In An Age Before – Part 274
Helluin had exited Celebrían's treatment room to find Erestor and Lindir waiting in the hall. The Peredhel's chief councilor and seneschal had accompanied their lord's children in a vigil for the lady of their realm. When she had awakened, they had all suddenly felt her presence, and much as they desired to welcome her back, they left it to her family to be the first to do so. Of course, they had many questions for Helluin, as she had been present during the healing. They set upon her like Harpies as soon as the door closed.
"Helluin, is she well? Didst thou see her arise?" asked Erestor.
"Is our lady recovered?" asked Lindir, no less urgently. "Tell us what thou saw, I pray thee."
"Hath she returned to us? Is she healed?" Erestor asked ere Helluin could begin to answer.
They were pressing forward in their eagerness for tidings and the dark Noldo found her back flat against the door. She groaned, but understood their concern. After all, it had been two days since Celebrían had been brought back to Imladris unconscious.
"A moment's pause, I pray ye," Helluin implored them, "of course I shall tell ye what I saw, though most of that was in spirit."
They retreated a pace and allowed her to sidestep the door, yet they renewed their questioning as soon as she stood against the adjacent wall. She felt almost as if she were being assailed by a pair of hungry Orcs, but with words rather than jagged scimitars. She drew a deep breath and prepared to provide answers.
'Twas at that moment that two figures appeared from nothing at the entrance to the Healing Halls, just a few yards down the corridor. Sensing at least the possibility of a temporary respite, Helluin cast a pointed glace in that direction and sketched a bow. Erestor and Lindir followed her gaze and beheld the astral projections of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn hastening towards them. They too offered bows.
"I felt her awaken. Is she here? Is she well? Hath she returned to the living? Is Elrond with her? The twins? Arwen?" Galadriel spouted in a feverish hemorrhage of words. Helluin rolled her eyes as Celeborn regarded her with concern.
After taking a deep breath, Helluin provided the four with a summary of the healing and announced that Celebrían was presently accompanied by her family.
"No, I took my leave ere she arose, deeming that a private moment 'twixt the lady and her husband," she said at the end. "I know not her condition at present."
Lindir and Erestor nodded their thanks. Celeborn sighed in relief and dipped his head to Helluin.
"We shall await their appearance with thanksgiving, Helluin," Elrond's councilor said.
"Aye, eagerly we shall wait on her return to us when the family deems it proper to present themselves," the seneschal agreed. "I hope it shall not be too long."
Helluin nodded to them in understanding. Proof of life would be a great morale booster.
"I must see her at once," announced Galadriel's apparition, "my darling daughter is safe."
And with that declaration, she seized Celeborn's hand and dragged his astral projection along with her through wall beside the door and into Celebrían's sickroom. Helluin shrugged to the remaining two as they stared at the blank space where the couple had disappeared. After a moment though, Galadriel's head popped back out, (looking much like a hunting trophy mounted above the wainscoting), and she said, "Thou hast my sincerest thanks, meldis ifant nín. Thou answered the plea of my heart and rescued my baby." And then she vanished from sight again.
Helluin sighed and announced, "I am hungry and shall visit the kitchen. I am sure the lord and lady shall make presentations to share their tidings when they are ready." 'Twas 18 Cerveth.
Now after Borondir had taken his leave of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý on 14 Cerveth, he had ridden north on Aashif for the completion of his steward's errand. Dúrochil had borne Helluin ahead of him at a pace he doubted that any horse could maintain and for the first two days, he expected to catch up with them, but he ne'er did. In the evening of the 15th, he reached the Men-i-Naugrim, and knowing that Helluin intended to cross the river, ceased looking for them thereafter. He encamped that night three leagues north of the old Dwarf Road, for he desired a space 'twixt himself and whatsoe'er might come forth from Mirkwood. He had already survived one deadly experience and sought not to chance another.
The following morn, Borondir was preparing to ride at dawn, as was his wont, when he marked a most eldritch phenomenon. A dense cyclone of birds had flown out of the forest to his north and gyrated its way up the track a ways ere dispersing. As he rode past a seemingly insignificant game trail leading into the wood, he could not know that he was within a short walk of Aiwendil's abode of Rhosgobel. Cirion's messenger wrinkled his nose at a pervading stench of animals as he passed by and nudged Aashif to a canter for the next league.
On the night of the 17th, the errand rider encamped some hundred and ten miles north of the Men-i-Naugrim, unaware that but a few leagues east lay the entrance gate to the Forest Path that led to Thranduil's kingdom wherein he would have found little welcome.
The remainder of the journey north saw little of remark save the scenery and no danger came upon him. Riding through new lands brought Borondir a sense of adventure, for riding free was in his blood. Already he had seen battle, escaped danger, and lost a friend, but he had also unexpectedly met folk that had offered him aid. Some were akin, Northmen, though like himself not of the Éothéod, and Elves, a kindred that had not been seen in Gondor for centuries. He had visited Norðr-vestandóttir Bý and deemed himself the first of Northman stock who did not live there to have done so in o'er six hundred years. Eorl and his future hosts would be surprised. Steward Cirion would be even more surprised at his tidings when he returned.
He ate the last of his rations on the 21st, but he knew he was close to his road's end by then.
Now Borondir's path had led eight score and fifteen miles up the north south track from the Dwarf Road, then a score more to the North Ford that crossed Greylin, and finally another four leagues west to Framsburg. He rode up to the tall palisade built of massive tree trunks deep-sunk into the ground in the quickening dusk of 23 Cerveth, exhausted after a fortnight and a day's travel covering 'nigh eight hundred and seventy miles. The gates stood closed fast and torches had already been lit to illuminate the approaching road.
"Who rides to the Gate of Framsburg? Speak thy name and thy business," a watchman upon a wooden tower beside the gate called down to him in Westron. Had he spoken Adûnaic, he would have challenged the supposed Man of Gondor thus.
"I am Borondir, also called Udalraph, errand rider of Lord Cirion, Steward of Gondor. I come from Minas Tirith bearing tidings to Eorl the Young, King of the Éothéod, and beg audience before him that my lord's words might come to his ears," Borondir said.
The watchman looked Borondir o'er, marking that he rode, not only without stirrups, but without a saddle either whilst using only his knees, headstall, and reins to control his horse. He wore a short hauberk of ring mail with half-sleeves 'neath a black tunic emblazoned with the White Tree of Gondor. Brown leather gauntlets covered his hands and forearms, and he was shod in knee height leather boots of the same hue. Of weapons, he bore a single-handed sword and a dagger on his belt, but neither a bow nor a spear. A simple steel cap with a mail skirt protected his head. All of his gear was appropriate for a rider upon errantry, not for a warrior expecting to join a cavalry charge, and this supported his words.
Probably more surprising was that, despite his claim of coming from Gondor in the service of the steward, he was not a Dúnadan. Indeed, with his dirty golden locks, he looked like one of their own. He certainly partook of their horsemanship. After a few moments, the watchman ordered the soldiers below the tower to open the gate. He deemed Borondir truthful, and if he proved false, he would be but one Man amongst many foes.
As a show of good faith, Borondir dismounted and led Aashif through the gate into Framsburg. Descending from the watchtower, the soldier who had voiced the challenge nodded in approval. The Man of Gondor at least understood protocol in times of threat.
"Wilcume, Borondir, ærende ēoredmæcg fram Stāningeard¹," he declared when they stood face to face. ¹(Wilcume, Borondir, ærende ēoredmæcg fram Stāningeard, Welcome, Borondir, errand rider from Gondor = Wilcume(welcome) + Borondir + ærende(errand) + ēoredmæcg(horseman/rider) + fram(from) + Stāning(stone) + eard(land) Old English Gondor means Stone-Land in Sindarin)
"Mīn þancung, frēond, Ic bēo blīþe becuman hēr¹," Borondir replied in their own tongue. He marked that it brought a smile to the soldier's face. ¹(Mīn þancung, frēond, Ic bēo blīþe becuman hēr, My thanks, friend, I am glad to arrive here = mīn(my) + þancung(thanks) + frēond(friend) + Ic(I) + bēo(am) + blīþe(glad) + becuman(inf v, to arrive/come) + hēr(here) Old English)
The soldier then switched back to Westron, the Common Tongue, and said, "Few save our own speak our tongue. Whence came thy learning?"
"'Twas passed down many generations from my fore-sire Úlfsteinn¹, a captain and liegeman of King Marhari. He lost all when our people were worsted by the Wainriders, and to pay weregild for a fallen knight who had saved his family, he took service with King Calimehtar of Gondor, for King Narmacil was slain. The Men of our house have served the Kings and Stewards of Gondor at arms e'er after." ¹(Úlfsteinn, Wolfstone = Úlf(wolf) + stein(stone) Old Norse)
'Round them, the gathered soldiers nodded in approval, sympathy, and understanding. Well 'nigh e'ery family in Framsburg had some similar story to tell, though the years since 1856 had grown long.
"Come with me, Borondir. I shall bring thee to the king," the soldier said, beckoning the errand rider to follow.
Borondir led Aashif after him, marking that the other gathered soldiers had dipped their heads and saluted the soldier as they left. He looked more closely at the soldier's kit, but saw no obvious signs of rank, only his somewhat greater age, but perhaps that was enough.
They walked through the streets of the city, still populous in the early evening, though the workshops and storefronts were closed for the day. Along with the people, Borondir saw many horses standing before hitching rails and others being led to stable for the night. 'Round them, he heard many speaking the tongue of the Éothéod, but some also speaking the Common Tongue. For the first time in his life, 'twas his garb rather than the color of his hair that set him apart, and that thought brought a smile to his face.
They came finally to a great hall of wood, thickly thatched above, and set upon a Man high platform of carefully laid stone. Atop the steps from the street, a broad portico ran 'cross the front and before the central paired doors stood a door warden and a pair of guards bearing spears. All were clad in bright lamellar mail and wore tall helms with horsetails adorning their tops, and surcoats of green emblazoned with a rearing horse in white o'er their mail.
Borondir tied Aashif's reins to a hitching rail out front and followed the soldier to the steps. The guards came to attention at the pair's approach, and offered bows when Borondir and his escort had climbed the steps and stood before them.
"Wilcume, Ealdor Weardearn¹," said the door ward. He cast a questioning glance to Borondir, a foreign stranger seeking entry to his king's hall. ¹(Wilcume, Ealdor Weardearn, Welcome, Prince Guardian Eagle = Wilcume(welcome) + ealdor(prince) + weard(guardian/protector) + earn(eagle) Old English)
Borondir cast a shocked glance to the soldier, "Prince?" he muttered, understanding now the others soldiers' salutes at his leave-taking from the gate.
"I am the youngest brother of my late King Léod who died trying to tame a horse," the prince shook his head and grimaced at the memory, "and when Eorl came to the throne at age sixteen, I served two years as his regent 'til his majority in 2503." Then he smiled and said, "I knew my nephew would do great things, for the first of them was to tame that same horse as slew his sire. Now Felaróf too pays weregild with service to a new king."
They shared a smile at that, and then Weardearn explained to the sentries that Borondir was a messenger from Gondor and bore words for the king. They were admitted and Borondir dipped his head to the door warden as they passed the doors.
The hall was high and vast, and at his best guess from having seen the exterior, Borondir reckoned the front half a single open chamber wherein the king had set his throne and received his audiences. There too would his people gather for feasts and official functions of the realm. The rear half of the building no doubt comprised the royal residence and perhaps attendant areas, a kitchen, pantry, scullery, laundry, and guest quarters, if these were not housed in outbuildings standing 'nigh.
'Cross the hall from the doors was a low dais two steps rising from the hall's floor, and upon it, backed by a large tapestry with the heraldry of the rearing horse on a field of green, were chairs of wood for the king, his heir, and the leading councilors. Also on the walls of hall and to the sides of the dais were other tapestries depicting historical events. One showed a mighty Man in combat with a serpent of the north. That tale had been heard even in the south; Prince Fram slaying the cold drake Scatha. Another depicted scattered horsemen in battle with a host of Dwarves, whilst in the center of the fray, a bright figure in black armor took the head of a Dwarf prince. A third tapestry illustrated a great migration of many people and herds of horses passing along the banks of a broad river, the coming of the host of the Éothéod to the north in 1977.
Borondir's eyes took all this in and both wonder and pride shone in his eyes. He could have spent longer exploring the history of his ancestors, but he and Prince Weardearn had come before the dais.
King Eorl was still a relatively young Man for his office. In 2509, he was a score and four years of age, only two years younger than Borondir himself. He was several inches taller though, robust and ruggedly handsome, with brighter golden hair than the messenger.
With Prince Weardearn, he bowed before the throne. King Eorl had risen and descended the two steps to greet his uncle and his guest. Upon the dais, the several councilors cast warm looks of welcome to the prince, and looks of curiosity to the messenger, for Men of Gondor were only rarely seen in Framsburg.
Eorl clasped forearms with his uncle and greeted him warmly.
"My lord king," Prince Weardearn said with a smile, "come to us from Mundburg¹ is Borondir Udalraph, errand rider of Steward Cirion. He bears tidings to thee from his lord." ¹(Mundburg, Minas Tirith in the tongue of the Éothéod.)
Borondir had dipped his head to Eorl at the prince's introduction, but Eorl offered him a smile of welcome and offered his arm in friendship. Borondir clasped it firmly as an allied warrior should, matching the king's smile.
"Thou art one of our own blood, unless my eyes are bespelled," Eorl said, and the messenger nodded 'aye. "How came thee to the service of the lords of the Land of Stone?"
"Mīn dryhten cyning¹, 'til 1856, my ancestor Úlfsteinn served King Marhari as a captain. When the Wainriders drove our people from their homelands, his family was saved by a Knight of Gondor. Alas, the knight fell in the act. All save the lives of Úlfsteinn's family and the horse he rode had been burnt, and having 'naught left but his service to offer as weregild, he swore allegiance to King Calimehtar. The sons of my family have served Gondor since." ¹(mīn dryhten cyning, my lord king Old English)
Eorl nodded and his eyes were filled with both sympathy and pride.
"A captain of high honor was thine ancestor Úlfsteinn, and so too the sons of his blood who failed not of his vow," the king said.
"Nor shall we fail, my lord, though the days darken, and such are the words I was bid speak, for signs foretoken that the days of Gondor shall darken indeed," Borondir said.
The king nodded and asked, "Are the steward's words to be kept secret, or can they be shared with the councilors of my realm?"
"I was bidden only to keep secret my message during my ride, but as it bears upon thy realm, I am at liberty to speak it before those who counsel thee." Here he nodded towards the king's advisors who were seated on the dais.
"Then come, Borondir. We shall hear thee upon the dais, that those who speak for the welfare of the realm shall know thy tidings," Eorl said, gesturing them forward up the steps. As there was no heir yet, Borondir was directed to that chair. Prince Weardearn took his seat amongst the councilors, for he was close kin and still an adviser to his king.
Borondir bowed to the group, and when all were seated, Eorl told his council that, "From Mundburg in the realm of Stāningeard has come Borondir Udalraph, errand rider of Steward Cirion, with words that bear upon the realm." He then gave the messenger a nod, bidding him say his rede.
"Your Majesty, your Highness," he said to acknowledge the king and the price, "my lords, I am sent by Steward Cirion of Gondor to plead for aid against a coming invasion of Easterlings."
At those first words, the councilors erupted in a storm of comments, but King Eorl hushed them with a hissed curse of, "blōdig bealuwara¹!" When they had stilled, he nodded for Borondir to continue. E'ery eye was focused upon him as a convocation of Eagles would regard a coney. Undaunted, the errand rider took a breath and spoke. ¹(blōdig bealuwara, bloody evil-doers Old English)
"We have been warned of the massing of enemies to the southeast of Mirkwood, in far greater numbers than those lands can support. 'Tis reckoned that they must soon attack lest they starve. My lords, many thousands have been seen, and with thought for prudence, Steward Cirion reckons their numbers too great for Gondor's armies to assure victory in the north whilst still holding our foes in the south at bay. My lords, to assure ye that his need is truly grave, the steward bid me present this token." His words wrung whispered comments from the councilors.
Then, as the king and his council watched in morbid fascination, Borondir drew from 'neath his cloak the Red Arrow of Gondor. 'Twas a broadhead arrow, but shorter than any meant for a real bow, with shaft and fletching painted blood red, and at the center of its length, a ring of steel with a flat face bearing the Seal of the Stewards cast in relief, as it were a signet ring.
Now the whispering ceased and the dais was deathly quiet. Borondir handed the arrow to the king and Eorl received it as a Man would receive a viper.
"They are Wainriders, these Easterling foes?" Weardearn asked.
"We call them Balchoth in Gondor, but the folk at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý named them Scoloti," he replied, eliciting yet more comments and a few expressions of outright disbelief.
"Suꝺriborg has been abandoned since we came north," one of the counselors said.
"Aye, none have dwelt at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý in centuries," another claimed.
King Eorl let them carry on a while, yet his eyes were set upon Borondir who flinched not from their doubts. Finally, when they had begun to trail off, he said, "Speak to us of those that dwell at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý."
"Your majesty, in the South Kingdom, if Suꝺriborg is recalled at all, 'tis believed long abandoned, and I bethought it so myself. Yet upon the 14th I was assailed by the Balchoth, a hundred and a half I reckoned them, come west through the forest, or 'round it from the south. Unaware of them aforetime, I had ridden straight through their camp on the north south track. The Knight of Gondor that traveled as my bodyguard was slain by arrows and I rode on in hope of completing my errand, yet some two dozen foemen gave chase.
My stallion was already tiring when I was met and passed at a gallop by a mixed company of Elves and Men. These slammed into my pursuers, slaying some with spears. Then they turned and gave chase, shooting down the remaining Balchoth riders. By then, Aearoch had collapsed, greathearted steed that he was, and they slew the last foeman barely in time to save my head.
My lords, when I met them, I found eleven Elves and forty Northmen all 'neath the command of the Elf Helluin. They bid me join the Men to ride ahead and conceal ourselves, whilst the eleven Elves went to slay some hundred foemen afoot. These they shot, and after two and a half hours of battle, worsted the last and took their horses. One of these I rode hither to complete my errand to ye.
I learnt from the Men that they hail now from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, and after the battle, I accompanied them thither and shared their board. My lords, they consort with wolves and horses as is the Elvish way, and too, at least one tribe of Mearas, for when I took leave of the farm on the 15th, Helluin rode north as well, upon a black mare that left me behind as if I stood still." Borondir did not mention the sudden appearance of Galadriel's astral projection, for he was loath to court yet further disbelief.
For a time, none spoke, but finally Eorl stretched out his arm, pointing to a tapestry.
"The Elf Helluin, looked she akin to the warrior depicted thither?" he asked.
Borondir followed the king's pointing finger to the scene he had marked aforetime, a warrior in black armor, bright as if lit by a single ray of sunlight, hewing the neck of a Dwarf in the center of a battle. He could only nod 'aye'.
"Such was her armor and the black the sword she wielded, but more than those tokens, I mark the silver Ring Blade at her belt, and that weapon I saw but eight days past. I deem them one and the same, Eorl Cyning."
"My lord…" a counselor began in protest, but Eorl silenced him with a gesture.
"That tapestry is the copy of a copy many times o'er," Eorl told Borondir, "and our lore tells that that battle was fought fifteen centuries ago, at least so close as any amongst the living can reckon. There fell King Lüdhgavia, and in the aftermath, King Ërlick came to the throne, first sire of my house."
"Eorl King, 'tis claimed that Elves live fore'er and that lore I cannot gainsay," Borondir said. Then, recalling the conversation he had had as they awaited the outcome of the battle, he said, "One of the riders, Ælfric son of Eadmundr, told that Helluin first came to the farm in 2003, and returned thither from Gondor to settle in 2008. Later, other Elves joined her, and finally Men of our kindred from a village called Helrunahlæw settled thither after fleeing an attack by Orcs. Ælfric claimed to have been born on the farm."
"Can this truly be?" asked another of the counselors. "That Norðr-vestandóttir Bý was abandoned but a score and five ere being repopulated by Elves?"
"How many dwelt thither by thy best reckoning, Borondir?" Eorl asked.
"I wager several hundreds all told, but only a few are Elves," the errand rider said and shrugged. He had made no count, but most of the folk there had looked to be of kindred blood.
"Could they be amongst those who came not to Framsburg?" asked Weardearn.
"Aye, my lord. Ælfric claimed that Helrunahlæw was settled by folk who went not to the north in 1977," he recalled. "They are of our people, returned after many centuries."
"I find it warms my heart to think that our kinsmen again abide at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý," Eorl said, a small smile gracing his lips. "Lore tells that that farm was the bread basket of Suꝺriborg."
"It looked prosperous at my visit, with fields of grain, gardens of vegetables, nut and fruit trees, and many hives. Horses, milk cows, sheep, and chickens roamed free and in abundance despite the pack of wolves living 'nigh…that seemed most eldritch to me," Borondir muttered the last as if to himself. "I spent the night in a stockade with other warriors. I heard the ring of hammers from a smithy and saw many storefronts and the workshops of sundry wrights. There was flour for bread and so I wager there was a mill to grind the grist."
"What of their warriors, Borondir? Were they fell as our riders?" asked one of the counselors.
"The fifty-one I first met worsted a force o'er thrice their count," the errand rider said, but then he thought back and added, "After slaying their horsemen, eleven Elves went south to confront ten times their count of foemen, all parties equally afoot, and in two and one-half hours, slew them all with arrows."
"And what of their casualties?"
"My lord, they lost none."
Now thereafter the council moved to take up the question of rendering aid to Gondor. Eorl left no doubt that they would come, but he had other considerations to settle first.
"As thou know, we dwell in lands once held as the east province of Angmar, whence came the bulk of their provisions. Angmar is long fallen, defeated utterly in the days of King Frumgar, but other enemies still bedevil us, White Wolves from the Grey Mountains, Orcs of the Misty Mountains, evil Men that roam the upper vale of the Langflood¹, and even the occasional Wyrm from the Withered Heath. ¹(Langflood, Anduin in the tongue of the Éothéod.)
Of late, 'tis the Orcs that have plagued us most, their raiding parties venturing from lairs in the foothills 'round Gundabad that they have repopulated of late. Twice this year we have fought off attacks on our outlying farms and we have taken their measure in blood."
Borondir nodded in understanding. Few lived free of threat and a king was the shield of his people as well as their spear. Much thought Eorl would needs take for the ordering of his realm ere he led Men to war in distant lands. The Éoherë could be gone half a year.
The errand rider knew that in Gondor, Cirion was mustering his forces to repel an invasion and deploying others for defense. Neither the Éothéod nor Gondor would be ready to ride to battle for weeks and maybe months. He just hoped that the Balchoth would not cross the river first.
During the remainder of that summer and into the autumn, Borondir joined the riders of the Éoherë on patrols to secure their lands, and he learnt much of the mood of the Éothéod. Heroic fighters they were, eager to worst the foes that threatened their people, and those people loved them, rejoicing in their coming and cheering as they rode through their hamlets and villages.
He also came to esteem young King Eorl. On those few occasions when he rode out with him in battle against Men and Orcs, he found the king fearless in combat, slaying his foes with skill using both spear and sword as the joy of battle came upon him. Young and strong, the lord of the Northmen partook of his forefathers' prowess. He fought afoot as well as from his horse Felaróf, an outstanding stallion who Borondir recalled Weardearn mentioning as the former King Léod's Bane.
Borondir too took his share of heads, mostly from horseback with spear and sword, though sometimes afoot where their steeds could not go, for he was no mounted archer. Still he found it easy to partake of the wild spirit of his ancestral people, shouting insults at foes as he rode them down, and meeting battle with laughter. Oft times he was amongst the first to engage enemies, galloping beside the captains of the companies he rode with, and they recognized his courage. Because he spoke their tongue and their blood ran in his veins, the people of the Éothéod gave him welcome and esteem, and they came to feel that the Men of Gondor were perhaps less strange than they had bethought them aforetime. During those days, he also forged a bond of trust with Aashif, and by winter he and the eastern horse were inseparable. So passed the months in Framsburg, from Urui to Girithron of 2509.
Now early in Narwain of 2510, King Eorl called Borondir to come before his council, and he returned to the king's hall. As the winter had drawn down and the lands lay 'neath the snows that drifted east from Mt Gundabad, the hunting patrols had found few Orcs or evil Men. It seemed that the White Wolves had grown scarce as well, for though the Northmen knew it not, many of those had gone south to Dol Guldur.
"Borondir Udalraph, I bid thee join the council," King Eorl said, beckoning the errand rider up onto the dais. Gladly he came, and now grasped the king's offered arm with familiarity. O'er the past half-year, they had come to learn much of each other.
"We thank thee for thine aid against our foes, long-son of Captain Úlfsteinn," Eorl said, "and save for some renewed assault by those enemies, we prepare to ride to Stāningeard when the weather warms and fodder for horses grows again."
Borondir bowed his head to the king and said, "Thine enemies are mine as well, my lord, and gladly shall I smite them, whether for the Éothéod or for Gondor. I thank thee for the opportunity." They traded smiles at that.
"I deem that we shall ride with the month of Gwirith," Eorl said, "the Men are already eager."
"On behalf of Steward Cirion, I offer the thanks of Gondor," Borondir said.
"When we ride, thou shalt ride beside me, for no other knows so well the way," the king told him, "and I would that we visit Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, which only thou hast seen since our people took their leave six centuries ago."
"With honor and gladness shall I ride in thy company, Eorl King," Borondir said, and began counting the days.
It seemed that the months of spring 2510 flew by in Framsburg. The growing excitement of the Éothéod could well 'nigh be felt in the air. Men honed their blades, prepared extra arrows, mended or replaced their tack and armor, and spoke of the coming war, for this would be a far larger combat than the local patrols had seen. All were eager to raise their arms against the Easterlings that had driven their forefathers from their ancestral homelands beyond the forest. Many a toast and many a boast enlivened the common rooms of the taverns as the ale flowed. Tales and songs of battle occupied their minds and voices. Morale was as high as any could remember it, for they stood on the verge of the greatest opportunity in their lifetimes to win renown.
During the last weeks of Gwaeron, riders began to come into the city from the outlying settlements, for but one in ten would remain behind as a home guard. The muster of the Éoherë was underway and the citizens celebrated the coming together of their army. Indeed, for the last week of Gwaeron, Framsburg was much like a festival and that time was remembered in lore and song for decades to come.
Meanwhile, the spring rains slowed and the grass sprouted with renewed green in the Vale of Anduin. In Framsburg, horses grown restless in stables and closed paddocks gratefully returned to pastures outside the palisade. There they frolicked and cropped tender grass, tired of hay. The level of the river began to drop o'er the fords, and finally the army formed up and awaited the dawn of 1 Gwirith, (April 1st).
In the first hour past dawn that day, King Eorl led his riders from the gates of Framsburg. Beside him rode Borondir, errand rider of Gondor, and as e'er since his youth, his uncle Prince Weardearn. Behind them, the ground shook 'neath the hooves of the Éoherë, Felaróf and Aashif and 'nigh ten thousand others. As they passed from the city and made for the North Ford, the Men broke into song, chanting of glory, victory, and deeds of great renown.
There rode seven thousand spears and five hundred mounted archers, and with them, two and one-half thousand supporters, the esquires, ferriers, grooms, weapon wrights, cooks, butchers, surgeons, healers, quartermasters, fletchers, and all the others needed to aid an army on a major campaign. Dust rose in the morning light as the king brought his army to a canter on the north south track. The sound of hooves beat light and swift from the north, and though wide awake now, 'twas still a dream longed for in the heart of the errand rider.
On 20 Gwaeron, (March 20th), or 20 Súlimë by Steward's Reckoning, Sergeant Hador again strode down the hall to Captain Bregolas' office in the citadel of Cair Andros. So grim was the expression on his face this time that the sentries at the commanding officer's door only nodded to him ere knocking. As aforetime, the hour was late.
"Enter," the captain's voice came from inside, and the sentry opened the door.
"Sergeant Hador from the Noman-lands garrison, my lord captain," he said, but the sergeant was already striding into the room, unmindful of the scabs of mud sloughing off his boots, the rain dribbling from his cloak, or the scent of horse wafting from his dampened garments.
"Captain Bregolas," he said, offering a bow and then remaining silent 'til he heard the door shut behind him. The captain cast him a worried glance, marking the gritting of his teeth and the furrowing of his brow as water trickled from his hair soaked by the last of the spring rains.
"Pray speak thy tidings, my friend, though the news be fell," Bregolas said.
"My lord captain, my tidings are indeed fell," Hador said. "At dusk on the 18th, the Rangers fell back to the garrison after being forced to abandon their watch posts north of the Emyn Muil. My lord, the Balchoth host is on the move and the Ranger positions were o'errun.
With the river's volume starting to fall, the enemy makes for the Undeeps, but our spies have also revealed that many rafts have been abuilding on the eastern bank. My lord, we have not the numbers to defend so long a front or deny them passage o'er Anduin. All of the river from Limlight to the north wall of the Emyn Muil is at risk and Calenardhon lies jeopardized."
Captain Bregolas eyed the sergeant a moment as he digested his report. The words feared for the past three seasons had come at last.
"Has any movement of the enemy been reported to the south? Do they position themselves for a move against Ithilien?" the captain asked.
"Nay, my lord captain," Hador said. "They have not ventured south of the Emyn Muil. We deem they hold that land only to protect their southern flank."
Bregolas nodded, for 'twas sound invasion doctrine. The Balchoth had deployed a strong force to safeguard their main host during the crossing. Those troops would likely be the last to ford Anduin, adding their numbers after their landing was safely established on the western bank.
"I bid thee take a night's rest, my old friend. Find a meal and a bunk and then return to thy command on the morrow. I would have thee and the Rangers keep watch for any movements to the south, but once those Balchoth 'nigh the Emyn Muil cross Anduin, ride south in haste to join your swords with the army here at Cair Andros."
"Aye, lord captain," Hador said, "and what of thee? The night grows old."
"Alas, I must carry thy warning to my father," Bregolas said. "I ride for Minas Tirith at once."
The sergeant nodded. He had expected no less. He followed the captain from the office and out into the hall. As Bregolas sent a sentry off to ready an escort of messengers and their horses, he walked towards the barracks for food and sleep, sorry to have put his young friend to such worry and labors. Still, he reckoned t'would grow worse ere turning for the better.
Captain Bregolas and two messengers came to the gates of the White City with the dawn of 21 Súlimë after galloping through the night and tiring a series of horses. They climbed the twisting avenues of the city to stable their mounts in the Sixth Circle, and then the steward's son dismissed the messenger with thanks. Alone, he climbed the lamplit tunnel to the Court of the Fountain and strode to the Hall of Kings to seek his father.
Steward Cirion had obviously finished breakfast earlier than normal that morn, for he was already in the withdrawing chamber behind the throne room. He rose to meet his son as the young captain strode into the room and after a glance to read his expression, dismissed his civil counselors and bid the room be sealed.
"My Lord Steward," Bregolas said, offering his father a bow. Cirion waved formality aside and hugged his son, for the auguries he had seen of late portended that the chances for such expressions of familial affection might be curtailed a while.
"Thou hast come with dark words, my son," he said, shaking his head. "'Tis war at last, is it not?"
"Aye, father," Bregolas confirmed. "Sergeant Hador reports the Rangers driven back from the Emyn Muil and thousands of Balchoth preparing to ford Anduin from Limlight south to the north wall. The Easterling horde comes at last, but hast thou had some word aforetime? Thou seem little surprised."
"The royal charlatans and diviners have assured me that we are at war. Thrice were the entrails of sundry beasts flung aloft and each time they came down in the same pattern. Invasion from the east is assured. A hard fight we shall have, and the ends are hidden from their sight as yet."
"Perhaps if they tossed aloft the entrails of fowl?" Bregolas asked hopefully.
But his father shook his head 'nay' and told him, "Such hath already been essayed, my son, and the entrails of turtles, snakes, and fish as well. Alas, they augured 'naught. We must gird ourselves with courage and endure in the king's name."
Bregolas could but nod in agreement with his father's words.
"I have ordered the muster of the Northern Army save those troops required to safeguard Angrenost and the western frontier. I am even pulling in the beacon garrisons leaving only skeleton crews. The Northern Army shall mass on the plain at the foot of Írensaga. We ride to meet them two days hence. By then, troops I have called forth from Lossarnach shall have arrived in the city. We shall advance north, ford Onodló, and meet our foes in the Brown Lands. There, with the grace of the Valar, we shall drive them to their deaths in the river."
'Twas a good plan and Bregolas could see few alternatives considering the numbers of troops available. The Steward of Gondor would ride from the Pelennor on the 23 Súlimë, meet the Northern Army, and a few days later, engage the Easterling horde. Like his father, he could only hope t'would be enough.
"What of the Southern Army father?"
"They must hold South Ithilien, Anduin, and all of the southern coast against the Haradrim and the corsairs in Umbar. I trust not those enemies to resist taking advantage of our plight should word of battle in the north come to their ears. Hallas shall remain and take command here."
The captain agreed with his father's decisions. Scant good would be achieved in beating back the Balchoth, only to be faced with an invasion of Pelargir, Linhir, or Dol Amroth upon their return.
"What art thine orders, father?" Captain Bregolas asked.
"I bid thee return to Cair Andros, to hold the north passage of Ithilien against any foes should these barbarians feint west and then turn south, or should others come from Rhûn. Hear reports from the garrison at the Noman-lands and incorporate their companies if they are driven back. Send word at once if aid is needed. I commit to thy custody the east march."
"I shall not fail thee, father," he said.
The steward nodded and then said, "Pray go and have a meal, then take some rest, Brego, I know thou hast ridden through the night. Mother shall be pleased to see thee and Finduilas as well." He did not need to tell his son that it might be some time ere the family was together again and that ere that came to pass, the days would grow dark with war.
War came to Gondor in late Gwaeron of 2510 when the Balchoth crossed Anduin, but battle had begun in the Hithaeglir some months ere that. On 20 Cerveth of 2509, after seeing Celebrían beginning to regain her health, Helluin had taken her leave of Imladris, to lay low those that have wronged us both, she had told Elrond, and for once, he had grimly nodded in agreement. She left ere Elladan or Elrohir discovered her intent, for she knew they held a fulminating hatred of the Yrch, but she deemed that for the present, they should remain in Imladris to aid in their mother's recovery. Many years lay ahead wherein they could take their revenge.
Now after crossing the High Pass on the 22nd, Helluin came to the paths on the eastern face of the Hithaeglir, and she systematically began retracing the hunting trails she had taken in 1851. Save for the cave she had but recently emptied, Helluin examined e'ery lair and warren that she remembered. If she found occupants, she slaughtered them and left words in their blood on the walls. After six hundred fifty-eight years, the Ghâshgûl had returned.
The Yrch found themselves hunted in their warrens again, and just as their lore told, the foe that sought them appeared as one of Sauron's Nine. The merciless Firewraith slew with unerring prowess and the Black Sword came to be feared anew throughout the mountains. During that summer and into autumn, whispered words spread like wildfire, we are as prey, flee or die! The Uruks did the only thing they could. They retreated south away from the threat, hoping to stay ahead of the whirlwind of bloodshed for so long as they could.
By late winter, all the lairs north of the headwaters of Sîr Ninglor had been emptied and Helluin had taken o'er a thousand heads. The Yrch fled the rumor of her, going south in droves, and well 'nigh by default many of them came to Moria, the only place they deemed vast enough to offer sanctuary. Within the Dwarrowdelf, they fell 'neath the dominion of the Werewolf Gijackûrz-kragor, and thereby again came to serve the master in Dol Guldur.
In Nínui of 2510, Bloody Fang sent his lieutenant and two Warg Riders back to Dol Guldur to report and to bear treasure of mithril to the master.
"Many Uruk-hai come to us of late, master," said Hokurzêmar, the Iron Heart. "They flee the rampage of the Ghâshgûl."
At that tiding, Sauron attempted to make his meat suit smile, resulting in a forbidding grimace. His greatest enemy had provided him with troops, and just in time.
"How many number they, O Hokurzêmar," asked Gorthaur.
"Two thousands thus far. The count may be greater or lesser now depending on whether more have arrived or some have been eaten since I came hither."
"Very good, my servant," the master praised. "Come the second week of the fourth month, ye shall send two thousands south to the river. Promise them the meat and blood of the Westmen, for those I shall entice to battle in the Brown Lands southeast of Fangorn Forest. In this, they have no choice. To enjoy the favor of sanctuary in Moria, they must serve."
"It shall be as thou orders, master," Iron Heart agreed, "and if they should refuse?"
"Eat them with my compliments," Sauron said, and they shared a chuckle of anticipation for neither had 'aught to lose and both had much to gain whether the Uruks answered yea or nay.
Now Hokurzêmar and the Warg Riders returned to Moria towards the end of Nínui and the lieutenant shared the master's counsel only with his captain. 'Twixt the two Werewolves 'twas decided to keep Sauron's orders secret from the Uruks 'til the day of their march, for that would deprive them of time for plotting desertion or mutiny. For the next month, they said 'naught and a few more Uruks did indeed come from the north, whilst a few were eaten or disappeared in the depths of the mines.
In the last week of Nínui, Helluin was stalking down the mountain trail, having examined a fourth lair and finding none in residence. She was growing irritable, for surely there were more Yrch in the Hithaeglir that dwelt not in Kâpul Ulot…she had just not found any of late. The profitless afternoon was passing and Anor was westering. Suddenly, Galadriel stood before her, the now familiar astral projection appearing unheralded from 'naught. Caught unsuspecting, Helluin recoiled from the apparition.
"Gaaaah!" she sputtered in shock. After taking some deep breaths and spending a moment to reclaim her composure, she said, "Artanis thou well 'nigh made me jump out of my skin. Perhaps a warning next time? And what brings thee to such a picturesque locale?"
"Helluin, I have no way of offering thee any foreknowledge of my appearance," the lady said, trying hard to control her chuckling, "and I have several reasons to seek thee."
Helluin hearkened to her old friend and awaited whatsoe'er revelations might be forthcoming.
"I have taken counsel with Álfrhestr and together we have seen…things," Galadriel revealed. Helluin cocked a brow in question, bidding her elaborate. "We have marked young King Eorl preparing the Éoherë to ride to Gondor's aid come Gwirith first. In the east, the Scoloti mass and prepare to invade Calenardhon just as the steward suspected. I urge thee to come to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý ere the spring rains raise Anduin and make the Old Ford dangerous."
"I see," Helluin said, "and would going o'er Anduin by the ford be faster than a boat from the Hythe to find a horse awaiting me on the east bank?"
"Faster, perhaps not, but safer, aye," Galadriel said, "for the lands 'nigh Dol Guldur are now debated and a horse and rider might be assailed whilst awaiting thee thither. I would counsel thee to go by the northern route."
"Very well," said Helluin, "of late I have found no Orcs here'bouts anyway."
The lady nodded and then added, "Again, thou hast my thanks for coming so swiftly to my daughter's aid. She still suffers for the memories of her captivity, but I keep hope that she shall regain her joy in life, perhaps with the finer weather in spring."
"I too shall hope for her, meldis nín," Helluin said, "my thanks for thy tidings. Pray give my regards to Celeborn and Álfrhestr."
"I shall do so, meldis nín. I bid thee beware the eyes of Dol Guldur."
With that, the lady vanished and Helluin turned her feet north, back up the trail towards the path descending from the High Pass. She reckoned that with haste, she could make the Old Ford by 3 Gwaeron, hopefully ahead of the spring rains.
To Be Continued
Superman103174: Thanks for another review. They're always appreciated and I'm glad that you're continuing to enjoy the story.
I thought Celebrían's capture and rescue was a major event in the evolution of Imladris and its principal characters. Though it's only mentioned in canon with little elaboration, it had to have a heavy impact on Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen. I'm just sorry that I featured Celebrían so little in the past chapters.
I have never doubted that Elrond and Celebrían loved each other deeply. After all, they were betrothed for something like 1,850 years before they married, and if they didn't, they probably wouldn't have bothered. I have never heard any evidence that their marriage was political. Within their relationship, I thought that emotional/psychological damage would resonate more strongly than a physical wound.
In Part 273, I wanted to contrast Elrond's treatment of Celebrían with the treatment of the Yrch that captured her so that the shock of her experience provides sufficient cause for her to sail to Aman. I could have gone with the more typical poisoned wound from a weapon, but decided to go with emotional/psychological trauma instead because the Elves remember everything clearly and the impact would be greater for them, whereas the impact of a physical wound might be less, considering their greater capacity for healing, (compared to mortals).
Like Thranduil's wife, (who is never named in canon), Celebrían was lost to the ruler of an Elvish realm, and the differences in the way those rulers reacted is an explicit tenant of fanon. We don't know anything about Oropher's wife, (Thranduil's mother), except that she doesn't appear in canon. We can only assume that, like Elrond's mother (Elwing), she was lost to her son, probably in the First or Second Ages. The parallels are strong. As Elrond and Thranduil differ in their attitudes and conduct when we meet them in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, it seems likely that these experiences of loss are among the causes.