Beta: Anarithilen.

Thank you my dear freddie who is still kind enough to review. I do appreciate it.

Translations:

Alamgamêsh: Khuzdul of the Ered Luin dialect meaning outsider, outcast, one who does not mine, forge or smith. It implies 'a wrong 'un'.

Zigur: Adunaic for Wizard.

Chapter 21: Theft

The Palace was in an uproar when Gimli followed Gandalf into the council chamber. Guards clattered past them, spears in their hands and their faces anxious. Gimli exchanged a frightened look with Gandalf, suddenly fearful for Aragorn. A liveried servant looked intensely relieved when he saw Gandalf.

'My lords.' The servant bowed but allowed them no time to ask questions. 'The King is in here.'

Gimli heard those words with intense relief; Aragorn was well. He was alive. He was King. He was in there. In the end, that was all that mattered to Gimli.

The servant ushered them speedily into Aragorn's inner council room. Faramir was there, and several of his lords, all of whom showed fatigue and agitation. The old Man, Heredir, did not sit but stood staring out of the long glass doors. He turned rheumy eyes upon them as they entered and seemed about to speak but Aragorn leapt to his feet at their arrival.

'Gandalf! Gimli!' His relief was undisguised. 'Your arrival is very timely.' He hastened towards them. 'You have heard the news?' he asked, pulling up chairs for first Gandalf and then Gimli.

Gimli saw with concern that Faramir was there too and rose to his feet to greet them. His face though was very pale and his mouth trembled a little. Gimli remembered that it was not long since Faramir had almost died at the hand of his own father in the very crypt from which he had come in such a hurry with Gandalf. Clearly not only had the Mirror been stolen but something else had happened and was significant enough to warrant the King to call for his council.

A nasty feeling was creeping over Gimli. He looked around the council table at the assembled lords, some of whom he knew from the Black Gate and others who had joined Aragorn on the Field of Cormallen on his return. Heredir was one of those, but Duinhir, Lord of the Blackroot Vale, had fought alongside Gimli at one point at the Black Gates. He nodded at Gimli in acknowledgement, but he did not smile.

'What has happened?' Gimli asked, looking around at the concerned faces. Through the open windows there was the clatter of horses' hooves and shouting as the Men they had passed climbed into saddles and hoisted spears and lances.

'It is the prisoner, Kustîg,' Faramir said, but he did not meet Gimli's gaze. 'The Easterling chief who would not sue for peace but maintains that Sauron is wronged.'

'Oh, him,' said Gimli with relief. Frankly he could not care less if the Man lived or died and secretly thought it would have been better if he had died in some sort of easily explained away accident that left another more amenable Man free to take his place. Far more important was the news that he and Gandalf brought of the Mirror's theft and the ghoul that Legolas had pursued through the city. He craned his neck; Legolas was not there. But he would surely be soon.

He opened his mouth to speak when Faramir said, 'He has escaped.'

'Oh.' Gimli screwed up his face in understanding. Better that the Easterling had died than escape, but not the end of the world that one would think, looking at these glum faces. 'Not good. Has he been caught yet?'

At this, Faramir grew even more agitated and Gimli recalled that the Tower Guard was under Faramir's command. 'No. We think he is on his way to Pelargir and may even now be boarding a ship to Umbar. We cannot reach him there.'

'He must have had help,' said Heredir. He flung an accusing gaze around the room and settled on one of the advisors in particular; Gimli could not remember all their names but the Man returned Heredir's look with a cool gaze of his own. There was something Gimli found a little repellent about the advisor. Uncanny. He felt his beard curl slightly and his chest hair bristle, a sure sign that this Man was an alamgamêsh.

'The guard was found drugged,' said the advisor and now that he spoke, there was more animation in his face and suddenly Gimli wanted to listen. 'Someone must have helped him. He could not have escaped alone.' The Man cast an apologetic look at Faramir. 'The Watch did not see anything. Perhaps they were preoccupied with the other news of the discovery of their comrade's body.' He spread his hands on the table and Gimli saw that he wore black velvet gloves and over the gloves upon one finger was a ring. Old gold. A dull red jewel. Gimli squinted, trying to recognise what kind of jewel it was. Not a garnet or ruby, he thought. Carnelian perhaps? He wondered why the Man wore gloves when it was early Summer and the evenings warm and balmy. The advisor paused and then said carefully, 'Unless the two are somehow connected…There are rumours abroad about how the guard was found. I think the term is exsanguinated – drained of blood.'

At this, Gandalf slowly rose to his feet. Gimli felt the tension in the room ratchet up and saw how every Man present now looked towards the Wizard.

'Aragorn,' Gandalf said with great heaviness in his voice. 'We need to take further council, you and I. Faramir too. The news that I bring may have some bearing upon this. Let us withdraw to some more private place and take council.'

Aragorn looked alarmed for a moment and glanced around at these Men who were his closest advisors. But Faramir was already on his feet. 'Come then. If there is yet more bad news, it will not wait.' He turned to the waiting council. 'Forgive us, my lords. I will bring the King's will when we have understood the nature of all that has happened.'

Gimli was a little surprised at the sudden assurance from Faramir when moments ago he had seemed so distraught; it seemed he had suddenly found command. It seemed Aragorn was a little taken aback too for he glanced across at Faramir. But he said nothing, after all, Faramir had been in charge of the city since his father's death. It was natural for him to slip into command now and again.

The advisor with the ring spoke hastily, reassuringly. 'My lords, let us allow the White Wizard to take council with our King. We have work to do. The posse is even now pursuing the escaped prisoner and there is little we can do here except search for he who betrayed us.' He rose to his feet and began gathering up his own papers. 'With your permission, your majesty, lord Faramir, I will convene an investigation. Perhaps those who were looking into the disappearance of the Tower Guard.'

'Yes. Do that. Beregond was leading that enquiry, I think.' Aragorn nodded gratefully. 'Thank you, Bearos. We need a cool head in this…' He opened his hands as if unable to find the word to describe the situation they found themselves in. 'I am grateful.'

Of course. That was the Man, Bearos. Gimli frowned; there was something he was supposed to remember about him. But his thoughts slid over each other and he could not quite grasp them. Behind him, the old Lord Heredir snorted in derision but no one said anything for all rose as the King, his Steward and closest friend, Gandalf, left.

Faramir clasped Bearos' shoulder in gratitude as he followed Aragorn. But Gimli stayed solidly in his seat for he wanted to hear what would be said here instead.

Young Nardol of Lossarnach, Forlong's son, sat in the seat next to Gimli and leaned over now and muttered to the dwarf, 'More action, less talk would have apprehended the fellow an hour ago when it was discovered he was gone. They have spent an Age arguing amongst themselves.'

Gimli grunted. The boy was headstrong and normally Imrahil was there to restrain him for he and Forlong had been old friends, but Gimli liked the boy's forthright manner; as much like a Khazâd as a Man could be, he thought approvingly.

Duinhir, spoke now. He leaned forwards, one arm on the table and shook his head. 'It bodes poorly, my lords, if Kustîg should make it to Umbar.'

'Indeed. He will rally the remnants of Sauron's army, no matter how small. He will lead another assault upon Osgiliath and seek to take it.' The lord who spoke was tall and dark with a look of Boromir about him. Gimli could not remember his name either though the Man had fought at the Morannon too, and bravely. Gimli remembered him throwing himself in the path of a troll so that Aragorn might escape harm.

'And does that frighten you, Hirluin?' said Nardol recklessly.

Ah, thought Gimli. That was his name; Hirluin.

'Yes, it frightens me,' Hirluin replied to Nardol honestly. 'And if you had fought at the Morannon and seen yourself the black tide of hatred that fell upon us, it would frighten you too. But your father fell before those gates so I forgive you your impetuosity and ignorance for you were not there and I will assume that you have lost the sense you were born with.'

Nardol started to rise to his feet and protest, but Angbor pulled him back down. 'When you have stood before the Black Gate, or at least whetted your sword on the enemies of Gondor, then you can challenge a warrior like Hirluin, young buck,' he said firmly. 'For now, know your place and let the wise speak.'

'Leave him be. In spite of his untried youth, Nardol is still a lord here and entitled to speak.' Heredir turned and laid his hand on Nardol's shoulder. The veins of his hands were thick and blue, his skin translucent with age. But his hands still wielded a sword well and power even more accurately, heavily. 'Unlike some who sit here with less entitlement.' He slowly lowered himself into a chair opposite Gimli. His pale blue eyes settled for a moment upon the dwarf.

Gimli narrowed his eyes at the implied insult but Heredir was not looking at him as he spoke, Gimli realised, but at Bearos.

'Can't say I'm unhappy that we don't have to pay for that Easterling's food and drink,' Duinhir said. 'I dare say we'd have had to quietly get rid of him at some point.'

There were grunts of agreement at this.

Heredir tapped his cane on the marble floor as if for attention, and his pale blue eyes were rheumy but flinty with resolve and purpose. 'Damn shame he escaped under Faramir's watch. Poor boy has enough to worry about.' He leaned back in the chair. 'Beregond is a good man though. He will find our traitor.'

'I think the problem is not that Kustîg escaped under Faramir's watch, my lord,' said Angbor crossly. 'No one doubts Faramir. But Kustîg will foment rebellion and war in the East. He will not be alone in thinking that Sauron was a God, that he must be avenged.'

'And that another should be raised in his place,' added Bearos. 'That is indeed the true danger my lords. That we have defeated one beast only to have another raised in its place.' He smiled at them and Gimli frowned, thinking that Legolas spoke against Bearos whenever his name was mentioned. Gimli thought him unfair to do so, sitting here and listening to such reason and calm.

'And yet, there is a traitor in our midst and he must be found.' Bearos tapped his velvet-clad finger on the polished table thoughtfully and then lifted his strange eyes and met first Gimli's, and then his gaze drifted around the table.

'I know not how you come to be at this council,' Heredir said. He leaned back in his chair and fixed his rheumy blue eyes upon the Man. 'You have no lands, no titles. You are no lord. At best a merchant.'

There was an uncomfortable silence; the gallant and brave Hirluin looked appalled and even Nardol shifted uncomfortably.

'And here is the King himself, also but lately come and without lands or titles.' Bearos laughed once and something in it chilled Gimli. He saw the other lords felt it too.

But Heredir met the Man's eye boldly and with great hostility. 'The King has the blood of Elendil in his veins,' the old man said coldly. 'He is not some peasant just come down from the mountains.'

There was silence. Gimli glanced from one Man to the other, surprised at Heredir's support for Aragorn - for he had been heard to speak in support of Denethor - and embarrassed for Bearos. But as he looked at Bearos, he saw how the Man's eyes narrowed and glittered as they rested upon Heredir, and for a moment, it seemed the shadows around Bearos deepened. The bones of his face seemed to shift and elongate.

Heredir's mouth was a narrow line, lips pressed together. Gimli expected Bearos to come back at Heredir, to make some protest about his parentage, his wealth, that he had won his wealth through his own hard work and good fortune, not been given it by his father. But Bearos said nothing for a moment. He took off his velvet glove and wiped his mouth with his hand. His nails were broken, perhaps bitten to the quick, wondered Gimli for the tips were raw and red. It was odd but only Gimli was looking.

At last, Bearos spoke. 'Well, my lords,' he said with apparently iron calm. 'We are all about the King's work whatever our parentage.' He smiled tightly. 'Let us try to work together instead of pulling in different directions.' He shifted a glance towards the door where Aragorn had gone.

Heredir shoved the chair away with a derisive sneer and, leaning on his cane, he said to Bearos, 'Do not think to fool me the way you have fooled all these others.' He leaned closer to Bearos. 'I can smell you.' He wrinkled up his nose. 'You smell of Mordor.'

Bearos rose to his feet with cool dignity. 'I am sorry that I offend you so with my humble birth, Lord Heredir, but you were right the first time; I am merely a peasant come down from the mountains and who made his own luck. I have never been to Mordor. I did not march with the King. I did not even know there was a battle until recently. The news gets to us slowly over the Mindolluin.' He paused and took a breath as if steadying himself, but in fact Gimli thought he was perfectly cold as he spoke.

'That the King has chosen to elevate me,' the Man continued, 'because of the work I have done for veteran soldiers and widows rather than my father having simply owned a lot of land, grabbing it from peasants too poor and weak to stop him, is HIS decision. I never sought it, nor did I expect it.' He opened his hands as if showing there was nothing up his sleeves. A merchant's trait, Gimli recognised from the Ered Luin and Esgaroth. 'I cannot think of anything I have done to earn your enmity, Lord Heredir. But the King wills that I should sit here.' He said the last words so firmly that Gimli felt he should cheer, but he could not.

'My lords,' Duinhir appealed to them both. 'To bicker like this amongst ourselves is to give the enemy succour.'

There was a murmur of agreement from some of the others and Heredir said no more but he glared at Bearos and muttering with disapproval, Heredir turned at last and stumped off, throwing the tall doors open and griping at the guard as he passed. 'You want to watch that one,' he said. 'There is the taint of evil on him.'

Bearos remained where he was, an expression of hurt and sadness on his face. He glanced across to where Gimli still sat and smiled slightly. 'I will never be accepted,' he said. 'It is hard for the old ones to accept the new. But there will be much change now the King is come.' The chamber was emptying and soon only Bearos and Gimli remained.

'Give me stone to work with or iron and steel and I will build you a city. But the ways of Kings and their councillors are no matters for a hard-headed stone-cutter.' Gimli shrugged.

'I think you are anything but a mere stone-cutter, my lord Gimli. Whereas I truly am a simple farmer and hunter, and these more subtle matters are lost on me.' Bearos smiled and it seemed warm and genuine. Gimli felt almost churlish for having doubted him. Then the Man leaned forwards, business-like. 'My lord, I do not seek news which is not for me to know. Nor do I wish to compromise you in any way. But will you send word to your friends to join you perhaps?' He looked expectantly at Gimli. 'Surely they need to know what has happened here?'

Gimli had not intended to send word, for he would join the rest of the fellowship shortly and tell them. But of course Legolas would be waiting for news, Gimli realised. In fact, he was surprised the Elf wasn't there already and that meant he would be hopping from one foot to another like Pippin. And the Hobbits should know too that he and Gandalf were at least safe from this ghoul that Legolas had pursued into the House of the Dead. But he felt something nudge the corner of his mind; he should send a message, he thought. To Legolas at least, who would be waiting anxiously.

'There is paper here and ink. If you wish to write a note, I will send a messenger to deliver it.' Bearos bowed slightly and smiled again encouragingly. 'I have other matters to attend, I am sure you will understand, my lord?' He bowed again but it did not seem obsequious to Gimli, just polite, but he stumbled as he rose and winced. For a moment, the Man's mask seemed to have slipped and he looked in pain, like he had fallen from a great height or been thrown by his horse. When the Man stumbled into the door and leaned heavily on the door handle, Gimli half rose. 'Do you need help, master?'

'No, no. Thank you. I had a fall from my horse.' Bearos shot him a quick, tight smile before parting. 'I am not a good rider and it has left me a little shaken.'

Now he was alone, Gimli quickly scribbled a note to Legolas in his usual brusque fashion:

Legolas, things are afoot, he wrote. Better you had come quickly. Gimli.

A boy was loitering by the door and he charged him with taking the message and then went in search of Gandalf.

But as it happened, Legolas arrived soon after with Merry and Pippin in tow. When he arrived, he said he must have missed the message.

0o0o

Pippin sat on the edge of his seat in Aragorn's cosy study, the inner one where not many people were allowed. He swung his legs. Aragorn and Faramir had been sitting with Gandalf and Gimli and looking very glum when they arrived. Now Merry sat near the fire; although it was early summer he still felt cold sometimes. Legolas was standing near the window, as if he might leap out of it at any moment, Pippin thought. But he wouldn't, because Aragorn and Faramir were telling them about an escaped prisoner and Gimli and Gandalf were telling Aragorn about the stolen Mirror and Legolas was waiting to tell Aragorn about the ghoul.

It seemed that the escaped prisoner was someone important and had escaped at some point during the night- whether it was before or after Legolas had given chase to the ghoul was unclear for no one seemed clear. Pippin shuddered; the ghoul was a far more important issue to him than an escaped Easterling.

'The danger from Kustîg is real,' said Gandalf, 'but the danger from the Mirror is far greater.'

'That is my fear,' said Faramir glumly. 'Kustîg spoke of an artefact that had been taken from the tower or Minas Morgul,' he said. 'He knows about the Mirror.'

'What? How do you know this?' exclaimed Gandalf in shock. 'Who has told him of it?'

'No one,' Faramir protested. 'He was the one who spoke of it when Bearos was trying to negotiate a peace with him.'

'Well there you have your traitor.' Legolas' eyes pinned Faramir accusingly. 'And you gave him the opportunity to plan this with Kustîg! They have probably been plotting this for weeks.'

Pippin looked at Legolas in alarm; it was most unlike Legolas to be argumentative with anyone but Gimli and the Dwarf was very quiet. Merry flushed with anger at the accusation against Faramir but it was Aragorn who protested.

'That is unfair, Legolas. Faramir asked Bearos to negotiate with Kustîg because he is experienced in brokering deals. He bargained very successfully with Tarantine, the Lord of Umbar. And Bearos alone knows any of Kustîg's own tongue. He was more likely to be successful than anyone else.'

'I do not trust him.' Legolas slid a hand over the hilt of his knife as if to loosen it.

'He has done nothing to deserve your mistrust,' Aragorn said, meeting Legolas's stare with a challenge of his own.

'And yet I do not trust him,' Legolas repeated.

'Well that may be but Faramir only did what he had to,' Merry interrupted angrily. 'And we are no closer to solving our problem of the mirror or of Kustîg's release. It seems to me that if Kustîg has stolen the mirror, then at least it's out of Minas Tirith and if the ghoul has anything to do with the Mirror, then the ghoul is also no longer in the city.'

Merry's outburst seemed to have pricked everyone's conscience for Legolas stepped back and Aragorn let his gaze drop.

Aragorn sighed and looked at Gandalf for a moment, who only shrugged unhelpfully. 'Tell me again about this ghoul,' he said. 'You must have seen where it went.'

Pippin cringed and looked briefly over towards Legolas, but he had that inscrutable mask that he sometimes wore when he was really angry, or being ignored, usually by Aragorn, or riled by Gimli. But Gimli must have realised too for he said quickly, 'Neither Gandalf nor I saw it and the sentries had seen nothing.'

Legolas said tightly, ''I do not know where it went. It had scaled the bridge before I could get there.' Pippin could almost hear him saying to himself behind his teeth, 'and I suppose you think I have failed in my trust, do you?' for that had been hurled at Aragorn several times during the Quest, and not always by Legolas. Sometimes Gimli said it on Legolas' behalf; Pippin thought this might be one of those times because he saw Gimli chewing his beard.

Suddenly Legolas drew a dagger from his boot and slid it across the table where it came to rest near Gandalf, glinting in the morning sunlight. 'The ghoul threw this at me.' Pippin nearly cried aloud for Legolas had said nothing of that to the Hobbits at breakfast. Sam would have been most upset.

Gandalf pushed it about a bit with his staff and looked at it as if it was a nasty smell. 'It looks like an ordinary dagger to me,' he said. 'What is the sigil on the hilt?'

But Faramir was white. He reached out and pulled it towards him. He picked it up and looked at it wonderingly. 'This is mine,' he said. 'See, R,ND,R is the device of the Stewards. And it has here the three five-pointed stars. My father gave it to me.'

A silence fell upon them. Pippin looked away, not wanting to meet Faramir's gaze.

'You must have lost it,' Merry said loyally.

'But how did it come into the ghoul's possession? Do you make a habit of throwing it around and forgetting where you left it?' asked Gimli bluntly.

Faramir flushed and Merry made a noise of outrage. 'I assure you, lord Gimli, I did not know it was missing. It is always in my chamber though I do not know when it was taken.'

Legolas said nothing but Pippin saw that he was watching Faramir closely and Pippin thought that neither Legolas nor Gimli knew Faramir as he and Merry did or they would not suspect him. But they had seen how Boromir behaved at times towards Aragorn and it was love for Aragorn that made them wary. There were those pilgrimages too, to Denethor's tomb. He shook his head silently; it was supposed to be easier in the time of peace, but it was not.

Faramir looked up at Aragorn distraught and then turned to Legolas. 'I do not know how this came to be lost.' He rose to his feet in agitation, running his hands through his hair. 'Your majesty, I have failed you again.' He came before Aragorn and sank to one knee. 'What can I say? It is my Watch that has failed to keep the prisoner, Kustîg. A posse has been despatched to pursue him but I will go out myself and search for this ghoul and ensure that if it not gone from the city with this mirror, that it will harm no more of our people.'

A chorus of voices drowned him out but Gandalf rapped his staff on the marble floor irritably. 'This ghoul is not a Man,' Gandalf interrupted everyone. 'It will evade you, Faramir. Do you think you can catch it when Legolas could not?'

'This ghoul though, is surely a more immediate threat to the city than any army Kustîg might raise?' Aragorn shoved his chair back and pushed himself to his feet in agitation. 'If an Elf cannot catch it, who can?'

Gandalf sighed heavily. 'I am convinced the ghoul is connected with the Mirror and manifestation of this ghoul is proof that someone knows of it, and knows how to use it. In which case, I fear we will face not just an army of Easterlings, disappointed with peace and looking for revenge. I fear a much greater enemy will be raised.'

'Do you mean Sauron can be brought back?' Pippin asked, eyes wide.

'No, I do not, Peregrine Took. I mean something much older.' Gandalf suddenly looked very old and tired. 'I thought my work was done. But this may be beyond any of you.'

Pippin looked at Merry. This was what Gandalf had said when they faced the Balrog in Moria. And there Gandalf had fallen. Pippin did not think he could bear it if all this had been for nothing. 'Older doesn't mean worse,' he said rather desperately and Gandalf must have realised that Pippin was afraid because his face softened.

'Not always. But in this case, I am rather afraid that it does.'

Wearily, he rose to his feet and gathered his robes about him. 'Gimli, I need you once again it seems, if you are content to cling to a Wizard instead of an Elf.'

'If you promise not to drop me,' Gimli replied gamely and before either Legolas or Aragorn could protest, for both had opened their mouths to speak, Gandalf said firmly, 'Shadowfax cannot take all of you and Aragorn, you are needed here. And Legolas, should you look into the Mirror, I fear what will come.'

'What about Merry and me?' Pippin cried but Gandalf looked tenderly at him.

'Frodo and Sam need you both.' And it was enough to silence Pippin for he knew it was true.

'Come Gimli,' Gandalf said. 'Let us away. If we leave now Shadowfax will at least catch the posse and perchance overtake Kustîg himself.'

0o0o0o0

Bearos observed the Wizard and Dwarf from a narrow window in the small office he had been given as an advisor to the King. The great white horse charged out of the courtyard in an overly dramatic flurry with the dwarf clinging to the Wizard's white robes. He cursed silently; he had not expected that the dwarf would go with the Wizard. It meant the message that was carefully folded in his pocket was useless. It had cost him a copper coin for the messenger boy to give it up. Bearos would never have known to use those words. And he did not think that now he could have forged the writing, so angular and spiked. It had been too easy but now the note was useless. He was about to crumple it in his fist but stopped; it was a sort of treasure. Hoard it now, use it later. And it had given him ideas. Far easier to pilfer scraps of writing from the Steward, and it would serve his purpose better.

He turned his attention now to Faramir and watched how the King stood close to his steward as if to reassure him. He guessed the dagger had been revealed as Faramir's. It had been pure luck that he had manged to steal that from Faramir's own chamber. Now a sequence of events was in place and already its momentum was building; rumours of Ioralas' death; and a Beast that had sucked the blood from the Man were already flying around the city. He had made sure too that there was a subtle sense that somehow Faramir was to be blamed for letting it happen. And now there was a traitor who had helped the prisoner, Kustîg, to escape. The Wizard was out of the way and Faramir was here, feeling vulnerable. And the old guard, Denethor's loyal families, were already questioning the Usurper. If it seemed that Faramir was taking the blame for all this, it would stoke their resentment further.

Gleefully Bearos rubbed his forefinger over the smooth gemstone in the Ring. All was in place and the pieces set. He watched the Usurper stand close to Faramir, speaking quietly. And there was the Elf, Legolas Thranduillion, standing a little apart from the others watching the Wizard and Dwarf long after they had disappeared. A little forlorn perhaps? Alone? Isolated?

He tapped a forefinger on the window frame thoughtfully, staring out at the Elf. Those two Hobbits, hateful stunted creatures, had already gone back inside and the Usurper – the False King - was guiding Faramir up the stone steps. Slowly the Elf followed, but Bearos stayed looking out of the window, lost in thought.

Suddenly someone looked up from the almost empty courtyard, staring straight at him. That wicked old Man, Heredir.

Bearos stepped back into the shadows but too late, Heredir had seen him. He cursed and turned furiously away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Always Heredir insulted him, sneered at him. Time he died. He was old and infirm. It should be easy.

0o0

The house was quiet when Bearos returned for he had dismissed the servants, saying his wife had returned to their farm for the summer, taking the children to give them space to play.

It was not true.

He wanted peace, or rather, he wanted no one around to observe or question. He had engaged two new men instead; Maltök and Tyresis. They were strong, and completely bespelled now with hardly a will of their own. They obeyed without question and ignored what he wanted them to. Too, they were strong enough to excavate beneath the house, digging through the bedrock of the city and hewing rough tunnels, driven at first by greed and fear, but now empty of all Will but the Ring's.

He could hear sounds upstairs in the Solar and he took long, silent steps and paused outside the room, pressing his ear against the closed door. His wife and daughter were in there, sewing, whispering. They did not expect him home yet. Grinning horribly, he pulled off his velvet gloves and scrabbled his nails at the door and then stopped, listening again. They had ceased their careful whisperings and were silent. He imagined them both turned towards the door, their faces frozen in terror that he had returned. He pressed his nose against the door, he could smell their fear, sniffed at it, sucked it into himself. A thin smile stretched over his lips and he scrabbled again with his nails. He heard them whisper frantically to each other and the girl scuttled away, sent up the stairs at the far end of the room by her mother. And then the woman's voice quavered.

'Is that you my dear?'

She did not mean it. He was no longer her dear anything. She hated him, was terrified of him. He laughed softly, just enough for her to hear.

'Bearas?'

It annoyed him that she alone still called him that. He felt a rage begin in his chest and wanted to throw open the door and tear into her…But instead, a greater revenge would be quiet. Silence. He pressed against the door again, listening to her panicked breathing, her heart thumping in her chest. She would be more afraid that it was him standing there than if it were a thief, he thought amused.

Quietly, he crept away, leaving her in fear to wonder if she should just open the door a tiny crack and peer out, or not. In case it was him and he suddenly leapt out at her, made her scream and run in fear.

Almost he turned back for the delight in tormenting her but he heard the baby cry and instead, swerved towards the nursery door.

It was unlocked, unattended. She was not usually so careless.

He was fast, faster than his wife who had not heard yet and he scooped up the frail bundle of bones and blood. He felt his lips stretch over his teeth and looked down.

The tiny bundle squirmed in his arms and began to wail – a thin reedy noise that raised the predator in him. He bent over the child.

He opened his hot red mouth wide, teeth gleamed.

No! No! What was still Bearas screamed from deep within. It was like he was looking through a glass tunnel and everything was bent and distorted and he could not get out for it twisted and turned and rolled him back down. At the other end of the glass, where the world was, and his children, his wife, was the Beast and it turned and snarled at him.

Marinel! He tried to scream to his wife. I am in here! Gerda!

But they could not hear him for the snarling of the Beast that kept him trapped and that paced and sneered at him whenever he screamed. It gnawed on his bones, tore at his sinews and heart and his skin could not contain It.

The tiny bundle squirmed again and its crying grew louder. And that was enough. He fought his way along the glass, digging his feet and hands against the smooth, slippery glass and clawed his way along it and burst out, thrust the Beast away, his baby. The longed for, beloved baby! He dropped it back into its cot and tore himself away. He felt hot tears wet his cheeks; the neck of his tunic was soaked with them. The squalling wail pursued him and he stumbled out, hearing the scrape of a chair and muffled cry from his wife as she realised he had been there and the baby was crying.

He fled. Down the stairs, down into the cellars. It was all he could do before the Beast burst his body and he became that…thing again.

Trembling, he thrust the iron key into the locked door, hidden in the deep cellar of the house and disguised as the back of a cupboard. He closed it and locked it behind him, leaning against the heavy boards before crying aloud.

He was exhausted. The ends of his fingertips were raw and his nails broken as if he had been clawing at rocks. He had hidden them with gloves but knew it looked strange. And he was gaunt and pale, so pale! His hunger could not be abated. He ate so much meat! He wept with the need to eat, raw and bloody. He had dismissed the cook and his wife cooked for herself and the girl. He had the Man, Maltök, bring carcasses from the butcher every day and Bearos would have torn the bloody meat from the bones if he could. He ate in private now for he could not bear to be seen.

Now he limped down the newly excavated steps that led in secret ways beneath the city, joining the cellar of his house to the catacombs deep beneath the city. The tunnel was not smooth or wide, but rough, barely enough for him to squeeze through. He emerged into the long forgotten catacombs, delved before the great sombre mausoleum that was the House of the Dead was raised to protect the bones of Kings and Stewards. During the first siege of Minas Tirith when Men could not bury the dead outside the city walls, they laid these ancient bones on shelves dug in the rock, and the catacombs led to the crypt of the Kings. A secret. Long forgotten. He did not know how he knew. It did not matter and he did not care.

He limped. His muscles were weak and sinews stretched from the long chase across the city, pursued by the Elf the previous eve. He felt like it was he who had been thrown onto rocks from a cliff, not Ioralas.

He had always had a wiry strength that came from living in the Mountains, hunting and farming. It was no great feat to cast the body onto the rocks below the bridge…After he had slashed the guard's throat. And then, spread the blood over the copper-coated surface of the Mirror.

An iron door, heavy and thick, was set deeply into the rock. It was lined with lead and an inner door, an iron grille added a second layer. The doors he had had made in the forge at the barracks. It amused him that he was doing this right under Faramir's nose, Beregond's careful eyes. He had brought it here himself, set it easily upon the hinges he had driven into the rock himself with his supernatural strength.

The door swung open easily at the turn of the iron key, and he inspected the thickness of it with pleased amusement. Yes- when it was closed no sound would escape. Testing again the strength of the iron bars of the grille, he smiled. Yes. This would be sufficient.

Inside was a room, the size of a cell. Pitch dark pressed against him but he could see easily in the dark now, one of the many benefits of the Ring. He pulled on the chains that he had driven into the rock wall himself, and ran through a ring driven high into the ceiling. They did not budge. No one could escape this. Shackles hung from the chain that would lock about the wrist and then pull a captive up so he strained, but could not escape.

A lure.

Something shimmered and moved at the back of the cell.

He stepped into the space before the Mirror and beheld his own face swimming in the Glass. Long and thin. Eyes so dark they were almost black.

The Zigur had not thought to look for the Mirror, he congratulated himself. So intent had the Zigur been on telling the Usurper, Isildur's heir of its loss, that he and the Dwarf had almost run from there in their haste to join the Usurper's council where Bearos himself had been waiting to plant the idea that the Mirror had been stolen by Kustîg.

Kustîg's escape had not been so easy to arrange as the theft of the Glass, he thought. That had taken sorcery and blood. But the Easterling had recognised the Ring as soon as he set eyes upon it and knelt in awe and gratitude. He knew his Master.

Bearos liked that. The recognition. Soon his Brethren would join him.

He stepped forwards and pressed his hands against the Glass. The bones of his hands had elongated like his face, and now it seemed that he looked into a pool in a twilit forest, a patch of daylight in the Night. In the pool his own face reflected. Swam. Rippled. Ghoulish. His lips pulled back in a sort of smile that should have made his blood run cold. And yet his blood was surging and raging through his veins, and his grin pulled his mouth back and showed his long teeth.

Not long. This body will not serve for long.

It does not need to.

No. Only a little longer will do and he would have all he needed. In his hands was a message written by Gimli Gloinsson the Dwarf, the Naugrim, the Stunted people. The words written on the parchment summoned the Elf but it did not say where and why. In the Glass he watched his face smile and lick its lips.

But for now, he needed blood. Any blood. He needed to be strong to meet the Elf. The Glass needed it, was as hungry as he.

Now the darkness closed about him warmly, embracing him and he felt the Ring, for it had become All to him, wrapping itself around his finger and then coiling about his hand, wrist and arm. It slid its dark tenderness about his waist and shoulders and neck and head and squeezed, penetrating his mouth and ears and nose and everything. It filled him, filled him, filled him more so he grew, enlarged, every organ, his lungs and heart and chest and brain and eyes and tongue, and he took a huge breath that filled his engorged breast.

He wanted to roar.

Throwing open the iron grille, he hurled himself from the cell. His feet pounded the stone and he ran so fleetly, like he had last night, muscles pounding, sinews stretching beyond what was human, bones cracking and twisting into something he was not. His blood pounded and thrashed in his veins as if it wanted to escape. He felt the Thing in him, the Beast, writhing for release and he shook his head from side to side as if he might shake free from this skeleton, this skin and let the muscles in him expand as they wanted.

Yes! The Ring urged him. Do it! Do it now!

From deep inside, Bearas screamed. His weak fingers scrabbled at the sides of the Pit in which he was trapped but he sank only deeper as the Beast that had possessed him looked with narrow yellow eyes.

No! No!

Deep inside the Pit, Bearas felt himself slipping deeper, falling away; he was staring up through a long tunnel of polished Glass. Then he was gone. Completely. The Beast gnawed at his bloody bones as it loped easily through the crypt, passed the silent effigies of long dead Kings and thought about the old Man who hated him, Heredir.

0o0o

Next chapter: Elrohir arrives in Lothlorien where there is a reunion with Glorfindel, Erestor and Tindómion. But Legolas is very much alone in Minas Tirith right now. Anyone else worried?!