Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 13: The White City
The Darkness has begun. There will be no dawn.
J.R.R Tolkien
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"According to this map thing, that Black Tower should be somewhere right around here," said Trip, squinting down at the ancient fragment of parchment, now safely enclosed between two pieces of clear plastic so as not to damage it. The shuttle whizzed over kilometers of swamp below, stagnant and reeking and stretching out to the horizon as far as the eye could see.
"Over the mountains, Travis," said Archer, stretching taller to see the landscape outside. "There's a funny squared-off mountain range and it should be somewhere in the middle of that."
"Aye, sir," said Travis, and obediently put on a little more speed. He went through the mountains rather than over them, dodging sharp peaks and outcroppings with such closeness that Archer rather wished he had taken the helm himself. Better than being smashed to bits on some lonely God-forsaken mountains in the middle of nowhere. Trip, studying the map intently, appeared not to notice their close brushes with oblivion, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief when at last the peaks gave way to foothills.
"Scanners aren't picking up anything remotely resembling a tower," said Travis. Archer took the map from Trip and checked it against the topographical scan on the shuttlepod's sensor readout.
"Set a course for this area," said Archer. "There's no architecture showing, but there's a lot of loose rock all piled up there. It might have been some kind of tower at one point."
Travis set the shuttlepod down by the pile of rocks, and all three of them hopped out onto the desolate landscape. It was a vast wasteland of volcanic rock, with nary a plant to be seen among the destruction. Wind, with a faint smell of sulfur, whistled past them, ruffling hair and uniforms and bringing water to the corners of their eyes. Foul-smelling vapors issued forth from deep cracks in the black rock.
Archer trotted forward over the hardened lava, holding one hand over his mouth and tripping on the loose stones that lay everywhere around them. They had landed at the side of an immense crater with rubble scattered up and down the sides and concentrated in a large pile at the bottom. He slid down the side, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him, and tumbled headlong into a pile of rubbish. "Travis! Bring that scanner down here!" he cried, leaping up from the rubble with a chunk of rock clutched in his hands.
"This isn't just chunks of lava," said Archer as the other two officers slid down the side of the crater. "This was made. Look at it! It's carved!"
"It's all over the place," said Trip, wiping dust from his eyes. He wandered through the ruins, kicking at stray pieces of glassy black stone, and suddenly stopped with a shout of amazement.
"What is it, Trip?" shouted Archer as the commander ducked out of sight. He beckoned to Travis and they dashed forward, slipping on the uneven ground. Tucker popped back up unexpectedly as they reached him, startling Travis, who skidded to a halt and fell flat onto the ground.
"Sorry, Travis," said Trip, helping him up with one hand. He grinned and held up a long flat piece of metal with the other. "Look, Captain, I got a sword! Somebody was here a long time ago. I bet we found that Black Tower!"
"There's a helmet, too," Travis pointed out, rubbing his shoulder. "I fell on it." Trip picked it up and jumped back in disgust when a stained brown skull tumbled out of the slightly crushed metal helm.
"I don't envy this guy," said Trip, looking derisively at the odd-shaped skull. Archer, swallowing his revulsion, picked it up and examined it from all angles.
"It's not human," he said.
"We're not on Earth, sir," said Travis. "If it was human, there would be a lot more questions than simply where Malcolm and Hoshi got to."
"Thank you, Ensign," muttered Archer. He flipped open the communicator and hailed the ship. "T'Pol, I want you to scan this area down to the last detail. See if you can find anything that might help us with the Lieutenant and the Ensign's disappearance."
"Aye, Captain," said the Vulcan smoothly, and cut off the communication.
"What are we gonna do, Jon?" asked Trip.
"We, Trip," said Archer, "are going to go over this area with a fine-tooth comb. No stone unturned. Malcolm said this was where he would be, at some point, and damned if I'm going to miss him."
"Aye, captain," said Trip and Travis, and they set off across the barren landscape, looking for any sign of the two missing officers.
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"Minas Tirith!" cried Gandalf as they crested a great green hill. "City of kings!"
Pippin, tucked before him on Shadowfax, stirred and blinked owlishly at the great white walls rising before them. Malcolm gazed in awe at the monumental city, cut by a great spur of rock through the middle reaching thousands and thousands of feet into the air. Shadowfax plunged forward, leaving Malcolm's weary gelding in the dust. With a sigh he spurred the horse on, hoping this haste would not kill the poor creature. Shadowfax ran like the wind, and though Gandalf reined him in, sometimes the old man forgot to pace the great white horse.
To his left, as he rode doggedly after Shadowfax, lay a sea of mist, rising to a bleak shadow in the East; on his right great mountains reared their heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden end, as if in the making of the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a might valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. Where the mountains came to their end (the White Mountains, said his memory) came to their end he saw the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high glens, and its tall face whitening in the rising day.
Gandalf slowed before he reached the great iron gates, and Malcolm finally managed to catch up with them as they rode through the city, spiraling ever upwards to the Citadel. He gazed at the people's faces as they trotted quickly through the streets. How very solemn they all were! Darker than the people of Rohan, they were, and dressed finer as well, but all in blacks and greys. Shining white banners hung throughout the streets with the silver tree of Gondor emblazoned on them, glittering in the sunlight. The city seemed fine to Malcolm's eyes, but he noticed that many of the fine houses they passed seemed uninhabited and worn, as if no denizen had dwelt there for many years.
They dismounted when they reached the final level, Pippin staring in dismay at the gnarled white tree beside the white-paved court of the fountain. "It's the tree," he said. "Gandalf! It is the tree that I saw!"
"Yes, the White Tree of Gondor," said Gandalf, not pausing in his furious stride. "The Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not a king. He is a steward only, a caretaker of the throne."
"I know," said Pippin, looking slightly upset.
Malcolm shrugged and gave the hobbit a brief smile as they both hurried after Gandalf. For one who appeared so old, he walked surprisingly fast.
At the doors of the great hall Gandalf paused and looked down at Pippin as the hobbit caught up with him. "Be careful of your words, Peregrin Took!" said the old wizard. "This is no time for hobbit pertness. Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise. And don't mention Frodo. And say nothing of Aragorn either."
He made as if to go in, and then turned back once more. "In fact, it's better you don't speak at all."
Malcolm patted the hobbit's shoulder as Pippin stared after Gandalf, cheeks flushed. "I don't think he'll ever forgive me," he said quietly to Malcolm as they went through the doors.
"I think that he is worried about much more difficult things," replied Malcolm. "You were foolish, but you will not be so foolish again."
"I would not look into that stone again for all the pipeweed in the Shire," said Pippin gravely. Malcolm choked back a snort as they entered the great hall of the Steward. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of marble pillars that upheld the roof. No hangings nor storied webs, as decorated Théoden's more welcoming hall, nor any things of woven stuff or wood, were to be seen in that long solemn hall, but between the pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone.
At the very end, an old man sat in a stone chair at the foot of the dais. He did not look up until they were close to him. "Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor!" said Gandalf. His staff rang against the floor, the thump echoing through the sterile hall. "I am come with tidings and counsel in this dark hour."
"Dark indeed is the hour," said Denethor, his eyes glittering angrily at Gandalf, "and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir. Perhaps you come to explain this." He held up what he had been clutching in his lap: a wild-ox horn bound with silver, cloven in two. Malcolm knew not what it was, but the expressions on both Pippin's and Gandalf's faces told him they certainly knew. "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead?"
Ah, so it must be Boromir's, that horn. He kept silent; he knew Boromir only by the stories of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, and though he knew how the Steward's heir had died, it was not his place to tell. Gandalf took a deep breath, looking rather as if he did not know what to say.
To their great surprise, Pippin stepped forward. "He died to save us, my kinsman Meriadoc and me, and though he fell and failed, my gratitude is none the less," said the little hobbit, kneeling before the Steward's throne. "He fell defending us from many foes."
"Pippin!" said Gandalf warningly.
"I offer you my service, such as it is," said Pippin, ignoring Gandalf, "in payment of this debt."
For a very long, tense moment, no one in the room spoke. Malcolm studied Denethor's reaction and found, to his great surprise, that a faint hint of amusement twinkled about the lord's eyes. He did not smile, though, and finally Gandalf prodded Pippin with his staff, commanding rudely, "Get up."
Denethor lowered his eyes once more. "My lord," said Gandalf, "there will be a time to grieve for Boromir, but it is not now. War is coming! The enemy is on your doorstep! As steward you are charged with the defense of the city! Where are Gondor's armies?"
Still Denethor did not reply. Malcolm gripped his own staff a little tighter.
"You still have friends," Gandalf continued. "You are not alone in this fight! Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons!"
"You think you are wise, Mithrandir!" growled Denethor. "Yet for all your subtleties, you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor! And with your right, you seek to supplant me! I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. Oh yes, word has reached my ears of this Aragorn son of Arathorn, and I tell you now: I will not bow to this ranger from the North, the last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."
"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king!" said Malcolm loudly, stepping up beside Gandalf.
"And who are you to give me such commands!" cried the Steward.
"He is right to say it," Gandalf said quietly, his voice low and dangerous.
"The rule of Gondor is mine and no other's!" Denethor spat, rising from his throne. Gandalf gave him one fiery look and turned on his heel, Pippin hurrying after him with a quick look over his shoulder. Malcolm met the Steward's eyes a moment longer.
"I ride in the shadow of the doers of great deeds, my Lord and Steward of Gondor," said Malcolm softly, shoulders straight and head held high. "I watch a world not my own as it tumbles through dark and dangerous times, and yet I am part of this world, as much so as you or any of your kin."
"You are nothing," growled Denethor. "You think I have not seen you as well? The arrival of a wizard is no small thing to overlook. News of your coming will have reached Sauron's ears as well and he will attack all the harsher for it. You will bring about this world's ruin! I call for aid, and I am delivered you?"
"How have you seen me?" said Malcolm. "You say you have seen Aragorn and me as well, and know that I am nothing? How? How do you know this?"
Denethor's face contorted in anger. "I will speak no more to you, upstart wizard, you who brings doom in your footsteps. Leave my chamber now!"
"You bring your own doom," snapped Malcolm, and swept out of the hall, anger trembling within his breast. Gondor was in danger from not one but two fronts; he saw this quite clearly. One was the armies of Sauron, surely not long in coming.
And the second front? The madness of Gondor's own leader.
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Hoshi drifted between dreams and drowsy wakefulness, and could hardly distinguish between the two. Darkness, always darkness; it was all around her now, always, yet sometimes it was cut by flames from a great lidless eye like a cat's, burning in a sky full of black clouds. She did not like these visions; whether they were dream or reality, and when she was caught in such an instant she wept in fear and cried out for someone, anyone, to take her away from this terrible place.
At such times she heard the voice of Annatar, her invisible protector, soothing her and drawing her back into darkness until she awoke on Enterprise, safe in her cabin. She went about her daily routines, attending shifts on the bridge and eating in the mess hall, working out in the gym and meeting Lieutenant Reed for target practice. Annatar stayed with her always, guiding her when the dreams of flame and darkness threatened to take over her thoughts and mind, and asking her questions about what she was doing. He was kind and insightful, and though she sometimes wondered why he stayed with her after he had done what she wanted, bringing her and Malcolm home, she dared not ask in case he think her ungrateful.
She remembered very little of her time in that strange other world, other than her nightmares, and never questioned how she had returned (for she did not remember that either) until the dreams came again.
But always Annatar caught her, put her on her feet when her mind threatened to tumble away from her, back into the spiral of the foreign place where she was friendless and alone, where the Eye looked at her night and day.
She was really very grateful for Annatar; what would she do without him?
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Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing!
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 13: The White City
The Darkness has begun. There will be no dawn.
J.R.R Tolkien
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
"According to this map thing, that Black Tower should be somewhere right around here," said Trip, squinting down at the ancient fragment of parchment, now safely enclosed between two pieces of clear plastic so as not to damage it. The shuttle whizzed over kilometers of swamp below, stagnant and reeking and stretching out to the horizon as far as the eye could see.
"Over the mountains, Travis," said Archer, stretching taller to see the landscape outside. "There's a funny squared-off mountain range and it should be somewhere in the middle of that."
"Aye, sir," said Travis, and obediently put on a little more speed. He went through the mountains rather than over them, dodging sharp peaks and outcroppings with such closeness that Archer rather wished he had taken the helm himself. Better than being smashed to bits on some lonely God-forsaken mountains in the middle of nowhere. Trip, studying the map intently, appeared not to notice their close brushes with oblivion, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief when at last the peaks gave way to foothills.
"Scanners aren't picking up anything remotely resembling a tower," said Travis. Archer took the map from Trip and checked it against the topographical scan on the shuttlepod's sensor readout.
"Set a course for this area," said Archer. "There's no architecture showing, but there's a lot of loose rock all piled up there. It might have been some kind of tower at one point."
Travis set the shuttlepod down by the pile of rocks, and all three of them hopped out onto the desolate landscape. It was a vast wasteland of volcanic rock, with nary a plant to be seen among the destruction. Wind, with a faint smell of sulfur, whistled past them, ruffling hair and uniforms and bringing water to the corners of their eyes. Foul-smelling vapors issued forth from deep cracks in the black rock.
Archer trotted forward over the hardened lava, holding one hand over his mouth and tripping on the loose stones that lay everywhere around them. They had landed at the side of an immense crater with rubble scattered up and down the sides and concentrated in a large pile at the bottom. He slid down the side, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him, and tumbled headlong into a pile of rubbish. "Travis! Bring that scanner down here!" he cried, leaping up from the rubble with a chunk of rock clutched in his hands.
"This isn't just chunks of lava," said Archer as the other two officers slid down the side of the crater. "This was made. Look at it! It's carved!"
"It's all over the place," said Trip, wiping dust from his eyes. He wandered through the ruins, kicking at stray pieces of glassy black stone, and suddenly stopped with a shout of amazement.
"What is it, Trip?" shouted Archer as the commander ducked out of sight. He beckoned to Travis and they dashed forward, slipping on the uneven ground. Tucker popped back up unexpectedly as they reached him, startling Travis, who skidded to a halt and fell flat onto the ground.
"Sorry, Travis," said Trip, helping him up with one hand. He grinned and held up a long flat piece of metal with the other. "Look, Captain, I got a sword! Somebody was here a long time ago. I bet we found that Black Tower!"
"There's a helmet, too," Travis pointed out, rubbing his shoulder. "I fell on it." Trip picked it up and jumped back in disgust when a stained brown skull tumbled out of the slightly crushed metal helm.
"I don't envy this guy," said Trip, looking derisively at the odd-shaped skull. Archer, swallowing his revulsion, picked it up and examined it from all angles.
"It's not human," he said.
"We're not on Earth, sir," said Travis. "If it was human, there would be a lot more questions than simply where Malcolm and Hoshi got to."
"Thank you, Ensign," muttered Archer. He flipped open the communicator and hailed the ship. "T'Pol, I want you to scan this area down to the last detail. See if you can find anything that might help us with the Lieutenant and the Ensign's disappearance."
"Aye, Captain," said the Vulcan smoothly, and cut off the communication.
"What are we gonna do, Jon?" asked Trip.
"We, Trip," said Archer, "are going to go over this area with a fine-tooth comb. No stone unturned. Malcolm said this was where he would be, at some point, and damned if I'm going to miss him."
"Aye, captain," said Trip and Travis, and they set off across the barren landscape, looking for any sign of the two missing officers.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
"Minas Tirith!" cried Gandalf as they crested a great green hill. "City of kings!"
Pippin, tucked before him on Shadowfax, stirred and blinked owlishly at the great white walls rising before them. Malcolm gazed in awe at the monumental city, cut by a great spur of rock through the middle reaching thousands and thousands of feet into the air. Shadowfax plunged forward, leaving Malcolm's weary gelding in the dust. With a sigh he spurred the horse on, hoping this haste would not kill the poor creature. Shadowfax ran like the wind, and though Gandalf reined him in, sometimes the old man forgot to pace the great white horse.
To his left, as he rode doggedly after Shadowfax, lay a sea of mist, rising to a bleak shadow in the East; on his right great mountains reared their heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden end, as if in the making of the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a might valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. Where the mountains came to their end (the White Mountains, said his memory) came to their end he saw the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high glens, and its tall face whitening in the rising day.
Gandalf slowed before he reached the great iron gates, and Malcolm finally managed to catch up with them as they rode through the city, spiraling ever upwards to the Citadel. He gazed at the people's faces as they trotted quickly through the streets. How very solemn they all were! Darker than the people of Rohan, they were, and dressed finer as well, but all in blacks and greys. Shining white banners hung throughout the streets with the silver tree of Gondor emblazoned on them, glittering in the sunlight. The city seemed fine to Malcolm's eyes, but he noticed that many of the fine houses they passed seemed uninhabited and worn, as if no denizen had dwelt there for many years.
They dismounted when they reached the final level, Pippin staring in dismay at the gnarled white tree beside the white-paved court of the fountain. "It's the tree," he said. "Gandalf! It is the tree that I saw!"
"Yes, the White Tree of Gondor," said Gandalf, not pausing in his furious stride. "The Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not a king. He is a steward only, a caretaker of the throne."
"I know," said Pippin, looking slightly upset.
Malcolm shrugged and gave the hobbit a brief smile as they both hurried after Gandalf. For one who appeared so old, he walked surprisingly fast.
At the doors of the great hall Gandalf paused and looked down at Pippin as the hobbit caught up with him. "Be careful of your words, Peregrin Took!" said the old wizard. "This is no time for hobbit pertness. Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise. And don't mention Frodo. And say nothing of Aragorn either."
He made as if to go in, and then turned back once more. "In fact, it's better you don't speak at all."
Malcolm patted the hobbit's shoulder as Pippin stared after Gandalf, cheeks flushed. "I don't think he'll ever forgive me," he said quietly to Malcolm as they went through the doors.
"I think that he is worried about much more difficult things," replied Malcolm. "You were foolish, but you will not be so foolish again."
"I would not look into that stone again for all the pipeweed in the Shire," said Pippin gravely. Malcolm choked back a snort as they entered the great hall of the Steward. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of marble pillars that upheld the roof. No hangings nor storied webs, as decorated Théoden's more welcoming hall, nor any things of woven stuff or wood, were to be seen in that long solemn hall, but between the pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone.
At the very end, an old man sat in a stone chair at the foot of the dais. He did not look up until they were close to him. "Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor!" said Gandalf. His staff rang against the floor, the thump echoing through the sterile hall. "I am come with tidings and counsel in this dark hour."
"Dark indeed is the hour," said Denethor, his eyes glittering angrily at Gandalf, "and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir. Perhaps you come to explain this." He held up what he had been clutching in his lap: a wild-ox horn bound with silver, cloven in two. Malcolm knew not what it was, but the expressions on both Pippin's and Gandalf's faces told him they certainly knew. "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead?"
Ah, so it must be Boromir's, that horn. He kept silent; he knew Boromir only by the stories of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, and though he knew how the Steward's heir had died, it was not his place to tell. Gandalf took a deep breath, looking rather as if he did not know what to say.
To their great surprise, Pippin stepped forward. "He died to save us, my kinsman Meriadoc and me, and though he fell and failed, my gratitude is none the less," said the little hobbit, kneeling before the Steward's throne. "He fell defending us from many foes."
"Pippin!" said Gandalf warningly.
"I offer you my service, such as it is," said Pippin, ignoring Gandalf, "in payment of this debt."
For a very long, tense moment, no one in the room spoke. Malcolm studied Denethor's reaction and found, to his great surprise, that a faint hint of amusement twinkled about the lord's eyes. He did not smile, though, and finally Gandalf prodded Pippin with his staff, commanding rudely, "Get up."
Denethor lowered his eyes once more. "My lord," said Gandalf, "there will be a time to grieve for Boromir, but it is not now. War is coming! The enemy is on your doorstep! As steward you are charged with the defense of the city! Where are Gondor's armies?"
Still Denethor did not reply. Malcolm gripped his own staff a little tighter.
"You still have friends," Gandalf continued. "You are not alone in this fight! Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons!"
"You think you are wise, Mithrandir!" growled Denethor. "Yet for all your subtleties, you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor! And with your right, you seek to supplant me! I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. Oh yes, word has reached my ears of this Aragorn son of Arathorn, and I tell you now: I will not bow to this ranger from the North, the last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."
"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king!" said Malcolm loudly, stepping up beside Gandalf.
"And who are you to give me such commands!" cried the Steward.
"He is right to say it," Gandalf said quietly, his voice low and dangerous.
"The rule of Gondor is mine and no other's!" Denethor spat, rising from his throne. Gandalf gave him one fiery look and turned on his heel, Pippin hurrying after him with a quick look over his shoulder. Malcolm met the Steward's eyes a moment longer.
"I ride in the shadow of the doers of great deeds, my Lord and Steward of Gondor," said Malcolm softly, shoulders straight and head held high. "I watch a world not my own as it tumbles through dark and dangerous times, and yet I am part of this world, as much so as you or any of your kin."
"You are nothing," growled Denethor. "You think I have not seen you as well? The arrival of a wizard is no small thing to overlook. News of your coming will have reached Sauron's ears as well and he will attack all the harsher for it. You will bring about this world's ruin! I call for aid, and I am delivered you?"
"How have you seen me?" said Malcolm. "You say you have seen Aragorn and me as well, and know that I am nothing? How? How do you know this?"
Denethor's face contorted in anger. "I will speak no more to you, upstart wizard, you who brings doom in your footsteps. Leave my chamber now!"
"You bring your own doom," snapped Malcolm, and swept out of the hall, anger trembling within his breast. Gondor was in danger from not one but two fronts; he saw this quite clearly. One was the armies of Sauron, surely not long in coming.
And the second front? The madness of Gondor's own leader.
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Hoshi drifted between dreams and drowsy wakefulness, and could hardly distinguish between the two. Darkness, always darkness; it was all around her now, always, yet sometimes it was cut by flames from a great lidless eye like a cat's, burning in a sky full of black clouds. She did not like these visions; whether they were dream or reality, and when she was caught in such an instant she wept in fear and cried out for someone, anyone, to take her away from this terrible place.
At such times she heard the voice of Annatar, her invisible protector, soothing her and drawing her back into darkness until she awoke on Enterprise, safe in her cabin. She went about her daily routines, attending shifts on the bridge and eating in the mess hall, working out in the gym and meeting Lieutenant Reed for target practice. Annatar stayed with her always, guiding her when the dreams of flame and darkness threatened to take over her thoughts and mind, and asking her questions about what she was doing. He was kind and insightful, and though she sometimes wondered why he stayed with her after he had done what she wanted, bringing her and Malcolm home, she dared not ask in case he think her ungrateful.
She remembered very little of her time in that strange other world, other than her nightmares, and never questioned how she had returned (for she did not remember that either) until the dreams came again.
But always Annatar caught her, put her on her feet when her mind threatened to tumble away from her, back into the spiral of the foreign place where she was friendless and alone, where the Eye looked at her night and day.
She was really very grateful for Annatar; what would she do without him?
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing!