The moonlight was a diffuse ocean in the sky, lessening the inky blackness of the night, but not as bright as to dull the stars that speckled and glittered in the heavens above. Moonlight poured from the sky like the milk of a god that required no sustenance, and instead was satisfied with only the beauty of the soft rays. It splashed down its watery white-silver glow on the watchtower of Amon Sûl, bathing it, illuminating it. In the distance, the trees were silhoutted against the deep velvety sky. The greenery soaked up the valuable, pale light cascading over the tender leaves of the herbs, as a cloaked figure walked on the moon-bleached stones, his heavy strides radiating an air of confidence and nobility.

At first glance, there was nothing out of place about the figure, but if one observed carefully, they could discern the silver star on his breast that marked him as a Ranger of Arnor. He was dressed in forest-green, a brown cloak was about him, and at his side hung an intricately carved dagger. A pair of sharp, bright eyes peeked out from under the hood.

The Ranger walked up the flight of stone steps carved into the hill atop which the watchtower stood, pulling his cloak closer as a colder breeze blew. What he was committing was treason, and Elendil would have his head if he was cut, and though he knew it well, it bothered him not.

For a man who would soon be killed could not send others to death.

The sentries at the entrance made way for him after he handed them a letter granting him permission to enter, singed by the High King himself. Of course, it was a forgery, but they didn't need to know that.

Henumir, the Dúnedain captain charged with the security of Amon Sûl, was waiting for the Ranger as he entered. "Elen síla lùmenn' omentielvo, friend," he greeted in the High Eldarin tongue. "What brings a messenger from the High King at so late an hour?"

"Indeed, the hour has grown late, as the Shadow has gained strength," the Ranger replied, his voice strong and proud, with the airs of one who has been with nobility all his life. "But time works against us, and there is no place for slacking if we are to survive."

"You are correct," Henumir bowed his head in assent. "How may I be of service?"

The Ranger handed him a letter, not unlike the one he had given to the sentries, a letter granting him permission to access the treasure of Amon Sûl, with directions to the captain to aid in whichever way possible. Henumir broke the seal and skimmed over the contents before asking the Ranger, "You would visit the Viewing Window, then?"

"If you please, captain," the Ranger replied courteously.

"Of course. Follow me."

They entered a hall of many pillars, of marble floor and crystal ceiling. Rich tapestries decorated the walls, depicting Númenor in its ancient glory. A fire crackled in a hearth at a corner, near which sat three guards with drinks and food, making merry in each other's company. At the sight of their captain, they stood up, but Henumir waved a hand, bidding them to continue.

"Come," he told his companion. "Now we go up."

Henumir led him through a doorway to a flight of stairs that wound its way around the inside of the tower, climbing all the way to the top. Outside was nothing but moon-sparkled darkness, but at least it was not the kind of utter blackness that swallowed a person whole, rather it was a shadowy world painted in grey.

"There are seven of us stationed here," he answered at a question asked by the Ranger. "Aldamir and Herion you have met at the entrance. Four others, three of whom you saw in the hall share turns all day at the Window. I check with them at regular intervals."

"Do you like it here? I imagine it might seem dull, spending all day keeping watch."

Henumir laughed, running a hand through his greying hair. "Dull? I would not call it that. Is it less adventurous than most ventures further north? Definitely. But no longer do I yearn for adventure as I did in my youth. No longer do I miss those days when I would rise freely with my brothers in the wild hunting boar and deer, or rushing off into the vales fighting dragons and rescuing maidens. Nay," he shook his head. "I like it here, it is as peaceful as we can afford during these times."

They continued their ascent, Henumir finding it easy to open up to his silent companion. He talked about his childhood and growing up in Númenor, escaping with the Faithful to Middle Earth after King Ar-Pharazôn's relentless prosecution, of aiding his fellow soldiers in establishing the realm of Arnor, and finally being assigned to guard Amon Sûl.

"One day, when my King has no more need of me, I will retire to a farm of my own, have a family, and raise an heir to carry on my name," He mused as he smiled, dreaming of those days yet to come. Never once did he notice the Ranger's lips curve into a snarl, and his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger.

In the highest chamber, the pillars arched above them like branches of trees, their thin carved twigs meeting in the centre. There, encircled by many windows, stood a pillar that came upto their waist, wrought of black marble, with strange runes etched onto its surface. But atop the pillar, on a small pedestal of white marble, a sphere of clouded crystal lay, yet clouded as when the Sun is thinly veiled, for in the heart of the glove a light, mingled of silver and gold, shone flickering, as a bright candle behind a thin cloth. Beside it, a soldier clad in the livery of the Northern Kingdom stood at attention, the moonlight from outside falling on his silver helm and lance. He gave a salute as Henumir introduced him as Bregolas, son of Barahir.

Henumir spread his arms, and pride was clear in his voice. "Here we stand at the Crossroads of the West, the resting place of the Seeing Stone of Amon Sûl. Here you can see the Great East Road stretching for miles, running from the Iron Hills in the East to the Ered Luin in the far West. This-"

But the Ranger had enough, not wanting to hear another word. Swiftly he moved, and silver blade glinted under silver moonlight, slashing across Henumir's throat. Warm, crimson blood splattered on the Ranger's robes as Henumir's eyes widened, his hands going up to his throat before he fell to his knees. Bregolas gave a shout, which was cut short as a throwing knife lodged itself in his chest, and he fell to the ground, his blood mixing with Henumir's on the ground.

With a great effort Henumir looked up, his breaths coming in short, ragged attempts as his eyes met the Ranger's. For the first time he regarded the sheer depth of the darkness in his eyes, feeling that he was staring at an abyss which was about to swallow him whole.

"Why?" He croaked, his breathing getting laboured by the second.

The Ranger wiped the blood off his dagger, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Because the Shadow is coming, and when it comes, nothing in this world can stop it."

The light went out of Henumir's eyes, and he dropped to the floor. The river of life left his body as it started to flow freely from the gash, staining the crystal floor red.

The Enemy had made his move, and two lives two many had already been lost.

"Cry havoc and loose the dogs of war," the Ranger whispered as he turned his hungry eyes back to his prize.

The palantír.

Phew! That's done. For some weird reason, I have the second act of this story all planned out and all, but when it comes to the first act, oh boy. *facepalms* great work, dude.

*sees everyone looking at me weirdly*

Hello there.

So, yes, I finally updated. Sorry for keeping you guys waiting for so long. I've got quite a number of things on my plate, and I just can't find the time to write.

Anyhow, there aren't any of the cast here *winces* but they'll all come in the upcoming chapters, so stay tuned!

Votes and comments (especially spam!) are always appreciated, and I hope you like this chapter!