The ruins of some kind of establishment of Cardolan stood before Eira. The ruins were destroyed by time, crumbling and toppled. She scuffed her shoes as she took step after step towards the ruins. The ancient stonework was etched in symbols of Numenorean heritage. The numerous walls were carved with stars, historical events, important people... Only a handful Eira could point out, from before the Fall of Numenor. Half Black Numenorean, she had been taught history through the perspective of the King's Men, not the Faithful.
The young woman ascended into the cold, empty ruins. The stone floors had been defeated by the forces of nature. Grasses, bushes, and even trees stood tall amongst the ruins halls. The swampy reeds also grew here. Tombs of different Numenorean rulers spotted the ruin's would be rooms, all combined into one large dwelling from the walls' collapses. She looked around the vacant ruins, devoid of any life aside her own. She shuddered, the isolation further sinking in. Gripping her staff tightly with both hands, she took step after step with her filthy, tangled hair in her face. Then, something sparkled, catching her attention.
In a vase that somehow survived time with only chippings at the top, something glistened like ice inside. Curiosity pricked at her, or boredom, as she approached the vase. Peering inside, she saw...
"A sword?"
The hand in a half sword inside the vase had a gleaming blade, unrusted by time. There runes running down the leaf blade, unreadable to the Mordor born half-Nurnhoth. It was an elegant thing, still sharp based on the looks of it. It seemed that fate was in her favor. She had lost her old sword escaping that wight, and here a new blade was before her. Eira grasped the elder hilt, pulling it from the vase. In the dim gloom of the Barrow Downs, the icy blade was like a lantern in the dark. Eira nodded to herself, keeping the sword as her own. In a place like this, she needed it. With the sword in one hand, her staff in the other, she stood in the ruins of Arnor.
After strapping the sword to her waistline with some loose leather, she looked up. The ruins had a high vantage point to be found in a tower which still stood, looming over the rest of the area. It would take climbing a large fleet of steps, and traversing many rooms, to get there. Still, Eira saw opportunity. If she found a high enough vantage point, she could hopefully rise above the eternal fog and figure out where she was. For the first time, freedom was in reach. And freedom was oh, so important to her.
She thought to her friends, her family, at the Huntsman and Stag. Demlemoth was a sage mentor, Egfor was a gregarious life bringer. Ristiinna was an innocent light in the mature, corrupted dark. And Nimraph...
Eira's eyes hardened in determination as she looked up to the tower. As tired, thirsty, and filthy as she was, she would survive. She had survived slavery in Nurn. She had survived the evil sorcerer's lifestyle in Gorgoroth. She had survived the training to become her father's heir. She had survived fleeing Mordor, and coming here. After everything, after everything that had happened, she could not die now!
"Everyone, I'm coming home."
Grasping her staff, she started her trek to the tower.
