A/N: You're not ready for this one...

After the festival came to an end Timothy and his friends met in Eddil’s family home to plan their next journey.  By the warm glow of a fire they debated their course. They all desired to leave Gondor behind and seek adventure in the lands without.

“Where to next?” asked Eddil.

“Umbar perhaps?” suggested Timothy.  “That is a city steeped in history and culture.”

“I would prefer not to go south,” objected Caranel.  “I know we are at peace, but they have no love for Gondor’s soldiers.”

“What of Rohan?” suggested Gram.  “Edoras perhaps?”

Aldamir nodded.  “Rohan sounds nice!  Perhaps we can visit the glittering caves.”

“And Fangorn,” added Caranel.

“It's a long journey from here,” said Eddil.

“Not if we take the Paths of the Dead,” suggested Timothy.

Gram nearly choked on his drink.  “That may be the dumbest thing I have ever heard anyone say!”

Aldamir nodded in vigorous agreement.

“The dead marched with the King, and he released then from their oath,” claimed Timothy.  “It should be no more dangerous than any other mountain pass.”

“Do you know anyone who has passed through it?” asked Caranel suspiciously.

“No,” sighed Timothy.  “Most people never understood why it was haunted.”

“I think you mean most people aren't stupid enough to test fate,” said Gram.

Caranel turned to Eddil.  “You're awfully quiet, dear.”

Eddil looked up slowly from the glass of wine he stared at, deep in thought.  “His logic sounds reasonable, but I am hesitant nonetheless.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” asked Timothy, trying to rally the troops.

“Same place yours was when the rest of us went to Cirith Ungol,” replied Gram.  “Sensibly behind our common sense!”

“Just think of what we could find there!” replied Timothy.  “Wealth that has laid untouched for thousands of years.”

Aldamir’s face brightened.  “That is a good point.”

Gram put his head in his hands.  “No it isn't! Dying surrounded by treasure is not better than dying any other way.”

At the thought of treasure Aldamir’s mind was now set upon the haunted pass.  “There's always an element of risk in what we do.”

“I think it is worth a look,” decided Caranel.

“I’m in, if you want to go,” replied Eddil.

“Have you all completely lost your minds?” shouted Gram.

“Then stay behind,” said Aldamir.  “You can take our horses the long way.”  Plus that would be one less share in the treasure.

“And leave you all to die?” he replied.

“If you think you are going to run away at the first cold breeze, don't come,” warned Caranel.

“I will not abandon you, no matter how stupid your plan,” answered Gram.  “I want to be there when Tim tries to explain to the ghosts why they shouldn't be there.”

“Then it is settled,” grinned Timothy.  “We take the forgotten road from Erech to Dimholt.”

Gram sipped his drink.  “We’re doomed.”

The five placed their horses in the care of some riders of Rohan who were riding back to Edoras after attending the festival.  Gram knew many in their company, and vouched for their integrity. After a few relaxing days in Dol Amroth, Eddil and his friends began their trek up the river Morthond.  It was just after sunset ten days from the end of the festival when they came to the Stone of Erech.

“We aren't going in at night, are we?” shuttered Gram.

“Afraid?” taunted Caranel.

“Yes!” he replied.

“We will wait until morning,” said Eddil.  “Let us not confuse bravery with insanity.”

They slept within view of the Stone of Erech - a six-foot sphere of marble as black as the void and immovable as the mountains to the north.  They dared not touch it, though Timothy poked at it with a stick when no one was looking, just to see what would happen. Fortunately for him the answer was nothing - the stone itself was a relic of Numenor brought over the sea by the faithful and not by nature evil, though many fell and terrible oaths had been sworn upon it in the long years since.

That night Gram suffered from terrible dreams.  He saw his friends hunted by a terrible beast, like a wolf or a bear.  Aldamir for his part dreamt of riches beyond measure, locked away in a ruined city of stone.  Both Caranel and Eddil dreamt of a similar city, but it was filled with corpses. The most frightening dream came to Timothy, featuring a black altar marked with a red eye and blood dripping over smoothly cut stone.

At dawn they began the long march up through the narrow valley which the river Morthond had cut into the rock of the mountains.  It was a cold and dreary journey, for nothing lived in that cursed place save crows which occasionally pierced the haunting silence.  The sun was high in the sky when they reached the place men call Blackroot.

Before them lay to one side a small waterfall whose source sat high in the mountains, and on the other the entrance to a cave.  Here, a day's march from the stone of Erech, the real Paths of the Dead began.

Timothy seemed at least part right; the terror of the Paths of the Dead was lessened since Aragorn summoned the oathbreakers to Erech.  To all but Gram it appeared to be an ordinary cave. The air inside was colder than felt natural, but they felt no evil presence. Gram tried once more to council his friends against their course.

“Evil lies beyond this door,” he warned.  “I saw it last night, when we slept by that accursed stone.  A great beast, like a wolf the size of a bear. If we enter I do not think we will return.”

“I dreamt of riches in a city of stone,” countered Aldamir quickly, lest his companions lose heart.  “Which dream should we believe?”

Eddil and Caranel were disturbed to hear that Aldamir also dreamt of a stone city, but they spoke nothing of it - Caranel because she had mocked Gram for his fear, and Eddil because he hoped, like Aldamir, to find riches inside.

All five adventurers lit torches and entered the black hole in the side of the mountain.  The air felt eerily still. The walls of the passage were roughly hewn. They walked for what felt like hours through the narrow passage with no visible doorways on either side.  Suddenly the narrow passage opened into a wide hall. On the right side of passage the glint of steel could be seen by the light of their torches. As they approached it they saw the bones of a great warrior, his armor still around them.  A notched sword lay beside his remains.

Aldamir went to pick it up, but Gram drew his axe and held out it's handle to block his path.  “Here lies Baldor, Son of Brego, Prince of Rohan,” he proclaimed. “We will not disturb his peace.”

“They aren't doing him any good,” objected the merchant’s son.

“Nevertheless we shall leave them be,” said Eddil.  “That sword is not ours to take.”

“Very well,” Aldamir replied, unhappy with the group's decision.  He tried for a minute to pick to the lock on the door to no avail.  He would have kept trying - perhaps forever, as Baldor had done - but Gram made him stop.

As they stood by Baldor’s remains a cold wind swept through the chamber from the far side.  So startled were they that Caranel instinctively drew her bow. The five cautiously walked to the far side of the cavernous room and found a doorway.  A cold, steady breeze came from beyond the tunnel.

“We did not come here to explore,” pleaded Gram, knowing his comrades meant to go in.

“We are always looking to explore,” replied Eddil.

“The air this way is fresh,” said Caranel.  “I think it leads outside.”

“This is not the way out,” warned Timothy.

“Don’t tell me that now you are eager to leave,” laughed Aldamir.  “This whole adventure was your idea!”

They held a vote.  Aldamir, Eddil, and Caranel all voted to explore the tunnel.  Staunchly opposed was Gram, while Timothy abstained when it was clear the vote was settled.  The scholar in him was eager to see what lay beyond the tunnel, but in his heart he was afraid.  As he looked into the blackness of the tunnel the images from his nightmare flashed before his eyes - a black altar, and blood running down channels cut in stone.

The tunnel was not long.  The other end opened into a narrow valley surrounded on all sides by mountain cliffs.  A mist above the the valley turned what little sunlight remained into a dull orange glow above them.  The valley itself was filled with stone buildings, some freestanding, others partially embedded in the mountain walls.  At the far end of the valley was a great stairway of carven stone leading up to some particularly impressive structures.

Eddil, Caranel, and Aldamir all gasped - this was the city from their dreams.

Gram drew his axe.  “Caranel, please draw your bow,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.  “We seem quite alone."

“Just do it,” begged Gram.  “Please!”

Unsettled by the panic in his voice Caranel drew her bow and set an arrow to the string.  “Better?” she asked.

Gram nodded.  So great was his fear he could hardly speak.  Every gust of wind, every shifting shadow, were warped by his mind into signs of the beast he feared was hunting them.

“Let's stay together,” said Eddil.  “If you get separated, call for help.  I'll lead.”

They walked carefully up to the nearest building.  All that remained of its door were two rusted hinges.  Aldamir thrust his torch through the doorway and peered in.

There was little inside but the remains of two skeletons on the floor and a pile of iron pots and pans which had probably once been in a wooden cabinet that had long since rotted away.  The other adventurers took a look. Timothy, being less accustomed to visiting uncivilized places, shuddered at the sight of the bones.

They checked another house, and then another, slowly making their way through the valley.  They found little of interest - mostly bones and simple iron tools. Occasionally there were a few coins made of metals of little value which Timothy and Aldamir took.  One building in particular Aldamir spent considerable time searching. It had been an inn, and had the remains of at least twenty inside. One intrigued the company, for it looked like the skeleton of an orc, and orc armor lay in its room.

When they came out of the inn the moon was high in the sky, but only a pale glow pierced the misty vale above them.  Aldamir was frustrated that he had not found the riches his dream had promised.

He pointed to the great stone steps carved into the far end of the valley.  “We should check up there.”

“We should leave, while we still can,” said Gram.

“You don't say…” Aldamir groaned, tired of Gram’s constant complaining.

Caranel began to feel as though they were being watched.

“I would rather make camp up there,” she said.  “It is now nearer to us than the tunnel we came by.  We can leave in the morning.”

“I agree,” added Eddil.  “Both with Gram, in that I wish we could leave, and with Caranel, in that it is safer to make camp.”

The company walked for nearly an hour to the base of the stairs.  The stonework was beautifully precise, in stark contrast to the cobbled together houses.  Several small channels cut into the stone, seemingly for proper drainage, divided the stairs into several sections.  They walked slowly up the center section, and the ascent took nearly five minutes. All that time Caranel’s anxiety grew.  Every few steps she looked backwards, certain they were being followed, but saw nothing but the dead city behind them.

As they neared the top, Timothy stopped to inspect one of the channels cut into the rock.  It was stained slightly red. After a moment's thought his heart froze. These weren't made for rain water.

Timothy had never been so afraid in his life.  He rushed up the remaining steps in a few seconds and to his horror he saw exactly what he now expected.  In the center of the ring of buildings stood a black stone altar, and beyond it, carved into the rock wall behind, sat the Red Eye.

Timothy, terrified, turned to tell his friends to flee from this horrible place.  The words never came, for as he looked back down the stairs he saw at their base a sight even more terrible than the altar.  There below him beginning the ascent was a monstrous beast, in shape like a wolf but built as strong as a bear. It was as tall as a man and more than twice as long.  This was no living animal - in places it's skin had rotted away and it's eyes glowed with a pale light.

Timothy managed only a shriek.  All of his companions turned to see what had brought on his terror.  Caranel let her first arrow fly as the other three stumbled up the stairs.  Her arrow struck the monster on its back, and a second later fell to the ground.  If it had caused any damage the beast did not show it.

To say Timothy regained his composure would be a great exaggeration, but in his terror his cleverness was not completely lost.  “One of these buildings has a metal door!” he shouted, pointing frantically at the closest building to their right in the ring that surrounded the altar.

Caranel loosed two more arrows as the demonic wolf charged up the stairs.  She then turned and ran for the building which Timothy and her other comrades were making for.  The monster was incredibly fast, covering in seconds the distance which had taken the tired adventurers several minutes.  Caranel barely made it to the stone structure in time for Eddil to close and bolt the door when the beast clamored into it, bending the steel.  There was then a terrible sound as though metal blades were scraping against metal, as for several minutes the creature tried to claw its way through the door.

Thankfully the small building they occupied had no windows.  Despite that they could hear the footsteps of their hunter as he paced around the hut they cowered in. It was a long time before anyone dared to speak, save Timothy who clutched his carven stone and in whispers of Quenya begged Ilmarë or Varda to aid them.

“Does anyone have a torch?” asked Eddil in the pitch black.

No one did.  They had dropped many things in their mad dash to the door.

“Aldamir, draw your sword,” Timothy suddenly said.

“What?” asked Aldamir.

“Your sword!” repeated Timothy.  “It may give us light.”

Sure enough the blade glowed brightly blue with the monster nearby.  By its light they briefly examined what lay about them in the small room.

Looking up at the ceiling Timothy saw a great eye painted in red with black speech written in golden letters inside it.  “They really weren't subtle, were they,” he mumbled. He couldn't get any more afraid.

Aldamir saw an iron table with piles of gold coins upon it.  He stood up to take them and put them in his pack. “Finally!” he smiled.

“Don't touch that,” Timothy whispered.

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Aldamir.

“Don't take that!” shouted Timothy in terror nearing madness.

“Don't touch it, Aldamir,” repeated Eddil sternly.

Caranel slid over next to Timothy and put her arm around him.  “Tell us what's wrong, Tim.”

“The gold isn't ours, it's Sauron’s,” muttered Timothy, shivering and shaking.

“What?” asked Aldamir incredulously.

“Do you know why the oathbreakers didn't fight?” began Timothy.

“Tim, this is not the time for your rhetorical questions,” Caranel said, “just tell us why you are afraid.”

Timothy took a deep breath.  “The men of Dwimorberg worshipped Sauron as a god.  When Isildur came they repented for a while, but by the time he marched to war they had already fallen back to the dark religion.  This place where we sit, around the black altar, must be where they practiced their dark rituals.”

“And the gold?” asked Gram.

“We have already seen that the people of this valley had no wealth left when they died,” Timothy continued.  “Meaning either they gave this gold in tribute to Sauron, or Sauron gave it to his servants who lived up here.  Either way, given what we have seen, it's probably cursed.”

“I have never believed in cursed treasure,” proclaimed Aldamir defiantly.

“There is a demonic wolf so big it wouldn't fit through my front door hunting us right now and you are not sure this entire valley and everything in it is cursed?” said Gram angrily.

“Aldamir, in the old stories no good ever comes of people taking treasure when they can't slay the monster,” Eddil mused.  “Don't be Beren taking the other Silmarils.”

Aldamir relented and sat back down on the floor.

“Do we have anything resembling a plan?” asked Gram.

“Cower and hide?” laughed Timothy.  The others smiled, glad to see their least adventurous colleague calm enough to laugh.  The mention of Beren and Lúthien had warmed his heart. In that tale both Sauron and a giant wolf are bested, and Timothy wondered how much bigger than their current enemy mighty Carcharoth had been.

“Seriously,” Gram repeated, “do we have a plan?”

Caranel was about to give her best proposal when Timothy matter of factly declared a plan to be made.

“Certainly we must not open that door for any reason tonight,” he said.  “If we are to fight the wolf we must do it under the light of the sun. We could wait another night, but we would run out of water, and I don't think the thing hunting us is a wild beast that might run off tired of the chase so easily.  The only point to that would be to hope that aid came, but given where we are that seems incredibly unlikely.”

“Aye aye, captain!” joked Caranel.

That night they sharpened their blades and tried to rest.  The monster’s footsteps and growls kept them from sleep. Timothy recited poems about battles long ago to raise their spirits.  His favorite, which he sang more than once, was a fragment of the tale of Lúthien. It told of the great song-battle of Finrod and Sauron, and of the coming of Lúthien and Huan shortly after.

One sang of beauty and the light,
his foe the terrors of the night;
he sang of Varda clothed in stars,
while Sauron sang of iron bars.

He sang of flowers, and of trees,
swaying in Manwë’s gentle breeze;
but Finrod’s voice died on his lips
when Sauron mentioned burning ships.

The Dark Lord sang of grief and pain,
a discord of notes with no refrain;
the King’s strength faded verse by verse
as Sauron uttered dreadful curse.

At last he fell, after his ten,
in sorcerer’s lair, in werewolf’s den;
but short lived Sauron’s victory is,
for one would come with blood like his!

Fair Lúthien Tinúviel
who later braved the gates of hell,
against her father’s clear commands
rode into dark and dangerous lands.

Fearing not the Dark Lord's power
She challenged Sauron for his tower;
the werewolf fought to no avail
with blessed hound and Nightingale.

The next morning the sounds of the beast were gone.  As a little light flooded in at the top of the door they prepared for battle.  With drawn weapons they lined up behind the door. Timothy carried only his stone.

“Remember, we can not outrun it,” said Caranel.  “Stay close together.”

Eddil opened the door and they rushed into the open space within the ring of buildings.  There was no sign of their enemy. They walked cautiously up to the altar.

“Maybe it can only come out at night?” suggested Gram - an uncharacteristically optimistic appraisal to be sure.

“Alternative theory…” replied Timothy pointing, “it's right there.”

The great wolf stepped out from behind the building they had sheltered in.  It meant to cut off any hope of retreat.

Timothy, now feeling beyond all hope of escape, decided to show the beast no fear.  He strode a few paces towards it and held up his talisman, shouting to the monster. “In the name of Ilmarë, Varda, and all the Valar, I warn you not to pursue this course!”

The wolf tilted it head, judging whether to take his threat seriously.  Caranel aimed her bow. Just behind Timothy stood Gram, intending to leap in front of him with his shield. To either side of them stood Eddil and Aldamir, swords held high in challenge.

After a long pause the wolf decided this was a fight worth having.  It walked towards them slowly until Caranel took her shot. It ducked under her arrow and then charged them at full pace.  Timothy fell to his knees.

“Ilmarë preserve us!” he cried.

From the low mist above their heads came a thunderous sound!  Though they had never heard it for themselves they guessed well what was coming.  Four great eagles broke through the vale of mist, screeching at their undead foe below.

Three of the eagles went straight for the wolf, which frantically skittered to a halt and crouched low.  The eagles did not attack, only threaten loudly, for they were merely a distraction. The fourth landed a few yards from Timothy and his companions, and off it's back slid Elerína in her traveling clothes.

“You aren't making it easy!” she cried to Timothy.  He was too awestruck to comprehend her meaning.

As the four eagles circled above, Elerína stared down the monstrous wolf.  It paced back and forth, growling menacingly, now unsure this battle would be worth the risk.  Elerína could tell the wolf was ancient, either a maia or something like one. To kill it by sorcery would require enough power that her enemies across Middle Earth would be aware of her presence.  She took from her belt the mysterious sword hilt which she always carried, and as she held it by her side a long and slender blade sprung from it. The blade was made of glass or crystal, and it glittered in a rainbow of color as the rising sun caught it's countless facets.

Five mortal men were little concern to the monster, but four eagles and Elerína looked to be quite a threat.  It decided to flee, running quickly down the stone stairs and into the city where the densely packed buildings would hamper the eagles.  They nonetheless pursued, taunting the wolf with their piercing cries.