After a hearty hobbit breakfast, Cutch said goodbye to Furlong and his Waymeet folk and aimed his mount south. The South Farthing road wandered through hilly, wooded terrain where the deer comfortably grazed and the birds sang happily. Eventually, the road came to the broad Baranduin River, known to the Shire hobbits upstream as the Brandywine. Here the river was shallow and easily crossed, and thus was the Sarn Ford established. As dusk began to fall, Cutch gently heeled his horse into the ford.
Across the ford from the South Farthing, the bygone kingdom of Cardolan had thrived and the ford was a popular crossing to the west. A sturdy stone cabin that was likely a busy trading post was now quietly claimed for provisioning by the Dunedain keeping watch over the Shire. Beside the cabin, a campfire accompanied a pair of tents and outside the largest sat a fellow Cutch had not seen for thirty years or more. Rothavron stood as Cutch rode up. The man wore surprised recognition as Cutch dismounted.
“Cutch Crane? Is it really you?”, Rothavron asked, approaching with a warm smile and hand extended.
Both laughed and happily shook hands.
“Aye, Roth. A bit grey on top and thick around the middle, but ‘tis I!”
They regarded each other for a silent moment, comparing their memories of each other as boys with their present countenances.
“The years have still been kinder to you”, Rothavron offered.
“You are too generous, my friend”, Cutch graciously replied, noting the wear that Ranger life had laid upon his friend. Rothavron’s face was lined and his frame wiry, almost gaunt. His movements, however, seemed quick and sure, and his hair was as full and dark as it was when they were boys.
Rothavron gestured for Cutch to sit with him by the campfire, which the two knew as an invitation for a house guest. Cutch unburdened his horse, allowing it to graze and drink beside the river, and set his gear by his place next to the fire. As he lowered himself to the ground, he stated, “I have it from a Fallohide that my wife passed by this way a few months ago.”
The Ranger searched Cutch’s face for several moments before answering. “Aye. I take it you have not heard from her since?”
Cutch silently shook his head.
A solemn silence grew between the two as Rothavron poked at the fire and added a log. Cutch rummaged through his pack for rations to offer, as was a custom of the Dunedain. Finally, the Ranger cleared his throat and began to report.
“She came from the same direction as you, several months ago. She rode alone, except for a large bird, perhaps an eagle, gliding nearby on the same course. There was a Fallohide here, Fairbairn I think was his name, on his way into the Shire. It was about the same time of day as now, so they were looking to camp.”
Rothavron added wineskin and bread to Cutch’s cheese and dried meat. Both had Shire apples.
“We all talked about how we happened to be here, each of us careful to reveal only what was politely expected and accepted. We shared a meal much like this one and for a time she played her harp. Afterwards, we passed the weed pouch and smoked quietly for a while before she asked about the Gaervarad ruins.” Rothavron paused to watch Cutch’s reaction to that place name, and in response to the silent question, Cutch merely shrugged.
Rothavron handed Cutch a chunk of bread and continued. “Half an age ago, the Witch King ravaged these lands. Gaervarad was a fortress which held the Ambossar Oathstone, used to bind the local hillmen into alliance with the Dunedain. Legend says that the damned thing was too big and difficult to steal, so the Angmarim destroyed it and the tower that held it. Now, a renowned scholar would probably know this, but your wife did not mention it at all, and I could think of no other reason why she would be interested in the place. I didn’t bring it up in front of the hobbit. The dead past is best left buried.”
Cutch nodded, this being especially true in the presence of an incurably curious hobbit. “Any guess why this destroyed Oathstone would be of interest to my wife?”
The Ranger took a slow sip from his wineskin, then shook his head. “Few today would truly know what ‘destroyed’ would mean for an Oathstone. Since Ambossar came from Númenor, whatever power shaped it may be beyond our understanding now. Perhaps the Witch King could mostly unmake it, and your wife hoped to find a fragment. Even a shard might hold value.”
Cutch munched slowly on a crust of bread and stared into the fire, having as many new questions as new clues. “I understand she refused your offer to attend her.”
Rothavron chuckled. “Aye, she did that most insistently, even though I warned her of the thieves that often camp there. The next morning, she headed south, the hobbit headed west across the river, and I stayed put in case she returned. Your wife, as you must know, has a formidable reputation, and it did not surprise me when, a couple days later, I went to the ruins myself and saw the results of her visit. Although the Redclaw brothers had been driven from the place some time ago, some of his straggling band of brigands would occasionally hole up there. It was unfortunate for them that she visited, for they were dispatched with fire and what looked like bear attack, which was odd since there are no bears in these parts.”
Cutch grinned and looked up at this friend. “On that day, there would have been a very large one.”
Rothavron nodded. “I looked around the ruins of the tower, which is impassable, and saw no evidence of digging or recent collapse.”
“Impassable perhaps from the fortress, my friend, but not necessarily from the air. Her eagle is quite resourceful.”
“You intend to investigate yourself, I imagine.”
“Aye, Roth, I do. You are welcome to come along if you wish.”
Early the next morning, both men set out and by mid-afternoon were searching the abandoned ruins.
(image from lotro-wiki.com)
Scavengers had consumed most of the remains of the half dozen unlucky brigands who found themselves in Her Ladyship’s path. Scraps of their roughly woven clothing were strewn about, and their meager weapons lay rusting. Thankfully, nothing resembling her belongings could be found. “It would seem she left as whole as she came”, Rothavron wryly commented.
Cutch nodded, not surprised by that, and stared up at the ruined tower. “Since she did not pass your way again, I would guess she would have headed at least through Herne.”
“That’s where I’d go next”, Rothavron confirmed.
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