Welcome! This story belongs to the universe of the Silmarillion and LOTR, but it is otherwise distinct from those storylines. All credit for setting, language, culture, style, and general inspiration goes to J.R.R. Tolkien, whose legal permission I do not have to be writing this. Nevertheless, I intend it as an earnest tribute to, not a detraction from, that author and his unsurpassed creative scope.
Please refer as needed to the Selected Name Guide posted at the end. Thank you for reading and reviewing.
- Roman66
SONG AMARANTHINE
This in short is the tale of the curse of Calar: its origin, its fulfillment, and its end.
The Kingship of Calmarun
For it happened after the days of Ëarendur, after the shards of Narsil had come to Imladris, that Firathar son of Formar ruled in Calmarun, east of the Celduin. From this small kingdom came Orlomir and Bremlas son of Brëanor, and Amrundil also, whose story this is in part. But of him we shall say no more at present.
In those days was much trouble, for though a great evil had fallen with the defeat of Sauron in the valley of Gorgoroth generations before, many lesser evils endured, not least in the hearts of the Men who now took it upon themselves to direct the course of the world as they might. Yet Firathar ruled well and wisely, and though his hall was not as great as some Kings of old, yet it was a place of song and of learning. Among the Men of his court were some who had come eastward out of Westernesse, lordly, tall with dark hair and clear eyes, hardy in battle and skilled in song.
Other Men there were, too, some whose golden hair was like to that of Men out of Rohan; others who bore the semblance of Men out of the Far South. Of these last was one named Gayamarth, a man skilled in battle yet more so in craft and in counsel. Less hardy than the Men of Eriador, Gayamarth was oft to be found brewing herbs for both hurt and healing, or poring over legends of the Third Age, than afield at the plow or the hunt. Yet his power and knowledge was great, and he was held close in the King's counsel.
Firathar had no child but one sister who was dear to him, a young woman still, Calar by name, fair and gracious as the sun on a spring morning. And Gayamarth spoke often to her, seeking to win her favor, but Calar preferred the care of the forest to the attentions of men, and of Gayamarth she was fearful, for he kept much hidden. And Calar was like to the Elves for her love of growing things, and field and flower alike flourished under her hand. Gayamarth went to her as she sat among the birches and sang to their fluttering leaves. "Thou art like unto a child of Yavanna Kementári herself, who with her song awakened the Two Trees of Valinor," said Gayamarth to her, and reached out to touch her hand, but she withdrew into the forest, timid as a doe at a spring.
So none perceived, as seasons wheeled, that Gayamarth grew bitter, holding himself unthanked by Firathar and cast off by all. He took to roaming abroad on his horse, and would take his leave for a month or more, returning with a darkened brow. The sight of his black and tattered cloak emerging from the edge of the northern plains was a sight so often reported that the men of Firathar's hall called him the Carrion-crow, and made wagers on his next disappearance. And some whispered that it was to the Sorcerer of the Grey Mountains that he made his errands, though none dared to follow him beyond the rolling hills of the kingdom's boundaries.
Then all in secret Gayamarth began to keep counsel with a number of the king's warriors, taking them into his confidence with tales of his travels or fair words of flattery. With tokens or wisdom he won them, not speaking against Firathar but ever appearing high and noble, a true lord of men. And he rode abroad no more and feared no unkind rumors, for those warriors he favored were utterly loyal to him and would hear no evil spoken of him. Firathar himself rejoiced, saying, "Behold, my friend! Thou needst not walk alone nor afar. This indeed is thy home."
So it was that when Firathar rode against a horde of wolves in the north, taking with him a small host of valiant warriors, Gayamarth rode at his right side. But the wolves were many and strong, seven score at least, fiercer than the bitter wind off the mountains, some nigh as large as the King's horses. In that battle the wolves drove between the king and his left flank, and his force was divided and surrounded. But his men rallied, men of surpassing strength and will, and broke the wall of ravening wolves. Many wolves fell under the swords of Firathar's men, but the strength of the wolves at last began to tell. Sensing the horses' weariness and fear, the wolves unseated many fighters and killed their mounts. Then at last the fortune of the battle was decided, and the wolves fell upon them in full force. The King, still mounted, they isolated, but Gayamarth gave a great cry and fought his way to his lord, hewing the great grey hides of the wolves.
So Firathar and Gayamarth fought shoulder to shoulder, with broad sword strokes seeking to keep the sea of grey at bay. And one great black wolf fell upon the neck of the King's horse and dragged him down, but Gayamarth wrapped one arm around the breastplate of his lord and sought to bring him astride his own horse. Then the wolves tore at the legs of the King while Gayamarth pulled, and Firathar gave a great cry, and all who could wheeled and strove to reach his side. After a long moment the wolves pulled him down and he was lost. But one warrior, Halen son of Hama, saw that Gayamarth had drawn his dagger in his left hand, and it seemed to him that Gayamarth plunged it deep behind the shoulder of the King, causing him to cry out and succumb to the claws and teeth below.
Gayamarth rode forth bearing the sword of the Firathar, and with a shout led them in retreat. Yet as though summoned by some will, or having fulfilled some dark mission, of one accord the wolves slunk away toward the mountains. Seeing this, Gayamarth brought the men around, and weary and wounded but with the vengeance of their King burning in their hearts, on foot and on horse they gave such pursuit as they might, but the wolves melted into the hills. Then they recovered the body of their King, most grievously ravaged. The bodies of their comrades were too numerous to bear, but with stones they built a mound and laid them to rest. The body of Firathar was born upon Gayamarth's saddle, and they followed in his wake.
The people made much wailing over their beloved King, and gave him a worthy burial. Many among them spoke for Gayamarth to be crowned as the new King, and loudest were the warriors in his counsel. For Calar his sister had no son, and in those lands the custom was to pass on kingship by the King's sword, and Gayamarth made claim that with his last effort Firathar had bestowed his sword upon him. Halen did not speak openly the thought in his heart, which was that Gayamarth had suffered no attack while he held the King before the jaws of the wolves, nor had he been unseated, though his horse had been vulnerable. But he spoke of it to his wife, who was the chief attendant to Calar. So it was that Calar heard of Gayamarth's treachery in the secret of her chamber, though maybe it were better had it been proclaimed in the hall.