Arda, Middle-Earth, Dunland, Dunlich Castle: T.A. 2991

Dunlanders, as they were known to the men of the West, did not often waste their time building structures of stone. Most of them lived the nomadic lifestyle of the sheep-herder or the insular one of the hunter, so a structure – if it was built at all, was more likely to be something you could pick up and carry with you. Every so often you got a prayer temple, or a hermitage pop up, but since the purpose of those was shelter for the truly devout, they tended to veer away from grand structures carved into granite. Most of them were made of little more than straw and dried mud, after all the gods didn't need earthly buildings to show their might. However, there was always at least one exception to the rule.

Dunlich Castle would have been considered little more than a fort to the people of Gondor or Rohan, but it was both the largest and most long-lived structure in all Dunland. Situated atop the fortified hillock of Caomhán, the fort had an almost perfect viewpoint into the territories of the four major clans: The Bear Clan of the Ancient Moors, The Wolf Clan of the Hallowed Hills, The Onex Clan of the Baron Plains and of course The Mountain-Lion Clan of the Crystal Caverns. No one was entirely sure who had first built Dunlich Castle, it had just always seemed to be there, but it had been maintained almost devoutly by the clans and chieftains across the years. So, it stood now as neutral ground, a place where a clan could rest and tend to their most needy without fear of attack or betrayal from outside sources. Or as it was used now, a place where the chieftains of the many clans of Dunland could meet and discuss events that troubled them.

Rhys Ynis Dowyll, head of the Bear clan and unofficial spokesman for all nay-sayers in the land, sat now at the head of the chieftains' table. As the leader of the current largest clan in Dunland, Ynis Dowyll's voice held the greatest weight among those whose judgement counted. So, it was to him that Mab and the Elder of her tribe told their tale to, and as per usual, he was not in the least impressed.

'Tis a fair tale Elder, I'll give ye that much for fairness sake, but what credence can ye lend to it? The word of a girl no more than twelve, soaked in her own brother's blood? There's a fouler tale hidden here than you give voice to, good Clansman. How do we know the lass didn't go mad and stab the boy herself?'

Mab's already thinning patience snapped at that last remark.

'Twas not my brother's blood that covered me, sir! Twas was the blood of the slain!'

A hush fell over the collective clans crowded into the vast hall of Dunlich, and Rhys sat back in his high-backed chair, a fleeting look of trepidation crossing his stone like features, before the normal Dowyll scowl claimed its rightful place once again.

'Hmm…many a charlatan has claimed to be bathed in the blood of the slain, lass. There's no telling what they, or you for that matter, say is true or not. Many of our kin are born with a gift, but it takes more than a minor talent for clairvoyance to convince the likes of me you're so bathed girl. So, tell us, this high council of mighty chieftains…what powers has yet developed since thy bathing'

For a moment nothing happened, and Rhys Ynis Dowyll seemed unable to contain the sneer bursting forth across his face. And then…the high table burst into flames.

'Are thou impressed lord chief…or must I continue with greater feats…perhaps I should steal the air from thy lungs next? Or swell this castle with the tears of the widows you've sown across the lands? Would that be more fitting to your belief?'

One of the other chiefs, a boy no older than Mab's brother, his beard dyed as blue as the Grand River at the height of summer placed a hand on Rhys' shoulder; interrupting whatever torrent the hot-headed man was about to burst out with. He then spoke himself, with the strange words of the men of the Crystal Caverns. His voice barely more than a whisper, yet clearly heard from every corner of the hall.

'Aye, thoust has proven thy self so bathed. So now we must turn our een to the ither part of yer tale. Tell us mair of these spirits you heard wailing…were they Clan Men or were they something much fouler than that?'

Mab wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to remember the spirits, their wailing, their screams of pain as their blood had drenched her…as it had washed her away from a drowning brother's arms. Beneath her fingers the sheep-skin, felt warm and almost comforting. But she couldn't afford to let herself be distracted by such things, everything hung on what she said next, on what she could bring herself to say next.

'I didn't see their faces Chief, but I heard them well enough, and those weren't the voices of Men. They felt…older…as if they'd been there, in the world that is, before our Ancestors even took their first breath.'

The Man's face grew pinched at that, and a rumble of muttering spread throughout the hall. Mab felt her stomach constrict and she grabbed blindingly for her Elder's hand, as the rumble grew to a deafening roar.

'Silence!'

The blue-haired chief had stood up and bellowed like he could control the very wind itself; the still flickering flames of the table had illuminated one half of his face, casting the other into complete shadow…so Mab could well believe it so.

'This is a day we have long feared may cum ben tae pass, my brothers. Many a prophet has foretold this day, and now…. aat we are finally here, are we to cower from the shadows like so many wee bairns barely weaned from their mither's breast?'

The rumble had settled to a ripple now and faces turned upwards in rapt attention to the man as his voice boomed like thunder over them.

'No…this day of all days we will nae hide, we will nae cower…we will nae run away. No, this day of all days we will div fit maun be dane!' And then when many of the men from clans closer to the border of the Strawheads' land, looked confused and begun to mutter amongst themselves, the Crystal Caverns man amended his own words. 'We will do what must be done. We will protect those aat are ours, and we will defend this land from those aat would see the likes of us crawling on our knees with the dogs. This day we fight, for all aat we hold dear to our hearts and the hearts of our brothers, of our sisters, of our mithers and fathers and children's children. This day, we make the dead bleed!'

Men, Women and Children leapt to their feet with a roar, shields and spears alike rattled high in the air and amidst it all Mab stood still, her heart pounding in her ears, never once taking her eyes off the young visage of the blue-haired chieftain. The chant of the crowd washed over her then and she could hear it resounding within her own skull: 'Hail Chief, Hail the Chief… Hail the Leomhann, leader of men living!' The girl felt a shiver move through her then, the words meant more than the crowd chanting them knew. They were more than a chant for a chief, more than a chant for a man; they were a promise of what was to come…a prophecy.