[Mithadan]

Far to the North, in Armenelos, Gorthaur stirred in his chambers. A red fire lit his sumptuous surroundings; a chair of gold sat next to a table of fine wood inlaid with pearl. The walls were hung with tapestries of red cloth embroidered with golden thread. Two men stood by the door awaiting his merest whim. But he stirred and frowned...

A thought. Distant. Far to the South. He felt a thought. He fingered it in his mind, caressing it; attempting to unravel its meaning. It was fuzzy, hushed, too quiet for him to glean words from it. But it was a thought...of what? He tasted it again. A man. Just a man. Soon all men here would be in his web. The fool king and his armies would be dead and he alone would rule here and in Middle Earth. Just a man. Not an elf. A weak man. He let it go and turned to other matters.