Author's Note: Hello again! I happen to be in the middle of a tremendous case of writer's block where my story "Meeting the March Warden" is concerned. I profusely apologize to all my readers for my lack of updates. I've written this short story in hopes that it may freshen my mind besides giving me a chance to play with a character I've been developing for quite some time. This fic will not be long, with only a second chapter added to it. I greatly appreciate any feedback and constructive criticism! A special thanks to my wonderful beta Dragonfly32 who has been so patient throughout my writer's block. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's work. Lady Amanthoniel and her companions alone are mine.
The Tale of the Bard
Part One Fire and Music
Legends are a queer thing. The mythical, the folklore, whispered around a hushed hearth that glows with the final dying embers is a tradition that spans the length of races. Like an ever flowing river, that passes through kin and kind that weaves itself into the very ageless fabric of time. A strong thread, graced by the wizened hands of generations that touch upon the tapestry of tale, of fantastic lore that poisons the idle ear is not just attributed to the race of men. Even the mighty elves, the firstborn, the beloved of Iluvatar hold court in the deep hours of the night, when the world is but ash and shadow as the veil of stars flicker above. It is then, in their soft spoken tongues, those bardic stories, the hallowed songs of minstrels reign as normalcy takes leave and fancy takes flight.
But what is becoming of legend? How are those enigmatic tales begun? There are those that earn such a lofty status through gallant deeds and heroic claims. Of feats that shake the Earth that cull the very raging waters of the oceans that bring mountains trembling to the dust, staining the pure soil. And then there are those, those peculiar creatures that rarely chance upon the land. Their worth is not proven nor is their might. But in their odd and sometimes frightening glory they are simply born into myth.
It was a quiet breezy night on the borders of Lorien, as it oft was in the summer months. When the well sculpted branches of the mellyrn shook, their leaves rang like silver bells pressed by a gale wind. The remnants of a late afternoon storm had of late passed by, baptizing the sky a dark blue, as the first stars began to twinkle amongst such celestial beauty. The moon was a curvy crescent, like an ivory tusk thrust into a silken curtain as hazy ships of remaining clouds bobbed slowly across the heavens. The air was perfumed with the sweet incense of wild flowers that floated like thick gray smoke through the woodland.
The most seasoned guard was hard put to stay fast to his duties. Many had become bewitched by the soothing air and the daydreams that plagued their most fertile minds. The Summer Solstice festival was a mere week away, a happy occasion for the residents of the Golden Wood, especially the young guards who thought of spending their time in the company of a much admired elleth.
The March Warden alone was attentive at his post, his mighty shoulders succumbing to the weight of a sigh as he gazed out at his soldiers. Many dangled their legs off the edges of their flets. Others leaned against the trunks of the mellyrn, fair faces creased with wistful thoughts. It was quite a shrill annoyance to him, the lack of care they had for their duties irked every nerve in his being. He well understood however, their careless attitude but of course did not approve. Haldir had long enjoyed the celebrations of the Summer Festival but he did not in anyway lax his mind whilst on the borders. If he had, he may not be where he was today, Captain of the guard.
Haldir forced himself to remain calm, even though he felt the terrible wrath of his fury grate upon his mind. The borders were quiet and if ever a disaster should occur, he knew he could count on his soldiers. They were the best, after all, those who had studied under the great masters like himself. Just as he didn't doubt his abilities neither did he question theirs.
The evening air brushed gently against his warm cheeks, carrying that sweet incense that flowed so swiftly in the veins of the guards. Shifting the hilt of his sword uncomfortably he leaned on the railing of his flet. The forest floor below was silent, shafts of silver moonlight breaking through those runaway clouds and painting the earth. A feeling of peace had settled itself quietly over Lorien. The threat of an orc attack seemed like an outlandish menace, even to the ever prepared Warden.
But still his heart leapt and his breathing quickened as he heard the soft sounds of footsteps landing upon the wooden platform. Wheeling around he caught sight of Orophin, his younger brother, making his way towards him with a serene smile.
"Mae govannen, brother," he said, his brow clear and pale in the dim light. "A singularly beautiful eve is it not?"
"Aye, a truer word has never past your lips," Haldir nodded his golden head, greeting him in return.
"Elbereth blesses us bountifully indeed, think you not?"
"Indeed," the March Warden let his eyes travel briefly up to the skies, dazzled by the simple brilliance of the stars. "Tell me brother, I heard great peals of laughter ring from your flet not an hour ago. What causes such mirth?"
"Many things," and he laughed now, coming to stand beside his older sibling. "Rumil once more indulges his comical instincts. We set about to telling tales, rather far-fetched I think though."
"So it seems," a more forceful breeze rushed through the forest, the air suddenly becoming thinner. "And what was the sport in such stories? I would think you would hasten to share it with me."
"If your manner was but lighter," Orophin jested quietly and Haldir let a small smile form on his face. "I doubt you would find much humor in them."
"When was the last time you tested my wit?" the March Warden turned his eyes towards the elf, their sapphire depths glittering with jollity.
"Very well, very well brother, I shall elaborate if you wish," Orophin's face grew thoughtful for a time and then at length he began. "We spoke on numerous things, most were tales we heard passed along by men traders that move by the borders from time to time. Some were of specter maidens that charm young unsuspecting lovers and then lead them to their doom. Others were of strange beasts that change shape and can speak the tongues of men, elves and dwarves. I see you are not amused?"
"Not presently," Haldir said truthfully as another breeze, a bit more violent than its predecessor tore at his locks.
"Shall I continue then?" Orophin arched his delicate brows.
"Yes, speak, dear bard," Haldir allowed himself this little joke. It was well known that Rumil was the better storyteller of the three brothers, a trait inherited from his father.
"As you command, March Warden," Orophin returned heartily, a well placed grin framing his countenance. But suddenly his face darkened considerably, like a shadow falling across the moon.
"What is it?" concern rose swiftly within Haldir.
"A strange thing," the elf's voice was soft so that even he had to strain to hear him. "Rumil regaled us with a queer tale, a bit frightful, in truth."
"What manner of tale?" Haldir straightened. It was not often that a mere story would trouble his brother, especially one taken for falsehood.
"He said it was relayed to him by one of those eccentric tradesmen upon the borders not long past. The old man spoke in all seriousness as did Rumil. It was a curious tale, like I have never heard before. It was of phantom riders, or at least that is how he termed them. They ride from place to place, wanderers they are of a fearsome kind. Their ways are mysterious and it is thought that they be some sort of renegade rangers, though little more is known. Thus they are called phantoms. Few have seen them, but many of heard them."
"What mean you?" Haldir was slowly tiring of these riddles, his patience beginning to slip. The legend of the phantom riders was not a new one, a story unfortunately he knew well, though he despised the very knowledge of it.
"Well," Orophin's eyes flicked about in a nervous way. "It is said that they bring with them the most wondrous and terrible music that possesses the mind."
"Preposterous!" Haldir scoffed, while his insides shuddered dangerously.
"Haldir, the tradesman said they were only several leagues from the forest," Orophin was looking at him, eyes earnest with hidden fear.
"You believe this folly, Orophin?" the March Warden could not help but be surprised. Orophin, though not as disbelieving as him, still took everything in measure and reason. Though perhaps he sensed the truth of it…the little that there was.
"Not readily, but…"he didn't finish for the wind grew stronger and swept angrily through the trees. The blast was quick and sudden, yet most frightening was the sound carried on it. A low grumble, almost like thunder, like the heightened rattling of bones struck itself through the once peaceful air.
"Ai, Elbereth!" Orophin invoked the name he had just praised.
"Hush!" Haldir muttered tersely. The guards in the nearby flets shifted and stood, their tranquil faces now tense and drawn. The wind had stilled now, as quickly as it had started up, preying on the Golden Wood like a vicious wolf of winter. That thunderous sound began again, this time not aided by any earthly force. It was growing in volume and intensity, slowly but enough to be recognized clearly.
It seemed like a low growl almost and then like hoof beats echoing in the stony silence.
"Drums," an elf close by mused aloud as others nodded in agreement. Haldir wasted no time and grabbed upon the branches hanging above, hoisting his body up to the higher boughs of the tree. Pushing his head past the leafy canopy he strained both his eyes and ears to the horizon. His heart leapt wildly and dueled with the merciless throbbing that pierced the air like a rogue arrow. The dark horizon was licked by a vast glow, like red tongues lapping up the serene ebony. Fire. Scrambling down the way he came, the March Warden landed with a muted thud next to Orophin once more.
"What have you seen?" his brother's voice was raised, pushing against the noise that had grown till it was almost tumultuous in quality.
"We must move at once," Haldir reached for his bow and quiver. "There is fire in the west." The guards who were now speaking anxiously amongst themselves seemed drawn into the strange fear that up until now Orophin had only been prone to. The stories had surely spread quickly.
"Phantom riders!" Rumil exclaimed from somewhere in darkness. Many of the guards gasped and the muttering grew all the more fierce like the incessant hum of bees amongst a meadow of flowers.
"Silence!" Haldir called, though he could barely contend with the music now. Music, he realized with a harsh awareness. Yes, it was music as Orophin had said and fiendish music at that. "There is some manner of wild fire rushing across the west," he kept his tones calm as though they were merely going on a light scouting expedition though in truth he knew not what they would find. "We must move along the borders to investigate. One party will remain here and the other will follow me. Proceed with caution, for the cause of this blaze is not entirely known."
With swift commands he then called forth a large group of elves, still leaving back a significant number to protect the borders. And if any peril should reach them, help would always come from the other elves situated in the different areas of the forest. He took his brothers with him, for he did not wish to leave them behind to further excite the imaginations of the others.
The music was like a demon child now, skipping to and fro amongst what undoubtedly was a bed of ash and flame. Giving a final curt order, they set off, disappearing into the black trees, enveloped by the terrifying music.
The night seemed to waste away in the terrible hold of the music that now ripped through the horizon as the guards moved along the western borders. Through the protective sprawl of the trees only a frightening bit of the fire's glow seeped past, the warmth painting their pale faces. That sickly orange light began to grow however, as the reached a meadow where the forest ended and the lush grassy land spread towards the horizon.
Haldir stopped their journey, his eyes glancing past the worried faces of his guards as he thought. The violence of those trembling drums reverberated in his aching ears.
"Rumil!" he beckoned his youngest sibling closer. The haggard looking elf drew near, his eyes lined with a nameless worry. "Is what Orophin said true? Did the old fool of a tradesman tell you that these," he paused for a moment before breathing the word with skepticism, "these phantom riders were near?"
"Aye, brother, I wish my knowledge was false," Rumil shook his head grimly. "The tradesman said they had been seen amongst the shadows, passing through the lands of Rohan near two weeks past."
"It is but folly!" Haldir eyed the young elf closely.
"I hope and pray to Elbereth that it is so," Rumil lowered his tones once more. "But Haldir, recall only a month ago, the village that claimed to have been ransacked by a frightening troupe of marauders."
"They were wild men," the March Warden replied firmly.
"No," Rumil answered with equal sternness.
"There is no truth in phantom riders," Haldir growled down at his brother a bit more harshly than he intended. "The dried grass has caught flame and that is all."
"The music!" Rumil cried incredulously.
"It is but the wind. Now go, fan out the guards so they surround the area."
"I thought you said…."
"We cannot afford such a chance," Haldir allowed grudgingly, waving Rumil away.
The soldiers were quickly directed to their posts and soon moved as one through the brush, closer to the meadow. Haldir tried his best to ignore that nagging feeling of apprehension that was beginning to cloud his mind. It could not be them, no even they would not tempt him. He fingered the hilt of his sword, resting his hand ever so slightly upon it. The brush was clearing, that curious sound masked as music was dying away. It was just the roar of the fire, Haldir sighed, feeling an unwanted wave of relief sweep over him. He had been foolish to even think that….The thought had barely formed in his mind when he heard it.
Rising above the chaotic strains of melody there came a voice. It was at first a wretched sound, like a shriek that works its way out of a dying body. Yet it quickly settled and formed into some sort of garbled pattern. It rose and fell, constricted by a wildness of tone that had never been heard to the elves. Now it seemed to chant with a grand ferocity that matched even a tempestuous wind.
His very soul seemed to flee his being. Oh, how he recognized that voice! It was torturous device, one that had plagued him for centuries in the darker places that his dreams floated to. But here it was again with all that undue madness it was keen on displeasing. Haldir felt the brief fear that filled him melt and turn to the bitterness of rage. How dare they! Reaching forward he pushed back the last sinewy limb of a sapling and came face to face what he had so dreaded and at the same time hoped for.
A roaring fire was indeed the center of festivities; He could see the branches sticking out at odd angles, like thin arms trying to escape the blaze that was devouring them. A group of horses was tethered nearby. He caught sight of the brown one. The beast shook its head, the bridle jingling, many tassels and ornaments hanging from the well worn leather. Gazing at the animal was like a living nightmare, the hollow beat of its hooves had long haunted his dreams.
The other elves were emerging about him, their faces cast with awe as the unearthly glow of the fire bathed all in harsh crimson light. Haldir smiled sourly, his hand now fastened upon his blade. The sheer audacity near blinded him with rage. But then again, she was always one for brashness. In truth he expected nothing less from her.
Around the fire in a heathen ring they were dancing, he could see their chain mail glittering like jewels. She was always partial to mail, he reminded himself bitterly, she never fully took to plate armor. At first sight they would appear to be wild men, for their howls and screams surely echoed the ferociousness of such feral creatures. But no, these were soldiers, men soldiers. Their countenances were roughened, weathered by the cruel winds, though they remained clean-shaven. Broad-swords were strapped to their hips, clashing with the deep green of their quilted jerkins. Like the tender color of forest moss, wet with dew on a spring morn, those were her long lost words.
The men were dancing, long hair streaming back before the roar of the fire. Their mouths agape like hungry wolves, tongues parched and thirsting for air as they sang. The music had once more picked up. It was loud, near deafening, Haldir wrestled with the urge of stopping his ears. He refused to give that pleasure, the knowledge that she had wounded him. With a last glance to his guards he ordered them to halt and as one they crouched down in the grass, waiting and watching for the signal.
The March Warden would not attack until he had seen her. No, he couldn't crush her forces until he looked upon that face. He wondered if it had changed, if grief and time had worn down the very loveliness he had once adored. A long moment passed, those wicked soldiers continuing their dance, unaware of the presence of the Galadhrim. Then she came, in all the glory and magnificence she was known for. She was always one for a show, a display of prowess.
Yet a gasp caught in his dry throat as she ascended a smooth rock, overhanging the meadow of the campfire. That voice remained in his memory but not the features. Such a fearsome toll she had paid! One would never guess she was an elf. Though perhaps, she tried to hide it. Her face was a mere ruin of what it once was, a long jagged scar, tearing across her pale brow and across her lips. Someone had indeed glanced their blade off her with the pure intention of hate and mutilation. She was horrid to look at, her blue eyes now sunken, but still blazing with a sickly rage that would forever poison her. Those once rosy cheeks now thin and drawn, making her face skull-like. And her hair! It was no longer the sheet of silver he had stroked so lovingly, but a mass of mats and tangles, splotched with a sort of red dye in many places.
She wore the same quilted jerkin as her fellows, that silver chain mail she had always prized. Her voice was still the same, she was ever the bard, the minstrel she had aspired to be, though her war-like tendencies won over. And now she continued to shriek, making the very hairs on the back of his neck stand straight and a chill cascade down his spine. She called to her pantomime companions and they laughed at some cruel jest that could only come from her lips. Haldir dropped his eyes, he could no longer face the horror that stood before him, the destroyed elf that was a shadow of her true being. It would be better to finish it now, to be done with the years of torment that had laid waste to both their souls.
Raising his hand swiftly, the company of guards gained their feet and with a silent flourish unsheathed their blades. Stifling the groan that was forming in the pit of his heart, Haldir dropped his hand and heard them charge forward to apprehend the intruders as was practiced. Only the Lady of Lorien was fit to judge them.
But the elleth was quite a cunning little creature, too sly and manipulative for her own good. She was impulsive, not foolish. Haldir could never surprise her. With a fluid motion she leapt from her perch on the rock, her hand reaching for her sword. The soldiers by the fireside too wheeled around, blades flashing in the horrid light of the flames. And from amongst the brush they came, at least two dozen men, most with deadly crossbows aimed at the elves of the forest. The March Warden himself felt the icy touch of an arrow being pushed against the nape of his neck. Curse her! She was, unfortunately, much better at playing false and using trickery than him.
"Drop your weapons!" she called gaily, as if this were a seemingly normal request, a smile making that scar lengthen on her face. The guards looked quickly to their Captain. It was not everyday that a party of men managed to best them in their own forest.
"Do as she says," his words sounded out through clenched teeth. The metallic clang of swords being dropped echoed through the glade. Haldir felt himself being ushered forward by the men behind him. The elves were likewise schooled together, their numbers a mere handful compared to the men. It was a fight they could not win, especially with her present.
"Well, even I surprise myself," she sauntered forward, her eyes crescent shaped like the moon above as mirth invaded her features. "Never did I think to overtake a force of Galadhrim on the borders of Lothlorien."
"Your men are well trained," Haldir allowed, wanting to placate her in anyway possible. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers, a look of certain shock registering on their faces as they recognized the elleth that held them captive.
"Ah, but you should have expected them to be, Captain," she gave him an appraising sort of glare. "You have not changed a bit."
"It is unfortunate I cannot say likewise," Haldir forced his head up to look fully at her.
"You were never free with your compliments," she remarked sharply. "But I will admit that I have changed. You could not have expected me to stay the same."
"Your companions have been rather bold these days," he forced a bitter laugh. "Still playing the part of the minstrel are we?"
"We like to draw attention ourselves," the elleth smirked malignantly. "But let me at least introduce myself to those of your guard who do not recall me. I see your brothers do. I am Lady Amanthoniel. Not of noble birth by any right but simply a lady because, well I have a rather high opinion of myself. And you Haldir," in a few quick strides she was by his side. "Meleth nin."
Mae govannen: well met
Elleth: female elf
Meleth nin: my love
Author's Note: So what do you think? Please let me know. Thanks for reading!