The Gates of Fornost Erain – Narwain 16th, 1410

Nirnadel stood at the great gate of the fortress city with the four Royal Guards that would remain with her. She was dressed in a thick, wool tunic of green and red with a fur cloak over her shoulders. Her breath streamed out of her mouth in the cold of newly fallen snow. Small snowflakes glided and swayed downwards, coating the ground in ever thickening amounts. Falathar knelt in the snow before her and kissed her hand. "I will bring you riches and glory, Your Highness," he promised. He wore a harness of mixed chain and plates over vulnerable areas. He held his visored bascinet in the crook of his arm.

Nirnadel raised him up. "Brave Falathar, We would be most glad if you would bring yourself back alive. That is all We ask."

Kaile came next and gave the Princess a hug. "We'll be back soon. Please don't worry."

Nirnadel grasped her tightly, "You must take care, dear Kaile. You have become like a sister to Us." Other than her older brothers and Anariel, Nirnadel had no companions in childhood. She had grown very attached to Kaile and they had become nearly inseparable. She then hugged Galadel. "Though you are new to our family, We already think of you as our sister. Please be safe."

Galadel returned the hug and then stepped back and curtseyed. "I am honored to serve you, Highness. I've been learning some sword work from Baranor," she said, a little nervous. "So, please do not worry."

Nirnadel touched the back of her hand to her mouth and her eyes became misty. "I will be joining you in that soon," she said and then bit her lower lip. "Forgive me, this is the first time we will be parted since you joined our house." She took Haedorial's hand. "And I expect to hear all about it when you return," she said, stifling a sob. Her hand shook.

The bard bowed low. "I already have many tales and many sketches that will tell of this great adventure, Your Highness. We will yet create as magnificent of a story as the Lay of Leithian and the Quenta Silmarillion," he said in his grandiose style and they both laughed. The Princess put her hand over her heart and smiled broadly.

Nirnadel then took Valandil and Mercatur's hands. "Take care of them and yourselves. We look forward to many more dinners in the Houses of Healing." Finally, she moved onto Baranor. "Good Baranor, We trust in your ability to keep our friends safe. You are our strongest champion."

He knelt in the snow and kissed her hand. "By my sword, this I swear."

As the Princess stepped away, she noticed another woman in the party, someone she did not know. She could not tell if the woman was old or young, seemingly both innocent and mature. All she could tell from the woman's clothes was the sigil of a bronze wyvern. It was certainly not one of Cardolan's noble houses. She should know this sigil, but it escaped her.

The procession headed down the King's Road west toward Annúminas, away from the rising sun. The crisp morning air bit deeply into Nirnadel as she watched her friends travel into grave peril. She cupped her hands, blowing hot air into them. Steam billowed out of her mouth. As the travelers moved out of sight, she sent Haedorial a whisper on the cold Arthedan winds.

"Please return safely."

The Village of Rood

The quiet village of Rood was once a thriving stop between Annúminas and Fornost. The devastation of the war of 1409 had forced most of the occupants to flee. However, the residents had been slowly returning to rebuild and reestablish their lives. In addition, river commerce had also begun to return and enrich the land, and a few barges could be seen tying down at the docks and unloading goods. Through the snow, the party approached the village from the east.

Mallon pointed to the stately mansion along the south side of the road. "There is the Eketta house. We will lodge with my family for the evening. There will be more snow coming as the sun sets." He was a plain looking man with strong features, but a weak chin. His dark brown hair was curly and cut in a short mop that was conducive for wearing a heavy helmet. His surcoat had the sigil of his house, crossed swords over a silver tower.

Aerin nodded. "I concur. We can wait out the storm tonight." She was an attractive woman on the edge of youth into maturity. Though appearing young, as a Dúnadan, she was well into her forties. Her black hair whipped unbound in the winds that were gradually picking up. "The temperature will drop quickly. We should make haste," she said emphatically.

Arriving at the Eketta House, Mallon saw two armored guards at the front door, dressed in the dignified Eketta colors. Each carried an eket, a short, stabbing sword, for which the family was named, one supremely effective behind their favored shield wall. Seeing Mallon, the guards bowed and greeted him warmly. Mallon introduced his new companions, and they were all greeted by the Ekettas with great hospitality. Quarters were given to each person, and they soon gathered in the main hall around the warm fire for hot cider and a meal.

Within an hour after sunset, the snow began falling in earnest, piling up outside in great white drifts. The wind blew hard against the window shutters, howling and rattling. Covered in thick furs, Mercatur sipped a mug of hot cider. "This is too much like Rhudaur. I prefer the warmer climate of Cardolan," he commented to Valandil.

The gaily dressed Haedorial quipped, "I rather like the snow. It feels pure somehow."

Mercatur grunted.

Valandil shrugged. "I don't know. It's just cold out there and I hate to think of lugging back heavy books through it."

The Rhudauran mercenary walked over to one of the windows and looked out at the drifts, his breath misting on the panes. "Snow and wind... wind and snow. I might as well be home." He was feeling pensive. He just needed something to fight and he would feel much better. He sat back down and drummed his fingers on an end table.

Valandil drank his cider and sighed. "Well, I'm going to get some sleep. Mallon says it will clear tomorrow." He set his mug near the sink and went to his room. "There will be several long days of travel ahead."

As he departed, a woman entered and sat at one of the plush red seats near the fireplace. She wore an indigo hooded cloak. Mercatur looked over and could only tell that she was blonde. She took a sip of cider from her mug. "Nasty weather, isn't it?" she asked in a strong, clear voice.

Haedorial perked up. "Why yes, madam, it certainly is. My friend here was just commenting on how much this is like Rhudaur."

The woman was silent for a moment and then took another sip. "Indeed, it is."

Mercatur cocked his head and listened. Her accent. It was so familiar. "Where you from lady?"

She shook her head. "Not from around here. But I travel a lot."

The mercenary tried to get a look at her face, but her hood blocked his view. "I don't recognize you, friend. You are a member of our party, right?" Something gnawed at his gut and his suspicion was growing. Silently, he undid the strap holding his dagger in its sheath.

She sighed as if she knew what he was doing. "I belong to one of the noble houses, yes."

"And might I have your name…friend?"

There was a glow about her face for a moment and then she turned to look at him. She was a wizened old woman with wrinkled skin and rheumy eyes. "Silmarien. I own Silmarien's used clothing in Tharbad, you see," she said in a creaky voice. Mercatur didn't think that this was the same voice he heard earlier, but her ancient appearance set him at ease, and he retied the strap on his dagger's sheath.

"Why would we need used clothing?" he asked, curious and still a little suspicious.

"Well, doesn't every adventurer need clothing?" she asked.

Mercatur was tired and he didn't have the strength to push this further. "Hmmm, yeah yeah." One thing kept nagging at him though. "So, friend…Silmarien, your accent. I've heard it before."

"Yes, you're from Rhudaur, are you not? I can tell by your accent."

He inhaled sharply. "Who are you?"

"I am merely an old woman who sells clothing to adventurers, who has been to Rhudaur. I can tell, you were a bargeman and a mercenary. The rough hands, your manner, yes, most Rhudauran."

He became uncomfortable and squirmed in his chair. "And what of it?" He didn't like that she knew much more about him than he knew of her.

"Oh nothing. Just an old woman making idle conversation. You know, when you get to my age, you just like talking to new and interesting people."

Haedorial warmed his hands towards the crackling fire. "Good mercenary, you spoke of House Rhudainor before, am I right? Am I to understand that you were cousin to the last lord of that house?"

Mercatur harumphed. "Yeah…yeah I am…was…whatever. He's long gone and I ain't taking his place." He paused for a moment, thinking, remembering. "You know, he supposedly had a sister, one I never met. I thought she was studying in Cardolan," he said and then looked back at the old woman. His eyes grew huge when he saw that she was gone without a trace. "What the? No…no, you're seeing things," he said, rubbing his eyes. "That's just crazy."

The bard cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "What? What is crazy?"

"Marendil's sister. She would be next in line to lead House Rhudainor. Her name…her name was Silmarien…no, that woman was way too old. No. Look bard, I'm just talking crazy. I need to hit the hay."

"Have a good night, Mercatur," Haedorial said. "I best get some rest too."

The Outskirts of Annúminas – Narwain 19th, 1410

The desolation grew as the party neared Annúminas. Mallon spread his warriors out in a skirmish line to expand the scouting ability of his force. From a distance, the riders could be seen as slowly moving dots in the snow. Trudging behind were the foot soldiers of Cardolan along with Mercatur, Valandil, and Kaile. They moved slowly west along the Men Aran, or King's Road. To their left, the Baranduin River flowed slowly along to Lake Nenuial, taking chunks of ice along with it.

Off in the distance, a great mound could be seen with snow-covered structures. The wind blew fiercely, throwing flakes into the air. Clumps of frosted pines surrounded the mound, but no other life could be detected. Mallon looked up into the overcast sky. "Another storm is coming. We might have two days," he told the group. "We best be quick about this."

Aerin pointed to the mound. "Look, atop that hill lies ruined Annúminas. Our goal is in sight." She wore a light chainmail shirt under a thick surcoat that was lined with fur. It bore the sigil of House Eldanar, an image of Númenor in front of a rising sun.

When they were within a few hundred feet of the city, they could clearly see the devastation. At first glance, not a single structure could be seen intact. Houses and shops were smashed and burned. A tower at the northeastern part of the city was razed. Rubble and twisted metal lay in piles. The bridge across the Baranduin was severely damaged and would have to be crossed carefully. They saw some repairs, but all operations had ceased for the winter and covered timber and quarried stone sat, unattended.

One by one, they went across the battered stone bridge over the icy Baranduin into the Old Quarter of the city. Quaint brick buildings were wrecked or torn down. Skeletons could be seen lying in the cobblestone street, partially covered in snow. Kaile shivered at the sight and Haedorial grimaced. Mallon commented, "These homes were more than one thousand years old. This city was once the jewel of the Kingdom of Arnor." He bowed his head sadly, "Now it is just scattered rubble."

A straight road ran southwest from the bridge to the now shattered Royal Hall. To one side of the Hall sat the King's Star Tower and to the other side sat the library. The Royal Hall was once an oval-shaped dome, but now that dome was collapsed into ruin, leaving the intricate framework like the ribcage of a skeleton. A cursory search of the building revealed that it had been thoroughly sacked and pillaged. The library looked damaged but remained reasonably intact. Several pillars had collapsed, and the roof had fallen in areas. Otherwise, the exquisite marble structure stood defiantly in the snow.

Mallon had men probe the doors. The solid mallorn-wood doors had been torn down and lay on the marble steps. Two men stepped over the doors into the ground floor of the library. "We're inside! There are smashed bookshelves and burnt books lying in heaps." Snow had fallen through gaps in the ceiling and icicles dangled from nearly every hanging surface.

"Sir, we have found two staircases down into the ground," called one man. Mallon and several others stepped through into the library. Two massive marble staircases wound down to the lower level. One staircase had obvious cracks and gaps in the marble structure. One man began down the first staircase and the other, down the second.

The second man stopped halfway down. The staircase began to rock and pitch lightly, metal groaning under his weight. The warrior carefully returned to the top saying, "It's too unstable. We can't use this."

The first man reached the bottom of his staircase and called up, "This one's all right." Having said that, he was immediately incinerated by fire erupting from the floor. The flame shot skyward causing those looking down to jump back. At the bottom, the warrior's charred carcass fell to the floor and broke into pieces.

Mallon swore. "The wards placed in the library are still intact. I feared as much. This will make our task more difficult. I will take the next risk," he said with determination. Mallon crept out on the landing and walked cautiously down the stairs. Nearing the bottom, he scanned around the room and on the floor at the base of the staircase. He held out his palm and uttered a prayer to Varda. He was rewarded when a silver symbol appeared on the floor. It was a symbol of fire, placed there by one of the now departed guardians. Two charred orc skeletons lay nearby, attesting to the effectiveness of the hex. Mallon called upon the help of Varda again, channeling his power toward the magical guardian. Perspiration beaded up over his brow despite the cold. Slowly, the symbol vanished. Mallon sighed. "Thank Varda, the threat has been removed. Come down one at a time," he instructed.

Aerin came down next, followed by Valandil. The circular room housing the staircase had two exits: one southeast into a central domed room and one west to a set of double doors. Mallon moved cautiously to the southwest archway, drawing his eket. Having reached the bottom, Aerin and Valandil went to the double doors. Mercatur then came down, followed by Ostomir and then Falathar and the others.

Holding up lanterns to light the way, Mallon and Mercatur moved warily into the archway. Axe in hand, Mercatur looked about. He noticed a heavy portcullis poised over the entryway, ready to skewer any who passed through. He held back Mallon, who exhaled in relief. Together, they scanned the circular room. Black marble columns and walls led up to a magnificent, vaulted ceiling, also in black marble. Ithildin gilded the columns, tracing the outline of fantastic beasts and constellations. A pool in the center housed a white marble statue of a naked warrior, posed with sword raised in victory. Another staircase could be seen directly across the room, while four grand corridors ran north, south, east, and west.

At the doors, Aerin discovered that they were securely locked. The doors would take some time to open, even if they would try to bash them in. Mallon ordered his men to bring down stones to prop the portcullis up and prevent it from falling on anyone. Soon, men were bringing in rubble and piling them in the archway. It took several minutes before the pile grew high enough to block the fall of the portcullis.

One of Mallon's men reported, "Sir, the ranger Amrith is with a group of men up top to guard our rear. He thinks there may be enemy forces out there."

Mallon nodded. "Very well. We cannot be too careful," he replied. "We need to keep in regular contact. I don't want any surprises."

Mercatur and Ostomir ventured into the central room and together, they moved to the fountain. Looking in, they noticed the water of the fountain strangely clear. Mallon called, "Don't touch the water. I suspect it has been poisoned." Mercatur nodded warily. Falathar had moved close to the western corridor.

Four man-sized statues, clad in heavy plate armor, stood in niches along the western corridor. Each held a greatsword four and a half feet long. Mallon pulled Falathar back harshly. "Those statues will come to life!" he scolded. "They are enchanted by the seers. You must be more careful." Falathar shrugged but kept an uneasy eye on the figures. Mallon checked down each of the remaining exits: north; south; and east. Each had some hidden peril.

Mallon led the way back to the staircase. He shook his head. "We're stuck out there. Can we get through that door?" he asked, pointing to the east double doors.

Aerin nodded with a slight grin. "I've been waiting for you," she said with a snap of her fingers. Tumblers could be heard rotating within the door. Valandil returned the grin then pulled the double doors open.

Mallon grimaced, seemingly irritated. "Why did you not open the doors before now?" he asked indignantly.

Aerin smiled playfully. "Why waste my energy if you can get us through this the normal way?" He rolled his eyes, but let a grin cross his face.

Together, they entered a rectangular room constructed of some type of creamy stone. Aquamarines adorned the walls in abstract patterns and gossamer veils hung from the ceiling. Porcelain bookshelves held leatherbound volumes on the lore of the sea and its creatures. Mallon selected a number of books and took them upstairs. At the top, he directed the men. "Begin building a wagon. We have begun to find some of the books. Amrith believes that we are being watched so be quick about it."

Within an hour, they had explored three more rooms: the Chamber of Silence; the Chamber of Trees; and the Silver Room. Aerin had stacked several tomes on the history and mechanics of lens grinding in the crimson Chamber of Silence, which seemed to absorb all sound. The Chamber of Trees held books on the history of Arnor along with detailed maps of the north. The Silver Room was a marvel of mirrors along its domed ceiling with bookshelves of black wood, engraved with silver. Kaile and Galadel pulled off maps of Gondor, Angmar and Lindon and stacked them in a pile.

A shout from Haedorial caught people's attention. "Come here! I found something. Magnificent!"

Mallon and Valandil rushed into a room that had mithril doors for an entrance. Blond wood covered the floors and wall panels, which were covered in elaborate scrollwork of mithril paint. The bard held a tome in his hand and held it up with reverence. "The Ainulindalë…written in Quenya. I…I have no idea how old this is. This is…is ancient and priceless," he said and then picked up another book. "The Quenta Silmarillion! This was…this was penned by none other than Eärendil! This is a treasure beyond imagining!" He held up the book to show writing in the Tengwar script.

Valandil tapped the bard on the shoulder. "Put them in the bag, Haedoriel. We need to hurry. Amrith thinks that someone is watching us. Mallon and I are going to push west. Don't be too long."

"Right, right, yes, of course," the bard said and put some of the books into the sack before he began to read the Tengwar runes that wove around some of the pillars. "Amazing, simply amazing."

Mallon opened the door to the west and a stream of cold flowed out of the open door. He poked his head in to see a room that was paneled in bluish white stone that appeared as if it were ice. He pulled a book off of a shelf and read the cover. "A catalog of stars. Hmmm, I wish we could take these, but we simply don't have the time."

Haedorial had caught up by now, dragging the sack of books behind him with the help of Galadel. "This complex is huge! How much more is there?"

Mallon sighed heavily as a great sadness came over him. He had always been devout, had always given proper homage to the Valar and to Eru himself. How could the Valar allow such destruction? "This is the greatest library in the north, my friend. We have barely scratched the surface. If we had a week, I would show you wonders that you could only dream of. But I would beg of Varda only a few more hours."

Haedorial smiled. "I would have liked that very much, brave knight. Unfortunately, we live in interesting times." He went to the north door and opened it. Peering inside, he gasped. "By the Valar…this is…amazing."

Mallon knew what he was looking at but couldn't help but to see it himself. "Amazing, isn't it? Behold, the Star Dome." The room was paneled in blueish and black stone and was domed and encrusted with thousands of large, clear gems. Many of these gems magically radiated light to represent the present configuration of the stars, twinkling as they would in real life. It was magnificent. The party entered, awed by the dazzling lights on the ceiling.

Mercatur's mouth fell open. Tapping Valandil, he commented, "These guys were good. This stuff is amazing." Haedorial continued to write and sketch furiously, jotting down every detail into a leather-bound book.

Mallon patted Haedoriel on the shoulder. "I would be greatly honored if you would allow me to read your book when it's completed. You do us a great service to document the story of the north. But come, we must press on."

Within the Ice Chamber, Kaile stood in awe of the walls of bluish-white translucent stone. "This is cold. It's like it's really ice."

At the west end of the room, Valandil and Aerin struggled with a locked door. Suddenly, electricity leapt from the door to Aerin's hand. She cried out in pain, shaking her hand about.

"Are you alright?" Valandil asked with concern. Aerin stuck her fingers in her mouth, nodding her head. Kaile had observed this and hurried over to them. She took Aerin's hand and looked at it. It was red, but there was no blistering. Fortunately, the injury was minor and the rune merely a nuisance.

Kaile reached into her pouch and produced a dried red berry. Giving it to Aerin, she instructed, "Here, take this. It will make you feel better." Aerin ate the berry while Kaile brought out a cream and began rubbing it on the injured hand.

After a minute, Aerin nodded her head. "I'm fine now. I was just careless. I won't be making that mistake again. Thank you."

Aerin invoked another spell to open a door on the west wall. Beyond that was a large hallway that ran north to south. They pushed on more quickly now, moving through the White Room, gathering tomes on stone lore, including one written in Númenor that had descriptions of the construction of the Tower of Orthanc and the Argonath. The Chamber of the Sun had a golden crystal globe mounted on the ceiling that cast golden rays to all corners of the room. Haedorial picked out one and cracked the book open. "A tome on Anar, the Sun and the Maiar Arien! This is a must," he said, carefully placing the book in the sack. "I'm going to need another sack soon."

They pushed further into a large room where blue marble pilasters stretched up to a sculptured frieze of the same stone where carvings of dancers illustrated Arnorian festivals. Sunlight from a domed skylight streamed in clearly, illuminating the entire area. A fountain in the center sprayed water over two nude nymphs cavorting in the basin. At the end of the room were three great stone doors, two of which had fallen off of their hinges and lay, haphazardly on the ground. Mallon led the way into the chamber beyond, where he was greeted by a bas relief of Númenor that covered an entire wall. He went to the bas relief to see all of the great landmarks of the lost kingdom from Andunië to Armenelos to Sacred Mount Meneltarma.

Haedorial came up next to him and admired the map. He inhaled a deep breath, eyes huge. "This…this was carved by…Elendil and his son, Isildur. Sacred Mount Meneltarma," he gasped, touching his hand on the raised portion that was the mountain. "The king would utter prayers here at the festivals of Erukyermë, Erulaitalë and Eruhantalë."

Mallon nodded. "You know your history, my friend. I hear that you are the Royal Bard of Cardolan now," he said with reverence. "I must come and see you play some time."

The bard smiled broadly and put his hand over his heart. "I would be honored. I will see that you get an invitation. Ah," he said, tracing some of the Tengwar script that adorned the map. "The great festivals began to fall into disuse after the reign of Tar-Ciryatan, the Ship King and continued on that trajectory during the reign of his eldest son, Tar-Atanamir, the Great, known as the Jewel of Men. He was the one who began to speak openly against the Eldar and did not surrender the sceptre until death and became known as the Unwilling." He shook his head sadly. "It is said that his younger brother, Er-Mȗrazôr, known as the Black Prince, was a most evil man, most evil. He vanished around Umbar some time in the Second Age, so long ago."

Mallon nodded and then picked up a few books that detailed the history, culture and customs of ancient Númenor, written in both Sindarin and Adȗnaic, the native language of that lost kingdom. He sighed heavily. "I am honored to even hold these, but they are not what we are looking for. Time is running short, my friends."