Part two:

As she ran down the great stairs leading away from the door to the main hall she whistled a high clear note, far ahead at the stables a horse jerked its head up from where it was munching on some hay, then proceeded with very agile lips to undo the bolt locking the door to its pen, and charged down the cobblestone lane leading to Ferin's Court. Once there Angethel leapt upon his back and rode fast as a whirl-wind down the road away from Thorins Hall.

As she rode towards Gondamon she could see the Orc and Dourhand encampments around the Dwarven Keep. There seemed to be a lull in the fighting as the orcs where trying to organize with the wolves with little success. With two calls that seemed low and deep followed by a different more airy one she came to a halt at the top of the hill that lead down to the valley around the castle city. In the woods around here there were three calls in response, a Bear's roar, the moaning cry of a Lynx, and a caw of a Raven. Within moments her companions were with her, Orodor the great white bear, Mitheleth the silver lynx, and Hwinnalagos the winter raven.

Then with a mighty yell the small group charged down the hill and through the blockade the villains had put around the city, the orcs guarding the road leading to the keep where blinded by a brilliant light, and the archers had a small whirling dervish around them making their arrows fly wide of their targets.

Upon reaching the city the defenders let out a mighty cry, but it dissipated quickly when they saw the numbers of the reinforcements being one elf and a few animals.

Mathi, the lord of the keep, who approached her as she dismounted her horse, voiced his low opinion of his 'rescuers' quite well. He's tone not exactly exuding hope.

"This is all I get for reinforcements? I suppose you will have to do. We've defended this keep for as long as we could, but I fear the next push might be our last." He was then beckoned away by one of the soldiers.

Angethel thought to herself about singeing the dwarf's beard a little but thought the better of it.

It was then that she noticed the tall well armored man a ways behind Mathi, leaning against one of the stone pillars. He was dressed in shining mail under a black hauberk and cloak, a large Halberd upon his back. It was the livery of Elendil. This man was a Gondorian, a lord or one of the Citadel Guard, she guessed. What was he doing here of all places?

Hwinn the Raven landed on her shoulder as she approached him. The man's keen eyes seemed to see more than most men, though his pale shoulder length hair and trimmed beard showed only the slightest hint of silver, his eyes showed he was far older then he seemed. The blood of Númenor was strong in him, and yet, there was something else, his, -for lack of a better word in the common tongue- aura was different than any man she had ever seen, it had a more, darker feel, more… more… wolf like really. She was never really on friendly terms with wolves, or any member of the canine family really, their speech was one if the few things she was not quite able to master.

"You're staring."

She blinked, then realized that she had indeed been staring, she almost blushed from embarrassment, but this man was… fascinating.

"My apologies," she said removing her hood, "I am Angethel Noruithel of the Avari. I've come at the request of lord Dwalin to aid this city in its defense."

He nodded in acknowledgement, "Revtor Barrowson of Gondor, and you're still staring." He said, his eyes showing a hint of laughter.

This time her face did flush, but turned her head to hide it, pretending to look over the walls of the fortress.

"What in the names of the Valar was wrong with me," she thought.

She decided to change the subject, "What brings you here? To Gondamon of all places?"

"I heard from some of my friends in the wild that there was a good fight to be had here," he paused, and then continued, his tone dark, almost a growl, "and there are Orcs to kill."

It was at this point that another man approached, though defiantly not as tall as the Gondorian. This seemed to be from the lands near Bree from the look of him.

"Ah Will, this is Angethel, an Elven master of lore and beasts. Angethel, this is my Squire, William."

"Hmm, seems he is as good at reading people as I am." She thought.

The slightly flighty young man's eyes went wide with amazement, "A real elf? 'Tis an hon'a M'lady!" he said, than quickly stumbling over a bow, "William Soggybottom, at ye' service."

She raised one elegant eyebrow at the young man's name, he was Defiantly from Bree.

It was at this point that Will noticed the very large statue of a bear behind her was NOT a statue, for it moved and rumbled.

"Oh Dear!" the young man almost squeaked.

Angethel smiled, "Orodor will not hurt you unless I say young one. Have no fear."

"This is Hwinnalagos," at which point the Raven squawked, "and this is…" She went to motion towards the lynx but noticed that she was not there. "Odd, where is she?" She said while looking around.

"Etér Mitheleth." She said, beckoning her friend to come out of hiding, which at last she did, though very reluctantly, watching the Gondorian and hissing when she was forced closer to him then she liked and was not happy until Angethel was holding her in her arms.

"Mann-Iss-Wwolf" She said to Angethel, her tone that of hate.

She looked to the Gondorian, her face showing her puzzlement.

"Would you look me in the eye?" she asked him.

Now it was Retor's turn to raise his eyebrow. But he complied after a moment.

Among the many talents that Angethel had was the ability to see inside a person, get feelings of their past, to in many ways, see into their soul, the thing was, it worked both ways.

He was indeed old, older than any of the Númenorians had ever been, though not ageless like the Eldar. It was what gave him is long life that struck at her, for in his soul, noble, old, wise, and sad, was a shadow of darkness restrained, and it roared at her in her mind, causing her to grow pale and her voice hoarse with a twinge of fear as she said:


With that she quickly broke contact and looked away, and shuddered slightly, her companions showing their agitation as well.

Revtor had an amazed look upon his face, but faded rapidly as he heard her say that word, the name of what he was.

"Indeed, I am as you saw, though not completely"

She looked back at him, with profound respect and curiosity as well, the momentary fear subsiding.

Seeing she wished to know more he complied.

"I shall tell you my story in short, since it seems we have the time."

"Before the fall of Arnor, at the hand of the Witch King, a woman and her young son from that nation fled to Mirkwood. The name of the child was Revvear.

He was raised among the elves as an equal, and trained by them to become a hunter. Once he mastered his skills he began to travel hunting for the rarest and most dangerous pray that could be found. Among these were Wights, Trolls, Drakes, and many others. But after many a year of honor and glory gained through his skill as a hunter, he just vanished. No one saw or heard from him for a long count of years.

But then in the year 1477ta he reappeared in a small town on the Poros River far to the south of Osgiliath. There he settled with his Silvan wife of Mirkwood, and had a son. The rest of Revvear's story is not well known. One thing is well known of him that at some time while hunting far north of the Iron hills he met with a cursed wolf. One of the Dark Lord's werewolves and was bit by the creature, and though saved by the healing arts of the elves, the poison never completely left him, changing him into one that is both wolf and man with the ability to change at will."

"I am the son of Revvear."

She looked at him, things clicking into place as it were.

"You are a most interesting person Revtor Barrowson."

At this he smiled for the first time.

"As are you Angethel Noruithel, one who is older than trees."

Before they could continue, a distant Dourhand battle horn was sounded.

"The enemy is readying their forces to attack!" a dwarf said.

"Harken to me defenders of Gondamon!" called Mathi to his forces

He continued:

"Gondamon has been a free city so long as I have ever known. The Dourhands wish to take that from you. To take your homes and land, and to slaughter your families! But I say not today. I say we stand. I say we fight! Now to the walls and let them come to you. Perhaps there is hope yet that Gondamon will still stand free at the end of this day. We defend Gondamon to our last breath!"

Revtor looked to Angethel, a feral smile upon his lips.

"Let us kill some Orc!"

His smile was soon matched on her own face as they joined in the battle cry the dwarves were shouting!