3: Of Hounds
When Brin awoke the room was dark and cold but her mind was clear. Even though the small square of light that came to her room filtered first down into the narrow alley she could see it was more than an hour before dawn. She dressed quickly and rolled up her liene, putting it in her pack where the blue dress and some other small packages already lay. To this she added a close woven blanket before she could endure the cold on her bare feet no longer. She went to the kitchen and stoked the fire before taking from inside her boots a pair of wool socks she had knitted herself which tied around the calf with string.
The long table in the centre of the kitchen was clear save for a small cloth bag on which had been drawn carefully in ink the letter B. Inside Brin found a store of dried fruits and meats, a small amount of nuts and a large flat loaf made with seeds. Beside this lay an old leather water bottle which she filled from the basin by the door.
Brin gathered all her things to the kitchen and began to stow them in and about the pack. Amongst these were her sword in its beaten sheath and most prised of possessions, her bow, made by her own hands under the instruction of Aldalöme. With this went an improvised quiver, a tapered tube of leather stitched to the side of her pack, filled with the elf's own arrows, fashioned by fletchers in Mirkwood. These would have been greatly prized by her, above even her bow, but she knew that, though she could love them, she could not treasure them, for one day they would be used in conflict and in using would be broken and lost.
When Brin was satisfied she sat by the fire to break her fast with yesterday's crusts and some small amount of the rabbit stew that the old men did not finish at supper. When she had finished there was a gentle knock at the door. It had begun to rain lightly and the rain water was icy cold and when she opened the door there Beregond, damp but unbowed, holding in his arms a small cloth bundle. Quickly she stepped aside and let him in. He did not go straight to the fire as she expected but instead stood before her and handed over the bundle. "It's not much but I am glad I caught you."
She unwrapped the package carefully and found to her delight a tarnished steel mail shirt. She lifted it before her, letting the cloth wrapping drift to the floor at her feet. She looked past it to Beregond.
"I have no words to thank you."
"It will be thanks enough if you wear it always." He said. "I will feel better with the knowledge that you are in the wilds if I also know you are as safe as I alone can keep you."
Brin put it on and it fit her well. She did not know but it had been made for Beregond when he joined the guard, before he increased in muscle and stature.
"I do not love farewells so I will take my leave of you now." Beregond smiled, inclined his head towards her and turned towards the door.
"Blessings go with you."
"And with you, little light."
Brin stood between the city and the pelennor wall, wrapped in her cloak unheeding of the weather, for though the clouds were heavy the rain was still light. She was not looking back towards the city but North beyond the wall. The clouds in the sky parted briefly just in the direction she was looking and the silver moon was revealed to her, riding in a lilac sky beyond. Brin raised her voice in one crystal clear shout.
It was not long before she saw the graceful figure of Mîrran galloping across the fields towards her. As they walked together towards the wall, Mîrran cantering happily to and fro, Brin's heart was easy for it seemed her path was already laid before her feet.
It was nearing noon and the white city was still there to be seen if either had turned around, when the rain turned to snow. Such frosty weather was uncommon in early spring in Gondor and the travellers were puzzled but not deterred.
They walked on until nightfall and found themselves on the borders of the Druadan forest at the feet of Amon Din. There they made camp a little way from the road for darkness was deepening fast under the weighted clouds. The snow at least had stopped.
They had rested at noon and Mîrran had grazed but Brin had not eaten, although she had taken some water. Thus before they went to rest Brin ate a piece of the bread and a little dried meat and they walked a little way into the forest until they came to a small clean stream. Its waters were chilled by the snowfall so Brin drank only what was left in her water bottle and refilled it from the stream. Mîrran drank deep without heed or hurt.
The morning dawned clearer and the clouds were moving swiftly across the lightening sky. Brin found she had slept well, rolled in her blanket on the forest floor. The road followed the borders of the forest and all that day they walked under its eves. Most of the trees were evergreen but here and there new buds and leaves were appearing on the trees left bare by the autumn before. They rested only once at noon as before and Brin found it easy to eat only at sunrise and sunset was glad that it would lengthen the time before she had to take time from her journey to hunt.
The next day Brin awoke and knew that her companion was restless. She got up and went to her.
"Would you be released of my company and run free in these lands?"
The horse nuzzled her cheek and her eyes spoke to Brin of the swift errand riders of Gondor and Brin understood.
So that day they did not walk but rode together along the road, passing the northern borders of the forest not an hour after dawn. And Brin found that Mîrran bore her well and that she had no need of saddle or bridle and did not miss them. She knew that riding would half the time she had thought her journey would take and was glad.
So it was that they came at sunset on the fourth day from Minas Tirith to the Mering stream and the end of the realm of Gondor. Before them stretched the wide fields of Rohan where the horse lords dwelt. Mîrran slowed her pace to a halt at the eves of the Firienwood from which the stream ran and Brin's mind wandered for the first time from the northern horizon. She dismounted and walked towards the trees. In her mind the voice of Mithrandir was telling her again of their first meeting.
"It was on the borders of this realm and I had walked far in few days, I was relieved to know I had come to the realm of Gondor and grieved when I got there…"
It was this wood, Brin knew that certainly, and the memory came clear and unbidden to her mind. She could picture the scene as Mithrandir had found it and so deep was she in thought that it seemed to her she could hear the tramping of orc feet in the near distance. She started, for there were noises in the forest as of many foul creatures that stamped and broke and gave no heed to the tracks they left. The beginnings of anger stirred in Brin and she fought for calm. Then in the forest before her a noise arose of a deep growling and then there was a great clamour of braying and howling and cruel snarls and then the noise of a heavy bow being loosed that chilled Brin's heart. She crept forwards and up a slope in the land and came upon a fierce battle below her between a band of orcs and a small pack of hounds, wild creatures, all shaggy grey fur and bright eyes, but large and strong in stature so that they recalled to Brin Huan, the hound of Valinor, though much diminished.
They were largely outnumbered and it seemed the orcs were making sport with their foes. Silently Brin unslung her bow from her back and strung it. She fitted and arrow and took aim at the orc who seemed to be leading the foray. The one with the bow. The arrow pierced his eye but so intent were the orcs on their play that his fall went unnoticed save by a few who looked about warily. Brin shot down two more before the rest of their number took heed. Five now lay dead, three by her bow and the hounds had torn down two. There were nine left. Brin shot two more only before her position was discovered. She left her bow in the foliage and drew her sword. She hewed down one while surprise was still her friend but she was soon encircled by the six that remained and she did not like the odds. Suddenly one of the wild hounds was by her side, dark blood on his muzzle and a fell light in his eyes. The orcs advanced and together they sprang upon them.
Brin had fought as though these were the very orcs that had slain her mother, and for all anyone knew they might have been, and the hound fought with the same fury. Only when it was all over did Brin understand why.
There had been five hounds in the pack. The older male lay dead in the midst of the carnage, hewed by several blades, with his jaws still locked onto the throat of the orc he had brought down. Two younger females, sisters to the survivor, lay together, backed into a corner and outnumbered they had died under the cruel orc blades. The young male went now to the last to fall. The alpha female lay wounded to the death with an orc arrow in her shoulder but that was not her chief hurt. Her skull had been dashed against the rocks and was beyond the skill of any to heal. She took her last breath as her son stood over her and let out a long mournful howl. Brin suffered for this grief and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she stood rooted to the ground, sword dripping orc blood on the trampled grass. The hound stood and came to her, lying down at her feet. He rolled over and bared his throat. "I am at your mercy," the gesture said. But Brin knelt until she could look the hound in the eye and they understood one another.
Brin gathered her arrows, all undamaged but soiled, and climbed the bank to collect her bow. She unstrung it and replaced it about her pack. The hound followed at her heel. When she returned to the road she said to Mîrran, "This is a friend." Then she turned to the hound and said, "Your mother, who now runs in green fields with your ancestors, gave you a name which I would not take from you, but I must call you something. So I will call you only what you are, Thalion, and I am not your master but your friend."
The hound came and stood beside her and it seemed he understood all that was said to him and would no longer follow at heel.
They went to the stream and Brin and Thalion washed the foul blood from themselves and all drank deep. They crossed the stream and slept the night on the bank. In the wake of the skirmish, Brin was only dimly aware that she was outside the realm of Gondor for the first time in her life. She slept deep and woke only once to find the hound had moved to lie against her side and was whimpering in her sleep.
The sky was blue the next morning and what clouds there were were still passing quickly. The sun was warmer than it had been for a long while. Thalion seemed to take comfort in his companions and trotted at Mirran's feet, sometimes darting off to sniff the ground or air, but ever returning to their side. When they halted at noon, Thalion did not rest but ran some distance ahead, returning quickly with a rabbit in his jaws. He offered it first to Brin who refused it kindly, then to Mîrran who seemed to laugh as she grazed, before settling down to eat it himself.
When Brin awoke the room was dark and cold but her mind was clear. Even though the small square of light that came to her room filtered first down into the narrow alley she could see it was more than an hour before dawn. She dressed quickly and rolled up her liene, putting it in her pack where the blue dress and some other small packages already lay. To this she added a close woven blanket before she could endure the cold on her bare feet no longer. She went to the kitchen and stoked the fire before taking from inside her boots a pair of wool socks she had knitted herself which tied around the calf with string.
The long table in the centre of the kitchen was clear save for a small cloth bag on which had been drawn carefully in ink the letter B. Inside Brin found a store of dried fruits and meats, a small amount of nuts and a large flat loaf made with seeds. Beside this lay an old leather water bottle which she filled from the basin by the door.
Brin gathered all her things to the kitchen and began to stow them in and about the pack. Amongst these were her sword in its beaten sheath and most prised of possessions, her bow, made by her own hands under the instruction of Aldalöme. With this went an improvised quiver, a tapered tube of leather stitched to the side of her pack, filled with the elf's own arrows, fashioned by fletchers in Mirkwood. These would have been greatly prized by her, above even her bow, but she knew that, though she could love them, she could not treasure them, for one day they would be used in conflict and in using would be broken and lost.
When Brin was satisfied she sat by the fire to break her fast with yesterday's crusts and some small amount of the rabbit stew that the old men did not finish at supper. When she had finished there was a gentle knock at the door. It had begun to rain lightly and the rain water was icy cold and when she opened the door there Beregond, damp but unbowed, holding in his arms a small cloth bundle. Quickly she stepped aside and let him in. He did not go straight to the fire as she expected but instead stood before her and handed over the bundle. "It's not much but I am glad I caught you."
She unwrapped the package carefully and found to her delight a tarnished steel mail shirt. She lifted it before her, letting the cloth wrapping drift to the floor at her feet. She looked past it to Beregond.
"I have no words to thank you."
"It will be thanks enough if you wear it always." He said. "I will feel better with the knowledge that you are in the wilds if I also know you are as safe as I alone can keep you."
Brin put it on and it fit her well. She did not know but it had been made for Beregond when he joined the guard, before he increased in muscle and stature.
"I do not love farewells so I will take my leave of you now." Beregond smiled, inclined his head towards her and turned towards the door.
"Blessings go with you."
"And with you, little light."
Brin stood between the city and the pelennor wall, wrapped in her cloak unheeding of the weather, for though the clouds were heavy the rain was still light. She was not looking back towards the city but North beyond the wall. The clouds in the sky parted briefly just in the direction she was looking and the silver moon was revealed to her, riding in a lilac sky beyond. Brin raised her voice in one crystal clear shout.
It was not long before she saw the graceful figure of Mîrran galloping across the fields towards her. As they walked together towards the wall, Mîrran cantering happily to and fro, Brin's heart was easy for it seemed her path was already laid before her feet.
It was nearing noon and the white city was still there to be seen if either had turned around, when the rain turned to snow. Such frosty weather was uncommon in early spring in Gondor and the travellers were puzzled but not deterred.
They walked on until nightfall and found themselves on the borders of the Druadan forest at the feet of Amon Din. There they made camp a little way from the road for darkness was deepening fast under the weighted clouds. The snow at least had stopped.
They had rested at noon and Mîrran had grazed but Brin had not eaten, although she had taken some water. Thus before they went to rest Brin ate a piece of the bread and a little dried meat and they walked a little way into the forest until they came to a small clean stream. Its waters were chilled by the snowfall so Brin drank only what was left in her water bottle and refilled it from the stream. Mîrran drank deep without heed or hurt.
The morning dawned clearer and the clouds were moving swiftly across the lightening sky. Brin found she had slept well, rolled in her blanket on the forest floor. The road followed the borders of the forest and all that day they walked under its eves. Most of the trees were evergreen but here and there new buds and leaves were appearing on the trees left bare by the autumn before. They rested only once at noon as before and Brin found it easy to eat only at sunrise and sunset was glad that it would lengthen the time before she had to take time from her journey to hunt.
The next day Brin awoke and knew that her companion was restless. She got up and went to her.
"Would you be released of my company and run free in these lands?"
The horse nuzzled her cheek and her eyes spoke to Brin of the swift errand riders of Gondor and Brin understood.
So that day they did not walk but rode together along the road, passing the northern borders of the forest not an hour after dawn. And Brin found that Mîrran bore her well and that she had no need of saddle or bridle and did not miss them. She knew that riding would half the time she had thought her journey would take and was glad.
So it was that they came at sunset on the fourth day from Minas Tirith to the Mering stream and the end of the realm of Gondor. Before them stretched the wide fields of Rohan where the horse lords dwelt. Mîrran slowed her pace to a halt at the eves of the Firienwood from which the stream ran and Brin's mind wandered for the first time from the northern horizon. She dismounted and walked towards the trees. In her mind the voice of Mithrandir was telling her again of their first meeting.
"It was on the borders of this realm and I had walked far in few days, I was relieved to know I had come to the realm of Gondor and grieved when I got there…"
It was this wood, Brin knew that certainly, and the memory came clear and unbidden to her mind. She could picture the scene as Mithrandir had found it and so deep was she in thought that it seemed to her she could hear the tramping of orc feet in the near distance. She started, for there were noises in the forest as of many foul creatures that stamped and broke and gave no heed to the tracks they left. The beginnings of anger stirred in Brin and she fought for calm. Then in the forest before her a noise arose of a deep growling and then there was a great clamour of braying and howling and cruel snarls and then the noise of a heavy bow being loosed that chilled Brin's heart. She crept forwards and up a slope in the land and came upon a fierce battle below her between a band of orcs and a small pack of hounds, wild creatures, all shaggy grey fur and bright eyes, but large and strong in stature so that they recalled to Brin Huan, the hound of Valinor, though much diminished.
They were largely outnumbered and it seemed the orcs were making sport with their foes. Silently Brin unslung her bow from her back and strung it. She fitted and arrow and took aim at the orc who seemed to be leading the foray. The one with the bow. The arrow pierced his eye but so intent were the orcs on their play that his fall went unnoticed save by a few who looked about warily. Brin shot down two more before the rest of their number took heed. Five now lay dead, three by her bow and the hounds had torn down two. There were nine left. Brin shot two more only before her position was discovered. She left her bow in the foliage and drew her sword. She hewed down one while surprise was still her friend but she was soon encircled by the six that remained and she did not like the odds. Suddenly one of the wild hounds was by her side, dark blood on his muzzle and a fell light in his eyes. The orcs advanced and together they sprang upon them.
Brin had fought as though these were the very orcs that had slain her mother, and for all anyone knew they might have been, and the hound fought with the same fury. Only when it was all over did Brin understand why.
There had been five hounds in the pack. The older male lay dead in the midst of the carnage, hewed by several blades, with his jaws still locked onto the throat of the orc he had brought down. Two younger females, sisters to the survivor, lay together, backed into a corner and outnumbered they had died under the cruel orc blades. The young male went now to the last to fall. The alpha female lay wounded to the death with an orc arrow in her shoulder but that was not her chief hurt. Her skull had been dashed against the rocks and was beyond the skill of any to heal. She took her last breath as her son stood over her and let out a long mournful howl. Brin suffered for this grief and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she stood rooted to the ground, sword dripping orc blood on the trampled grass. The hound stood and came to her, lying down at her feet. He rolled over and bared his throat. "I am at your mercy," the gesture said. But Brin knelt until she could look the hound in the eye and they understood one another.
Brin gathered her arrows, all undamaged but soiled, and climbed the bank to collect her bow. She unstrung it and replaced it about her pack. The hound followed at her heel. When she returned to the road she said to Mîrran, "This is a friend." Then she turned to the hound and said, "Your mother, who now runs in green fields with your ancestors, gave you a name which I would not take from you, but I must call you something. So I will call you only what you are, Thalion, and I am not your master but your friend."
The hound came and stood beside her and it seemed he understood all that was said to him and would no longer follow at heel.
They went to the stream and Brin and Thalion washed the foul blood from themselves and all drank deep. They crossed the stream and slept the night on the bank. In the wake of the skirmish, Brin was only dimly aware that she was outside the realm of Gondor for the first time in her life. She slept deep and woke only once to find the hound had moved to lie against her side and was whimpering in her sleep.
The sky was blue the next morning and what clouds there were were still passing quickly. The sun was warmer than it had been for a long while. Thalion seemed to take comfort in his companions and trotted at Mirran's feet, sometimes darting off to sniff the ground or air, but ever returning to their side. When they halted at noon, Thalion did not rest but ran some distance ahead, returning quickly with a rabbit in his jaws. He offered it first to Brin who refused it kindly, then to Mîrran who seemed to laugh as she grazed, before settling down to eat it himself.