[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor watched Crystal and Atharen walk away hand in hand silently, his expression unreadable. 'Like a wild and untamed Mearas of Rohan she seems - self-sufficient, defensive and easily kindled to anger. But she is but a child still. I know that Crystal's bragging and blustering threats all derive from fear, even if she herself my no notice it. Fearful of harness and therefore entrapped inside her fear.'

Ferethor swallowed as he watched them turn around the corner, a suspicion suddenly entereing into his mind. 'Great Eru, that girl... Is she loving the ranger Atharen? Nay, impossible!' He called to Maen. "Il Garoth, Shall we go in?"

And after a wary scan at the other people, Ferethor slid the key into the lock. The door slid open smoothly as he turned the handle and stepped in. To his surprise, the place they stepped into was a vast hall of magnificent splendor that took his breath away.

Ferethor wondered at the vast Hall of Archives, for it was of exequisite workmanship. He breathed, "The skill of stonewrights in the Dwarven kingdom of Dale has little been lessened by time." Many-shaded torches cast their colorful light of mingled hue in the hall, revealing towering pillars of marble and rich taperstries woven of scarlet and gold. And preserved in bronze caskets bound with silver, countless scrolls of history and lore met his amazed glance. Ferethor was a captain learned in the lore of his people yet ever thirsting for more, and these appealed to the part of his mind that yearned for knowledge.

Even as he stood speechless with wonder, Aelimur broke the stunned silence of the group. "Maen, no offence, but how are we going to find the incriminating evidences our of all these rubbish?" Ferethor remembered that Aelimur cared little for lore. Maen replied, somewhat shaken, "I don't know".

Ferethor knelt, carefully lifting a crumbling scroll from a nearby casket. He caught his breah upon unrolling it, for it was written in the Old Adunaic of Numenor which was now faded from the memories of men. The jagged and angled forms bore no more then rude semblance of flowing letters of Gondor. Ferethor read aloud, his clear voice breaking the dark, forboding silence.

Where now dwells the Numenor?
Seek not the Westernesse,
For they foundered beneath the sea,
Passing away for evermore.

Once was Numenor glorious
And Edain the kings among Men
Until Sauron of the many-guises
Sought to take dominion

Shadowed was its fair demeanor
By Gorthaur the wise-seeming
Ever sweet he shaped his words
Subtle poison hidden beneath

Gift of Iluvatar did Sauron scorn
With everlasting life he lured
And Ar-pharazon ever heeded
His twisted counsel woven of lies

So ban of Valar did they break
The proud sons of Westernesse
War upon Aman did they wage
Sealing their doom full-wrought

Appalled did the Faithful see
the sea swallow Numenor
Its foundation lost among waves
In the wrath of Eru the Mighty

Sorrowfully still the Faithful sing
Of Atlante which is no more
And great majesty and splendor
of Numenor that passed away

Even as Ferethor finished reciting, Atharen said softly, "It is a part of Lay of Atlante, which sings of Numenor's downfall." Ever practical, Aelimur broke in. "But old lores and bygone history is not going to help us much, gentlemen. What is to be done?"