Faervel was in his office, a room that was far smaller than the king's, but a lot messier although the commander did not show it. He was an elf of action rather than words and that was his drive for this little secret brigade he formed. He was surprised when Glorfindel entered with a frown on his face.

"Did the discussion go well? Or maybe it wasn't about something you expected?" Faervel asked, briefly glancing at the blond elf already having an idea of what was bothering his king.

"It was interestingly odd," was the answer from the former hero as he approached the desk and sat straight across Faervel. "What about you?"

"I am merely a servant to the kingdom and cannot imagine what could have troubled the king so," started Faervel, glancing up at Glorfindel with a sarcastic look. "And yet, there are dangers that are far closer and more dangerous that we should concentrate on." Faervel went straight into the subject. 

"Dol Guldur is swathed in shadow," Glorfindel stated knowingly.

"Indeed," the white-haired commander answered with a nod. 

"What had the king said about your worries?" 

The look that Faervel gave was one of utter disappointment; or maybe not so strongly negative, but the warrior was not content with how the king answered his requests for reinforcement. 

"I believe you did not inform him of the dwarves either?"

"It is not needed as it is not the business of our kin. Dwarves can do as they please," responded Faervel with a frown. "I have been withstanding the ever-growing enemies that seem to not need sleep or food or water because anger is enough. They come at us like arrows at a battalion. I do know what I am talking about, lord Glorfindel."

"I know but do not ignore what happens inside the wooden realm either. Don't risk the lives of your army men, no matter how capable they are. It is better to have them live and fight rather than be killed so close to home by a danger weaker than its true potential." 

Glorfindel had lived and witnessed much in his life span, he was returned to Arda with a purpose and Faervel knew he was a being he could trust with his whole heart. But he was not there, he didn't face the enemy and he did not enter the fortress in order to have felt the heaviness of its power.

"Thorin Oakenshield is set on his journey. He wants to reclaim what is rightfully his." Glorfindel added.

"Erebor...but it has been reigned by the great dragon Smaug for so long. I cannot even remember the times when the dwarves were in charge of the Lonely Mountain." 

"I'm sure Thranduil will. He knows how to keep a grudge." Glorfindel had learned that, especially through his interest in Mistril. "Do not worry yet about the one they call the Necromancer. Fear it only if Mistril arrives. You'll know then what kind of darkness lies inside."

---

"How do you feel?" 

Days were passing quite peacefully in Lothlorien. Legolas was the happiest elf, having the time to do as he pleased and enjoy the companionship of the twins. Gweluven was spending most of his time in the palace, working on a potion that could help Mistril. That was the point of this whole excursion, after all. Miluinir was there to fetch the ingredients and he was there to pin Mistril down in extreme cases. Unfortunately, those cases were growing in number. 

"On your guard, Miluinir," muttered Gweluven taking a step back. 

Mistril seemed alright in the beginning. She would take her potion and then go on long walks with Arwen or Legolas. Their soothing presence was like a painkiller that was administered after every incision. Gweluven never dared touch Mistril while she was taking her medicine, especially because her eyes did turn grey. Celeborn was always there, in the back, ready to interfere if he needed to. 

"I'm fine," was her simple answer. "The concoction is working, you shouldn't worry so much." 

Gweluven glanced at Celeborn and they both agreed silently to let her leave for the moment. 

While she was walking through the labyrinth of halls that made up the basement, her sight became blurry and she leaned against the wall to sustain herself. She closed her eyes and a huge ball of fire appeared before her eyes, making her open them immediately. She swallowed nervously and went to the only place she ever felt like herself: the training grounds. To her bad luck, Illion was there sparring with his comrades. 

"Came to train your arching skills, my lady?" Asked Illion with a raised eyebrow. The antipathy he had for the elleth was because of those two marks on her hands; that was all and yet it was enough. 

But Mistril completely ignored him and went to train by herself. To the amazement of the others, she actually had a sword with her, one that shone in the light blinding all of them. Haldir couldn't believe his eyes.

"I had heard of that sword before but never imagined I'd get to see it with my own eyes."

"What's so great about it?" Asked Illion.

"I heard Gil-galad himself had fought against and got wounded by the Silent Slasher," Haldir explained.

They watched Mistril sway and balance the sword with such ease that he couldn't help but respect the former warrior. 

"That's a lie," she commented once she got back into position. "I never fought Gil-galad. The one I faced was king Oropher and I did not hurt him badly." She finished glancing at them over her shoulder. 

Haldir stared in awe but Illion was a lot harder to impress. 

"What about sparing with me? I'd love to see what the Shadow of Angmar can do."

Haldir shook his head in disagreement. Illion was messing with fire and if lord Celeborn found out he went against his word and caused trouble then who knew how bad the repercussions could be.

---

Illion was a great warrior, a great swordsman in the army of Lothlorien. It was quite obvious he had fought before and knew how to seize up his opponent. The first thing he did was draw his sword and move in a defensive position, having no intention to attack first. He wanted to balance the strength and stamina of the adversary, which was smart in a spare but not in an actual fight. 

"If you are not careful, the enemy will attack from behind," Mistril said, swaying her sword as if it was as light as a feather. She started to circle him as if she was hunting but she didn't attack nor gave the impression she wanted to. 

"What is she doing?" Eloen asked Legolas, both standing aside curious how the fight will unfold.

The word about a friendly fight between one of Lothlorien's best and the washed elleth travelled faster than the wind. Legolas was on a calming stroll when he heard about it and couldn't help but come in a hurry. He had never seen Mistril fight before, not properly, so it was quite new to him too.

Illion was not stupid, he knew she wanted to divert his attention in several places, her voice echoing in the woods. As her pace grew quicker, it became harder to note where she was exactly and once she started to run around him, he had to use his senses merely on finding where her voice was coming from. 

His ears perked as he felt wind around his feet which made him turn and block her attack. It was not as easy as he believed, she attacked and attacked for a few good seconds until he pushed her away. Mistril's eyes narrowed as she took in his form. When her eyes met his she smirked sadistically, as if she foresaw his movements. That expression sent a shiver down his spine but he did not let it show. He ran and hit her, clenching their swords together, hovering over her as she only blocked. Suddenly, she leaned on one leg and let herself down on the other, and turned so that she kicked him in the side. He fell, the power of her kick being far stronger than he expected. As he got up and jumped out of her way, Illion realized she was no longer playing around. He clenched the hill of his sword and blocked and fought as if he was going against a well-trained orc. It was difficult because she was fast and every time he had the chance to injure her, she'd either stoop and kick him or use the trees around to jump out of danger. As he pushed her hard on the ground and got ready to attack, she looked up at him and he froze. 

"Lady Mistril?" He asked but she only growled. 

Their swords clenched together as she didn't let him untangle from their metallic bind one second. She seemed to draw power from his stress and fear. Her movements were so silent and fluid, he could only back away and hope to find the right time to swing her back.

Legolas frowned as he watched closely. Something was off. She wasn't so keen on fighting before so why was she pushing her adversary into a real battle?

Illion couldn't believe how her demeanor changed. The strength she had in her sword was enough to break his and if that were to happen, she might as well kill him. But his sword somehow managed to stay whole and he tried several times to throw hers away. They were entangled in swords again when she loosened her grip and head-hit him really hard, making him lose his balance for a moment. That was enough for her to kick him in the chest and pin him down. 

The worst part was not the position he found himself in but that pair of eyes staring down at him. They were black and her whole face seemed...odd. 

"Mistril! That's enough!" 

Legolas was not enough to get her to calm down. Illion's eyes widened when she grabbed a knife from her belt and brought it to his neck. He swallowed as she leaned in and breathed on his lips. Looking so close into those dark eyes was just as terrifying as looking at a Nazgul.

She was genuinely going to kill him, he could feel the tip brush his skin when someone came and pushed her off. Legolas grabbed her and pinned her on the ground, forcing her to look into his eyes, which she seemed not to like. 

"Mistril, look at me! It's Legolas. It's me. You're among friends." He whispered hoping he could get to her.

Mistril squirmed harder and she started to scream. It was a horrid sight not just for him but for everyone watching. She kicked him hard and tried to grab her second knife but Legolas blocked her arm and forced her to roll on her chest. 

"I don't want to hurt you. Please." 

She stopped moving but glanced at him over her shoulder and glared. 

"You're too late, little prince." She replied in the most gruesome voice possible for an elf.

That was enough for Legolas to realize something more extreme had to be done. So he punched her hard. She laughed as bits of blood rushed down her lip.

"Do you think I will give in so easily? I am the Shadow of Angmar, Sauron's silent assassin. You cannot win a fight against me." She said her voice so dark and yet sounding so empty.

Illion got up slowly, realizing she actually broke his leg in the process.  

"Come back to me, Mistril. We are all friends here. We are family." Legolas tried once more.

"Mistril!" Arwen's voice came rippling through the voices all around her. "Think about him. Think about your light." 

Mistril froze as memories flooded her mind. The darkness was indeed numbed by his face alone. A memory from such a long time was stronger than any medicine.

Legolas waited a bit more until he let her free. Once she rolled on her back and looked up at him. Her eyes were grey but at least she regained control. 

"Let's take her to lord Celeborn before anything else happens."