In An Age Before – Part 278
As battle flared on the Field of Celebrant, the Lady of the Lothlórien rested forty leagues to the north in Caras Galadhon. Her combat against the Shadow had been no less taxing than the ride of the Éothéod or the flight of Steward Cirion. For five days without respite, she had put forth her power, engaging and finally driving back the darkness coming from Dol Guldur. 'Twas the culmination thus far of the battle she had undertaken o'er five centuries past when she and her husband had accepted the rule of the Golden Wood in 1981.
If the source of the darkness was not Sauron himself, then 'twas certainly one of his Nazgûl. This, she no longer doubted. The evil had been potent, a fell sorcery that drove forth the light of the spirit, cursing all it touched and emptying the lands it crawled 'cross of any with a noble heart. The 'Black Breath' 'twas called, and though that conjuring could present in many forms, its aim was e'er the same; the suppression of all that was good and fair, and the snuffing out of natural life.
Lore told that fifteen centuries aforetime, that same spell had driven hence the Onodrim of Calenglad i'Dhaer. In 1003, Helluin had obtained an eyewitness account from some Stoors along the east bank of Anduin but six years after that event, and their description of the affliction of the forest was consistent with what she had 'seen' 'cross the river o'er the past week.
Galadriel wondered if the lands that the 'Black Breath' had polluted were now accursed and if such birds and animals as had been caught within its vapors had become something unnatural; monsters corrupted, their lives now a mockery of the One's intent. With luck, perhaps they had escaped through death. She knew with certainty that t'would have been the end of the Northmen had they ridden through that darkling haze.
One thing the Lady of the Golden Wood had not foreseen was Helluin joining the riding of the Éoherë. The dark Noldo's presence had posed a moment's question to Finarfin's daughter. Perhaps, with the great reservoir of Light she held, Helluin might have been capable of driving back the 'Black Breath' of her own accord, yet that thought had occupied her for only a moment ere being discarded. The opposition of Dol Guldur was her task, embraced and self-appointed. Her old friend had kept her word and for five centuries had held Lothlórien's eastern flank against all intruders. Yet there were some battles for which a Black Sword and a bright Ring were less suited than that which mortals might call 'White Sorcery', and by using Nenya as a focus for her arcana, her own power had proved suitable and sufficient. Galadriel felt no doubts in the aftermath.
Not for the first time, her train of thought then led her to ponder her dark friend. There were all too many factors unanswered regarding her. She still clearly recalled the image of Helluin in Valinor, standing 'neath the falling dews of Telperion and Laurelin. What had inspired or compelled her to do thus, a thing dared by no other? Even ere that, she had been one apart; wandering Aman alone during the early centuries rather than cleaving to the culture that the Noldor were creating in Tirion.
Lore told that in an Age before, Manwë had declared her doom, to be the last of their people to leave the Hither Shores, and by implication, ne'er to fall in battle. From personal experience, she had found Helluin capable of influencing her own astral projection in a most unexpected manner, instigating teleportation, a mode of travel reserved to the Ainur! Mithrandir's testimony from 2063, when Helluin had joined him to drive Sauron from Dol Guldur, had attested to the same effect. The Grey Wizard had assailed Sauron with a beam of Light, but only when Helluin had augmented his power with her own had he cloven the black cloud of the Dark Lord's being and driven him hence in rout.
All this spoke of some high destiny yet to be revealed. Galadriel was sure of it. What it might be escaped her as it e'er had. Helluin had begun as one amongst many on the Westward March, neither royalty, nor the scion of blended kindreds as Lúthien had been. She was old now even for an Elf, aye, but still rather pedestrian at heart, an explorer and warrior, not one of the Wise. Whyfor then had she been chosen for whatsoe'er end the One had planned? Galadriel resolved to continue watching and waiting, for she truly believed that all things would be revealed in time.
The Lady was wandering the environs of the city as she oft did when the confines of the royal talon felt constricting and she desired time alone to think. She had let her feet determine her path, for at times they revealed destinations she had not consciously intended, and provided revelations she had not foreseen. Now, rather than in some fragrant garden or beside a placid stream bank, she found herself 'nigh the gates of the city and she looked out past the o'erlapping ends of the thorn hedge to the bridge o'er the fosse.
There Álfrhestr bobbed his head and trotted 'cross the green lawn outside the fosse towards her as she walked o'er the bridge. The 'Oracle Horse' had become a fixture in Caras Galadhon o'er the past five centuries, a wonder, a counselor, and a good friend to all. She turned her footsteps to meet him.
"Suilaid nín, mellon," she said as she nodded to him and gazed into his eyes.
My lady, he said in greeting as he dipped his head to her in respect, 'tis good that thou hast come, for I desire to take counsel with thee.
Galadriel raised a brow bidding him continue, aware that her footsteps had brought her to him apurpose, though she had not willed it so.
With Lothron, I must go o'er the Hithaeglir to Imladris, he declared. My heart tells me that I shall be needed there, and anyway, I deem it time.
How so, mellon nín? Time for what?
Long have I dwelt hither, in peace and happiness, and I have learnt and seen much I had ne'er expected, he said. Yet now I feel that on the Re Anaro I shall step foot from the Mortal Shores at last and take ship into the West. In Imladris, I shall find a passenger needing counsel and a steed to reach the Havens. These I can provide as can no other, and so I reckon 'tis my time and place to go. These prognostications have come upon me unsought, yet I doubt them not.
Galadriel looked at the stallion for some moments, but saw in his heart that all was as he had claimed.
Thou art called West, my friend, and as thou hast received a call, I shall doubt not that thou art meant to take ship.
He nodded to her in agreement.
Know thou 'aught of this passenger thou shalt bear hence? Galadriel asked.
Nay, I do not as yet, though I have faith that all shall be made clear in time.
'Twas her very own sentiment being spoken and she could not gainsay it, odd as it seemed coming from a horse.
Then trust in that, and doubt not thy course, she said. We shall miss thee, thy good company and thy wisdom, but I would have thee find thy bliss beyond the Sea.
As would I, my lady, and I thank thee for e'erything. 'Tis far more than I had imagined when Helluin came to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý in 2003, seeking a steed to bear her south to Gondor.
Galadriel offered him a smile at that and said, "Of our friend Helluin oft come consequences unforeseen. Didst thou know that she rides with the Éoherë in the company of Eorl King?"
Aye, I have 'seen' it. On the Field of Celebrant she shall face a foe whose like she hath not met in millennia, indeed not since she invaded the Barad-dûr.
Then 'tis well that she is there, for I wager such a one would wreck havoc amongst her mortal allies.
Just so. In her absence, he would have slain the lords of two realms.
And Eorl has no heir as yet, she said, and Álfrhestr nodded in confirmation. Both recalled King Eärnur who had vanished without an heir, leaving the throne of Gondor to gather dust e'er after.
Now when Helluin had followed Eorl King and the Éoherë south from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, she had deemed it her place to stand beside Steward Cirion and ensure that he survived the battle. 'Twas a good intention that she had resolved to keep 'til she had marked the approach of a Glamhoth. Granted, 'twas a far smaller din horde than had laid waste Eregion and run rampant through Eriador in an Age before, but 'twas still the greater threat.
Whilst supporting Borondir's ill-fated charge with her bow, she had come within fifteen yards of the rear of the Easterling mob, but now she veered away to the west and reduced Beadurof's gait from a gallop to a trot. Behind her, only heartbeats later, she heard the war cries of the Éoherë and the sharp thuds of impacts as their horses slammed into the Scoloti battle lines. There came the shrieking and screaming of fighters trampled or slain as the Northmen drove forward, the momentum of their charge carrying them deep within the enemy press. She had no doubt that the Northmen would worst the Balchoth; for they were all mounted whilst the Easterlings were well 'nigh all afoot. She turned her attention to the Orcs as she crossed the half mile to them.
At eighty yards, the Noldo began firing on the charging Yrch. Though they ran forward in no particular order, still their bodies were close enough for her to line them up so that they died two per shot. Five times, she loosed her arrows, dropping the ten Orcs at the front of their formation, thereby giving those that followed something to consider as they leapt o'er the bodies, and then she shouldered her bow, urged Beadurof to a gallop, and swept Anguirél from her scabbard.
When their front-runners fell, the followers acknowledged them not nor made any change in their charge so t'would seem they are not led from the front, Helluin thought. Very well, I shall seek their leader at the rear.
The Noldo directed Beadurof close along the left side of the Glamhoth, so to bring Anguirél in her right hand within easy striking distance of her enemies. Those who failed to dodge away, she gleefully smote, cackling with maniacal laughter. Too preoccupied to pay her any heed, none of them raised a weapon or tried to engage Helluin as she passed and this told her much. Instead, they ignored her, a single rider, and charged forward, closing on the battle and the army of Gondor.
Sure enough, they are being driven to war like snaga to the fields, but who drives them? Some fell Orch captain or mayhap one of the Nine?
If 'twas not Tindomul, then Helluin would have been happiest to find Khamûl commanding this detachment, for she had scores to settle with him o'er his part in Beinvír's disappearance, but on that night, the Black Easterling was far away in a fortress beside the Sea of Rhûn.
Now Helluin had passed half the length of the running column of Yrch when she finally descried what was driving them hence. Sure enough, leading from the rear in keeping with the long tradition of that kindred was a creature the likes of which she had not seen in an Age. 'Twas an actual Werewolf, one of the original 'Hounds of Morgoth', though she had no doubt that this one was a creation of Sauron rather than a survivor from the Elder Days. Its pale, dingy fur might once have been white, as were the pelts of the White Wolves of the far north, making it more visible by night. The Noldo reckoned that 'twas as tall at the withers as Beadurof, but far more powerfully built. She slowed the warhorse to a canter and directed him to peel away from the Glamhoth.
A most uncommon kindred they have been since Beleriand, Helluin thought to herself, recalling the lore of the Werewolves whilst seeking for the best way to encompass this one's doom.
To Morgoth their creation was attributed, though whether they arose along with the Balrogs as physically cloaked daemons in the days of Utumno and awaited his return to Angband, or were bred there by him later was unknown. What was known was that fell spirits inhabited those lupine fánar. Larger than any natural wolf they were, stronger and more cunning as well, and they understood the speech of Orcs, Men, and Elves alike.
In the First Age, many of that kindred had served Morgoth's lieutenant, Sauron Gorthaur, and 'neath his command they had assailed and wrested control of the island fortress of Tol Sirion, which was after called Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves. There they had aided the Abhorred in holding the western pass of Beleriand in Morgoth's name. There too, they had aided in slaying Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond, and imprisoning Beren Erchamion. When Lúthien came with Huan to rescue them, Sauron had sent Draugluin, the ancient sire of his race, to capture Lúthien, but the Hound of Valinor had worsted him and he had returned to his master, mortally wounded in his defeat.
Then Sauron had taken the form of a Werewolf greater than any that had lived theretofore, yet Huan defeated him too and he was forced to cede the isle ere he fled to Taur-nu-Fuin in the form of a giant Vampire.
Most of the surviving Werewolves had been slain during the War of Wrath, but like e'ery other kindred of Morgoth's servants, some few had escaped. Fittingly, the next time Helluin had seen any of them, they had been in Sauron's service in the Barad-dûr. She had been hastening from the Dark Tower then, having stolen the Palantír of Minas Ithil during her duel with Sauron, and they had not contested. 'Twas likely that the last of them had perished when Isildur had taken Gorthaur's One Ring, for unlike the Orcs and Men of Darkness, they had been whelped by his accursed sorcery and she could recall no tales of any being found after the war.
So whence came this one, she wondered, and what spirit inhabits its body? She recalled one other trait of their kindred; they were loyal to a fault, just like any other dogs.
During her pause, the Glamhoth had advanced to within a quarter mile of the battle with the Werewolf loping along behind them, growling and snapping at their heels. The Yrch were far more strongly compelled to flee their leader than to charge into battle. They were terrified and simply had nowhere else to go. Helluin almost felt sorry for them.
"Haste now, Beadurof," she cried out, "we must o'ertake these Yrch and come 'twixt them and the battle!"
The stallion made no reply, but turned and bolted back towards the combat at a gallop whilst Helluin pulled her mithril coif from her travel bag. He easily outpaced the Orcs and delivered Helluin to empty land equally eighty yards 'twixt them and the press of Balchoth, Gondorim, and Northmen. There she dismounted, donned her coif, and dismissed him.
"Await me in safety to the north, my friend," she said. "I may be a while."
Beadurof nodded to her and then bolted away from the battle and into the night. He stopped at a hundred yards and turned to watch, equally prepared to return at her call or flee further to remain free.
Helluin had drawn the hood of her cloak o'er her head, concealing her face in shadows, and then she drew Anguirél and the Sarchram. She raised the Black Sword vertically in front of her body, but held the Grave Wing behind her back, and there she awaited the Orcs, a dim glow of silver and gold emanating from her figure.
Now when the column of Yrch closed on her, the first saw her and recoiled, stopping dead in their tracks at a dozen yards with those behind slamming into them. A fracas of pushing, cursing, and shoving ensued, but none would approach the Ghâshgûl. The terror of her had driven them from Kâpul Ulot three decades aforetime and Werewolf or no, she was standing right before them. They spread in an arc facing her as those behind were forced to the flanks.
A hundred and then a thousand collected before the Noldo and still more joined the throng and all of them quaking in terror. Behind them came Hokurzêmar, and caught 'twixt two unnatural horrors, the tension of the Yrch rose to panic. Their stress was intolerable and Helluin could feel the fear rolling off them in waves, yet in a few moments, their leader would arrive and ere that, she needed to break the last vestiges of their morale.
On the Field of Celebrant, the dark of night stuttered. Two flickers, blindingly intense, lit the field, drawing all attention and freezing movement as do close following bolts of lightning. So abrupt and bright were those strobes that eyes snapped shut by reflex. Helluin waited a heartbeat for them to reopen and then she blazed with the Light of Aman. For a full three heartbeats, she allowed the etheric aperture within her fëa to dilate fully, and then she closed it and darkness returned so suddenly that a crack of thunder should have accompanied it.
The front ranks of the Yrch were o'ercome. They had been irradiated with an ancient and pure power that no evil could withstand. They crawled, burnt and blinded for that time, all thought of battle forgotten as they felt their way along the ground. Those behind them cowered in abject terror, cringing and shielding their eyes.
Helluin raised her sword and cried out in a cold and grating voice, "Ghâsh gijak-ishi! Blue battle fire roiled from 'neath her hood and she strode towards them.
Then half the remaining Yrch bolted into the darkness in all directions, fear of the Ghâshgûl o'erpowering their fear of Hokurzêmar and even the master who was far away in Dol Guldur. Most of the remaining thousand fled wide 'round her towards the battle, running forward in despair and deeming they would die this night no matter what course they took. These at least she accorded a grudging respect. When the last of them had gone, Helluin was left facing the Werewolf, who stood upright, rubbing his eyes with a paw and growling deep in his throat.
On his hind legs, he stood just o'er three rangar tall, and much as Helluin hated looking up at him, there was 'naught to be done about it. Ere he could recover his composure, she demanded, "Bugd-latobgur, snûtu-ob Morgoth!¹" ¹(Bugd-latobgur, snûtu-ob Morgoth, Name thyself, hound of Morgoth = bugd-(v. name) + latobgur(2nd pers sing refl pron, thyself) + snûtu(hound) + -ob(of) + Morgoth(Black Lord) Orkish)
The Werewolf lowered his paw and regarded her through slitted eyes. He was unsure of what to think for he had ne'er seen or heard tell of the Ghâshgûl, yet the Uruks were terrified of her and she had exhibited powerful and unnatural sorcery. He stared her in the eyes and declared his name.
"Hokurzêmar! Mirz ti Morgoth?¹" he asked.¹(Mirz ti Morgoth? Who is Morgoth? = mirz(who?) + ti(is) + Morgoth(Black Lord) Orkish)
Helluin resisted rolling her eyes at his question and held his gaze, thinking, this Iron Heart is certainly not an escapee from Angband! Instead, she seized his consciousness and provided an explanation.
During the latter Age of the Trees, there had been nine and a half centuries 'twixt the time that Melkor was pardoned 'til the Darkening of Valinor, and during that time, the 'nigh constantly wandering Helluin had crossed paths with the Vala on a number of occasions. She had known of him by reputation and had no interest in his company or his counsel. He had no doubt thought her inconsequential, (if he had marked her at all), being the commoner and a vagabond that she was. They had ne'er traded words, but the image of him on his best behavior had been indelibly implanted in her memory.
Into Hokurzêmar's mind, Helluin projected the vision of a mighty figure robed in black, a spiked crown of mithril encircling his brow, striding past the Máhanaxar with a sneer on his face. 'Twas the Year of the Trees 1400, a few years of the sun after his pardoning by Manwë, and the self-proclaimed 'Master of the Fates of Arda' had long been seething with resentment at his treatment and was already premeditating his revenge. He had turned from the Thrones of the Valar set within the Ring of Doom to glance speculatively at the Two Trees, and then he had taken his leave heading west. To Helluin's eye, the towering fána in which he cloaked his being had reeked of a desperate and compensatory inclination.
The Werewolf, howe'er, was duly impressed. Indeed so taken was he with the majesty of the dark Vala that he actually wagged his tail, shuffled his feet, panted in excitement, and produced an erection. Easily impressed, are we? Helluin thought to herself with a measure of derision.
Hokurzêmar heard the Ghâshgûl's voice declare in his mind's ear, Behold the might and majesty of Melkor the Ageless, God of Darkness, known in these Mortal Lands as Morgoth! Long ago, he created thy kindred, and the Uruk-hai and Oleg-hai as well. Alas, he ascended to rule the celestial Realm of Night, leaving this world to his lieutenant, the God of Meat and Fire!
The Werewolf was not only bedazzled by the vision of the Vala, (though the brightness of the lands he trod were painful to behold even secondhand), but he was also confused.
I serve the Master of Meat and Bone, yet thou claim he was a servant of the God Morgoth. Does that mean that I also serve Morgoth? he asked.
As do we all, thy service is claimed by Morgoth through his servant who cloaks himself in the flesh of friend and foe alike. Did he not speak of this to thee? Helluin asked.
Nay, said Hokurzêmar, his worry evident even whilst speaking silently mind to mind, for I had learnt not of the God of Darkness 'til just now.
"'Nigh seventy-six centuries have passed since Morgoth strode the Deathless Lands in my memory," Helluin said with a sigh that Hokurzêmar deemed signified her longing for better times long past, "and perhaps much has been forgotten in these latter days."
To this, the Werewolf nodded in agreement for he knew no better, though the time cited boggled his mind. Seven thousand six hundred years.
"Yet loyalty and service are eternal, as are those to whom they are due," the Ghâshgûl said with severity. "Speak to me of thy creation, such of it as thou remember, for perhaps thou art not at fault for the transgressions of thine ignorance."
Hokurzêmar nervously looked up at the night sky, as if imagining that Morgoth would stretch out a vast, shadowy hand to take him, and Helluin had to suppress a snicker as he searched back through the memories of his half-century of life as a Werewolf.
"'Tis a strange thing," he said, "yet at first I remember another life. I was a Man of the East, the victor in my clan's contest in 2466 who won the honor of pledging his service to the master. The master rent the bodies of the losers and made him a garment of meats. Then the dozen winners marched to the stone fortress in the forest." He fell silent a while, fighting to recall what had followed, for it had been confusing, and slowly, a look of horror shaped his features.
"Before us were the pups of White Wolves and on a sudden I saw from behind their eyes! I saw my body standing witless before me!" his eyes were wide with revulsion and fear. "The master fed us on the flesh we had been born in; we ate our bodies and grew fearsome 'neath his sorcery."
Standing before her, the Werewolf looked like he would vomit and Helluin could not help but feel a shred of sympathy for his plight. For Ages, Sauron had demeaned those who served him and this Hokurzêmar was no different. The creature looked her in the eyes, almost beseeching.
'Tis the same formula he learnt of Morgoth long ago, she said, in the vast fortress of Utumno ere sun or moon arose. Many have shared thy fate. Thou had already pledged thy service, as a warrior of Men.
I would have served him faithfully as a warrior, I would have taken lives and split blood in his name, Hokurzêmar said, but instead, he made me into this.
In her eyes, he saw the blue of the summer sky o'er the Plaines of Rhûn that he had known in his youth, and he fell into them and knew again the tranquility he remembered from a few days riding free when battle was far from his thought. There were some precious memories of when he had been just a Man enjoying life in spite of all the brutality and violence that surrounded him. He found that he longed for those days and those feelings, more than he would e'er have consciously admitted, even to himself and especially now that they were gone beyond all hope.
Wouldst thou go forth and serve the greater Master in the Realm of Night? he heard her ask.
I would, he said.
Then I release thee from the spell, Helluin told him. Go in peace.
For a brief moment, he found himself looking down on the body of the Werewolf he had been, and standing before him was the Ghâshgûl, a silvery Ring in her hand, dripping with the blood of the monstrous White Wolf whose throat she had cut. He felt no pain, no fear as he ascended into the night sky, and then he turned his sight from the ground and the fighting and up to the swiftly approaching stars.
Now whether 'twas from some morbid inclination of her own, or some prescient impulse, but Helluin ignored the battle long enough to flay off the Werewolf's hide. This she bundled up and wrapped in her cloak, deeming it already so ratty that a bit of blood would hardly ruin it. Then she whistled for Beadurof who trotted up with mixed feelings.
Pray indulge me, mellon nín. I must come to the battle straightaway, she told him.
Riding to battle brings me no qualms, he replied, eyeing the bundle in her hands that seeped blood and smelt atrociously of wolf, but must thou bring that?
Alas, aye, I must.
Beadurof groaned, but stood still for her to mount with the bundle held before her. The very touch of it made his pelt twitch, but he gritted his teeth, (thankful that he had no bit in his mouth), and trotted towards the fighting.
During the time that Helluin had spent engaging with the Werewolf, the Éoherë had fought their way through a great portion of the Balchoth host, leaving the ground strewn with bodies, only to find their foes reinforced by a thousand Orcs. Cirion and his soldiers had stood firm amidst the press, driving the entire battle slowly to the north, away from the fords o'er the Limlight. By virtue of their cavalry, they had managed to defend their flanks so that they had not been encircled, but with Anduin still at their backs, they could not afford to give ground.
The Noldo steered Beadurof 'round the northern flank of the Gondorim so that she came abreast of the steward's standard where the wounded had been gathered. For once, she was not draped in her cloak and her armor was fully visible. From that position, she took her bow and one by one, shot her remaining dozen arrows, dropping her targets with ease at so short a distance. Then she caught the eye of a sergeant who had been detailed to guard the wounded and bid him keep her bow, quiver, travel bag, and the bundled cloak amidst his charges, and unencumbered, she returned to the battle.
Now from horseback a spear would have been the ideal weapon against footmen, increasing her reach beyond a sword, dagger, or the Sarchram. With Anguirél in one hand and the Grave Wing in the other, she cut her way into the press 'til she found a Northman's spear planted upright in the body of a fallen Easterling, and reaching down, wrenched it free. Then she sheathed the Black Sword, set the Sarchram back onto her belt clip and wielded the spear with vicious, pinpoint jabs into the bodies and faces of her foes.
Soon the joy of battle ruled her and she thrust her weapon with increasing speed so that 'twas a blur of motion that exploded out of the dark to impale Orc and Easterling alike. Yet finally, the wooden shaft cracked as she leant in the saddle to thrust the body she had planted it in into the fighter standing behind him. Then, unwilling to risk Beadurof in a close quarters battle amidst a tight press of infantry, she dismounted and drew her sword and Ring.
Though Helluin knew well the strengths of mounted troops, she had fought afoot far more oft. In the wars of Beleriand in the First Age, on the fields of Eriador and in Mordor in the Second, and in the wars against Angmar in the Third, she had always chosen to fight as infantry. That preference had only increased after acquiring her armor and learning the stealth of the Laiquendi. In a conflict face to face, no mortal foe could meaningfully oppose her and few immortal foes were left that would.
The Noldo strode against her enemies, glowing with the Light of Aman, blue battle fire roiling from her eyes as she hewed them at an unnatural pace, each move informed by thousands of years of combat. The Yrch fled the rumor of her coming and the Easterlings in ignorance tried to mob her. That tactic only brought them within range of her blades the swifter, but none could initiate an attack that she could not anticipate, for she had seen them all thousands of times. To one who had faced the Nine together and then sought combat with Sauron himself, the prowess of mortal Men was as 'naught and their bodies fell before her as she advanced amongst them. Behind her, a trail of cadavers lay rent by the Black Sword and the Grave Wing and soldiers of Gondor followed in her wake.
Then she cried out, "Beltho Huiniath!" and the Gondorim took up her battle cry and fought with renewed strength, their hearts infected by her bloodlust. They cut their way through the enemy host, laying low the invaders and the tide of the battle turned. Beyond the lines, the Northmen rode down fleeing Orcs and Men 'cross the Field of Celebrant and they sang, rejoicing in the slaughter. By the third hour, the surviving foes had fled the field, to be pursued to their deaths by the Éoherë and the cavalry of Gondor. Ere noon on the 16th, not a living foe remained in Calenardhon and Gondor had been purged of the Balchoth. They had killed them all.
Now in the aftermath of the battle, the principals gathered on the field and counted their losses amidst the rejoicing in their victory. Cirion was dismayed, for Gondor had lost o'er six in ten from a host of seven thousand five hundred, and he would ride back to Minas Tirith at the head of but three thousands. Better the Éoherë had fared, both for having been wholly a cavalry force and for having come late to the battle. Eorl King found that twelve hundreds of his seven thousand five hundred had won their final renown. High would he build the mounds for their rest and many songs would be composed and sung in their honor.
Whilst the warriors rested and their horses grazed, the lords gave thought to the future.
"A great victory we have won this day, yet 'tis bitter for the loss of life," Cirion said, "and my realm is diminished by it. We have still the lands of the kings to safeguard, yet not the people. I fear that when the threat of the east is renewed, neither I nor my heirs shall be prepared to turn back our foes."
"I know thou hast other enemies and other borders to guard," Eorl said in sympathy. "We would aid thee, but we are far, far enough from the north march of thy realm, and further still from the south, east, and west."
"Alas, my friend. Would that thy noble folk dwelt closer," Cirion said.
Together they watched the wounded of both hosts being tended and the dead gathered for burial. The steward could not imagine the Éothéod bringing all their fallen back to Framsburg.
"If thou would have it so, then ride south along the forest with us 'til we come beyond the folded lands of the Wold, and there in the fairer fields of Calenardhon inter thy fallen in ground less subject to threat. We would be honored to have the spirits of thy warriors join ours to guard our northern lands."
The king bowed his head to the steward in appreciation for his consideration. His heart had been dissatisfied with the notion of burying his fallen on the field of battle, beside their dead foes, (especially the hated Orcs), beyond the border of his ally's realm.
"I would be honored to do so, lord, and I deem that they shall rest easier away from the place of their fall. Would that we could bear them home, but 'tis too far to carry so many," Eorl said.
Beside him, his uncle Prince Weardearn and Captain Éomund nodded in thanks to the steward.
Now with that decision made, Helluin came to the king and they spoke of many things. By the prowess of their arms and their training, most of the Riders of Helrunahlæw had survived the fighting. The king wondered if they would return to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý or rejoin the Éothéod in Framsburg.
"For them I cannot answer," Helluin told him, "for their fate and path are their own to choose."
Eorl King nodded, reminded that the Noldo held no lordship o'er them, fitting though that would have seemed to him, especially after having seen her prowess in battle. He was more inclined than aforetime to believe the lore depicted in the tapestry, that she had slaughtered an entire army of Dwarves with little aid.
"I have a souvenir of the battle for thee, a spoil taken from the enemy," she said, offering the bundled cloak that smelt of blood.
"What is this, Helluin?"
"'Tis the pelt of a White Wolf of the north grown great in its master's service," she told him. "I reckon its like thou shalt not see again, or at least I hope not."
Intrigued, the king tied it to his saddle, eliciting a grimace from Felaróf, and said, "My thanks then, Helluin. I shall make of it a fine rug to adorn the wall of the dais in my hall and recall our victory this night."
They shared smiles and the Noldo deemed it a fitting end to the Werewolf. Little did either of them know on that day that 'nigh two hundred fifty years later, Hokurzêmar's skin would again host the spirit of a Man. Eorl's descendant of the eighth generation would make of that pelt a fearsome cloak with hood and sleeves and pants to match, and behamed in wolven white, sound his war horn and stalk his enemies through the Long Winter.
To Cirion, who was a bit awed by her and profuse in his thanks, she advised, "Keep thy friends close," as she inclined her head to Eorl who had gone to inform his riders of the new burial arrangements. She stayed just long enough to see the wheels start turning in the steward's head, and then, with the Riders of Helrunahlæw, began their return to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý.
The armies stayed just long enough to construct a sufficient number of travois upon which to transport their dead for burial. Using spear poles and cloaks, the Northmen and the Gondorim found enough horses to drag the fallen south. On the 17th they rode from the Field of Celebrant, and few were sorry to leave that place behind. Five days and two hundred miles they crossed 'til on the 21st they reached the gently rolling fields where the river Onodló turns south and the breeze ruffles the grass like a father's hand through his son's hair.
The Men of the Éothéod marveled at those seemingly endless natural pastures where their horse grazed with gusto. All of them imagined the herds that could flourish there, for truth be told, their own lands in the north had grown increasingly crowded for their liking. Cirion watched them and saw the longing in their eyes and he nodded to himself. I must speak to the council upon my return to the city. Verily, 'tis as if this land was created just for them.
By then, a week had passed since the battle and the corpses had grown ripe. They worked like slaves to dig the graves and raise the mounds and still their labor consumed another three days with so many slain to honor. By then, the stench had grown appalling and all were glad to be done with it, honor aside. During that time, the infantry had caught up to the riders and they immediately joined in the digging, so to abide the miasma of death the briefer.
When all was done and the dead had been laid to rest, Cirion spoke again with Eorl.
"Great thanks Gondor owes to thee and thy riders, Eorl King. Yet 'tis the council of the realm that must debate the proper manner of honoring thine aid and offering weregild for those lost, for though I am the Lord of Gondor, I am only a steward, not a king," he said. "I reckon thy Men are eager to return home and so I would beg only that thou and some who would join thee remain in Gondor 'til I can confirm our plans."
Though surprised, the king nodded his assent, saying, "I shall ask for volunteers."
When Prince Weardearn spoke before the Éoherë of this, both the steward and the king were surprised when e'ery hand in the Éoherë was raised. Eorl smiled. Summer was just begun, their horses were joyful, and none of the Men were eager to spend at least a month riding back and forth from Calenardhon to Framsburg and chance missing a feast.
"We shall stay," he told the shocked steward.
"So be it then," Cirion finally said, "there is space and more for thy Men and their noble steeds on our road to the south."
They continued at a walking gait with Cirion and his escort of two hundred knights accompanying Eorl and the Éoherë whilst Gondor's infantry and the remaining knights made the journey at the footmen's pace. On the 27th they crossed the Entwade and took the established road southwest for another three day's easy ride to Írensaga where Gondor's army had mustered on the 5th. On that last day of Víressë, the Northmen looked upon the green grass and the smooth lands sloping down from the White Mountains with longing, for ne'er aforetime had they seen a country so naturally generous to horses or Men.
In wonder, they followed the steward's company east along the Great West Road, marveling at how easily they passed the miles. In the afternoon of 7 Lótessë, after coming another forty-three leagues, the companies reached the small river Glanhír, and there the steward halted them, for the Glanhír was the ancient border 'twixt Calenardhon and Anórien.
"I bid thee farewell for now, Eorl, son of Léod. I shall return to my city, where much needs to be set in order. Calenardhon I commit to thy care for this time, if thou art not in haste to return to thine own realm. In three months' time I shall meet thee here again, and then we shall take counsel together."
"I shall come," Eorl answered; and so they parted¹. ¹(The paragraphs and dialog in italics are taken with slight paraphrasing from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 301.)
During the three months of their parting, Eorl and his riders explored some of the lands of Calenardhon as they rode patrols seeking for any foes that might have escaped the battle. And Eorl cured the hide of the Werewolf and was astonished at its size, thrice that of any natural White Wolf that his hunters had aforetime slain. As Helluin had said, he hoped not to meet its like again.
Now upon his return to Minas Tirith, even ere he called the Council of Gondor to session, the steward gathered his most trusted servants and specified to them of a task to be done in secret, and he swore them to silence that they speak of their deeds to none. Yet in the lore of Gondor 'twas written in latter days that they went to Eilenaer upon which a beacon was set and which was also known as Amon Anwar.
"If any ask, say only that the Lord Steward wishes a place to be made ready for his meeting with the Lord of the Riders,¹" he told them, and they took their leave of Minas Tirith unmarked. ¹(This line is taken verbatim from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 302.)
Steward Cirion's plan was audacious and he was opposed at first by some on the council, yet he proved persuasive and the voices of the recently dead testified that Gondor could no longer defend such wide swaths of uninhabited land.
"Very nearly was our northern province taken, and though the lands Rómendacil won 'cross Anduin fell to foes long ago, the Wold is on the west bank and controls passage o'er the Undeeps," he said. "Rather would I cede it to proven allies than lose it to enemies."
Eventually, after all their doubts were weighed and the precedents of tradition addressed, the steward had prevailed and won the acceptance of his plans. Then he committed the city to his younger son Bregolas, for his heir Hallas would ride with him to meet Eorl, and so too would go the ninth Prince of Dol Amroth, the Knight Commander of Gondor, and the Commander of the Rangers who was also Lord of Linhir. A detachment of two hundred knights would accompany them as escort.
They left Minas Tirith on 30 Cermië, riding north and then west on the King's Road. On 7 Úrimë they came to the crossing of the Glanhír and there met Eorl King, Prince Weardearn, Captain Éomund, and the captain of a major clan from Framsburg sitting their steeds at the fore of a hundred hand-picked riders.
Then Cirion spoke to Eorl declaring his intention that they take counsel together in a place of special honor amongst the Gondorim and to this Eorl agreed. They left the riders at the bridge spanning the Glanhír and with the knights, rode into the Firien Wood that lay about the feet of Eilenaer. There they found a road shaded by trees leading towards the mountains and this they took 'til a standing stone rose at the road's end. Then they dismounted and left the knights as a guard.
"I go now to the Hill of Awe. Follow me if you will. With me shall come an esquire, and another with Eorl, to bear our arms; all others shall go unarmed as witnesses of our words and deeds in the high place. The path has been made ready, though none have used it since I came here with my father,¹" Cirion said, and the king nodded in agreement. ¹(This line is taken verbatim from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 302.)
The party continued through the woods on an ascending trail whose switchbacks were marked at each turn with a standing stone. Soon they stilled their voices, o'ercome by the silence and the awe that hung o'er that hill, for there no voice but the breeze amidst the leaves spoke, and the calls of birds were far away. At the top of the path beyond the last switchback grew a stand of white birch trees and amidst them lay the foot of a staircase of stone. Beside it was a small dell of rich turf with a grassy shelf upon which some might take a rest after the climb, and there for the sixth part of an hour the company enjoyed a respite from walking as they listened to the whispers of the birches.
After they had recovered their breath and the breeze had dried the perspiration on their brows, Cirion stood and donned the white mantle of his office and from his son, took up the White Rod of the Ruling Stewards. Then he stood upon the lowest step and spoke.
"I will now declare what I have resolved, with the authority of the Stewards of the Kings, to offer to Eorl son of Léod, Lord of the Éothéod, in recognition of the valour of his people and of the help beyond hope that he brought to Gondor in time of dire need. To Eorl I give in free gift all the great land of Calenardhon from Anduin to Isen. There, if he will, he shall be king, and his heirs after him, and his people shall dwell in freedom while the authority of the Stewards endures, until the Great King returns. No bond shall be laid upon them other than their own laws and will, save in this only; they shall live in perpetual friendship with Gondor and its enemies shall be their enemies while both realms endure. But the same bond shall be laid also upon the people of Gondor.¹"¹(This line is taken verbatim from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 303.)
Hearing his words, Eorl, Weardearn, and Éomund were struck dumb in amazement, and though the king rose to face the steward, still his tongue clove to his teeth and he remained silent. Ne'er aforetime in any lore had the lord of a realm made so generous an offer to an allied lord, nor offered terms so honorable. In the three months since they had parted, Eorl had watched his Men come to love these new lands. They had encompassed the breeding season for horses and the coupling they had witnessed would lead to a record count of foaling…and it could be fore'er.
If I accept not this offer, my own Men shall flay me and hang my hide as a trophy in the hall of my fathers, he thought. He could think of no reason to refuse.
'Til a season ago, Gondor had been a hereditary ally. At some few times, messengers had passed 'twixt their realms trading tidings of mutual import, yet ne'er 'til the battle had Eorl met Cirion. On that day, the friendship of the Éothéod with Gondor had become a living reality to him, not only an obligation of oaths long taken, and the friendship of the steward had become real as well.
Lord Cirion, then three score and one year of age and a decade older than his own father Léod would have been, was as a father figure to the twenty-five year old king, for Eorl perceived the wisdom and nobility that drove the steward's offer. Gondor would gain strong allies to guard its north, whilst the Éothéod would gain both the safety of being far away from Gundabad and Dol Guldur whilst finding the space his people and their herds needed to flourish.
Yet more than these mutual benefits that demonstrated Cirion's wisdom was the equality of the offer's terms. Giver and receiver would be bound by the same requirements, and those being no different from those as already existed 'twixt their realms. He looked o'er to see his uncle regarding him with the ghost of a smile on his lips and Captain Éomund still wide-eyed and well 'nigh drooling in anticipation of his acceptance. Finally, he found his voice.
"Lord Steward of the Great King, the gift that you offer I accept for myself and for my people. It far exceeds any reward that our deeds could have earned, if they had not themselves been a free gift of friendship. But now I will seal that friendship with an oath that shall not be forgotten."
Then the steward nodded and offered the king a smile, and he said, "Then let us go now to the high place, and before these witnesses take such oaths as seem fitting.¹" ¹(The previous lines of dialog are taken verbatim from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 303.)
Together they climbed the stairs to the summit of Amon Anwar, and they found there a fine turf leveled long aforetime by the labor of Men, and towards its eastern side, a low mound covered with the white blossoms of alfirin, burnished golden in the light of the westering sun. And when they stood beside the mound and read the inscription on the stone upon it, the Prince of Dol Amroth asked of the steward, "A tomb I deem this is, yet what lord of old rests here?"
"What says the inscription then?" asked Cirion in return.
"In Tengwar of the High Elven tongue is written, lambe-ando-lambe, L-Nd-L. Only one lord bore that name from the foundered lands 'cross the sea and no lord since has dared to bear it."
"Yet here indeed lies Elendil of Númenor, where his son laid him to rest after the Great War, and whence comes the silent awe that inhabits this hill. King Isildur declared it a Hallow 'neath the keeping of the Valar, and by his command its place was not published. Only a handful recall its construction, who called the fallen a friend, and besides them were the scions of the royal line and now, the House of the Stewards. I deem this place fitting to the solemnity of the oaths we shall take," Cirion declared.
Then the company stood silent with heads bowed to honor the founder of the Dúnedain Realms in Exile, and when that obeisance was done, Steward Cirion called upon Eorl King.
"I bid thee speak now thine oath in whatsoe'er words seem fitting to thee according to the customs of thy people."
Then Eorl stood, and taking his sword from his uncle, drew it and laid it flat on the grass at the foot of the stone, but he kept his hand upon the hilt and the other he set o'er his heart. The young king spoke his oath in the tongue of the Northmen using a clear voice that all could hear but not all could understand 'til 'twas translated and written out fair.
"Hear now all peoples who bow not to the Shadow in the East, by the gift of the Lord of the Mundburg we will come to dwell in the land that he names Calenardhon, and therefore I vow in my own name and on behalf of the Éothéod of the north that between us and the Great People of the West there shall be friendship for ever; their enemies shall be our enemies, their need shall be our need, and whatsoever evil, or threat, or assault may come upon them we will aid them to the utmost of our strength. This vow shall descend to my heirs, all such as may come after me in our new land, and let them keep it in faith unbroken, lest the Shadow fall upon them and they become accursed.¹" ¹(The Oath of Eorl, copied verbatim from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 304-5.)
It seemed that Eorl understood by second nature that which the King of the Mountains had not, long ago when he broke his oath of alliance to Isildur and was cursed ne'er to rest even in death.
Then he sheathed his blade and handed it back to Prince Weardearn who was acting as his esquire. The older Man's eyes shone with pride when he took the sword. His long-held belief that his young king would do great deeds had been confirmed beyond 'aught he could have imagined. Bittersweet, he recalled his words to the fallen errand-rider Borondir on his arrival at Framsburg, 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.
Steward Cirion then raised the rod of his office in his right hand, and the setting sun glanced upon him, coloring this white mantle as if aflame. His left hand he laid upon the stone of Elendil's tomb and then he spoke an oath on Gondor's part, confirming the gift and binding his people the same as the Éothéod. Yet when he was done, he added a vow, an incantation in the High Elven tongue that raised the promise of a Man to a binding oath before the Gods.
"Vanda sina termaruva Elenna-nóreo alcar enyalien ar Elendil Vorondo voronwë. Nai teruvantes i hárar malahmassen mi Númen ar i Eru i or ilyë mahalmar eä tennoio.²"
Desiring that his allies understand the gravity of his words and the powers he had willingly called down upon himself and his people, he offered those same words in the Common Speech.
"This oath shall stand in memory of the glory of the Land of the Star, and of the faith of Elendil the Faithful, in the keeping of those who sit on the thrones of the West and of the One who is above all thrones for ever.²" ²(The Oath of Cirion, copied verbatim from "Unfinished Tales", Part Three: The Third Age, II Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan, (iii) Cirion and Eorl, pg 305. It should be noted that amongst the Dúnedain, legitimately calling upon Eru as witness was reserved to the Kings alone. Even as Ruling Steward, Cirion's use of this formula was a shock.)
Now afterward, the party descended from Amon Anwar and came to the camp set for them 'nigh the Glanhír. There, after feasting in celebration, they attended to the formal details of the arrangement as the riders reveled in the tidings of their new realm. Yet of those details, the boundaries, the disposition of the King's Road and the names of places, much is elsewhere told.
On the following morn, as Cirion prepared to set off for Minas Tirith, Eorl came to him and declared his intention to return north.
"And with me shall go half the strength I brought to thine aid, for in the days to come, they must act as guardians for the long migration of my people, yet I would also leave thee with riders to hold the north so newly liberated."
"I understand," replied Cirion, "and I agree with thine intention, for so great a change should be announced to thy people by their king. Likewise, 'tis a long road they must take, passing down all the length of the Vale of Anduin, and not the least the peril of passing Dol Guldur. Art thou confident that half thy host shall be enough to ensure their safe migration?"
Eorl offered the steward a dip of his head for his sympathy and consideration of his coming labors, but then he smiled and said, "Strong allies we have on the eastern shore and already there stands an outpost of our people, ancient and renewed. So I shall put my trust in those who witnessed our oaths from 'cross the Sea and ride the path home with hope."
"Then I bid thee farewell for a time and good fortune always, my friend," the steward said, and they parted with great friendship and honor. In his heart, Cirion felt the same faith that Minalcar Rómendacil had felt for Eorl's ancestors long aforetime.
One further duty Cirion had, though he would take it up after a short pause for other more pressing considerations of his realm. With Eilenaer no longer the mid-point of his realm, as it had been of old when Isildur interred thither his father, the steward deemed it only proper to bring home the first High King's body that he might rest in the most hallowed place in the South Kingdom. A tomb Elendil would have at last along the Rath Dínen 'neath the Hallow upon Mindolluin. Yet he would not leave Amon Anwar bereft of its purpose.
In a year perhaps, when Eorl and his folk have returned to Calenardhon…Rohan, he mused, I shall have servants move the body of a most loyal Man of Gondor to the summit of Amon Anwar. I cannot think of one more fitting to be honored thither, he for lack of whom 'naught with which we are now blessed would have come to pass.
In the days after, the steward's will was done, and upon the summit of Eilenaer to this day rest the remains of he who won renown with both peoples, and upon the stone set there are carved Tengwar of the Grey Elven tongue, bui-ore-nau-dau-ore, B-R-N-D-R.
To Be Continued