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While the Free Peoples believe peace has finally settled over Middle-earth, a different struggle is unfolding beyond the reach of their watchful eyes. In the ruined lands of Udûn, forgotten fortresses stir once more as The Nameless Fear gathers exiles, traitors, outcasts, and servants of darkness beneath no banner but fear itself.
Yrill seeks to make an appointment to speak with Lord Elrond, though she is advised that may not be possible for a few days. She looks unsuccessfully for the Turs and Cauns she once knew and trusted. But much has changed. Some few seem to have sailed themselves, others are elsewhere. She walks the gardens, hoping to encounter someone she can speak with regarding her plans, and is relived to find Lord Glorfindel. If he cannot give her good counsel, then no one can.
Finally Yrill arrived in the Hidden Valley, in the midst of a thunderstorm. She would be glad for a short time of respite, and to inquire after those she had known. Somehow she felt many would no longer be there. Possibly some had already sailed West? Were any still remaining?
Yrill was in no particular hurry, there was no known deadline. But she wanted to accomplish her task sooner rather than later. It took only a couple of days to reach, and ride past Bree. She had no intention of stopping at that town.
She recalled back two years, when they had been bothered by some Breeland brigands, and Estarfin had suggested retaliation. She had seen his point, and would have gone along with it if Danel and Parnard had not been kidnapped. She understood that not all Men were of that ilk, but had no intention of being diverted by them.
En route to Mordor, though planning to head first to Imladris, Yrill encounters an old friend, the Dwarf, Throthi. The pair have known each other for over forty years, and Yrill knows Throthi to be a reliable friend and companion. She went part of the way to Moria with him over twelve years past, but the canny Longbeard knew he had bitten off too much. He quizzes her on her present plan. Yrill only says she is heading to Imladris, not wanting an eager Throthi to try and accompany her.
Yrill departs Numenstaya while it is slumbering for the most part. Ceuro waved 'farewell' as she headed for the gate. That was how she wanted to remember 'home' over the next months, as somewhere safe and welcoming. Something worth what she was about to do.
Yrill retreated to her rooms at dawn’s first light. It had been a merry few days, and an exceptional evening. She was content, more than content with the outcome. She was happy for her old mentor, Danel, and for Estarfin, whom she had come to know quite well by accompanying him and Captain Culufinnel in the search for Danel and Parnard, after they had been captured by Corsairs.
Two months had passed, and Udûn had begun to whisper again.
Not with the crackle of forges or the grind of war machines—
but with the rumor of her.
Deorla the Herald.
Deorla the Returning Flame.
Some orcs swore they saw a pale silhouette stalking the borders.
Others claimed their patrols were cursed—missing men, silent blades in the dark, fires snuffed while their backs were turned.