she didn't mind that. She had been on guard since she realized the riders of her father's army were following her.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor had been for some time aware of a young woman, who looked intently at them with keen interest, though the iridescent light of torches made it hard to discern her features.


“If you don’t mind, I’d like to accompany you on this quest. It seems admirable enough.” She said quietly. “I am Crystal Heart, daughter of the one of the generals of Rohirrim.” She approached them, and curtsied in the style of Rohan.


Even though Ferethor was on his guard, he was startled. “Crystal, the daughter of General Dorian of Rohan? I had dealings with your father in the past. News that travels far goes oft astray, but I’ve heard that you’ve fled Rohan and your father’s soldiers are seeking you far and wide.’


"Dealings?" Maen had returned. "Who are you, Ferethor of Gondor, that you would have dealings with generals of Rohan?" Ferethor realised too late that he had made a fatal mistake.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:57 AM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Thengal]

Carathir strode into the Hallowdale Swan and immediatly studuied his surroundings. If this inn was anything like the inn's back home he would have to find a good defensive position and a quick exit.

The atmosphere inside the Swan was in accord with the look of it on the outside. The tavern portion of the building was a single open room, with a long bar defensively positioned in the corner of the rear wall, directly across from the door. A staircase rose up from the side of the bar the the structure's second level, a staircase more often used by painted, over-perfumed women and their latest companions than by guests of the inn. Indeeed, travelers who stopped outside Minas Tirith usually came into the city only for breif periods of excitement and entertainment, returning to the safety of their camps if they could manage it before the inevitable drunken sleep left them vulnerable.

Carathir scanned the room in search of the this "Maen" he was to seek out. The aroma of alcohol, from strong ale and cheap wine to rarer and more powerful beverages, premeated every corner. A haze of smoke from exotic pipe-weeds, like the mist outside, blurred the reality of images into softer, dreamlike sensations. Finally, he caught sight of a girl who seemed to be very popular with the attention she was drawing. There was something about her that he was attracted to, some air about her... Dumb wench. She's just a tool for your ambitions. He remembered he had to appear friendly and good-natured if was going to pull this off. He put a dumb smile on his face, straightened up and strode up to her. "Good day maddam!" he said, hating every word of it. "I am Carathir, at your service!" he said as he bowed low. You'll never see me do that again. Bow to a Gondorian. Hah! He pulled the letter out of his breast pocket and as he handed it over to her he almost stopped as he noticed a man near her. He immediatly recognized him as a ranger. Blood enemy of his family. The ranger sat quietly in his chair, unconcerned with everything else going on around him and interested only, it seemed, in watching and measuring Carathir. This was going to make things more complicated....

[Melisil]

Aelimur shot a quick glance at Ferethor. A truce I agree to, and I am glad he brought it up. But what is he doing? He's out and revealing that he knows a Rohirric General?

He shook his head, he couldn't do much right now, and it seemed that Ferethor may be able to work this out himself from what Aelimur had seen of him so far. Still, he would try to help if he could.

I do not know that anything I could say would help him though, as I am his travelling partner here. Aelimur thought fleetingly to himself.

He kept himself alert at this, but tried not to seem too interested. He did not want them both to be questioned. As he waited to see what Ferethor would do next, he looked at the others for a moment; Knowing though that he would probably have to wait 'till they were traveling to see their true characters.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn looked up at the peculiar gathering around the table, another puff of smoke from his pipe wafted aver his face. Twenty Thousand gold peices? he thought She must be mad, oh well, I'm a wee bit short of money, maybe I can get into this for a share of it myself.

He walked over to the chattering mass of people, he glanced at the ranger at the bar, good, it was only Atharen. He drew his hood over his head, shading his face. He walked up to Maen and said in a strangely audible whisper, "If you have need of someone to help you, and in return for twenty thousand gold pieces, I will do whatever you ask of me."

Maen turned around and looked quizzically at him, she did not know him, nor recognise him, that was for sure. Roryn chuckled inwardly, at least there were a few who didn't know him in Minas Tirith. "So sorry, forgot to introduce myself," Roryn mused for the breifest of moments before deciding to give his real name, she seemed trustworthy, "Roryn, former ranger of Gondor at your service."

...

[Eorl of Rohan]

Two more man approached the table. Ferethor noticed that one seemed wary and deceptive, swarthy and stocky. Race of Haradrim. However, Maen was too intent in Ferethor to notice their approach.


Ferethor glanced in a plea for aid to Aelimur, but he averted his gaze. 'Wise. He knows how to cut his loss.' The thought flashed through Ferethor's mind.


He said aloud, "I've ridden with the Mark in the past - I've met Dorian in the battle with last remnant of Haradrim, in the field of Calanedhron. I've come to value his friendship and valor, though we have grown estranged since." Not very convincing - but that'd do.

[Crystal Heart]

Instantly, Crystal was on the defensive. Her hand grasped the hilt of her sword. Her small and slender fingers tighted around the metal handle. It had been a fellow traveller's sword at one time. She had met this different type of stranger before he was killed by one of the riders that pursued her. His dying wish was for her to have his most prized possession, a sword that was light and easy to weld, but powerful and deadly. Inside the sheath it hid the enbedded jewels that had been inlaid into the bottom portion of the hilt. Now it was one of her prized possessions, a weapon she could weald with deadly accuracy and speed. She was unafraid of starting a fight.

"Yes, I'm the daughter of General Dorian of Rohan. I ask you why someone from Gondor would be dealing with a general from Rohan. Who are you and what is your true agenda here?" Crystal asked.

Her natural defenses had taken over. Her usual confident stature was gone and replaced with a stance only true to travellers. She kept thinking that she wouldn't get caught, but now she was beginning to fear that she would right here and now. She wanted to be apart of this quest. She knew it would be dangerous, but it would be more dangerous to go with a man from Gondor that had dealings with her own father.

"Any dealings with my father about me must be taken up with me."

Crystal unsheathed her sword and held it up for the man to see. Anger glinted in her green eyes. She did not blink, did not move. It was unclear of her thoughts, but one. Her thought of anger and defense.

&lt;font size=1 color=339966&gt;[ 7:13 PM February 02, 2004: Message edited by: Crystal Heart ]&lt;/font&gt;

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:18 PM February 02, 2004: Message edited by: Crystal Heart ]

[Everdawn]

The coming of Carathir was somewhat calming after the new burst of suspicion which she had gotten in the mentioning of Rohan’s army from Crystal and the Gondorian men. Maén had often heard of her Aunt Lysia speaking of the young man of whom she had taken in and spared from death by the King.

Just like Lysiashe smiled to herself and stood to greet him, (one of the few opportunities that she had had to do so this day). Carathir was always polite to her, though they had never privately spoken and whether he was or not, Maén thought him to be shy. But Lysia trusted him so far and that was more than good enough for her niece.

Maén took the letter from him, rather sharply than she usually would have liked on such an occasion, and opened it, taking no care with the envelope. To her eyes then came the familiar flowing script which she knew had come from Lysia’s cultured hand.

Dearest Il Galoth daughter,
My Maén, Enclosed I have written terms and conditions by which your companions choose to come, they are for your safety and I will expect you to abide by them as well. I have these words to you, let them lead you to him, use all your cunning wit, but under no circumstances are any of your companions to take his blod. This service I bestow upon you, in revenge for your kin, your uncle and your father. Keep this feud within our once noble family.


Maén then noticed Carathir had lay another package upon the table.

I send with thee, my own token of treasure. It was mine and now is yours, bring honour to us once more.

Your Aunt, Lysia.


Maén opened the package, a dagger was wrapped in brown cloth. It was beautiful, and it’s leather sheath had the aroma of the ages. She was pondering over this when she was surprised by another man whispering at her.

"If you have need of someone to help you, and in return for twenty thousand gold pieces, I will do whatever you ask of me." He said.

Maén did not know what to think, her mind still attached to the note.

"So sorry, forgot to introduce myself," he said looking at her strangely, "Roryn, former ranger of Gondor at your service."

So there was another one, she mused this in her mind for some small amount of time, then forgetting that it was quite discourteous not to acknowledge a speaker she introduced herself. “I am Maén Il Galoth. Please, take a seat. I would like to speak to you all.” Then noticing Crystal had her sword half sheathed she spoke rashly, “Peace! There will be plenty of time for taking blood Miss Heart, Sirs, once again I ask you to please sit.”
Maén now pulled out almost every skerrick of information which she had bothered to bring with her. Her father’s letters, Lysia’s research as well as her letters from the king. She placed her cloak upon the table and stood as if getting ready for some mammoth operation.

“Firstly.” She began taking a deep breath. “I will thank you all for expressing your interest in my little venture. As you all know The Widow Il Galoth has posted a reward of twenty thousand pieces of gold to each of those who accompany me to find the Traitor of my family.” It was here that she gave a lengthy account of Guriel’s history and the treachery of Gondor. “Not only is he a kin slayer, and a traitor to my family, but he was a Gondorian, as are most of you. That makes him a traitor to you as well.” She paused letting this statement sink into the minds of those around her. “ Im not saying whether this journey will end with all of you coming back alive.”

“And what if we don’t?” asked Ferethor from his seat. Maén shot him a piercing glance.

“ Aye, I am coming to that. If you should die, twenty-five thousands will be paid to your family. If I die, you get only half of that. These are the conditions of Lysia Il Galoth. Take them or leave them.”

For a while there was stunned silence throughout the company, and gradually each gave their approval.

“I suggest now that you all get to know one-another, for my part, I will introduce Carathir, he is my aunt’s young squire and he is chosen by her to accompany me. Yes, he is and Easterling, but I hope that none of you will hold it against him, anyone who does will answer to me. My other companion here is Atharen, a ranger who has kindly offered to assist me. As for myself, you all know who I am, and I will tell you this, just because I am a woman, does not mean I cant kill you in the night. Go now, I will give you time that you need to set your affairs in order and collect your things, meet me out the front in an hour we leave.” And there it was that the company formed.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor listened intently as Maen continued with her narrative. “A kin-slayer as he is, he betrayed our house. However, he was also of Gondor, and therefore he had betrayed us all.”


Then, Maen added. “I cannot assure your survival. We have to trust to Illuvatar - and hope. Estel.” For the sake of shattering the heavy silence, Ferethor spoke. "What if our hope fails us and our houseless souls tread the path to Mandos? Whither then?" Maen looked in anger at Ferethor, but continued.


As Maen ended, she smiled, running a finger over her blade. "I am a woman - but if this calls for any deeds of insolence on your part, my blade may take your life in the shadows of night. I'll advise you to remember it."


Ferethor raised his eyebrow, but did not intervene. 'Perilous indeed, but I've dealt with worse ruffians than this lass. I may yet survive this adventure.' He thought, but his face was hard and set.


As the company dispersed, he called to Aelimur by the sign language of Gondor guards. As soon as others were out of hearing, Ferethor spoke. "Aelimur, we will need to be always wary and keen. The people we will be traveling with are vital to our survival and journey, and yet many are not skilled in warefare. It falls to us, the trained lieutenants of Gondor, to protect them silently." Aellimur nodded.


"If you see anything strange, whistle like a sparrow to let me know. You can't? Well, then try as best as you can." Ferethor said cheerfully, as he always felt before the start of an adventure.

[Melisil]

Aelimur nodded as Ferethor spoke. Ferethor finished by saying, "If you see anything strange, whistle like a sparrow to let me know."

"A sparrow?" Aelimur said, in slight surprise, "I am sorry, but I have not learned to do that yet."

"You can't?" replied Ferethor, "Well, then try as best as you can."

Aelimur nodded once more. He would try, but he doubted how well he would succeed. He let this go for now as they walked out the door. "I left the rest of my traveling things at my sisters house. Do you have anything more to pick up? Or will you join me?"

He walked out the door into the sunlight(hurt his eyes slightly after the dim haze of the pub). He stretched his arms out. Missions away from Gondor(or soon to be away) always made him feel more relaxed, or at least slightly more. I think I shall enjoy this. Well, if the company is good, he added as an afterthought.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:12 PM February 03, 2004: Message edited by: Melisil ]

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal turned to the man that claimed to have dealings with her father.

"I won't hurt you. I just want a truthful answer. What dealings have you had with General Dorian of Rohan?" Crystal asked, her fingers no longer grasping the hilt of her sword.

Yet she was ready, ready for everything. The company that had been formed had no idea of the training her father had given her during her mother's life. Her mother had insisted that her father train her as any solider in his army was trained. Against his better judgement he had consented. Crystal had reflexes that many other people didn't have and she knew that in this case it could come to her advantage.

She also knew it could be a disadvantage. If she was always on guard then she might miss something. She would have to try to balance the two. Something easier said then done.

She stood waiting for the man to answer as she picked up her cup and finished her drink, the remenants of the liquid sliding cooly down her throat.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:36 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

As Aelimur left, Ferethor instinctively realised that someone was gazing at him and whirled to meet her, his blade half drawn. "Crystal?" He asked in amaze, sheathing his slender knife. "What troubles you, lass?"


"I won't hurt you." Crystal said, boldly. "I would hardly place myself in danger of my life from you, Crystal." Ferethor seemingly chuckled, as if amused, while he analyzed her movements and weakness under the cover of laughter.


'Trained as a rider of the Mark would have.' The thought flashed through Ferethor, noticing that Crystal did not let her hand stray out of the reach of her sword even though she was not holding it. 'Offspring of Dorian - I should've known. But what is the cause of this enmity?'


"I just want a truthful answer. What dealings have you had with General Dorian of Rohan?" Asked Crystal, trying to keep her anger at Ferethor's seeming derison in check.


'So it was true that she fled from Rohan to escape General Dorian.' Ferethor thought. betraying no humor, assumed or geniune, he said, "With Dorian of Rohan? I faced him in a chance meeting, if it be chance, at the edge of the field of Calanedhron. I've come to value his valor and loyalty to the realm of Gondor."


Crystal was about to reply, when the others came back one by one. "This may be fun," Ferethor thoguht grimly, surveying the company one by one, "If I survive."


Ferethor suddenly noticed the man Maen had introduced more closer. Undoubtably an easterling. Instant distrust pervaded his mind, which he effectively quenched for a better analysis of the man. Shifting eyes, tense attitude, wary movement... Ferethor shook his head and turned away. "I am being prejudiced by the build of the man." He said to himself and joined the company.

[Eladain Moruviel]

Del sat down at the table where Maen told him too, moments later a tall, dark, man walked through the door. “An Easterling.” Del decided, “I’ll have to watch my back.” He watched as the man handed Maen a letter, and a package. The former she read quickly, and the latter containing a dagger.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye, that a man had been listening to the conversation, and now had walked up and whispered something into Maen’s ear; but he couldn’t quite make out what it was. He was seemed to have the air of a ranger about him, “perhaps an ex-ranger?” he mused.

Then Del turned to study the others that had gathered around the table. The ranger, he had already seen, but who were these other two? The seemed strangely out of place somehow, and yet; strangely familiar. It puzzled him, but no matter. He would keep an eye on them though, he would have to keep an eye on everyone for that matter. Then there was the other girl, he had seen her face in Rohan before, but he wasn’t quite sure where.

Del turned his attention back to the table. “I am Maén Il Galoth. Please, take a seat. I would like to speak to you all.” she then noticed that Crystal had drawn her sword and quickly said “Peace! There will be plenty of time for taking blood Miss Heart, Sirs, once again I ask you to please sit.” Del chuckled to himself “what could that fiery little redhead do, the sword was almost half as big as she was!”

Maén now pulled out almost every skerrick of information which she had bothered to bring with her. Her father’s letters, Lysia’s research as well as her letters from the king. She placed her cloak upon the table.

“Firstly.” She began taking a deep breath. “I will thank you all for expressing your interest in my little venture. As you all know The Widow Il Galoth has posted a reward of twenty thousand pieces of gold to each of those who accompany me to find the Traitor of my family.” She then told of how her relative had betrayed his kin, and all of Gondor, but Del had already heard this from Eladain

. “Not only is he a kin slayer, and a traitor to my family, but he was a Gondorian, as are most of you. That makes him a traitor to you as well.” She paused letting this statement sink into the minds of those around her. I cannot assure your survival. We have to trust to Illuvatar - and hope. Estel.” Then Ferethor spoke. "What if our hope fails us and our houseless souls tread the path to Mandos? Whither then?"

“heh!” thought Del “my time hasn’t come yet, but when it does, I’ll meet it with my boots on!” Maén shot ferethor a piercing glance, but continued.

“ Aye, I am coming to that. If you should die, twenty-five thousands will be paid to your family. If I die, you get only half of that. These are the conditions of Lysia Il Galoth. Take them or leave them.”

For a while there was stunned silence throughout the company, and gradually each gave their approval. it was a fair enough deal, Del couldn’t foresee anything going too terribly wrong. “Yes, all in all this should work out nicely.” He thought too him self. “But you never can be too sure of anything” he quickly reminded himself.

“I suggest now that you all get to know one-another, for my part, I will introduce Carathir, he is my aunt’s young squire and he is chosen by her to accompany me. Yes, he is and Easterling, but I hope that none of you will hold it against him, anyone who does will answer to me. My other companion here is Atharen, a ranger who has kindly offered to assist me. As for myself, you all know who I am, and I will tell you this, just because I am a woman, does not mean I cant kill you in the night. Go now, I will give you time that you need to set your affairs in order and collect your things, meet me out the front in an hour we leave.” And there it was that the company formed.

Del walked quickly to the door, but stopped when he heard Crystal say "I won't hurt you. I just want a truthful answer. What dealings have you had with General Dorian of Rohan?" "I just want a truthful answer. What dealings have you had with General Dorian of Rohan?" Del could tell her temper was just barely held in check.

"With Dorian of Rohan? I faced him in a chance meeting, if it be chance, at the edge of the field of Calanedhron. I've come to value his valor and loyalty to the realm of Gondor." Came the reply, and now Del saw that it was Ferethor with whom she was speaking.

General Dorian! Of course, that was where he had seen Crystal’s face before, on a wanted poster at Edoras. Her father was offering a large reward for her capture, Dead Or Alive… But Del realized that he couldn’t very well go and turn her in now, he would have to wait for the opportune moment.

Del then casually walked out the door, and headed toward the inn in which he was staying. he would have to pick up his things and return in an hour.

[Crystal Heart]

"Loyalty lies in the eye of the beholder I suppose," Crystal said lightly.

Her senses prickled. Someone had overheard her conversation. She looked up and saw that it was one of the other men in the company. She wondered how much he knew about her. This quest would be far more dangerous for her then Maen that lead it.

She memorized the back of him and the side of his face as he left. She would remember just who he was and keep a careful eye on him. So many people to watch and account for. This would be very difficult indeed.

From the side of his face she felt as if she had known him, but shook away the thought. She knew no one. She readied her mind for the quest ahead.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen watched the newcomers as they approached. Some knew too much about this before... he thought to himself, prickling slightly. How?

But at least one he was not suspcious of - Roryn, the former ranger, with whom he had travelled before, if only for a short time. "Roryn, former ranger of Gondor at your service."

Atharen grinned, standing as the man introduced himself and clasping his hand, smiling. "Roryn - and you even graced us with your real name, honoured, I'm sure," he added sardonically, making the other man raise an eyebrow and grin also. But all the time, Atharen was aware of the Haradrim man who had joined them a few minutes earlier - the ranger's jovial front was not entirely genuine. But for this man to relax more and for Atharen to therefore be able to watch him more closely, he couldn't have the man knowing quite how alert he was. As Atharen sat again, Roryn flashed him a slightly questioning look, almost inperceptible to anyone else, and the former gave a tiny shake of his head. Later.

But even as he was distracted, a flash of steel caught the ranger's attention, and he was back on his feet in a second, the dirk in his left hand. On the other side of the table a man and a woman faced each other down, and Atharen was struck at once by the fierceness of the woman's gaze - like embers burning on pure hate as she looked at this man, a beautiful weapon in her slender hands. But the ranger would not allow such hate to come out - not so soon, and not here; he had some debt to the Innkeeper, Garth, as well as to Maen in keeping peace in this company.

But Maen was also on her feet now, her voice authorative as she addressed them all, speaking in particular to the fiery woman. "Peace! There will be plenty of time for taking blood Miss Heart, Sirs, once again I ask you to please sit."

Warily watching the other man still, Crystal nonetheless resheathed her sword and sat. The others did the same but Atharen, when he joined them in doing so, made sure he sat slightly closer to Crystal. His dirk did not go away; he simply let his cloak fall over it, his fingers still curled around it and ready. The others settled after a second and watched Maen as she spoke, making an introduction and giving what information she had. Atharen knew some of it, for the young woman had told him some on the way, and besides, he did not have much interest in money, although the quantities offered were astounding and he couldn't help blinking and letting her eyes flick up to the young woman's face. Does she hope to buy their loyalty? Such things are not so easy, although it may work with mercenaries. And that amount of money can be dangerous when flashed around...

Sitting back slightly so as not to be easily watched by any without noticing, Atharen let his eyes dart from one to the other as Maen spoke, lingering on each but staying for longer on the easterling, Carathir. Maen introduced him with trust in her voice; confidence, trust and pride, defiance towards any who would scorn him for his race. It is not that which I hold against him, lady... Atharen thought to himself, watching the easterling carefully. But even as he did so, Carathir's own dark gaze met his and held it there, neither of them looking away. It was only Maen that caused them to break this, as she sat again and Carathir adjusted his position to allow for her. Atharen watched him for a moment longer, then wisely looked away; he did not want to lock with this man too tight. Not yet. But watch he would.

As Maen continued talking to the others, Atharen allowed his mind to wander slightly, his eyes down on the table top as if disinterested or even slightly bored, although his ears were pricked for anything. And the fierce woman beside him, Crystal, was not willing to let go of the anger which possessed her, it seemed.

"I won't hurt you. I just want a truthful answer. What dealings have you had with General Dorian of Rohan?"

Atharen's hand tightened on the handle of the weapon underneath his cloak, hearing the barely disguised tension in her voice. But the tension was prolonged for a moment, as Ferethor looked away, distracted like the others by a crash from a far table. One of the drunks had tried to take a swing at another and unbalanced himself, falling with a crash onto one of the rather less solid wooden tables. Atharen would not usually intervene with such things, and he wanted to take more mental notes on the newly formed company, but he saw his chance here to cancel or at least delay the tension between Crystal and Ferethor. Standing so he was beside Crystal and looking over as if his attention was caught by the cacophany of sound, he took her arm gently as he started over. She began to struggle but the movement was covered by his cloak. Bending so his mouth was close to Crystal's ear, he murmured, "Such tension in such places may by waylaid, my lady. It cannot be so well to try to pick a fight."

Releasing her arm, Atharen started towards the fight, as if to try to intervene, but he stayed in the shadows near the wall, knowing Crystal would follow him. Sure enough, after a second, her hand touched his arm and he turned to listen to her.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal had been surprised the man, something she didn't like. She didn't like being caught off guard. Not when the mention of her father had started off suspicions on two different men.

"I heed your advice, but you do not understand kind sir. I'm General Dorian's daughter. I could be in grave danger if Ferethor is a ranger for my father. I have much reason to be tense," Crystal replied.

She kept watching him, something stirring in her memory. He seemed familiar as did many of the other men in the company seemed familiar. She knew it was only a feeling. All males had that effect on her mind. It couldn't be helped. She was afraid of any man.

Except for one, this man that had warned her. She wasn't afraid of him, yet she knew she should be wary. She had no idea what she was truly feeling. It wasn't love in any form, just a friendly trust. A friendly bond, but yet it couldn't be possible. She had only just met him.

"I'm Crystal Heart, a daughter of Rohan. May I be so bold in acquiring what your name may be?" Crystal asked boldly. She curtsied lightly. Her cloak touched the floor. Years of diginity and grace seeped back into its proper place. Crystal didn't try to stop it. She knew that she would need it and the traveller's way that she had learned. They would both be needed for this journey.

A fight of drunks raged on, something she was very use to seeing. Living for a time in whatever Inn you could find dulled the senses to such ways. She took no heed of the fight at hand. The Innkeeper would take care of them, it was never wise to interfere with a drunk man.

She waited for the man's answer, hoping that he would be truthful as if her life depended on his truthful answer. She hated the feeling and blocked it from her mind as she waited.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:35 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

A man approached them, and laid a hand of Crystal's arm. "This is not the place to be tense." Ferethor instanly recognised him as the ranger, the silent companion of Maen. He also remembered noticing that the ranger did not sheath his sword. The ranger left, and Crystal, after a moment of distrustful pause, left.


Ferethor placed his hand upon the swordsheath lightly, taking relief in it's familiar buckskin feel - he could defend himself. 'Atharen.' He thought, remembering the name of the man. 'It would be hard to decieve the ranger - and perilous to try.'


Aelimur said, quietly under the cover of the clamorous sound of drunken men in the inn, "She doesn't believe you. I see it in her eyes." Ferethor answered, just as quietly, "I know. And this man - Atharen the ranger... Even though he hardly glance at me, he watches my every movement closely. Be wary in his presence, Aelimur. Yet in suspicion for me they exclude any thoughts of you - oft shall evil turn to it's undoing. We may suceed yet.'


Ferethor laid a hand upon Aelimur's shouldered, locking his grey and hard gaze. "For Gondor!" With that, he was gone. Aelimur wondered how Ferethor could move that swiftly.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:31 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Everdawn]

Maén had then taken a seat at the table where she had been standing before. And in a heap she lay her head upon all her notes, half in relief, half in nervousness of the task ahead. Carathir, however was standing behind her chair, she thought that perhaps he was no accustomed to Inns and Taverns in Gondor. Then they were in the same boat, for Maén had spent much of her life in the higher circles of the city protected and away from the mainstream of the society.

“How now Carathir?” she asked, still with her head on the table, watching as intently as she could her new companions.

“I beg your pardon Miss Il Galoth?” he said leaning his head around to see her.

“Sit, or something Carathir, Have you never seen a place like this before? I imagine you have…” Maén had intended to speak more but she was now watching with increased curiosity why on earth Atharen was trying to hold Crystal in her place. Now a thought popped into her head, why was Crystal so apprehensive before about the mentioning of Ferethor’s dealings with her father?

Obviously sensing that he had not her attention Carathir moved blocking her site of the fiasco. He could see that Maén was bothered by his movements. She lifted her head up and sat up straight. “Miss Il Galoth, what shall I do now?” he asked, again in a polite manner.

“I suppose that you can go and find a stable in one of the upper circles of the city, I wont need Hittai for a while, we have other work to do. I will meet you at the Library, from there we have things to do.” Carathir bowed again and left. Maén lingered on the thought of her horse, proud Hittai, was the one thing which was hers, and who cared for her in return. Maén had had that small horse since the age of around nine, and while her brothers called Hittai a shadow of a horse, Maén had never grown out of her and needed a larger horse, they were alike. Maén knew however, that Hittai did not like to be around other horses she did not know.

Finding herself with nothing to do but wait for her companions Maén took from her satchel her old leather bound journal and a quill and began to write. It was some minutes later that she looked at the mass of words that she had scrawled upon the paper and figured that they made little sense, so it was only logical to discard them. This sort of thing had never happened to her before, her journal was the only place in her life where things could be perfect, and one of the few things she had power over. Maén read the paper which she had torn out of her book, it was comments on her companions, but the word where her script ended was beside the name Ferethor.

Now Ferethor was hiding something, she had suspected this from the first moments of seeing him, he and his companion Aelimur. Maén Il Galoth was usually a trusting individual, but there was something about these two which made her think twice about everything, or like there was a spider hanging over her head ready to drop upon her.

“Allright lass?” asked a voice, Roryn had sat opposite her. Maén rubbed her eyes and put the pieces of paper back into her journal.


“Somewhat.” She said with a slight laugh. “Actually im not sure what to do with myself.” She said truthfully.

Roryn smiled and then seriously looked her in the eye. “We will get him Lady, that you can be sure.” Maén nodded and stood up gathering her bag and at the same time tying her hair up so that it would not come out from below her cloak when they were in the upper circles of the city, the may be people she knew.

“Are you all ready to go?” she asked.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor sank into a wooden stool, seeing Maen about to speak. Nevertheless, he did not remove his hand on the hilt of his elven knife, wary of Crystal’s movement. Through perilous encounters against the desperate remnant of Haradrim outlaws, he learned to never underestimate the adversary – even if it be a spirited girl like this one. Aelimur, perceiving his tense movement, glanced at Crystal and then at him in a questioning movement. Ferethor impatiently signaled denial.


‘I am weary of this deception.” He thought in silent bitterness. “Hard is this task, I deem, and yet ever this dishonesty weaves itself in intricate pattern to enmesh me. By Illuvatar, no webs of Ungoliant were more treacherous! I long to be candid and truthful, but there are more grave matters at hand, for which my desires must give way.” Yet Ferethor betrayed nothing of his anguish and despair.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen turned to Crystal, regarding her quickly without looking like he was leering. She was still so fierce and tense, reminding him of fire, but whereas the fire had been furious and wild before, it was calmer now, warm and gentle...

"Atharen. My name is Atharen, lady." He inclined his head politely, knowing he should address her by her first name. But courtesy usually came first for Atharen, and he had no way of knowing how Crystal would react to familiarity – he didn’t even put ‘my’ before lady, as the wariness exuded by this woman suggested that could really be a very bad idea. A yell and a splintering piece of wood caused the ranger to duck sharply, reaching to make Crystal duck as well, but to his surprise, she was quite as fast and alert as him. He grinned this time - she was indeed swift, her reflexes seeming to match his. She flashed a grin back, proud, although her manners were lady-like – if he father was indeed Dorian, she had indeed inherited his pride, although Atharen saw little in her looks of her father.

“You would break up the fight?” she said after a moment. Her casual manner and brief look at the fighting men told the ranger that Crystal was quite used to such things. Glancing across himself, Atharen raised an eyebrow as he looked back at the woman.

“I wouldn’t like to intrude where it wasn’t my business,” he replied enigmatically, then added, “Besides, Garth’s two bruisers there seem to have it under control.” The last comment regarded the two large men, built like brick walls, both of them sporting several scars, tattooed biceps and noses that had been broken more than once. Even the ranger would not be inclined to take those two on. But their intrusion to the fight, wading into the mess of men who had joined the fight and pulling them apart by their collars, provided the perfect diversion; it’s new level of interest caught the attention of more watchers, and Atharen lightly brushed Crystal’s hand with his own, drawing her with a minute nod of his head to one side, further into the shadows. She looked at him questioningly.

“Not all are watching the fight, lady.” He didn’t let his eyes move from her face, but kept them locked with hers to stop her turning. Crystal knew what he meant though, and mouthed a name. Atharen nodded. “Aye. Why is it he puts your back up? I know you may not wish to answer, but if, as you say, your life depends on this, I must ask – is your fa –”

“Atharen!”

The voice made Atharen snap his head up in the direction of the speaker, and he saw Roryn standing beside Maen, waiting expectantly. “Are you ready to go?”

“Aye, let me just pay the Innkeeper,” he called back, turning towards Garth who, with the remainder of the brawlers skulking away (nursing their wounds and in most cases their drinks), was back behind the bar, wiping it with a ragged cloth in the habitual manner of barmen everywhere. Atharen was not, of course, going to go anything of the sort – he hadn’t had need to pay in coinage at this Inn for years. But Innkeepers pick up handy things… “Garth, do you know that individual, the grey-eyed soldier at the table with the woman I came in with?”

Garth looked over with all the subtlety of a brick, then a frown creased his forehead. “Looks a little familiar, sir, but then, most of Minas Tirith pass through this Inn. Why do you ask? And hey,” he added, turned back to more important matters with a slight leer, “who is that young woman, hmm? Or the other who you were conversin’ with so intensely, hmm? Dear me, Atharen, we are drawing in the ladies – Miss Merien will not pleased!”

Atharen grinned, humouring the man, his teeth glinting slightly as he drew his hood back up, ready to go back out. “You have me figured, Master Garth, what can I say – a ladies’ man through and through!” The Innkeeper laughed and Atharen nodded politely as he turned, pausing for a second to add, “Oh! And Merien – I think I will probably not have time to speak to her. Please, if she comes in…?”

“Understood, m’boy, understood. And she’ll understand an’ all, never fear…”

Atharen smiled once more, gratefully, before turning back and leaving the Inn with the rest, subtly placing himself quite close to Crystal and Maen, with Ferethor always at the corner of his vision.

[Melisil]

Upon returning to the inn Aelimur chose the table next to the one where Maen was. He watched the conversations going on between the many who had joined with Maen.

There were two rangers in the group, friends, or at least aquaintences Aelimur gathered. If he had not been a guard, he would have found it much easier to converse with them. But he had no need to speak with them now. Instead he focused his listening on only one of the two and Ferethor. When Atharen(for he had found that this was his name) turned to someone else, Aelimur stood.

"Ferethor," Alimur said quietly, grabbing his companions shoulder, "It would be hard to decieve the ranger- and perilous to try. She doesn't believe you. I see it in her eyes."

Ferethor answered, just as quietly, "I know. And this man - Atharen the ranger... Even though he hardly glances at me, he watches my every movement closely. Be wary in his presence, Aelimur. Yet in suspicion for me they exclude any thoughts of you - oft shall evil turn to it's undoing. We may suceed yet."

"Yes," Aelimur nodded, "Have no fear, we will."

"For Gondor!" replied Ferethor determidly, before he turned and was lost to the crowd.

Aelimur stood there for half a moment, before returning to his seat. He looked over to Maen, asking her, "Exuse me kindly, dear Maen, but shall we be leaving soon? Although in this waiting we can see each other's behaviors, my feet do ich to be traveling."

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor marked that Atharen never strayed far from Crystal, and was watching his every movement. Ferethor wondered - did Atharen think he was a peril to Crystal? Ferethor recalled a wanted poster for Crystal that he had seen a while back - wiht the bold inscription, "Dead or Alive." He couldn't blame her for fleeing from her father's wrath - yet Crystal believed that he was her enemy. But Atharen would take care of her, and he had to turn to other matters.


Though Ferethor was considered skilled in stealth and craft of war even amidst captains of Gonder, he knew with certainity that he was no match for Atharen, this ranger of the North. However swiftly Ferethor moved, Atharen was always there beside him - there would be no conversation with Aelimur for some time. Almost on impulse, Ferethor decided to test his theory.

[Crystal Heart]

For some odd reason Crystal felt safer now that she had made more of a friend and ally instead of an enemy. She kept a watchful eye on Ferethor, but felt at ease at Athren's side. She had no idea why, just the fact that he wouldn't hurt her and had been so kind was enough to ease her already tense and troubled mind.

More then that excitement was pulsing through her veins. She had never felt this excited for any such reason, but she did. This would be a quest that would take them all in a new direction. It was sure to bring out the worst and best of all the people that had joined their company, but she wasn't totally afraid of that fact. It would bring out new enemies and foes, but that was excepted on quests such as these.

She wondered who else would betray Maen and the ones loyal to her when this was all through. She could guess, but she knew that guessing would only make her paranoid and the people that she would be watching would be the same people that wouldn't betray them. It would be someone they least excepted when the time came. She laughed inwardly at the thought. It was always that way, she knew that better then anyone in the company. She had been through it countless times before.

Yet, a new beginning was dawning in her mind. A new beginning of hope and vegenence for all. A new start for herself and of course the money wasn't all bad. She smiled as they walked.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:46 AM February 07, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Everdawn]

“Follow me, we have things we have to attend to, we need information and I know where we can get it.” Maén called to the group who looked unsure of what the young woman was telling them.

It would be now that Maén had to be wary, of everything, even in her own city. If the word of her expedition had become so known among the seedy underworld and at the Taverns of Minas Tirith, it could be true that some may plan to assassinate her. It was one of the many scenarios which had played through her mind. Presently though, she was several strides ahead of her companions, making sure that her cloak was wrapped firmly around her and the hood of her cloak was low so that she would not be recognised. Even though she did not know this area of Minas Tirith well, Maén found it effortless to move among the crowd, unseen and unnoticed and she was quite surprised at this, when she came to the fifth gate of the city she stopped and removed the hood of her cloak and looked back to see where the others were, a few yards behind. Smiling slightly she waited patiently for them to catch up. “What’s the hurry Miss Il Galoth?” Del said, obviously not grateful to the fact that Maén was one who did not like patience.

“I don’t rightly know.” She replied looking up towards the gate. “Now, are you all going to keep up with me? Or shall I have to walk at a turtle’s stride.” There no complaints from the men, nor from Crystal. And Maén was glad at this, how she would have rued it if Crystal had been a frail woman with no personality of her own. They began to walk again and Maén was so busy thinking that she had forgotten to raise the hood of her cloak back up.

“Maén Il Galoth!” the voice rang with a horribly annoying ring to it, like that of a parrot who talks so much that you would want to put a bag over it’s head. She stopped abruptly, so much so that Roryn bumped onto her back. Maén’s eyes narrowed and she turned around to meet the speaker. There were two of them, daughters of the courtiers, one tall one as small as Maén, and both of them unsightly. They were the primary gossip spreaders, and Maén hated them with a passion.

“See, I told you it was her!” said the taller women. “I told you so Dai”.

“Well, well, well, look what the Il Galoth griffin dragged in. News is this morning that you were kidnapped… But then I said to my mother that no one would dare kidnap you- You don’t keep your mouth shut.” All the while the women were talking among themselves, Maén managed to suppress a welling anger inside her.

“I heard that you went away and you weren’t coming back, or even that you had been killed by savages when you left.” Said Dai.

“Oh I would that it were you ” she snapped, incapable to control her rising anger, The two ladies stepped back, as if they had been slapped about the face.

“Oh you are a witch Lady Il Galoth!” one shrieked.

Maén wrapped her cloak around her once again passed them saying “Then leave it be before, before I drop a house on Thee!” she did not deny that it felt good, but it was typical of the way that she was treated among the court women. For a small while Maén kept walking silently and stopped outside a large Stone building. “Here we are.” She said

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:42 PM February 06, 2004: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched as these ladies acted abominably towards Maen. If there was one thing she hated more then her father it was women such as these. Women could be so heartless, cold, and cunniving subconsciously. She never liked the way other women played their games and it was clear that this was another game they were playing to mess with Maen's mind.

She walked up to them and stopped. She pulled the hood off of her head and looked them both in the eyes.

"Only a person without a spine, without any conscious at all would be as horrible as you two. If I weren't looking at material things that hang from your ugly bodies, then I would have no idea that you were two higher functioning women. You act like lowly peasants and theives. How do I know, you may ask? Well, I am a daughter of Rohan that was raised in higher standings. You should be ashamed. I decree from this day forward that your families be shamed by order of the King of Gondor." Crystal said quickly. She remained calm and watched their faces.

"How can a daughter of Rohan decree such a thing by the King of Gondor?" One of the women asked her bluntly. Crystal smiled.

"I was raised in his house for quite sometime when Rohan was having trouble. He gave me the power to speak in his name. And if you want to ask the King if this is true then tell him Hearty decreed it. Good day."

Crystal walked off and pulled her hood back up. She wasn't unnerved by what she had done. She hadn't even lied, which was something she hadn't done in quite a while. Yes, it was true, every word. That she had been taken in by the King right after her mother died. Her father had to go to Gondor to ask for help. He had brought her to the meeting and also asked him to watch out for his daughter. He had suspected that someone in the family had killed his wife. He knew that she would been safe with the King.

The King of Gondor had agreed and had raised her like another Princess. Some of her dignity skills and decorum had come from him. He had been very kind to her and had taught her many things. When she wanted to venture out into the city by herself he had allowed her to and gave her the power to speak in his words if a need erupted and she was there. That had been a long time ago and it was more likely that she didn't have that power any more, but she highly doubted that those two women would go to the King and ask if it were true. They would have to tell the King the entirity of the incident and then there was the possibility that the decree would be carried out.

She looked up and saw that Maen was watching her. She smiled.

"No one should be allowed to go through the fires of hell alone." Crystal said simply.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen watched with interest as Crystal confronted the two women. The fire blazed once more in her eyes, and the two women quailed inwardly at this and her words. As she swept away, speaking quietly to Maen, the rain began to fall once more, turning the morning grey and dull in the white city; the people of Minas Tirith scurried away to the warm, dry buildings, and fewer strange, curious looks were afforded to the peculiar arrangement of people making their way through the streets, an easterling and two brazen faced women walking with soldiers and a pair of rangers. Atharen smiled to himself beneath the shadow of his hood.

As Crystal continued talking to Maen, Atharen looked around once more for Ferethor, but not in malice. He knew little of either Crystal or Ferethor, and was curious as to the man's motives, both towards joining the group and towards Crystal herself. As he paused, the man himself passed him, huddled in a hooded cloak himself. The ranger fell into step with him, and noted the suspicious look the man gave him.

"Good day, Captain," he said, soft and sincerely. Ferethor looked at him, puzzled, then nodded stiffly without a word. Atharen saw him exchange a look with another on the other side of the group - Aelimur. Atharen picked it up, hoping to make conversation. "Aelimur - is he a friend of yours?"

The guard's dark eyes flashed at him, immediately and openly suspicious. "Why do you ask such questions, ranger?"

Bearing in mind you come from King Elessar, I am surprised you speak in such a way... An image of Elessar flashed through the ranger's head, of when he had seen the king at his full glory; not the glory of the kingly robes and crown, but in the heat of battle, his hair and face sweaty, his clothes dark leather, the white tree and the Evenstar given to him by Queen Arwen gleaming at his throat and on his chest. This man worked for that king, a king of Atharen's own way and descent. He shurgged lightly. "I just wondered. You both work for the King Elessar - he is not unlike myself, and I fought with him, years ago. It was simply interest."

He fell into silence, his eyes hidden by the cloak and the sound of their feet muffled by the rain, waiting for Ferethor to answer.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor could not help but betray a slight grin at Crystal's blunt threat, as she faced the chattering women furiously. ‘Decree the laws of the Empire of Gondor? Highly ludicrous. Not even the king’s heir himself has legitimate authority to speak in the name of the king. The rule of the Land of Stone is by tradition and heritage Lord Aragorn alone, or Faramir of Ithilien.’ He perceived, nevertheless, that Crystal did not redden or falter. ‘She lies remarkably well – yet this deed was done for friendship and pity’s sake. I cannot blame her.’ The women fell back as if stricken with fear and awe, as Crystal turned away with distaste and made haste to talk with Maen.


Clouds gathered overhead, and the day was darkened under their shadows. Even as light rain sprinkled from the heaven, he drew folds of his cloak close about him, partly to ward off the rain and partly in the hope of passing unrecognized. Aware of a presence, Ferethor cast back his forest-green hood to allow for a better view and turned. 'Atharen?' He thought, casting a distrustful and wary glance before he quickened his steps.


Atharen spoke softly yet earnestly, “Good day, Captain.” Ferethor froze for an instant in a rush of impulsive panic, but took control of himself instantaneously. He simply nodded in acknowledgement, waiting for Atharen’s move in this mental fencing match. "Aelimur - is he a friend of yours?" He asked, evidently wishing to continue the discussion. At that, Ferethor openly turned and scowled at Atharen, his true self overriding his pretense for a moment. “Why do you query into matters that are left unknown, Ranger of the North?”


At that, Atharen chuckled, shrugging lightly. "I just wondered. You both work for the King Elessar - he is not unlike myself, and I fought with him, years ago. It was simply interest." Ferethor answered in a seemingly carefree way, to avoid suspicion from the fellow travelers, again slipping into pretense with ease born out of long practice. “Curiosity, Atharen, is a double-bladed knife, as willing to wound the bearer as well as his adversary. No doubt you are aware of this, Dunadan.” Ferethor, in a single fluid movement, drew his slender blade from its sheath. His voice was hard as if cut out of stone, fell and menacing. “Ranger, loth am I to draw blade against a son of westernesse and ally of Gondor, but my errand is of paramount import. I have this question yet to ask of you, ranger. How came you to the conclusion that I come from Lord Elessar?” He noticed, with grim and savage satisfaction, that Aelimur had also drawn blade and fallen into step beside him. The rain showed no hint of ceasing, and they were fallen far behind the company. There would be no disturbance – if it had to come to settlement of blood.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen turned slightly to see Aelimur also draw a blade, and the sound of the metal in the rain could be heard as he came slightly closer. Ferethor tensed at the movement, and Atharen noted with some surprise that beneath the savagery there was something else - He is nervous? Afraid, even? Then why does he draw against me?

"Ranger, loth am I to draw blade against a son of westernesse and ally of Gondor, but my errand is of paramount import," Ferethor was watching him, his gaze as steely as his blade. "I have this question yet to ask of you, ranger. How came you to the conclusion that I come from Lord Elessar?"

Atharen returned the man's hostile glare with his: unreadable, unblinking, unspeaking. His hands were hidden from sight beneath his cloak - a useful aspect of it - and his left hand already had a firm grip on his dirk. The others were already almost out of sight, as the rain was getting harder and harder, causing them to almost vanish. Two adversaries, but it was raining, and he was ready to wager that he would have more experience fighting in such conditions than they; after all, even his age was deceptive.... After a moment, Ferethor seemed to snap. "Show me your hands!"

"If I show you my hands, it will simply be to show you that I have a blade there as well," came the quiet reply, before Atharen revealed his hands, the left one holding his dirk. Aelimur took a step forward, but Ferethor paused, watching. To show him he was a southpaw, a secret weapon in a fight, was a token showing he was not entirely hostile, but the fact he held a blade showed that he was not entirely friendly either. Ferethor knew this, and Atharen laughed softly, a note of danger in his voice. "You see, Captain, I myself am a double edged blade as well. And as for this curiosity, and these assumptions - I could ask the same thing. Why do you think I am one of the Dunedain?"

The man glared at him. "You spoke of being of the same descent as King Elessar. I suspect therefore you are Dunedain."

Atharen nodded, smiling very slightly, something that was continuing to unnerve the guard. "'Twas not hard to work out, now, was it? Yet it would not have been beyond the realms of possibility that I am also wrong. Indeed, you wear no livery now, clad in the fashion of the elves, almost, and with a similar blade. But look now - you have the mannerisms of Gondor, whether you know it or not, and your name speaks of the same. And your bearing is of a soldier." The other man seemed even more uncomfortable, and behind them Aelimur seemed frozen, waiting. Atharen came to his conclusion. "All Gondorian soldiers answer to the King, Captain, or should do; this business of Il Galoth is something different, a distasteful rarity. But you are no distasteful rarity. You have honour, I suspect, however much you distrust me."

His eyes continued to hold Ferethor's, and his hand continued to hold the blade. His smile widened slightly. "I would drop my blade, but it is rather a good blade," he smiled, before his tone became more serious again. "I do not expect you to tell me this errand of yours, although you have revealed you have one. But I do ask you to trust me - as your errand's importance is 'paramount', so is trust within this group, the reason I watch Miss Heart so closely. So, what do you say? Can you trust me, or..."

[Everdawn]

"No one should be allowed to go through the fires of hell alone." Crystal said after turning on the two women who had confronted Maén earlier, it caused Maén to smirk and her hazel eyes glitter under her cloak.

“Ah, Not to worry.” Maén said in a cheerful mood. “They have always been like that, you see, It is the opinion of most ladies that I am, to put it simply, “going the same way as my father”. Which is offcourse not true, Im simply smarter than they, and I know a lot more about the world than a woman should.” Said Maén with distaste. “I was playing with my brother’s knives when I should have being playing with dolls… well my mother soon saw to that, and I had a governess come to me.” Maén smirked. “My governess was a good woman, she taught me well in most fields, and in time my mother thought this inappropriate as well- You get the general idea of how I came to be.” Maén stood still at the wall of the huge building, “And what you witnessed back there, well, it was not entirely my fault, part of it was because I am who I am, you hear people speaking after me in the streets, ‘Behind that fair façade, well she is really rather odd.’ But that’s not the point, I just laugh at this of course. And it is partly because I was engaged for so smaller time to a captain of the King’s guard, one who so it happens, many of those women loved.”

“What happened?!” Crystal asked with slight excitement.

Maén smiled, “He was handsome yes, but overbearing, ignorant, arrogant, and most offensive of all a chauvinist. How could I spend my life with someone like that? Not at all, I am but three and twenty, and I think still a stranger in the world, why must women marry at an age like this, why must we marry at all? Why must we bear children? Should that not be our choice?” Maén had not noticed how caught up she had been in her little speech when she turned to Crystal again. “Not that I scorn it of course, not at all. But all I say is that we women have more of a choice.”

Crystal smiled at her once more. “Well, no one could accuse you of being high spirited could they?” she said in sarcasm.

Maén nodded and looked at her wet raiment, “It’s raining.” She said to herself.

“That’s not all,” Crystal said searching. “I cant seem to see the others.”

“Oh dear!” said Maén and being followed by her new found friend. Getting closer she saw that Atharen and Ferethor were at arms with each other.

“Oh me!” exclaimed Maén, “Look Miss Heart, see what these men are drawn to? So early in the day and in the middle of the street. Look! They do as if to wound one another.” It was more of a jest than an outright scolding.

“Indeed Miss Il Galoth.” Said Crystal, going along with it. “Anyone would think so, my, they are fortunate that there are no city soldiers here.”

“It’s very unoriginal isn’t it? I mean sword fighting in the street!” Maén added.

“Thank goodness we can lead by example.” Finished Crystal.

“Put down your weapons, whatever needs to be settled between you, can be done so outside the city. Now do you want to know why we are here or not?” Maén said, now very serious.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Atharen returned Ferethor's glare with one of his own, his dark eyes entirely unreadable, with a touch of steely control. A gleam of metal glimpsed beneath Atharen's stirring cloak did not fail to catch his wary eyes, and he instantly cried, "Reveal your hand!"


"If I reveal my hand, it will simply be to show you that I have a blade as well." Atharen paused, then drew his hand from his cloak slowly. 'He is not my foe, yet not an ally to our cause - yet.'The thought flashed through Ferethor's mind. Atharen laughed softly, as if amused, yet Ferethor could sense that it would be perilous to arouse his anger.


"You see, Captain, I myself am a double edged blade as well. And as for this curiosity, and these assumptions - I could ask the same thing. Why do you think I am one of the Dunedain?" Atharen asked. Ferethor said "You spoke of being a kinsman and friend of King Telcontar. I suspect therefore that you are Dunedain, of the race of Numenorians." 'Where comes his confidence?' Ferethor wondered, unnerved by Atharen's smile.


'Twas not hard to work out, now, was it? But look - you have the mannerisms of Gondor, and your name speaks of the same. And your bearing is of a soldier. All Gondorian soldiers answer to the King, Captain. Nonetheless this business is something different, a distasteful rarity. But you are not. You have honour, I deem, however much you distrust me."


Ferethor returned Atharen's gaze, betraying nothing of sudden fear that washed over his mind at this man who let nothing escape his attention. His gaze flickered time to time, wary of the dagger that Atharen still grasped.


Atharen's smile widened slightly as he noticed that. "I would drop my blade, but it is rather a good blade," he smiled, before his tone became more serious again. "I do not expect you to tell me this errand of yours, although you have revealed you have one. But I do ask you to trust me - as your errand's importance is'paramount', so is trust within this group, the reason I watch Miss Heart so closely. So, what do you say? Can you trust me, or..."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:16 AM February 08, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Melisil]

Aelimur walked in stride with the rest of the group, still watching both Ferethor and the rangers carefully, until Ferethor quickly stopped- dead in the street. He and Atharan were standing facing each other- swords drawn, Ferethor obviously angry. Aelimur walked behind Atharen, he drew his sword too, though he kept it close to himself and definitly not in a complete battle stance.

Ferethor and Atharen exchanged quiet threats to one another. Atharen knew that they were under Ellesar's command.

Aelimur stood listening untill, soon after they finished(or almost finished) both Maen and Crystal Heart apeared by them.

The two spoke in jest at the scene: “Oh me!” exclaimed Maén, “Look Miss Heart, see what these men are drawn to? So early in the day and in the middle of the street. Look! They do as if to wound one another.”

“Indeed Miss Il Galoth.” Said Crystal, “Anyone would think so, my, they are fortunate that there are no city soldiers here.”

“It’s very unoriginal isn’t it? I mean sword fighting in the street!” spoke Maen.

“Thank goodness we can lead by example.” Finished Crystal.

“Put down your weapons, whatever needs to be settled between you, can be done so outside the city. Now do you want to know why we are here or not?” Maén said, now seemingly much more serious.

Aelimur sheathed his blade and walked to Maen. "I am sorry madame, that this happened, ecspecialy so early in this quest. Please forgive.. each of us." he bowed his head to her. "And you too please Miss Heart. I am sorry." he looked back to the Ferethor and Atharen, then back to Maen. "Shall we continue? We will try not to delay anymore."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:11 AM February 08, 2004: Message edited by: Melisil ]

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn came running down the street as fast as he could, he skidded to a halt about six feet away from Ferethor and drew his bow, fitting an arrow to it so quickly that Ferethor had a hard time seeing it.

In a second the head of the arrow was pointing squarely at Ferethor's neck.
Ferethor looked at Roryn and noticed the white tree emblem that adorned his leather tunic...

"Give me a reason to, guard, give me a reason, and I'll shoot you dead. h

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Put it down now, Roryn." Atharen's tone was still calm, and his eyes still fixed on Ferethor. Maen and Crystal had approached and were talking like old friends - and old women, he thought with a mental roll of his eyes. Aelimur, standing near them, sheathed his sword, and Ferethor glanced sharply at him with a look Atharen could not read.

All were watching Atharen and Ferethor; the guard was still distrustful and unsure, and his blade remained in his hand. As Atharen moved his left hand, Ferethor tensed to spring...but the ranger simply returned the dirk to it's sheath. The frustrating smile was gone from his lips now and his face was expressionless as he turned from the guard, not waiting to see if he would put down his sword.

His hood covered his face, not allowing the others to see his expression, but it was thoughtful as he mulled over the others. He glanced at Crystal as he passed her. Why did this guardsman have such an interest in her, and she such a worry about him? Stay out of it, Atharen; 't isn't worth a match against the two soldiers. Not yet, anyway.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal stopped and stood with Maen and watched. She could feel the tension and instantly reacted.

Her sword flew out of its sheath and it cut clean through Roryn's arrow. Her eyes flashed wildly. She stood in front of him with her sword posed at his neck.

"Stand down," Crystal said quickly. She watched as he looked at her in shock. She was small, but she was much stronger then her small stature showed.

"There shall not be blood shed here, stand down."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:07 PM February 08, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor wavered on a verge of indicision at the offer of Atharen, his mind torn between his wariness and trust. He was about to speak when he was arrested by a sudden motion that he had not noticed.


He turned upon Roryn, without drawing his knife that he had sheathed. Seeing an arrow notched in his bow already, he stepped back, fear and anger mingled in his alert eyes. "Roryn, you'd better not be rash, even on behalf of your friend." He quietly warned. "Give me a reason and I'll shoot you down from where you stand." Roryn snarled.


At that, Ferethor slipped deceptively in a seeming misstep, and before Roryn could take bearing on his new position, he drew his knife and leapt up. His blade reflected a fiery gleam in his eyes, savage in its very intensity. "I'm at least a match for you, Roryn. Remember that before you threaten me again." The blade left his hand, and whistling over his shoulder, pinned Roryn's robe to a tree behind him.


Atharen said quietly, "Put it down NOW, Roryn!" Ferethor glanced at Aelimur, who sheathed his sword with an almost imperceptive shrug. He tensed as Atharen moved his hand, but he merely returned it to its sheath.


Crystal, who arrived at the situation too late, cried "Stand down!" Her knife cleaved Roryn's arrow instantly. "There shall be no bloodshed." Ferethor forced the blade out of the tree as he passed, smiling in the face of Roryn's fury. "Remember."


He was silent as he walked, in deep thought. 'This Roryn - who knows Atharen well - who is he? This matter ever reveals new mysteries. Atharen... Can I trust him? Whether I would or not, there is no choice left me.' Atharen's words rang in his mind over and over "I do ask you to trust me - as your errand's importance is'paramount', so is trust within this group. Can you trust me, or..."


Ferethor glanced at Atharen, who was watching him closely. Atharen raised an eyebrow, asking Ferethor silently if he had come to a decision. Ferethor hesitated, and then nodded.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:29 AM February 09, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Everdawn]

"Crystal is right, no blood will litter the streets!" Maén's voice was strong, "Im very disappointed in you all." she said quietly. “We are on the same side, or at least im paying you to be, so while you are under my contract, you will save whatever blood is to be spilled among you, the last thing I need is to explain a murder I had not planned for.” The murder that the spirit young woman had planned for was the murder of the infamous Guriel. She could tell that some were feeling guilty, and that was what she had hoped for. “I am no worrier, and Im not pretending to be, but what I do know is this my friends, a little kindness to you fellow man- or woman would not go astray on this journey.” She turned her backs on the company who were still cooling down after the hasty fight that would have been, and surveyed the area.

Large marble walls, windows… they were high and small, small enough for her or even Crystal to pass through, though they would need to stand on someone’s back at least to reach the height. No, that thought was pushed form her mind, Maén needed all of them to be able to help her, keeping soldiers at bey who were so often found protecting the more important of documents stored in the Minas Tirith Archives. And no doubt that the details of the military’s cover up on the Il Galoth betrayal would be stored in there. She knew where it was that she had to look and Maén Il Galoth was no stranger to picking locks.

“What are we to do here then my lady?” Aelimur asked.

“We are going to break into the Minas Tirith Archives.” She put simply, “There is something I need to justify to make sure that my Aunt Lysia is not wasting her money. I wrote to the king and asked for this information a few weeks ago, and they said Guriel did not exist. So I take that as a sign that I have to find it for myself, Elessar basically invited me in, so you see, It really isn’t breaking in, it’s more like, looking for a while at something which concerns me dearly.” A small smile played at the sides of her mouth and her hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. Of course it was madness to try and break into a Gondorian institution, but this was Maén, and nothing was too outlandish for her, besides, she thought that she might just get away with it.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Maen stopped in front of the white building and beckoned them closer. Ferethor, who tarried on the road, hastened. 'Minas Tirith Military Archives? But we have no access.' He wondered as he identified the building before them. Aelimur, who was likewise amazed, said "What are we to do here then, my lady??


“We are going to break into the Minas Tirith Archives.?Maen said quietly. “There is something I need to justify." Ferethor, taken off his balance by such an absurd suggestion, cried "Break in a Gondorian institution, Maen?" at which she smiled as she answered.


"I wrote to the king and asked for this information, and they said Guriel did not exist. So I take that as a sign that I have to find it for myself.?


"Maen! This is beyond madness, if such it be." Ferethor cried, aflame with fury. "Raid the Minas Tirith Military Archives for non-existing scrolls? Fool's errand! Flouting the authority, risking our lives and mission in a hopeless venture..."


Maen laughed derisively, tossing her head. "But this is my quest, Ferethor. If you quail at such a danger, you can leave. What harm can they do us, even if they catch us?"


Ferethor's voice sank as he said, "Minas Tirith Archive is one of the most closely defended place in Gondor. Silver-clad soldiers patrol it by the light of Anor and Ithil, never slackening their wariness. To force an entry will be considered treason to the country - and will be treated as such. Immediate death!" A dead silence fell among the party.

[Melisil]

Aelimur looked at Maen in suprise. "The military archives! Maen, forgive me, but this is madness! Elessar himself is probably the only Gondorian person or thing more guarded then here." Aelimur shook his head.

"So? We have to get in there, if we go without checking, we may miss out on very important details." replied Maen stubbernly.

Aelimur looked down as he thought. "I know it will be pointless to argue, but answer me this: How are we to get in?"

Maen looked at the others around her, "Well, we can figure that out with everyone. Two heads are better then one, they say!"

Aelimur sighed, "Alright."

Looking over to Ferethor to see his reaction, Aelimur could tell he still wanted to 'discuss' this further. Aelimur walked past Ferethor, pulling him over to a less crowded area.

"Ferethor, don't argue it too much. We are known too well as it is. Besides, we cannot disagree."

"And why not?!" Ferethor replied heatedly.

"For one thing, we will be left behind- failing our mission. For another thing, how bad can it get? And thirdly, well, we just can't! Think about it Ferethor, what other option do we have?" Aelimur asked, only semi-convincingly.

"Aelimur, you say this as a drunken man! You are overly excited! No, it does not seem as though there is another way, but there is. There must be. If we get caught Aelimur," Ferethor said warningly, "We will be killed. And even if we are not killed, our jobs will be taken from us, and our homes probably stolen. Aelimur, you can go; But I still need to talk to Maen a bit more about this."

Aelimur stood on the spot even after Ferethor turned, and walked over to where Maen was talking to the others. A drunken man! Me? Aelimur thought to himself for a moment. After rethinking his words though, he realized what a fool he sounded. Aelimur kicked himself for this, but he walked over to group none the less.

[Kransha]

Idruil hummed the tune of a song quietly to himself, scratching nonchalantly at the stubble around his beard. He sniffed the air, letting the cornucopia of smells fill him. The mélange was not particularly savory so he continued, gently kicking the haunches of his steed. He goaded the horse to the side, tugging on the reins to turn him. He proceeded down the angled streets of Minas Tirith, occasionally glancing up at the upper levels and sighing, then returning his gaze to whatever empty patch of street lay directly ahead of him.

His eyes looked up from beneath the tattered red hood to see the other people on nearby. Many were on foot, and some were rudely staring at him. He dismissed them, not caring who noticed him or what they thought of him. That never mattered to Idruil, others’ opinion. He only cared for his own needs and how they related to him. Some would call that selfish, but he considered it minding his own business. He didn’t need to get involved with other people unless they had something he wanted. He didn’t need money, although he often worked for it, and he didn’t need glory, which he had plenty of. All he wanted or needed right now was something to do and he intended to find just that.

The horse-mounted figure, hazel colored eyes half closed and scanning the area around him, contemplated and mused as his slightly rough voice continued the song. It was a wearily sung song, related by Idruil with little enthusiasm. It was a verse he’d learnt from chauvinistic warriors in Minas Tirith about “this great and wonderful land,” as they’d called it. A quant piece, not particularly good, but Idruil wanted to get his mind off of pointless nostalgia that was filling it.

”There is light on the hilltops, and light in the trees.
There is white in the city of Gondor, of Gondor!

When the sun hits the mountains, when the stars hit the sea,
There is white in the city of Gondor, of Gondor!
There is light in the cities of Gondor!”

Riding aimlessly had grown tiring now and Idruil resolved to get some exercise on his own two feet, rather than the four of a horse. The slow-moving steed halted and snorted impatiently as he swung his legs over its side and narrowly avoided falling off. He dusted himself off for no particular reason, as if cleansing himself of some grime that no one else could see, and grabbed the horse’s reins again with one hand. He staggered forward weakly, getting used to using his legs again and walked on, still as aimless as ever, through the streets with the horse close behind. Perhaps he could find some place to sit down and get a drink, which he sorely needed. He headed towards another clump of city buildings, talking to himself under his breath, and walked towards the foremost one. It was a large whitewashed structure, made of what looked like a single slab of burnished marble. To Idruil, all of the buildings on Minas Tirith’s seven levels where the same and he’d long ago grown bored. Many would scoff on his dismissal of the White City’s beauty, but he didn’t care for aesthetics. He looked up at the gentle sunlight bathing the Tower of Ecthelion, which loomed far above him, and the levels below him. He had to admit it was quite a sight to behold, but it had little architectural or colorful diversity. He preferred Pelargir and Linhir to this city, though this was considerably grander.

He found a small hitching post beneath a frail awning and swiftly tied his horse’s reins to it. He honestly didn’t care what happened to the horse, considering it wasn’t his. It brayed noisily as he turned around and walked briskly away, not knowing if he’d bother to come back for the steed. He picked up the pace for no apparent reason and walked beneath several more awnings and protruding roofs towards the wider road, which led to bigger and better things. Or at least he fervently hoped it led to bigger and better things.

He came to one of the few buildings in the vast city which he knew well; the Military Archives of Minas Tirith. He had seen or heard of other famous structures, like the Tower of Ecthelion itself and the Houses of Healing, but he was not familiarized with the layout of the seven levels, after being away in Lossarnach and Lebennin for a considerable amount of time. He looked up at the structure and assessed it with his cold eyes. He wandered around it, admiring the sternly set walls and various ornaments. He’d always wondered what it was like inside there, considering how much he enjoyed reading those stories and comparing him to his own humble tales. Of course, the archives were off limits, and heavily guarded.

[Eorl of Rohan]

"Aelimur, you say this as a drunken man! No, it does not seem as though there is another way, but there is. There must be." Ferethor said in anger, "Aelimur, you can go; But I still need to talk to Maen a bit more about this."


Aelimur, who backed off slightly in the face of Ferethor's wrath, ventured to ask. "Yet we were unable to stay this madness. What is to be done? Let us take thought and counsel each other." At that, Ferethor laughed bitterly. "You always counsel prudence, Aelimur. Alas, my comrade, yet at some moment prudence must fail - for the eyes that only gaze to easier path are ever closed. Indeed what advice canst thou give?"


Aelimur kept silent, knowing that Ferethor's fiery anger will abate into cold, logical thoughts. "I'd have to contact the Archives Guards." He said with distaste. "Flattery, bribes, threats... Whatever it takes, sicne we cannot reveal our secret errand. May Morgoth take camouflages we have to assume! Yet how can I shake off that ranger, Atharen?"


Aelimur suggested, "It is perilous for you to stray out of the company, since they keep such watch on you. Allow me to go in thy stead," Ferethor waved his hand in denial, his lips curling in a half-smile. "You've made nothign but enemies in your service. Next time, if there is one, alway remember - ally yourself with a powerful source. They may come in useful." With a military snap, he cast his cloak about his shoulder and turned to go.


"Stay!" Turning swiftly, Ferethor said, "We need haste. Be quick." Aelimur asked, "Were you joking when you said you'd do what you can to bribe or intimidate the guards?" After an incredulous pause, Ferethor said, "Hard tasks need hard ways." As he was leaving, he called out, "Aelimur, Manwe keep you safe!" Aelimur meditated cynically a moment, wondering who at the moment needed the protection of the Valars. Shrugging, he walked over to Maen.

[Everdawn]

“You don’t have to come then” Maén said shortly, “I don’t know about you but I happen to be very good at not being seen, or caught I-“ she cut herself short as the sleeve of her left arm rolled back revealing her scar, she stared at it for a second, as in surprise before pulling her sleeve up completely as if nothing had ever happened. “- im usually very good at it” she said in a weaker voice.

Maén looked once more at the building and again to the company and raising an eyebrow spoke. “Besides Ferethor, I thought you wanted revenge on Guriel, now don’t you tell me a building full of paper is going to stop you… Next ill be thinking that you aren’t who you appear to be.” She had meant it as a jest, but something clicked inside her mind and she looked at Ferethor again. “Curious” she muttered to herself. “Very curious.”

“And as for death Mister Ferethor, I am willing to do whatever needs doing to restore the honour of my house. That includes dying.” Taking off her satchel form around her shoulder she placed it at Aelimur’s feet. Look after this, I need to have a look around first.”

“IN the archives?” asked Roryn

Maén shook her head. “No, in the public library, which happens to be next to the archives. There are some very old doors and passages in there if I do remember from my old days as a student. I want to make sure they are all still there.” She took a second look at her companions. “Crystal, ill need you to serve as my lookout, as much as I hate to say it, two women will look less menacing than two rangers or many travellers.”

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn looked incredulously at Maen, then his face broke into a small grin and he shook his head as he chuckled. "Women" he said, "never cease to mystify me with acts of bravery such as this, especially when you take a look at most other women. By all means go ahead, but perhaps I and Atharen should make sure that you go unnoticed?"

Atharen looked at Roryn, questioningly. Roryn gave the tiniest of wry smiles and nodded imperceptibly. Distract people, try to hold the librarian up..., Atharen gave Roryn an exasperated look, he returned it LOOK as if you're interested...

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor strolled into the public library in a seeming nonchalance, seeking for the concealed sentinels under civilian attire stationed in this structure. The hefty sandstone library was indeed a work of art, he thought in wonder, as he surveyed it in an appraising air for known countenances. ¡°Perahil.¡± He drew near and murmured to a youthful sentry that he knew well, dozing by the fire. ¡°I have a request of you.¡±


After a moment of listening, the youth doubtfully replied with amazement gleaming in his wide eyes. ¡°Certainly I could do so, sir, but I wonder at such an inexplicable command. I fail to see¡¦¡± Ferethor broke in, his tone perilously soft. ¡°I will have my will in this matter - without any inquiry.¡± At Perahil¡¯s subdued nod, Ferethor arose. Only then did he become aware of Atharen, who was staring at him intently with a slight frown. In annoyance, Ferethor approached him.

[heart]

Crystal walked forward with Maen. It wouldn't be hard to break into anything as far as Crystal was concerned. She was a pro at that kind of thing. One had to be if it meant taking money from drunk men that have passed out on their beds. She had even gotten away with some money from a man that only had a non-alcoholic ale thing. She was quite besides herself with that man. He was terribly boring, but funny at the same time. An odd mix if you asked her.

She shrugged the thoughts off and followed. She wondered what it was they needed to take in such secrecy. The blood in her veins rushed through her as excitement pulsed. She walked past the men and smiled at Atharen as she passed. There was something about him that was making it harder for her to concentrate on the mission. She stopped her thoughts and scolded herself. This wasn't the time nor the place to be entertaining such thoughts. She wouldn't follow this pattern anymore.

Even as she thought this in her mind, she knew that it would be a hard task to follow. There was just something kind about him that made her feel different about the male gender as a whole. She didn't feel entirely safe with all men and probably never would, but he gave her the thought that maybe not all men were bad. Perhaps it was only the select few like her father that liked to be cruel and demanding.

She continued walking a head as she buried her thoughts.

[Melisil]

Aelimur took the satchel from Maen. "Sure, I'll hold it." he said to himself half-mockingly as she walked away. Roryn and Atharen followed her, as we as Ferethor and Crystal, whom Maen had called with her. Aelimur waited behind, hoping that Maen could do her inspection quickly. Yes, although you could say a bit for Aelimur, you couldn't say that he was patient.

Ferethor's ideas of 'persuasion' bothered Aelimur a bit as they waited. He wondered how many there would be, and how many Ferethor would try to corrupt. Aelimur whispered very quietly, partly to himself, partly to Ferethor, inside the Library, "Ferethor, pray, don't go too far."

Worry trickled over and around his mind as he said this. "Stop it Aelimur!" he commanded himself. The guard was not the kind to be worried or disgruntled, this quest was no exception. If only thoughts like these would be gone!

[Eorl of Rohan]

Atharen turned to meet him, leaving Roryn to deal with a rather bewildered librarian. Ferethor spoke in a low voice under the cover of murmur that pervaded the library. ¡°You say that my task need not be known to you, Atharen, yet you never cease to study me intently, aware of all my deeds. Curious I thought it was, particularly for one who claims to have no ill intent. If you wish to earn my amity and trust, will you not open your mind to me?¡±


At that, Atharen spread his hands in a sign of neutrality, but his voice was calm. "As you wish. I did not ask for your errand, but it is easy to guess. You were bidden to join this expedition under assumed name and status, to search out and destroy the renegade Il Garoth. Until that purpose was achieved you were to lend aid upon our journey, ever watchful and vigilant, as a secret sentinel - a bulwark such as Gondor is to the northern countries. I also deem that you have a personal vengeance against him, for your eyes gleam with naked hatred whenever his accursed name is mentioned. Tell me, captain; was this not your mission?"


Ferethor's countenance was darkened with thought as he answered. "You see and hear much that is hidden from other men, Atharen. But that is only to be expected of a kinsman of Lord Elessar and a descendant of Numenoreans. Your guess is not far amiss."


Atharen softly answered, "Responsibility is a heavy burden, Ferethor. Do I not know it well? You cannot, unaided, fend off the strife that will tear this company apart - nor can you be ever alert and wary against foes that will certainly assail us. If you try to stand alone in the passage of the storm, you will be beaten down. I ask again - will you not trust in me?"


Ferethor stood for a while in silence, seeking for wisdom and counsel in his innermost mind. "In this matter but little choice is given me," He spoke at last. "But one may choose while one still can. In this matter I deem that you speak the truth, Atharen of the Dunedain. Verily am I Ferethor Amandil, captain of Minas Tirith, as you guessed long ago. Your offer of comeraderie I will tkae, and in this I place my life and my task in your hands. Do not fail me." His grey eyes were softened by sincerety, as brittle ice may melt in the spring.


"I will not. But this I ask of you in return - to be frank and truthful as far as you can. Who was the man you conversed with, and what did you discuss?"

[Eorl of Rohan]

'What a proposal.' Del chuckled lightly as he listened to the Maen's plan. 'Yet what have I to lose? Going along for a ride might be fun.' Therefore he murmured his assent with all the rest of the group - wait, not all. Ferethor still looked like he had something to say, but was restrained by his companion, Aelimur.

Even as the sun climbed laboriously to the high heaven, Maen was in the public section of the library. Del noticed with some surprise that Ferethor went in with Maen, and voiced his opinion thoughtfully to the only person other then him that stayed behind - Aelimur.

"Strange." Del said, a frown creasing his brow, "Ferethor was against this expedition into the Military Archives if my memory does not fail me. Why does he go in with the others?" Aelimur was too occupied with his thought to reply, it seemed, and Del gave up trying to make conversation and went into the library for the lack of anything other to do.

Del passed Atharen and Ferethor talking in low voices byt he corner. Deliberately taking his place near them, he tried to overhear them, but failed to catch the conversation that was going on.

Atharen said, evidently taken off his balance, "Ferethor, so you've set yourself a task to deceive the citadel sentiniels in order to protect the expedition?"

Ferethor retorted, "Do you think we could possibly break in the Military Archives of Gondor without outside help? If you have any better ideas, Ranger, I'd like to hear it."

"Great Iluvatar... You are surely crazed..." Atharen said weakly. "I have a forboding that this may be more perilous then it seems." At that, Ferethor frowned. "Perilous? Certainly. But what isn't?"

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal walked over to Maen softly. She looked around. She wasn't sure what they were looking for.

"What is it we are looking for Maen?" Crystal asked lightly as she continued to survey her surroundings. The men were talking, making her feel uneasy. She didn't exactly like it when they looked like they were conspiring together. It made her feel as if they had a scheme or a dangerous plan of their own in their minds and possibly at work. She didn't know any of them and she wasn't sure how much they knew each other.

Yet she felt she could trust Atharen. She stopped the thought once again. The only person she could trust was Maen, the leader of this motley crew. This company of quest seekers for justice and revenge. How odd it was to gather such shady people for a mission such as this, yet she understood what Maen had done it. She would have done the same thing if when her father and her love, Arthur, had died. She would have if her father hadn't been so demanding and kept her at home with her overly protective nanny.

Crystal and Maen had a lot in common. They were a similar type of women. They weren't like the others, they weren't stuck up. Yes they were of higher standings, but both acted like any normal human should. It was one of the reasons Crystal trusted Maen so. Crystal had met a lot of higher standing women before, but all had thought so highly of whom they had married and what they had, but Maen was exactly like her in the aspect of not truly caring about the standings of society or social status.

Crystal wouldn't admit in a million years that she was semi-similar to other women in the thought process of finding a man attractive and even falling for him. She wouldn't admit that Atharen had captured her thoughts. Possibly even her heart in time, but it was just a silly crush that was pulsing through her. Why she had no idea, it wasn't as if she even truly knew him. Yet, there was something about him, his eyes perhaps, that made her feel this way. Yet again she shook away the thoughts. She didn't want to think this way, not on this mission. She had many other things to do then try to ponder the unponderable. She had to be wary of several of the other men in the company as well as protect Maen. She also had to make sure that her reflects didn't falter, that she was on guard at all times and at all places. Even when she felt even remotely safe. It wasn't the time nor the place to be thinking such thoughts and she wasn't going to entertain them until the quest was finally over.

As she promised this in her heart she began to wonder how she could even keep this promise. She had promised herself that when she met Arthur, but she couldn't keep that promise either. She sighed inwardly and decided she would have to deal with the feelings and thoughts as they came. It would be easier then breaking another promise to protect her own heart.

She stood, waiting for Maen's response as she continued to watch her surroundings.

[Kransha]

The figure, now with his hood removed, strolled around the gleaming white side of the archives and toward the subdued color of the sandstone-built library beside it. It was a less imposing structure, still looming above him but in no way foreboding or ominous, like the shadowy corridors of the Minas Tirith Military Archives. Idruil didn’t doubt that many of the dusty shelves hadn’t seen the hand of any man in years, unnoticed and neglected by all who past them. In some ways Idruil felt that he could identify with those volumes, despite the gnawing fact that they were inanimate objects. Many of them had seen the battles he saw, at least in a sense, and had had their day, read fervently by all in excitement and eagerness. Now they were useless tactical manuals of a forgotten time, nostalgic records of what had been that barely ever saw the light of day. Idruil supposed he wasn’t quite as old as he imagined, still only a little over his prime years, but he couldn’t see a way around his uselessness, unused and unneeded by most.

He wandered into the library, letting fort a heavy sigh which slowly became a yawn. It was still midday, but he was strangely tired. He saw many people milling around, tending to whatever business they wished. Idruil didn’t try to interfere, though he yearned for human interaction. No one in a library would have any solution to his problem. What he needed was that thrill of fiery action that he’d so long ago lost track of. He wanted to feel the cold warmth of a blade in his hand again, swinging mightily and smiting down his foes. Those days were over and the weathered man knew that. He walked around slowly, his feet dragging wearily behind him. The library wasn’t as calm as it usually was when Idruil came here. There were several people, both men and women, bustling around the place conspicuously. They didn’t really stand out, but some of them seemed to be trying too hard to look common. Idruil didn’t care, though. He had no reason to pry into other's affairs.

Despite his cynical and aimless nature, Idruil still enjoyed a good read about those nostalgic glories of long ago. He came to this library whenever he had time and leafed through the ancient volumes until he found something he could drown himself in. It was better than ale or pipe-weed in his opinion, even though a good draught could be very satisfying every now and then. Idruil knew the place well and could navigate its narrow halls with ease. He’d accidentally committed the contents and layout of the place to memory after coming there enough, so he felt at least partially at home in the building. He could walk within it and feel safe and as content as he could be, surrounded by tales of lore and war and things of reverence, some forgotten and some remembered still by Arda’s generations of the Fourth Age.

[Melisil]

Aelimur stood boredly outside. Del started to say something, Aelimur missed it though as he was thinking. He looked up a moment later to ask what he had said, but he had already moved inside.

Now the only one left standing outside of their company, Aelimur walked over to the door of the Library. Inside, he noted that the company had split into small groups. Ferethor and Atharen were talking in hushed voices, Maen and Crystal were standing together, looking around at certain parts of the Library. Roryn and Del were for the moment not doing much it seemed.

Aelimur walked over to Del, seeing as it would be more interesting talking to someone. He would have normally gone up to Maen to ask if there was something he could do, but at the moment she seemed fairly busy.

"Del, were you saying something to me earlier?" Aelimur asked, trying to start a bit of a conversation.

[Eorl of Rohan]

"Well, it just seems that we are out of the picture, doesn't it?" Del waved his hand in the general direction of Maen. "Look at them. Maen and Crystal is off examining some cracks in the wall, your serious and silent chum Ferethor stowed himself and Atharen in some corner talking in low voices, and Roryn is busy trying to divert the librarian. Well, what are we doing here?"

Aelimur was about to answer thoughtfully, but Del spoke first. "And your pal Ferethor is a strange chap. He and Atharen drew blades against each other about an hour ago, and now they look like they have been comrades for ever. He opposed the adventure into this building from the start, yet he doesn't look like a skulking coward. I mean, that's strange."

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Perilous, yes - but what isn't?"

Atharen regarded the man unblinkingly, then sighed. "If you wish to put yourself in danger, I will not stop you." He leaned back against the wall, one foot flat against the wall to hold him, resting his head back, and watched Ferethor from under his eyelashes. "But what of your alliance to Gondor? Does that not hold you from this?"

"I promised Maen my services and I do not intend to harm Gondor anyway - I will simply protect the quest." Ferethor's voice was slightly harder than before. Atharen let his eyes flit up towards the sky and shrugged very slightly.

"Fair enough, fair enough..but it is a capital offence. Do you not wonder why?"" His murmuring voice was once again infuriatingly calm and Ferethor glared at him, replying curtly, "Does your so called alliance to Gondor not command you to stop me?"

Atharen grinned slightly, his eyes still facing upwards. "Well, I'm not the one doing the breaking and entering now, am I?"

"If you have a better idea, ranger, speak up!" Ferethor snapped, his old distrust rising once more. Atharen held up his hands but didn't say any more. Ferethor sighed angrily. "I know not how I can be expected to trust you when you give me so little reason to, ranger!"

Atharen's head came down sharply and he looked Ferethor in the eyes. "I haven't given you reason not too, have I?"

Not knowing an answer to this, the hot-tempered guard didn't reply, just glared frustratedly at Atharen before sighing angrily and turning on his heel to walk towards Aelimur. Atharen smiled to himself, then it faded as he watched Aelimur and Ferethor conversing. No matter what the man said, Atharen very much doubted he would trust him at all if he had not guessed his secret mission - this way, Ferethor was quite probably only trusting the ranger because he didn't really have a choice. Now it was Atharen's turn to sigh, not angrily but frustratedly. Such hot-headedness, impulsiveness and distrust did not bode well for the future, and the ranger was beginning to wonder why exactly he was here.

Glancing over at Maen and Crystal, Atharen was surprised to see Crystal jerk her head back to Maen as he caught her gaze, and if he wasn't very much mistaken, the tips of her ears had gone slightly red. He raised his eyebrows. What have I done to make her feel uncomfortable? And why would one of such a fiery disposition keep so quiet about her discomfort in this way? he thought, frowning slightly. His dark eyes lingered on Crystal for a moment, but when she didn't turn, he looked away, his eyes moving onto the traveller...who was watching him with quite as much interest.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Atharen locked his gaze with Ferethor's for a split moment. "I haven't given you reason not too, have I?"

Ferethor turned his face away to avoid revealing his impulsive fury at the Ranger's insolent attitude. However, he knew that it would be of little use, for Atharen would see through him anyway. "Atharen is not the enemy I have to battle." Ferethor thought, brutally casting his anger from his thought to allow for more rational and logical plans. "The Renegade Il Garoth is."

[Aredhel Ar-Feiniel]

Maén barely cast another glance in Crystals direction as she strode towards the library entrance. “ We are looking for a way in. I don’t want to have to go in through the window above where we were outside. Maén was glad that Crystal had come with her and was not afraid of a challenge, an adventurous spirit to her was always favourable in a woman. Perhaps in time she would consider Crystal a friend. Besides, the blade of the young girl might come in handy in an assassination attempt, after all Maén’s abilities with a sword were limited and she was small in frame and stature that any many who may attack her with a blade might in fact come off better than she, stealth was Maén’s friend and ally, that she could always be sure of.

“Ive been here before.” She muttered to Crystal who tagged along behind her as she wandered in and out of the endless shelves of books. “A long time ago, very long time…” most of the place was dark, lit only in other places by torches, a true building of old.

“Ive never seen anything so big before” mentioned Crystal staring around with awe.

“And that’s why it’s going to be better for us to go in today.” Maén noted mischievously, “of course, if some don’t want to come in like our friend Ferethor, they are welcome to stay put- ” she stopped dead before another hall which was behind closed doors. “-That’s where we need to go, sugar! It’s just that we need to find another way in, if only we could ask someone… insane of course, but never the less.” She looked about her with a questioning look on her face, hoping that by some chance someone would know how.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn looked exasperatedly at the librarian. "I know that its a very obscure subject...no...no I don't want to go and look for it myself, I want you to show me it..." Finally the librarian sighed and mutterd "Right." Roryn followed him up the steps into the section he was looking in, and gave a nod to Maen. Look now, and be swift.

"What subject did you want again?" The librarian asked. "Anything you can find on the mechanisms of the troll body." Roryn chuckled, he could scarcely think of a more pointless subject, so it was bound to keep the librarian looking for a long time. He continued to look along the bottom shelf, then, faling to find it, moved to the top...Roryn looked down...Maen was still there, he gave a mroe pronounced now, and a hand gesture, Hurry.

[Melisil]

Del looked at Aelimur, "Well, it just seems that we are out of the picture, doesn't it? Look at them. Maen and Crystal are off examining some cracks in the wall, your serious and silent chum Ferethor stowed himself and Atharen in some corner talking in low voices, and Roryn is busy trying to divert the librarian. Well, what are we doing here?"

Aelimur was ready to reply, when Del continued, "And your pal Ferethor is a strange chap. He and Atharen drew blades against each other about an hour ago, and now they look like they have been comrades for ever. He opposed the adventure into this building from the start, yet he doesn't look like a skulking coward. I mean, that's strange."

Aelimur nodded laughing slightly, "It doesn't leave us anywhere in particular. And as or Ferethor," he nodded in his direction, "even I cannot say what is going round his head."

This was really one of the first times, but certainly not the last, that Aelimur felt slightly pressed to lie. He had not fully lied though, as though he had an idea of what Ferethor was doing, it wasn't much of one.

Aelimur cast his glance around the old building. "You would not think this place was made for public audience, would you?" he whispered softly to Del. The Library was beautiful. Gracefully carved designs on everything, many of the books were jewel encrusted.

It mistified Aelimur quite completedly.

[Eorl of Rohan]

“I have done as you desired, Captain Ferethor.” Perahil murmured. “The sentinels will stay by the outer garrison until darkness falls.” Then he handed a small key to Ferethor. It was silvery key gilt with gold and etched with an ensign of White Tree of Gondor – the key of the entrance of the concealed Hall of Archives.

With a breath of relief, he thanked the Gondorian youth. However, Perahil avoided his gaze as if he was uncomfortable. Ferethor wondered for a moment of this strange behavior, but dismissed it casually. A fatal mistake.

Ferethor approached Maen silently, near enough to overhear her last comment, “Of course, if some does not want to come in like our friend Ferethor, they are welcome to stay put. There is the entrance! It’s just that we need to find another way in…”

He could not restrain himself from a smile. “As it happens, the craven who doesn’t want to come in could aid you.” Pretending to not notice their guilty surprise, he opened his hand. “The key.”

“Where did you obtain it?” Maen asked sharply. Ferethor shrugged off that inevitable question, saying “You need not know. Surely, you won’t back out at the last minute, Maen Il Garoth? Let us enter.”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal nodded her head as she examined the structure before her. She had never tried to delibrately break into a building before. She knew she could do it fairly easily, but she had never done it for the pure reason that she had to. She had done it a couple of times just to prove that she could. She knew what indents and cracks could prove as excellent openings without breaking a window, causing chaos and commotion, and bringing around the authorities unneccessarily. She hated to admit it at times, but she was rather good at what she did. She made it a habit to be the best that she could possibly be in anything and everything that came to call upon her. If there was a task that had to be done or she wanted to try she would give her best. No matter what type of task it may be.

"Ah, so that is why we are standing in front of this building and staring at it," Crystal said softly as she studied the wall.

It wasn't the only thing she was studying either. She looked back at Atharen. He was quite a different man, that was sure. She would admit to herself and to herself only that he was a fairly attractive man that had captured her attention. If only he hadn't captured her attention so thoroughly.

Yes, he had her attention. He had captured it the moment he laid his hand upon her elbow and led her away. So carefully and gracefully he had been to her. So soft and gentle. Unlike the other men she was use to encountering. The others were rough, tough, and seasoned by the likes of many women. He was as new as a child, at least that was the opinion he was formulating for her. New, untouched, pure. Such rare qualities in a man.

She turned away and studied the wall once more. She condemned herself for thinking in such a way. She had hardly known him for more than an hour, yet she was still thinking such thoughts. If he ever found out what she was thinking he would find her yet another silly love sick girl.

Crystal was bound and determined to teach each and everyone in this company that she was far more then just a woman. She was a fighter, a traveller, a challenger, a danger. She wanted them to know that Crystal Auror Heart was far more then they ever could predict. She was far more then anything they had ever encountered and would ever encounter again. She wanted each and everyone of them to walk away from this quest knowing that making allies with the likes of her was ensuring an ally with an army. She wanted to prove that she was better, quicker, and smarter then any man. She wanted to prove that she was just as good as man, preferrably better in their opinions.

Yet even as these thoughts flew through her mind as she looked at the wall she couldn't help feeling that she wanted to show the softer side that only one other person had ever gotten to see. Arty had been able to see that beyond the tough girl attitude there was a charm, a soft and gentle side to her. A side that she hid from the rest of the world. A side that shined through like a star on a foggy night.

More then anything else she wanted Atharen to find this side. To crack her open and find out what lay beyond her tough exterior. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time. She had been extra careful about her feelings and her thoughts. She had stopped anyone and anything from getting to close to her since Arty's death. It had been hard to deal with the fact that there was no longer anyone on the earth that understood her heart and soul so completely.

It had been months since his death. Almost a year now, but the pain was still fresh. She knew that it probably would never go away. She knew that she would always have a place in her heart that dwelled with Arty, but her heart was beginning to make room for a love that she need. A love that she was beginning to yearn for once again. A love that she thought she should never have and never think about due to her loyalty and love for Arty. Crystal was changing.

As much as she hated the fact that she was changing. She didn't like change. It meant heartache and sadness. Sometimes even darkness for her, but this change felt right. Felt normal in fact. It was a rather different feeling, one she was afraid of but not closed to. She wasn't stupid. She knew that she needed this.

She also knew that this new friendship in Maen was a good thing as well. They were similar people with similar thoughts. This friendship would benefit her in the long run. She hoped they could be friends and teach each other things. That was what she liked most in friends and allies, the fact that they can teach you something different.

She found a spot on the wall and tapped on it. It sounded hallow. Crystal smiled at her discovery.

"Maybe we can get through here. It sounds hallow enough. Want to try it?" Crystal asked as she pointed to the point.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Atharen talking. She wondered if he would come over soon and help them. She hoped secretly that he would. She could tell he was noticing something. Finally she noticed that the tips of her ears were red. She kicked herself mentally. It was something she did with a man that she liked, well more then liked perhaps. She did it with Arty all the time. She shook away the thought and turned back to Maen.

"Shall we try to break through? It seems as if it would come down easily."

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor could not restrain himself from a smile at Maen's characteristic comment. "As it happens, the craven who does not want to come in could aid you in this." He opened his palm, revealing the key gleaming silver. "The key."

Crystal, who was examining a patch of wall, approached. "Maen, maybe we can get through here. It sounds..." She abruptly broke off at catching a glimpse of the silvery key. "Is that the key to the entrance to Military Archives, Ferethor? How did you get it?" Maen added sharply, "Where did you obtain it?"

Ferethor raised an eyebrow in seeming consternation. Then he shrugged off that inevitable question, saying "You need not know. Surely, you will not back out at the last minute, Maen Il Garoth? Let us enter."

Maen glanced at Ferethor distrustfully, a slight frown creasing her brow. "I have the right to know, Ferethor." She demanded, her face set in earnest distrust. "Do you?" He met her enraged glare with his level glance, hard and inpenetrateable.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal's back tensed. Keys to a building such as this should never fall out of the hands of the keeper of the keys. How Ferethor had attained them was a reason to be highly suspicious. He was already labeled number one in danger rating in her list of most dangerous people that she had ever met and he was now 2 for 2 in the points against him for being too suspicious and knowing too much.

Her defenses came back up and instantly her sword was out. She didn't trust Ferethor as far as she could throw him and wouldn't put it past him to endanger their lives. She wasn't going to stand and allow for him to not account for his actions and especially the action of holding such sought after keys for a building like this. There was something about Ferethor that she believed would prove dangerous, highly dangerous, when this was all over and done with.

"Answer her question Ferethor or I will cut you down. Do not try to underestimate me. It shall be your downfall. Now answer her," Crystal commanded, her eyes flashing wildly. She wouldn't put up with this any longer. He wouldn't go into further detail about the dealings with her father and in her opinion he was just as sneaky as her father was.

Deep in the back of her mind she knew that Atharen would try to stop her, but even the new found feelings that she was discovering she had for him weren't going to stop her this time. She was on a mission to attain a sum of money that would ensure her life and the safety of her life forevermore. This would be her chance. In this mission she could send her necklace, the one that her mother had given her, drenched in blood with someone's help. He could believe her death and would call off the search for her. This was her chance of getting away from the life that she no longer wanted to be a part of and Ferethor's suspicious ways weren't going to interfere. No one's plans would interfere with her own. Not as long as she was still breathing.

She saw Atharen out of the corner of her eye. He was coming over to her and she could see his concern. She flashed her eyes at him in warning to stay back, but she knew he wouldn't obey. Ferethor stood still as he looked at the sword that was poised at his neck. He knew as well as she that if he moved it would only take one swift movement of her hand and his head would be lost. And, if Crystal had her way his body would be unindentifable when she was through.

[Kransha]

Idruil wandered the cold, almost completely empty halls. He thought of an old lay he’d heard of the Timeless Halls, the infinite space of the void where Illuvitar himself dwelled. As his footsteps resounded, echoing eerily around the darker corners of the library, Idruil contemplated the nothingness of that far off void, even though he knew there to be many things else he could consider which would be more uplifting. It was a dismal concept, but he had nothing else to think about at the moment. He currently led a rather dismal life, not doing much of anything except wandering the seven levels of the White City and despairing over times past. He expected he must be a very boring and morose person to be around, but he didn’t care about that in the least. He wasn’t around people enough to remember how to interact with them anyway.

The man did not truly know whether it was night or day. The light he saw peeking through the far windows might be moonlight for all he knew. He was in a more windowless and darker section, where those forgotten books dwelled, finding solace only in the few bored readers who strolled by them every decade or so.

Idruil walked slowly, dragging his weary legs, towards one of the shelves. Reaching up, he delicately slid one of the volumes from its position and let it sit for a moment in his arms before he gentle pushed aside the front cover and blew on the first page, sending a gentle spray of dust in front of him. He’d memorized every location and section in the place after his constant visits and knew many of the books. He was an avid reader and enjoyed reading tales, though he didn’t as much enjoy hearing them. He preferred seclusion to publicity, but he would accept it when necessary.

“Of Isildur, son of Elendil,” he read aloud, but in a softer, gentler voice than his usual gruff speaking tone. His voice softened further as he began to skim the frail parchment and the text it bore. It was, as the title stated, of Isildur, the almost legendary King of Arnor and Gondor who cut the mighty One Ring from the very hand of the Dark Lord, centuries upon centuries ago. Idruil knew the tale all to well and did not need to hear it again, even if it truly was his own reading. Glancing momentarily at a formerly detailed sketch of the blade Narsil, now worn to the point where it could no longer be seen by the naked eye, he slammed the book shut and replaced it on the shelf in its place, possibly to be neglected for another decade or more like so many of the library’s forgotten manuscripts and tales.

Idruil’s mind flitted from the gloominess of the Timeless Halls to other contemplations. He could think about Isildur all he wanted to keep himself occupied. He knew a few lays about Elendil’s son and busied himself trying to remember them. After a moment, pulled out the aged book again and pulled it open, this time skipping straight to the middle. He found himself staring at a very dignified looking picture of Isildur himself which stood opposite a sketch of the Argonath.

His half-closed eyes gazing at the images, he began singing quietly what he knew of that old lay, his voice almost sweet and soothing now as it recited the verse in a deep, resonating baritone that traveled only as far as he wished it to. The song began on a calm but stern chord as Idruil let the words and notes flow from within him to the immediate vicinity around him, not audible to anyone more than a few footsteps away in any direction. He closed his eyes fully, almost envisioning his words as they drifted before him in a sea of useless lore.

Isildur, King of men long dead,
Son of Numenor and lost lands.
Upon Gorgoroth your line extinguished,
Fell Elendil, ‘neath Barad-dur.

The hand of darkness by thee rent,
And Sauron’s power from him severed.
To Orodruin, but for naught,
The darkness could not be undone.

He had to struggle briefly with the next section, as it did not come to him immediately. It dawned on him that this recitation was just as gloomy as contemplating empty corridors which he would never sad. He dismissed the pessimistic feeling and continued, with more stable rhythm and rhyme in him. The work of song was not entirely inspiring, but it felt somewhat pleasing to delve for the verse knowledge inside the deeper vaults of his mind and discover forgotten lore which he barely knew had been there before. The feeling was reminiscent of a young man rediscovering his favorite childhood plaything and remembering the enjoyment he’d gotten from it. He droned on melodically, a repressed smile beginning to grace his expression.

Then passed you, son of Elendil,
At Gladden Fields, under orcish blade.
So lost was Numenor’s son, Isildur,
And left a tale behind.

In far off lands you sleep, Isildur,
Thy bane demolished in the fire,
And yet a story dwells within us,
A lay retold for thee, O king.

That wasn’t such a bad note to end on. It at least left some comfort within it to keep his hopes up and his spirits bright. He closed the book on a picture copied from a tapestry which bore a painted image of Isildur cutting the One Ring from Sauron’s hand with the broken blade. He gently caressed the worn cover of the volume before replacing it a second time on the shelf and turning to see what else he could find to do.

He swiveled in place and stopped, gazing out at the seemingly infinite row of shelves, some almost completely untouched. He let a dissapointed sigh slip and wandered, with no set course, along each row of archives. He was, in his own mind, nothing but a forgotten mariner of libraries now, navigating only fiction and nostalgia. The sea he faced was not one of adventure, but one of bored tranquility where his wordly vessel might linger eternally if he could not find some strait to brave, some island to explore, or some oceanic storm to conquer mightily. There had been such storms, but the thunder of them had long died and the grand sound was lost to Idruil. He desired to hear that thunder again, to see the daggers of light piercing a stormy sky and stand in the path of lightning. But that, he despaired, would probably never again occur. The storm had passed Idruil and he feared it would not return.

[Eorl of Rohan]

"Answer her question Ferethor or I will cut you down. Do not try to underestimate me. It shall be your downfall. Now answer her," Crystal commanded, her eyes gleaming.

A faint smile hovered on Ferethor's countenace. "Cut me down, indeed? Bold words for one so young, Crystal daughter of Dorian." And with that, Ferethor's slender blade snaked out from the folds of his forest-green robe and met Crystal's sword with a steely ring. "Yet your threat is nothing to me, even if you were capable to fulfill your empty words. I do not fear death, Crystal. A release of this sorrowful Ea I've ever longed for, but it was denied to me for reasons unknown."

Crystal freed her sword with a twist, but Ferethor just sheathed his without any move to defend himself. "I deny your claim to interrogate me in this matter, Crystal. Yet I hold no enmity toward you or Maen - I can see your distrust, however you try to hide it, and I pity you."

Maen was staring at Ferethor with narrowed gaze, but at last she said heavily, "So be it. I will not ask."

[Melisil]

Aelimur watched disaprovingly. How did Ferethor do this to himself, but more importantly, how did Ferethor obtain those keys. The young man made a mental note to himself, that as soon as Ferethor left the others, he would ask him.

For now though, there wasn't much he could do.

"I'm sorry Del," he said, turning back to him, his voice now much more casual, "What were we talking about? I've gotten distracted and completely forget!"

Del turned his head to him and laughed.

[Crystal Heart]

Her heart hammered wildly in anger in her chest. How she hated the word pity, especially when used for her.

"I have much reason to not trust you Ferethor and I shan't trust you until you give me reason. If you know my father as you say you do, then you can possibly understand my concern," Crystal said to him as she shethed her sword.

"And thinking that I am younger then my years and believing that I do not have any training in weilding a sword will possibly get you killed. I know of warriors training and I know what you have possibly gone through in learning the ways of true swordsmanship, but you do not know what I know. Therefore, find yourself warned," Crystal said as she kept her hand on the hilt.

She would never reveal to him in any speech that she could do far more then he possibly could. She wasn't going to allow him to know where she had learned many techniques that had stopped soliders in their tracks. She had learned the ways of the soliders from her father due to her mother, but what he hadn't taught her had come from a her new life as a traveller. Those lessons were far more valuable then anything that Ferethor had ever learned.

She walked away, furious that he would try to win an upper hand. His sword was measly, nothing grand as hers was. Hers was almost pure perfection and that's the way she ran her life and her thoughts except upon occassion.

Such occassions as thinking about Atharen. How she wished he could guess her feelings, but then again hoped that he would never find out. He was so much better then she and she was very glad that he was on her side in this company. Another true friend that she was hoping that she could rely on during the quest.

She walked over to Atharen and stood next to him. She knew that he would have to say something about her temper getting out of hand, but she wasn't going to say anything first. She stood, waiting for his critisms of her behavior.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Crystal stalked away from Ferethor disdainfully and came to stand by Atharen, not looking at anyone in particular in the group, simply glaring angrily away from them, apparently intrigued by the spire on the tower of the Archives. Although she wasn't looking at him,as Atharen opened his mouth to speak to her, he felt her stiffen against his arm. Closing his mouth thoughtfully, he simply regarded her sidelong for a moment, and noted again the tips of her ears turning very slightly red; probably from retained anger against Ferethor. But why would they be turning red just now? a murmur in the back of his mind pointed out.

Turning around sharply, his hand on his sword hilt, Atharen stepped around Crystal, his arm brushing hers as he did so, and something like electricity seemed to spark between them, distracting him for a moment. He didn't show it though, his eyes opaque as they fixed on some point behind the wall, and he took a few steps forwards. The others in the company had stiffened - apart from Del, who was leaning against a wall and whistling tunelessly under his breath, apparently quite unconcerned. "What is it?" Maen inquired, her voice low and alert.

"I'm not sure," Atharen replied in a murmur, still watching the wall convincingly. He glanced at the others and nodded to them, one hand still on his sword. "Wait here, I'll just go a check. I thought I saw a man watching us, but it may have been nothing - it was only for a second." As he began to walk away, he caught Crystal's eye for a split second and she caught on, and she spoke even as Ferethor was opening his mouth to.

"I'll come with you, Atharen - better to have two of us who are well trained in swordsmanship." It seemed she couldn't resist a last snipe at the Gondorian guardsman as she passed to follow Atharen, and the ranger couldn't help grinning, his face hidden from the others. Quickly suppressing it, he turned and glanced at Maen, nodding to her, and she nodded back in understanding of his silent message: Go on into the Archives.

He and Crystal walked in silence until they had turned the corner, and after a few moments the ranger grinned again, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair back behind one ear as he glanced at Crystal. She didn't look back, and he noted that her ear-tips were still very slightly red, and she must not have seen his grin, as she tensed again, as she had before; as if she was expecting some sort of repimand. The man had absolutely no intention of remanding her actions towards Ferethor, however - the guard was not gaining trust with any of them by keeping them in the dark as to his motives and methods. Maybe Crystal had reacted violently, and to be sure that needed to be kept down, especially when if they were to be in more dangerous situations in the future, as Atharen highly suspected they would be, and in more public places, but as he had seen before, was she not like wild fire?

So Atharen tactfully decided to avoid that subject and switched to another, the one that had caused him a rare grin. He had wanted some time to speak to Crystal, even if it could not be for very long, away from the others for a few moments. "Well, my lady, what did you think of my acting skills?"

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor watched Crystal and Atharen walk away hand in hand silently, his expression unreadable. 'Like a wild and untamed Mearas of Rohan she seems - self-sufficient, defensive and easily kindled to anger. But she is but a child still. I know that Crystal's bragging and blustering threats all derive from fear, even if she herself my no notice it. Fearful of harness and therefore entrapped inside her fear.'

Ferethor swallowed as he watched them turn around the corner, a suspicion suddenly entereing into his mind. 'Great Eru, that girl... Is she loving the ranger Atharen? Nay, impossible!' He called to Maen. "Il Garoth, Shall we go in?"

And after a wary scan at the other people, Ferethor slid the key into the lock. The door slid open smoothly as he turned the handle and stepped in. To his surprise, the place they stepped into was a vast hall of magnificent splendor that took his breath away.

Ferethor wondered at the vast Hall of Archives, for it was of exequisite workmanship. He breathed, "The skill of stonewrights in the Dwarven kingdom of Dale has little been lessened by time." Many-shaded torches cast their colorful light of mingled hue in the hall, revealing towering pillars of marble and rich taperstries woven of scarlet and gold. And preserved in bronze caskets bound with silver, countless scrolls of history and lore met his amazed glance. Ferethor was a captain learned in the lore of his people yet ever thirsting for more, and these appealed to the part of his mind that yearned for knowledge.

Even as he stood speechless with wonder, Aelimur broke the stunned silence of the group. "Maen, no offence, but how are we going to find the incriminating evidences our of all these rubbish?" Ferethor remembered that Aelimur cared little for lore. Maen replied, somewhat shaken, "I don't know".

Ferethor knelt, carefully lifting a crumbling scroll from a nearby casket. He caught his breah upon unrolling it, for it was written in the Old Adunaic of Numenor which was now faded from the memories of men. The jagged and angled forms bore no more then rude semblance of flowing letters of Gondor. Ferethor read aloud, his clear voice breaking the dark, forboding silence.

Where now dwells the Numenor?
Seek not the Westernesse,
For they foundered beneath the sea,
Passing away for evermore.

Once was Numenor glorious
And Edain the kings among Men
Until Sauron of the many-guises
Sought to take dominion

Shadowed was its fair demeanor
By Gorthaur the wise-seeming
Ever sweet he shaped his words
Subtle poison hidden beneath

Gift of Iluvatar did Sauron scorn
With everlasting life he lured
And Ar-pharazon ever heeded
His twisted counsel woven of lies

So ban of Valar did they break
The proud sons of Westernesse
War upon Aman did they wage
Sealing their doom full-wrought

Appalled did the Faithful see
the sea swallow Numenor
Its foundation lost among waves
In the wrath of Eru the Mighty

Sorrowfully still the Faithful sing
Of Atlante which is no more
And great majesty and splendor
of Numenor that passed away

Even as Ferethor finished reciting, Atharen said softly, "It is a part of Lay of Atlante, which sings of Numenor's downfall." Ever practical, Aelimur broke in. "But old lores and bygone history is not going to help us much, gentlemen. What is to be done?"

[Everdawn]

Maén stared at Ferethor for a minute, her hazel eyes blazing, “That’s not fair, to call her a child. Why! She is the same age as I am and she has spirit… even if she is hasty with her blade.” Maén Il Galoth looked round the hall.

Ferethor seemed not to hear her 'Great Eru, that girl... Is she loving the ranger Atharen? Nay, impossible!'

“It would seem so…” Maén sighed looking back in the direction in which they had gone. She was thankful to have the two Rohirrim with her. She knew already that she could not trust the Gondorians, how could she when they denied her the right of information? There was no justice to be had, but that of her own reckoning, and she was sure as ever that she could trust the ranger, and her first friend Crystal.

Maén, wasting no time rolled up the sleeves of her floaty tunic and removed a torch from the wall carrying it in her own direction away from the others. She froze in fright, staring down the hallway… the long dark marble hallway. The kind that reflected the colour of the curtains upon the polished floor, the kind of hallway which had haunted her since her childhood. Maén bit her lip and continued down the hall, listening to the ‘click’ ‘click’ ‘click’ of her shoes at they met with the cold marble. It was almost unbearable. Stop being stupid * she chanted over and over before coming to a more well lit room.

She knew chiefly where she had to go, well at least she thought. This room was filled with chests that were in turn fitted with locks, it would be a formidable feat for anyone, let alone someone who was not supposed to be there. Maén tapped her pocket and felt for the key which Ferethor had given her earlier. The very fact that he had been able to obtain a key from somewhere that accesses the archives led her to know that everything was not kosher with him. She hung the torch back on the wall so she was free to use her hands. Maén fell to her knees and started with the closest chest… no luck… this occurred well over fourteen times and Maén began to despair, her brow was sweating and her golden hair was falling out of place. On the thirty-ninth time she heard the familiar click and the key turned. “ Fantastic!” she cried, but hushed herself in a hurry remembering that she could be caught. With great effort she dragged the cheat across the room to under a desk and started rummaging through the scrolls within.

Lady Il Galoth did not have to search for long before she was rewarded for her efforts, she unrolled a scroll which read…

**… an investigation into the treason of Guriel Il Galoth has been terminated officially this day…. His name shall be wiped from all records of his existence…

She snapped it up and slid out from under the table and as swift as the shadows travel she was out and on her way back to her company.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

There was a small noise behind her and she turned around. Roryn was standing there with the smallest of grins on his face. His eyes darted fractionally from side to side before resting on Maen. "I managed toi distract the librarian, he should not realise I'm gone for a long time." He smiled..."It is good you have found the scroll." I'll stand watch, to alert you if the guards come. You must make good your escape if that happens." She nodded. Roryn turned away, and as he passed Crystal he gave her a flinchingly exasperated look, that seemed to sya a lot...Stop fighting...Ferethor is not your enemy...

He stood by the door, his ear pressed close to it. Occasionally he heard the footstep sounds of people coming and going from the library, no guards however, no clanking of metal. He smiled, perhaps they would get away with this after all. He looked back at Crystal and saw he glance at him, she flashed him a glowering look and he muttered Impetuous youngster. He saw her eyes dart briefly to Atharen and then back again, and he cursed inwardly. He shrugged and returned to the door...If that is what she has chosen...though Atharen could well be the death of her.... He remembered the young ranger that Atharen had been and smiled, brave and rash...some things never change...

Roryn removed his ear from the door and picked a scroll off the shelves. He opened it and smoothed the dust off the parchment. He looked at it, intrigued.

I, Isildur, and the finging of the ring of power.

It has come to me, the one ring...

He read on a little...

It shall be an heirloom of my kingdom, and all my descendants shall be bound by its fate. It is...precious to me...

His eyes widened fractionally...

The writing round the band, though once as clear as fire has faded, a secret now that only fire can tell...

There were then two lines of elaborate elvish...Roryn shook his head and replaced the scroll on the shelf...

[Melisil]

Aelimur shot back to his old self as he watched Ferethor and Maen opening the Archive door. He joined them silently, as they entered the strangly beautiful, but vast, halls. The young man stared in awe-inspired wonder.

"It's... beautiful." he spoke softly, to whoever would listen. You could tell by just the presence of the room that it wasn't a place for for shouting, or fighting. The archives were full of peace, quiet, forgotten and also not so forgotten memories. Ancient pains, and sorrows; yet also the greatest joy! And the loveliest music. The archives, they were to say, magical!

Ferethor knelt, retrieving an old peice of parchment. He recited a poem which was inscribed upon it.

Atharen said softly, "It is a part of 'Lay of Atlante', which sings of Numenor's downfall."

Aelimur broke in, remembering they only had so much time, "But old lores and bygone history is not going to help us much, gentlemen. What is to be done?"

After a while of waiting, Maen cried out, "Fantastic!" from a corridor across the large room from them. Aelimur, Ferethor, Atharen and Crystal ran over to her. Roryn stayed watch by the door.

"What have you found Lady Il Galoth?" the younger of the two guards whispered, "Have you found the papers you were looking for that will confirm suspicions?"

Maen looked up him, face almost glowing, "I have!"

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked over at Atharen in surprise. Acting? He was acting? There was no danger at all?

"Acting? You mean that there wasn't anyone there? Then why, what?" Crystal asked in confusion. Her face went red. She had truly belived that there had been some type of danger and her blood had been boiling before, she had thought she could direct that anger in a more productive way. Now, she was walking with Atharen towards nothing, all alone. The thought of being all alone with him was very unnerving, but she reminded herself to keep her cool. She didn't want to give away her feelings to him. Yet, she had heard Ferethor ask Maen if she was loving the ranger. She was glad to hear that he didn't think so and had dismissed the idea. Yet, now the seed was planted in their minds. She would have to be much more cautious about what she was thinking about him. She wasn't sure he would even retain any type of similar feelings for her.

She sat silent, wishing that she could say or do something to make her look somewhat intelligent instead of floundering like some sort of fishing on the sand.

The tensions of the day, all her fears, everything that had gone on with in the past week had been building up to this moment. Crystal never complained, never cried, but she couldn't help it any more. Her face broke and streams of tears flowed down her cheeks. She raised her hands to her face to hide her embarssement.

[Eorl of Rohan]

At Maen's delightful squeal, Ferethor smiled weakly. 'Children.' But this place made him uneasy, for its resemblance to his father's study where he frolicked in his youth brought up painful memories that he would rather suppress.

Ferethor did not leave immediately, for he was uneasy to leave the lore and history that was stored in this vast Hall, foundation of their knowledge. Would it that he had time to spend! Aelimur noticed that Ferethor lingered, and whispered as he passed out of the Hall of Archives, “Tarry not, Ferethor! It would be rash indeed to linger here and risk discovery.” Ferethor turned his head away in silence and picked up another piece of parchment that he had seen lying by the corner.

Love not the blade for its sharpness or warrior for his glory, but rather that which they defend. – Faramir Lord of Ithilien

Ferethor was stricken with sudden feeling he could not control. “I did not want to be a warrior.” Ferethor whispered, for indeed his temperament bore striking likeness to that of his father – ever seeking for knowledge, loving not gleam of blade or honor in battle. “Yet only vengeance was left me to pursue, retaliation for my wrecked childhood and my father’s death.” So it was that Ferethor joined the Guards of Minas Tirith, where he quickly won renown. Images of all the battles he had slashed through flashed in Ferethor’s mind vividly. “And ever did I long for valourous death in the battle and release from the clutches of this sorrowful Arda – but even that peace was denied to me.”

Bowed down with years of sorrow, Ferethor sank by a chest and was silent, asking himself the question – “Nine and ten years since have I lived for vengeance alone. Is it not time to shake off my dark past, shadowed with hatred? But I have never known anything else of more worthy cause.” He was completely unwary and so deeply absorbed in himself that he did not heed to the sound of boots. When Ferethor leapt to his feet with his blade half-drawn, the guards were already materializing out of the shadows and closing in.

[Melisil]

Aelimur stopped, and turned round in his tracks as they exited the Archives, he saw Ferethor, slowly making his way to the door. “Tarry not, Ferethor! It would be rash indeed to linger here and risk discovery.”

Ferethor did not reply, indeed, Aelimur had a feeling that Ferethor had not really heard him. Aelimur shook his head, but it seemed that Ferethor would like a moment or two alone. Just let them be quick moments, Ferethor, please he noted to himself as he continued out of the archives.

The rest of the group was walking towards the door to exit the library, doing the best they could to not be noticable. Aelimur joined in. He walked over to Del,

"Shall we join them, friend?" he asked jovially. A touch of the side of him he no longer seemed to be showed up. This entire mission was bringing out the part of him that serious gaurding had squashed.

Del laughed, "Yes lets. Maen got proof enough."

"Unless I am mistaken, which I doubt I am, yes!"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Seated on the bench, the ranger looked at the woman, startled, as she covered her hands, but not before he saw the tears sliding down her pale cheeks from her usually so-fierce eyes. "My lady, what is wrong?" he exclaimed quietly, surprised. She hadn't struck him as the sort to cry easily, and here she had no automatic reason. Unless he had done something...Crystal looked away, shaking her head and sniffing, trying to clear away the tears and making sure he didn't see them. What did I do to have such an effect? And why is she so uncomfortable with me! he thought hopelessly.

Her hair had fallen across one shoulder more when she had shaken her head sharply, and now a few blonde strands attached themselves, slightly static, to the ranger's jacket. Her hair was beautiful, he thought, beautiful, long and silky, much lighter and even than his own streaks locks. She was beautiful, in fact, in a way he had never seen before - it wasn't the reliable, ruddy beauty of the country girls, or the warm, welcoming beauty of Meren, the tailor's daughter, his dark eyed Gondorian and good friend, but neither was it the blatant, thrusting attraction some felt towards the gaudy girls who walked the streets, all cheap jewellery and cheaper perfume that only moved Atharen to pity. Crystal was completely different in both looks and personality from any of them in a way he didn't quite understand, a way that he had seen only in a few before, and none of them mortal. She gave a quiet, restrained sob, evidently trying to get a grip on her tears and, after a second's hesitation and hoping he would not cause offence in the abstract way he was apparently so apt at, he reached an arm out and placed it around her shoulders. "Crystal, what is so wrong?"

Apparently this was not the right move, for the woman immediately stiffened. Atharen withdrew his hand, cursing himself again and again inside, and stood, immediately all formality and awkwardness. "I am sorry, my lady, I thought only to...I sought to comfort you in some...I apologise, lady, indeed."

The ranger held out a hand to her courteously to help her to her feet, and she stared at it for a second, regarding it with a strange expression that then moved up to his eyes. He held it, but didn't move, and she took his hand, standing. He was careful not to make any bold move though, as they started back to the Archives, not standing too close, worried she might think he had other intentions, and a feeling he was not altogether used to crept over Atharen - he was used to joy and pleasure, to anger, to sadness and melancholy, to understanding, and to awkward places, to not belonging, but this was different. Embarrassment? Probably, he replied bitterly to himself, steadying his thoughts. But another thought, which he hadn't previously taken in, sunk in as he turned the corner back to the Archives building and scanned the courtyard for any sign of the others.

When you put your arm around her, she didn't pull away.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn muttered as he saw Atharan with Crystal...then turned and started to exit the archives, turning only as he left to see Ferethor surrounded. He shrugged his shoulders, almost chuckling...He's got himself into trouble, and look here...how many guards...not able to count at first sight, but i'm not helping him, not risking my skin for his.... With that thought, Roryn slunk out of the archives into the great library, he had only gone a few steps when the librarian bustled into him with a large book. "Here you go mister, I hope you enjoy reading it..." Roryn raised an eyebrow before replying "Yes, I'm sure I will..."

He walked away from the entrance, the practised ease of the ranger was in him again and he felt it. He took the librarian and continued to talk with him as he led him away from the others. Odd snippets of their conversation reached the other' ears, something about dragons, and the Pelennor fields...Roryn managed to shake the librarian around some very high shelves by telling him that he had to leave to meet someone...the librarian nodded resignedly, and Roryn walked slowly down the bookcase before disappearing from sight.

He did not go far, only a few bookcases away he knelt down and unslung his pack, opening it he retried several green and brown garments, he nodded. Slowly, so as not to make much noise he pulled the green jerkin on, then rebuckled his leather breastplate. Leather greaves and dark brown boots. Green wollen troos and fnally the green hooded cloak, although he did not wrap the hood around his face. He slunk from bookcase to bookcase, seeking away out, and back to the group. He found a passage that led to the door eventually and walked quietly down it, seeing the group ahead he nodded to Maen and she nodded back, and he read the expression on her face...surprise...

He drew up along the group, and peered into the hall. Ferethor was surrounded now...there was little he could do...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal had no intentions of making Atharen feel so akward. She had tried to compose her self, but it had been so hard. She hadn't meant to stiffen at his touch. She found it warm and kind, unlike the way she felt when Arty had held her. Now she was standing, watching his deep eyes and wondering if there would be a way to make this work. She was also holding his hand, a gesture that was so different then anything she had encountered before.

"Do not apologize for trying to comfort me. I have gone through much and I am not sure how much my heart or mind can take any longer," Crystal confessed as she finally dropped her gaze. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell Atharen about her former love, the man that her father had killed. She wasn't sure she wanted to go into the entirity of her beatings. She wasn't sure she wanted to relive a moment of her life. The only moments that were pleasant where her moments with the kinder people of her city and now Atharen. She couldn't stand to tell him that she had loved another, couldn't stand to think that he was just a replacement for Arty. She didn't want any thought to rise in his mind that he was nothing more then a pick up guy in her mind.

To reveal all of this, to reveal every thought that was running through her head would take time. Time wasn't exactly on their side. She also didn't want to start out with her only male ally to feel alienated and fearful of the thoughts that were fluttering through her head like a thousand wonderous butterflies.

Yet her heart burned for him to know the fact that she wasn't against him or found what he did offensive. It was one of the few things that were keeping her sane at the moment. She couldn't promise the next few moments would stay the same, but she hoped so. She wanted so much for him to see who she was.

What she was was far more then anyone had ever imagined or even dared to find. Behind her rough and tough attitude, beyond her bravery and her courage there was a woman that yearned for gentle kindess. A woman that wanted to be held against the monsters in her head. A woman that soft, gentle, and kind. A woman that loved deeply until it hurt. A woman that doubted herself worth.

No one had told her her self worth. The men in her life never found it important, even Arty. Atharen was so different then Arty. So pure, so amazing that she wasn't sure if she could ever measure up to him. He was a perfect gentleman. What could she ever offer him? Pleasure? Happiness? Contentment? What could she possibly ever give him. What could she possibly have that he could want.

"I am dealing with memories that are hard to look back upon and haunt my very soul. I was beaten, my dearest friend killed, and have been on the run for some time," Crystal blurted out softly, her voice barely a whisper in a wind. Her eyes came back up and locked with his, unaware of anything else in the world and only hoping that there could be a way that he loved her.

[Eorl of Rohan]

"What is this?" Ferethor cried, as the surrounding guards pointed their spears at the signal of the captain. "Are the guards of Minas Tirith turned against itself?" The flickering light of the torches glanced off their pale blades as the captain Meren stepped forward.


"You are taken into custody. If you resist, you will be hewn down. Throw down your weapon!" Meren commanded. "For what crime, captain?" Ferethor asked, his hands straying toward his belt. "Betrayal." Meren said dryly. "You are charged for the treson to the state. Persuading guards to desert their posts and infiltrating the government building alone decrees your death, but I am allowing you a chance to defend yourself. Speak and be not silent!"


"I greatly rue the harm we have done, but it was vital. My errand was given by the Lord Elessar himself, who commanded me to reveal it to none. I would accompany you freely, if it had not been that I am in great haste and have need of secrecy of my status." Ferethor slowly drew out his slender elven knife against the array of spears. "If you seek to carry out your law, then do so! Yet I will not tread the path to Mandos alone."


Even as he spoke, Ferethor noted that the citadel guards here were mostly youths without experience in battle. They were also armed only with spears, which was almost of no use in close combat like this. Moreover, they were reluctant to shed blood of a fellow Gondorian. Ferethor the Captain of Guards was also known and admired by many young sentiniels and all have heard of the fame of his valour and skill of arms. He may yet break out of this ring...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen held Crystal's fierce, yearning gaze as she spoke, and her words made his face harden slightly. "Who beat you?" he answered quietly. She seemed about to answer when a shout from inside the archives, the words of which Atharen could not decipher, distracted both of them. Atharen turned back to Crystal, guessing the question immediately, and stated it as a fact. "Ferethor."

He had little doubt, but he wasn't sure what the man could have done to get caught. Or maybe he had turned them in? How had it been so easy for him to get the key in the first place? If only he had told them, maybe they could have taken precautions...Atharen was inside the door of the Archives in a second, and felt that Crystal was following him, although he step was silent. The ranger was quite as quiet though, and as he came to a corner, he allowed himself to peek around, hoping - correctly - that all eyes would be on Ferethor. One, two, three, four men, and one of them, a younger man, just in front of him. In front of this man was Ferethor, and for a fraction of a milisecond, the soldier caught the ranger's eye.

Atharen straightened himself back around the corner again, not wanting Ferethor to catch his eye for too long, as it would seem suspicious, and trying to work out a plan of action. The soldier in front of him...he had not seen the man's face - how old was he? What plan could Atharen effectively use if he didn't even know his opponent's experience? But luck, it seemed, was on his side this time.

"You are charged for the treson to the state. Persuading guards to desert their posts and infiltrating the government building alone decrees your death, but I am allowing you a chance to defend yourself. Speak and be not silent!"

The man's voice, to Atharen's satisfaction, although confident was also young. Atharen assessed it as Ferethor began to speak: he doubted the guard was many years over twenty, and the ranger had had many years in the wild since he was that age to gather experience more than this boy...the sound of Ferethor drawing his weapon told Atharen what rather crude plan of action he planned to take. Not a diplomatic, then, he thought, dryly, and slowly drew his dirk from its padded sheath, completely silent because of that padding. One...two...three!

Darting around the corner, Atharen grabbed the young guard who had spoken by his collar, holding the dirk to the man's throat with his left, stronger, hand, and holding down the man's sword arm with his right, deftly twisting his sword from his grasp so that it clattered to the floor. The other guards seemed completely shocked and Atharen intended to take full advantage of that fact.

"Stay completely still and no harm will come to your companion. I am not an enemy of Gondor," the ranger said quietly but with confidence. The young man he had hold of gave a small, defiant snort. "You are an enemy of Gondor now, whoever you are."

Atharen admired him for his bravery - young, and possibly rather foolish, but he obviously wasn't a coward. "I don't mean to cause you any harm, as long as you stay very still," he replied, his mouth close to the man's ear, his tone low. His hair and helmet obscured most of Atharen's face from the guards' sight, and the young man himself certainly wouldn't be able to see him other than a blur. "I am no enemy of Gondor, and I am an ally and kinsman of the King - although of course you may believe what you will," he finished dryly.

The man gave a muffled gasp. "Who are you?"

He wanted to add the word 'Lord' on the end there, Atharen mused to himself with some amusement. "Ah, now that would be telling. Ferethor," he raised his voice, "go!"

The guards barely moved as Ferethor left, apparently a little annoyed he had not got to fight, but moving swiftly anyway - Atharen only needed to tighten his grip very slightly to make them go still again. For that he was glad - he had absolutely no intention of cutting this young man's throat. He rather suspected he had quite alot of potential as a soldier, so long as he kept that tongue in check. Moving backwards, the guards followed at a safe distance as he went to the door and Ferethor opened it, darting out. Atharen flashed a quick grin at the guards, his black eyes glittering. "Good day to you, gentlemen."

Pushing the young guard back at his colleagues, he followed Ferethor's example hastily and wrenched the door shut so fast it almost caught his jacket. His gloved hands twisted the handle sharply upwards to the right, securing it for a while from the outside as it jammed, as he had found many of the older state buildings did when treated so. Turning to the others, he nodded, not catching Ferethor's eye. "All here? We haven't much time, that door with hold them for less than a minute. I suggest we split up - they will know we are in a large group from earlier, and we will be less conspicuous in pairs of threes." He caught Crystal's eye as he said this and flashed her a slight, brief smile.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal smiled and nodded her head in agreement. Spilting up would be the best plan. She moved closer to Atharen.

"I'm coming with you and to answer your question, my father beat me," Crystal replied as she pulled her sword out, reading to stop anyone that dared try to stop them.

[Everdawn]

Maén took little notice of the others around her, all her mind focused on was the piece of parchment in her small hands and the task at hand, getting away form the archives without being seen.

Im doing it Aunt Lysia, I will kill our traitor. she thought to herself. Though small in stature, Maén felt empowered by the information which she now held within her grasp.

Something was amiss though, she stood in a dark hallway some way ahead of the others who strode briskly to catch up. It was quiet, too quiet, and not at all in the character of an institution of Gondor.

“Aelimur.” She asked without turning to the others. “You have my things don’t you, I wouldn’t want to leave anything behind.” She remarked cautiously.

“Of course my lady” he replied and lay her satchel at her feet. Her attention was elsewhere, waiting for what seemed like an invisible beast.

“You all have your weapons?” she asked, still cautiously glancing around.

“We do.” Answered Del, the sound of metal being drawn echoed in the hall.

“Sheathe them” she said sharply. “The last thing we want is a dead Gondorian guard, who know what the military will say about that, ‘Il Galoth tried to gather information to assassinate the King’ that’s what it will be.” She paused, and looked at the company as if the impending threat had passed. “Come, I think I know how to get out.” She lead them through a series of side-halls and catacombs of book-lots until she came to another door which she looked at intently for a while. Her silence bewildered the men who stood at a loss. A frown came to Maén’s face as she unexpectedly threw herself against it, failing to move it. Slightly embarrassed she rose from the ground and dusted herself off.

“Roryn” she said shortly, “If you would be so kind” she gestured to the door which the ex-ranger moved with ease.

“Thankyou.” She muttered as she strode demurely onto the street.

---------------------------

Carathir sauntered up through the city with Hittai dragging behind. His own horse Thaoura came as his master commanded. He had a hard time trying to remember exactly why he was taking a Gondorian woman’s horse to the stables for her like a common slave. He immediately scolded himself, after-all he had been saved from death by Lysia’s influence; he owed it to serve her niece. On the other hand, he need not serve her at all, it was his people who were being oppressed and if this Guriel Il Galoth was still alive, he could do something about the supremacy of Gondor. He smiled cruelly for a minute before his conscious spoke
What about the cruelty that Gondor’s King has shown to Lysia Il Galoth? She deserved to know the truth about her husband. He came to a single conclusion, Gondor would pay.

He found a stable that was not too dingy in which he kept Hittai and Thaoura. The stable master however was reluctant to have the horses until he explained they belonged to his master, Widow Il Galoth. Storming out he began to seek the Archives, in which he supposed the fiery Maén had found what she was looking for.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor tensed, unsheathing his elven blade, for his wary eyes did not fail to catch that Atharen meant to make a surprise move. 'He doesn't mean to kill Lieutenant Meren, does he?' The thought flashed past Ferethor's mind in a sudden torrent of fear.

But Atharen was not a fool. Ferethor suddenly divined his purpose and was already in action by the time Atharen effetively disarmed Meren.

"Stay still! And your companion may live to see another dawn." Atharen softly said, his voice falling into the empty silence of shock. "I am not an enemy of Gondor." Meren gasped with clenched teeth, "Whoever you may be, from henceforth you are a foe to the Empire of Gondor. I do not fear death."

Ferethor could not suppress his admiration at the valour and resolution of his friend Meren in such a circumstance.

Before the stunned sentinels could be aroused, Ferethor thrust through the ring of petrified soldiers roughly. None dared to stay him. Even as he gained the entrance without resistance, he looked back. Ferethor locked his gaze with Meren's desperate glare for a moment, silently pleading for forgiveness.

"I am no enemy of Gondor, and I am an ally and kinsman of the King - although of course you may believe what you will," Atharen spoke dryly. "Who are you?" Meren asked sharply, amazement engraved on his counternance.

"Ah, that would be telling." Atharen backed into the door slowly, even as Ferethor opened it with hsi trembling hands. Trembling with suppressed fury. "Good day to you, gentlemen."

Atharen suddenly let go of Meren and wrenched the door shut. Ferethor threw his weight on the door while Atharen jammed it deftly. "The door would hold them for less then a minute!" Atharen turned and addressed the company still not recovered from. "What are you waiting for? Split up and flee!"

Ferethor doggedly followed Atharen and Crystal, as they disappeared into the shadow of the wood. Atharen looked up in some surprise as Ferethor angrily made his way through the thick undergrowth.

"Did you have to interfere?" Ferethor asked Atharen, his hoarse voice low and perilously soft - chill and harsh as death itself. Ferethos' fiery temper blazed up in consuming wrath and his eyes smouldered with fury.

Even Atharen took a step back defensively as Ferethor clenched his fist convulsively. Recovering swiftly, Atharen instinctively knew that his rash reply could unleash the storm that Ferethor was barely keeping in check only by his steely will.

[Kransha]

Idruil stroked his beard knowingly, his hazel-colored eyes looking nonchalantly up at the ceiling of the library as he mused silently, muttering inaudible words under his breath. He had, by now, completely lost track of his location within the library complex and was simply strolling as briskly as his legs could carry him, trying to distance himself from the darkest, most neglected section of the place, where he’d been. It was far too gloomy and he now sought to elevate his dreary mood from the depths it resided in. Taking one last look at the library, he strode out of it, not taking another glance at the hallowed halls behind. He stopped right outside the door, breathing in the fresh air of the world and letting the new atmosphere settle around him. He still desired that light of happiness to lighten his current mental load, and decided to take a more active part of finding it, rather than just letting it come to him.

As if in answer to his question, the veiled silhouette of a figure caught his eye. He looked down, craning his neck to glance around another corner made by a protruding pillar that marked the library’s side, one on either side of the entrance, and assessed the figure within moments, looking from foot to head. The figure was heading towards him, parallel to the library walls, walking slightly faster than a strolling pace. He was not of Gondor, a fact he immediately recognized having been all over the nation’s fiefs and never seen such a man who hailed from any of those parts. He had a darker look about him, with noticeable orbs of brown for eyes and a relatively handsome gait. He finished his assessment as the man walked right past him, ignoring his presence. The man of Gondor was bored enough to attempt a dialogue with anyone, and since the library and area around it seemed almost deserted, who else could he speak to throughout the empty and stretching lengths of these streets? He drew yet closer, inspecting the fellow in further detailed. He halted in his tracks suddenly, one foot hovering above a step, and stared with a confused intent at the man’s face. It was certainly not that of any man from anywhere within the vicinity of Gondor and, in fact, Idruil was almost positive that it was the look of a foreigner or, to be more precise, and Easterling.

He paused very visibly, considering whether to take another step towards the man and make his presence fully known or to retreat into the mist of library shadows, to the seclusion of his familiar volumes. He didn’t truly dislike foreigners, but he had his petty prejudices to deal with. His father had been slain upon the field of Pelennor in the onslaught of Haradrim and Easterlings while he looked on from the high levels of Minas Tirith as a man defending. He did not hold grudges against those he had not met, but Idruil still felt uneasy about openly addressing the man. He was really too much of a cynic to care. Idruil did not take to flinching from others, though he did like his solitary nature and kept his privacy unhindered.

As all these thoughts rushed through the rivers of his mind, the Easterling, who had his back turned to Idruil and was walking in the opposite direction, drew farther away. Idruil, sighing and resuming his accustomed frown, walked briskly up alongside the Easterling, though just slightly behind the other man. At first, he wasn’t quite sure if he had anything to say to the man. He was fervently tempted to bring up something about the fact that he was an Easterling, but Idruil knew how very impolite and belligerent such an openly disdainful statement would be. He considered asking him a question, but couldn’t think of any query that didn’t sound awkward.

For the time being, Idruil was content to simply walk beside and behind the Easterling, hoping that some spirit of fate would take pity on him and have this man of the east lead him on, possibly to something worthwhile he could do with his remaining time in Minas Tirith.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked and saw that Ferethor had decided to join them. She gritted her teeth. Even when Atharen had suggested splitting up for safety he had to come with them. What was with him? Did he feel that he needed to keep an eye on the two of them? It did make it easier for her to keep an eye on him, but she didn't like him around.

As she ran she tripped on something and lost her footing. She tipped forward and grabbed Atharen's hand in an attempt to catch herself. He grasped her hand in response and gave her a glance back. She smiled in embarssement.

"I'm sorry. I tripped," Crystal mumbled as she continued to run, her hand still in his.

[Melisil]

Atharan and Ferethor charged over to where the company was anciously waiting.

"All here? We haven't much time, that door with hold them for less than a minute. I suggest we split up - they will know we are in a large group from earlier, and we will be less conspicuous in pairs of threes." Aelimur nodded, he joined with Del and they together ran to Maen.

"Your Lady, are you and Roryn to join us? Or will you be going a seperate way?" he asked, somewhat hurredly.

"We'll join you two." she replied, "Now hurry, run this way!"

The four of them went quickly in one direction, Atharan, Crystal, and Ferethor, another.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Atharen hesitated, then said softly, "Inteference? Nay, not so. Say rather that I was merely rescuing you from the clutches of the citadel guards."


Ferethor scarcly concealed his bitterness. "Your so-called rescue was a perilous deed, since you could have easily died with me. The sentinels might have refrained from killing me but they'd have had little scruple about taking your life should your sword go awry. The scene you pulled was unnecessary and has imperiled us all." Ferethor ground out in anger. "It was foolish to risk your life and the safety of the company for a single man. You'd have done better to cut your loss and lead the company in fleeing into the open."


Crystal stepped before Atharen, drawing her sword and glaring at Ferethor. "I'd have thought you'd be grateful to Atharen for saving your life. Do all Men have to be so brutal?" Ferethor paled, his counternace shadowed by gathering darkness as he struggled to bring his fury under harness.


"Crystal, you'd do well to know that not all Men are like your vicious father." Ferethor spoke with caculated brutal frankness. "You distrust for me is not without basis becuase I am not what I seem to be, daughter of Dorian. But I am not trying to harm you, for Eru's sake! If I was a man who lusted after wealth and cared little for life, you would be already dead at my hands. You only encumber the company I am sworn to protect and would be but nuisance in battle. Your father also offers a tidy sum for yourself or your deady body. Fool. Why should I not hand you over to the riders of Rohan and win General Dorian's undying gratitude and friendship?"


Now it was Crystal's turn to pale. Ferethor did not fail to catch a slight shift on Atharen's position and know that Atharen has drawn his blade. "What, Atharen, are you going to run me through to save your sweetheart?" Ferethor sneered derisively, a movement completely unlike his characteristics. "But I am not such a man, Crystal, and Lord Elessar would forbid me anyway."


"You speak of Lord Elessar. Who are you, Ferethor?" At her question, Ferethor smiled without mirth. "My identity do you ask. What concern would it be to you, wild swordmaiden of Rohan?" Crystal bit her lip, and said, "I have the right to know."


"Indeed?" Ferethor asked. He felt that he was losing control over his rational mind, but failed to control himself. "Atharen, to whom you've been making some flirting advances to, would know. Would you not ask? I know you've made your living off Men since you fled from the wrath of your father, and I know not if you are really sincere or you just are in need of some gold, Crystal. It is not really my place to inquire but I object to giving into such feelings when there are deeds to do at hand."


Ferethor's face twisted into a half-smile as Crystal reddened. "If Atharen would not tell you, I will. I am called Ferthor Amandil, captain of the citadel guards of Minas Tirith. I am here on a mission to locate and destroy the renegade Il Garoth whose rumour spreads far and wide. Satisfied?"


Ferethor toyed with his knife as he callously added, "And Crystal, you better not reveal my identity or try assasination unless you are suicidal. Good with swords you may be, but you are no match for Ferethor captain of Minas Tirith. If you ever seek to drive your sword in me, you'd find that my slender blade is in your back first. You'd remember, won't you?"


Ferethor turned and addressed Atharen, who was standing stonily, and edged his voice with scorn and contempt. "If you could disentangle yourself from the company of this pretty maiden for a moment, I need to converse with you about more serious matters concerning the expedition. I believe that there is a traitor in our midst that is probably in pay of Il Garoth."

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

"This way!" Roryn whispereded Del, Maen and Aeilmur out through the doors and into the main body of the library. The way was clear, nobody moved in the library, at least that could be seen. "Walk normal..." Roryn instructed as he led them out from behind a bookcase into the main hall. "And so," he said casually, "there ought to be no dispute after that that I was right about trolls." Maen looked at him...What?, Roryn flashed her a glance back,Just play along.

"Yes, I suppose you do...although quite how you expected us to know such details mystified me a little." she replied rather forcedly. "Ah, you should know that during my training I had to study such things, a troll is a mighty enemy, and one to be feared, you must know such details to survive." They stepped out onto the street casually, still talking about trolls, and about how roryn knew about them. As soon as they were out of eye and earshot, Roryn whispered loudly, "Get to the stables, and hurry. I'll wait for the others..."

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal was anger at Ferethor's even saying that she had made her living off of men in such a manner. As he turned away her sword flew and slided easily through layers of clothing. A large rip hung from the remaining. Ferethor turned around quickly, his eyes blazing.

"Whatever your dirty mind may believe I didn't sleep with any man for money. I did what any other traveller would do, entertain with my clothes on. You are also wrong about my intentions and my thoughts. You may think you are better then a swordmaiden from Rohan. You may even be, but you lack in self esteeme," Crystal said coldly.

Her thoughts blared hatred. Ferethor was an arrogant swordsman that thought too highly of himself. She hated people like Ferethor. Their arrogance sickened her. And even if men weren't all as brutal as her father she wouldn't trust any of them unless they proved that they were different as Atharen had.

She hated Ferethor with a passion and wouldn't try to kill him until the very end of the mission. She would lull him into a false sense of security on her side and make him think she was an ally before giving the striking blow. She loved the idea and she couldn't wait until he dropped dead on the green grass in front of her. Men such as Ferethor deserved death more then anything else in the world.

Her heart raced as she stood, glaring in front of Ferethor, daring him to come closer and actually fight her.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor turned back swiftly as Crystal threw the blade, so only the hem of forest-green cloak was caught by her sword. Ferethor gasped, but quickly recovered himself. Confidence! He told himself. The battle is half-won if I could sow doubt about her own abilities.


"I thought I warned you not to try any assasination attempt?" Ferethor raised his eyebrows, then smiled in a strange way. "If you are hoping that I'll slay you where you stand, I won't do so. Today. Learn to control your anger, lass, and you may live a while longer."

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn stuck his head through the door, seeing Crystal's sword thrown. For the love of the Valar... He ran and skidded, coming between them just as Ferethor had finished saying "longer". Ferethor looked at Roryn in a mixture of shock and anger, mostly anger, Roryn determined. "You, Ferethor, need to keep your sword and your tongue sheathed. You, Crystal, need to do the same. We are all here for one purpose, and to that purpose we must stick." Ferethor sheathed his blade violently and with an audible clang and continued to glare at Roryn.

Roryn turned away and walked up to Atharen, "The others are on their way to the stables. Hurry, and we may yet get out of this without being seen." Atharen turned to Roryn, and nodded...

[Eorl of Rohan]

It was evident to Ferethor that the lass was unused to controlling her feelings. Crystal breathed harshly and her eyes glittered with hatred - and mingled fear and shame. Good. She is intelligent enough to fear a known advarsary. She won't tell. Ferethor thought, his hard features betraying not what he was thinking.

Even as Crystal started and was moved to speech, Roryn thrust through the long grass into the clearing. Seeing them he cried, "You, Ferethor, need to keep your sword and your tongue sheathed. You, Crystal, need to do the same. We are all here for one purpose."

Ferethor sheathed his blade with a clash of steel, metallic and lusterous. Roryn spoke to Atharen, "The others are on their way to the stables. Hurry." Horses? Ferethor thought, chagrined and taken off his balance. He could ride one, to be sure, but as a Gondorian he had always marched and fought on foot. Ferethor would be in dire peril if he ever tried to battle as he rode. Silently he added, I'd be no match for her on horseback.

[Melisil]

As they reached the stables, Aelimur turned to Del and Maen, "Do either of you have horses to ride? I have one."

Maen spoke up, "I will soon. A... friend will be delivering my horse soon."

Aelimur nodded, "And Del? Do you?"

Del nodded, "One here."

Aelimur nodded again, then walked over to the door, presuming they would be inside the stables waiting. Maen didn't object, but rather, followed him in, Del came in a moment after. Aelimur strode quickly over to his horse, Aaron's stable. He stroked the horse lovingly for a moment, before grooming him quickly and then saddeling him.

"This is Aaron." he said proudly over his shoulder to the others. He couldn't tell their reaction, but neither did he care about it.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal was angry, but she kept her mouth shut as she followed Atharen and the others towards the stables. She saw Maen and nodded her head curtly. Horses. She was the best of the riders, even better then any of the men in Rohan. She had once won a contest of racing against all the men. They were all quite surprised and angry that a "mere woman" had beaten even the best that Rohan had to offer. They underestimated her in every way, as was Ferethor.

If he wanted to battle she would give it to him. He was unkind and brutal. Cruel and unjust. He deserved death. If it came down to it she would slay him with her sword and think nothing of it. He wouldn't have been the first man to die by the blade of her sword. It was a secret she held and a secret she kept in her heart. She wasn't afraid of it, she liked having the edge over any man, any where.

She stopped Atharen with a hand and pulled him aside.
"Protect me from Ferethor. I don't trust my life in the hands of his," Crystal whispered.

[Everdawn]

Carathir spotted the man from the corner of his eye, and immediately did not like the look of him. Then again, it was nothing new for Carathir to get strange looks from Gondorian folk, that’s why he liked it so much at Lysia’s estate, there were less Gondorians to worry about them casting glances at him. At the same time, part of him loathed that he was thought of as a lesser man for being of the east, it was what stirred the will within him to make them treat him as equal, and he was sure that Guriel Il Galoth could do it.

“Carathir? Carathir? Carathir!” came the soft voice of Maén over the buzz of the town bring him back form his thoughts.

“Good day Lady Il Galoth.” He said Standing up tall, remembering his manners, “I have set Hittai in a stable a small way from here as you requested- “

“She need not get too acquainted with her surroundings then we are on the move.” She mentioned striding past him, the others step behind her which she spoke to without turning her head. “We are not on a while goose chase, In this scroll is exactly the proof of cover up ive been looking for, and Gondor lied to me! To my family, and to my Aunt Lysia- about her husbands murderer! Have they no shame?” Carathir directed her to the stables, but he noticed that the man from the library had followed him.

“Miss-“ he tried to say something to Maén but he was pushed aside by her hand.

“Not now Carathir, im sorry but I really must take care of this.” Though she supposed it did not show, Maén was more excited than she had been a in a long time, her heart was filled with a new hope which had been vanquished for a great many number of years. “Good” she muttered standing outside of the Stables. “It’s quieter here; I can speak of this properly. Guriel Il Galoth does exist and he is somewhere in Ithilien, that is where we must go. My next question is whether any of you have horses? I have my Hittai, because as embarrassed as I should be to say this, I am not accustomed to walking great distances. You see my family think that in their great wisdom and the reputation of our name (however tarnished) and our standing in this Gondorian society, that is improper for one of their offspring to be seen doing work or travelling great distances on foot.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I am bringing Hittai with me, I hope you have no objections. Carathir?”

“Yea? – I mean, Yes my lady?” He was caught off-guard watching the man who had followed them.

“Thaoura? How do you wish to use him?” Maén’s sharp stare was upon him now.

“I ride him not very often, he is a free horse lady, I don’t like it to ride him when I do not have to.”

Maén nodded. “As you wish, how do the rest of you stand?”

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor expressionlessly watched Crystal set off with Atharen, hand in hand. She has not been deterred by my confidence after all. Intelligent, proud and stern-willed, certainly a daughter of General Dorian. Ferethor laid his hand on the hilt of his damasked hilt, taking relief from the knowledge that he was able to defend himself. He had slashed through many battles and accomplished far more dangerous missions.


But... Horseback... I would be completely defenceless if she decides to kill me. Ferethor clenched his fist in frustration, but not fear. Fear was a weakness that he had discarded long ago, with the death of his father. But if I die, so what? It would be a welcome release from this sorrowful Middle Earth that I am bound to. Father...


Ferethor stood there a moment as if petrified with the thought, then went in search of Apple his steed. He would have no time to sink in daydreams. Ferethor's hand moved, caressing the damascened blade - he had borne the burden of so many lives - he would not want to add Crystal to the list.

[Kransha]

Idruil stood a ways off from the group of people who had gathered around the Easterling he was tracking. He was back at the stable now, near them and obviously noticed by some. At first, he had merely been trying to think of something to make conversation. Now he was hanging on their words, for he felt that there was something suspicious about the small posse. He edged ever closer, his sensitive ears picking up most of their discourse with ease, since the girl who seemed to hold command of the group was speaking loudly and with little heed of those outsiders who were listening, like him. He’d seen these folk in the library earlier, milling around just as suspiciously and seemingly searching for something that wasn’t on the place’s shelves. He heard more than one thing in their dialogue that pointed to a hidden motive and, being an intelligent man himself, Idruil had deduced in some respect what they were up to, looking primarily at the scroll which the girl, who’d been identified as someone by the name of Il Galoth, was brandishing as she spoke and the nervousness-tinged faces some members of the company bore.

At this point, Idruil didn’t care what his distraction would be. For the last two weeks, he’d been wandering through the White City, going nowhere, and doing nothing. His funds were slipping away and he was almost desperate for something to do besides walk. His desire mainly was to heft the sword again that hung at his side and seek a new goal, but no opportunity had presented itself in Minas Tirith. He could tell that that opportunity might be standing in front of him. This group was going somewhere (he soon learned that their destination was Ithilien) and they sought something or someone there. Whether or not there was any money in it for him, Idruil needed a valid excuse to leave Minas Tirith and head towards other horizons. This opportunity was here and he planned to take it swiftly.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward towards the company. The Easterling, whose name was known to be Carathir, already knew of Idruil’s presence, but it seemed that the female had not yet noticed.

“Pardon me, Miss Il Galoth, was it?” he said, drawing attention to himself during a lull in the conversation, “Now, you do not know me and I do not know you, so what I am about to say may make very little sense but, I assure you, it will all become clear in time. It is apparent to me that you and your company here are on some sort of journey. Though I have not even properly introduced myself, I would like to offer my services.” He said all of this with the utmost bluntness, being very concise and emotionless as he spoke. He stood rigid, still weary-eyed, looking at the girl. His face seemed not to care what her response would be.

For a long moment there were no words from anyone. Idruil understood that such a sudden and random interjection by him would not be given immediate answer, since he had taken everyone except the Easterling completely by surprise. He had been waiting long, though, and could afford to be patient.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor watched the others file into the Common Stable, and silently veered to the direction of the Military Stables where the horses of errand-riders of Gondor and captains were kept.


Apple looked up from nipping some hay as Ferethor entered its stall and whinnied softly in greeting. He stroked Apple's snowy mane in a friendly caress in answer. "A loyal companion in battle you have proved," Ferethor whispered, "You are not a steed of war swift and enduring after the manner of the horses of Rohan, Apple. But fair you are and faithful, and we've passed through devouring flame and slashed through arrays of spears like a forest with each other. You will bear me once more, will you?"


Fastening the demascened saddle of scarlet and golden hue, Ferethor leapt lightly on horseback. He was clad lightly, for he had laid down his longbow and quiver of arrows, which would but encumber him in the journey ahead. Ferethor also cast down his weatherstained cloak of green to allow for greater speed, and beneath he was only robed in silver-grey after the fashion of the elves. His slender elven blade was the only weapon he took, hanging by his gilded belt, for he knew that his chance would lie in secrecy and speed rather than battle.


Ferethor the captain of Minas Tirith was lesser in stature and more slender than others of his race, though he was tall. Indeed clad in such a way like an elf out of the forgotten days he seemed, for his grey eyes were thoughtful and his movement swift and lithe to an extent surprising in the race of Edain. Foes that only perceived his slight outward appearance and failed to note the keen gleam of intelligence in his eyes and dexterous way with he handled his blade were met with swift death, for he was perilous in his wrath.


Ferethor set off at an easy canter to join the others by the Common Stables and found them yet preparing. Ferethor nodded in a slight moevment at Atharen to indicate his readiness, and now that his cloak of secrecy fallen from him seeming more like a great captain and a lord of Men, for such he was, whatever his faults. The silvery diamond that fastened his robe shone verily as if it was wrought of crystal flame - his only inheritance from Meren his father.


"Darkness is falling. Shall we not hasten to take leave of Minas Tirith?" Ferethor spoke, looking up at the star-speckled sky and the thin crecent of Ithil gleaming in the Night sky of Arda with a wristful expression. "The sentinels go abroad even in darkness."

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked over the horses carefully. They were all of the same caliber, strong and worthy of carrying any soldier westward of Rohan. She stopped in front of a chesnut stallion. She reached out her hand slowly. She could sense that the horse was restless and afraid. The horse had allowed someone to brush him and wash him, but there wasn't the familiar traces of a saddle or bareback riders upon the magnificant creatures back. Her hand slowly and softly touched the stallions nose.

The creature jumped back, but his head returned in curiousity. He was expecting something horrible, that much she could tell. The stallion hadn't been starved, that much she could tell as well. This animal had lost something in its life whether it had been a mate or a companion, a rider that had lost its life in a battle. She could feel the creatures need to be loved, to be taken out of the pen that it was forced to stay in. His large nose sniffed at her fingers. She rubbed his nose softly and slowly in an effort to not frighten him again.

"Dear stallion, you are a great stallion. I ask you to bear me on this journey. I shall make sure that you come to no harm my friend," Crystal whispered as she locked her eyes with the horses dark brown ones.

The horse's ears cocked and looked at her warily. She knew that the horse was unsure of her promise to him. She continued to stand still and waited. The stallion nayed softly and she unhooked the gate. She took down the saddle and saddled him quickly, only as an expert of horses could. She led the stallion out.

Atharen came up beside her and watched her.
"Are you sure you want to take out that one? He seems very skiddish," Atharen asked her. She looked over at the horse then back at Atharen. She smiled at him softly.

"This creature only needs another person that understands the way it feels to hurt," Crystal answered softly as she patted the horse's face. She had always been able to feel an animals' thoughts. It had been something, a gift, that her mother had and had passed on to her. She jumped up gracefully and sat in the saddle.

"Are we leaving or shall we be waiting for the enemies to catch us?"

[Everdawn]

The new man was taller than Maén, much taller and weathered. Still as small as she was, she stood her ground. “I would like to offer my services.” He said. Maén could feel the eyes of her companions upon her. She turned to look at Crystal who shrugged. Maén turned her sharp gaze back to the man.

“Many know who I am, and I would be weary of whom I chose for this venture. Are you learned of weapons?” the man nodded. “And I do not know wether you would be an enemy of my house, do you understand? That is why I am so well equipped these here men and woman of Rohan.” She watched Idruil’s eyes pass over the Rangers, Gondorians, Crystal and Easterling.

“I am no enemy of the Il Galoth house, nor am I loyal to the fabled Guriel. I am Idruil and I keep my word.”

“I would have taken this mission by myself could I fully protect myself, betray me and my good people will take care of you.” her eyes were still hard. “Im paying forty thousand in gold you realise.” Maén’s question was flat.

Idruil’s eyes widened. “I had not learned of this My lady, but I will still ride with you.”

“Then welcome Idruil, and one more thing, Guriel is not a fable, he is very much alive.” She strode past him to her faithful Hittai.

Carathir stood up. “My lady has been most gracious, you may take a horse form here, any horse which she will pay for. Do not take time, for we ride shortly.” And he followed suit to find Thaoura.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor was startled at the presence of a stranger that he had not noted before among the company, dismounting and reeling for a closer inspection. A Gondorian, I see, who has much experience in wild. Few indeed are left of our people who'd wandered ranging far and wide, for our people are dimnished and grown timid.


Apparently aware of Ferethor, Idruil turned his bright hazel eyes upon him and said "Greetings, Ferethor of Gondor." quietly. Maen finished saddling her own restless horse with some difficulty as she said, "His name is Idruil, and he desires to come with our expedition to Ithilien, Ferethor. But we must be gone from here swiftly if we are to be out of here ere the Great Gate is shut."


"And to you, Idruil." Even as Ferethor said that, he noted with some amusement that Crystal was already horseback on a fierce and resentful stallion that seemed to be ready to toss her off at the slightest provocation. But she is handling the steed well, that lass. Evidently used to riding, as all the youths of Eorlingas must be. The thought weighted on Ferethor for a moment, but he shook it off as he urged Apple on with a whisper.

[Melisil]

Aelimur was now feeling strangly like a child. Unbound by the world, carefree, but right now, silent. He walked Aaron, his horse out of the stables.

Aaron was a strong, proud horse. He was fit for the highest king, Aelimur knew this well. He was a loyal, magnificent horse. Many times had Aelimur's gaze fallen upon Aaron filled with awe and wonder. Why had such a noble beast chosen him to be his master? The question had formed in Aelimur's mind before. He was a large war horse, but at the same time, a gentle horse that you would give to a rich lady. He was wild, yet tamer then anything. Black was the colour of Aaron's mane, rich brown like the finest tree was the rest of him. Deep, earthen-brown eye's had he.

As Aelimur turned out of the stable, he quickly noticed two things. One, that Ferethor, Crystal, and Atharan had now joined up with them, and two, that there was now two newcomers with them.

"Greeting." he said after a moments thought, and from the look Maen had given him. "I am Aelimur, son of Dalemun. And you are?"

The first of the two men spoke. He was an easterling, Aelimur could tell, but he held no thought against the man for it, you were born where you were born. "I am Carathir, a friend of Lydia and Maen Il Galoth." Aelimur nodded.

Then spoke the second, taller, and well worn. "Greetings Aelimur." he welcomed, a small smile forming on his lips, he extended his hand, which Aelimur shook, "I am called Idruil. I have asked Maen here if I may join your company, and she has agreed."

"I see." he replied. He looked softly at Maen, his head did not turn though.

"We're going soon Aelimur, are you ready?"

[Eorl of Rohan]

Del examined the newcomer with a detached reserve before deciding that Idruil was not a bad guy. "Seems to be likable enough,' He thought. 'He's even got the moody Ferethor fellow to acknowledge his presence, which is quite an achievement.' After a chuckle Del swung himself over his own horse Ein. The red-brown horse playfully nipped at his hand and swished its tail. The pony was scarcly full-grown as yet but would be a good companion.


Munching on a mouldy loaf he found in the saddle-bag, Del made sure his rein was secure. Maen said quietly, "Hearken, the bell of the door-warden tolls already! Let us leave as swiftly as we may!" Del nodded along with everyone else and started for the eastern gate.


The stone-hewn Eastern Gate was of dwarven-smithwork, magnificent and towering tall. The guards waved them on without scarcly a single glance as they passed. Del looked back in time to see Ferethor tensly hurry his horse onward with a sharp word, after a wary glance. 'Wonder why that chap is always wary.' Del made a mental note to ask Aelimur.

[Eorl of Rohan]

The rainclouds dispersed in the heaven of Arda slowly as the expedition rode. Faint remnant of moonlight could still be seen lingering in the pale sky before fading into darkness. Heavy silence settled amidst the expedition and nothing but the steps of horses cantering along was heard.


Soon stone-paved road of Minas Tirith ceased to be. The way they took was a winding forest trail that weaved in and out of dark grooves of trees. The very strangling gloom seemed to choke them to silence for none spoke aloud. Ferethor thought, 'This brooding silence of the woodland does not bode well. I deem it strange that no usual forest sound could be heard, such as hooting owls and squirrels scampering.

But Ferethor did not speak of his doubts for darkness seemed to press him on all sides and he feared to shatter the heavy silence. All seemed to be immersed in their own dark thoughts and their countenance was shadowed by feelings Ferethor could not discern.


Even the very leaves seemed to droop as if like an aged men bowed down with grief, sorrow and long toil. The stumps cracked with time, sorrowful remembrance of the olden days when they must have stood tall and proud, was scattered among withered and scrawny pines and thorny trailing vines. Craggy and crumbling cliffs towered over them and dark shapes of ravens could be seen wheeling over the granite cliff ridges. Even Apple's ardour seemed dampened.


The expedition reached the end of the dirt road which opened out into a barren waste by the time Ithil was sinking. Yellow Nimphrendils were blooming amidst the fissures of the barren rocks and the golden blossoms brought a slight measure of gaiety in this desolation. 'Bloody Morgoth,' Ferethor thought, 'Void itself would be more full of life then this place...'

[Kransha]

Idruil goaded his steed, not as mighty as some of the others around him, forward. He sat, almost precariously, atop his former mount, the older horse which Idruil had named Ecthelion. It seemed a fitting name, considering the beast was just as white in hue as the tower he’d been named after. Ecthelion was dull white in color and dappled with grey. He had an unkempt mane and strong legs but his uses as a riding mount had lessened as he and his rider grew older with the passing of time as summers and winters flew by.

They were headed into a more desolate ruin of earth. The limpid and darkened palette of color here deeply contrasted the majestic fluorescence of the White City and surrounding lands. There were countless crags of rock and crumbling spires of cliffs and dulled peaks, surrounded by the dying embers of life in the form of withered trees and plant life that was shriveling away amongst the crevices. It was a depressing place, despite the few outstanding sprigs of lighter color that were nestled throughout the barren zone.

Idruil, by now, was beginning to understand what he’d prematurely gotten himself into. This was a quest, a mission to seek the man Guriel Il Galoth. Idruil had indeed thought this man to be some overblown myth, but the lady Maen spoke otherwise. She certainly seemed competent enough to know what she was saying and sensible enough to lead this motley crew of folk on such an expedition. The others had seemingly accepted her as a suitably firm and commanding leader, which she was as far as Idruil was concerned. The rest of the company was also a focus of Idruil’s. Since he had come so late and so abruptly into this band of wanderers, he had not had the opportunity to get to know any of them as they had gotten to know each other prior to his arrival. There were many to become acquainted with, all of different gaits and demeanors. By now, he knew all their names for the most part. There was, obviously, Maen, the first person who Idruil had become acquainted with by name. Also, there was the Easterling, Carathir, the dark fellow who had been the first to catch Idruil’s attention. He knew now of all the others, by name more than by gait. He would have to spend more time with each if he wished to know them.

The man, feeling the cold increase both in mind and body as all conversations of the company faded from hearing and a veil of unsettling silence fell over them all. Idruil himself yearned for such conversation, the obtaining of which had been one of his reasons for joining this endeavor. He did not speak at first, feeling that it would be unwise for him to be the first to break the icy silence that had descended. He did, however, begin quietly humming a traveling song under his breath, barely audible to the ears of the others. Hearing the calming and merry words in his head comforted him enough for his confidence to rise. He had mustered up the little courage he needed.

He pulled his horse up alongside the group’s leader, Maen Il Galoth.
“You have assembled quite a company here, Lady Il Galoth.” He said almost glibly, glancing at her only out of the corner of his eye. He paused momentarily, considering what to say next.

“Ever since we first met,” he began, “I have been curious to know one thing. Perhaps you have told this to the others but I have not heard it if that is so. I was always under the impression that the person we seek, the traitor Guriel, was just a fabrication. I do not doubt now that he is real, but one question remains.” He paused again, prodding his slowing steed forward to keep up with Maen’s, “Since he is a relative of yours, I would assume you have met him some time in the past…Might I be so bold as to ask what he was like, if you ever knew him? I have been told that it is always best to know one’s enemy, so perhaps I could learn what I can about my current enemy, this traitor to Gondor and it's kin, Guriel Il Galoth.”

[Melisil]

Aaron plodded the path of the forest, much unlike his noble stature. Aelimur noted this, but did not do anything to change it. He could tell why his horse's head was lower. It was this dreadful place, this horribly dark, damp, spirit infested place.

His eye's past by almost all, though it wasn't much to see. Everything was cold, lifeless. He focused his mind on just going forward, this place scared him, it was horrid. He pitied the trees, they had to live here. He pitied the ground, so seemingly rarely it had a use. He pitied the air most though; Full of death and haunting quiet. Filled with forgotten spirits.

"This place is possesed." he whispered silently, "We should travel through it quickly." he had not truly directed this at anyone, but Crystal Heart had heard him.

"I have not heard a truer word since this journey began." she replied, just as silently. Aelimur looked to the tops of the trees, conversation was good, it lifted the gloom oh so slightly.

"I thank you for agreeing. Conversation lightens this land, and it is also nice to have someone say that you are right." he smiled slightly as he said this, and then asked a question that had been there for a while, yet no one had noticed it. "Why did you care to join, Crystal?"

The young woman hesitated, before answering flatly, "I joined because I needed the money."

"Really?" asked Aelimur in slight surprise, "I thought from you there would be more of a reason."

[Eorl of Rohan]

Del urged his pony Ein over to Crystal and Aelimur's direction in recalling his question a while back. "Hey, Aelimur, I've been wondering about something or so. Your silent pal, Ferethor, why is he so nervous about the citadel guards? Is he an outlaw or exile of Minas Tirith or something?"


The man turned half in his sti'rrups before answering levelly without any visible change of expression, "No, of course not. That Ferethor, an outlaw? He is more of a law-abiding stern type, you see. Can't even pluck an apple from a nearby tree without him lecturing about honesty."


It was a ridiculous thought. Del smiled to himself at allowing such an absurd and improbable fancy to enter his usually logical mind. Foolish! I must really be getting paranoid - if I wasn't already so.

[Melisil]

Aelimur looked to one side, and up trotted Delphinious. "Excuse me one moment Crystal?" Aelimur asked as he looked to Del.

"Hey, Aelimur," he started, "I've been wondering about something or so. Your silent pal, Ferethor, why is he so nervous about the citadel guards? Is he an outlaw or exile of Minas Tirith or something?"

The question suprised Aelimur, as he had not been thinking of such things, (he later kicked himself for seeming so surprised) "No, of course not. Ferethor, an outlaw? He is more of the law-abiding stern type, you see. Can't even pluck an apple from a nearby tree without him lecturing about honesty." Aelimur thought it would be best to say a bit more, as Del did not look completedly impressed.

"Right now I would say he's etchy because he's on a horse, haha! But the guards probably worried him so, because his greatest fear (though he hides it well) is that of breaking the law. And I also have a feeling he has been in some scraps with the law before" Aelimur added.

Del nodded his head. Aelimur smiled for a moment, thinking he had done fairly well. He looked back over to Crystal again, "My apolagies miss. But I've been thinking, and as I said before, I would think you'd have joined for more then money." Aelimur shook his head, "Then again, half of why I joined was money!" he laughed slightly, but quickly ended it. This forest was making him feel sick, he hoped they would be gone from it's darkened path soon.

[Everdawn]

“Once, I have met him once, when I was a small girl. He looked so much like my father. And for what he’s like, I can no longer remember, nor do I care as much as I would see his hands covered in his own blood.” Hittai gave a throw of her head as if in silent approval.

She did look rather odd, Hittai and her mistress, both so small but best suited to one another, along side the larger horses. But what Maen’s valiant steed lacked in stature, she made up for in utter cheek.

“What do you mean his own blood?” asked Idruil his eyes wide. “Are you going to fight him?”

Maén shook her head, “I intend to kill him, yes. I’m not a fighter; my father never saw the reasoning in teaching his daughter the art of war, the art of men. What he did not know is that my brother Omerin taught me to look after myself at close quarters, my father never knew, my brother risked much to teach me. If I could only get close enough to Guriel to wound him…” she shook her head.

“I would not begin to wonder how you would achieve that my lady.” Called Ailumr from behind them.

“Never underestimate the power of a female sir. I will warn you once!” she called. “My brothers, they would not come here, Marrlad especially, I never bothered to tell them because I knew father would not approve, and since when have I cared what he thought.” She shrugged. “It would have been fortune at it’s best had I thought that my brothers would have come along. Three fantastic soldiers, well, according to my mother. They were in the army for a long time-” Hittai took it in her liberty to then bite the back flanks of Atharen’s horse.

It took the ranger by surprise. “Miss Maén!”

Maén did not smile. “Don’t look to me, obviously Hittai still recalls your earlier attempt to slit my throat on the road.” Atharen opened his mouth to speak and shut it again.

“Excuse me Miss Il Galoth?” asked Roryn looking at the two of them in surprise.

“Yes, that was how I ran into this ranger. He scared Hittai right out of her skin, then he tried to kill me.”

“Being fair Maén-” Atharen began to defend himself only to be cut off.

“Truce, I will not speak of it again, unless you try to kill me again.”

[Eorl of Rohan]

The stars were sunken in the depths of dark heaven of Arda like gems of surpassing fairness, besprangling the grey night. Soft breeze sighed as it passed under tall evergreens and rustled long grass laden with crystal dews. Snow-crowned mountains wreathed in pale mist could be seen afar towering high.


The horses were off nipping at some grass that could be found growing in this barren land. Some of the people were curled up in sleep already, and others were murmuring to each other about their future plans. The night deepened.


Ferethor had taken the chance to seat himself as a self-appointed sentry. Ravenous beasts and outlaw bands still roamed the wild regions beyond Minas Tirith and the land was unsafe. Leaning on a golden-barked tree, he stared at the tall and proud trees and silvery moonbeam glistening on their young leaves. He was also fully aware of soft footfalls.


"Crystal." Ferethor said without turning, "the night is passing. Get some rest while darkness endures for tommorrow's need would be sterner still." Crystal retorted defiantly, obviously incensed by his patronizing tone, "Why are you awake then, Ferethor?" He decided to not to answer her dry inquiry and turned back to scanning the dark and dreary wood. He had little mind to argue with the lass.


Recalling something, Ferethor drew a keen dagger from his belt and reeled to lock his grey gaze with Crystal's smouldering eyes. "I thought I would keep this dagger that you threw at me, since it is unwise to cast away any weapon. Especially such a fair weapon of exequisite workmanship." Then Ferethor casually tossed the slim blade at Crystal's direction, thinking 'And here I sign my death warrant.'

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked at Ferethor in surprise. Someone that she had feared had given back her dagger. She was quite surprised far more then she could even say. A true enemy would have kept the dagger and used it against her in their last and possibly parting battle. He had given it back. What odd things were going through his mind?

"Thank you, Ferethor. Maybe you aren't truly my enemy. We shall see. It shall be more then interesting to say the least," Crystal replied. She leaned back against a tree and closed her eyes, wondering if sleep would even come.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Del watched the night deepen with the passage of time, awake for some reason he could not fathom. "Il Garoth... A traitor they say he is, and Maen seems confident about this matter. Even if we manage to trace this chap ere the end, what are we going to do?"


Roryn looked up from poking the dejected fire in hope of reviving the dying flame. "What else? We kill the turncoat Il Garoth and collect our reward."


Del pensively considered Roryn's reply before shaking his head. "Il Garoth would not fain hand us his life over a silver platter, Roryn. He must know that someone would be after his neck sooner or later and would have taken precautions enough to ensure that he lives to spend his legacy. This chap would have hired men all over his estate with the express purpose of protectiong his royal person."


Roryn grimly finished what Del had left unsaid. "You mean it is much more likely that even if we find him, it would be us who ends up traveling to Mandos rather than him." Del nodded silently, for that point had been troubling him for the past hour.


Then, Del shrugged and rose to his feet. "Why worry about the future? We'll deal with it when it comes. In fact, these wise chaps - Atharen, Maen, Ferethor - they'd take care of it." Then he threw himself heavily on a pile of dry leaves, desiring to sleep.

[Eorl of Rohan]

The tilted crescent of light sank into the western hemisphere graudually, indicating a passage of time. Stars that sparkled as a beacon of hope in the high firmament dimmed into mere wristful glimmer that seemed to lament the grief and sorrow od Men. Dawn would arrive soon, Ferethor surmised.


Ferethor did not allow himself to sleep but stood ever in vigiliance in fear of being assailed by wild beasts and foes. Almost all of his comrades were fast asleep, sprawled here and there in the campsite. Del for instance was sleeping on a pile of dry grass, so peacefully as if nothing worried him. Crystal was curled up in seeming sleep by the edge of the campsite.


His gaze strayed to Atharen, who was propped up by a huge boulder with his sword in easy reach, also fully awake and staring at him with a thoughtful expression. Ferethor sank into a silent reverie of his own.


Crystal had acknowledged reluctantly that maybe she would come to trust him. To be sure. Crystal probably thought of me too much of a fool to be any danger to her person. Ferethor thought in somewhat embittered fashion. What kind of a soldier hands his known enemy a deadly weapon and then turns his back upon the foe? My impulsiveness would be the death of me yet.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn sighed as he poked the fire again, vainly hoping to stir it back into heat. Failing, he doused the ashes and scattered them over the site. Taking new kindling in the place he put a tinderbox to the wood, and it leapt into flames again. Tenderly sloking it, as though it would go out, he glanced over at Ferethor. He, like Roryn, hadn't slept all night, though Roryn guessed for different reasons. Roryn had been pondering what Del had said, and he felt worried, for almost the first time in his life. This was different to war, in war it was always the man behind or in front of you, or to the side, never you. Here it was you if they wanted it to be you...and that disturbed him a little. Getting up he yawned deeply and shuffled over to where Ferethor stood.

"That was a good deed, giving Crystal her knife back...at least now she thinks you have some good in you..." the ex ranger chuckled dryly under his breath, and Ferethor turned he head almost violently, "What do you mean by that?", Roryn smiled. "Let's just say, Ferethor, that you could have made a better impression."

Ferethor muttered something Roryn didn't bother to hear and walked off a few paces. Roryn shrugged and went over to Atharen. "We should leave swiftly, just wokens are an easy target...and the Valar know Atharen we killed enough bandits for them to hate us..."

"Yes...we must move on swiftly...and cover the ashes of the fire..."

[Everdawn]

Carathir rode at the back of the company, silently taking the hours as they came. He had no need to speak with anyone, only Maén if she requested something, as she seldom did.

He silently hated being a doormat to the Gondorian, she appeared of everything he hated; Her well spoken manner, her officious nature in ordering them, her wealth, and even down to the lilac cloak which veiled her blonde tresses. A Gondorian noble. It would not do well to kill her off during the night, Carathir knew this. He would let her lead him to this Guriel, and he, surely he who is enemy of Gondor would still have friends in parts. The he would make his move, he would kill her then.

There would only be one problem; the company.


---------------------------------------------------------

O the world that the traitor would turn up to me here in these places. I will not suggest to you that I have never begun to think on the off chance that Aunt Lysia may be wrong and that Gondor was right after all. But the same memory remains, every time that I see the scar on my arm it is an ugly reminder of the past, of when Guriel first came to my thoughts and, the actions of my bewildered father a night long before.

I saw it today, and the day before, and each time it showed and my eyes passed over it I felt the sharp pang of hot metal against flesh but each time I did not sway from it but rather let it pass through. If I had been weaker in mind it would have consumed me by now and they would be saying the same things about me that they say about my father “Mad”.

As if have said, dear Lysia is helping me find Guriel Il Galoth and in doing so has let me form a party many of whom are often at arms with each other. It is this same hotheadedness that makes my anger flow, though none would tell, I am afraid im being as blunt as ever in these days of stress. Only when it is that Guriel has paid for what he has done to me, to my family will I sleep in peace.


“What’s that your writing Miss Il Galoth.” Aelimur asked looking over her shoulder causing Maén to snap the leather bound journal shut.

“My soul.” She said shortly. Aelimur raised his eyebrows and nodded his head for a moment. “Here.” Said Maén reaching for her bag, removed a map. “We need to go a little way in south Ithilien I think.” She handed the map to him and he studied it for a while.

“Maén!” Called Roryn from her side. “We cant stay here any longer, I fear these are dangerous parts.”

[Kransha]

Idruil looked around, almost in a daze. The place he and the group now occupied was indeed barren and bleak. The rock was simply more depressing, jutting out bluntly around him. The cold palette of color was comforted only by the gentle warmth of the fire. Despite that soothing warmth, Idruil was sitting farther from the fire than most others, humming quietly to himself and indulging his own thoughts.

He whistled for barely a second, realizing after that that the shrill sound was not very pleasing when shrouded by the mists of this dark place. His tone changed back to humming an old and more melancholy tune under his breath, not entirely caring who heard him. He hoped that snatches of the calming verse would elevate or at least stabilize his own dampened mood. It was another of those mistrel-worthy ballads heard in the fief of Lebennin. Some more mournful tale about the ever-caustic theme of all lost glories and time in a state of decay. Many of the words to the piece had long slipped from Idruil's aging memory, but he did not need the lyrics to hum. Considering, actually singing the dark ballad would not have been helpful at all.

The man had attempted and generally succeeded in making conversation with the group’s leader, Maen. The others seemed ready enough to talk with him, but he honestly hadn’t tried to strike up other conversations. He was curious about each member of the crew in turn, but found himself strangely reluctant to speak with them. He supposed he would merely try to do so later, once he had found an appropriate topic to talk of. For now he was content to sit and contemplate until he had discovered more for himself about them all.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Truce, I will not speak of it again."

Maen's firm dismissal of the subject made Atharen glance at her quizically, even though he was used to irony. But a slight grin twitched at her lips as she slid her eyes across to his face, and he gave an almost inperceptible half-smile. "Ah, Lady, I will try to restrain myself in the future obviously - whirling swords in the middle of the night against fair maidens on vicious little ponies-" he sidestepped his horse deftly here as Hittai seemed to understand, then continued, "-is of cours in my nature but..."

Maen glanced sharply at the ranger as if not sure if he was mocking her, then laughed, and Roryn joined in. Atharen gave another thin smile, then turned back to his thoughts of his companions as he rode.

Despite being half-Rohirrim and having the love of riding that comes from an upbringing among the Rohirrim, the ranger had not at that time actually got a horse - hence the reason that, when Crystal had met him he had been trudgings grimly through ankle-deep mud in the rain. The horse he thought of as 'his own' now belonged, technically, to one of his younger male cousins, a boy of about nineteen and the son of his mother's youngest brother. Namathir was a good boy though, and an excellent rider - a soldier, as followed the family tradition, but he did not treat Atharen as abnormal despite the fact his older cousin only looked a few years older than he himself although he was over a decade older - Atharen was glad his fine, powerful stallion had gone to such an owner, although Namathir let Atharen ride when ever he visited, although such occasions were sadly getting rarer as the ranger travelled ever farther afield. Still, the horse he had borrowed would almost match up to his old stallion - probably did, in fact, but that ranger was obviously inclined to look back on his first steed with somewhat rose-tinted glasses - it was also a stallion, but bay where Namathir's horse was bay, standing at nearly eighteen hands, but not appearing to be incredibly muscly. It was built for speed, a creature of careful breeding, of that there was no doubt, although Atharen was not sure it was entirely Rohirrim as it's looks would first suggest - it's more angular face and black, slightly more slanting and narrower eyes would suggest some trace of Haradrim breeding.

As they set up camp, Atharen tethered his horse carefully with the others, then set to rest. But his thoughts kept him awake for some time as he mused upon his companions - despite having far more knowledge and material on some, he dwelt on most of them though. An odd group, especially led as they were by a woman of high breeding who intended to fight and kill a blood-relative of hers. But stranger things had been seen from and in Gondor over the years, of that there was no doubt. Soldiers and rangers, travellers and women, exiles and outcasts...the ranger's eyes smiled dryly although they remained fixed on the stars; a fine companionship indeed.

Atharen heard the noise of a someone moving, but by the way the man approached him from the front, his footsteps casual and familiar, Atharen guessed it before he saw the other's face to be Roryn. His eyes flicked to the other man's, opening from the slits he had let them rest as so they widened to allow the man's face into his spectrum of stars. Roryn opened his mouth, holding up a hand, but Atharen realised what he was going to say before he actually said it as he straightened suddenly, straining his sharp sense of hearing. He turned quickly to Roryn and realised the man had heard already.

Roryn nodded confirmation then murmured, "We should leave swiftly, just wokens are an easy target...and the Valar know Atharen we killed enough bandits for them to hate us..."

Atharen paused, then listened again. Yes, there was certainly a group moving their way, and through the wood rather than on the path. Moving slowly and quite far off still, but quietly - stealthily. He nodded. "Yes...we must move on swiftly...and cover the ashes of the fire..."

Sliding over to Crystal, he came to kneel about a foot from her shoulder, strapping on his sword quickly with practised ease. "Lady Crystal?" he murmured softly, trying not to startle the woman and careful not to touch her. "My lady?"

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal pulled out of sleep slowly. She hadn't been sleeping well in quite a while and it had finally caught up with her. There was a man above her, that much she could tell. The voice of the man gave away his identity.

"Atharen? What is it? What tis wrong?" Crystal asked, finally coming fully awake. The evidence of fatigue was now gone from her features. Her danger sense was at full alert.

"We have been spotted haven't we?" Crystal asked as she sat up. She pulled her sword out of its sheath and smiled.

"Let us go then."

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor paled and tensed suddenly. He could not detect any strange movement or sounds in the forest, but he felt instictively that they were being stalked by some unknown enemy. Rising to his feet uneasily, he noticed that Roryn and Atharen has also felt the invisible presence.


Seeing that silence was vital, Ferethor locked his gaze with Atharen without words. The sky was already pale and lit with twillight gleam for it was almost dawn, and he could distinguish the warning steely gleam in the ranger's eyes as well as the evergreen trees and the barren campsite. "We should leave, now." Atharen whispered to Ferethor, who lost no time in shaking others awake and preparing to leave.


Maen and others were only as yet half-awake when Ferethor woke them and told them to get ready and flee if they wanted to preserve their lives. "Wha, what?" But they quickly assessed the situation and started preparing with Ferethor's occasional directions.


A midnight ambrush? Ferethor swung himself over Apple fully clad as he thought in anger. It must be one of the Haradrim outlaw bands that roam barren wastes east of Anduin. But such stealth!


But when the red sun began rising over the horizon and stain the snow-capped peaks of mountains with forboding bloody hue, the company was already on the road, though there was come grumbling from the others.


Ferethor purposedly led his horse close to Atharen's. "Ranger." The Dunadan turned his bright gaze upon Ferethor at his address. "The pursuers are outlaws, I deem, Atharen. Fierce and desperate have become the Haradrim outlaws in this region that preys upon unwary travelers, 'T is said, for their native lands have become barren and wasted with their long war against the Realm of Gondor. They have no homestead to go back to, no children alive to tend to, and no food enough to live out the winter. Is my guess amiss?"

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn answered before either of them had had a chance to say anything more. He did not turn his head, but spoke with his eyes forward, scanning the hedges at the sides of the road.

"Yes, I imagine you are right, Ferethor. Most likely Haradrim raiders indeed. Atharen and I killed many of their kin in the war of the Ring, I doubt they are after the rest of the party, although a Haradrim never passed off an opportinity for a kill..." He shot a backwards glance at Carathir, he was grumbling on his horse.

"Yes, Roryn..." said Atharen sarcastically, "I doubt they would not also kill Maen and loot her, and the others..."

"Then let us hope we do not meet them." Replied Roryn abruptly, and spurred his horse forward slightly...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal had jumped up out of the dirt and had calmed her horse's fears that she could feel through the new bond that they had created almost instantaniously. She was rubbed the top of her horse's head and held her sword at the ready.

"Run Maen, I fear for you safety far more then anyone else in our company. You must ride!" Crystal whispered urgently as her ears seemed to stretch out to hear the barely audible sounds coming from what seemed to be all around them.

Every sense that she owned was on the alert and she didn't like it. There was an uneasy feeling of dread and danger looming in her mind. She hated these feelings. She had felt them too often in her past and it was a thing she had come to think of the worst memories when she felt danger and dread. Her memories of her father were tied to these feelings and she couldn't get out of her mind the thought that her father and his men had finally found her. She wondered if she had just put the lives of her new friend, Maen and her new found love, Atharen and the lives of the others in the company in grave danger.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen caught Crystal's wrist and she spun to face him. He moved out of the way of her swinging sword tip, then adjusted it gently so it faced the ground, seeking the woman's eyes. "There will be no fray here, lady, not if I can help it. Certainly I shall not let you be in any danger."

Crystal opened her mouth to protest angrily, but Atharen got there first, speaking quietly but over her. "I do not question your abilities or courage, Miss Heart - but I will not have you in danger."

Crystal glared at him fiercely, then turned back to her horse, away from Atharen. Hoping she would mount up as the others had, the ranger darted over to his horse, reassuring the stallion although it seemed quite solid and unafraid, and it's ears were pricked and alert, it's narrow eyes bright, rather than wide and terrified. Atharen was becoming ever surer that it was of Haradrim heritage, although that was not of much consequence at this time to anyone other than the man who had grown up in Rohan. Kneeling quickly about two feet from his horse's feet, still in it's midnight shadow, he placed the palms of his hands flat against the ground then lowered his head to the ground as if worshipping, but with one ear against the soil. Concentrating with everything he had from his father's side, he sought for the sound of the intruders. After only a second or two, he had them, and Atharen was dismayed - they were much closer than he had thought, and there were more of them. They were on foot it seemed, but still, there were...five, six maybe? Straightening quickly, his sword in his hand before he was fully standing, Atharen addressed at the group, spinning around to speak to all of them as he did so. "Go, we cannot afford a fray so early before we even have our own quarry."

"And whose quarry are you implying we are, Atharen?" Maen replied sharply, standing by her Hittai's head. Atharen turned to face her, stepping forward a few paces as he shook his head - he would not worry her unduly about Roryn's suspicions, and besides, he didn't want to possibly offend Carathir at a time like this.

"I don't know, Lady Il Galoth, but they are coming quite fast - it would appear they have been trailing us by the straight path they are leading towards us, or they have some other purpose to come to this place. At any rate, we must ride - now is not a good time to fight. I do not mean to insult you, Lady, but you understand, combat, especially in such circumstances, is more my area. Please." He nodded quickly to her, then addressed the rest again, all of whom were now awake, as he swung onto his horse's back, steading the beast as it stepped back a few paces with a shadow of skittishness. "Ride now, before they are any closer - Roryn and I will wait until all are gone, then follow you."

[Everdawn]

“We are under attack?” she said her voice going up in the last words, she was not nervous, more surprised and very annoyed at the interruption.

“Wh-Why?” she asked getting more irate as the moments passed.

She could see Del shake his head in her direction from where he was. Maén Il Galoth had never been under attack before, she had only ever been threatened by a weapon once than that little less than a week ago now.

Breathing heavily she managed to keep her temper under control, she composed herself and refrained from asking questions, she knew that she was no warrior and logically speaking she would get in the way of any major battle. And to die now was something she did not intend to do.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Raiders of Harad! Ferethor's countenance hardened. They'd have no trouble coming in pursuit of our expedition should they choose to follow us. Survivors of the War of Rings they are, most valourous and skilled of the Haradrim soldiers. "Ride now, before they are any closer..." Atharen steadied his mount and flashed a light grin. "Roryn and I will follow." Ferethor frowned in wonder and reeled to face him incredulously as he said, "Roryn and you, Ranger?"


Atharen leaned to whisper to Roryn as he expected Ferethor to take this attitude, before turning in his stirrups to face Ferethor's question. "Why would you want to stay and risk your life, Ferethor? You'd be of much more use in protecting the expedition from any other danger they might come across."


"I am versed in the speech of Harad, Ranger." Ferethor replied dryly to Atharen's challenging question, drawing forth his blade which mirrored the blurring evergreens. "We must earn such time as we could to allow others to get away safely, and I may succeed yet in persuading the outlaws to stay their swords. If that fails, another sword beside yours might be of great aid in battle. I am not unskilled in wielding of blade, as Roryn may know."


"Nevertheless..." Atharen was about to reply but changed his mind at the last moment, and turned fiercely to others still mounted and uncertainly tarrying. "What are you waiting for, Maen? Flee while the daylight lasts!" Del then to everyone's amaze spoke, lightly yet with confidence. "Atharen, I'd want to stay. I would not miss out of the fun, not by any price." At that, Roryn lost his temper, his will already strained by the oncoming battle. "No, Del. I doubt you can even save your own life let alone everyone else's."


Strangely, it was the usually rash Ferethor who spoke for Del. "Valour may come in many disguises, Roryn, cheerfulness not the exception as I've learned long ago from Lieutenant Meren. I've always admired him for his ability to smile and joke in the very face of death. Can we deny him his right to fight if he wishes?"

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal just nodded at what Atharen said and got up on her horse quickly. Her horse had remained saddled. She had had a feeling that they would encounter some sort of trouble as what always seemed of the norm now, at least in the pathway of her life.

"Maen I highly agree. You are our leader. Without you this quest shan't continue. You must ride. Ride with me to safety. No harm shall befall at such a great distance. Please my lady, Maen. Do this for us so revenge may be had at a later time in the future," Crystal said softly as she pleaded with Maen. She had no idea if Maen would come. She was just a strong willed and strong minded as Crystal. If it had been her she wouldn't have fled. She would have stood with these men and fought, but she knew her place. As a woman she knew that in a battle, not one on one as she was accustomed to, that she was not much help in a lot of ways if she was on the ground. She would be amazing on top of her stallion, but she wasn't entirely sure that she wouldn't be knocked to the ground and that her horse would run away from the battle and onto safety.

"If you insist upon staying then please allow me to be your protection. Come up on my stallion. As long as you are there, there shan't be any harm to befall upon your head," Crystal said, giving Maen the choice.

She figured that Maen would take the former opposed to the later. They were similar of mind and strength. They wouldn't be taken over without a brutual battle of fighting for one's life. She sat in her saddle, waiting for Maen's answer.

[Kransha]

Idruil practically jumped up from where he sat idly on the ground. He heard all the quick-spoken discourse as it played out between the other group members. He, at first, was primarily unsure of his place in all this. So far, it appeared that Maen, with some others, would be proceeding away from the oncoming persons who were trailing the entire company. Atharen and Roryn had volunteered themselves to stay behind and keep these illicit folk at bay, but Ferethor and Delphinious apparently also desired to remain and hold off the Haradrim from reaching their leader. There was more then a little tension risen in the air, except, of course, for that jovial fellow, Delphinious, who seemed remarkably aloof to what was going on.

Idruil, bringing a rough-hewn hand to the cold steel of his hilt, stepped forward into the area where the group was most congregated. He did not know his place here, considering his seeming sudden arrival in this motley society of allies. The man of Minas Tirith had his only hope upheld, to meet all battle that came to him and do what he could for the future’s lore. He planned on accomplishing that goal.

“Ranger,” he said, with a blunt persistence in his gruff voice, “I too will stay. I have been thrust late into this company and I still know little of you, but I will stay true to this mission and see that it is fulfilled. I believe my sword may be useful to you and indeed I plan to use it if this situation comes to that. I trust you will not deny me this request, since it is my profuse desire to help this cause as best I can. If you will not have my sword you may reject its use at your discretion, but otherwise, let me remain and do my part.”

He firmly grasped the steel with one gloved hand, grabbing the reins of his steed, Ecthelion, with the other. He pulled the beast gently sideways, preparing to leap as nimbly as weathered legs could carry him into the saddle and do what he could. He realized, to some dismay and irritation, that he had not drawn a blade in true combat for years now. The last time he had done so was to negotiate with a pair of unruly hoodlums, hardly a fight worthy of tales. He suddenly found his mind scanning over every memory of combat, re-learning the art to his own satisfaction so he could at least attempt to hold his own in open battle.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Del looked with some consternation at Idruil, about to speak but deciding not to since Idruil's remark was addressed to Atharen actually. Who am I to interfere? However it was Ferethor who spoke, very persuasively. "Your decision is your own to make, Idruil. But we have others to protect and Aelimur alone would not suffice, I deem. You may have to do away with lone outlaw or so. I'm asking you for the sake of their safety and the success of the expedition for you to stay with them, though hard it may seem. Will you consent?"


Del raised his eyebrow at that for he did not think Ferethor was be a person with persuasive powers until now, as he caressed his well-worn buckskin sheath of his keen sword. That does have some sense in't, I perceive. Especially as this will not actually come to blade-in-blade combat and too much will only be hinderance... But he spoke not and waited. It would sort itself out in the end.

[Everdawn]

"If you insist upon staying then please allow me to be your protection. Come up on my stallion. As long as you are there, there shan't be any harm to befall upon your head," cried Crystal who in the meantime had ridden up on her large horse, significantly smaller than her own Hittai.


“Hittai will bear me, I will have no other.” She said in a strong voice. Crystal nodded at the young woman.

“Lady Il Galoth!” called a mounted Idruil from the direction of Roryn. “An escort.” He bowed atop of his steed.



“Very well” She said swinging into her saddle and surveyed the others. “Make them pay for disturbing our peace.”

Hittai was kicked into a fast pace away from the camp Crystal and Idruil close behind her.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal rode behind Maen, but in hesitation spun her horse around. She looked back and watched the men on their horses, standing ready for the inevitable attack. Atharen stood with Ferethor and Del. She swallowed hard and decided to go back. She ran over to Atharen.

"Shall you need help?" Crystal asked Atharen. He looked over at her and his eyes flashed. "Crystal! No, stay with Maen," He replied. Crystal nodded her head. She didn't want to let him see the fear that she felt for his life. He could die here. Any of these men could.

"Please be careful and come back to me alive, Atharen. I do not want to lose you yet," Crystal said softly to him.

"All of you come back to us alive. We don't want to have to bury any of you," Crystal said.

Her horse reigned back and then took off like a bullet after Maen and Iduril. Her heart ached at leaving Atharen behind, but she did as he had wanted. She would do her duty. She would make sure that their leader was safe. She pushed her horse against all possible means and caught up with Maen and Iduril fairly quickly. She knew that they were looking at her with questions in their eyes.

"I wanted to tell them to come back to us alive. We don't want to have to bury any of them. Although I have a fear in my mind that we will be," Crystal said as they rode away to safety.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn's keen eye heard a shuffle in the woods, and the unmistakeable sound of a bow being drawn back...he waited, wanting to let them have the first move so he could be the one reacting. He looked around the woods. A whistling noise, he moved a fraction to the left, the arrow thudded into the wood of the tree. Quick as a flash both Atharen and roryn had their bows drawn and fired in the direction of the arrow. A cry was heard, and a dark shape fell from a high treetop, two arrows clearly embedded in its chest.

Atharen smirked at Roryn. "Still a good shot." he chuckled.
"I was about to say the same of you, Atharen." Roryn replied. "Ah, but I am still a serving ranger." he chuckled.
"Maybe not for much longer..." Roryn said grimly as several bandits rode into the clearing...

[Everdawn]

“Utterly useless!” cried Maén, the three of them had ridden half a league from the site, in fast time to the cover of a surrounding thinly covered grove of trees. “I can barely see a thing, let alone know what’s going on there.” Her hazel eyes glowed contemptuously under her lilac hood.

“Patience Miss Maén” Idruil muttered from behind her.

Maén’s head snapped around. “We are under attack, do you expect me to be patient?”

“No Maén.” Replied Crystal her eyes downcast, as though she was in fear of something else.

Maén did not seem to hear, “Who are they? Haradrim? Easterlings? Cronies of Guriel?- now that would make more than enough sense. Don’t they know that im not carrying any vast amount of gold? I am not prepared to die before ive had my chance at vengeance.”

“Not to worry Lady Il Galoth, should worse come to worse you will still have Crystal and I. Besides, you have two rangers up your sleeve.” Idruil remarked.

[Kransha]

As Idruil road, firmly seated in the saddle born atop Ecthelion, he felt his old and familiar cynicism returning as he tried in vain to steady Maen’s fluctuating mood. He could understand her irritation at this incident; it was as ill-timed as unwelcome and seemed to serve no purpose but to hinder them. Of course, Idruil knew that there was more than rash impatience in his leader and the female Crystal, who had also accompanied them, but a more genuine concern. Idruil had no concern to show, as the two of them did. He had no comrade’s bond with the others or anything to make him feel any true sense of danger relating to their plight. He was certainly eager to prove his mettle and help them, but he had been given a blunt assignment which he planned to accomplish and not worry about the others, regardless of the dire straits or foul plight they might be in.

In all honesty, he was unsettled by Crystal’s words. He did not wish to bury a companion of his own new found brethren. They were slowly becoming friends, although he didn’t want to admit that he was letting his stern demeanor slip. It would not, though, be a great blow to him if something happened. He could only mourn in silence, as he had always done. He’d buried too many dear friends and was desensitized to the cold sting of death that lingered on a weary battlefield, ripe with the smell and air of doom.

He continued pulling Ecthelion along, listening as Maen spoke. For all he cared, she was merely letting out all her frustration in the form of complaints. She spoke of a number of things, many of which he couldn’t even hear in the commotion made by alarmed steeds. He responded curtly, “Not to worry, Lady Il Galoth, should worse come to worse you shall still have Crystal and I. Besides, you have two rangers up your sleeve.” He trailed off, realizing that Maen Il Galoth was probably not even listening.

He spoke up again after a few contemplative moments, now speaking more to Crystal than to Maen.

“Worry not about the others,” he said, with more gentility in his voice, “They can handle themselves; each one, and we should not doubt their combined skill. Surely a band of ruffians will not be able to contend with them and they will all return to us in time. For now, let us concentrate on what lies ahead, rather than the vile rogues that trail behind. Soon enough, we will reunite with them and this quest can continue unhindered. Do not fret, all shall be well. Indeed, I am quite certain we will see them again shortly..." he trailed off.

The man of Minas Tirith added, under his breath, "If not in this life, surely we will see them in the next. Illuvitar will judge soundly, and if they fall, it shall not be in vain."

Idruil wasn’t even sure if he believed what he was saying. He realized too late that his tone had become that of patronization as he spoke, but it truly didn’t matter. Petty squabbles were not to be brought up at a tense and uncertain moment such as this and he did not think Crystal would care, though he hardly knew her well enough to guess at such a fact. Dismissing his own words, he rode on near Maen’s steed, hoping deep within that all this hardship would pass in time as a new day dawned with more hopeful prospects for the future.

[Eorl of Rohan]

The thought flashed into Ferethor's mind at the soft but perfectly distinguishable sound of bowstring, Bows? Bloody Morgoth! But he needn't have feared, for as he stepped forward Roryn and Atharen both drew their own and slew the daring outlaw.


"Still a good shot." Atharen chuckled in a strained manner. "I was about to say the same of you, Atharen." Roryn flashed a quick smile back before his smile faded as several mounted and full battle-clad warriors of Harad were in their view.


"Greetings, fellow huntsmen of Harad! You wander far from your own land, we see. Why would you trouble us?" Ferethor spoke in the foul and uncouth language with ease, for he was versed in the speech of Harad. He struggled to keep his face expressionless and void of fury. but his eyes smoulderd with battle-lust.


"Fellow huntsmen, say you?" The man who seemed like a leader stepped forward, sneering derisively. "But we acknowledge no comraderie nor lordship with folk of Gondor. We live by our own laws and do as we wish."


Ferethor swallowed as he realized that persuasion was not going to work with these fierce outlaws. Some of the raiders have already notched the black-feathered arrows to their longbow, he noted. Atharen made a slight move and Ferethor knew that he had drawn his dagger. A little more time...


The leader, one who was clad in rough garments of leather and adorned with heathenish golden chains slowly raised his lance. "And my word is the law, Die, and curse in vain!"


Ferethor at once severed his lance-handle with an unexpected swift stroke of his own steel, crying, "For Gondor!" In the same, fluid movement, the blade buried itself in his chest and took his life. Instantly cries and uproar reverbrated the forest and echoed back in desolate sounds.


Ferethor wrenched his blade out and reeled to face others, trying to slash out of the scene of battle. Pinning a striken outlaw with his own spear to a tree and shattering his sable shield with foul designs engraved as if it was glass, Ferethor ducked from the arrows that whistled overhead. For a moment even as he broke out of the ring he could see Del holding a mounted raider at bay with a broken spear pole and a double-edged sword.


One rider loomed into his view, and he slashed his steel down forcefully. But the blade struck the steely band of the Haradrim's armour and glanced off, notched. Iluvatar! Ferethor whispered but the warrior crumpled suddenly beneath a green-feathered arrow, presumably Roryn's.


Del dealt a death stroke to one of the other bandits, crying "Flee!" as he battled. His splintered shield of earthen-bornw lay beneath his feet as he faced the others. Yet Ferethor stood transfixed on the spot, safe for now against the bandits. He was proud and his youthful heart was kindled with battle-lust born of vengeance, and would not leave his fellow comrade in the hands of their enemy.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn ducked as the arrows flew his way from the raiders. "Bastards!" he thought, "they couldn't care less about anyone else except me and Atharen." Straigtening up he fired another arrow, the bodkin head ripping straight through a bandit's throat, he toppled to the floor. One ran screaming at him, he dropped to one knee and rolled, evading the wild swipe of the heavy cudgel. Rolling to his feet he hit the man around the head with his clenched fist, and while he was reeling booted him to the ground. Looking over he saw Atharen fighting two of them. He sent an arrow through one of their chests. Atharen looked at him momentarily and nodded his thanks, Royn nodded back.

"Retreat!" Roryn cried,
"Flee! I will follow if I can!" shouted Del.

Roryn grabbed Ferethor by the shoulders and tried to pull him back, but he stood firm and shook him off. Muttering, Roryn sent a last arrow into a raiders chest before disappearing into the trees. Ferethor looked back and cried out when he saw Roryn had gone. "You coward!" a white fletched arrow whistled past his neck and slammed into the neck of a horse that was charging Ferethor, the horse buckled, tipping its rider off. As Ferethor looked at it he saw the Rider had a broken neck.

Looking up he saw Roryn in a tree with his bow drawn, he took a second to note how well he blended into the background before hacking down another raider. "There are more coming!" shouted Roryn, "Lots more! Get out of there while you can, I have no wish to tell Maen that you are all dead!"...

[Eorl of Rohan]

Del wondered why he was standing here now for a moment or two. His serious countenance was almost grim to look upon as he slowly drew his steel and gazed on it with what amounted to seeming nonechalance. Wandering free far and wide over foriegn terrains of Middle Earth one day... He thought with amaze at his own change. And Facing a bunch of stragglers in War of the Rings who failed to get themselves back to the their natives lands far to the south, next day... A drastic change indeed.


Then Del instictively lowered his head in a flinching gesture as two arrows arched over the clear sky with a shrill, piercing whistle, apparently loosed by those on our side. His train of thought was broken by a fey cry of the outlaw archer who had been hidden by the boughs of leaves, who thudded onto the rocky ground and fell silent with a broken neck


"There was no need to shed blood as yet, and methinks you reck too little of lives." Del said almost mildly as he surveyed the limp form of the outlaw with distaste. "Once the raiders have seen the blood of their brethren and comrade they'd come to assail us like ravening wolf packs."


Roryn exclaimed fiercely, "Our lives or theirs, Delphinous! That accursed archer was going to shoot us down first in stealth, have you not noticed? Tevildo Tibereth take them!" as he grasped the sable hilt of his damascened blade in a challenging gesture. Indeed already the raiders of Harad were appearing from the eves of the wood with their longbows strung and their metallic blades drawn.


"They'd not stop to parley, these." Ferethor breathed through clenched teeth and paled as he noted other soldiers mounted and in full battle gear also riding out of the other side and closing in. Del winced as he said, "Nevertheless we must make an attempt, however hopeless."


"Greetings, fellow huntsmen of Harad! You wander far from your own land, we see. Why would you trouble us?" Ferethor went to the direct point without dallying and acted as if he was the leader of the company, Del noted with some amusement even in this situation. Wonder how Ferethor learned to speak of it so well. Even I have trouble with pronouncing the foul language of these folk though I have little trouble in understanding. But the leader was not amused as was visible in his curt and angry reply, and there was almost a gloating sense in his voice as he raised his lance and cried, "And my word is the law here. Die, and curse in vain!"


But it was Ferethor who was swifter as it proved in the end, for he straightaway disarmed his opponent then plunged his blade into his chest, effectively silencing him for ever, crying out "For Gondor!".


In the uproar it caused Del found himself face in face with a mounted champion of Haradrim riding forth with a heavy spear at Atharen's back, who seemed unaware as yet of the dire peril he was in. Moving instinctively he raised his earthen shield to ward off the black-feathered arrows as he cleaved the horse's neck with the blade he held, who was harryed by the confusion in the glade. "Will death not be more sweeter if you have a comrade to go along?" His fieldish grin was directed at the dead horse as the rider fell with his steed, and he slew the man with his own spear.


The spear broke at the forceful stab and his shield was shattered by the dying man's thrust with his dagger. Del threw down the useless slivers of wood angrily. He did not fail to hear Roryn's cry, "Retreat!" but he had already been beleaguered by the other horseback outlaws who seemed very keen on taking revenge. He cried, "Flee! I will follow if I can."

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal listened to Iduril's words and tried to put them to use in her mind, but failed in vain. A deep sense of dread had caught a hold of not only her mind, but her spirit as well. Something terrible would happen this night that was changing into dawn. She only hoped that it was an injury not death. She could aid in an injury.

She urged her horse forward. Her mind wandered into thoughts of her past. She had only seen one other battle in her lifetime. Even though her father had taught her the ways of the sword she still hadn't been allowed to weild it outside of the safety of her home. She had gone against him one day when she heard that Rohan was under attack and its neighbors from Gondor had not come as of yet. She had taken it upon herself to help her city, the city that she at one time loved. She had dressed herself as one of the kitchen boys and had taken the sword that her father had given her. She had hurried to the front lines. Her disguise went unnoticed and she had been allowed to fight.

The battle had been brutual. Her sword had taken many lives that day. She had been quick and swift, much more so then any man. She could remember her dearest friend and love fall besides her. Arty had no idea that she was there. She had taken one of the horses that no longer had a rider and put Arty up on the saddle. She jumped up and had rode quickly back into Rohan and to his home. His father was out at the battle field and his mother had disappeared. She had stayed with him and took care of his wounds and prayed.

Those memories, even though if she spoke them out loud would sound simple, were anything but. They were the some of the worst memories that she had ever encountered. She had seen a lot of things that she never wanted to remember.

Yet, she had decided to run away. She had joined the travellers that saw many battles and she had when she was with them. She had taken lives of men that tried to rape her in the endless stream of Inns and bars she had gone into. She had killed countless of numbers of her father's men that tried to track her down and bring her back to Rohan.

This was different. She was fighting for the life of Maen, she was fighting for the life of Atharen. She was fighting for the life of the entire company. This was much more then just a city. So much more then just a place where one lived. This was a battle to keep Maen and her company safe so she can get revenge and live beyond it.

Crystal began to wonder if when the time arose for Maen to have her revenge if she would take it.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Even as Ferethor stood transfixed on the spot in the edge of battle gazing on the blurring and bloody scene, Roryn came up behind him. "Ferethor, let us leave!" He shouted as he tried to pull the Gondorian back into the shadows of trees but it was vain for Ferethor did not relent. Proud he was, for he was of the decendant of house of Hador and the valourous blood of Edain and Atanatari ran strong in his mind.


He muttered something urgently that Ferethor could not distinguish and sent another arrow in the direction of a fray. When he reeled and found Roryn vanished into the forest, he cried out in great wrath, "You coward!"


An arrow whistled as it arched through the air and impaled a charging horse maddened with pain from earlier injury through the chest. It fell heavily and writhed on the ground in its last mortal agony as Ferethor turned and raised his gaze to Roryn who was hidden in a cleft of leaves above an elm. Good hiding place, that. But he had not time more to think as he faced another opponent, evading a series of blows and succeeding in taking his life with a skillful thrust of his steel already stained with blood.


"There are more coming!" shouted Roryn as he leapt down tot he ground with lightness that surprised him, "Lots more! Get out of there while you can, I have no wish to tell Maen that you are all dead!"


But Ferethor was steadfast in his denial to leave as was shown in his reply, "What about Del, Roryn?" And Atharen called out in a painful voice as he slashed a bandit down, "Leave him! As Roryn says, there are more supplements coming from the eastern side of the forest. WE cannot withstand them. Del buys us time to escape with his blood. Let us take it, and go! It is ours to live."


But still Ferethor hesitated in a dreamlike state, lingering. Only when Atharen, driven by urgency, cried, "Ferethor!" did he come back to full awareness. Turning with his hands clenched, Ferethor asked, "Leave him? Atharen..." He replied almost brutally as he mounted his horse, the inevitable reply "There is nothing we can do."


And Ferethor knew that it was true. He impaled a mounted raider who met a swift end at his already bloodstained blade, and leaped upon his horse. Others were disregarding them at the moment since they were all gathered around Del, who was stalling for time to give them a chance to flee. However a volley of black-feathered arrows followed him as he galloped across the open glade, and the arrowheads seemed aflame in the light of the sunset. The poor horse whinnied in pain and fell heavily on the ground as it was mortally hurt. Ferethor, narrowing avoiding falling with it, made for the woodlands on foot.


He winced as a searing pain cut through his shoulders, one of the parting gifts from a bandit archer. He hid himself in the shadows of trees as he clenched his teeth to escape from gasping out in pain. A few moments later, the raiders themselves came to look for him. That means Del has...


"Sir! He wouldn't have gone far." One said confidently, shouldering his longbow. "I am pretty sure that I got him." But thw man who seemed to be in command now turned. "We do not have times to search for a single man in the woodlands all night! We head back to our refuge by Anduin by nightfall."


The night fell on the forest slowly, casting its clinging web of darkness over the leaves and the bloodstained glade. Ferethor could not see clearly for his vision was blurred with his own blood from the arrow. Ferethor had tried to wrench the arrowhead out and found to his dismay and much anguish that it was buried deeply in his muscle and he could not wrench it out without help. With loss of blood and anguish and despair, his conciousness faded into sub-reality as the moon rose in its majesty.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Leave him! There is nothing we can for him now," Atharen yelled back, reigning his horse sharply to turn in the right direction, the direction Roryn had already started galopping in. Behind him Ferethor stood as if frozen, his hands spread. Atharen could understand his hesitation, torn between leaving another man behind, but the ranger also knew that there was nothing to do for Del anymore: he had seen the wound on the man's side as he glimpsed him between the riders, and he knew the traveller would not be able to move fast enough to escape anyway. Atharen hated a part of himself for it, but knew that it was that part that would allow Maen to complete her task yet. "Ferethor!" he yelled again.

The guard seemed shaken awake and stumbled towards his horse, swinging on. It was only when he had ridden past that Atharen himself turned once more to go, but before he went he had one last task to do. Notching with an arrow one of the bows which he had picked up after it had fallen from a dead Haradrim's hands, he sighted on Del, who was now on his knees, hemmed between several of the outlaws who were closing in slowly, savouring their victory. Atharen knew what the outlaws did to those who they caught alive - a swift, accurate shot from his bow would be far better, and Del would know it, he had no doubt. Still, this was an easterling arrow - maybe the vicious outlaws would think it was one of their own who had shot the traveller, and Del would not have to suffer too much for they would be too busy looking for whichever of them had supposedly shot him.

"May the Vala speed you on your way, Delphinous," Atharen murmured as he sighted carefully, then let fly with the arrow. He heard the thud and then a cry of outrage from one of the outlaws, before he wheeled around, his eyes closed for a second in silent prayer for the man who he had just shot, before he galopped away as fast as the horse could carry him.

~*~

As they came to another clearing after ten minutes of hard riding, Atharen slowed, calling to Roryn who was not far ahead of him, having waited for a few minutes when he had not seen Atharen following. Coming to a halt as he drew up beside Roryn, he patted his stallion on the neck gently and the horse whinnied quietly. The ex-ranger looked sidelong at Atharen. "What kept you?"

Atharen fixed a very clear, telling gaze on Roryn, then shook his head. Changing the subject a little, he looked over his shoulder as danced the stallion around a few steps, scanning the treeline behind them. "Did Ferethor ride ahead to Maen?"

Roryn looked puzzled. "Ride ahead? Nay, I presumed he was following you, Atharen."

"Following m..." Atharen stared at Roryn, then whirled back around. He swore under his breath. "He must have been taken down. Wait here, I'll go back. Roryn, please - go back to Maen, tell her...oh, tell her I have my horse has got something embedded in his hoof, and that I am fixing it."

"Atharen, will you not take longer than that?" Roryn replied.

Atharen hesitated for a second, then replied softly, "If I take much longer, you will know the reason."

Roryn held out his hand to grasp Atharen's, but the latter pulled away, grinning. "Nay, don't do that - I think my type are not meant to die so young!" With a last grin, he turned and rode back into the treeline.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn watched as Atharen rode back into the leaves, eventually he saw his green cloak disappear round a corner he had taken, and he wheeled his horse round. Maen should know...his horse cantering as fast as it could do through the dense undergrowth he ducked down close to its neck, protecting him from any low branches.

As he entered a small clearing he saw Maen, Crystal, Idruil and Carathir. Maen, seeing he was alone, looked glumly at the ground. Crystal let out a subconcious sob, Idruil rested his head in his hands, and the tiniest of smiles played across Carathir's face. Roryn flashed a quizzical glance at him, but didn't catch it.

Kneeling down next to the two women, he whispered in Maen's ear. "Atharen still lives, he went back to look for Ferethor, who we lost on the way here. I suspect they are both alive...we lost Delphinious.."

Maen nodded grimly, obviously trying to hold back a sob of her own. "He fought bravely Maen, he fought and killed many foes. He gave us time to go, and we repaid him duly for that...Atharen knows as well as I what Haradrim do to prisoners, and we knew Del would have appreciated a quick death..."his voice trailed off as he too fought back images of Del's death. "He died well, Maen, and his spirit will find its way to the great halls." Maen nodded slowly, and Roryn laid a hand on her back. "Yes, now is a time for grief, Maen. I will not stop you or tell you that it is not..."

He stood up slowly and walked back over to his horse. He mounted it. "I will watch in the forest for signs of Atharen. With hope, he will not be delayed much."

He turned his horse around and trotted back into the forest. Maen could still see him, just. The brown hair of his horse's tail was swishing, and Maen guessed that he too was trying to hide his grief, trying to drown his sorrows in mundane things...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched as Roryn came out of the forest all by himself. She let out a sob. Atharen had perished. That much she knew. Her one person that she had allowed her heart to love after everything that had happened in her life was dead. She was beginning to wonder if every man that she fell in love with would die. Maybe she as a bad omen or something of that type.

She watched as Roryn said something to Maen. She lowered her head and pulled up her cloak's hood. Uncontrolled tears fell down her face like small rivers that were trying to find the sea. She hadn't felt like this in so many years. She had always been able to control her emotions especially in front of others, but she couldn't right now.

Atharen, Ferethor, and Del were all dead. She couldn't even put two and two together. Roryn was sitting on his horse, looking out over the forest as if waiting. She couldn't even think straight.

[Kransha]

Idruil’s head lowered as he saw Roryn emerge from the woods alone. As far as he now knew, the others were all dead, lost somewhere behind on the roadside as they prey of foul bandits. He could feel no true pain for their passing, no real sting in his heart at this symbol of their loss. He looked to Crystal, who was obviously crying beneath her hood. He almost wanted to shed a tear, but found he could not for the life of him. It would be pathetic to try, so he merely let his stony face remain cold and unemotional. No new expression of supreme sorrow soured his gait and he merely sat there in the saddle, motionless and calm.

There was an unsettling silence that had descended over them all. It was getting to Idruil as well, though his face remained straight and lacking of any hint of sadness. He wheeled Ecthelion around slowly and carefully, surveying the shroud that covered him and his companions. He took a deep breath, composing himself as a saddened look crept across his features. He began speaking in rhythm, at first under his breath, but later just loud enough to be heard. His gruff vocalizations became smoother as the verse slowly formed within him.

“The empty ruin of warriors felled
Now left, untouched, by life
Spirits mighty may ascend
To halls that bear no strife

The tears we shed for comrades slain
Their lofty biers we bear
Are needed not by those who fell
For peace at last is theirs

The sun may rise, the sun may set
Each day may come and go
But they shall see the sun eternal
And golden rivers flow”

He halted at last, the song fading gently into the bristling wind. He took another solemn breath, and spoke again in a tranquil whisper, “By the grace of Illuvatar, may any valiant soul who met their doom this day find peace in the timeless halls and be remembered in what way they wished. Bring them safely to your domain and let their rest be a sound and peaceful one, undisturbed by war and death.” He said, lowering his head again. His calmer voice faded and, as he finished the utterance, it returned to its stronger, sterner self.

Idruil’s cold eyes looked up again from the barren ground, looking first to Crystal, then to Carathir, then to Maen, and finally to Roryn, who still sat atop his horse scanning the area in the opposite direction. He could not fathom whatever Roryn was doing, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care anyway. From what had been indicated, Atharen, Ferethor, and Delphinious had all been slain by those ruffians and nothing could be done about it. No sense in deluding oneself, he thought. When the time came they would all return to the mission at hand and this incident's stabbing pain would evaporate. The dead were dead and naught could be done to undo that state. Idruil didn't plan on getting lost in misery. He had lost dear friends, his parents, most of the people dear to him. He barely knew Atharen, Ferethor, or Del so it would be insulting to pretend that he was heartbroken about their passing.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor came to his conciousness painfully, as the sun sank behind the snow-crowned peaks of White Mountains. Passing a hand over his fevered brow, he slowly rose to his feet. Ferethor was faint with loss of blood and in great anguish, so that he had taken but few steps before he swayed and grasped a tree for support in dismay. After a moment of strife with his weariness and grief, he sank down by a young birch to comtemplate his next move as darkness gathered.


"A bitter end is this to all my hope!" He cried out in bitterness. "Yet while my strength remains I must go on." Indeed it was only his stern will that aided him as he crept from the eve of encircling trees to the scene of battle, which was terrible to behold.


Foul carrion dwimmered o'er the deserted battlefield their fey and desolate cries echoing around the barren hills. Raiders of Harad have not bothered to bury or cremenate their dead and their limp forms made Ferethor slightly afraid as he stood alone swaying. So it was that Ferethor came upon Del in the midst of slain as he crept upon the scene.


"Del!" Ferethor knelt down, clasping his hand. "Awake! We are alone." At his call Del stirred and opened his eyes, bright and moist but foreshadowed with death."Ferethor, my time has passed. Falling valiantly in battle was my desire, rather then fall prey to old age and die witless and alone." Del winced as he slightly raised his head to meet Ferethor's concerned gaze, speaking in a low voice strained with effort and anguish. "Such desire is fulfilled, and I am content. Do not mourn for me. I have only this to bid you - watch over the company in my stead. Farewell, until we meet again beyond the circles of this world!" So ended Del, not the least valiant of the warriors of Edain. Ferethor fell silent stricken with sorrow, utterly regardless of his own pain and weariness.


At last Ferethor gently took the hilt of the sword from Del's lifeless hand and saw that it had broken asunder. Laying it at his feet wiht all the other weapons of bandits that he could gather, Ferethor laughed as one fey with bitter anguish of mind, crying "Thus have you been enmeshed in the Doom of Illuvatar to children of Men, and have escaped the circles of this world."


Ferethor then sang a song of lamentation softly to aid the dead as was the custom in Gondor his voice clear and carrying alone in this hill of death.


As sunbeams of golden hue besprangled the day
Outlaw raiders from Harad did we have to face
Their drawn blades of steel gleaming fey
Wrathful counternances full of grim menace


From peril of the blades and fire and ravenous foes
Del fled not in terror but would fain rather stay
For proud was this child of Atani and valourous
As he sought to open for us an escaping way


If it was not for him we would no be here hence
Yet there fell and passed away he - Del of Gondor
How halls of Mandos does he wander and glance
Yet we who are doomed to stay lament forevermore


Then Ferethor ceased to sing softly and laid the lifeless hand down with what amounted to almost reverence echoing his last words "Farewell until we meet again beyond the circles of this world!" Then he fell silent.


He sought to cool his fevered brow as he took his flint and kindled a bundle of leaves, gazing at the fiery flame as if hypnotized by it's rhythmic movements before casting it down. The barren dune was set aflame and wreathed in smoke, as consuming flame devoured the bloodstained field. Turning, he left the charred and blackened field behind him, naming it the Plain of Immeasureable Lamentation.


Ferethor then took to tracking the lost company through the woods, spent with grief and the wound ever sapping his strength. He had little hope to follow a horseback company in such a state. Indeed Ferethor would have fain laid himself down and embraced death had he not been driven by Del's bidding to watch over the company in his stead.

[Everdawn]

“Its just like the men, you know.” Stated Maén hurriedly, “Fight first, ask question later. For all we know, those riders may have been simple traders riding on their way to Gondor.” She could tell that Idruil had chosen to ignore the remark.

Hittai shifted restlessly beneath her. The surrounding brush seemed quiet. Maén dismounted and stood at the animals side.

“It’s quiet” she muttered. “Too quiet.” Pacing now around Hittai she began to survey her surroundings, it was getting dark. Carathir too had dismounted his handsome Thaoura and began to peer into the wood as well.

Upon the air Maén began to hear the fain sounds of a horses hooves on hard ground.

“Maén, do you her that?” Idruil asked still atop his horse.

“Indeed.” She said almost in a whisper. There was little time to prepare for any attack when it was Roryn not a Haradrim who passed beyond the entrance of the grove. He was alone. Maén frowned. Her look of anger was apparent to those present. Roryn dismounted and approached the small corss-armed woman with a respective nod.

"Atharen still lives, he went back to look for Ferethor, who we lost on the way here. I suspect they are both alive...we lost Delphinious.."

Maen nodded grimly. "He fought bravely Maen, he fought and killed many foes. He gave us time to go, and we repaid him duly for that...Atharen knows as well as I what Haradrim do to prisoners, and we knew Del would have appreciated a quick death..."his voice trailed off as he too fought back images of Del's death. "He died well, Maen, and his spirit will find its way to the great halls." Maen nodded slowly, and Roryn laid a hand on her back. "Yes, now is a time for grief, Maen. I will not stop you or tell you that it is not..."

He stood up slowly and walked back over to his horse. He mounted it. "I will watch in the forest for signs of Atharen. With hope, he will not be delayed much."

Roryn turned and rode in the other direction. Maén’s face was still hard and cold as stone. “I regret to inform you all that one of our companions is dead.”

More tears fell from the eyes of Crystal. Maén was used to being informed of deaths, so this task was not totally alienated from her, it was one of the many downsides to being of military breeding. “Del has been slain in battle.” They were the words which she had so often heard repeated to her in times of war.


“ Captain Salome Il Galoth- slain in battle, Mircent Il Galoth-slain in battle, Gracon Il Galoth-Slain in battle, Captain Miradan Il Galoth-Slain in Battle …”

Maén sat upon a pew in the citadel, a black veil covering her little face next to her was Lysia, young, beautiful aunt Lysia. As if by some magic the years of time had attacked her features, she made no sound when the name of her husband was called out by King Elessar, she was still. Maén returned her attention to the king as the names of their house were read out one by one.


“Lormhand Il Galoth- Slain in Battle, Crainden Il Galoth- Slain in Battle, Craindan Il Galoth- slain in battle, Crainwell Il Galoth- Slain in battle, Captain Riondel Il Galoth- Slain in battle, Peruvial Il Galoth-Slain in battle, Aeromir Il Galoth-Sliain in Battle, Aeroden Il Galoth slain in battle.”

Maén shook her head clear of the memories. “The others are alive as far as we can tell, true to my word, twenty-five thousand in gold will be payed out in full to any remaining member of his house. A grievous and regrettable tragedy.” She sat down abruptly, like always in these times, there was absolutely no show of emotion to be found upon her fair face.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal's head snapped up at the faint sound of Ferethor's voice wafted from out of the safety of the shadows from the trees. He stood leaning against one of the many tree trunks, it was clearly evident that he was wounded. A shed of hope filled her heart as she galloped away from the company. Maen called out to her in confusion, but she continued on until she had reached Ferethor's side. She jumped down from her stallion and put a hand upon his arm.

"Ferethor! You look horrible. Please, I know we are somewhat of enemies, but you need some sort of medical attention. We are too far away from any town at the moment. You are going to have to trust me to save your life. Otherwise, Ferethor you will die," Crystal said quickly as her eyes assessed the damaged. Ferethor nodded weakly. With amazing strength she pushed Ferethor up on top of the stallion and got on besides him. She hurried back to the company.

"Someone find a truffle root. Six or more should do. Please hurry. Ferethor does not have much time remaining," Crystal yelled as she hurried back over to them. She stopped her horse quickly and jumped down. The men came over and helped her lay Ferethor on his back.

Crystal hoped that he wouldn't flinch when she took out her dagger. She took it out slowly, trying to be as unthreatening as possible. She knew that she would have to cut his clothes to get to his wounds, but she was afraid. She swallowed her fear and eased her knife through his clothes. It teared easily. She opened the opening and gasped. The wound was deep. She hoped that whomever decided to get her the herb that she needed would be back shortly.

She shifted through her pack and found the small set of other herbs that the travellers had given to her. She put some of them together in her hand and grabbed a rock. She began to smash them, trying to make them fine and smooth as not to hurt Ferethor any more. She grabbed her cantine and poured a droplet of water over it to give it a more paste like substance and gently rubbed into Ferethor's wound.

He yelled out in pain and Crystal pulled her hands away.
"I am sorry if it hurts, but it is the only way," Crystal said softly. She continued her work. Ferethor would wince and his muscles would move under her fingers, but he refrained from crying out. When the paste was done she looked around. Surely someone had found them? A hand handed her the herbs that she had desperately needed. She mumbled a thank you and put them in her mouth.

This remedy could be thought as crude, but saliva and truffle roots were one of things that would save him. She took the mushed up truffle roots out of her mouth and forced herself to cry on them. Droplets of her tears splashed and remained on the mush. When she was done she placed the mush on the wound and rubbed it in once more.

The task was tedious, much more so then the last mixture of paste she had rubbed into him. It took time and Crystal was afraid that their time had run out. Finally after what seemed like years the mixture was rubbed in enough. She opened her cloak and ripped off one of her sleves. She used it as a bandage for Ferethor.

When she was completely done she sat back, heaving. She had never done this before under the imense stress that she had been experiencing in her mind. She had never knew that weary, mind straining toll it took upon a person to try to save another.

"He shall be alright now."

[piosenniel]

Eorl of Rohan's post

Crystal? Ferethor's wavering senses clarified for a moment as he fell onto the tufts of long grass dazed. And in the next instant, Ferethor was aware of the vulnerable situation he was in and tried to rise to his feet but failed to do so. Gasping in bitter pain that flashed through his shoulder, Ferethor raised himself into a sitting position after much effort and found himself staring into concerned eyes of Crystal.

Her voice seemed dim and far away, somehow. "You are going to have to trust me to save your life. Otherwise, you'd die. Death. What a welcome proposition it seemed. Wincing in anguish, Ferethor tried to pull away but found not the strength to master his own body.

I could have died instead of Del. Crystal began yelling, but Ferethor did not hearken to what she was saying or anything else. He was younger then me and had a whole life ahead of him. I... I live for vengeance only which is scarcely a worthy cause. Yet why?

Ferethor's vision focused after a while and he could see Crystal kneeling next to him with a slim blade in her hand. Then bitter pain coursed to every senses and the Guard pulled away with a low cry of anguish. Why can't everyone just leave me alone to die? Crystal withdrew her hands for a moment in hesitation and whispered, "I am sorry if it hurts, but it is the only way." And Ferethor fell silent and let her work.

Even though time and pain were subjective it took long, Ferethor realized that his wound was probably more grievous then he first thought. But at last Crystal was done with what she was doing and bandaged the shoulder with white substance he did not recognize. Sighing in relief, Ferethor curled up like a wounded dog and unclenched his frozen fists.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched Ferethor's pain. As much as they didn't get along and as much as she was weary of him she didn't like to see him in pain. She placed her hand on his forehead, it was cold. She took her cloak off and put it over him.

"Sleep, Ferethor. Sleep dreamless dreams. You are safe," Crystal whispered softly.

There wasn't anything else she could do for him. The only thing that had brought her any amount of luck in her life was the necklace that was buried underneath her clothing. It was her mother's and she loved it dearly. It had seemed to keep her alive through sickness and wounds and was just plain lucky at other times. She wasn't very superstitious, but she believed in the necklace.

She unclasped it and put it around Ferethor's neck.

"May it bring you the luck that it has brought me," Crystal said gently. She backed away and sat next to him, staring off into the distance.

[Everdawn]

Maén had watched Ferethor wander into camp wounded, she said nothing but her eyes followed him across the camp. She had not taken the liberty to sleep for the few hours in which they were waiting. Her arms folded, Maén surveyed the members in the camp, and Crystal who had gone to Ferethor to help him. A new matter was posed in her mind, where was Atharen and Roryn?

Her attention turned from the injured one, to Carathir. He had a strange look across his face, it was a smile. She hardly lingered on it, supposing that he was happy that Ferethor was found.

“What are you thinking Miss?” came the voice of Idruil who was seated upon a log near her. She snapped her head around and stared at him for a moment.

“Im thinking that our ranger friends should come in a while, I t would be a shame to have their loss as well as Del. It is a hard truth that we cannot stop to give him a proper burial. He fell behind, the bandits will see to him. Is all im thinking.”

“Grievous thoughts for a lady as you ma’am.” He replied and went back to his own devices.

“Indeed, but they are mine all the same.” Maén once again looked over at Crystal who was sitting beside Ferethor. “I see you have resolved your differences.” She observed. “You are a good woman Crystal, I wont deny that.” Crystal nodded.

Maén once again rolled up the sleeves of her tunic and removed her cloak and sat on the ground opposite them. She at once caught Crystal’s eyes searching her arm where her dreaded scar was. She moved her arm away from sight. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“You want to know?” Maén said gravely, Crystal nodded. “It is Guriel who caused this. When I was a girl I went into my father’s study when he was not there and he caught me looking through the very documents that I have in my possession now. I was knocked into his fire place.” She went on to tell more but stopped herself. “Satisfied?”

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn gently moved through the trees. He had left the camp some minutes before, and he hoped that none had noted his departure. He was going back to look for Del's body, and to try and give it some sort of dignity. He trekked for several more minutes, wary of making noise at all, as he knew there were bandits still around, and he was on his own this time.

Stepping into the clearing he saw Del's body propped up against a tree, a blackbird pecking at it. He swore, getting the bird away would create a huge amount of noise, shooting it would cause less...Drawing his bow he strung an arrow to it, and drew it back to his cheek. Aiming carefully he fired. The arrow ripped through the bird with hardly a noise, and pinned its lifeless corpse to the tree. Roryn spat at the ground, he had not wanted to do that...

Walking quietly over to Del he laid him on the ground, put the hild of his sword in one hand and his shield in the other. He crossed Del's arms, and laid his feet straight, then he began to dig with a buckler he had on his back...

After an hour's laborious work, it was ready. He said the funeral and placed Del's body in the grave, and covered it over. He was surprised even at himself when a small tear fell down his cheek. Turning around, he set off bck for the camp...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal bowed her head at the knowledge that Maen had shared with her. They had been through even some what similar lives. She felt sorry for that fact.

"I had no idea and I certainly didn't mean to offend you," Crystal said softly. She pulled her other sleve up and showed Maen a deep, white line that went from her wrist all the way up, continuing out of sight.

The scar was from her father. Her mother had forced him in teaching her how to sword fight, but he had taken his anger out on her. The pain still seared at times.

"My mother made my father teach me how to sword fight. My father was very angry and took his anger out of me with his sword. It continues across my back in slashes. I understand pain of the flesh," Crystal said softly.

[Eorl of Rohan]

The sickle of the Valar swung in the northern night heaven of Arda , glimmering as if faded with grief and sorrow of Quendi and Atanatari. Star Helluin that Elbereth star-kindler had set there glistened unsullied with a pale blue light amidst the dispersing mists, whence sailed Earendil's vessel. Constellation Menelcamar blazed with splendor in the eastern firmament in glory, signifying the end of days when Belcha Morgoth shall be freed.


The starlit glade was silent and without movement, if dancing leaves in tune to the autumn breeze did not count. That is, except for Ferethor who was now aroused.


Ferethor recovered swiftly for fire of life was yet strong in this youthful captain of Minas Tirith and the wound was not too severe. Yet he was only sustained at times by his willlpower and would cry out in times of great aguish notwithstanding his endurance.


Yet Ferethor was no longer what he had been. Strange indeed have Ferethor grown of late, since his grievious injury in the encounter with the raiders of Harad. More wordless and enduring in silence with no verstige of his lofty manner remaining, and slow to hot flashes of anger that he had often shown. Depressed and seemingly unconcious of his surroundings at times, Ferethor would speak in a low murmur about things that directly related to himself and will not join in any discussion pertaining the next stage of their journey.


Ferethor was sitting awake, passing his hand over his fevered brow. His gaze strayed to the high heaven where gems of Elbereth Elentari sparkled in many-colored hues. He was alive and in full faculty of his senses, although he was not sure that it was a blessing or a curse. 'But it is not given us to decide the time or rule our own end.' He thought.


The anguish with which Ferethor suffered from ebbed down and faded with the passage of time, for which he was much glad. Then Ferethor noted with some surprise and doubt that something hung by his neck and reached out for it. Slender links of silver and bronze links clinked in his hands and a pendant of exquisite workmanship was fastened at the end. It was wrought of silver and Ithildin and inlaid with chips of sapphire and ruby, and gleamed in the likeness of Telperion's blossom.


Turning it over bemusedly in his hands, Ferethor noted tiny letters scratched in the silver-wrought petals on the metallic blossom. "May Lady of the Stars ward thee from peril, Crystal" Murmuring the words he could decipher, Ferethor was dismayed to learn that it was Crystal's and impulsively cast it down. The fair pendant, striking a stone in its descent, rolled into the mud and gleamed there still though it was half-buried in the mud.


This morn, the searing anguish was acute enough to threaten his very will and sanity, and Ferethor was too spent and weary to care about anything. But now fully aroused and looking back to this morning, Ferethor flushed in shame and anger and was wroth with his weakness. Allowing himself to be in a position of helplessness, utterly unable to resist anything or defend himself with wavering conciousness....


Captain Ferethor shook off such dark thoughts angrily and there was litte change in his grave countenance. Everyone seemed to his asleep with weariness from long toil and journey, or so it seemed to him. Sitting there rigidly and and unmoving as if he were wrought of granite, he wondered what would be passing through their minds. Worry? Anticipitation?


His wide-open and alert grey eyes scanned the woods, bright and intelligent but shadowed with some darkness no one can decipher. Ferethor recalled that Maen had said something about leaving. 'Since I 'm the only horseless person on the expedition, I shall be forced to tread the path on foot. Ferethor thought with some bitterness. Yet we can easily procure a horse in one of the Atani settlements. As a sentinel of Gondor on official mission I will have little trouble acquiring a emergency steed reserved for errand-riders.'


Ferethor arose then, wincing at the bitter pain that flashed through his muscles every time he moved his shoulder - the anguish that had been the reason for being awake in the middle of the night suddenly. He wandered over to the east until he came across a clear creek.


The little stream flowed down by a rocky crevice singing merrily like the music of Ulmo Lord of Waters unstained and seemingly unaware of grief and weariness in the world that beset the children of Iluvatar. Ferethor knelt down and cleansed his wounds by scooping up transparent water of cool tranquility for a while, but then he sighed and cried out, "Blood may be cleansed and wounds may heal, but who shall relieve us from despair and anguish of mind, save it be Iluvatar who dwells beyond our call for ever?"


It was almost dawn by the time he came back to the camp alone, limping. Few of the members of expedition were awake and could be seen in the shadows of darkness, others were still sleeping. 'A new stage of the journey opens before us.' Ferethor munched thoughtfully upon a piece of cram as he watched the new dawn. 'Will we survive it? Will any?'

[Kransha]

“Grievous thoughts for a lady as you, ma’am.” Murmured Idruil, half under his breath as Maen Il Galoth turned away. He knew that she was worrying about the others who had not yet returned. Once again, he pried every volume of himself apart searching for more visible concern, but discovered none.

He’d lost too many dear to him. His sense of loss had been somehow sterilized by his past. Memories that clouded his mind in shadow flooded back to him in gruesome detail. He saw himself through new eyes, looking down from the White City’s walls on the field of Pelennor. He saw a pale light descending on both him and the fading memory, wrought with blurred vision as the man of Gondor watched himself flitting by from place to place in the dream-like memory. From level to level he had gone, searching in vain on the field below for any sign of his family’s heralded banner held aloft.

Idruil’s father did not return from that field alive, but instead borne on a crude bier by his fellow soldiers. As much as Idruil had befriended his parent, he could not feel the pain in his heart any longer. Despite emotional devastation, he did not mourn, he did not weep, and he never spoke of his father again. When his mother passed less than a year later, crushed by the loss of her husband’s life and her son’s soul, Idruil still showed no concern. He did not consider himself soulless, though he knew that he had slowly become less human as death of friends and loved ones stopped affecting him.

“Rest in peace, all ye who passed this day.” He said, more to himself than the others. At least Ferethor was alive, though he knew not how Atharen and Roryn were faring now. Hopefully, he vile bandits had abandoned the field. He felt no shame, but great regret at not forcing the issue and insisting to stay behind and fight with the others as he should’ve done in the first place.

He spoke up, looking to Maen and Crystal, “How long must we linger here? This dark day is passing and we must leave it where it lies. There is no use in mourning eternally, for it will only darken our own souls with misery, which is something we do not need. When do we continue our search?”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked over at Ferethor and saw her mother's pendant in the mud. She reached over him and took it out. The precious metal and jewels now had caked mud. She rubbed it away. Her eyes glared at Ferethor.

"You know Ferethor this was my mothers. She gave it to me. Had it reengraved. It brings me luck and somehow helps with wounds. I gave you this luck so you might be alright. You know you shouldn't treat the person that just saved your life like common scum," Crystal said softly to him, her anger apparent but her voice not loud.

She had stepped out on a limb with Ferethor. She had offered her healing skills and techniques and her mother's necklace. Her most prized possession. One of the last reminders of her mother. The last reminders of Arty. He had been there the day that her mother had given her that necklace. It had been her sixteenth birthday. A day that should have been a joyous time. A day that shouldn't have ended in tragedy.

Her mother's illness had taken over her and she had died at her side. There wasn't anything that she could do about it. There was belief that her father had slowly poisoned her so he could send his troops to war. Arty had even said he had seen her father do it. As soon as those words tumbled out of Arty's mouth she had wished they hadn't. Her father had been right there and Arty had accused them.

General Dorian's anger was incomprehensible. He had grabbed Arty behind his neck and had thrown him outside. She had ran after her father, pleading and crying for his life. That was the day the beatings started. He threw Arty aside and had taken out all of his hatred and anger out on her body. Arty tried to save her, but General Dorian had started in on Arty. In the end Arty lay on the ground, heaving when her father brought out his bow and arrow. Arty was slain right before her eyes.

Now here was another man that was vunerable, that could use this luck and he was casting it aside. That was how he was, she guessed.

And there was another man that held her attention, somewhere out in the woods. He hadn't returned and it was likely that he never would.

Crystal sat back and gazed out into the woods, hoping for a miracle.

[Melisil]

Aelimur had sat silently, and cold as stone as the news of all the deaths passed through his ears. He looked to the ground in dismay. Swirling thoughts of everything were passing through his head untill Crystal started to ride off.

He looked up. Crystal was returning already, Ferethor with her! He's alive! Aelimur thought quickly. His eyes scanned where Crystal had found him.

He watched the spot tentively, hoping that maybe one other wanderer, in turn, would show up. Namely Atharan or Del. He stopped himself before too long though, as the words Maen had spoken moments before Ferethor showed up returned to his mind. “I regret to inform you all that one of our companions is dead. Del has been slain in battle.”

"No." he said silently to himself, "Never trust a wish." he continued on in his own thoughts, 'Del is dead. Roryn saw him fall... I think. Did he? Maybe he did survive, maybe Del stayed behind, and with some miraculous feat defeated our attackers!' Aelimur shook himself, 'Stop it Aelimur, you fool. He died, that's all there is. Ah, at least no more fell.

Aelimur had found somewhat of a friend in Del, and he wasn't sure how many of those he would find in this company. Many aquaintances, yes, allies, maybe. But friends? Probably not many. He scanned the crowd; Maen, she was his employer, as of yet, nothing much more to him.. Crystal, she could be a friend, he wasn't sure.. Ferethor, slightly, yes. Aelimur and Ferethor were slight friends. Carathir and Idruil, neither of them he knew much of yet. Roryn and Atharan, well Aelimur didn't know much of them yet either.. probably they would know each other as no more then people that had traveled together though.

Aelimur shook himself. He stood up, and walked over to Maen, "My lady, are we to continue on when Roryn and Atharan return? Or camp here?" he asked this almost mechanically. Although it wasn't habit, the death of anyone, whether he knew them well or otherwise, tended to make him seperated from others, so he asked as a means of keeping himself going and in touch with the group.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Golden and orange color mingled into a suffuse glow in high heaven of Arda, announcing the arrival of dawn. Swirling clouds seemed as if kindled with fire and snow-crowned Eryn Luin could be descried amid flowing mist.


When Ferethor limped dejectedly back to camp after a while, he found a strange trouble awaiting him at his arrival. Crystal was awake and glaring at Ferethor, obviously incensed at his treatment of her silver pendant. "You know Ferethor this was my mothers. You know you shouldn't treat the person that just saved your life like common scum," She spoke.


As if one aroused from a deep reverie Ferethor turned to her, his thoughtful glance questioning. "Crystal, I would not have thought this necklace was of great value to you if you lent it to me of all people. Only yesterday you seemed fain to slay me where I stand, if my remembrance does not fail me utterly. And if it comes to the question of defilement, better mud then accursed myself." Ferethor said mildly.


Nodding curtly at Crystal, he circled the glade in search for a place to be alone in his grief and guilt without any untimely interruptions of these nature. Finding no such secluded place, he watched the dawn break with an expression no one could fathom. Ferethor wondered if he was crazed for a moment before discarding that forboding thought.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched as Ferethor tried to find a place of seclusion. She sat and thought. Yes, it was true she had tried to kill him only a day prior but current events had caused her to see the error of her ways.

A member of their company was dead. A kind and wonderful man that she had wanted to get to know. Who knows what he could have been if he had only been given the chance.

She applied that to Ferethor. Who knows who he really is deep inside, protected by his rough and tough casing that he wore so proudly? Who really knew the man behind the sword? Who really knew Ferethor?

She got up and walked over to him softly. She stopped behind him, but didn't make a move to touch him in anyway. She licked her lips and swallowed.

"Ferethor, I apologize for my rash actions the other day. You seem so much like the men that my father leads that I was afraid. Afraid that you were an assassain that was coming along for the ride and waiting 'til the opportune time to catch me and take me back as some sort of prize. It was my fear that clouded my judgement. The only thing that I had to be suspicious towards you with was the fact that you knew my father," Crystal said. She paused as she took in a ragged breath.

"If you know my father, if you want to take me back as a prize to collect the reward, if you want to see me dead I don't care anymore. The reason I lent you my pendant was a sign of a peace offering. It was my way of saying even if we do not see everything eye to eye, I am placing my trust in you. Ferethor, I could have killed you with my healing. You were weak and vunerable and I could have killed you. But I could not. You are human and each human deserves a chance to be trusted. Even though you know my father, I decided at that moment to trust you no matter where that may lead," Crystal said as her head bowed.

She had no idea what Ferethor would think of her words. She had no idea if her trust would bring her to her end. She had no idea what would happen from here. She could only hope that her trust wouldn't be in vain.

"I wasn't allowed to grow up normally, Ferethor. That is my flaw. That I still must grow up. A flaw I've been over looking. I hope you forgive me and I hope that you and I could become friends at one point some day," Crystal sighed as she turned away. The camp loomed over her senses. Somewhere deep inside her she knew that this was the extent of their company now. They had lost two fine men, Del and Atharen. Her heat sadened, but she lifted her head and started to make her way over to the camp.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Crystal's brutal frankness took Ferethor at unawares, he who had only come to expect from the maiden what he would of himself - proud, stern, unrelenting for good or for evil. Ferethor wondered at the sudden change that had befallen Crystal, and then with dismay cast his hood over his raven-black hair to hide his expression of both amaze and... admiration.


"Your fears were not wholly unfounded, Crystal." Ferethor spoke bitterly yet softly, his thoughts straying back to the time when wrath came near the edge of swords. "I've done worse things than sending a young lass to certain death, in the name of duty and the good of the state. I've betrayed those who trusted me onto a bitter end, assassinated foes by poison and blade and treachery, and set ablaze a whole village leaving all its inhabitants to perish inthe devouring tongues of leaping flame. In the sacred name of Gondor, anything is excused."


And a stunned silence fell, broken only by chirping birds that greeted the dawn with joyful chatter. "Crystal, this world is hard, harsh and callous. You are young and yet full of dreams and ideals, and I would not fain have you marred and scarred thus in this accursed ARda. Is life so hard to enjoy that you offer me your trust and life so easily? Would you not try to free yourself from the uttermost depths of the abyss of despair that enmeshes your very will with strangling darkness?"


Ferethor paused and then said slowly, "If you will burden me still further by your trust, then I will not fail you in this. Yet would you for ever flee from General Dorian and your very linage, Crystal? He has the control of hundreds of soldiers at his disposal and you are bound to be caught one day or another. I say this to you, as a fellow person who have fortasted the bitterness of life, that you have to face up to him someday."


In the dread silence that followed, Ferethor took a deep breath and added, "If that time ever comes, there would be myself and the strength and power of soldiers of Minas Tirith behind you against his wrath. In this I promise not rashly or lightly." Ferethor added silently to himself, "If I live."

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal turned around and looked at Ferethor in surprise. He was promising his own strength, his troops, and his alliance. What he had just said could be considered an act of war against Rohan.

"You have no idea how much that means to me, Ferethor. I am placing my trust in you because I see now that you are only human. You have your fears as anyone else. I hope we can become allies or friends," Crystal said softly.

There was no hiding the surprise and amazement in her voice. Here was her first initial enemy at the start and now they were becoming an alliance. They were becoming friends.

Yet this change had started with in her. At first it had happened slowly, but when she was trying to heal Ferethor the end of her transformation. In her mind and in her heart she knew that she had no reason to jump to conclusions. She could own her fire, her spirit, her spunk without hurting another human being.

And that was what she had been doing. She had been inflicting her anger and mistrust against Ferethor. She felt sorry for that fact and regretted her actions.

"You are a different man, Ferethor. I would like to get to know you. I apologize for taking my anger, fear, and mistrust out on you. And I will make sure that you will live even if it takes my very life. You have that as my promise, Ferethor," Crystal promised.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Fair hemlock-leaves swayed to and fro gently in the breeze, and the dim darkness was driven out by mists of silver quivering and shimmering dawn-light. Stony and tarnished mountains tall could be descried afar off towering in barren majesty, crowned with whisps of cloud pale snow-woven.


"And I will make sure that you will live even if it takes my very life. You have that as my promise, Ferethor," Crystal whispered. "Let us hope that such things do not come to pass." Captain Ferethor answered, and then rose to his feet, fror he was afraid to speak more of his secret thoughts. Lord Dorian was overstepping his bounds if he actually tries to kill Crystal, though Ferethor was postivie that he would not do such a rash thing. Cruel and callous on some points, yes, but not crazy. If Dorian ever tries, though, he would be justified in...


Therefore he passed swiftly into the eves of the everygreen trees. Making his way through entangled vines of vivd green and passing by tall evergreens casting lenthening shadows, Ferethor came across a glade strewn with early fallen beechen leaves and adorned with wet yellow wild strawberry leaves. The golden-stained leaves of rowans danced to the rhythm of singing breese, and squirrels chattered as they fared about in a bustle of leaves. Sunlight gleamed through flitting leaves in patches of gentle light, and flowers blossoming seemed like beryls, rubies, and opals pale.


There Ferethor cast back his hood to allow for wider vision of this fair place, heedless of any peril that might assail him here. In there still the beauty that was wrought in ancient days seemed to linger and be preserved, unstained by passage of time nor lamentations uncounted. Then Ferethor stayed his steps in wonder, for Atharen the Ranger whom he deemed lost was thrusting his way through the lush woods.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched as Ferethor walked away. They had a friendship. Shaking and probably would not be without arguments as their views were so diverse in many ways, but a friendship nonetheless. She watched as he wandered and pulled his hood down from his head as if wanting to inspect the beauty of the land around them and their camp. She wondered what he was thinking about.

Crystal knew whom she was thinking about. It was starting to become dawn and there had been no sign of Atharen the Ranger, the center of her attentions. She had dispaired within the first hours that he had been killed, but her hope had slowly restored. She had held that hope until she saw the inevitable dawn.

Atharen was a ranger and would search for anyone that he believed was still alive, but he was also apart of the company and knew his importance to them. If he was alive he would have returned back to them much sooner. Crystal had finally given him up to the dead.

That is where, at least it seemed to her heart, where everyone she ever loved ended up. She waited here in the land of the living while the people that she doth love dwelled in the land of the dead.

She looked up once again and watched Ferethor and saw that he was concentrating his eyes on something. She saw the brush and trees and leaves move greatly and out of the woods stood Atharen.

Crystal gasped and her heart stopped. Atharen lived. He lived. Her love... She was sure she was seeing things. She watched as Ferethor and Atharen talked.

Her mind became unfrozen and helped her rise from her position. She stood and suddenly her legs started to go forward. She didn't run, she had no strength. Her knees quivered. She walked slowly over to them and stopped in front of Atharen. She pulled her hood off and swallowed hard.

"I believed that you had fallen to the hands of our enemies. Is it really you, Atharen or just a hopeful dream?" Crystal asked.

She reached out her hand slowly and touched his chest. Her hand recoiled. He was solid, proving he was not a dream. She stepped backward and fell to the ground as her legs tangled. She sat, looking up at Atharen in disbelief.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Arien's sun-vessel was climbing laborously into its zenith, its golden radiance illumining the aqua depths of high heaven. Pale birds that swells by the shores of blue Anduin circled overhead, flying far inland in seeking for food. Crimson and silver drops of flowers with their delicate stems and slender leaves flexed and wavered in the breeze laden with dews that reflected sunlight like silver and crystal flames.


"Thus we meet again, Atharen of the Rangers." Ferethor stirred and raised his grey gaze. "In this glade of encircling lush greenery in the midst of peace, as we did in the scene of flowing blood in the midst of strife! You return in good time, for others were already growing restless and new morn kindled high hope within us."

Ferethor was uncomfortably aware of his bloodstained robe and bandaged shoulder already drenched with blood, hastening to add with a wane smile, "As for myself, most of the blood is not mine anyway, and my shoulder is just a scratch." he would not wish to admit, least of all to Atahren of the Rangers, that he was ever grievious injured or showed weakness. 'Of course, he'd probably know without my telling, in all probability.'


Then Crystal, who had traced Ferethor's steps spoke with a slightly quivering voice that might have derived from amazement or joy. "I believed that you had fallen to the hands of our enemies. Is it really you, Atharen or just a hopeful dream?" Crystal asked. Ferethor's brow creased for a moment, then Ferethor clapped Atharen on the shoulder, saying, "Better deliver the news to the others, then." and leaving with a curt and brusque nod truely soldier-style.


Ferethor made sure that he didn't limp but walked with a desive, firm and steady step until Atharen and Crystal was out of sight. As soon as he did so, Ferethor winced and sat down by a silvery-barked tree to rest and wonder about Atharen's sudden appearance.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen smiled wryly as he shook his hood free of the dew from the low hanging branches, wet with dew and with the light rain of the previous night. Behind him, Roryn emerged from the trees, similarly pulling down his hood. Atharen shook his lightened hair slightly and grinned ironically at Crystal as he replied. "Hopeful dream? No, just me - come, I was gone for a few hours."

"Why?" Crystal replied very quickly, and a strange, unexpected tone in her voice made Atharen stop, examining her face with his eyes. She blushed and looked away which, in a way, made him even more suspicious.

"Myself and Roryn had...some business to attend to," Atharen replied quietly, meeting Ferethor's eyes. The Gondorian nodded, understanding, and inclined his head more definitely in silent thanks. Del was laid to rest. Atharen sighed slightly, then stretched, clicking his neck sharply before he turned in the direction Crystal had indicated before. "Come, I must tell Maen we are back and then we must be on our way. We have dallied too long - the Haradrim bandits were far out of their way, but there are others who roam these places."

"But we have you now."

Atharen paused and turned back to Crystal, thinking he must have misheard. "Pardon, my lady?"

Crystal hesitated, then ammended haltingly, "You two. Rangers. It makes it...safer. You know." She hesitated, holding Atharen's gaze, then gave a small, frustrated noise and moved past him.

Atharen watched her go, slightly bewildered. Had he offended her again? Such behaviour...He glanced at Ferethor, but it seemed the Captain found something amusing as he was smirking very slightly, before he followed Crystal. "Come, ranger - we must get back. And...thankyou," he gave a small smile, then followed Crystal briskly.

Atharen paused, waiting until Roryn was equal with him, then raised his eyebrows at his old comrade. Roryn simply grinned and moved on.

[Kransha]

Idruil stood, exercising his numb, chilled legs for the first time in long hours. The day had come, as he said the previous night when that veil of gloom descended. There was still a stinging darkness lingering in the air around him and the others, but the bright sphere in the sky brought sorely needed warmth as the seemingly barren wasteland of thought and land began opening up in color.

And that color began stirring in Idruil’s pallid features as he watched, one by one, his companions returning. He knew that Delphinious had perished, but the others had miraculously survived. Something alluding to a smile crept across the man’s cold features as he walked forward, assessing the ‘newcomers’ as they headed into the innards of the makeshift camp, chatting quietly amongst themselves.

He turned towards Maen, who was still sitting opposite him, and took a few small steps toward her. To the best of his knowledge, she was still brooding, but he could not tell. All of his comrades seemed to be enigmas all their own, and Lady Maen Il Galoth was no exception. Heading to her, he leaned down and spoke, trying to make his course, hard voice sound more pleasant in these hard times.

“Miss Il Galoth, all those who have survived the fray have now returned. There is naught to do but go on at this point and, if I might be so bold, I suggest we make haste. Though a friend has passed this night, he will not be forgotten if we continue on. Atharen and Roryn have returned, Ferethor is so far well-mended, and to linger here too long would only leave us all vulnerable to a possible counter-attack by the vile rogues that accosted us and took the live of your…of our friend, Delphinious.”

He pulled himself back up again, to his full height, taking a quick glance back at the others.

“My lady, it is time for us to leave this forsaken place.”

[Eorl of Rohan]

At Crystal's strightforward and direct questioning, Atharen seemed rather unwilling to answer. "Myself and Roryn had...some business to attend to," Atharen said quietly, his meaningful gaze turning to Ferethor. 'Del, I guess.' Ferethor nodded slightly in acknowledgement and some thanks as he met Atharen's glance with an alert and thoughtful one of his own. 'I should've done it... If my heart was not too heavy and sorrowful within me to think of such matters.'


Ferethor said curtly, as he looked over to the direction where others were waiting, "Come, I must tell Maen we are back and then we must be on our way." But Atharen and Crystal was conversing with each other still and apparently was heedless of his advice. Seeing Roryn roll his eyes and knowing that he must be thinking the same thing, Ferethor grinned and winked like a child whose prank has succeeded, a rare movement indeed for his grave countenance. "We're all human, after all." He whispered to Roryn. Ferethor's spirit was high indeed, for the journey would start again and all distrust and hatred was renounced and dissolved in this company.


But Ferethor was grim and morose again a moment later, as was benefitting one of a soldier and one who had tasted the embittered life. "If you will, ranger - we must get back." Hesistation. "And... I must thank you." Thank someone - how long it had been when Ferethor felt a genuine thanks and gratitude for one of his race, and when had he ever voiced it unless it was to Meren five years ago? Yet not only for Del's burial. The fact that Ferethor was a human with weaknesses, fruitless longings and with all the dark fruition of Atani that Morgoth sowed long ago - and Atharen never accused him of it. Yes, that was it... A great gift indeed, one that would make a man above a man.


Once again Ferethor wondered what might have Atharen been if he was the captain of guards of Minas Tirith instead of himself. Rule and order, strict to govern and justice without prejudice - that was what he had sought to achieve in the ranks of Minas Tirith and all his life. Ferethor had succeeded to some degree, but what in Arda has it achieved except for to inflict the ruled with fear for those that govern them? As a captain he perceived the minds of the soldiers with keen awareness but beyond that, to understand them, he'd never gone. Perhaps...


"Thank you." He said one more time under his breath, this time for giving him light where darkness reigned. But at the next moment he was Ferethor again, and he made towards the camp with his face drawn in deep thought as if he walked in timeless places of his memory.


Birds began chirping.

[Everdawn]

Maén had been lost in thought for the time which had passed. Another who did so was Carathir, she noticed him watching her. But she thought that it was the young man’s good heart and the pledge that he had made to Lysia which had made him do so. He was strange, and she knew this. Never in all her visits to Lysia’s house had she spoken to him, not a single time. It would not matter now, he was another of her protectors, and she supposed that he would stay true to his word, after all, it was Lysia who had begged the King to spare his life.

Idruil who also seemed slightly alienated from the bunch spoke to her again, surveying the landscape warily. “My lady, it is time for us to leave this forsaken place.”

Maén nodded. “Yes, We will.”

Atharen had returned to camp in the meantime. She would have spoken to him but for the excitement and a seemingly tender Miss Heart. In time though, Atharen came to her. He nodded in the way which he did when something was amiss, “My lady, Del is dead.” Sounding not sure of what context to phrase the death message.

Maén stood. “I know. Roryn told me.” There was silence in all who had stopped to listen. “Don’t look to be sad. I knew the man barely a week, he was a good employee during that time, and we shall miss him in my protection.” There were several sharp glances from some of her compatriots.

“Takes a cold woman” muttered Ferethor, though Maén did not acknowledge it. Rather she picked up her belongings and mounted faithful Hittai.

“We ride now.” She said.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn grinned at Atharen and whispered in his ear, "Never try to understand a woman, my friend." Atharen chuckled and nodded. Roryn went and sat down and started to build a fire. finishing it he struck it alight with two hunks of stone. Warming his hands against it he took a sausage out of his horse's pack, and stuck it on a knife. He toasted it over the fire for a moment, before biting off the end.

"We should move on..." he said, "There are still bandits, and it will not take them long to find us again. For now they are angry and confused, but they will soon become angry and focused. We must mvoe swiftly, and without trail."

[Eorl of Rohan]

The noon sun was straying towards the ground again by the time all assembled in the camp and readied themselves for the nect part of the great journey that lay hid ahead.


Ferethor broke off a dry branch for lack of anything else to do. Dead beechen leaves showered down from the stick as Ferethor cast it afar into the forest with a flick of his wrist. The shoulder seemed decently mended, at least enough to move it with ease, and it amazed him that it should heal so quickly when last time he recieved an arrow he wandered long in the threshold of death.


"By the Valarukar!" Ferethor swore softly when he felt for his blade and found it not. "Damn the fate, I've left it at the scene of battle. No use going back for it now... No use..." He was not a person who tarried with trifles.


Maen slung himself over her steed Hittai who persisted in jumping about like a pony, crying, "We ride now." A shadow passed over Ferethor's expression at that, as Maen had used the word 'ride' and he was not sure he could keep up with the company on foot in this status. But he shrugged nonechalantly as he knelt to check his bootlaces before leaving. Let tomorrow remain tomorrow!

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal heard Maen tell them to ride. She looked over at Ferethor. He was still injured and she assumed he was still in pain. She took her horse's nose and made the horse look at her.

"Now listen to me. I know you haven't had much time to get use to any of us. But there is a man that needs you to carry him much more then I need you. Be gentle with him," Crystal said softly. The horse snorted and gave a type of nod which Crystal guessed as he understood. She took the reigns and brought the horse over to Ferethor.

"I know you must be in pain. Please, take my horse. It won't hurt me to walk a while," Crystal said as she put the reigns in his hand. With that she turned away quickly, so he couldn't object and hurried off towards the others.

[Eorl of Rohan]

The automn-stained leaves overhanging the glade were swaying with the breeze as if waving them on. Each of them seemed to be wrought in living flame as it met the full ray of the sun, sparkling like gems of many different hue and shapes.


"Crystal..." Captain Ferethor called out and quelled his impulsive anger and resentment directly that did credit to his control, seeing as he was proud. He continued when she looked back.


“I thank you for taking thought for me, lass, but I am as healed as I am likely to be for weeks - and I will not take any favor from you, be it great or small. Therefore take your horse! We will have weary and long travail ahead of our journey and we wouldn’t have you straggle behind if you had to walk on foot and couldn’t catch up with us. As for myself, I’ve been through harder marches.”


“Besides…” And at this Ferethor smiled half-heartedly in an attempt for lightness as he handed the rein back to Crystal with nonechalance. “I think this horse likes you better then myself, for that matter.”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal nodded and let out a soft, light laugh that seemed to ring through the forest. She bowed her head at Ferethor.

"If you insist. I'm sure the horse does like me better. At any time you want my horse, I will gladly walk. I'm not unuse to enormous amounts of walking. I've been walking around, trying to hide from General Dorian's men for over two years. A little more walking wouldn't hurt me. Please remember that my offer will stay for as long as you may need it," Crystal said. She patted the horse's face and jumped up into the saddle. She smiled at Ferethor then coaxed the stallion forward.

It was different for her to have let out that laugh, that much she knew. She hadn't laughed since over five years. She wasn't one that ever had the opportunity to laugh at any occassion. It had felt so wonderful to laugh once again. She had forgotten about laughter. She made a concious effort to try to laugh once again. There had been too much pain and sorrow in her life. There had to be time for laughter and happiness once again.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen looked up sharply as Crystal laughed. The sound was like intangible water, like immaterial gold flowing through the air...a few lines of a song sung by a sweet voiced minstrel who had once passed through his mother's Inn came to Atharen's mind as he looked at Crystal.

The lady of the wood is fair of face,
And gold spun fine around it flows.
Fair and chaste, her voice is pure,
She sings as nightingale in midnight grove.
Fair and chaste, her voice is pure.
Fair and chaste, her heart is yours...

The ranger blinked as the last line crept up on him by surprise, and he very nearly blushed at the foolish thought. Daft and fanciful, your mind is, fool, he remanded himself, then grinned slightly. As the company began to move, Atharen moved his mare forward to Crystal's side and bent slightly in his saddle to speak from a few inches above her head.

"My Lady Crystal," he murmured, and she spun around, shocked. Atharen continued, unphased, his dark eyes unmoved. "Crystal, you cannot walk whilst we ride."

"I am strong enough, Atharen," she replied proudly, and subconciously straightened up slightly, her chin rising: every inch the daughter of a warrior.

I do not doubt it, he replied mentally, but aloud said, "Aye, but 'tis impractical to wear you out: if we were to be attacked again you would be of no use and would not be able to get away to help Maen either. My mare can carry two - will you join me?"

His logical reasoning made it seem like purely a practical arrangement, but for once Atharen was not meeting the other's eyes as he spoke. As he finished, he lowered his gaze to hers, knowing they would give nothing away to either Crystal or his other companions, although he was secretly, ridiculously, a little nervous of what she would reply.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked up at Atharen in surprise. He was asking her to ride with him, something that she wanted to do very much. She would be in the closet proximity of him. Her heart raced and her face flushed.

"That makes perfect sense. I was going to walk beside my stallion so he wouldn't tire when Ferethor needed him. He refused my offer. I accept your offer, Atharen," Crystal replied.

She took a step backward and tried to figure out a way that she could ride. Would she ride behind or in front of him? She had no idea. She had never rode a horse with someone else before and especially not a man that held her very thoughts. She looked up at the horse and felt very small and swallowed hard. I must look like such an idiot, just standing here, Crystal thought sadly. Her red face deepened in color. She wanted to sink into the ground, but she stood there and hoped that Atharen would save her from her embarrasement.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen swivelled around to dismount smoothly on the other side of the horse, the side Crystal was not standing on. Coming around the front of the horse, he gestured towards the horse. "If you get on first...I will sit in front, if that is alright with you? It allows me to ride more easily..."

Crystal nodded quickly, apparently relieved then, after a moment's hesitation, she put one foot in the stirrup. The horse was obviously a few hands larger than she was used to though so, with utmost carefullness, Atharen put his hands on her waist. She gasped very quietly, and Atharen counted to three very carefully before boosting her jump. She mounted smoothly, and turned to the other side, fiddling with one stirrup, meaning Atharen was unable to see her face. As she gave him no indication that she was or was not ready, the ranger gave her a moment, then placed both gloved hands on the saddle in front of Crystal and one foot in the stirrup, and swung up carefully. The saddle was of one of the more old-fashioned and less fancy designs, and so had virtually no pommel, making it easier for him to slide back until he was just in front of Crystal.

Taking a deep breath and pretending he could not feel her prescence quite so accutely, he gathered the reigns in one hand and turned his head slightly over his shoulder. "Ready?"

A nod came in reply - Crystal seemed mute. Atharen set the horse walking and, as he felt Crystal's hands slip around his waist, he moved into a trot, hoping the sound of the mare's hooves would cover that of his beating heart...

[Crystal Heart]

She had gasped at his touch. So soft and gentle. She had been surprised. She now sat behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist. He started forward. She could feel the horse's rythm, but there was a different one as well. Suddenly she realized it was Atharen's heart beat. It was racing in such a way as if he had been running away from an enemy. She took a deep breath. Could he feel something for me? Crystal asked herself. She shook the thought away. There was no possible way that a Ranger and a daughter of Rohan....

She thought about it, but immediately stopped. She didn't want Atharen to have any guess of what she was thinking. She looked up at his face, but couldn't speak. Every thought in her head flew away. She just sat watching him, wondering what he was thinking.

[Everdawn]

CARATHIR

Carathir’s mind was laden with thoughts as he watched the small form of his mistresses niece ride in front of him. She had, he observed, the same demeanour of her aunt. In the soft light he remembered how he came from death himself.


“My Lord.” Came the voice from the far side of the citadel. At once there was a slight murmur from the crowd, harsh whispers and hurried undertones before Elessar raised a hand to silence the crowd which had gathered at court. A woman strode forward and bowed. She was in her forties, but he could not be sure, for there was something within her eyes which made her look young, and then there was something which had eroded her very soul.

“Lady Il Galoth” he remarked, giving her permission to speak.

“This boy my Lord, Why should he be put to death for being who he is? An Easterling, nay, he is a man, a man like all of you.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Then what would you in your wisdom have me do with him Lady Lysia? Let him away to form another alliance and another chance to overthrow the West?” Elessar answered.

“Like Guriel? Like he who slain my husband? No my lord, I would not. Let him come to my estate, there I shall make him learned in the ways of western men.”

“Lady Lysia- ”

“Please Lord! He is a child!” The women would not let him go.

“Very well Lady Il Galoth, he may be your charge.”


Lysia had been hard in her teachings, but never had he seen anyone with so kinder heart and passion for living. Maén as he had seen in the years he resided at Lysia’s shared them. So brighter child that she was Lysia’s pride; however scorned she was by her parents.

He to had been scorned; Scorned by everyone from the street sweeper to the king himself. Everywhere he went he knew there would be those who would follow him with their eyes, and he hated them for it. Carathir turned his sight from the Gondorian woman and spat upon the ground. The pure Gondorian woman, with her high blood, her noble brow and her powerful family; the same clan of men who were responsible for the downfall of the east. He would see to it that they would rise again, and if Maén Il Galoth could lead him to her renegade cousin, he may well in fact help him. Then he would slay the pretty Gondorian himself and pour her blood upon the steps of Elessar’s citadel for all of the west to see.

[Kransha]

Idruil again sat nestled in the saddle of Ecthelion again, leaning forward and looking out in front of him and the group with cold, focused eyes. The horse’s bouncing along the rough terrain was severely subdued by the solemn demeanor of the rider, who steadied it and goaded it forward with more composure and reserve. He wheeled the low-headed steed through the ranks of his companions, over viewing them as he had already done so many times. The man of Minas Tirith looked pensive between the haunches of his mount. He took a deep breath and leaned back, reclining against the rear end of the saddle and contemplating.

Things were technically going well, despite the loss of Delphinious. The other thought dead had returned and many of his comrades seemed to have to dark shroud lifted from them, especially the girl Crystal, who was riding just in front of him on the horse of the ranger, Atharen. Idruil was not entirely contented, but he felt that he was still content enough, more so than some members of the company. The loss they’d felt in Delphinious was simply not as apparent to the man as he kicked his horse into a faster pace to pass Atharen’s steed and then slow to let it catch up with him. As he philosophized inwardly, the two horses soon ended up cantering along side by side. In a vague and weak attempt to get a conversation going amid the dreary atmosphere, Idruil goaded Ecthelion towards Atharen’s mount until he was directly flanking it. He looked past Crystal, who sat behind the ranger, to Atharen himself and spoke.

“You are certainly a dauntless man, Atharen ranger, and courteous as well. I must admit, having never met a ranger in all my days, I had not expected one to be so….so courageous and level-headed. The stories I was told of rangers in Pelargir made them out to be much more stubborn and chauvinistically righteous than you are. As a former soldier of Gondor, I can rightly say that I am glad to know a man in which all the chivalry of the last age still lives.”

He turned slowly from Atharen, noting in his mind that Ferethor was also oddly like that, but in a different way. The man’s eyes shifted down again, examining only the ground in front of Ecthelion’s bobbing muzzle as he wondered if the ranger would respond or not. His heavy eyelids were drifting closed, but he promptly realized it and the shot back open, blinking several times before settling back into their gaze.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Captain Ferethor steadily made his way through the thinning trees, without speaking to anyone or being spoken to. Most of the leaves were fallen, an hose that remained on the trees seemed withered and lifeless - at least, so it seemed to Ferethor.

Others were all murmuring to each other - probably about their future moves. That made Ferethor think... How would Maen react to when he revealed himself and forbade her to kill her worst adversary? Ferethor winced at the thought that continued on his way.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

“You are certainly a dauntless man, Atharen ranger, and courteous as well. I must admit, having never met a ranger in all my days, I had not expected one to be so….so courageous and level-headed. The stories I was told of rangers in Pelargir made them out to be much more stubborn and chauvinistically righteous than you are. As a former soldier of Gondor, I can rightly say that I am glad to know a man in which all the chivalry of the last age still lives.”

Roryn let out a snort of laughter from behind him. Idruil turned and frowned deeply, before turning back to Atharen. "Ah, Idruil." Roryn chuckled, "Trust me, Atharen is chauvanistic and stubborn, he just tries not to let it show." Atharen also shot a glance back at Roryn, and Roryn saw a trace on real anger there, but it soon passed as Atharen's face broke into a grin. "As are you, of course, Roryn." he retorted. "Oh I know..." Roryn replied swiftly, and chuckled...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen quickly covered the anger that had darted momentarily onto his face, berating himself for his foolishness. He jests, you fool, he doesn't mean any real harm...

"As are you, of course, Roryn," he replied quickly.

"Of course," came the equally speedy reply followed by a chuckle. Atharen shot a look across at Idruil to see what the man thought of the conversation, and saw the ex-soldier was smiling very slightly.

"Ah, I could tell a few stories about Roryn, certainly..." Atharen started, trailing away as he shot a smile at the other ranger who put on an exaggeratedly mortified expression, then wagged a finger at Atharen.

"Ah, now theres an area where you can beat me - keeps himself to himself, Atharen, ever a mystery man...but hey, if you want rumours!" All three men laughed and Atharen saw Crystal smile out of the corner of his eye. But what Roryn said was true - the ranger usually did keep himself to himself, and he hadn't been able to talk as easily for months, having been mainly on his own. Strange, it was, but not a bad thing, as his heart felt suddenly light, despite the seriousness of their expedition...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched the woods around them, but didn't truly see them. She was thinking about the obsticles that were sure to arise as their journey continued. She now hated to think that anyone else could possibly be dead by the end of this quest. She especially hated the idea that it would be Atharen that scared her once again in to thinking that he had died.

Riding behind him was so much different then riding on a horse all by herself. Even though her face didn't show it, she was feeling very excited. Her heart was racing and her breathing ragged. She was the closet to Atharen that she had ever been since the journey. She was holding his waist for goodness sake! She thought, as a smile washed over her. Under normal circumstances she would never have done such a thing. It wasn't custom to the ways she had been brought up to have known and still followed, sometimes against her better judgment.

She wasn't sure she should be so happy about the situation, but she couldn't help but be elated. Somewhere deep in her heart she knew that this was her deepest wish, or at least one of them. She hadn't realized that she had wanted to be near him so badly, but there was the thoughts and the knowledge that they had existed deep within her.

She was afraid that Atharen would notice. She was afraid that he would sense her thoughts and stay away from her. She wasn't sure she could handle that. If he stop speaking or being kind to her then she wasn't sure her new happiness wouldn't cease into another depression that she was custom to.

If only he hadn't grabbed her elbow in the Inn. If he hadn't and had been so kind to her right off then she would have just ignored him and thought the same way about him as she did all men, that they were decietful and cunniving and something that you shouldn't triffle with. That was her perception until she had met Atharen. If anyone should ask then she would say that it had been Atharen that had started it all.

But that wasn't true. Even if he had never touched her, never spoke a kind word she still would have had some sort of an attraction towards him. There was something about his eyes and his ways that made her feel this way. He was different and she could see it by just looking at him.

Her thoughts wandered as they rode along.

[Everdawn]

Hittai kept a steady pace along the small winding road, they had been riding for a long time, and yet Maén had not seemed to notice that she was beginning to tire atop her steed. Still her resilience to make sufficient ground before another day had passed she would not allow her to yield to her body. Sighing she took a swig form her flask and attacked it back to Hittai’s saddle. The wind was picking up, and its chill was not welcomed by her, it seemed to call something which even she could not yet understand.

Turning her thoughts from the eerie becomings of the landscape she stopped Hittai in her tracks and waited for the others to catch up. It was Carathir, however who was right behind her and she had not noticed. He had a strange, almost psychotic glint in his eye, the one she had seen when Del had been killed. It caused her breath to be caught in her throat. ‘Twas strange to be suddenly shaken by the young man who had always seemed so coy and afraid of her, but none the less Maén was unsettled. She was about to speak to him when the wind picked up again this time causing Hittai to rear-up. Maén controlled the animal and looked back to Carathir for help, but he was nowhere to be seen, suddenly there was the familiar sound of horses hooves and the others passed the bend in the track, Carathir with them.

I am surely going mad she muttered under her breath.

“What is it my lady, you look blanched” asked Aleimur, a slight grin on his face.

“You would not believe me even if I told you.” She said wide-eyed.

‘Try me” he said riding his horse beside hers.

Maén looked back at Carathir who seemed to be glancing to the woods and thought for a minute. “Carathir, I saw him here a minute ago, he had the look of… like he wanted to kill me.”

Aleimur laughed before looking at the serious expression on Maén’s face which was serious. “My lady, even if you did, it could not have been, he was with us all the time.” Maén nodded and continued to wait for the remainder of the company.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn glanced at Carathir quizzically, Carathir met his eyes and shot a murderous glance back at him. Roryn, taken aback, didn't register the look properly, although he knew it wasn't friendly...Hm...maybe our Easterling has a different agenda...

Roryn looked at Atharen and raised a brow, What do you think?". Atharen looked back in the same manner and gave an imperceptible shake of his head, Wait for a chance.... Roryn nodded uneasily as he turned his horse around to look into the forest behind the party...

[Melisil]

"I'm sorry, my lady Maén, if you think it rude of me, but it couldn't be that Carathir was by you." Aelimur stated. He smiled, this part of the woods seemed much brighter then before. On the other hand, it could have just been the dark, before. Aelimur silently decided to voice his thoughts, to make conversation.

"The woods seem much brighter now, don't you agree?" he asked.

"Yes, they do seem much more pleasent, strange as it is." she laughed, another thought seemed to have formed in her mind, "Aelimur, I know I seem to be asking a few strange questions, but doesn't this day's ride also include a much fresher feeling aswell? Or is this just me?"

Aelimur returned her laugh, "Yes, my lady. I must agree that I find this day to be very refreshing: full of life!" he paused, stopping himself slightly, "Even after a death. It seems, maybe, that some one up there," (at this he nodded his head to the sky) "is trying to apolagize for Del. Just maybe." he laughed again slightly, this time in an almost humbled way. "I apolagize again my lady, now I am speaking slight foolishness." He turned his gaze to Aaron's mane, though he wasn't really watching it. Another thought hit him slowly.

"My lady, I know this really isn't my place, but why are you hunting down Guriel? Are you truly doing all this just so you can kill him? It seems so very unlike your character, well, from what I know of you, at least." he waited anctiously for Maén's reply.

[Kransha]

There was an odd sensation coursing anew through Idruil’s veins. He felt refreshment, youthful light returning to his withered pallor as he took a moment to smile and laugh while conversing with Roryn and Atharen. For one of the first times since he fell in with such company, he felt as if he was starting to relate to others, the threadbare pieces of friendship building. It was a warm feeling that began to seep into his cold heart as he goaded the steed, Ecthelion, forward, chuckling briskly under his breath. His eyes traced the footprints indented on the ground in front of him, left by the number of steeds who led the motley procession.

He turned upward; barely catching a more consternated look on Roryn’s face before the man wheeled his own mount about expertly and spun, surveying the forest behind. Giving an acknowledging nod to Atharen, Idruil turned his own horse sluggishly in his tracks and it stamped, complaining aloud, backward as Atharen’s horse and its two riders proceeded ahead. Braying and whinnying in an irritatingly shrill tone, Ecthelion stalked beside Roryn’s steed after a sharp jab from Idruil. The man of Minas Tirith leaned forward in the saddle, looking and assessing Roryn, and spoke pensively to the other.

“Since we are on the subject, or, rather, not on the subject, perhaps now is the time for me to pose yet another question. Ever since I found myself falling in with you all, I have been intrigued, to say the least. Though there is a monetary award for all of our services to Lady Il Galoth, it seems to me that that is not the primary motive for joining this company. What, Roryn, was your motive? I know mine, of course, was no more than a bout of energetic foolishness, though I do not regret that spasm, since it seems that I will profit from it, but what was…or is, your reason for giving aid to Maen and her cause?”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal thought about the true reasons she had entered the company. She had joined at first because the money and she needed it desperately. She also needed the protection that the company could provide from her father and his men. She also needed to get somewhere away from the area that her father's men were searching.

That is what it had all started with, but her reasons began to expand. Of course, the first reason was because of Atharen and his kindness. She wasn't entirely sure that she would have joined the company if it hadn't been for Atharen. He was a large deciding factor in her thoughts.

Then she had become friends with Maen and eventually Ferethor. Del had been very kind, even though she hadn't known him as well as she would have liked. Roryn was an interesting man as was Iduril.

Her reasons of survival and then friendship had mixed together. She had no idea what she would do after this was all over. She wasn't sure she wanted this quest to be over. She had somewhat of a family unit or something of that sort going on here.

She was also afraid that at the end that she would loose Atharen. He was a ranger and he certainly wouldn't want a thing to do with a daughter of Rohan that was begining hunted by her own father. Who ever wanted that in a woman?? She was afraid that he would just say good bye and fade away into the distance, leaving her with a broken heart and a lonely soul. She wasn't sure she could live once again without a purpose.

This quest, these people had become her purpose. At first she wouldn't have admitted it, but now she did. This was the purpose of her life. This was the purpose why everything had happened to her as a child. This is the reason why she was meant to leave her father's house and everything she had ever known behind. This was her destiny.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn looked grim, although Idruil didn't see it. "My motive, Idruil, is to get myself killed." Idruil's face registed shock, But Roryn turned his horse around before he could hide it. "Surprised? Yes...death seems to have evaded me magnificently over the years, I thought that little was better to put his evasive skills to the test than to join this foolhardy venture." Maen shot him a look.

Atharen looked round. "You want to die?", he asked shocked. "Lord no, Atharen, I simply want to find out just how slippery it can be." he smiled. "Ah, I shouldn't worry Atharen...unless we get attacked again most of us should make it..."

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked over at Roryn in surprise. She had never heard anyone in her life say that they wanted to die to know how slippery it was. She had heard people say that they wanted to die for what they did or because their loved one had died. Or becacuse they were in a debt and were going to be hurt soon if they didn't find money to pay them off, but never for the experience of death. Death, unfortunately, meant forever and no one or no thing could come back from it.

Yes, there had been a time when she had wondered and wished and hoped for the day that she could and would die. There had been days she had thought of taking her own life. There hadn't been much meaning in living when it meant her father was around to hurt her so.

She had clung to Arty for support, but after his and her mother's death she couldn't hold on to life any more. She had tried suicide, but each time it failed and only resulted in beatings so severe she thought she would finally succumb to the death she had wanted.

But she had survived through it all and was sitting here on this horse, behind Atharen the ranger, her heart and mind totally submersed in love for the man in front of her.

"Death may seem like an easy way out, but it only creates more problems. All your wishing and wanting for death will not come, not until your destiny has been fulfilled then will you die," Crystal said softly.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor chuckled at Roryn saying that he just wanted to die for the sake of it. Apparently he had never been in that fey state when death was near him - the strained will that snaps off in the turmoil of mind, that impossible terror that besets one that is fundemental in that it bases itself on the most basic of human instincts - that of survival.

"Fool..." Ferethor's soft voice was heard by none but himself. "But thank the Eru, Roryn, that you have never had faced death in its naked terrifying form. If you ever do, then you'd curse the day that you did forever. Death itself in battle is honorable, and not even something to be mourned over but praised - but suicide? You wouldn't know."

His countenance was darkened as he continued treading the path silently and listening to the others conversing among each other.

[Everdawn]

"My lady, I know this really isn't my place, but why are you hunting down Guriel? Are you truly doing all this just so you can kill him? It seems so very unlike your character, well, from what I know of you, at least." he waited anctiously for Maén's reply.

Maén cast her eyes to the ground and rolled up the sleeve of her tunic to revel the burn scar. "I was eight years old." she explained, "My father came home changed... so greatly, I was going through his letters and he found me and I fell into the fire, It was as if he was taken over by some other force. It has been my conclusions that Guriel did this to him. He betrayed my family, most of the Il Galoths are dead, the Dorianseds all gone and the Troyaeganeas are but a few women remaining. Three of the greatest houses of military splendor of old, three dynasties all but gone. Its deeper than a childhood accident Aleimur, much more. Whats worse is that the state has betrayed us as well." she was frowning.

"My character is not as it should be, it has not been so for a very long time, Its not nice living in the shadow of a traitor, less nice living with the fact that your house regrets you werent born a man. Thats what I have to be to be myself. Im sure that you have not met many noble women who would love nothing more than to be educated in the courts or eat meals with the servants to aviod conversing with their own family." she gave a sly smile before rolling the arm of her tunic up again. They were joined by Roryn.


“Would you like me to keep an eye on Carathir, My lady?” Roryn questioned, steering his steed beside hers, seeing her puzzled expression and he having glimpsed it himself.

“No” Maén shook her head warily “He’s harmless, after all why should I be afraid of him, he means well. He’s harmless you’ll see, he owes my Aunt everything .” Roryn nodded and went to ride off before Maén grabbed his arm and in a low voice spoke. It is not an honourable way to die, to wish openly for death and seek it upon my foe. I will tell you this, If you go to seek him out as you have done so with me, he might well kill you. You saw what he did to my clan, he would do away with us easily enough. I know what it is to want to perish and to disappear, keep faith, perhaps you will meet your end yet. The only ones who will think there is honour in it is the State. But to die at the hands of a traitor? No, the honour lies in the deed itself, you kill him and you will have glory, then perhaps you will wish for death no longer.” There was a look of grim satisfaction and contradicting enjoyment upon her face.

“I understand my lady, as complex as we are as creatures, I still feel that there is something more sinister behind you fair face Lady Il Galoth.” Roryn laughed now a few paces ahead of her.

“That may be Ranger of old, but in the end aren’t we all doomed?” a smile crept into the corners of her mouth.

“Valar Help Guriel when you come to pass judgement on him Miss Il Galoth.” Cried Ferethor from behind.

Maén looked around Ï don’t intend to pass judgement, I did that a very long time ago. What I intend Mr Ferethor, is to bring his head to Elessar in a box.” Several were slight looks about the company. “I apologise for my conduct gentlemen, It was uncalled for and highly morbid, and highly different to what the other feathered peacocks of the Gondorian court would express.” she rolled her eyes.

In the distance Maén could hear the steady rush of water and the squawking of waterbirds catching fish- It told her that they had finally reached the Barge crossing of the Anduin. It was further south of Gondor, but still on the west bank of the Anduin, one of Elessars innovations since the end of the war was to make both banks accessible readily to passing travellers.

“Ïve never been this far east before.” Maén announced, “Ive been plenty far West, my Aunt Diera Troyaeganeas (my mothers sister) she resided in Dol Amroth, I was about seven during the war (maybe I was six?) anyway, it was to escape the immediate danger of Minas Tirith. Aunt Diera lost her husband and her five sons, they were slaughtered by Guriel’s ambush. They weren’t Il Galoths but they were married into the clan. The Il Galoths were the most prominent though. All the same, you get the general idea.” She cast her eyes downwards. “Its very important to me that we get this traitor. I care little or nothing for the legacy.” Maén snapped her head up again “Come, this shant take long” and this was said almost merrily. She lead the company down the the cool waters edge and to the jetty where the barge was settled.

“This is the right way isn’t it?” She asked the company.

“ It is Lady Il Galoth” Offered Idruil.

Maén took a deep breath, “Good”she strained her eyes against the light which reflected off the water and nodded Hittai onto the jetty.

“We desire passage to the other side of the river if you would be so kind Sir.” Said Atharen trotting his horse beside Hittai with Crystal perched behind him, both riders and horse casting a shadow over the smaller horse and her liberal mistress.

“Thats not a problem, hows may yous taking?” Asked the toothless bargemaster.

“Two ladies, and the six lads.” Maén tossed Atharen a bag of coins, as usual Atharen seemed to know exactly what she meant and handed them to the boat master. “For our safe passage” he added seeing the old man’s eyes widen.

“Yess sir! Right away sir!” Maén nodded to the both of them and motioned for the company to join them on the barge.

“That was easily done”She said to Crystal who had dismounted.

“Yes Lady Il Galoth, it was wasn’t it.” Crystal’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“that’ s another thing that will have to stop. We are reaching the east bank, My name could mean danger for us. Keep it under raps.”

\

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal nodded her head in understanding.

"I shan't say a word about your name, but shouldn't you have another one that we may call you by? Otherwise how will we get your attention?" Crystal asked, her mind wandering.

She had gotten off of the horse, but she wanted to still be behind him. There was something about sitting behind him that made her feel safe and unexpectedly, loved. She wanted to be around him so badly that she hurt. She wondered if he had any of these feelings toward her. She figured that he didn't.

No one since Arty, which had been years ago, had loved her in such a way that would make her feel so wonderful and happy once again. Even though her mind and heart were changing just by being in the company, she was still afraid that there would never be another chance for her. That the man that she was suppose to be with for the rest of her life had died and the man that sat upon the horse, the ranger that had captured her heart would ride away at the end of the quest and leave her alone once more.

In her mind, even though she had been trying to forbid herself from actually thinking about it, she knew deep down that she could not handle being alone anymore. Too much had happened to her for her to suddenly become a loner once more. The young woman that had entered the quest for money and protection, had learned to depend on people and had formed friendships. She was thinking about when the quest was over and what she would do with her life then.

[Melisil]

Aelimur listened to Maén carefully and intently, as she told her story.

"My character is not as it should be, it has not been so for a very long time, Its not nice living in the shadow of a traitor, less nice living with the fact that your house regrets you werent born a man. Thats what I have to be to be myself. Im sure that you have not met many noble women who would love nothing more than to be educated in the courts or eat meals with the servants to aviod conversing with their own family." Maén gave a slight smile before rolling the arm of her tunic up again.

"Nay, those as you, I have not met many of." Aelimur would have liked to have spoken more with Maén, but did not, as Roryn joined them.

“Would you like me to keep an eye on Carathir, My lady?” asked Roryn, as he came up beside Maén.

“No” Maén replied, “He’s harmless, after all why should I be afraid of him, he means well. He’s harmless you’ll see, he owes my Aunt everything .” Roryn nodded, but as he started to ride away, Maén stopped him, grabbing his arm. She whispered something in his ear, though Aelimur could not make it out, nor did he care much if he did or not.

Ferethor had seemingly caught more of the conversation then Aelimur, and called out, “Valar Help Guriel when you come to pass judgement on him Miss Il Galoth.”

Maén looked back to him, calling in reply, 'I don’t intend to pass judgement, I did that a very long time ago. What I intend Mr. Ferethor, is to bring his head to Elessar in a box.” Aelimur was not suprised by this, as he had supposed from the begining that something of this manner was what she was planning on doing to Guriel. “I apologise for my conduct gentlemen, It was uncalled for and highly morbid, and highly different to what the other feathered peacocks of the Gondorian court would express.” she rolled her eyes. Aelimur shook his head, she did not seem in sorts, not content in life. Well, obviously. Aelimur corrected himself, But no, she still does not seem well. I cannot think of what it could be, though.

Aelimur guessed by the change in the scenery and sounds, that they were nearing where they would cross the Anduin.

“Ïve never been this far east before.” Maén announced, “Ive been plenty far West, my Aunt Diera Troyaeganeas (my mothers sister) she resided in Dol Amroth, I was about seven during the war (maybe I was six?) anyway, it was to escape the immediate danger of Minas Tirith. Aunt Diera lost her husband and her five sons, they were slaughtered by Guriel’s ambush. They weren’t Il Galoths but they were married into the clan. The Il Galoths were the most prominent though. All the same, you get the general idea. Its very important to me that we get this traitor. I care little or nothing for the legacy.” Maén snapped her head up, “Come, this shant take long” and this was said almost merrily. She lead the company down the the cool waters edge and to the jetty where the barge was settled.

“This is the right way isn’t it?” Maén asked over her shoulder to the company.

“It is, Lady Il Galoth.” Offered Idruil. Aelimur did not add anything to this, as he didn't see all that much point in it.

“We desire passage to the other side of the river if you would be so kind Sir.” Said Atharen trotting his horse over to the bargemaster.

“That's not a problem, hows many yous taking?” Asked the toothless bargemaster.

“Two ladies, and the six lads.” came Atharan's reply, Maén threw a bag of coins to him, “For our safe passage” he said, seeing the old man’s eyes widen.

“Yess sir! Right away sir!” Their company rode onto the barge. Aelimur dismounted Aaron once they all were on. Aelimur looked around him, studying their surroundings from the barge.

“that’ s another thing that will have to stop. We are reaching the east bank, My name could mean danger for us. Keep it under raps.” Aelimur overheard Maén say to Crystal. He walked over to the two.

"I shan't say a word about your name, but shouldn't you have another one that we may call you by? Otherwise how will we get your attention?" Crystal asked.

"Those were my thoughts, too. What other name should we use?" Aelimur added into their conversation.

[Everdawn]

“Which name to use, which name indeed.” Maén obviously, but Maén what? “Lahnoro” she nodded to herself. “Im sure there are plenty of Maén’s around, but Maén Lahnoro is quite a way from Il Galoth. It was my grandmother’s maiden name, she was just about the only one who came form a normal family.” She added with a slight grin.

She leant over the railings of the barge and watched the water running past. It was a very wide section of river. Maén also wandered what lay beyond the other side of the shore, which as she could see was still a little way away and the barge was very old and very slow. She reached for her map which presently was being looked at by several of the party.

Roryn and Idruil were muttering to themselves. She walked up behind them and observed them for a short time. “East” she said making both of them jump suddenly. “There is a road form her, or so I am told, which will lead us to a small town. Lysia told me that it is near to where Guriel purchased some land form a fellow.”

[Eorl of Rohan]

“Valar Help Guriel when you come to pass judgement on him Miss Il Galoth.” Cried Ferethor had called out from behind, with a cynical sobriety. The reply of Maen Il Garoth was expected, of course – her intent was to have Guriel dead and nothing else would suffice to ease her bloodthirsty wish for a vengeance.

A fevered yearning for blood-drenched vengeance that he could almost pity Maen for, although Ferethor was fairly sure that she wanted no sympathy from anyone. A just and impartial retribution for her kinsmen’s death and twisting of her general father’s mood, as well as for her childhood lost.

A heavy sigh of regret escaped through Ferethor’s gritted teeth, although he was unaware that he was unconsciously clenching his teeth. It would be a pity to turn on Maen at the last moment and forbid her from slaying the renegade that she had hunted for far and wide, but it was his duty as a soldier of Gondor.

“Aelimur.” Ferethor murmured in a tense voice to his comrade, “She’s going to make some trouble when we arrest Il Garoth the traitor and deny her the pleasure of shedding his blood. What would we need to do then? Slay her alos?”

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal overheard Ferethor ask if they should slay Maen also. She walked over the few paces slowly and looked out along the horizon.

"Shan't be necessary, Ferethor. Bloodthirsty vengenance runs through a woman's vains, but doesn't remain for long when she finally realizes that the one she wants dead is human just as she and has its weaknesses as a human being. She will most likely not do what you are fearing, nor would she go against you. If my assumptions are not correct, make it clear that torturing a soul truly punishes more then just a mere quick death," Crystal whispered softly.

At one time she would have done anything to kill a traitor or a murder not even connected to her. She had gotten her chance once with the travellers, but when she looked into the eyes of the man in front of her she couldn't bring herself to do it. There was a soul within that evil body, one that feared for its life as she feared for hers. She had asked the others if torturing him would be a more beneficial punishment then a swift death. The others had agreed, but she had no part of his punishment. She had been the honorary leader type then.

Now here she was with these men and they were wondering about the inner workings of the mind of their female leader. If Maen was the person Crystal thought she was then she would see and not kill him, she would allow the men to arrest him for his crimes. She hoped that she wasn't wrong about Maen.

[Eorl of Rohan]

"Little would you know, Crystal daughter of Dorian." Ferethor stirred and raised his grey and steadfast gaze to meet Crystal's level one, a faint trace of a derisive smile softening his hard countenance. "Yearning for vengeance for wrongs done us is one of the most fundamental desire that courses through us from the beginning of time. Such a desire could easily overthrow very reason and rationale of a person, and at last shape that person into a blood-lusting wraith that knows naught but to seek for revenge and would have no reason to live after such as been accomplished or found vain."


"I do not say that Maen is such a person, but I do know that Vengeance is a sweet, sweet desire that would not be satisfied except for in blood." Ferethor's grey eyes gleamed with bitter remembrances, and then he turned his head away as he said in a low voice scarce discernible. "Do not ever trust in a person, Crystal. Trust only betrays one. Remember, for one day you'd come to realize it."


Ferethor cast an unnerved and doubtful glance at the Great River as he said it, for he had scarce dealing with the sea or great water as he spent his childhood days in the edge of Eryn Lasgalen.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked away from Ferethor.

"I have lived a life where trust meant death. I have seen what trust in another can do to a single solitary life. I know that desire for vengenance. I understand all that comes with. I may just be a mere girl pretending to be a grown up woman, but I do understand even the slightest of what you are talking about, Ferethor. There is something that you should learn, something that you should know right here and now. Trust can betray you, yes I will admit to what you've said but trust can also save your soul. To never trust is like never breathing. Have you ever lost your breath and finally regained it? Trust is like that Ferethor. Especially when you trust the right person. Maybe one day you will trust and maybe give your heart to a woman. Maybe then you'd understand where I was coming from. Yet again we come at an impass of thought. I accept your opinion. Try one day to accept mine. You may be surprised by what you find in trust. You can trust me. I shan't ever destroy it or ever cause you to regret trusting me, Ferethor," Crystal said to him softly.

She looked out over the water and breathed deeply. She had learned too much, had been forced to grow up to quickly then she would have liked. She vowed that her daughter or son, if she was ever granted with such blessings, that they would be allowed the childhood that she should have had. Times were hard in her childhood, they still were in fact. Each childhood would see its hard times, but there was so much more happiness in other childhoods then she had been granted.

Maybe that's the reason she thought the way she did. This journey had made her question her beliefs and what she had originally thought. She had in fact grown in the way that she thought, had taken one of the last steps to becoming the adult that she should have been. She had jumped a gap from the little girl still yearning for what she could never get back to the confident young adult that looked at the world in a new way. She had learned to trust. She had learned that trust could burn her very soul. She knew that she could be betrayed again by trust, but she refused to give it up. There were some beings that trust could be entrusted to. Arty had been one of those people. She knew she could have trusted him forever. Unfortunately she had trusted her father to be kinder to a young lad then his daughter. Her trust in that slim chance had costed Arty's very existance. He had been burned in the most worst possible way by trust. She had been partly to blame.

She had vowed to never trust another soul after that. She had been wary for years of the other travellers she had found herself with. She had always been on guard, never believing that trusting another was ever a good thing. Then she had met Atharen and somewhere deep inside she knew that she had to trust this man. She could feel that he wouldn't try to hurt her, try to betray her by the trust she had placed in him. She knew that this trust would not be her end.

She watched as they glided along. She could trust again. She had learned how. She had even trusted a man that knew her father, Ferethor. Why she had decided to trust him after being so wary of who he was she could never explain in words. She had realized that he was just as human as she was. She had realized that he had been hurt in similar ways as she had. They were two people that had shared similar life experiences that had created lasting impressions of distrust in their hearts. She had overcome hers, she hoped that he would as well.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Trust is something to be very careful with."

Atharen's voice surprised the other two, for he had been quiet for some time now, staring over the grey water pensively beneath the current of his own thoughts. He didn't turn around so sensed rather than saw Ferethor nod.

"That is not to say it is wrong, Ferethor," he continued with a small grin, and turned to face them. "'Twas a fine speech that you made Crystal, and for someone with your past to trust is...a fine thing. I can only hope you will be rewarded." He smiled gently at her and his eyes held hers for a moment, the secret promise in the air between them before the ranger looked back at Ferethor. "And many things in it were true. But on such a quest, dangerous..undercover...you must be careful with where you place your trust."

As Atharen said this, he couldn't help but let his opaque, unreadable eyes flicker over to Carathir for a moment. The movement could be taken for simply a checking of the boat, maybe glancing at some movement made by a bird, but although Atharen did not linger on the easterling he had made sure to have him in his sights for much of the time recently. Since the very first meeting of the company, Atharen had not felt quite comfortable about the easterling and his strange isolation from the group and quiet, almost menacing watchfulness of them and especially of Maen. Maybe it was simply that he was one of the Haradrim and that Atharen had fought too many of them: that would probably explain the distrust of Carathir for the ranger as well. But Atharen was a little above that, he felt: there was something else...

"Give your trust too freely and you are bound to get hurt." Ferethor's snorted reply brought Atharen back to the future, snapping him from his thoughts and he glanced at the man slightly irritated before shrugging. "Everyone may have his own opinion, I am sure. I can only hope your trust is more freely given than you make out, Ferethor."

The guard grunted, looking over the water, and Atharen, with a small smile, did the same, drifting back to his thoughts as they came close to the bank.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal looked over at Atharen and began to wonder what he meant. There was a feeling of a promise within the words that he had spoken.

She wished that they could have just a moment where she could just admit to him the thoughts and feelings that were pulsing through her. She wanted to tell him right now that she trusted him on a more deeper level of thinking. She wanted to just burst out what she had been thinking since the beginning of this quest.

She knew deep down in her heart and mind that she shouldn't utter a word. She knew that if she did it would only scare him away. Besides, the urge to keep him around even just as a friend was stronger then her desire to tell him her thoughts.

She knew that she had changed a lot since she had last loved. Arty had been the only one to see her for what she truly was. He saw that she was nothing more then just a young girl that yearned to be free from her father's hatred. He had been the one to listen to her fears, her thoughts, her wishes, her hopes, and her dreams. She had thought that she would never love again.

Then she had met Atharen. She just couldn't place why her heart had felt the way it had when he had grabbed her elbow. She couldn't explain out loud why she thought she was safer near him then any place else in all of middle earth. She just couldn't think of why she was feeling this way. She couldn't even put her finger on it right now.

Maybe it was the way he had looked at her. He had held some sort of respect even for her unadult like behavior in front of him. She wondered if he could see the change of personality, the growing up that had occured in her in the past weeks. She wondered if he noticed her at all.

She brought her thoughts away. She had to stop thinking about that subject. It was one of the things that just consumed her thoughts. She had to force herself not to think of it any more. She was starting to get carried away with questions, doubts, and memories.

She thought about their quest. They had already broken into a building, were attacked in the night, and had lost Del to the darkness of death. She began to wonder what else they would have to endure before the quest became officially over with. Would another of their company succumb to death? If so who would? She hoped that they would get through safely.

Her thoughts wandered again to the man named, Carathir. She had been wary of him. She had been wary of everyone since the beginning of their quest, but she had somehow forgotten that he was there. He was very quiet. Too quiet in her opinion. Even the most untalkative of their ranks had spoken up. He hadn't uttered not even a complete sentence in her presence. He seemed to be planning something and was to busy with that to speak to the others. She made a mental note to watch him very closely in the coming hours and days.

"I know you may not believe me, Atharen but Carathir is plotting something. He doesn't speak like the rest of the company. He is always by himself or standing next to Maen, but we have not heard very many words escape his lips. Lips that are as tight as his have a great secret to hide. You must trust my words, Atharen. I've lived many years with a man that acted such as Carathir," Crystal said softly. As she had said this she had moved closer to him so others, particularly Carathir, would hear what she was saying.

[Eorl of Rohan]

"Give your trust too freely and you are bound to get hurt." Ferethor simply cut in, a slight frown creasing his brow that might have derived from consternation or rememberances. "Everyone may have his own opinion, I am sure. I can only hope your trust is more freely given than you make out, Ferethor." Atharen had answered after an annoyed glance, which made him bite his lip and look away. Trust... Was he able to give that precious and fragile gift of mind away to anyone yet, and was it worth it?


"I know you may not believe me, Atharen but Carathir is plotting something. I've lived many years with a man that acted such as Carathir," Crystal said softly to Atharen which made Ferethor recall his senses and wake from his reverie.


"Caranthir had shown no reason for us to distrust him. We all have our dark secrets that we reveal to none, Crystal, not you nor me the less. Hard would have been his life amid Gondorians who trusted him little, which would presumably have made him more withdrawn and silent." Ferethor surprisingly spoke in defense of Caranthir, though he said it in a low voice. Was it anger that tainted his tone?


"As I recall, not a single person in this expedition except for Maen Il Garoth ever spoke to him at all. Not you, Crystal, Atharen, nor anyone else ever asked him anything of his thoughts or even said a kind word to him. Do you deny it, or even noticed it?" Ferethor continued.


"Should we not consider our chauvinism and prejudice against Easterlings as the cause of this suspicion rather then his fault? Even now you raise your voice and move closer so even Caranthir himself could hear you. Are you then so sure in your proofless intuitution that you would openly claim Caranthir an untrustworthy person? Just because he has a secret that he would not tell, would you denounce him in such contemptible and distrusting tone without any regard for his thoughts on your callous and indifferent comment?"


Ferethor broke into a harsh and derisive laughter. "You tell me that you believe in trust, Crystal! And yet are you bound by the prejudice of our kind that you'd distrust a person who has done nothing whatsoever wrong just because he won't speak unless spoken to and none of you ever deigned to converse with him."


Ferethor was furious, not on any behalf of Caranthir or because he felt any especial regard or trust for the easterling, but the way that Crystal would speak of other people thus. "Ha. Amusing, I should have thought. I cannot believe that you denounce Caranthir just because he is different in his bearings. In my view, your opinions are not any more better then the Gondorian Ladies that are ever at conflict against Maen just because they are too proud to understand other people's minds. Fie on you, Crystal, I should have thought you were better then this in your opinions! You only stayed for less then three days with a person and you already put a judgment upon him?"


Ferethor asked harshly with discernable anger and contempt in his tone, for he had little patience with those who laid judgment on people just because of their difference - what did Carathir ever do wrong except for being born an Easterling and being too quiet and shy? "

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn, who had been standing a way away walked over to the group. Atharen looked at him and Roryn nodded. Ferethor looked slightly affronted at being cut off, but he didn't speak to object.

"All of you should know this," Roryn whispered audibly, but so that none that weren't supposed to hear it could not, "Carathir has been acting very oddly, I've been watching him. He smiled when I brought news of Del's death, and I noticed him grinning when Ferethor was talking about killing Maen. This means that something is going on, he's also been acting oddly, flashing scowls at me and Atharen, and Ferethor. And just so you know Ferethor, if you do try to kill Maen, guard or not I will kill you."

Ferethor's mouth dropped a fraction, not because he was afraid, not because he was threatened, because Roryn hadn't said it as a threat, he'd said it as a fact and that worried Ferethor a little. Atharen looked gravely at Roryn, ad he looked back the same.

Has it come to this, Roryn, that we kill each other over this measly traitor. Maybe that is Carathir's plan, to have us all attack ourselves before we get there...

Yes, it would seem so Atharen. Do not worry, though, Carathir will not last long once I have let his plot develop a little further...

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Roryn is right. And he has been quite as hostile towards myself and Roryn as we have thought towards him. Crystal, you say you have lived many years in the company of 'such a man'; let me tell you all now that I have lived many years more than that, and most fighting. Ferethor, do not assume we know so little in these matters: the fact he is Haradrim has some weight, indeed, but that is not a 'why' to the matter so much as an 'and'. What would you have us do? Ignore the growing threat because he is an Easterling? Have some exaggerated sense of forgiving because he is different? Maybe, but I see you give nothing such to any of the others, and we are hardly a conventional company: a retired ranger, a swordswoman on the run, a lady of Gondor with a thirst for blood. Why, even you yourself, Ferethor - a Gondorian soldier who broke into the archives and threatened another soldier." Atharen's voice was quite low and seemed moderately mild as he spoke, but Ferethor flushed angrily at this.

"I was not the one to threaten him, ranger - it was you who held the left-tenant at sword, so-called 'protecter of Gondor', 'kin to the King'-"

"I am both of those things, and you know it, Ferethor," came the sharp reply, Atharen's voice rising a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roryn glance at him. He continued, his voice lower, "Besides, I doubt the Gondorian authorities would see it that way in your case, Ferethor - which is all the more reason we must stick together and complete this quest. Without completion, we have no explanation, and without that no forgiveness - I address this to you mainly, Ferethor, not as a hostile threat but as a warning to you," he added, his tone more sincere. "He is too young to recognise my face easily in Gondor, but that soldier knew you, I know it. He recognises you. We must complete this quest for that reason if none other."

Turning away, not wanting to continue this in case it developed into a full blown fight, Atharen nodded curtly and turned away to look over the water.

"And what of you, Atharen?"

The voice was quite unfamiliar, not one Atharen had heard at a normal volume more than once or twice, but Atharen recognised the slightly harsh tone, actually quite like his own, as the accent of the Far South. It was Carathir who spoke. He turned slowly.

"What of me, Carathir?" he said civily, his eyes meeting Carathir's equally dark ones, the latter seeming filled with zeal and smoulder and memory for the ranger...

"You did not mention yourself. The other ranger, Crystal, Ferethor, Lady Il Galoth..." he marked them off on his fingers, then clicked them. "But not you. What makes you so difference, Atharen?"

There was something vaguely menacing about Carathir's words although they seemed harmless, civil, calm. Atharen wondered if the others or noticed, or whether he was being foolish. Certainly the man had heard at least the last part of what the ranger had said, the list of their 'unconventionality' - but how much had he really heard.

Atharen smiled very slightly. "I am...complicated, Carathir," he answered the easterling enigmatically. "Complicated by anyone's standards. Little is known about me to anyone here. Trust me or don't - but when you know so little, maybe you will not find a reason to distrust me. Innocent until proven guilty, isn't that what the laws of...many people say?" he smiled very slightly, wondering if the easterling would take up the hidden message.

[Everdawn]

Carathir nodded, but in his mind he made a mental note. This ranger may cause him trouble. His loyalties to the Lady would not let Carathir take her life without a fight. There were the others too he was sure. Ferethor would surely slip and kill the pretty little woman himself if he were in trouble. Roryn would like Atharen come to the Lady’s aid if needed. He wasn’t too sure about how loyal the rest were to the Lady, he suspected their good intention, if needed he could kill the woman Crystal himself, though great with a sword, Carathir was also. He knew that would anger Maén immensely. The other two in question were Idruil and Aelimur. He suspected the companion of Ferethor was too kind hearted and chivalrous towards Maén, as he had observed for him to ‘let loose’ and murder her if he had to. Though it was a possibility that the two were here for the same reason that he was.

“I am a prince where I come from did you know sir?” Carathir said with a light hear now, Atharen smiled at the young man. “A prince of my uncle’s tribe, soon to be king of my tribe one day. “If Elessar will allow me to have what is mine.” He smiled as he walked away towards the other end of the barge.

Standing alone with the wind in her hair now, Maén watched as the shore ebbed closer until the barge struck the jetty and scribbled the last few words into her journal.

A rather unexpected trip I will say. All I have said previously here has gone out the window. I have had an experience I should wish I will avoid in future. I fear I am going mad, Yesterday I saw something I could not a seen, a ghost apparition of Carathir, but only seconds later it disappeared and Carathir appeared around the corner with the others. You see it cannot possibly make any sense. I am not missing any family members besides Lysia. I wish I had been born of her than that woman who calls me (reluctantly) daughter, they all wish I had been a strapping Il Galoth lad like the rest of my brother; And how I have tormented them so that they lament my fantastic mind and my unusual personality. It is quite strange this journey, for all my life in my mind I have remembered always that Guriel was the cause of everything bad which has happened to my family. And now I am certain. Now we must pass though Jacobe’s Run, a small rather minute town in Southern Ithilien. It could be a blessing in disguise in part that we may gain more information on our ‘friend’. There is also a family there who used to be associated with mine, you know who… But once again, any encounter with them will be most unwelcome. A lot of people have been killed before ive been here. Ive ridden and Ive for my part rampaged, and when I get to my destination. I am going to kill Guriel.


There was a quiver of excitement from deep in her body. Each step on South Ithilien soil was a step closer to killing Guriel. She had been alone at her end of the ship for the last part of the barge’s journey but now made her way to where Hittai was staring into the river. “Come now, we are a little closer” she spoke to the animal as she mounted her and rode off the barge. “Ride all, it’s not far to Jacobe’s Run!” she called.

[Kransha]

Idruil had been silent, pensive and contemplative in his unmentioned grumbling. He stared out, darkened eyes fluttering in thought, at the calm waters rippling in the wake of the barge. As a listener himself, he heard as much as he could of the fleeting conversations that went on around him. His ears stiffened as different words blew in on the wind. He sensed the same controversy that he always did, but the sight of water calmed him. It was calmer and more tranquil than the frothy, ocean’s foam around Pelargir, but still refreshing to feel a watery breeze on his face. The man of Minas Tirith allowed more memories to seep in, flooding and coursing through his mind’s corridors like more oceanic winds against his coarse-skinned face.

Soon enough, his eyes turned down as the barge stopped at that river’s opposite shore. Pulling his horse back into stride, letting it bray, frustrated and bored, he goaded the horse off the barge and onto the cold ground. His gaze turned from the dusty road to Carathir, who was not far in front of him. He didn’t like the Easterling, but that went without saying since he didn’t like most Easterlings. His prejudices were few, but he had seen too much during the last war and could never get used to looking at that face or any other’s. It brought back quelled memories which he’d pushed aside, and did not wish to live again.

“I am a prince where I come from did you know sir?” Carathir said with a light air now, Atharen smiled at the young man. “a prince of my uncle’s tribe, soon to be king of my tribe one day. “If Elessar will allow me to have what is mine.” Though the ranger looked more light-hearted as he looked upon Carathir, Idruil’s look soured as a disfiguring frown peeled across his features. Though he did not want to incite argument, he couldn’t help a jab at the Easterling. His words, though mouthed as questions, were more like aggressive attacks at the man, masked only slightly by a querying look. He tried to dilute his statement with more candor than he could show, but probably failed in the eyes and ears of Atharen and Carathir.

“A prince, indeed, how civil is the east of late.” He said, his voice first in whisper, but then loudening, “Carathir, tell me, did you see combat in the war? Though you may have made that known to others, I know not, so tell me? Is it true what I’ve often heard, that all of your kin know blood’s smell as well as they know their own? Forgive if my words are more caustic then their intent is, but it is an earnest question. During the war, the men around me would say they knew an Easterling as well as they knew their kin. I could surmise this was not so, but war can breed these falsified facts when enemies become allies. I know many who would fear to go near one such as you, and many who would cut you down where you stand.” He trailed off, his fiery tone flickering into dying embers of a murmur.

He almost instantly regretted his statement. Though he said it with a warmer air, his words were icy cold and stung. It was not that he regretted his verbal stab at Carathir, but that he regretted showing some weakness, giving in to an ancient bias which he’d thought to be conquered long ago.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal had heard what the ranger had said to Carathir. She wasn't surprised that he would raise such a question. She made a note to watch Carathir, but to not voice her uneasy thoughts out loud anymore.

If he was truly the traitor as she was beginning to suspect then he would try something near the end of the quest when they were just about to find out the true answer that could possibly prove that it was Carathir that had committed murder. He would be wild then and they would be fulfilling the very end of his plan.

She wondered who he would kill first. She assumed it would be Maen because if she got free she could tell her family and authorities who had done it. She possed some threat to Carathir. But then again, so did she. She had skills that he did not know of and some that she assumed he had seen before. He was a man, much stronger then she and could over take her after a small fight. She knew she would be at least the second casuality.

Her eyes wandered over the group. The men could over take Carathir if they stayed together. There was a lot of pride in these men and they would have to push that aside when the time came.

Crystal blinked hard to get rid of her thoughts. She did not want to think about who Carathir would kill or when. She did not want to think about what would happen if he was successful. She didn't want to know what would happen if it wasn't Carathir.

She took the reigns to Atharen's horse and jumped up, moving backward so Atharen could get up. She looked over at the horse she had chosen as her own. It neighed softly.

"Be still little one. You have special cargo on your back. You shall be alright, that I promise to you," Crystal said softly to the horse. The horse quieted and she smiled. She hoped that she lived long enough to take care of the horse, there was just something about him that she liked.

"Let us ride and pray that we aren't the ones the vultures of these lands are searching for," Crystal whispered to herself. It had been something that her mother had said when she felt they were in grave danger. Whenever she had said it in Crystal's presence she would smile and lead them on. Crystal said it now to sooth her thoughts and fears and in dear rememberance of the mother that she loved so much that the pain of her death still cut Crystal deep.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Idruil," Atharen's voice was sharp as he spoke before Carathir could, glancing at the man he spoke to. "Leave it."

Idruil looked as if he was about to object then shut his mouth, his jaw clenching, and turned away. Atharen suspected he saw the sense in it, even if he wanted to continue this. The ranger did not look at Carathir. You are the prince and I am related to the King of Gondor - neither of us will come to power, what use is there in bloodshed over it?

On land once more, Atharen mounted the horse deftly to all eyes but with a little less ease than usually - his thoughts and the slight unsteadiness from the ship put him off, but not noticeably to other eyes. The horse noticed though, of course, and whinnied quietly. Crystal hushed it gently and stroked her neck, whispering something as Atharen tied the reins. He glanced at her in askance, not having been able to hear well as the clattering of hooves from the other's horses covered the sound, but she shook her, looking away. Slightly puzzled, Atharen left it.

As all had gathered, they started off, Atharen and Crystal riding a little way behind Maen who was at the front, nearly equal with Carathir. Atharen was saved from further brooding by Crystal.

"What is the horse's name?" Her voice was soft and musical.

"The mare?" he replied, a little surprised at the question, then shrugged. "I haven't given her one."

"Really?" She was even more surprised than him and laughed a little. "Why ever not?"

"What place have I to name her?" Atharen replied, then grinned. "Besides, I couldn't think of a nice one at the time. Go on...you name her."

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

"What about Nauraucr?" Roryn said audibly, Atharen glowered at him, but Crystal looked mildly surprised. "Swift Fire...an appropriate name for a horse, don't you think, Atharen?" Roryn grinned, but Atharen still frowned. Even if Roryn had overheard them, he shouldn't have spoken as loudly as he did. Now everyone knew that he and Crystal had been whispering. Although that meant nothing on the surface, he was sure Roryn knew more than Atharen thought.

Carathir scowled and rode to the front of the group. Idruil smirked as he saw the discomfort on Atharen's face that Roryn's simple comment had caused, and Ferethor and Aelimur descended into muttering with themselves again. Roryn jjust smiled, and looked at Atharen with a raised eyebrow. Atharen merely scowled back and turned away...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal sat thinking. The name came to her swiftly.

"How about Sandrina Critala Heart? It was my mother's name and this mare is just as gentle and kind as she was in life. She was a noble, strong woman," Crystal said softly, her mind drifting to a time when she use to live with her mother.

Sandrina Critala Heart was the one and only person that would have ever really believed Crystal. She would have gone to the end of the earth to prove that she was correct in any thought that she had. She would have done anything to protect her daughter from General Dorian Heart's furry. She had been her only friend and protector.

Crystal believed that she had been poisioned by her father. There was no other logical reason that could have explained her quick "illness" and demise.

"Sandrina was a wonderful woman. I believe that General Dorian, my father, poisioned her. There is no other explanation for her death. She wasn't sick normally and the doctors kept saying that they couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, but they had this look of knowing something that they weren't allowed to say," Crystal whispered to Atharen.

A soft sigh escaped from Crystal's lips. She batted away the tears that threatened to flow. After her mother's death her father had killed Arty, leaving her utterly alone in a world that had grown unbearable. The worst beatings she had ever experienced had come after that. Her mother had been the only barrier that had kept the worst of the worst of his lashings.

"Sometimes I hear her in the wind. I miss her greatly."

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen paused, knowing the sense of what he was about to say but still afraid it would hurt her. He was still incredibly aware of her arms around his waist, and the suspicion that Roryn thought he knew more than he did.

"To call her by the name of your mother would arouse too much suspicion, Lady," he said softly, his face half turned towards her. "After all, Dorian is a powerful and well-known man.

I mean no harm," he added hastily as she stiffened. "But...you say you hear her in the wind; Windvoice. Sacriheart Windvoice?" he suggested, his voice still soft but not a whisper: Roryn would not tease him or try to suggest anything dishonourable. If anything like that was suggested in connection with his protection of the lady and riding with her, the ranger was not entirely sure he would be able to keep his temper...

[Crystal Heart]

"Sacriheart Windvoice. That's beautiful Atharen. Those words truly sum up my mother. She would have liked you if she had been allowed to live long enough to see you. Thank you for allowing me to name your mare," Crystal said softly. She gave him a small squeeze.

She had wished that her mother could have met Atharen. Sandrina would have liked him, respected him. She was always telling Crystal that she wanted her to meet a man that would respect and admirer her for all times. She had also told her to not make the same mistake she had in marriage. Crystal had understood what her mother had been saying to her.

"I haven't named the stallion that I have allowed Ferethor to ride. Do you want to name him for me as I've named yours?" Crystal asked him softly.

[Everdawn]

Maén kicked Hittai and both horse and rider set off at a fast pace galloping across the dry grassland yards ahead of the rest. To the north east just out of view was the hills of Emyn Arnen, by looks the company had by passed it on the other side of the Anduin, for they had gone very far south. On the other side of the Anduin, the company was still north of Pelargir. She was sure that they would make it to their destination by nightfall, which would mean that they would have to camp, for there was no inn until Jacobe’s Run, a place which Maén was sure that there was another more local name for, though she did not know it.

Reaching the end of the plateau she noticed that only Roryn and Idruil had bothered to match the gallop, as she pulled up. Perhaps too quickly as Hittai reared and snorted. Maén patted the side of the mare’s neck and smirked watching the two others pull up beside her.

“Gentlemen” she nodded “It’s nice to see you finally arrive.”

“Are you prone to bouts of galloping off into the wilderness Lady- I mean, Miss Lahnoro.” Roryn smiled.

“Yes.” Maén said simply. “Open grassland, couldn’t resist.”

“Miss Maén, Do you know where we are going exactly?” Idruil asked.

“Only slightly, im depending upon the rangers for that.”

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn raised an eyebrow and laughed. "I hope Atharen knows then." Maen look exasperatedly at him, but it was hard to remain angry with Roryn for long and she smiled. "Yes...so do I, Roryn." Atharen reached the group, his horse was panting and he himself looked rather disgruntled.

"Good of you to join us." Roryn said with a serious tone, and Atharen's face broke into a frown. "For a retired ranger, Roryn, you certainly are spritely." "Well, you can't live forever." Roryn said with a slight hint of mirth. "Ah Atharen. Don't give me that look."

...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal sat upon the horse behind Atharen and waited for him to decided on a name for her stallion. He was a fine stallion and she was rather fond of him by now. She was glad she had lent the horse to Ferethor though. He needed a horse much more then she did.

She watched as Maen darted across the open field. She smiled. She remembered one time when she had done that. She hadn't been punished at all that time because she was with her mother in that open field.

Atharen pulled the horse to a run after her and closed the distance rapidly. They rode up besides Maen and stopped.

"Why hello once again Lady Maen. Did you enjoy your run in the open field?" Crystal asked her lightly, her laugh audible in her voice.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Captain Ferethor hand-signaled to Aelimur in the manner used by Gondorian sentinels to communicate silently and confidentially amid each other, to tarry a bit and come into his speaking range without having the others notice if possible. No one here has served as a Gondorian soldier, and therefore even if someone noticed his signal one would not comprehend it.


“Aelimur, remember Lord Elessar’s especial command to us?” Ferethor asked in a low voice as Aeronir noticed his flash of signal and drew his horse closer to the Captain’s own. “He told us that it was vital that Il Galoth be capture alive on all costs, and he seemed very empathic on that point.”


“I see from Maen’s very bearings, how her eyes flash when she grounds out that name and her hands inevitably stray to her blade, that she means to slay him and no one who dares to stay her would be cut down without a moment’s delay.” Ferethor continued quietly, logically, with cool reasoning out of incidents. “And we can’t have that unless we are to fail in our trust. It is not our place to inquire for why Lord Elessar commanded thus, only our obligation to fulfill his wishes…”


“Therefore we would have no choice but to slay Maen ere the end.” His voice was low, not only because he wanted not to be heard by anyone else but also because he wanted to soften the blow of his words. “If so, Atharen would be a special hindrance to us, the greatest though all the company will be against this deed. We would have to account for this, and as it is evident that he would not agree to our plan… When the time comes, I guess we must dispose of him also, although he is a kinsman of the King and a ranger.”


Was it a trick of his eyes, or did Aelimur shudder a bit at his callous attitude towards taking lives? “Which would be close to impossible, by the way, since he happens to be a ranger. It may even cost us our lives, but it would only be an honor if we die in the service of our lord. Hopefully Maen would relent in the end, but if she doesn’t…”


Ferethor let his sentence trail off, wondering how many more he would have to slay ere this unpleasant task is over. At least he would have companions if he traveled to the Halls of Mandos! "So, Aelimur, we would have to make priminary plans to kill them both, preferably just before we find Il Garoth."

[Kransha]

Idruil nodded, almost sleepily in the saddle, even though the animal he rode atop was shooting forward. He passed Aelimur and Ferethor, who were speaking in an oddly conspiratorial manner behind, but he paid them no heed, knowing of Ferethor’s nature. He whipped Ecthelion coolly around the recently dubbed steed, Sacriheart, belonging to Atharen and his horse’s guest, Miss Crystal. He smiled warmly at his established companion and his female friend, who gripped the ranger comfortably as that same horse that bore them both bucked freely and wildly, a tricky maneuver by any equine creature that would’ve dislodged many riders.

The man of Minas Tirith pulled his horse along, swiftly kicking it after Maen. He seemed to be the only one trying to catch and match the rollicking velocity of Lady Il Galoth, but Roryn was closing to. A slight twinge of adrenaline pulsed nimbly in the two arms of Idruil’s that gripped his reins carefully. Sharply but easily, Idruil let his booted heels pounce on Ecthelion’s heels and send him shooting upward and forward soon after.

It was an odd enough feeling, one that had not been felt by Idruil in ages. Somehow he knew that the same energetic rush was present in Roryn, and too in Atharen and Crystal nearby. Delicately, he sped up his steed. As if on cue, Roryn did the same. Idruil began to lose track of what he was doing in the first place as the sound of horses’ hooves kicking up grass and dirt and the wind pushing against him welled up and beat like a drum in his ears as he sped along, Roryn smiling back at him from his unwieldy position and pushing his steed along, the two men of often stern nature found themselves veering along through Jacobe’s Field, and were soon joined by the two not far off, Atharen goading Sacriheart into a full, gallivanting gallop as the three horses closed the distance between them and Maen at an overwhelming speed. Only Ferethor and Aelimur, still mumbling inaudibly, and Carathir, who cantered along carelessly behind, where not participating in this makeshift race to the village. His grin widening, Idruil actually laughed as he looked at the other warriors and cohorts losing sight of their mission until the sight of it began to fill up their gaze before them.

There were some houses visible, vague silhouettes plastered against the horizon. Thatched roofs, mangled in their rustic nature, began to dot the apparent skyline not far off. It looked peaceful enough. No looming towers and pinnacles erect in shimmering marble, no rigid intricacies of shingled rooftops brightened by hanging lamps that glowed in a phosphorous fashion, no bustling streets and mingled cacophony flooding and overflowing off of the small village, seemingly untouched by the undesirable effects of conflict. The green grass began to give way beneath Idruil’s horse, revealing dirt ground that further stemmed into the rough paths of that village, like a brown river that flowed off around them and past the small houses. It was the first place of its calming caliber that Idruil had seen in years, nay, decades. Idruil began to steady Ecthelion, pushing his heels gently into the horse’s leather-covered side and easing him into a slower pace. Maen, going at a greater speed, had to wheel her mount around chaotically to get it to halt abruptly, while the others began to slow as well, looking forward at the quant little village of Jacobe’s Run just ahead of them. Night was cresting the red distant expanse and weariness had begun to set in after that swashbuckling escapade.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen shifted slightly in the saddle, turning to look at the fine stallion on which Ferethor was riding. It seemed dark when still, yet every time it moved, or even shifted, the deep red undercoat seemed to flash fierily from beneath.

"Naurnurta...hidden flame," he replied at length. "The way his coat flashes, and his eyes. There is something very spirited in that horse..."

"And in it's owner," he added mentally, although he dared not say it out loud, although he couldn't think why.

Suddenly a snort and a wild stamping of hooves, along with a violent rearing movement in the corner of his vision, made Atharen turn sharply to see Maen careering away at high speed. His hand went immediately to his sword to see what had spooked the horse and set both horse and rider fleeing, but then Maen looked back over her shoulder, a wicked grin on her face. Crystal laughed delightedly behind Atharen and he grinned back at her. Making sure her hands were still tight around his waist, he let the newly named Sacriheart rear up, a wild whinny escaping her, then sped into a gallop after Maen, all thoughts and troubles of the Il Galoth dynasty to the wind...for a while...

As they closed the distance, he heard Crystal's wind-whipped call to Maen and smiled with her. He had been smiling alot, especially when with her - strange, her feelings seemed so changeable to him; one minute he seemed to frustrate her, the next she was so close, her arms slipped as they had been around her waist, resting her head against his back so he could feel it's soft weight, feel her breathing against his neck when she straightened up...

He mentally gave himself a good shake and turned to Maen, once more all coutesy and politeness. "Lady, I suggest we proceed to Jacobe's Run as quickly as possible: night will be falling within a few hours, and it would be safer to stay somewhere more stable. We have already seen how camping outside could go wrong." He looked away as he said the last part. He blamed himself in part for the unfortunate death of one of those who was meant to be in the group he had joined to protect and guide, even though it had been a life bravely given.

"I disagree, Atharen: we can be more easily caught in a village, hemmed in." Ferethor's voice was bold but when Atharen turned to him, the guard pointedly ignored his gaze, deliberately looking away. The ranger noticed this odd shiftiness, and the look, an almost inperceptible glance, that passed between the two Gondorian guards, but let no suspicion show on his face, his eyes once more blank and unreadable.

"But we are less likely to be attacked in a village - it would not be subtle and streets are more easy to escape through from archers than open fields," he reasoned in reply. "And those of us who are trained learnt at least in part inside, hemmed in as you say. It is as easy to fight, but allows us all to get some rest rather than having a guard."

Ferethor seemed about to counter this, and Atharen would have recieved his opinion, of course, but Maen got there first. "I agree, Atharen - we shall head for Jacobe's Run, and can gather more information there about Il Galoth."

Atharen inclined his head, not heeding the flash of resentment he thought he saw in Ferethor's expression. "Indeed, my lady, that is what I would have suggested."

"That's it then - we head for Jacobe's Run. Lets see how fast you so called riders can race!" Maen's fiery challenge was half-called over her shoulder as she once more took off, followed in an instant by Idruil. The other man darted around Atharen and Crystal nimbly before bursting into a full gallop, flashing a grin over his shoulder at them. Atharen put on an expression of mock-surprise, then reared.

"Ready, my Lady?" he murmured to Crystal. He felt the movement of her body as she nodded.

"Lets see her run!" she replied. He grinned and spurred on Sacriheart. The mare didn't need a second bidding: the Haradrim gave her agility, the Rohirrim speed and Gondor had blessed her with steadiness. Together, in one thing at least, the three nations had combined to create an animal on whose back the ranger felt that he was riding the wind. Crouching lower on her back, he urged her into a gallop, moving into the thrill of the chase as he began to catch up with Idruil. The Gondorian gave a cry as he turned to see them on his tail and urged Ecthelion on to an even greater speed. Eventually the two horses were almost neck and neck, not far between them, almost foaming, as caught up as their riders. Maen suddenly cried a halt, and Atharen slowed, bringing Sacriheart down to a slower pace, a canter, then a trot, and turned to look at the rest of the company, now catching up.

Maen's hair was free and fell around her shoulder loosely as she commanded them. "We shall be at the village in half an hour or so. I bid you all remember my 'name', and not let anything of our quest slip. Keep a rein on your tongues."

"As we haven't on our horses you mean," Atharen replied quietly, a small smile on his face, breathing a little more heavily. Idruil grinned over at him and he returned it, glad of the companionship of the other man.

Rising in his saddle, he looked ahead at the silhouette of Jacobe's Run, then settled back down and continued in a brisk trot, falling in with Idruil.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

A fast thumping of hooves was heard from behind, Atharen turned his head, only to see a green blur that looked vaguely like Roryn speed past him. Atharen shouted and spurred his horse into a gallop again, forgetting that Crystal was behind him, Crystal let out a small cry of fear as the horse jolted into movement, but she soon got into position for the gallop as Atharen and Roryn sped towards Jacobe's Run. Atharen was gaining, but the retired ranger was holding them far behind still. Atharen smiled widely as he saw Roryn galloping, all anger he'd felt at him went, as was often the case. Roryn still enjoyed the thrill of the race, and wouldn't let his relatively old age hold him back.

Roryn looked back to see Atharen and Crystal several metres behind him, and Maen and the rest catching up as fast as they could. Ferethor and Aelimur weren't galloping, but cantering slowly, talking. It was the first occasion Roryn had had cause to doubt the integrity of the two guards, but he shrugged and turned around, back to the race. He saw the rabbit hole a second too late. His horse caught a foot in it, stumbling and bucking before continuing at the run, Roryn was thrown by the sudden jolt, but managed to keep hold of the reigns, and had a leg over the horse's haunches.

Atharen looked in horror as Roryn fell, his predicament was now very serious, one wrong move would mean he fell right off...

Roryn cursed as he hung there, several times he tried to pull himself up onto the saddle again, but failed and fell back. Each time his grip on the reigns loosening. He gave one last tug, and managed to right himself, but he was still out of balance and his horse, aware of its lack of rider, had slowed. Atharen stopped beside him, and they were joined a few seconds later by Maen.

"Roryn you fool!" Atharen almost shouted. "I was worried about you!"
"So was I, Atharen." Roryn quipped back, as he turned his horse to face back to the others. Looking sideways at Atharen he smiled and laughed. Atharen joined in. "Perhaps we shouldn't have any more silly races?" asked Maen. "Excellent idea." Replied both Atharen and Roryn simultaneously. This time it was Maen that laughed. "We'll wait for the others. And remember, Roryn, I'm not Maen while we're in Jacobe's Run". Roryn nodded as he watched the others pull up...

[Crystal Heart]

She had been filled with fear at the sight of Roryn almost falling off his horse. As they reached him, she could hear the others talking but she was shuttering. She breathed slowly to try to quench her fears. Her arms still held onto Atharen's waist. She knew she was shaking. The race had been fun right up until the moment that Roryn had almost lost his life.

Crystal settled herself down and could feel Atharen's heart beat through her hands. She laid her head upon his back to hear his heart beat and heard him breathing. There was something so intoxicating about just sitting there. Strands of her hair had fallen out of her usual braid and encircled her face.

He had named her horse. Had allowed her to name his. Was acting so different towards her and didn't seem to mind their close proximity. She wanted to find out if he felt the same way. She wanted to take him aside and talk to him in private.

But she wasn't brave enough to come out and tell him what she was thinking and feeling.

They had slowed down now and she decided to take her chance. She leaned close to Atharen's ear and whispered, "Atharen, when we get a moment alone I need to talk to you about something rather important." She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, hoping that she wasn't making a mistake.

[Everdawn]

Ill hold my tongue, and bide my time thought Carathir silently to himself. As he came last behind the others at a canter. and when my time is up, ill have none of this Godorian supremecy ... He glared under his hood at the untidy form of Maén riding ahead between Atharen and Roryn.


It would be a few hours before sunset. And Maén had been pleasantly surprised by the time the company had made by the bout of galloping. Hittai was foaming at the mouth from her little race. Maén grinned at the animal, her sturdy and light form had made Hittai the perfect partner for Maén. The horse was indeed small in form being typical of the western Harad bloodline, however the only time that Maén was allowed to ride her in the manner that let her hair fall loose was at Lysias.

Maén halted Hittai outside the gates to the village and pulled back her golden hair so that she was slightly presentable.

“Who is that?” asked a well spoken old man form behind the gate. Maén looked to the others before nodding for Roryn to answer.

“Just some passers through with our sisters. We wish for accommodation”

“The Inn is very expensive” the man cooed from behind the gate.

“And we have the expenses” added Maén.

“Very well then.” The man said slowly and let the company pass. Maén felt a cold shiver go down her spine and the blood drain from her face.

“We haven’t seen hair that golden since the traitor.” He said callously. Maén went rigid in her saddle.

“Are you implying something about my sister” Atharen asked the man sternly.

“Not at all… sir.” The man slinked back into his watch place.

Maén did not like at all the feel of the town, something was too quiet, or perhaps it was the sound of a town which was not busy all the time like Minas Tirith. “We need to find an Inn” was all she said.

“Very Well” agreed Ferethor.

They dismounted their horses and strode through the muddy streets of Jacobe’s Run until they came to a run down little building which had hanging outside, a sign which read “In” someone had obviously stolen the second N.

“Its not my usual establishment” replied Maén wishing suddenly that she had her feather bed to lie upon. “But it will do none the less.” She did not give the others a chance to agree before she strode inside and sat at a secluded table, some of the men went to fetch drinks form the bar whilst Maén and Crystal remained seated. “Don’t worry Miss Lahnoro” spoke Crystal softly. “Its not so bad, this place.”
“That’s not what im worried about…” she said.

Shortly the door to the Inn opened again and a man entered heavily cloaked, He removed his hood and looked around. Maén gave a startled cry and gripped the table.

This man once again gazed around the room with his dark blue eyes. “Where is she? Where is Maén?”

[Eorl of Rohan]

As Ferethor was not one to revel in such trifle as beer in the line of his duty, he naturally failed to accompany the others who were asking for beer at the bar. Taking a quick survey of the dilapidated and grimy inn with some distaste and aversion, though Ferethor had seen much worse, he sank uneasily on one of the wooden stools to wait.

He was somewhat apprehensive and restless, if only because of the villager’s casual remark about Maen’s vivid curls of molten-gold. Indeed she was easily recognizable, and if someone should… Ferethor sighed and wondered when he would stop in his habit of presuming the worst. Not in the near future, it seemed.

Maybe it was because he had almost been expecting something like this that Ferethor was less surprised than the others, when Maen leaped to her feet with a cry of startled amaze at beholding a seeming wayfarer who called for her by her birth-name.

Ferethor it was who instantaneously rose also, his slender blade already unsheathed and gleaming in the dim torchlight as he cried, “It would be only a common courtesy if the stranger introduces himself first. Who are you, and what errands have you to Lady Maen of our company?”

Ferethor’s ashen-grey eyes that usually sparkled with twilight-shadow radiance were dimmed in earnest distrust, harsh and hard as iron and steel as he glared with open hostility at the foreigner. Lady Maen was his charge at least until they captured Il Galoth the Renegade, and while he lived he would not fail in his duty. His challenging gaze was locked for a moment with that of the man's uncowed gaze, a shade of midnight blue of the high firmament starlit.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen thought quickly. "Miss Lhunaro, put your shawl over your hair and hunch as if you are an old woman. Wrap it around covering your hair and mouth."

Not waiting to see if she did as he bid her, but knowing that she would if she had any sense, the ranger rose to meet the man's dark blue gaze. "What business do you have with Lady Maen?" he seconded after Ferethor, his voice courteous and blank, giving nothing away.

"Where is she?" The stranger repeated, apparently oblivious, haughtily looking away, his eyes searching their table. He took a few steps forward and Atharen put one hand on his sword hilt. It was not a violent motion, but somehow the way he executed it made sure that every man in the room knew that his hand was on a weapon that he knew how to use very well.

"She is not here at the moment," Atharen replied after a second, not turning to see whether Maen had covered her head - he knew she would have done. "We-"

"Oh, don't give me that!" The man sneered, stepping forward regardless. "A woman cried out and you expect me to believe that there is no woman in your company - finely thought out, sir." The last word was spat out mockingly. Atharen didn't flinch.

"That was me," a soft voice replied. Crystal stepped out towards Atharen from the shadows that had somehow stopped her from being seen. Atharen noted again with some admiration her complete ability to make herself utterly unseen when she wanted to. "I cried out because the wind when you came in startled me."

The man now turned his gaze on Crystal and he sneered. "A woman travelling in only the company of men? A fine lady you are, I am sure..." he trailed off.

"This is my fiancee and travelling partner, Miss Fallowheart, and nothing of what you insinuate!" Atharen's voice had started quietly but now, to his surprise, he found it rising. He slipped his arm into Crystal's easily, as if it was natural, and she moved a little closer to him. If he hadn't been so angry he probably would have been lost for words, and as it was it was only with the greatest self-restraint that he stopped himself from looking at her. His temper was still rising though. "You will not doubt the goodness of myself or my companions."

The man glared at him as if he was dirt and started forward, his own right hand going to his belt as he threateningly approached their table. "You will stop right there!" Atharen raised his voice, his tone dangerous.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn, who was sitting in the shady corner, the smoke from his pipe winding its way up his face. The soft glow illuminated his face fractionally. At the entrance of the stranger, he moved his eyes up slowly, making no movement with his face at all. "Where is she, where is Maen?", Roryn's hand slid under his clothes, closing around the grip of his bow. "She isn't here at the moment", he heard Atharen say...fool he thought, you just revealed that you know her. His hand gripped harder on his bow, more for comfort than anything else, although he was distinctly wary. He saw that Maen had covered her head with a shawl, and smiled subconciously, at least she knew what to do...

"Stop right there" Atharen said.
"And If i don't?" the stranger asked, a threatening tone evident. Atharen was obviously shaken by this. He was unused to people making such direct threats.
"Then I will stop you..."
"Really?"

...

[Amanaduial the archer]

The man sneered yet again, showing a yellow tooth at one side. "Stop me? I don't think so."

A mistake. "Careful. I wouldn't like to have to fight you," Atharen's voice was now very soft, dangerous. The man now laughed out loud and Atharen smelt the alcohol on his breath.

"I bet you wouldn't, boy" the stranger scoffed. "Few people would want to cross blades with me."

On the last word the man lunged forward suddenly, but not aiming directly at Atharen - he was aiming at Crystal. Atharen didn't have to think about it: he shoved the woman to the side out of the way, crossing his blade in the way of the stranger's. The clash resounded throughout the room, causing a sudden silence to fall around the Inn Common Room as over fifty men suddenly sobered up very fast. The room was suddenly bristling with concealed weapons and every customer had the exits marked out in a second.

The stranger's sword had been knocked jarringly out of his hand by the sheer force of Atharen's blow and he had stumbled back, hitting a table and nearly falling, clutching the table edge. He looked back at the ranger who swivelled his sword around slowly to face diagonally down, tensed to move again.

"The same could be said of me," Atharen replied to the man's last statement, then he gave a small wry smile, his black eyes flashing. "Boy? I have wandered the wilds longer than you might imagine, and that is not done without learning a few things. Tell me your business and I will not harm you, but threaten or insult any one of my companions, especially my fiancee, and a fight you will have well-earned."

[Kransha]

Idruil sat, very calmly and studiously, at his small rickety chair across from Roryn, leaning down and stooping over a tin tankard, nursing the drink he’d gotten as he stared into the frothy foam that cascaded in a narrow river over the side. Even as he heard the clashing of sword on sword, he didn’t bother to look up. He’d heard the sound all too many times, coupled with the curt twang of bowstrings and the whistling of jagged bolts through the still air. It brought no memories now, as Idruil’s mind became more wistfully murky as he returned his faculties to the present, glancing up at the conflict, brief and impatient as it went. Atharen had won the upper hand already, and seemed to bear a clever grin upon his face as he spoke to this stranger who had accosted Miss Crystal. Idruil scowled pensively as he swung his creaking chair sideways and raised a flat hand towards Atharen, trying to distract his attention momentarily before the fight grew.

“Though I hate to be the voice of reason, perhaps it would be better if we did not emulate this man’s hostility. If he leaves us be, we may do the same for him.”

The man of Minas Tirith looked about coolly; an otherworldly look of beleaguered weariness plastered over his face as he shook his bearded head to recover some sense and overviewed the crowd as a bristling sound rippled over the inn strangely, like an eerie shockwave. Suddenly, the glint of metal shimmered in many places, peering out beneath coats, cloaks, and frocks that muffled the gait and silhouettes of the inn-goers. Idruil pushed his mug down the table, watching it skid to a fractured but prompt halt at the other end. Oddly enough, even though the few visible faces with their rotten, yellowed teeth, deep and rough pallor, and sinuous, burly airs looked hostile, there was a spot of grotesque glee embedded in their obvious expressions. It seemed that they wanted a fight. In fact, it seemed that they would become just as hostile and aggressive if their was no brawl, their eyes gleaming in spiteful anticipation.

“Or, perhaps we should.” He whispered, almost smiling to himself as he fingered the icy metal of his hilt beneath the table’s concealing shadow, he traced his rough-skinned thumb down the hilts spiraling cylinder and onto the lacquered scabbard below, prying the blade out minutely by its cross-guard if he was called upon to take up arms. He felt another mildly sensational twinge in his hand, a flickering pulsation as he told himself doggedly to yank out the weapon, overturn the table and its held contents, and challenge the boorish oaf, but he knew that would be foolhardy, since Atharen could handle any ailing brute such as this. Now, Idruil pulled his seat at another faulty angle and shot a calm, but still venom-tinged glance at the stranger.

“Sir, no matter your prowess in battle, I highly doubt you can defeat my companion in combat, or any of us, for that matter, so why don’t you make this easier for all of us and tell us what you want and why you want it, so we don’t have to besmirch this inn’s good name, hmm?” This elicited an invisible chuckle from Roryn, who was busy theorizing over his smoky pipe.

[Everdawn]

This man laughed suddenly at Atharen and tapped his arm. “Had you going for a second there didn’t I?” Atharen was taken aback in surprise.

Maén had slipped the shawl off form around her head. “How did you know I was here?” she said. The man stood up and bowed.

“Hittai is the only horse tied up outside bearing the mark Mi.IG. The mark of the Il Galoth household. Besides, I know Hittai when I see her. Bloody aweful creature. You would do well to cover her if you wish not to be seen, as I think thats what you wanted to achieve." He smiled and turned and shook Atharen's hand and bowed at Crystal, "Im sorry if I caused you any trouble."

The others looked at Maén questioningly. “Maén, who is this man!”

Maén looked from the ranger to the man. “Well, do you remember how I told you that I had been engaged once? Well, here he is, this is Arridan” she said with some bitterness.

Arridan did not smile this time. “Are you to stay here tonight?” he said looking around the Inn. Maén nodded. “Its not becoming of you my lady ,no for Maén this will never do.”

Maén looked towards the ground. Arridan continued “No, You must stay with my father and I this evening, we will give you everything you need for the night, then you can tell me why you are here, because clearly I can see you have not come to take me back. Or have you?” he his smile quickly faded.

“I would rather speak of it with your father, I was ever politer than you Arridan.” She turned her back on him and faced the company. “This mans father is respectable, a friend of my fathers, he is the lord of this town. Shall we stay there for the night?”

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn was astounded. He was grateful that this had come at the time it had, for he had been about a second away from loosing an arrow into the man's chest. He sighed and went back to puffing at his pipe. Bloody hell Maen...tying up your horse under the mark of your true name...He skook his head slowly and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. He had been amused at Atharen's attempt to glean the inn's name from the stranger, but it didn't really matter, as long as they were gone, and soon.

Cursing again he put his feet up on a chair and leant back. He was stupid to be so worried, actually now he wasn't...it was in his breeding to be careful. His grandfather, Owacyn, was always very careful, so was his father Seon...Gah, that old humbug of a man, never good enough for him, anything that I do...perhaps he just wants rid of me...well I've joined the right venture to do that for him...I wonder what his reaction will be when he finds out I'm dead...wouldn't surprise me if it was joy really. Well I'll never be there to find out. Ferethor is plotting something, but I'm not sure what. After all this he'll stop Maen I reckon. Ah, we'll see when it comes to it...

[Eorl of Rohan]

"Great Grief, for the sake of Iluvatar..." Ferethor sheathed his blade again reluctantly, but did not sink down back to his stool. His brow was furrowed in distrust and anger, his youthful countenance creased with a mistrustful scowl as he watched the man appraisingly and said softly and deliberately so that only the newcomer could hear him,


"Arridan, I think you named yourself. You would do well, boy, to not address Lady Maen so publicily if you want to stay alive yourself. That is, unless you are suicidal. Our friend Roryn here was about to put an arrow through your neck, I noticed, and I wasn't too far away from running you through with my steel either. Whoever you are and whatever relation you have towards a member of our company, keep it to yourself if you don't want to die. I am not unskilled in the arts of fencing and swordfighting any more than you are."


A candid threat, but not one of the blustering ones since Ferethor was in a position to fulfill it. Sinking slowly down on the stool as if nothing happened, but his hand still pointedly on the hilt of his jewel-encrusted knife, he turned to Maen and said as he nodded brusquely but courteously in seeming meek submission, "As you wish, my lady." He may as well try his best to take the others off their guard by being meek and submissive instead of argumentative and quick-angered like he usually was. But Ferethor had doubts that this would work.

[Everdawn]

Arridan glanced at the Gondorian man “Sir, may I remind you that my father is the Lord of this town, and I may do what I please, and that you sir, and that Lady whom you are protecting from me” he chuckled. “…are guests here. Imagine what trouble you will cause if you kill me then?” Arridan knew he had a point. “Well Maén, will you stay with us. I know it boils your blood to see me, but you were always fond of my father, he will be glad to see you.

Maén narrowed her hazel eyes at him “It depends upon my companions.”

“If it is a safe place to stay miss Maén, I see no reason why we cannot.” Said Roryn. Maén knew that the old ranger was right.

“Very well” she said. “You may take us to your estate Arridan, but we leave in the morning.

She followed Arridan outside to where the horses were tied up. The young woman glanced at Hittai’s side where she had completely forgotten the mark of the Il Galoth house was branded. She could have kicked herself for not knowing. The obvious frustration must have been showing on her face because Arridan laughed at her. “Could happen to anyone.”

“It shouldn’t have.” She answered. She did not know what was going on with the others, other than they followed silently. It was nearing nightfall when they reached the Cast Iron gates and the long pathway to the home of Jacobe’s Run’s lord Arriten.

The manor was huge, bigger than the Il Galoth manor in Minas Tirith and it was made of grey marble, making it blend in with the solemn feeling of the town. Several servants met them at the front doors as well as Arriten himself.

“My dear girl!” he cried taking an unwilling Maén in a hug. “Its has been four years since I have seen you! Not since you broke your engagement to my poorly son over there.” Maén felt a pang of anger. She had not intended to say yes to Arridan in the first place. Her family wanted her gone, and Arriten was not the kind of man that Maén got along with. He was pretentious and arrogant, womanising and worst of all he had been a soldier. Maén hated the soldiers.

“I did apologise” she said weakly.

“Well, its all in the past!” said Arriten with a hearty laugh. “Tonight we feast and you will tell me why you have come here.” Arriten observed the group that had come with Lady Il Galoth. “And your friends, they must come too.” He ushered them inside. “You will find everything you need, clothes, bathrooms, and bedrooms. You must have a good sleep. We will have a mighty feast Maén just like old times” laughed the old man.

[Amanaduial the archer]

As they rode from the Inn, Atharen cleared his throat gently and turned his head slightly to Crystal. She was sitting more tall and stiff than before - stiff and straight. Oh gods, now I've offended her...

"My lady, back in the Inn, when I called you my fiancee...." he paused uneasily, then rushed on. "I did not mean to offend you. It was simply a....well, I wanted to protect you, you needed to have some status for travelling purely with men."

There was a pause, then she murmured back, "That is all? That is the only reason why?"

Her voice was giving nothing away, and Atharen suddenly got a rather ironic glimpse of how frustrating it must be when he veiled his feelings in talking to people. However, he was quick to affirm his story - what, does she think I see her as that man insinuated?! "Yes, my Lady," he replied quickly.

"I see." Another silence fell between them, and Crystal seemed even stiffer than before. Inside, Atharen ached to say more, to come out with why he had said fiancee rather than simply sister, or cousin, or...

If only she knew...

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn opened the door to his room, there was a beatifullly made bed with silk sheets, and a large portion of the floor was sunk several feet down and filled with steaming water. He smiled, it was going to be blissful. Pulling off his leather armour he threw it onto the bed, then hoisted his tunic over his head and took off his boots. He unded the drawstring around his troos, and walked over naked to the bath. He slid in, the warm water easing the muscle pains that he was feeling from all the riding. He dunked his head under, and the water swooshed in a spiral over his hair. He came up and took a gasp of air in, the water trickled down as he swept back his hair. He allowed himself to lie in the bath for almost five minutes, before getting out and drying himself with a towel. Walking over to the bed he noticed several patterned robes on the pillow. He took one and slipped it over his head. It fell to his ankles, the green cotton was heavy and warm, and Roryn smiled. He shook his hair and rubbed it with the towel, then slipped on a pair of sandals.

Walking down the stairs he met Crystal coming up, she strode past him, but he caught the expression on her face. Extreme sadness, Roryn suspected that Atharen had said something or done something wrong and sighed. For all his charm Atharen had little tact on occasions. He walked back up the stairs and as he passed Crystal's room he heard a quiet sobbing from it. His mouth curled down at the edges and he took in a larger than normal breath. He knocked gingerly on the door and heard Crystal cough and rummage around for a few sconds before saying "Yes?".

Roryn turned the knob and opened the door. He saw Crystal sitting on the bed, trying to look normal, but her eyes were red, and a patch on the sheets was damp. "What?" she enquired curtly, and Roryn was taken aback by her manner. He walked over and sat down next to her. "You need not keep pretence Crystal, I'm quite harmless." Crystal laughed, and in that laugh Roryn heard the sound of a sob, cleverly disguised, but there nonetheless. "It's all right Crystal, now talk to me, eh?"

[Kransha]

Idruil concealed his relative surprise after finding out the actual identity of the newcomer. He scolded himself swiftly, as he so often did, for even considering lashing out at a man he didn’t know. Before he knew it, he was up again, leaving his not yet imbibed tankard of ale behind, still brimming after his solemn session with it, on the table that had narrowly avoided being upturned and littered with Roryn’s acute arrows. For Idruil, the short, cross-town ride to this new, more comfortable abode passed quickly and mellifluously, Idruil himself too caught up in a subtle moment to pay attention to anything else. When they arrived at the home, as grandiose and splendiferous as it was to the naked eye, Idruil still seemed strangely detached from the spiraling reality. He headed in, as the group began to split up and go their separate, conspiratorial ways throughout the mansion. Idruil, alone at the time, did not head off to inspect the place, see to his room, and do some much needed exercises of hygiene. He could get to that later, though.

The man of Minas Tirith found himself, at long last, in the dining room of the manor belonging to Arridan’s patriarchal parent. He sat back, enjoying the feel of supple cushions relaxing his pained back, arched and hunched after days of horse riding and sleeping on the cold ground. He laid his gloved hands on the great, oaken wood table, smooth and polished with a multicolored cloth laid carefully over it. Smiling a withered smile, Idruil peeled his leathery gloves from sweat-soaked hands and laid them in a pile beside him as he leaned forward on the table. He relaxed, removing his heavy woolen cloak for the first time in several days and lay it in a cloth heap on that table. Without it, Idruil’s more slender silhouette was visible; his more colorful garb could be seen as he sat back again. He placed his arms on the carved arms of the chair in a regal fashion, puffing his chest out playfully, trying to mimic the solemn sternness of a throne-seated king.

He was annexed from his daydream by a flitting figure, who wasn’t truly flitting. It was Atharen who entered the room through the door opposite him. Usually, the entrance of a cohort would not have deterred Idruil from his single, treasured moment of splendor, but as his own eyes turned to the lowered ones of Atharen, he detected a look of dejection on the ranger’s face. His eyes were turned down as he stalked forward, just as contained as Idruil had been in a personal shield that would not take in the dim fluorescence of the room around. Idruil could not detect his usual ample warmth.

Though Idruil was not a man who understood such things, he had been near Atharen to see the apparent. He knew rangers of Atharen’s ‘caliber’ held much grace and courtesy, but Atharen had been visibly more than courteous to Miss Crystal, indeed. As much as Idruil tried to tell himself that he should not male foolhardy assumptions, his mind kept nagging him with the truth that he knew, or at least thought he knew. The way Atharen acted around her, though he never seemed to flinch from his ranger persona, the things they talked of. ‘Perhaps I am merely being foolish,’ thought Idruil calmly as Atharen paced by, [i]‘I have not experienced this quality of companionship in ages, so perhaps I am blurring the difference between love and graduated friendship…but…’ He was almost sure at this point, and his thoughts seemed affirmed as he looked across the table into Atharen’s down turned eyes. He was firmly resolute in belief, but he needed to know if he was right or not. Daring to stir Atharen from his new mood, Idruil spoke up at last.

“Atharen, something troubles you?” he murmured as softly as he could without being unheard completely.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal ran over the events of the quickly passing night in her mind. Roryn stood, wanting to hear her troubles. It wasn't something she was use to, but at this moment she needed a friend.

"You may not want to hear this, but my troubles are not of normal consequence. I love the ranger, Atharen. I have since our meeting. I wished so hard that when he called me his fiancee tonight that it was because he loved me as well, but when questioned he said that it was just for safety. I have walked through life wondering if a man would come along and love me once again. I have been a walking corpse lately, until he came. And now all my heart's wishes have come to show that they are just that, wishes. There will never be a day where I will be the lucky woman who is loved so truly by a man for me and not my status. I had wished he was, wished he knew. I," Crystal said in a rush as she began to sob.

She took a deep breath and swiped at her eyes. She had wanted to talk to Atharen and she knew that the festivities were still going on downstairs. She got up off the bed and walked past Roryn.

"Where are you going Miss Crystal?" He asked her. She turned around softly.

To do what I know I must do before my heart breaks once more," She answered. With that she turned and left and headed down the hallway towards the room that Atharen had ducked into. She crossed the floor and headed straight for Idruil.

"I need to speak with Atharen alone. May I have a moment please?" She asked him. He nodded. She took Atharen's hand and made her follow her out of the room. She walked in another room that was empty, her heart racing. There wasn't anything that she could do to turn back now. She had made up her mind and she wasn't going to back down. He had to know. This tension, this incredible pain that she was feeling wasn't what she wanted any more.

He turned, his eyes filled with a surprise that Crystal hadn't noticed before and wasn't inclined to wish upon at the moment. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

"It's not enough that you said that I was your fiancee for protection. It's not enough any more to ride behind you on Sacriheart. It's not enough to watch you walk ahead of me and wish this anymore, wishing that you knew what you do not. It's not enough. I love you, Atharen. I have since the moment you put your arm on my elbow and led me away. You don't act frightened or turned away by who I am. When you said I was your fiancee my heart soared. I thought I finally knew that you loved me as well, but now I know I was wrong. I just wanted to tell you that I love you so deeply that I hurt inside. I hurt so badly that I can't even think. Every time I get close to you I just don't have any idea what to do or to say. I don't even remember time passing. These days have gone by like lightening. All I remember is you and that's all I want to remember. I just wanted you to know that I loved you before I left the quest. Maen would do much better without me tagging along, as will you."

Tears sparkled in Crystal's eyes. They fell down her cheek as she backed up, unable to turn away from his eyes. She fumbled against the door and her hand shakily looked for the door knob. She found it, but found she didn't have the strength any more. She slid down the length of the door to the floor and sobbed.