In An Age Before – Part 111
Now of Helluin and Beinvír is little told in the lore and histories of the battle, for none save themselves marked their movements or discerned their strategies. Of their tactics, but one upon the field would have understood 'aught of the possibilities, loremaster and student of history that he was. Yet such understanding as he e'er achieved would come not 'til much later. So 'twas upon that very night, a messenger came to them in haste from the Emyn Beraid, the Tower Hills. A succession of horses he had exhausted along the way to fulfill the urgent message received in Elostirion from Helluin on behalf of the Lord Araphor. 'Nigh on 100 leagues he had ridden in but four and one-half days, and his steed was lathered and panting when he finally found them.
"Helluin a Beinvír, mae govannen,"¹ he said in hasty greeting from the saddle. ¹(Helluin a Beinvír, mae govannen. Helluin and Beinvír, well met. Sindarin)
"Mae govannen, meldir nín," Helluin replied, "garo tuloch han?"¹¹(Mae govannen, meldir nín, garo tuloch han? Well met, my (male) friend, have you brought it? Sindarin)
"Garon han sí,"¹the messenger answered, indicating to the dark warrior a large, cloth wrapped parcel sitting in the bed of the tiny dog cart behind his steed. ¹(Garon han sí, I have it here. Sindarin)
She lifted the heavy item and set it immediately upon the ground, knowing its contents from its weight.
"Great thanks to you for this errand," she told him. "Ride now to safety, my friend."
With a nod he dismounted, and sparing but moments to unhitch the cart, wheeled his horse and nudged it into motion. Soon his steed's hoof beats dwindled into the darkness and the messenger was gone.
"Surely thou dost recall this, my love," Helluin asked Beinvír as she undid the wrappings.
"Aye," the Green Elf replied, chuckling. "Quite unlikely am I to forget thy radiant appearance." Standing naked 'neath the Light falling from the Two Trees in Aman long ago. 'Twas…impressive!
Helluin blushed at the reference to the embarrassing vision she'd inadvertently gifted to her companion.
"Art thou sure thy gambit can succeed?" Beinvír asked. "The risk is very great."
"I have faith. Oft is jeopardy necessary in war, yet one only does this risk require," Helluin replied. To stand 'twixt two armies, both hostile. But already the Green Elf was shaking her head. Still, Helluin continued. "For that reason I beseech thee, find some shelter elsewhere."
"Nay, Helluin, thou shalt not send me away this time. Whither thou stand shalt I stand also, for I have faith in thee," Beinvír declared.
Helluin saw the resolve in her lover's stance and read the refusal in her eyes. For long moments they stood looking at each other. Finally Helluin nodded in acceptance. Wherefore could the Green Elf go in safety greater than with she whom an Eagle of Manwë had declared could fall not in battle?
"Together then we shalt stand against the Witch King."
In the dead darkness of northern Eriador the tramp of iron shod feet beat a marching cadence into the dry autumn grass. 'Cross the downs they came, thirty thousand Yrch from Gundabad at the command of the Witch King. The last host of Carn Dûm was moving to battle.
At their head rode a black horse enveloped in a ghostly glow, as of swamp gas wafting upon a breeze, or something foul anointed with the sickly luminescence of cavern dwelling fungi. Riding that horror was the figure of a tall Man, clad in a black robe o'er blackened armor of many articulated plates. Upon his brow he wore a jagged steel crown. In his right hand he bore a cruel sword wound about with fell sorcery. And upon his left hand, o'er the insectile joints of his iron gauntlet, he wore a massive Ring of dull gold.
'Neath his crown, within the shadow of his hood, only the deepest blackness was to be seen. No points of moon light reflected off hardened eyes, nor gleamed from cruel teeth. No movement of living breath animated his chest. Dead for 'nigh on 2,850 years, he had once been a prince of Númenor, but in his avarice he had made a pact with the Dark Lord Sauron and accepted from him an accursed token, the first of the Nine Rings. Upon his death he had fallen into the shadow world of his evil master, thither to serve his will 'til the world's ending or the One Ring fail.
Now he led his columns toward the sounds of battle. The army he had sent to o'errun Cardolan and jeopardize Arthedain was engaging the Dúnedain for the fifth night of fighting, and had already driven them back a mile. He felt the hatred and the fear rising from the combat and he savored it. The desperation of his enemies fed him. Their fear nurtured his malice, adding to the powers granted him by his lord and master. Great sorcery he had at his command and he bent his thought upon the Men of the West, weakening their courage and sapping their resolve.
Upon the field the Dúnedain felt a weariness of heart and a faltering of their hopes. The odds they'd understood, but now the larger numbers of the enemy seemed to guarantee their defeat. How had they resisted that superior force without collapsing entirely? Was it some madness possessing them, leading them to falsely believe they had even a shred of a chance to prevail? Surely it must be so…and if indeed their struggle was hopeless and doomed, whyfor should they not flee this killing ground and lock themselves within the fastness of Fornost? Indeed whyfor should they not cast aside their arms and sue for the mercy of their foes? And woulds't this defeat indeed presage the final fall of the West?
Assailed thus by the mórgúl of the Witch King, the defenders' lines began to waver. Back they trod, struggling for resolve, yet fear and fatigue made them accept more easily the necessity of their retreat and the inevitability of their defeat. They fought defensively and by the hour ere midnight they were merely covering themselves and hoping only to preserve their withdrawal from becoming a rout.
Now whilst the Men knew not the source of their failing willpower, there were others 'nigh for whom 'twas all too obvious, both cause and effect. The Lord Elrond doubted 'naught what his heart bespoke, for he wore the Elven Ring Vilya, the Ring of Air, adorned with a brilliant sapphire, and with it came to him much knowledge from afar.
"Dire stands the field," cried out Elrond to his lieutenants, "for the Dúnedain art in full retreat and the enemy is driving them hence. And dost thou not feel the shadow of fear upon them, choking all? 'Tis the black sorcery of the Witch King. Now he must be 'nigh! To the battle then! Charge!"
Now the mounted Noldorin warriors were borne forward with the thunder of their steeds' hooves, and quickly did the Elvish horses carry them to the battle. From the rear they slammed into the enemy with sudden violence, riding down many and hewing others with bright spears and gleaming swords. Several hundreds fell in those first moments, taken at unawares by such deadly fighters. Bitterly did the Elves slay both Yrch and evil Men, yet e'er was their chief hatred given to the Yrch. Ere the first dawn of the sun and the first rising of the moon had these kindreds been foes. 'Neath the untwinkling stars o'er 5,000 years aforetime they had contested in the forests of sunken Beleriand. And none upon either side would e'er forget.
Ere the first charge ended the Elves had slain a number of the enemy equal to their own count, and then as a wave front they wheeled their mounts to come again upon their foes. Desperately did the soldiers of Angmar turn to face them, and in this respite the Dúnedain found renewed hope. They drove against the enemy from the battle line, forcing their advance to a standstill.
Again the cavalry of Imladris clashed with the Witch King's army and again did many of the enemy fall, and yet not so many as aforetime, for this charge was met with a thicket of jagged pikes. Crude iron points mounted atop sturdy poles planted against the ground took the lives of horses and riders. Noldor who had seen millennia of life died in that place, and their fëar fled to the Halls of Mandos in blessed Aman, wherein art gathered all the fallen of the Firstborn race.
Then, rather than order a third charge, Elrond led his riders in a crescent movement so as to bring his forces against the enemy from the north. The pikes turned to follow them and the lines of Yrch with them, and now the Dúnedain drove forward from the west against their flank. The Noldor rode against the enemy, hewing with spear and sword as their mounts waded into the footmen of Angmar. Many fell thither as the battle was joined, and yet so many remained. Despite their casualties, well nigh 35,000 of the foe still bore arms.
'Twas then, with the Yrch and their allies facing both north and west, that Haldir ordered his infantry to attack. From the south they came, and again the rearguard of the enemy was assailed. Again did many fall in the first clash, well 'nigh another thousand, yet the lines held and the enemy regrouped, and as a great blot of black upon the night darkened downs, they formed a circle and fought, whilst Tilion rode up the sky and the hours passed. The enemy had neither been broken nor scattered.
Now it became apparent that the superior numbers of Angmar gave them resistance against the forces arrayed against them from Fornost. The invaders fought on without being o'erwhelmed, for the numbers of the defenders were too few to break them. Then slowly at first, whilst the fighting still raged west, south, and north, the entire battle began to move again toward Fornost. And though many of the enemy fell to the superior quality of the Elvish and mortal fighters, these could slay not enough to turn the tide.
So stood the battle when the Witch King drew 'nigh, and with his army of 30,000 fresh reinforcements, he deemed it certain that he should sweep aside the defenders in a very short time. Almost as a windfall, his coming would pin the Noldorin cavalry 'twixt his army already engaged and the one he led to battle. Forward he rode and the tramp of his soldiers following behind led him to gloat. From afar he had marked the standard of Imladris and he knew who rode in command 'neath it. Elrond Peredhel, once the Herald of Gil-galad; though thou fell not in the War of the Last Alliance, I shalt slay thee now in my master's name.
At the Witch King's powerful thought of his name and a time long past, the Peredhel turned for a moment from the fighting and glanced north, and his thought turned to the memory of a darker time and a greater war, and the massive army of which he had once been a part. The sensitivity that his Ring conveyed had allowed him to feel the blast of hatred and 'hear' the thoughts of his enemy, and now he was aware of his approach.
With his senses thus enhanced, the Lord of Imladris spied two upon the crest of the down 'twixt his army and his foe's. As shadows they were, invisible to all other eyes, one tall, the other notably shorter, yet to him they appeared mantled in the corona of light that surrounded the taller figure. For a heartbeat their eyes made contact 'cross the space between, and he saw sapphire blue. For a timeless moment they held thus, and then the concerns of battle reclaimed his attentions.
'Tis but the crown of this one final down that stands 'twixt me and my quarry, thought the Nazgûl, but a scant two furlongs. Down the lee of the facing slope he rode and 'cross the bottomland. And then as his steed set its first hoof upon the upslope, a single star flared upon the crest. With every soldier in his army, his attention was riveted thither, for whatsoe'er magick this was, 'twas not wholly strange to him. I have seen its like upon a time…in Mordor.
The brilliance alone burned his eyes. 'Twas a pain familiar from an Age before. Even secondhand, the Light of Aman was an enemy in its own right. Few enough in Middle Earth could command such a lúth¹, and fewer still command it against him. The first twinges of fear whispered where his heart had been. Behind him his army ground to a halt, compressed into the bottomlands 'twixt the downslope behind and the upslope ahead. ¹(lúth, spell or enchantment Sindarin)
Slowly, as he forced his Wraith sight to remain upon the threat ahead, the star resolved into a figure, and now he was certain what it signified. Fear grew within him, but it wrestled with wrath. Long aforetime in another life, he had lost a life-changing duel to this foe…she had delivered him into unexpected and eternal servitude. And 1,400 years later she had held him and his fellow wraiths prisoners in combat within Mt. Doom, rendering them impotent to aid their master in the War of the Last Alliance. And most recent, she had driven him from Dol Guldur, somehow snatching away his victory, thereby incurring the wrath of his master for his failure. Rage exploded within him. She had the audacity to face him, one alone, whilst he led an army of 30,000. He rose in his stirrups and raised his arm to order his troops to charge. Elrond be damned and keep thy fading life this day…here stands a greater prize, the Black Exile. Very great shalt be my reward when I bring to my master her flayed skin and her Ring.
And as the howl of his voice rose and his army took their first stride forward onto the upslope, from behind the bright figure upon the crest advanced a line of warriors, bright and fell. Upon their heads they wore tall helms of shining steel, and in their hands they bore deadly long swords which glowed a faint blue in the presence of so many Yrch. Full armor they wore, gleaming mail and plate, and shields they bore, upon whose fields were scribed runes of power and the devices of many great houses of the Noldor. And as a vision from some yesteryear long past, in their midst stood a tall king, crowned and armored, and bearing a silver spear.
The front line marched past the single shining figure and then another rank followed. All 'cross the crest of the down their files stretched in a battle front 'nigh on one half of a mile wide. And then came yet another rank and then another. Already the Witch King estimated that 20,000 stood arrayed against him, and in the face of such an army he knew his own would falter.
Thither marched the strength of the Calaquendi, the Elves of Light; true Amanyar who had once lived in the Blessed Realm during the Age of the Trees. No such army of that kindred had marched to battle in Middle Earth for o'er 1,400 years, and yet before him now was arrayed the pride of the Noldor, well 'nigh blinding to his shadow sight. Against such as these, even his own powers would falter, for these Elves felt no fear of his terrors, and he, he could not bear the brilliance of their Holy Light. And then yet another rank advanced to the crest of the down and now he had no advantage in numbers.
Flee! Flee! Back to Carn Dûm. Flee for thy lives!
Even as a mortal Man he had been a bully and a coward.
And then the ranks of Angmar broke and turned upon their heels, and they fled, trampling their own in their haste, with the Witch King riding wild at their head.
The terror of their undead master was felt by every soul 'neath his dominion, just as his malice had given them strength aforetime. Behind him, upon the field of battle, the remaining invaders broke and ran as well, dropping their weapons and forgetting all thoughts of conquest. In amazement did the Elves and Men watch 'til 'naught but settling dust remained.
Of them all, only the Lord Elrond had felt the hatred and terror that had screamed out of the north to take them. With his Ring he felt the fear that had come down to each soldier directly from their accursed leader. And what in Arda could possible terrify one already dead to flight, he wondered. In their wake his Elvish sight reported but two figures remaining upon the crest of the down past which the soldiery of Angmar had fled. Hither surely is a piece of future lore. I find I have…questions.
Upon the second day following the breaking of the siege of Fornost Erain, that being 21 Narbeleth, (October 21st), the creaking of wagon wheels and the clopping of hooves broke the stillness upon the Great North Road. 'Twas a grey day of heavy skies, with a biting chill breeze, and snow was foreseen by the king's soothsayers.
Two figures, hooded and cloaked in mixed greens, rode upon the bench, whilst in the back sat 'naught but a wooden crate. A single grey horse pulled the wagon at a comfortable walk. No escort accompanied this delivery, for both riders bore weapons sufficient for their defense. One played a simple but haunting tune upon a carved wooden flute; the other whistled an absent-minded accompaniment whilst carefully eyeing the road ahead. Some power that she perceived lay before them, well cloaked and yet familiar. Another mile passed, bringing the wagon to a full five leagues south of the fortress of Arthedain.
"Company," whispered the whistler 'twixt breaths ere she resumed her part.
The flutist continued her tune unbroken.
Now from o'er a hill upon the eastern side of the road appeared a mounted company of a dozen Noldor, and from amongst them advanced a single rider upon a white horse with flanks speckled black. The rider cast back the hood of his robe revealing long hair of a deep brown. The armor and trappings of war were gone, and save for the sword slung from his saddle, he bore now only a silver knife upon his belt.
He nudged his mount onto the road ahead of the wagon and awaited its approach. When 'twas within a dozen paces, the wagon came to a halt and the two riders bowed their heads in a respectful greeting.
"Hail and well met, my friends," the horseman said.
"Hail and well met, Lord Elrond," replied the taller elleth from the wagon, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze, "I am surprised to meet thee hither."
Elrond received her words with a smile. Of course she'd sensed his presence for some time.
"Helluin, after thy coup against Angmar, and I have no doubt thou played some part, I found myself curious."
The two ellith on the wagon bench traded a brief look and shared a chuckle.
"Thou saw not what the Witch King saw, I wager," Helluin said.
"I saw 'naught to send him to flight save the two of thee upon the down 'twixt him and the battle, yet I felt his fear indeed. Now thou art a great warrior of long renown, Helluin, yet I have still my doubts that the sight of thee only sent him to flight."
"Recall thou my history with him and his personal history as a living Man?" Helluin asked.
Elrond cocked his head, recalling the lore of Prince Tindomul of Númenor and his fall at Pelargir upon Anduin in the year 2003 of the Second Age. He had died upon the blade of the Black Sword of Gondolin.
"Aye, such as thou hast told to me," Elrond replied.
"Then thou shalt understand. I realized that ere falling into Sauron's service he was of the King's Men of Númenor who shunned those of Elven kind. He believed not the old lore, nor studied our history, preferring instead the words of the kings and his own hatred. He understood but poorly, if at all, that when engaged eye to eye we can project into other minds such visions from our memories as we would choose. In Ages past did many understand this enchantment of our people, yet knowledge of us has dwindled in these latter days. I merely showed the Witch King and his minions the army that Ereinion Gil-galad led down to Dagorlad. Indeed I am amazed that in his terror he marked not the person of the High King front and center amidst the ranks."
The Lord of Imladris threw back his head and laughed. Helluin had projected the phantasm of a long dead army to terrify the Nazgûl and its troops with a vision of o'erwhelming opposition, and to one such as he who lived in a world of shadows, mayhaps reality and dream were one and the same. 'Twas well 'nigh brilliant. And then he stopped abruptly and looked closely at Helluin, for he suddenly recalled in full his lore. For her part she felt in that moment the same inquisitive and doubting glance with which her late high king had so oft regarded her. She gulped.
"Helluin, successful as thy tactic was, I know thou ne'er beheld the army of Gil-galad in the War of the Last Alliance, for ere their march unto Dagorlad thou had sequestered thyself within Mt. Doom in combat with the Nine. Beinvír I know was in Ithilien commanding the Rangers. Whence came thy memory?"
Helluin and Beinvír shared yet another quick glance, but there was no escaping the truth of Elrond's words. Neither of them had seen, nor held now a firsthand personal memory of what Helluin had projected into the minds of the Witch King and his soldiers.
With a nod of agreement to Elrond the dark Noldo reached behind her and uncovered the crate in the back of the wagon. Thither, from its swaddling of simple straw, she lifted a globe of dark glass streaked with gold. 'Twas smooth of surface and some foot in diameter. At the sight of it Elrond's eyes started from his head.
"By the Valar…" he managed to choke out.
"'Tis the Palantír of Elostirion, the one Seeing Stone that looks 'cross time and space. We beseeched and were granted King Araphor's leave to have it delivered from the Star-Watch Tower. We ride now to return it," Beinvír told him.
"'Twas my plan to command its vision for to conjure the Sight of the Noldorin Host of the Last Alliance advancing to battle. Thus I should then have a new memory of my own to force upon the Witch King and his army for their torment," Helluin concluded.
Elrond nodded in thoughtful admiration. 'Twas a tactic well 'nigh brilliant. 'Round them the first flakes of the winter's snow began to drift down from the leaden sky. The three friends looked up to the thickened clouds and felt the damp, chill breeze.
"A hand's width ere supper," the Peredhel remarked.
"Aye, and a hand's length more ere daybreak," the Green Elf added.
"Upon our ways we should be," Helluin said, "for we have hopes of making the 10 league roadhouse ere dusk."
Elrond nodded to them. Many a mile did he have to ride ere he saw his own home in the Hidden Valley of Imladris. He turned his mount to depart.
"May the Valar watch o'er ye both, my friends," he said, "and many thanks, Helluin. This victory belongs to thee. Most know thee as a deadly warrior possessed of surpassing prowess and wrath, yet 'neath all that is the craftiness of a master tactician. I applaud ye both."
And with a dip of his head he nudged his horse to a canter and rejoined his company. Soon they had disappeared into the rolling hills to the east of the road.
Beinvír took the reins whilst Helluin repacked the Seeing Stone, and with a few soft words the horse moved into a faster walk than aforetime.
"Thou told him less than all," the Green Elf chided after some moments.
"'Tis just as well, I deem," Helluin replied, "for all he learns becomes tomorrow's gossip."
"And ne'er hath he made use of a palantír, I wager."
"Nay, not to my knowledge," the dark warrior admitted.
"Then no doubt he hath no inkling that rather than seeing thorough the stone as thou had originally planned, thou plucked the memories of Gil-galad's army from his own head like a thief lifting a fruit from a vendor's stall," Beinvír accused with a grin.
"And wherefore better?" Helluin muttered defensively. "He was Herald to that army and stood before the vanguard, yea, even before his king, as he bore into battle the standard of silver stars on blue, which, mind thou, did not appear in the vision."
Beinvír gave her lover a look of critical scrutiny.
"And whyfor should I have resorted to some other more questionable vision from the palantír, which might have at any moment shifted or shown forth some aspect undesirable," Helluin self-consciously continued, "when the exact images I sought resided in the mind of one who stood not a furlong distant? A good plan had we aforetime, aye, yet chance blessed us with a better. I merely remained flexible in my tactics."
"I said 'naught," Beinvír averred with a grin.
"Uh-huh," Helluin muttered, unconvinced.
After a few more moments, the Green Elf innocently mused, "think thou that King Araphor shalt recall 'aught of giving thee his leave to borrow the palantír?"
At this, Helluin groaned and shook her head 'nay'.
"Helluin! Thou bewitched the King of Arthedain? With thy lúthin¹ thou rendered him thrall!" Beinvír exclaimed to her beloved with mock horror. Then with a grin she added, "I suspected as much, glassy eyed and drooling as he was whilst we held counsel with him in Fornost. He seemed…mindlessly agreeable." ¹(lúthin, enchantments, pl. Sindarin)
"Bah!" Helluin declared. "All's well that ends well and what he know'th not shan't vex him. He shalt remember 'naught of it save wishing us success in battle." After a pause she added, "Araphor has now both the stones of Annúminas and Amon Sûl in his keeping at Fornost. Well pleased should he be indeed, for he can now speak to himself with ease."
"Indeed," Beinvír commented whilst handing Helluin the reins.
The Green Elf chuckled and regarded her lover askance as she resumed the tune on her flute. South down the road the wagon continued 'neath the falling snow, lugging a treasure of Arthedain as it were a round of farmer's cheese bound for market.
To Be Continued