Shadow in the North: Tel'nim

Part I: A Nameless Terror

Of the Great War of the Ring, many songs had been sung and many tales told. The names Gandalf the Grey, Aragorn the King, and Frodo the ring-bearer are greatly revered. And rightly so… Yet Sauron's shadow stretched beyond the lands of Gondor and Rohan alone, and his forces would once have done great evil in the Northern lands of Middle-Earth, had a handful of heroes not shone their light upon this path. Their stories, too, deserve to be told.

An ancient evil has arisen from the shadows. Sauron's evil has gathered, its malice inflaming all those who follow his ill-gotten cause. In the north, he sends Agandaûr, the cruel master of dark sorceries, who would crush all those who dare oppose him. Though against this rising shadow stand those who do not seek glory, nor power, but those who would stand to fight the onslaught, to protect their people and their lands, before all of Middle-Earth fades into blackness. Pay heed now to one such tale that begins in the town of Bree, just a few short days before the arrival of four young Halfings.

Beyond the comfort of the inn, a storm waged upon the folk of Bree-Town. The rain fell against the pavement with force, and high winds howled harsh as they blew in from the North. The otherwise bustling town was now silent, the darkness of the night silencing all who dwelled there. Life came only from within the scattered buildings, and it was in the Prancing Pony that most men found their amusement this night. Amusement, however, was not all that awaited.

In the corner waited a hooded figure, the red ashes within his pipe illuminating his jaw as he inhaled the tobacco. He was not unmissed by many the men in Bree, for to them he was Strider, a ranger. They thought him no more than a troublemaker perhaps, one that was followed by ill company of which no welcome would be offered to in Bree. But, Barliman Butterbur would offer little complaints on the matter. After all, this Strider was a paying customer, and times were not as prosperous as they had once been at a time long ago.

Strider was not, at that night, the only odd folk to find themselves in the Prancing Pony. A company of three too found themselves at the doors of the inn, being waited on by the ranger. They too were clad in cloaks, though not even the drunken fools that sat around them missed the fact that it offered little anonymity, for the grace that touched their lives was too obvious. Elves they were, First Born of Ilúvatar and the fairest beings to wander through the lands of Middle Earth. They ignored the glances the men bared, for their mission was one of both haste and secrecy, and no time could be wasted on those in various states of inebriation.

The three walked towards the corner inhabited by Strider, and the cloaked ranger brought a hand to his heart in greeting. He looked towards the other inhabitants of the inn before speaking, making sure that no unfriendly ears were listening. Nonetheless, he spoke in hushed whispers, speaking to the elven kind in their own language. "Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond! I am glad to meet you here this night. And in the company of Andriel, of Imladris no less!" He nodded his head towards the she-elf, a courtesy returned by the elf. "I need not tell you of the dark times we are in, for I can sense you know it well, and bring with you news that pertains to the Chieftain of the Dunedain. Last I knew you were in Sarn Ford, what tidings does Halbarad send me?"

The twin sons of Elrond did not answer immediately, instead looking to their companion. Through words unspoken, she turned towards the men and watched intently- a precaution. Speaking now, Elladan began. "What news we have for you, Estel, is grim indeed." Elladan sat across from the ranger, sighing after speaking.

"I feared it would be so," he sighed, "Speak low now, and quickly! For the ears of the enemy may be even here."

The she-elf with the brothers turned now, looking towards Aragorn as she spoke. "Three days past the guard at Sarn Ford was attacked by nine black riders. You know of whom I speak." Andriel looked grim as she joined the others in sitting, the flickering light showing grief in her eyes. "Your men fought well- and brave. But the fear of the nine strikes even the bravest of hearts. We were overwhelmed and the enemy passed into the Shire."

"This news, however, is worse than I had imagined. From Mordor they ride, and with them an aura of unnatural dread. Our folk could not hope to stand against them together! How bad were our losses?"

"Many fell in the battle." Elrohir spoke, leaning closer to the two others that sat now at the table. "The loss would have been greater perhaps, but your Halbarad had the good will to fall back. We saved what men we could, and the injured now are being cared for."

Aragorn sat silent as they informed him of the tragedies that befell his men, the grief in his eyes unhidden. He did not speak, in face, until Elrohir expressed his regret that the three Elves had not come to their aid sooner. "Your presence may have made a difference, but that difference is one which we will never know." He smiled softly towards his foster brother. "Do not despair, Elrohir Star-rider, over that which we cannot change."

"There is more you must know. After the rout I returned in secret, and thus I witnessed the Nazgûl meeting with an ally- one of great power and malice." Andriel spoke, speaking softer now and casting a glance towards the inn. "They called him Agandaûr. He spoke of their master, and that he has stirred up orcs in the mountains as he had wished it so. They spoke of a force in the ruins of Fornost, and that there would be need of them soon."

"Agandaûr," said Aragorn again, yet no trace of recollection could be found in his mind.

"That is not all," said Elladan, gesturing for Andriel to continue.

"This Agandaûr spoke of the Dark Lord, and that all this peril would be in the name of his wrath. If this Agandaûr indeed has a number of enemies in Fornost then our position grows all the more desperate." She shook her head in despair, leaning back slightly with a sigh. "I do not understand this. Why such hostility towards the peaceful Halflings? They are of little to no threat, I am sure of it."

"I will say only this," said Strider, "There is a Hobbit of The Shire who comes this way now, and with him a… a great burden. Should it fall in the hands of the enemy it will mean doom for us all. This Halfling is adrift with enemies all around, and I must reach him before they do. You have many questions, of this I am certain, but I would not say another word on this subject. You have done much already, it is with regret that I should ask more of you."

"We are all apart of this now, Estel. How might we aid you?"

"Ride once more to Halbarad, to Sarn Ford. The threat of Fornost lays uneasily in my mind, and the Rangers of the North must be warned of this growing force. When once more our men are able to fight, they may be of service to our cause. The eye of the enemy must be kept away from The Shire at all costs! Help him, for I could think of no better allies than in the sons of Elrond Halfelven, and the Lady of Imladris."

"Should we ride steadily through the night we will reach the Ford by first light," Elrohir spoke to the two with him as he saddled his horse, "The horses are rested, and the stars bright. Our travels shall be that of haste, if nature be all that would stand to delay us." The son of Elrond grunted softly, mounting his horse. He would have set off in that instance, perhaps, were it not for the realisation that he alone was mounted.

"You seem restless, brother." Elladan let out a small laugh, caressing the mane of his own horse. "We shall make it to Sarn Ford before first light indeed," he explained, now walking towards Elrohir's steed, "Though, you would not." Before Elrohir had the chance to reply, his brother unravelled the rope that secured the horse to the wooden hitch. "How far were you expecting to travel whilst tied to a wooden hitch, brother?" Elladan laughed as his brother stammered, though he shortly stopped when Elrohir reared on his horse, causing his twin brother to fall back into the muddy land. It was Elrohir who laughed now, and Elladan swore beneath his breath.

"I would find more maturity among children," spoke Andriel, coming forth from the stables with her riding gear on. The she-elf however could not help but smile at her second cousins, for light times as such were sure to be fewer now as darkness crept over the lands. "Come now, lest Elladan wish to have a bath, I see no reason why we should delay any further!"

And so the three riders rode swift through the night, travelling the path of Greenway with mind not to stray too near to the Barrow-Downs; for within the ruins of Tyrn Gorthad was a strange and mysterious power. In years long since forgotten, the low hills were home to men of the kingdom of Arnor. Yet following the split of Arnor and the fall of Rheudar to Angmar, the region fell. In defence of the land he had stolen, the Witch King sent upon the lands evil spirits, where still the barrow-wights dwell with means to destroy the living.

The camp at Sarn's Ford had been not long ago a sight full of honourable warriors and their steeds, the Dúnedain rangers training and laughing together in mutual glee. But such a sight of honourable and humble warriors was no more, for now the men of the west were stricken with sorrow and fear; the sickness of the nine, no doubt. No longer were the green hills bright either, for even the eye of men could see in the distance an unnatural mist, which could only offer more gloom to the beaten rangers of the north.

Halbarad stood at a wooden, makeshift table, his eyes fixed with a determined gaze upon the ragged map. The Ranger stood taller than most his kin, with sharp features and cold eyes that saw more than a common man could ever hope to see. Yet, for all his features, Halbarad was a humble soul that cared greatly for the lands of Arnor and the will of his chieftain.

"Halbarad, friend!" Greeted Elrohir as the three walked towards the ranger. When he looked up it could be seen immediately the exhaustion in his eyes, and more than that; sadness. Around him were tents full of his injured brethren and on his shoulders was a burden of fear that some may not recover. There was a sense of shame within Halbarad, and overall despair caused from the events of late.

"Have you fared well since we left?" Andriel asked next. She had felt uneasiness within him, something that caused further grief than the previous fighting.

"All has been quiet," said he with an amount of hesitation. "For what reason has Aragorn sent you back to me? It is most welcome, I will assure you, I would have thought your presence would be needed elsewhere."

"We have returned to offer you what help we may," said Elladan, looking around the camp. "How can we best be of service to you and your men?"

"I would much desire the extra hands here, my friends, but I see clear that the path you three walk is meant for a greater destiny than keeping watch over ill men. I-" once more he hesitated, stopping short on his sentence to think over his next words. The Elves exchanged looks at this, and Andriel stepped forth to place her hand upon his shoulder.

"What would you have us do, Halbarad? You have only to name it." The Ranger glanced up at the sound of her soft voice, grey eyes curious before softening with affection and gratitude. He nodded his head towards her, before sighing and lowering his voice.

"I wish not alarm the men, for already are they haunted by their memory. Not long after you left for Bree, I sent two of my men on a patrol along the Brandywine. I can imagine little that would keep them so long, yet that little worries me. I have grown concerned, nervous. I cannot leave to search for them, nor can I send any others in fear that the men will lose more hope.

They are seasoned rangers, Maradan and Hador, and they have served these lands many years. I am certain this is no mere tale of them losing their way. They were to follow the Brandywine north, as far as the Great East Road, and from there they were to return by passing through the Barrow-Downs."

"Say no more," spoke Elrohir, who now removed his helm from resting between his arm and side to place it on his head. "We will seek out Maradan and Hador, for between the three of us is great skill in tracking. If they have made it as far as the Downs, we will likely pick up their trail and send them back to you."

Elladan nodded, as did Andriel, and spoke too. "Have faith, Halbarad, should these men have had harm come to them we will swiftly save them from it! You need not worry."

"Already do I feel this weight lessened." Halbarad brought calloused fingers to rest on his heart, nodding towards the three elves with a gracious smile playing on his lips. "Farewell, and safe travels to you all!"

The wind howled loudly against the tall trees, blowing with vigour the leaves that fell from the branches and sending them to dance across the moonlit landscape. The scent of rain swam through the air- a forewarning of storm. Their journey to Tyrn Gorthad had thus been uneventful, save the occasional howl of a wolf or cry of birds over head. But it was not unmissed amongst the Elves, for the wit of their kind was great, that the closer they came to the ruins, the greater the sense of dread was. The Fathers of Men had, in the depths of time, made the tombs. They were sacred to the men of Arnor and they too buried their dead in Tyrn Gorthad until the kingdom fell to the Witch-king.

"Pay heed and stay sharp," spoke Elladan, "These hills have a reputation of evil about them, and such a status is not without error. There is a sense of unease I feel here."

"I do not like this," spoke Andriel now, and she felt as though the sound of her heart beating could be heard throughout all the Downs. She wished then to silence it, to hide herself from what evil may lurk about her, but it was to no avail. "I fear that which we seek may not be so easily found in this mist."

And so the pushed on forward, and it was not long before they could see clearly the ruins of the Downs, shrouded by unnatural mist. It was no longer mere dread that the Elves felt, but now a cold sort of sorrow. "Halt!" Elrohir called as he strayed towards the side with enthusiasm in his step. Crouching down towards the earth, he pointed and looked back towards the She-Elf. "These are tracks, are they not? What can you make of them, Eireniel?" He shuffled to the side, allowing the she-elf room to view the imprints.

"Two pairs of tracks... onwards towards the Downs. We cannot be but a day behind them," she faltered then, looking towards her companions with a look of uncertainty. "Though, I cannot imagine what would have kept them here. Halbarad revealed to us that they had been missing for three days at the least. Why lead on into peril?"

"Perhaps they had no choice," replied Elladan, who had since walked a few paces on to discover an abandoned sword. "There was a fight here, if my eyes serve me correctly. No Ranger would leave behind his blade lest he had no other choice." Elrohir stepped towards his brother, and they talked of theories in hushed, quick voices; Andriel gave no mind towards their words and instead followed the tracks.

"You are right… and yet there are no tracks I see but these that lay here." Studying them closer for a moment longer, she shook her head. "Even a Wight would leave behind tracks, would they not? What battle-" She turned back towards them and Andriel looked on with a newfound sense of wrong, for where once stood Elladan and Elrohir was not empty space filled only with mist and a whisper of evil. The second-born stared on with sharp eyes, not daring to make a sound, for she was not so daft as to make do so when she knew not where her companions stood.

Hand tightening around the hilt of her blade, Andriel moved quietly towards the place where they had stood not a few moments previously. She knew her companions well, for they had shared each others company for almost all the years of their lives, and it was for that familiarity that the elf knew they could not have drifted off without a word. There was something evil at work, it would be obvious to even a child, and as she searched for them among the mist Andriel could only hope her companions found no harm.

"Andriel?" An eerie voice called to her from her right, which - to her relief - was that of Elrohir. She could make out his figure only barely, for the mist was now thicker than it had been when first they arrived. She had meant to call out in return to him, though something stopped her first; it was a strange feeling, unlike any other before. He stood facing her, and though the mist between them was great, it was as though she could see clearly a strange glint in his eye.

It happened so quickly, just then. From her side emerged another, weapon drawn and sword coming quickly down upon her. Andriel drew her own, blocking the hit and crying out in surprise. "Elladan?" she dodged his next hit, manoeuvring herself to move under his arm and behind him. Andriel had read of the bewitchment of Barrow-wights, how easily they could seduce wanderers to drift into their grasp; though she'd never imagined they could enchant such strong beings as Elves.

"Release them from your spell!" she shouted firmly, parrying Elladan's next blow before being thrown backwards to the ground by his force. She did not desire to hurt him after all- not when there was a chance that they could be returned to their natural state. Though, Andriel did not see how she would be able to both ward off his blows and figure out how to return the brothers to normal. Feeling around wildly for her sword, Andriel scooted backwards on her elbows, pleading; "Elladan, this is not you. Tolo dan na ngalad!"

He advanced on her quickly, and Andriel still could not feel the hilt of her blade. Thinking quickly, she reached to her belt and pulled out her dagger, slashing the leg of her friend who, in turn, yelped from pain and fell back. "Elladan!" She stood now, swiftly receiving her sword and kicking his own from his reach before kneeling next to him. "Lasto beth nín, mellon." Andriel whispered, taking his helmet off so that she may see his eyes better.

"Andriel," his voice now dazed, as though he were waking from a deep sleep, and when his eyes flickered open she saw no eerie haze.

"You must awake quickly, Elladan, Elrohir remains bewitched." Andriel spoke in rush, helping him up and helping steady his stance. "I have not hurt you severely, have I? I saw no other way to pull you from that trance. I am sorry,"

"Speak no apologies, my friend, I dare not think what I would have done had you not cut me." He winced lightly, tearing his cloak so that he may wrap it about the wound. "It is strange," he shook his head, placing his helmet between his arm and torso, "It was as though I were in a dream, from which I could not wake however hard I tried. The wights have never been known to place another under their bidding, not so easily at least. I fear now for my brother, and for the men we came here to save."

"We will find your brother, Elladan. Come now, last I saw him was just ahead."

Before any angry reviews are sent, yes, this a reposted version of a previous story that was written by me! I lost inspiration unfortunately, so I edited the first chapter.

This story is based loosely on the video game titled "War in the North" and, if you're familiar with it, has many of the same characters. However, as the story progresses, it will go off in a different direction. Anyway, thank you all for reading my first chapter, and first attempt at a fic like this. Please any feedback is much appreciated! I'll try to reply to every review I receive, whether it be in Author's Notes at the ends of chapters or privately through ffnet. All right, I'm done rambling off now.

Translations:

Tolo dan na ngalad - Come back to the light

Lasto beth nín, mellon - Hear my voice, friend