Chapter 10: The Tales Untold
"Awake, little hobbits! Awaken, and smell the fresh air of the fair light of the Mother Sun!" Tiansom called, though his voice sounded gravelly and weary. His eyes were dark and tired, but he seemed to gain strength from the glistening rays of the bright dawn.
"Ai, Tiansom, can we not have a sleep?" Pippin moaned as he stretched tiredly, his unkempt hair and sleepy-eyed expression clearly stating he wished to stay asleep. Tiansom looked at him, smiled and said, "Do you not wish to see the sunrise? It is beautiful, and few things of beauty remain in beloved Arda." Pippin simply flopped forward onto his face from his half-sitting position, and a deep snore could be heard from his corner.
"Awaken, Pippin, for you must know why you went through what you did last night." said Tiansom gently as he shook him. His voice was gentle, but quite firm, and Pippin moaned a half-hearted protest and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What of Merry? Is he aright?"
"Merry is tougher than the greatest Man. He is alive and well, Pippin. You need not worry yourself."
"Awaken!" he called again, and soon the muffled groans and soft shuffle of sleepy hobbit-feet could be heard. Mithrandir was already quite awake, and was laughing softly down at Tiansom, who had pulled his knees up to his chest, and was rocking back and forth like a naughty child who has been punished. His eyes roved this way and that, but his expression was one of careless laughter, and the bright sword of Ulmo gleamed gently, like a dewdrop in the sun.
"Why have you woken us so early, Tiansom?" said Merry as soon as he could stop yawning. Sam was nodding in agreement, his head and body nearly falling forward in his sleepiness. Frodo was dully alert and quite sleepy, but he was quite aware of what Tiansom was about to do, and so did not make protest.
"You were not attacked by mistake by those wraiths. Seven remain. The Lord is gone, and his sword broken, but the darkness which the Wraiths serve will regroup them, with an older, and more evil, leader. You must know why you were attacked, and then, make the hardest decision that you shall ever make. I tell you now, I will not force you to make any decision, for force is dangerous, and I cannot use it on the Shire-folk even if I tried to."
"Why did the Wraiths attack us, Master Tiansom? Was it...was it because...of..of Master Frodo?" asked Sam anxiously.
"Frodo? The Wraiths search for what he bears, but he is not alone. They have attacked me before, when Frodo still lived in fair Valinor. They should have killed Merry, for they desired greatly what he bore. Nay, it was not because of Frodo. Aragorn's fine men of the White City have been seduced by this darkness. The Nine are the reason why they attacked. There are six of us here. Six of the Nine Stones are with us. They were entranced. They wanted the Stones. So they attacked us."
"What....of what stones do you speak?" stammered Pippin.
"You know of what I speak. I show to you my treasure, my Stone!" said Tiansom, and from his deep pocket he drew the flaming-orange stone that kindled fire from its blood-tinged depths. Pippin stared, and as if in automatic response, his hand slipped into his pocket, and he drew his stone, the Stone of Wind, lightly gray now, breezy and delicately strong. He ran his fingers over it, and his eyes strayed to Tiansom, who smiled and pocketed his own Stone, and then clapped his hands, a look of relief upon his face.
"So I have guessed right. The Nine of the Fellowship of the Ring bear the Nine Stones. We are all headed toward Gondor, and the Lord Aragorn. From Gondor we must decide where to head to, the dark fort of Angband in the North? Or to the wastes of Utumno? Or to the broken ruins of Thangorodrim?"
"It is a long road to Gondor," said Sam. "We have no food, and no drink, and we have no ponies."
"Do you wish to stay? I cannot, and will not, force you to leave. But if it is any comfort, I have known these lands far longer than you think."
"But why? Why does Melkor seek the Nine?" Frodo asked. Sam's eyes widened at the mention of Melkor's true name, and he whispered, "Morgoth? Morgoth, who...who caused misery to the great Valar, and stole the Silmarils to set in his iron crown?"
"Yea," whispered Tiansom, "it is he, great Morgoth who caused the first misery."
"We cannot defeat him! He is...he is too terrible...he tricked the Elves! Nobody that I know could have tricked the fair Elves." Sam cried in anguish.
"Sam. Listen to yourself speak. Are you saying that there is not even the slightest of hopes that we might come out of this war the victor?"
Sam mumbled inaudibly, and Mithrandir spoke. "Tiansom is correct. There is the slightest, the smallest of chances that we should come out the victor in this most terrible of wars. We are the Nine who defeated Sauron. We must not be afraid, for we have borne bigger burdens than this before," and he flicked his glance towards Tiansom for a slight second before meeting Sam's wary gaze again. "Do not worry, Sam. With you are weapons beyond imagining, and you are guided by the last remaining descendent of a mighty race of Elves." With this, Sam turned to look at Tiansom, who was sitting in a half-crouch by the trees, rocking back and forth like a hobbit-child at school, and shook his head in disbelief.
"Ahso iom deyo senyoha, iom deya meanow." Tiansom said, smiling slowly. Then he arose, and looked to the East, and said, "Time flies without a care. We must journey soon, if we are to journey at all." He pulled his grey hood over his face, and leaned back against the tree, whistling a soft tune nobody could hear.
"Sam. Merry. Pippin. I cannot force you along with us, for force breeds foul hatred. I can only ask that you come of your own will. But decide quickly, for the Riders can sense us much easier than their weaker Nazgul brethren. We will never make it to Gondor safely if we do not start soon."
"But what about Rosie? And little Elanor? Leave them I cannot."
"Thankfully, I have remained bachelor. I will go, for the thirst of adventure rises in my Brandybuck blood again, and this time I cannot deny it. What of you, Pippin? Last time I saw you were knocking the apples off the Brandybucks' only fruiting tree for Diamond."
"I have not married her, nor have I asked yet, though I intended to, if Frodo ever returned."
"Why do you not admit that you had not the nerve, dear cousin?" said Frodo, laughing.
Pippin's face turned a rosy red, and he buried his head in his hands, muttering incoherently. Frodo laughed and slapped him on the back. "Worry not, cousin! Should we come victorious from this Quest, then Diamond will hesitate not to marry you!"
"What of you, Sam? It is hard, for I know you love Elanor and Rosie dearly. I cannot ask you to part with half of yourself." said Frodo softly.
But just then, Tiansom broke into sudden song, and Frodo paused to listen, and Sam's mouth was agape, for the song was saddened and slow, like the beat of his heart.
Ah, fair gold of Laurelin! Beautiful were thee!
Shining gently like sunlit dew,
brighter than the fairest gold.
Oh, great Telperion! Born from the light-river Silindrin!
Thou shone brighter than waxed star,
and fairer than strands of the Lady Starkindler's hair.
Ah, how dark were the poisons,
That shadowed thee's light forevermore!
Oh, how terrible Melko's wrath,
when the Black Knife touched thou's holy bark!
Ah, fair Lamp of Oriomo!
Bright was thy light, crafted by elven-hand,
bright as clear water, deep as the Seas Beyond,,
and when the Darkness fell upon fair Arda,
thou's light shone no more,
for into darkness did the world fall,
and into false legend did the Elves disappear.
"That song is very sad," commented Pippin after a pause of silence. "Is it true?"
"True? I daresay it was, Master Pippin. But I will not tell the tale of times long ago now, for there are more pressing issues we must deal with now." Tiansom looked sideways at Sam, and then bent his head, drawing his gray elven-cloak closer to himself, as if he felt a sudden chill.
"I...I cannot leave. But I cannot stay! With Master Frodo going and all...I do not know what to do! Help me, Gandalf!"
"The Shire is not safe if you remain here, Samwise. The Riders take little heed of hobbits, for they were far after Morgoth's time, and are insignificant in his eyes. It is Men he seeks. Men, Elves, and any who bear the Stones."
"Then I must go."
"To that I will say neither yea or nay." Mithrandir said with an unusually sharp tone.
"Will Rosie and Elanor be safe?" Sam whispered, as he wrung his hands desperately. "If I only knew that they would be safe..."
"Sam." Tiansom had turned his head to look at Sam, and Sam could feel his heart pierced by his keen gaze. "They will be safe if you leave. For Melko's gaze is on you, and this Company of Nine. He is intent upon you, as Sauron was intent upon Minas Tirith when the greatest danger lay in his own land. Melko will ignore them, as he has always done in war and deception."
"Then I make my decision," said Sam slowly. "I will go with Master Frodo. I will always look for the time when Rosie and I will meet again, and I can see little Elanor. But my soul lies here, even if my heart lie elsewhere."
"Very well, then," said Tiansom, "we must head southeast, and if the journey is well, then we shall reach Gondor in three week time."
"But to where shall we head?"
"Celeborn dwells in Rivendell now, he has not yet departed. And the Wood-elves of Mirkwood still linger in Middle-earth." said Mithrandir. "Celeborn may give us wise counsel in the matter of what we should do, and help hasten our journey. We will head to Rivendell."
"Rivendell? The hidden valley?" queried Tiansom.
"Yes, and you must lead us, for the time has come when you must discover what wisdom and knowledge lieth within you."
"I will do my best." Tiansom said, gracefully bowing. He stood straight, and then said, "The quickest path lies not on the road, but off it. We must head through Aintiluvue." He paused for a moment, considering his statement, and then said, "Yes, that is the best way. Let us be off at dusk. But be watchful. Even though the Mother Sun blinds the Wraiths, they sense blood and life. They are drawn to life, for they hate it greatly."
"The sun sets, and we must be off," said Frodo as Tiansom watched the blood-red sunset quietly. Tiansom turned and glanced at Frodo, and then at the rest of the small fellowship, and then he arose, his long robes flowing down to his feet. He murmured a silent thanks to the sun, and then called cheerfully, "Hobbits! The time to depart has come! Mithrandir, arise with the departure of the Sun! Come, for the journey is long!"
"Coming! I am coming, don't be hasty!" Pippin yelled as he ate the meager remnants of their supper, and rushed to the hill of trees where Tiansom stood. Tiansom turned to him, grinned, and said, "I told you that I will lead you. Well, lead you I shall, so come, through this forest we must go, and then through a flat plain, which I fear the most, for the Riders can easily see us there. It is where Amon Sul is located, Weathertop in the Common Speech. That name, I am told, is not unknown to you. But we will not enter Rivendell through the Ford of Bruinen, so we will not pass Weathertop. I will try to find another way, through Aintiluvue, and through that secret path the Riders have little hope of following us. But I have spoken enough! Let us be off!"
And he strode steadily off to the northeast, and Frodo and Sam were in his tracks, Mithrandir following them with Merry and Pippin at his heels. Tiansom seemed quite sure of his way, and Frodo and Sam trusted him completely. Merry and Pippin trusted him as well, but they trusted Mithrandir even more so, and so they began to ask him about their leader.
"What does Aintiluvue mean, Gandalf?" asked Merry eagerly, and Pippin nodded in agreement to his question.
"Aintiluvue? The name is an old language, older than the language of the fairest Vanyar, or the Noldoli, or the Sindar, but it means, and this is a rough meaning, mind you, Firewalker Path."
"Firewalker Path? I hope Tiansom has not a mind to lead us through fires like those of Mordor!" said Pippin, laughing.
"I told you it was a rough meaning. It could also mean Path of the Sunfire. The language is that of the Calacarcuil, the Elves of Awakening. Their words have many meanings."
"I thought translating the languages of the Calaquendi was difficult. Obviously I have been proved wrong!" laughed Merry in his turn. "But how does Tiansom speak the language of Elves?"
"He is a Halfelven, as is Elrond. His mother was one of the Calacarcuil. She passed to him great knowledge and wisdom, and she was the last of the Calacarcuil to die. Tiansom is the only surviving descendent of the Elves of Awakening."
"Die?" asked Pippin. "But Elves are immortal, are they not?"
"Hush!" said Merry, a bit sharply. "I know the tale of the Calacarcuil, and the death of their race is the most sorrowful event that I have heard in words. But here is a clue if you wish for it: In Barad-dur, in Mordor, did shadow fall upon the silver flame. I will speak no more of that."
Tiansom was weary, for he had walked long, and he had felt a chilling pain flash through his body at sudden moments ever since the wraith had stabbed him, and it left him even more weary than before. The fellowship was straggling as well, for they were exhausted, and they had left the trees of the forest a few hours ago, and were now surrounded by flat grassy plains with few trees, and in the distance, he could see the remains of the watchtower upon Amon Sul.
Sam was yawning, and propping up Frodo, who was half-asleep, and doubly uneasy about crossing any land near the dread Weathertop. Mithrandir was tired as well, and Merry and Pippin were barely keeping up with his slowed steps. Tiansom surveyed the land with some doubt, but deciding that all was well, he turned to the exhausted fellowship, and spoke.
"My friends, forgive me for leading you so far with no rest. We will rest now, and I will keep watch. We will set off in the bright noon tomorrow, so be gladdened."
"But what of food?" asked Pippin wearily.
Tiansom laughed. "I will not say 'tighten your belt', for food I will find, though I eat little, for those who are of the Awakened need not much to keep them alive. Food? I will hunt at the break of day. Sleep it off now."
The members of the fellowship found their own comfortable corners in the endless grass plain, and were soon sleeping soundly, except for Frodo, for flashes of the dreaded wraiths and the flash of the Nazgul's sword carving his flesh kept his mind in unease. He stood up gently, leaving Sam sleeping like a log, and found Tiansom, whose drawn sword lay on his lap, gazing watchfully over them. His sword was dim now, indicating that no enemy was near. Tiansom glanced at Frodo, and Frodo came to him and sat by him.
Tiansom seemed to be counting the stars again, and he was lost in some deep thought. But he came out his trance, and smiled at Frodo. "Forgive me, for I prove to be uninteresting many a time."
"It is well. I cannot sleep, for the memory of the Nazgul is still fresh in my mind." Tiansom turned and surveyed Frodo, and then continued to watch over the sleeping fellowship. He straightened his back out of a hunch, and then spoke, "Tell me about the Shire-folk."
"What is there to say about them? They are a quiet people, and love food and drink. But I suppose, somewhere deep down inside of them, there is courage that would rival the greatest Man's." Frodo went silent at this, remembering his days in the Shire, stealing mushrooms, and causing Brandy Hall to rise in an uproar with Merry and Pippin when he lived there.
"Tell me about your people," Frodo said, after the memories drifted away from his mind.
"My people? You know much already about the unquieted Sauron, and I hate him greatly, so of him I will not speak, nor of his foul brood of Orcs and Dark Men. Of my mother's people, the Calacarcuil, Elves of Awakening, I could tell you much, and it would bore you. But of the Three Creations, perhaps you would be interested." He paused here, and suddenly stiffened, and his face was alert and wary. He closed his eyes, listening, and then Frodo, who wondered what he could have possibly heard, listened as well, and then he heard it as well, a high, tortured, wail, followed by answering wails in cold, sharp tones. Tiansom opened his eyes, and breathed deeply. His sword was gleaming dimly now.
"So they have come. It is as I feared. They have been regrouped. Seven wraiths of Thangorodrim. Let us hope they do not attack us tonight, for the fellowship is in desperate need of rest." He lay his sword down by his side, still intently listening, and said, "I promised you a tale of our people. I will sing it softly, so I will hear the wraiths should they call again."
Ah! When the light was young,
and the Two Trees but a thought,
The Awakened walked the world,
and cured the dumb of their ignorance,
and healed the wounds of the hurt.
In deepened thoughts did their minds always wander,
and one day, they thought,
How shall we preserve the world,
for those who will come after?
Here Tiansom abruptly broke off, and Frodo said softly, "Please continue! I wish to know of what comes after."
"The wraiths are not near," he said slowly, glancing at his sword, whose deathly light waxed slightly. "But they are not far away." He glanced at Frodo, and said, "Forgive me for breaking my song. I will continue."
They loved all Arda, desiring not fair Valinor,
treading on its soil only in dreams untold.
They decided to preserve the essences of Three: Sea, Star, and Earth.
So they poured their energy, their mind, their love,
Into fulfilling their desire
To preserve what was for what was to come.
The dark water of the Sea,
they mingled with white flame,
and lo! a dark fire burned,
the heart of the Sea.
This they imprisoned in a lantern of glass and silver,
the Lamp of Oriomo it was named.
But what of Earth and Star?
'Twas clever Calimno who found the way.
The soil of Arda he took, and the light of Kullenin,
and then he crafted a mighty gem, the Jewel of Mal.
And fair Taeolin begged of the Starkindler,
for a bit of white light from Silindrin.
This she gave, and he mixed it with the silver tree's wood,
and from it, he carved a white statue,
that burned bright like the star,
and felt soft like the tree from whence it came.
The Great Three, of Star, Sea and Earth,
were now crafted, and their light shone
From Arda to the Lands Beyond,
and for a while, as small as it might be,
was there grace in far Utumno,
and peace in all the lands.
"The tale darkens after the Creation. Melko sought to take the Three for himself, and the Elves discovered his desires when the Creators of the Three were slain. They destroyed the Great Three, burning them secretly in the forge of Aule. Melko erupted in rage, destroying the lands of the Awakened, casting foul spells upon the things that the Elves Awakened, so that they attacked them, and drove them to Utumno, where they were imprisoned until they chose the Gift of Men, and fled the World forevermore."
"It is a sad tale! But do the Calaquendi, who have seen the Light, remember the stories of the Awakened? For surely, the wisest of the Elves must know some of this tale."
"The Calaquendi remember little, and what they do remember is naught but far legend. By the time Utumno was broken, the Elves had already perished, and the one who remained was taken by Sauron and hidden from the eyes of the Valar. If there are any who remember our grief, it is Ulmo, for he helped us ascend to Aule's forge to destroy the Three. Ulmo has taken me under his protection, for I am the last of a race he loved more than the Teleri." At this Tiansom sighed in deep sadness, and fell silent. Frodo knew he would speak no more, and so he went back to Sam, smiled to see him still fast asleep, and lay down near him and fell asleep as well, his mind now drifting in strange dreams of a time long before.