Legacy of Traitors RPG

[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.