Aragorn was as apprehensive as Timothy had been about letting a vampire and a Sauron worshipper into the depths of Minas Morgul, but Thorongil insisted it would lead to no trouble. Being loath to deny such a simple request, Aragorn gave him the key to the library beneath the Tower of the Moon. The next morning Thorongil, Gwethien, Timothy, and Mirumor rode to Minas Ithil as the first chill winds of winter stripped bare the beautiful trees of Autumn in Ithilien.

Thorongil parted with them at the bridge to Minas Ithil and causally began the ascent to Shelob's lair. 'He looks like he's off to tea and cakes' thought Timothy. As soon as he left Gwethien's demeanor changed; gone was cheerful, helpful Gwethien.

"Let's find some food," moaned the vampire.

Both mortals stepped back.

"The kind you two eat!" she hissed.

Upon showing a letter from the King at the main gate the three travellers were permitted into the city. Over fifty years after the Witch-King's death the tower was little more than a military outpost. Aragorn had initially intended to level the entire tower and everything about it, but that had proven infeasible. It was as unbreakable as Minas Tirith and Orthanc.

Few among the garrison dared wander the streets at night, where men swore they heard the whispers and cries of the dead echo from the very stone. Only a few civilians lived there, providing services to the King's men, and they were well paid for their troubles.

They had no trouble finding food, though Gwethien had trouble paying for it - the maia had never before needed money. She had to borrow from Timothy who, knowing things rarely go as planned, brought enough for a stay of many nights. After a nice meal they were assigned lodgings by the captain of the guard. They received only two rooms, and Gwethien insisted on sleeping alone.

Shortly after midnight Timothy was awakened by the sound of the door closing. Mirumor was gone. Timothy slipped on his shoes and followed her into the darkness. She made her way to the base of the central tower of the city, wide at its base but tapering to a narrow tower whose crown sat seven hundred feet above the valley below. It was made of a white stone which glittered in moonlight and starlight.

More than once on the slow journey through the streets Timothy turned round, certain he had heard a voice. Mirumor heard the voices as well, and despite her worship of darkness found it disturbing. Around two hours after midnight she found what she sought: an unguarded entrance to the tower. She slipped silently up the the door.

"It's going to be locked," whispered Timothy as Mirumor fiddled with the doorknob. She collapsed to the ground in fear and surprise, trying her best not to scream.

"What are you doing here!" she whispered through labored breaths as she tried to calm down.

"Following you, obviously," replied the scholar.

Mirumor took from her belt a leather bound set of tools. "Keep watch."

"We are not breaking into a Gondorian fortress!" objected Timothy.

"We aren't, I am," said Mirumor. "You are just following me."

Timothy rolled his eyes but did nothing to raise the alarm. He was as curious as she was what lay within the tower. It did not take Mirumor long to pick the lock.

"I'll remember you can do that," muttered Timothy.

"Good!" laughed Mirumor. "You find some doors that need opening and we can split the profits."

Mirumor and Timothy cautiously stepped through the door and into the tower. It was extremely dark, but Mirumor had a tiny candle with her.

Timothy was genuinely impressed. "You really do come prepared."

Mirumor and Timothy slowly made their way up through the tower. Mirumor seemed to know where she was going, much to Timothy's confusion. He was about to ask her how she so confidently picked hallway after hallway that led them consistently to stairs leading upward when they reached a black door. Mirumor held up her candle and read the inscription: The Lord's Armory.

"How did you know how to find this?" asked Timothy, stalling.

"The plans for this tower are in Minas Tirith's library," she replied.

"And you have access to the library?" asked Timothy.

Mirumor held up her lockpick set with a fiendish grin.

Timothy had no desire to see what lay within the Lord of the Nazgûl's armory. "I am not going in there!"

"That's fine, I am sure you can find your way back down," she giggled. Timothy did not find it funny.

The lock for the armory was much more formidable than that on the door by which they had entered the tower. Nevertheless Mirumor was able to open it after half an hour of effort and cursing. As the two explorers entered the armory they noticed the air was deathly still and cold as ice.

"This isn't natural," whispered Timothy.

"Well I would be disappointed if it were," replied Mirumor. "Don't touch anything; the blades are probably poisoned."

Timothy nodded, shocked that Mirumor cared enough to warn him.

The little flame of Mirumor's candle glinted on hundreds of weapons set on racks along every wall. A rack of knives was visible by their own cold, pale glow. Timothy drew out his stone and it gave off more light. There were racks of every type of weapon imaginable, and some they couldn't even recognize. On the far wall sat a collection of maces, in the middle of which one was clearly missing.

"I bet I know where that is," mumbled Timothy, thinking of the vault below the Citadel of Minas Tirith where legend had it everything taken from the Nazgûl lay piled in a safe.

Timothy next noticed suits of armor displayed along the wall to his left, the center of which was again missing. About half were as he expected: black and menacing. The others surprised him; they looked fit for kings of realms fair and free, save that the helms covered the face completely. One in particular caught his attention, having the crest of Numenor's royalty on its chest.

As Timothy examined the armor, Mirumor found a few items of interest to her, starting with the rack of daggers.

"Morgul Blades!" marvelled the sorceress.

Timothy was too busy with his own find to notice the famed knives of the Nazgûl. He had found a locked chest labeled 'plague.'

After about half an hour in the armory, the two explorers decided to return to their room. They made it out of the tower thanks only to Mirumor's exquisite sense of direction, but they had trouble remembering the way to their lodgings amidst the whisperings of the haunted streets. Fortunately they encountered a helpful guardsman who didn't question why they were out at two hours till sunrise.

Gwethien was in no rush to get to their assigned task, so she did not wake the two mortals in the morning. It was nearly noon when Mirumor and Timothy stumbled out of their room. After a quick meal they set off for the library beneath the tower. This time they were shown in by the main gate and unlocked the door to their destination with a proper key.

The record chambers of Minas Morgul were dark and covered in spider webs, though fortunately spiders of more manageable size than those that hunted in the tunnels to the east. Gwethien and Mirumor went searching through books while Timothy thought to look at maps, hoping to find one showing who ruled where. Timothy's thought proved the more fruitful; he came across a map of the North in T.A. 1300. 'Ingacarca?' was hastily scribbled next to 'Orc King' beside the fortress of Carn Dûm.

Before Timothy had finished feeling proud of himself Gwethien and Mirumor found the records of the initial capture of Carn Dûm in T.A. 1302 by the Witch-King's northern expeditionary force.

They told of a siege in the dead of winter. The Witch King's army, mostly mercenaries and malcontents from the south and east, faced an unusually fierce band of orcs defending the castle, calling themselves 'the fangs.' Most orcs were easily subjugated by the power of his ring, but these were not so easily daunted. Their leader sent envoys offering an alliance, but the Witch King knew that he could not afford allies - he needed a swift victory to solidify his control over the frozen wastes of Angmar if he hoped to be ready for the inevitable attack that would come from Arnor in the Spring.

The siege lasted a few weeks before the technical skill of the southrons, who still remembered the arts of siegecraft of Numenor, proved too much for the old stone walls of Carn Dûm. Battle was joined, and in the courtyard of the fortress the future king of Angmar met his foe: a tall pale orc, fair of face save for many scars. There the greatest human swordsman since the days of Tour faced his mysterious foe, and to his amazement the orc had the mastery. The Witch King tried every spell he knew, spells that could lay low entire armies of orcs, and they did nothing. Eventually, thanks to the sacrifice of many of his soldiers, the orc king was beaten - but not killed. The Witch King had him entombed beneath the castle. He placed a curse upon him, a deathlike sleep for as long as the power of his ring endured. He wished to study him, and learn how his the orc withstood his magic and his blade. The answer he came to was that his foe was no orc - he was still an elf.

"So he is alive," sighed Gwethien. "And with the power of the Rings broken he can once more rule the North."

"Did you know him?" asked Mirumor.

The vampire shook her head. "Not well. He had little use for my kind. He believed Orcs were the future - a future with no maiar. But I knew of him. He was one of Melkor's closest advisers."

Having evidence that Ingacarca lived, the three adventurers prepared to leave when Mirumor found a hidden door in a corner of the record chambers. She called her companions over to examine it. Neither Timothy nor Mirumor could find any keyhole or mechanism to open it.

"It's a riddle..." said Gwethien. "I suppose you can't read it, since the runes don't reflect light your eyes can see. The Nazgûl were blind, you know, but it seems the Witch-King invented ink visible in his realm..."

"Well what does it say?" asked Timothy impatiently.

"In black speech it says, 'The deadliest of foes, the last men face, which only nine have conquered, and I first of all.'"