Nan Curunir part 3
It would be an honor to gaze into the stone of Fëanor," you begin. "But I must inquire what it is exactly, as well as what you felt when you looked into its depths. It would be grave indeed that I gaze by mistake on our Enemy and succumb to his wiles."
"It is only natural," answers Curunír without any change in his musical voice. "I for myself can only describe the sensation as being a bird, and seeing under me Arda and its inhabitants. Seeing them as they live. Occasionally my mind is strangely turned to the past, and I behold echoes of past epochs as if they were happening at that very moment. By gazing to the North, I beheld the fall of Arnor without consciously meaning to. As for the nature of the stones? The Palantírs are relics of Númenor, brought to the Great Isle by the elves of the Lonely Isle. Seven existed in the world, but three of them are lost to deep water. Of the remaining mine is one, the second stands with the elves, the third is surely in the great city of Minas Tirith, and the fourth…"
"The fourth was surely in Minas Ithil when the forces of Mordor took the city a thousand years ago," interrupts Gandalf. "There it must remain, as the Nazgul renamed her Minas Morgul; the Tower of Sorcery, and keep it still as their hold."
For a moment you see a shadow of anger passing on Saruman's face, and for a brief moment, so brief you believe to have imagined it, all traces of majesty and beauty desert his face. Then the storm passes and he acquiesces with a nod while pointing to the sphere. You remember what you know of the Nazgûls, just legends in truth. While Galadriel spoke to you of the Rings of Power, she remained evasive on the subject of the Úlairi, the undead kings who long ago accepted a Ring each and became enslaved to them. Well, she didn't fear them. So neither should you.
You approach the table and cast your eyes on the blue glass. For a moment you see nothing, but shortly thereafter you distinguish shapes: the shade of the heavens, and the wings of great birds. Too slow for you to realize how it's happening, you find yourself floating in the blue expenses of a bright and clear day, right above the tower of Orthanc, whose crowned top and clear sylvan paths you can see.
You take your time to understand how your senses can move in the field of the visions, and soon you can dive and see the chambers of the towers. You see yourself and the other Istari around the Palantír, seated in deep council. Effect of the stone of your own innermost nature, you see them as great forms of light in the Unseen, with great majesty and terrible shackled might. They are powerful and wise and good....and yet you cannot help but fear them, as you know what damage a Maïa can do to the Music. Still, you surrender to the pull of the stone and forsake the tower for the bright world.
Your old travel bring your mind back to Lórien. Surprisingly you see nothing in the forest, even in places you are sure to have seen the cities of the Galadhrims. You see shapes made of light and webs of gold hung between trees, but not much more. It takes you minutes to notice what you saw as webs are the golden hair of Galadriel, whose presence is so vast she shields her entire domain. You see the territory of the only person in Middle-Earth whose eyes still contain the light of the Blessed Realm, but you cannot draw any tactical information from that. You sense you could, if you were to fight the lady of the woods. Mind to mind, strength to strength, you could unveil what her power hides. Yet you don't want that.
Your mind ventures next to other kingdoms, the great havens where swam boats leave for the Straight Road and the deep forests that remind you of Doriath. The power of the Firstborn is evidently waning but the remains will fight against the Shadow. Or flee to Valinor as apparently is their habit since the end of First Age.
Next are the realms of the Dwarves, or rather what remains. Your own Moria stands at the center with all sacred places and secrets exposed. In the high chambers where Thráin now rules his people, you sense the acrid smell of the Discord, faint but powerful. A song of greed and hunger you know all too well. There the stone betrays you for the first time, showing you Khazad-Dûm as it was, just before you broke from your stony prison. You see yourself, shadow and flame against a wall of metal, a torch in a sea of true silver leading the swarms and calling the gnawers below to the great feast.
Yet the Halls of Durin are not the only place where the Children of Aulë live. You see the Iron and the White Hills, and the Blue Mountains, where their holds are proud and unconquered. Yet so many places were lost: Gundabad, nearly overflowing with Orcs. Erebor, where amidst the waste you sense the presence of Smaug, greatest of this Age's dragons, who sleeps on stolen gold in the rooms delved in imitation of Moria. How many of the Khazads will come to battle when the time comes?
The stone controls now your vision, being attracted to the lands of those who placed it in the circle of Orthanc. From the North you see only disjointed images. Hills bearing cairns and barrows where whispers fell spirits and unquiet shades you once called kin, havens full of desperate people defended by arrow and spear against the terror of the nameless hills. The sights you catch in your flight are enough to confirm worse things than Orcs still crawl in the dark forests and the trackless wastes. Yet your heart is glad when you behold the jewel of the south: The Tower of Guard, white and secure in her many ramparts. Colored flags hang from the battlements, steel defends her gates, and keen are the eyes of the White Tower. You see trained troops and veteran rangers, wise councilors and vigilant guardians, and for a moment you are reminded of Gondolin in the First Age, a mute challenge to the might of Morgoth. Yet the Palantír is now leading you to another city, beyond a great ruined city ravaged by flame, beyond Anduin the Great, near the very mountains of shadow.
You see Minas Morgul and cringe at the profanation you guess. For the city is white as her sister, but it is the white of slow decay, and you easily understand the red flowers of the vale bring only death. Ruined fountains are now loosing only filth, while Orcs of a breed you have never seen before feast in defaced halls, and worse things still haunt Isildur's quarters.
You understand something has made his lair of the ruined city, presiding on blasphemous councils and dark gatherings. Great statues represent Sauron in an aspect you are familiar, but with strange iconography. You recognize the Lord of Werewolves, but to see him in dark armor and with a crown on his brow as Morgoth nearly makes you laugh. Artfully are these great idols made, but they don't change that you are gazing on a mere shadow of Morgoth, a lesser follower claiming the mantle of the Corruptor.
The pressure of the Stone is nearly gone and you know you can gaze to a place of your choosing. Will you see:
[] The high chambers of Minas Morgul.
[] Nan Ungol, The Spider's Vale.
[] The ruins of Barad Dur.
[] Dol Guldur in Mirkwood.
[] Angband and Utumno that are below the sea.
[] Carn Dum.
. Why do we actually have to choose? It's not like Palantiri have a time limit as far as I know... What am I missing?
] the ruins of Barad Dur