The Trail of Tar-Númenetâr

[Tainga 521]

 

 

Issued the 276 Year of the Second Age by the office of

THE CROWN 

 

 

---

 

When I was a child, my mother would often tell me of the legend that was Ser Uther Pendraic and his ascent of Mount Alkayaban. That climb marked the beginning of Numendil. She spoke of the battles he endured against the Sharudun, of the hardship that nearly broke him, and of how closely death followed at his heels. Upon that mountain, his faith was tested, and the man who ascended it returned not merely a Knight, but a King tempered by trial. 

 

My mother would then speak of the Oath. We all know it. We hear it before we can walk, it is spoken so often it feels like a second pulse beneath our very ribs. She told me how Uther upon reaching the summit stood between the heaven and the earth, looking out over the land he meant to defend. And there, before Caladhril, he gave voice to the oath that would bind us all should we wish it. The words first spoken upon that height are the same the Numenedain still carry.  These words that call us to let our deeds be better than those who came before us, to stand as foes to His foes, and to live beneath the watchful gaze of Aeradar. The Oath of Tar-Numenetar. 

 

I have longed to take the Oath since the first night I heard the story.

 

As a child, I imagined a mountain of my own, earned by my own steps. I wanted to feel the cold bite at my cheeks, the snow tangled in my hair, and the thin air burning in my lungs. I wanted the climb to hurt, my legs trembling and still carrying me upward. I dreamed of standing upon my own summit, the light breaking over me, to ask one simple question: Do you swear it? I wished to become a Knight. To stand between the dark and those who cannot stand for themselves. To be the shield where others would falter.

 

And I had wished, more than anything, for my parents to see it all happen. 

 

But tragedy struck, as it always does. When I was barely six, the voyage that brought us to Azuras took my parents from me instead. By fourteen, the wilderness had raised me more than any tutor or Knight ever could. I learned the language of hunger. I had learned the sound of fear as I had moved through the trees at night. The mountain I had once imagined and dreamed faltered and vanished to become survival from one dawn to the next. 

 

Yet even in those years something small and stubborn refused to die. A thread of gold would appear in the corner of my eye. It led me at last to Alduun, the capital I now call home. I did not know then that my childhood dream was not gone, but rather, was only waiting for a breath. In the market square beneath the cold rain, that breath came. A presence stood before me, wrapped in golden light. And in that moment, the path I thought had ended began again. 

 

“God has great plans for you, little one..”

 

Her voice was gentle and certain, but in a blink she was gone. No fading steps. No retreating shadow. Only rain.. And absence. What little faith I had left in myself, in the world, and in Aeradar stirred again. First a flicker. Then a flame. 

 

Not long after, I became a page beneath Ser Frederick Euler, an honor I could never have reached without my dearest friend, Prince Vârdamir Arthalion. In time, I rose to squire. From there, new trials emerged before me. The destruction of Haelun’or. Seeking ways to shelter the homeless and the orphaned. Defending our very gates from the evil that preyed on the innocent. With each trial, that small flame within me swelled into something fierce and steady. And at last, its light turned my eyes toward the gates of our capital. 

 

To the mountain of Orodaeglir. To my Alkayaban.

 

The winds moved around me as I stood at the gates, watching the path that cut upward through the stone and into the sky from the summit. It had urged me forward, a thrumming call. I knew then that this was not the dream I had as a child. It was no longer about proving I could endure the cold, or survive the climb. The vision before me had widened. The mountain was no longer mine alone to conquer, it stood as something greater than my own longing. There was something beyond it, the mountain simply the first step. 

 

Then at the edge of my sight, that familiar golden light stirred again. When I turned, I saw him, my beloved Pharazôn. 

 

And in that quiet moment, everything became clear. 

 

 

---

 

 

 

---

 

We rode without delay. Banners bound tight, stakes and canvas gathered in my arms as we passed beyond the gates of Alduun. We crossed the Angcelume, rode through the green breadth of Tir-Glas and veered just beyond Ardrossil until the forest opened before us. There, at the threshold of the path that would carry us up to Orodaeglir, we dismounted. The first banners laid upon the trees were those of House Arthalion, their colors steady against the brown bark. Then we stepped beneath the trees, beginning our ascent. 

 

As a child, I had wanted the climb for reasons that belonged only to me. The sting of the cold air, the burn in my lungs, the pride of knowing I had endured it. I imagined the ascent as something personal. Something that would prove I was worthy to follow in Uther’s footsteps. But the mountain began to change that understanding. I did not climb to imitate him, nor to prove myself alone. I climbed because the path had led me here… though I was only beginning to understand why. 

 

For the higher I had climbed, the more a question thrummed in my mind. Rising with each breath. For what am I doing this for? For whom? It was there that I felt my past walking beside me. Those memories did not drag at my heels, they pressed at my back. I remembered the loss that shaped me, death so near it had once felt ordinary, and the life I had known in the wilderness. But more than that, I thought of the deeds I had inherited from the generations before me, from my mother and father, and the burden to make them better. 

Beneath that weight, I felt my resolve begin to falter. Their absence pressed down on me, a sorrow that never dulls, but rather only aches. I thought of all they had done to bring me to this path, and for a moment the climb felt too great. They were supposed to be here. Yet, when I lifted my eyes I saw how the trees began to thin, light filtering through the branches. I knew then I could not stop. I could not yield to the small, quiet failings that live in every heart. The wish to turn back. I had always imagined such faults belonged to tyrants and monsters, distant things. But I began to realize how easily they take root in any soul, even my own.
 

I pushed on, taking hold of the banners of House O’Rourke and striking  them into the earth where the small clearing had opened up. When I had turned, I had expected the journey to have been long. It felt long. But all I could see was the short stretch of trail winding back below. It was only the beginning, and yet I realized then how much had already been given to me. The path. The climb. The person standing beside me through it all, and the people likely to follow. The chance to stand here at all. At that moment, I understood something simple. It was enough for me to continue on.

With Pharazôn close beside me, we pressed onward until the path ended at a sheer face of stone. The sun was sinking from the sky, surrendering its light to the rising moon, and the mountain offered no gentler road. We would have to climb. Our hands found the rock, fingers searching for what little crevice the cliff would give as we hauled ourselves upward. Only then did we feel the foolish weight of the armor we wore. Every movement dragged against us, testing our strength, our breath, our will. One wrong step would have sent us tumbling back down the mountain. In that peril, our thoughts turned not to fear but to the faith that had carried us this far. The courage placed within us for moments such as this. Each grip of the stone, each strained breath upward, all just a step toward fulfilling the role we had been entrusted. 

 

By the time we had reached the top of the cliff, night had fully settled around us. The moon's light poured over the open ground, and the stars stood above. Sharp, countless, and watchful. It felt as though Aeraadar’s gaze was upon us. We kindled a fire at once, its flames rising against the dark as a beacon of rest for those who would come after. Its glow pushed back the shadows and held firm beneath the sky. Against the trees, we raised the banners of House Glennmaer. The fortress stitched onto the canvas a reminder of the station of which Aeradar has charged me.  

 

When I turned to look behind me, the earth I had started from was gone from sight. No roads. No gates. Only treetops below and the wide stretch of sky above, ash and smoke from our fire thinning into the wind. For a brief moment, it felt like a sanctuary set apart from the world. But there was no turning back to measure how far I had come. There was only forward.

 

The path ahead was the longest stretch up the climb. The air sharpened as we rose higher, fog and bitter wind gathering around us until the world itself seemed to vanish. Sight of the ground below was swallowed, and the summit above was lost to the grey. The wind howled in our ears, and when we finally reached the ridge, we found ourselves fighting against it. Hands clasped together so we would not lose one another in the storm. We stood firm as the mountain tried to drive us back. In that biting wind I understood what it meant to stand against the darkness that threatens what we guard. Not to bargain with it. Not to yield ground to it. But to hold firm, whatever the cost. 

 

I grabbed hold of the banners of House Marsyr, and drove it deep into the snow before me, standing defiant against the storm. A sign that we would not break, and that the charge entrusted to me would endure. Ahead, the northern path climbed toward the summit. Waiting. 

 

The summit came into view as dawn began to break, pale gold spilling over the horizon. We pressed on together, though the snow had grown deep and heavy, stealing strength from every step. Each stride demanded will. And still, we climbed. 

 

Pharazôn reached the summit first. The banners of House Arthalion were set into the crown of the mountain, their colors catching the newborn light. I lingered a few paces behind, breath clouding in the cold, heart striking hard against my ribs. For a moment, I hesitated. Then he turned to me and held out his hand. 

 

“Come Ashael, stand beside me.”

 

The golden light I had once imagined pouring down from the heavens was there at last, warm across my face, bright upon the snow. I did not hesitate. I stepped forward and stood beside Pharazôn. 

 

Together we turned toward the horizon. The sun rose higher, casting warmth over the peaks and valleys of Aeradar, revealing the beauty and burden he had entrusted to us. And I knew then why I had climbed. 

 

 

---

 

 

 

---

 

But the summit was not the end. We had not carried only banners and canvas up Orodaeglir. The climb itself was never my sole purpose. Tucked carefully within a pouch was a living promise. 

 

With us, we bore the seed of Caladhril’s sister, yet unnamed and unclaimed by history. A small, unassuming thing. And yet, I held within it a future. We had not come merely to stand at Orodaeglir’s height. We had come to plant it. 

 

In the beginning, I wanted my own Alkayaban for reasons that now seem small. I wished to prove myself Numenedan. To taste triumph. To feel that I, too, could endure the test of faith and stand taller for it. But the mountain reshaped that desire. 

 

When I looked to Pharazôn, I no longer saw only the summit behind us. I saw the road ahead. I saw a future where I would stand as Idunia’s Tari, and I understood that such a title is not an honor to be worn, but a charge to be carried. My ascent was never meant to end with me. It was meant to begin a mission. 

 

To embolden. To kindle courage where it lies quiet. To teach others of faith.

 

Together, we knelt down on the highest ridge and turned east, toward Alduun, its distant form held beneath morning light. Our hands broke through frost and ice. Scraping until the cold gave way to soil. Our fingers numbed, nails darkened with earth. A hollow was made. Into it, we placed the small seed.

 

"It shall be tended to, so that it will thrive here. Each of these folk, who shall be ours, will make to climb upon the mountaintop and tend to it, becoming all the more Numenedain with each step risen."

 

We pressed the soil firm around it, sealing it against the cold. Snow gathered in our palms and melted beneath the blessing of the sun, seeping down to nourish what had just been entrusted to the mountain. And we gave the seed a name. 

 

Caravas. Meaning Autumn’s Root.

 

When Caravas reaches its full height on Orodaeglir, those of House Arthalion who have yet to swear the Oath shall make the ascent as we did. They will climb through snow and wind. They will stand before it. And into its living wood, they shall carve their names. 

 

When Caravas stands tall in its full strength, any who seek to become Numenedan, any who would take the Oath for themselves, shall ascend Orodaeglir. The climb will give them space to look back upon their road, to measure the weight of the vow they are about to carry. The mountain will not make it easy. Your lungs will burn. Your legs will tremble. The wind will test your resolve as surely as any blade. But when you reach the summit and the golden light meets your face, the oath shall be a burden understood.

 

And when you descend from the height, your breath spent and spirit steadied, you will gather at the great trunk of Caladhril. There, we shall be waiting. There, you will speak the Oath of Tar-Numenetar.

 

Find the banners. Begin your trail. Complete your ascent.

 

 

---

 

 

---

 

Signed,

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion,
Crown Prince of Idunia, Prince of Numendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Numenetar

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Ashael Malôs Harren Arthalion, Crown Princess of Idunia, Princess of Númendil, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Numenetar