Of Wraiths and Kings, and Friends and Rings (Calling All Nazgul)

[Willow Oran]

Mahtaliel had just retreated back to her chosen corner with her generously refilled wine glass when she experienced the distinctly unpleasent feeling of someone watching her.

Irritated, though not alarmed (they were waiting for the reception to begin after all; besides conversing, what activity was there other than staring at fellow guests?) she turned and made a visual sweep of the hall.

The new professor standing by the window caught her gaze and returned it, full force.

Mahtaliel supressed a smile, and didn't look away. A staring contest while waiting was better than nothing...

[The last sane person]

Ray shook his head. "No, Viv, I am going to take him in. Stay here, they know who I am and wont keep me." Viv was going to protest, but Ray held up his hand, cutting it off. "I understand, they can be a severe pain in the ass, and want to trump up their worth with questions. But it is a request given by the king, and I am not about to disobey. Stay here with Volricom. It wont take long." Ray had his warrior-ness still lingering, and was a far sight more powerful than usual. Viv secretly liked that, smiling faintly to herself.

With that, he bent down and lifted the half orc and slung him over his shoulder as though it was a sack of flour he was carrying. Ray was strong, adrenaline still in his veins, and righteous fire flowing. After all, as polite and demure as he was, this scumbag tried to hurt Viv. He made it to the guardhouse, and opened the door, depositing the stirring creature on the ground.

"What have we here? What’s the matter citizen?" One of the guards managed to sputter, after settling down his ale.

"This wretch jumped me, by what I smell he is some drunkard half breed. Keep him here until he sobers up, question him, and if he proves nothing more, take him and release him far from the city. I don’t want him coming near Tharbad again."

The head guard was taken aback, "Well, as you wish, your highness ! Who are you to make such demands, we will have to detain you an-" He was cut off by Ray's snarl of anger, he cast back his hood.

"I am Raendil, son of Matheron, one of the faithful chosen, King's Man. I take my orders from the king, and as such, you are thus rendered to obey commands that I give that will fulfill his orders! I have better things to do than answer your questions. You will keep him in the lock up, question, and if nothing else is found, release him far removed from Tharbad. Is that clear?" He glared at the now apologetic head guard.

"y-y-yes, sir, it will be as you say. I didn’t know, it will be done!" He gave Ray a small bow and saw to the incapacitated half-breed. Ray made his way swiftly back to Viv, and grinned, more back to normal. "Well, I guess you were right, they knew who you were?" Ray helped her mount, and leapt up behind her. "No, but they soon did! Viv, do you have a horse of your own? Tharbad is quite large, you will need to be traveling around once semester really gets started."

Viv shook her head no, "no, I don’t, though I would like one. I came in a carriage, and haven’t really had a horse of mine own. If worse come to worse, I could borrow Penny's" She made to turn Volricom to Orrodel, but Ray reached around and steered him elsewhere. "Hey, aren’t we going back to my place?"

"Yes, but we will be taking a slight detour!" It wasn’t long at all till they reached Ray's place, he lead her to the stables, and there was the mare, peaking out at Viv. She gave a great whinny when she saw Ray. "Well, this is Laslech, one of the finest fillies to be bred by my mother."

Viv went and patted her, offering Laslech a handful of oats. The horse nuzzled Viv and happily ate the proffered oats. "She is absolutely beautiful, she looks lively and smooth! I can tell she is intelligent and kind as well. You are lucky to have such fine horses!"

"You Like her?"

"Yes, she is wonderful!"

"Then she is yours!"

Viv looked stunned, and was about to protest, but Ray cut it all off with a smile. Silently he took Laslech out of her stall and tacked her up for Viv.

[Valandil]

In his chambers, Valandil surveyed his appearance in the full-height mirror before him. He had just finished dressing for the evening and his attendants stood back a bit as he looked himself up and down.

His father and grandfather had worn black, but Valandil himself preferred a deep, dark blue, and it was in this that he was arrayed. On the breast of his tunic he bore the tri-fold emblems of his house: the silver crown above the seven silver stars over the white tree. A silver-starred brooch pinned his cloak - enough below his neck to be comfortable, and a hood hung behind him, but that should be non-essential this evening. His boots were black, but in addition to his tunic - his cloak, hood, visible undergarments and trousers were all of the same deep blue - some trimmed with bits of silver.

He called for, and took up, the Elendilmir which Elrond had commanded made for him - to replace the one which was lost along with his father. He did not like it for daily wear, and would as soon have left it at Annuminas with his other royal treasures, but Oreturion had deemed it wise to bring it, in case the needs of state dictated a royal appearance - and knowing full well that the first meeting with the Chancellor would demand it.

He now reviewed his final appearance. Sufficiently regal, he supposed - but it would be more fitting when he appeared as a normal man in his 40's or 50's than appearing to have the youth of his 20's (although his 60th birthday loomed near). It was odd to have been King for almost 40 years and still be labeled 'The Boy King' by some.

"What time is it now?" he asked, knowing the answer full well.

"It is now fully seven o'clock" said the servant.

He also knew the answer to his this one, but he was determined to act as though he did not. "Call for my friends, Master Marthalion and Master Raendil."

"Sire - they are not here."

Drats! He had dressed slowly, hoping that they would make it. Where WERE they? Drat Marty, drat Ray and drat Oreturion and his well-meaning interference! He resolved to shield his thoughts this entire night, even from Oreturion! But now - the time had come. As King, he was permitted to arrive a bit late - that all other guests might have come and be prepared for his own arrival. But it would not do to continue dressing beyond the time that the event was to have begun.

"Very well. Call for my carriage. Pass the word to Lord Oreturion and Lord Estelmo to make ready to depart." said Valandil to the chief Butler.

All at once the porter entered in a rush. "My leige..." and in behind him came Marty... looking quite unprepared for this evening - a bit disheveled and having had a bit more to drink than was advisable - before the evening had truly begun.

Valandil turned to the butler. "Tell my Lords Oreturion and Estelmo that Master Marthalion has now arrived, and will require but a moment's final preparation to be ready to join us. The rest of you... get him cleaned up and be quick about it!"

Valandil smiled slightly, but only after he had rebuffed Marty's attempted greeting and turned his face from all who might see it. This was an up-stroke: he would have his friend with him, though Marty might not like to go along in the condition he was in. That would teach him for being unready... and it would teach Oreturion for trying to meddle.

[Butterbeer]

Proffessor Bumbledore had huffed and puffed, creaking his way erratically down the stairs .... these noises caused a stir of excitement and anticipation outside in the cloisters, where in the dark, hundreds of small bright points of light blinked occasionally from the bushes and shrubberies nearby: all at ground level ....

Vamooooz, the new champion tortoise racer was limbering up proudly, slowly and athletically stretching his neck out of his shell and round, slowly lifting one leg, ... and down... then the next!

Time passed .... not for many years had the tortoise's of Tharbad had a champion who had out raced the proffesor over the 20 yard dash of the cloisters track. That year they had been the racing champions of the North!

Anticipation was high...


Suddenly with a dramatic THUD the old proffessor announced his imminent arrival as he careered out of control full on into the door!

Ahhhh! went the sighs in the shrubbery ... he is in haste! This truly will be a race to remember ... Vamoooz will really be a great if he wins this race! Old plodder, whispered to his grandson ... ahhh, it's like 37' over again ... now that was a year for glory .... he trailed off as with a glorious blast of golden light ... the cloister door opened and in a blur the Olympian figure of the Professor appeared blazed in light and speeding headlong forward .... a naked flame of cigar held high in his left hand burning in a trail after him ....

(of course to all but the tortoises, this appeared as a slow ponderous slo-motion kinda moment)

The race was on ... vammooz cheered on by the large crowd, mainly tortoises, but also including a hefty gathering of the squirrels, who had many a wager on this event, and some owls, hooting away happily, ... Vamooz span into action (at least to the eyes of the tortoises) ...

to be continued....

[Butterbeer]

(placeholder for the finale of the race of a generation .... ) *gotta go!*


it will end with Professor Bumbledore having arrived at the reception ... so that does not cause any other's any continuity problems!)

[Lotesse]

Viniglaen was staggered by such a beautiful, lavish gift as the mare Laslech. As Viv was carressing her ears, and Laslech was snuffling her with her velveteen muzzle, Ray suddenly had a urgent thought.

"Lady Viniglaen," he said, "it has just occured to me that Martalion, my best friend, may need me. It has been too long since I saw him last, and I sense he needs me at this very moment."

If anybody knew about sensing things and people when they were in need, it was Viv. She was secrectly relieved, anyway, because she longed to take her new mare out and ride her through the night. 'I shall train this mare even to withstand my Nazgul mode,' she thought. 'Later on down the line, of course, but I shall train her.'

"I understand," answered Viv, "and I take my leave now, as I really must check back with my sister, and get some prerequisite reading done before classes begin."

Viniglaen easily mounted the mare, who stood at a perfect height for Viv's small frame.

"She's one of the Mearas," Ray told her, as an afterthought, as she made to take her leave. She stopped the mare, and stared him full on, in amazed disbelief, even though his mind at once cleared him of the possibility of it being a lie. One of the Mearas! Wouldn't the others be jealous!!

'Ray," she said in response, "My gratitude to you for this kingly gift is deeper than you could know, and I shall never forget this, never."

With that, she turned and took of into the night. Ray watched her receding form thoughtfully. 'What is it about that young woman,' he mused, 'that drives me nuts with confusion? I could fall in love with her, but she feels so - dangerous, and so incredibly sorrowful. I wonder why.'

Then Ray's thoughts turned to his best friend Marty, and his King. it was the night of the reception, Ray remembered, and he hadn't received a summons from Valandil, but something was telling him to go anyway - he felt needed.

[CrazySquirrel]

Lilly opened her eyes feeling much better. After swallowing several magic potions prepared by Penny, the objects in the room looked solid again, instead of appearing like pale shadows in the swirling mist. Sure, they still seemed somewhat blurred at the edges, but that was bearable. The headache subsided as well.

"Look, Five," Lilly started determinedly, "I have a plan….And STOP pawing me for a moment, there are no bones broken, you have checked that several times already".

With a long-suffering sigh, Penny withdrew his hands and sat at the edge of the bed, smiling at Lilly. She certainly looked better. There was the usual hard edge in her voice. But her plan… Over the years Buzukkumarz has learned to dread Lilly’s schemes. They always ended badly, especially for Lilly herself.

"What is that about, Lil?", asked Penny apprehensively. "Surely you must understand that neither you, nor I can’t best Khamul in a fight. EVEN if we come at him together, which is not too fair, by the way"

"I am not going to fight him!" Lilly replied. "I am not THAT stupid. There are other ways, you know."

"Such as…", prompted Five. His feeling of apprehension grew, as Lilly looked as determined as she always did, when she attempted her worst shemes.

"Do you have some wax, Five? Can you make a figure? Do you remember the spell? I am sure you do, I was watching you, when you did this trick last time in Rhun!"

Lilly felt excited now. Yes, a wax figure containing a piece of parchment with Khamul’s REAL name written on it, could be acted upon, as if he was here in flesh and blood, weak and unresisting. One can stick a hot needle through the figure’s heart or stomach, and Khamul will feel the pain, strong enough to kill any mortal.

Lilly bared her teeth in a wolfish grin, thinking WHERE exactly she was going to stick this needle!

"Now, Buz, darling, can you help me?" Lilly's huge green eyes, misty from the recent pain, looked at Penny imploringly.

[Willow Oran]

The Entrance Hall had become decidedly divided. This was due to the fact that anyone trying to cross Mahtaliel or her opponent's line of sight would find themselves most uncomfortable. Mahtaliel for her part, was enjoying the challange of staring down this new professor immensly.

The game had started out casual, two people studying eachother by sight alone... that had quickly changed as they drifted, never breaking eye contact, to stand directly opposite eachother on either side of the room. Those who came between recieved the full force of both their glares, and soon, the other guests had simply confined themselves to whichever side they had started out on.

Mahtaliel was learning a great deal about her new colleague, not by probing his thoughts, no, she was keeping herself tightly shielded, to do otherwise would be terribly impolite.
There were some who would say that you shouldn't judge one just by looking at them, but Mahtaliel had long ago found that if you looked at another person hard and long enough you were bound to see something of interest.
Like the way her opponent was distracted by one of the other guests, his eyes kept flickering minutely, not enough to break eye contact with her, but just enough to indicate that he would very much like to do so.

It was giving Mahtaliel a distinct advantage; her mood for the evening improved further, she liked advantages.

[Rían]

RÃ*an and Eärniel paused before the doors of the Reception Hall.

The ride from Orrodel had been glorious. RÃ*an hadn't felt so alive since she had arrived in Tharbad! Palensulë was more sure-footed over the uneven terrain than Hwesta, but RÃ*an's lovely gray mare outdid her marsh-living cousin on the flats. They had raced like the wind - first one ahead, then the other, then neck-and-neck in a glorious mix of pounding hooves and flying manes and long elven hair - taking a rather long and circuitous route to the Reception, to be sure, but perhaps none of the four were eager to get there!

After a brief cooling-down walk around the Castle grounds, RÃ*an and Eärniel turned their horses over to the stable-boy, giving instructions for their care.

Walking through the ornate grounds to the Reception Hall, RÃ*an asked, "So, has anyone caught the eye of the young King yet? I know of several who are attempting it!"

Eärniel answered, "So do I! But there has been no conquest yet, that I've heard of."

"Well, he seems like a nice enough type, for a human," mused RÃ*an, who tended to forget about her father being one of these strange creatures. But then again, her father was most unusual - she had loved him dearly and missed him terribly. Several richly-dressed young ladies walked quickly past them, giggling. "I sure hope he doesn't get snagged by a treasure-hunter!" continued RÃ*an in a whisper, with a significant glance at the young ladies.

They walked into the room.

[Udukhaturz]

“The dour professor across the room wishes to play games with me,� Maethor thought to himself as he carefully guarded his mind to let out only the thoughts that he wished. He had watched her for quite some time, her eyes boring into his, and he knew that she enjoyed the challenge... but so did he. So he stared her back and smiled and hummed a nonsense rhyme to himself, letting the words filter out so that who might wish could catch the drift.

Homeward bound beyond the hill,
Beyond the ridge, beyond the rill
Then over the mountain and to the sea
I find that there it calls for me

And then before the light of day
I find the course a twisted way
Then turning back, alas, alack!
I find that I never can go back!

Then a passing serving maid carrying a tray with some exceptionally good wine on it stopped by him and brushed her arm up against his, not so that anyone would notice, though.

“Please replenish my wine if you would be so kind,� he smiled and kept staring across the room. After the serving maid had refilled his goblet, a smile came to his face but not to his eyes. He repeated the refrain of the nonsense rhyme in his mind, never breaking his eye contact with his opponent. Then carrying his goblet, he walked across the distance separating them and said politely, “Enjoying yourself?� Then he smiled. “Professor... umm.... what did you say your name was? I have a terrible memory. My apologies.�

[Gordis]

Miriel and Malaphel hurried excitedly along the paved courtyard of the University grounds following their father, Lord Azrabel, the Governor of Tharbad, and their mother, Lady Nimloth. They were late, and Lord Azrabel, a portly man in his late hundred-thirties, puffed and coughed and dragged his bony tall wife along unmercifully. It was considered rude to be late for the reception, especially on a day like this, when the young King was due to greet the nobles of Tharbad. When they passed the inner gate, a page stationed there informed the Governor that the King had not yet arrived. Slowing down, Azrabel turned his head and glanced at his daughters. They were pretty girls in their early thirties, recently come of age to be admitted to public receptions and barely old enough to start thinking about marriage. Azrabel felt his heart filling with pride. Miriel was tall and noble looking in her orange ball dress, if a bit flat in the chest. Malaphel was smaller and more on the plump side, wearing forest green. They were his most treasured assets, tickets to the great court of Annuminas. Surely one of them should catch the eye of the King. They were noble enough to aspire for a royal marriage. If not of the royal blood himself, Azrabel’s father was a captain of one of Elendil’s ships and was given the South of Arnor to govern.

At this moment two graceful woman figures passed them like beams of moonlight and hurried on, without a backward glance.

“She-Elves�, hissed Miriel. “They fly to Tharbad like vultures to the smell of carrion�.

“I bet, they are also after King Val. It seems, everybody is,� replied Malaphel sadly. “As if having that accursed Aiwendis here were not enough!�

“She is able to catch him right in front of our noses�, sighed Miriel. “We must prevent it by all means�.

The two girls, nicknamed MM’s, were considered to be Aiwendis’s best friends. They were approximately of the same age, and were by far the noblest young ladies of marriageable age in Tharbad. Actually, this friendship with the Chancellor’s daughter was the only reason for their admittance to the reception. MM’s were not a bit grateful, though. Over three years of their acquaintance, they grew to dislike Aiwendis intensely. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful and noble of the three, but that was no reason to be that haughty and condescending. Aiwendis always politely declined the repeated invitations to the Ladies Embroidery Circle or the Music Circle, pretending to be too occupied with her household choirs. There was talk in Tharbad that she never embroidered a single kerchief in her life, and the Governor’s daughters believed it readily. When MM’s called on Aiwendis, she quietly admitted them to her study, filled with books and flowers, but seemed never interested in the latest Tharbad gossip, and grew visibly bored and slightly sarcastic when the talk drifted to discussing possible matches, ways of catching good husbands and “what it would be like to be married.�

But what irked MM’s to no end was her meddling in their attempts to woo the Chancellor. It was a shame that a still young man of the Royal line remained unmarried, especially when he was that damnably handsome as Lord Ilmenzor! Before the arrival of King Val, both girls were determined to remedy to this incongruence. The Chancellor himself seemed much amused by their girlish attempts at flirting, and was not icy-cold at all, when with them. But, whenever any of the girls chanced to meet him alone, which, by the way, required hours of careful stalking and waiting, Aiwendis always appeared on the spot in no time at all, and cut the interview short. MM’s hated the fierce possessiveness the Chancellor’s daughter showed for her father. “Of course, no one wants a step-mother�, thought the girls, but still that was a bit too much.

The huge doors of the entrance hall opened before the Governor’s family, and they joined the guests waiting for the King. Aiwendis was nowhere to be seen, so MM’s drifted to greet the other guests, smiling and curtseying.

[Valandil]

The four men boarded the carriage, first Marty - after taking a last draw from his athelas-flavored hot tea (excellent hangover remedy), assisted by a couple footmen, then Estelmo, who sat opposite him. Oreturion took the seat next to Marty and Valandil took the remaining seat next to Estelmo. He would come out first on their arrival so he had to be the last one in.

After they had been settled in for only a few moments, Valandil began to speak to Marty, "Marthalion, I am thoroughly disappointed in you. You know what an important evening this is... for BOTH of us. You nearly don't arrive at all, and when you do - you come like... THIS!"

Marty felt stung. His 'buddy' Valandil had never spoken to him like this before. Any past indiscretions had just been brushed aside with a laugh. Marty struggled to rally to his own defense.

"Look... it's harmless... and maybe it's a big evening for you, but not so much for..."

"Nonsense! If you are to be one day a Prince of the Realm, you must represent yourself well even now. Any action you take is subject to great scrutiny... from your conduct with your peers, your performance in your classes, the state in which you arrive at these functions, even..." and Valandil, who had turned his gaze out the window as he spoke, now turned a very sharp look directly onto Marty, "even... the company you keep!"

"What? Are you trying to tell me with whom I may, or may not spend my time?!" asked Marty, quite incensed.

Valandil held his gaze for a long time, before casually responding, "Only... if you would truly be a Prince one day." and then he again looked away.

There was silence for several minutes. The coach had left the manor grounds and was on its way towards Arandel. Valandil sensed his friend's hurt pride, and sensed approval from the two older men - from Oreturion for sure. But Oreturion had not tried yet to speak with him... with either word or thought.

Finally Valandil turned again to his friend. "Marty, see now... there are some strange things happening in this town, and a strange feel about it. We must all be wary. And we must be careful of unwise... entanglements. I fear that in this case, it may be more than the normal consequences of reputation and honor... although that alone should be enough for we who are of the Faithful. I fear there is something more at stake - and that we must watch ourselves."

'Very good, my King... VERY good!' Valandil heard in his mind. It was Oreturion. He was trying as well as he could to screen his thoughts. Had Oreturion read them in despite? He waited several moments more, then made an attempt himself.

'Oreturion... I shield my mind. Do you read it still?'

'Only that. You have learned well, at just the right time. You have hidden all, save what you would wish to tell. VERY good indeed!'

So he had done it. He had mastery over his thoughts - to keep them screened from even a man like Oreturion - and yet to be able to release a thought in speech. He had made great strides before, confronting Meneldil in the Palantir, but his control then had been partial. Now he felt that it was full.

"Well, I hope the food it good," said Estelmo, as their carriage pulled into the great estate. "I'm STARving!"

The carriage came to a stop before a great pair of entrance doors, flung open wide. At a sign from the driver, a footman stepped forth and opened the doors, while someone called out:

"His Highness, King Valandil of Arnor, son of Isildur Elendil's son, High King of all the Dunedain!"

Valandil rose and stepped forth from the carriage.

[Grey_Wolf]

Old Grey and White Patch, the Alphas of the Mountain Wolves, at the head of the Pack, ran along the foothills of their mountains en route to Tharbad. Along with them had come half a dozen mid- and low-ranking wolves. They were on patrol here at the command of the Head Nazgûl, searching for enemy agents.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Khamûl sat quitley on one side of the room, his eyes fixed on Udu, not yet probing his thoughts, yet screening his own. He felt another pair of eyes on him, Gordis. She was not yet in the room, yet still looked upon him. Carefully turning his thoughts upon her, he found her looking through a small eye hole. He fixed his eyes upon her and smiled. Yet before he had time to search her mind he felt another pair of eyes fixed upon.
'My' he thought. 'I am popular tonight.'
Turning his head he saw a female elf sitting across the room from him. He returned the gaze expcting her to withdraw hers, yet she did not. He slightly opened his mind and began probing hers slightly, but not releasing his full power as he was wary of others of the same skill in the room. Her mind was well shielded. It would take a strong attack to brake through. Maybe it could wait. He closed his mind yet did not withdraw his gaze. Unpertubed she relented to look away. Khamûl's vision was fixed yet his mind and eyes often wandered to where Udu was standing.

[Willow Oran]

"I didn't." Mahtaliel answered the man, not looking away from her opponent, "Professor Mahtaliel, and you?"

"Professor Maethor. Do you always hold conversations this way? I've heard it's customary to look at the person one is speaking to."

"Another new one? And not one of you teaching in the Art/History areas either I suspect, education is becoming all about Politics, Money and War. I suppose those subjects are considered more practical these days.
And to answer your question, no I don't. It's simply that our other new colleague is engaging me in contest at the moment, you'll forgive me for not being inclined to backdown."

"Ah."

[Earniel]

Upon entering the hall, Eärniel's sharp hearing had not failed to pick up Miriel's poisonous remark but she didn't react, although secretly she would have loved to see the two girls jump at being caught on such slander.

Ah, poor young ones, Eärniel thought sadly. Jealous still? After all these years? So you still begrudge us our gift while making little of your own. Did the fall of Numenor taught you nothing, or was irreversibly tainting the gift of mortality for you all it could acchieve? Pity. Pity too, that you cannot see that one day you will be able to see and go beyond the borders of Arda where no Elf can follow. Did you ever realise that while you envy us, we are not without envy of you?

Eärniel gave RÃ*an a sideway glance. And what fate would RÃ*an ultimately choose? Eärniel pondered her friends choices as they entered the hall. She almost paused on the doorstep. She felt something unusual, not something she had expected on what she had assumed was a gathering of mortal folk only.

"It would seem we're not the only Elves in town after all," said RÃ*an softly. So RÃ*an had felt it too.

"Indeed, and a Fëanorean too." Eärniel replied. RÃ*an wondered whether she had heard the slightest trace of disaproval in her friend's voice. But before she could ask Eärniel about it somebody called at the door: "His Highness, King Valandil of Arnor, son of Isildur Elendil's son, High King of all the Dunedain!"

"What do you know," Eärniel whispered to RÃ*an, amused," he's even later than we were."

[Udukhaturz]

Maethor hoped that he was making the dour Elf professor uncomfortable, but he concluded that he was not. He had never liked Elves, and with this sour looking one, he was liking them a lot less.

"It is a privilege to make your acquaintance, Professor Mahtaliel," he said. "I am the new instructor of Siege Tactics. While art and history and all those subjects are beneficial at times, the art of siege tactics may mean all the difference between life or death, and the rising or falling of a kingdom."

He smiled and turned his eyes away from her and let his glance flick over to Khamûl. He girded up his mind with even more mind-warding spells.

"And what do you teach, Professor? Woodcraft?"

Before she could answer the question, he heard someone at the door announce the arrival of King Valandil.

"We must discuss this some other time, Professor Mahtaliel, but now the King approaches," he said as he turned in the direction of the King and bowed.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

"His Highness, King Valandil of Arnor, son of Isildur Elendil's son, High King of all the Dunedain!"
At these words both Khamûl and Mahtaliel broke their gaze and turned to the door and saw Valandil enter accompanied by two elder men and one younger of obvious importance and a number of servants.

[Gordis]

The Chancellor stood in the middle of the Reception hall, deep in concentration. His anger had abated, as the happenings in the Entrance Hall amused him greatly. He needed no spy-hole to perceive what was going on there. The very air vibrated and rippled from the strain of the mind-contest in the next room.

Yes, Khamul and Mahtiliel…I hope the Easterling will not forget himself to the point to draw the power from his Ring. It cannot pass undetected for those who know such things.

Aiwendis called Mahtiliel "The Crow", but that name was not doing her justice. Instead, she reminded the Morgul Lord of an ageing falcon, battered, but still wild and dangerous.

Little did she know that she was the main reason for his move to Tharbad in the first place. Four years ago he learned of her presence in USAT, and since then sought for a shift to the South Arnor University. The death of the old Arch-Chancellor came as a pleasant surprise, a stroke of good fortune. Like the coming of the King two yeas later. Decidedly, the luck was with him.

The Chancellor smiled. The last of the Mirdain… But for her, they were all dead or gone, their secrets buried in the ruin of Ost-in-Edil. The Elf clearly had no inkling of his fascination with her subject. Jewel-making… Ring-making…The Chancellor professed an open disinterest in the Chair of Arts and History, never visited it and stubbornly refused to increase its budget. Until last month. With a chuckle, he remembered the memorable scene in his bureau, the angry Elf banging on his table with a broken anvil, denting the beautiful mahogany desk.
My fierce tiercel…I would love to have you in my dungeon for some serious questioning.
But the Morgul Lord was a patient being. One day she will be there, and she would wish she knew more. For now, he feigned surprise and unease at her rudeness, and granted her the pitiful sum she wanted.

At this moment, the page at the entrance announced the arrival of the King. The Chancellor nodded to Aiwendis, and went to the double doors of the Hall, now thrown wide open, to greet his Liege Lord and student.

[Willow Oran]

Mahtaliel was secretly grateful to the High King for making his entrance just when she might have been forced to answer a truly awkward question.
She didn't want it widely known that she taught jewelry making, it might seem innocuous enough to the forgetful, but to those who remembered their history well... the fewer who realized just where she had last employed that knowledge the better.
Given that she wasn't sure why she had ever offered to teach it, it was a dangerous topic which seldom did anything but bring up bad memories and guilt. Her only rational was that maybe, if she taught it in the right way, with enough warnings about the consequences it might prevent history from repeating itself. A little bit of redemption, as it were.
It was when she had thoughts like these that her mood became the most bitter.

She and the professor whom she had yet to be introduced to broke off their staring contest as the King entered, ending it in a draw. She turned and bowed along with the rest of the guests.
As she straightened she took stock of other people's reactions to the newly entered monarch. There would be time enough to study Valandil later, right now she wanted to see what other people thought of him.

What she saw was not reassuring. At least half the girls in the room were eyeing the boy as though he were a prime cut of meat to be fought over and won. Her fellow professors were watching him with an unsettling interest, well disguised, but there.

She didn't have time to look closer, at that moment the doors to the Reception Hall swung open.

I will have to keep an eye on Valandil, she allows herself a grim inward smile, I'll do my best to keep the marriage hunters away from him, as for my new colleagues... their intentions will have to be ascertained first.