The Gulf of Lhûn shimmered in the afternoon sun, speckled with white-sailed ships. I paused on a hairpin bend of the road and took in the majesty of it. The Gaerannon, the two snow-peaked mountains that overlooked each shore, towered above everything. I had not looked upon this view for many years and I was filled with a joy I had not felt for nearly as many. The road zig-zagged down the rocky slope of the Sky's Edge, the long, sheer escarpment that abruptly marked the western edge of Emyn Beraid. It disappeared as it fell then re-emerged beyond an outcrop before running down the long slope towards the city.
From what I could see there was no sign of military activity anywhere in the Vale. The road fell now south now north now south. In the distance, a line of dots moved along the Harlond Road: no doubt riders from the haven at the mouth of the Gulf.
As I rode down towards the junction with the Road, I waved at three strand-guards who were sitting in their saddles, watching me as I approached. They wore fine cloaks and held long spears. I had never seen them before. One of them leaned on his pommel and another munched lazily on an apple.
The third turned his horse towards me. "Where are you headed, friend?"
"Mithlond," I said. "I return after many years abroad. Your faces are new to me."
He ignored the comment. "Your name?" he said.
"Cemendur Siriondil. I was the city's master healer in times past."
He looked me up and down before gesturing to follow, as though escorting me into the city was the worst of all chores.
Of all the places I have travelled to in this wide world Mithlond was home. The Grey Havens were hidden in a gorge that cut through the High Moor and it wasn't until we'd joined the East-West Road that I could finally look out upon the city where I used to live. With her spires and domes, her round arches and slender columns, Gil-galad and Círdan had built the city in memory of Eglarest. I had never been to the old havens but Tathariel had always spoken of their similarity with a sad fondness.
After the guards left me at the steps of the King's Halls, I looked out across the city. I did not realise it until now but I had missed the near-constant screech of gulls as they perched on chimneys or squabbled over some morsel at the quayside. I watched as one gull hopped from a roof ridge down the slope of fishtail tiles and joined a dozen others as they chased each other above the pale green roofs of the city.
I turned and climbed to the top of the stair, where two guards pushed the doors open onto the immense entrance hall. As I stepped over the threshold I halted at the spectacle before me. Lord Círdan's craftsmen had been busy in my absence. In the middle of the room there was a huge block of polished obsidian, carved in the likeness of a breaching whale. And now, stained-glass skylights flooded the roof space with pale blue light. The old beech timbers had been painted to look like mother-of-pearl and the floor now looked like the surf on the white beaches of the Gulf.
As I strolled around the hall, I heard familiar footsteps and my heart was lifted. I turned towards the western archway and there was Raindis in a silver gown, smiling broadly with tears welling in her eyes. We embraced and she rested her head on my chest for a long moment. At last we parted.
"Lord Círdan is otherwise engaged," she said. It had only been ten years since I'd heard her voice but it may as well have been an age. "He sent me in his stead."
"I am glad." I couldn't help grinning. "You are a welcome sight. I saw so many strange faces as I came into the city."
"More come every day. They tarry here hoping for passage west."
I nodded. "Have you eaten?"
* * *
We walked down to the harbour and a teahouse we used to frequent. Its name had changed but I couldn't remember from what. I noticed that Raindis's hair was different.
"Hair grows, you know," she said.
I smiled at that.
"You look prosperous," she said as the server brought tea and sweet rolls.
"As prosperous as one can when babysitting the nobles of Dol Amroth."
I told her about my strand-guard escort from the High Moor. "There is a tense atmosphere in the city," I commented. "It reminds me of the days of war with Angmar." I realised my blunder as the words escaped by mouth.
But Raindis was unfazed. "We are told nothing. But there are rumours there is an evil abroad in Eriador. The strand-guards have been sent out to patrol our borders."
"There are orcs on the eastern moors."
"Círdan knows this. But he does not yet know their purpose."
"Perhaps these are rogue bands from Carn Dûm or Gundabad. Or has Círdan learned of a leader?"
Raindis shook her head. "There is still much to know. Speaking of which, Círdan has granted you access to the archives."
"I expect things have changed in my absence. Would you do me the honour of showing me around?"
"Of course." She smiled then nibbled at one of the sweet rolls.
"Do you know," I said, "the Periannath of the Shire drink their tea with milk."
"Yes, Siri. You told me the last time we met."
I smiled at the memory.
She leaned back and sipped her tea then held her cup below her mouth with two hands. "Why have you come back, Siri?"
I wished I could've told her I had returned to Mithlond for her, that the nine hundred years since Dannaslais had been killed were like a prison that kept me from holding her in my arms.
Instead, I said: "I am going to Belegost."
The server brought more tea as I began my account of all that had happened over the last ten days.
* * *
"The twins spoke of a map," I said as we walked through the large white-oak doors of the Hall of Records. "A plan of Belegost."
"I know of only one Dwarven plan in the archives: that of Moria."
I knew she was speaking true. Raindis knew every inch of the Hall of Records and besides, she had never uttered a falsehood to me in all the long years we had shared.
"But there is something else." She disappeared down an aisle and started scanning the shelves on one side. I followed her and looked up at the tomes and scrolls above her head. At last she reached up and pulled out a yellowed scroll.
"What is this?" I said.
"An old etching showing an aspect of Mount Dolmed from the east. Have a look."
We left the dim aisle and I rolled out the scroll on the large table in the middle of the hall. The etching was bordered on left and right, as though peering through an archway. Dwarf runes were scattered across it, most of which I could read. In the midst of the etching, two mountains reared up, marked with runes. On the left, a T and on the right, a G.
Raindis pointed at each of the mountains in turn. "Tumunzahar and Gabilgathol."
"Nogrod and Belegost," I said.
She let the scroll curl up then rolled it and handed it to me.
"Thank you, Raindis. This will be of great help." I looked down at the table for a moment. "But my heart tells me that there is a copy of Gror's map in the city. It is said that Thorin Oakenshield gifted it to Círdan."
Raindis shrugged. "If there is such a map, I know nothing of it. If anywhere, it will be in Círdan's private collection."
"Is there any way you could bring it to me?"
"Even if I knew where it was, I could not do this. It would be treason."
I closed my eyes and nodded. "Think nothing of it. We shall have to find another way."
I reached inside my tunic and unfolded the thin paper and showed her the rubbing.
"I found these runes engraved on the lamp in Minas Belthil. I thought you might be able to read them."
Her eyes widened and I saw the old light in them. "A cipher!" She gently took the rubbing and held it up. "Khuzdul. But an ancient form. The letters have been transposed somehow."
I watched her working, her eyes alive with wonder.
"I have it!" she cried and looked around sheepishly, half-covering her mouth. I couldn't help chuckling. "The runes have been shifted nine letters to the right. A simple code. It says, 'I will show you the way when others cannot see.'"
I started to walk towards the balcony where, years before, we used to sit and talk. "A mundane inscription for a lamp."
"It might refer to lamp runes," she said, following.
I stepped onto the balcony and half-sat on the parapet. "Lamp runes."
"Like moon letters but these can only be read by the light of a white calarivor." She leaned on the white stone pier cap. "Why are you going to Belegost?"
"Fame and fortune." I returned her smile then decided to tell her. "This is one last errand, if you will, in the service of Dol Amroth. Aglahad has assured me that, when it is done, he will allow me to return to Mithlond."
At this, her eyes widened and glistened like beads of amber. I smiled and turned away. The afternoon sun was hidden behind the dome of Círdan's Halls, high up on the South Climb. The faint, plaintive sound of a harp drifted up from the streets below. A scattering of doves followed each other around Melian Square, cooing fussily. And everywhere was the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle.
I sighed. "It is good to be home."
"I am glad you are home, Siri."
I flinched at her words; in my reverie, I hadn't realised I'd spoken aloud. I smiled at her and reached across and squeezed her hand.
But her smile turned to her half-scowl. "There is another reason why the orcs might be on the move."
"Oh?"
"Glamdring has been found."
"Glamdring? A weapon?"
"A sword. The sword. The one that killed Gothmog and Glorfindel's Bane."
"A sword of Gondolin? You know I was never much interested in such lore, Raindis."
"I remember you delighted in detailing the history of the common folk of Beleriand. Círdan wrote his own history of the Fall of Gondolin in the Annals of Balar. He kept it safe after the War of Wrath and it sits in the archives to this day."
"And you are about to give me a summary of this history?"
"It appears that you need it, Siri."
"Indeed, it is a while since I studied the tales of the Elder Days."
"Then feel free to ask any questions that might spring into your head."
"I shall."
"Now, Glamdring was Turgon's sword."
I smiled. "Turgon, the King of Gondolin."
"Very good. He gave it to his captain, Ecthelion, who used it to slay Gothmog."
"Lord of the Balrogs."
Raindis nodded. "Ecthelion was slain in the duel. But his comrade, Glorfindel took up the sword and escaped the city with the Exiles. It was while they were crossing the Encircling Mountains that they were overtaken by another Balrog - Gothmog's lieutenant, it is said."
"And Glorfindel gave his life defending the Exiles from the demon."
"Hence the name. Glorfindel's Bane."
"But Glamdring was spared?"
"Tuor took up the sword and carried it with him to the Havens of Sirion. He bequeathed it to Eärendil –"
"His son."
"- who took it with him on his voyage to Valinor to ask the Valar for mercy."
Raindis paused and tucked a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. In the late afternoon sun she had never looked as beautiful.
I watched her, expecting her to continue. "There must be more to this tale."
"According to the Annals of Balar, no. We thought the sword was lost. Then, last year another chronicle was uncovered in the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil."
"It stands to reason that Eregion should hold the secrets of the Elder Days."
"It does. But the record was not written by the Noldor. Its source seems to be one Narmacil, a Sindarin exile who claims to have fought in the War of Wrath and was there when Eärendil returned from Valinor. Narmacil claims to have seen Eärendil and the Great Eagles fight with the Black Dragon."
"Ancalagon."
"The same. In the fray, Eärendil lost his grip on the sword. According to this Narmacil, Glamdring fell at his feet. He escaped the Drowning of Beleriand with a small company of exiles and fled into Ered Luin. They were in one of the passes near Mount Rerir when they were ambushed by orcs. Most of his company were slain but Narmacil killed many orcs with Glamdring before escaping. The sword, however, was again lost. While fleeing, Narmacil says he saw a green dragon – one of Ancalagon's minion's no doubt – flying overhead and tormenting the orcs. We now know that this dragon was none other than Gostir, who took refuge in the ruins of Belegost after the War of Wrath."
At last Raindis was silent.
"So the sword could still be lost in the passes near Rerir."
She shook her head. "Gostir was renowned of old as having as keen a sight as the Eagles and a lustful avarice for silver. Perhaps she espied Glamdring as it was being waved around by the orcs. Or even as it lay on the ground. Both Círdan and Elrond are sure that the sword has lain in Gostir's hoard since then."
"So, there is a hoard. Wait, Elrond knows of this?"
"Of course. It was he who brought the Chronicle of Narmacil to Mithlond."
"But why is Glamdring so important?"
"I know not. But Elrond wants it."
"And Círdan?"
"He wants nothing to do with it. He would have the Elves of Lindon stay far away from Belegost. My feeling is that his foresight has not shown him any fate in which the sword plays a part."
"But perhaps Elrond knows otherwise. A sword of such renown would be a powerful weapon."
"And, in the wrong hands, a dangerous one."
A powerful weapon, the slayer of not one but two Balrogs. Over Raindis's shoulder, a light caught my eye and I stared up at the cliffs above the South Climb.
"What is it?" She looked over her shoulder then stood and turned, staring. The beacon had been lit. Gordol had one purpose: to warn Mithlond that the Towers of Emyn Beraid were under attack.
"Edenithil," I moaned and sprang up and strode back into the hall.
"Siri," Raindis called out. "Where are you going?"
I stuffed the scroll inside my messenger bag and took up my staff. "I must leave, Raindis."
"Wait, Siri. I will come with you. I will bring you the map."