Sarah once more! You just can't get rid of me, can you? :D Many thanks for your gracious praise!! Mui, mui we LOVE yous! Love yous forever! *smacks self in punishment for bad Jar Jar imitation*
Lurker_elf: LOL!! You're right: hints from us must be indicative of some sort of virus… Or maybe Bengwiil. ;D *gets a dangerous mental picture of Elladan dressed up in a hen costume and quickly shakes her head and moves one* :P Thank you! We particularly tried to show Elladan and Elrohir in their 'lords of Rivendell' roles here — even if they don't behave that way around each other, or Aragorn and Legolas. ;) Yeah, you aren't the only one predicting poor Erynbenn's death. :| *snorts* Yes, Halbarad is relatively safe… from us, anyway. :( *laughs* Rubber-hero syndrome; I know what you mean! And I'm glad we avoided it. *whew* :D Even Elrond must have is weak points! ;D Glad our lesser-angst timing worked out so well! Be assured: this post doesn't have much angst either. :) *gazes in astonishment at List-o-Lindamar* Man, I didn't recall having dropped quite so many hints as that… just goes to show what happens to your memory when you write LOTR fan fiction! But anyway, speculate no longer! Here it is at last: the mystery unraveled (and it really *isn't* what you think it is)! I think we ought to dedicate this chapter to you; you've nagged us for it the most… ;D
Lady Sandry: You probably don't want to know. In VERY brief: Bucky is the squirrel from Emperor's New Groove, and he has attached himself to Hannah/Siri; she can't seem to get rid of him. :P LOL! Yeah, I know what you mean. ;) Yeah, we were pretty sure Aragorn had more than his share of difficulties when he was growing up amongst the elves. Poor boy! :| Ooh! I wish I could see how you look in your outfit; that sounds so cool! We don't celebrate Halloween, but we're planning to dress up for Return of the King (I've made elven dresses for Hannah, Chloe and myself). My dress is more of an Eowyn style, actually, but I certainly won't be able to pull *her* off because I happen to have dark brown hair and green eyes. :P I know what you mean; we wanted to show Aragorn's relationships with his men (because of his joyous reception of them in ROTK), but that also meant focusing a good deal on Halbarad and NOT dwelling on the fact that he is going to be their one casualty!! :( *pats Sandry on the back* Glad you liked Elrond's bits… *Sandry nods sadly* Um. Yeah. Here. *hands over mug of cocoa, box of Kleenex, and a few truffles* Standard Anti-Angst kit! ;)
Anarril: Allow us to un-confuse you! Keep reading. ;) Another one who doesn't want us to kill Erynbenn! Um. I guess you'll just have to wait and see… *gulp* :| Thanks for the link! I'll have to check that out. :)
Gwyn: Sounds like a good guess to me! *looks at Estel-ful Elrond thoughtfully* ;) I wonder, can you harmonize complaining and fussing? We might really have a future then! :) Anyway, loved the long, beautiful, complimentary, witty, fantastic and all around great review. Pardon me while I cheerfully ignore all the death threats, become nervous over the schemes, dodge the guesses, and try to finish these responses so I can update fast… :P
Mariana Nimeneth: No, you don't have a horrible memory! We haven't told you who/what Lindamar is yet; we've only dropped annoying hints. But don't worry: the answers are coming! :D
Cassia: Holy Jamoleecans, girl, you've reviewed almost every chapter we've posted on this!! *resists the urge to 'squee', Lina-style, and settles for a big squeeze* OH, how we love you! :D Burn? Smudge? Sharpen? Golly, Cassia, sounds incredibly fascinating to me. Who knows, maybe you'll be able to discover some clever way to put tears in people's clothing! *grins brightly, then dissolves into helpless giggles* I'm sure Hannah feels your pain; for my part, my Adobe skills could be unfavorably compared to the artistic talents of a small shrub. :P *eyes Kleenex* Hopefully, you'll only need those for the cold… yeah. :| Heh, yup, we felt that if *Aragorn* could survive anything and everything under the sun, then the other Dúnedain ought to be able to as well. The only thing he has that they don't is the elven side of his heritage. :) *Sarah and Hannah sigh in immense relief* Celboril passed! It is ever-so-reassuring when you say you've enjoyed, well, *your* characters. :D Now maybe you'd better take a nap and take care of this sleep-deprivation problem of yours… Your eyes don't look so good, for one thing. :P
Karina: Unfortunately we don't spend our summers in Canada any more, and the reason we used to go to BC was because my grandpa had a cabin up there we could stay in. Montreal sounds incredible, though! Certainly more interesting than logging trucks. *wink* Oh, and we used read the cereal boxes too (though we never knew any French, so our pronunciation probably would have sent you to an early grave). ;D We felt the Prancing Pony needed a little more justice done to it; from the perspective of four Nazgul-chased hobbits who've never left the Shire, it might seem intimidating, but we didn't think that impression ought to hold for Aragorn. Like you said: it just didn't seem like a brawling kind of place. :) Yup, poor Aragorn! People really *have* been out to get him his whole life. Granted, Qualin and Raane were too ignorant to really understand that when they took the job, but STILL! :D Of *course* we forgive you!! For whatever reason, Real Life *does* exist and we certainly won't fault you for falling victim to it. ;D Weather is pretty good; cool, but good. The leaves are changing colors, which means we'll soon be flooded with leaf-looking tourists, but that's what you get for living so near the Smokies. ;P
Drum-roll please! The Lindamar mystery (ha ha) is about to be revealed in all its… well, not exactly 'glory', but its entirety anyway. Right after some more Dúnedain fun… :) (p.s. I was having some trouble with FanFiction.Net bold-texting the whole chapter, so I have *un*-bolded the whole thing to see if that will fix it; just so you know why this looks weird!)
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Darkest Night
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
Chapter 13
Lindamar
When the three Dúnedain realized that they would soon reach the gates of Bree, they carefully drew up their hoods.
"Mighty mysterious you look," the old man smiled, shaking his head. "No wonder people take you for lunatics or robbers."
"It's better this way, Kemen, trust me," Halbarad reassured the man calmly. The less any of Bree's citizens saw of the Dúnedain, the safer it would be for all of them.
"Which did you think we were?" Erynbenn asked curiously. "Lunatics or robbers?"
"Lunatics," Kemen said frankly.
"And now?"
"I couldn't say," the farmer shrugged. "I can't pretend to know you beyond what you did for me back there, and though I'll allow you to be good shots in such a pinch, I must say you should have chosen your previous fight more carefully; whatever you took on trounced you good."
"Thank you," Bartho grunted, faintly sarcastic. "We'll remember that next time."
Halbarad, perhaps fearing the other ranger would say too much, broke in with a question, "Do you live here in Bree?"
"Yes and no," Kemen smiled. "I have my fields outside of town, and I chop my wood back the way you found me, but I have a small house here that I stay in when I'm not traveling."
The house was indeed small, but sturdy and welcome in that it had a roof. The rain had begun again, giving the streets outside an uninviting quality, for the byways had seen too much rain to be anything less than thick mud and the beams of all the houses were dark with moisture.
Inside the Dúnedain removed their cloaks and sat quietly about the table in the center of the room while Kemen disappeared briefly into the store room to seek out his herb provisions. He came back well supplied and deposited the dried plants neatly before them, nodding as he explained, "You'd best see to each other while I take this wood into town and get Willem back into his stall. He doesn't like the damp any more than I, and no one buys wet firewood." He nodded and was gone.
Silently directing Erynbenn to turn about, Bartho examined the bloodstained bandages grimly. "It's a miracle we're not all dead."
Halbarad only nodded and busied himself starting a fire in the small hearth and putting on water to boil. His neck and the back of his head were throbbing, leaving him little or no attention left for any other of his lesser injuries. By the time he had completed his work, Bartho had nearly finished cleaning Erynbenn's wounds. The young ranger's back had been scored badly, leaving him in much pain, but not so deeply that stitching had been needed. His hands were still red and sore from the creature's blood, but he slid his gloves on again and seemed little bothered by them after washing them in cold water. The wound in his thigh was the chief worry amongst all three of them, for with it he would not be able to travel far or very swiftly.
As if catching the worry of his companions, Erynbenn looked up with an inaudible sigh, "You'll have to leave me here. You can't afford to have someone already injured or unfit; at the least I will slow you."
Bartho snorted roughly through his nose, his dark brows connecting in a frown. "We're none of us fit just now, and not one of us would have survived without the rest."
Erynbenn gave the ghost of a smile as the man's quick fingers rewrapped the bandage about his leg, but he shook his head and there was a new maturity in his eyes. "I may be young, but I do recognize when I will be underfoot. There are too few of us to spare anyone on looking after an injured boy."
For a long silence Halbarad sat and gazed thoughtfully at the young man. Somewhere in that decision, he had seen something of great value, and it was not the over-enthusiasm of a lad. "No," he said at last, rising to remove the water from the fire. "I don't leave *men* behind." There was a faint emphasis on the word. "And there are too few of us to spare anyone to a town of suspicious shopkeepers." He smiled briefly over his shoulder. "With your sinister appearance they'd throw you out as soon as beg your name."
Erynbenn chuckled, then asked curiously, "Do you think Aragorn and Legolas might still be here?"
"Unlikely," Bartho shook his head. "Aragorn wouldn't linger, especially now. He'd get his information and be off in a day at most."
"True," Halbarad nodded, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by the door swinging open.
Except that it wasn't Kemen who appeared in the entrance, but rather an old woman with a basket over her arm. At the sight of the three men she stifled a small cry and seemed about to back out again.
"Master Furdock will be back shortly," Halbarad reassured her quickly. "He left to deliver his wood and stable his horse."
The woman stopped and looked at them more carefully. Strangely, a light of recognition seemed to flit across her face and she nodded, turning to guide in a figure standing just behind her. It was an old man, muttering quietly to himself. He did not look at them, merely moved to a corner at the end of the small bed that he seemed to consider his own and crouched there.
"Who might you be?" the woman asked, "And how came Kem— Master Furdock by you?"
"We were fortunate to lend him a hand on the northward road and he invited us in out of the rain," Halbarad explained, looking about in an attempt to distract the newcomer from the bloodstained bandages that would be sure to alarm her, but somehow they were already gone. A brief flick of white under Bartho's cloak was the only sign that anything was amiss.
"That sounds like him," she admitted, and allowed a brief smile as she moved to put her basket on the table and remove its contents. "I was only baking a little and thought I saw the light from the fire through the window. I generally pass on what I have extra when Master Furdock is in town; he not having a wife to care for him." Every few minutes as she talked she cast an watchful glance over at the man in the corner, but he still did not look up.
The door opened again, this time disclosing the owner of the house, his cloak dark with wet. "It never rains, but pours it certainly does— why Helin! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! You can't imagine how I've missed your baking the past weeks; wood just isn't the company that a fine young woman can be."
To Erynbenn's surprise the old woman turned pink as she shook her head, "You're a handsome flatterer, Kemen, but I've too much sense to listen to you."
"That you have," he agreed, "but you can't blame a man for trying. How've you been, Raane?" This question he directed to the corner and now the huddled man looked up, his eyes drifting to the familiar face of the farmer, and on to Halbarad beside him… With a surprised little cry that may have been recognition he started forward suddenly, Helin moving instinctively to try and stop him.
"Did you get rid of it?" Raane asked eagerly. "It is not on your finger."
"What?" Halbarad asked with some surprise.
"Don't mind my brother, sir," Helin said quickly, "he's mistook you for another ranger."
The three Dúnedain stared.
"Which ranger might that have been?" Halbarad asked carefully, and then, when she hesitated, he hazarded, "Strider, was it?"
Her eyes widened, "Why yes! You know him, then?"
"Yes," Halbarad nodded, "and it might be well if you would tell us—" He started as Raane grabbed his wrist, pulling him down to the dusty wood floor. The old man was squatting like a child, tracing his finger in the dust and leaving small patterns.
"Look," he breathed, pointing at his work. "Horrible, isn't it?"
The others in the room turned to look at the drawing from his angle. It was a strangely accurate drawing from such a man, and depicted a creature with lithe body, clawed feet, flat head, and long, clawed tail. Bartho glanced sharply at his companions and saw matching expressions of amazement only half hidden on their faced.
"Raane," Halbarad whispered, "what is that?"
The man was rocking slowly on his heels, oblivious to the question and all the world for a moment as he hummed for a while under his breath. When he finally spoke it was in random phrases, his voice rising almost merrily at times, and then falling into stark fear. "Lovely carvings all along the walls… beautiful carvings… worth much gold! Horrible carvings, monsters — horrible monsters. Qualin said the book… said the book said… He shouldn't be reading now! 't says the last one, the last and greatest one will stay behind… guard the tunnels… Nobody in or out through tower doors… Nobody in, nobody out, nobody in, nobody out… out… Let me out!" This last was a shrill cry as he started up, scuffing at the dust until the drawing was swept away, and then turned wildly in search of the door.
Kemen stepped quickly forward, catching the insane man by the elbows and holding him still as Helin tried desperately to calm her brother again. Two outbursts in only a few days was too much for her. By the time she finally had Raane settled happily in his corner, she was sobbing hard into Kemen's shoulder as he gently patted her graying hair.
When the woman was calm again, she moved firmly over to her pie and laid it out, going to get plates from the cupboard. "You'll be hungry after all the wood delivering," she said to Kemen with a wet smile.
"He's harmless as harmless most of the time," Kemen explained to the others in an undertone, "but the rest of the time he drives poor Helin near hysterical with his outbursts. She really shouldn't be at home alone with him all the time; one of these days he'll push her over by accident and she'll hurt herself."
Halbarad nodded, his mind busy working through what he had just heard from this crazy man. Aimless rambling it might be to these simple folk about him, but to the Dúnedain it was of vital importance.
"Helin," the ranger said gently, "if it wouldn't be too painful, I'd very much like to know what your brother said to my friend Strider."
Idhrin had labored long with the Dúnedain — long even for the waning descendants of Numenor, whose lives spanned more years than normal men. He had begun his duties under Arador, continued through the life of Arathorn, and now he served Aragorn. Three captains. Yet out of all of them, he knew that he trusted Aragorn the most. Idhrin had honed his skills of reading people through many long years of experience, and there was a wisdom and a strength in the young leader of the Dúnedain that belied his age.
But the old ranger himself, on the other hand, had always been content to follow others, and how could he rightly do what was being asked of him? He was no leader of men; not even a lieutenant as Halbarad was. Unaware of the gesture, he ran his hand through his gray hair. What Aragorn needed from him now was that same desire to follow orders that had guided Idhrin through his whole life. And what was more, Idhrin trusted Aragorn not to make such a decision as this in haste.
"I will do it, Aragorn. I will lead the attack. Though I hope you will not take the sentiment amiss if I say that I hope the Valar may produce Halbarad before morning."
Aragorn shook his head, "Of course not, Idhrin. I hope that myself, for I greatly fear that we may at last have suffered casualties. Halbarad's death I could not easily bear, nor Bartho or Erynbenn's. If time were less pressing I would wait for them but this is no small journey we must take and I must trust Ilúvatar that they will be waiting to greet us upon our return." He chose a few more pieces of kindling and tossed them onto the cooking fire in front of him.
"Aye," Idhrin agreed. His sober brown eyes softened as he added, "Perhaps Bartho has stumbled upon a second Lindamar."
It was not the first time Legolas had heard the strange word, and he was opening his mouth to request an explanation when to his surprise Aragorn began to laugh. It was a low laugh, but a genuine one.
"I sincerely hope not," the ranger said at last, his eyes twinkling suddenly in a way that proved Idhrin's attempt to cheer him had indeed been successful. He added ruefully, "Really, this ought not to be amusing."
"Perhaps not," Legolas' tone was light, "but this stew is as finished as it will ever be and you have gone too far to end this conversation without finally telling me what Lindamar is."
"'Who'," Malvegil corrected from the other side of the fire. "Lindamar was a woman."
The elf's eyebrows rose and Aragorn retreated into a fresh bout of laughter.
"Aye, you would not think it to look at Bartho, would you?" Malvegil shrugged his broad shoulders.
"But perhaps it explains his outlook better than even the warg fight on Oronta Crag," Idhrin said. "In many ways it molded him more than even hypothermia could have." The elder Dúnadan eased himself down within the circle of orange light and accepted the bowl of stew that Legolas passed him.
"Are you saying this Lindamar was someone important to Bartho?" Legolas frowned, wondering where the humor in this might be if the story was as he suspected.
"Important, yes, but no relation," Aragorn shook his head. "And it's not a very complicated story either, though perhaps a bit long. She lived in Archet, near Bree, and was the daughter of a wealthy farmer whose many losses to roving bandits somehow did not manage to decrease his income. She worked with the local weaver and bode fair to build for herself a fine reputation in that line. It was on a journey to market her cloth in another town — and a very foolish journey it was for a lass all alone like that — that she was set upon by a troll."
"Largest troll I'd ever seen that far out from Trollshaws," Idhrin nodded meditatively. "Gave quite a fight before Bartho managed to slit its throat. I still cannot see how he failed to break his leg on the way down…"
"You haven't mentioned she was beautiful," Malvegil interrupted.
"Oh yes, she also had a reputation as the village beauty. I can't say for sure — she paled in comparison with most elven women — but I will grant she had small, fair face, and rather large distracting eyes." Aragorn shook his head in a sort of shrug. "In any event, Bartho, despite being possessed of a very serious mind and a driving loyalty to his own people, was besotted. He offered to escort her to her destination and then home again, and by the time he returned from this self-imposed mission he was in no temper to listen to any voices of reason."
"And I admit I did protest right strongly when I found he had not told her he was of the Dúnedain," Idhrin sighed.
"But he wouldn't hear a word against her," Malvegil chuckled. "I don't think we could have ever found it so amusing if it weren't for the melodramatic way in which he defended her honor against all dissenters. She was Tinuviel! She was Varda! She rivaled the sun with her brilliance!"
"Did she return his feelings?" Legolas prompted, finishing his own stew and laying the bowl aside.
"She seemed to. Whenever he could steal away he visited her, and she wove for him highly impractical pieces of outer wear that he kept in his satchel at all times — though he never donned them," Malvegil said. "It was as if he had turned into a completely different man."
Idhrin held up a restraining hand to interject something, "Understand, Legolas, that we Dúnedain do not often marry, and when we do it is to women of Numenorean descent. Lindamar had no such heritage, and most of us dearly hoped that their mutual interest would die out very soon."
"Very true," Aragorn agreed. "In any case, Bartho's endless sonnets of Lindamar's beauty soon turned to endless rhapsodies on their coming betrothal. He hadn't seen her for nearly a month, but when the stars were finally in their correct places, or whatever he used to determine his moment, Bartho set out for Archet to ask for her hand."
"And then she jilted him?" Legolas asked, finally beginning to grasp where this tale was aimed.
"Oh, if only she had!" groaned Malvegil.
"Aye, that would have been the best time," Idhrin agreed.
"Unfortunately, she accepted," Aragorn shook his head with a sigh. "He came back with his feet hardly touching the earth."
"At which time I suddenly recalled that I had never heard him tell of her reaction to his position here amongst us," Idhrin stoked the fire idly with a dead branch.
Legolas stared. "He had never told her he was a ranger?"
"No," Aragorn replied, "never. Fortunately (or perhaps not), Bartho still had his unswerving loyalty to the Dúnedain and it was only with a very little difficulty that he was persuaded to go and confess to her. After all, she would have to go with him after they were wed, and living in the wild is very difficult for those women who do marry amongst us.
"When he returned from his journey, he seemed pleased, but distracted. We gathered that he had pleaded his case — explaining the true purpose behind our presence here in the north — and she had accepted his explanation, but that there had been an odd turn in the conversation where she had suddenly left the room and then returned to give her answer. I could not think why he would have mentioned it if it had not somehow bothered him. Still, she had agreed to come with him and certain of us prepared ourselves for the actual introduction to Bartho's chosen bride. He intended to bring her out to meet us before the wedding in Archet, which was to be a lavish affair provided by Lindamar's father; the sort of event where a half dozen filthy, orc-blood spattered rangers would hardly be welcomed. Erynbenn was not with us at the time, though he knows the story — as do my brothers, actually — and it was chiefly Idhrin, Halbarad, Malvegil, and myself. At the appointed time we gathered and waited… and waited… and waited…"
"It was nigh on midnight before we realized something must have befallen them," Malvegil put in.
Idhrin smiled lopsidedly, "We tracked Bartho all the way into Archet, keeping well hidden in case some enemy still lurked in wait for us."
"Where was he?" Legolas asked. "At her house?"
"Somewhere closer to the town gallows, actually," Malvegil tilted his head thoughtfully.
"To put it simpler: the town prison," said Aragorn.
"Prison? What had he done?" the elf's eyes widened in surprise.
"Absolutely nothing," Idhrin sighed, "and it is here that the tale ceases to be humorous. There had recently been a great many local disturbances — largely of the thieving variety, but also some burned property and a few murders — of which Bartho had been unaware because of his long absences. For lack of any evidence to actually track down the ruffians responsible, the full blame was laid upon 'those lawless rangers'. In his ignorance, Bartho had chosen a very poor time to confess."
"True. But even more terrible than the town's reaction to his identity was the way in which he was caught." Aragorn's face was now sad as he gazed into the red flames. "As soon as she learned who he was, Lindamar had gone immediately to her father, leaving Bartho standing in the entrance way. For all her beauty, Lindamar simply did not have the intelligence to contrast what she knew of Bartho with the crimes that had been committed. At her father's instruction she returned to her betrothed, agreed to the marriage, declared herself willing to meet us, and requested that he come and escort her to us that night. I expect she felt herself a grand heroine for aiding in the capture of a pillaging highwayman."
"Her father arranged an ambush quite easily, even in spite of Bartho's sharp eyes and ears." Malvegil said. "Bartho wasn't expecting trouble in Lindamar's house, you see, especially when she herself greeted him cheerily at the door."
"And they intended to hang him over this?" Legolas asked in disbelief.
"Oh, aye," Idhrin nodded calmly. "The local magistrate had been ordered to take action, so action had to be taken. We arrived just in time for Aragorn to pick the lock on poor Bartho's cell before his early morning execution. You never did tell us where you learned that, you know."
Legolas' eyes darted over to meet the twinkling ones of his friend, but Aragorn didn't answer the unspoken question.
Idhrin tossed a last piece of wood on the fire, sending up sparks. "Before the month was out the actual bandits were caught and hung, with Halbarad and Aragorn lending a little anonymous help, and the whole trouble died down — as well as it ever does in these dark days. Even Bartho agreed immediately that Lindamar's seeming treachery was more due to idiocy than malice, but it was still a betrayal of his love and it changed him. Lindamar was the one thing he took for granted; he's never made the mistake since, if he could help it. And though I'm afraid we still laugh over how astonishingly witless she was, and how foolish he made himself over her, we don't mention her name to him anymore."
Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "It is a strange tale for me; I cannot imagine such a thing ever happening amongst elves. All the same, I thank you for the explanation."
"Our pleasure," Aragorn inclined his head. "Maybe now you'll be prepared to forgive Elladan and Elrohir for the odd stories about *you* that they've passed on in the evenings."
"I do not even wish to know," Legolas groaned, causing Malvegil to laugh.
Idhrin rose to his feet and lifted his bed roll. "We must to bed if we are to set out in the morning."
"Yes," Aragorn nodded readily. "To bed, and quickly before Legolas decides he is more irritated than amused."
The early morning air was gray and uninviting, but the three Dúnedain did not seem to notice as they slid on their cloaks and other gear.
"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to stay a while?" Kemen asked.
"Yes," Halbarad nodded. "We thank you very much for your hospitality, but we must be away."
"Very well then. I hope you stocked up from my larder as I told you? Good. Then have a good journey, sirs, wherever you may be going. I'm still not quite sure what to make of you folk, but I'll allow I've been pleasantly surprised by your help and your manners. Please don't hesitate to stop in if you ever come through town, and don't mind if the neighbors stare: they've sawdust for brains."
Bree was at their backs before Erynbenn permitted himself a low laugh. "You should feel happy, Bartho," he teased gravely. "You manners were pleasantly surprising."
Bartho snorted, but Halbarad joined in the laugh in spite of himself. It felt good.
"Now come, if I know Aragorn he'll have started off through the Barrow Downs that very night, in spite of the fog. I hope he has not come to harm — and with Legolas beside him it is unlikely — but we need to find him before he starts north for that tower. I'd be willing to stake my life that this book Raane described, if it could be found, would give him all the information he needs."
"And?" Erynbenn prodded. "Is that not what we had hoped when he left?"
"Yes, but to get his brothers out it is unlikely he will take all of us with him, and if he leaves before we can speak with him…" Halbarad trailed off, remembering the drawing in the dust. Nobody in or out through the tower doors… the last and greatest one will stay behind… guard the tunnels…
TBC…