In An Age Before – Part 25
Short update this time folks since the holiday weekend is upon us. Enjoy!
Calvusfelix: Thanks for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying the intensity and the setting descriptions. From your email addy I'm guessing you're a Maglor fan? Well, with respect to the death of Maglor, I honestly don't recall stating that he was deceased though it may have been implied. The one reference to his fate that I can point to is:
"We have been doing nothing less for the last 600 years, even if at the start we knew it not," Maglor had said, shaking his head. "Failure and death art our appointed lot. For what 'tis worth, I should be loath to add craven." Yet he would be the only brother to survive, if but to voice his lamentations in song.
This is from Part 7 when Helluin confronts Maedhros and Maglor after they decide to try to steal the Silmarils from the camp of the victorious Valar following the War of Wrath. For all practical purposes, he is still in Middle Earth…somewhere.
Chapter Twenty-one
Greenwood the Great - The Second Age of the Sun
"Ne'er have I been so put out," Galadriel complained as she slogged through a fen 'nigh the east bank of Anduin. "First to be run out of Ost-In-Edhil, thence conveyed as a refugee 'neath the Hithaeglir, and last, held prisoner in a tree. The days grow dark indeed. And now I have become a fugitive in the wild." She attempted to smooth her hair with one hand, but that merely let the hem of her skirt find the mud. She grimaced and sighed.
"Think thyself not a fugitive, but rather afield upon grave errantry," Beinvír said as she leapt lightly from stone to stone to avoid the muck, "in the service of some noble lord."
At this, Galadriel growled and cast a baleful eye to Celeborn, who was lagging behind whilst deep in conversation with Helluin. "Noble lord indeed," she muttered.
"Oh come now," Beinvír said, "'tisn't so bad hither. Surely thou hast seen worse. Helluin related to me the suffering of the Helcaraxë…"
"Mention not that accursed place," Galadriel spat. "O'er thirty desperate years of wandering, icebound, shivering, dressed in cloaks made from heirloom tapestries lest we freeze to the marrow, and all the way seething with resentment for the House of Fëanor. 'Twas hate and want of vengeance alone as kept us warm."
Beinvír cocked her head and regarded the princess. If anything, she was more mirthless than Helluin and exhibited 'naught of her friend's humor. For an Elf, she seemed to enjoy the natural world little, favoring refinement and comfort, or the artistic and intellectual pursuits. Beinvír had come to suspect that she'd perish in the wild if left on her own, and that thought was truly appalling to the Green Elf. She couldn't decide if this state was due to her royalty, her Noldorin ancestry, or her long years of dwelling in cities. Beinvír resolved to ask her friend about it. In the meantime, they had passed the waterlogged yards 'nigh the bank and now stood on solid ground. Thither they awaited Celeborn and Helluin.
'Twas now 17 Lothron, (May 17th), and they had been walking for three days, the first two only at night and in strictest secrecy, with some lessening of stealth following that morning's crossing of Anduin. Ere they had left Lórinand, Helluin and Beinvír had spent four nights crafting a raft that they'd hidden amongst the reeds upon Anduin's western bank, just north of the mellyrn woods. When they were finally done, they'd guided Celeborn and Galadriel from Lórinand in the dead of night, shrouded in their own cloaks to hide them in the dark so that none marked their passing. Helluin had led them first north through the mellyrn, then into the fields 'nigh where Berlun's cabin had once stood. Of that homestead there was now no trace; not even the two burial mounds remained. Helluin had been speaking with Celeborn of the Man and his kin e'er since, for the Sinda seemed enthralled by her tale.
"…and so Berlun indeed shifted shape, taking the form of a great bear, and in that form did he slay many Yrch," Helluin was saying as they approached. Celeborn's eyes were lit with wonder.
"And yet thou say he was truly a mortal Man…'tis amazing."
"'Twas just so, and none more amazed than I," Helluin said, "yet I saw his grave and the grave of his wife, and I saw also their two children growing up." She had looked 'round, scanning the margin of the forest and the hither bank, both upstream and down. Helluin added in a distracted manner, "we art 'nigh the homesteads of his people that once stood upon the borders of Greenwood, though if indeed any still live in these lands I know not."
It had been o'er 1,200 years since she had last seen Berlun and his family, and since then, many Yrch had traveled this country.
"Thou hast seen many wonders in thy travels, Helluin, and thy tales make me feel young again," Celeborn said.
A soft look of reflection marked his face as he recalled the long gone years of his youth in the peaceful woods of Neldoreth and Region. Life had been good much of the time whilst the power of Melian kept Doriath safe and the stars had still been bright. Too soon, it seemed, duty had constrained him to Menegroth. And then with the sun and the moon had come the Noldor and war. But also Galadriel had come with her brother Finrod, for Thingol was their great-uncle through their maternal grandfather, Olwë. Now, though the realm of Doriath had fallen and all the treasures of the Noldor were lost, still he had his treasures, his wife, and of her a daughter, Celebrían, and at times also the straining of his sanity from trying to keep them happy.
O'er the last few days Celeborn had realized that he enjoyed being outdoors again and being unconstrained by a ruler's duties. He enjoyed being on a journey, an adventure, and what he hadn't anticipated was that he had actually found himself enjoying Helluin's company. She wasn't the menacing, homicidal maniac he had expected. She wasn't like the other Noldor he knew, nor was she quite like a Sinda or a Nando. She was a curious blend of cultural traits from all of them. Maybe 'twas the influences of all those she'd met in her travels, or maybe she was simply unconventional. In any case, he found it a pleasant surprise.
They rejoined Beinvír and Galadriel, and the lord stood by his wife. Helluin was still surveying the area, a growing tension sharpening her eyes. Beinvír noted this and came to stand close beside her.
"Trouble?" She whispered. "What dost thou sense?"
Helluin made no reply but continued to scan, paying now the most attention to the forest. From its shadows a few birds were startled up, screeching and taking flight from their nests. Beinvír's eyes widened in alarm.
"Get ye down!" Helluin cried, leaping forward. Celeborn and Galadriel reacted only slowly to her warning, but Beinvír was already unshouldering her bow. Helluin was barely in time to stand before them ere a flight of black-fletched arrows whistled from the trees. They found their mark, but rebounded harmlessly off her armor.
Quickly she shucked off her travel bag and then her bow and quiver. Thrusting the latter into Celeborn's hands, she donned her coif and doffed her cloak.
"Slay any that approach, my lord. I trust thou hast not forgotten how to shoot?"
For answer, she saw that he had already shouldered the quiver and was stringing her bow. Beside him, Beinvír stood with an arrow already knocked, searching for a target. A few more arrows flew towards them, but these Helluin knocked out of flight with sweeping motions of her sword. Then the enemy broke from cover and charged. A dozen Yrch armed with the cruel, jagged scimitars of their kind. From the woods another half-dozen arrows came, but now both Celeborn and Beinvír had marked their paths and returned fire. They continued shooting towards those places from whence the arrows had come. Screams amongst the shadows 'neath the trees told of them striking their marks.
Helluin snatched the Sarchram from her waist as she charged to meet the foes on foot and blue battle fire was kindled in her eyes. Ere she met them, she flung the Grave Wing. It struck the first Orch, cleanly hewing off his head, ricocheted to slash the chest of another, and then struck off the sword arm of a third ere it returned to her. Helluin caught the ring in her left hand, and with it parried away the swords of two Yrch attacking her in concert from the front. Then with a great sweeping stroke she hewed both their bodies asunder with Anguirél, sending up sprays of their black blood. She was actually laughing as she lunged and sunk her blade into a third, and then with a sneer, she twisted her body and flung his torso aside off her sword.
"C'mon thou craven, worm-bellied, toadspawn," she taunted the largest of them, an imposing Orch with leather scraps sewn to his pate and Man scalps adorning his belt, "thou was born to die, snaga!¹" ¹(snaga, slave. Black Speech of Sauron)
The Orch gave only a guttural howl in response as he strode forward. He traded three blows with Helluin ere he pitched backward with a shriek. An Elven arrow had taken him in the eye and bowled him over. 'Twas one of her own, she noticed, and it had passed her ear by not even a hand's breadth ere striking its target. Guess Celeborn can still shoot just fine, she thought as she advanced to meet another pair of Yrch.
To her left, an Orch fell with one of Beinvír's arrows in his throat, and then a second died from an arrow fired by Celeborn. Helluin met the two Yrch in mid-stride. The one on her left she struck in the throat with a jab of the Sarchram, whilst hewing the neck of the one on her right with Anguirél. Of the last four, two died from the second flight of the Grave Wing, whilst Beinvír and Celeborn shot another each. She caught her weapon and surveyed the field. Only one foe still moved.
The wounded Orch who was missing his sword arm had fled, staggering back into the forest. He had barely made it 'neath the trees when there was violent movement amongst the branches, a shriek of terror, and a wet, crushing sound. The branches swayed a moment longer ere they were stilled. All was silent save the breathing of the four Elves. Helluin rejoined her companions and drew out a rag to clean her weapons of the Yrch blood. She noted the other three staring into the woods and nervously eyeing the trees.
"Huorns," she stated, "or at least one Huorn. They despise the Yrch, and all others upon two legs little less, but perhaps they shalt suffer us to pass. We shalt see."
Her words were not at all reassuring to the others.
To Be Continued