Act VI
As the days turned into weeks, the Black Númenóreans become more settled into their new home. The abandoned houses which they inhabit are now known as the 'Black Quarter' amongst the citizenry, for indeed though they struggle against the evil which permeated their souls and colored every fiber of their being, the Black Númenóreans still exude an air of dread, waxing and waning according to mood and task and their seemingly ceaseless war against their own selves. They shed all names in that they carried in the tongue of Númenor or in the Black Speech, and the evil devices they carried with them were destroyed. The sacrificial daggers were melted down and the slag poured into the Anduin at Osgiliath, for the Men of Minas Tirith feared the evil that was wound into the blades. They did away wholly with the custom of painting their faces and coloring their hair, learning to honor their natural appearances as they were intended by Eru, and to let these features be shown; manes of rich colors from the fairest to the darkest instead of dirty, matted strands of unnatural hues contrived by the hands of the living in Mordor. They donned other colors of clothing instead of wearing naught save black, and adorned themselves with many deep and rich tones, the hues of gems and the earth itself. Always they endeavored to imitate the nobles of the past in speech, manner, and dress, and spent much time deep in research of sunken Númenor and her ways. They studied greatly the Eldar as well, for their ancestors were friends of the Elves in the days ere the coming of Sauron to the Land of Gift, and the Black Númenóreans sought to restore the knowledge and respect of the Firstborn in their hearts, heretofore devoid for ages of all love.
Over the passage of days, the Black Númenóreans became more their own kindred, and though they did not scorn the folk of Gondor oft did they shun social company, save for what few friends they made among the people of Denethor. More often time was spent in their own company, and slowly did they learn to enjoy drink and song again, but not the crass songs and carnal dances of their years in Mordor, but rather those culled from the preserved past of Gondor's warrior and rural classes. Also they learned what few songs of the Rohirrim and the Eldar that were recorded on sundry scrolls or kept alive in the taverns and farmsteads of the Pelennor, and nightly they used these weapons, drink and dance, to drive back the gloom that invaded each of their hearts. They wandered the streets and many levels of Minas Tirith, though they were not permitted to pass through the Gates without Denethor's leave. They took great pleasure in the Citadel, that fairest of all cities of Men that remained in Middle-earth, and found in it great inspiration. Long would they walk, alone or in twos or threes or fours under the great arches, and gaze up at the high spires and lofty buttresses, and lose themselves in the adornments the folk of Gondor hung from their homes, or hewed in the rock of their buildings, or carved in stone and placed in the streets. In these expressions of their kin they were ever pulled away from Mordor, and the hatred of such things that Sauron instilled in them for so long. In the quiet sunlight, the soft breezes that stole through the levels of the city, and the songs of birds that fluttered overhead, the Black Númenóreans felt themselves drift further and further from the Black Lands, and they learned to love beauty and goodness for their own sake. In those days, though they were ever grim and stoic, it was said that they were like slow-blooming flowers, nourished by the light of Gondor, and they were coming into full blossom, though it would be long in the working.
The Black Númenóreans often turned to each other for further comforts, and in time couples could be seen strolling the streets of Minas Tirith, warriors and witches, maethorim and gúlhírilim, as they did off their old lives and put on the new. Learning to find more in each other than only carnal pleasure, many of the Black Númenóreans rose, though at very slow pace, in the arts of love, and despite great confusion and much stumbling along the way, listened to this voice of their blood, which cried softly yet perhaps amongst the strongest of all voices. For their example they again turned to Taurmarth and Anírorien, who were oft seen together when not at their duties, and who remained in the same house in which they first wept together so long ago, upon first coming to the White City. He once known as the Dagrothor of the Great Towers and she once known as the Daer Gúlhíril of Mordor seemed to draw close, and indeed they came to share much affection between them, closeness and affection that little went unnoticed by their kin.
In time, more and more of their number were chosen to perform special service to Gondor. Many of the warriors and draughelethrim went off with the Rangers and patrolled Ithilien, or led raids deep into enemy territory, guided by those of the Black Númenóreans who knew the secrets of the Black Land. Many caravans of reinforcements to Mordor were ambushed and slain, and foiled were the plans of the Enemy, until the Eye was able to muster enough force to repel the Rangers and drive them further back from Mordor, and Gondor came to hold only Ithilien after a time. The women of the Black Númenóreans began to enter the service of the Houses of Healing, though slowly and only after careful choice, and were instructed in kinder arts. These they were all too willing to accept, for in despair did many of their hearts linger after facing the full truth of their deeds in Mordor, and they strove to rise in skill and favor in the Houses. They learned all manner of herblore and healing arts, and some even began to study the concept of magical song, of the sort contrived by the Eldar in the ancient days of the world. The menfolk who did not go with the Rangers instead entered the service of the White Tower, and took upon them the livery of the Tower Guard, yet were held to no oaths, being not thought worthy of the privilege of being sworn to Gondor's service, only being held bound by their desire to make amends for their crimes and the generosity of Denethor in permitting so. Mithrandir had part to play in this, and urged Denethor to hold them to no oaths, since theirs would be a special fate, as he perceived, and if they were so sworn, they would perhaps have to add oathbreaking one day to the list of ills they labor to redress. So Denethor suffered Mithrandir's desire, yet regarded him with suspicion, ever pondering the true designs of the Grey Pilgrim when all alone on the Seat of the Steward.
Often did Mithrandir mingle with the Black Númenóreans, and only he it was who would stride so boldly into their Quarter and speak to them of things unguessed at. The greatest interest he took in Taurmarth, for it was he who became the leader of this folk in both exile and service, and it was he who so often rose to speak for them in the hall of Denethor or gather them together and give what encouragement and love he could in those dark times. And Taurmarth came to love his kin indeed, turning himself ever to the natural inclinations of his ancestors, and he provided much guidance to his brethren in this. Mithrandir took note, yet interfered little, confident in the Wolfheart to perform his office of sorts with honor. He also took interest in Anírorien, for she was close to Taurmarth, and though she ever bore the same air of dread her kin bore, she grew in trust within the Houses, and the ladies of Gondor loved her and those of her sisters who lent their service there. Yet Mithrandir would not long stay in the White City and, taking counsel with himself alone, one day he sped off, indicating not whither. The Gondorians and the Black Númenóreans were both at loss to explain his actions, and went about their duties regardless. The months grew into years, and the Black Númenóreans did in time attain a measure of honor in the sight of the Men of Gondor, yet little did their dread abate, and ever they walked half in the shadows and half in the light, unable to recover further from their trials and possession.
And for a time all was routine, the Black Númenóreans performing their services and the Gondorians accepting them. Then, one day, Mithrandir came to the White City. He did not appear before the Seat of Denethor, for Mithrandir went in haste, and once within the City was joined by a companion who had stolen into Minas Tirith and lay in wait for the Grey Wanderer to arrive. Together, they made their way to the Black Quarter, to the house wherein dwelt Taurmarth and Anírorien. There, Mithrandir made certain of secrecy, and bade the two Black Númenóreans swear their first oath to one not of their own kindred, and that was not to reveal what they should see or be told here to any Gondorian, not even the Lord Denethor, not even were he to summon them before his Seat in wrath. To this Taurmarth and Anírorien agreed, after careful counsel between them, and Mithrandir indicated his guest to Taurmarth and asked him to identify him. Taurmarth examined the stranger intently and yet could not give a response, save that he appeared as a Ranger, perhaps of the wandering Northern Folk, despite his tall stature and the fair cloak within which he was utterly concealed. Mithrandir then bade his guest reveal himself, which he did, astounding Taurmarth and Anírorien, for before them stood one of the Eldar of which they had thought wholly passed from Middle-earth. The Elf spoke and identified himself as Glorfindel of Imladris, and of Gondolin of the ancient past, foe to Morgoth and all his ilk, and friend to Elves and Men and all folk of good will. Unable to accept Glorfindel's claim as much as they could not deny that the Eldar were wholly gone from Middle-earth as they once believed, Taurmarth and Anírorien questioned Glorfindel at length, and Glorfindel and Mithrandir offered much to sway their hearts. Having been a friend to the Númenóreans when the Land of Gift was still fair and noble, Glorfindel had much wisdom and knowledge he could pass to the Black Númenóreans as they endeavor to attain to the honor of their ancestors, so Mithrandir sped to Rivendell after the Black Númenóreans were given shelter in the White City, and pleaded their case with him. Glorfindel agreed, and so came in secret to Minas Tirith, to offer all he could to aid in the struggle against Sauron. Mithrandir was in need of haste, and after some words more between them all, he concealed himself and and departed, again not telling his purpose or destination to them. He only said that he will return for them one day, and on that day they and all their folk must follow, for the doom of all the world will be near, and perhaps also their chance for vengeance. Also, a token will be given to Taurmarth when the Black Númenóreans gather for war against Mordor, a token of great power to aid him in the final battle-till then, Glorfindel will aid the Black Númenóreans, but in the uttermost secret. Glorfindel also concealed himself in his Elven cloak and departed, promising to return soon, but always unlooked-for.
Taurmarth and Anírorien were reluctant to reveal this to their kin, but slowly did, for the coming of Mithrandir was no secret to either the Black Númenóreans or to Denethor, who also demanded an explanation. To their kindred Taurmarth and Anírorien explained that Mithrandir will help them work their revenge on the Eye, and that they must now live in waiting, for the Grey Pilgrim will come one day and they must all leave with him, for the doom of the world will be at hand. Knowing all too well what doom their former master has intended for the world, the Black Númenóreans agreed to abide by Mithrandir's call when it should come, honoring Taurmarth and Anírorien's oath of silence. But to Denethor they would not reveal anything, citing Mithrandir's oath as reason, and Denethor was wrathful, especially at Mithrandir for counseling him to not bind the Black Númenóreans to oath but now coming in the night, in secret, to swear them to secrets upon their word. He dismissed them from his sight, commanding them to never swear oath to Mithrandir again, though he should ride with all the Nine at his back. Taurmarth and Anírorien departed from the Hall of Denethor, and though their pride was wounded, they challenged not the Steward of the City, knowing that the next step all Black Númenóreans must take will be shown them by the Grey Pilgrim. Though they may fight for Gondor again one day, Gondor has nothing more that will help them, and now firmly resolved were they to leave when the wizard came.
Time passed and Mithrandir did not return. The Black Númenóreans went about their duties as ever they did, though noticing the greater scrutiny of Denethor, who became less tolerant of them in Minas Tirith, regarding them more as aliens and less as of the same race. Denethor summoned them never again to his Hall, and sent no word to them for long months, concealing himself within his Tower and turning a blind eye to them. From time to time, and never delaying long between visits, Glorfindel returned ever and anon to the Black Númenóreans, speaking to them of lore and wisdom, of Númenor in its glory, of the art of Elven song, and of the tidings of the world without. Through him, the Black Númenóreans learned of the movements of Sauron's forces, the dangers growing in Taur-e-Ndaedelos, the woodland realm called Mirkwood by Men, and of the Elven fastnesses of Lórien and his home of Imladris, which Men call Rivendell. Glorfindel also taught the Black Númenóreans about the Valar and Valinor, whence he was born in the Years of the Trees, and whither his spirit went to rest following his death at the hands of a Balrog of Morgoth during the Fall of Gondolin. Over time, Glorfindel even brought the Black Númenóreans in small groups to Elostirion, to behold the ancient palantír of Arnor which rested there; though this Seeing Stone, the Black Númenóreans saw the fullness of the lies Sauron had poured into their ears and the truth of Middle-earth-that the uttermost West did exist, and as they each and all set eyes on Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, they knew their rebellion was not in vain. Glorfindel also intstucted the Black Númenóreans about Eru Ilúvatar and the truth about the nature of The One, in stark contrast to the lies of Sauron, who taught that Eru was a myth conjured by extinct Elves and rebellious Men, to ensnare those would would live free and strong. Through Glorfindel, the Black Númenóreans grew in understanding such as no amount of time in the libraries of Minas Tirith could ever afford, and due to him, they grew to become more like their Númenórean forebears than they realized, or would admit to.
One day, Boromir son of Denethor made ready to ride out from the City, and told Taurmarth that he was seeking Rivendell, and the legendary House of Elrond, but would not reveal why, for he swore to keep his quest secret. Taurmarth bade him farewell, and spoke of this to Anírorien and to Glorfindel, both of whom were certain that the hour of the Black Númenóreans was drawing nigh, and that the world was coming to an end. Their words rang true as the lands about Gondor grew more deadly; Osgiliath was assailed relentlessly, rumor came to Minas Tirith of treason committed by Saruman at Isengard, and of war in Rohan. Blackest among the news was that of the death of Boromir, and Faramir came bearing his broken horn, and before it all the Black Númenóreans wept, lord and lady alike.
Then, in the gloom of a quiet night, Glorfindel stole into the City, and Mithrandir came with him, in fulfillment of his promise. Though cloaked in grey, to Taurmarth Mithrandir seemed as if he were younger and with greater vigor and health, but he asked not into it. Mithrandir told him that the time was come, and indeed he was late in the coming, so haste must be made. When he left, Taurmarth and Anírorien took counsel together and accepted, though with heavy heart, the appointed hour of their leaving of the White City, the place of their reborn strength, and went in the uttermost secret to their folk and told them the news. Guided and aided by Glorfindel, through secret ways the Black Númenóreans slowly took leave of Minas Tirith, and their progress was hampered not, for the arts of manipulation were not forgotten by the Ladies of the Black Númenóreans, and in this dark hour they turned all their ancient and fell skill into the fulfillment of their oath to Mithrandir. They took hidden paths they learned during their years in the White City, ways hewn into the very rock of Mindolluin, a labyrinth of guarded corridors though which they were permitted to pass unchecked, until they left the Mountain and made for where Mithrandir commanded them to go the moment they were free of the City.
