Shouts shook Lathron from his dreams. Suddenly he was wide awake, blinking in the morning sunlight. The shadows of people ran back and forth past his window. He dressed quickly, and was just strapping on his quiver and sword belt when one of the loremasters burst in.

"Good, you are awake," he panted when he saw Lathron. "Lord Talagan requests your presence immediately in the central library.

Lathron arrived in front of the ornate, spruce wood doors to the central library and knocked tentatively. He had never been allowed in here before, and when he had asked why, Talagan had said that great power resided inside. Now, despite himself, a feeling of excitement filled him. The doors swung open and he stepped through.

The central library consisted of two large, octagonal rooms connected by a short passage. In the far room, he could see Talagan, Dorongúr and Elrond gathered around an alcove, but no-one else was present, not even doormen. He wondered, then, how the doors had opened at his touch. Talagan had spoken truly when he said great power resided inside here.

The three men looked up at his approach. "Ah, good," Elrond said upon seeing him. "You are just in time; Skorgrím is even now marching up towards Edhelion. Dorongúr and I must leave to lead the defense. You are to remain in here with Talagan, to guard the relics."

"But, I thought I would be guarding the library from outside!" protested Lathron. "I want to fight!"

"No, you do not," Dorongúr insisted. Lathron was surprised at the gentleness in his voice. "You may have seen conflict, and you may have hunted animals, but it is quite another thing to fight in that conflict, and kill people. I have a son, and I understand the need for revenge, so I know how you feel, but you must trust me: battle is not something to be taken lightly. When the Dourhands arrive you will understand. I am sorry if I appear patronising or rude, but you must trust me; we all want only what's best for you. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly, Lathron nodded. It appeared he had underestimated Dorongúr. "Very well, I'll stay here."

Outside, a deep horn sounded, and was answered by a second, higher note. Elrond raced for the door, followed by Dorongúr. "Skorgrím is here!" He cried. Pul-belain beria-ammen pân!" - 'May the Valar protect us all!' With that, he was gone.

There was silence in the library for a while after that, punctuated only by faint shouts that drifted in from outside. Lathron began to fidget nervously, eying the doors as if they might burst open at any moment.

"You may read some of the books if you want," suggested Talagan. "It'll help clear your mind."

Lathron tried, picking a book at random off the shelf, but the text was faint, and largely written in Quenya - an ancient dialect of it in fact - so incomprehensible to him.

"Where are the relics?" he asked suddenly, placing the book back on the shelf.

"They are within the wall behind me," Talagan answered. "There is a secret compartment."

"Can I see them?"

"No."

"But I'm protecting them. I ought to know what it is I might die for."

"You're not going to die," Talagan comforted.

"Then why is everyone so worried?"

Talagan did not answer. Lathron sighed and began swinging one of his swords in lazy arcs.

"You would not want to see them," continued Talagan eventually. "They are not a pleasant sight."

"Neither was my mother's death," snapped Lathron. "Neither was Fírndall when the knife went through his eye. Neither is my face."

"Very well," Talagan relented, "you may see the relics, but do not touch them. In fact, stay behind me."

He turned around and plucked an unassuming book from the shelf. There was a click, and a section slid backwards and down to reveal a glass cabinet behind. Lathron craned his neck to see inside. On a pile of linen strips, which were stained a dark red-brown, lay a cadaverous hand. Its grey skin was stained a blotchy red with blood and its nails were elongated, with crusts of dried blood underneath. Beside it, in a crystal box, lay an iron ring, in which was set a blood red gemstone. Tengwar runes were etched into it, but the words they spelt were harsh and unknown to Lathron - Black Speech. He shuddered at the sight.

"I told you it wasn't pleasant," admonished Talagan, pressing a button to replace the bookshelf, "but at least now your curiosity is satisfied. Learn to control it, or you might find yourself in more dangerous situations than this."

"This is pretty dangerous," Lathron pointed out. "We're under attack."

"And you have not been hurt yet, have you?" replied Talagan. "The battle does not seem to be going ill."

At that moment, there was a crash, and the ground shuddered. Talagan strode to the door. "How fares the battle?" he cried.

One of Dorongúr's militia came running up. His armour and face were smeared with blood. "They have sent a party behind us and are assailing the Northern Gate! I don't know what manner of weaponry they are using, but it sounds destructive.

At that moment, Elrond appeared, his face lined with worry. "Talagan, we are being driven back. We need your assistance. The North Gate is undefended."

Talagan looked back towards the relics' cabinet, then around at the stacks of ancient tomes. "I am loath to leave this place," he admitted. "Should the Dourhands slip past unnoticed, it would not do for me to leave my post."

Lathron seized his chance. "Let me go, Master," he suggested. "I will help Lord Elrond."

Talagan raised a stern eyebrow at him. "Very well. If Lord Elrond allows it. Is our need great enough?"

"Unfortunately, yes," admitted Elrond. "Any aid would be a great boon to the defense. Come, Lathron." He set off down the corridor at a run. Lathron followed, excitement building in his chest. They left the Sanctuary and crossed over the bridge into the Inner Courtyard.

Elrond's field hospital was facing problems - with only a handful of healers, there were many wounded men and women lying untreated. Beyond the Inner Wall, the sounds of battle still raged. Dorongúr was standing by a tree, clutching a bandaged arm. His face brightened at Elrond's approach, then quickly fell again. "Talagan will not come?" he asked.

"Nay, I told you he would not. He has tended this place too long to leave it willingly, but he has allowed Lathron to come in his place."

Dorongúr looked concerned, but said, "If he feels the boy is ready, then who am I to argue. Very well, Lathron, you have your chance. Let us away to the North Gate."

"I must tend to the wounded I am afraid," replied Elrond. "I will join you when I can."

Lathron followed Dorongúr across the courtyard to the large, wrought-iron gates that made up the entrance. They had been barred shut, and a number of Elves waited on the inside, shooting through the bars at the corner of a building to their right. Lathron saw the shadows of Dwarves lurking behind it.

"Come, let us drive these faithless filth back!" roared Dorongúr, pushing through the throng to unbar the gates. At the sound of the squealing metal, the Dwarves leapt out from behind the corner, waving their axes and bellowing. The Elves rushed to greet them. Lathron froze for a few moments, then the cry of an Elf as an axe was buried in her arm wrenched him back to his senses. Furiously, he shot at the assailant, and the Dwarf fell transfixed by the arrow between his eyes. Another two Dwarves peeled away from the melee towards him, cruel snarls on their faces. Lathron's hands shook, there was blood everywhere, he couldn't nock another arrow, the Dwarves drew closer...

Swords sprouted from their chests with twin crunches and they keeled over forwards. Dorongúr stood behind them, grimacing. "You'll need to do better than that," he called. "Don't think, just shoot. You'll have time for thought later."

Lathron nodded numbly and followed the remaining Elves round to the north. In the outer wall was set the North Gate - solid pine wood barred with bronze. It was dented inwards in the centre and in the gap between the gates Lathron saw a large shape moving. Then the gates shuddered again under a heavy blow. With a splintering crash, the lock flew inward, replaced by a heavy stone maul. The doors were kicked open with such force that they bounced off the wall. Behind them stood a monstrous creature - grey skinned and white furred, it stood ten feet tall on its two toeless feet. Its eyes were small and far apart on its wide, flat face, and its nostrils were set high on its forehead. From its brow sprouted two spiraling horns. It reared up and bellowed, straining against the chains which its Dwarf handlers clutched in vain.

"They have a Snow Troll!" called Dorongúr, to no-one in particular.

The Troll lumbered towards them, dragging its handlers behind it like toys and flailing madly with its maul. The Elves scattered before it and it barrelled through them. As it swung slowly round for a second charge, the defenders shot a volley of arrows into its back. Many bounced off and those that stuck didn't even draw blood. The Troll bellowed in rage and sent two Elves flying. They hit the wall with sickening cracks and fell broken at its foot. Those remaining retreated fast.

At the sight of his fallen comrades, something stirred inside Lathron. He fought down his primal urge to run and hide, and instead raised his bow. He sighted down the shaft as the Troll growled at Dorongúr, aiming at its piggy left eye. The arrow seemed to fly in slow motion, and buried itself deep in the Troll's eye socket.

The Troll spasmed in pain, tossing the maul into a building which collapsed to rubble. It tore the arrow, and its eye, out, prompting Lathron to vomit across the flagstones. Dorongúr leapt forwards, hacking at the troll's legs, but it seemed inevitable that the beast would crush him, until...

"Begone, spawn of Morgoth!"

Elrond strode into view, his arms spread wide, wielding a sword and staff. "A Elbereth! Edhellen crist!" His robes shone with a blinding white light, and the Troll cowered to the floor at his approach. The Elf Lord drove his sword into its chin and it collapsed, dead. Around it, its handlers had been crushed or shaken to death by their charge's movements, but there was no time for victory.

"Hurry!" Elrond cried, already sprinting back towards the Inner Gate. "Skorgrím broke through while we were distracted. He is facing Talagan outside the Sanctuary!"

Lathron and Dorongúr raced after him, through the Courtyard and back up the steps to the bridge. At the top, they skidded to a halt - Talagan stood alone before the doors to the Sanctuary, under the overhanging cliff, facing down Skorgrím and two of his lieutenants.

The Dourhand Lord was stocky and muscular, encased entirely in red armour. His helm had two tall horns, and completely covered his face with its mask-like face guard, so only his grey-black beard and mane could be seen. His war hammer was stained a deeper red with the blood of fallen Elves.

"Talagan!" Lathron shouted. His master looked up, a pained expression on his face. "Stay back!" He shouted.

Skorgrím laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh. His eyes glittered black behind his mask. "Yes, protect your friends. They cannot save you anyway. Hand me the relics and I shall spare their lives after I have killed you."

Suddenly, Lathron noticed that Talagan was holding the relics aloft. The others had noticed them too. "What is he doing?" Elrond whispered.

Skorgrím drew closer, and Talagan lashed out with his staff. "Stay back, or I swear by the Valar you shall not take another step!"

Skorgrím growled and hefted his hammer. "I do not wish to toy with you. My master requires his relics back. Give them to me and spare yourself a great deal of torment."

At these words Talagan nodded, as if a suspicion had been confirmed. "Very well," he sighed. "Come and take them."

Lathron was horror struck. "No!" he cried. Even Elrond was taken aback. Dorongúr made to race across the bridge, but Talagan shot him a warning glance. Skorgrím, on the other hand, stepped forward. "Good. My master will reward you greatly." He made to take the relics, but Talagan still held them aloft. "Is this some kind of trick?" He snarled, and made to swing his hammer.

Several things happened very fast then. The three on the bridge sprang forward. At the same time, Lathron saw that Talagan had slipped Ivar's ring onto his own finger. He held the severed hand and his staff aloft and cried in a strange tongue. Lathron screamed. Dorongúr yelled, "Talagan, no!" There was a crack of thunder, and the cliff and tower above the entrance collapsed.

In the final moment, Talagan fixed eyes with Lathron and smiled warmly. "Be safe," he said, and then he and the Dwarves were buried beneath a curtain of rock. The bridge was shorn neatly in two as the entire cliff face crumbled into the void.

From far below came Skorgrím's anguished cry: "This is not the end!"

A crash of stone.

Silence.

The onlookers stood in appalled silence, staring at the drifting clouds of dust that blanketed the Sanctuary like a funeral shroud. Tears pricked Lathron's eyes. Angrily he dashed them away. He turned and began to walk back down the stairs, trying to hide them. His mind refused to accept that Talagan was dead.

Elrond reached out to touch his shoulder. "Lathron."

"Get away!" he shouted, slipping out from Elrond's grip and racing down the stairs. Already a crowd was gathering at their base but he pushed his way through them, fleeing through the courtyard, past the remains of the Troll and up into the forest. He took the same track that Talagan had led him up, what seemed like a lifetime ago. The sun was shining over the valley, and its reflection off the snow was blinding. The birds were singing as if nothing had changed. Somehow, that drove the fact home - Talagan was dead. His friends and family were dead. He had no-one left. For one, terrifying moment, he stood, poised over the brink. The emptiness before him seemed to draw him downwards and his vision blurred. Then, a face flashed before his eyes - at once both Talagan and his mother. He stumbled back from the cliff edge, and tripped backwards onto a tree stump. He sat on it and sobbed, burying his head in his hands. Images flashed through his mind - the burning hall, the falling cliff, his mother's face, Talagan's last command.

"Why have you left me!" he cried aloud. Birds flew up in alarm. "You want me to be safe, but how can I be, when neither of you are here with me?"

After a few minutes, he sensed a presence behind him. "Go away," he sniffed without looking up.

Whoever it was said nothing, merely waited. Slowly, Lathron's tears subsided, and he raised his head. Elrond sat on the ground beside him, gazing solemnly to the west. "Talagan is safe," he said eventually, "as are your parents. They are happy."

"How can you know that?"

"I can see many things," replied Elrond. "They are safe."

There was another long minute of silence, then, "Why did he do it?"

"He did it to protect us. Especially you, I think. He was very fond of you, you know. He had a child once, long ago - a little girl. She died very young."

"He never told me."

"No, he never told anyone. I only knew because I was there. It was at the time when the Enemy first came to power in Eregion.

For the first time, Lathron really appreciated how old Talagan was. Then he wondered how old Elrond had to be. Such vast expanses of time threatened to overwhelm him again so he asked another question - one which had been troubling him. "At the end, Talagan used the relics, didn't he? He used dark magic."

Elrond nodded gravely.

"That means that he must have been studying them - practicing with them - to know how to use them."

Another nod.

"Does that make him a bad person?"

"Not at all. Talagan did what needed to be done. If he had not used the relics, Skorgrím and his 'master' would have, and the consequences would be much worse. Sometimes, to fight our enemy, we must learn their ways, so that we might use their weaknesses to our advantage. It is a necessary evil, and Talagan tried to stay as far within the light as possible. Do not dwell on such things. Focus instead on the good that Talagan achieved. He was instrumental in Angmar's first downfall. He helped found this refuge, and guarded its secrets for many hundreds of years. He took you in, and taught you to be a hunter, and he saved our lives. Never forget that."

Lathron nodded slowly, then asked. "Will I stay here?"

Now, Elrond looked sorrowful. "I am afraid not; Edhelion has fallen. It is irrepairable. We cannot breach the Sanctuary without undermining the whole cliff and risking further collapse. No, the knowledge stored inside is lost forever, and the rest of the buildings are badly damaged. Besides, soon the Dwarves will have finished their grand hall and this valley will cease to be the place of contemplation it once was. We will remain here long enough to bury the dead and salvage what can be salvaged, and then we must leave. If you wish, and I would be greatly pleased if you did, you may return with me to Imladris, where you would become my ward. What say you?"

"Can I think about it for a minute?" Lathron asked.

"Of course." Elrond rose to leave. "Only don't take too long. We leave two days from now." With that, he was gone.

Lathron remained on his tree stump, watching an eagle soar across the horizon. Talagan's final words echoed in his head. Elrond was right - there was no home for him here any more. There were too many bad memories for him here now, and the world was full of possibilities. He remembered the stories the Elves of Duillond had told him about lands far to the East, and Elrond's pronouncement the night before - 'his fate will be tied to that of Middle Earth'. A sense of adventure kindled inside him, and a longing to see new lands.

The eagle soared closer, and now Lathron saw that it was not an eagle at all, but a raven. Its glossy blue-black plumage glistened in the sun and it fixed him across the empty expanse with one beady black eye. It gave one, deep croak, and appeared to nod. Then, with a beat of its wings, it crested the ridge and was gone, flying east.

Lathron stood and removed his quiver and sword belt. Carefully, deliberately, he laid them on the edge of the precipice. Finally he removed his face scarf and spoke aloud to the air. "I'm leaving, mother, Talagan," he called, "but I promise I'll return, someday, and someday after that, I will see you again." Tears welled in his eyes again, but this time he let them flow freely. "Farewell!" he whispered, and strode off down the mountain. A whole new world awaited him.

Hi all, I'm back! Yay! I told you it would be worth it - blood 'n guts 'n feels, yay! Any ideas who Skorgrim's 'master' is? (I know, it's not hard. There's at least a 1 in 3 chance).

Hope you're enjoying it. Please favourite and review. Etc. etc.

Lathrond Aleniel, Elf Hunter, Firefoot Server.

Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarities to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental.