(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 73 - The Ruins of Cardolan

Cardolan: Defile near the Road

This shallow, gentle dale between the raised surface of the Greenway and the Cardolan highlands to the west resembles nothing so much as a bowl filled with short, scrublike grass. Like much of Enedhwaith, trees are rare here a small stand of birches near the base of the hill is all the foliage present.

What seems to be a faint path or track winds upwards, along the slope of the hill westward a high mount, at its peak there appear to be skeletal formations of stone. Ruins, reaching toward the sky?

Night -- night has fallen, here in the empty wastes that were once a kingdom of Men. Cardolan, they called these lands of old, and Arnor in days before the days of men\'s fathers\' fathers. Long bereft of man or beast, save the road that runs like a weed-grown track from Bree to the distant South.

Yet tonight, the Men have returned, the Men of the West. A full dozen knights and warriors of Gondor, the South-Kingdom, are encamped in a dell beside the Road.

One among them, the Knight-Herald of Dol Amroth -- Thorondur Girithlin -- stands apart, as is often his wont. He stands at the foot of the westering hill that rises beside the road, a bald shadow rearing against the stars.

Another of the men, Erutirn, walks towards the Knight-Herald. \"Thorondur, what great story from the history of men is there for this place?\" The younger knight walks from the camp towards the other, his heavy leg marking him well before he speaks. \"For you know far more of the history of these lands than I and it would be interresting to learn.\"

By the camp fire, a squire sits. Wrapped up warmly in wolfskin, he gently prods the fire with a gnarled stick. He casts a log into the blaze, throwing up a glittering array of sparks. He looks up as Erutirn speaks, and silently watches the two.

Now grimly does Thorondur turn his gaze from the hilltop, and his icy eyes alight upon young Sir Eruthirn, the new-made knight with his wooden leg. Deep within that gaze lurks something old, and unreadable.

\"I know some small thing,\" he says, \"of that which has gone before. Yet this land has forgotten more than I will ever remember -- and in it I hear voices still, the voices of days long gone.\"

Standing silent for many long moments, Erutirn says nothing. The knight looks into the area surrounding, finally he nods. Although he has nodded his afirmative to the others, he still stays quiet as he listens to the voices.

\"Woe, and sorrow, and other things,\" Thorondur says into the silence -- such deafening silence as there is, in this wasted and desolate place. Now bending his gaze upon the younger men, he tells them, \"We are called to the hilltop. Follow me.\"

And such are his words that they must be obeyed the note of command in his voice is like steel, hard and supple. The faint trail up the hill soon shudders with the regular fall of his feet.

Morrandir glances up the hill, trying to discern what might be up there. He then stands, casts one more log onto the fire, then follows the Herald.

The young knight finally speaks, \"As you wish Thorondur.\" Erutirn turns to follow up the hill behind the knight herald. Finally he casts one fleeting gaze back towards the camp as he follows along, but returns to heading towards the hill.

And upwards into the night, toward the starry sky the Herald climbs. Soon his shadow will be lost against the darkness, if he is not pursued, and quickly.

-----------------

Cardolan: A Barren Hilltop

This barren hilltop provides a fine vantage of the land all about it: the Greenway away east, winding into the north and south, and in the northwest the glimmer of Baranduin as she wanders down to the Sea. Even far to the west, perhaps the Great Sea itself makes the grey horizon it is difficult to say. The crumbling ruins that etch their groping fingers toward the sky dominate the scorched, dead face of the hilltop. What a pitiful monument to the hubris of Men. Only shadows live here now only the bravest hearts dare these crumbled stones at night. A dark wind howls, it whistles through gaps in the stones....

Now here atop the ancient hill, even in the heart of summer a cruel wind blows. The lands about fall away beneath this place to every side, though to the west the gorse and ragged highlands stretch out toward the unseen coasts in the austerity of moonlight\'s glimmer.

And through the stones the wind whistles like a dirge.

\"Now here indeed the kings of old lieth deep,\" declares Indilzar Bragollach in a grim voice as he climbs up the hill.

\"Yet the grass grows long upon it,\" he continues softly, \"As the swords of the Dunedain turn to rust.\"

As the trio move up onto the hilltop, the jagged silhouette of a ruined tower rears up out of the gloom. Morrandir shivers, drawing his cloak tightly about him. He looks about him with unease. \"Why did we have to come up here Sir?\"

Unhearing at first, the Lord Thorondur walks slowly from the edge toward the ruined, jagged tower -- slowly he moves as if drifting, toward the clawing arm of skeletal stone that reaches, forever denied, toward the stars and the sky.

Yet his voice comes as if from a distance, back over his shoulder:

\"It calls us, Morrandir. It calls me. Do you not hear it? Does it not tug at your very blood?\" And his words seem queerly spoken, and too chill.

\"Indeed a worthy question.\" Erutirn says, listening to both Morrandir and Indilzar. \"Though it is a ruin of the ancestors of our northern kin, what great battle happened around it? For surely they did not just abandon these without a fight...\" The young knight glances towards Thorondur, but does not speak to the man.

\"Well,\" says Indilzar glancing up at the sky, \"long has it been since Men dwelt in this place. Why would you lead us hither Lord-Herald?\"

Morrandir laughs mirthlessly, \"I think what great battle \'didn\'t\' happen around it would be more to the point.\" He looks up at it and shakes his head. \"To think, most of the ruins here would be the same age as the towers, houses and cities back home. Tragic really...\"

\"Maybe Morrandir,\" says Indilzar, \"but long ago the kingdoms of Arnor devoured themselves in war. Internecine strife destroyed Arnor more than the malice of the East.\"

To Indilzar, Thorondur\'s answer comes as he reaches the tower\'s crumbling wall, and pauses there. \"Are you not called? Do you not hear them, Indilzar Bragollach? Knight of the Sudden Flame?\"

And his voice, all their voices, echoes there like a ghost\'s, like all the ghosts that might once have called this place their home and hearth. Then slowly he reaches out to touch the stone, and as if remembering suddenly tells the others, \"Ai! A battle indeed, a sudden flame--\"

Turning on his heels Indilzar looks to Thorondur and his eyes glitter like a cat, \"Calm thyself Girithlin. To whither do the voices of old Cardolan call thee? We shall go hence together.\"

Now recoiling from the wall, Thorondur snatches his hand back with a swift gasp from his lips, of pain or shock or revelation.

The Herald clutches his ears, as if shutting out a sudden and unwelcome sound -- and he falls to his knees!

And in the night, through the tumbled stones and jagged nails of rock once towered high, the wind keens mournfully for the Men of Westernesse.

Indilzar stands tall over the fallen herald and he sets his hand upon his shoulder, \"Stand by me fellows.\"

He then says softly to Thorondur, \"Go. Lead us thither.\"

The roiling tongue of the South echoes against the stone and clear it is amongst the rocks.

The young squire gasps as the Herald falls. \"Thorondur...\" He rushes to his side, looking uneasily at the wall. \"Are you alright Sir?\" He reaches for his sword, then curses that he left it at the camp. \"Perhaps we should leave...\"

Once this Tower was tall and fair, of stone built strong and high a wall ringed the hilltop, and mighty defenses crowned the western heights. Banners flew here in burgundy and gold, and the Star of Elendil shone like a beacon from the highest points.

So it was. Somehow, even the basest knave could know this, standing here, this night. There is an odd and eerie feeling in the air as midnight comes, and the veil of the world goes thin. Is the Tower truly ruined? Is that not a snapping banner, a fair maid passed \'neath a winding archway..?

The whistling wind? Or a harper\'s song of sorrow as the horses come home without riders...

\"Thorondur! What is it?\" The young knight hurries towards the fallen knight-herald as he speaks out. Erutirn glances towards the tower for a few moments, but then turns towards Indilzar. \"Perhaps the tower has destroyed his scholar mind, it seems bewitching...\" He trails off rather quickly.

Through this all the Lord Herald remains silent, staring upwards at the Tower as Indilzar\'s hand falls heavy on his shoulder. A tower tall and fair, and surely not ruined... there!

Fires upon the walls! There can be no doubt -- the voices of men and the cries of women, the worry and ghastly wonder of war.

And the eyes of the Man Indilzar glances to the tower and says, \"Lo! If my eyes are blind then now something may be seen beyond mortal ken. For thither flies high the star of the Girithlin from long ago. Have we come whither the ancestors of that old house lieth low?\"

\"Where now are the horses? Where are the gallant princes? Where are the tall lords with icy eyes glittering? Long now under the mounds they lie, with secrets deep. Who shall gather the burgendy banners of the dead Men burning? Who can tell the tale of Cardolan from the sea returning?\"

He glances up at the others and says, \"Let now the magic work, for now it is clear to me. A vision lieth before us.\"

Now rising from his knees, Thorondur hir Girithlin stands tall and proud once more -- yet something brighter and more distant lights his eyes now than before. Into the fires of esoteria and another time, he stares as if accepting them for truth -- and when he speaks it is a voice deep and certain, and accented strangely.

\"Prince Elendur has fallen,\" he tells them, \"but his sons live free in the South beyond the mountains. Let the Angmarrim come -- but we will go below, and I will tell you of the hope of Men ere we are all slain in glorious defense.\"

Indilzar nods grimly and says to Thorondur, \"Let us go thence and look upon it. The hope of Men shall be born again in brilliant shards of burgendy.\"

Yet the red light of the gem of the Bragollach shines fierce around his neck. For he is the Lord of that folk.

Morrandir looks up at the tower. \"A vision from days long passed?\" He glances wildly about him. \"What sorcery is this? Surely this is the fell work of some Wraith which haunts these ruins...\"

\"No,\" says Indilzar softly to Morrandir. \"There is magic in the world that is not evil. Such things are not unknown to the Men of Gondor. Remember the Green Knight, and remember too the Quest of the Helm of Hador.\"

Turning to Morrandir, \"I think not, Morrandir... perhaps this is something that these long passed folk have left here...\" Erutirn pauses for a few long moments looking at the visage before him, \"Perhaps to warn those who would live here... or maybe to guide us.\" The young knight is unsure in his voice, though he seems to take a few steps towards the tower.

\"You speak in riddles, Men of Cardolan,\" Thorondur upbraids his companions, in the voice that is -- and is not -- his own. Now with eyes too bright he looks upon them a last time and says, \"The King at Fornost Erain will not be served well by our deaths -- but perhaps there is one thing yet we may do for fallen Arnor. Come.\"

And he turns, and passes inside to the darkened tower.

-----------------

Cardolan: Inside the Ruined Tower

These ruins could well be haunted. The feeling of gloom and helplessness is everywhere nothing has lived here in ages save the shadows. The musty smell of rotted wood is prevalent, and very little remains to say this was ever a human habitation. Archways have collapsed, stairwells fallen in upon themselves... it is sheer luck merely to have gotten this far inside.

It is difficult to merely take a step in this infernal darkness without tripping on something. The wind whistles faintly, disturbingly through gaps in the stone like a whisper of ancient vengeance. \'They are gone,\' it seems to say. The masters of steel and stone, gone, never to return.

The flicker of light comes down as the torch bearing Indilzar makes his way after Thorondur, as if chasing a willow-the-wisp.

Thorondur leads now, into this place of ruin -- or is it? A white-garbed Lord of Gondor picking his way through the wrack of centuries past by torchlight --

Or through a wide hall braced for battle, and toward a high dais and an empty seat of carven marble?

\"This is madness...\" mutters Morrandir, following closely behind the Lord Bragollach. \"We are just asking the Wraiths to capture us. Who will rescue poor Amrothos if we are share his fate?\" He reaches down and draws forth a knife from inside his boot, as though it will offer some protection.

\"Valour,\" says Indilzar softly, \"madness is something we all must share. Yet how much hope is there for Amrothos truly?\"

\"Lower your voice, Morrandir and speak not so.\" Erutirn whispers to the man beside him, \"We shall go forth, perhaps this is the last hope of Amrothos.\" The man walks loudly through the halls, though he tries to speak lightly upon his wooden brace.

\"Hope?\" The one word alone, the question that parts Thorondur\'s lips as he halts and whirls to face his friends is thunderous.

\"There is hope for Arthedain and the Dunedain yet, if not for Cardolan! Maybe Gondor may come, for here--\" and he hops nimbly aside to a rubbled wall, and gestures toward it if it held a great artwork, or trophy, \"Have you not wondered these many days where went the treasure of our House? That thing greater even in esteem than the Sword of the Sunrise?\"

Indilzar glances hard at the wall and is silent for a long moment before he speaks again, \"We would see it heir of Cardolan if thou knowest the way? Are your eyes bright enough to bear the sight of the burning blade of Anarion?\"

And Indilzar\'s strange words are answered in kind by Thorondur, this Thorondur-who-is-not. \"No longer,\" he says, grimly, and yet with a smile fighting the grimace upon his lips. \"I have sent it away,\" he says, and not without pride, \"For though Elendur is slain, his brother yet lives, and his sons, away in the South.\"

\"Treasure?\" Morrandir asks, \"What treasure is that?\" He steps over a pile of rubble, a rat scurrying away from the corpse of a small bird. The squire jumps as the rodent moves, gnashing his teeth as he realises his folly.

\"Where then does it lie Lord Cardolan?\" asks Indilzar without mirth, his eyes darkening at the prospect of the anguish of fighting ogres and giants and worse upon a long road.

\"You know what treasure, squire Dinendil,\" Thorondur replies sharply, turning his burning gaze upon Morrandir. \"The shard of Anaril, vouchsafed to my father\'s fathers by the King, in the days when fair Evendim glittered with the lights of the court, and Amon Sul stood tall in Sight and Seeing. I have sent it to my sons, in Gondor.\"

\"Over sea,\" he adds then, into the silence -- or is it the din of war?

Indilzar takes a moment. A moment perhaps to save ironic laughter from bursting from his lips. Yet again stoicism breeds forth and he says, \"To the Girithlin then we would go? But whither would they hide it in Gondor I wonder?\"

Quiet, and apart, as he has been for much of this quest, aloft and removed from those who venture with him for hope to save his own brother, yet through all this does Erchirion stand, watching as the vision comes, and goes, listening as the voice speaks through the Lord Girithlin.

Yes, the son of Imrahil listens, and waits.

\"Then, pray tell, what is here? Is it another treasure to be sent in the event of the fall of this grand tower?\" Erutirn inquires at Thorondur. The youngest of the knights stand nearest the exit, \"Perhaps we would use it to fight what has sought to take our lands and our kinsmen from us?\"

\"Gondor? But...\" Morrandir shakes his head. \"So we have come all this way for naught.\" He sighs, looking longingly towards the exit.

\"Not for naught Morrandir,\" says Indilzar, \"For how else would we know?\"

Laughing, Thorondur shakes his head, and reaches himself for his sword. \"Not to the Prince Girithlin, my friends, for I am the last who shall ever bear that title. This place shall fall, and us with it, but not in vain I pray--\"

“For yet we may purchase my couriers dear, sweet time -- and keep the Angmarrim from their heels, ere they alight upon the quays at Lond Daer Enedh.

\"Lond Daer,\" says Indilzar softly his eyes flickering as if considering.

Then he turns to Morrandir, \"Do you have the maps I gave to you in Imladris?\"

Morrandir\'s brow furrows, \"Not here, they are safely wrapped up back at the camp.\"

\"Maps? What will maps will avail us now?\" Thorondur\'s question, posed harsh and yet nobly in that deep voice not his own, rings out like a cry in the darkness. \"The Witch-King comes to claim our walls for Angmar I will defy him!\"

And in the dark, he steps forward -- and disappears into the ruins!

Indilzar frowns for a moment and explains, \"Lond Daer is a port on the west coast of Eriador. It is said that it was founded by the men...\"

He then turns and motions to the others, \"Come.\"

As the squire fails his Knight, the young Prince steps forth, map in hand, \"Here..\" he says softly, a small smirk on his lips. Then returns to his pacing about the room, watching as the room flickers between what is... and what was..

Indilzar glances at the stone and says, \"Whither? Thorondur! Thorondur!\"

The young knight glances towards Erchirion as the man steps forth, Erutirn seems almost shocked that the young prince has followed them so long without saying a word.

\"The Witch-King?\" Morrandir says, peering into the gloom where his Knight once stood. \"I suppose he will come back when this madness departs, if he doesn\'t walk off the edge of the tower where a rampart once stood in the days of his \'ghost\'.\"

A lord lost in the shadows of the past and present even as the days long forgotten in the minds of men fade in and out of sight, yet little does this seem to affect the Prince, he looks to the spot where upon Thorondur once stood, his eyes blank and uncomprehending.

Then he turns to Indilzar, \"Always clouded in shadows are we...\" he whispers, almost to himself, \"Though I fear Thorondur has been lost to it for now..\" His gaze, so intense, grim, \"Mayhaps the fallen Lord only wishes a word with him..\"

Indilzar holds up his hand and says, \"Steady. We shall see.\"

\"Morrandir,\" comes a voice now from the darkness, clear and quiet, as if shaken, \"I find your lack of faith... disturbing.\"

And into the torchlight, covered now with fine, dark driftings of dust and with bewilderment settled upon him like a morning dew, Thorondur emerges -- and in his hands rests a great and radiant sword! It is not a thing any man among this band has seen before.

The squire gasps as his Knight comes forth, the madness seemingly departed. Morrandir looks upon the sword with wonder. \"By Nienna\'s tears, where did that come from?\"

The eyes of Indilzar for the first time show surprise but he does not ask yet. He waits for the Lord-Herald to speak.

Looking at Morrandir, \"Will you stop with your doom say...\" Erutirn is stopped as the sword Thorondur bears comes full into sight. The young knight seems to stand and gaze at the sword, apparently at a loss for words or perhaps he waits for Thorondur.

And lo, as the Lord steps forth from the darkness, bringing with him a peice of the past, they look upon him, and upon that which rest in his hands, yet the eyes of Erchirion gaze only for a moment, then they turn away.

A soft sigh sounds from the Prince, yet no other sound comes forth.

\"Ask not for what has gone before, Morrandir,\" comes the voice of Thorondur now, steadying again to the melodic baritone all will recognize, \"but whither yet our path will lead us.\" Now he looks upon each of them in turn, and shakes his head in wonder.

\"You sigh, son of Imrahil,\" he says softly, \"and you, my squire, doubt the truth revealed to you in the hours between worlds. But you, Erutirn who was Maernus, see hope despite your wounding -- and you, Indilzar Bragollach, have heard words I have spoke but forgotten.\"

Indilzar nods and says, \"We go to Lond Daer by the shining sea.\"

He says this simply and then asks, \"But that sword. Truly it is a mighty blade such as the sons of Arnor wrought in the days of their glory? Is this an heirloom of this place? Know you its name?\"

\"But...\" Morrandir makes as if to inquire, then smiles and shakes his head. \"No doubt all things shall be revealed in due course.\"

And now the gaze of Erchirion returns to Thorondur, \"Nay, good Lord,\" he says, \"I doubt not that which I see..\" he speaks openly now, his voice no longer a whisper, \"Hope still lingers within my heart..\"

And he grows quiet, but only for a short time, \"Nay, I doubt no longer.\"

\"I did not know, and yet, somehow I understood,\" Thorondur admits, confiding some part of his wonder in these four brave men, \"where my steps would lead, or what words have passed my lips. This was the home of my family once, and this sword long hidden...\"

Here he does pause, and looks down upon this blade that he cradles in lingering shock. \"From where it was hid, and the runes writ upon it, I know it -- though ever we have thought it lost. This sword is called Elemmacil.\"

Now smiling wanly at Morrandir, as if sadness for a past long forgotten rests still upon his brow, the Herald adds, \"And yet much is wrought that is never revealed at all. But the shards of Anaril never came to Echorion Elendril Girithlin, the exiled prince. Lond Daer it must be, as Indilzar says it.\"

\"Bear it well Thorondur Girithlin,\" says Indilzar Bragollach. \"Yet we cannot linger here longer where the spirits of your longfathers rest. We must now go upon our errand and chase this willow-the-wisp and see full to its conclusion the Tale of the Men of Gondor and the Great Sword.\"