Southward
A Lord Of the Rings Fanfiction
BY CORSAIR-OF-UMBAR
NOTE This tale takes place shortly before the War of the Ring begins. Middle-Earth was very aware of Sauron's presence at the time, but he was not in open warfare against Gondor yet. All of the living characters (not including historical characters mentioned) in this tale are my creations (i.e. they do not appear in J.R.R. Tolkien's books or appendices, with the exception of Sauron).1. Pelargir
As a Pelargian born and bred, I was always taught to fear and hate a people simply known as "the Haradrim" or "the Southrons". It seems everybody in Pelargir hated and feared them. So why should I be any different?
Nobody in the great city of Pelargir had actually met a Man of Harad. So why are they such terror-invoking people? This question I posed to my grandfather, Orûmir. He looked at me as if I was asking him why Sauron was evil.
"Varatul, the people of Sutherland are to be feared because they fear us. Fear leads to hate, hate leads to war. War leads to further fear. Too often has Gondor fought with the Haradrim, too often have the sands of Harondor run red with the blood of Gondorian and Southron alike."
This was a rather circular statement, but I couldn't get any more information out of him. The old warrior had slumped down into his comfortable elk-hide armchair.
I could see why the Corsairs of Umbar were to be hated and feared. Pelargir lived in constant threat of an attack from the terrifying black-sailed frigates and dromonds. I had only once seen a Corsair ship while I was on watch. At the Delta of the Great River Anduin it had been, a tiny black dot, almost indiscernible. Others had seen it too, and reacted with astonishing speed with horror clearly visible in their eyes. Everybody armed him- or herself and the great Catapult of Barad Aerhir was loaded and the string was taut. For two hours we had waited, until the ship finally turned about and left. I imagine they had a good laugh at seeing us stand there, tense and agitated.
Umbar had, in fact, once been one of the greatest cities of Gondorean Men, to be rivaled with Minas Tirith, the White Tower. I had visited Minas Tirith once on a field trip, and did not enjoy it much. It was a rather flowery place full of trivial ceremonies and false good manners. But never mind Minas Tirith for now…where was I? Ah, yes, Umbar…
But you don't even know what our great city of Pelargir looks like! Well, I'll describe it to you. Pelargir is built on the confluence of the river Sirith and the Anduin. A wide canal, once also a stream, has been built between Sirith and Anduin, creating a triangle of land in the middle upon which central Pelargir is built. Three canals divide this triangle into three parts. Where these canals meet, a large triangular lake is formed, called the Garth of Royal Ships, or simply "the Garth". It is the center of our harbour. Right in the middle of this lake, yes, in the exact middle of all Pelargir, is a great Tower, Barad Aerhir, upon which the ancient Catapult is kept. There is no bridge to it, the tower is only attainable by boat. It is the last refuge should our city be under siege from land or sea. To the west and north-east of the Triangle are two crescent-shaped slices of town, on the shores of Sirith and the canal. Here live the common fisherman of Pelargir (the triangle is for nobles, merchants and other professions).
Back to Umbar. Originally a Númenorean colony, it remained in control of the southern seas until Sauron corrupted them, turning them into Black Númenoreans, who were evil as he was. They formed an alliance with the Haradrim, and attacked Gondor many times before the mighty Ship-kings, under whose rule Gondor reached its peak, attacked by sea and regained Umbar. Possession of the haven slipped many times back and forward between the Men of Gondor, and the Haradrim and Black Númenoreans.
Who in Gondor hasn't heard of the Kin-strife, that disastrous civil war which led to our steady decline?
What? You haven't? (sigh) I guess I'll have to explain it then.
Rhovanion, which we now call Wilderland, was once one of the mightiest Kingdoms of Men. In an attempt to hold the fragile alliance between Rhovanion and Gondor, the King's (Rómendacil II's) son married Vidumavi, a princess of Rhovanion. Many Men were against the mixing of high Númenorean blood with common Middle-men (for the Men of Gondor were descended from the men of Númenor), especially those of the Coastal Provinces, such as Belfalas, Tolfolas and Anfalas (or Langstrand).
Vidumavi bore a child who was named Eldacar. When he attained the throne, he was a just and fair ruler, but the rebels, led by a man named Castamar, did not like a half-Rhovanian on the throne, and marched to Minas Tirith in numbers far greater than those of Eldacar. A great battle was fought at the Crossings of Erui, and Eldacar was defeated. The rightful King fled north into his half-homeland, Rhovanion.
Castamir took the crown, but he was a ruler. A coastal man born and bred, he concentrated too much on the sea and building a fleet, and let the land of Gondor fall slowly into decay. Eldacar marched into Gondor with a great host of Rhovanians and retook the throne. Castamir ran for his life, and set sail with as many men as he could fit in his fleet. They settled in Umbar, and founded the Corsairs.
There is growing unease in Gondor, especially in Pelargir and the coastal provinces, for word has it that the Corsairs are preparing for a massive assault. And since the Corsairs and the Haradrim are in close alliance, if not in coalition, the mighty armies of Harad will soon attack as well. Our present Steward, Oratharn, is even now strengthening the guard on the Crossings of Poros, and sending soldiers to Tolfolas, the great island stronghold nestled in the Bay of Belfalas, offering Pelargir protection against the Corsairs. I wonder what they were doing that time I spotted a Corsair ship in the delta…
Yes, indeed, the Corsairs were Pelargir's worst enemies, but why the Southrons? They had invaded Gondor a few times, but nobody had heard from Harad in three centuries. The South had a certain black mystery to it, and it was a mystery I intended to solve. Nobody I knew in Pelargir knew a lot about the Haradrim, not even the wise old librarian, Garthmir. The books in the Library of Pelargir spoke of Elves, Dwarves, Wizards, Kings and heroic deeds, but never of Harad! Even if they did mention the South, only in passing. They also mentioned something called a mûmak. What could that be?
My growing curiosity with the South worried my mother. "That boy will catch his death one day, rambling on'n'on about Corsairs and Variags and the like. Mark my words, his precious Southrons'll come up when he's not expecting it, and…" (here she would draw her finger across her throat, in a cutting motion).
The Steward Oratharn's brother, whose name was Oradir, had a son who was about my age, (which is 21, by the way) and since Pelargir had the best school in Gondor, Fírieldúrbein son of Oradir was soon sitting right next to me in the geography lesson.
Professor Orûmir, the geography teacher (also my grandfather), was droning on and on about the Elf-kings of Mirkwood, and try as I might to listen to him (well, he's my grandfather! I might as well pay some respect), I simply could not stay interested. I was nearly falling asleep when I heard the deep, but somehow trustworthy, voice of Fírieldúrbein next to me.
"Excuse me, Sir, could you please tell me a little about Harad?"
My ears perked up immediately. Why would Fírieldúrbein, kinsman to the Steward, possibly want to know anything about Harad, sworn enemies of Gondor? Well, maybe it was just a spurt of curiosity, but why Harad? Why not Númenor or Lórien, the lands most of the others would ask about?
"Well, Fírieldúrbein, you're supposed to learn about the Elf-kings of the Great Wood today, but…" He quailed under the stern glance of Fírieldúrbein. "…since it's you…Harad is a mighty land, ten times Gondor's size, which is south of Gondor. To reach it, you would have to take the Harad Road through Harondor, or South Gondor (although it isn't under our rule any longer), and cross the River Harnen. Then you would be in Near Harad, a sparsely forested land populated by constantly warring tribes. Just south of the River Harnen you would reach the town of the largest of these tribes, which is called Gorbaktu. Here the Harad Road crosses the Road of the Corsairs, which runs West to the Havens of Umbar and East to the land of the Variags, Khand. Further south you would reach a great desert, the Sahra-dashrat in the tongue of Harad, which takes a month to cross. South of the Sahra-dashrat is the mysterious land of Far Harad, where black men live who are said to be half-trolls."
The class was stunned, especially Fírieldúrbein and I. Where in the world did Grandfather Orûmir get all that info from?? Certainly he knew more than he cared to let on, but I resolved not to ask him as he sometimes got very irritable
At that moment, the great bell of Pelargir tolled the third hour. School was over. Grandfather glanced at me knowingly, but I barely noticed it because I desperately needed to speak with Fírieldúrbein. The Steward's nephew lived with a distant relative in the Triangle, in Peldëlendin (the nobility quarter) to be exact, which was across the Sirith from our school. There is a bridge with shops on it, a masterpiece of architecture, which we crossed without due hesitation.
As soon as I disembarked my little rowboat, Fírieldúrbein wheeled about. Eyes blazing, he faced me (I guess he didn't know I was there…)
"What right do you have to follow me, fisher boy? You forget who I am!" I had the feeling that back home in Minas Tirith, Fírieldúrbein got his way without question, and princes could be stubborn, so I decided to tell him the truth.
"I want to know why you asked about Harad in geography today." Fírieldúrbein's eyes, which were deep and questing, almost black, lit up with surprise (I could swear, pleasant surprise) but he quickly covered it with suspicion.
"What do YOU care whether I want to know about Harad or not?" I have a few talents, and face-reading is one of them. I could see behind the suspicion that Fírieldúrbein saw a mutual ally or even friend in me.
"Well, I don't really know what it is, but ever since I was old enough to know of Harad, I have wanted to travel there. By the way, do you know what a mûmak is? None of the books I've read…"
Fírieldúrbein looked around nervously, but the narrow street in which we were was deserted, but for a gull picking at a half-rotted fish (here I must add that Pelargir smells quite horribly of fish, but if you live here, you get used to it). "Come, we need to talk," he hissed, and darted into a tiny alley off to the left. I followed Fírieldúrbein as he threaded through the maze of the Triangle, and marveled at the fact that a boy who hadn't lived in Pelargir a month knew the alleys better than me. Then again, I rarely visit the Triangle.
The Tirither (as we Pelargians call those of Minas Tirith) led me down what seemed like the millionth passage, and then stopped so suddenly that I rammed into him and had to excuse myself by saying I tripped over a paving-stone (the streets of Pelargir are composed of many interlocking stones). Before us rose a 20-foot wall, which ended in forbidding iron spikes. Nearly invisible were the little handles in the wall, and almost indiscernible was the fact that one of the iron spikes was missing.
With the agility of a spider, Fírieldúrbein climbed up the wall, perched at the top, and to my horror, jumped. When I in my turn climbed the wall, I saw that he had landed in a cleverly positioned pile of leaves. The wall was the garden wall of one of Pelargir's many luxurious houses, positioned on the edge of the town.
"Well, come on! We have much to speak of, and I have to pack!" Not wishing to anger one of royal blood, I jumped and landed comfortably in the pile of leaves. We then weaved through a myriad garden full of strange, exotic plants, some of which looked rather forbidding such as the ten-foot one with a gaping mouth, which in biology I had learned was called the Trap of Núrn.
Fírieldúrbein's house was a luxurious one, a real palace. His room, however, was even smaller than mine, with a simple bed which wasn't even comfortable, a small window through which we had climbed using another hidden ladder, and a bookshelf with about ten dusty books on it, all flimsy paperback things. The one which I could best read (the one facing outward) was "How to Sweep". There was an open cupboard containing several brooms and other cleaning things.
"Isn't this a luxurious chamber? Wouldn't you just love to live here?" said Fírieldúrbein, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.
"Well, not really, because no offence, Fírieldúrbein, but it looks like a storage room to me. Aren't there larger rooms in this house?"
The door, which was falling off its hinges, was swung angrily open, to reveal a long corridor. "There's THIS!" snarled Fírieldúrbein, opening another door on a room about one and a half times the size of our entire house. "And THIS!" Another room, smaller but with a soft, velvet four-poster bed. "And THIS!" A library full of comfortable couches, which he could easily have slept on.
"But…" I was speechless. If the house was so full of spare rooms, why did the Steward's kin have to sleep in a broom cupboard?
"You still don't get it, do you?" said Fírieldúrbein in a hopeless tone. I thought for a moment. Who owned this house? And then it clicked.
"Fishing Guild-master Oradroin? He's the one who your father sent you to live with? He's the one who's forcing you to sleep in that tiny cubicle? But he's the most generous man in Pelargir! Every day he gives us a free fish…"
Fírieldúrbein was shaking his head. "Oradroin? Don't make me laugh! Those fish he gives you are all rotten. Ask your parents. They don't tell you because you probably have a rebellious spirit, you might have gotten yourself killed. I can't believe you didn't know!" At this he lifted his shirt to reveal a crisscross pattern of angry welts. Some were brown and scabby, while some were barely finished bleeding. "He beat me last night for trying to tell a merchant from Lamedon about these atrocities."
I felt anger well up inside me. "How can he get away with this?" I didn't realize it, but my fists were clenching with anger. I guess Fírieldúrbein was right, I do have a rebellious spirit.
"Oh, he has a veritable army of bodyguards, at least fifty of them, who patrol Pelargir and make sure nobody tells anybody about Oradroin. He's got everything figured out." Fírieldúrbein gave a short bark of angry laughter.
"The Fisher Patrols? They are Oradroin's guards?" Fírieldúrbein nodded. "They've never told ME not to tell anybody about the atrocities!" I continued.
"A, you didn't know, and B, have you ever left Pelargir in your life? Didn't think so." I had a few times, but that was beside the point.
I used to think of Oradroin as a fat, jovial character who had a congenial relationship with the town. Now he struck me as an obese man with a beer-belly, who was constantly lying and flattering to get his way. Strange, how in five minutes my view of him was changed!
"But we have to do something! We have to throw him down and get a new guild-master! I know plenty of people who'd make a good one, my father, for instance, and…"
Fírieldúrbein shook his head again. "Sorry, Varatul, but he's just too strong. And even if you succeeded with your little coup, Oradroin has very good connections in Minas Tirith: my father, for instance. Your head would be off before you knew it."
We walked back into the room. Fírieldúrbein sat down on a little stool, while I flopped onto the bed. "OW! That thing is made of rock, or something as hard as rock!"
Fírieldúrbein held out his hand to me after I stopped massaging myself. "I like you. You remind me of myself about five years ago. No offense meant, of course, but I guess in Minas, you learn a bit more about the world than in Pelargir."
I shook his hand, and a friendly smile appeared on his lips, the first time I've seen him smile. Oh yes, something I should mention, I don't really have many good friends in Pelargir. Ever since I've been going to the library and reading books about Harad and the Corsairs of Umbar, everyone in school thinks I'm a traitor. My best friend's name is Poralorn, he's just about as crazy about Rhûn and the East as I am about Harad and the South. He left four months ago on a journey to Minas Tirith, I think he wants to become a Knight of Gondor, he's full of battles and sword-clashes and all that. He's older than me, finished with school, 30 years.
"Sorry, Varatul, for being so standoffish, but when you live with someone like Oradroin, it's hard to be friendly when nobody's a friend to you," apologized Fírieldúrbein.
"I know the feeling. So, what are we going to do about that horrible guild-master? I can tell you have a plan, from the way you looked when I mentioned Harad."
"Do? Didn't I already tell you? There's nothing we CAN do to get rid of Oradroin. But I have to admit that you are right, I do have a plan. It's not my plan, but…"
I was burning with curiosity. With a secretive smile, the second I've seen him give, he reached down under his bed and drew out one single book, entitled "Harad, Khand and Umbar: A Southward Journey" It was an anonymous book.
"Ever wondered why the Pelargir library's Southern shelf has one empty slot?" he said. I stared dumbly at the cover. The words were written in a thin but elaborate script, rather loopy, and the cover depicted a massive animal which is quite difficult to describe.
It was the size of a small hill (no, seriously!); its skin was grey and wrinkly. It had huge ears the size of the tablecloth back at home in our dining room, and a long nose like a great serpent, drooping almost to the floor. From this nose two small horns jutted, below this two pairs of massive, curved tusks, which were serrated and fearsome-looking. The beast's eyes were almost round, as opposed to the almond-shaped eyes of Men and Women. Its mouth was open, as if uttering a great battle cry, and in its eyes was a furious red glint. Its legs were as thick as the trunk of the greatest tree imaginable. Simply the sight of it frightened me, and I prayed that if I ever saw one of these terrible creatures, I would not anger it. For if it was on the cover of a book of the South, I would probably find it in the South.
"You asked me what a mûmak is. This is one. They are also known as Oliphaunts. The Men of Harad use them as massive siege towers, as you can see in this picture." He opened the book to a page with another of these mûmak creatures, this time wearing a pagoda on its back. The front of its head, including the nose, was tattooed with intricate lettering which I could not understand. The pagoda was many-tiered, an elaborate construction. It bristled with dark-skinned Men holding spears and bows, and right on the top of the mûmak's head sat a man, at least six feet tall, who was leading this beast.
"Well, now I know why we in Pelargir fear those of Harad…" I mused. Fírieldúrbein smiled grimly.
"It gets worse." He flipped the page again. This time there was a mûmak in battle, a towering island among many Men. The Oliphaunt was in the act of swinging its head, and dozens of Men were flying through the air next to it, obviously because of the Harad-creature's swinging motion.
"And…" Another picture of a mûmak, radically different from the others. It was standing peacefully, with no serration on its tusks, no tattooing on its nose, no pagoda on its back, but the biggest difference was that it had no angry glint of murder in its eyes. It was standing next to a grove of strange trees, about half the size of the mûmak, like pillars with a small fan of wide leaves on top of it. Under these trees was a small pool, out of which the creature was drinking using his tubelike nose.
The caption below the picture read, "Most beings of Middle-earth despise the mûmakil because they only know the mad, war-driven beast which it suddenly becomes once it passes its hundredth birthday (they are very long-lived and some live to be two thousand years old). Baby mûmakil are friendly, amiable creatures which are well-loved in the villages of Far Harad. For more information about mûmakil transformation, turn to pg. 245."
Nobody spoke for a moment. Fírieldúrbein took out of his pocket a beautifully carved miniature model of a mûmak and fingered it, a sad expression on his already careworn face. I noticed for the first time how the Steward's nephew's face had been smooth and happy the first day in Pelargir. What a contrast to now. Thought wrinkles creased his forehead, his eyes seemed more hallowed than they had been.
"A gift from my mother," said Fírieldúrbein. I sensed that he was holding back tears. "She died when I was only three. Murdered, she was. My father always told me she drowned in the Anduin, but I know better. She was found in her bed, a kn-knife in her chest…this is all I have left from her." There was no disguising the tears now that ran down his cheeks, which I noticed were darker than those of any other Gondor person. Too much exposure to the sun on the Ninth Ring of Minas Tirith, I supposed.
I was quiet for a few minutes, then I gently asked him, "What does Oradroin have to do with Harad?"
Fírieldúrbein took a shaky breath, then began to talk. "If I stay here any longer, I will do one of three things, or perhaps two, or maybe all three: be beaten to death, try to fight him and be beaten to death, or lose my mind and be beaten to death. I need to get away!" His tone dropped. "You look like someone who can keep a secret--even under torture. Am I right?"
There were plenty of secrets I had kept under torture…and I obviously can't tell you what they are. I nodded yes for Fírieldúrbein.
"I'm on a mission. Word has come from scouts that the Haradrim and the Corsairs of Umbar are preparing for a massive assault on Gondor, perhaps even the entire Haradrim. It is rumored they are in league with Sauron himself! Steward Oratharn is strengthening the watch on the Crossings of Poros, as well as in Tolfolas and on the coast, but the guards are still pitifully small compared to the Haradrim masses. And they don't know anything about how to fight the mûmakil! The border troops will be overrun like grass under a horse's feet, and then nothing will stand between the Haradrim and Pelargir. You live in a fading city, Varatul. Your walls are crumbling, your guards are few. Pelargir would be destroyed. Something has to be done, Oratharn does not realize how serious this is, or is too afraid to admit that his realm is in danger. We need to make peace with the Haradrim, and fast."
Fírieldúrbein breathed in deeply, while I drank it in. Not such a pleasant prospect.
"Have you ever been to Tolfolas? I'm sure you've heard of it. A great citadel, protecting Pelargir from attacks by the Corsairs, and so on? Do you know what Tolfolas actually is? A fishing village which doesn't even know the Corsairs of Umbar exist, sitting right next to a ruinous citadel with a few lackey guards. Your Catapult may be impressive, but there's no way it could sink an entire Corsair fleet before enough of them got ashore to pillage the city. Believe me, if the Haradrim and Corsairs are truly preparing for an attack, Pelargir will be the first to fall."
"As if that isn't enough, the Easterlings of Rhûn are also massing in great numbers...perhaps to attack? Oratharn seems to be more afraid of wild Men toting rusty axes than very real mûmakil which are ten stories high, because he's already sent a Knight of Gondor beyond the Sea of Rhûn to abate them. Do you know, the Steward doesn't believe in Oliphaunts?"
I looked at the cover of Harad, Khand and Umbar: A Southward Journey again. Orathorn'll sure get a fright if he sees them!
Fírieldúrbein was very excited now, and talking so quickly I could barely understand him.
"My father Oradir is wiser than his brother. He has already sent an emissary south towards Gondor. This emissary has been living in Pelargir for a month, getting information from the library for his journey. He would have left a week ago but for his uncle's mother's husband's third wife's first husband's son's cruel cousin, the Guild-master of Fish."
I was stunned. That was a LOT of information to receive in about five minutes, and I had to lie down on the floor (marginally more comfortable than the bed) for a moment to take it all in. Finally I spoke.
"How could somebody send their son right into Gondor's sworn enemy's country? I mean, what are the chances of you surviving on your own in Harad?"
Fírieldúrbein threw his hands over his head. "Oratharn is extremely jealous of my father, because Dad would make a much better Steward and he knows it, so Oradir has very little actual power in Gondor. If he would, the people would probably want him on the throne, and Oratharn would become rather unpopular. Oh, a political world is Minas Tirith…"
"But there's no way you can travel through Harad alone! Can you even speak the language?"
"Umbusul gordatil bo gordala mûmakil kem beledtorga bakti! That's a sentence in the Haradic language which means: Watch out, there's an Oliphaunt charging at you! And you are right, I'd never make it alone. Which is why you're coming with me." Uh, what?
"Hmm…I must have heard wrong. For a moment it sounded like you said 'You're coming with me', but that is ridiculous…I'd never be allowed! My father would never allow me to go, he'd kill me if I ran away, and even if he didn't the Haradrim would…"
Fírieldúrbein looked at me with a bemused expression on his face. "This coming from the person who just two minutes ago was burning with desire to go to Harad and the South? Don't tell me now that you've been given a chance to go to the land you've always wanted to see, you are AFRAID to go? Well, there are fools in the world…"
I digested this for a moment. To actually see a wild mûmak! To stand on the hill on Cape Umbar and look out over the harbor full of great ships, with the Corsair city nestled at its end! To cast my eyes across the Sahra-dashrat, the endless sea of sand! All of a sudden, going to Harad looked like the opportunity of a lifetime.
"Fírieldúrbein, I would jump up at this opportunity if only I would be allowed! And how in Morgoth's name do you plan on evading Oradroin? No, my friend, I don't think it's feasible…"
Fírieldúrbein, who I was growing to respect as a leader more and more, assured me that he had everything planned. "Look, tomorrow I'll come over to your house and have dinner with your family. My cousin, Ordolaf son of Oratharn, is coming to Pelargir soon because of your school, which has a bit of a reputation. I'll say that he's being exchanged with you, meaning he goes to your school and you go to his, meaning you would be officially going to Minas Tirith for an exchange, but what you would actually be doing is traveling South with me to Harad and Umbar. And Oradroin…well, when he's not beating me he doesn't really care about me. You may have noticed I have a good escape route prepared…I wander around Pelargir when Oradroin is at the Guild. What do you think? About the plan, I mean."
What did I think? The plan was absolutely flawless! My parents absolutely fawned over Minas Tirith, but couldn't afford to go there. They'd approve on the spot. The only problem will be stopping them coming with me.
"I think it's an absolutely perfect plan. Without you, I probably would never have made it further than the Crossings of Poros. This is truly the chance of a lifetime for a poor Pelargian fisher's son." I shook hands vigorously with Fírieldúrbein, who was slightly bemused at this sudden change of mood. I realized then that the situation was more than a little strange. Here I was, positively itching to leave my family and my beloved hometown to run off towards near-certain death with basically a stranger?
It'll be the time of my life!