The Last Ringbearer

Prologue

Eastern Forodwaith, 2771 Third Age

The wind howled in the distance, blowing the storm ever closer. Saradhan knew she would reach her destination by the time it arrived, but the sight of the wind ripping up the snow still unnerved her. Even with her thick hooded cloak she could feel the icy gusts against her skin. He turned her gaze back to the mountain and whipped the reins of her horse, the creature responding with a whinny before walking on through the snow. Up ahead the great peak was dotted with hundreds of glowing lights, a beacon of civilization in an otherwise desolate wasteland.

As Saradhan approached the mountain, its mighty walls, carved from what were once its lower slopes, came into view. Yet even these paled in comparison to the monstrous monolith they surrounded: The Mighty Citadel of Kholoh Bulnd. They reminded her of what the Great Master had said of the great effort it had taken to change this place into the fortress it was today. How every one of the hundreds of tunnels had been carefully planned. How they'd had to build an entire drainage system for the springtime melt, and a system to melt the snow for water using the mountain's own internal fire. Yet, despite all the challenges, she wasn't surprised he'd managed to complete it. The Great Master had a will of iron.

Saradhan reached the mighty gate and the guards ordered it open. The rider entered the fortress and dismounted letting one of the servants take her steed to the stables. As she walked through the many corridors of the citadel, she passed men and women from many corners of the earth. There were Easterlings from Rhun, local tribesmen from the snowy plains and peoples from the lands beyond the Red Mountains. Most noticeably of all, though, were the Dwarves. Though they were outnumbered by humans, this place felt like their home above all others.

After a while Saradhan came to the great iron doors that guarded his chamber. She paused for a moment, readying herself to talk with her master, unsure of how he would take her news. She sighed quietly and then entered the long corridor, with a door on either side, about halfway along. At the end of the hall was a large stone throne, but The Great Master was not sat on it.

"Over here!" a gruff voice called from the left door.

The messenger turned, walked towards the entrance and opened the door.

"Master," she said, bowing slightly.

"Close the door then," he responded.

Saradhan looked up. He was facing away from her, His short and stocky frame silouted against the roaring fire on the other side of the room. A wooden desk in the centre separated them.

She did as she was instructed and then turned back round to face him.

"Well?" he asked, not turning round.

"The armies of the Black Serpent continue to grow, my Master," Saradhan began. "They continue to crush any resistance to Sauron in Harad. The Emperor of Rhun has died, his son Gashvad III has taken the throne, a strong leader by most measures."

"So, the Dark Lord Sauron becomes yet more powerful," The Lord of Kholoh Bulnd responded, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. And still the elves flee. Cowardly bastards! This world needs strong leaders… if only I could make them see that."

The Dwarf paused for a moment.

"Is there any indication that Sauron is going to move against the Red Mountains?"

"Not as such, my Master. Though there is also no rumours that he doesn't plan to attack them. The armies of the great enemy are moving, and Rhun still has a great army that he could deploy anywhere. The Red Mountains are as likely a target as Gondor or Mirkwood or even Dorwinion."

The Great Master let out a long sigh.

Saradhan gulped.

"There is one important piece of news though, my Master. Concerning… the Longbeards."

"Durins folk?" he grumbled. "The thieves of Gundabad? The ones that let the holy mountain slip into the hands of the Orcs!? What new treachery have they plotted this time?"

"None, my Master, but Erebor… it's fallen."

"What?"

"A dragon has come, and forced them out of the mountain, and claimed their treasure pile. They've fled to the Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills."

"First they try and claim Gundabad for themselves, and the Orcs force them out. Then they try and claim all the Mithril in Moria, and a Balrog forces them out. Grey Mountains, Cold-Drakes, and now Erebor and a Dragon…"

The Dwarf chuckled.

"And they say Durin's line is the most glorious of the Dwarven Clans."

"My Master," Saradhan said cautiously. "If we strike at Erebor now, we could try and force the Dragon out, we have a few thousand warriors here – "

"A few thousand corpses against a Dragon!" he boomed. "Believe me…"

The Great Master turned to face Saradhan, revealing his elderly, but strong face. On his left side, however, his sculpted features gave way to hideous burn scars, along with an eyepatch.

"I would know," he concluded.

"Then what, My Master?"

"We start the plan," the Lord smiled.

"Master?"

"The plan! Erebeor has fallen which means the Longbeards are in disarray! If we attack the Lonely Mountain, we'll have to face a Dragon and every other faction wanting to claim it. Besides, I never wanted control of that realm. It was never under my line's control. No, I want to reclaim what's rightfully mine. We'll turn this place into a true fortress and then find any other mineral hotspots this frozen tundra has to offer. We need to recruit and equip every last warrior we can find. We'll need mercenaries, lost souls tribes in need of a ruler, adventurers and anyone who has a gripe against the current… governors of the Red Mountains. It's time I went home and took my rightful place again. They'll rue the day they ever banished me, if my name isn't Grondhar Ironfist, last of Dwarven ringbearers!"