Twilight Tale by Rafer
Disclaimer: All belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, except for Belegon and Faelin
Chapter III
'They were not part of this battle.'
Aragorn's fingers brushed over the track of an Orc foot.
'These tracks were made before.'
It was the only explanation the Ranger could think of why the bodies had remained untouched. Orcs would not have passed through here without stealing the Elvish weapons, even carrying off the Elves themselves as battle trophies, no matter if they had not done the fighting themselves.
Aragorn rose. 'They are headed for the High Pass.'
'Returning to their lair,' Gandalf uttered with disgust. 'Go, Aragorn, and do not be slowed by worry, I will stand watch. When you meet the Lord of the Beornings, tell him you are a friend of Gandalf the Grey who was a friend to his father.'
Aragorn nodded and with one last look at the slain and the ailing Belegon, set off. Leaving all his belongings behind safe for for his sword, he ran as swiftly as his feet would carry him. The goblins made no efforts to conceal their tracks, preferring speed over stealth. They were a small group, Aragorn had counted only six distinctive tracks. He could overtake and fight them. But his purpose was not pursuit.
The sky had darkened to a rich dark blue when he slowed to a jog.
The Beornings had levied a heavy toll indeed. Aragorn walked forward slowlly and
came to a stop before a row of spears standing erect. Adorning their iron tips
were the foul heads of goblins. Aragorn passed them grimly and set upon the path
to Grimbeorn's house. The sweet scent of honey wafted towards him. Beyond the
large, impenetrable darkgreen hedge lay the bee-pastures of the lord of Beorn's
folk. Aragorn knocked loudly on the wooden gate, which was as high and
sturdy as the hedge. Grimbeorn took as kindly to visitors as his father before
him. He belonged to the race of Men and his lifespan was no greater than theirs,
but he differed as much from an ordinary Man as Aragorn. He was, like Beorn, a
skin-changer. Able to take on bear-form, his temper was no less fierce than that
of the animal. A great and terrible warrior Gandalf had called him, and the
wizard was not prone to exaggeration. Proceed with caution, he'd warned quite
seriously.
The gate was pushed open brusquely. Aragorn looked up. Before him stood the
largest man he had ever seen. Black eyes, bushy eyebrows and beard of the same
colour, the latter blending in with a thick mane. His only garment was a
sleeveless tunic held in place by a belt with a square iron buckle. Of iron as
well was the huge axe, wielded by equally huge hands and a vision of those hands
tearing off goblin heads flashed before his eyes.
'Men from Lake Town have a care to tread the Carrock lest their business is
trade,' he spoke with a voice deep and strong as a bear's growl. 'But you carry
nothing except for a sword.'
'No. I am called Strider, a friend to Gandalf the Grey.'
That earned him a grunt, which Aragorn could not interpret to be good or bad.
'If not trading, what business do you have with Grimbeorn, Strider friend to
Gandalf the Grey?'
Quickly the Ranger related to him the attack on the Elves and the goblin trail.
A fire ignited Grimbeorn's coal-black eyes.
'Evil trails come to an end in the Carrock,' he growled. 'Wretched wargs and
goblins.' He swung open the gate further and motioned Aragorn to follow.
Barefoot he led the Ranger through the buzzing pastures. 'Something wicked going
on in the mountains. The Eagles see them, coming out of their holes in the light
of day. We make quick work of them, Beorn's folk do, but there's more and more
of them. There's no letting the animals out alone anymore, found two ponies dead
a couple of days ago. Wolves didn't get a chance to worry at them though.' He
cracked a grin at Aragorn, displaying a great many teeth which too were much
larger than average.
A cobbled road lead to a clearing surrounded by a large hall and stables.
Grazing in the clearing and the grassy fields beyond were horses and ponies with
gleaming coats, well-fed and watching them with intelligent dark eyes. While
Aragorn waited at the entrance of the hall, Grimbeorn grabbed a pouch lying on
the far end of a large dinner table, near to the hearth.
'For the Elf who lives. Put it on his wound, and it will heal quicker. Await the
coming of my kinsfolk. They will bring the dead Elves to the Hall.'
'We stand in your debt, Grimbeorn son of Beorn.'
He got another grunt in reply, but this time there was a note of friendliness to
it. They went their separate ways at the edge of the Carrock. Aragorn watched
for a moment the receding bulk of the skin-changer. His words had confirmed the
Ranger's fears. Something wicked was brewing in the dark deeps of the mountains.
If the wizard's eyes were not lost in the fire, they rested on Belegon's
face. A Sindarin mariner of great renown, he had left the shores of Middle-earth
and travelled inland out of loyalty and love - loyalty to his liege lord, and
love for Faelin, the hand-maiden of Thranduil's queen. He leaned closer to the
Elf when he saw awareness fill his eyes.
'Rest easy, you have taken grave hurt,' he spoke in the Grey-elven tongue.
Belegon winced and struggled to focus on Gandalf's face. 'Grey Pilgrim. What
of...the others?'
'They have fallen, my friend. I am sorry.'
Belegon's eyes darkened to a stormy grey, laden with grief and anger, and
urgency.
'I must return immediatly.' He lifted a hand before Gandalf could protest. 'Not
only to warn my lord. My lady is with child, and will soon give birth. No power
in Middle-earth, not even yours, can hold me here.'
Gandalf spoke sternly. 'I am well aware of your stubborness, Belegon, as you are
of mine. You cannot go back without help, you are too weak. Fortunately a
compromise is possible.'
Without revealing Aragorn's identity, Gandalf told him he'd been travelling with
a friend who he'd sent to solicit Grimbeorn's help to bring the fallen to his
house, until the Elves could come for them.
'When he returns he will accompany with you.'
'What is his name?'
'There he comes to tell you himself.'
'Grimbeorn will not come,' said Aragorn, kneeling down next to Gandalf. Sweat
moistened the Ranger's brow. He'd run like the wind. 'But he will send his kin.
He was in a right fury he must appease first.' The Ranger looked in Belegon's
grey eyes. Switching to the noble tongue, he said: 'Mae-govannen. Im Aragorn
Arathornion.'
A look of surprise passed over Belegon's face.
'The name of Arathorn of the Dunedain is known to us, but we were not aware he
was survived by a son, nor that that son speaks our tongue.'
'I grew up in Imladris. I am the foster-son of Elrond Peredhil.'
'Then you are twice blessed, that so noble a lord has raised you, and that
knowledge of you and your lineage has been kept secret.' Belegon grimaced
painfully, lifted his uninjured arm and clasped Aragorn's. 'Well met, West-man.
I am Belegon son of Aergon.'
Aragorn gripped his arm tightly, greeting, and instilling, willing strength in
the Elf. He drew forth a pouch and spilled some of the contents in his hands.
'These will help the wounds heal faster,' he said somewhat dubiously. He changed
Belegon's bandages, replacing the athelas with sickly looking brown herbs.
'Hopefully their workings are less foul than their smell,' said the Elf,
wrinkling his nose. Aragorn grinned.
The Beornings came in the dead of the night, three of them with torches and
carts to move the Elves. Too crude and coarse a transport, but nothing else was
available. It was a sad, quiet procession through the night. In the hall,
Belegon composed the bodies of his comrades, clasping cold, pale hands over
weapons, across chests.
When the first light of dawn appeared, he took his leave.
He pressed his left fist strongly against his chest, against the injuries.
'Edavo i an awarthad, mellyn nin.'
'Ú-moe edaved, Belegon,' said Gandalf. 'Boe bedich go Aragorn. Si aran
ista hen.'
to be continued....
Sindarin:
Edavo i an awarthad, mellyn nin. Forgive me for forsaking you, my
friends.
Ú-moe edaved, Belegon. Boe bedich go Aragorn. Si aran ista hen. There is
nothing to forgive, Belegon. You must go with Aragorn. The king must know of
this at once.
