In An Age Before

by Phantom Bard

Part 298 posted, in which Helluin and the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý aid the Third Marshal Haleth in Rohan's defeat of the Easterling invaders. Brutal weather, disease, and failing morale play a part. Aldburg is no sooner freed of the eastern threat when tidings come of the Dunlending's invasion from the west. OCs galore as usual.

281. In An Age Before Chapter 281

In An Age Before – Part 281

Now Helluin rode Miserin the four leagues from Edoras through the narrowing defile of Harrowdale, tracing the river Snowbourne to the climbing road, and during the last league, the Noldo marked the mare looking left and right as well as ahead and also up at the surrounding mountain slopes as these closed in 'round them. She could well 'nigh hear her mount silently grumbling. When they came to the foot of the switchback road and found the first standing stone, Helluin dismounted to examine the carving, for it seemed familiar in an eroded kind of way. Immediately, Miserin seized on the opportunity to bellyache.

Thou said 'naught about the path leading uphill, and so steeply at that, she complained. I even asked about this.

Aye, thou said, 'Pray tell me the trail leads not uphill?' and I said 'naught, Helluin explained. The mare glared at her, unmollified.

Helluin examined the switchbacks ahead ere they disappeared o'er the lip of Dunharrow and said, I have ne'er come hither aforetime and had no certainty of what the trail would look like. Now I shall tell thee that it climbs two furlongs o'er three-quarters of a mile by eight switchbacks. The mare groaned and shook her mane. Helluin continued, pointing to the marker that stood at the foot of the first switchback. Look at this Watch-stone, Miserin. I should swear that it recalls the Drúedain that I have seen in the flesh long ago. I wager the Dúnedain did not make this road, and the Eorlingas certainly did not. It predates the founding of Gondor.

I am sorry that I cannot appreciate this great work of art, Helluin, but it looks like a blob with a grim face crudely carved, and that long ago. I have seen cow pies as expressive. And the trail still leads uphill, and rather steeply, I might add.

Bah, the Noldo said, waving a hand in dismissal, thou fail to appreciate the cultural significance of the work. I agree that the rendering is lacking in naturalism, howe'er I wager 'tis o'er twenty-seven centuries since this road was made and this sculpture set here. Surely, thou can appreciate its ancientry.

I cannot, Miserin said, swishing her tail in dismissal. I wager the road leads as steeply uphill now as it did twenty-seven centuries ago, and so its age holds little significance to me. She sighed and said, Shall we begin, Helluin? This cliff shant climb itself.

With a nod of agreement, Helluin mounted and they began walking up the road towards Dunharrow at a petulantly slow pace.

Eventually, they reached the top and stood looking from the precipice, down into the narrow gorge of Harrowdale and out onto the grasslands of Rohan beyond.

It all looks so small, and yet I can see so much more of it, Miserin remarked. Is it e'er thus, Helluin, that the smaller things become, the more of them one can see?

I deem it so, or at least it hath e'er appeared thus to me, the Noldo replied. I wager that were it not so, then one would see 'off the edges' so to speak. She conjectured the last ere gazing back past her shoulder from the o'erlook to assess the dark fir wood of Dimholt and the entrance of the cramped defile leading to the Door of the Dead as the mare nodded, accepting her testimony.

Helluin glanced up to the sun and found it an hour ere noon, and so she took rations from her travel bag and sat down with her legs dangling o'er the edge of the cliff to eat her noon meal. Miserin walked off to graze and drink from the rill that eventually gave rise to the river Snowbourne. After the quarter part of an hour, Helluin rose and looked Miserin in the eyes.

I shall go up this slot canyon, and if not crushed 'twixt the rock walls, come to the 'Door of the Dead'.

How ominous, Helluin. Once thou pass the threshold, shalt thou die? Shalt thou return to life upon leaving after?

I shall not, Miserin. I reckon the name is simply a morbid imagining of the Eorlingas. After all, by their own admission, none of them have e'er passed through it.

Save Baldor who has disappeared, the mare said.

So says the king and all the others I have heard from, Helluin acknowledged with a calculating glance.

Think thou that he hath gone…elsewhere, or perhaps being far now from Edoras, he hath grown small?

Perhaps, Helluin replied, admirably resisting rolling her eyes at the mare's reasoning. Whether he hath grown small or gone elsewhere, or else lies dead within the mountain, I am determined to discover. Pray await me through this afternoon, but when evening comes, I bid thee return to Edoras. I would not have thee linger in this place after dark.

Huh? What dost thou expect of this place?

'Naught good else people would frequent it, for the view is magnificent and there is water and space for a refuge. I reckon this the most defensible place I have yet seen in Rohan.

Very well then, Helluin. With dusk, I shall take my leave, though I wager that if I return to Edoras without thee, the king and his Men shall panic and deem thee also lost. I should not care to be impressed into service and harnessed to draw a wagon.

I doubt it shall come to that, Miserin, but if thou art truly concerned, then pray tarry in Harrowdale and come at my sign.

Uphill? Again?

Is there any other way?

If a horse could have shrugged, Miserin would have done so then, but instead she simply nickered and eyed the sun. Helluin shouldered her travel bag and stalked off towards the 'Dimholt Road', though 'twas really more of a path by this point. Riders would have been forced to go single-file, with knees held tight against their mounts' flanks. Here and there, a few gnarled remains of trees, straying firs seemingly banished from the Dimholt wood, clung to the walls. Along the way, Helluin passed another, carven 'Púkel Man', so weathered as to be barely recognizable, even to her. Beyond it lay the door.

'Twas a fittingly depressing cave entrance reinforced in the far distant past with hewn stone and it struck the Noldo as neither welcoming nor particularly reassuring, structurally. A chill air washed out past the threshold as was to be expected of caves.

If I stood in the Hithaeglir, I would not doubt for a moment that 'twas filled with Yrch, she thought, but I smell no trace of them herein, huh.

Without a second glance, Helluin strode in, illuminating her figure sufficiently to see the path. Enveloped in a glow of silver and gold, she advanced through a narrow passage that she deemed was an entrance hall, and soon enough the cavern widened. Shortly later, the walls showed the working of hands long ago. The passage had been crudely hewn to widen and heighten the way, and ominous as 'twas, as yet, she had detected 'naught unsavory though she imagined t'would seem fearsome to a mortal, what with their o'eractive imaginations and fears of death.

After roughly fifty fathoms, she came upon the first walls of coarsely laid stones. The ceiling was a simple barrel vault, poorly constructed, from which a few stones had dropped and impacted on the floor. There too she also found the first evidence of the dead. A few sad bones abandoned and scattered, marked the passing of someone sometime long ago. There was no trace of flesh, nor of clothing, nor scent of death, no clue to who it had been, nor of how they had died. Helluin shook her head but continued on, for from somewhere ahead, she sensed the brief candles of mortal lives feebly wavering in the aether. The Paths of the Dead these may be, she thought, but not all within them are Dead…yet.

After a quarter mile and several turns, the Noldo came to more impressive surroundings. Now great halls of far better mason craft rose in layer cake tiers. Though not of Dwarvish quality, these halls would once have been comfortable dwellings for many hundreds of souls. Alas, it seemed that all of those souls had fled their halls, and now, what Helluin saw was a grandiose catacomb, an ossuary in which bones were stacked floor to ceiling and arranged with no little art, macabre though 'twas.

There too, she saw the first of the inhabitants, two figures robed in brown, skeletal and without a shred of flesh 'twixt them, standing with hands clasped together before a wall of stacked skulls. How long they had held their poses, none could tell. With a single touch of her fingers, a pinch of a robe's material fell into dust, attesting to centuries of dry rot. Helluin shook her head, deeming that many secrets had been kept once all who knew them were dead.

A faint sound came to her ears, a scraping as of a foot sliding on stone and close by. Helluin increased her illumination, knowing that the dead would not care.

Stripped of the pervading shadows, three figures were revealed, living Men, hooded and cloaked like the dead, two bearing clubs and one a sword, but the blade was old, pitted and notched. Helluin turned to them just as another pair edged forward behind them, one bearing a spear and the other another sword. They seemed hesitant, uncertain, and she deemed they were more comfortable in the dark. They advanced to a fathom, but paused ere offering either hail or combat. When the silence had continued several heartbeats, Helluin claimed the initiative and spoke to them.

"Who are ye to linger in a place claimed by the Dead?" she asked.

Perhaps her words incited some wrath in them, or perhaps 'twas her presence alone that set a fire in their blood. The nearest Man bearing a sword stepped forward, raising his weapon to strike. The Noldo had marked the gritting of his teeth, the pause in his breathing, and his expression of rage. She crossed her arms in front of her body and a split second later when she saw him commit his weight as he stepped forward with his right foot, she stepped forward with her left foot to close the distance on his strong side and snatched the Sarchram from her belt-clip in a cross-draw with right hand.

His blade came down at an angle towards her neck, but such attacks had been seen and countered thousands of times and held no surprises. Helluin snapped her left forearm up and outwards, rotating at the elbow. The mithril vambrace o'erlying her gauntlet met the blade and the crudely forged steel shattered on impact. In a blur, the Noldo rotated her hips to propel her right hand forward and the swordsman was decapitated with Ring Blade.

The rest of the mortals froze at the thud of his head on the rocky floor, and when his body began to list forward towards her, Helluin gave it a shove to the side so that it raised a small cloud of dust as it fell 'twixt her and the others. All eyes regarded his corpse and when 'naught happened, the remaining four stepped back and began muttering 'twixt themselves in an unfamiliar tongue. This continued for several minutes as they watched their dead comrade closely. Helluin stood ready for any further attacks, but none were forthcoming.

"Thou slayed he," the spear carrying Man said in poorly constructed but understandable Westron, yet his tone was one of wonder rather than accusation.

"'Twas either he or me and I shall not die by the hand of any hither," Helluin calmly told them. She moved the Sarchram to her left hand and set her right upon Anguirél's hilt.

"But what to his ghost happened? Whither his ghost wented?" the Man asked in dismay. 'Round him, the others leant forward as if this was a grave concern to them as well.

Helluin shrugged and held up the Sarchram, telling them, "This weapon sends the fëar of defeated foes to the Void."

When they looked at her in confusion, she clarified, "They are sent through the Door of Eternal Night, ne'er to return."

It seemed that the Man with the spear was the only one amongst them to understand 'aught of the Common Speech, and so he acted as translator for the other three. When they had heard her words, they drew back a pace regarding the weapon, and they vigorously debated in their own tongue things that Helluin understood not yet were obviously of great concern to them. Their conversation continued with fingers occasionally pointing at the corpse and other gestures encompassing their surroundings in general, all of it cryptic to the Noldo who groaned as she rapidly lost patience.

Finally, just as Helluin was preparing to walk away, they seemed to reach some consensus. They threw down their weapons and stood in a row. The Man who had borne the spear declared, "Thou kill us escape so we do!" Then they pulled back their hoods and jutted their chins forward, exposing their necks for hewing. The Noldo gaped at them.

"If ye crave escape, then why not just walk out yonder door and quit these halls?" she asked, pointing back the way she had come.

But the spearman vigorously shook his head 'nay' and explained that, "No do us goodly! Still old west-king's curse have us when die we." And finally, Helluin understood.

They would choose to die by the Sarchram and spend eternity in the Void rather than fall 'neath Isildur's curse and join the restless dead, she realized, a curse for oath-breaking cast long ere they were born.

"To save ye from the curse of your ancestors I shall slay ye as ye ask, but from such a death there is no return. From the curse ye may yet find peace one day," she said. Her words gave them a moment's pause, but a moment only ere they stretched out their necks even further. Helluin nodded to them, but ere she slit their throats with the Sarchram, she asked of them regarding her own quest.

"I am only here seeking tidings of one lost a month past," she said, "a large Man, golden-haired, who came hither to make good a folly boast. His father would know of his fate."

The trio looked to the spearman and he spoke to them, and they laughed and engaged in a disjointed pantomime that left Helluin yet further confused. Finally the translator spoke.

"We him kill. Ghosts tempt whispering he find temple enter try, for treasure steal. We break legs, leave to die at door."

What a moron, Helluin thought, and not for the first time. Finally, she nodded and said, "Show me, but first, I would know whither these paths lead."

'Twas then the four who groaned, but they capitulated in the end, for she was their only chance to escape the curse, and so without bothering to recover their weapons, they led her on, deeper into the catacombs. From e'ery side, bones and the leering skulls of the dead surrounded them like a silently jeering audience.

For another two hours they walked, and they passed through a broad space, broader than any hall of Men. As a field or meadow it would hath been if the sun deigned to glance down upon it. But instead 'twas fore'er dark and only by Helluin's own Light did she mark the vast dimensions of that cavern.

Upon the face of the nearer wall was built an edifice of well-laid stone, grand and many stories high. The four Men dipped their heads to it as they passed, as it were a temple or the seat of some revered presence, but they spoke no words and Helluin questioned them not.

Beyond that cavern lay a passage, narrow but tall, that turned several corners, and finally, ahead there glimmered a dim brightening as of sunlight reflected off walls and seen 'round a turn. From seeps in the walls, a rill grew as it paced their path along the floor. They passed a last bend and there lay a gate 'neath an arch of stone blocks whence the rill flowed from the mountain. Helluin glanced out and saw a path threading its way southeast, descending along the cliff face in a narrow gorge already shadowed from the mid-afternoon sun. Far below, the falling rill joined snowmelt in a foaming stream that dashed downhill.

Helluin could not identify the place for she had ne'er seen it aforetime, but to her nose came a faint scent that told of the sea. We have come straight through the White Mountains! Into some high, south-facing vale, these 'Paths of the Dead' lead. The knowledge of this could be of value some day.

Finally, Helluin turned away and the Men led her on, back through the passages and past the grand chamber. Thereafter they diverged and took a different path. Now after what Helluin reckoned to be another hour and most of a league, they came to a wider space of bare stone where the ceiling lunged upward, whilst far off at their backs lay the walls of a tall façade with many windows opening onto darkness. There, in the raw rock wall before them lay a door with neither knob nor pull, but with symbols deeply graven upon its lintel and posts. Like those upon the outer door, they were unreadable to the Noldo, though by now, this was hardly unexpected.

Before the door lay the body of a tall, burly Man with golden hair, fallen on his face with his gilded helm still upon his head. He was girt in a mail hauberk with a heavy golden belt studded with garnets upon which hung the sheath of a long sword. The hilt shard of that sword lay beside his right hand, but the distal shard lay on the floor before him, chipped and notched as if he had hewed at the rock and finally broken his blade by trying to prise open the door with it. His hands were frozen in death as if he had been clawing at the door seams in his last despair. True to the spearman's words, his legs lay at odd angles, certainly broken. To his left lay discarded a curious torch topped with an oil lamp, long extinguished.

"Struck him he knew not what," commented the spearman, sounding almost regretful, "and he with legs broke left still trying the door to force. He two days dying."

Helluin nodded, understanding that it had taken two days for Baldor to die of his wounds.

"And what of his ghost?" she asked.

The spearman set his hands together before himself, palms facing in with thumbs crossed, and he made fluttering motions as of a bird. Then he raised his hands and finally pointed to a small natural crevice in the cave's ceiling whence came a faint glow of light. He seemed to claim that Baldor's spirit had taken flight and left the cave. At first, the Noldo nodded in understanding, but then she stopped.

"Thou can see ghosts?" she asked, not truly believing that could be, but the spearman vigorously nodded 'aye'.

"Always seeing, seeing, ghosts, many ghosts, my people," he said, looking 'round. Helluin saw 'naught and had not expected to.

"They are here?" she asked, just to make sure.

Again, the spearman vigorously nodded 'aye'. "Here, here and there, and more," he said looking 'round again, "many, many more."

"Shall they be angered when ye escape?" she asked, and he shushed her desperately and then held a finger to his lips in the universal gesture of requesting silence. She nodded to him and asked no more, but rather drew the Sarchram.

"Last dying we and he," the spearman said, glancing for a moment at Baldor's corpse.

The last four Men of the Mountains lined up before her and again presented their throats. A low rumbling came from the rock 'neath their feet. Helluin glanced 'round in curiosity, but the Men glanced 'round in growing fear and gave her beseeching looks as if to bid her hasten. Finally, she dipped her head to them in thanks for their tidings and slit their throats in a single lunge. They fell to their knees, bleeding out swiftly with looks of gratitude on their faces ere they collapsed from exsanguination.

At their fall, the rumbling grew in strength as if the very rocks were angered. Dust sifted from the roof of the cave and stones began to fall from walls. Helluin leapt forward and snatched Baldor's fallen torch, and then she fled as the tremors grew in strength and the air filled with dust. Sundry skulls and bones clattered to the ground 'round her, fallen from their arrangements by the violence of the tremors. She did not stop running 'til she passed the 'Door of the Dead', choking and coughing, and stood again in the open gasping for air. At once, the rumbling ceased.

The Noldo regained her breath and cast a glance to the sky. Anor was westering, late-afternoon. She had spent 'nigh four hours on the 'Paths of the Dead' and had seen all she cared to see of the dark underbelly of the Dwimorberg.

When Helluin returned to the Dimholt, she found Miserin nervously eyeing the path. The mare heaved a sigh of relief when she appeared. At last! The sun is soon to set, she said, and Helluin nodded.

Was that an earthquake? the mare asked. Again, Helluin nodded 'aye'.

Angry spirits of the mountain, I reckon, she said.

And what is that? Miserin asked, nodding towards the torch.

A ghost's light, Helluin said. When the mare gave her a questioning glance, she elaborated, saying, 'Twas borne by Baldor on his ill-fated adventure and shall serve as proof that I have learnt his fate. I have a strange story to tell and shall narrate it as we ride, if thou wish to hear it. When Miserin nodded 'aye', Helluin mounted and spoke aloud thereafter, being then behind her horse's nose but before her tail so that her eyes could not be seen from the mare's point of view.

During their ride back down the switchbacks from Dunharrow, and then through Harrowdale, Helluin provided Miserin with a full accounting of her time 'neath the Dwimorberg on the 'Paths of the Dead'. At several points, the mare came to a halt so that she could twist her neck 'round to meet Helluin's eyes.

So 'twas an empty tease and thou met none of the dead despite that cavern being called the 'Paths of the Dead'?

There were many dead, but I met none. I saw only bones and those five living Men whom I slew, though now I recall that the one who spoke the Common Speech claimed that they were able to see the ghosts of their people. Perhaps they appear not to any save their own.

Perhaps they appear only to Men, Miserin said.

Perhaps so, Helluin agreed.

They came to Edoras two hours past sunset and were admitted at the city gate. Once again, e'ery eye in the streets leading uphill to Meduseld stared at her unabashed. Once again, Helluin ignored them. She was admitted to the hall with many looks of curiosity from the lord's retainers and householders, but again, she said 'naught. Brego King met her before the dais, and after greetings were exchanged, ushered her into a privy chamber where only his wife accompanied them.

"I see not my son," Brego said with resignation, "so I wager he is dead indeed?"

"Aye, my lord, he is dead. I saw his body," Helluin replied. As the king shook his head in sorrow and the queen broke down in tears, Helluin retrieved Baldor's torch from her travel bag. "Alas, I could recover not his body and escaped that netherworld with only this token."

Brego King received the torch and gazed upon it a while, but then he sighed and turned his attention back to the Noldo.

"A great service thou hast rendered, Helluin Úlairdacil, and though thy tidings bring us grief, at least we are no longer trapped in doubt as well. I pray thee, share thy tale that we may learn of our son's fall and the threat of the Dead."

Then the lord called for food and drink to be brought, and a comfortable chair set for his guest, and long into the night, they sat as the Noldo told her tale. Helluin continued uninterrupted for most of her account and when questioned offered what insights she could. After she was done, the king and queen sat in shock a while and Helluin reckoned that all they now knew would take time to digest.

"Whether or not these Dead shall come upon us one day, I cannot guess, but I deem that by whatsoe'er means, I must dissuade my people from going thither," Brego finally said.

"That would be wise, lord, for there is 'naught to be gained by any of the living going thither," Helluin agreed. "From what the last of the Men of the Mountains told me, the ghosts whisper to the living and may tempt them and lead them astray, for though there are no longer any of the living to slay them, still they may by misdirection become lost in the dark, ne'er to win free. The 'Paths' go on deep and far, with many halls and passages and mansions, all in darkness and filled with the bones of those who fell o'er the last two thousand years and more. Fear and horror fill those caverns as well as the ghosts, and their exit lies far away."

Brego nodded, accepting her counsel. Again, he paused for thought ere making his decision.

"Lest any amongst my people become wrathful and seek to avenge my son upon the ghosts of the Dead, I shall not tell the full story as thou hast told it to me," said Brego King. "Left with the mystery of his disappearance, (for no Man has seen his body and thou returned with him not), they shall only see an example of the folly of an oath rashly spoken. Already they fear the hermit's hints of the Dead 'neath the mountains and I reckon that fear shall stay them."

Helluin nodded, understanding the king's intention. With crafty words, (for he would speak no lies), he would cultivate the fear of the 'Paths of the Dead' so that no more of his folk sought to enter them.

He is a wiser king than I deemed him aforetime, for he understands his folk and how to direct them with subtlety, Helluin realized. When she withdrew from her thoughts, she found the king holding out Baldor's custom-made torch to her.

"Pray take this with thee when thou leave our lands and speak to none in Rohan of thine errand," he said.

Helluin nodded to him as she accepted the torch and stuffed it back into her travel bag.

"It shall be as thou say, Brego King. No word shall come from me to the ears of the Eorlingas about my findings 'neath the Dwimorberg. I am sorry I could not offer happier tidings. Lest any seek 'aught of me, I shall take my leave upon the morrow. My lord, my lady, we shall not meet again."

"Then thou hast our sincerest thanks, Helluin Úlairdacil, ally and friend of Rohan. May thy paths be e'er blessed," Brego said, and beside him, the queen nodded in agreement. When the Noldo stood and bowed ere taking her leave of them, they stood to walk out with her and the queen clasped Helluin's hand.

"I thank thee for finding my son," she said. "Even alone in the dark, he shall be remembered."

"I am sorry that I could not bring him back to thee, my lady," Helluin said, but they both understood that the caverns had threatened to collapse. "Hold him in thy heart. I hope he joins the company of his fathers wheresoe'er go the spirits of Men beyond this life."

They parted then with sorrow and some relief, and Helluin took herself from the hall and stood upon the high platform of Meduseld regarding the dark mountains rising to the south and the wheeling of the stars o'erhead in the night sky. Only the occasional yawns and soft muttering of the two door wardens standing watch behind her spoke of life, for at that late hour the city was dark and silent as its people slept. To gain a better view, Helluin paced 'round the southern side of the platform, out of sight of the soldiers.

Now 'twas after some time alone that Helluin became aware of a vague presence drawing 'nigh. Strangely, she sensed not the fëa of an Elf or Man. 'Twas not an animal either, but rather something that seemed less substantial. She sought for the source of the presence but without success, and this alone peaked her curiosity, for 'twas certainly not one of the olvar.

Finally, a pale mist coalesced a short distance away and gradually grew denser. As Helluin watched in amazement, the vapor drew in as if it bethought itself a form, and soon she could discern the figure of a Man, tall, but insubstantial, as if he were a memory made visible, but only barely, for stars shone through him. A few moments more passed and though his body remained indistinct, his face sharpened, and lo, she knew his visage, though 'twas somewhat the worse for the passing of the years since she had last beheld him.

"Lord Mórthróg," she whispered, astonished, "how came thee hither?"

When he spoke, his voice seemed to echo from far away, whether from distance or 'cross time, but she could hear his words as easily as when they had taken counsel in his keep at Calembel.

"I am dead, of course," he said, "and 'cross fifteen centuries, Isildur's curse took me, and I but a half-blood." He shook his head as if still in denial a thousand years later.

"But how canst thou appear to me? I walked the paths 'neath the Dwimorberg and saw none."

"'Tis effortful and only in natural light can I appear to the Elder Children," he said. "I saw thee of late in our Stronghold, but chanced not to speak with thee there, and perhaps 'tis better in any case. The host has little forgiveness after so long accursed."

"Can thou appear more easily to mortal Men? Those I met claimed to be able to see thy host," Helluin asked.

"Aye, mortal Men are more receptive to the ghosts of their own and feel the fear of us as kin fallen into what may befall themselves all too soon, or so I deem it," Mórthróg said, shrugging his unsolidified shoulders.

"So what wouldst thou have of me?" Helluin asked. Though he had not been an ally, he had not opposed her either and so far as she knew, no ill had come of his folk during Eldacar's reign.

"Many amongst the host saw thee free the spirits of the last five of our people," he said, "and many amongst them were angered that some escaped the unrest they themselves are saddled with. For my part, I begrudge them not, but I am curious and would know how."

Helluin nodded to him and drew the Sarchram. Calling to the fragment of her own fëa that quickened the weapon, she illuminated the cirth upon it so that they glowed like embers. Mórthróg stared at the graven incantation, but understood not the words in Quenya.

"Here is written, One Ring that flies to find them. On Ring to send them all unto the Void and in its darkness bind them. This weapon consigns its victims to the Endless Night of the Void," she said.

Mórthróg laughed heartily at that and when he recovered his composure said, "They have fled the cell to seek refuge on the gallows! Now they have no chance of finding peace. That escape I would not take save by force."

"'Tis as I told them, but they weighed their choices and chose obliteration o'er hope," Helluin said, and the ghost regarded her a while.

"Think thou truly that our curse may be lifted someday?" he asked. "The line of the Kings of Gondor is broken and its blood purity lost, so what hope have we of e'er being called to fulfill our oath and be granted peace?"

One thing that Helluin would not do was reveal to this Man the existence of an Heir of Isildur, thereby negating Aranarth's intent in disbanding the realm of Arthedain and accepting obscurity for himself and his heirs. She was also loath to lie, even to the ghost of a foe of Gondor.

"In truth, I know not, for no foresight graces me," Helluin said, "yet King Isildur set the terms of his curse and swore it as an oath witnessed by the Valar. They forsake none of their Children, even rebels and exiles such as me. I would bid thee keep hope though the years grow long; for still do many in Gondor keep faith that a king will come again."

"And in my time, a king did indeed return, though he was a half-blood like myself," Mórthróg said with a wry grin. "Very well, Helluin, I shall keep faith that my condition may yet be amended one day."

She nodded to him, for again they had reached a conclusion with which both could abide.

"For what 'tis worth, I am sorry," she told him. "Sorry that the oaths and conduct of those long ere thy birth determined the course of thy life and the alliances of thy time. Would that it could have been otherwise."

He nodded to her and dipped his head in appreciation of her sentiments.

"Had we been called upon in my day to fulfill our oath and oppose Sauron, we would have come, or at least, I and my household would have marched on the Black Land. We lived all our lives 'neath the threat of Mordor and our resentment of Gondor grew from our oppression 'neath Isildur's curse. The Dúnedain were ne'er our only foes, but for those of our folk in the time of the Last Alliance, perhaps their ancient devotion to the Darkness was still too close behind and the rule of the Dúnedain still too new. Now it matters not, I suppose. We are all trapped in the annoying Paths of the Dead."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Helluin said, "for if thy folk are called again one day, I hope they shall respond and serve, and thereby win their freedom. If more who passed in latter years feel as dost thou, perhaps it shall come to pass."

Again, Mórthróg nodded to her and a grim grin shaped his features. Then he cast his eyes to the east where the stars had faded.

"I bid thee well, Helluin. Dawn comes and I must rejoin the host ere I bring fright to Brego's household. With them we have no quarrel so long as they vex us not."

"Then I bid thee well in so much as I can, Lord Mórthróg. I have enjoyed our discourse this night. Would that the days had been different, for perhaps we could have shared counsels and much suffering could have been avoided."

"Perhaps…" he whispered as he vanished and the swirling mist of his apparition dispersed.

A dim glow backlit the peak of Írensaga east of Edoras and beyond the mountains' shadows, the fields of Rohan began to shimmer with dew glittering on the tall grass. The dawn was soon to break. Helluin descended from the platform and walked to the stables to roust Miserin from her stall. She intended to be halfway to the Entwash ere King Brego made his announcements to the Eorlingas.

To Be Continued

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Guest: Thanks for your review on Chapter 280. I appreciate it. Unfortunately, answering your question about Helluin finding out more about Beinvír's disappearance would just wind up being a spoiler.