Chapter 25 – The Lost Prince

Principality of Dol Amroth

Two months earlier

"And Tirith how are you feeling?" asked the chief healer.

"Well I think, but you're the healer," answered Tirith.

Tirith was the Elven word for guard. It had started as a nickname amongst the guards. But soon the healers and many of the servants had adopted the name. By the weeks end the stranger was almost universally known as Tirith.

"Your colour is better and that arm appears to be healing remarkably well. Hmmm no signs of infection, well I believe that you are well enough to leave our care," said the healer with a smile.

"My thanks master healer, I think I will take you up on that offer," Tirith replied.

The elderly healer walked off chuckling leaving the dark haired young man sitting on his bed. It was Imrahil that found him still sitting there several hours later.

"Tirith! I had thought to find you in the ale house my friend not still at the mercy of the healers," said Imrahil in a jocular voice.

"My Prince I am…..It's only that I have just realised; I have nowhere to go" Tirith answered as he looked out the window.

"The offer is still there my friend. The guard would welcome you, they already consider you an honorary member," the Prince had already made this offer many times.

Seeing that Tirith was undecided he offered another option "Tirith I must leave for Rivendell in the North. There is an important meeting taking place and I am to represent my people. I would like to offer you a position as a, shall we say advisor until you decide what you wish to do. I won't let you simply walk away my friend, you saved my life."

"Advisor? I don't even know my own name," replied Tirith.

"Tirith you can't remember your past and claim you don't know how you did your…..trick that day, and I accept that. Perhaps in Rivendell the Elves or the wizard Gandalf will know how to help you remember."

Tirith looked at the Prince for several moments as if assessing his reasons before smiling and answering "If you mean it then yes I'll ride with you."

Imrahil smiled in return and gestured with his head toward the door "Come my friend we have a sea voyage on our swiftest ships to the legendary Elf havens then a hard ride if we are to be on time."

Meduseld – Rohan

King Théoden watched with a great deal of satisfaction as Ayrica disarmed her instructor. The young woman was remarkable and had made quiet a name for her self in his court. Being Intelligent and brave as well as a relative by marriage to the royal family had meant that the young woman was immediately noticed and her good will was being sought by many of the factions in the court. She had approached him and asked his advice on receiving further training and he had recommended that she study under his guard captain.

Now a month later and he was seeing a great deal of improvement. Indeed she was quite skilled. He watched as her instructor picked up his blade and immediately attacked again. Ayrica blocked his attack and swiftly countered obviously catching him unaware as he barely blocked. The next attack he made however caught her by surprise throwing off her block and her training partner's blade sank deep in to her shoulder.

Théoden leapt to his feet even as she fell to her knees. The trainer was wadding his tunic to bind her wound even as another guard reached them. Ayrica was clutching her shoulder fighting off their hands when she made a pushing motion with her free hand that sent the two men tumbling across the training yard before she fell face first in to the dirt.

Ayrica had slept through the night had awoken the next day with no idea how she had 'pushed' the guards away. The King had heard of something similar from his sister's husband and so he had sent a letter with a swift riding courier to Rivendell.

Gil Imrad

Maglor son of Feanor sat staring blankly at the scrolls and books that made up his library. It was a vast collection of elven lore and his personal redemption. Well he had thought of it as his redemption for the evil he had done, he wasn't sure that he could be redeemed.

He looked down at his right hand. He could still see the mark, the burn the Silmaril had left when it had rejected his right of ownership. If he closed his eyes he could still clearly see the jewel burning brightly as he reached in to the iron coffer, no he wouldn't dwell on the past. He couldn't change it nor undo his mistakes.

"Lore master?" called his apprentice quietly from the doorway.

"Come in, please."

"Master what is wrong? You left the room so abruptly."

"I was simply surprised as I believe were you and your father."

"Lore master we have always known that you were of the Noldor and likely of high estate given your skills and knowledge." Elia took care to make sure her voice was calm and non-accusing.

"Elia my name should have stayed lost; no good can come of me being 'found'. I am no lost prince. I left my heritage behind in shame. Blood is on my hands, blood and horror and death. Your people's blood is on my hands."

Elia looked with pity at the distraught elf for a long moment before placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Knowing my history I would guess that you are Prince Maglor." Elia's voice was soft and she didn't remove her hand.

"My people spoke of you being a master harpist and a mighty singer. Even in those dark times you were known as the most honourable of the sons of Feanor."

"Honourable? I was driven by my oath as much as my brothers." Maglor paused before looking in to Elia's eyes. "Your people allowed me a refuge from my grief and my anger and for that I will be eternally grateful. However no matter how much I have done since I cannot erase the memory of my deeds."

Maglor had sat silent and downcast and after a short while Elia had gently squeezed his hand and quietly left the room.

"You should be proud Maglor."

Maglor turned in his chair at the sound of the deep resonant voice. The tall being standing to his left was very familiar.

"Lord Manwë" He quickly dropped out of his chair to his knees.

"You should be proud Maglor son of Feanor. Your journey has been long. You have caused suffering and in turn suffered. Yet you sought redemption and in seeking you found it. Your kin shall welcome you home, in honour. Only one task shall I lay upon you Prince of the Noldor, I ask you to seek my envoys, find them and gather your people for the dispossessed will be the protector of magic's children."

Maglor had tears running down his face as the image of Manwë laid a hand on his head in silent benediction before fading away.

Lothlórien

The Lady Galadriel stepped back from her mirror shaken with tears falling freely. The vision of Lord Manwë had shaken her to the core. It would appear that Harry and Luna were indeed the chosen envoys of the Valar. Galadriel smiled it also appeared that history was about to be rewritten. She was truly shocked that her kinsman Maglor was alive. He was a good leader, a scholar and a superb musician. He was also a Prince of the Noldor and could claim the High Kingship if he wished. 'Oh no' she thought this was one White Council meeting she was not going to miss.

As she walked from the small forest glade she touched the small necklace she wore. The small white jewel that adorned it pulsed once. Her message sent, she continued along the familiar forest path. She smiled a small private smile. She had a family reunion of soughts to organise.

The Tower of Orthanc – Isengard

"And so we find ourselves once more in both your debts." Gandalf smiled.

"There is no debt" replied Harry "we were in a position to help and Luna tells me that the outcome here was vital."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

Luna smiled as she replied "I had a vision of you fighting Saruman and then the Nazgûl and knew that you needed our help. We can't afford to lose you now Olórin you have a vital role still to play ere you may seek release from your task."

"Do you know our roles in this? Are you able to share your visions?" asked Gandalf hiding his surprise at being called Olórin.

"Sauron has in his folly begun a chain of events that could destroy Arda. The Valar have had to take action and through agents such as Harry and I they work on protecting and defending the world against his madness."

Harry stepped forward leaning on his staff "My mission is to oppose Sauron's use of sorcery and to start the free peoples organising and working together. Then Luna and I have to establish a very special school."

"A school" began Luna "for those with the gift of magic. Elves, men it doesn't matter. All those who can be taught will be welcome."

"A school for magic, how would you even start such an enterprise? There are virtually no mortals who have the strength of character to use sorcery and not be corrupted." Gandalf responded a frown on his face.

"No" explained Luna "we don't speak of sorcery but of true magic. A skill lost to those on Arda since the first age."

"Surely not everyone will be able to be taught to use magic?"

"No, I wouldn't think so. In our homeland it was literally one chance in thousands that one would have the gift unless both parents had it."

"Do you believe this school is truly possible?" asked Gandalf.

"Yes" was Harry's simple answer.

"Perhaps we should move inside, I suspect that our discussion may be a long one" Luna gestured at the tower.

"Alas unless Saruman has they key on his person then we shall have to seek ropes or some such for I fear the towers defences may be nigh on…" Gandalf's voice faded away as he watched Luna's tall form shrink and change till an owl stood in her place. The owl took flight and after a few moments flew on to the balcony far above.

Several minutes later Luna simply opened the impenetrable stone door.

"Hurry up you two we have much to discuss and little time. The first of our students to be are already discovering their powers" Luna chivvied Gandalf and Harry in to the tower.

Gandalf was stunned as Harry and Luna relayed their plans. If they could succeed then Sauron's sorcerers could be countered as a threat. But that still left Sauron and while Harry and Luna were powerful Gandalf was not sure they were a match for the Dark Lord of Mordor. He could see now why they had pushed the need for the expanded White Council, the free peoples needed to band together if they were to survive the coming war.

"How long do we have before the war begins?" he asked Luna.

"That is the question my friend, there are many paths from this point and all have their risks. We need time but how do we gain that? The one ring is still hidden from Sauron and he won't move without it. Lord Lorien has foreseen its being found as the first sign that war has come. I believe that we shall see more of his sorcerers' and more of his spies well before his armies."

All three were silent for several long moments as they considered what had been said. Gandalf stirred first as he turned to look out the window.

"On a less portentous note," said Gandalf with a smile "I do have a question or two about your school."

The three talked long in to the night. Plans were made and strategies discussed before they went to their rest. It had been decided that the Tower of Orthanc would be the home of the new school, at least for now. The morning would see them riding for Rivendell to present this to the next meeting of the White Council. A meeting that Gandalf felt would be vital, as it would be attended by many of the new delegates.

Minas Ithil in the Morgul Vale

Khamûl watched the two human sorcerers as they duelled. Both were men of almost pure Black Númenórean stock and his master hoped to use them to infiltrate Gondor. These two certainly looked the part. He watched as the first sorcerer, the dark haired one cast a deadly necromantic spell, one designed to drain the life force of its target. The target moved quickly and returned fire with conjured flames attempting to set alight his rivals robes. The other sorcerer danced out of the way and the duel continued until a gong sounded.

Khamûl turned back to his map satisfied that the training was continuing. The master's spies had informed him that there were several petty realms now preparing for war. That could not be allowed. One more Khamûl had to acknowledge Sauron's genius. His master had spent years preparing for this very eventuality. He had a legion of spies, assassins and saboteurs.

Minas Tirith - Gondor

Denethor, son of Ecthelion II, had been considered by many to be a leader of great potential. He had been strong of will and well versed in the lore of his people. He had been known as a skilled warrior, rider and a respected leader of men. It was ironic, thought the Guard Captain that he would meet his death in such an undignified way.

"So healer do you concur?" asked Captain Berren.

"Aye a fish bone, a pity he was dining alone when it became lodged in his throat," said the healer with a sad shake of his head.

"Have his children been informed?" asked the Healer. He had worked in the citadel since before the death of the lady Finduilas, the children's late mother.

"I believe Lady Ivriniel of Dol Amroth is with them now. At least it is a family member," replied the guard captain. He didn't say that there was now a great deal of concern amongst the city leaders. For in truth none knew exactly who was running the city.

"Did he suffer?" asked Boromir as he gave his brother a one armed hug. At sixteen he considered himself the protector of his eleven year old brother Faramir.

"No nephew it would have been reasonably quick," answered Ivriniel.

"What happens to us now Aunty Nel?" asked Faramir with tears in his eyes.

"I don't know Faramir. I need to speak to some people about who will rule and what that means to us. I won't leave you nephews, but decisions need to be made," explained Ivriniel.

"I'll come with you," said Boromir.

"No nephew, stay with your brother. Nothing will be decided tonight and this is a time for family," said Ivriniel as she laid a fine boned hand on her nephews shoulder.

Boromir nodded and embraced his brother. The next few days were bound to be chaotic and if they were to survive, if Gondor was to survive they would have to be strong.

Rivendell

Lord Elrond re-read the missive and frowned. Seven days from the next White Council meeting and Lord Denethor lies dead in Gondor. His many hundreds of years of life left him with very little belief in coincidences. He was considering his next move when there was a knock on his door. He paused before answering as something tugged at his awareness. Then it hit him beside the knock there was no other sound.

Slowly he reached for his sword which hung on the back of his chair. His hand closed on the hilt of his well oiled blade and it slid silently from its sheath. With Elven grace he stood and moved silently to the side of the door. Raising his blade he patiently waited.

With a crash the door blew inwards followed by a hooded figure wielding a sword. Elrond didn't even hesitate as he struck out at the cloaked figure. Elrond's swift strike struck the hooded figure in the back but the assassin stayed on his feet and tuned to face the Elven lord.

The hooded figure raised it hand and a ball of malignant green energy appeared. Elrond's eyes flicked to the doorway.

"You're fast elf but not fast enough," the figure raised its hand as if to throw the ball of energy.

Elrond considered his next step; he'd never reach the door. If help was coming it was going to be too late. With a silent prayer to the Valar he did the only thing he could. He threw his sword at the assassin. The razor sharp blade struck the assassin's right hand and the energy dissipated. Elrond rushed forward striking the figure across the face, hard.

As the hooded assassin stumbled backward, Elrond swept the feet out from under the assassin. As the intruder lay stunned on the floor Elrond picked up his sword and struck the figure across the temple twice with the heavy steel hilt.

Elrond straightened and moved, sword in hand to the ruined doorway. Slowly he moved so that he could see of the room. There was no one in sight. Moving quickly he made his way to Glorfindel's room. Knocking twice he waited a few moments before he heard a muffled "Enter."

"By Varda what happened?" asked his old friend as he eyed the blood stained sword.

"An assassin in my quarters," answered Elrond.

Glorfindel quickly drew his own blade and followed his Lord and friend. Outside the office they found two servants looking around in dismay. Both were sent to raise the alarm.

"That's two times they have tried this now old friend" said Glorfindel as he helped bind the unconscious assassin.

Elrond nodded and tied a knot before replying "Yes and again it appears sorcery was used. I think that we need to speak to our Istari friends about improving our defences against this sought of thing. It also means we have to consider the death of the Steward of Gondor in a new light."

"The Steward is dead, assassinated?" asked Glorfindel in a worried tone.

"I was just reading a just arrived missive about it when, well you can see what happened," replied Elrond "we must warn the council members about this, they will need to increase their vigilance. I fear Sauron may be targeting our allies."

Gondorian Garrison in the ruins of Eastern Osgiliath

Bergin of the Guard stamped his feet as he tried to ward off the evening chill. It got cold at night this close to the river. He checked his candle; it had burnt down to the next quarter hour mark. Pulling his spear from the weapon rack he began another circuit of the wall. At the half way point he paused and glanced around in irritation. Where was Othar? If the fool had fallen asleep again Bergin would box his ears. With a put upon sigh he hefted his spear and trudged toward the far tower to wake his errant colleague.

Bergin was almost at the tower when he noticed that the tower door was open. 'That's odd' thought the veteran guard. He took another step and paused. Something was wrong here. The weapon rack was empty and guards post unoccupied. He heard a scraping noise and glanced at the wall. A rope, tied around the stonework. Without further thought he pulled his horn from his belt and blew three short blasts, raising the alarm.