[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô twisted on his pillow, unable to sleep. Doubts flooded into his mind stemming from the group’s perilous encounter earlier that day. They were able to escape the king’s wrath once, but would they be able to do so again? And how would they rescue Abârpânarú form his cell and transport him to Rómenna? Azarmanô’s close encounter with death brought these haunting questions to the front of his mind. What real chance did a small band of faithful have of rescuing a prisoner form Sauron’s iron grasp? Yet he knew he could not permit himself to think that way. They must complete their mission and they must do so quickly. He only hoped that the next encounter with the king’s men, inevitable though it might be, would go as smoothly as the first. Yet somehow, Azarmanô felt that he would need to brandish his bow before their journey was done.

Azarmanô reviewed the events that had transpired that afternoon carefully in his mind. The party surely would have been slain if it had not been for the quick thinking of Marsillion. Abarzadan seemed to have placated the men by telling them that he was the leader of a group delivering a prisoner to the dungeon when Thoronmir, the fool, had tried to sneak up on them from behind. He must have thought himself incredibly clever until the troops had discovered his presence and the situation turned fatal. Perhaps it was better that he was discovered, for had he been successful in launching an attack of some sort, the party would all surely have been killed. Now if only I had thought of appointing myself Lord of Andunië first, Azarmanô thought whimsically. Azarmanô had planned to pester his “master” and apologize mockingly for failing to “keep the lying brigand under control.” But, instead, he felt as though he owed it on his honor to thank Marsillion. He did not know much about any of the men, but perhaps he would take the time to make closer acquaintance with Marsillion, since he held him in such high esteem.

It was late, but Azarmanô wanted to talk to Marsillion now and not wait till the morning. The matter pressed inside of him, and he did not want to forget about it or become preoccupied with something else. He rose from his tent and traveled the short distance to that of Marsillion. Azarmanô feared that he had already turned into his tent for the night, but, seeing a light inside, lifted the flap and peered in.

“Marsillion,” he began “I come to offer deep gratitude for saving our lives. I commend you for your quick thinking and superb acting skills, although I think that I did a fine job as your incompetent servant. Do you think I was reverent enough? In any case, thank you. I hope that someday I can return the favor. Do you have any idea what Thoronmir was planning? He almost got us killed.” He stood in the door of the tent and waited for a response.