In An Age Before – Part 224
Now indeed the heart of Durin VI had been broken by the necessity of commanding his army in the suppression of the conspiracy mongering insurrectionist mob. 'Twas so heinous a duty that he could not saddle any of his generals with that onerous task. He took personal command of the troops, and as the father of his people, he bore the ultimate responsibility for the retaliatory kin slaying that followed in Khazad-dûm. The rampaging mob had been met, and predictably, they had been slaughtered. Unrepentant they had remained to the end, forcing the king to become their judge, jury, and executioner. In an aggregate lifetime of ten thousand years, it had been his darkest day.
Afterwards, whilst his loyal soldiers sat stunned in shock by what they had done, the king retired to his quarters, covered his face with his blood soaked hands, and wept in sorrow deeper and more bitter than any he could have imagined. Whether the realm survived in name or no, its soul was stricken. In its vast halls and on its broad avenues, blood pooled and bodies cooled. The iron brotherhood of the Longbeards had fractured, a thing that not even Morgoth had accomplished.
Durin deemed that he finally understood the bitter truth behind the warnings of his Ring. Deep, deep, deep… it had whispered. For centuries, he had believed that some unknown foe would arise from the depths of the world, from the roots of the mountains where even his folk ne'er ventured. What he had ne'er expected was that from the deeps had come an enemy without a face, a foe wielding no weapon of war, and a slayer that appeared to be a force of nature, absent any discernible malice or intent to harm. Lives had been lost, aye, and yet there was still no focus for retaliation. 'Twas as if one who had burnt his fingers at the forge should seek to punish fire itself for his suffering.
But the bitterest kernel of his new understanding was that from the depths had come, not some monster that bore the doom of Khazad-dûm, but rather the instigation that had unleashed the weakness of his people. 'Twas his own folk, incited by fear and loss to jealousy, hate, and violence that had encompassed the ruination of their realm. For the first time, mobs of his people had turned on one another, screaming false accusations and fomenting murder. He himself was neither the last nor the least. They had all brought death to their brothers, life for life, in a slaughter of thousands.
For a hundred centuries, the Longbeards had stood together against all adversaries, and now…now he could as easily expect a knife in the back as the respectful accolades of his people. The forces that had led to this catastrophe had been buried, deep, deep, deep within the hearts of his people. Durin judged his wisdom to rule had been insufficient and as a father to his people, he had failed. He felt like no king.
Durin sat in sorrow for two days, and on the third day he arose, his intentions clarified and his choices made. He came first to his son and heir, and took counsel with him for the future of the realm.
"Into thy keeping I pass the crown of Khazad-dûm and with it this Ring, the Ring of Eregion that was gifted to our forefathers by Lord Celebrimbor. I bid thee be e'er ware of its enchantments, amongst them the whispers that have troubled my counsels for centuries and yet gifted no timely wisdom. The realm lies in shambles, my son. I pray thee do what thou canst for the preservation of our people, though they may regard thee with loathing.
I go now to confront the enemy, for such is the duty of a king, to stand before his people in times both good and bad. Ere we tear ourselves apart further, I hope to lay eyes at last on our nameless bane, the instigator of our undoing. Farewell. May merciful Mahal protect thee and our people."
Náin looked to his father and could see both the heartbreak and the determination in his eyes. He knew better than to even try to stay him from his intended course. He donned the crown and took the Ring, which he set upon a chain worn 'round his neck, and then he clasped his father in a tight hug. He needed no foresight to know their parting now would last beyond this life.
Beside him, his own son and heir Thráin watched, still in shock at what the past couple months had wrought. As clearly as his father, he understood that his grandfather went to meet his demise in a last desperate attempt at solving the mystery that had fomented the disaffection of their people. He would descend to a well 'nigh certain death, deep in the mines.
During all the years of his young life thus far¹, Thráin had held Durin in the deepest respect for his wisdom and acumen. His deference bordered on awe before the six-time reincarnated father of his people. Now he perceived that the king doubted himself and that shook him as 'naught else could. When his turn came, he hugged his grandfather with desperate strength and could not refrain from whispering, "Not thy fault, our fall." ¹(In 1980, Thráin I, (1934-2190), was 46, still young for a Dwarf. Náin I, (1832-1981), was 148, and Durin VI, (1731-1980), was 249.)
Durin gave him a grim smile of appreciation for his sentiment, then they parted and the king took his leave. He went first to the royal armory and there girt himself in ancient battle armor of blackened steel with helm and iron soled boots, and he hefted a great two-handed labrys with which an earlier self had once hewn the hands from a traitor on the plain of Dagorlad. Then he marched out into the court before the palace where his soldiers had gathered in their despondency. He wondered if any would follow him still.
Durin met the eyes of his captains one by one as he strode through the court, giving each a nod of acknowledgement and thanks for their decades of service. He issued no orders nor voiced any commands. He spoke not of any goal or destination. He simply kept marching, two-headed axe o'er his shoulder, towards the gate that opened onto the avenue.
The king had already made the turn onto the way leading west, towards the endless stair that would take him down to the Deeps and the mines of the Barazinbar Spur, when he heard thunder growing behind him. He had no need to look back to recognize the bootfalls of ten thousand soldiers whose iron soles rang on the pavers. Soon the sound of so many feet marching in synch shook the street with a constant beat that no drum could have matched. As much as the ring of hammers, 'twas the heartbeat of the city. Dust sifted from masonry joints in adjacent buildings and doors rattled in their frames. Citizens poked their heads out of windows to view the spectacle. Pace by pace, stride by stride, the miles were consumed as the army of Khazad-dûm followed their king to battle one last time.
Now the soldiers that Durin led came to the Endless Stair, and there they descended to the Eighth Deep, intending to enter the mines of the Barazinbar Spur. This was the last that was e'er seen of them, for they ne'er returned. What their fate was is unknown save that 'twas assumed that they had perished. None in Khazad-dûm learnt more whilst that realm endured, and 'naught further is known by Elves or Men. In those days, 'twas deemed that the father of the Longbeards had fallen one last time.
In the few months that followed ere the last Naugrim were driven from their ancient realm, the heats moved upward and outward to the east and west. From Hollin Door to Nanduhirion, the very rock seemed to take delight in pursuing the citizens and forcing them to flee their mansions, halls, forges, and homes. Those who fled too slowly were roasted and soon those not yet 'neath direct threat deemed their realm cursed and began to despair.
As the newly crowned king, Náin I tried in vain to offer support and encouragement to his people. In the end, he accomplished little save aiding those who survived their last rout. He organized the wagons of traders and the distribution of stores, and then he bid his people farewell as they passed into Eriador or Rhovanion. With them, he sent as many craftsmen and soldiers as would agree to leave, for he intended to preserve so much of his peoples' culture as could be in the face of so total a calamity. Then, in mid-Gwaeron of 1981, he led companies of Khazad-dûm's army in his father's footsteps, to seek for tidings of the king. Náin and his soldiers were ne'er seen again.
Hadhodrond was abandoned and lay deserted, the clamor of Dwarves and the ringing of their hammers silenced, their lamps extinguished, and from the deeps, darkness and fire ruled, their source still unknown. In those days, proud Khazad-dûm that had stood since ere the sun and moon was renamed Moria, the Black Pit. So 'twas known e'er after during all the years whilst the Third Age lasted. All loathed and avoided it and whispered its name in fear. At first, the mansions of the Longbeards stood silent and empty. Later they became the abode of Yrch and Tor and something worse, Durin's Bane.
Amongst the last to flee had been Thráin I, and he bore into exile the crown of Durin, the Ring of Celebrimbor, and a moonstone cabochon treasured by generations of kings. He departed from Azanulbizar with the smoke of the burning in the upper Halls clinging to his hair and the stench of it in his nose. With him went many of his household, great craftsmen, traders, courtiers, and the last soldiers, and they wandered the Vale of Anduin ere passing north 'round Mirkwood. Along the way, they sought for a new home and for mines from which to draw new wealth.
The obvious first choice for a new kingdom was Gundabad, vacated by the defeat of Angmar but six years aforetime. They found the lands of eastern Angmar 'twixt the rivers Langwell and Greylin occupied by the Éothéod, 'neath the rule of the aging King Frumgar. The Norsemen had established themselves there four years earlier and that increased the desirability of the site, for having Men who also despised the Yrch and the Witch King holding the east flank offered added security.
Thráin traded tidings with King Frumgar and his son and heir Prince Fram. They too would be glad to have allies guarding their backs and they attested that Gundabad was free of Yrch and Tor. Yet they also warned that from the Ered Mithrin to the north had come rumor of the great worms that occasionally ventured west from their breeding grounds in the Withered Heath. As the Éothéod had little treasure save their horses, they had not become an attraction to those monsters, yet Thráin heard their warnings and took counsel with his courtiers and craftsmen and soldiers.
"My lord, we bear hence a great treasure from our fallen realm," said one of Thráin's most esteemed advisors. "A holy site Gundabad may have been upon a time, and indeed 'tis still so in spirit, yet it hath long been the abode of the foul servants of Angmar. The dragons were 'neath the sway of Sauron's master of old, and indeed 'tis said that Morgoth created them from simple lizards and snakes. I am surprised that none of them has tried to occupy Gundabad, with its deep tunnels and halls. T'would make a great lair for worms and a secure treasury for a dragon's hoard as well."
Thráin had looked at the grim faces gathered 'round the circle of his council and saw nods of agreement and the beginnings of fear. They had but two hundred fifty soldiers, four dozen smiths, and another thousand citizens. With them were five great wains of treasure. A single wagon held ten times the wealth of the Éothéod. Gundabad was too large to defend and their wealth constituted too great a temptation. After what they had all just endured, he could not jeopardize the survival of this remnant of Khazad-dûm by enticing a dragon. Perhaps they could try to occupy Gundabad later, say in three or four centuries.
Further debate ensued and Thráin let them air their concerns and opinions. 'Twas part of being king. Yet, the king's decision had already been made.
"Very well, we shall continue east," Thráin said, "and find a place more suited to security and the size of our population, with the hope of founding a greater realm one day."
'Round him, the counselors nodded and voiced their approval.
Therefore, with cordial words of parting, Thráin and the Dwarves took their leave of Frumgar and Fram and continued east along the foothills of the Ered Mithrin. In the Second Age long aforetime, these had been a part of the greater realm of Durin's Folk, for they lay 'twixt Khazad-dûm and its ancient eastern outlier, Erebor. In those days, the Lonely Mountain had been regarded as a trading outpost and strategic holding. Because it had lain so distant from their capital, little prospecting or mining was done there. The center of the power, wealth, and culture of their civilization had been Khazad-dûm, and its craftsmen had been occupied prospecting the mines of the Misty Mountains. The cost and effort of transporting ores and raw gems from Erebor had simply been prohibitive.
Yet now that they were homeless refugees, Thráin and his company took refuge in some of the ancient halls and holdings in the Grey Mountains. Some of these had been occupied by Yrch during the later Second and earlier Third Ages, after the closing of Khazad-dûm during the War of the Elves and Sauron had left them assailable. With the few Yrch that remained after the fall of Angmar, the Dwarves gladly did battle, worsting them and driving them out to reclaim their old holdings. For eighteen years, they fought their way east, establishing a network of havens and mines, and many of their folk came thither from their wanderings to add their numbers to the population of the north. A new realm was being established, and Thráin I undertook the labors of a king.
Then in 1999, there came a great change in the fortunes of Durin's Folk. Their eastward expansion reached Erebor. They found it deserted, for all its prior inhabitants, the Yrch and the Tor, had been conscripted by Tindomul during his westward march to raise anew the Realm of Angmar. For o'er a quarter century since, the Lonely Mountain had stood empty, awaiting the return of its original inhabitants, the Longbeards. The first Dwarves to arrive could scarcely believe their luck. It seemed that at last, Mahal had blessed them and their fortunes would turn.
Straightaway, Thráin I established his seat and raised the Kingdom of Erebor. A great count of the wandering sons of Durin flocked to the new realm and perhaps just in time, for from the north came the Long-worm Scatha, attracted by the wealth that the Dwarves of the Ered Mithrin had brought from Khazad-dûm, or won through new labors in the Grey Mountains. The great cold-drake plundered the string of outposts along the southern foothills and hoarded the gold and gems in a lair 'twixt the twin headwaters of the river Greylin. There he gloated o'er his new wealth and at times forayed out to trouble those living 'nigh, Dwarves and the Men of the Éothéod. The Northmen, Scatha regarded as worthy only for sport, for their wealth in metal and jewels seemed pitiful to him. In this, he had made a grave error, yet even in death, he managed to sew discord and bloodshed.
Now following her swoon in Elrond's study, Helluin was taken to the room she had oft occupied aforetime, and there the dark Noldo was ministered to by the lord and other healers for the recovery of her wits. Perhaps some medicinal teas had been administered with a funnel; Helluin was ne'er really sure. She remained insensate for the remainder of the night, but regained consciousness in the morn. As she found no foes close at hand upon which to vent her wrath at the loss of so many friends, Helluin remained in shock from the sorrow of the Peredhel's tidings.
Also during that night, Landroval's reports had led to the arrival of Mithrandir, borne on the Eagle's back from Hollin Ridge to Imladris. The Ithron had first taken counsel with the Lord of the Hidden Valley and then gone straightaway to Helluin's room. There he sat at her bedside, at times clasping her hand, and all the while sending his thoughts and hopes from his fëa to hers in hopes of mitigating the darkness that had taken root there.
On the ethereal plane, Mithrandir was met by a blazing wall of fire, the same with which the dark Noldo had long aforetime banished Sauron, and with which she protected herself against external assaults from the aether. 'Neath the duress of her deep melancholy, she had withdrawn 'til the outermost layer of her being was the occult fence she presented to foes.
'Round dawn, the Wizard had accepted the food a servant brought to him, for his body required nourishment and he had no idea of whether Helluin's self-imposed isolation would last an hour or a century. 'Twas as he finished chewing a mouthful of buttered toast and was about to swallow that she finally gave a sudden gasp and lurched upright in bed. The Ithron well 'nigh choked, and with a violent hack, launched his mouthful 'cross the room where it splattered against a side table. He had to take a gulp from his tankard of cider ere he could speak. In the mean time, Helluin beat him to it.
"Mithrandir! Again, I have wrought the destruction of my friends! I have brought about the fall of Khazad-dûm!"
The Wizard raised an eyebrow at that. He marked that Helluin seemed a bit wild-eyed, and by the histrionic nature of her claims, was probably still in shock. Even so, she seemed convinced that she was due the blame for the disaster in Khazad-dûm, and so he felt reluctant to dismiss her belief outright. Instead, he inquired as to her reasoning, expecting to detect a leap of illogic or some other baseless self-condemnation in misplacing the cause of Hadhodrond's fall.
"Whyfor think thou that the blame for the destruction of Moria falls upon thee?" He asked.
Helluin blinked at him, at first not recognizing the 'new' name for Khazad-dûm. O'er the twenty-two years since the fall of Hadhodrond, people had come to call it Moria, the Black Pit. Twenty-seven years had passed since Helluin had taken her leave of Eriador, and Khazad-dûm had been the last place she had visited in Rhovanion. Just as she persisted in calling the Greenwood by its ancient name, Calenglad i-Daer, or simply Calenglad, rather than Mirkwood, she would probably long resist the new epithet for Durin's Halls.
"'Twas I who discovered the vein of mithril ore that in latter days was known as the Barazinbar Spur," she finally replied. "I laid no claim to it in S.A. 142, instead only asking Gneiss son of Gnoss to forge for me some armor made from the metal he would refine from the lode."
The Ithron had to take a moment to digest the Noldo's claim. The discovery of that vein of mithril ore had occurred o'er an Age ere he had been deployed to the Mortal Shores. Indeed, he had ne'er really wondered how or when the Spur had been found, or who had prospected for it. Mining and crafts had not been his study. Perhaps Curunír or one of Aulë's other Maia might have found interest in such a topic, but not he. He had simply assumed that the Barazinbar Spur had been discovered by miners of the House of Gneiss.
"Helluin, in no way could thou have known what would come to pass fifty-three centuries hence," Mithrandir said.
"And yet had not my discovery been combined with their industry, Khazad-dûm might still prosper," she said, "and so whether by chance or fate, I gifted to my friends the foundation of their downfall."
Mithrandir looked closely at his friend. He perceived her feelings of guilt and indeed her tendency to ascribe guilt to herself. Aye, she had found the vein of mithril ore, and aye, she had gifted it to her friend Gneiss, but the Dwarves probably would have discovered it themselves at a later time. In any case, Helluin's reflexive self-blame was as flawed a reasoning as if one blamed the Whelming of Númenor on Eru for gifting Men the escape of death. Too many choices had been made afterward for any single person to bear the whole of the blame, and if 'naught else, the Fall of Khazad-dûm had been in The Song.
The Ithron shook his head, saddened that Helluin would seek to condemn herself in her sorrow. Yet such had been a trait she had learnt early in her sojourn upon the Hither Shores. She had blamed herself as much as Fëanor for the death of her younger brother on the Helcaraxë, for being unable to keep him safe against all of the complex consequences arising from the choices of others. Tis a burden thou carry still, old friend, and after all the years, in some things we are little changed, he thought.
"Despite that thou found a vein of mithril ore and claimed it not, so much has come to pass and so many years have fled since then that I deem thy part in the events that laid Durin's Folk low is no more than that, a part only, and a small one in the scheme of things," Mithrandir said. When Helluin began to sputter in dissent, he added more firmly, "It is not given to thee to determine the events of The Song! Each strain encompasses many voices and the melody is complex. That one would seek to sing a solo and o'erwhelm all other voices in their own cause is the sin of Melkor! Mighty thou may be, Elda, but not so mighty as that!"
For a moment, the impact of the Ithron's words stunned the dark Noldo and her arguments died on her lips. Then, as had e'er been, she saw the wisdom of the Aenath¹ in his words and bowed her head, chastened. ¹(Aenath, Gods = aen(god, angel) + -ath(coll. pl. suff, all gods) Sindarin)
"'Tis not a flaw to feel sorrow at loss, or at the passing of friends, Helluin," he said, more gently. "I feel it myself, for in 1978 I went to Khazad-dûm with thy old friends, Lord Glorfindel, Thórá, Gwingion, and Galadhon.
With the Lords Elrond and Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, we deemed that my foreboding of trouble in the Hithaeglir was centered on Moria. There I took counsel with thy friend Uzrak Tulkh, and later, with King Durin himself. I learnt of the troubles in the mines and I too went to see if there was 'aught that I might perceive. Like thee, and like Beinvír aforetime, I discerned 'naught of malice or willful intent, only phenomena that I deemed to be of natural origin. My friend, we all reached the same conclusion, and I within two years of the calamity. I too failed to offer sound counsel to the king."
Helluin nodded, understanding Mithrandir's tidings. If the source of the deadly heats had eluded even a Maia, then what chance had she e'er stood of unraveling its mystery?
"A full week I spent exploring Durin's halls from Nanduhirion to Eregion. Glorfindel and the others had returned to Imladris with the horses o'er the High Pass, whilst I walked east to west, to the Ennyn Durin. Vast was that realm and many wonders I saw there. In retrospect, I am surprised that I had ne'er come there aforetime," the Ithron mused. "I am glad I saw it whilst still there was light."
"I dwelt twenty years there in the early Second Age," Helluin said, "and during that time, learnt and taught much of smith craft and mining, but most dear to me, I earned the esteem of many friends and learnt their exoteric speech."
The Ithron marked that she had not mentioned her armor, which was now 'nigh priceless.
"Thy first visit constituted an embassy 'twixt peoples and led to friendship. Perhaps thou earnt as well the welcome later given to Celebrimbor and the Noldor of Ost-in-Edhil, and even the welcome extended to thy fellow Gondolindrim during my visit. That was no mean achievement in light of the tension 'twixt the Gonnhirrim and the Noldor in Beleriand."
"I directly negotiated the alliance 'twixt the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and the Guild of Craftsmen of Khazad-dûm. Celeborn and Galadriel appointed me ambassador to Hadhodrond in S.A. 992, and of my past association with the Gonnhirrim came the peace and trade enjoyed after…for a while."
Mithrandir nodded, marking her somber expression. He had only known that of Helluin's confederation with Celebrimbor and Narvi a century and thirty years later had come the Sarchram. Now he understood that she had brokered the peace and had probably felt some measure of blame when Ost-in-Edhil had been o'errun by Sauron's Glamhoth seven centuries later. Perhaps it had even fueled the intensity of her opposition to him and the atrocities she had committed during the war. He had heard some accounts of her peerless violence in the final battles and her instigation of the same in Ciryatur's warriors. And he had heard of her headlong charge from the battlefield into Sauron's camp o'erlooking Gwathló to force personal combat.
Yet finally, he deemed that the need to proffer added tidings was imperative, for much had come to pass since she had last visited the Hidden Valley. He just hoped that she would be able to withstand the shocks, for none of those tidings were good.
'Twas noon ere Helluin seemed restored enough to endure further time in council. Mithrandir accompanied her from her room, back to the Lord Elrond's study. There, they found also Lord Glorfindel, seated in a chair before the Peredhel's desk. They took another pair of chairs and when all were seated, Elrond offered goblets of wine.
"Helluin, thou hast my apologies for the impact of my tidings yesternight," he said. "I know the loss of so many friends was impossible to receive without heartfelt sorrow."
"'Twas so indeed, Lord Elrond, and to me that shock was second only to the disappearance of Beinvír. I hope that I can receive 'aught else whilst retaining my wits, for I too have tidings to share. In my absence from the west, much has been achieved in the east, but of those things, I shall share later."
The Peredhel nodded to her, very curious now about what had come to pass in Rhûn, for little was e'er reported from those lands. 'Twas said that they endured the upheaval of civil war, yet that knowledge learnt from the Gondorim in the last war was now 'nigh thirty years old.
"I should begin by telling thee that the repercussions of the Fall of Khazad-dûm were felt in the realm of King Amroth. Being so close by as to witness the flight of the Gonnhirrim, the folk of Lórinand were beset with fear and foreboding. Since then, many of the Sindar and Silvan Edhil have fled the Golden Wood to take ship into the West."
Helluin nodded at this for 'twas hardly unexpected. The march wardens at least would have witnessed hordes of terrified Dwarves fleeing down the road that bordered the west march of their lands. She imagined Haldir and his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, reluctantly encountering the Naugrim, their shock upon hearing their tidings, and then their discomfort in conveying those horrific accounts to King Amroth. And what of Nimrodel? Helluin wondered for but a moment.
"Not a year passed ere Amroth and his long-betrothed Nimrodel took the southward track to Edhellond, seeking to sail to the West and there find peace and safety from the trials of the Mortal Shores," Elrond said, as if he had read her mind.
Helluin again nodded to him, unsurprised and assuming that he had done just such.
"'Tis known that Amroth reached Edhellond, but Nimrodel had gone missing. I know not how, for I cannot imagine Amdír's son letting her out of his sight," Elrond reported with a sigh.
Not after all the centuries of his longing and devotion despite her bizarre and excitable nature, Helluin thought to herself, prompting a shake of his head from Mithrandir and a groan from the Noldo. Do they all read my thoughts? She asked herself, prompting a grin from Elrond and a blank look from Glorfindel. Save for him, she muttered silently. Had Artanis joined us, I should be as transparent as this goblet of wine.
She shall know all we know, Mithrandir conveyed to her in a moment's glance. Indeed, she may have questions for thee later.
Of course she shall, Helluin replied in silent capitulation, throwing up her hands and causing Glorfindel to look back and forth 'twixt the other three in confusion.
"'Tis reported that the ship waited for her so long as could be, but the storms of autumn came upon them and tore the ship from its moorings. The mariners could not but flee before the winds, heading out to sea lest they be driven ashore to their ruin. When he became aware that they had sailed, Amroth leapt into the water, desperate to be reunited with his beloved Nimrodel, and thus he was drowned, battling the waves far from land."
'Twas a sad tale and Helluin nodded at the pathos. She had esteemed Amroth and his father, old King Amdír, whom she had deemed a wise ruler adept at the politics of court, but a novice at war. Alas, both were now gone, but what of Nimrodel?
"Pray tell, what became of Nimrodel?" Helluin asked.
Elrond could only shrug whilst the rest remained silent.
Finally, Glorfindel said, "no accounts of her fate have come to us, Helluin. She remains lost."
"One of her handmaids was found in the uplands by Imrazôr Dúnadan," Mithrandir told her. "Her name was Mithrellas. Was she known to thee from Lórinand?"
"Nay, I recognize not the name, though I knew few enough of Amroth's folk."
The Ithron nodded, accepting her words ere continuing with, "Imrazôr wed Mithrellas and now they dwell together in his princedom of Belfalas."
"So at least one happy ending came of all this, I suppose," Helluin mused. Another thought took root in her mind and she asked, "What has become of Lórinand, pray tell? Have all fled?"
To this question, the Peredhel at last offered a smile.
"Nay, Lórinand is not abandoned," he said. "In this I have some good tidings for once, rare as such have been on late. After Amroth's abdication, he appointed Haldir his regent, but 'twas for a short time only. Having learnt of their need, Celeborn and Galadriel returned and have taken up the rule of that realm. Both had been known to the Galadhrim for many years. Celeborn was, like Amdír, a noble Sinda of Doriath, and that was comforting to the Nandor. Though initially, they were less welcoming of Galadriel, deeming her eldritch for they have some peculiar history with her, yet in the end, she was also accepted by virtue of her husband. They are now Lord and Lady of Lórinand."
"That is good tidings," Helluin said, suppressing a snigger. They must recall her mad hunt for an enchanted stream amidst their woods.
Mithrandir and Elrond raised brows in question, but Helluin ignored their query.
"Whilst Celeborn shoulders the trappings of rule, Artanis subtly supports the realm by the virtue of Nenya¹ and stands in opposition to Dol Guldur 'cross Anduin," Elrond said. ¹(added in silence eye to eye due to Glorfindel's presence.)
"Perhaps then I shall have questions for her," Helluin said, nodding to herself. I should very much like to know if that foul cloud Sauron has taken refuge in thither ruins after fleeing Sheol.
The immediate interest in her thoughts by Mithrandir and Elrond was betrayed when Elrond blurted, "whaaa…?"
Helluin ignored them and asked, "Is there 'aught else? Are there further tidings of dooms fallen during my absence from the west?"
She had spoken half in jest for most said aforetime had been bad, but at their subsequent silence and the sick look on Glorfindel's face, Helluin groaned. They were actually not finished presenting words of disaster and calamity and she tried to steel herself against whatsoe'er catastrophe they enumerated next.
The silence dragged on, increasingly awkward. Mithrandir eyed Helluin, wondering if she would collapse again. Finally, Elrond heaved a great sigh and continued.
"'Twas known from thy report in 1975 that Dol Guldur had been emptied," the Peredhel said, "and that was good tidings. Alas, we discerned not with certainty whither the Nazgûl had fled. For a quarter century they were unaccounted for, yet after, we deem that they had repaired to Mordor, thither to fester in their malice and await word from their master."
Now Helluin was sitting on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped tight 'round the ends of the arms. She both craved and feared to her more.
"In 2000, the Nine, commanding many thousands of Yrch, Tor, and Southrons, crossed o'er the Morgai and the Ephel Dúath by the high pass of Cirith Ungol," Elrond began. "They invested Minas Ithil, and after two years, the city fell. But a year past, the Nazgûl took Isildur's city and occupied it, and amongst the spoils, they seized its palantír. We deem it hath been gifted to Sauron by his loyal servants, and now none amongst the Dúnedain shall chance to use those stones remaining to them lest they be ensnared."
"The population of Minas Ithil had been greatly diminished by the Great Plague and Wainrider wars and ne'er recovered. Its defenders could not count even a thousand Men at arms. Ere Eärnil could deploy Gondor's armies or marshal a defense, the leaguer of the city was complete," Glorfindel said.
"The defenders held out so long as they could, but they could not be relieved in the narrow vale. The enemy held the high ground of the pass and the road down Ithilduin, and so the city fell. The Gondorim now call it Minas Morgul," Mithrandir added.
They looked o'er to gauge Helluin's reaction and saw that she had again passed out.
The next time she recovered her consciousness, two days had passed and 'twas 24 Cerveth. The Noldo found the Lord Elrond himself seated beside her bed. This time, rather than lurching upright, she simply opened her eyes and took a deep breath. A glance at the window revealed light that she ascribed to midday, or close enough.
"This is becoming a habit," she muttered as the Peredhel gave her a relived smile.
"I am glad to see thee returned, old friend," he said. Then, after a moment for thought, added, "I have no further tidings for thee at present."
"Thank the Valar for that," Helluin said with a sigh. "In that case, I suppose 'tis my turn."
"Pray join me for the noon meal first, if thou hast an appetite. Thou hast not eaten for two days. We can take counsel after with Mithrandir and Glorfindel."
Helluin gave him a nod of agreement and readied herself to accompany him to the dining hall. Instead, the Peredhel led her to a butcher-block table set in an alcove off the kitchen where they took seats on opposing banquettes 'neath a many-paned window that looked out on an herb garden. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the red and white checked tablecloth and glinting off glasses, silverware, and the shiny glaze on the plates and bowls.
"Mostly 'tis the chefs who take meals here, but I find it less formal and more cheery," he said.
Helluin nodded to agree. 'Twas comfortable and more intimate as well, but best of all, they would not be subject to the whispered speculation of other diners in the vast formal hall.
"I believe I shall have soup and salad," Elrond declared, "would thou join me thus and perhaps split a sandwich as well?"
"That sounds delicious, thank you," she replied. Good, basic fare was just what she craved.
The Lord of the Hidden Valley personally gathered greens in a bowl and sliced tomatoes, purple onions, and white mushrooms to add. He drizzled oil and vinegar o'er all, and then turned to slicing fresh bread for a sandwich. Helluin caught the scent of sour dough. She took the bowls from the table and walked o'er to a cauldron hanging from a wrought iron crane. A slow simmered soup of mixed grains 'nigh thick enough to be a stew wafted an enticing aroma that made her mouth water with sudden hunger. Taking a ladle, she filled the bowls and returned to the table. By then, Elrond had sliced cold chicken and set it on the sourdough bread, dressing it with a sauce of ground horseradish, powdered chili, whipped eggs with mustard in oil, and the juice of lemons. Pinches of ground pepper and salt finished the preparation and he cut the sandwich diagonally into equal halves for them to share. They settled at the table to eat their meal and little was said 'twixt them as they feasted, unhurried and content.
More surprising to the Noldo was that after they finished eating and had sat digesting a while, Elrond gathered the dishes and proceeded to the scullery.
"Come, my friend, thou can dry whilst I wash," he said, a smile playing 'round the corners of his mouth.
With a shrug, Helluin followed, bearing their mugs in which she had collected the silverware. At a large sink of white glazed, cream-colored stoneware, Elrond worked a hand pump to fill a galvanized tub with water, and then taking a bar of soap, lathered a washrag and began cleaning the dishes. As he finished and rinsed, Helluin took them and dried them with a clean dishtowel, then set them aside on a rack. The dishes were few and working together, they soon finished.
"I find at times, 'tis simple labor that best clears the mind."
"In my life of roaming, I find little complex labor to cloud it," she said, then actually laughed.
Elrond nodded, smiling that their meal had lightened her spirits, and then beckoned her from the scullery and down a hallway that led back to his study. They found Glorfindel and Mithrandir waiting at the door.
"Pray pardon the delay, my friends. It could not be helped," the Peredhel said from long habit as he opened the door and beckoned them to take the chairs before his desk.
When they were all seated and he had poured them goblets of wine, they settled back to resume their council.
"I believe that Helluin has now heard tell of all the greater events in the west since she took her leave," Elrond said, "and now we should like to learn what has come to pass in the east. I believe thou mentioned the flight of Sauron and someplace called 'Sheol'?"
"Aye, there is much to tell of my years in Rhûn. I wager that little of it is known in the west despite the tidings that came to Eärnil ere the Battle of Fornost. Pray indulge me and allow me to share with ye directly, thereby to save time and my voice. I shall answer your questions after."
She eyed them one by one and one by one they nodded their agreement to her suggestion. The three then stared expectantly into her eyes and Helluin captured their consciousness and then offered her memories for their viewing. The twenty-seven years she had spent in the east passed before their eyes, deed by deed, and they saw what she had seen, the people, the places, and the battles fought. Along with the raw images, Helluin offered occasional clarifications so that they heard her voice in their heads explaining the more cryptic happenings.
The years passed as the expansion of the Mâh-Sakâ Empire went forward. The battles against the Medes and Rhoxolāni, Targitai's impassioned rhetoric to the sultans, and their adoption of a holy war against the worshippers of the God of Fire brought them to an understanding of the alliances and animosities in the east. They perceived the strength and commitment of the allies they had not known they had.
More years passed and they saw the Ithryn Luin and Kanafinwë. They saw the Blue Wizards' citadel and Helluin fighting beside her old friend. Of those gathered, only Elrond had heard that she had sought and received his aid during the Kin-strife of Gondor.
Tatya atar¹, Helluin heard Elrond whisper, and realized that seeing Maglor's image carried far more impact than simply hearing her words six centuries aforetime. ¹(Tatya atar, Second father Quenya)
Mithrandir seemed far more interested in Alatar and Pallando, and that too was understandable to Helluin. The five Ithryn had come from Aman together, and immediately the Blue Wizards had disappeared into the east, gone a millennium now from the western lands.
Next, she showed them Sauron's refuge in the east, the crater with its fortress rising from the central spur, Sheol, Skator, Hell, the Land of No Return. The smoke of the sacrifices rose from the temple to the heavens day and night, and in the tower was a malice that slept not. 'Neath it dwelt Ungolúróg, spawn of Ungoliant, and 'neath that in turn lay the husks of Nehemoth, Gamaliel, Samael, Harab Serapel, Thagirion, Golachab, Gamchicoth, Sathariel, Chaigidel, and Thumiel. At their mention by Pallando, Mithrandir shuddered.
Then they saw the weapon being built and finally the test of it. 'Twas beyond 'aught that they could comprehend. Elrond and Glorfindel had seen the use of the Holy Light as a weapon when they had employed it to clear the Tor from the East Road during the liberation of Imladris. E-ngúrglaw was so far beyond that as to be a source of visceral terror, a weapon against which no armor would protect, nor any prowess or valor withstand. The three watched Helluin's memory of the slaughter of the Wainriders, the slaying of Ungolúróg, and the routing of Sauron from his tower. They saw the beam of the Death Ray cleave flesh, chitin, metal, stone, and spirit.
They witnessed the final battle, when the secret mechanism of Sauron's temple had been exposed and provided for the razing of his fortress. They saw the beam lance out to the gate and the racing conflagration that consumed all within the walls. They saw the vast explosion and then the burning pit that sealed the maw of Nehemoth, even as it leaked daemons.
Helluin blinked and ended the vision. Elrond, Mithrandir and Glorfindel were released.
The Ithron closed his eyes and took deep breaths to still the racing of his mortal heart. 'Twas as if he had foreseen warfare leap forward two Ages in a moment. He was terrified of the possibilities, and yet he could not but give thanks that the gateway to the Qliphoth had been shut.
Elrond was shaking and sweat ran down his face. The evil he had witnessed was equal to what he had endured in Mordor during the War of the Last Alliance. The great spider was a monster more horrific than 'aught that he had seen since the War of Wrath. And what in Udûn had been those things taking form on the tower just ere it had been destroyed?
Glorfindel groaned and swallowed his gorge, nauseous since his first glimpse of Skator. Then he replayed the images of Helluin emptying clots of green slime from Ungolúróg's hewn halves and he fled Elrond's study, barely making it onto the patio ere he lost his lunch.
"I suppose ye have some questions?" Helluin asked innocently when they had all recovered themselves and sat sipping from their goblets of wine, rather more quickly than could be considered genteel.
To Be Continued