On the day the story began, Bordir, the Warden of Henneth Annûn, was not present in the hidden refuge of the Rangers of Ithilien along the mountains of shadow. These days the Warden had to split his days between Henneth Annûn and Bâr Húrin in South Ithilien when he was not summoned to Minas Tirith, so much of his time was spent traveling the dangerous roads of Ithilien, roads swarming with orcs, Uruks, Haradrim and other, even more menacing creatures.
Ithilien was still remarkably beautiful land in spite of its desolation and the presence of wandering orcs who took perverse pleasure in killing and crushing every living thing they could get their hands on. Most Gondorians had abandoned Ithilien more than fifty years ago when Mount Doom erupted, leaving it’s beauty for the Rangers of the South to admire only. North Ithilien was shielded from the east by the Ephel Dúath, but the mountains of shadow cast no shadow upon Ithilien. Wealth of trees and sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs grew there, some planted there by men of Gondor before the orc raids had grown too severe to plant anything. It was a fair country of climbing woods, swift-falling streams and gentle slopes, a land of dishevelled beauty.
Henneth Annûn itself, the hidden outpost of the Rangers, lied somewhat east of the island of Cair Andros in the Anduin River. The Window of the Sunset, or the Window on the West as it was also called, was a cave system with three entrances, one of which offered a magnificent view over North Ithilien, high aboveground and inaccessible to anything but birds. On the west side there was a cave-mouth concealed behind a west-facing waterfall, the Window-curtain, overlooking an oval pool. On the eastern side there was another entrance, well-hidden from the prying eyes in the wilderness.
Bordir had been the Warden of Henneth Annûn for twenty years and before that he had served as a Ranger for fifteen. He was fifty-four years old, which was a high age for a Ranger of Ithilien still on active duty; a very high age for one who wished to remain active still. Despite his age Bordir was still strong, fast and agile, but he knew it was just a matter of a few years before he would be trasferred to other, less physically demanding duties to the other side of the Anduin. Scouting North Ithilien was not a task for the lame or the elderly.
And yet, because the Warden of Henneth Annûn was in essence a man of action, he could not keep himself away from it. His duties as the Warden demanded him to keep close contact with the Captain of Gondor, the chief commander of the Rangers, who spent most of his time in Minas Tirith, unlike his predecessor who had practically lived in Henneth Annûn, so much of Bordir’s time was spent on the road. After the embarrassing incident early this year, which had ended with Captain Túrher’s shameful arrest and eventual suicide, there had been a lot of speculation about the new Captain of Gondor. Many had opined that it would be Faramir, Denethor’s youngest son, but for some reason the honor had befallen upon Lord Torthadir of Tumladen, who was also the husband to Denethor’s sister Terenis.
With Torthadir in charge things had changed, and mostly for the better. The Lord of Tumladen seemed to have a lot of money and resources to throw at the Rangers. Bordir did not recall the company ever being as well-armed, well-fed and well-provided before Torthadir had taken charge, so he had nothing to complain about.
Because beyond Ephel Dúath, beyond the mountains of shadow, was Mordor, a barren wasteland, wasted and dead. Mount Doom was silent and brooding, surrounded by the broken, jagged surface of the black, volcanic land. There was a feeling of death everywhere beyond Ephel Dúath; stinking, rotting death, the horror of the Eye.
Henneth Annûn was the last Gondorian outpost before Mordor, the only thing that stood between Gondor and the invading orcs and Haradrim. The Rangers were rough, hard men, because they had to be. They spent their whole lives in the enemy territory, scouting, ambushing and killing enemies of Gondor. There was no room for error, because one mistake could spell the death for both yourself and everyone in your company. To be the Warden for these men was a great honor to Bordir, but also a burdensome duty that weighed heavily upon his shoulders. And that is why Bordir was not in Henneth Annûn on the day the story began. He had to meet with Lord-Captain Torthadir again, to make sure the Rangers in Henneth Annûn remained well-armed, well-fed and well-provided in the future as well.
It was a beautiful, sunny day of early autumn, exactly like the day before. North Ithilien was calm and peaceful, nothing at all was happening there. Not until the sentry outside of the eastern cave-mouth spotted something extraordinary coming his way.
