Showing them into his small office, he continued to ramble. “It isn't often we get such distinguished visitors. How can I help you?"

"By telling us what this is and why someone gave it to me,” Círeth said, handing him the dagger she had brought back from Rhun.

The scholar looked intently at the markings on the blade.  Then, he carefully unwrapped the leather around the hilt.  There were more markings on the metal below.

"Well, the first question is easy.  It is either a one of Eonwë's throwing daggers from the first age, or a facsimile thereof." Hissael shrugged as if it were obvious. "We can figure out which it is later. I presume you took this from a rider, all in black?"

"Not a rider," Cireth answered with a shake of her head. "Though I suppose his horse could have been nearby.  I encountered two rangers, clad all in black, in the wilds of Rhun."

"You didn't attack them, did you?" The scholar asked, looking concerned.

"No," Cireth answered.

The scholar nodded. "Good.”

"I'm so glad you approve," said Cireth, not at all interested in this academic questioning her tactical decisions made hundreds of miles away.

Elboron placed a hand on her wrist as she began to fiddle with her hilt. She had anger issues, and he knew it. Fortunately it was usually the enemies who found out about the issues, not her friends.

"I meant no offense, ma'am," Hissael assured her immediately. “I meant simply that we would not want to make enemies of the Coven of Vultur."

"Who are they?" asked Elboron.

"The Coven are a group of assassins who have for millennia been defined by their opposition to Sauron and his servants," said Hissael. "They worship a deity based on Eonwë, the Maia who commanded the armies of Valinor during the War of Wrath.  They hunt those they see as evil: orcs, wraiths, and all other manner of Sauron's servants."

Círeth nodded approvingly. "So, they should be our allies.”

"Allies?" chuckled the scholar.  "I don't think they would say they have any allies.  Only prey, and those they hope can live in peace because of their work."

"Okay, so they are not team players.  What else can you tell us about them?" asked Elboron. He was eager to know more.

"Very little is known.  I suspect they work hard to keep it that way," Hissael replied. “The priests of Sauron were terrified of them.  There are legends of assassins from the Coven killing just about every kind of evil creature known in Rhûn."

"Is that all you have for us?" asked Cireth.  "If we need to contact them, how could we?"

"I have no idea.” Hissael shrugged.  "We do have something they would want.  I believe the King has in his treasury at least one of Eonwë's daggers.  They aren't as rare as you might think, as they are not particularly valuable aside from their historical value.  If legend is to be believed you cannot melt them down for mithril.  A proper Morgul Blade, for example, would be worth much more.” He paused. “Well, let's go find out if this is genuine."

The professor led them down a hall to another small office. This door read Visiting Professor Bodi, Metallurgy and Engineering.  Hissael banged on the door.

"I'm busy!" came a shout from within.

"Open in the name of the Steward!" Hissael cried out, a grin on his weasel-like face. "I've always wanted to say that," he added quietly and sent them a wink.

"This had better be important," said the voice from inside, as the door opened.  Professor Bodi was a young dwarf, with barely a beard to speak of.

"What do you make of this?" asked Hissael, handing him the knife.

"I believe this, good sir, is a knife," responded the dwarf mockingly.  He took it into his office.  Hissael wasn't going to follow him in but Elboron and Cireth did.

"And who might you be?" Bodi asked Elboron and Círeth.

"Elboron, son of Faramir Steward of Gondor" he replied. “At your service.”

Círeth smirked without mirth. “And I am King Elessar’s niece.”

"Oh my!  I thought you were more of Hissael's students come to bother me!" said the dwarf.  "I am Bodi, son of Berrni, son of Dwalin at your service sir and lady," he said with a bow.

With honor satisfied, Professor Bodi first dropped the dagger in a glass cylinder of water, then carefully weighed it on a scale.  He seemed unhappy with the results and examined it for a few minutes with a magnifying glass.

Círeth and Elboron stood silently. The former had her arms crossed tight against her chest. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the Scholars and Loremasters, but she found them tiresome. In her Company of southern Dunédain, there was a very clear hierarchy, and utmost respect for one another. Here there was politics, like her cousin Amdirien dealt in.

Elboron, however, watched closely as Bodi completed his experiments and was eager to hear the verdict.

"I am very confident this is coated in Mithril, but I am sad to say it is most likely steel underneath." Professor Bodi stood and handed the dagger to Círeth.

"So it is fake," said Hissael.  "Or at least, it is made in the image of something far older.  Thank you Bodi."

The dwarf nodded and gave them a small bow. “I am always at the service of the crown of the Reunited Kingdom. Maybe it's not my place sir, but…”

Elboron smiled. “Speak, professor.”

“It has come to the attention of many, including myself, that King Elessar seeks to have emissaries from all neighboring nation states.” He paused. “Does this include the dwarves of the Glittering Caves?”

With a smile, Elboron nodded. “It does. To what end did you wish to know?”

“My cousin, Nîm son of Gimli son of Gloin would be an excellent choice,” Professor Bodi told him. “If you don't mind my advice.”

“On the contrary! I value it, Professor.” Elboron bowed to him. “I will take it under advisement when I make my choice, or recommend it to whoever takes my place.”

They all bid farewell and Elboron left with Círeth to go find Lord Aragorn. They had much to report and more to decide. With dagger in hand, they walked out into the sunlight and blinked like blind men. Then they heard a voice.

“Elboron! Círeth! What brings you here?”

“Aderthon. Good thing you are back,” Elboron nodded at the mounted Aderthon, though his eyes fell on the elf maiden atop the second horse. “Greetings, lady.”

“Ah. Nimwing,” Aderthon dismounted Histo and she followed suit. “These are Elboron, my good friend, and Círeth, my sister.”

Círeth looked at her skeptically, already seeing the affection in her brother’s eyes. “A pleasure, Nimwing.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the elf smiled kindly.

The four companions walked up the streets to the top level of Minas Tirith. By now, the sun sat low in the sky. Elboron wondered how Eldarion’s meal with Nemir went. He supposed he would find out tonight.