When Aurineth and the others had set to Gwingris to search for her Dove, Alagos, Annúngil had headed South on his own to scout the paths that lead to the mountains. He took the old road, making good speed on horse. He kept an eye out for any bird, but he did not sight a single dove; there was an unnatural number of crebain.
He was surprised to notice the Sirannon had been dammed as he neared the road which connected Mirobel and the Doors of Dúrin. Night was fast approaching when he finally spotted the ruins in the distance. There he dismounted and guided his horse off of the road, searching for a place to make camp. He needed not travel afar, finding a hill surrounded by trees east of Mirobel. The sun was setting down on the horizon when Annúngil started a small camp fire. Sartanáro stood nearby, nibbling on the grass atop of the hill where they had sought shelter. The trees projected some measure of protection against the chill winds brought from the Hithaeglir.
From what he had gathered, with the exception of the mountain passes, few trials would be found on the way to Lórien. The roads were still in enough of a good state to travel by horse, and he saw no enemy creature. Eregion lay empty, but if he stood still enough he could swear to hear the lament of the land on the elves absence. He wondered how the others had faired on looking for Alagos, and started considering where they might have headed next. By the morning he would set out North again, following the road, and hopefully he would come upon them, or at least find some hint to their passing.
Annúngil was cut short of his musings by the sound of footsteps.
The trees did not allow him to see who was approaching, but neither would they be able to spot him before entering the clearing. He unsheathed his sword, and rested the flat side of the blade against his shoulder, folding his right hand around the hilt of the weapon. Their voices reached him before he could see them. They were two, he estimated.
“Father, you don’t see a fire in the distance and rush to it. What if they are bandits? We were lucky enough that those men had no swords or we would be dead by now”
“Gah, you sound too much like your mother. You can wait here if you want. The Huntsman himself won’t stop me from sitting by some fire in this cursed weather!”
“Father, wait!”
The first of them stepped in the glade. He was an old man, wrinkled and bent, leaning on a walking stick. He stood on his tracks as he sighted Annúngil, sitting by with his sword drawn. The second soon followed, almost stumbling over the first and looking over his shoulder. She was a woman, but before Annúngil could take in her features she drew a sword and stepped before her father.
“I told you not to come here”, said she.
“Peace, daughter”, replied the old man. He placed his hand over one of her wrists, forcing her to lower the blade, to what she looked at him incredulously. “Greetings, stranger. We are weary and cold, having crossed a great distance and wonder whether we may share of your fire.”
Annúngil eyed them warily. They were akin to the Haladin of Beleriand in stature, short and dark haired, but they were not come from the North, for their dressing was dissimilar from that people. He could only guess they were from the land North of Calenardhon, Dunland. Loath was he to trust any men who bore no friendship to his kindred, but he would not deny a little comfort to weary travelers, for they did not seem to him as a threat.
“Very well, strangers. Sit by and rest as you may. My only demand is you sheath your weapons while you remain here.”
“Thank you, thank you. See, our fortunes are turning already”, said the old man turning to his daughter. He then sat by the fire to warm his hands.
The woman on the other hand, did not seem so quick to trust. She lingered still with sword in hand for a while, studying Annúngil. Wise one, he mused. Eventually, she relented, for it seemed she too longed for a good camp fire, so she sheathed her sword and sat beside her father. Her right hand still remained clasped around the grip of the weapon, Annúngil noted. He relaxed after the woman was sat, entwining his fingers in front of him with his elbows propped on his knees.
“What is your name, man? And to what folk do you belong? You are not from Dunland nor are you of the Horse-lords, perhaps a man of the North?”, asked the woman.
“This is no man, daughter. I have lived many years and met many a traveler on the road, none of them had eyes like his. He is an elf, are you not, master…?”
“You may call me Rautan”, answered Annúngil, neither confirming nor denying the man. “And what names have you?”
“I am Cadarn, and this is my daughter, Dera.”
“Father”, censured Dera. “You do not go about telling your name to everyone.”
Cadarn rolled his eyes and looked to his daughter.
“He has offered us some measure of shelter and a good fire, which is more goodwill than we had received until now. The least we can do give is our names.”
“There is some wisdom to your daughter’s caution, however. The roads are no longer safe, and it will get worse by the year. Brigands and bandits are spread, eager to assault any traveler who happens upon them.”
“That is what I keep telling him, but does he listen?” Dera glared at Cadarn and settled to stare at Annúngil, her hand not yet removed from the sword. “Elf or man, I know better than to trust anyone so quickly.”
“That may save you two yet”, said Annúngil, inclining his head.
“That is good advice, but I trust my judgment. Your name sounds elvish enough, though I speak no elven tongue. Does it mean anything in the language of your people?”, asked Cadarn, leaning toward Annúngil.
“It stands for metalsmith in the tongue of the Grey elves.”
"Ah, a fellow craftsman! That is well, indeed. Although I am overcome by old age my eyes remain sharp, and I could not help but notice that sword of yours. It is of such making as I have never seen before. Was it made by you?"
"Aye, it was, and it has accompanied me thus through great peril”, said Annúngil. He eyed the man with some hint of amusement. Quite curious this one, thought he. He quickly found Cadarn was not done.
"A fine sword, a fine sword… Alas, my own weapons have been greatly sought by my people for the wars against the Horse-lords; a senseless war, in my humble opinion. Don’t misunderstand me; I hate the Horse-lords as any of my kinsmen, but what good has sprung from our ceaseless conflict? None. I have lost my two sons and my daughter's husband, and that is enough loss for one life. My people are blind by his promises, but I am a dwarf if the wizard in his tower has any of our interests in his mind. Nay, that will not do, north we go, so I may spend the rest of my days with some measure of peace, busy with work."
Dera listened on, her expression betraying her disapproval. The man ignored her. He raised his chin, eyeing Annúngil's garb, as if there was some hidden treasure within his tunic.
"Elves are renowned for their wisdom, though, if I may be so bold, also known for being unreliable. I ask you, then, if you will answer me: is the white wizard to be trusted, and do I do well to go North?"
Annúngil rose his eyebrows, and chuckled.
"Is that so? We do not go about spreading council, for it is not our place to do so. We are a much diminished people, and the many quarrels of men are not our concern. It would come to no surprise to me if you knew more of Saruman the White than Rautan, for among my people his actions are the matter of the wise, and though I dare say I have attained wisdom through hardship and countless years, I will not dare to speak in length of him. I will tell you, however, what I think. Trust him not. Go North, for there lives still some who were once of your own people, even if that is forgotten by them and by you also. You will not find as much hospitality as you hope to, for they do not like outsiders and have their own troubles, but those lands are still free from war, unlike yours. I believe you may find there what you seek. Remember there is always work for a blacksmith, no matter where. I shall send word to my kinsmen camps to the North. You will not see of them, but they will be watching your passage. That, I fear, is all I can for you. I myself am to ride to war soon, to the defense of our own lands."
The man nodded, rubbing his beard.
“I have heard tales on how some of the Dunlendings, or the ancestors of the Dunlendings once traveled north. But what is this land called?”
“They call it Bree-land, but before that there are other settlements of men on the way. Mayhap they will be more willing and able to aid you.”
“At least now we have some idea of what we are going to find ahead”, said Cadarn, gazing at his daughter. “What of these lands? We have seen strange ruins on our way here, but saw no living soul.”
“Ah, and it is likely you will find none. This was once the elven realm of Eregion. It has been long destroyed and abandoned. Many of my people’s craftsman gathered here in the days of old, and there was trade with the dwarves, both of goods and knowledge, for down this road are the Doors of Dúrin which leads into the ancient mines of Khazad-dûm”, explained Annúngil, smiling sadly. “Those days of glory are gone, Eregion is no more and Khazad-dûm is now called Moria, overcome by orcs. I hear the dwarves seek to reestablish the mines, how successful they are it is not known to me.”
“That is sad to hear. I always heard of the mines of the dwarves, but also of these ruins and wondered who could have built them. They are unlike those we have on our lands. It is said they were built by the men of the South, of Gondor.” Cadarn sighed, shaking his head. “How wondrous are all things found in this world. I wish I had taken to traveling when I was young, like the dwarves seem to do. Ah, the dwarves… I quite enjoy their company. They are quite skilled on all crafts and a good source of news from abroad. I dare say I have learned a thing of two from those of them willing to teach.”
Annúngil remained in silence, eyeing the men with new found interest. He too had had many dealings with dwarves before, and that a man of Dunland was so interested on their ways was a surprise to him. Cadarn stretched himself and yawned.
“Your advice and good will is quite appreciated, Rautan. It has been a while since I found such pleasure in talking with any travelers. The dwarves were once willing to tarry a moment for a word, but it seems they are ever in haste these days. War has come to us all. It is no longer for me. I am old, and my body is weary, already yearning for rest. I thank you for your hospitality, but I must sleep. Good night to you both,” said Cadarn, curling up in his furs and laying by the fire.
“This is hardly hospitality, but you are welcome”, said Annúngil, watching the man in bemusement. He wondered whether he was just far too quick to trust or if he knew somehow the elf meant him and his daughter no harm.
“Father, how can you be so quick to head to sleep?”
“If he meant us any harm, he would have done something already, just let me sleep.”
Dera sighed, and took her scabbard from her belt, placing it over her lap. She gazed upon Annúngil and her eyes remained on him for a great deal of the night, until she too was overcome by weariness and slept against a tree. Annúngil did not sleep, deep in thought about Cadarn’s words on Saruman and the war. There was little the Eldar could do about the wars to the South. They had enough to deal with as it was.
Before the first rays of the sun had appeared on the horizon, Annúngil departed in silence. He left the two some bread and a waterskin, and guided his horse back to the road, riding North in the hopes of finding his companions.
“May Oromë shield you from harm".
The race of men was on their own.
