[Mithadan]

Mithadan stood with Khelek, Veritas, Piosenniel and Ancalimon near the helm watching the Halflings practice the use of their weapons.

Khelek laughed suddenly. "Such an army!" he chuckled. "Fortunately, we do not go to war but merely to a rescue."

Mithadan scowled and turned to Khelek. "They will have use of their weapons. The Hobbits are, no doubt guarded by men loyal to their King." A grim look appeared on his face. "Understand this! Every guard must be slain! Not one can be permitted to escape. Fair or foul, faithful or faithless, each must die. No report of our rescue can reach Armenelos. The King is not there; he is leading his fleet. But his advisors remain and one is the Dark One. No one can be allowed to escape. And if this makes you unsettled consider that they would all die in a fortnight anyway."

"You are of dark mood, Mithadan," responded Khelek.

"Dark indeed," he replied. "I find myself at the most shameful and disasterous time in the entire history of my people. Not a day passes when we do not think of the fall of Numenor and mourn both the loss as well as our actions." He turned to face Piosenniel. "You revisited a dark day for the Elves when we travelled to Gondolin. This," he said, gesturing to the shadowy outline of the island. "This is my Gondolin."

"Peace!" said Piosenniel and smiling she placed a hand on the shoulder of the scowling Man. "May we fare better here than we did then. And on the day of our triumph, you will rejoice and be at ease as we enjoy the fruits of our labours."

He looked darkly at the Elf and turned abruptly away. His scowl did not abate. "Perhaps," he said.

Ancalimon listened as they spoke. He looked down at the Hobbits laughing and shouting as they practiced with their knives. Then he looked up at the not too distant shore of Numenor. "No one can see all ends..." he muttered under his breath.