|
Lómwë accepted Endamir’s suggestion with a nod and a few words and lead the way off to the nearest of the eastern wall’s bastions. And as they walked, he allowed for the first time since arriving at this place the dammed up flow of memories to begin to trickle through. He recalled in surprising detail the layout of the old city, though it seemed that this was almost unnecessary: the way beneath his feet was almost as natural as if he had last gone this way only days rather than centuries ago. The memories that he experienced were not, however, of the same sort as the dream-memories which had been plaguing him; instead, he felt a bittersweet nostalgia over the place. Here had been the home of a friend; there had been a blacksmith’s shop – the list went on. All of the once-familiar landmarks had fallen into some state of decay, and while a few remained surprisingly close to intact, the effects of the passage of time were glaringly obvious to one who had known them in the city’s days of glory. Here, Lómwë had no choice but to confront the truth: Himring was dead. Its only life existed in the form of memories, and those alternating between too vivid and too vague.
Very soon, the pair arrived at the bastion. Lómwë hesitated before entering as an air of disquiet fell over him. He glanced over at Endamir, saying, “It is odd that the feet should remember so well the way. I wish I knew what we might find inside.” Hopefully whatever – or whoever – they found would not be ill meaning; perhaps they would even be helpful…
Cautiously, Lómwë took the remaining steps to the bastion and went inside, Endamir following just behind. Lómwë quickly noticed a hole in the roof to be the main source of light in the dim interior, but it was otherwise much as he had remembered. There was a stairway leading up to the wall, which was still mostly intact, having been made out of stone. Once, the bastion had served as a small armory and each one had usually held a soldier or two as watchmen. Unlike the stairway, however, the soldiers and weapons were both long gone. Or were they? Lómwë felt a sudden prickling on the back of his neck and realized the strange feeling of moving air. He looked around but saw nothing, though the aura of watchfulness about the place could not be shaken.
“I do not think we are alone,” Lómwë commented softly. Endamir nodded in agreement. Louder, Lómwë said, “We seek Idrahil, called Seneschal. We are told he may be able to help us.” But the words seemed to die, and no response was heard. After several moments, Lómwë sighed. “This could be difficult… without their help – whoever they are.” He gestured vaguely into space. He was beginning to feel once more that this whole mission was rather hopeless – he hoped that this Diviner really could help Lindir, and not at too dear a cost… “Perhaps we should try up the stairs?” he suggested.
|