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.

282. In An Age Before Chapter 282

In An Age Before – Part 282

- Manage StoriesChapter One hundred sixty-five

Called To The Withered Heath – The Third Age of the Sun

Following her return from Edoras and the court of Brego King, Helluin resumed her life as a farmer. Aside from Erinítaite, Marhrondo, and Ránehen creating many copies of Baldor's oil torch, little visibly changed in the years 'twixt 2569 and 2589. Crops were planted and harvested, horses were born and bred to carry riders into battle, and the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý trained for war. A third generation had passed away since their ancestors came from Helrunahlæw, and in the decades since 2477, the mortals' sense of identity had shifted from recalling their old town and its terrifying end to celebrating their current home.

Of singular note to Helluin was the half-expected expiration of Brego King in 2570. 'Twas said that he ne'er recovered from the death of his heir and passed as a Man broken in spirit. Within a season, having then lost both her eldest child and her husband, grief claimed his queen as well. Brego King was succeeded by his second son, Prince Aldor, and though his reign began in heartbreak, somehow he endured his losses to become Rohan's longest ruling monarch. Cyng Aldor Ealda, King Aldor the Old, they came to call him. He lived five score and one, ruled for three score and fifteen, and finally passed from Ennor in 2645.

Helluin had been little surprised when she heard the tidings of Brego King's death from riders who had borne the sad news from Edoras. The folly of Baldor's oath had caused a trio of deaths in the royal family and she sincerely hoped that the Eorlingas had taken the lesson to heart. Of lesser note at that time was Prince Eofor's ascension to the lordship of Aldburg with the title of Third Marshal.

The people of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý mourned their king, raised toasts to Aldor King, and then resumed their daily lives. With each passing year, their identity grew in independence, and they became a bit further sundered from not only their previous home, but from the deeds and events to their south as well.

By 2589, the mortal population of the farm had reached just o'er five hundreds and the riders numbered four score. Of course, Helluin and the fourteen Tatyar remained unchanged save for the acquisition of added memories, but in appearance, they had looked identical through all the years the Men had known of them. 'Twas a comforting constant to their hearts and offered another reason for them to feel safe on the farm.

Now it came to pass that in late Gwirith of 2589, a large, red-crested woodpecker appeared at Helluin's cabin and pecked with maniacal insistence on the doorframe 'til she appeared, irritated and looking all 'round ere spotting him perched upside-down just above her head and staring her in the eyes.

Suilaid nín, Helluin, (if thou art truly Helluin), I am Tawarui Tavor¹ and I bear tidings for thee from Lord Aiwendil, he said, and then resumed furiously pounding his pointed beak into the wooden lintel, producing a staccato rat-a-tat-tat-tat. ¹(Tawarui Tavor, Woody Woodpecker = tawar(wood/sm. forest) + -ui(adj on n suff, woody) + tavor(woodpecker)Sindarin)

Helluin rolled her eyes at his compulsive behavior and swore that his pupils were ricocheting side to side behind his eyelids for a moment when he ceased. She seized a piece of firewood from the stack beside the door and flung it on the ground before her cabin door.

I am Helluin and always have been. I bid thee cease thy pecking, good Tawarui Tavor. I shall not appreciate having to replace my carpentry from thy demolition. Pray avail thyself of that hewn log instead. It may even host a grub or two.

Tawarui nodded and quit the doorframe, awkwardly flapping down onto the hunk of firewood where he perched and offered somewhat of an apology.

I seek not for grubs, Helluin. The pecking is simply a nervous tic that I am unable to control. Alas, 'tis a reflex that I was born with and I cannot desist. All my folk are afflicted thusly, and if by coincidence a grub is dislodged, why then we eat it as one might an apple found fallen from a tree, or a berry discovered ripe upon a runner.

I see, said Helluin, recalling the mad Queen Berúthiel's eyelid tic and not believing his excuses for a moment. Very well then, I pray thee share thy rede. What has the Ithron Aiwendil to say?

Lord Aiwendil bid me summon thee to Rhosgobel without delay to meet a visitor he hath hosted of late. This visitor arrived with dark tidings from the east three days past now. My Lord Aiwendil bid me tell thee that this visitor names himself Kallfelak¹ and that he arrived in a state of great agitation. ¹(Kallfelak, Cold Chisel = kall(sing adj, cold) + felak(sing n, chisel) Khuzdul)

Here, Tawarui Tavor paused a moment and then began vigorously pecking at the log of firewood. After excavating a series of gouges, he ceased, shook his head and snapped his beak to recover, then gave her an apologetic look. Helluin quirked her brow, bidding him continue.

Kallfelak is, as thou may have guessed, a Dwarvish fellow, and from my point of view, (looking down upon him from a branch o'erhead), appeared as a large hairball becapped with iron. He moaned, stamped, and wrung his hands in a piteous pantomime ere finally revealing that his lord, Dáin son of Náin II, King of Durin's Folk and King of the Ered Mithrin, and his second son Frór, were slain by a great Cold Drake before the gates of his own hall. Dáin has been succeeded in his titles by his eldest son Thrór.

At the widening of Helluin's eyes in shock, Tawarui Tavor solemnly nodded in confirmation. A moment later, he was seized by another fit of pecking, and this time, a grub did indeed expose its head whilst seeking for the source of what it felt as an earthquake. The woodpecker snatched it up immediately and swallowed it whole as it silently shrieked a terrified, Noooooooooooooo!

Tawarui Tavor snapped his beak, his equivalent of smacking his lips in satisfaction, and said, Ahhh, it had been gnawing its way through this pine log all its life and its flesh took on an aromatic top note with a slight bitter finish, quite tasty, in my humble opinion.

Helluin rolled her eyes at his culinary exposition, but said, I shall set out for Rhosgobel shortly and offer what counsel I can to Aiwendil and Kallfelak. I pray thee inform them of my pending arrival. I shall meet them on the third day hence.

Rather than answering, or even acknowledging her words, Tawarui Tavor was seized by a fit of pecking and this continued unabated 'til Helluin groaned and turned away to reenter her cabin and prepare for her journey to Rhosgobel. Through the door, she heard the constant rat-a-tat-tat-tat of his beak impacting the wood as if t'were a torment devised by some Orkish torturer.

When Helluin finally left her cabin, girt in her armor and with her weapons affixed to her sword belt, she found no trace of the woodpecker, but the log of firewood had been reduced to splinters. She had to roll her eyes at that as she stalked off to the stables for her horse. Miserin was long gone by then and so Helluin now rode a five-year-old smoky black stallion with white socks up to his hind fetlocks. His name was Smoca¹, quite unimaginative in Helluin's opinion. ¹(Smoca, Smoke Old English)

Now after stopping briefly at the stockade to inform Ælfscyld son of Ælfhere¹, the current Captain of the Riders that she would ride to Rhosgobel to take counsel with the Ithron Aiwendil, she made for the north south track at a canter. ¹(Ælfscyld son of Ælfhere, Elfshield son of Elfarmy Old English)

So where is this Rhosgobel and who is this Aiwendil? Smoca asked at their first rest break a score miles north.

Aiwendil is a Wizard and Rhosgobel is his home, Helluin said. It lies just within the border of Mirkwood forty leagues north of the farm and some ten miles north of the Men-i-Naugrim.

I see. And what is a Men-i-Naugrim?

It is an ancient road built by the Dwarves, which passes through central Mirkwood, said Helluin, but we shall not be going that way…too many spiders.

I hate spiders, e'er underfoot or spinning their webs in the stable so that I am cobwebbed in the face whether coming or going.

Helluin nodded in sympathy and told him that, The Spiders of Mirkwood have grown beyond all accustomed proportions, like the Spiders in the Elder Days. They are closer in size to thee than to me and in places, fill all the trees with their webs. The look of horror on his face was comical and the Noldo had to quash any expression of her mirth lest he deem her words a jest.

They continued riding for two days, and in the morn of the third, arrived at the barely visible path leading into the western eaves of Mirkwood. There, after a short ways, they passed 'twixt a pair of termite mounds grown many stories high o'er the centuries and into the odiferous cacophony of Rhosgobel. Smoca shuddered and nervously sidestepped at the o'erpowering, mingled scents of the animals, hunters and prey alike, and his ears swiveled at the chaotic chorus of bellows, calls, cries, and caws that the creatures produced to fill the air.

Pray await me here, Smoca, I shall return to thee after finding Aiwendil. Fear not, for there is a truce here and a prohibition on predation.

Pray be swift, Helluin. This place leaves me ill at ease, the stallion understated. He was swinging his head back and forth on the verge of panic, trying to encompass all of the setting, but 'twas too strange and too vast and none of it was familiar.

Helluin left him in the trampled ground encircling the Ithron's chaotic home and walked 'round 'til she found the tiny porch with the door. She marked that the lower glass pane nearest the doorknob was still missing after the Noldo had broken it centuries ago when she and Galadhon had found the Wizard inebriated and a sloth recovering from toppling a china cabinet. She ducked down so her mouth was at the opening and called out.

"Aiwendil! Aiwendil! 'Tis Helluin come at thy request for counsel." Alas, she received no reply and instead repeated her greeting several times ere a Dwarf shambled from the kitchen and opened the door.

"Art thou Helluin of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, once the Butcher of Bruinen?" he asked. The Noldo groaned, but nodded 'aye'. She had thought that title long forgotten, but it seemed that the Naugrim were longer of memory.

"Art thou Kallfelak from the Ered Mithrin?" she asked and received a nod 'aye' as he opened the door. "Pray tell, is Aiwendil at home?"

"He is here, but he is…indisposed," the Dwarf hedged, having had to search a moment for the word. "Pray come in and see for thyself." Here he rolled his eyes and Helluin deemed that she would find the Wizard inebriated, as she had oft enough aforetime.

Kallfelak led her into the kitchen and there was Aiwendil with his back to the tree in the center of the room, seated on a box filled with straw, his pants down and gathered 'round his ankles. The Noldo gagged, assuming he was attending to the evacuation of his bowels.

"I shall wait outside 'til thou art finished, meldir nín. Thy circumstance seems…unseemly," she said, having had to search a moment for the word. She began to turn away, casting a disparaging glance upon the Dwarf for not warning her, but Aiwendil called her back.

"Helluin, pray pause, my friend, 'tis not what thou think," he said, and chuckled.

"He hath been thus without moving for a week since I arrived," Kallfelak whispered.

"I cannot abandon this nest, but must remain hither another week, I reckon," the Wizard said, and then muttered to himself, "If my colon bursts not first," as he massaged his swollen abdomen.

"Aiwendil, wha…what is this?" Helluin asked, still relatively shocked by his situation.

In reply, the Ithron half rose from his seat and bid her look. Cringing, Helluin took a quick peek 'neath his dangling parts. She saw that in a depression amidst the straw lay a clutch of four large, grey-speckled eggs. It seemed the Brown Wizard was incubating them in place of an absent hen.

"What eggs are these, Aiwendil," the Noldo asked, "what creature shall come forth?"

The Ithron's face lit up with a dreamy smile and he said, "They shall hatch into the most wonderful birds. A week past, one of a kindred I had ne'er seen aforetime flew down to alight in the yard and then burst into flames. Amidst the ashes, I found these eggs, and as the bird was reduced to a sooty smudge, I took it upon myself to hatch them."

Helluin regarded him with utter disbelief. A flammable bird had engaged in spontaneous self-ignition? It sounded both peculiar and hazardous.

"Save for its incendiary nature, what made this bird so wonderful, Aiwendil?" she asked in spite of her doubts. 'Tis probably no more than a goose's clutch and the heap of mushrooms he ate, she thought, rather uncharitably. Besides, were not all birds technically combustible? Roast a grouse too long and 'twixt the dripping fat and the open flames…

"It bore plumage in metallic rainbow hues and its feathers sparkled as if dusted with tiny diamonds," he rhapsodized. "A crest as of the finest lace adorned its head, and its tail trailed a fathom behind as it made its final circles ere alighting to its doom."

Yup, too many mushrooms, Helluin decided, and forced herself to pass on to the next topic; the topic for which she had come.

"I was informed by Tawarui Tavor that thy guest bears tidings most grim," she said, and Kallfelak nodded vigorously in agreement so that his beard bobbed up and down in counterpoint.

"Tawarui Tavor," Aiwendil said, chuckling again, "a twitchy fellow, wouldst thou not agree?"

"Aye, he was that, possessed of a nervous tic by virtue of his ancestry, or so he claimed."

"He and all his folk," the Ithron agreed. "They are compulsive peckers and suffer constant headaches, a most pitiful result of their hereditary affliction. I have offered them some herbs and other simples, but alas, they demur, preferring to suffer the only condition they have e'er known."

"Well, he is a woodpecker, after all," Helluin said.

"But he could be more," Aiwendil countered.

Helluin shrugged, unwilling to debate the Wizard on the point. Instead, she looked to the Dwarf who was stifling a growing impatience with their banter.

"Pray share thy tidings, good Kallfelak, for I would hear what calamity has befallen my friends amongst Durin's Folk."

"He said thou would come to hear of our suffering, just as he said thou hast been our friend since ancient times," the Dwarf said. When Helluin knitted her brows in question, he clarified, "King Thrór. He cited the lore of Khazad-dûm that we long for still, but whose halls none now living have walked."

To this Helluin nodded in agreement. Saddened, she briefly recalled her experiences with the Gonnhirrim of the Misty Mountains since the early Second Age.

"Fierce allies in war, honorable friends in peace, generous and steadfast for all their days, I have held Durin's Folk in high esteem through two Ages of this world. 'Nigh sixty centuries ago the illustrious House of Gneiss created my armor, and the superlative craftsman Narvi aided Lord Celebrimbor in forging the Sarchram ten centuries later."

Kallfelak bowed deeply to the Noldo for her words of honor and praise, and Helluin bowed to him in return.

"Helluin, we have been fighting a war for the past two decades," Kallfelak said. "O'er the past three hundred eighty years, my people have reclaimed and dwelt in many of our ancient strongholds in the Ered Mithrin. King Thorin began it in 2210, rejoining those who had followed him to Erebor with the remainder of our folk. We worked hard there, discovered many lodes of precious metals, and created much wealth.

In truth, it may be that our troubles date back to the days of Scatha, for he was the first to assail us. Thou know that in 2000 he was slain by King Fram who withheld the gold hoard after and then taunted us by refusing our claims and sending only the Dragon's teeth. Several battles 'twixt our peoples followed. King Fram was slain along with many warriors upon both sides. In the end, the hoard was split and none were satisfied. There has been bad blood 'twixt us since," Kallfelak said, shaking his head sadly.

Helluin had heard the story from the other side, but almost six centuries had passed since the days of King Fram whom she had known ere he ascended his father's throne, and the memory of Men was shorter than that of the Dwarves.

"For the next five hundred seventy years the Dragons troubled us not," Kallfelak continued, "but the threat remained though we knew it not, for to the north on the Withered Heath, the dragons were growing strong. The first assailed us in 2570. Since then, they have driven our people from the heights of the Grey Mountains, one stronghold after another.

The Wyrms plundered our treasuries and hoarded our gold, and now they lie in our mansions, drifting into the 'Gold Sleep', but remaining watchful for the least theft. Thrice this happened and now a fourth time the most grievous yet, for this year the Cold-drake Biraikhgirul-Uslukh¹ attacked the king's halls. King Dáin and his second born son Frór fell in the defense before the doors, and since then our people flee, hoping to find safety in the refuge of Erebor. But those of us who have fought the Dragons fear that ere too many years have passed, the Lonely Mountain too shall be assailed." ¹(Biraikhgirul-Uslukh, Reeking Dragon = biraikhgir(sing imp n, reek!) + -ul(sing adj on n suff, reeking) + uslukh(sing n, dragon) Khuzdul)

"Four Dragon attacks in under a score years," Helluin said in surprise. "Rare has that kindred e'er been aforetime. Only a dozen were gathered by Morgoth for the Fall of Gondolin. Thy tidings truly are of catastrophe. Alas for King Dáin and Prince Frór."

At least this Biraikhgirul-Uslukh was a Cold-drake like Gostir and not an Urulókë like those who collapsed Turgon's tower, Helluin thought. T'would have the strength of its size, but also the evil eye and cunning that Túrin suffered for whilst opposing Glaurung. I wonder if these new dragons have wings.

"Kallfelak, have the attacks followed any pattern?" Helluin asked. The Dwarf nodded 'aye'.

"They began with Scatha in the further west of the Ered Mithrin 'twixt the headwaters of the Greylin and the Forest River, whilst the last attack by Biraikhgirul-Uslukhwas the most easterly, due south of the western end of the Withered Heath."

"I wonder why Scatha would have attacked so far west of his homelands with the others moving east thereafter," the Noldo asked, thinking aloud.

"We deem it because in Scatha's day, we had yet to mine the strongholds to the east," Kallfelak said, "and centuries after, when we had established treasuries and won hoards from the mountains, each Dragon sought plunder of its own a bit beyond the last. 'Tis for this reason that we deem Erebor is in jeopardy. No other mansions now lie 'twixt the Dragons and the Lonely Mountain, and the mountain is rich, Helluin. There are veins of precious ores and gems in the depths. In not so many years, Erebor's treasury shall be a temptation to any Dragon."

To this, Helluin nodded in understanding. In Scatha's day, the Fall of Khazad-dûm lay only two decades in the past and the surviving Gonnhirrim were still seeking a permanent home in the Grey Mountains. Later, they had repopulated their ancient mansions 'til they came at last to Erebor and for a couple centuries, reestablished their presence in the Lonely Mountain. Yet perhaps those who had followed Thorin had been too few to fill so large a realm and the king had chosen to return to the Ered Mithrin. It made good sense to the Noldo, and now the entire population of Durin's Folk was being driven east, and perhaps they would at last have sufficient numbers to fill Erebor. Then the wealth would accumulate 'neath the Lonely Mountain.

"Has 'aught been learnt of the Withered Heath and the count of Dragons it hosts?" Helluin asked, and her words were followed by a sad shaking of Kallfelak's head 'nay'.

"After the third attack in 2582, our bravest declared that they would scout the lands of our enemies. None have returned, and now after seven years, we deem them lost."

Helluin joined Kallfelak in bowing her head to honor the fallen. The Noldo then turned to the Wizard.

"Aiwendil, knowst thou 'aught of the Withered Heath?"

The Ithron nodded to her and began to search his memory. As Helluin had witnessed in 1975, he employed serial recall to recover observations from his past. Beginning with soft whispers relating the arrival of Kallfelak, seeing the self-immolating bird, and acquiring its eggs, he proceeded faster and faster, and further and further into the past.

Unlike his short search in 1975 for recollections of Beinvír that had then been one hundred twenty-four years old, now he continued with eyes defocused and irises blurred by the speed of their twitching movements. His whispering devolved into a bumblebee's hum as his mouth made movements akin to chewing on the linings of his mouth, but with speed outpacing even a hungry chipmunk. Helluin sighed and settled down to wait.

She and Kallfelak were on their second cups of tea, brewed with her own herbs, for she trusted 'naught in the Wizard's kitchen, when Aiwendil recovered himself with a cry of success. They hastened o'er to him since he could not abandon the nest and crouched down to his level.

"I have remembered!" he announced triumphantly. "I last journeyed to the Withered Heath in the eighth year after my coming, whilst surveying the olvar and kelvar ere choosing an abode."

Eight years after the Ithryn arrived from Aman. That would have been in 1008, but Kallfelak need not know that, Helluin thought, and one thousand five hundred and eighty-one years later, I wonder how relevant his recollections could be.

"The heath is forbidding lowland, a long wedge lying 'twixt the northern and southern arms of the eastern Ered Mithrin. I reckon 'tis six score and five miles from west to east and four to seven leagues north to south. It comes to a point in the west, but to the east 'tis open to the Northern Waste. Frigid winds scour the heath in winter and it ne'er truly warms, even in summer."

Well, that much is likely unchanged since his visit, Helluin thought.

"The land is flat or very nearly so, composed mostly of wind-blown dust, with sand and gravels washed down from the mountains, or exposed rock of the underlying bed of limestone, for in the most ancient of times ere Melkor raised the Ered Engrin, 'twas the floor of a bay. Now 'tis dry land criss-crossed by seasonal creek beds. Erosion o'er the Ages has also created many sinkholes and caverns wherein the Dragons nest.

The mountains are bordered by a narrow band of foothills riven with gulches cut by snowmelt, some quite deep, or talus slopes with fallen boulders where the mountains end in cliffs. Plant life is restricted to low lying heathers, coarse grasses, stunted gorse, and lichens. There are some birds and rodents, but few kelvar larger save for some mountain goats and sheep."

Aiwendil fell silent a moment, during which time his eyes resumed their flickering and his mouth its grinding. His attention refocused quickly on his guests this time and he continued his discourse.

"The Dragons live and nest in the lowlands. Those unable to fly seldom frequent the mountains as they are difficult to tread for creatures of their size. Passes through the highlands are rough, with few leading south.

Dragons are slow to grow and may take many centuries to mature. Rarely do they mate, for they trust one another little. Three years after mating, a female will produce a single egg, surprisingly small for the creature's size. This she guards in her nest within a cave and carefully tends for another three years ere it hatches.

Newly hatched Dragons are about the size of a lynx or hound, weighing a couple stone. They will eat meat 'til gorged, as much as they can get, and are totally indiscriminate about their diet. The more they are fed, the faster they grow, and like lesser reptiles, they periodically shed their skins. 'Twixt sheddings, they may consume certain of the local sands and minerals, whence they forge their scales by the heat of their innards¹. With great age, such scales thicken to become truly impenetrable. After a couple decades, dragons begin to develop wings if they are to have them. Around that same age, they begin to spit fire if they are to become firedrakes. By that time, they would be somewhat larger than the largest draft horse." ¹(In essence, the Dragons are forming scales of ballistic ceramic as a biological process to create their impenetrable armor. Think of the trauma plates in modern body armor. I have never seen this idea proposed before and believe that it is unique to this story.)

Helluin did not want to think of how the Maia had obtained his knowledge, for he must have spent many years in that inhospitable locale to have witnessed the breeding and growth of the dragons.

"Aiwendil, how akin to the Dragons of the Elder Days were those thou saw?" she asked.

The Ithron sighed, but rather than consulting his memory again, he took a deep breath and gave his opinion.

"Those I saw were more uniform in size and appearance than the Dragons of the First Age. It may be that being descendants of those who escaped the War of Wrath, they are limited to what were then the most common kinds. Perhaps without Morgoth's influence, they are now more akin to each other, as their natural origin dictates. There were none of kinds unfamiliar to thee from Gondolin. Thou wouldst know them all. There were none approaching the monstrous proportions of Ancalagon, or even of Glaurung. They are diminished, as are all other kindreds. And they are not supported by armies now and have no hosts of Glam or Valaraukar at their command."

"That is some relief," Helluin said. "I am gladdened, but also amazed that thou observed so much of them and survived, my old friend."

"I spoke no words to them, nor met with them. They failed to sense my presence and that bears on another factor I discerned," Aiwendil said. "Whereas the first of their kinds, the cold-drakes, Urulókë, and Long Worms, were animated by Morgoth with an indwelling daemonic spirit and would have marked me at once, these were wholly mortal. Whatsoe'er changes the Great Enemy's sorcery wrought on the bodies of the snakes and lizards he perverted, 'twas their mortal bodies that reproduced, not their divine fëar. They have cunning and the understanding of tongues, but they are not immortal, nor are they able to become more than they are. In these latter days, they are diminished and their offspring shall likely be more so. I reckon that in the years long ahead, they shall gradually return to the snakes and lizards whence they came."

To this, Helluin nodded in thanks. 'Twas the confirmation of lore she had heard debated, but that had ne'er been confirmed. Like the Balrogs, the first Dragons had been possessed by corrupted immortal spirits, and whether they had been Maiar or others of high orders, they had been seduced to Melkor's cause. Perhaps they had spent Ages unhoused, haunting his fortresses or some accursed lands, only to take up residence during the First Age in those reptilian forms their lord's sorcery had provided. At least all of those now living were no more than monsters, large, some winged, some fire-breathing, but mortal still and subject to death. Long ago, Anguirél's brother had taken the life of one of the greatest of them.

"Is there 'aught else thou can tell, old friend?" Helluin asked.

"Only that of all the free peoples of old, 'twas the Gonnhirrim who were most able to withstand them and who opposed them most fiercely, and foremost, their king," Aiwendil said, offering Kallfelak a sad smile. The Dwarf dipped his head to the Wizard to honor his words.

"I remember," Helluin said, and her eyes were far away, enmeshed in memory. Blank-faced, she spoke for the Dwarf's comfort. "I fought with the Host of Turgon in western Beleriand, but all learnt the tales of the battle in the east where the warrior king Azaghâl, Lord of Gabilgathol, drove Glaurung from the field with a dagger in the belly…at the cost of his own life." She blinked herself back to the present and then bowed her head to honor the fallen.

Kallfelak had to stifle his astonishment at all he had heard. The Wizard Aiwendil knew more of the Withered Heath and its Dragons than the Naugrim had learnt in all their years. Such knowledge might prove a key to defending against these enemies. The Elf remembered wars fought so long ago that none of his folk now recalled them as more than legend. He barely knew that Gabilgathol and its sister citadel of Tumunzahar had once stood in the Ered Luin, north and south of Mount Dolmed. Only a few broken ruins had remained after the Sinking of Beleriand following the mythical War of Wrath. Then again, he was a warrior and no loremaster. But of one thing, he was certain. His lord Thrór had sent him to the right place and to the right people.

His reflections were shattered by a shriek as Aiwendil leapt from the box of straw and then hopped 'round the room clutching his dangling parts ere his lowered trousers tripped him and he fell flat on his face. That face was contorted in a grimace of pain and he blubbered incoherently.

Helluin knew not what to think, but hastened to her old friend's side.

"Aiwendil, what afflicts thee?" she asked in alarm. "What may I do to aid thee?"

The Wizard only groaned and lay on the floor, still clutching his privy parts in a protective shield of hands. The Noldo knew not how to help him and regarded the scene in consternation.

"The nest, Helluin," he finally managed to grate out 'twixt clenched teeth, "check the nest!"

Though confused and inclined to protest, for all his bizarre behavior and beggarly appearance, he was a Maia and Helluin moved to do his bidding, expecting to see 'naught save the four eggs lying amidst the straw. She half expected to find a rat or perhaps a spider as well. Such could have accounted for Aiwendil's sudden discomfort with a bite or a sting.

She found two of the eggs cobwebbed with cracks, whilst the third was pierced by a sharp, sturdy beak that was pecking away fragments of shell in a frenzied assault that would have made Tawarui Tavor proud. The shell of the fourth egg lay strewn in pieces, and standing on the remnant of the bottom of the shell as if in a shallow bowl was a newly hatched chick as hideous as any other that Helluin had e'er seen. 'Twas featherless, with an o'ersized head and feet, and stubby wings. Its skin was swirled with myriad colors in sparkling, metallic hues, and its eyes were large and bright as if lit from within. It regarded her with a beseeching expression. The Noldo looked at it and briefly wondered if she was expected to regurgitate a pap of worms.

"Aiwendil, I deem thy wait done," she said, keeping her eyes on the hatchling and the other eggs. At his questioning glance, she added, "Thine eggs are hatching."

"What? So soon?" he exclaimed in shock, rising to his feet for a moment ere his pants tripped him again. With a grunt and a look of irritation, he hauled them up 'round his waist. Then he stood and hastened to the nest.

The Wizard came to stand beside Helluin, staring down into the box of straw with a broad smile shaping his lips. Then he looked 'twixt Helluin and the hatchling and started laughing. The Noldo gave him a questioning look but assumed that he was simply joyful for the hatching of his charges and his liberation from incubating the eggs.

"Very good, Helluin," he said, patting her on the shoulder, "the eldest of them has imprinted on thee and thou art now its 'mother'. It shall look to thee for all things hereafter. I shall be curious to learn how thou shalt teach it to fly."

Helluin simply gaped at the Ithron with a total lack of understanding. In the background, Kallfelak's laughter welled up.

"'Tis so with the ravens of Erebor as well," he commented gleefully. "At all costs, we avoid their rookery in the spring."

Helluin groaned and made to turn away, but as soon as she was out of its sight, the chick began to cry out, though its voice was divinely melodic. The Noldo felt strongly compelled to return her attention to the nest and reeled in shock. It sings a Song of Power, she clearly discerned, what an unmitigated disaster this is.

To Be Continued

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Readers: My apologies for the two-day delay in posting this shorter-than-usual chapter.

Artalicous: Thanks for your review on Chapter 4. It's greatly appreciated and I'm glad to see new readers beginning the story. Glorfindel's part in the escape of the Exiles of Gondolin was documented in JRRT's "The Silmarillion", "The Fall of Gondolin", and volume II of "The HoME". All I had to do was simplify it and insert my OC without disturbing canon.

Thanks also for your review on Chapter 5. I'm glad you enjoyed reading a bit of Helluin's backstory and her meeting with the Ent-Wives. The bit of poetry was an adaptation of the nursery rhyme "Star Light, Star Bright".

Also, thanks for your review of Chapter 16. You're reading as fast as you write! :) Strangely, Bombadil's verses were hard for me to compose. I think my mind rebels against the non-sense words, lol. Glad you enjoyed them. Bombadil will reappear from time to time in later chapters.