[Himaran]

Abarzadan sat at a polished hardwood table, hunched over the series of maps spread out before him. No matter which entrance the group took into Armenelos, there would undoubtably be trouble. Even getting to the city itself was an issue, as random patrols of guards were still combing the wildnerness for signs of possible intruders. The man pounded his fist on the table angrily. There just had to be a way! Every city had weaknesses, every fortress had soft spot. Still, the weakness of Armenelos was doing an excellent job of hiding itself from Abarzadan's generally clever mind.

Then came the knock. A carefully-planned series of taps rang out on the apartment's heavy oaken door.

Abarzadan stood quickly. Thoronmir must have finished his errands. The man slid open several sturdy latches and swung the door inward. There, standing before him, was the last person in all of Numenor that he would have expected to see, save Abârpânarú himself: Lady Inzillomi.

Without saying a word, Abarzadan stepped inside and turned towards the apartment's single stairwell. "Azarmanô!"