In An Age Before – Part 280
Chapter One hundred sixty-four
The Annoying Paths of the Dead – The Third Age of the Sun
Now it came to pass that after the Battle of the Field of Celebrant and the migration south of the Éothéod to their new country of Rohan, the people of Helrunahlæw chose for the most part to remain at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Although close relations were established with their Northmen kin to the south and they remained loyal subjects of the kings, they had simply come to love their lives on the farm.
They had also become accustomed to the presence of Helluin and the fourteen Tatyar, and they felt safe. For people whose elders still recalled the horror of Kâpul Ulot and their abduction from Helrunahlæw, a bountiful home that had ne'er been assailed was a boon they could not easily abandon, even for lands well 'nigh perfect for horsemen. The truth was that o'er the past third of a century, (atop the five centuries that had already passed), they had continued to diverge from the equestrian culture of warriors and riders they had once shared with the Rohirrim.
In 2545, when Easterlings again invaded the Wold through the Undeeps, sixty riders came from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý to the king's muster, a count of Men comprising well 'nigh a seventh part of the farm's population and a far higher tithe than any other settlement had provided. Eight were slain in the battle and won renown, but all were grieving the death of Eorl King, then three score years of age. Poetically, his famed steed Felaróf died with him, and if any had still doubted his pedigree, the white Maera had carried his king to battle at the unheard of age of forty-eight.
King Eorl son of Léod was first laid to rest in a mound before the gates of Nīwburg¹, (later renamed Aldburg), then the capital of the realm, which lay in the broad green bay of the Folde at the eastern feet of the Haunted Mountain, the Dwimorberg. Having honored his oath of weregild, faithful Felaróf was interred with him. In later years, after Eorl's son Brego completed the new capital of Edoras, his grave was moved to a new mound, eventually the first of nine upon the right side of the Barrowfield. ¹(Nīwburg, New Fortress Old English not canon)
Alas, King Eorl fell but a year after the birth of his second grandson Aldor, and three years after the birth of his first grandson, the ill-fated Baldor son of Brego. He did not survive to see the birth of his third grandson Eofor, of whom the third line of kings eventually sprung. Still, Eorl the Young had earned great renown during his life and his rule was remembered with pride e'er after, tamer of Felaróf, victorious in battle, friend of the Lord of Mundburg, and father of the Eorlingas. In the aftermath of his passing, the Riders of Helrunahlæw returned to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, mourned their dead, and 'twixt calls to aid their king, resumed their lives of farming, practicing their trades, and training for war.
During the decades of battles against the Orcs, Easterlings, and Dunlendings that followed, they slowly gained a reputation as deadly warriors; Elven trained, and though ne'er great in numbers, they were oath keepers esteemed for their loyalty and prowess, e'er taking far more heads than they lost.
Now of Brego son of Eorl it can be said that in addition to raising the city of Edoras, he raised also a trio of sons, the eldest, his heir Baldor, was both fell and fearless in battle, but also proud and more than a little bit of a braggart. It mattered not, for the king was proud of his first-born and loved him dearly. In 2569, when Brego King celebrated the dedication of his new hall of Meduseld, he held a great feast that many of his captains and gentlefolk attended, and during the course of that night, many kegs of ale were consumed. Tales were told, songs sung, and oaths sworn. Most of these were of fidelity and service to lord and land, but one boasted of a deed to be done, fey and fearless, and ill-fated most of all.
"Let none say the king's heir lacks the spine of his fathers," Baldor boasted, "nor that he would fail to match them in deeds, nay, even surpass them, for battle I have seen as did my sires, but t'will not be upon the grassy plains that I shall win my renown. To the mountains, I shall turn and through Harrowdale I shall ride. Then to Dunharrow ascend by the switchback path and coming even to Dimholt wood, pass the dark door 'neath the Dwimorberg. In me shall be found the answer to the riddle. So say I, Baldor son of Brego King." Yet in after days, he was known as Baldor the Hapless.
His father, younger brothers, mother, and those who had heard his words paled, for none had dared pass that door. The few who had stood before it had all felt frissons of fear when coming 'nigh its black maw and shuddered at the chill airs that seeped from it, whispering of death and old, dark curses. Yet once said, his words could not be unheard or taken back, for no man broke a vow if he would retain his honor. After the copious ale he had quaffed had worn off the next morn, Baldor was no less horrified. Had he not been violently hungo'er, he would hath vomited anyway.
In his drunkenness, Baldor had spoken of a riddle finding its answer in him, yet those words were no riddle at all, but rather both a warning and a prophecy. Some years aforetime, as Baldor had accompanied his father during the survey of the lands surrounding where Brego's new city would be built, they had stumbled on the narrow defile the Rohirrim called the Harrowdale. At its end, they found the foot of a road made untold years aforetime with switchbacks ascending a precipice to a hanging amphitheater hundreds of feet above the valley floor. There lay a dark fir wood called the Dimholt that filled semi-circular Dunharrow in the shadow of the Dwimorberg, and there too lay a short road hedged by standing stones that led to the 'Door of the Dead'.
When they first came thither, curious but wary, they found an old hermit, or so they took him to be, wrapped in a shabby hooded cloak and sitting upon the threshold. They ne'er saw his face. Upon the lintel above his head, and upon the doorposts to either side that supported it, incomprehensible symbols were deeply graven, deep enough still to be marked despite the weathering of many centuries. What they said, none of the Eorlingas could tell.
"Herein dwell the Dead," the hermit told them in an unnatural, wheezing voice that chilled their blood. "It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it 'til the king comes. The way is shut and the Dead suffer not the living to pass."
Brego and his heir had turned from him to take counsel together in private and when they turned back, the hermit had vanished, yet whether he had retreated through the door, or had been borne away by some sorcery, they learnt not. Though Brego was king, neither of them had entered the door that day, nor after the story had been told had any Man of the Eorlingas, or if any had, they had ne'er returned to tell of it. Yet Baldor had been curious, and one day he would be king.
The feast had come and after all too many tankards had been emptied, he heard the oaths of fealty being spoken. 'Cross the hall a minstrel sang of the great deeds of his grandfather, Eorl the Young. One day, I too shall be remembered in song, he drunkenly thought, and a legacy is best started sooner rather than later.
Straightaway he decided to claim a deed that no other would dare, a deed so audacious that t'would set him apart even from the founder of his realm. So he stood, and after draining his tankard, said his oath and then looked 'round at the shocked expressions of the other riders. I shall ask none to accompany me, for I shall not share the renown. 'Tis mine alone.
In the morn, after realizing the probable folly of his oath, Baldor sat thinking on how best to accomplish it, for he would not see his words proved empty. After all, he would one day be king and if his words were vain, how could any trust him after? None would follow him regardless of his lineage. And so, whilst he endured the nausea and headache of his hango'er, he made his plans.
'Tis a cave and from it a chill air proceeded, he recalled, and so I shall need both a warm coat and a light. Yet neither I nor any other know how deep that cavern goes, nor whither it leads. Exploring it could take an hour or two.
On the following day, when he felt recovered, Baldor went first to a lampwright and took counsel. No candle or ordinary torch would suffice to light that windy cave. A cunning oil torch they designed and he awarded the artisan a royal commission. Atop a metal handle the length of his forearm were a large oil reservoir and burner of brass, and a captive globular chimney of clear glass. Hidden within the handle was a tripod upon which the lamp could stand unaided. The reservoir held oil sufficient to burn through the longest winter night. Brass bands affixed the globular chimney that would protect the wick and flame even from the strong winds of the grasslands, and hold it fast lest it tip and fall during a climb.
To a tailor the king's heir went next and he commissioned a greatcoat to cover his mail and keep him warm. 'Twas lined with the fleece of a sheep and had a tall collar and thick cuffs that would serve against even winter's chill. Large pockets he had sewn upon either side, each with a covering flap and fastener, for he deemed it prudent to carry both a skin of water and a meal, sausage, cheese, and bread. And secretly, he hoped that once those were consumed and the pockets emptied, that he would fill them with treasure and tokens of his deed, for a tale was one thing and proofs another. 'Aught that he won would become heirlooms of the House of Eorl.
One final thing he did ere setting out, and this perhaps the most prudent of his inspirations. Baldor summoned bards and loremasters, minstrels and storytellers, and these were all glad to come and hold forth at Meduseld, but when he asked for tales and lore of Dunharrow and the Door of the Dead they fell silent for 'aught they knew was but rumor and fancy. Save what he and his father had told, none amongst the Eorlingas knew more.
Alas, he thought not to ask of the Men of Gondor whose history went far further back in time, and who had spent all of that Age as masters of the lands of Calenardhon. They remembered the War of the Last Alliance and King Isildur's curse of the Oath Breakers of the White Mountains.
After the last of the loremasters took his leave, Baldor deemed his preparations done. He resolved to begin his quest on the morrow, for the sooner begun, the sooner done. That night, he informed his father, brothers, and his mother who begged him to abandon his boast and stay. But his father and brothers understood his need to fulfill his oath, for what was a Man who would not at least attempt to keep his word? No Man at all, and certainly not a king. Yet none were happy, and his father Brego least of all.
"An oath once taken must be fulfilled, whether rash or spoken by drink. This I feel bodes ill, my son, for I too remember the words of the one we met upon the threshold," Brego told him, "and when thou return, wiser and less eager for foolish acts I hope thou shalt be."
With bravado, Baldor replied, "Great renown is earnt by great daring and I shall be known for both. I shall return, father, and all shall celebrate my mettle."
And Brego replied, "We shall see. Though I feel great foreboding, I wish thee safe passage and a safe return."
Baldor rode from Meduseld early the next morn and with him at his father's behest went three riders of his household. They would accompany him through Harrowdale and climb the road to Dunharrow, but they would go no further. There they would wait and tend his horse through the day. If he failed to return by the next morn, one would ride to Meduseld and report to his father whilst the other two would wait for him seven days.
By noon, they had reached Dunharrow and the riders set a camp in Dimholt wood. The day was fine and the view vast to the northwest. The mountains encircled them south, east, and southwest and soon enough, Dunharrow was in shadow through the afternoon, but by then, Baldor had marched down the road past the standing stones and reached the dark door.
Whether he lingered to work up his courage, or plunged in straightaway, none knew. He passed 'neath the ancient lintel and ne'er returned. The next morn, a single rider left for Meduseld. A week later, the other two riders abandoned Dunharrow and rode home. There they informed the king that his son and heir was lost and no clue told of his fate. His mother wailed and Brego set his head in his hands knowing that his heart had spoken true.
That night, Brego King penned a missive and called for six of the most trusted riders of his household. At dawn on the following morn, they set out north, crossing the river Snowbourne and making for the Entwade. Then the king steeled himself though his grief was great, and he prepared to announce the loss of his heir to his people.
Hildewulf son of Hildedeor¹, leader of the six riders from Edoras, was more than happy to visit Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Like many of the Eorlingas, he knew the tales of their riders' prowess in battle, but more than this, he desired to meet the Elves who dwelt there, for he was far too young to have fought at the Battle of Celebrant. ¹(Hildewulf son of Hildedeor, Battle Wolf son of Brave in Battle, Old English)
The king had bid him make haste, and he had kept up a demanding pace, fifty miles each day. The road from Edoras to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý not only ran five hundred fifty miles and took eleven days, but required crossing Anduin at the North Undeep and riding up the old north south track past Borg Fjōlkyngi, the Tower of Sorcery. Once beyond the Wold, all the lands were new to him and so seemed it a great adventure. His company was as eager for this journey as he was, and perhaps their king had counted on this to hasten them on their way, for they deemed their lord wise.
The kings missive was sealed with wax and he had not read it, (and indeed he was poor at his letters, but sang with a strong voice usually on key), and so he knew not what message he carried, nor could he anticipate the response. Still, his orders were clear and the king had even pointed out the recipient on an ancient tapestry that hung on the wall in his new hall, just as it had in the keep at the recently renamed Aldburg. Hildewulf had no doubt that he would know Helluin by sight.
He was far less sure of the final portion of his journey, for even in Eorl's day, the path leading to the farm from the north south track had been neither marked nor obvious. 'Twas the same on that day and they rode past it twice ere taking the barely visible trail just north of a ford o'er shallow water, wider than what he would have called a stream, but small for a river. As had Eorl when Borondir had led him thither almost three score years aforetime, they found the path grown with weeds and nary a footprint left on the ground.
After a couple furlongs, they passed into the dappled sunlight of an open, mixed hardwood forest. A gentle breeze and birdsong accompanied the creaking of their saddles and hoof beats muffled by soft, rich earth. The river drew closer to the trail as they advanced west. After half a mile they came to a split-rail fence that ran from the riverbank and disappeared amongst the trees to the north. There was no gate where it crossed the path, only an opening wide enough for them all to pass abreast. There too they were met by a dozen riders, half of them bearing spears and the other half bows. They sat in a wedge formation, but the archers had not knocked arrows and the spears were held upright behind shields that bore the same white horse rampant on green as their own. The lead rider dipped his greying head to them in greeting.
"Welcome, riders of the Eorlingas, to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. I am Ælfhere son of Ælfric. What word from Brego King?"
"Hail and thanks for thy welcome, Ælfhere, I am Hildewulf son of Hildedeor. My companions and I have ridden from Brego son or Eorl's new hall of Meduseld bearing a sealed message for Helluin Werewolf's Bane."
"The new hall is finished abuilding then," Ælfhere said with a smile that reinforced the laugh lines 'round his eyes. "That is good tidings. I reckon then that the new city of Edoras is established as well?"
"Aye, sir, and a strong city it is, built upon a steep hill with an encircling dike and high palisade. It stands at the mouth of Harrowdale looking far out o'er the land. The hall's roof shines like gold in the afternoon light."
The riders of Ælfhere's company smiled and softly spoke many comments of approval, whilst some clashed spear shaft on shield to applaud their king's achievement. Pride the messengers felt at the obvious approval of their hosts.
"Come, Hildewulf son of Hildedeor and thy companions, to be welcomed at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý," Ælfhere declared. "There thou shalt meet Helluin Úlairdacil and complete thy mission, then take some rest from thy journey."
They had advanced only a short ways ere they passed a berry bramble laden with fruit, and seeing the looks of both wonder and hunger on the faces of the riders from Edoras, Ælfhere said, "If thine errand allows, we can stay our ride a while that ye may enjoy some of these berries. They are very tasty."
The Men looked to Hildewulf and he gave them a nod, and then they dismounted and began picking and eating.
"I thank thee for thy generosity," Hildewulf said to Ælfhere ere he joined them. "Such bounty is rare in our lands, blessed though they be."
"The Elves tell us that Eru provides for his children," Ælfhere said, "and our sires dwelt in the mountains. Even there they managed to live well enough 'til the Goblins came."
Hildewulf looked to the rider from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, and after swallowing a handful of raspberries, said, "Though we have long esteemed those of ye who come to the king's aid, few of us know the story of thy people. If the time allows, I would hear it if I may."
Ælfhere nodded to him and said, "If thine errand allows, I would be glad to tell it, for Helluin plays a part that we shall ne'er forget, invading the fastness of the Goblins to deliver our sires from slavery and certain death. My own grandsire Eadmundr was amongst them."
Having heard his words and seen the tapestry, (about which he had had some doubts, for the story it told seemed fantastical), he began to wonder just how intimidating this Elf might be. At least she was an ally, he finally decided, and yet…the tapestry's tale supposedly came from a time so distant that 'twas hard for anyone of his day to imagine it. Finally, after his company finished their snack of berries, they remounted and rode down the path, rounding a hillock to their north and finding the farm and its stockade at last.
Save that the land was cleared fields amidst hilly forest and not the open grasslands Hildewulf had grown up in, the settlement and the people might have been from any farming village in Rohan. All of it was easily recognizable to him and his friends, including the stockade that recalled many of their own outposts. Well 'nigh the only thing strange to his eyes was the waterwheel powering the smithy, and that passed his glance without remark amidst all else there was to see.
They found the livestock, the horses, milk cows, sheep, and chickens, all long familiar, save that they were not penned. Beyond the homes and shops lay fields of grain and fodder, also well known to anyone from Rohan. The vegetable garden held no surprises. Perhaps the strangest things were the cultivated nut trees and the field of wildflowers with beehives on stilts, though their purpose was also recognizable. 'Twas just that their form was different from the apiaries of their homelands and the flowers that the bees frequented were purposefully planted rather than naturally occurring. They smelt the scents of the smokehouse and the animals, the cook fires and the baking bread. Despite that they were hundreds of miles from home, they felt comforted, for the surroundings were familiar enough to set them at ease.
Being allied warriors, Ælfhere led them first to the stockade. There their horses were stabled and bunks were made available should they stay the night. They were given a brief tour so that they could find their way to the mess, latrine pit, and though the need was doubtful, the fortifications and watchtower. Then whilst his riders enjoyed a hearty noon meal, Ælfhere bid Hildewulf join him for the completion of his errand.
"We shall join Helluin whom thou seek at her cabin for the noon meal. I must give my report and hear 'aught of import from the others," he said.
They walked uphill from the stockade's gate, past workshops and stores 'til they came to a small open space 'twixt an ancient cabin and a great house, where a trio of the largest apple trees the rider from Edoras had e'er seen shaded the door. Firewood was cached along the front wall up to the eaves, and Hildewulf reckoned t'would last a year. To Men accustomed to the open lands where forests were few and most grew at the feet of the White Mountains, this represented both a resource and wealth.
An apple, ripe and red fell as they passed, and when Ælfhere stooped to lift it, another feel, narrowly missing his head. The Man shook a finger at the trees, but a smile shaped his lips. He handed one of the fruit to Hildewulf and bit into the other.
"I would swear they are enchanted. As a boy I learnt to be wary, for oft enough I was struck even when I knew better," he said, laughing. Hildewulf looked carefully at both fruit and trees. Marking 'naught amiss, he followed his host's example and bit in, finding it juicy and sweet.
They came to the cabin and heard voices within. Ælfhere rapped on the door and a voice within bid him enter.
When the senior rider and the messenger entered, they found seven seated 'round a large table before a spacious hearth. A plentiful meal of farmhouse fare was set there and the company rose to greet the last arrivals. Hildewulf marked two men, two women, and three who were certainly Elves. His eyes widened, for seated at the table 'cross from the hearth was Helluin Werewolf's Bane. Even without her armor or weapons, she was unmistakable.
"Ahhh, Captain Ælfhere, welcome," she said, "I see thou hast brought company. Pray introduce our guest."
"Helluin, here is Hildewulf son of Hildedeor, message bearer from King Brego at Meduseld," he said. The rider bowed to the gathering, but Helluin waved this off.
"We are all of equal station, friend, for none amongst us claim lordship or noble blood. Well met then, Hildewulf. Pray join us for the noon meal if thine errand can stand the delay."
The rider nodded, for though they had been bidden to ride in haste, the king had not commanded that they brook no delays and a meal should take little time compared to the days of their ride. Ælfhere had drawn an extra chair to the table and the others had made room. The captain beckoned Hildewulf to a seat and took another. When all were sitting, the diners bowed their heads in silence, and this too was familiar to Hildewulf.
Now after the silent thanksgiving, Helluin introduced the other diners.
"Here are Ngandáro and Arinya representing the Elves of the east who came to offer their aid in our struggle against the Shadow. Here too are Ælfhere son of Ælfric, Captain of the Riders of Helrunahlæw whom thou hast already met, Yrþling son of Hrūse, Chief of the Farmers, Wyrtcwēn daughter of Wælcyrie, First Healer, Blæcsmið son of Īsenbeorn, Master of the Crafts Guilds, and Meolcmægþ daughter of Cūhierde¹, our Livestock Manager. Our mylnweard is absent today, making repairs to his waterwheel." ¹(Yrþling son of Hrūse, Farmer son of Earth(Soil), Wyrtcwēn daughter of Wælcyrie, Herbwoman daughter of Witch, Blæcsmið son of Īsenbeorn, Blacksmith son of Ironman, Meolcmægþ daughter of Cūhierde , Milkmaid daughter of Cowherder Old English)
Hildewulf dipped his head to each as they nodded to him when they acknowledged their introductions. It seemed that save for the absent miller, this gathering was actually the farm's council with the leaders of the various professions present to share their tidings. A couple of the names gave him pause, and though he said 'naught of this, he deemed that their specialties ran in the family.
Their tidings were shared informally in conversation with commentary and suggestions passing back and forth as the meal progressed at a leisurely pace. There seemed to be no rivalry or contention. None vied for influence or recognition, for there was no lord to impress or curry favor with. He marked that Helluin's only contribution was to say that the wolves had 'naught to report, nor the birds, nor the trees, and so she deemed the lands tranquil and threats absent. Ngandáro and Arinya nodded in agreement and the others accepted this as a matter of course, expressing no surprise or disbelief.
As the meal was ending with apple tarts, Helluin called upon their guest.
"Good Hildewulf, is Brego King's message deemed a privy matter?"
"In truth, I know not, Helluin," he said, "for I bear a sealed missive handed to me with the charge to deliver it to thy hand. The contents are unknown to me or to those who accompanied me hither."
"I see," she said, making no effort to conceal 'aught from the others. "I would receive it then that thine errand be done."
Hildewulf drew the missive from his shoulder bag and passed it down the table to her. She inspected the king's seal, nodded to herself, and then snapped the wax and unfolded the page. Then for a time, she was engaged in reading the contents, scrunching her brows from time to time o'er a passage as the errand rider suppressed a smile, knowing that his king's script was inelegant.
Finally, she held the page up facing the table so that they could properly appreciate the king's scrawl and declared, "T'would seem that Brego King's heir Ealdor Baldor has taken upon himself a folly oath to explore the Door of the Dead 'neath Dwimorberg. He was lost a week ere the king wrote this plea for counsel and aid, and he hath been gone now well o'er a fortnight." After a further moment for thought, the Noldo said, "I shall accompany Hildewulf and his riders on their return to Rohan and present myself before Brego's throne at Meduseld. In truth, I know not what aid I can give."
Thereafter followed a short discussion in which Helluin recited what little lore she knew of the White Mountains, yet that mostly concerned the southern slopes above Lebennin.
"Ne'er have I come to any hall 'neath the mountains and little have I explored their northern slopes. There are a few passes used only by hunters and Rangers from Linhir. Regarding this Door of the Dead 'neath Dwimorberg, I know no tales telling of who delved it or whither it leads, or of what hazards may linger there still. I wager the king knows more of its lore than I."
"And whyfor would any seek to come within that fastness?" asked an astonished Wyrtcwēn.
"I can think of no good reason, but several poor ones," Helluin said, casting a questioning glance to the errand rider of Rohan.
"He was very drunk," Hildewulf recalled with a shrug, "and spoke ill-fated from the depths of his ale."
The others nodded. Helluin groaned and shook her head in dismay, thinking that, perhaps 'tis just as well, for a fey and reckless king he likely would have made.
"Give thy steeds a day's rest after their long journey, good Hildewulf," Helluin said, "and we shall set out on the following morn. I deem that a day's haste shall avail 'naught to aid Prince Baldor's plight."
Hildewulf was hardly disappointed to have a day to rest from the saddle and knew his company would feel the same. It seemed that the farm produced a very nice ale and they would be glad to relax for a day and celebrate the completion of their mission. Besides, he was curious about life in Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, for though all had appeared quite normal thus far, the farm hosted Elves, a folk known to him aforetime only from legends and tales. He had many questions.
After their noon meal, (which encompassed 'nigh two hours), and the others had left, the captain led him back to the stockade where he and his Men enjoyed the company of the Riders of Helrunahlæw for the remainder of the day. The Men from Edoras found them very similar to themselves, for whilst not riding patrol 'round the fence or guarding the entrance path, they spent their time tending their mounts, repairing their tack and arms, training, and telling many tales. Like any warriors at peace, they were eager to hear what songs and stories their guests would share. They were unshy of sharing their own in trade and soon all came to feel closer, especially after sharing the evening meal.
On the morrow, whilst their horses rested and grazed, the riders wandered the farm and their hosts seemed glad to show them 'round. Of great interest were their training grounds, for whilst not all of the Eorlingas were competent horse archers, all the Riders of Helrunahlæw were.
"We did not pass our training by the Elves without gaining proficiency with the bow," said one. "Not only shooting afoot or from horseback we were taught, but also the crafting of bows, and the making of arrows and strings."
"So each of ye are skilled bowyers and fletchers?" Hildewulf asked. His host nodded 'aye'.
"We begin our training by crafting our own bow and arrows and begin shooting 'round the age of six. Four times, I built new bows as my strength grew ere I came to manhood. That is how the Tatyar learn in their eastern homelands."
"And what of these Elves?" Hildewulf asked. "Are they all also deadly archers?"
"Aye, they ne'er miss a target, or at least, I have ne'er seen any of them miss. 'Tis unnatural to witness at first, but we have all grown used to it with time." The Man regarded him a moment and asked, "Wouldst thou see their training range?" Curious as e'er, Hildewulf nodded 'aye' and they walked from the stockade, heading west into the forest.
The rider had expected to find a private archery range with the accustomed targets of coiled, woven straw propped upright on wooden frames. Instead, he found no clearing, no stationary targets, and 'naught he recognized save the sounds of arrows striking wood. When they arrived, they found two of the Tatyar, an elleth and an ellon, who introduced themselves as Nieninque and Vorsaira. Their targets were a series of flat rounds cut from pine trunks, roughly a hand's length in diameter, and hung from ropes tied to thin, springy branches. Whilst such might hang relatively still for the first shot, they began bobbing and swinging, more violently and less predictably with each successive shot. Nor did Nieninque and Vorsaira stand still upon a firing line, but rather loosed their arrows as they advanced from cover to cover amongst the surrounding trees. Although the two Men watched 'til the Elves had emptied their quivers, they saw no arrows fly wide.
By the end of the day, Hildewulf had witnessed several cases of dwimorcræftas¹, but these were set against a background of comforting normalcy. Another of the Tatyar had stood silently gazing into the eyes of a cow as a maiden milked her, finally conveying the milch's opinion that their rations of beer had been skipped o'er after the arrival of their guests. The elleth Lirulin had explained that no celebration or feast had been held, but still, the cows were disappointed. The milkmaid had taken it in stride and patted the cow on the head, whispering a few apologetic words into her ear as if such things happened oft. Of course, there had also been the treacherous apple trees, tempting Captain Ælfhere with fruit just after his arrival and then trying to bomb him. ¹(dwimorcræftas, supernatural skills Old English)
They set out the next morn, Helluin joining the company of riders from Edoras for their return to Rohan. She was now girt in her black armor and bore her weapons, appearing unmistakable from her image in the tapestry in their lord's hall. The Noldo rode a grey mare bespeckled with black, a horse of fine conformation that stood 'nigh seventeen hands and seemed eager to run. Helluin introduced her as Miserin¹ and they marked that she bore no tack. Ere long they also marked that whensoe'er they stopped for water or rest, Helluin spent time 'talking' with her in silence, eye to eye, and their own horses gathered 'round to join their conversation. ¹(Miserin, Grey Morning = mith(grey) + erin(morning) The –th becomes –s at the partition in Sindarin proper nouns. Sindarin)
"Dost thou speak with thy mount, Helluin?" Hildewulf had asked. When she nodded 'aye' he enquired, "And what hath she to say?"
The Noldo sighed, and then explained that, "She wagers the trip is shorter for the other horses than for herself as following one's tail with one's nose always seems so when compared to following one's nose alone."
"Huh?" he asked, not understanding at all.
"Does not returning home seem swifter than riding away?" Helluin asked.
"Aye," he said, "but I wager 'tis only because the way is then familiar."
"'Tis so as well for horses. When they go someplace new, they follow their noses, meaning not their sense of smell, but simply because their whole body lies behind their nose," she explained. "Upon their return, if they backtrack down the same route, they say their nose is following where their tail had gone aforetime."
"But is their face not e'er behind their nose?" the confused rider asked. Helluin nodded.
"I have e'er taken it to be so, but those expressions are peculiar to horses in my experience. Wolves, birds, and cats of several kinds have not expressed travel in those same terms," she said. After a few moments' consideration, she added, "Perhaps 'tis due to the length of their faces."
Hildewulf cast a quick glance to her. Helluin seemed completely serious and if she were jesting, he could mark no tells.
They continued thus for eleven days during which 'naught untoward occurred and they arrived safely at Edoras in the late morning. All the riders bowed their heads as they passed the mound of Eorl's grave ere they entered the city. There the company stabled their horses and Hildewulf led Helluin to Meduseld as the remainder of the company stood down. From the moment they had passed through the gate, e'ery eye in the city had followed the Noldo. Visitors were uncommon, Elves rare if not mythical, and one clad in such intricate and outlandish armor was a singularity. Helluin ignored their attention and examined Edoras.
The Noldo found the city small and rustic, though being enclosed within a flammable stockade of wood, and with each building's roof thatched with straw, she deemed it a fire trap little more defensible that Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Worse, Edoras had been built with its back to the deep, narrow Harrowdale, and so escape was impossible save into that dead ending defile, or by a desperate dash 'cross the open plains in hope of outrunning foes. She shook her head at that, wondering why they had not fortified the mouth of the Harrowdale and then sought for a pass o'er the mountains as an escape route.
Soon, they had climbed the long run of steps leading to the top of the stone platform upon which the king's hall stood and where the door wards bowed and allowed them entrance to Meduseld. As expected, the interior was dim compared to the late morning sun, but their eyes adjusted quickly. Most of the illumination came as shafts angling down from clerestory windows located in dormers on either side, augmented by candles on iron wheel chandeliers. The light held a hazy quality from smoke and dust sifting down from the newly thatched roof.
Helluin reckoned from her view of the exterior that Meduseld's public space encompassed the front two-thirds of the building in a single open room. Stout columns joined by arched fretwork and exposed ceiling beams supported the high-pitched roof of thick thatch with its central cupola providing smoke louvers. Lofty was that ceiling, a good six fathoms at the ridge beam, the Noldo deemed it. Along the walls were spaced three doors per side leading to the half-height wings that had been visible on the exterior.
Amidst the intertwining linear designs of inlaid colored floor tiles lay a sunken central floor hearth situated 'neath the cupola, and Helluin recalled that she had seen no chimneys piercing the roofline. Decorating well 'nigh all of the exposed woodwork, yet more intertwining designs were carved, but also the stylized figures of horses, dragons, and heraldry, and some of these were yet being carved, for the hall was new. Helluin marked the scent of freshly cut wood competing with smoke from the fire that had yet to darken the cupola and ceiling with its carbon.
At the far end of the open space was a broad dais of three steps whereon Brego's throne and the seats of his counselors were set. He had obviously been told of their return, for they saw the king and his two remaining sons seated there, and the ominous empty chair for the lord's heir at his right hand. Helluin could feel the profound depression that seeped from his spirit and the heaviness of his heart was etched upon his face. Understandably, the princes Aldor and Eofor appeared mirthless and grim. Hildewulf and Helluin paced forward 'til they stood a fathom before the dais and then bowed.
"Sire, I have done as instructed and returned from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý with Helluin Werewolf's Bane," the rider said, and then repeated his bow.
"King Brego, son of Eorl, I have come to offer what counsel and aid I can to my allies of old in this time of misfortune," said Helluin ere dipping her head and awaiting the king's words.
"I thank thee for coming, Helluin Úlairdacil, as the late Lord of Mundburg called thee," Brego said, "and I hope that name shall ring true again. Unashamed, I beg thine aid, to do what no Man can. At the feast of consecration for our new hall, my heir Baldor spoke a foolish oath to walk the dark paths beyond the Door of the Dead that lies at the end of the road through Dunharrow. I beg thee find him, or at least to find if he lives yet, or has fallen indeed."
He looked up at her with sorrowful eyes, the eyes, not of a proud king, but of the father of a lost child, a father who loved his son in spite of his foolishness and pride. In his grief, he was no less compelling than Galadriel had been when she had beseeched Helluin to aid her daughter Celebrían. And how could she refuse, for she too had been a parent, a mother. She bowed her head to the son of noble Eorl whom she had once known.
"I shall do what I can," the Noldo said, "and discover what I may, my lord."
He nodded to her, not yet with relief, but certainly with gratitude. She had quickly agreed to do what neither he, nor any of his Men dared.
"I have no words to thank thee for this…this…" he wrung his hands, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Lord, despite the pain I know it shall cause, I would hear all that is known of Baldor's quest and of the door 'neath the mountains. Such lore may aid me in finding thy son."
Though there was not so much to tell, the king ordered food brought and together they took counsel, recalling the details of Baldor's words at the feast, of his preparations after, and of his ride to the dark door. Brego called the three riders who had accompanied him to the Dimholt and their testimony was heard in full. Finally, the king himself spoke of the meeting he and his son had had with the hermit upon the threshold of the door ere the building of Edoras began. They viewed a relatively new tapestry illustrating the lands of Rohan and the Dimholt Road was described in detail. It left more unknown than known.
"A focus of pride for our people this hall was meant to be," Brego said. "Yet had I known my son would celebrate it so foolishly, I would have burnt it to the ground ere holding the feast. How could it have come to this?" Beside him, the queen, Baldor's mother, sobbed inconsolably.
Helluin wished that she had time to ride to Minas Tirith and consult the loremasters there, but the hours were short and though she was fairly sure that Baldor was already at least a fortnight dead, she could not bring herself to delay, for Brego King was obviously distraught, his wife the queen even more so. She determined to ride to the Dimholt the next morn.
"Only can I say this," she told them, "that of old the Men of the Mountains dwelt in the uplands of the White Mountains above the old realm of Lebennin that my beloved and I safeguarded for twelve centuries in an Age before. They were outcasts, distrusted, and e'er a threat upon our northern border.
When the people of the Kings came o'er the Sea and established Gondor, their king swore allegiance to Isildur, but the War of the Last Alliance proved him faithless and in his rage, Isildur cursed that people to rest not in death. It may be that even to this day their unquiet spirits inhabit such places as were once their strongholds long ago."
She recalled her meeting with Lord Mórthróg, the hereditary ruler of Calembel upon the river Ciril in Gwirith of 1446 as they laid the groundwork for Eldacar's return. Lord 'Black Wolf' had been a mixed blood scion of the Men of the Mountains and no friend to Gondor. Perhaps he and his house too had fallen 'neath Isildur's curse, yet they had survived at least that long. The Noldo knew not what had become of them since, but in T.A. 1447, they had not opposed King Eldacar's restoration, for they had despised Lord Castamir even more.
This and other thoughts she had examined during that night, and when the dawn broke, she went to the stables and rousted Miserin.
Why so early, Helluin? The hour is uncivil, the sun barely risen, and I would appreciate a moment to break my fast, the mare said.
Do so then, Miserin, and afterwards we must away. The king is profoundly depressed for lack of tidings regarding his idiotic son who swore to walk some underground paths kept by the dead, even after being warned to shun them. I fear that if no news comes to him, Brego shall cut his own throat in despondency, Helluin told the mare.
I understand, Miserin said 'round a mouthful of hay, the king is a drama queen and his son a moron. Art thou sure that thou want to spend time saving either?
Brego is not so bad, Helluin told her. He is a heartbroken parent bereft of his heir, and though I reckon 'tis 'naught that a week spent crawling drunk shant cure, I would spare him such a waste of ale.
Oh very well then, Helluin, allow me time to swallow and we shall be away. Pray tell me the trail leads not uphill?
The Noldo merely huffed in impatience and stood by tapping her foot. The mare would soon discover that their path indeed led uphill, and that would be the easy part.
To Be Continued