[Novnarwen]

The Haradrim, who went under the alias Aldor, lay half asleep. The pain gave him shivers, by every second passing however; he was getting better and better. Grinning to himself, he couldn't help thinking about how convenient this had been for him. Grash and Jeren had, by helping Rhând when he had supposedly fainted, secured their own faiths, which would lead to Him. And whatever He chose for them, Rhând knew that they, in the end, would not be particularly thankful.

“He is not worth the effort to save. He fought not against the Lady of Tunnel, but instead hid himself away, while those braver than he fell before Her onslaught. He is coward, and those who are, must fend for themselves.”

The voice of the male elf interrupted him as he was just about to enter another world, far away from the world he now lingered. He realised at once that it was indeed this Morogoth who was speaking. I should have killed him in the tunnel when I had the chance, Rhând thought angrily to himself. The first thought that hit him was that he should do exactly that; throwing himself at the elf and end his life, but he retrained himself. His own stupidity, he realised, could not in any way take control of him. Not now, when he was so close of reaching his goal. Still lying at the ground, eyes shut, pretending that he was sleeping, he listened to the others.

It didn't take long, however, before sleep took him. It came over him as a thick blanket, suffocating him and forcing him to let go of his earthy thoughts.

It's so close . . . I bite my lip, feeling a drop of blood filling my mouth with a most satisfying taste. I go further on, trudging, in my filthy and ripped clothes. Getting ever nearer, still biting my lips, I start to shake with delight. The power draws me, ever closer. There is light just ahead, a light filled with magnificent colours, which evolve in splendour in the sky! Soon, I am there, my feet aching, my heart beating and my soul yearning . . . I cannot go on. It's too far away, yet it is close . . . There is a wall, a black gate. I see it, ever clearer. Just earlier, it was like a big shadow, stretching towards me, wanting to catch me while I walked. But it is a gate; I see it now. The earth is shaking, trembling as if dozens of feet are treading the path, which leads to this Land's entrance. I approach it. A face, with eyes as big as shields, and a grin so evil and peculiar, stares downwards. I see it, but do not move a limb. I cannot move a limb! I shake my head. I cannot withdraw now. I must try. With this thought in mind, I am suddenly filled with new courage, and I knock at the door, the Gate. The sound of my sophisticated knocks ring in my ears, like hundred of bells; making me dizzy. Why does He not open, or at least not the person who possesses that gigantic face? I wonder. I still don't move, only set my ear to the Gate to listen. No sound. Has He left me? Desperately, I try to find excuses for why the Gate isn't opened to me. I want to call, "Here I am! Your faithful servant has finally returned to you." My ear is still glued to the black cold wall, but there is no sound and I daren't utter a single word. The sound of feet still reaches me though, and I turn my attention to this instead. Slowly, I walk towards it. My feet are still aching, and without knowing the reason of this new sudden fear, I feel that a certain pressure is laid upon me. I gaze upwards, trying to find the sun in the sky, but there is none. Is it night still, or is it morning? I run hither and thither, but I don't know where I came from. I loose my balance, and fall to the ground. There, straight ahead, coming towards me, a banner is held. I recognize it instantly. The sounds from the soldiers' armours make me rise hurriedly. I do not see what is being dropped to the ground at that point, but when the army is getting nearer, within sight; they can see me, and I them. Sudeenly, a yellow smoke arises before me. I cannot see; my eyelids have dropped down and I cannot breathe; my lungs are filled. I fall to the ground, the yellow smoke surrounding me, as the army approach me. Few words, I manage to utter, before everything is so dark that not a single ray of light can reach me: "I have a gift to Him . . ."

Bathed in sweat, muttering still "I have a gift for Him", Rhând opened his eyes wide. It was a dream, he assured himself. He looked around at the others, not knowing whether he had talked in his sleep, but they were all busy listening to one of the grim faced dwarves to pay attention to him.

"Let's pack up our things and prepared to leave this accursed land." Rhând heard one say. Assuming that the others had talked about what they were to do, judging by the unusual heavy atmosphere, Rhând thought it best to keep silent and still. Reproaching himself for falling asleep, he closed his eyes again, but reminded himself that he could not afford to talk in his sleep when his dreams were so focused on returning to Him. While lying there, he thought it all through. The Gate had been so real, and so had his approach. Why he wasn't let in, still bothered him. What if he faced the same problems in real life as in his dream? No, no, no, it was foolish to think that way. Having escaped prisoners as a personal gift to Him, would be returned by trust. He frowned. The army that was approaching was clearly a Haradrim army. The banner was at least. Why had he not thought of it before? Rhând knew many were in the army. Now, he supposed, since there were such dark times, probably almost everyone he knew had joined Him to show how faithful they were. This thought, compared to the memory of the yellow smoke, which had overcome him, lightened him up. And as the conversation between the others was silenced, Rhând thought it an excellent moment to wake up.