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| - Alec went over to his wooden keg and flooded his pint full of frothy dark ale which foamed to the rim. He had many pints this evening and started to feel a bit sloshed. The text of the scrolls became pixelated and undecipherable. Words meshed together and whole sentences danced. Alec put the scroll down and took a gulp from his pint. His thoughts raced unrestrained without form or color. No peace was to be had tonight it seemed. Glimpses of an alabastrine face with a blue glow peaking out of solid black hood. Those eyes. Those deathly eyes. In the distance he could hear a familiar cackle. Not wholly evil. A throaty yet calculating laugh. Rellan's laugh, no doubt. Alec's eyes broadened as his eye brows raised. “These damned visions will be my destruction” he said as he taking another swig from his pint. In the past he had fruitlessly endeavored to drink the visions away. Absorbing innumerable pints of ale, fine wine from Esgaroth, even the mead, that dreadful swill, that the dwarves seemed to particular fond of. But the visions remained. Alec considered it a curse, but a useful one at that. At times his visions could be a complete comfort. The mind of Elearedan, so full of war and horror, could be calmed and sights of love and light would materialize. Images of Neveriel, the spiritedmercenary of Dol Amroth. His former love. She was almost as much of a scoundrel than Alec was. They had spent many seasons scouting Orc camps along the borders of Gondor in the name of the Steward. Through snow and sunlight they were together. War is love's natural enemy it seemed. He had to let her go. He had a duty to the Free People above all else. He missed her more and more and wondered where she was, what adventures she was falling into, if he would ever see her rosy face in the flesh again. Alec sunk back in his chair and allowed his head to face the ceiling. “What a cruel joke my duty is. Duty took me away from you. Oh, what visions I have of you tonight, Neveriel, as I face this brutal winter's embrace.” A draft entered his quarters and a chill crawled playfully up his spine. Alec shivered then went into to the corner to fetch some more logs for the fireplace. As he finished tossing the wood into the fire, he found himself lost staring vacantly into the gyrating flames. In the flames he saw a young Klonodor. A vibrant smile, so full of life. A face without a scar traced down from his eyes. His hair without a single strand of gray. The years had become unkind to him. Like Alec and and his chieftain Aragorn, Klonodor had entered the service of the Thengel and Ecthelion. Though a ranger, Klonodor had the build of a warrior and was always attired in heavy armor as compared to the traditional Dunedain ranger garb. Alec and Klonodor fought countless battles side-by-side. Each use to say that they had saved the other's life more times than they could count. It was true. They had been brother-in-arms spanning many decades. It had been Klonodor who devised the strategy to defeat Drikguth the Uruk-hai Chieftain and his cronies. It was Klonodor who rode with Alec in search of the both false kings, Vortith the Pretender and Wary Lanek. Should Alec have married Neveriel, Klonodor would have been his best man at the wedding. Distance and conflict had driven the two friends apart. When Alec was tasked by Lady Galadriel to retrieve lost Lothlorien relics in Eregion, he was elated to know that Klonodor would be joining him. Eregion. That frightful battle where everything changed. Alec could not shake away the sound of Alec's last shriek before vanishing into the black night. The grisly sub-human sight. The shell of a man that Klonodor left behind. Alec knew that in Klonodor's last moments he coveted Ainurbane. “Must have seen something in the Elysian Shard,” he thought to himself. Elvellonwen. Always Elvellowen. Alec sat in silence until they was a knock at his door. Haldred, his attendant when he stayed in Minas Tirith. “Master Alasdair and the squire Duirmid are here, my lord,” Haldred said. Alec turned away from the flames. A most welcome sight entered the room. Alasdair and Duirmid, both weathered from battle. “You two look...awful,” Alec said with a smirk. “It has been a long road and I fear we have little time, my lord,” Alasdair said in haste. Duirmid remained silent and struggled to keep eye contact with Alec. “It's Rellan, my lord,” Alasdair continued. “...Rellan...?” “He attacked us at the peak of Amon Sul where we tracked what remains of Klonodor. Klonodor is not the same. He seems...controlled. Not his former self. He took back Naurearnor and viciously slayed our sell sword companions. Rellan is pulling the strings of this puppet Klonodor.” Alec stood in disbelief. “What is Rellan's angle here? He's cunning, but not evil. This was the man who raised me, you know. He gave me a home, saw that I had a proper education, introduced me to every powerful figure in Gondor. He put a sword in my hands. What does Rellan have to gain here by enslaving Klonodor?” “I don't know, my lord,” Alasdair said. “But whatever Rellan is up to, it falls to you to match him.” Alec frantically gathered his things. He sheathed Ainurbane and stuffed two daggers into his boots. Alasdair helped him on with his cloak while Duirmid fetched his helm. “Duirmid, see to it that my room is not tampered with. I ride for Rellan's Tower.” After one last long gaze into the flames, Alec turned back to Duirmid and Alasdair. “Goodbye, my friends.”
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