The Adventures of Elladan's Outriders -- Episode 50

Urugarth

Trewsday, 28th of Rethe, Year 1418 Shire-reckoning
The Orc-city of Urugarth, Somewhere in the Land of Angmar

A Warg-rider of Urugarth

I don't know whether any of us (save Drodie) got much sleep last night, but we were all up and active quite early this morning. I had been so intent and nervous about today's impending adventure that I had already done all of the preparing I possibly could the evening before, and so found myself with nothing to do while the others completed a few final tasks. To pass the time, I borrowed a short fishing pole off one of the Rangers and cast the line into the central pool of the caverns. This drew more than a few laughs from my friends once they took notice.

"Even in face of the direst peril does our Halfling find time for the simple pleasures of life," said Lagodir with a broad grin. "Or, mayhap, his thoughts reside only on food, as is his wont?"

"What can you possibly hope to catch in there?" Nephyn asked as she rolled up and stowed her blankets.

"Two golden mullet and several perch so far, as it happens," I answered. "It turns out fish somehow managed to spawn in this secluded hole, but no one seems to know when or how."

"I don't suppose you'd consider frying some of those up for our breakfast?" asked Drodie with a hungry look in his eye.

"Of course not!" I said. "I was only looking for something to pass the time. I expected we would be setting out in short order, so I've already given my catch to one of the cooks, who had passed through here earlier." The Dwarf wasn't the only one who looked disappointed at this, which I took as a shining compliment!

"You are right, Padryc," said Gaelira as she strode up to greet the rest of us. "We have delayed here too long already, and finally there is as clear a path before us as we could hope to have in this forsaken land. We are within striking distance of our objective, where few others could have, or would have, dared to tread. Now, at last, let us embark on this most dangerous and desperate portion of our quest. Our time is now, friends -- For honour, for glory, and for the Free Peoples of Eriador!"

"Good morning!"

The cheers and exultations which had welled on our collective lips at Gaelira's final speech suddenly fizzled in the wake of this bizarre interjection which came from behind us. We five turned and saw standing there a Man with a clean-shaven face that held a perplexed look. He was clad in badly stained and patched leathern armour which had clearly seen much travel. A simple wooden round-shield was slung at his back and he carried a long spear in his strong, gloved hand. Annoyed as I was at the interruption, there was something very nearly comical about the young fellow's demeanor such that my irritation evaporated before I realized what had happened.

"Did I come at a bad time?" asked the stranger. He sounded genuinely concerned that he might have inconvenienced us as we awkwardly cast glances among ourselves.

"Erm, no. That is -- no," I said haltingly. "Can we help you? I don't seem to recall meeting you before in Gath Forthnir. Are you one of the Rangers?"

"No, I am not of the Dunedain," came his reply, "Though I have helped them on many occasions. I understand you are making to enter Carn Dum on this day?" I blinked in surprise.

"Well have you heard," said Gaelira in response. "But how --?"

"'Tis no conspiracy which has betrayed your intentions this time, my friends," came the voice of Maerchiniath. A moment later the Ranger-captain himself emerged from a nearby tunnel, smiling brightly -- more so, I must say, than I had ever seen him smile since we first arrived at his melancholy headquarters. We all waited expectantly for his explanation.

"You have done much to aid me, my people, and all those who still resist the tyranny of Angmar," he went on. "In return, I have had precious little to offer you, save our counsels, our cooks, and our chemists. All are valuable, to be sure, but our debt to you is great for you have given us that which we had nearly lost, and that is hope. For this gift, I would grant you every Ranger within Gath Forthnir to serve under your command as you stormed Carn Dum if I thought it would avail us. Alas, victory here cannot be hoped for through strength of arms -- this I now see. Furthermore, I know the hope of your success is in secrecy, and so an army of Dunedain at your back would serve only to betray your position and your purpose. But here, at last, is my chance to repay you, even in limited measure, for all you have given us." Here, he gestured to the young Man. "This is Cutter."

Most of us tried to muffle our snickers and chortles, but some had more success at this than others. Drodie laughed openly.

"Cutter?!" echoed the Dwarf, not even bothering to appear civil. "That is not a name I have ever heard given to a Man, but perhaps customs are different in whatever land you call home." I worried the newcomer would be offended by our mirth, but he merely grinned and waved his hand.

"It is only a nickname, of course," he said, still smiling. "My true name is Laddalld, but that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

"Still, I find it not unfitting," said Lagodir as he eyed the youth. "But is this the payment of which you spake, Maerchiniath? I am not certain I understand you."

"Cutter is an excellent warrior who has seen many months of service here in the regions around Gath Forthnir," Maerchiniath answered. "His skill with the spear and shield is exemplary and he has proven his faith to me many times over, even though he has not yet been here a year. I had thought before now to send him with you, but he was away on other business and has only just returned. Where an army will not serve, Cutter will strengthen your arm considerably, of this I am certain. Mark my words: if you encounter any servants of the Enemy with him alongside, then you will know whence came his sobriquet, and the more grateful shall you be for it!"

To make a long story short, we ended up accepting Maerchiniath's youthful sellsword, for the Ranger's words seemed eager and earnest. However, I could easily tell most of the Outriders were wary of this sudden change in personnel, to say the least. The treachery of Wenhair had made us all very reluctant to trust anyone outside of our little group, especially Lagodir, although that is to be expected. The Gondorian would rarely speak to Laddalld, but would often watch him when the other was not looking. Nephyn was her usual distrustful self, but not in any mean-spirited way (I've come to understand it as part of her nature, but she is also the truest of friends once you've won her confidence). Gaelira, I think, had her reservations about accepting an outsider into our circle, but she also saw the wisdom of Maerchiniath's words, and ultimately deferred to his judgment. Drodie didn't seem to care, proudly announcing any underhanded acts would be met with his undying vengeance as well as the vengeance of his brothers, uncles, nephews, and cousins to the twelfth degree, which I think unnerved Laddalld a bit. For myself, I have to admit I was a tad distrustful -- what with everything we've been through -- but I couldn't help remembering that I had felt the same way about Lagodir once, too.

There wasn't much more delay before we finally set out. Maerchiniath bade us good fortune and commanded Laddalld that he follow our lead while also agreeing to keep my journal until we return from our quest (assuming we do). I am writing now on individual leaves of parchment I brought with me for this leg of the journey, so I do apologize if the penmanship is of a lesser quality than that to which you have become accustomed, Dear Reader.

We left Gath Forthnir with little fanfare, although there were several Rangers and other folk gathered near the front entrance to see us off. The congregation was a silent one, but now and then my ears would catch a murmur of thanks or good wishes from one of the on-lookers. The overall impression one got from the proceedings was not encouraging; in fact, it was downright depressing.

"Rather a subdued lot, aren't they?" I whispered to Nephyn as we headed for the entrance to the caves. "I had hoped they might manage a few hip-hip-hoorays, or something. Still, I suppose it wouldn't do to make a big racket so near the front-door: one never knows what might be prowling around outside in a place like Angmar."

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure it must be that," Nephyn whispered back.

"Really?" asked Lagodir as he looked back at them over his shoulder. "I thought it was because they all believe we are marching heedlessly to our certain deaths."

"Lagodir has the right of it," called Laddalld from the rear of our procession. Nephyn rolled her eyes, sighed, and looked straight ahead.

"Men," I heard her mutter under her breath.

We emerged from the caverns to another dark and windy day in the Land of Angmar. The blustery wind was in the east, and it pelted us with grit, sand, and small stones as we descended the slope down from Gath Forthnir. Once we had put a little distance between ourselves and the path, we hunkered down in some brush and examined Nephyn's map. The Lossoth-witch's marks showed a road which led to the southeastern corner of Carn Dum. There, she had said, we would find the Orc-city of Urugarth and somewhere within that city was a passage into the Enemy's fortress proper. It all sounded more than a little vague to me, but the others appeared confident; even Laddalld was undaunted. Although there was the potential for danger most everywhere, the path laid out for us avoided any large concentrations of the Enemy's soldiery, and so we were able to speak amongst ourselves in whispers from time to time.

"Laddalld," I said to the young Man, "I hope you don't mind me calling you that -- Cutter just seems too odd a name for use in casual conversation."

"I have no objection," he answered cheerily.

"Well, I was just wondering," I said. "What have you been doing in Gath Forthnir? You say you are not one of the Dunedain and Maerchiniath made it plain your time among his people has not been great. What exactly are you doing in Angmar?"

"I have wandered the length and breadth of Eriador for several years now," he replied. "I lend my arm to those who cannot defend themselves and make an honest living thereby. Though lately, enemies have begun pressing in upon good people from all sides -- I have never seen anything like it."

"We, too, have noticed as much," said Lagodir. "Yet you have not answered the question: what brought you to Angmar?"

"Your pardon!" answered Laddalld. "I heard rumours of a terrible evil which may dwell in this land and I came here to try and learn if there was any truth in them."

"A terrible evil indeed," said Gaelira. "It is our hope to put an end to him during this sortie or, at the least, to rob him of a precious artefact which will leave him at a great disadvantage."

"Oh, I don't mean the Steward of Angmar," Laddalld said. "No, there have been rumours of something far deadlier and far more ancient. I wished to know more, and so I made the journey to this land. I stumbled upon the Rangers' encampment quite by accident, but it proved to be an excellent base from which I was able to launch my investigation."

"And what is it you seek?" asked Nephyn.

"I don't know what manner of creature it might be," he said, "But I believe I have found where it lives -- or lived. You yourselves have been there."

"We?" I asked. "Ah, you must be referring to that strange valley with the great stone disk we wandered into yesterday!"

"Yes, the very same," Laddalld said. "I have often been into that valley seeking answers to my many questions. But when I saw you leaving the site just yesterday, I followed you back to Gath Forthnir in great curiosity."

"And what have you learned about that place?" asked Gaelira. "It had a most unwholesome feel about it."

"It does," the young Man replied. "But I have not learned much, for I fear to venture down into that pit. I have learned that it is known among some as the Rift of Nurz Ghashu and that a great battle once took place there, but beyond that I know little."

"Nurz Ghashu?" echoed Gaelira. "That is a phrase in the Black Speech which means to burn in hate, or maybe the hateful burning, depending on the translator. If the Orcs themselves give the place such a name of dread I can only imagine what must lie within it."

"But we're not going there, fortunately," I pointed out, "And we've enough to worry about with where we are going, so let's focus on that for now, shall we? It's bad enough I may never get to see Rivendell again or even put my feet up at the Pony one last time without you lot constantly wanting to gallivant off into some fresh new evil rift or dark chasm or what-not. One nightmarish hell-hole at a time, if you please!"

"Have you been to the Pony?" asked Laddalld eagerly. "How is Old Barley?"

"Old Barley?" repeated Nephyn. "I've only ever heard his good friends call him by that name. Do you know him well?"

"I should think so," came the reply. "All roads lead to Bree, as the saying is, and with the number of miles I've travelled, well, I've been through that town more than a few times, you may be sure."

"Odd that he had never mentioned you," said the huntress, not trying hard to mask her suspicion.

"I have not been to Bree in many months and I try to keep a low profile," Laddalld said. "Besides, anyone who knows Barliman wouldn't be surprised if he forgets the name of a patron -- or eight!"

"You speak as one who has truly seen him," chuckled Lagodir. "But now let us cease using our voices, for see! We draw near to the edge of the Enemy's encampments."

We had indeed. Using the rough landscape and the seemingly unending gloom of Angmar, we dodged one orc-patrol after another as we followed the Lossoth-witch's marks on Nephyn's map. After about an hour of careful maneuvering, we descended down a paved road and through an open stone archway to find ourselves in a most foul setting.

The fortress of Carn Dum itself was nearer than ever, but it was still some ways off. Between us and it lay a perplexing series of roadways, buildings, fortifications, barricades, chasms, and bridges which made up the Orc-city of Urugarth. There is no way anyone could ever give a full written account of everything we did there, for every step was fraught with danger and we had very little idea of where to go. We crossed gorges on rickety bridges that looked ready to collapse under the slightest weight of a hobbit's careful footstep. We tunnelled into mountain-sides through dangerous, poorly built mine shafts, and we ran headlong into dead-ends and were forced to double-back at least three or four times. Though we tried to be stealthy and retain the element of surprise, we were forced to fight our way out of adverse circumstances on more than a few occasions. Finally, the spires of Carn Dum looked to be almost directly in front of us. Yet, try as we might, it seemed we could not find an entrance which passed within those impenetrable walls. The six of us huddled under a massive stone bridge, trying to decide what to do next.

"I say!" I said in a hushed but excited voice. "What's that over there?"

I pointed and the others followed my gaze. It was a thin, spidery little footpath which led off the main road and down a steep slope before disappearing round a bend. Judging from the marks on our map, it appeared we had finally found the secret passage into the fortress! We checked to make sure the way was clear of enemies, then followed the track with a renewed sense of hope.

The path skirted along the edge of a rock-wall, then turned sharply to the right and ran right up to the massive stone wall which formed the foundation of Carn Dum. There were several large metal pipes protruding from that wall, and we walked up to inspect them. At roughly ten paces our group came to a sudden halt, for the stench coming from those pipes was beyond nauseating.

"Ugh!" I cried as I clapped a hand over my mouth and nose. "Not the sewer! Please tell me we're not in the right place!"

"It is the right place, I'm afraid," Nephyn answered grimly.

"Then there is no choice," said Gaelira. "We must go this way." As if in recognition of her words, one of the pipes near us suddenly vomited forth a steaming pile of hideous refuse, the mere stink of which very nearly knocked me over.

I will spare you the details of our ordeal in that place, Dear Reader; suffice it to say we did eventually enter through one of those pipes. After what felt like hours crawling in the darkness among absolute filth, we noticed a faint light coming from ahead of us and above us. We followed this for a while and discovered that those sewers were, in fact, actually built right into the mountain-roots themselves, using a large network of inter-lacing tunnels as pipeways just as often as they used actual iron pipes. We found one tunnel which was gently climbing upward, leading us on toward that faint light. A short time later, we were peeping out of an opening at ground level and a quick scan of the scene before us revealed that we had done it: we were inside of Carn Dum itself!

We decided we had gone far enough for one day and withdrew a short ways back inside the tunnel. It was cramped, but the passage was wide enough to allow us space for sleeping. No one spoke, but we were all so miserable that I doubt anyone felt like talking even if the sound didn't threaten to bring danger upon us. The smell had grown no less, and none of us dared eat anything without a wash, but we all took a little water. Gaelira also permitted me to climb within reach of the dim light coming through the tunnel opening so as to have enough by which to write this entry. I hate this place probably more than any other place I've ever been. At the same time, I can't believe we've made it this far: I can almost begin to believe we might pull this off!

The Adventures of Elladan's Outriders -- Episode 49.2

The Deep Breath Before the Plunge

Monday, 27th of Rethe, Year 1418 Shire-reckoning
The Refuge of Gath Forthnir, Somewhere in the Land of Angmar

Nephyn the huntress

Have you ever had one of those nights when you knew you just had to get some sleep, and that fact was what made it completely impossible to get to sleep? Such a one was this -- midnight had passed and I had been lying in my bedroll for a couple of hours already, but I was no nearer to sleep than I was before, despite the tiring day we had chasing down Wenhair's mother. I tossed and turned as I tried to distract myself with memories of the Southfarthing or of Bree-land, but nothing worked. Finally, I rolled over and opened my eyes.

It was very late, and it was very dark. The first thing I noticed was that Drodie was the only one of our Company who was asleep nearby. He was snoring as loudly as ever and the other three were not within sight, so I decided to get up and walk around a bit. Despite the early hour there was always something going on in this place, so I was disturbing no one with my little nocturnal romp. There were, of course, still a few torches lit, for this was a camp of war and ever vigilant, and I was able to steal quietly about in the gloom at will.

I hadn't gone far at all when there came a faint schling! I had heard that sound numerous times during my travels and knew exactly what I would find even before I saw it. I turned a corner and, sure enough, there was Lagodir, seated on the ground, with his broadsword and his trusty whetstone in hand. Schling! He drew the stone down the length of the blade and examined it closely, checking for any burrs or other imperfections along the cutting edges. From my time alongside the Man, I also knew he could sharpen his sword in his sleep, and he would often turn matters over in his mind while he performed this menial and repetitive task. I waved at him and he smiled back at me, but made no other sign as I drew nearer.

"Can't sleep?" I asked innocently. He merely nodded in answer. I cast my eyes quickly over the Gondorian's neatly assembled collection of equipment which lay beside him, already packed and ready to go. With Lagodir, such excessive levels of organization and preparedness almost always meant he was troubled about something. I decided to wait and be silent. Schling. Schling. The Man looked up at me expectantly. Schling.

"My thoughts are just as you suspect," he said suddenly. "Once before have I been within the strongholds of the Dark Lord, and the memory is very evil. Either we shall be victorious in our endeavor or... I shall not be taken captive. Of that, you may be certain." I swallowed hard.

"I admit I was thinking along those lines," I said. "Ours is a desperate gambit, but there is still hope of victory."

"Aye, there is," he agreed, "So long as we hold faith among ourselves. That much, at least, have all my ordeals taught me. I am confident that we understand our foes, and that is the first step toward victory. We will undoubtedly face great horrors within that fortress, but we have shown fortitude against such evils before; I hold out hope that my plans will come to fruition." I pondered his last statement for a moment.

"Yet I can see that something besides this troubles you," I said. He looked at me quickly, then returned his gaze to his work.

"I hope that the witch does not lead us astray," he said. "I know not what or even whether she is plotting behind our backs, but I am not easy in my mind: I cannot understand why Wenhair would still believe me to be Guloth returned nor why the witch would allow her daughter's delusion to continue. She is up to something."

"Well, I don't suppose there's much we can do about it -- not now, in any case," I offered. "It looks to me as if you are more than ready for whatever tomorrow might bring; perhaps you should try and get some rest?"

"Yes, I shall do so anon," he said with wink and a kind smile. "And you should be doing the same."

I took my leave of the Man, but I did not head back toward the campsite just then, for I was curious as to where Nephyn and Gaelira might have gone. Normally the Elf could be found buried in counsel with various people far into the late watches as she gathered news of the Enemy's movements or analyzed our best courses of action for the coming day's adventures. But that was not what I found this night: I came upon her quite suddenly in the infirmary, of all places, seated on an empty bed. The room was vacant except for her, and she sat with head bowed, as if deep in thought.

"Hullo!" I chirped as I trotted up to her. She raised her head and greeted me with a broad smile.

"Padryc!" she said, sounding genuinely pleased to see me. "Why are you not sleeping? Is Drodie doing another of his thunder-battle impressions from his pillow?"

"He is," I said with a laugh, "Though he is not the reason for my wakefulness -- I just couldn't sleep and saw three of my friends were not near me, so I decided to go find them." I hopped up onto the bed beside her and let me feet dangle over the edge.

"I think, rather, that you perceive the simmering tensions among your companions," she said, "And you are trying to do your part to ease them, am I right?" Gaelira had a way of cutting straight to the heart of a matter which was quite unnerving -- almost irritatingly so, because it tends to put you on the defensive about being so transparent until you get used to it -- but I knew she was correct, so there was no point in arguing.

"I suppose so," I said. "At first I thought I was nervous about what tomorrow may bring, but then I realized: I haven't known what tomorrow may bring for months now, so this night shouldn't be that much different from all the others! I know infiltrating Carn Dum won't be like anything we've attempted yet, but I'm more concerned about us right now. Do you think we will hold together? We have all been a bit stressed lately."

"It is not anger or discontent at each other," the Elf replied. "I think some of us bear our own burdens and we are trying to make peace with them as we prepare for this most dangerous part of our journey."

"Who is we?" I asked. Gaelira laughed aloud.

"You are as attentive as ever, Padryc," she said. "Yes, I do have something on my mind, but it is nothing which you will find surprising. Just this: our quest nears its end -- for good or ill -- and neither outcome means rest and comfort for me. If we fail then we fall, for I have no desire to be taken captive in such a terrible place. Yet if we succeed, then I will face what could be an even greater threat in the form of the palantir. I do not know if I am or shall ever be ready for such a trial, but I must put it out of my mind for the time being: we must secure the thing first, before all else."

"Your sacrifice does you great honour," I said with sincerity. "You and all your people."

"Thank you," she nodded. "But there will be time enough for that later, assuming we recover the orb at all. Meanwhile, I have other cares: I have seen no sign of Malkan the eagle since we parted at the Halls of Night, nigh on twelve days ago. I had sent him with tidings of our progress to Elrond in Rivendell, for finding Mallacai was an important milestone. Rivendell is, of course, a long way from Angmar (even for an eagle swift of wing), but I had expected him to return before now. Yet we cannot delay on his account: we shall attempt to enter Carn Dum on the morrow and hope to see Malkan once we return from there, for we shall require the protection of the Seekers of the Seven Stars to escort the palantir to Rivendell once we have obtained it. I had thought to send word to Mallacai by way of the eagle, but unless he finds us here very soon I fear we may not have the chance. Still, we shall deal with that when and if we must."

"We will trust to your leadership," I said. "You have lot led us astray."

"You are kind to say so," she replied, "And I shall do my best. The tale of Elladan's Outriders, so far as it has yet gone, is already a remarkable one and you yourself are not the least remarkable among us. But what will become of you if we succeed?"

"Oh, well," I hawed, "If we're planning to take the Seeing-stone to Rivendell then I'd just want to tag along some more. I wouldn't mind staying there again for a spell, and I'd certainly like the chance to meet up with Old Mr. Bilbo one more time -- I expect he'd be quite interested in my little journal. He might even give me some pointers on improving it!"

"That he might," the Elf said with a nod. "Not to be macabre about it, but do you think you should take it with you tomorrow? There is a chance we may not return, and I would not have your writings lost to the Free Peoples in the depths of Carn Dum."

"Say, that's a fair point," I agreed. "I will leave the book here with Maerchiniath before we go. I can still take notes (if I get the chance at all) on loose leaves then add them back into the journal upon our return."

"A wise course," Gaelira said. "And now it would be best if you were to get some sleep, Padryc, and forget all cares for a time. May you be blessed with fair dreams, my friend."

We said our good-nights, but even then I was not ready to return to my bed. I poked my nose down a few more tunnels, for there was still one companion of mine which remained missing. Then, turning a corner, I saw Nephyn seated at the edge of the pool of water in the centre of the caverns. I was approaching her from behind, but it looked to me as though she was admiring the waterfall again, which continued its unending cascade down from some unknown height above us. For no particular reason, I padded up beside her and sat myself down on a low crate (after moving some rope and a few fishing hooks out of the way). She looked over at me and smiled. It was a curious sort of smile: one of those where the person casts their eyes downward, as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn't have been.

"You always manage to catch me in these private reveries, little friend," she said. Her voice was sad, and it was hard to catch her words above the noise of the falls.

"It's a gift," I said with a shrug and a chuckle. "Somehow I seem to know when one of my friends could use a set of hobbit-ears to speak into. Or do I guess wrongly?"

"No," she said as she looked back at the waterfall with a sigh. "No, you're right, of course; it's just this isn't something I'd wish to be pondering at this juncture. Not when we have so many more important things on which to focus first." I waited patiently as we watched and listened to the water together for several minutes.

"I'm torn," the huntress said at last. "The greater part of me is glad, for we have toiled long and overcome much to reach this point in our journey. But there is another part, a smaller part, that worries our time together may be drawing to its end. We may not survive this ordeal, for one thing -- or perhaps some of us might not, which is just as bad (if not worse) to my mind -- but even if we succeed, what then? Most of us have spoken of our individual paths for ourselves once we recover the -- once we accomplish our goal. But none of those paths lie in the same direction. After all of these weeks and months of travelling and struggling together... well, I just hate to think that our fellowship might be coming to its end. I just found my family. I don't want to lose it so soon."

There was a slight break in her voice which very nearly rent my heart just then, but I refused to show weakness; not at a time like that. I took a deep breath and exhaled. There was something I had known deep down inside me for a while -- something I had wished to tell Nephyn for weeks, but had never found the right moment to say until now.

"We've all made our choices to go where we're going. Maybe some or all of us won't see the Sun again once we plunge into that darkness. If we are victorious, you have my word, at least, that I will not leave you. I... I saw what you wrote in the journal and I know I broke trust with you by recording the story of your family. I am sorry. But I also know you understand why I did it and you don't hold my actions against me. If we should win through this, I want to journey with you to Dale, or Dunland, or wherever it is you wish to begin the search for your family. Perhaps I will eventually be able to begin a new a life in the Shire and I would like for that to happen someday, but I want much more to see how your story ends. And so I will go with you when you begin your own quest -- if you'll have me, that is."

The young huntress looked at me with tears starting in her eyes, but they did not fall. She sniffled once, passed her wrist across her face, and turned to look at the waterfall again. There was a long silence. Believe me when I tell you that Gath Forthnir bears absolutely no resemblance to the Common Room of the Prancing Pony which lays many, many miles to the south, yet that was the place I saw in my mind's eye. It seemed to me for an instant that the roar of the water suddenly became the roar of a great, comforting fire, complete with an empty cauldron on the hearth. I put my hand gently on the young Woman's shoulder.

"I suppose we remain just two wayward friends," I said at last, "Fated to wander together." Nephyn laughed slightly and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I like the sound of that," she said.

We two sat together for some time and, though we exchanged no more words, we each took great comfort in the presence of the other. After a while I found the smooth rushing of the water was making me drowsy, and I felt I could finally go to sleep. I told Nephyn so and she followed me back to our little bivouac, saying she was going to try and get some shut-eye herself. I lay down and wrapped myself in my blankets, but there was such a warmth in my heart I found that I hardly needed them.

The Adventures of Elladan's Outriders -- Episode 49.1

A New Way Forward

Sunday, 26th of Rethe, Year 1418 Shire-reckoning
The Refuge of Gath Forthnir, Somewhere in the Land of Angmar

The Lossoth-witch

Today passed much the same as yesterday. Gaelira and Nephyn insisted I was not yet recovered enough to be daring the outer edges of Carn Dum, and so they went with Drodie and Lagodir to once again attempt and locate a passable entry into the evil city. I tried to stay useful by offering my assistance to Lunathron and his healers, but I think I succeeded in doing little other than getting in their way. I also poked my head outside on more than one occasion, thinking some fresh air and sunlight would do me good after the close stuffiness of Gath Forthnir, but the heavy winds and perpetually dark skies of Angmar offered little reprieve.

As you can imagine, I was excited when I heard from the sentries that my companions were on their way back. Yet, when they re-entered the caverns I could see from their faces they had no more luck today than they had the day before in identifying a reliable method of entry into the fortress of Mordirith.

Dinner was a gloomy affair with tensions running high among ourselves in the face of our repeated failure to make any headway in our quest. Finally, Lagodir (who had been uncharacteristically quiet, even for him) put down his tankard and looked at us all with an expression as though he had reached some sort of important decision. We all stopped what we were doing in anticipation, for it seemed plain the Gondorian wished to speak what was on his mind.

"I may have a plan: a way which might acquire the information needed that could lead us into Carn Dum," he said. "But you will have to hear me out."

"I am always willing to hear you out," I said, "But there were an awful lot of mays, mights, and coulds in that statement of yours. What did you have in mind?"

"I think we could get the Lossoth-witch to tell us how to enter the fortress," he replied. Nephyn spit out her ale while Drodie laughed so hard he choked on his boar-steak and had to be pounded on the back until it was dislodged from his throat.

"The Man's gone mad!" Drodie cried as he washed the debris down with a pull from his mug. "I don't know whether it's the close quarters or the lousy food, but clearly he has lost his wits!"

"I'm afraid I must agree with the Dwarf," said Nephyn as she eyed Lagodir cautiously. "What in Middle-earth makes you think that one would divulge such sensitive information to us, assuming she even has it? And just how do you propose to find her?"

"As to the first --" Gaelira and I said at exactly the same time before we both stopped in deference to the other. The Elf smiled at me and nodded, giving me permission to speak.

"Erm, as to the first point," I said meekly, "I think I can hazard a guess. Remember what Lagodir told us yesterday? About there being factions within the Enemy's ranks which tend to conspire against one another? And about how the Lossoth, these Ice-folk from up north-a-ways, aren't so fond of this False King, as they call him? Well, it seems to me we might be able to use that to our advantage, you know -- the enemy of my enemy is my friend, or something like that?"

"May-be," grumbled Drodie with a gleam in his eye, "But one thing we know for certain is that these Lossoth wenches are no friends of ours. And, among my people, we consider the enemy of ourselves to always be our enemy."

"How is it the Dwarves have never come to be known for their piercing intellectual treatesies?" asked Gaelira with a roll of her eyes. "'Tis a mystery which may never be solved." Drodie's response was to send an especially loud belch in her general direction, the odour of which I think caused the Elf's eyes to go watery for a moment. I later noticed Gaelira tended to not criticize him as much from that time forward. At least, not during meals.

"It is a risky proposition, I grant you," said Lagodir grimly, "But I would not offer it as a potential course of action unless I truly believed it might yield fruit. Consider: at the base of everything, both we and the Lossoth-women want the same thing, and that is Mordirith overthrown. As to whether she would know a way in -- if I am remotely correct in thinking Guloth and his minions were planning to usurp the False King, then surely they must have scried a path for the very same purpose as ours which they intended to use themselves. What say you all?"

"I hate the delays we have suffered in this land," said Gaelira. "And I suspect it is the will of the Enemy that we are stymied so. I will support your plan, Lagodir, for I believe you are right in your assessment of our adversaries and that we can use their own hatred against them to great effect."

"I do not support this idea," said Nephyn with flushed cheeks. "Not unless I am out-voted by the Company. We have already seen what those two are capable of, nor have we any idea how many other minions they may have at their command. We have already seen what our adventures have brought upon poor Areneth, may he rest in peace, and was not the secret of Gath Forthnir itself very nearly betrayed by our coming here? To willingly seek out our foes is to walk into a trap, I say."

"For myself," said Drodie as he absent-mindedly picked at his teeth, "I would normally not care if we did charge headlong into a trap -- so much the more glory to he who overcomes it through wit and through strength! But, as I have just recently been reminded how short on wit I am, I shall have to vote against this ridiculous ploy, which is just too complicated for my poor, addled little mind to comprehend." He shot an acid sneer at Gaelira, but she ignored him and turned to me.

"That makes two votes in favour and two against," she said. "I'm afraid you will have to decide the matter, Master Padryc."

"Oh, bother!" I exclaimed. "Why do I always have to be last? Very well: I say we should do it. Quite apart from the fact we've tried three times without success to find a path into Carn Dum, I think the manner in which Lagodir and Gaelira have explained the behaviour of the Enemy's servants actually does make sense -- in it's own weird, convoluted sort of way. Besides, I can't deny I'd actually feel better knowing just where those two are and what they are up to: better that than worrying every moment about them sticking a knife in your back when you've more than enough to worry about what's in front of you!"

"Then it is settled," said Gaelira as she rose from the table. "We will depart at first light."

"Ah, but where do we look?" asked Nephyn, clearly dismayed about the how the vote had turned. "Does anyone have an idea?"

"I think we do," answered Lagodir. "According to Skullyg the goblin, the Lossoth-witch meant to form an alliance with the one called Oakheart, and they went (presumably to discuss the particulars of their arrangement) within Barad Gularan. I do not propose we enter that vile place, but I do not think the Lossoth will remain there any longer than need forces them to. We should begin our search there."

It's an odd thing how, even though half the Company did not get the outcome they voted for, everyone instantly felt better about having decided upon a way forward. Tempers cooled, and each of us went about the business of preparing ourselves for the hunt, which would begin first thing in the morning. I spent my last waking moments thinking about Wenhair -- how we had met her in the dungeons of Sarnur and how she had betrayed us, kidnapping Lagodir and leading us on a chase throughout the snowy hills of Ered Luin. It was her mother, the witch, we were seeking this time, but I thought it very likely the daughter would be close by. I wondered too, whether Nephyn might fulfill any of her several vows of vengeance should we encounter her.

Monday, 27th of Rethe, Year 1418 Shire-reckoning
Somewhere in the Land of Angmar

I was up and alert early today, as if I somehow knew this day was going to be important. We five assembled ourselves, checked over our supplies, and went to say farewell to Maerchiniath and thank him for his hospitality. We did not intend to leave Gath Forthnir forever, of course, but we had no idea how long it might take to find our intended target, and so we were prepared for at least a week's journey. I had stashed a good supply of milkthistle into my pack (with the permission and blessing of Lunathron, of course), just in case it might be needed.

We departed just after sunrise, making our way down the steep slope which ran away from the entrance to the Rangers' hidden refuge and skirting the pool which lay at the bottom. We passed quickly and quietly, for we remembered the way to Barad Gularan from our last journey to that place. All the land around us seemed hushed and quiet, as if waiting in expectation.

It was barely past the third hour from dawn when we came to the outskirts of the evil tower. Although there had been no sign of them when we set out, rain clouds had begun to race up from the east and blanket the sky. Thunder rumbled loudly and lightning flickered in the distance, but the rain did not come just yet. Despite the deepening gloom, the five of us made sure to keep well out of sight, for anything was an easy mark in that land, with naught to conceal you except bare rock and the general darkness. Rather than go straight toward the tower itself, we decided to circle it and look down upon it from the hillsides in the hopes of spotting anything which might indicate where our target had gone.

It was dangerous work. Nephyn led us up crumbling pathways and steep inclines which took us well up the side of the mountains. Barad Gularan, which sat at the bottom of a valley about a hundred feet below us, was illuminated by numerous bonfires and torches from every side, but we saw nothing which would give us a clue as to where Oakheart or the Lossoth-witch might be now.

But then Nephyn gave a muffled cry. She pulled us all down behind a boulder and pointed silently ahead of us and downward. We all peeped out from behind the rock and scanned the hillside. Suddenly, I saw it: facing away from us and hunched on a shallow precipice about a dozen feet below overlooking the valley was the figure of a Woman. I instantly recognized the foreign garb, even from behind: it was Wenhair. We spoke among ourselves in the quietest of whispers. Despite the constantly whipping winds of Angmar and the impending thunderstorm, we knew the Woman had exceptional hearing and all the skills of a lifelong student of the hunt.

"It is Wenhair," said Lagodir. "Of that there can be no doubt."

"Shall I shoot her?" asked Nephyn, her hands already straying to her bow and quiver. "Will we ever get another such opportunity, do you think?"

"No, we are after the mother, not this one," whispered Gaelira. "Surely Wenhair can lead us to her." Nephyn signed audibly, but relented.

"But what do we do?" I asked. "I doubt she'll take us wherever we want to go just because we ask nicely."

"Let me have a go at that," answered Lagodir. "She may still believe that I am her lord, Guloth, reincarnate."

"You really think she believes that nonsense?" I asked.

"If not, we will soon know," came his reply. "And then, I suppose, we shall have to resort to force."

It turned out there was a narrow path which led (somewhat indirectly) from where we were down to where Wenhair was keeping her vigil. We crept as quietly as we could down that way until we were within earshot. Lagodir drew himself up and once more assumed the character of "Guloth," the wraith-lord.

"Slave!" he called to the Woman in his strangled, play-acting voice. "Thy master is here!"

Wenhair jumped and whirled around. She seemed genuinely surprised (and pleased) to see Lagodir, but she eyed the rest of us darkly.

"Lord Guloth!" she gushed in her pathetic and sickening manner. "I am humbled by your presence! But... how came you here? And what are these others...?"

"Fools!" roared Lagodir. As if in answer to his mock-rage, a terrific thunder-bolt wracked the heavens just at that moment and rain began to fall. "Fools and insubordinates surround me! Must I always be questioned by my own servants at every turn? Thy snivelling accomplice, the goblin called Skullyg, dared to question me also. His head now lieth at the bottom of a lake and his corpse rotteth in the Sun -- a feast for maggots and crawling things, and no better than he deserved. Must I treat likewise with thee?" Wenhair cowered to her knees and dared not even to look up at Lagodir for some time. The rest of us simply held our tongues and let Lagodir do his work.

"Of course not, Master!" she cried. "Forgive my impudence! It is only my great devotion to you which makes me seek the destruction of all your foes."

"Yes, yes," answered Lagodir blithely. "Well do I know thy loyalty, slave. Know that I have turned these four to my service through use of the dark arts I learned under tutelage of the Witch-king himself within the halls of Minas Morgul. This is knowledge far above thy station, thrall, but thy neck I spare for now, as I require thy services. Thou shalt take me to thy mother at once."

"As you command, milord," she said as she scraped past Lagodir and began to lead the way eastward. The rest of us followed in silence, but I could plainly see Nephyn's eyes burning with a hatred and rage that could not be missed by anyone. I subtly gave her hand a squeeze as if to tell her to calm down. Her own hand was noticeably trembling.

"The way to my mother is difficult and fraught with danger," I heard Wenhair calling back to Lagodir as she led the way out in front. "But I shall lead you and your new followers aright. Follow me!"

"I don't believe for an instant that Woman actually still thinks Lagodir is her wraith-master," Nephyn whispered to me through clenched teeth. "This feels too much like a trap."

"At least this time we have the advantage of knowing we cannot trust her," I whispered back. "Just remember our larger goal and we'll both keep our eyes peeled."

"Fine," she replied, and then the faintest smile began to grow on her lips. "But I'm not rubbing Lagodir's feet or anything -- even if I am supposed to be his 'slave!'"

The paths by which Wenhair led us were dangerous and long indeed. We remained high up on the mountainsides where the road was often little more than a three-foot wide rock-shelf with a deathly plunge to our right. We climbed and dipped, wound and turned for hours and hours; all the while the cold rain pelted us mercilessly and the wind threatened to blow us off the rocks to our doom. Every now and then I'd sneak a look back at Barad Gularan as the awful tower slowly receded into the mists, but I hadn't the slightest idea where the Lossoth-woman was leading us.

After what seemed like ages (it was by this time roughly three in the afternoon), we began to descend. The rain was still falling, though the thunder and lightning appeared to have moved on. We were all positively sopping, but no one dared speak a word, for it seemed Wenhair really did still believe Lagodir was her old master and none of us wished to endanger that advantage. I wondered how long the ruse would last and whether the witch, too, might be taken in by it. I figured whatever was going to happen would happen and we would have to deal with it as it occurred, so I turned my attention to my surroundings. There wasn't much to see that I hadn't been seeing for hours, and I couldn't see far ahead of us anyhow for being so much shorter than everyone else.

But then, quite suddenly, we emerged from between two tall rocks as a grand and terrible vista spread before us. It was a wide salt-plain, ashen-grey and all blasted as if by a purifying fire. We were in a valley amidst mountainous walls on all sides, and at last the rain had slackened considerably but then I became terribly cold and shivered in my wet garments. Yet, I scarcely noticed any of these things, for I was consumed with what lay at the bottom of that valley in its very centre.

It was an enormous stone disk, like a giant dinner-plate, all written with huge and cryptic runes. It was surrounded by eerie obelisks and other stone structures as well, but those all felt like afterthoughts -- like monuments built in honour of the great monument in the centre. It came to me suddenly that the disk was not a plate or an altar, but a lid, though I don't know how I came to suspect this. And then I saw that the disk was rent: there was a massive crack in the stone on the near side and a depression in the sand which led down into that rift -- down into the earth itself. As I surveyed that awesome sight, a wave of terror swept over me, though I knew no reason for it. As far as I could see, there was no living thing in that valley except the six of us.

Wenhair brought us about two dozen paces from the disk, then placed her hands to her mouth and emitted a strange, guttural call. There was no immediate answer, but the feeling was steadily growing in me that I wished very much to leave that place. Just when I thought I could stand the silence no longer, I noticed a figure appear a short distance off from within a small copse of withered trees. As it drew nearer, I saw that it was a Woman, though she was tall and dark-skinned. In fact, if it weren't for her outlandish attire, I might have thought it was Nephyn from that distance. But the garb was all strange: this Woman wore many furs, and trinkets of bone, iron, and gold jangled from virtually everywhere. On her head was the skull of a bear, and her body was covered in frightening marks or signs. She bore also a wooden staff reinforced with iron, and at her belt was a wicked-looking shortsword like to the pair her daughter wielded -- stubby, but with a viciously sharp edge and carved with many runes.

When she had closed within a few paces, she looked us over in silence, most especially at Lagodir. Then she quickly turned to Wenhair.

"Daughter," she said in a voice which was deeper than any Woman's I had ever heard, "Leave us. Return to the mountain-passes and ensure we are not disturbed."

"But mother..." Wenhair began.

"Do as I say!" snapped the witch. Wenhair quickly bowed her head and ran off to her appointed duty.

"Now then, my lord Guloth," she said with an obvious sneer. "How may I serve you?" She gave Lagodir a deliberately off-balance courtesy and laughed aloud. It was clear our ruse had run its course.

"Well! At least that silly pretense is over," I said with a sigh, not caring who heard me. "Now can we get what we came for and be gone from here, please?"

"I hope we all get what we came for," said Drodie darkly as he eyed the witch and gripped his axe-haft.

"I could have had you all slain long ago," the Woman replied, "If I had thought it worth my time and effort. You are nothing more than impudent children, caught up in matters far beyond the reach of your thought! Still, I find your persistence entertaining -- especially this absurd trick of pretending to be Guloth returned."

"We both know Guloth is gone from this world," said Lagodir quietly. "Despite your best efforts, he is destroyed while I yet live. Twice now have you sought to harm our Company, and twice have we thwarted your designs. Still, I come to you openly now, for we are in need of aid. We wish to strike at Mordirith, the Steward of Angmar." That title seemed to infuriate the witch.

"The False King!" she screamed. "He is steward of nothing -- he whose is the rule of Angmar by right would never grant such authority to a weakling like that one! A Southron and usurper!"

"We would challenge the False King," Lagodir continued, unswerving. "But we require entrance into his city. I know you can help us in this task, for you wish to see him destroyed as much as we do."

"That much may be true," she said, "But what makes you think mere mortals have any chance of success?"

"Not all of us are mortals," said Gaelira.

"Oh, yes, you have your dear failure of a lore-master with you! How are Glorwen and Aeglas, my lady?" the witch laughed cruelly.

"They are better than they would have been, had I truly failed," answered Gaelira.

"Show me, then, the power of the Elves!"

The witch flung herself at Gaelira, weapons drawn! The rest of us instinctively backed away and, though we drew our weapons, there was no opportunity to help our friend, for the battle raged at a pace that none of us could follow. Gaelira was the very picture of grace and skill, but the witch fought with a ferocity and a power as though she had suddenly transformed into an animal. Staves clashed and blades rang as the two fought in the light rain. Suddenly, the witch's staff caught Gaelira behind the knees, and she lost her footing. The next thing any of us knew, our friend was on the earth with the witch standing over her in triumph, the end of her staff pointed at Gaelira's breast.

"So much for the skill of the Eldar!" she laughed. "If this is all you can offer, then your quest is hopeless, and no aid shall you receive from me."

"Idiot!" cried Nephyn as she swept out her sword. "We do not plan to break into Carn Dum and challenge Mordirith to the mock-battles of children! He shall face the five of us together, and together we are more than a match for him -- or you, for that matter! Now let Gaelira go."

"Let her go?" mocked the witch. "Let her go?! I would expect no less from a starry-eyed Dunlending mongrel-whelp! Ah, but this should not be the mock-battle of children, as you say, yes? I have defeated this one in single combat, and so her life is MINE!" With her left hand she swept out her shortsword and raised it as she prepared to slash Gaelira's throat.

"Never!" Nephyn threw herself forward and parried the witch's blade with the Sword of Ringdor. Gaelira was able to roll away to safety, and a second battle commenced. Drodie and I tried to come to Nephyn's aid, but Lagodir held us back.

"No!" he said sternly. "We must not interfere! The witch is testing our strength in the way of her people. If we can best her, she will freely tell us all we wish to know, but if we try to make her through force, she will die before she tells us anything." I gritted my teeth in frustration, but I held my ground.

Nephyn and the witch were a whirlwind of fury, their blades singing as they each swung at the other. I looked quickly over my shoulder, afraid the noise might bring Wenhair down from her post, but there was no sign of the daughter. My heart was racing as I watched the contest: Nephyn appeared to be at an immediate disadvantage with her single sword while the witch attacked with staff and blade, but it quickly became clear the blade was too short to be of much use against the longer Sword of Ringdor. It seemed to me the witch soon became frustrated as she bared her teeth and began swinging harder than ever.

Then, the witch snarled aloud and made a hard thrust with her shortsword at Nephyn's mid-section, but the huntress slipped to one side and struck the shamaness full in the face with the pommel of her sword! The witch staggered back, dropping her blade, and clutching at her nose. Nephyn quickly followed by grabbing the witch's hair and pulling her head downward while driving a knee into her face. As the sorceress fell to the ground, she reached for her short sword, but Nephyn planted her foot on the witch's wrist, then parried the staff one last time. The Sword of Ringdor swept back and came to rest at the tattooed throat. The battle was over.

Nephyn and her adversary were both breathing heavily and their sweat was mixed with the still-falling rain. I stood there in amazement, too stunned to cheer (which I certainly felt like doing). I wondered if the witch would acknowledge her defeat, or whether she would try some trick on us out of envy and revenge. Instead, she only eyed Nephyn searchingly.

"Perhaps Guloth was right and the Age of Man is truly upon us," said the witch. "I yield my life to you -- pray, make my end swift."

It seemed like the only sensible course of action would be to slay this evil, scheming Woman. I held my breath, wondering what Nephyn would do. No one spoke.

"You speak to Nephyn the Merciful," the huntress said at last. "I once very nearly ended the life of another of Angmar's thralls, but she was a slave against her will. I do not know whether that is the case with you, witch, but I spare you your life in the hopes that you will have the opportunity to freely decide that for yourself. Nonetheless, you will drop your weapons, and you will serve me your life-debt by telling us how we can enter Carn Dum."

The witch relaxed her grip and the staff fell from her hand. Lagodir quickly swept it up along with her blade, and Nephyn allowed her to stand. She stood a few paces off from us, her eyes blazing with hatred and shame. Blood was streaming from her nose and dripped frequently onto the gravel at her feet, but she didn't seem to notice her hurts at all, so intently was she staring at each of us in turn.

"There are no safe paths into Carn Dum," she said through clenched teeth. "Even if you managed to breach the outer defences, you have no concept of the torment that awaits within those walls."

"All the same," said Lagodir, "We mean to attempt it. If you truly wish to see Mordirith thrown down, what other chance do you think you shall have while your life lasts to see it done?"

The witch shifted her weight and seemed to calm herself a little.

"Perhaps," she said, in an almost toying manner. "Urugarth may serve."

"Who or what is Urugarth?" Nephyn asked her.

"It is a place -- a breeding ground for Angmar's Orcs," came the reply.

"What?!" I cried. "Don't listen to her! This is just another trap."

"There are paths from Urugarth which lead beneath Carn Dum," she said. "You would be least expected there -- but of course this road will not be without its own dangers."

"Then we must attempt it," said Gaelira. "Show us where to find this entrance."

The witch made a series of marks on Nephyn's map, then turned to leave.

"I have one other question for you," Nephyn called after her. The witch stopped, but did not turn back. "How do you know I am the half-breed of a Dunlending?"

"My debt was to tell you of the passages into Carn Dum," the witch answered. "Nothing more do I owe you, Southron. Now leave me to my shame." She blew a high, piercing note upon a small horn of bone as she shuffled away, and soon she was gone from our sight. Lagodir took her staff and blade and tossed them down into the rift which clove into that huge stone disk nearby. I heard them clatter and clank as they fell before coming to rest at an unknown depth.

"Let her search for her tools down there, if she dares," said Lagodir. "I cannot express how glad I am that our little gambit has paid off, though it sounds as if even greater dangers await us in Urugarth."

"You speak for me as well," I said. "And Urugarth or no Urugarth, at least those two won't be harassing us on the way there, or so it appears for now. Thanks to Nephyn."

"It was a near thing," the huntress said with a sigh. "I'm fortunate that Gaelira had sapped some of her energy during her own battle with the witch, or things might have turned out very differently."

"What did you have to go and spare her for?" asked Drodie. "Had you taken her head it would have been one less trouble-maker to worry about, if you ask me."

"Chide her not," scolded Lagodir, "For 'twas well done. Who can say to what good cause a spared life might be put?"

"Nephyn the Merciful?" I laughed. "When-abouts did you come up with that?"

"Somewhere in the Trollshaws, I think," said Nephyn as she blushed a deep crimson. "It sort of... in the heat of the moment..."

"No, no!" I said, "It suits you fine! A bit dramatic, perhaps, but then I suppose you earned it, right enough. And Gaelira! There was no time to ask, but are you all right? Were you hurt?"

"No, only my pride," the Elf replied. "Or it would have been, if I had any pride left. Personally, I find a good dose of humility and having little pride available to defend has helped me make much wiser decisions in life."

"Well, if we're all whole and hale," I said, "Are there any objections to us getting away from here?"

"You'll get no objection from me," said Drodie with a sidelong glance at the great disk.

"Nor me," said Lagodir quietly. "I know not where we are, but I do not like the feel of this place."

"Yes, we have lingered here longer than was wise," said Gaelira. "Let us go."

We departed by the way we came in. We were prepared to pretend Lagodir was "Guloth" again, but there was no sign of Wenhair at the peak of the ridge.

"The Woman makes an unreliable sentry," observed Drodie as we passed.

"More likely that horn-call was meant to summon her to her mother's side," answered Gaelira. "There is no telling where they may go or what they may plot, but for ourselves we have restored our hope and found a new way forward."

The journey back to Gath Forthnir was long and dull (unless you count the dozen or so times I thought I was going to get blown off the side of the mountain), and it was well after sundown by the time we returned there. We were welcomed back by the Rangers, but we kept the day's tale to ourselves and only said we had been out hunting for more milkthistle to replenish the refuge's stock (I sheepishly offered Lunathorn's own store I had taken earlier as evidence). I have my doubts that this simplistic excuse was widely accepted by the Rangers, but no one pressed us for details, either.

I am totally exhausted as I lie here trying to scratch out today's adventure. It seems all our trails and trials have led us to this moment -- this time, where we will finally enter the stronghold of the Enemy! I don't mind admitting that I'm scared out of my wits, but whatever tomorrow brings, I will face it as a free hobbit with my family at my side.

The Adventures of Elladan's Outriders -- Episode 48

A Conspiracy Explained

Sterday, 25th of Rethe, Year 1418 Shire-reckoning
The Refuge of Gath Forthnir, Somewhere in the Land of Angmar

The Mountains of Angmar

I hope you will be pleased to know, Dear Reader, that I, your lovable furry-footed friend, have returned to provide you with full-quilled, all-hobbitic reportage once again. I must thank Nephyn for her capable fill-in entries during my brief (albeit still too long) period of incapacitation, but I am feeling quite myself again, despite everyone insisting I ought to be dead, or at least mostly dead. Allow me to resume my scribal duties by telling you about my recovery.

It seems that gash I received on my arm happened to come from a Hillman's blade which was drenched in some foul poison. As luck would have it, the leeches and healers here in Gath Forthnir have encountered this venom before now -- and more than a few times, it would appear -- which makes me believe it is a tactic frequently utilized by the tribes of Men loyal to the Iron Crown. As such, they were well-equipped to counteract it, although the time which had elapsed since my wounding and returning here for treatment was greater than they would have liked. After applying their arts, however, I stabilized and was on my way to recovery except for a nasty fever which would not abate.

Nephyn says she and Lagodir kept close watch over me until, in the early morning hours, Gaelira and Drodie returned from their errand. You may recall that they had agreed the day before to help escort and protect a foraging party of the Rangers who were sent out to scrounge for supplies in the countryside. Well, their return was delayed by the appearance of a large patrol of Orcs and Hillmen which outnumbered them greatly, so they were forced to hide up in the hills for a while before attempting to return here. When they finally did get back, they immediately heard rumour of an injured Halfling and came running to find me.

I'm told I was still asleep at the time, but apparently Gaelira inspected me and declared that the healers of Gath Forthnir had done a capital job in administering their treatment, yet still the fever continued to rage. Nephyn says the Elf then gave me a tiny sip from a leathern flask drawn from her belt, which Gaelira told her to be miruvor -- some draught or liquor she brought with her from Rivendell (I'm afraid I can't tell you what it tastes or smells like since I was not conscious at the time). I'm told it was about then that I began to recover, and much more quickly than anyone had expected. In fact, it was only about six hours later (roughly eight o'clock this morning) that I was already up and about, eagerly hunting for my breakfast. Everyone seems amazed that I should have regained my health so rapidly, but I've always been a quick healer. Runs in the family, you might say.

I won't go into all the gushing, hugging, and hand-wringing that came when everyone learned I was going to be all right -- it's not important nor really proper, if you take my meaning -- and besides there were many critical things to discuss as we gathered around a table in the Rangers' mess-hall. We had been given standard rations from their larder, but I brought a few dainties from my pack as well -- war-camps aren't really known to stock the best provender, you know, meaning no disrespect to those as made the stuff -- and I was feeling more than a little peckish after my ordeal.

"First and foremost," I said after we had all settled down to eat and plan our day, "Just what the blazes is going on with all these shady characters that keep cropping up in our path? Skullyg, Wenhair, the priestess, Oakheart... it's all getting a mite confusing for my little hobbit-head. I should like the whole affair laid out in plain language so's to better understand what we're dealing with."

"You speak for me also," said Nephyn with a laugh. "We seem to be gathering quite the audience. Every lass fancies the idea of having a secret admirer or two, but things have gotten more than a bit bizarre ever since Sarnur."

"It is no laughing matter," said Gaelira. "I think I have begun to piece the mystery together, but I will leave it to Lagodir to explain the situation, for he has been closest to our adversaries and may have gleaned more than I from their actions and whisperings."

"I believe I have," said Lagodir after taking a pull from his flagon. "Here is what we have gotten ourselves into, if I can lay it all out as plain as possible to the best of my understanding. We know, of course, that the Dark Lord's chief agent in the North is this Mordirith character. No one really seems to know who or what he is, but he is clearly not the Witch-king, though he rules from the Witch-king's former seat of power and in his name. Whatever his kind is not terribly important to us at this time (though it may become so later). For now, what we need to know about Mordirith is that he represents Mordor, and it is his forces and slaves with which we have been chiefly contending. But there is a second faction of our enemies abroad: that of Guloth and his adherents, which includes Wenhair, her mother the Lossoth-witch, some shadowy priestess from Forochel, the goblin Skullyg, and probably others. His followers do not seem to be numerous in Eriador, but I suspect he was sent here to provide Mordirith with support in the areas of spying and espionage: a small force, but still quite dangerous."

"It sounds like they are all on the same side to me," I said. "Shouldn't we just lump them all together for the sake of clarity?"

"Assuredly not, Padryc," the Gondorian replied. "You do not understand the way these chattels of the Enemy think -- they promote themselves through ruthlessness and sheer power. Guloth has always desired greater standing with the Dark Lord, and I suspect he wanted nothing less than to depose Mordirith and take his place as the master of Carn Dum and Steward of Angmar."

"And these Lossoth servants of his were willing to help him do that?" asked Nephyn with raised eyebrows. "That doesn't make sense: even if they succeeded wouldn't they only incur the wrath of Sauron for disrupting his operations in the North?"

"No," said Lagodir as he emphatically shook his head. "You still do not see: even when pitted against each other, Sauron's thralls always maintain absolute loyalty to him, for he is their god-king. The Dark Lord cares not which of his slaves rise to supplant the other so long as his will is carried out."

"Seems like an awfully chaotic way to run a war," I laughed.

"So we used to scoff in Gondor," he answered grimly. "But, for all the confusion such power-struggles create, they also ensure that the most merciless and fanatical servants of the Enemy emerge as leaders of his hordes, and that then becomes the greater danger. For many years we trusted to your way of thinking, Padryc, until we learned (too late) that there is a sort of barbarous efficiency to it all. Furthermore, the rank-and-file soldiery respect power and strength above all else, so a usurper who succeeds in putting down a reigning commander solidifies his own leadership all the more. We have found in the South that the most effective counter-measure is to strike down these captains as soon as they appear, and the sooner the better: the longer you wait the more brutal the oppressor that will take the place of the previous one."

"But Guloth is destroyed," said Nephyn, who still sounded just as confused as I was. "And even the goblin said the witch, Wenhair's mother, if I'm keeping this all straight, now believes him gone beyond recall. Should we still be worried about these Lossoth at all?"

"Aside from them wanting to put a knife into our backs, you mean?" I asked. "After all, we're the ones who destroyed Guloth."

"Padryc is right but, even still, only partly right," said Lagodir. "You forget your history: certain tribes among the Lossoth fought on the side of Angmar when the Witch-king ruled it many centuries ago. But it was to the Witch-king that those people gave their loyalty -- not to this 'False King,' as they term Mordirith. They view the current Steward of Angmar as a fraud and a usurper, making them ripe for appropriation to Guloth's purposes. With the wraith banished, Wenhair and her mother would still wish to continue their struggle to depose the False King."

"And this is where Oakheart comes in?" asked Drodie through a mouthful of roasted pheasant. Lagodir nodded.

"Oakheart's 'faction,' if it can be called that, is the one that worries me most in all this, because we know almost nothing about her. Yet, we have heard that name come up more than once in our travels. Can any of us shed some light on the darkness which surrounds her?"

"I have never heard the name," said Nephyn with a shrug. "She has no connexion to the Bree-land or any of its strange folk-lore, but I cannot tell you more beyond that."

"All I know is Luean mentioned her in the letter he wrote to me all those weeks and weeks ago," I said as I frowned in concentration. "He said he was going off to investigate her re-emergence or something, whatever that means. He didn't provide any details, but it must have been pretty important for him to go and leave us the way he did. Now I wish more than ever he was here to tell us what he knows. I will have to read through his letter again and see if there is anything else to be learned there."

"To me the name is like the shadow of ghost in a dream," said Gaelira softly. "The name is significant, but I cannot recall why or from where, nor from what time. This has troubled me greatly ever since the name first crossed our path, and I have been meditating on it for many nights while we travelled. I even searched for hours in Elrond's library while we were in Rivendell. I found nothing, yet I know I have heard the name before meeting you all." She shook her head and her cheeks flushed red with frustration.

"I have no doubt it will come to you in time," said Lagodir. "But for now it serves our purpose to know that Oakheart is an adversary to be avoided, at least until we know more about her."

"Do we know she is an adversary?" Nephyn asked. "It seems to me we don't even know that much at present."

"No, we do," Lagodir countered. "Remember the words of Skullyg on the path to Gath Forthnir? He said the witch (that being Wenhair's mother) went with Oakheart to the tower with many doors. That can only be Barad Gularan, and anyone who would be admitted into that place is no friend to us. Even the goblin risked abandonment and starvation because he so feared to go there."

"I suppose this all makes sense, in a strange, twisted sort of way," I conceded. "So we now know that, in the wake of Guloth's passing, the Lossoth have allied themselves with Oakheart because they still wish to see Mordirith dethroned and apparently they think this Oakheart is capable of doing it. Now that sounds pretty scary to me -- enough to make me hope we never run into Oakheart! She must be one rough character."

"No doubt of that," said Lagodir. "What I wonder at is Oakheart's designs: does she intend to make herself the Lord of Carn Dum or is she contemplating some other plot? I would think the Lossoth would support her no sooner than they would support Mordirith, for their blood-oaths were sworn to the Witch-king himself, but perhaps Oakheart has promised to facilitate his return or... who knows? It is always difficult with these evil folk to know when they are truly working together and when they are lying in order to take advantage of each other."

"Well, for the moment we know enough to continue," said Drodie as he unleashed another of his gigantic burps. "We know every one of these rabble deserves to get the same treatment you gave that goblin. That was just the sort of fine work we need more of, if you ask me -- straightforward and simple; none of this mucking about with power-politics and the rest of it."

"I wouldn't mind a little straightforwardness myself," said Lagodir with a grin, "But it is still useful to understand one's enemies, for then one is better prepared to counter them when the time comes."

"Speaking of time," I said as I munched a deliciously tart apple, "What's the plan for today? Nephyn, Lagodir, and I think we may have found a way into the city, but we didn't get a chance to explore it properly. Ought we to make another go of it?"

"I think that would be best," said Gaelira thoughtfully. "I knew the approach to Carn Dum would be perilous, but already we have spent more time here than I would have liked. The encounters we have had outside Barad Gularan and with Skullyg on the very doorstep of Gath Forthnir concern me greatly; I fear the longer we remain in one place the more our danger increases, and that of these Rangers as well."

A short time later the other four had collected themselves while depositing me back at the infirmary. Despite my protestations, they refused to allow me to accompany them while they continued to scout the outskirts of the Enemy's fortress, insisting I was not fully recovered from my ordeal and could do with at least one more day of rest. I pouted a good deal, but I also found myself in need of sleep only a short time after they had gone, so I suppose they were right after all. I napped a few times during the day and amused myself by writing in this journal (it was at this time I also discovered my copy of Nephyn's personal story had disappeared -- I shall have to address that another time) and bothering the Rangers I encountered as they tried to go about their business. I also did fish out Luean's old, crumpled letter to me and scoured it for any useful information about Oakheart, but I found nothing. It was a long and rather dull day, so as soon as I heard rumour that my friends had returned I raced to the entranceway to greet them.

Their reports were not encouraging. It seems the Enemy was alerted to our presence, for the guard had been increased all along the frontier. Passage anywhere near the city proved impossible and my friends were forced to conceal themselves and flee from armed confrontation multiple times before safely returning to camp. Lagodir and Nephyn were insistent that time would have to pass for the soldiers to relax their guard while Gaelira became frustrated at the delay and Drodie just wanted to pound something. Everyone became factioned by their own preferred courses of action, and dinner was not the jovial reunion I had been waiting to enjoy all day long.

I am sitting here in my bed writing by the light of a dim oil-lamp as we prepare for sleep. It sounds to me as if tomorrow is going to be much the same that today was, although I hope we meet with better results. Personally, I agree with Nephyn and Lagodir that we should try to learn anything we can about the outlay of Carn Dum and how to best approach it: it wouldn't do to stumble blindly into a war-camp or, worse, an ambush (again!). At the same time, I feel Gaelira's concern too: somehow I sense that our time here is limited, and every day an evil is drawing nearer to this place.

The Adventures of Elladan's Outriders -- Episode 47.2

Murder and Milkthistle

Highday, 24th of Rethe, Year 1418 Shire-reckoning
The Refuge of Gath Forthnir, Somewhere in the Land of Angmar

Skullyg the goblin

Padryc shrank to my side while Lagodir stood still as stone. My hands strung an arrow without even thinking about it, but as yet there was no target. As a huntress I knew the look of a fresh kill, and for now I would have to put aside my grief to track down the murderer.

I tore my eyes away from the corpse and started to rapidly scan the area. My first instinct was to search for footprints, but here the ground was little more than cold stone. Still, from the slowly spreading pool of blood before us I knew whoever had slain Areneth was likely very close by -- they might even be lying in wait for us.

Dusk was not yet come, and in the dimming light I spotted a strange-looking hump further up the path. I think Lagodir must have noticed it too, because just as I was about to say something to him, he strode toward it. The hump moved -- it was coming closer with an odd shuffling gait. As it separated itself from the cliffside I could see it was of goblin-kind. I gritted my teeth and prepared to fire, but Lagodir signed for me to wait. The goblin raised its head and regarded us with a single bright red eye. It appeared to me the other had been darkened as if from a burn injury, along with that entire side of its face.

"Master!" it squeaked. "Guloth! You have returned to us! I knew the witch was wrong! I knew, but she would not listen. O, Master!"

My mind was racing with confusion, but then I remembered how Lagodir had fooled the Lossoth-assassin Wenhair back in Ered Luin by pretending to be Guloth resurrected at the hands of Wenhair following a dark necromantic ritual. Apparently this goblin was in league with her and still believed Lagodir to be his master, the wraith Guloth, returned to the world. I saw Lagodir straighten himself and throw his head back in an arrogant sneer.

"Yes, it is I, Guloth, your master," he said. Lagodir was trying to alter his voice to sound something like the fallen wraith, but it was not much more than a gravelly and strangled version of his own speech. I doubted the ruse would work a second time, but then goblins are not known for their intelligence -- and this particular goblin seemed a bit... disturbed... in any case.

"Yes! Yes, great Guloth," the goblin went on as it cowered and scraped at the ground. "See! I, Skullyg, your humble servant am here to do your bidding. But who are these others? Are they not enemies?"

"Silence, cur!" Lagodir shouted. "Thinkest thou to question my judgment? These two I have... turned to my service with... using... the dark arts. Touch them not, or surely thou shalt feel my wrath." Skullyg grovelled and whined pitiably.

"Of course not, master!" it croaked. "Skullyg would never, never question, O no! Not even when the witch claimed the ritual was a failure; not even when she told Skullyg that great Master had not truly returned! Skullyg never doubted great Master."

"Thou art wise to do so," said Lagodir in his most imposing voice. "So! The witch doubts my return, does she?"

"Yes! Yes, she does," replied the goblin, "But not loyal Skullyg! Skullyg always stays loyal, yes. Methinks the witch is plotting behind Master's back -- plotting with the Oakheart woman, yes, but Skullyg would not go with them to the tower, scary tower with many doors, for Skullyg knows generous Master rewards his servants." The goblin dared to raise his head slightly and his one good eye burned with an avaricious lust. I wondered how long Lagodir's falsehood would last and whether the goblin was truly so dense as to not recognize that Guloth was indeed gone from the earth forever.

"Well do you serve and remember," Lagodir said in answer to Skullyg. "And so it shall be with you, slave, for I am pleased by your loyalty. But first, tell me this: how came you here?"

"Skullyg is lost, lost!" the goblin wailed as it clutched its head in sorrow. "We would not follow the witch and the Oakheart into the tower of many doors. We wanted to go home, so home we tried to go, but Skullyg got lost and ended up here. Then a terrible Man came creeping, creeping and looking for Skullyg, but Skullyg hid and stabbed his neck from behind."

"Well done," said Lagodir imperiously. "Approach and receive your reward."

The goblin's head jerked upright and that same lustful gleam flashed in its eye again. It loped itself up to Lagodir, constantly grovelling and snivelling "Great Master," over and over. When it was within roughly four feet of Lagodir, it gazed up expectantly and its eyes suddenly became wide with fright.

"You! You're not --" But the words remain unfinished: in a single motion, Lagodir had unsheathed his sword and swung! The goblin's head thunked to the ground, then rolled a few feet before coming to a rest, the eyes and fanged mouth still gaping in disbelief. I sighed.

"So ends another of our conspirators," I said. "Although I'm still not sure how this one fits into the picture."

"Skullyg was the name mentioned in that letter we found in Sarnur -- Wenhair had dropped it," said Padryc thoughtfully. "Remember? The one we had translated by that kooky old Dwarf at Gondamon just before the Dourhands attacked the place? He was the one who had informed Wenhair's mother that Guloth was defeated, and that's when this whole crazy business began. It's a pity you didn't think to find out from it where the witch and Wenhair are now, Lagodir, before you helped him lose a little weight."

"Yes, that is regrettable," Lagodir agreed as he prodded the body of Skullyg with distaste. "Still, what is done is done, and not without profit. We begin at last to learn a little something about our mysterious Lossoth adversaries and where they fit into the larger political landscape of Angmar. We would do well to think through this new information."

"Er, righto, but first: hadn't we better move on?" the hobbit asked as he looked around nervously. "It sounds to me as if the secret of Gath Forthnir is still safe -- at least for now -- and we're all grateful for it, but reckon we ought to get out of plain sight, you know, just in case anyone else might be prowling about."

"You bring us back to practical matters as ever, friend Padryc," I said, "And yet we cannot simply leave this wreckage here: such a gruesome picture would incite anyone to search the area for the source of all this violence."

"Aye, and we must do honour by Areneth's memory as well," said Lagodir. "Come, let us dispose of the bodies."

There was a short discussion of how best to do this. In the end, we strapped a large rock onto Skullyg's remains using strips of cloth torn from his own smelly garments, then plunked the corpse into the nearby pool. The body of Areneth we cleaned as best we could and bore it to the farther side of the water, where we buried him and raised a small stone over the site in his memory. It was well-hidden under a dry and scraggly bush and behind a sizeable boulder, so as to not attract attention. Then we filled Lagodir's helm with water from the pool and did our best to wash the blood away from the stones in the area. We had done a decent job, I think, but about that time Padryc had begun to sweat and reported feeling a bit faint.

"It has been an exhausting day," I told him. "Come, let us ascend to Gath Forthnir: we must tell Maerchiniath what has become of his doorward, and you look like you could use some rest."

We reached the Ranger-camp without incident, although Padryc seemed to be getting progressively worse. By the time we arrived at the entrance he appeared to be having trouble staying on his feet. I sent Lagodir to go and deal with informing Maerchiniath of Areneth's fate while I escorted the hobbit to the infirmary and examined his wound.

It was worse than some I had seen, but not nearly so bad as many others, including a few I had borne myself. My field-dressing was holding up well, but there was no question that stitches would be required to stop the bleeding and allow it to heal properly. Padryc didn't seemed overly concerned about his arm-wound at all; instead he kept complaining about his stomach and how his head was spinning. I became very worried that perhaps he had lost more blood than was good for him during our prolonged return from Carn Dum, and I set myself to work faster.

"Padryc," I said in my best comforting tone, " Go ahead and lie down, please. Have you ever had stitches before?"

"Of course not!" he said as he lay down on one of the beds, which was rather too large for him. "Do I look like the sort? Even back on the farm I never had enough of an accident to warrant stitches. Do you think they are needed now?"

"I should think so, yes," I said, trying to sound casual. "But it's not bad -- you will probably need no more than two or three."

"I would have thought nine or ten," said Lagodir unhelpfully as he returned from his council with the Ranger-captain. I cleared my throat loudly at the interruption and the Gondorian took the hint. Typical man...

"How did Maerchiniath take the news about Areneth?" I asked him. I was both genuinely interested to know and also eager to turn the subject to something else, for Padryc's eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates at the mention of receiving ten stitches. I started cleaning the wound anew.

"About as well as one would expect," came Lagodir's reply. "He was a good Man, though we ourselves knew him all too briefly. Maerchiniath was pleased that we had done honourably by his remains and assured me his grave-site will be well-protected."

"I am glad to hear it," I said as I carefully threaded my needle. "It is but one more soul for which the Enemy shall be made to answer, but for the moment we must be grateful that Gath Forthnir's location has not been betrayed. Now, Padryc, I need you to hold still."

"Surely," the hobbit said. "Is it warm in here?"

I noticed for the first time beads of sweat forming on the hobbit's forehead. I felt a wave of fear strike me, but it was necessary to focus on the task at hand.

"I think it is, a bit," I lied. "Here, open wide." Padryc complied as I stuffed a clean, rolled-up cloth into his mouth.

"Now, if this hurts, just bite down on the cloth," I told him. The hobbit nodded.

"If woo weewy fink ith nethetharee," he said through the towel. I started to sew.

"OW!!!" Padryc must have jumped three feet into the air. "That hurt!" he cried. Lagodir and I had to force him back onto the bed.

"Hold still!" I scolded him. "It will be over much faster if you don't squirm." By now some of the other healers and leeches of Gath Forthnir had figured out we had an injured companion and had come over to offer their assistance. They helped to secure Padryc's limbs while I continued with my work and one of them got him to drink a little ale and eat a calming herb to help things along. I was able to finish the job, then I tied off the thread, wiped up the blood, and applied a new bandage along with a cloth sling.

"There you are," I said, "Nine stitches."

"Nine?!" he echoed. "Dear me! I hope it doesn't scar."

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Lagodir. "It probably will, but scars can be quite stylish." I stomped hard on the Gondorian's toes. I know it hurt him, but he did a good job to not show it.

"You'll want to be very careful with that arm for several days, Padryc," I said. "How do you feel?"

The hobbit raised himself up slowly, taking great care to not move his injured arm, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Well, the arm feels much better," he said as his legs dangled over the side. "But I wonder if I should get some water in me? My head feels all queer and my stomach --"

Suddenly he vomited with a force that startled us all. The healers cried out and began rushing around. I looked at Padryc and noticed for the first time that, though we had just wiped him down and cleaned him up after administering his stitches, he was already drenched again with sweat. His face at once  became pale and sunken.

"Oh no," I breathed. "No, no..."

"Poison!" shouted one of the leeches. "Poison of Carn Dum! Make haste, healers of Gath Forthnir!"

"The cowards!" roared Lagodir in his distress. "Honourless wretches! I swear my blade shall drink the blood of Angmar's slaves in rivers ere I leave this place."

"Later!" I snapped at him, though I too was nearly sick with worry for our friend. Padryc had slumped back onto the bed, the pillow quickly becoming stained from his perspiration. I turned to one of the healers. "You! You speak as if you have encountered this malady before. What can be done for him?"

"We are going to the store-room to collect some milkthistle; when used as a compress the herb is highly effective at absorbing the venom. It is an excellent remedy, but it must be applied quickly enough to counteract the poison before it can travel far from the entry site. When did the Halfling suffer his wound?"

"It happened on the outskirts of Carn Dum," I replied. "We made all haste back here once he was injured, but we did encounter some delay in the process. So it may have been four hours ago -- possibly five."

"That is ill news," the healer said to me. "We will do what we can, of course, but I, Lunathron, chief of the healers in Gath Forthnir, have seen many strong Men fall to these poisons. What hope we have is in speed. Remove the bandages."

I did so at once. Shortly thereafter another healer came running with a bundle of dank-smelling leaves. These were treated and folded into a compress, then applied to the wound under a whole new dressing and sling. Lagodir and I sat to one side and allowed the Rangers to do their work, but it was all I could manage to not interfere. Padryc had slipped into a terrible fever and would sometimes murmur while he slept, but he made no other signs. The healers did everything their leech-craft had taught them, but eventually they moved on to other patients while Lagodir and I were left alone to keep vigil over our little friend.

Time crawled by. I watched Padryc's breathing with the intensity of a she-bear guarding her cub, always looking for anything that might speak of improvement -- or worsening. Lagodir wrung his hands now and then, but aside from that he was both motionless and silent. I began to feel as if I was passively waiting for my friend to die, and I couldn't stand it. I thought about how the hobbit had always stuck by us, even far out into these inhospitable lands, and how he deserved so much better. I thought about all the times he had lifted our spirits, kept us from despair, or given us cause to continue our fight. I thought, too, about the time not so long ago when Padryc had kept vigil over a mortally wounded Lagodir in the ruins of Ost Forod while Gaelira, Drodie, and I had ventured out to collect the price of the brigand-merchant Enro Smuin in exchange for the trace of athelas which would end up saving him. I wondered if this was how Padryc had felt as he watched over the Gondorian while his life slowly drained away, and I wondered too what Padruc must have done during that time, for he himself had never said, nor had Lagodir told any tale about those hours. Suddenly I turned to the man.

"Lagodir," I asked in a quiet voice, "Can you sing?"

He turned his head to me in surprise, but his expression quickly changed.

"Are you asking me whether 'tis possible, or whether I am any good at it?" he asked with a sheepish smile.

"Both, I suppose," I said. There was a short pause, then he began to chant softly:

Gondor! Gondor!
Between the Mountains and the Sea!
West Wind blew there, the light upon the Silver Tree!
Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of Old.
O proud walls! White towers! O wing-ed crown and throne of gold!
O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree, 
Or West Wind blow again, between the Mountains and the Sea?

"That was lovely, thank you," I said after a time. For the briefest instant, it seemed to me a faint smile flickered on Padryc's lips, but now I think it was only a trick of my own mind. There was a long silence.

"What is this Silver Tree of which the song speaks?" I finally asked him.

"It is the Tree of the Kings," he answered. "It once bloomed in the Citadel of Minas Tirith with beautiful silver flowers. But that was in the days of Gondor's Kings, which are now long past."

"Silver flowers? That sounds like a sight to behold," I said.

"It must be, but no living Man has ever seen it in bloom. It is the hope of Gondor that it will do so again -- when the King returns to Minas Tirith. Many doubt that day will ever come."

"And what do you believe?" I asked him. There was a pause.

"I hold out hope," he said. "But whatever hope Gondor still has will come to it from out of the West, the same direction from whence came the White Tree itself. The Tree of Kings is said to be a scion of the Eldest of Trees, and that was brought from the Uttermost West, where lies Elvenhome."

"Elvenhome?" I echoed. "I wish Gaelira were here -- perhaps she could do something."

A short while later Lagodir rose to get some food from the mess-hall, but I refused to move from my place at Padryc's bedside. I thanked him but declined when he offered to bring something back to me and instead continued my vigil. I suddenly realized it must be well into the early morning hours and the hobbit would have normally written down the day's adventures by now. Eager to do something productive, I fished this book out of his pack. I did not feel bad about reading it since this journal belongs to all of us -- it is a record of The Adventures of Elladan's Outriders, after all. I was very impressed with what I found herein and marvelled at the hobbit's gift for relating a tale.

So imagine my surprise when a loose leaflet fell from the book and I opened it to discover -- well, I suppose anyone reading this knows exactly what I discovered. I thought my heart was going to stop.

Padryc, you have invaded my privacy, nearly to the very core of my being! You've laid my life bare for virtually anyone to see. This is my history, dearly sought and earnestly desired almost from my infancy! You cannot just take it like this.

And yet... now I find myself wishing I had not written those words in ink, for I cannot take them back. I do not doubt your intentions: I know you meant well, but I wish you would have told me -- there should be no secrets between us now. When I was ready I would have told you anything you wished to know, and I would have done so in gladness, knowing I had a friend in whom I could freely confide. But you have robbed me of that moment and robbed me too of the chance to decide when and how I would finally tell my story. I will be keeping this leaflet for the time being; time will tell if I shall give it back.

Please know that I am not angry with you; I don't think I could be angry with you right now anyway, even if I wanted to be, given your present condition. At the moment you are quite feverish, but you don't appear to be getting any worse, as far as I can tell. I didn't have the chance to say so at the time, but you did rather well for those being your first set of stitches. Perhaps when you are better you'll be able to write all about it using what I can see is your typical hobbitish flair for the dramatic. I've read several of your other entries and I wonder at the adventure we've had already. By the way, I'm glad you find my motherly qualities so endearing... better endearing than overbearing, which is what I always fear they are. Anyway, I doubt you will see an end to my mothering ways until we are out of this wretched land for good and all.

But I'll tell you this: if we lose you, then Mordirith is going to wish I was out of his land. And he's going to keep on wishing it right up until I dump his head into the lake to rest alongside that goblin's.