At the end of the council, Mithrandir said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself. The wind a top the tower grew chill in the early morning and blew his gray robes this way and that. He looked down into the Tower Valley and saw the encampments leaving one-by-one; the tents put away the horses brought from the river and the campfires extinguished in the purple twilight. Upon the main tower, high above the desert floor Mithrandir, Pallando and Uial sat quietly; Dhraloku and the chieftain of the Crow had descended talking to each other as father and son and the curious and strangely powerful Queen Ashthera left the council first without a word, her retinue of women surrounding her like a cloud or a whirlwind. Mithrandir had many questions, many observations and he looked to Pallando, a true friend and kinsman who would tell him everything he knew and yet the old Istar felt that Pallando had told him just that- there were no more secrets between them. He then turned to Uial, closed off and guarded; he knew more than he let on and perhaps more than even that but the minds of elves are ever curious things, mazes that he could not yet navigate through. When the time came, Uial led them down the rope ladder and silently they descended the tower, when they reached the bottom Mithrandir gasped with surprise; standing in a large mass were his garrison with Narmacil and around them were Ciryaher's contingent dressed in various garbs of their hosts. The leader of the Hamadjon stood beside Narmacil handing him a bundle of white owl feathers saying,
"With this token you are welcomed to the lands of Hipholuta, young one, let no scarlet arrow pierce you or hunter's gaze fall upon you. May your daughters be tall and lithe and their sword arms be as fleet as their arrows, and twice as deadly."
She placed the bundle of feathers in his hair and crossed her arms over her chest. As she spoke more, Mithrandir could tell from her voice that the Chieftain of the Hamadjon, Hipholuta had not come to the council. The delegate turned upon her heel and leapt upon her horse, riding away to join her people.
It took nearly the rest of the morning to reach the encampment of the Utashtegu. They had to pass through the land of the Crow and wander aimlessly through rocky hills dotted with bushes; Mithrandir walked beside Narmacil, he alone among the Gondorians was allowed free access to their lands. The youth spoke of how he didn't think he could find the Hamadjon since they moved locations and were never in the same place; it was not until he came upon Uial that he was able to find them. Uial had apparently heard of the ambush and went to warn Hipholuta but did not reach her until after Hipherom had left with the Gondorians. The elf led the youth to Hipholuta who fell at the body of her husband and wept, crying toward the heavens, tearing at her hair; the general, too heartbroken to attend the council , sent one of her captains in her stead, bearing her axe Madea, while she buried her husband. Mithrandir thought of Hipholuta's stoic nature and his heart broke to hear her act in such an emotional way; what a land of contradictions…if ever I return to the West they would not believe the stories I would tell.
He looked at the red rising mounds surrounding him and the looming Orocarni in the distance, the chief of which stood like a grand sentinel watching over the west. He knew there were eagles perched up on that mountaintop bearing news of Arda to Manwe upon Tanequetil; at least that was the last he had known when he left Aman many years ago. Uial stopped upon a rock and gazed behind them, his keen eyes perfect for seeing if they were followed; his gaze went back to Mithrandir and the elf smiled weakly. Something was different in the elf, that was for certain, he seemed less…well elvish…though he still bore himself with the same grace and well-honed balance; he slumped to be more in line with the height of the humans around him and he seemed, dimmed, as though the flame of his personage was veiled behind a curtain, whereas the elves in the West let it fill every part of the world around them.
The lands of the Utashtegu were hidden in a deep rocky valley, surrounded by sparse gnarled trees with small green leaves. The small village was a mere settlement of a few domed shelters much like the Hamadjon, yet seemingly made of clay instead of heavy fabric. There were roughly 15 long houses surrounding a central well where two women dressed in blue sat under the shade of a tree. When they entered the settlement everyone's eyes fell upon them; women, children and elders watched as they shelled nuts and ground grain beside their outdoor hearths. This was a sight the Gondorians had not seen of the Utashtegu; the domestic life. The people seemed unafraid as Dhraloku led the army of the West into the midst of his people; they stopped beside the well and he bade them sit. From the 15 houses a young woman came carrying a cistern filled with water and a cup. The Gondorians had already mastered this simple test and for each soldier that was passed the cup he would dip it into the cistern and give water to the one beside him. They performed this ritual four times as the cisterns made their way around the gathered circle. All the while the villagers did not make a sound as they went about their business. Mithrandir looked at the rocks that surrounded them; warriors dressed in black observed them as they moved, their arrows poised and ready to fire. When the noon sun had passed over them, the young women touched the men on their shoulders and escorted them to the cool shelter of the long houses. There were roughly 75 Gondorians in total and they were separated among the 15 houses. The young woman who touched Mithrandir on the shoulder was tall for the women of the Utashtegu, she was 15 by the look of her years yet in her eyes lay a youth that he could not fathom. Her eyes were a piercingly subtle gray, and reminded him of the star-kissed gaze of Melian in the youth of the world. The dark curls of her hair descended like water from the crown of her head and her leaf shaped face smiled upon him, saying in Alamb-Harad,
"Come with me, Grandfather, a special place is reserved for you in my cousin's home."
He stood, mesmerized by the musicality of her voice, her simple white linen dress went to her ankles and turquoise anklets rattled and sang as she walked across the sandy ground with her feet un-sandaled. Mithrandir stood and watched as she glided across the desert sand; he had never known the love of a woman, and to this moment could not understand what emotion possessed Melian to abandon her kin and find love with an elf. Yet at this time he felt a tender passion for this young woman, and it was an emotion that seemed universal, something drew men to her in the same way the dance of a snake draws a mouse to its doom. The dance of her hips undulated like the waves of the western sea. No eyes of the Gondorian men left her, for her beauty was simple; her dark round face was pure of scars as it was sagely weighted by the gray of her eyes. Mithrandir shook the mesmerizing spell from his eyes and he saw her as she was, a somewhat plain girl with an infectious smile; what drew him and all the men were her eyes, introspective, analytical and wise. The house she led Mithrandir into was simple, two benches lined either side and a small hearth was lit in the middle. The house was already full of Gondorians and some Utashtegu warriors, Dhraloku sat in the midst of them an empty seat beside him. When Mithrandir sat, his eyes followed the young woman as she left the hall disappearing behind the dark curtain; to his left sat Dhraloku, who began breaking the bread in their midst and passing it to Mithrandir beside him. To Mithrandir's right sat Pallando and beside him a young man dressed in blue, his acolyte. The meal passed in relative silence since few there spoke a common tongue, those who did happen to sit next to another that spoke Alamb-Harad easily began speaking. Mithrandir turned to Dhraloku, who sat silently watching the hall around him,
"This is your house then, Dhraloku?"
"For the time being, it will pass to my cousin's husband whenever she marries."
"I thought you were the chieftain of this tribe?"
"I am the leader of our army…your people would call me a general. The title of chieftain passes only through the women of my family and it is usually taken up by their husbands or their sons. I will remain among my people until I marry, and then I shall follow to where her family resides."
"Are not your people the Crow? As your father is?"
Dhraloku smiled, watching around him as others looked and listened in on their conversation.
"So many questions Grandfather. You people ask so many in a short span of time, how do you learn anything?
The young man laughed, setting a more informal tone to the gathering; he spoke further to Mithrandir about his father's mother who had died long before he was born- that it was through her that his family maintained their influence over the Utashtegu, his grandfather's people having long ago melded into the larger Utashtegu nation or having followed Tal-ano to join the Crow. He spoke much else about the intricacies of the Utashtegu marriage tradition, such as that unlike Gondorian marriage, the women of his people remained where they lived and the men traveled to the people of their wives. This moved to how his father came to be among the Crow and how he, as the youngest of his brothers, was elected to lead the Utashtegu when his grandfather died. He spoke of his desire to see the river valley of Khavul flowing again with grain and reeds. His father had long told him tales of when his family knew happier times beside the river, in their city, but even to the chieftain of the Crow they were distant stories told to him by his father and grandfather. Mithrandir watched as separate groups began speaking more and then noticed the absence of one person who had yet joined them.
"Cedlal, is not present here? Or does he have his own house?"
"He does Grandfather, in his own village, he has gone ahead to prepare the people for the war…I shall be escorting my cousin there by the end of the week."
"This is not the central village?"
"Of course not! The location of the central village is always hidden; this is merely a place for the storage of grain. It has been empty since the first time we expelled the Dark One from our lands, it will be the home for your king and his men."
The meal progressed with little other discussion of the plans for the war, every so often the young woman would return with full water jugs and place them in four central areas to be passed around. When the meal had been finished, Ciryaher and his men were given blankets and pillows while a young boy with a flute entered. He began to play a soft but happily slow tune, even Mithrandir began to be mesmerized by it and his eyelids, for the first time in his life in corporeal form, began to feel heavy. Without his knowledge, he drifted into an untroubled sleep, marked only by the sound of water flowing beneath his head as he lay down. In his dream he awoke to a dark and empty cavern, above him the glittering roof of the cave sparkled like the night sky; beside the lake sat a woman, she was crying and her tears flowed from her cheek to the large underground lake before him. He recognized the figure immediately yet before he was going to call her name the dream ended and he awoke the next morning refreshed and smelled the fragrant odors of breakfast outside.