…It was a few minutes after midnight and Muiliel was walking through the cleft of Jä-kuru. She was hooded, wore an elegant black dress but did not carry her staff. She entered the enclosed part of the chasm and disappeared into the mist. I followed her for a minute until I saw her silhouette in the distance. I moved closer and saw another silhouette – slightly bigger that held a short pointed sword. Muiliel stood still as I ran towards her, snow dust stirring up into the air behind my footsteps. The other silhouette stroke her and Muiliel fell on the ground, dark red blood flowing from her corpse like a wild river. “No! Mu-” The other silhouette disappeared and the whole cave suddenly fell on me. I lost my sight…
Garethred woke up, rubbed his eyes and looked to his left at Muiliel, who was now lying on the same spot for three days straight. Tears welled up in his eyes once more, but he wiped them off and got up, then walked downstairs to the dining room. He sat behind the table, reached out for a piece of bread and a lump of butter. He spread it over the bread and took a bite. He glanced at the empty seat opposite to him and closed his eyes, fighting another urge to cry. He stopped chewing, dropped the bread and got up, walking over to the window and staring outside at the horizon. He stood there idly for ten minutes, thinking about so many things his head felt like blowing up. He then twitched a bit and turned around, storming upstairs into their bedroom. He stopped at the two armour racks, the heavy shining Rivendell Armour to his right and the dim Mirkwood light armour on his left. He hesitated for a while. Should he bring the Mask to the far east? He was risking getting assassinated on his way; northeastern Gondor was scoured by tiny bands of orc, but there were also disguised scouts from Rhun and the Felbeasts. He was also risking the Nazgúl would recognize the threat and follow him; and followers was the last complication he wanted at this stage. But reason was something he lacked. ‘Why not,’ he thought. He tied the boots, leg plates and the leggings over it, buckled his waistband, put the chest plate overhead and tied it together with the shoulder guards. He took the black-green colored cloak with signs of hardship and battle-weariness which he inherited from his grandfather, and pinned it under the shoulder plates so it hung down loosely while being tightly held in piece with the shoulders. He then took the dark brown bear fur he acquired long ago in Forochel and wrapped it around the shoulders and partly his neck, effectively causing it impossible for any of his upper armour parts fall off. He grabbed Ithilmagol, Valamegil, Anthel, his bow and a huge elven quiver filled with light silver-thorn arrows, sheathed his weapons into their right places. He looked at Muiliel for one last time before walking downstairs with the gauntlets in his left hand and the mask in his right, unlocking the entrance door and walking outside, getting further ready to depart.
Nobody, even the guards have not seen him leaving and Malheru was not to be seen either, so rumour spread around Sarngarth that they jumped off a cliff, ending his desperate and troublesome life…
