Through the haze of alcohol Yr Saldan heard the crash of the door from the hallway leading to the tower. He rose from his seat, unsteady, his reddened eyes trying to focus on the spinning entry way from where the sound had issued. He drew a long, ragged breath and leaned heavily on the table, trying to pull himself together.
Some semblance of normalcy returned to him as his mind clamped down on his wayward limbs and took control of them. He blinked, and his vision cleared somewhat. Drawing his blade he advance down the hallway.
There! At the entrance to the tower, there were sounds coming through the grate in the door. From above.
He opened the door cautiously, and crept up the stone stairs, one hand on the wall to steady himself in the darkness, to the source of the noise . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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