"Come here, Amy!" called Mirumor from her bedroom. "Try this on."

Amdirien quickly hurried away from Mirumor's mother, closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Am I safe here?" she asked in a hushed whisper. She went to the window and opened it a foot.

"Probably," answered Mirumor.

Suddenly Gwethien, in bat form, swooped into the room from outside, having to almost entirely fold her wings to fit through the small window. She landed on a bedpost and looked back and forth between Amdirien and Mirumor, hoping for a compliment on her fancy flying.

"Well now you are safe!" laughed the sorceress. Her mother was much more gifted with magic than she was - a gift from the Nazgûl long ago - but Mirumor guessed Gwethien was capable of far beyond what any mortal could learn.

Amdirien was disappointed in the available clothing; everything Mirumor owned was red, tight, and revealing. Beggars can't be choosers, as the saying goes, so she took the least objectionable option. It felt good to be out of her blue dress, which after a night spent in the pouring rain had been thoroughly ruined.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon in Mirumor's bedroom with Gwethien. It says a lot about her state of mind that she took such solace in the vampire's presence. Safe indoors with such a formidable protector, her fear began to melt away. In its place came anger and hatred.

She struggled in vain to keep Captain Pedron's death from her mind. A hero of the war against Sauron deserved better than to die unceremoniously on the dock beside his own ship. There would be no glorious tale of his fall - there could not even be a proper burial; his body would rot in the sea. She wasn't yet sure who the mastermind behind her misfortune would turn out to be, but she could not imagine hating them more than the treacherous first mate of the Tar-Minyatur.

She found herself again consoling herself by caressing the bat that sat on her bedpost. It was of course Mirumor's bed she was sitting on, but one must forgive the Princess for laying claim to the young sorceress's bedroom in such a time of crisis. As it was, Gwethien again felt miserable being relegated to the princess's pet.

"Were you the little flying creature that fluttered around in my rafters in the palace?" asked Amdirien suddenly.

"Yes," replied the bat in a quiet hiss.

"You could have been a little quieter," smiled Amdirien.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch you sleep and not bite?" hissed the Vampire.

"I hadn't thought about that," muttered Amdirien.

Then a terrible thought came into her mind, and she could not keep it out. She knew her parents wouldn't approve, nor Elerína, nor anyone else, but she didn't care. They hadn't seen Pedron die.

"When this is over, if I get the chance," said Amdirien slowly to the vampire, "I'll repay you in what you want most."

Gwethien slowly turned to face her. "I'll hold you to that."

"No, you won't," replied Amdirien sharply.

"Time for dinner, Amy," called Mirumor.

Amdirien went out to the dining room and joined Mirumor and her mother for dinner. It was extremely good.

'I suppose some of Sauron's servants appreciate proper cuisine,' thought Amdirien.

As dinner came to a close they heard the door at the bottom of the stairs unlock and open.

"Father!" exclaimed Mirumor excitedly.

A tall man in a light armor and a black hood came stomping up the stairs. He was soaked to the bone.

"Traitor!" he roared. He reached the top of the stairs and smashed an expensive looking glass vase sitting on a sideboard.

"Everyone's dead!" he ranted. "We're all dead!"

"Control yourself!" hissed Mirumor's mother.

Mirumor's father slammed his fist on the table. "You don't understand! Everyone is dead. They raided the cistern. Hundreds of his best men! Only about twenty of us made it out. The entire inner circle were executed, all the archives were burned, and those who tried to flee were slaughtered."

"Who? Who did this?" asked Mirumor.

"Altazîr! That damn traitor!" shouted the man. "We killed everyone in his way, and he promised us power."

"I suppose we outlived our usefulness," observed Mirumor's mother coldly. She had seen too much murder and betrayal to be surprised by anything.

"We suffered significant casualties at the palace - to a warrior in black, with powers like we haven't seen since the Nazgûl!" continued Mirumor's father. "But we got all our original targets, and plenty more! The Princess escaped, but she was not part of the bargain."

Amdirien smiled. Thorongil had not been idle, it seemed. The Dead Hand was crippled. Altazîr would need to be dealt with, but at least she now knew her foe. Her smile quickly vanished as the man continued.

"Perhaps we can still find the Princess. Altazîr won't last long as lord of Umbar with her death on his watch. Tall and fair, wearing a blue dress and a diamond necklace."

Amdirien was foolishly still wearing her necklace.

Mirumor's witch of a mother turned menacingly towards her. "What and interesting description, wouldn't you say... Amy?"

Mirumor covertly reached for her crossbow, which sat by her on a side table. Mirumor's father took a moment to understand his wife; he had assumed that Amdirien was one of Mirumor's many associates, all of whom he would have expected to support the Dead Hand.

"Well, your majesty," mocked the witch, "what good fortune could possibly have led you here?"

Amdirien did not try to deny it. She stood up and backed towards the door to Mirumor's room. "Your daughter knows how profitable working with me can be."

Mirumor's father reached for his dagger. "While I sure your father would pay handsomely for your safe return, I'll settle for one last glorious kill for the Dead Hand."

Mirumor stood between her parents and the Princess, her crossbow at the ready. "You don't want to do this!"

"It won't bring Sauron back, but it'll hurt Aragorn," hissed the witch. "So I'm quite sure I do!" The brand marks on her cheeks and forehead flashed and flickered like freshly burnt coals.

"We'll all die for it!" warned Mirumor. "The balance of power is against us. There are worse things than men and elves in service to Gondor now!"

As Mirumor's father stepped towards the Princess his daughter cocked her weapon. "Please don't do this father."

"Stand aside!" roared her mother. "How can you defended the daughter of our enemy!"

"Your enemy!" replied Mirumor. "I wasn't even alive for that war. And even if I had been, I am not dying for your vengeance!"

Mirumor's father was a bit concerned by his daughters words. His daughter was bold and daring, and he could see that she was mortally afraid of harm coming to the Princess. Mirumor's mother was undeterred, and a web of shadow formed about her hands.

Amdirien bravely stepped up beside the young sorceress.

"The question is not whether you can hurt me and survive - you can not" she boldly proclaimed. "The question you should ask yourself is who do you hate more, me or Altazîr. He has betrayed me as well. You may try to hurt my father through me, or you can step aside and let me kill the man who used you to seize power before butchering your friends like animals."

Mirumor's parents hesitated and looked to each other.

"Do you really think Altazîr, who has played us all for fools, doesn't have a plan for how to handle my death at your hands.?" continued the Princess. "He ordered you to do it! It's me or him, and try as you might, it won't be me."

Mirumor's parents had not expected such strength and courage from the Princess. They expected her last words to be pitiful pleas for mercy, not bold threats. They began to suspect that she held a card they did not even know was in play; though they would never of guessed it to be a vampire in their daughter's bedroom!

"You promise you'll kill Altazîr?" asked Mirumor's father.

Amdirien nodded. "If what you say is true, he will die a traitor's death."

"Don't fail," hissed the witch.

"You're coming too," said the Princess to Mirumor.

"What; me?" replied the sorceress. "I don't think so! This is clearly an internal matter..."

Amdirien rolled her eyes. "We'll need money, and bring your weapons. You'll be well paid - how does three thousand silver sound."

"That, and I want a knife from the Nazgûl's armory," she demanded.

"Done," nodded Amdirien.

"Just tell me who to pay and who to kill!" replied the sorceress excitedly.

Mirumor and Amdirien retired to the sorceress's bedroom.

"You have to get me the knife, and keep Thorongil from taking it from me!" Mirumor whispered.

Amdirien nodded. "I'll try. I'm not sure Thorongil will ever listen to me again, after this mess I have dragged him into."

"Don't be ridiculous," replied Mirumor. "He's probably having an excellent time!"

Amdirien and Mirumor left immediately. Over the course of the next four hours they made their way back towards the dock where the Tar-Minyatur had been moored. It was slow going; Altazîr had greatly increased the number of patrols throughout his city. It was nearly midnight when Mirumor and the Princess reached the tavern where she had sought shelter only twenty-four hours before.

The tavern was full and the crowd merry - a much different atmosphere than the rest of the city now grumbling about a curfew, one of many new measures instituted by the Director of Internal Affairs to 'restore order' to the city. The vast majority of patrons were sailors who cared nothing for the local politics.

Looking carefully from table to table, Amdirien found what she desperately sought; sitting apart from the crowd was a figure in a grey cloak and hood, sipping a glass of wine. Under his cloak could be seen black armor, and he passed the time spinning a silver knife in his right hand.

Amdirien rushed over to him. "Thorongil!"

Thorongil slowly looked up. He gestured to the chair across from him with a smile and wink. He did his best impression of Her Majesty: "You may sit."