Red Sojourn, Part the First: Exposition of the Expedition

The Crossway House, Herne
43 Yávië in the Reckoning of Imladris
(being the 22nd of September in the Shire-Reckoning)

Some might call my latest expedition a "fool's errand" - those who do so reveal in their own ignorance, their own foolishness.

And as every scholar knows, even foolishness is dangerous, in the hands of a fool...

Some months past, during one of my nightly bouts of scanning lore regarding my private research, I came across a seemingly random section of Dúnedain lore pertaining to ancient power:  the Vandassari - in the tongue of the Kinslayers, of course; "gôn-en-gwaeth" in my tongue.  These "Oath-stones", saved from the wreck of Númenor, had the power of binding all those who swore upon them with bonds that transcend the ages.  Even more intriguing is that, if shattered or broken, the fragments of these stones retain their binding power - even the ability to entrap the subject.

Yes... if weaponized, it would be a great asset in my own quest...

I therefore resolved to seek out more lore about these stones.  Discreet enquiries to the Duilond Archives revealed little more than what I already knew, but one lead presented itself:  one of these Stones was reported to have been destroyed by the Witch-King himself, during the events which saw the downfall of Arnor.  Shards of such an artifact might go unnoticed and unremarkable to Mortal eyes, but might reveal its true nature for eyes to see that can - and I was rewarded to find a location...

...Gaervarad.

And that led to the chain of events that saw my setting off without escort or company, east through the Shire then south into Ruddymore.  And in truth, whom should I bring with me?  My dear one is occupied with his diligent care of the Lair and his stewardship of the House; Ardanion is abroad, in service to the King of the Westlands; and Bainiel is also abroad, closeted with her "Grandmama" on her island, wheedling out every scrap of rune-lore she can possess.

                     

So I ride forth, my good Gairion bearing me with his usual devotion, though the span of a horse's years is approaching him; and of course, my ever-reliable Sûlpadron will not leave my side, on this or any errand.  But some intuiton - or perhaps foresight - tells me that my Black Fox is even now chasing at my heels.  So I shall leave a clue for him to follow, even with these inferior Mortal archivists; let them think it absent-minded on my part (laughable).

Yes, my husband, follow the clue - and catch me, if you dare...