Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
21 Yávië in the Reckoning of Imladris
(being the 30th day of Wedmath in the Shire Reckoning)
Ardanion, what did you do!?
Here we are, not long after getting home from Swanfleet (and yes, I’m still trying to get all my notes back in order, after that prank you pulled with the tea strainers) and getting ready for the expedition to Angmar – and there’s yet another wrinkle of mayhem that Yours Truly has to sort out!
Let me start at the beginning. Two nights past now, I was looking through some of the old records from the last expedition to Angmar as Naneth told me to do...
Bainiel stood in the twilit Gallery of the Lair, studying passages from an old expedition log of the Household. Her eyes switched back and forth from the log to the large map of Angmar on the wall, muttering to herself as she followed along with the trail of the Household’s last journey into the diseased lands to the north.
The silence of the hall broke with the sound of a scream that echoed off the walls and ceiling, a sound that made Bainiel drop the logbook and look around in surprise and fear; this was not just any scream, this was a sound of anguish, the horror of which formed a ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. Something was terribly wrong, and she realized the only other person in the manor was her mother…
Bainiel dashed to the antechamber and stood before the bookcase that hid the secret door to the Sanctum, but in her anxious haste it took three tries before her voice steadied enough for the opening spell to work. Once the door opened, she flew up the stairs into the Sanctum to find her mother, on her knees on the floor in front of the candlelit Shrine – and crying! Seregrían was weeping, shaking with every sob, her face buried in her hands, clutching a parchment in her hand.
Bainiel dropped to her knees at her mother’s side, wrapping her arms around her, fearing to say anything, such was her own shock and fear. Seregrían slumped into her, her head in the crook of the girl’s shoulder. The two Elves stayed there for what seemed like an hour, Bainiel holding her mother like holding a frightened child after waking from a nightmare. The youth held the elder in her arms, not daring to say anything until the weeping passed.
Finally, Seregrían moved, looking up at Bainiel with eyes still tear-filled. All she could say was, “I’m sorry…”
“Nana, it’s alright now,” Bainiel said, trying to comfort. “Tell me what’s wrong, I’m afraid for you.” Seregrian made to stand, Bainiel helping her. Still clutching the crumpled paper in her hand, she looked down at it, then back up to the girl.
“I… I’ve just had word from your brother, Bainielya,” she said softly, her voice still cracking. She made to walk back to her study but she never made it to her chair, leaning against the study as she took a few deep gasping breaths.
“Is this it, a letter?” Bainiel asked, looking at the paper. “Let me read it,” and she slowly unclawed her mother’s hand to read Ardanion’s letter, looking up as she finished.
“This is what got you this upset? A fairy story out of Bree? There’s more to this you’re not telling me, what’s this all about!”
“It’s… it all has to do with my personal… I’ve been keeping this line of research here in the Sanctum… away from other eyes… even yours…”
“Yes, nana, I know you keep your dark lore here, everybody knows that, and the doors keep others out – but this doesn’t make any sense, why would a child’s story affect you, and what could it possibly have to do with dark-lore?”
“It has to do with the past, hints of things older and more sinister. A horror that haunts even today…”
Bainiel read a part of the letter out loud. “…a bat-winged, knife-eared beauty… around her neck a chain of iron, its eye of darkest night… oh Mother, this again!? Seven Stars, what is it about you and the merrevail! Others are obsessed about orcs and trolls and brigands, what is it that’s so - so captivating about the Black-wings, and now boogieman tales from the Chetwood??”
“These are not ‘boogieman tales’, no more than goblins or trolls. They are real, they exist, in the past and even to this day, same as the others, only… “
“Well, only what? Nana, I know this is important to you, but it’s not just your problem, it’s everybody’s. Every expedition this House goes on has orders from you to turn over anything about them to you. I’ve talked with Auntie Cider and Uncle Lance about this, don’t think I haven’t. Neither of them tells me details, but I know enough to know there’s a mystery that you won’t share…”
And that, Danny, was when She told me the story – the whole story. If Ada and you haven’t spoken of it, then She’s kept it even from you. But now I know the truth, the reason behind all the expeditions, the lore recovery, everything. And we’re headed out in a few days for Angmar once again! Danny, I’m worried this time. This isn’t an exciting adventure – I think this is a hunt!
Danny, that part you sent to Her about the “knife-eared beauty” has something to do with Naneth and her mother – not Nana Gilalaith, but her real mother – because Naneth told me that the “chain of iron” and the “dark eye” exactly describes a necklace she wore; a gift from her father to her on the day they wed. Naneth described it as a necklace of a stone called hematite, and the “dark eye” is an obsidian gemstone, and she was wearing it on the day she died. Naneth is convinced that the creature in that fairy story might just be an echo, a clue to find her – and she thinks the answers are in Angmar!
Danny, you have to ask Ada about this when you see him next. Push for the truth, what is it that Naneth isn’t telling us? I don’t dare ask Naneth, she’s still in such a state. So, I’m asking Windwalker to send this to you, without Her knowing about this. I just hope she doesn’t call for him for the next day or two, or she might cook me.
Until We Meet Really Soon,
Bane
