Northwest of Dunland
March, 3015 T.A.

     Círjin suddenly dropped to the dusty earth, "Get down!" Moonlight from the silvery half disc that floated above a thin veil of clouds shimmered down upon the cold, arid landscape. "I can smell them. There getting close."
In the dust beside the Ranger lay another, but pain had twisted the tall warrior into a groaning curled lump. A black slick of blood spilled out upon the hard packed ground beneath him. Even enough of a pool for the moon to be reflected within it.
     "Your wound is bad." Said Círjin flatly.
     "It’s nothing." defended the fiery Ranger named Mathros. "Bind it, and I’ll be fine."
     "Oh, I’ll bind it," added Círjin as he wrestled the pack from his back and began digging within, "but you won’t live to see the dawn if I cannot heal it. And I cannot heal it without the other Moonstone. We must recover it."
     "Just bind the wound!" Barked Mathros.
     After Círjin had cleaned the wound with water from his waterskin and tightly wrapped a strip of fabric, torn from the hem of his cloak, around Mathros’ abdomen he sat up and peered through a prickly bush into the dark distance. "We would be dead now if not for your sword work, Mathros. And the Orcs would still have both Moonstones."
    "Well, my work did not prevent me from getting a belly full of Orc steel." Mathros pressed his left hand firmly against the bandage that blossomed red beneath his palm. "But at least they don’t have this." He patted a dark blue leather pouch that hung from his sword belt. "One Stone alone is pretty, but powerless."
    "We can never allow them to get both." Círjin drew the sword from the scabbard across his back and laid the steel upon the ground beside him. "They will never stop tracking us until they have both. They won’t stop. Out numbered and you wounded, we don’t have many options. But I do have an idea, but it is desperate."
     Mathros groaned into a sitting position. The Ranger’s face had turned an ashen white and his lips had drained to slits of pale flesh, "What is it?"
     "It is very risky, but I think it is our only chance."

     "I want his helmet!" Hissed the dark form as he kicked the dead Orc over and snatched the bucket shaped helmet from the corpse. The small image of a white hand was painted crudely upon it’s brow.
     "I said I wanted it Nûk, you filthy maggot!" A black, blood soaked scimitar was held high above the Orc’s head as if to strike. "I be the leader of this stinking outfit, and I claims it!"
     "Have it then, Shagûta!" Nûk kicked the helmet past the other Orc defiantly, "You may be the leader, but you better be thinkin’ of me when yer back is turned, ape!"
     Greedily stuffing the rusted helmet onto his hairy head Shagûta shouted, "Hey Migk, them bleedin’ whiteskins is out there somewhere! Get all the boys over here, I got plans. It ain’t no good only havin’ one of them bright bobbles. The Master was very plain! Both Stones or your heads. We ain’t going back until we got `em both!"
     "Where should I put the stone we already got, Shagûta? It burns my hand to touch it?"
     "I don’t care, you just watch it and see that them whiteskins don’t get it!"

     The soft blue glow of the Moonstone could still be seen in the distance, shining like a faint blue star upon the barren plain. Círjin had left the Stone upon the crest of an earthen mound and it shown forth brightly. As the two Rangers crept away Mathros struggled to keep his feet. "I hope this plan, as you call it, works" The Ranger coughed as he labored after Círjin. "Master Elrond will sorely miss the Stones. I don’t suppose Elrohir and Elladan will think to look this far south, I shan’t think they will be coming."
     "No, I don’t suppose so. Nor should we expect any of our folk. We were sent furthest to the south."
     "Where do you think the Fists are from Hollin and Dunland? Those Rangers ought to be nearby."
     "I don’t know, but I haven’t seen any sign of them so far."
     "It seems to me that we have left the Moonstone out there for the taking."
     "We have." Whispered Círjin. "That is precisely the plan. We cannot hope to find the other Stone in time to save you. So I plan to let the Orcs lead us to it. We know the host is still north of us and once they get that Stone we’ve left back there I’m certain they will hasten down this trail with the other jewel in hand. There we will be waiting." Turning to look back at his dying brother, Círjin continued, "You know you still might have to fight."
     "I can take a few with me." Grinned Mathros, pale and wan.
Soon Círjin and Mathros were concealed upon either side of the narrow trail, dark and silent. After a time, shadowy shapes began to pass toward them from the north. Círjin tightened his grip upon Fordring his sword and clenched his teeth in anticipation. He hoped that Mathros could hold on a while longer. Círjin knew that if he could get both Stones together he could quickly heal Mathros and then they could easily loose the Orc band in the wilderness. Time was a greater foe than the Orcs.
     Though the goblins were following the trail they were not using it and were creeping in the spiky, brittle bushes directly off the path. Just as Círjin made ready to spring upon the trail a lone Orc broke from cover behind him and dashed away south. A bright blue glow radiated from the black hand as it scampered through the brush.
     Instantly Círjin sprang from his hiding place and bound after the black figure. Heedlessly the Ranger crashed through the underbrush, jumping the fissures that opened in the ground and dodging the stunted, gnarled trees that littered the landscape. Ten paces ahead the Orc sped before him with wild abandon, knowing that death pursued him. Suddenly another Orc rose from the ground directly in the Ranger’s path. Without slowing Círjin dealt two blows as he passed, the first ringing off of the Orc’s blade, the second sinking into black flesh.
     Five paces now separated the Ranger from the Orc, but in the distance Círjin could make out a hole in the ground. The Orc veered abruptly and dashed for the opening. Without thinking Círjin jumped for the Orc, knowing that if the enemy passed into the small hole he would be gone. Flying through the air the Ranger lunged with his sword and felt the elven blade slice through the enemy’s hamstring. With a crashing tumble both man and Orc fell in a heap even as they rolled over the hole. Círjin recovered quickly and leaping upon the Orc finished him with a thrust between the ribs.
     There, glowing in an lifeless hand, lay the other Stone, blue and bright. Snatching it up Círjin turned and quickly pried the second out of the dead Orc’s other hand. A moment later the Ranger disappeared into the cover of the brush even as several other Orcs arrived.

     "Curse and blast you all! Who was guarding our stone?" Screamed Shagûta as he began to hack apart the dead Orc’s body with his scimitar.
     "It’s was him, boss!" Quaked another Orc, "It was Nûk! He musta seed the other one glowin’ out there and ran for it himself."
     "Find the bleedin’ whiteskin! Find him or I’ll cut each of you!" Blasted Shagûta.
     "He’s got to be right around here!" Shouted Migk as he thrust his blade into a nearby bush.
     "Git out there and find him!" Bellowed Shagûta. "We ain’t going back to the Master empty handed!"

     When Círjin returned to Mathros’s hiding place he found him unconscious and laying as still as death. A faint, ragged breath whispered from the fallen Ranger’s lips.
     "We must move." Círjin gently tried to get his brother to sit. "We cannot stay here. Come on Mathros, there is a stone ruin not far. I passed it as I pursued the Orc. Any chance we have, we will have there."
     The Ranger groaned though his eyes did not open. Half dragging and half crawling, Círjin moved Mathros from his cover across an open space of ground to the base of the ruined stone wall. It had once been the foundation of a homestead but had long ago been abandoned and now stood cold and forgotten. Three walls of chest high stone formed a broken barrier and gave a semblance of cover. However, even as Círjin situated his dying brother against what once had been the fireplace, a sudden movement from above forced him to leap back and unsheathe his sword.
     Standing atop the broken stone wall a large shadow blotted out the half moon.
     "Come down and die." Bade Círjin in a soft, cold voice.
     "By you?" Chuckled the shadow as it leapt down into the ruin.
     "Arachil!" Replied Círjin. "Against all hope? How come you here? Are you alone?"
     "I am alone and like you out looking for the Stones. When the Orcs waylaid the couriers from Círdan and took the Moonstones before they reached Imladris, Halbarad sent word for me to look for them in the south. But I was out beyond the White Downs in West Farthing. I only recently got the muster and have flown down the Greenway. You boys are from the North Farthing, are you not? How is it that you are so far south?
     "We had just arrived in Rivendell for a fortnight respite, when the word reached the Vale. We were the first sent out."
"What has befallen your brother? Mathros seems to have taken a rough one?"
     "He is even now in the throws of death. Here, help me! I have recovered the Moonstones and can yet save him! Stand watch while I work the Stones."
     "The morn is coming. See the light growing in the east? The Orcs will be forced to seek cover from the sun soon."
"That may help you and I, Arachil," Replied Círjin as he laid the wounded Ranger’s body straight, "But not Mathros. With the coming of the sun the Moonstone’s power will fade. Hurry!"
     At that moment an Orc screamed as it sprang atop of the stone barrier and waved it’s black blade around the night sky. Arachil rushed to confront it and he too leapt upon the wall. The sound of many Orcs now carried from beyond and Círjin was forced to leave his brother and defend the ruin.
     Círjin dashed around the inside of the wall stabbing and thrusting, hacking and slashing to keep the Orcs back. Arachil was all consumed for the Orc he battled was of great skill and kept the Ranger dancing and slashing. Even though the Rangers managed to hold off the advances of the Orcs, Círjin knew that time was killing his brother and that eventually enough Orcs would arrive so that all would be lost. But even as Círjin stumbled back, taking a hard blow across his handguard, he heard a great ringing sound from behind him. Turning he beheld Mathros, who had somehow come to his feet, swing his sword high and hard so that it met the weapon of an Orc that had climbed the wall. The blow smote the sword of the Orc and with a great blinding flash of sparks, broke the weapon asunder. The Orc fell back and disappeared beyond the wall and Mathros fell silently to the earth at the foot of the barrier. The tone hung lovely in the air and sounded like that of silver bell stuck lightly by a silver hammer. As though called forth, the sun suddenly blazed in the east and shot rays across the ruin. Blinded, the Orcs were scattered and were sent scattering for cover.
     Arachil brought his bloodied sword back down to Círjin, having run his Orc through as the sound filled the ruin. "You might want to attend to Mathros, he seems to need it."
     "Drag him into the shade of the wall!" Commanded Círjin.
     "Is it not too late for that?" Questioned Arachil as he helped move Mathros’s body. "The sun is up?"
     "Look," Barked Círjin as he took the Stones from the leather pouch and began rolling them together within his palm. "The moon is also out. Perhaps there is yet enough light to work the Moonstones."
     The spheres rotated within Círjin’s palm and a heat began to build as the blue light of the Stones grew and his hand began to burn. When the glow and pain became unbearable Círjin thrust the Stones down onto the wound. Mathros shuddered and groaned and the wound suddenly smoked with a faint blue vapor. Screaming, Mathros convulsed and when he suddenly went limp again Círjin removed the Moonstones.
     "Is he gone?" Questioned Arachil.
     "I think not, look at the wound."
     Where the skin had been torn and lacerated, it was now enclosed and bright pink flesh stretched over the area, whole and clean.
     "It’s healed!" Marveled Arachil.
     "He will be fine." Replied Círjin as he studied his own hand and found it unaffected by the Stone’s power. "The Moonstone’s heat is healing and will stop any bleeding. They also speed up the wound’s mending by weeks. You can see why they are very valuable heirlooms in Círdan’s realm."
     "How is it that you know how to work their power?"
     "When I was first sent abroad I was Warded with Ingarion who oversaw the eastern foothills of Ered Luin. So, I spent some time in Mithlond and saw the Stones often used to heal. I have, in fact, seen their effects first hand. Mathros will heal, he simply needs a bed and few days rest."
     "Indeed. I have my horse picketed not far off. He can ride and if we hurry we can get back near Rivendell by nightfall."
"So be it! This chase has striped the Shire of it’s guard. We all need to get back! "