Just an Old Friend

A Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction

by Murasaki99

Any LOTR character you recognise belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I don't own 'em, I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit fun.

It took a month for Herumor and Moro to travel beyond the small hamlet of Kirinki and reach the line of hills to which the elves had directed them. The land was forested, and like much of Aman, undeveloped and untouched by the hands of man or elf. Deer and other game were abundant and Herumor found it easy to provide for their needs. Staying ahead of the elves of Tirion was less easy. The elves still pursued them with single-minded intensity and only the greater endurance of the Nazgûl enabled them to keep in the lead. Moro did not seem to mind the pace, although she sometimes protested when she had to leave off watching a bird or butterfly to continue their hike.

While Herumor could have gone on for days, Moro needed to eat and sleep at regular intervals. As the sun began to set, he picked a sheltered spot that would hide them from anyone traveling the trail. After supper, he set out Moro's bedroll.

"Sing a song before bedtime, Papa," said the child as she lay down.

"Very well. Let me see." Herumor thought for a time. Sometimes he would sing pieces of the old heroic ballads of Númenor, and sometimes the lighter fare of the ordinary people. Moro loved them all and never seemed to grow tired of them. Remembering to take the deep breath required, he sang.

From before time, I dreamed you
Before the stars shone, I held you in my heart
Before being and not-being
You were with me
From your company I have never strayed
Closer than your shadow
Deeper than your heart
Wind and storm, sunlight and darkness
Sea and mountain, forest and river
In them, in you
One.

Herumor looked at Moro in surprise, startled by what had come from his mouth. His daughter smiled and clapped her small hands. "Good song, Papa! Good song!" She settled deeper into the blanket and Herumor tugged it closer around her body.

"It is new, that one. It is not anything learned from long ago." Slowly he settled himself near his daughter, lying back and folding his arms behind his head for a pillow. "Where did it come from, I wonder?" Seen through the screen of leaves, the stars shone brightly. Although the constellations of this distant land were still strange to him, they seemed less foreign and cold now. Herumor sighed and closed his eyes.

The sun rises far too early, he thought the next morning. Golden light glowed through his translucent eyelids, so bright he could feel it settling on his skin like molten metal. Groaning, he began to push himself up, but stopped as his throat encountered a very sharp object.

"From Aman to Middle-Earth and back again have I traveled, and seen many a fantastic thing, but never did I think to find one of the cursed Úlairi treading the soil of the Undying Lands."

The voice was clear, cold, and scarily familiar. The last place Herumor had heard it had been at the Ford of Bruinen. His eyes flew open.

Glorfindel of Imladris stood above him, his long elven sword held with the point at Herumor's neck. The Lord of the long-vanished House of the Golden Flower looked decidedly unhappy.

Squinting against the glare of the elf's spirit, Herumor spoke carefully. "I am not here to fight, Lord Glorfindel. I come in peace." He lifted his empty hands slightly from the ground as a token of his intent.

"Peace? From a servant of Sauron?" The blade slid painfully along the exposed edge of his collarbone, parting the white flesh easily. Herumor bit back a cry of pain. The elf's sword was powerfully enchanted. Clear fluid wept from the wound and trickled down his chest. He could feel the fine tremor in the blade as Glorfindel held back from thrusting the weapon through his body.

"Don't hurt Papa!" Moro appeared on the periphery of Herumor's vision. Before he could utter any command she had marched over and pushed Glorfindel's sword away.

Herumor sat, but made no effort to stand or fight. "Moro, leave us be. We need to speak."

Glorfindel stared at the Nazgûl, raising the sword menacingly. "You've kidnapped a child as well?"

"No!" Herumor stood up slowly, feeling more than a little unsteady on his feet. As quickly as he could, he marshaled his thoughts. "Not at all. She's my daughter." Placing a hand on her pale-haired head, he gently moved Moro behind his body and out of the immediate range of a sword strike. She peered around his legs at the intruder, quite unafraid. "She is the reason I was sent to Aman in the first place."

Glorfindel shook his head slowly, his face grim. "Sent here? The child of a Nazgûl? Where is her mother? Did you slay her?"

Herumor sighed heavily. The explanations did not become any easier to tell with repetition. "There is no mother. She has, or had, another father, from whose body she sprang. And my name is Herumor, Lord Glorfindel, Herumor of Anadunë." He sketched a bow.

"We sailed on a big ship. With elves. They were nice," said Moro, smiling up at the tall elven warrior from behind the safe bulwark of her father's boots.

Glorfindel did a double take at her statements. "You sailed with elves? They brought you willingly?"

"Yes. Master Cirdan gave us leave to join a westward bound ship and so we left Middle-Earth and in time came here."

"Master Cirdan put you on a ship?" Glorfindel eyed the two travelers thoughtfully, curiosity obviously warring with his suspicion. At last he ran the blade back into its sheath on his hip. "Perhaps you had best tell me the entire story from the beginning, Herumor of Anadunë, before I pass judgment."

"Certainly, although it is rather a long tale." Convinced the elf was not about to kill him immediately, Herumor set about feeding Moro and breaking their tiny camp. "May I tell it to you as we walk? Moro and I have far to travel and we must stay ahead of our pursuers."

"I wished to ask you about those, as well," said Glorfindel dryly.

"That is another long story, I fear."

"We have time, Úlairi. Tell me how you came to these shores first, and then about the ones who follow you."

"As you wish, my Lord." As they walked, Herumor gave the elven prince a concise and discreetly edited history of Moro's origins, Angmar's plan to save her, their flight to the Grey Havens, the decision of Cirdan, and their eventual passage to Aman. Glorfindel interrupted little, seeming content to listen as they walked through the woods.

"She was born of the Morgul-lord's flesh?"

"Yes."

"And sired by yourself?" His tone was still one of incredulity.

"Yes."

"How could that happen?"

Herumor looked down at the ground beneath his feet, too embarrassed to meet the elf's clear gaze. "It was our custom at times to take comfort with one another and so we…"

Glorfindel quickly held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "You need not explain. I do understand how males can give one another pleasure. What I do not understand is how life of any sort could come of that."

"I do not comprehend it either, my Lord. My Captain explained it was the women's magic gone awry that caused the child to come into being. Once she was here, he would not give her up to Sauron."

"I am sore amazed that such a creature as the Witch-King of Angmar could have even a passing thought for the welfare of his child," Glorfindel snorted.

"You did not know him. No other person could have convinced me to take on this mad endeavor." Herumor watched Moro as she bounded through the ferns ahead of them. "And mad it has been, with no chance of success that I could see from the outset. And yet, here we are, after many adventures."

They continued in silence. The sun rose high and Herumor walked in the shade of the trees. The elven prince eyed the Nazgûl's well-worn robes, which were many shades of grey. "Your robes are no longer black, Herumor of Anadunë. Did you change them?"

"Eh?" Herumor looked down at the layers of fabric covering his lanky body. "I have not taken new clothing since I left Minas Morgul - perhaps they have faded?"

"Can you not see the difference?"

"I cannot see very well in the daylight, my Lord. I follow this trail we are on more by feel than by sight. Once the sun sets, my vision improves."

"I can see perfectly well. Your clothing is grey, not black."

"Must have been the sun on the ocean. It was very bright and since I helped to sail the ship I could not take shelter below decks out of the light." Herumor peered at his sleeve, the frayed edges fluttering in the breeze. "Strange. While the sun on the waters of the Straight Road was uncomfortable, it did not kill me, for all that I was out in it from dawn till dusk."

"Strange indeed," Glorfindel murmured. "I did not think one of the Úlairi would be so enduring." They climbed a rise and looked ahead. Forested hills like an undulating green sea stretched before them to wash up at last against the feet of distant mountains. "Tell me now how you fared in Tirion."

"The people of Tirion received us kindly, my child and me. After we made landfall at Alqualondë, we traveled inland with those wishing to see the great city and pay their respects to the high king. It was decided that Moro and I should go with them."

Herumor paused, waiting until Moro returned from her latest expedition. The child was panting from her exertions. "Shall I carry you for a time?" Wordlessly Moro held up her arms in answer. Herumor lifted her and settled her in his arms. In moments she was asleep.

"We stayed in the city for nearly half a year as men count time. Courtiers of the high king gave us rooms in their manor. No one offered us harm; indeed most of the elvenfolk of Tirion had never heard the terms Úlairi or Nazgûl except as old legends. To them, Sauron was a distant evil incapable of threatening them." Herumor looked at Glorfindel with a slight smile. "Their innocence was rather refreshing. In comparison, it took months at sea before the elves of Middle-Earth could tolerate my company without worrying about what I would do." His smile faded. "Of course, I could hardly blame them. Sauron was still very much alive and there was always the risk he would regain the master ring. If that had happened, their fears would have been well founded." The corners of his mouth turned up again. "After I survived the initial fall of Sauron, the elves aboard ship spent much time watching to see if I would fall apart into dust or ash as we traversed the Straight Road." His pale teeth glinted, as his smile became a wry grin. "Once again I disappointed them."

"You survived the dark lord's downfall and the passage of the Straight Road," said Glorfindel. He shook his head slowly. "I am amazed at those feats more than any other."

Herumor shrugged. "I cannot in truth say I managed it by means of any strength of my own, unless it was simply wanting to survive for the sake of my child." He fell silent, his pale eyes looking away at nothing. At last the elf prompted him.

"Why did you not stay in Tirion, if you were treated so hospitably?"

"I would have done so, but we were in time summoned to an audience with the high king. That meeting did not go especially well. While the people of Tirion may have been blissfully ignorant of the doings of Sauron and the old history of Middle Earth, King Ingwë was not. Like you, he found it difficult to believe that I could come to Aman with any good motive. Those elves that had sailed with us spoke well of my efforts during the journey and brought a letter from Master Cirdan, which they gave into the King's hand. That seemed to help a little, since he did not order my execution or imprisonment, but he appeared at a loss to determine what to do with us." Herumor sighed softly. "King Ingwë spoke with the learned scholars of the court a long time. Some said we were mortals and thus subject to the doom of the Valar and that by rights we should be sent at once to lie imprisoned with those Númenorians who invaded the Undying Lands with Ar-Pharazon." He shuddered and fell silent, his face settling into old lines of pain.

After a long pause the Nazgûl continued, his voice low and soft. "I would not have cared for myself, you understand. Indeed I have spent this entire time fully expecting to die at any moment. Spending the rest of the life of Arda sleeping in the company of my ancient kin would not have troubled me. But I had this little one to consider." He lifted Moro closer to his heart. "And the thought of her life ending before it was well-begun was far more painful than any torment Sauron could have devised."

"So you fled the city?"

Herumor looked at the elf in surprise. "Of course not. Where would I have gone? To whom would I have run? Who would have given me sanctuary – I who would be under the judgment of the Powers of Arda?" He shook his head in a firm negative. "No. I stayed with Moro in the court of the King and waited to hear our fate. While some of the learned lords and ladies claimed we were mortal, others had spoken to say we were mortal no longer and so not subject to any penalty."

Herumor discovered he had run out of air and belatedly drew in a long breath. "It was a most wearisome debate." He gave Glorfindel a guilty glance. "I was never one for long ceremonies when I was still a king, and I had little patience for such affairs of state at the best of times. At last, when Moro fell asleep, the King noticed and sent us away to quarters in the palace while he sought further counsel of his advisors, saying he did not want to reach a hasty decision."

"The High King did not ever seem to be 'hasty'," said Glorfindel in a dry tone. "How long did you wait for an answer?"

"Another three months at least. The people of the King cared for us and provided food and new clothing for Moro, since she had been growing all this time. At last we were summoned again to an audience with the King."

"And?" the elf prompted.

"This is what he said to me." Closing his eyes Herumor recited.

"It is our opinion that it is not for us to determine your fate, Herumor of Anadunë, once-slave of Sauron, and ring-wearer. Since you were permitted by the Powers to set foot upon the land of Aman, we will not interfere with their will. However, you may not remain here, in Tirion. Instead you must proceed at once, with all deliberate speed, to the Halls of Mandos, present yourself to the Lord of the Hall, and there receive his judgment."

Glorfindel made a noise in his throat. Herumor waited, but when the elf did not speak, he continued his narrative.

"To this I replied, 'Very well, you have my word. We will leave at once'. There was little else to say. I had some memories that Mandos was the name of one of the Valar and so it seemed we were being sent to a court higher than that of the high king of the Eldar. As we paid our respects and left the great hall of the King, the Queen called after us."

"Wait! You may leave the child in our care, if you wish."

"I refused her offer as politely as I could, saying 'how could I leave my child with strangers? I would be a poor parent indeed to abandon her.'" Herumor's jaw was set as he recounted the conversation. "We left that day, since I did not feel comfortable staying in the city one moment longer." His deprecatory grin returned. "It was not until the following morning when I begged directions from elvenfolk traveling beyond Tirion that I began to somewhat understand the magnitude of the journey we were facing. We have been walking for the better part of a year and only now are we nearing our destination."

"At what point did the elves of Tirion begin to pursue you?"

Herumor's brow furrowed as he thought. "Not far beyond the city of Valimar. Moro and I spent some time there, seeking better directions to Mandos. It was very odd, you see. Although every elf knows of the Halls of Mandos, no one ever claimed to have been there, or to have even been near enough to see it. All were very positive that it lay to the west and would point us in that direction, but it did not take me overlong to realize we could walk forever and get no closer unless we had proper directions. The land of Aman is much larger than I had ever dreamed. As I stood one clear morning on the slopes of a high hill, I could see for leagues around and the expanse of unexplored territory was dizzying.

"At last on the outskirts of Valimar I found some elven scholars of the House of Daeron who were willing to show me what few maps there were and to speak of the routes we could take. They urged me to avoid the road leading to the lake and lands of Lorien and to instead take a southwesterly route through the forests. There would be hamlets and enclaves of sylvan elves along the way to offer assistance, they said.

"So we set out again, armed with better directions and a map I had traced from the original. Not three days out from Valimar, we were approached by a troop of elvenfolk wearing the sigil of the high king." Herumor fell silent again and walked on for some time.

"I hailed them in friendship, since I had no reason to think otherwise of them, and waited by the road for them to join us. There were twelve in the group. When they came close enough for me to see them in better detail my heart sank. They were arrayed as for a skirmish, in light armor, with swords and longbows. I was surprised, since I thought Aman was a land without war."

Glorfindel frowned. "You do not know our history, then. There have been benighted times when elf slew elf, even in the Undying Lands."

"So. Even here." Herumor shifted Moro from one arm to the other. The girl yawned but did not wake. "Once they reached the spot where I waited, they surrounded us."

"We have found you at last, Herumor of Anadunë," they said. "You must return with us at once to Tirion."

"I beg your pardon, but is something amiss?" I asked. "The High King bid us go to the Halls of Mandos, and I gave him my word that I would do so. Has he rescinded this command?"

"They looked at one another in confusion. Finally, their captain, one Borgil by name, spoke for them."

"No, not exactly. But this need takes precedence. You are to return with us to the city."

Herumor frowned at the memories, his white brow furrowed.

"But if the King has not actually given his pardon, then how may I return without being forsworn? Permit me to make my journey to Mandos. If the Lord of the Hall gives his leave I will then go with you gladly."

"All twelve of them said, 'no!'. They were so adamant they shouted over one another to be sure I understood. At this point I started to be annoyed. To send me away and then summon me back without good explanation seemed suspicious."

I asked them. "What has happened that you are so determined I must forsake my oath to your King?"

"Nothing," said one.

"You must trust us," said another.

"When you return, you will be told," said a third.

"Now I was truly worried. Their spirits felt wrong. Overeager. Anxious and fearful. Tainted with untruth. I was a king once, of the line of Elros. I could see into the hearts of men if I turned my mind to it, and elves are my kin, however separated by choice and time. While I could not read their thoughts clearly, I could perceive the lies. They were hiding much and my unease grew. I knew I could not go with them.

"You fought them?" Glorfindel looked at the Nazgûl in surprise. "One against twelve?"

Herumor nodded. "I was at a disadvantage, to be sure. Fortunately I had ah, 'borrowed' a linen sheet from my hosts, and this I had used to make a sling of sorts so I could carry Moro on my back." Herumor's mouth twitched. "I often thought my Captain would have laughed to see me carrying the baby tied to my back like a herdswoman of Harad, but in this case I was very glad to have my hands free. I had a longbow given to me by Master Cirdan. It was long and very stout, since I was taller than many of the elves of Middle-Earth. The quiver was slung on my back beside Moro and the bow was unstrung. I also had a good knife on my hip, but I knew it would be worthless against so many. Something also told me I must not kill, no matter how dire the situation."

Glorfindel's blue eyes glinted. "What did you do then? The odds were poor."

"Aye, poor indeed. But I have ever been one to ignore the odds. Sometimes that habit has stood me in good stead." Herumor snorted like a warhorse scenting battle. "My bow was unstrung, but the ends were nicely curved and the wood was strong. As they closed in and made to lay hands on me, I hooked Borgil's legs and sat him down quickly in the dust, then did the same to two others. I used the bow as a quarterstaff and felled several more on top of them, creating quite a tangle. While they were busied trying to sort themselves out, I ran into the woods, losing myself in the trees and ignoring their cries to surrender."

"Did you kill any of them?" asked Glorfindel.

"No. I am sure I gave some of them a headache, and battered their dignity, but that was the worst of it. I ran all that night and much of the next day, pausing only to look after Moro. After a time I settled into a rhythm - running for hours, stopping to care for my child, running further, and so on and on. My progress toward my goal was slowed somewhat, since I dared not take the open road. Instead I paralleled my original course as best I could, keeping to dense cover as much as possible. It was not easy – Borgil and his comrades would not give up the chase and I dared not let them get too close. I could outrun them easily, and I had the greater endurance, but I also had to think of Moro's needs and so it has been as you have seen, we stay ahead of them, but not by much." Herumor looked ahead at the pathway. "Still, we have come this far, and now I have some hope we will reach our destination."

"You are going to Mandos." Herumor nodded as Glorfindel restated his mission later the next day. "You intend to simply walk into his Hall?" Herumor nodded again. Glorfindel continued. "Do you understand what will happen when you arrive?"

"No, my Lord. I was hoping you could tell me. Do you know?"

Glorfindel blinked at the simple request for information. His immediate thought was: Lord Námo will in all likelihood strip the spirit from the hollow mockery that is your body and after receiving his judgment you will be sent to spend a long time learning of your many errors and how not to repeat them. He opened his mouth to speak it.

"Papa, I'm hungry," said Moro, tugging at the folds of Herumor's cloak. The Nazgûl looked down at the child. His smile magically lifted years from his face.

Glorfindel swallowed his words and closed his mouth. His heart felt strange on seeing the ringwraith smile at his daughter.

"Well, then I shall see about finding us something to eat." Selecting a clear space of nearly level ground, Herumor set about unpacking his supplies and preparing a simple meal. As he worked, he glanced at the elf curiously. "Were you going to say something, my Lord?"

"I. Well." Glorfindel fumbled for the words, but found himself at a loss. Finally he added. "I cannot say with any authority, Lord Herumor. While I have been to Mandos, it is true, my circumstances were different from your own, and I suspect it is different for any who go there, elf or man."

"You've been there?" Herumor looked at him in surprise.

"Yes. Long ago I came there as many elves do - as a feä, a disembodied spirit returning to the Halls after my hroä, my body, was slain."

"How did you die?"

"I fought a balrog of Morgoth and so perished."

"A balrog!" Herumor's face held awe and respect. He looked at the elf. "I heard a story long ago about an elven-lord who fought a balrog, but I always thought it was simply a legend. Yet here you are now, speaking to me in a proper body. You do not seem like a houseless spirit, nor did you appear to be so when I saw you near Imladris over two years ago. You are very bright to my eyes, but not a ghost."

"You are correct. After my time of waiting, I was given this body and let go to follow the will of my heart. I returned to Middle-Earth to help with the struggle I knew would follow. All elves now in the care of Mandos will eventually be given bodies and released."

Herumor considered this as he sliced some venison for Moro. "And the spirits of men who come there?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Their eventual fate is a mystery to me. Not being elves, they are not returned to bodies in Aman as elves are. Perhaps they return in some other manner unknown to us. After their time of healing and waiting, they are permitted to leave the circles of the world. Where they go afterward, I know not." Watching Herumor's haggard face he added, "I do not think they go to any bad ending, if that is of any comfort to you. Their fate was decreed by Iluvatar, and the One never willed evil for his creations."

"Mm. So." Herumor wiped Moro's mouth with the corner of his sleeve. "And what of those who walk in alive, in their own bodies?"

Again Glorfindel sat on the first thing that wanted to leave his lips. I doubt much that you are alive in any way a human would find meaningful, saying instead, "I truly do not know. You and Moro would be the first to do such a thing. I have no knowledge to give you, I fear. You tread on new ground."

"Getting to be a habit," Herumor sighed, arranging the spare blanket he carried into a bedroll for Moro. The child curled up for a nap. "No Númenorians have ever sailed to Aman and lived to tell of it, certainly none in my… damaged state." He stroked Moro's hair gently. "Yet come here we did, for better or for ill." He raised his eyes to look at Glorfindel. "I fear for her fate, here in this strange land that was never made for us. But my Captain knew the truth; she could not have remained safely in Middle-Earth."

"Certainly if it was as you said yesterday, that Sauron would have made use of her body, then you were right. Removing her beyond his reach was the correct decision." Glorfindel sat for a time in silence, thinking. Why did the people of Tirion send the Nazgûl away and then chase after him months later? It does not make sense. Since Herumor himself does not seem to understand their intent it lies with me to find out the truth.

Lithely Glorfindel rose to his feet, gesturing to Herumor to remain seated. "I am going to have a word with the elves of Tirion who follow you so closely."

Herumor looked at him in surprise. "You are leaving already? I wished to ask of you the quickest route to the Halls of Mandos. The people of Kirinki said this path would carry me to my destination, but that was over three months ago and I have seen no one who could give me further information." He smiled wryly. "Those who followed me seemed reluctant to aid me in my journey."

Glorfindel nodded and pointed up the narrow track. "The people of Kirinki told you true. If you stay on this trail, you will reach a fork after another ten leagues. The path to the left will climb to a mountain pass. This being the spring, it will be open and relatively easy to negotiate, even with a child. The high passes of the right fork would get you to your destination sooner, but they are no place for a little one. Since King Ingwë set no time constraints upon you, you may take the longer way without worry. Once you are over the pass, the Halls of Mandos are another twenty-five leagues' journey through the hills."

"I thank you." Rising carefully so as not to disturb Moro, Herumor bowed to the elven prince.

"Thank me by reaching your destination. Once I speak to those who follow, I will know truth from falsehood." He touched the hilt of his long sword. Herumor could hardly miss the implication but the Nazgûl did not seem troubled.

"Very good. I too, would like to know why they follow so persistently. It is strange." As Glorfindel turned to go, he added. "You should know, Lord Glorfindel, that I do not lie anymore. Since I set forth on this quest I left all falsehood behind. If I do not wish to say a thing, I simply hold my peace. I no longer have the energy or the desire to weave a net of deception. I also assumed that everyone living here felt the same. Am I in error?"

Glorfindel sighed. "You must understand by now that we elves are not perfect. We vary in our natures and temperaments, and some of us may not be so conservative of their energy as yourself." The tall elf began to walk swiftly down the trail. "I will of course be very disappointed if they have not been entirely truthful with you." He left the Númenorian standing over his sleeping child and followed his senses down the trail toward the pursuing elves. "Very disappointed indeed, if a revenant Úlairi has more truth in him than the people of the high king," he growled.

As he traveled over the next several days, Herumor felt the presence of the Tirion elves diminish, as if they either were no longer pursuing him, or perhaps had decided to follow at a further distance. Had they given up the chase? And what had they really wanted in the first place that they followed him so stubbornly? Did they not expect him to keep his word to the high king? His mind worried over the questions at intervals, as he kept moving along the trail higher and higher into the foothills of the mountains. At least with the elves keeping their distance he was able to actually use the trail and was not forced to take a hidden way parallel to it. They made faster time and his anxiety lessened somewhat at their progress. Even though the high king had given him no deadline, some internal clock told him it would be unwise to delay and he had begrudged the extra time it had taken to travel in a manner that would keep them out of reach of the elves. Moro also seemed to enjoy their travels, dashing off the path at intervals to collect 'treasure' composed of shiny stones, colorful leaves, or flowers.

One morning he awoke again to the sensation of the sun shining full in his face and the prick of an elven-sword at his throat. Shielding his eyes carefully with a hand, he opened them to see Prince Glorfindel staring down at him with a frown marring his fine features.

Seeing he was awake, Glorfindel spoke in a soft voice. "It seems you have caused a problem, Herumor of Anadunë."

"Not entirely unexpected," Herumor agreed, sitting up slowly as Glorfindel withdrew his blade. "Which problem among the many?" He checked Moro. The child was still sleeping with the happy abandon of youth, a daisy chain of yellow blossoms clutched in one fist.

Glorfindel's mouth quirked at his question. "I have met and questioned the elves of Tirion." He sat down opposite Herumor.

"And did they say—"

"It was a most unsatisfactory experience," the elven prince admitted, stopping Herumor from completing his question. "They were at the start far less forthcoming than yourself. I asked them a simple question: 'Why are you pursuing the Úlairi when he is faithfully obeying his promise to your king?'"

Herumor waited for Glorfindel to continue, hands on his knees.

"They did not want to say. They claimed the matter was very delicate." Glorfindel laid his sword across his lap. "I persisted in my questioning and at last they told me the king's granddaughter is pregnant, and claimed you as the proximate cause."

"Pregnant?" Herumor's eyes went wide and he shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Neither she nor her companion mentioned she was the king's grandchild," he muttered. "Had I known, I certainly would not have… well…"

"I also was somewhat surprised at their statement," the elf said dryly. "I asked them, 'You want to punish him?' and they replied:

"No, we want to take him back to Tirion so he can help more of us! It has been a weary long time since any had children."

Herumor's eyes grew even wider and he produced a small groaning sound. "But, I thought such things only worked with our own kin, the Dunedain!"

"You knew of this… ability?" Glorfindel's fingers drummed the sword hilt, although it did not seem as if he were angry as much as shocked.

"Our Captain discovered long ago that we could help our descendants engender children. He was often hurt by Sauron and so his mind was not always stable, and yet this obligation he laid on all of us descended from Numenor – to keep the old lines alive and strong. He gave the women of Arnor and Gondor the magic to compel us, and they used it now and then to good effect, without a full understanding of who they were summoning." Herumor smoothed the fabric over his knees. "His instincts were correct. Some of the Dunedain later helped to engineer Sauron's fall, if I understand the flow of events."

"He planned that? The once-King of Angmar?"

"No. Not consciously. How could he, or any of us, bound as we were to Sauron?" Herumor shook his head in a slow negative. "But, some instinct drove him." The Nazgûl grinned suddenly. "Perhaps some intelligence far lower than his brain."

"Hmp. Difficult it is for me to think of him as having any good thought in his mind, or elsewhere, but be that as it may…" Glorfindel rose and lifted his sword. Herumor stood as well, facing the elf-lord. Glorfindel tapped Herumor's chest delicately with the point of the blade. "You will come with me, you and your child."

"You intend to take us back to Tirion?" Herumor looked at him sadly. "I will be forsworn."

"Do not fear for your honor. I intend to escort you to Mandos." Glorfindel sheathed his sword with a sharp click. "I urged the folk of Tirion to return to their city." He frowned. "I urged them most strongly. They left, but they were obviously reluctant. After some thought, I decided it would perhaps be best if I accompanied you to your destination."

Herumor brightened. "You are most gracious, my Lord! Now I need not fear becoming lost or waylaid enroute."

"Waylaid in Aman," Glorfindel looked distressed at the thought. He watched the Nazgûl work to make breakfast for Moro. "You create difficulties wherever you go, Herumor of Anadunë."

"It seems to be a new tradition, Lord Glorfindel, my apologies."

Authors notes: This story takes place one and a half years after the destruction of the ring and the downfall of Sauron and about nine months after the events in Dark Waters. The full story of how Moro came into being and Herumor's 'mission impossible' to take her to Aman is partially written. I'll post it as soon as possible.

Moro's name is the bequest of her 'other father' the Lord of Angmar. It is from the Sindarin word mor, which means 'dark', and the -o ending gives it the connotation 'of or from', so Moro means 'of/from the dark'.

Many thank-yous to Judi, Khazar, and Ozma for beta-reading, feedback and encouragement! Props to The Encyclopedia of Arda for reference material.