Guess who's back?
That's right. I am bringing this fic back from the dead. I originally started working on Lament quite a few years back when I was fresh out of high school, but found it really difficult to maintain writing motivation once University and life started. Two undergrad degree changes, one mental breakdown, a backpacking trip to New Zealand, and of course a global pandemic four years later, and I have decided to recommit myself to Istuinn's story! Despite the craziness of the last few years, this story was always in the back of my mind, begging to be rewritten... So, without further ado... I present the first chapter of a newly refurbished Lament of the Dunedain. Enjoy!
Tom Bombadil has never been an easy character to gain information from. Dealings with the peculiar man typically involve much irrelevant talk about his run ins with badgers and nefarious trees, with any useful knowledge tangled up in riddles and song. Getting to his dwelling is also a tricky riddle - one has to either risk losing themselves amongst the murderous trees of the Old Forest or become victim to the Barrow Wight's merciless possessive hunger.
However, Bombadil's knowledge about Arnor and her comings and goings has been more than useful to us in the past, and as much as we try not to take advantage of it, his and Goldberry's hospitality is always impeccable. Sadly, it is not every day that we Rangers get to enjoy a full spread, complete with bread, butter, and mead, nor do we often have the privilege of falling asleep with our heads upon a feathered pillow. While a life spent silently protecting the free peoples of Arnor is rewarding, the Wilds do not offer the physical comforts that those we protect often get to enjoy.
Because of these promised comforts, my brother Olbron and I were not too displeased when Halbarad instructed us to check in on the wizened fellow during our return journey from the North Downs. The trek through the northern reaches of the old kingdom had been terribly cold and grueling, leaving us wanting nothing more than a warm fire and shelter from the elements, even if for just one night. And even if it were not so, we both knew that an order from Halbarad was just as serious as one from Aragorn himself.
But, of course, our younger companion was not so convinced.
"Come now, we all know that letting me stay in Bree is the wisest option." Amhrod said, once again trying to wheedle his way out of traveling across the Barrow Downs.
"If you say anything of that sort one more time, lad, I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to Butterbur's dogs." I growled. This was his fifth attempt since we'd set out this morning, and the combination of the freezing rain that had started two hours back and his incessant complaining was fraying my nerves.
"Amhrod, you know as well as I do that nothing productive will come out of that plan." Olbron chided.
Amhrod rolled his eyes, "you forget how much can be overheard in the Prancing Pony. Gossip practically seeps from every crack in those walls, what with all the travelers and nosy townsfolk."
"Gossip cannot be used effectively if the listener is as drunk as an orc." I grumbled, shooting an accusatory glare at the young Ranger. He responded with a sheepish grin, before arguing,
"So, you doubt my ability to remain sober during a time of need?"
"Ability?" I snorted, "What ability? I have never seen you step out of a tavern sober. The only ones who are going to gain from this little side-trip of yours will be the brothel managers and barkeeps."
Amhrod let out a sharp bark of laughter, "five years ago, your beliefs would hold true. But I am a changed man, Istuinn! Trust me as you would trust your other comrades. I have never seen you give this much grief to Braigiar or Trahern, and especially not your brother."
"That is because the four of us have been training and fighting together since we could each hold our first practice sword. You should have seen the men leading us on our first missions. Compared to them, I'm cuddly."
"She's right you know," Olbron added, "remember Diareth, sister? That man could freeze my blood with a single glance."
With a wistful smile, I recalled Diareth's dagger-sharp glares.
"He once sent Braigiar on a lone mission to the Ettenmoors after finding him asleep in his own vomit after a… lively night spent at the Prancing Pony," I said with a small chuckle, "luckily, myself and Olbron had been sober enough to jump the gate and sneak back into base-camp without any notice. Braigiar wasn't so lucky."
"I don't believe a single word of your tale. Very out of character." Amhrod argued.
"Every Ranger in these lands has been a rascal at some point." Olbron reminded him, "I bet even Diareth had his moments of mirth, however long ago they were."
"I'm confused, are you two now saying that I can go to Bree?"
"No." Olbron and I chimed.
"Fine then," Amhrod conceded with a sigh, "you've won once again. But I'm sure I'll be able to change your minds once we reach town."
Finally, with our sixth argument of the morning finished, the three of us continued to ride in silence through the misting rain. A heavy fog had now settled upon the rolling hills on either side of the horse-path we followed, dense white fingers creeping across the grassy, grey knolls and obstructing our view of the Greenway that ran a few hundred feet to our left. Despite the fog, the sound of twittering birds still reached us from a copse of trees on our other side. Sparlings, robins, and sparrows huddled together amongst the yellowing leaves, periodically shaking their feathers free of raindrops. Olbron watched them intently with his keen green eyes, listening in on their little secrets.
All three of us were soaked from the tips of our hoods to the toes of our boots, and if it weren't for the treated leather of our saddlebags and packs, our blankets, foodstuffs, and the other provisions we carried with us about these lands would have been swimming by now. Certainly not the best traveling weather, but the skies of Arnor were seldom generous when it came to sunlight and clear skies.
We should have been watching these raindrops patter on the windowpanes of a warm, toasty cabin, rather than riding through them. That had, of course, been the initial plan when we first set off towards the North Downs two months ago. Our original route had been to sweep around to the eastern side of the Weather Hills, carry on to the northern-most tip of the North Downs, and then loop around for a quick survey of Lake Evendim and the lands around it. There used to be a small fishing village on the North-west tip of the lake that served as an outpost, and our orders had been to remain there for a fortnight. Halbarad had wanted us to touch base with a few of the Dunedain who'd made Emyn Uial their permanent residence and convince a few to ride home with us to speak at the annual Harvest meeting being held in two month's time. It was a solid plan on Hal's part, and I am sure Olbron would have been able to convince at least a dozen men with that golden tongue of his.
Only, the fishing village had been long burnt to the ground.
And not a single soul, Dunedain or otherwise, graced those hills.
To say that we were worried would have been an understatement.
A wet, miserable day could, of course, only lead to a wet, miserable night. Though the rain had stopped by the time we'd found shelter, the earth where we wished to place our bedrolls was still damp and loamy.
"Amhrod, go fetch some branches while Istuinn and I cook up some dinner. We'll be sleeping in a foot of mud if we lay our bedrolls down straight" Olbron ordered while attempting to start a fire at the roots of an old oak tree. I watched, a sense of unease slowly curling around my stomach as my butts swirled and shifted in the blackening sky above us. At last, a spark caught, and a little, lone flame began to dance amongst the tinder placed about the few drier logs we could scavenge. Olbron smiled at his craft, and I pulled out our last half-loaf of bread from my saddlebag, along with a small pouch of dried pork. Out of Olbron's pack I retrieved a few apples, and soon he got to work, coarsely slicing up the bread, apples, and pork so that they could all fry together over the now toasty fire. A rich savory smell emanated from the frying pan, replacing the earthy tang of rain and soil.
"What troubles you so, sister? Another one of your headaches?"
I frowned, "No. Something feels off. Something in the air. It feels heavy, almost, as if my butts were trying to press down upon us. Don't you feel it?"
Olbron paused his frying for a moment, face pensive, "I do feel rather odd, but not in the way you have described. My heart feels as though it is wound about with a dozen tight strings... Can't say it feels nice."
"We're still half a day's ride from the Barrows... We shouldn't be able to feel their effects from here, no?"
"No," Olbron answered, "Perhaps Bombadil will know? A bear can't shit in the woods without him knowing about it. If any creature, fair or foul, is wandering these parts, he'll be the first to know."
The thought of some unknown beast wandering this close to the Shire struck another dose of fear into my heart, and the hunger previously gnawing at my belly dissipated.
Right on our left, there was a sudden thrashing in the thicket. In the span of a second, my knife was drawn, and Olbron was standing menacingly in the firelight with his sword pointed at the rustling bushes. In his eyes, I could discern a glint of fear. A dark shape was moving towards us, its many bent limbs tearing at the underbrush as it crashed about. Olbron gulped behind me, and the roiling fear in my stomach burned like vengeful hot coals
At last, the horrific creature came into the wavering light of the fire, and I nearly laughed. Standing before us was a very befuddled Amhrod, his arms full of twiggy branches.
"If you guys were THIS irritated with me, you should have said something." He grumbled, eying our blades nervously. Olbron let out a slow breath, and the two of us brought down our weapons, though my mind was still troubled. Neither of us were this quick to startle, and really, we should have known it was Amhrod before he'd even taken a step towards camp.
"Mistook you for a bear." Olbron chuckled, and with an alarmed cry, he hurried to the fire to rescue our burning dinner.
"So I do need a shave..." Amhrod said, rubbing at his patchy stubble. I responded with a wry smirk, and took a few of the branches he'd collected from his arms. While Olbron scraped what he could off of the pan into a few earthenware bowls, the younger lad and I laid down a giant bed of branches to provide a bit of separation between the ground and our bedrolls.
"Alright, it isn't much, but it will sure taste better than anything Istuinn can cook up." Olbron chuckled, before handing the two of us our bowls. Despite the charred apples, I thoroughly agreed with him. As many in our company had learned the hard way, my cooking was absolutely horrific. Many claimed that it was nearly as bad as my fathers, and I held that compliment with pride.
After our supper, Amhrod washed up the bowls and pan, while Olbron and I checked that the horses were properly fed and hobbled. Halefael, my own steed, was sporting a nasty scar down her right flank, a wound which she'd earned in an orc skirmish a few months back down near Dunland. It snaked, pink and shiny, through her coarse dark hair, so small that only I had the eye for it. For a good fifteen minutes I brushed the grime from her coat, speaking soothing words as I ran the soft brush down her neck. All three of the horses were abnormally skittish tonight, and I wondered if their nervousness was linked to the fear Olbron and I had felt earlier. Still, there was a slight tightness about my stomach, a sign that the anxiety had not completely left.
"Wake me in a few hours time, Amhrod. You're taking first watch tonight." I ordered upon returning to the fireside. Olbron was already snoring in his bedroll, and just watching his gentle breathing made my eyelids heavy.
"Yes, mamn." He said, sarcasm colouring his voice. I didn't grace him with a response.
The sounds of a gently crackling fire and the last falling drops of rain accompanied my uneasy drift into sleep. Nightly noises. Peaceful. And nothing like what I would hear on the wind in my dreams.
Fog, impenetrable, dark as the shadows beneath forgotten tombs. It snakes across grey, empty grasslands, claws its way up and across the highest peaks, until all the world is entombed in permanent dusk.
Someone is crying in the lonely night, their hopeless voice echoing, unanswered, in halls that have neither felt the warmth of the sun, nor the caress of the wind. The stagnant air smells of brimstone, and something stirs in the deep forgotten places of the world, and its heart is full of malice.
Now his cries waver in the thin air of a golden wood. Where peace was sought, only unrest is found. There is a great battle beneath his wordless pleas, one that wrenches at his mind, his heart. It curls around his voice, reducing his calls to something tired and desperate. He is losing.
At last, his cries shrivel into a mere whimper, barely heard over a great rushing of water. I reach out to him, try to call out, to answer, but the tides freeze my bones, pull at my limbs, until I am falling, falling, falling into a great wide chasm where not even the light of the stars can be seen.
And the darkness takes over again, engulfing everything I have ever known. I can no longer hear his cries. I can no longer answer. All is silent.
Out of the silence, another call begins. But this, I know, is not an answer to his pleas. This call saws at the air, tears at the thick fabric of shadow to reveal nine figures, cloaks blacker than night. It slashes through my being, sharp, full of jagged edges. I want to recoil away, but my limbs have been pulled into the blackness. I cannot move. I cannot see. I can only hear, and sense the figures creeping closer, can feel their swords ripping through my body, can smell the dank evil in their bre-
I was awoken, drenched in sweat, by a terrible sense of dread that had wormed its freezing way into my heart. Amhrod was standing on the edge of camp, gazing out into the night with troubled eyes. He clutched his blade with a white-knuckled grip, and every fiber of his being was stiff with tension.
"You can sense it too." I whispered. He jumped a little, before turning to me,
"Wake Olbron. We are being watched."
Olbron, unbeknownst to us, was already awake, and upon hearing our words sat up. His fair face was contorted with anxiety, and with a nod of his head, gestured to the fire, "put it out, and quickly. They may know our location by now, but it should give us time to flee."
"Flee?" I asked, eyes searching for darker shadows in the night, "No, I don't think we should flee. Something in my heart tells me that it is not us they seek." A brief image of two figures, brandishing fire by a river's edge, fluttered across my mind's eye, and I quickly added, "on second thought, throw on another log."
"But that would only draw them to us, like moths to a flame." Amhrod whispered, regarding me as if I were daft. I shook my head,
"No, no it wouldn't. Fire is our friend. Whatever watches us is likely a creature of the night. To hide in the shadows would only level the playing field."
"You propose to wait it out, then?" Olbron asked, now standing beside Amhrod and peering out into the darkness.
"I do."
We exchanged an uneasy look, but neither man challenged my opinion. Olbron threw another log onto the fire, just as I'd suggested, and the gentle hiss of the burning wood was the only sound that filled the dark void about us. In the dancing light of the flames, their faces seemed jagged and hollow, the shadows beneath both pairs of anxiety-ridden eyes a deep purple.
For a long while the three of us remained stock still, ears trained for any noise past the now crackling fire, hairs standing on the backs of our necks. Dread sent nausea and pain coursing through me. But still, I remained sitting by the fire, ever vigilant, ever watchful. We were locked in a deadly contest with whatever was watching us: the first one to make a move and break cover was the loser. What would be lost was another question all together.
And then, just as the feeling of terror began to recede, that same screech that I'd heard in my dreams rang out over the winding hills and valleys of Eriador. Every one of us cried out, even Olbron, and I covered my ears with my hands in an attempt to save myself from the sawing wails. The unearthly scream was then joined by another voice, one that was even closer to where we sat. It felt as though a million tiny knives were piercing every inch of my skull, and I fell limp to the ground without another thought.
It felt like an age of the earth had passed before the screams stopped. I found myself face down on the ground, the damp earth cool and sticky where my forehead pressed into it. Limbs weak and shaking, I managed to push myself upright, only to see both Amhrod and Olbron doing the same. For a few minutes we did not stand, did not speak, but merely looked about the shadows in bewilderment.
Whatever it was that stalked us had fled, and we were alone once more.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Olbron was staring about the morning-bright clearing, exhaustion and disappointment warring on his face. Amhrod crossed his arms, rather put out by the whole affair,
"There must be some sort of trail. Last night was not a dream, we all heard it, whatever it was, and I'm sure these lands cannot be haunted. No Wight would walk this far from his barrow."
"No Wight would make such a horrendous sound, either." Olbron concluded. With a slump in his shoulders, he mounted his horse, stepping into the stirrup and swinging his other leg over the worn and dirtied leather saddle he'd been using for too many years, "come, we must be off. We're approaching the noon hour, and still have many a mile to go before reaching the borders of Bombadil's lands."
"And that will be another adventure altogether." I grumbled, sending a little nudge into Halaefel's sides. With a small toss of her blonde hair, she started into a light trot, and the other horses quickly followed suit.
Our horses knew the ways of these lands, the rises and falls of the broad hills, the nameless streams that snaked through heather and brush, the rough patches of swamp, rock, and bush, and so I let Halaefel steadily pick her path southwards while I lightly dozed in the saddle. Her footing was sure, and my reflexes quick, so no matter how deep I fell into a dose during our rides, there was little risk in falling out of the saddle, or being caught off guard by whatever foes walked our lands. Of course, I tried not to sleep in the saddle, especially in the wilder portions of Eriador, but after the events of last night, we all needed a rest.
After the screamers had moved on from our campsite, we'd discovered that our horses had bolted, so a good portion of the night had been spent tracking the spooked creatures down, and the other half was spent in a sleepless paralysis. Too tired to sit and converse, and yet too alert to fall into a state of rest, the three of us had spent the rest of the night lying in our bedrolls, each rolling the same question over and over in our minds: what sort of creature could make such a ghastly sound, and why was it wandering loose just north of the Shire?
Even now, in the late morning sunshine, I had not a single clue. I was too afraid to delve deep enough into the old tales and myths I'd been told as a child for an answer. Perhaps it was because I knew that no monster from the tales of my youth could match the freezing dread this new beast stirred in me.
Despite the beautiful fall morning unfolding about us, we were a very disgruntled trio of Rangers. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw a deep scowl on Amhrod's boyish face as he tried, to no avail, to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Olbron did not look that much cheerier, but his expression held less anger, appearing to be almost pensive at times. He was likely replaying the events of this morning's search for tracks in his mind, going over every patch of earth, just to affirm he didn't miss a singular hoof print or wayward blade of grass.
I felt sorry for my dear brother. As leader of our squadron, he was likely blaming himself for letting the creatures escape into the wilds, direction and purpose unknown. If anyone were to suffer at their hands, I knew he would feel personably responsible for it, as would I. For a moment I considered trying to reassure him that Aragorn would not hold us so, that he would understand our hesitation if he too could experience the absolute dread that those beasts had stirred in our hearts. But Olbron and I were alike in that such reassurances would only fall upon closed ears. I allowed him to keep agonising over all the little missed details, and in that silence I too fretted over what this could mean for the safety of Arnor.
We continued riding this way throughout the afternoon, with Amhrod occasionally humming small snippets of song to himself to stay awake. At long last, the warming rays of the autumn sun began to lift our spirits, and by the time we caught site of the tended farmlands surrounding Bree-land, Amhrod was telling us a ridiculous story about a house call from the last time he visited the bustling town,
"So she answers the door, wearing nothing but her underskirts, and I can just feel my chin drop. 'Someone said you were calling for aid?' I asked, and you should have seen the look in those eyes of hers. Absolutely mystifying. She must have been foreign or something of the sort, and those HIPS!"
"Amhrod, the story." I chuckled, looking back to see him riding along with a look of utmost contentment on his face.
"Right! The story. Anyways, so she doesn't even answer, just grabs my hand and pulls me right over the threshold. At this point I know this is no normal house-call, because in seconds she's got my back up against the wall and her hands are unbuckling my sword-belt.
'I guess you could say that, but perhaps it is aid of a different sort' she says to me, and I don't know whether to feel excited, terrified, or both."
"Am I the only one finding this somewhat hard to believe?" Olbron said with a chuckle. I gave him a wry smile before continuing to watch the road, which was now becoming busy with farmers and travelers alike.
"You're just jealous. Tell me, Olbron, have you ever been ravished by an idle housewife of immense beauty and grace? I think not."
"Tell him about Liliet, brother. I think that tale will shut the young lad's trap." I remarked. Olbron let out a short bark of laughter, and before long, he was deep within the retelling of one of the most scandalous years of our lives. Thankfully, he left out how he and Liliet ended up alone in the woods in the first place. Even mentioning Halbarad and I's disappearance during the hunt would have required far too much explanation than I was comfortable with right now.
At last, with the sun sitting comfortably between her zenith and the horizon, we reached the West gate of Bree.
"Do we need to restock on any supplies before starting for Bombadil's?" I asked, warily eyeing those passing through the open gate. Farmers, their wagons full of today's unsold wares, pushed past us without a friendly greeting or glance, while younger farmhands swam against the retreating crowd towards the Prancing Pony. A few well-armed men remained at attention on either side of the gate, and from them we received nothing but unfriendly glares. I was starting to get the feeling that something had happened to upset the order of Bree-land, and my memory returned to the ghastly screams we'd heard last night. For a brief moment we stood in silent contemplation at the side of the bustling thoroughfare, very aware of the hostility being directed towards us. At long last, Amhrod dismounted and regarded us both with a determined grin.
"You two continue on. There is some devilry at work here, and I genuinely believe one of us should remain here for the night, listen around, perhaps share a word or two with the townsfolk. We've been up North for a few months now, anything could have happened while we were away." At Olbron and I's shared look of hesitation, he quickly held up his hands, "I promise not to get belligerently drunk tonight. Yes, I'll have a pint or two, but I swear I will keep both my eyes and my ears open. Tonight, I am on the job."
I contemplated his words for a few moments. Amhrod's track record was not promising, and I was worried about him possibly escalating the already hostile situation through any wayward action, if he should drink an extra pint or five of ale as he was apt to do. At the same time, however, he did have a strong point. It was impertinent that we return to the Angle as fast as possible, and the Prancing Pony was a valuable hub of gossip for our corner of the world. If anything HAD happened in the past few months to further sour the Bree-landers opinions of us, Amhrod would certainly find out tonight. That, and other travellers often carried with them valuable tidings about the lands east of the mountains.
"Fine. But I am holding you to this promise of yours." I said, giving him a pointed stare.
"I'm sure Butterbur will be able to comment on your performance, if we jog his memory enough." Olbron added. Amhrod grinned at the both of us, and I mentally slapped myself for giving into his whims once again, even though it was for the best. I had to admit it, the lad knew how to wheedle his way in and out of situations.
"Farewell then, friends! Aa' menle nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale'quenle, and good luck! Keep safe, and don't let any Wights sneak up on you this time." And, with one last short bark of a laughter, Amhrod turned and led his dappled horse between the disgruntled guards, tattered green cloak quickly melting into the mid-afternoon crowds. Olbron shook his head with a small sigh,
"If he so much as causes one little tiff of trouble tonight, Halbarad will have our hides."
I shook my head, "Amhrod is old enough now, Hal knows we can no longer be held responsible for his actions. I don't think the pup will ever truly learn in our shadow. We need to give him some independence if he is to grow. Remember how we were, brother?"
"I suppose. I'm just worried, given the current circumstances."
With one last calculated glance at the busy streets of Bree, Olbron and I turned our horses about, and began to make our way Westwards, where long, low hills marched far beyond the horizon, gold in the light of the westering autumn sun.
Translations
Aa' menle nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale'quenle - "May thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back"