Disclaimer: Tolkien made this world and all who dwell therein... and because it's that time of year.
From the north-west, unlooked for, unwelcome... a stirring breath that lifted the hairs on the back of the neck; the people of the Stoneland cocked their heads. It sailed on the wind, turning, turning, low to high... There was wonder, doubt... and finally realisation – he had called, but who was there to answer?
Round and round whirled the questions, but ne’er a response... till the river cut clean through eddying doubts, bringing his brother a token. And Denethor the Stalwart, Denethor the Strong... descended into a vicious whirlwind of sorrowing, a black maelstrom of chaos there was no escape from.