[Mithadan]

After Bethberry's healing ritual, Nardol had quietly, almost secretively, returned to the company. He had spoken little with anyone and had seemed to have been caught in a deep reverie from the perspective of the others who were generally delighted at his silence.

The events of the day leading up to the company's approach to the Castle had not captured Nardol's attention. He had merely sat near his horse, deep in thought. Asleep, some of the others had thought. But within him, a battle raged with no certain result; memories of his wife and son and their friends, both Elven and Mannish, vied with the pain of torture, betrayal and rejection.

Weariness and hatred of his anger sought to tip over his views of the world around him. And often through this battle, images of Andreth had appeared with her attempts to show him kindness and patience. Aislan showed admiration for Rustal and Olo had cared for the steed's injury without regard for Nardol's rudeness. Nardol bowed his head but the tears would not come.

Gandalf stood over him and cleared his throat. When the Elf looked up, Mithrandir smiled in a kindly fashion and said gently, "It is time."

So he walked with the wizard and the others towards the Castle. He felt, as a wind blowing into his face, the madness that resided there. But in some ways it was not at all different from what lay behind him save perhaps in degree. And he stood in between and shivered...