In An Age Before – Part 157
Chapter One Hundred-five
The Plague Year, Eriador – The Third Age of the Sun
Now we come to the days of that singular disaster, The Great Plague, which hastened the fall of the North Kingdom and weakened the South Kingdom. Indeed in the aftermath, the populations of the Dúnedain realms were so diminished that even a moderate stroke by the Dark Lord or the Witch King could have toppled Arthedain and Gondor once and for all. Yet that stroke did not fall. Indeed both kingdoms enjoyed a respite from war for 'nigh on two centuries thereafter. And whilst coastal raiding by the Corsairs of Umbar continued, it is telling that King Telumehtar was able to assail and take Umbar, slaying the last descendants of Castamir, in 1810.
The results of that war, and the welcome respite in the north, tell us that the Dúnedain were not the plague's only victims. We can infer that the mortal forces of Sauron too were significantly diminished by the pestilence in 1635 and 1636. This is not the expected result of a premeditated biological attack. Instead, it is the result of a terrifying pandemic, loosed unintentionally upon Easterlings, Southrons, Northmen, and Dúnedain alike. The fact that the peoples of Rhûn were afflicted a year ere the plague reached Arthedain attests to this. Of the Westland's, Rhovanion was the first to be infected, with Gondor to follow, and Eriador last.
It is my own belief that whilst Sauron was the ultimate creator of the pestilence, he did not intentionally release it as a weapon in a military campaign. Rather it was loosed by accident, infected Sauron's devotees in the east first, and due to its high virulence and lethality, caused massive fatalities to every nation ere the host populations became so sparse that the epidemic could no longer support itself. This is the natural progression of a pandemic in places without modern inoculation intervention, or where the sheer numbers of victims overwhelm the existing medical resources. It would have been akin to what JRR Tolkien saw during the influenza pandemic of 1918.
Because specific details of The Great Plague are somewhat sparse in canon sources, I have fabricated a series of events that lay a background which I consider plausible.
During the War of the Last Alliance, only one of the free peoples had invaded the Barad-dûr. Only one had seen the horrors that Sauron had bred in his deep dungeons, and then appraised their potential effects upon mortals.
"In those dungeons the very air carries such pestilence as would slay one of mortal blood. The stench of death and disease lie'th so thick upon that air as to coat thy skin in a greasy film. From the stones seep venomous slimes, and worse, fungi and pale plants deathly and unwholesome there art that waft their spores upon the fetid breeze, a threat to take hold and grow in thy living flesh. Such a place as Sauron has created would become for thee, not a battleground, but rather a lethal plague house. Thou woulds't fall indeed, thy valor wasted, and thine enemy would laugh, having felled a mighty foe without the effort of raising even once his hand. 'Tis no just fate for a warrior."
Thus had Helluin Maeg-mórmenel described the understories of the Dark Tower to the Kings Elendil and Isildur of the Dúnedain in Lothron of S.A. 3435. No mortal Man of the Allied Host e'er set foot there of his own free will.
Following Sauron's fall in S.A. 3441, the Barad-dûr had been razed to the ground by the victorious armies of the Last Alliance, yet its foundations had remained 'neath the rubble, for they had been imbued with the power of Sauron's Ring, and that had not been destroyed. Deep below the fallen stones and the windswept dust on the Plateau of Gorgoroth, that which the Dark Lord had bred in his malevolence preserved itself as spore or cyst, lying dormant and untouched by time, and there it slept for half an Age, awaiting the return of moisture and warmth, and new fodder.
In those years, the Dúnedain of Gondor o'ersaw the deserted Black Land, and they built the fortresses of Cirith Ungol, Durthang, Narchost, and Charchost to keep watch lest evil return. Yet during the reigns of the kings Atanatar II, Narmacil, and Calmacil, (T.A. 1149 – 1304), when the concerns of ease and wealth eclipsed the earlier values of fortitude and readiness, the watch upon Mordor began to falter. The following years saw the distractions of war in the east and the Kin-Strife at home, and after, the growing contention with Umbar. And so for that time, e'er less attention was paid to the long dormant threat of Sauron and Mordor.
Far in the east, beyond the Sea of Rhûn, dwelt many Men who had been subject to the Darkness since their awakening in Hildórien at the first rising of the Sun, uncounted lifetimes ago. Some of these had worshipped Morgoth, and when the Great Enemy of the World was defeated and cast by the Valar into the Void, Sauron and others of his servants came amongst them and cemented their devotion to their master with displays of majesty and many a human sacrifice in the great Temple of Melkor that Sauron had compelled his followers to raise. Generation after generation paid homage to their god and king 'til they knew no other way, and they served at his command and did his will with fervent obedience. And in time, these Men of Darkness would provide Sauron with a reservoir of zealots who would march unquestioning to war.
Now these Worshippers of Fire were of many nations and had raised many kingdoms, and they lived 'neath many chieftains and kings, yet o'er them was their dark master whom all acknowledged. In despite of this unifying force, still they warred one peoples against another, for they were mortal Men and were subject to the avarice, and the fear, and the hatred with which their god had gifted them. And e'er they lusted after power, a thing as natural to them as breathing. Yet some few departed in their hearts from the wisdom of their peoples. Of those apostates who had renounced the worship of fire, some were driven hence, some enslaved, some slaughtered, and others were burnt as sacrifices. Through three Ages of the world, the persecution of those who abjured the worship of Morgoth ne'er ceased. Amongst the first to flee were those tribes who made their way west to Beleriand and became the Atani. In latter days, others came as refugees to the southern coasts, or to Rhovanion and the Greenwood, or to Gondor.
Yet for each one who fled, dozens more stayed and followed the ways of their people, and they would do 'aught that was demanded of them to honor their god. Then in 1248 came the crushing defeat in battle with King Minalcar of Gondor. The priests of Melkor deemed that greater acts of reparation were required to recover their god's grace. Fasting, self-flagellation, and mutilations followed. And it came to pass that beginning in the mid-1250s of the Third Age, some took upon them a lenthár¹, traveling afoot in secrecy and with great hardship to visit the holy land, Mordor, there to demonstrate their devotion with worship and blood sacrifice at the ruins of the Barad-dûr. 'Twas traditional to return with a healing gash upon the left palm and a fragment of black masonry attesting to the completion of the sacrament. ¹(lenthár, holy journey, pilgrimage = lend(journey) + aer(holy) The -d becomes –th at the partition of Sindarin proper nouns, while the diphthong –ae simplifies to –á Sindarin The name in the eastern tongues is unknown.)
For o'er four centuries the practice continued with increasing popularity, 'til caravans of the faithful made their way hence to the Black Land in an endless stream, and tons of masonry were shifted or brought home by pilgrims, 'til in the spring of 1635, one too many stones had been removed. Then by ill fortune, some crevice amidst the fallen rubble that choked the dungeons and pits 'neath the Dark Tower was laid open, and a breath of pestilence was exhaled amidst the worshippers. Slowly, that which had slept for so long awoke and found moisture and warmth, and fresh fodder.
None in the western lands knew that the last caravan returned with some sickened and some already dead, and that shortly after its arrival back in the east, well 'nigh all the pilgrims succumbed to a deadly plague that spread with frightening speed. In teeming cities, and especially in the poorer quarters, the Men of Darkness were afflicted at an e'er increasing rate. Houses were emptied, neighborhoods depopulated, and bodies piled up, infectious and far too numerous for sound disposal, for in those arid and semi-arid climes, fuel for the crematory pyres was soon lacking.
From those first plague cities, the people fled in all directions. Indeed 'twas the only choice possible against a foe that could not be seen or fought. Horror and fear drove them hence, for a wife might find he to whom she spoke stone dead ere voicing his reply. Loved ones 'cross the table sharing a meal might choke, croak, and drop face first onto their plates 'twixt one bite and the next, blood and spittle seeping from their lips. Tears were shed as parents held their sickly children whilst they burned with fever, hesitant to leave them to call for aid, lest they return to their corpses. Soon the dead lay in the streets where they fell, their kin too scared to collect their bodies. And the scavengers who came to feast on their flesh succumbed as well, dog, rat, crow, or vulture, for the plague made no distinction 'twixt Man and beast. A great exodus of terrified survivors spread down trade routes that spring, and the plague spread with them. Within months all the east was afflicted, and those still able to flee took their paths further south, to Khand and Harad, or north and west to Rhovanion.
The plague came to Wilderland with the refugees in the winter of 1635-6. East of the Ered Mithrin, chill winds blew down from the Northern Wastes, driving Men and their beasts into o'ercrowded homes and stables where infection ran rampant. Amongst the Northmen to the east of the Greenwood, riders and their horses fell by the hundreds through the following year. Ere the plague's end, half the people had succumbed. In Osgiliath, Minas Ithil, and Minas Anor, thousands became infected and died as 1636 progressed. The plague spread down Anduin to Pelargir. It traveled aboard ship to Harondor and the southern fiefs, even so far as Umbar, and to Harad, which had already been infected by those fleeing south from Rhûn. It joined traders heading north up the Vale of Anduin, bringing death even to some few of the skin changing settlers, the Woodsmen. Unknown and unsuspected by the Wise, it had found its way into warrens of the Yrch in the Hithaeglir. These dwelt in enclosed spaces where the living ate the dead, and so from Gundabad to Methedras, the Glam died in the thousands, though no tales tell of it. Then the Doors of Khazad-dûm were shut, and though unaffected themselves, the Elves of Lórinand and Calenglad looked on in horror.
In Gondor, the king's messengers brought the contagion along with dire tidings to all corners of the South Kingdom. T.A. 1636 was a year ruled by terror and despair, for no cure worked, nay, not even athelas in the hands of the king. Through the streets of Osgiliath roamed self-appointed 'plague doctors' in hooded cloaks, wearing leather bird masks, and offering quack remedies at exorbitant fees. Wains for the collection of cadavers rolled down the avenues, bells tolling whilst their drivers called, "bring out your dead!" Fires burned non-stop in the streets, the better to cleanse fell vapors from the air. And then in early autumn, King Telemnar, but two years upon the throne, succumbed to the plague, his entire family having preceded him in death, with neither prayers to the Valar, nor medicinal tinctures slowing the infection.
The closest in royal blood to the late king was his nephew, Tarondor son of Minastan, who had been the younger brother of Telemnar and who had also died of the plague. Tarondor became the twenty-seventh King of Gondor, whose first acts as sovereign were to preside o'er the flight of his people to Ithilien and Lebennin, and the death of the White Tree of Osgiliath. 'Twas as inauspicious an inauguration of his reign as could be imagined.
Through Calenardhon and into Eriador the plague made its way in autumn, leaving emptied lands in its wake, and as the leaves fell, so too fell the folk of Dunland, Rhudaur, and Cardolan. Snow came early that winter, as if to exacerbate the suffering, whilst in Arthedain and The Shire, folk Big and Little lay dying.
In Rhudaur many of the Middle Men died, yet fewer than elsewhere, for by the grace of measures wisely taken, the small rural town of Celenhár weathered the plague with only minimal mortality. Amongst those who survived were Boron, the thirty and ninth King of Eriador, and Rínriel, Lady of the First House, who was the great-great-granddaughter of Lainiel.
Neighboring Cardolan fared not so well. The plague came thither with a vengeance, felling well 'nigh all the remaining Dúnedain, including the current regent, Castron son of Rochen. The city and garrison at Tharbad upon Gwathló became a ghost town, inhabited only by corpses and memories. Some years later, a few hardy and stubborn souls returned, and later still, Men from Dunland and Minhiriath came and dwelt in the crumbling remnants of the city, whilst the Great South Road faded into a greenway of rough grass and broken stones. 'Nigh the Great East Road, the town of Bree lost half its folk, Big and Little, whilst the ruined city of Cardol was abandoned at last. Thereafter all that remained was Tyrn Gorthad, the downs topped by megaliths and dug through with barrows in which lay the dead of Ages past, and Castron the last.
At Húngan's mansion in the Red Hill Country, the Regent of Cardolan penned a short message and enclosed it in a brass capsule. This he attached to the leg of a special pigeon that had been bred in Fornost. Castron son of Rochen was feverish, sick, and with the foresight of a true-blooded Man of the West, he felt his time drawing 'nigh. The plague had come to his lands and now, for fear of spreading the infection, he would not chance to send a human messenger to his king. He released the pigeon and watched as it circled once against the afternoon sky ere it winged its way northwest. A wracking cough took him and he staggered back into his parlor. He was dead ere Anor set.
The pigeon was received in Fornost Erain by the Royal Post at noon the next day, and its message was conveyed in haste to King Argeleb II.
My lord, Cardolan falls. A plague afflicts us for which no cure has been discerned. I pray thee; do 'aught that thou can to save our people, as I could not. I leave thee with love and fealty, and hope for the Dúnedain. ~Castron son of Rochen, RC.
The short message brought tears to the king's eyes. Rochen had served the crown and his people at every turn, and he had been a friend, just as his father and grandfather had been to him and his own father, the late King Araphor. His loss would be felt if e'er Cardolan were to rise again, but for now, he gave thought to his regent's tidings and the plight approaching his borders. Sickness demanded a healer, and if Castron's healers had accomplished 'naught, then he feared the herbology and leech-craft of Arthedain would accomplish no better. Yet even as he thought it, a memory came to him of a greater healer and a promise spoken long ago, decades ere he had come to the throne.
"…as art the Lady Lainiel and thy father, thou too art my far cousin, and I deem thee family. If times grow dark, remember that thou art not alone."
No greater healer did King Argeleb know than the Lord of Imladris, Elrond Peredhel. If no other upon the Mortal Shores could find a cure for the plague that had taken his regent, then his people would be truly lost. The king called for pen and parchment and a scribe attended him. Then he dictated two letters. The first was an edict to be carried throughout the Realm of Arthedain, warning his vassals of the coming plague, and charging them to take whatsoe'er measures they deemed prudent to preserve the lives of his subjects. The second was a plea for aid, to be carried by the swiftest rider, to the Hidden Valley.
Now the king's messenger rode hard down the North Road from Fornost, and in the first hour past dawn of the second day, he passed the town of Bree without stopping. He had changed horses at a garrison 'nigh the crossroads of the North and East Roads, and he heeded the warning of his king to stop not save at posts of the army for to take a fresh mount. Thus by the end of that day he reached the ruins of Amon Sûl and again took a fresh horse. The fallen Tower of Wind was the furthest outpost of the Army of Arthedain, and so he had chosen a strong trotter, for he expected no replacement ere he crossed the Ford of Bruinen, fifty leagues to the east through Cardolan and Rhudaur. For the next four days he rode from dawn to dusk and he stopped for none, and took his meals alone and well off the road. Thus he did all he could to preserve his life from infection, for now he saw many desperate refugees fleeing the plague and making their way west.
As dusk drew down on his sixth day out from Fornost, he rode through the narrow defile leading down to the ford, and there he was taken by sentries of the Hidden Valley. Then he declared himself a messenger from King Argeleb of Arthedain, and plead for audience with the Lord Elrond to deliver dark words from his distant kinsman.
"My Lord Elrond, I am Bóradan¹, messenger of His Grace King Argeleb II. I come to thee in haste bearing fell tidings. Cardolan is fallen to a plague, its regent deceased, and Eriador is in doubt. My king fears for Arthedain and his people, and he beseeches thine aid as healer, for the healers of Cardolan failed to find a cure or stem the spread of this pestilence." ¹(Bóradan, Trustworthy Man = bór(trustworthy) + adan(man of the West) Sindarin)
Having spoken his rede, Bóradan proffered the letter from Argeleb and then stared 'round Elrond's study where they had met. He was more than a bit awed by the Hidden Valley. The landscape was dramatic, the architecture beautiful, and every furnishing he had seen was elegant. 'Twas wholly at odds with the strength and austerity projected by the massive stone construction of Fornost, up on the sere North Downs. The Elves themselves were beautiful, their speech emotive and expressive, and they were kind and sympathetic. But beyond all this, he felt that there was something more at work in Imladris which he couldn't identify. From the moment he had crossed the Ford of Bruinen, he had felt a clarity and invigoration, and the enhancement of all his senses. Yet for all the beauty and refinement he had seen, things appeared mostly normal to his eyes. If 'aught of magick lay upon the valley as some claimed, he could not mark it. He had witnessed 'naught of conjuring or spell casting. The Elves walked, breathed, and ate as did he.
"Bóradan, of late tidings have come to us from Lórinand telling of this plague. Great is the suffering in Rhovanion and in Gondor. King Telemnar too has fallen, and all his family with him," the Lord of Imladris said. The Lady of the Golden Wood had seen much and shared all with him in thought.
Marking the shock upon the face of the messenger, the Peredhel understood that any riders dispatched from the South Kingdom had died en route to the north. Their tidings of Gondor had died with them. Why had the Dúnedain not used the Seeing Stones, he wondered. Then he recalled the lore he had learnt from Helluin and Beinvír regarding the Kin Strife. Eldacar, Aldamir, and Vinyarion had seen firsthand the assaults that the dark Noldo had launched against the Usurper through the Palantíri. Minardil had certainly learnt of them from his adar. Already uncomfortable with the Seeing Stones, Helluin's campaign had only reinforced the southern kings' fears so that two centuries later, t'would have been little surprise to Elrond if Eldacar had been the last king to use them. He shook his head sadly.
"The healers of Osgiliath, and even King Telemnar himself, had no more success in fighting this pestilence than did the healers of Cardolan," he said.
His words seemed to sap the hope from the messenger and the Man cast his eyes down at the floor. The King of Gondor had failed to find a cure, and he and his family had fallen victim to the same disease that now threatened his own people.
Finally, Bóradan looked back to the Peredhel and asked, "dost thou see any hope for Arthedain and our people?"
"'Naught of herb lore for the treatment of mortal Men is known to me that was not known in Númenor and then passed down to the kings, yet I have marked some details of the plague which may have escaped those more closely afflicted. The greatest jeopardy and the highest count of deaths came in the cities. The more closely Men lived together, the more deadly the pestilence proved. Yet no disease can spread when there is no contact 'twixt the infected and the healthy. I would urge all who can to find places where few live together, and to abide thither 'til the plague burns itself out. Winter comes and that too shalt limit the interactions of Men. Therefore I bid thee say to Argeleb, gather not thy folk, nor hold concourse together. Remove from the cities so many as can be, and limit contact 'twixt those who remain. Boil the water thou drink and cook well the foods thou eat. Comfort those afflicted, but expect no cures, for 'naught known to me or any other healer has proved efficacious. Keep refugees spread out amongst themselves, and separated from thy population 'til they art proven healthy, and do the same for thy beasts, for they too art subject to the plague."
Then the Lord Elrond took pen and parchment and wrote down in detail his advice and the reasons behind it, and he gave this letter to Bóradan to convey to his king. Upon the following morn, the messenger recovered his horse, which he discovered had been kept in a shelter newly built, in a paddock separate from the stables of Imladris, and its tack stored there along with it. The very precautions that Elrond had spoken of had been observed in the Hidden Valley. Later, when he took a last look back from the trail that ascended to the ford, he saw smoke rising from the paddock and understood that the shelter his horse had spent the night in was being burnt.
The messenger rode hard for six days, again sequestering himself from the company of all upon the Road, and stopping only to exchange mounts. Along the way, he boiled all the water he drank and the stews that he ate. He came safely to Fornost bearing the letter from Elrond to his king. Argeleb read the Peredhel's words, and though 'twas not all that he had hoped, for both a cure and direct aid were lacking, he took to heart the advice that his far cousin had offered. Straight away he took pen and parchment and wrote a new edict for the salvation of his people. The scattering of the population of the Northern Fortress began that very afternoon.
In Fornost the king's second edict was read, and Men took careful note of its words. Having faith and trust in their king, they followed the details of his proclamation. Those with kin in the countryside took refuge with them, and those with hunting lodges or estates moved their families thither. More citizens made their way to the old and abandoned capital of Annúminas in which, despite the passage of centuries, many grand houses still stood by virtue of their sound stonework. Hunters and traders too took their leave of the city, the former seeking shelter in the forests bordering Lake Nenuial, the latter living in their covered wagons well off the North Road.
Most of the army removed from the city to encampments holding only a company each, and these were formed in rings of defense about the downs. In this way, the population of Fornost was reduced to the fifth part of its usual count, and those spread out amidst the buildings of the city, and there they hunkered down to spend the winter in apprehension, awaiting the spring of 1637.
To Be Continued