The Year 2850 of the Third Age

"Gandalf!"

The wizard turned at the sound of his common name, and frowned as a seemingly young Elf came running up behind him.

"Númeniel, I thought I told you to stay in Thranduil's halls," Gandalf said sternly. "You know that this is a dangerous mission."

Númeniel rolled her eyes. "You can't expect me to sit in that stuffy treehouse all day while you go around doing the interesting stuff. I'm not a child."

"How long have you been following me?"

Númeniel chewed her lower lip in thought. "Well, I've been tracking you since morning, and it's nearly noon now."

"Númeniel, I did not agree for you to come with me this far. Going alone was dangerous. What would your mother say?"

Númeniel drew herself up as straight as she could, her face growing somber. "She has the fire of an Istar inside her," she said, adopting a solemn tone so similar to Galadriel's that it made Gandalf smile, "but that fire alone does not equate to any skill on the battlefield. Should she fall, it would be too great a blow to my husband and I, as well as our people. I would expect you to look after her as much as I would expect her to be careful."

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, come along, then- if you are careful." He turned around and resumed his steady pace. Númeniel ran to fully catch up, her eyes fixed on the place to which they were heading.

Dol Guldur.

"How did you sneak away?" Gandalf asked her curiously, after they had walked in silence for a while. "The Mirkwood Elves may lack wisdom, but certainly are not lacking in vigilance."

"You forget that I grew up in the trees, Gandalf," Númeniel said with a laugh. "If I truly wish to go somewhere, and there are trees in abundance, it will be difficult to find me, let alone stop me."

"We will have to stop by on the return journey and assure Thranduil that you found me safely."

"Why?" Númeniel asked, bending to pick up an acorn on the ground. It was rotted through, however, and she curled up her lip in disgust before she threw it far into the trees. "The Elven halls are out of our way, if we still plan to visit Rhosgobel afterwards."

"That is true," Gandalf admitted. "I suppose I shall simply have Radagast convey a note with a bird messenger of some sort."

"Unnecessary," Númeniel quipped. "I say we drop the topic. Thranduil will discover that I live, one way or another."

Gandalf smiled. "Although you aren't supposed to be here, I must confess I'm enjoying your company."

"Well," she said, returning the smile, "thank you."

"But remember- we must be silent when we enter the ruins," Gandalf added, becoming stern again. "We don't know what could be in there- it would be best not to alert unfriendly eyes to our presence."

"What exactly do you expect to find in there?" Númeniel asked, glancing again at the ominous structure they were approaching.

"I'm not sure," Gandalf muttered. "Answers, I hope."


It was dark in the fortress of Dol Guldur- even creepy. Númeniel's eyes were wider than Gandalf had seen them for centuries.

"Be on your guard," he whispered, once they had cleared the front gate, "and stay close to me."

"I thought you said we were supposed to be quiet," Númeniel retorted. Gandalf shot her an annoyed look, which earned him a teasing grin in return. But he knew that she knew it was not really a laughing matter, and she stuck close to him as requested.

The stone pillars all around them were cracked and overgrown with moss. Thorny vines grew in the archways, and there was a heaviness in the air that made the shadows seem even larger and darker. As they moved further in and down the various half-destroyed passages, every small sound they made seemed magnified.

Númeniel gave Gandalf a wide-eyed look that seemed to say: there is some great evil here.

He nodded slowly- he could feel it too. In fact, it felt almost as if they were being watched. As is to be expected, he told himself. Candles in the dark will attract moths, and goodness knows what else.

They came out into an open area, with passages leading in several directions from it. There was no sunlight to show them a clear path- the sky above was darkened with clouds, but there was no thunder or rain. Númeniel glanced at all the passages around them which led out of the open space. Then she turned to Gandalf, an expectant look on her face.

Gandalf looked down each passage, trying to discern which way was best to go.

In the passage to the right of them, something moved.

Númeniel suppressed a squeak and darted to the other side of Gandalf. Something had moved in the shadows. It had been quick and silent, but they had both seen it, running down the path before disappearing behind the wall. It could have been an orc, or a warg.

Or something worse.

Númeniel felt her heart beating like a drum in her breast, and she saw Gandalf grip his staff tightly, pointing it towards the passage in which they had seen the scampering creature. Númeniel hesitated as Gandalf stepped towards it, then glanced towards the passage from which they had come.

And the creature came barreling out of it.

It was shaggy and gray, screaming with a voice that had gone hoarse long ago. Númeniel's own scream died in her throat, and she threw herself back as the creature lunged for her.

Fortunately, Gandalf had turned around by then, and the creature's advance was halted as the wizard stepped in front of it and thrust his staff into its chest. The creature was thrown backward by the power of Gandalf's staff, and Númeniel picked herself up from where she had fallen, unharmed, behind Gandalf.

"WHAT ARE YOU?" Gandalf boomed, keeping his staff pointed at the small shaggy creature, who was lying on its back and staring up at the sky.

The creature only panted hard and didn't move.

"Gandalf, don't hurt him," Númeniel said quietly, putting a hand restrainedly on his arm. "He was led by fear, not reason."

The wizard kept his staff level with the creature, but nodded, and they both approached warily. Now that they both looked closer, they realized that this was not just a mere creature.

It was a dwarf.

He was aged considerably, and his beard had become long, gray, and very unkempt.

"What is your name?" Gandalf asked, still firm, although the fire was gone from his voice.

The dwarf wasn't listening. He was still lying on his back, but now he was gazing up at Númeniel. "Mother?" he asked, in Khuzdul. There were tears shining in his eyes.

Númeniel smiled faintly, but shook her head. "I think I'm a bit too tall to be your mother, Master Dwarf," she said, replying in the same tongue. But the dwarf's gaze had finally flickered to Gandalf.

"Who are you?" he asked. This time he spoke Westron.

"I am Gandalf," the wizard said patiently. "Gandalf the Gray."

"Gandalf?" The dwarf looked at him and panted hard. "Gandalf…? My… my old friend!" He sat up and stared at the two of them with huge eyes. Númeniel figured the dwarf had gone insane, and she didn't blame him. Who knew how long he had been trapped, wandering aimlessly in this dark shadowy place?

"I'm here to get you out," Gandalf said, still trying to recognize the dwarf who had claimed to know him.

"Oh, but it's too late now for that! The key! Gandalf, take the key!" the crazed dwarf searched his pockets until he produced one, along with a folded paper. He held the key out to Gandalf, and the paper he thrust at Númeniel. "Take them! Take them!" he rasped, "I was supposed to do it! But I failed. I failed. It will be safe with you. Take them! Find my son- he will do it!"

"Do what?" Númeniel asked, receiving the paper gingerly.

"I…" the dwarf thought hard, and his eyes grew round. "I… what the map says, I… I don't… remember what it was…."

"What do you make of this, Númeniel?" Gandalf asked her, extending the key towards her after he had examined it. She took it in her gentle fingers.

"Durin's heir," she read. The Khuzdul markings were still very distinct.

"Yes," Gandalf muttered. "It is the key of a hidden door. Turn it over." Númeniel did so, looking hard at the remaining runes. Then her eyes widened and she handed the key back to Gandalf. "You're right- it has been many long years since I have seen a key of similar design and make. And if it is a key belonging to one of the line of Durin..." She quickly unfolded the paper in her hands, and the image of a red dragon flashed across the top. Below it…

"The Lonely Mountain," Númeniel whispered. She glanced at Gandalf, and she could tell they had the same thought. The key to Erebor.

This must be Thráin.

Thráin. The son of Thror. The rightful king under the mountain. He had gone missing on a secret mission five years ago.

Five years in this place, Númeniel thought, would make anyone's mind snap.

"What is your name?" Gandalf asked the dwarf again, looking up from inspecting the key.

"I… I can't remember…" his voice was shaky.

"Yand Durinul? Thráin Thrórul?" Númeniel whispered, hoping he would respond to the tongue of his fathers.

His eyes took on a strained look. "Thráin…" he said softly. "Perhaps… that was what they called me… and Thror… my father… I…."

"How did you come to be here, my old friend?" Gandalf asked, concern thick in his voice. But Thráin could only shake his head. "I don't… remember."

Gandalf stepped back. "Númeniel?" he asked, not possessing in fullness her gift for reading minds. Númeniel nodded and knelt beside the flustered dwarf prince. She put an arm around him to keep him still, and the other hand she rested on his forehead. Closing her eyes, she tried to look into his mind- searching for the faintest flicker of emotion or memory. But after a while she removed her hand from his head and shook her head slowly.

"What is it?" Gandalf asked.

"It's… too…" she couldn't quite explain it, and she thought hard about it. "Fluffy shadows," she said at last.

"Fluffy shadows?" Gandalf made a puzzled face.

"Yes…" Númeniel stood up. "Darkness has inflated everything until it has become indiscernible. To me, to him. His mind is almost gone. All that remains is fear."

"Can you help him?" Gandalf looked from Thráin to the shadowy pillars of the old fortress.

"I do not think so," Númeniel said sadly, "my skills do not reach deep enough to heal the gaps, nor can I give him a new mind. That is not in my power."

"Nor in mine," Gandalf said.

"But we cannot just leave him here," Númeniel added, "we should take him to Ered Luin."

Thráin looked up quickly when he heard what she said. "Far journey, over mountains," he rasped, "too far. Stay here."

"Do you remember where the mountains are?" Gandalf asked Thráin.

Thráin pointed West. "Mountains tall," he said. "And cold. Too hard to climb over, too dangerous to go under."

"He remembers that at least," Númeniel sighed. Her attention was jerked back to Thráin as he cried out in horror.

"No!" Thráin was screaming, while staring, as if for the first time, at a finger on his hand- a finger that had been reduced only to a stub. "No! NO! He has taken it!"

Númeniel tried to calm him down, but the darkness in his mind seemed to prevent her soothing power from getting through all the way. "What have they taken?" she asked.

"Not they…" Thráin gasped, suddenly looking all around. "Not they… him."

"Your ring." Gandalf said, with surety. "Someone took your ring."

Númeniel's mind moved quickly. "One of the seven?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the finger stub.

"A shadow!" Thráin was gasping, oblivious to their questions. "It moves in the dark. They call him the Necromancer. He's coming for me. He… he's gathering his strength. His things; his gifts."

Annatar.

A strange cold shudder ripped through Númeniel as a name came to her recollection- an old name that had once inspired friendship, but had led to nothing but deception and fear. "Gandalf…" she whispered, recoiling in horror from Thráin and grabbing the arm of the wizard. She turned her wide eyes up at him, and she knew he could sense the fright in her.

Gandalf straightened up and looked from her to Thráin. "We've got to get out of here," he said. "I'll carry Thráin."

"NO!" Thráin screeched, and Númeniel winced. Thráin was being too loud. "I'LL NOT LEAVE."

Gandalf tried to pick him up anyway, and managed to drag him down the passage they had come from and several yards toward the entrance of the fort, but Thráin kicked and fought until Gandalf set him down again. Once free of the wizard's grasp, Thráin ran as fast as he could back into the darkness out of which he had been brought.

Númeniel watched him go. "Thus passeth the son of Thror," she said softly. "His fate ends here in this fortress. His soul is bound to the darkness."

Gandalf sighed and passed a hand before his eyes. "My old friend," he muttered sadly, "what have they done to you?"

"Not they," Númeniel repeated, looking around at the shadows. "Him. Gandalf, it's Sauron." She barely voiced the last word, fear choking her.

Gandalf nodded. "I figured as much," he said. "I must return to the White Council and give them a report."

"You expected this?" Númeniel queried, understanding finally dawning on her. "You came here to investigate this Necromancer? You knew he was more than he seemed?"

"Let's just say I had my suspicions," Gandalf muttered.


Together the two of them left the fortress behind, and soon they were passing quickly beneath the trees of Mirkwood Forest. Númeniel knew they were heading for the house of Radagast. They walked in speed and in silence, contemplating the somber events that had just occurred.

"Will you go to Thorin and give him the map and key?" Númeniel asked after a while.

"That remains to be seen," Gandalf said, "I am not sure if the time is right for it."

"But it would be what Thráin would have wanted," Númeniel argued. "Regardless of what Thorin chooses to do with it, it is his by right."

Gandalf nodded slowly, musing over this.

After a pause, Númeniel added: "You will at least give him this map."

"If at your request, my Lady, I shall." Gandalf said solemnly.

"Thráin gave it to me," she said firmly, "and I give it to Thorin, his son and heir. The next time you meet with Oakenshield, you will give him this." She placed the folded map into the hand of the wizard. "Please," she added.

"Yes, my Lady."


Translation of Khuzdul: "Son of Durin, Thráin son of Thror." This flashback takes place 91 years before the main story.