At Talandil’s bidding, the company passed through Amon Tira on their way south. After searching the fort for any new signs of Orcs or Wargs (and finding none), they set up camp in the ward between the keep and the north wall.
That night, Bowen and The Widow once again dreamed the same dream. In the morning, they related their nightmare to the rest of the company.
A Captain of the Dúnedain steals into one of the bedchambers of Amon Tira in the dead of night. He is pale, and his eyes shine with a chill light. He puts a hand across the mouth of someone sleeping on one of the stone platforms. It is difficult to tell if the person is a man, woman or child. The Dúnadan draws a dagger from his belt and pulls the blade across the person’s throat. He does the same to another sleeping in the chamber.
It is daybreak. The Captain is standing on the roof of the keep. The chill light in his eyes has been replaced with tears. “Oh my dears, what evil have I wrought," he sobs, “It is better this way. I could not bear to see thee in thralldom. Curse Morgoth Bauglir. Curse the Witch-king. We are doomed.” He then throws himself off of the keep and over Amon Tira’s northern wall to tumble broken down the steep rise beyond.
Upon hearing the details of his companions’ nightmare, Duinhir recalled the Lament of Hirgon – a ghost story of sorts in which a Captain of the Dúnedain is driven mad by the Witch-king and made to kill his family. He is then turned into a wraith so that he will live in torment until the end of days. The resemblance to the nightmare seemed to Duinhir to be more than sheer coincidence.
The company left Amon TIra with the impression that a sinister presence lingered there — like a bad memory of which the details have been long forgotten while the feelings have not. They had attributed this to the presence of Grishak Gashnaga and his marauders. They were no longer so sure. Bowen, in fact, had the distinct impression that this sinister presence was what drew the Orcs and Wargs to Amon Tira in the first place.