In An Age Before – Part 273
Author's Note: Regarding the setting in this chapter. I realize that my departure from canon is worthy of explanation. Canon says that Celebrían's abduction and torture took place as she transited the Misty Mountains over the Redhorn Pass on her way to Lothlórien. I believe I had even included a reference to that in a past chapter. When it came time to write Part 273 though, I had to change to the non-canon setting of the High Pass. Why?
The High Pass lies just east of the Hidden Valley, far more accessible to those coming from Imladris than the Caradhras Pass over Moria. Second, the Elves historically used both passes, but after T.A. 1980, I feel that the Redhorn Pass would have been shunned for safety's sake. Durin's Bane, (whatever it was), had driven Durin's Folk from their ancient home of Khazad-dûm. To do so, it must have been terrible, for the Dwarves were many, well armed, and fell. Afterwards, the Elves no longer had friends guarding the pass and holding the land around it, and being beyond the forest, Nanduhirion was not under Elvish control. The Pass of Caradhras was debated land, closely hedged by a nameless horror and the suspected presence of Orcs.
Another factor is that by going over the High Pass, which had been graded and improved aforetime for the passage of the Army of the Last Alliance, riding horses would have been easier for a sizable mounted company. The road descending eastward from the High Pass connected directly with the Dwarf Road leading south all the way to Khazad-dûm, (and originally beyond). A detour would have been required at the Gladded Fields after the bridge over the Ninglor was broken, but that route had been known by then for centuries.
Furthermore, if Celebrían had been taken as a captive from the Redhorn Pass, she would almost certainly have been taken to Moria, right next door. That place was so vast, and it was unknown to the sons of Elrond so far as I have ever heard, that I doubt they could have found their mother there, much less rescued her and made a clean escape while hampered by a badly wounded captive.
So I chose to have Celebrían's party assailed and her abduction take place in the High Pass. It also helps explain why Elladan and Elrohir were close enough to rescue their mother quickly, rather than the rescuers being from Lothlórien, (say Haldir and/or his brothers), since they would have been far closer to the Redhorn Pass than anyone coming from Rivendell.
Borondir was not one for studying lore beyond what it told of his Northmen ancestors and the recent history of Gondor. The messenger understood little of the different kindreds of Elves. He knew 'naught of Celebrían or of Finarfin's daughter. But the anguish of a mother whose child was endangered, that was universal; that he understood clearly. Despite his shock at Galadriel's magickal arrival and her eldritch appearance as she glowed with ethereal Light in her agitation, he felt sympathy for her plight that only increased as he stood by listening.
"Artanis, pray tell me what has come to pass," Helluin softly asked her old friend. "What evil has befallen thy daughter?" The dark Noldo had ne'er seen the princess so distraught, not at the parting from her father along the cold strand of Araman, nor during the frigid crossing of the Helcaraxë as kith and kin gave in to despair and were lost.
"She was journeying from Imladris to Lothlórien. In the mountains, her company was assailed. All were slain and she was made captive by Yrch," Galadriel sobbed. "Not long shall she endure their cruelty, my sweet hénil¹." ¹(hénil, girl child = hén(child) + -il(fem. enhancement on n.) Sindarin)
Helluin marked that Artanis had chosen to use the word 'hénil' rather than the more familiar 'ield' or 'rél' in referring to her daughter and she deemed it a measure of how the princess was feeling her loss. There was 'naught formal about it, no concern for legacy or lineage, only a mother's love in jeopardy.
"When?" Helluin asked.
"Not a quarter-hour past. I felt her cries of fear and horror at the violence and the deaths of her companions and I came to her in spirit."
Few were the bonds stronger than that 'twixt child and parent. It mattered not a wit that this child was two Ages old. Of course, the princess had been able to 'see' what her daughter saw in those moments of terror and panic. She had probably felt her emotions as well. No wonder she is so undone, Helluin thought, feeling miserable on her behalf. She could not imagine what she might have done had such befallen Almarian.
"Show me, meldis meld nín," Helluin coaxed, as she gazed into the princess' eyes.
Rather than being tentative because of her pain, Galadriel's initiation of the Ósanwe was brutal in its onslaught and intensity and Helluin gasped in spite of herself. There was no transition through the princess' silver-grey eyes, as they glowed with Light in her distress.
Helluin's consciousness exploded onto a barren mountain trail just starting its descent from the High Pass. Her party was breaking their night's camp with the dawn and Celebrían would ride amidst a column of four dozen mounted Knights of Imladris. They expected to exit the pass and spend the day descending to the Dwarf Road. There had been no sign of danger thus far and they felt no immediate threat. With the coming of daylight, any hazard would be reduced.
Suddenly, the commander of the knights screamed, "Ware! Ware!"
The Elves drew their weapons and encircled the lady. Up o'er the cliff face in front of the camp and down the precipice behind it came a horde of Yrch, two hundreds at least, covering the surrounding rocks in a rind of hideous bodies. Only when they gained their footing on the level ground did they shriek and hoot as they charged, brandishing their weapons.
Though they had nowhere 'nigh the knights' prowess, they had the numbers. Unhorsed and encumbered by their armor, with limited space and taken by surprise, the knights began to fall even as they cut down the Orcs. The sound of clashing steel rent the dawn as blood was spilt and the sunlight that should have conferred hope and safety brought 'naught but greater clarity to this scene of horror.
Celebrían took up the weapon of a fallen knight and sought to aid her guardians. She was far from ignorant of swordplay and several of the Yrch fell to her blade, but the Orcs mobbed her just as they did the knights. A war club crashed against her skull and with a cry of surprise, pain, and fear, the vision descended into darkness with her loss of consciousness. A pause followed, and then a brief and reeling glimpse of the aftermath of the battle.
The knights lay slain whilst their horses were being brutally slaughtered and butchered. Heaps of Yrch were crumpled on the ground beside them, but several dozen of Morgoth's abominations yet lived and these gave guttural cries of victory. Then she was cruelly hauled to her feet, only to have a laughing Orc backhand her so hard the vision lurched as her head struck stone, and then all went black.
Galadriel blinked and the vision ended as abruptly as it had begun. The princess sobbed in reaction to viewing it all again and by reflex, Helluin tried to comfort her with an embrace. Being an astral projection, her arms passed straight through the image of her sorrowful friend. Helluin groaned, but she had marked two things.
I know that place, she thought, and those were Uruks, not Goblins.
"Meldis nín, I recognize wherefrom Celebrían was taken and I shall ride thither at once," she said. "Pray project thy fëa to Imladris and inform Lord Elrond. He too shall send aid."
Galadriel, emotionally numb, slowly nodded her understanding of Helluin's words. She cast tear-filled eyes to her dark friend and whispered, "We must recover her. Each hour, nay, each moment she is held threatens her spirit."
"She shall be returned to thee, dear friend. Keep hope."
"Imladris…" Galadriel whispered, as if saying the name for the first time, and then she was gone.
Helluin turned to Borondir and said, "I shall ride out with thee. Pray await me. I shall not be but a few minutes." Then she stalked off to the cabin to don her weapons.
When she returned, the errand rider saw that the Noldo was girt with her sword, dagger, and the Sarchram on her belt, and o'er her armor, she had donned a tattered black cloak with a deep hood. Her steel bow and quiver hung o'er her shoulder. Borondir's stomach clenched at the sight of her, an image of fear, an image of one of the Sauron's Nine that even children in Gondor would recognize. She gave the messenger a nod and he hastened to the stable to ready Aashif.
Helluin produced a piercing whistle of three notes and then stood waiting. When Borondir returned astride Aashif, he saw Helluin facing a tall black mare, a vastly different horse from Beadurof whom she had ridden south to war. They were both still and silent. Having seen this aforetime, he doubted not that they were taking counsel. Then she broke their glance and mounted with no saddle, stirrups, headstall, or reins.
"I have need of haste as dost thou, Borondir," Helluin said, her face grim. "Keep pace upon Aashif whilst thou can, but Dúrochil¹ shall not slow for thee when thou cannot." ¹(Dúrochil, Nightmare = dú(night) + roch(horse) + -il(fem. enhancement on n., mare) Sindarin)
Borondir nodded in understanding. After what he had heard, he would not feel guilty at being outpaced should that come to pass. He cast a glance to the Noldo's horse, lithe, sleek, and solid, and sheathed in muscle, the perfect mount for one who looked like a Nazgûl. Nightmare stood shifting and snorting, eager to be away.
Helluin met the messenger's eyes and returned his nod, and then she whispered, "Ego¹!" ¹(ego!, go! Sindarin)
Both steeds came to a gallop, but ere they had made the north south track, Borondir was already falling behind. Helluin's lead opened by fathoms as she crouched low o'er the mare's withers and the black horse pulled away as if unencumbered. Ere an hour fled, the messenger slowed to rest Aashif, for Dúrochil had passed beyond his sight. T'would be months ere he saw Helluin again.
The steward's errand rider made two score and fifteen miles that day and he was liberal in his praise of Aashif. They had come half the distance to the Men-i-Naugrim and Borondir would have expected no more from one of the Messenger Corp's own steeds, especially after two days and more of running. So passed 14 Cerveth. As he lay 'neath the stars beside his fire that night, Dúrochil had already borne Helluin 'cross the ford and into the mountains.
Now Helluin's road ran thirty-six leagues and two from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý to the Men-i-Naugrim, and thence five leagues to the Old Ford. From the Old Ford to the ascending foot of the High Pass lay another twenty-one leagues and two, and then a further three leagues and one to the place that the Noldo had seen in Galadriel's vision, two hundred miles all told. That journey would have consumed six or seven days for most competent horsemen, and perhaps four days for one of the steward's errand riders on their specially bred steeds. Yet such a count of time would have been unacceptable for the rescue of Celebrían.
With the Lady Artanis' plea, the Noldo had finally resorted to calling on an alliance made four centuries aforetime 'twixt the farm and some wild horses that had emigrated from the north. These had sought haven from the White Wolves, Orcs, and evil Men in their ancestral homelands 'twixt Carnen and Celduin. Of old, they had roamed those grasslands in peace, but times had changed with the coming of the Medes, and thereafter, conditions had only grown worse. A herd of seven had arrived at the farm, the pregnancy of the lead mare being the catalyst for their sojourn south, now that Dol Guldur was known to be emptied. With her first glance, Helluin had known they were no ordinary steeds.
By agreement, they had remained free, sometimes afield within the fences, sometimes running in the lands beyond, but to foal, they came to the fenced lands where no enemies dared linger. Neither were they hunted by the local wolf pack, for there was easier game and these horses had proven impossible to run down. Eventually, the two kindreds had come to tolerate each other.
On these lands, Wræcca¹, thou and thy kin shall be safe so long as we abide here, Helluin had promised. ¹(Wræcca, Wanderer Old English)
In restitution for thy favor we shall aid thee if thy need is great, Ælf Helluin, the black stallion had offered. Whistle the notes of Béma's call that both our folk once followed and the Myrhilv¹ shall answer. ¹(Myrhilv, Black Coats = mór/myr(pl adj, dark, black,) + helv/hilv(pl n, coats) Sindarin)
And I vow not to call upon ye save when my need is truly dire, the Noldo had reassured him, for she had ne'er expected to whistle the notes of Oromë's horn. In four hundred years, she had not, and by Cerveth of 2509, decades had passed since she had last seen any of their kindred on the farm. Yet within minutes of her summons, Dúrochil had come to honor their pledge and had introduced herself.
Well met, Dúrochil. Dire is my need of haste, for the life of a princess made captive by Yrch hangs in the balance, Helluin had told the mare that she had ne'er seen aforetime. The road counts sixty-six leagues and two and ascends into the mountains.
Well met, Ælf Helluin. I too am a princess of my kind. I run three parts of four each hour and bear no tack, the black mare had declared, and Helluin had nodded in agreement, expecting neither more nor less. After a moment's calculation, (for these horses gauged not their runs in leagues), she said, ere the first hour after nightfall, thou shalt come to thy destination.
Dúrochil had left the farm and covered seven and a half leagues in the first three-quarters of an hour. Borondir and Aashif had quickly fallen behind and Helluin ne'er saw them again that day. At noon, they came to the Men-i-Naugrim, thirty-six leagues and two miles from the farm in five hours. Not even Barq had run so fast when he had chased down the Witch King's enchanted steed o'er the plains of Angmar.
Though the black mare slowed to a fast canter as she turned the ascending switchbacks leading up to the High Pass, her claim regarding the time proved good. When the stars appeared as the last of Anor's light vanished behind the Hithaeglir, Helluin and Dúrochil came to a place on the trail still littered with the bodies of slain Elves and Orcs. Beside them lay the partially butchered carcasses of the Elves' horses. The Yrch had taken only the prime cuts. Helluin dismounted at once, the Light of rage about her. Dúrochil stepped nervously and snorted in anger as she tossed her head. 'Twas time for them to part ways.
Thou hast my thanks, Dúrochil. Swift and smooth as the night wind thou art, the Noldo said in praise as she bowed to the horse. I felt almost as if I flew.
Ne'er aforetime have I deigned to carry any, yet thou wast easy to bear, Ælf Helluin, the mare replied, dipping her head. I hope I have brought thee hither in time.
They surveyed their surroundings again and both felt misery, loathing, and wrath.
Grim has this place become after so many dark deeds, Helluin said, and I would not that thou tarry. I wish thee well and safe upon thy road home.
Aye, much evil befell hither and I do not choose to linger. I wish thee success, Helluin, and with that, Dúrochil turned and cantered swiftly back down the switchbacks from the scene of carnage.
During that night, she passed the camp of the sleeping errand rider of Gondor. In his dream, he heard hooves beating light and swift from the north, but he woke not. By dawn, the mare was back at the farm. O'er the course of a day, four hundred miles had gone 'neath the hooves of the princess of the Myrhilv.
Now Helluin spent but a short time examining the dead, for Celebrían's trail grew colder with each passing minute. The Orcs she ignored. She knew already enough about them, but the Elves she honored by acknowledging each fallen body with at least a glance and a whispered prayer. Amongst them were many she recognized or had known in varying degrees, but thankfully, only a few that she had regarded as friends. Still she felt the loss of each, for her remaining people were already few in Ennorath.
Slain by the thrusts of swords lay the elleth Idrialiel, and not far away, the ellon Delugam, both of whom had aided her in guarding the refugees from Helrunahlæw during their journey o'er the High Pass from Imladris to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. 'Twas the discovery of the guard detail commander's hewn body that brought her to her knees in rage and sorrow. Surrounded by a great count of slaughtered Yrch, carved by sword or beaten down with a studded war club, lay Galadhon, noble warrior of Gondolin's House of the Tree.
O'er seven thousand years we have known each other, Galadhon of Tirion, she whispered. Together we left Aman and escaped the fall of Gondolin, and then survived the wars of two Ages after. I hope thy fëa shall find peace and healing in the company of the Valar and thy kith and kin 'cross the Sea. We shall meet again one day, my old friend.
"Alas, I cannot linger to bury any of ye, for I must tend to the living," she whispered o'er the fallen, and then she drew her hood o'er her head and looked to the trail of the Yrch.
They were not difficult to track. The scuffing of iron-shod feet marked bare stone, speckled with droplets of blood from much butchered horsemeat, to reveal their path. Through the night, Helluin followed at a swift trot behind the Yrch who had fled south with their captive and their spoils. Hours passed and soon she ran, for the trail had no places to turn aside as it led 'neath a cliff with a sheer drop on the other side, just like the Cirith Thoronath, she thought.
During the early hours past midnight, Helluin felt rage and sorrow explode behind her, and the presence of others following in haste. She stopped and cast her senses to the tidal wave of raw emotions.
Good, very good, she thought, and allowed herself a brief grin, Galadriel's appeal was answered with fitting haste, and better still, they ride. Soon, I shall have allies. And more grimly, she added, I hope they are swift or they shall find none left to slay. Now, if they still have any doubt of the trail, I shall quicken their steps.
Somewhere in the darkness six leagues behind, a company from Imladris rode to rescue the wife, mother, and lady of their realm. Helluin turned back to face them, and though they were beyond sight, they would see her sign. In the mountain night, the Noldo blazed with the Light of Aman, illuminating the slopes and the undersides of the mists that clung o'er the peaks, declaring the trail as no other could.
"There! There!" Elladan shouted to his companions as he urgently pointed down the path to the south, "A flash of Light! As lightning without thunder 'twas, and colored silver and gold!"
"Swiftly she came to our naneth's aid," Elrohir said in wonder. "How could she have outpaced us, coming all the way from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý?"
"I know not, but thither our trail is laid!" his brother shouted. "Ride! Ride now!" And he pushed his horse to a canter along the narrow mountain path, his brother and their company hot on his heels.
Six centuries ago, the Ghâshgûl knew e'ery den and lair on this side of the mountains, Helluin thought shortly later as she stalked down the trail, and now I wager I know whither they lurk, for but one warren here'bouts was large enough to hold so many as I saw slain. Two miles hence it lies, delved deep seven leagues south of the High Pass.
The trail and the surrounding cliffs became familiar from her memories ere she came to the entrance of the Yrch lair. She was surprised that none kept watch on the approaches, but then, the current occupants seemed to have learnt 'naught from the rat gnawed remains they would have found littering the tunnels of their new home. Helluin walked right up to the shallow bay that hosted the gaping maw of a cave and peeked 'round the edge of the cliff to survey the scene.
The last time I came hither, I sought vengeance and tidings of Beinvír's kidnapping, she thought, and now I seek vengeance and the rescue of Celebrían. After a moment's thought, she realized that, I can think of no cause more just for approaching this miasmic hole save vengeance and the return of loved ones. As aforetime, I favor not that any survive this visit.
Her glance at the cave entrance had revealed a dozen Yrch armed and wary as they sat 'round a watch fire. For a moment, she debated awaiting the party from Imladris, but then she decided, 'nay, the hooves of their horses might be heard and an assault should have no forewarning.
With that conclusion in mind, she donned her mithril coif and pulled her hood up to obscure her face and head. Then she drew the Sarchram and hurled it sidearm 'round the corner of the cliff and charged to follow it. She voiced no battle cry, nor emitted any Light. The Yrch heard only a sharp 'ping' as the Ring Blade ricocheted off the edge of the cave mouth, and then the impacts as it criss-crossed the fire, striking their comrades down one after another. Barely had they marked the cause when a shadow surged into their midst wielding a Black Sword and a dagger.
A sweeping slice with Anguirél took two heads and a thrust of the dagger pierced the throat of a third Orch. The Sarchram hewed off the head of one Orc and rebounded to skullcap a second. It deflected to strike the opposite cave wall and then shot 'cross the fire to slash the neck of another. The black cloaked figure leapt the fire a moment later and lunged to impale two bodies fortuitously superimposed as one hid behind the other. With a twist of her body, Helluin slung them off her blade and then continued the spin to behead a foe standing 'nigh. The Sarchram had slashed a throat, ricocheted off the cave wall again and flown back o'er the fire, amputating the hands of an Orch who was trying to draw his weapon. He stared at his stumps in shock as they began to fountain blood, but a heartbeat later, Anguirél hewed off his head. The Noldo planted her dagger on the face of the last living Orc and raised her hand to catch the Ring Blade. After clipping it to her belt, she grasped her dagger and wrenched it free. Then she surveyed the gruesome, fire-lit scene and began to clean her weapons.
My thanks for the offering of blood, O Helluin, Anguirél said as the Noldo slipped her into her sheath.
Thanks too I offer for allowing me to fly, O Helluin, and after a moment's pause, added, I claim half-credit for the hands of that last Orch.
Very well, my ally, I shall allow that half his spirit was sent to the Void, Helluin said, voicing a dark chuckle. Fear not, there shall be more.
Ere she invaded the cave leading from the rear of the entrance, the Noldo stooped to dip her hands in the split blood, and then upon the wall wrote, 'Vrasuztakûrûk' and 'Ghâsh gijak-ishi'. She regarded her signage and found that she liked how the flickering flames enlivened the script as she wiped clean her hands. Now, none who came after would doubt that they had found the correct place.
There was no choice as to her trail. In the six hundred and twenty years since the Ghâshgûl had slaughtered all within during her search for clues about Beinvír's disappearance, the Yrch had changed 'naught. The dry cave narrowed to a single passage that continued deeper into the mountains. That way soon became a slot chasm 'twixt increasingly towering walls. The ceiling remained at its original height, but the floor descended 'til the upper reaches were lost in a dense gloom.
From somewhere ahead, the scents of smoke, roasting flesh, and the body odor of many Yrch came to the Noldo's nose. Yet Helluin realized something as she paced down that subterranean trail. Howe'er many there had been, they were far fewer now, for they had butchered and carried off the meat of the horses, but they had left the bodies of the Elves behind. This was surely not out of respect, for the flesh of Elves was a culinary treat. Rather 'twas from simple haste 'neath the discomfort of the brightening sun. T'would have taken far longer to render a rewarding poundage of meat from the carcasses of slender Elves than from their steeds. From forty-eight horses, she reckoned that they carried off o'er half a ton of flesh.
They lost 'nigh two hundreds in battle at dawn, and I wager that was two thirds of their count. If each carried off twenty-five pounds of horseflesh, 'tis likely that no more than five dozens survived the raid, she thought, and even if they were only half of those that yet live, I shall kill them all.
Now the path led 'neath a massive boulder, fallen from the darkness above long ago and wedged 'twixt the walls. Beyond lay a turn to the left into a low-ceilinged, crudely hewn tunnel, illuminated now by flickering torch light, and after another half-furlong, the first of a trio of vast chambers. The central gallery had been the primary living space when she had last seen it in the early 1880s. It had featured a seep spring on the north wall, its water unwholesome. The filthy Orcs had turned the furthest chamber into a miasmic latrine pit roughly an acre square. In places, it had been chest deep in fresh and dried excrement, the accumulation of centuries that had leached down into the local aquifer. Predictably, the stench had been a torment. She wondered if 'twas still so today.
Just beyond the fallen boulder, where the tunnel turned south, she found a group of six Yrch conveniently illuminated. If they were meant to be a watch detail, then they were negligent in the vigilance, lollygagging in a bickering huddle. Helluin came upon them out of the darkness. Bursting into the torch light, she leapt into the air, wrapping her left arm 'round the head of the closest Orc, and with the impact of her landing, snapped his neck as she drew Anguirél. A swift slash to the right half-beheaded a second Orch, and the return slash to the left another. She took a skip-step forward and lunged to impale the fourth through the chest.
As the last two turned to flee, Helluin snatched the Sarchram from her belt and flung it down the tunnel after them. The Grave Wing slashed the neck of the trailing Orc, ricocheted off the tunnel wall, and buried itself in the side of the last one's skull. The Ring Blade bounced free when he hit the ground, and Helluin stooped to retrieve her weapon as she sheathed the Black Sword.
Eighteen down and perhaps four score to go, Helluin thought as she tallied the slain.
After moving the torch past the fallen boulder so that its flames would be visible to those coming from the entry cave, (and the tunnel leading to the three galleries would remain dark behind her), Helluin slipped forward. Half a furlong ahead lay the Yrch and she could hear the echoes of their voices as soon as she entered the tunnel. Ahead too, she marked a dim, ruddy glow that grew brighter the closer she got. With the light came the reek of scorching horsemeat.
And why am I not surprised that they took organs rather than just steaks and roasts, she carped, I can smell the ammoniacal stench of unwashed kidneys cooking.
The smell was 'nigh unbearable by the time the Noldo reached the end of the tunnel. She found that there were no sentries posted at the entrance to the Yrch's stronghold, and so she cast a careful glance inside.
The first chamber was awash with smoke from a centrally located cook fire. Most of it rose to the ceiling, but as there was no proper smoke hole or chimney, it simply circulated back down towards the floor as it cooled. 'Twas as a dense fog bank through which she could see a dozen and a half Orkish 'chefs' standing 'round, turning spits and basting roasts as they anticipated gorging. Most of them bore no weapons more deadly than butcher's knives, probably deeming themselves safe in their lair. She saw no sign of Celebrían or any other prisoners, though beyond the light from the cook fire, much of the space was lost in a dark haze.
Helluin unshouldered her steel war bow and nocked a broadhead arrow. She chose a target on the periphery and shot the Orc in the throat so he fell without making a sound. In rapid succession, the Noldo loosed four more arrows aimed at Yrch standing beside the fire. For the first and second targets, she had been able to line up pairs of foes standing on either side of the fire so that the two arrows brought four deaths. The third arrow passed through a roast to take a basting Orch in the face. The last arrow struck its victim in the spine, pitching him forward so that he knocked down a spit ere falling into the fire. Seven of eighteen had fallen to her bow ere she shouldered it, and the surviving Yrch were just beginning to react to their fallen comrades.
Out of the dark tunnel, a black draped shadow charged forward, moving unnaturally fast, a black sword in one hand and a long dagger in the other. The Yrch turned towards her steps and they misidentified Helluin as a Nazgûl. For one terrified moment, they thought the Witch King had found them a score and two years after they had fled Kâpul Ulot. Then the Ringwraith was upon them, and they had no weapons with which to fend it off.
The eleven survivors voiced the usual protests, cries of terror, and shrieks of pain as she slew them one after another, stalking 'round their fire in a clockwise circle. So shocked and fearful were they that none had even tried to flee. Only their screams had raised an alarm. Helluin had wasted not a stroke in their slaughter, nor had she tarried o'er the dead. With swift strides, she moved towards the entrance to the middle gallery.
Thirty-six dead and I reckon 'round three score remain.
Despite her haste to cross the distance, nine Yrch came to the entrance first, all of them brandishing swords or clubs as they crowded forward to block the way. They stared, frozen in shock, at the advancing Nazgûl. Behind them, more of their kind gathered, called to arms by the screams of their chefs. Then, as if struck by lightning, the nine Orcs fell to the ground dead.
By ingrained habit, they had looked to the place where a living foe's eyes would have been, and from the shadowed depths of her hood, Helluin had met their gaze. The Noldo had invaded their minds and crushed the thing inside that animated their accursed spirits. She ne'er broke stride, but stepped o'er the dead as the remaining Yrch drew back from her in horror. Thus, she came to the central chamber.
At first, they held back, captive to their terror of the great master's Nine. All they had e'er known demanded subservience and their natural reaction to her assault was despair. Helluin slew the first five ere they even moved. Then they acted on the sheer animal imperatives of fight or flight. Alas, there was no place to go and no sanctuary within their cavern. Their numbers gave them an advantage of o'er fifty to one, yet not a one of them believed they could prevail. By contrast, Helluin believed with e'ery fiber of her being that she would slay them all.
They met her with graceless attacks, trying to mob her with their undisciplined hacking and slashing, but she was too swift and too assured in her swordplay. After thousands of years of combat, she met any hesitation with vicious aggression, and any inaccuracy in a thrust or slash with a parry that redirected their weapon away and opened a window of vulnerability. If one attacked from the front, she slew the one standing behind. Her hands moved as if controlled by two minds, or acted in flawless coordination to o'erwhelm defenses and render a killing strike. And to increase their fear, Anguirél cursed and threatened them and demanded their blood.
T'would be but a matter of time ere all lay slain, this Helluin knew and the Yrch came to believe, for they fell despite whate'er they tried and none of their tactics availed them save to die in yet another unforeseen manner. The reputation of the Ringwraiths had preceded her; the reality that followed in her wake was worse.
They saw blades kill in ways they had ne'er imagined. One leapt forward, coming close and thinking he had breached her defenses, only to have his windpipe crushed by the Black Sword's crossguard as she lunged to impale the Orc standing behind him. She drove her dagger up under a foe's jaw so the blade exploded from the top of his skull, then shifted him a few inches to act as a shield. With his body, she blocked a slash from her left, and as that attacker tried to wrench his blade from his dead comrade, she brought her sword down to cleave his head asunder right from left.
The Yrch screamed and cursed, but Helluin made not a sound, her silence as unnatural as her appearance and she was far more threatening for it, the supreme expression of confidence, nay, of inevitability. The Noldo cared not for the time it took, only that in the end, she stood alone and in silence. In the end, the bodies of her foes lay strewn 'cross the cavern floor as their blood spread in rivulets o'er the stone. She saw no evidence of captives and not a trace of Celebrían. Still, there was one place further to seek for her.
Into the third and furthest chamber, Helluin strode, her face grim. Dim and foul was that space, a latrine pit still, steeped in the accumulated filth of an Age. She emitted a controlled ril of Light, the better to search.
Still, she well 'nigh missed Celebrían, for she was far from the entrance, buried to the shoulders in the excrement of her tormentors. Thankfully, she was unconscious and Helluin hoped that she had remained so throughout her captivity. She was also naked, and the Noldo saw her rent robes lying in a pile a few feet away. It seemed that they had been shredded, to be used for wiping. Helluin groaned and then took up the spade that the Orcs used to shovel their shit, and set to work exhuming Galadriel's daughter.
After the quarter part of an hour, she had freed Celebrían. The Lady of Imladris had remained unconscious throughout. Despite her demeaning interment and her nakedness, she seemed only slightly wounded, a lurid bruise on the right side of her face from a backhand blow, and a swollen lump on the left side of her skull o'er her parietal bone where it had struck the cliff face. The worst was the swelling from the club impact atop her skull, but Helluin could palpate no fracture. There were a few other bruises and superficial cuts on her arms and legs that Helluin deemed had come whilst being dragged from the attack site to the cave. They were not life threatening of themselves, but after 'nigh a day buried in Orc excrement, had turned red, hot, and swollen with infection. Another gash 'cross her ribs showed the same corruption setting in. A check of her eyes revealed an even reaction to light, a very good sign.
Helluin lifted the elleth and carried her to the middle chamber, and with the water from the seep spring, hastily washed away the filth that had coated her. Having 'naught else to clothe her in, the Noldo wrapped her black cloak 'round Celebrían's body, grimacing because it looked like a burial shroud.
"Let me bring thee from this foul place," she whispered, but as she bent to lift the princess, the sounds of others arriving came to her ears, and so she set Celebrían down and prepared for defense.
Footsteps drew closer, but finally from the outer chamber, she heard a hushed voice saying, "Dead? All dead?"
Helluin relaxed and sheathed her sword, for that voice she recognized at once.
"Lord Elrohir, in here," she called out.
The twins came into the cavern, their haste to find their mother tempered by fear after seeing so many slain. They were followed closely by the rest of the rescue party. Helluin counted two dozen Knights of Imladris with drawn swords and three healers.
"Helluin…?" Elladan asked.
"Is she…?" Elrohir added.
"She is here, my friends, and she lives, though she has endured ill-treatment," Helluin told them gravely.
Elladan and Elrohir hastened to their mother's side, shuddering gasps and tears of thanksgiving leaving them tentative in their approach, yet Helluin's assurances of their mother's survival had assuaged the worst of their fears. They knelt and took hold of her hands, clutching them to their breasts as they sobbed.
"Naneth, we are here, we are here," Elrohir said o'er and o'er.
"Thou art safe now, naneth," Elladan said, and then bowed his head and added, "I am sorry…sorry it took us so long."
"We should bear her hence lest she wake to revisit memories of her captivity," Helluin said after they had calmed somewhat from their first reactions. She looked into their eyes, trying to offer reassurance, and saw them nod in agreement.
A small group of knights had entered the further chamber. There they saw the scene whence Helluin had rescued Celebrían, and they returned, gritting their teeth and seething with rage.
"Would that some had lived," one said, "I would rend them with my bare hands, Valar curse them 'til the end of days."
His companion kicked o'er one of the dead as they took their leave, and finding no wounds muttered, "Too easy this one's death. I would have made him suffer long in agony."
As if I had such luxury of time, Helluin thought, and then ignored them thereafter. She led Elladan and Elrohir as they bore their mother out through the tunnels and into the entrance cave. Along the way, Elrohir had wrapped her in his own cloak and handed back Helluin's black one. The Noldo deemed that the wardrobe change had made her look better already.
One of the knights threw some wood on the remains of the watch fire and built it back up. The healers spent some time checking Celebrían's condition, but found that other than applying some cleansing salve, there was little they could do ere returning to the Hidden Valley.
"In the morn we shall take our leave," Elladan said. "Rest 'til then."
The company set watches on the mountain trail and then settled down to await the dawn. By Ithil's position, they reckoned not quite two hours of darkness remained. During that time, the twins asked after Helluin's actions and 'aught that might aid their father in their mother's healing. She told what she could, but without knowing what her friend had endured, she could only list her superficial injuries and the threat of infection.
More involved than her brief medical report was the tale of her movements since receiving Galadriel's plea for aid. The rescue party learnt much of wonder, not the least being the tale of the horse that had run ten score miles in half a day.
"They are the Myrhilv of the north and Dúrochil is a princess of that kindred," Helluin said. "They roam the lands 'round Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, but come to foal on the farm. I promised them safety and they agreed to bear me when my need is grave. Yestermorn I called upon them for the first time."
"So they are Mearas as the Northmen call them?" asked a knight who had met Prince Arne's host during the Fall of Angmar.
"I reckon them so, aye, though I have ne'er heard stallion or mare use that term to name themselves. The Men of the Éothéod believe them descendants of Oromë's steeds. Those I had met aforetime had coats of quicksilver, a turncoat hue I had oft seen in Aman," she said, recalling Dágeleb, whom she and Beinvír had met 'nigh the river Carnen in Lothron of 1003. "The Myrhilv I had ne'er met aforetime, despite spending fifty-five years with the Northmen in Rhovanion. Perhaps they are few, or arose later. Still, black horses roamed the Plains of Valinor in the Age of the Trees, so there is precedent."
Of course, the knights asked after the combat. Being warriors, they were eager to hear of the fall of their enemies. Helluin enumerated the slaughter in dispassionate exposition, accounting for each of the fallen in clinical detail and little enthusiasm now that 'twas done. They had been obstacles, her hatred for them consistent and unamenable, and in no way was the killing of 'nigh a hundred Yrch of any great remark to her.
More troubling to Helluin was the suspicion that her rampage in Kâpul Ulot in 2487 had driven these Yrch to populate their current warren and waylay the High Pass. She had no way to know for sure, and perhaps they would have assailed Celebrían's party from Kâpul Ulot, just as they had attacked Helrunahlæw aforetime. Such ruminations left her contemplative and grim.
Dawn came on 15 Cerveth and the party prepared to ride. Having dismissed Dúrochil, Helluin rode pillion behind Elrohir whilst Elladan bore Celebrían before him on his saddle. They rode in haste, the way now familiar, and their return was uncontested. Helluin had stowed her black cloak in her travel bag and rode openly with her armor and weapons exposed.
The company came down into the Hidden Valley on the 16th, and straightaway Helluin accompanied the twins to their father. Elrond received them with thanksgiving, but the condition of his wife left him grim. After assuring that she had no further physical injuries, he took counsel with Helluin to discover what damage was hidden, but first he told Lindir, "Pray have Lord Glorfindel arrange to bring them all home."
Lord of a realm that he was, he felt the responsibility to recover the bodies of the fallen Elves from the High Pass ere any further indignities could be visited upon their remains.
"I must know all thou hast learnt, Helluin, for thou wast first to find my wife and know best of her suffering ere my sons found ye," the Peredhel said.
"And we meet alone lest there be 'aught that would further discomfit them," Helluin said, "and thy wisdom is sound. Look into my eyes, meldir nín, and I shall show thee all that I saw, thereby to save us both any uncertainties arising from interposing words."
The Peredhel nodded and stared into Helluin's eyes. Therein he saw the full measure of what she had seen. Only one person knew more, and she had not yet awakened. When 'twas done and Helluin broke the contact, he sat with downcast features, his eyes shining with the tears he would not let fall.
His beloved princess, the mother of his children whom he had waited centuries to join in matrimony, had been treated like Orc dung. Her guard detail, Elves he had known through three Ages, lay dead. He wanted to throw things and slaughter e'ery Orch that walked Middle Earth, but for the sake of his sons and daughter, he would try to retain his composure. His first responsibility was to his wife's healing, and then to assuage the suffering of their children by offering them a mature example of grief and hope. And yet, perhaps for the first time, he truly understood Helluin's unappeasable wrath. His fists shook as he struggled to master his rage.
Helluin watched her old friend and understood his struggle. She thought of the young princess she had met first when she briefly attended Gil-galad's court in Forlond, back at the opening of the Second Age. The Noldo had met her again in S.A. 600, when she had come to introduce the officers of the Númenórean ship Entulessë at her king's court. They had met infrequently in Ost-in-Edhil ere the war, but not again 'til Urui of S.A. 1847, when she and Beinvír had met Celeborn, Galadriel, and their daughter in Edhellond. At dinner, the prior rivalry 'twixt Helluin and Galadriel had been laid to rest and the lady had prevailed upon the two ellith to take up the rule of the new realm of Lebennin. At that same dinner, Celebrían had first confessed her love for the Peredhel. On the Ré Anaro of T.A. 109, Helluin and Beinvír had come to Imladris to celebrate the wedding of Elrond and Celebrían, following a courtship of 1,850 years.
Looking o'er at her old friend, she thought, In spite of their long betrothal, he loves her more deeply now than on their wedding day after all their years bound together. I know thine anguish, my dear friend. After six hundred fifty years, I can still feel the bolt of sorrow that struck me on the North Downs. And 'twas thou that came to find me at the House of Nienna.
O'er the years since, Helluin had met the Lady of Imladris on many occasions, sometimes in the Hidden Valley, and sometimes whilst she visited her parents in Lothlórien. During that time, the Noldo had become appreciative of the young princess' constancy in her resolve to forge from an isolated refuge, a warm home. The Hidden Valley had become what it was as much from her guidance as from Elrond's inspiration, and during the Third Age, Imladris had been lifted from the book-worm's hideout and military outpost it had been in the Second Age into the most welcoming and peaceful of all the Elvish realms. 'Twas known now far and wide as a place of healing and learning, a breathtakingly beautiful setting where all of good heart were welcomed. Unlike Lothlórien and Mirkwood, they maintained close ties with the Dúnedain of the North, and if less overtly threatened by hostile neighbors now, Rivendell had received Dwarves and Men of Twilight far more readily than either of the Sindarin/Silvan kingdoms.
Celebrían had inherited her golden beauty and wisdom from her Noldorin mother, but also her steady temperament from her Sindarin father. She had blended Galadriel's energy and inspiration with Celeborn's adamant resolve to endure, and like him, regarded Ennorath as the only home she had e'er known. In Imladris, she had become the lady of a realm like her mother, but had paid less heed to rule than to family. She had been less interested in creating a secure fortress than a home of the heart, and whereas her mother had borne a single daughter, Celebrían had raised twin sons, noble and fell as the Noldor of old, and a daughter who reflected her great-great-grandmother's beauty.
Helluin was drawn from her recollections when Elrond said, "Pray join me, meldis nín. I shall explore whatsoe'er darkness holds captive my lady's spirit, for 'tis now two days that she hath not wakened."
The dark Noldo nodded and followed him from the study to the healing halls. There Lady Celebrían lay abed, still as if in a dreamless sleep, her breast slowly rising and falling with her breathing 'neath the coverlet, a neutral expression on her face, and her eyes still 'neath her lids.
The Peredhel dismissed the healers that attended his wife and took a bedside seat, gesturing Helluin to take the other that had been set at his side. He set laid hand on Celebrían's forehead and took Helluin's hand in his other, and then he closed his eyes and concentrated, calling to the fëa that had become blended with his own.
Helluin too closed her eyes and found her friend's spirit, and then she partook of what he saw and felt.
At first, there was only blackness, as if they traversed a deep night in the Void. 'Naught could she feel 'neath her feet and there was neither sound, nor breath of wind, yet there was the sensation of forward motion. 'Twas the same feeling and perhaps even the same place that she had traveled whilst seeking Beinvír's fëa after the Green Elf had been struck down during their battle with the Dwarvish army. Unlike that search, which had resolved into a vision of Aman and Beinvír lamenting in the House of Nienna, this time, she was treated to the continuation of the vision that Galadriel had shared at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý.
After Celebrían had blacked out when her head struck the rock wall, there came disjointed snippets of action, fragments of memory seen through the bleary, vertiginous reeling of a concussion and the sorrow of heartbreak. Her friends, all dead, slain in a sudden onslaught. Herself injured and made captive, unable to mount any defense. Flashes of rocky ground passed 'neath her feet as she was hauled along with no greater dignity that the bloody lumps of meat the Yrch carried. They came to a cave. A quick impression of a dark tunnel followed.
They found but one further memory. In a foul chamber, the gloating Yrch had stripped away her robes, and whilst a small detail labored to dig a hole, the leader groped and fondled her naked body as she lay curled on the dried excrement, wracked to breathlessness with sobs. Only had he refrained from the final defilement, knowing that t'would bring her death, and he desired to revisit this torment many times for his continued sport. He deemed that t'would eventually kill her and then he would take his final pleasure with her cooling corpse ere she became a meal flavored with delightful recollections.
They dumped her into the hole and then began shoveling filth in 'round her to trap her up to her shoulders. Having planted her thus, the Yrch watered her, their filthy streams soaking her hair and face. The horror was too much and she had fled into a welcoming black limbo.
The Peredhel withdrew from the horrors he had witnessed, and though his imperative was to heal his beloved wife's trauma, at that moment he was o'erwhelmed by what the other half of his heart had endured. He took her hand in his and leant forward to hide his face against the mattress as his shoulders heaved in bitter sobs. Seated beside him, Helluin wrapped her arms 'round her old friend, offering what comfort she could with contact, as she had been unable to do following his abduction from the Havens of Sirion and the loss of his parents when he and Elros had been young. They remained thus, unmoving, for a long time.
Thou meet thy sorrow with heartfelt grief whilst I could only substitute rage, she thought, and at heart, thou art the stronger of us. As aforetime at Avernien, I shall be thine avenger. I shall lay low those that have wronged us both.
It took a while, but eventually Elrond roused himself and raised his head. He wiped his eyes though they remained red and puffy, and he regarded Helluin as she withdrew her arms and allowed him to sit upright. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and then he set to work.
Celebrían had retreated far, leaving only her memories of the horrors on the surface of her mind. Seeking for her consciousness took time, and through the night, the Peredhel labored in thought. Helluin clasped one of his hands in hers; offering support and a measure of her power to reinforce him, for grief had consumed much of the strength in his heart. Yet after a time, they found the princess, curled in an unresponsive ball, silent and still save for the tears that leaked from her tightly shut eyes.
Beloved, I am here. Thou lie now in the Halls of Healing in Imladris, Elrond whispered to her. Thy tormentors are passed away. With love and thanksgiving, I shall welcome thy return. Pray take my hand dearest and let me lift thee from thy sorrow and fear. Thou art a child of the Light and the darkness is no fitting refuge for one so bright.
Those thoughts he repeated through the night, and slowly, Celebrían's tears slowed and her breathing came more naturally. Elrond suffused her with his love, projecting safety and a foundation upon which she could recover. Hours passed and gradually she relaxed, 'til finally she uncurled herself and raised her head to cast her terrified gaze to her husband. Elrond sat beside her and wrapped his arms 'round her, laying soft kisses on her hair. With gentle fingers, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, o'erjoyed when she leaned into him and rested her head on his chest.
Dark became my world, the time filled with horror and degradation. The helplessness of captivity and the loss of so many friends drove me to seek what solace I could, she admitted, and burst into renewed tears. Lost I was, deep and far from Anor's light and Manwë's fresh airs.
Anyone would seek escape from so dismal a setting, beloved, for there was 'naught thou could have done to remedy any of it, he said. I am only glad to find thee again.
'Naught shall be the same hereafter, she said casting down her gaze, a grim set to her lips.
Nay, it shall not, for each day adds to life's whole, he acknowledged, yet there is light still and I would have thee return to hope and love, forsaking this darkness. I would have thee heal from thy torments and find again thy joy in our home and family.
She thought a while on his words and the temptation to regain all she had valued aforetime was great, yet she was not the same and she had doubts.
I would dearly love to have it so, yet I fear that memory shall come upon me worse than mortal nightmares of what might be, for I shall know that they have truly been.
I cannot promise that thou shalt not recall the worst, my love, only that at those times, thou shalt no longer be alone, nor shalt thou be helpless. None of us can un-remember, only replace with brighter memories that which darkens our nights. In the support of thy parents, our children, and our friends lies the strength to weather the worst that haunts the past.
He had ne'er sought to dismiss or deny the horror she had felt, or the fear of a helpless victim left alone amongst her enemies. Nor did he offer false promises that 'aught she had endured would fade. He accepted that her terrors would live fore'er unchanged within her and that she would be subject to times of despair when they became real again. All he could do was to accept her as she was and offer her the hope of a future in which love and light would become real again, and with them, the chance of a life in which good could contend with evil. T'would be a flawed existence that she ne'er would have desired, and yet, 'twas an existence surrounded by family and friends, lived in the free air, with the sun and moon and stars, not stone, o'erhead.
I shall return with thee and pray to balance the darkness of the past with the light of the present and the hope of the future. I cannot promise that shall be enough, but 'tis enough to try.
And I can ask no more of thee, my beloved, he said, no one can.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her from that place of darkness, just as he once had carried her o'er the threshold of their apartment on their wedding day. He bore her thus 'til they came to her bed in the Halls of Healing. Upon 'seeing' their progress, Helluin had given the Peredhel's shoulder a squeeze and then taken her leave. When Elrond and Celebrían found themselves returned to Imladris, they were alone. They gazed into each others' eyes 'til Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen tentatively knocked on the door, and at their father's acknowledgement, entered and surrounded their mother's sickbed, jubilant at finding her awake.
To Be Continued