The journey across Western Angmar was not an easy one to say the least. The company of seven rangers moved in stealth across the unforgiving land. The ground beneath their feet was corrupted and foul. The water through which they waded was poisonous; it was as though they very Realm wanted to kill each and every one of them. Vintar took the lead whilst the others followed in single file to cover their tracks. Arthenion pondered as he walked on how long he had spent in Angmar. Initially he kept count, but as each day seemed to merge into one another he deemed it difficult to do so. Seasons were difficult to account for, for Angmar knew no such thing. It was Autumn when they left Esteldin, that much he could remember. Not that it mattered much.
“We are close” said Vintar, his cloak wrapped about him. Behind him stood Dagnal, Arthenion’s protege. The young man was eager to join the company, perhaps foolishly, for the risk was indeed great. However, he was stubborn to a fault and would not relinquish his desire. Vintar led them across a narrow passage of sharp rock which clawed at their garments, from there it was a climb upwards between the mountains separating the West from the East. “We make camp here” Vintar announced, as they came to the top of the path into an open space.
As the company began to settle and recover their strength, Dagnal approached Arthenion who leaned against a nearby stone occupied by his pipe. “Arthenion” he said, reaching for his own.
“Yes?” he replied, crushing what remained of his pipeweed stash into the pallet.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, although I will understand if you would choose not to respond…” Dangal hesitated, whilst Arthenion continued to focus his attention upon his pipe.
“Speak your mind, Dangal” he said, gruffly.
“Both you and Vintar are close, are you not?” said Dagnal
“Fairly” said Arthenion, successfully lighting his pipe and inhaling the spoke into his lungs.
“I’ve heard that your father, Arvaldon, was a close personal friend of his whilst he was still alive?” He paused, examining Arthenion’s features to see whether this caused him discomfort. It didn’t. “I also heard that you resumed Arvaldon’s charge upon his death”.
Arthenion blew out smoke from his nostrils as he turned to face Dangal. “What is your point?”
“Nobody mentioned how he died. You’ve trained me well for the best part of six winters, you’ve never mentioned…”
“You’re right,” said Arthenion, “I didn’t.” There was an awkward silence for a moment, before Arthenion spoke again. “Arvaldon and Vintar scouted these borders for many years. They were as thick as thieves; old friends. Very few know these lands better than the two of them combined.”
“Very few…” said Dagnal, staring out into the dark abyss.
“All we have is Vintar’s account, which is enough in my mind. He said there was an ambush, where rangers were not slain, but taken. To where, we cannot say.”
“Your father was made captive?” asked Dagnal.
“For a time. A handful of rangers were taken and my father was one of them. Vintar led a rescue party but found nothing. These were no mere Orcs, but Angmariam, direct servants of the Iron Crown itself and much more cruel. They are cunning, to say the least.” Arthenion inhaled and exhaled once more. “Their leader was discovered, a corrupted man by the name of Nayrith. He agreed to treat with Vintar and negotiate terms.”
“Did he accept?” asked Dagnal.
“He did,” said Vintar, who approached the two. Arthenion lowered his gaze and allowed his mentor to continue the story. “And he did not come empty handed.” Vintar sat down upon the ground and wrapped his green cloak about him, a grim expression etched upon his face. “He brought the prisoners with him in a sack, the heads of all our comrades which he displayed upon the ground. He assured us that they died painfully, as is his custom. Most of all Arvaldon, who refused to yield information.”
Arthenion inhaled and exhaled once more. Dagnal looked at him as if expecting to see some form of emotional response from the tale, but nothing came. The man remained stoic, still and silent.
“As of that day” continued Vintar, “Arthenion took over his duties and has been a boon companion ever since.”
“What a cruel fate” said Dagnal, clenching his fists. “I heard Arvaldon was a valiant man.”
“He was,” said Vintar.
“Let us hope we meet this Nayrith on the field, to avenge his death!”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Arthenion. “Believe you me, I have thought of revenge for many years and have come to realise how reckless it can be. Nayrith is a cruel and vicious adversary and bested some of our finest. I do not wish for a repetition of that day.”
“Wise words,” said Vintar, standing up and placing a hand upon Arthenion’s shoulder. “I have no doubt our paths will cross again, but on our terms; not his.” Vintar moved towards the ledge overlooking the gap between the mountains. There, the tower of Barad Gularan loomed ominously in the dark. “I suggest you get some rest, tomorrow will be hard.”
