Summer of T.A 1936
Edhellond, Realm of Gondor
Tuthir Goldleaf of Edhellond, daughter of Tuinaer, tread lightly among the Lebethron trees taking care not to awaken the wood-wrights of the Nimhith Taurë. They were a nasty new breed of the forest and dwelled beneath the bases of the trees in long-ruined Gondorian barrows.
But Tuthir was not as concerned with the wood-wrights as she was with the orders she had been given by the Head of the Silver Guard (although they would soon need to deal with the wrights; any fell-spirit infestation was troubling and proof of an already sickening land). The young elf had come to these parts of Gondor to patrol the limits of Edhellond's boundaries and to investigate the strange stacks of smoke spiraling from the treetops in the evenings. It was an ominous sign and had begun the same evening of the summer festival.
The Southern Haven and council of Eldars had enough reason to send scouts to comb the area for these smoke-makers. Since the fall of the Wainriders, the elves were not as quick to trust and any trespassers of the land, Gondorian or not, were not welcome. Whispers of the return of the Wainriders had sparked fear and desperation in the port city. It seemed every month ships left the shores of Middle Earth bound for greater havens. The songs they sang on the wind at night, made Tuthir feel ill at ease. Nothing good could come from these strange visitors.
The Lord of Edhellond was already worried with the safety of his domain, the great marbled-city on the cliffs was slowly emptying and it seemed that as more elves journeyed from far into Edhellond, it was difficult to know which elven clans he could trust and which he could not. The Southern Haven was not meant to hold and protect so many and the demand for ship-building materials was draining the forest. When news had returned to him of abandoned campsites filled with the smell of horses and leather, the Lord decided to take extra lengths to secure his people's safety. He called upon the Silver Guard to dispatch scouts throughout the land. The mysterious visitors had yet to reveal themselves and kept their business to their own, whoever they were.
Tonight, Tuthir would discover these ghostly travelers and do whatever she thought necessary to protect her city and prove to her brothers, Húrion and Haldor, that she had rightly earned rank within the elite Silver Guard out of her own skill as a bow-master and hunter, not from her relation to the Head, her father, Tuinear.
The summer sun was slowly setting in the west, and the tops of the trees seemed to sway against the faint breeze as shadows danced across the forest floor. Much to her disappointment, she had only found dry deer droppings, half-rotted bones and wildcat markings on the trees but no evidence of a travelling party. The air was dry and earthen and while she knew well the smell of roasted coney and beef on the campfire, there were no rising plumes above the treetops. Tuthir wondered if the other scouts had found any trails along the Morthond River, she was surprised she had not passed one yet. Calaereth, she knew, had been assigned to the southern region along the coastline. Tuthir would have liked to have joined her for good company, four eyes were better than two, but she was glad she had been assigned to the Nimhith Taurë.
The woods held a certain wildness about them that the sea seemed to never possess. Nimhith Taurë had been, afterall, where her father first taught her how to use a bow and arrow when she was a child, despite her mother's clear unsettlement ("She should be practicing how to become a bride not a savage man!" her mother believed). When she turned a century's old, the age most elf-maidens married, Tuthir had chosen to devote her life as a Silver Guard, like her father, and train to become a protector of Edhellond, a Warden of the South, perhaps even become the Head one day. It had been a rough road to rise from apprenticeship but Tuthir had finally completed her Induction Ceremony and was now an official member of the Silver Guard.
Tuthir suddenly paused, hearing a quiet noise out in the woods. It could have been a falling branch or a wood critter and then again it could have been the clearing of a throat or the snap of a twig, or a sign of an approaching figure. Quickly, she hid herself in a nearby brush, and drew an arrow, her eyes fixed on the source of the noise.
"Esta lle cu, Tuthir. Rest your bow, Tuthir," A voice from the woods sounded as the leaves and twigs cracked underfoot. Stepping out from behind the bush, Belrian, son of Belthor, held his hands up, looking around for her. His face was solemn but his lavender eyes were knowing and set. Tuthir relaxed but was surprised to see the Hand of the Lord and wondered why such an important warrior and noble had come to her. She lowered her bow as she made her presence known to him, his hauberk set with the crest of the Guard.
Belrian was war hero who had fought beside the thirteenth king of Gondor against the Wainriders in the plains of Dagorlad many years past. Her father, Tuinear, had recruited him from the infantry into the Silver Guard after he had been injured. Well-liked among the Eldars and a desirable-suitor, Belrian was the fourth Warden of Edhellond. His father, Belthor had known Tuthir's father, Tuinaer, since they travelled down from the Greenwood and Belrian had always been a favorite in the Goldleaf family to her brothers. From the beginning, Tuthir's mother, Nemirdis, had wanted Belrian as a son (though she already had two) and desired nothing more than to see Tuthir wed to Belrian, for legacy's sake. Though Belrian was handsome, he was serious and boring and talked only of honor and duty. Tuthir was sure her mother had asked her father to send Belrian after her in an attempt to inspire companionship but Tuthir stiffened at the thought.
"Belrian," She loosened her grip on her bow. "I did not know you were patrolling these parts," She nodded politely towards him, wishing to press on to evade him. "I will move eastward if you are stationed here,"
He shook his head. "There is no need; two scouts already roam those parts. We were given orders to pair together, as a precaution," Belrian said firmly. "Your father asked me to accompany you tonight,"
Tuthir, not wanting to retain informality with him, tried to think of a way to politely refuse his service (he was much older than her, well-respected, and outranked her) but came to think of none without implying discomfort of his presence so instead she thanked him—though thanking him was not really what she wanted to say. But then she remembered again her true purpose here tonight and a fierce longing to continue her hunt coursed through her.
"Have you heard news of anything yet?" Tuthir asked eagerly, temporarily forgetting her discomfort.
Belrian shook his head. "I was only just sent out from the tower helm, we had orders from my captain by the Head," he paused, thinking, suspicion clear in his voice. "It seems strange they would send more men away from the summer festival to scout for a small party of travelers. The Lord of Edhellond must be deeply troubled by these intruders to risk more guards in the wilderness," He fingered the hilt of his legendary longsword, The Easterling Hewer, as he spoke. Tuthir had heard her father speak of it before, but until now, Belrian never wore it. It was a reminder of the blood and grief he had dealt during the war and brought him much sorrow. Seeing it now, in the low-light of the setting sun, Tuthir grew weary.
"Perhaps these travelers are more nefarious than we think them to be," Tuthir said. Belrian pursed his lips, a disapproving scowl overcoming his smooth face. "I just hope we do not run into trouble, I was worried when I discovered you had been stationed in the Nimhith Taurë; there are more than just wood-wrights that roam these parts," he added darkly scanning the distance. "Come let us walk together, the forest is not safe. There is an ill wind coming from the north,"
"We will cover more ground if we spread out" Tuthir added as Belrian pushed forward, not happy to have someone coral her and take charge of her route. With Belrian leading, she could not do as she pleased and roam the woods freely as she had planned.
Tuthir followed after him in silence along the quiet river. Their patrolling was slow but Tuthir was thorough. To cover as much ground, she suggested they spread out between the trees looking for trails of a passing party (and also to avoid any kind of conversation with him). They strained their elven ears and squinted in between the vastness of the woods but all was silent in Nimhith Taurë. As night came fast upon them, Tuthir felt the ill wind Belrian had talked of earlier. Indeed, it came from the north but it seemed the more they walked upriver, the colder the air became.
When nightfall arrived, Belrian closed the distance between them, clearly wishing to head back to the city. "We should turn back here, we are not meant to come this far, " Belrian said with authority, taking her elbow. But, Tuthir, who was younger, and more eager to press onwards, was still determined. She worked better under the silver light of the moon and the woods revealed their secrets more readily in the night than during the day. There was no greater thrill than to roam the woods at night.
"I will stay, the forest does not go on for much longer," Tuthir replied, gently pulling away from him.
There was surprise in his eyes till they turned hard and his lips pressed together in a thin, white line. "I do not think that is wise, Tuthir, there are many fell-beasts that stalk these parts," he said. "Let us head back, now," Once more, Tuthir felt out of place to speak back to the war-veteran, so she apologized and agreed with his decision.
As she gazed one last time out at the distance of the forest, however, she saw a pale, blue light suddenly slip between the trunks. Startled, she turned towards Belrian to ask if he had seen it, but he had his back turned already and was close enough to call but far enough away for her to slip away unnoticed. Tuthir looked back to where she had last seen the light but it had disappeared. There were many tales of seeing strange lights in the forest and of the wood-wrights' spells but it was just that, just a story. Her fingertips tingled and as it were another gust of stale northern wind passed through the trees and then she could smell their stench, horses, leather and the sweat of man. She was about to call back to Belrian in warning when a light passed directly in front of her and a chill, like she had never felt before, overcame her. It was bitter and stung the very fabric of her bones.
Then with a terrible screech and sorrowful wail, a glowing wright appeared from the tree before her baring its rotting teeth. Terrified, Tuthir stumbled backwards as it drew its sword. It advanced on her and several dozen came out from their hiding places to surround her. As they drew breath, it seemed all the pride and courage Tuthir had, left her body. Weakly, she unsheathed the daggers hidden in her tunic but she knew it was no use. She braced herself for death, thinking only of the blade that would soon pierce her heart and the pain it would bring.
But, the wood-wrights did not move any closer to where she lay. Instead, they floated there watching saying nothing.
She gained back her strength and finally stood up, looking for any means of escape. She only hoped Belrian could hear her. "Away, spirits! Find your game elsewhere!" she warned the wood-wrights but they did not reply. They just stood there, with their dead eyes watching. Finding the will, Tuthir stepped forwards and brought her dagger down upon one but the blade passed through its body is if it were made of air. Once more a shot of ice seemed to pierce her body once more, bring her to her knees. Before her, the wrights parted and through the gap, three black chariots glided through on terrible black horses. The rider stepped down and dressed in heavy furs and thick armor, he stepped forwards into the circle towards Tuthir.
"Ah, an elf scout from Edhellond is it?" said the man more so to his men than to her. "Not the first we have encountered tonight, nor the last," A grim chuckle spread through the group. Tuthir spied his sword, the length of it covered in wet blood. "Bring him," From the abyss behind the man, two more men brought forth Belrian, bloodied but still struggling. They threw him in the circle next to Tuthir. He looked up at her desperatly, clutching his side.
"We must warn Edhellond," He gasped, grabbing her roughly by the collar before he finally passed out.
The man, leader apparently, stepped in the circle with a crowd of more than a hundred men on chariots. "Tonight, we make our appearance known to the realm of Gondor! Tonight, we send their so called king in Minas Tirith, the very same who ended our campaign, to his ruin after he exiled us for nearly fifty years! Tonight, rise the Wainriders, more fearsome and terrible than before!" There was a deafening cheer followed by a rising chant. The leader advanced on the two elves, he brought his sword up and with a fierce cry, he charged at them.
All of two things happened. A white arrow, elven by the look of it, pierced his heart of the sudden and he fell backwards. And then, a strange horn sounded loudly of the Free Peoples but Tuthir had never heard it before. It almost sounded like the horn from the Golden Wood, elfish in nature, but not entirely. Nonetheless, it scattered the wood-wrights and they fled back to their trees as a wave of elven riders cleared through the area. Tuthir managed to drag Belrian safely out of the way and then stood to aid their saviors.
When most of the Wainriders had fled and the forest was cleared, the elven riders cheered and elven horns filled the forest. There was almost a full battalion of infantrymen and Calvary and they removed their blue helmets. Among them, one came up to them and looked down upon them.
This elf was dressed more warmly and richly than the others and his flags and company bore a grand white and gold crest she had never seen nor heard of before. Against the silver crescent of the summer's moon, he was tall and elegant; his hair was light and his face was fair and young; his eyes were bright and still filled with a strange light. Tuthir would have taken him for an Eldar where it not for the words that had tumbled from him mouth as he spoke: "So we have here an elf-maiden come to rescue her lover from the cruel Easterlings, have we?" He said arrogantly, and Tuthir liked him less. A few of his company, laughed quietly but in their faces was a hint of shame, for their master was at times, too prideful.
With cold dissonance, Tuthir unsheathed her bow and pointed it at the high elf. His men immediately, grew tense and quickly nine arrowhead were pointed towards her heart. She shouted, "We hail from Edhellond, the Southern Haven. You have entered the lands of the Lord of the Two Rivers, speak your purpose quickly!" She demanded. This prompted the whole to laugh, except for the elf-leader before her, who quickly silenced them. He dropped from his horse to stand beside her.
"What is your name, elf-girl?" he asked her.
"Tuthir, daughter of Tuinaer," she replied hotly, wishing he would not belittle her. Her mind was still in confusion. She needed to report back to the station and warn the people of Edhellond of the rise of the Wrainriders and their alliance with the wood-wrights of the forest. If war was upon them, they would need to prepare.
"Take care, Tuthir. The next time you point an arrow at my head, I shall be less forgiving," he sneered and then turned away from her. "Dress this maiden's wounds and attend to the other. We make for Edhellond, tonight," And those we his final words to her.
The journey back was uncomfortable. Belrian could barely talk but color had begun to return to his skin and she was glad that he was not to seriously injured. She had not been told who the leader of the company was but it appeared that the elves seemed amused by her ignorance so she ignored them all the same and remained silent, observing their ways. Their swords spoke of the Blue Mountains of Ered Luin and Tuthir wondered how far they had travelled and if so what their purpose was. The elf-leader who had spoken to her before, seemed confident enough that he was expected in Edhellond but she had not been told Edhellond was expecting a company this large and so heavily armed.
When they approached the Southern gates of Edhellond in the long hours of the morning, the two elven warriors flanking the so-called elf-leader sounded their horns quietly. Belrian, wrapped in blankets and attended to by two healers, was still unconscious. She swept her eyes down the length of his body to where bloodied cloth was pressed into his side. Wainriders, Tuthir thought exasperated. She had only heard her father's stories of them, fearsome riders on black chariots, minions of Mordor. The very name gave her chills.
To her surprise, the gates of Edhellond swung open slowly revealing the long, winding path up onto the shining city of the Southern Haven. The lights of the summer festival had gone out and the streets were silent as the small battalion of the elf-lord's army rode with haste towards the House of Calaeron, Light of the Sea. Had the elf been right? Were they really expected? Belrian, one of the ten Wardens of Edhellond, surely should have known. They would have alerted the Silver Guard and all its members, they would have secured a path. We were given orders to pair together, as a precaution, Belrian has told her. Could that have been the order? Tuthir eyed the elf-leader, unsure of whether she should trust him. He and his men had saved her life, true enough, but she had led him straight to the gates. What if they were allies of the Wainriders, sent to gain the Southern Haven's trust? What had the Wainriders to do with the elves? It was the Dunedain people they had sworn to hate.
The House of Calaeron was lit and as they rode into the courtyard, Tuthir saw that the Council of Eldars stood solemnly in a line, holding lanterns. To the side of them, General Aeon stood by the two Captains of the Silver Guard and then the Head himself, her father. The elf-leader rode up to her father, his face a mask of stone.
"Welcome to the City of Edhellond, son of Talphen the Lord of Edhelion," Her father spoke. "Master Talagan Silvertounge," Tuthir froze, son of the Lord of Edhelion? As Tuthir stared, horrified by her ill will towards the pure-blooded Sindarin, the elf-leader—Master Talagan Silvertounge—sat a little taller on his horse. When he dismounted, he made a point of catching her eye and grinning.
"I believe I have something of yours, Tuinaer," He nodded towards his men and they led Tuthir's horse towards the front. She watched as her father's face slowly lost its palatable hue.
"Tuthir!" He exclaimed, rushing towards her. "What is this?" He helped her off her horse, reaching towards her forehead.
Master Talagan clicked his tongue and Belrian's horse came forward and there was a cry of outrage as the Eldars took in his condition.
"They were attacked by men on chariots and when we came upon them, they were near death. My men killed as many as we could but they fled north into the mountains. I fear your lands are not as safe as they once were," Master Silvertounge said with a hint of mockery in his angelic voice.
Tuinaer said nothing and instead ordered several gaurds standing nearby to help her and Belrian to the Infirmarary.
"Wainriders, father, they have returned to the realm of Gondor bearing the sigil of the white scavenger" Tuthir said to her father, gripping his arm as she passed by him. Several Elders besides her father twittered with anger and alarm.
"Tuthir, please, we will speak in the morning. For now, you need rest" Her father pleaded with her quietly.
"I quite agree, the young maiden needs rest. Such matters I have come to discuss and not suited for the uninformed," Master Silvertongue spoke with a voice of silk.
"Of course, Master Silvertongue, Elders of the Council, General Aeon, let us move to the halls of Calaeron. I do hope your journey was not as troublesome as your arrival," Her father led Master Talagan and a few of his companions inside the Great Hall and the Council followed.
"My Lady, you must follow us. You're wounds are bleeding," The guard told her, holding his hand out for her. Tuthir watched the gilded doors shut with disbelief. How quickly her own father had dismissed her claim! And what was the purpose of the Master Silvertongue's visit to Edhelion?
"Don't call me "My Lady"," She said to the guard, her eyes cold and her voice like razors. "I am not one,"