Council of the Heren Istarion

[Anamatar IV]

In a large temple in Annuminas, in the province of Arthedain, in the kingdom of Arnor, in the empire of Atannore glints a roof of gold from the fading sun. Inside a small but noble host is gathered. Once past the heavy wooden doors you see a great sight. Torches flicker with a golden light and a fire burns in the fire place. Foot steps on the stone floors echo down the corridors. Curving stairs of marble lead to many levels. At the head of the folk a man stands with a sheathedd rapier at his side and covered in gleaming mail. A mantle with a blue gem in the center rests on his brow.
"Fair folk are gathered here in the temple of Heren Istarion. We are the council of all. In war and in peace others shall come to us for aid." The man now revealed as Ingolemo bowed and waited for another to continue.

[Azog]

A tall monk walked into the corridor, and the cold stone under his feet softly emitted the beat of his stride.

Alkorrian took his seat near the the kingly man. His eyes, deep with the knowledge of many years passed although his appearance seemed as one much younger, scanned the massive hall.

His raiment was simple: a mere brown robe, tattered from his journey there, and sandals, made from the hide of a great beast.

His long hair hung out of his robe, and his bushy brow was wrinkled in thought. His presence was strong, yet silent.

[Nenya Evenstar]

A slender woman stepped out from the group. Her hair was of a light-golden brown, her eyes of a deep brown, and her skin white and pale. She was wearing a dark green gown, richly hemmed with a rose pattern of green silk, and upon her forehead was a single crystal clear gem. In a clear voice she spoke, and the sound filled the chamber. "Thank you, Ingolemo," she said, "I am proud and pleased to be a part of this organization under your leadership. I am sure that we will all go far if together we swear to defend justice and uphold peace for the good of all races." She curtseyed. "I am Nenya Evenstar, Elf of the far lands." The light from a nearby torch glanced off the gem in the Elf's hair and broke into a shining manege of color.

[Galdor]

A tall young man entered shortly after Nenya. His clothes and cloak were black, his eyes like a starless void and his hair like the night.

He walked in front Ingolemo, bowed to one knee and said

"I am Canalëo, and I am honored that you chose me to serve on this great Counsel. I hereby swear to always defend justice and to always fight against evil of every kind, no matter how great or small it may seem."

With that he stood and took his place next to the three that were already seated.

[Elu Thingol]

A large figure emerges from the group, a man of great stature comes out and walks towards Ingolemo. His sandy colored hair is unkempt and his skin shows the wear of many years in the wilderness. Across his back lay two great battle axes, each polished into a mirror-like state of perfection. His face is relaxed and calm, no emotion is betrayed.

His dark blue eyes stare directly at Ingolemo. "I am Súlimë Pelleco." His voice thunders through the ancient halls. "I have come from the North to this Council. It is a great privelege to be among such valiant men and women. I promise to serve beyond the best of my abilities."

With that he stands and joins the others.

[Azog]

Alkorr remained seated at the entry of the three. His soft, strong eyes looked solemnly at them, as if measuring them. It was a habit that would never leave him.

He turned to Ingolemo and spoke, "Thank you for your invitation to this meeting*. I hope to be of assistance, but I has been three years since I left here for the Great Hall, and news is infrequent there. Tell me, what has happened to the world while I was away?"

[Anamatar IV]

Ingolemo gazed into Alkorr's eyes.
"I have not troubled myself grreatly with the deeds of this earth. I have hidden myself among books. Hundreds of books line the walls of my chamber. I have gleaned more information than any person living or dead. In my life long quest for knowledge deeds of the earth has slipped from my grasp. But there is one among us who is learned in these matters..." Ingolemo gestured his hand towards Nenya.

[Nenya Evenstar]

The elf turned to Alkorr. "My Lord," she began, "perhaps it was not simply that news is infrequent in the Great Hall, but simply that the world has been extremely quiet. Indeed, there has been a recent war, which I believe is almost complete, but other than that Middle-earth seems to be waiting on the brink of and iceberg for something to happen. It has not seen this much peace for an age, methinks, and I can assure you that I hope things to stay the way they are. However, as I said before - something seems to be awaiting its time to ripen. I fear that Middle-earth will not be at peace for much longer." Nenya sighed.

[Azog]

"The lands of Middle Earth are full vile ones, but as of now many pose no harm, according to studies that I have partaken in at the Great Hall." Alkorr replied softly. "I believe that with proper care, this land will be kept safe. I also believe that this is our reason for being here."

Alkorr rested in his seat, and turned to Ingolemo. "If what the elf says is true, Middle Earth shall remain in peace for a little longer, but evil will still rise up against those who stand for what is right."

[Aerin]

Aerin rode up to the temple and pushed open the great doors. Striding into the hall where the other members of the Heren Istarion were gathered, she inclined her head slightly and said, "Forgive me for coming so late; I had business in the North."

She looked briefly at Nenya, "The war you spoke of came to nothing; the East must not have thought it profitable enough to continue after the first few skirmishes. Indeed, I think no war shall come, so long as the Dark Legion remains idle and under poor leadership."

"I do hope you all will excuse my absence; I believe my presence is required in the capital. You will still be able to contact me if any matters arise." The Blue Wizard exited the Temple, mounted her horse, and rode off toward the West, toward Annuminas.

[Elu Thingol]

Súlimë glances up at Alkorr. "Yes Alkorr, evil will arise." He draws a hatchet from his belt, the keen edge reflecting the dim light of the temple. "And when they do...", he presses his thumb against the peak of the blade. "I will be here for them", blood flows forth from his thumb and a small stream flows down the edge of the hatchet, where it forms in to drops, which splatter as they hit the floor.

A silence forms throughout the hall. All seem imbolized by the puddle of blood. Súlimë chuckles, "Our enemies have much to fear, no? If they come we shall be here to fight them."

He reattaches the hatchet to his belt; no cleaning is needed the blade has no stain.

[Anamatar IV]

"Sulime, do not speak of such matters!" Ingolemo said fiercely. "I for one am looking forward to an age where I can live and learn without the battle raging in my backyard! I am dressed for combat before you today but my rapier hast not seen battle but once." Ingolemo seemed to go into a thoughful trance of that moment long, long ago. "so until battle reaches us we counsel against it!" Alkorr spoke.

"But what if battle is the only sollution? 'Tis a horrible thing but there are times when there will be no choice but to fight. You cannot tell me that you would counsel parly when the Dark Legion has an army five thousand strong outside of our Tempe."

"Ignorance and stubborness starts every battle," Ingolemo replied. "If we come upon a foe that will not parly then let that ignorant and stubborn foe feel the wrath of war."

[Galdor]

Canalëo had remained silent since he entered, but finally he looked up and said, “Súlimë is right Ingolemo, would you have us parley with orcs? Forbid it! We are here to combat evil by whatever means we here posses. What would a treaty with those whom are evil do for us? For if those we make treaties with are evil, then why should we think they will honor the treaty? You can not parley with evil, the only way we can deal with the evil that is once again growing, is to destroy it. And the only way to have peace is to destroy those who break the peace. Whether you like it or not, war is imminent."

[Anamatar IV]

"For this Council I selected the noblest, wisest, most valiant, and fairest of all. A valiant warrior is not ranked by the numbers he kills nor the battles he wins but the people he saves. All throughout history the most valiant man went not to the front of war to counter but rather let war come to their borders and then they excelled in battle. I would rather do parly with a dragon then watch forces of good and evil die in battle." Ingolemo stepped down to where the rest of the council was gathered. "war, you say, is imminent. May is be true. But it is not on our borders. Heren Istarion is a council. But with council there must be protection. That is why we have warriors about us. We would council against war but it is entirely up to the Senate of Atannore to wage war. If they request us we will fight. but until then we rest our swords until an army knocks on our doors." Ingolemo took a seat next to whom he was talking to. He took a long gulp of ale and paused. "I note that all of you who advise war take pleasure in battle. But it is most unnatural coming from a MONK, Alkorr. Ask a diplomat of countries to advise war and she would say nay."

[Nenya Evenstar]

Nenya had been listening silently to the discourse. "Nay, Ingomemo!" she finally spoke. "There are certain instances in which I would recommend war, and not try to talk my way out. The forces of Evil exist. They always will. You say that you would rather converse with a Dragon than risk the lives of men in an attempt to destroy him? That, my Lord, I deem to be unwise. A Dragon's mind does not think rationally as our minds do. He is uncapable of rational thinking, for he was created for evil, by evil, and from evil. As this is the case I would counsel war against any fell worm of Morgoth!" Nenya glanced at the warriors before her, proud and strong. "And, my warriors," she continued, "though what Aerin has said sounds full of hope, I do not sense hope in it. She says that the Dark Legion is leaderless and unorganized, but as of late that council has been stirring! Do not underestimate its powers! They may strike yet, and I would counsel you all - even you, Ingolemo - to be ready when they strike. Evil is still there, and before we know it will blow. We must be ready. I, for one, will never parley with the forces of evil! I am here to defend what is good and righteous, not to make an agreement so that Evil can grow!"

[Anamatar IV]

"You say a dragon does not think rationally? A dragons tongue is its poison. Only the wisest on Middle-earth can speak to a dragon who is aware of your presence. But there are no dragons left to parley with. I do not question the might of Arnor. Our host's armies can flatten the worms of darkness. But that dost not mean they should. Power is judged not how you use it but rather how you choose NOT to use it. I am ready for war, indeed. As I see many of us are. Our training will soon produce a battalion of new warriors. But...on to new matters. We have talked long about the possibility of war and it grows dark on my mind even when the sun shines outside."

[Azog]

Alkorr remained in his chair, listening to the words of the council. Finally, without standing, he spoke.

"War is of little worry to me, for no seige great enough to destroy us will rise overnight. Evil never sleeps, but it also waits. It will attack the minds of the people rather than by using force immediately. I have traveled across the plains and mountains, but that was long ago. The armies of The Dark Legion, if they plan to attack, have only just begun to prepare. Their goal, as I said before, is to attack our minds. We cannot let petty disagreements come between us, for in turmoil we find ourselves weakest."

Alkorr turned to Ingolemo.

"I am a monk, yes, but long ago I was not. If any war shall come upon our lands, I will take up a weapon, be it bow or axe, and fight. My mind leans away from war, but as spoken by the elf, there are times when it is needed."

[ILLOTRTM]

A tall, slender elf emerges from the doorway. She has jet black hair that reaches just past her shoulders and ice blue eyes that have a peircing gaze. Her complextion is alabaster and she carries a staff that is a simple white with a dark blue gem on the top. She is clothed in a very long satin dark blue dress and a forest green cloak hangs from her shoulders. Her staff makes an echo in the ominous hall as she touches it to the floor. "My deepest apologies for such a late arrival and my greatest thanks for the invitation to this meeting. For those who do not know me, my name is Valanthe Liadon. Your voices carried to me as I approached this hall. You speak of the fear of war. I do not beleive it is a subject we should worry ourselves with much yet. Have we no other buisness to be concerned with now?" Valanthe takes a seat with the others and turns her attention to Ingolemo.

[Ciryaher]

Once more the great doors of the Temple's great hall opened and closed as a very stern-looking man strode into the room. In his hand, he bore a scroll, and upon his garb was emblazoned the Crest of Atannore. His blazing, red hair swept back from his face in a shock, and his beard stabbed forward in a fork. His voice was strange, booming and yet not warm. "Wise and venerable lords and ladies, I come from the Emperor bearing a message of importance."

Without waiting, he opened the scroll, but did not quite read from it (for he knew what was inscribed upon it). The armies of Mornclaur are still encamped north of the North Downs. Their raiding parties have been seen in the Emyn Uial, but all attempts to enter the hills have been beaten back by the glorious Arnorian infantry. Less than 75 leagues north of Fornost Erain, the enemy is suspected to have a large force, numbering at least one hundred thousands strong. They have, some time ago, taken the castle at Carn Dum which was the abode of Governor Lorien of the Angmar Province. In Rohan, there is a formidable force of Mornclaur, estimated at no more than five hundred thousands. This army may or may not be in multiple groups, one or more of which may be moving into Gondor, which has sent no hard information. We estimate that there are between five and seven hundred thousand enemy troops there. The mockery that is the Navy of Mornclaur has a sizable flotilla in the River Anduin, but a majority of this is in the havens of Umbar still.

The man stood up straighter after finishing. "I am Ërvûrkeá, and will serve as your liason to the Empire until Minister Burrowes returns from his...holiday. If you have any questions or comments on the policy of the Imperium, or you have a suggestion or request of us, then I am the one to come to." With a slight bow, he sat down near the back of the hall.

[Nenya Evenstar]

"Thank-you, Ërvûrkeá," Nenya said quietly, breaking the stillness that pervaded the room. "So, the Enemy is still a threat, as I have said." A shuffling of feet was her only answer. "Tell me, Ërvûrkeá, what do Arnor's forces look like? Are they in good shape? And how long do you think this temporary lull in the War will last?" Nenya was full of questions that needed answering. Was this too soon for the Heren Istarion to commit themselves to a War? Whatever the case, they would support Arnor! Nenya, at least, would see to that!

[Ciryaher]

Ërvûrkeá stood once more. "We are very strong. Well exercised and rested. I cannot reveal our numbers or locations, but rest assured that Arnor is well protected against the war that could reignite any day now."

[Anamatar IV]

A loud knocking was heard on the doors. All heads turned towarsd them. Ingolemo pushed them aside and looked out. A tall mail clad man stood before him.

"To Ingolemo, lord of Heren Istarion: The first batch of trained students is finished. I grant you now the first 300 troops of the army of Heren Istarion." Over the plains before the temple a legion of men in shining armor and banners flying high stood still.

[Azog]

Alkorr now stood, and spoke strongly across the council halls. "We must redouble our training efforts, and prepare for the immenent war. As Ingolemo speaks, a burden was placed upon my spirit."

He stepped out onto the cold stone tile and paced the room, thinking about what his next words would bring- peace or turmoil.

[Nenya Evenstar]

Nenya moved her gaze to the Monk who was striding thoughtfully across the floor, hand on chin. Her gazed tried to pierce into his very thoughts to open up the veil that was laid across his mind, but she was unable to rip away the layers, for Alkorr had a steady grip on his mind and was unflinching. Nenya would just have to content herself with reading the man's mind from what his actions showed. This, however, did not last long as the Elf-Maiden slipped off into her own dark thoughts. War, battle, weapons, death, counsel, and prayer flashed through her mind in an instant. Pictures of what could happen, what should happen, and what would invariably happen drifted across the blurred vision of her fancy.

[Anamatar IV]

Ingolemo replied to Alkorr.

"'Tis true we must double our training efforts but we are a council none-the-less. We will not need nor will we have a serplus of soldiers." Ingolemo sat at a desk and started righting on a scroll. He went through a door amongst the main hall. He came out with a person dressed for riding.

"Deliver this message to Weathertop of the Weatherhills urgently," Ingolemo said.

[Ecthelion]

The man returned hours later with a letter in hand. He handed it to Inglemo who open it reading this:

Inglemo,
We will greatly allie you. Soon though we must help Lord Ciryaher at war very soon indeed. Iam so sorrry we have no men to spare at the moment, but in the future we will be glad to help. It is great to have you as an allie and I hope we can meet more after the war!
Signed,
Nain Ironfoot II of The Rangers

[Anamatar IV]

Ingolemo nodded and turned to the others of the council.

"Come. We go forth to battle along side the Rangers. Alkorr, could you summon the army? We need only 200 soldiers. Nenya, you can I will bring the banners."

[ms Greenleaf]

A strange tall elf women walks in her golden locks tossed by the wind. "You do not know me. where I am from is not important. But know I will help you."

[Nenya Evenstar]

Nenya nodded as she acknowledged Ingolemo's order and retired from the spacious hall out into the starlit night. The air was chilly as it nipped Nenya's face and tried to penetrate her warm gray cloak, grabbed in an instant out of the hall cloak room. Nenya pulled her cloak tighter around her body and hurried past many buildings and training complexes and on towards the Paladin Training complex as though in defiance of the weather's unseemly actions. The huge building loomed before her, dark and tall in the moonlight. The smell of sweetly turned earth filled the air telling tales of the huge training grounds beyond. This was the place where the Paladins of Heren Istarion began and completed their training under the guidance of Ingolemo himself. Nenya passed under the portico and walked past the armed guards who stood like statues near the large wooden doors of the complex. Protection was needed even in times of peace. Reaching out her hand, she opened one of the engraved doors to be met with a flow of cheery light beckoning her into its warm arms. The offer was accepted, and Nenya found herself in a square hall directly across from a blazing fire place. The walls were covered with polished wooden beams glittering in the flickering glitter of flames, the ceiling was arched stone, majestic and faraway, and the floor was like unto a checkerboard of black and white squares, smooth and mirror-like. In the middle of each side wall was a door, gaping black and speaking of desertion, for indeed there were few in the building at this time of night. In all four corners of the hall was a wooden stand, each bearing a flaming golden torch.

"How may I help you?" The voice broke through Nenya's thoughts. Turning, she saw a little old man with short white hair, a beaming face, and crooked nose wearing a plain blue robe and standing in one of the two doorways out of the entryway. A hospitable light now streamed behind him from some door that he had opened in his passage to see who was disturbing the peace of the Paladin's building. It was then that Nenya noticed the six sentries standing guard in the shadows. Good! They were in here too. A place like this should not be left unguarded even with guards right outside the doors.

"Ah, yes!" Nenya answered the little man with a slight curtsey. "I have come here by the orders of Ingolemo to get the banner of Heren Istarion." The little man bowed, and without further questioning motioned for the elf to follow him out of the main hall. He knew who she was and knew that there would be no need for questions. After a short stop next to a study filled with papers and books to procure a candle, the little man, Grandi, led Nenya through dark halls, fire-lit rooms, down flights of dark stairs, and into the basements of the building. He finally stopped in front of a little door and, taking out a large key ring, unlocked it.

"Here you are," Grandi said, "the banner should be in here... yes... third storeroom on the right, basement level... room with the old wooden door...."

"Thank-you," Nenya replied, smiling at the man's organized way of thinking. She walked into the storeroom, floorboards creaking under her feet, and over to the far corner of the room. There she picked up the rolled up banner of Heren Istarion. "This is all I need."

"Glad to know I was of service!" The little man grinned. "This way, now, back to the main levels."

It was not long before Nenya found herself thanking the little flurried man for his help as she walked back out into the cold night.

[Galdor]

Canalëo stood, and to Ingolemo said. "I am not yet pepared to go to war, will you not give me leave to gather what weapons I will need?" "What more is there for you to take?" replied Ingolemo. "You already carry your daggers, and I deem that you have both your mail and many knives hidden under your cloak." "Indeed I do, but that is only what I carry on my person at all times and a mere shadow of what I carry to war."

After Ingolemo nodded in consent, Canalëo turned and followed Nenya out of the hall and into the cold night air. But he didn't follow her long before he turned aside in the direction of the barracks, his cloak wrapped tight around him. Walking past the Guard he entered the barracks and walked to his room, and walked over to a corner of the room, where he began to pick up some of the weapons set there. He already had his two daggers on his back, and an assortment of mostly throwing knives, placed in many places throughout his body. Between to two daggers already on his back, he strapped a quiver full of arrows and a small bow. Grabbing two sheathed sais, he put them on ether side of his waist. He then strapped two sheaths, each holding four throwing knives, on both sides of each leg, and also strapped a sheath holding three throwing knives on each arm. Lastly he placed a medium sized pack containing the various tools of his trade on the right side of his waist, and over all placed his cloak.

Leaving the room, he walked back out into the cold night towards the temple. When he reached it nether Nenya or Alkorr had returned. And many others who had been in the hall had gone to take up their weapons and prepare for war, only Ingolemo remained, being already prepared for war. Walking back up to his chair, he sat down and waited for the others to return.

[Azog]

Alkorr left the hall and picked out a steed fitting for his purpose. The horse was a cream white, and its dark eyes met with his. The mare was saddled, and Alkorr left.

Three hours later, Alkorr laid eyes on the encampment. Three hundred armed men were at ease, wrestling, fighting and shooting bow. Alkorr scanned the yard. The palisade gates opened.

Alkorr dismounted and entered a tall tent. Inside sat a commander, skilled in speech and an avid general.

The man looked at Alkorr and spoke. "Greetings, monk of Heren Istarion."
"Hello. I am rallying men. Battle shall be near, and all of the fighting hands must be readied and brought forth." Alkorr said.
After a short pause the general spoke, "Very well. I will be ready by tomorrow morning."
"How many can ride now?" Alkorr asked.
"Three centuries." the general replied.
"Very well. Let them mount and I will lead them forth. You bring the rest in the morn tomorrow." The monk replied, and left.

The trumpets blew in the camp, and the signal was given. Within thirty minutes, three hundred men left with Alkorr.

"Good luck, and may the Valar be with you,” yelled the general to the departing forces.

In the 5th hour of the afternoon, the setting sun gleamed upon the mail, and upon their helms, crested with gold and adorned with tall feathers. The silver spearheads, forged of tough metal, glimmered, and the rays fell upon the building as the setting sun does upon the shimmering sea in high tide.

Alkorr dismounted his white mare and reentered the temple.

"Three hundred have come with me, and another four centuries arrive at dawn. Out of the three hundred, I have counted a century of archers, and two of spearmen. These men are of great stature, and each century has a fit captain. I trust that they are valiant warriors, for no fear is in their eyes.

[Anamatar IV]

As Ingolemo greeted Alkorr and looked about the soldiers of Heren Istarion the last council members came back. Nenya brought with her a banner.

"We are still awaiting two of our council members so I shall leave them a note," Ingolemo said. He took another piece of parchment and wrote the following:

Tardy members of the council of Heren Istarion:

In your absence we have formed an alliance with the Rangers. We go now to Weathertop to join them for battle. It is fruitless for you to come after you have seen this note so while the more punctual members of the council are away at battle keep an eye on the temple.

Ingolemo.

"come. Find your steeds and let us go. We are awaited in the Weather hills."

[Ciryaher]

Ërvûrkeá found his horse, a black warhorse with a simple saddle upon it. In the distance, the sound of a pony was heard, and upon it was a hobbit who directed his steed to his massive associate.

"Your timing is well, Minister Burrowes. The legions of the Heren Istarion are soon departing, and with them I shall go. Whither shall you?" asked the fiery-haired Northman.

"Ahh, hello there, General! I shall stay here and advise as I can. I am only a hobbit of war in the direst need, and Darby is much too small for such a trek. Here I shall remain!" Marby answered, the ever-present cheerfulness in his voice. The hobbit slipped of the side of his pony and patted him affectionately.

"Very well, sir," Ërvûrkeá stooped down and shook the hobbit's hand, then rose and saluted in the Arnorian fashion. Marby returned the salute and ambled into the Temple. Turning to the others. "With your leave, I will journey with you. I am of more use as a military advisor, and if there is battle, I will show you places of strength and secrecy in which many can stay and rest. My sword, too, is restless, and I would much enjoy traveling with such fine soldiers. If you grant me leave, Lords..." he bowed his head slightly and awaited an answer, his hand upon the reins of his mount.

[Anamatar IV]

"but of course you may join us!" Ingolemo bellowed as he steppedd from the doors of the Temple. He spoke to the newly returned messanger.

"Deliver a message to Weathertop saying we leave here with 300 soldiers and an Arnorian messenger." The messenger mounteed his steed and rode off. Ingolemo mounted his own white horse and awaited the others.

[Ciryaher]

Ërvûrkeá had to bite his tongue after being called a messenger. He soon dismissed the insult, though, and bowed. "I am most grateful to be allowed to travel with thee."

He mounted his great mare and checked the sword at his hip. After adjusting the crossbow and arrows upon his back, he gripped his spear and shield and nodded. "I am ready and will follow when you go."

[Azog]

Alkorr mounted his white steed, and rode up beside Ingolemo. In his right hand, he held his staff, but in his left hand, he manuevered his horse.

"Ingolemo, the men are ready. We must ride within the hour, for battle waits for no reenforcements."

Alkorr's turned quickly on his steed, and he looked at the army behind.

"Do not lag, men! We must ride hard to Weathertop."

The beating of hoofs resounded, as three hundred mail clad warriors rode to the battle lines.

[Anamatar IV]

"It seems all is ready. Let us ride." Ingolemo spurred his horse and the cavalry behind him did the same. What a sight to see was the first riding of Heren Istarion. White armor blinding eyes. Dozens of banners trailing in the wind. The thundering of hundreds and more hooves of horse clouting the ground. Those who saw this convoy were strricken into awe and gaped at the riders. Some even were brought to a point where they bowed before the horses for they believed the riders to be great lords of the west.

[Nenya Evenstar]

Nenya was there riding on her rich white horse whose saddle and coverings where a deep blue embroidered with golden fringe and deep golden roses, and whose tail was braided with a fine golden thread; the perfect picture of elegance. Upon the Elf's forehead shown a clear blue gem, darker than the stormy skies, and deeper than the frothing oceans. This was the stone which Nenya always wore to battle - the stone which she insisted gave her the wisdom to guide, and the strength to endure, for indeed it came from over the bent seas from the land of Aman where there is no death. Her split riding dress was of a deep blue, her gloves of white, and her hair pulled back in waves over her shoulders. She was riding in this conclave to counsel and, if need be, to fight.

[Anamatar IV]

After the army had ridden for some time Ingolemo stopped them.

"Behold the Weather hills!" He yelled for all to hear. "In here the might and majesty of the Rangers are. Battle awaits us yet while we are with these fine people we are safe." He then shouted in a clear ringing voice towards the nearest mountain:

"Hear ye, Hear ye-Rangers of Amon Sul. Heren Istarion is come!."

[Anamatar IV]

At the temple of Heren Istarion a legion marched. They stopped at the foot of the temple. The door warden, who was off at the barracks, raced to meet the soldiers, followed by a dozen soldiers of Heren Istarion who had been left behind to defend the Temple.

"What business dost thou have with Heren Istarion?" The door warden bellowed. A man at the head of the legion spoke:

"Here again is a battalion of trained soldiers. Here is 50 soldiers of Heren Istarion. We would have come later and with more but urgency calls." There were 35 knights and 15 swordsmen behind the man who spoke.

The door warden again: "But Ingolemo is not here. Nor is any other of Heren Istarion for they left to war some days ago."

"Then let this force be as defense to the Temple. If the dozen of men you had running up to us was all that was protecting the Temple," the man at the head of the army chuckled. "Then I deem you will need reinforcment." The door warden beckoned and led the 50 soldiers to the barracks.

[Rasec]

It was a bright morning, and the golden roof of the Temple of Heren Istarion was shining like it never shone before. The sound of the clear waterfall nearby could be heard by anyone who approached the Temple. And that time, among the freshing air of Arthedain, something approached. Not something small, but a large battalion of men, composed of about 200 soldiers, 150 swordsmen and 50 archers all clad in mail, bearing the star of Heren Istarion.

Riding on the vanguard was a tall man, his hair floating on the air, and his light blue eyes gleaming with the Sun; his face was noble and beautiful. When they reached the Temple, a warden was standing next to its wooden door.

- Greetings, warden of Heren Istarion! - said Rasec, the Captain. - I was summoned here, and I would much like to know where I must lead my riders to.

- I will certainly tell you, Rasec, son of Cesar - said the warden. - For I am here for that. You must ride to the land of Mithlond as fast as you can. They are in need of your aid there, immediately! Leave now, and I hope the horses of your men are swift enough! May the Light be with you in your path!

- Thank you, warden of the Temple! - answered Rasec. - I am absolutely sure that the horses of my men are as swift as the wind! Fare ye well...

Saying that, he turned his horse and rode away, being followed by his large battalion of great men. He loved the land of Mithlond, and so he meant to arrive there as soon as he could.

[Anamatar IV]

Amidst the riders of Heren Istarion there was one unlike the others. He rode next to Rasec yet was of much shorter stature. He bore a great axe and several throwing axes. His name was Dain Ironfoot, a valiant dwarf out of the Lonely Mountain. He looked not for celebration in Mithlond but rather for a row of orcs to lay waste to.

[Ciryaher]

Ërvûrkeá listened as a horsed messenger whispered in his ear. His face grew almost red as his beard and he screamed out a thousand profanities in Adunaic, Dunlending, Morbeth, Quenya, Sindarin and Westron. The man on horse rode away, fearing the Northman's wrath.

He turned, suddenly, on Ingolemo as they marched and threw him to the ground. "Your friend has betrayed us all!" he screamed and frighteningly became calm and somewhat evil-voiced in less than a breath, "But she will not hinder us, definitely not. We will rise against the Dark Lord and cast him down. Out of the night, a great friend shall come and bring forth the vengeance of our people. Praise to Orome! We will reign victorious, regardless of how your friends may betray us."

He leaned down and whispered into Ingolemo's ear, hissing, "Betray us, and I will make death seem a happy ending." Then, pulling both the leader and himself to feet, he marched on, as if nothing had happened.

[Anamatar IV]

Ingolemo hastened back to Ërvûrkeá. An anger was in his eyes. That a young man, no matter how high in heirachy of Arnor he was, would have so little respect for his elder to throw him to the ground was uncanny.

"I had no thought of betrayal cross my mind, ye person oblivious of your surroundings!" Ingolemo said angrily while turning Ërvûrkeá to face him. "Nor will I yet believe that one of Heren Istarion would betray us to Mornclaur! Do not trounse me with petty threats for if you reached for your brazen hilt you would fall dead by the arrows of Heren Istarion!" Ingolemo mounted his steed once more. The soldiers of Heren Istarion had formed a semi-circle behind Ingolemo.

He spoke once more.

"Oh how I hope that your lord has more respect for us than you, but alas! I have not met Ciryaher and thus could not say."

[Anamatar IV]

The army of Heren Istarion rode hard to Annuminas, in which their temple was. As the soldiers rode up to the Temple the door warden wound his great horn loudly.

"Indeed lords," he spoke quickly to Ingolemo. "It is good to see you here so quickly after you all left for war! And by the looks of it it doesn't seem like you've lost any battles!" Ingolemo silenced him.

"Take your arms. Call all men in this temple to arms and steed!" Soon all 550 soldiers of Heren Istarion sat upon a horse, clad in mail. Ingolemo divided them into groups. The groups seperated and rode their own ways, leaving the temple unguarded, leaving it to waste.

[Anamatar IV]

Five hundred thundering hooves past over the lands and came to the door of the Temple of Heren Istarion. As were all the soldiers that had yet come to that building, they bore the mark of Heren Istarion.

No door warden greeted the new soldiers. Nor were there any guards at the doors. The captain of this group went into the Temple and found it desserted.

"Where have they gone?" Inquired Poseis to himself. He trotted back to his soldiers outside.

"The Temple is desserted and it seems it has long been so," he said to his soldiers. "We would not ride blindly into the world searching for them but we cannot stay here. Ingolemo must have had some reason to leave and we will try to find him."

"But where do we ride?" called a bold soldier from the front ranks bearing a long spear with a golden head.

"There was recent battle to the East. We will ride there. If we do not find our comrades there we will find a survivor of that battle and ask him where Ingolemo has ridden. The sound of our hooves will drown out the wind. Come!" Poseis spurred his horse and the soldiers rode eastward.

[Anamatar IV]

After many long days far from home in the throngs of battle and the hosts of war the Istarion had returned to their grand courtyard. They now hoped for peace from battle. Now the captains, officers, and generals of Heren Istarion gathered together to form the Council of Heren Istarion. Among them were Ingolemo Denstore, the founder, called by the Istarion the Elder, Poseis called the Fated for he had ridden long in dangerous battle unscathed, Rasec the Down Star, Valanthe Elven-maiden fair, and Gindorg the Fell for his lance was as keen as any arrow of the enemy in the long battles. These sat in chairs of marble and gold next to eachother at the head of the Council for they had ridden the most into fierce battle and had won the most renowned. But there was one chair next to Ingolemo. It was reserved for one great captain of Heren Istarion of old who had yet to come.

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

As soon as the captains had returned, Dain left for Rohan, captivated by a calling beyond the ages of the earth itself. Ingolemo presented him with a golden star of Heren Istarion, and would be the last time he would see Dain for a long while...

[Anamatar IV]

A tall man dismounted infront of the tall gates of white stone to the courtyard of Heren Istarion. He passed through the archs over head and walked down cobble-stone roads to the Temple of Heren Istarion where the Council abode. The guards raised their spears at the newcomer as he approached the door but with a silent gesture to the brooch that he wore they pushed aside the grand doors of oak and bowed graciously.

"Ah you are come at last!" Ingolemo at the newcomer exclaimed motioning to the chair next to him. Anamatar Osterel after days of long journey had returned to Heren Istarion out of war and sorrow.