Ranger Laeglaw stood in front of the eastern cave-mouth in the forenoon sun and watched the hunched, slow-moving figure approaching from the bushes. The man was dressed in a ragged blue robe and leaning his weight on a rustic staff as he walked arduously from tree to tree. Laeglaw could not see his face, for the man had pulled a hood over his head and over the hood he was wearing a blue, wide-brimmed hat with a conical crown. The hat overshadowed his features apart from the tip of his nose and a gray beard.
Laeglaw had nocked his bow and kept an arrow pointed at the old man as he came closer. Laeglaw was uncertain of what to do. He could not understand what an old man who looked so weak and frail that a gust of wind would knock him off his feet was doing here in the middle of the wilderness of North Ithilien. The outpost was so far from the nearest civilized place it seemed impossible for anyone, let alone a frail old man, to survive in the wild long enough to accidentally bump into Henneth Annûn. There should not even be any other people in North Ithilien apart from the Rangers and Sauron’s servants.
Then again, the man was coming from the east – from the direction of Mordor. Could it be a ploy of Sauron? The old man had seen the location of the hidden Ranger outpost, so he should not be allowed, under any conditions, to get out of here alive to talk about it – but if he was Sauron’s ploy, then the location had been compromised to begin with. If he took the man as a prisoner and down into the caves, would he transform himself into some kind of a foul monstrosity under their very eyes and rip them all to pieces?
On the other hand, if Laeglaw were to shoot him right here outside of the cave, would they be overrun the next day by an army of Uruks? If their location had indeed been compromised, the old man could know vital information that would allow them to abandon Henneth Annûn in time. But if that was the case, why was he here? Who was he?
Too many questions and not a single answer. The Captain had not given any instructions to cover this particular scenario. Laeglaw kept his eyes on the old man as he slowly approached, unfazed by the arrow pointed at him although he must have spotted Laeglaw by now. Laeglaw could now see clearly that he was not a Haradan – the color of his skin was too white.
Suddenly the old man looked up and Laeglaw could see his eyes were very bright and ocean-blue – blue as the robe he was wearing must have once been, although it had faded long ago by the sun and bad weather until it’s shade was now closer to gray.
The old man stopped about ten feet from Laeglaw, who felt his body stiffen involuntarily, like it used to do when he was still in training and that mean-looking instructor who hated him for no reason had stared him down when he had not been fast enough or strong enough or smart enough to pass the test. The sharp, bright, ocean-blue eyes of the old man were watching him, as if they were looking straight into his soul.
”Well met, my friend”, said the old man. ”Have I found an outpost of Gondor?”
He was speaking Westron, and Laeglaw thought there was a strange accent to his voice, but he could not place it. It was not like any accent Laeglaw had ever heard before. He kept his arrow pointed at the man’s face, but did not answer.
”I would like to see your leader”, said the old man in a slight, gentle, humble tone of voice that irritated Laeglaw for some reason.
”My leader is not around”, Laeglaw finally said, and a slow smile broke across his brown face like a stain. ”You can find him in Minas Tirith.”
”Then can I see whoever is in charge here?” The old man frowned, as if looking for the right words from his memory.
Laeglaw gazed at him for a while and considered. Finally he made up his mind and lowered his bow, but never took his eyes off the old man.
”Yes you can. In fact I insist that you do.” Laeglaw nodded his head at the direction of the cave. ”After you, my friend. Watch your steps. It’s dark down there, and the floor is uneven.”
The old man suddenly smiled, a dazzling smile that cracked his withered face.
”Yes”, he said. ”I expect so. Thank you.”
The old man bowed in a graceful way of the Easterlings and Laeglaw saw he was nothing but skin and bones under his rags. The old man shuffled to the cave entrance and Laeglaw followed, somewhat disarmed by the smile but his guard still up, prepared for anything.
The cavern sloped steeply downwards into the depths of the earth. The floor was beset by crude stairs fashioned from sturdy planks here and there to make the descent on the damp rock a little less dangerous. The walls and ceiling was supported by wooden beams like a mining shaft. Tree-roots grew through the walls of the cavern, stretching out like grasping, skeletal hands. There was a sound of running water coming from below and it grew stronger and closer as they descended. It was very dark in the cavern at first, but after a while they could see light from torches on the walls looming in the distance. After a while they reached a level where a young man with vigilant eyes stood up and stopped them. His hardened eyes regarded the ragged visitor.
”What’s this, Laeglaw?” the man asked. ”Who is your prisoner?”
”A visitor, Rhadrog”, said Laeglaw. ”He hasn’t given a name yet, but he wants to see the Captain. Be careful with this one – it might be Sauron’s ploy, if Henneth Annûn has been compromised. I need to get back to my post right away.”
Laeglaw disappeared into the shadows, and Rhadrog stood staring at the strange blue-robed old man and his ragged state.
”I would like to see your leader”, said the visitor. ”The one in charge.”
”You would?” Rhadrog’s mouth pulled into a smile that was not well-meaning. ”Who are you?”
”Who am I? What do you mean?”
”I mean, what is your name?”
”Name?” The old man frowned again, as if trying to remember something long forgotten. ”Oh, I’ve had names. Names, names… you want a name? Then you can call me… Romenstar. Yes, that sounds about right. Close enough, anyway.”
The name did not mean anything to Rhadrog, other than it did not sound like a Gondorian name. It did not sound a Haradan name either. ”And what do you want? Why have you come here?”
The old man gazed at Rhadrog for a moment. ”I have come to see your leader. The… chief of this place. The one in charge. He will want to see me too. I know he will.”
”First you have to tell me what you want”, Rhadrog said, with a gentler voice this time, as though the vulnerability of the frail old man had softened his heart somewhat.
”My name is Romenstar”, the old man repeated. ”I have returned because I want to see how things are. What they have become. I must see it. It is very important for me to see it.”
”All right”, Rhadrog said, hesitating. Something about the old man unsettled him. Rhadrog wanted to be rid of him. ”All right. Go down. Walk slowly. No sudden movements. I am right behind you, with an arrow aimed at your back, understand?”
A look of immense sadness seemed to cloud the blue eyes for a moment and then it was gone. ”Understand. Yes, I understand.” Without another word the stranger turned and proceeded along down the tunnel, small feet shuffling against stone. Soon they arrived into a wide landing laden with barrels and crates on wooden shelves. There was a blue banner depicting a white tree and a crescent there. More Rangers came to ask more questions. After the landing the tunnel forked in two. The right tunnel climbed very steeply upwards, while the left one descended further into the depths. The sound of running water seemed to be coming from the tunnel on the left.
The Rangers escorted their visitor down the tunnel. When it stopped descending it weaved along for a while until it opened up into a huge cave that had been transformed into a mess hall of a kind. There were long tables and benches and bunk beds behind the tables. There were more crates and barrels along the walls, along with banners with crescents and white trees. On one wall there was a cave entrance, crudely hacked into the rock, and behind it a thin curtain of flowing water dimmed the view outside. The sound of rushing water was coming from the waterfall.
Unlike Warden Bordir, Captain Magordir, the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, spent all his time with his men in Henneth Annûn. His service as a Ranger had lasted for twenty-five years, and he had been the Captain for five. He was one of the oldest Rangers serving in Henneth Annûn and during his long career he had seen almost everything and survived from more skirmishes than any other Ranger still alive at the time, so his rank was well-earned.
On the day the visitor arrived Magordir was sitting at his desk on the far end of the main cavern, separated from the mess hall by portable canvas walls. Before him on his desk laid a stack of tables, parchments and charts. A wooden lantern threw a meager pool of light on the problem before him when his work was suddenly interrupted by one of the Rangers.
”Captain!”
”What?” Magordir barked impatiently.
”I think you might want to come to the mess hall right away, Captain”, Dornach ventured behind the canvas. ”You have to see this for yourself…”
Magordir sighed, stood up and circled around the canvas partition to see what was causing all the commotion in the mess hall. When he saw the stooped, slight figure in a tattered blue robe surrounded by Rangers he frowned and strolled over to them.
”Who is he?” Magordir demanded to know.
”I don’t know”, said Rhadrog. ”He ventured here from the eastern side and demanded to see the one in charge. I have not been able to make out who he is or what he wants, what he was doing in the middle of the wilderness of North Ithilien and how he managed to find here in the first place.”
”Gondorian?” Magordir asked, his frown deepening. The old man did not look like a Haradan, but there should not have been any Gondorians in North Ithilien who were not with the Ranger company.
”I don’t really know, Captain.”
”Did you get his name at least?” Magordir was talking to Rhadrog as if the old man wasn’t even there.
”He said his name was Romenstar. Doesn’t sound like a Gondorian name, does it, Captain?”
Magordir’s jaw dropped when his memory made a connection. There were not many people in Gondor who would have recognized that name, but Magordir had spent a lot of time in the Houses of Lore in his youth, and he still remembered the fragment of a text he had read one time about the two men who had traveled through Gondor on their way to east, more than two thousand years ago.
Magordir looked down at the thin face, gazing at the blue eyes turning towards him.
”Romenstar”, Magordir said. ”The ’East-helper’.”
The blue eyes seemed to ignite.
”Yes.” The old man’s voice was very weak, nearly inaudible. ”I am him.”
”But that’s impossible.”
Slowly a smile spread on the dark face, opening the mouth with it’s white teeth. The eyes were alive now, they were shining from the darkness of the withered skin.
”It is not. As you can see.” The voice seemed to come from a distance.
”More than two thousand years”, said Magordir, barely moving his lips. ”How could you have lived all this time?”
”By the grace of the Valar. Or their curse.”
”Do you know him?” Rhadrog asked. ”Who is he?”
”Romenstar. The ’East-helper’.” Magordir repeated the names but they did not mean anything to the other Rangers who glanced at each other in confusion. Magordir reached his hand and touched Romenstar’s arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
