A/N: Enjoy!

Chapter Ten

Religious Studies

Mirumor stood alone in a dark room lit only by candlelight, staring intently at her knife with her arm outstretched and her back to the door. A number of books on sorcery were strewn about, open to various pages covered in ominous looking diagrams and writings. Suddenly the knife leapt from the floor.

Her joy turned to confusion as it flew not to her hand, but rather past her and out the door. She turned around to find Thorongil leaning on the doorframe, laughing hysterically at her, the knife in his hand above his head.

"That was just cruel," she laughed.

"I will never understand your kind's fascination with making things move by themselves," said Thorongil. "I am told that Gandalf became a legend in the Shire for, out of all his deeds, making a pair of diamond studs that only unfastened themselves when ordered."

Thorongil tossed the would-be sorceress her knife. "Wouldn't it be infinitely easier to just… carry two knives?"

She rolled her eyes. "Probably, but not nearly as fun. Did you have a reason for being here?"

Thorongil looked puzzled. "People keep asking me that. Unless my wife is around, the answer is almost always yes."

"Well?"

"You wanted this," he replied, holding up the small crossbow she tried to steal from Minas Morgul.

"Name your price," nodded Mirumor eagerly.

"First of all, you stay out of trouble."

"As in 'don't get caught?'" asked Mirumor with a wink and a wry smile.

Thorongil did not look impressed.

Mirumor sighed. "If you don't want me as a spy, a thief, or an assassin, why do you want my help?"

"You're not afraid of the dark," replied Thorongil.

"I assume you mean that metaphorically," nodded Mirumor. "I suppose I'm not opposed to working within the law, but I expect to be well paid. Experts in the dark arts are hard to find..."

Thorongil tossed Mirumor a small bag. She opened it and found the strangest assortment of solid gold coins from cultures past and present. There weren't many, but each was easily worth a month's wages.

"What do you think that's worth in this city?" asked the maia.

"Enough to buy my services!" smiled Mirumor. "I didn't realize the King paid so well."

Thorongil shook his head. "The King has nothing to do with it - that came from Cirith Ungol."

"You get to keep your loot! Do I get what I find?"

"Only if I don't want it," winked Thorongil. "And don't let anyone know."

"Now that sounds like someone I would work for," grinned the thief.

"Best of luck with... this," snickered Thorongil as he turned to leave, pointing to the books and candles.

"Hey, aren't you forgetting something!" objected Mirumor.

Thorongil took the tiny crossbow from his belt. "If you shoot anyone you shouldn't with this, I'm going to be in a lot of trouble. Just remember: you may have a shiny new crossbow, but I have a vampire - and she is always hungry."

Elsewhere in the city Aldamir was playing detective. He was determined to figure out who Thorongil and Elerína were, if only because Timothy had done so. Astra, who had spent most of the day at a shooting range while Aldamir read books, joined him for dinner.

"You look miserable," observed Astra.

"The elves left us depressingly little knowledge of the Ainur," moped Aldamir.

"Perhaps you should go listen to the knowledge of those who want to talk about the... 'Ainur,'" suggested Astra, uncomfortable referring to her gods by a foreign name.

"What do you mean?"

"Go to the temples," said Astra. "That's what my mother used to tell me to do when I needed insight. Of course, I always went to the shooting range instead, but…"

"I am not going to the temples!"

The next morning, at the crack of dawn when he hoped nobody would be there, Aldamir slinked down to the first level and out into the wooden town beyond the main gate.

He went first to the 'elven' temple. Such a thing is a misnomer; the elves of western Middle Earth have never worshipped the Valar, nor have they engaged in organized religion in the way eastern men have done since Morgoth first corrupted them. When the Numenoreans first came to Middle Earth as conquerors they recognized the need to stifle the worship of Sauron, their great enemy. While some men did abandon their ways and accept the Numenorean understanding of the Powers, others clung to their rituals and customs. The Numenoreans realized it might be necessary to allow some formal worship, so they permitted some houses of worship which incorporated their own names and beliefs about the Valar and their servants, and demonized Morgoth and his successors.

Aldamir was impressed by the stain glass windows and paintings in this first temple. They depicted the Valar as the benevolent protectors of men and elves. An old man, who looked at least eighty and walked with a heavy limp and cane, paced from window to window.

"Can I help you?" he asked as Aldamir wandered idly, not sure why he was there.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "How did you come to work here?"

"I have seen the power of the Ainur first hand," said the man. "I saw them save this city."

"Oh really?" asked Aldamir, hoping his derogatory skepticism wasn't audible. It was, and the man's face showed it.

The old man shook his head. "You children don't know how lucky you are. A few orcs take back the Black Gate and everyone is nervous. I was there..."

The man shuttered and took a deep breath. "I was there when dawn never came. I remember wondering if we would ever see the sun again. I saw the great gates shattered, and the shadow ride through the archway no foe had ever passed, and all the men with me cowered or ran for our lives, leaving only The White Rider to face it."

The old man smiled. "But then, when all seemed lost, even as the terror from Mordor told Mithrandir that it was his hour, the heavens betrayed Sauron and his spell was broken. As my friends and I picked up our spears and ran to Mithrandir's side I knew that when the war was over I wanted to devote my life to Manwë, Lord of the Skies."

Aldamir stood speechless and ashamed.

"Is that a good reason to work in a temple?" asked the man.

Aldamir nodded.

"So I ask you again, why are you here?" smiled the old man.

"I am looking for knowledge, and books have failed me," he replied. "Which of the maiar are married?"

"Ossë and Uinen are the most famous maiar couple," began the old man.

"I know their tale," interrupted Aldamir. "It isn't them."

"It?"

Aldamir quickly crafted a lie. He hoped Thorongil and Elerína would be proud of him figuring out their identities, but he knew they would be angry if he helped anyone else do it.

"Images from a dream," he said. "A great warrior and a noble woman, perhaps a sorceress…"

"That isn't much to go on," chuckled the man. "There are many great warriors among the Powers. Most of what we know of them comes from stories of war."

"Is Ilmarë married?" asked Aldamir. He desperately hoped that Elerína would be Ilmarë - for his best friend's sake, and because it would make the best story.

"Legends say she is married to Eönwë, who would certainly qualify as a great warrior," answered the veteran.

"What is known of Ilmarë?"

"Very little, for she is not listed among those who fought in the War of Wrath," sighed the old man. "She is sometimes considered the patron of learning and knowledge, or of politicians and royalty, or of the performing arts. My predecessor used to say that if all those were true, that would make her the 'goddess of civilization.' I once met a young man who went on a tirade saying that to call her the 'goddess' of anything was a great insult, for she of all the Ainur would disavow their worship. Either way, we give donations in her name to Minas Tirith's lower level schools."

Aldamir wonder if Timothy had been the young man in the story. He went to a window dedicated to the heroes of the War of Wrath. Imagery of Eönwë, Oromë and Tulkas glowed radiantly as the light of the morning sun streamed in. To their right was an eagle - Aldamir rightly guessed this was Thorondor - and to their left a lioness. Around them were countless heroes of old, but to Aldamir's disappointment none of them wore black armor, or carried a red sword.

Aldamir left the temple after giving the old man some silver for his time, to which the old man joked that it wasn't often people left offerings for him. Afraid to go to the northmen's temple for fear that Astra might be there and learn that he took her advice, he went next to the temple of Rhûn. It felt very dark and dreary after the beautifully bright and airy temple he had just visited.

It was clean and elegant, yet also ostentatious in its copious use of gold - a mineral their homeland's mountains, combined with a history of slave labor, provided in relative abundance. It consisted mostly of a main hall filled with metal statues and effigies at which one would leave offerings to their gods - mostly interpretations of the Valar, though for some like Manwë they had both benevolent and malicious deities for different seasons and weather. Aldamir found it an interesting study in Rhûnic culture but not at all helpful to his current quest. He was about to leave when he noticed a doorway blocked by black curtains. A golden eagle with blood soaked talons adorned them. Outside was a bowl filled with coin, clearly meant for offerings before going inside. He meandered over to the doorway.

"Welcome, traveler," said a man with a thick Rhûnic accent. He wore elegant robes, and Aldamir correctly guessed him to be the proprietor of the establishment. Aldamir knew enough from his work as a merchant to greet the man in the custom of his own land, which pleased the priest to no end.

"What's in there?" asked Aldamir unceremoniously, pointing to the curtains.

The priest looked uncomfortable with such a terse question. "That is the shrine to Vultur."

"Who is he?" asked Aldamir.

The priest looked around suspiciously, as though he expected such ignorant questions to bring down the wrath of the gods.

"Vultur is the god of war and death!" he whispered hurriedly. "He is the commander of their army, though he needs little help to slaughter men and orcs."

"Why is his shrine separate?"

"Because Vultur is not to be approached unless at great need, or by his own servants," explained the priest. "Most never enter his shrines, for to anger him is to invite ruin and death upon all. They leave offerings to the other gods and ask them to restrain his wrath."

"Then why have a shrine to him at all, if most won't use it?" asked Aldamir.

"To not do so would be a great insult to Vultur!" gasped the man. "More immediately, it would anger those who worship him, and that is very foolish. The Coven of Vultur are the last people you want to make angry. They have a tendency to burn down temples they find lacking… quite often with the priests inside."

Aldamir couldn't stand the thought of leaving without knowing what that shrine looked like. "May I see it?"

Rhûnic custom forbade the priest from refusing Aldamir entry into any shrine, so the priest nervously dropped a great number of coins into the offering bowl for himself and gestured to Aldamir to do the same.

"How much?" asked the young merchant.

"What? You aren't buying anything. Vultur expects whatever you can afford and a fair price for his attention and favor..."

"But I just want to look around," interrupted Aldamir. He dropped a couple silver coins into the bowl.

"Gods preserve us!" muttered the priest. He took a second handful of coins from his pocket and added them to the bowl. "For this fool..."

The priest pulled back the curtain and Aldamir stepped in. The room was dimly lit by candles and a small fire. Before him on a gold plated pedestal stood a small statue of a warrior in armor black as the night. In his right hand was a sword that glinted red, courtesy of shards of ruby embedded in the blade. In his left he held a single silver dagger. If any legends of the past told of Thorongil, this surely was it! Adorning the walls sat paintings of the god of death killing various legendary monsters, as well as kings of men.

"Wow," was all Aldamir could muster at first. "In the naming of the gods used by the elves and men of the West, who is Vultur?"

"I am told he would be 'Eönwë,' but the stories are different," replied the man. That was certainly true. It did not immediately occur to Aldamir that many of the ancestors of the Easterlings had fought for Morgoth, not the armies of the West, and thus they had known Eönwë as an enemy. He and his legions had mercilessly laid waste to entire armies of mortal men.

Aldamir felt he had his answer. Elerína must be Ilmarë, which would explain Tim's loyalty to her and in why Tim's father had given him his first sigil. Thorongil was Eönwë, which explained why Shelob feared to face him. This would also explain why the king showered them with gifts, especially if it secure their continued aid.

Aldamir confronted Timothy will his conjecture over lunch.

"Please don't do this," begged the scholar, torn between his promise to the maiar that he would preserve their secrecy and honesty to his closest friend. Aldamir pressed the issue and Timothy stormed out.