In An Age Before – Part 295
Chapter One hundred seventy-two
The Fetid Spring – The Third Age of the Sun
Now Helluin returned to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, arriving in the early afternoon after spending five weeks walking non-stop from Lothlórien. She had been absent a dozen and a half years and the Men and Elves on the farm met her with great rejoicing. They flocked 'round as she walked up the road from the river, appearing out of the stockade, the shops, and the farmhouses. Finally, a throng congregated in the open space before the Noldo's cabin offering greetings and welcome and eventually, swamping her with so many requests to hear what she had done that she threw up her hands and rolled her eyes. 'Twas 8 Hithui, 2725.
For her part, Helluin was instantly aware of the aging of her mortal friends, more noticeable when seeing them suddenly after twelve years, as if the time had passed in the blink of an eye. She marked also that a few new young Riders had joined the company and a few families of farmers had dispersed, either to Rohan or to the Vale of Anduin to join the Woodsmen. The total count of mortals on the farm had diminished slightly, but 'twas no cause for alarm as those losses had been by hopeful choice, not from deaths in battle.
After the initial celebration of her return, (and answering questions 'til sundown), Helluin met in her cabin with Ngandáro, Arinya, Captain Æfæst and the council for a formal recounting of the farm's last dozen years. Of particular interest was that 'naught further had been done about the mixed-blood farmers 'nigh the Fords of Isen. No tidings had come from the West Emnet of any subsequent settlers from Dunland, though the Noldo suspected that more folk had slipped away from Lord Freca's campaigns and quietly settled amongst their kith and kin south of Angrenost. Yet if this was so, they had caused no problems and drawn no attention from the king in Edoras.
There had been one succession during her years of absence. In Rohan, Gram son of Déor was crowned King of the Eorlingas in 2718. In Gondor, Egalmoth was still Ruling Steward.
"Gram is a good king and a worthy successor," Captain Æfæst said. "Twice in thine absence I have led Riders south to aid the Rohirrim against some bands of raiders in the Westfold. These are Dunlendings, seemingly of pure blood. If they have any relations with the people 'nigh the fords, it hath been apparent to none. They have ne'er been found amongst the farmers, do not seek to take or hold land, and only come east to steal horses, cattle, and 'aught else they can carry off. For that, they are hunted."
"So King Gram continues his father's policy of charging the Second Marshal with suppressing raiders in the west," Helluin said, and the captain nodded 'aye'. "And they came o'er the Fords of Isen?"
"Of those few that lived to be questioned, some said they did and others claimed that they came from the south 'round Thrihyrne in the White Mountains," Captain Æfæst said.
"And do they serve Lord Freca?"
"If they did so, they admitted it not," the captain said, "though the marshal suspects it, especially of those who came from the south. Yet Freca claims kinship with the royal house and would no doubt deny they were his people if asked."
To this, Helluin nodded. She wondered how Freca's raiding and expansion beyond Isen had proceeded during her time in Methedras. What lands did he claim now and what count of warriors served him? Perhaps those that would know best were the farmers who dwelt in the shadow of Angrenost, yet in centuries it seemed that none had asked 'aught of them save herself.
"King Gram has an heir of thirty-four years, Prince Helm, and a daughter three years his junior, Princess Hild," the captain said. "The prince is a mighty warrior of great stature and prowess, and by tradition, serves his father as Third Marshal. Oft he rides afield from Aldburg with his men, as far as Limlight and the North Undeep, but foes have been few in the East Emnet and he chaffs to ride west to find glory in battle. I reckon he shall be a strong king in his time, and a great foe of the Dunlendings."
Again Helluin nodded, gladdened to learn that the succession in Rohan was secure for another generation. Despite sharing great prowess with the last King of Gondor, I hope that he hath more wisdom than Eärnur, she thought.
"Has Prince Helm married? Hath he yet an heir?" Helluin asked.
"Aye, he is married and he hath a son, Haleth, who would be just shy of his sixth winter," Captain Æfæst said. "I had tidings of him most recently when I last rode to Rohan five years past. Helm's family may be increased by now."
"That is good tidings, my friend, and I am glad to hear it," Helluin said, thinking, so there shall be a ninth and tenth king in Rohan. Helm is already more successful than Eärnur. Yet time would prove her wrong, and like Eärnur, Helm would be the last king of his line.
"And what of thee, Helluin? How fared thou in Methedras?" Ngandáro asked.
"The mountain is emptied again after a dozen years and some twenty-seven hundreds slain," she replied, "and the last was one with whom I found I shared thirteen centuries' history though I knew it not 'til then. He alone received honor and a pyre from me."
"Rife with enemies was Methedras," observed Arinya, and Helluin nodded in agreement.
"And I reckon it shall be so again all too soon," the Noldo sighed. "I found Moria too hosting many Yrch, and these had newly dismissed the eleven Werewolves sent by Sauron to be their masters. I saw their carcasses impaled in Nanduhirion beside the Mirrormere."
"Think thou that Moria shall be opposed to Sauron now?" asked Captain Æfæst. "Are we to find ourselves set 'twixt fell enemies in a war of Shadows?"
"Aforetime I was more concerned for the future of Lothlórien," Helluin answered, but she was disturbed too by the captain's worries, for Norðr-vestandóttir Bý also lay 'twixt Moria and Dol Guldur. "We must remain vigilant," she said. 'Round the table, heads nodded in agreement and their eyes were beset with foreboding.
Now after Helluin's return, life resumed its normal pace and Norðr-vestandóttir Bý continued as it had done for several centuries. The folk of the northern outpost of Rohan were born, came to maturity, grew old, and passed from Arda. Crops were planted and harvested, and livestock lived their lives as the watchful years passed. And through all those years, Helluin awaited the 'fell winter' that Galadriel had alluded to at their parting in Lothlórien.
In 2741, the expected succession came when Helm took up the high seat in Meduseld upon the passing of his father, Gram King. By then, the new king had already seen fifty winters and his rule would not include the years of his youthful vigor.
A captain led a company of Riders from Aldburg to the farm bearing the tidings and word of mouth passed throughout the farm swift as wildfire. The people gathered to hear the formal announcement 'neath the apple trees where a bonfire was laid and tables were set with a feast. Pennants of Rohan, whereon Felaróf the white Maera of Eorl galloped on a field of green, waved in the evening breeze, and as one the people raised their voices.
"Gram King is dead! Long live King Helm Gramson!"
With the visiting Riders from Aldburg as witness, Captain Ælfwine¹ son of Æfæst spoke his oath of fealty, renewing his pledge of service to the new King of the Eorlingas, and the four score Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý echoed him, declaring their loyalty to their lord. 'Twas a formality only, for their hearts and courage had ne'er been doubted in all the years since Eadmundr of Helrunahlæw the first captain had begged leave to join Eorl the Young as he rode to the Field of Celebrant. ¹(Ælfwine, Elf Friend Old English)
The captain of Rohan shared further tidings at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. King Helm had a second son, Háma, born in 2727, and a daughter, Heorte¹, born four years later, already comely of face and precious to her family at the age of ten. ¹(Heorte, Heart Old English, not canon.)
"Helm King is a mighty Man," the captain from Rohan said with obvious pride. "In his youth, he and his best friend Eadmundr trained by striking bales of hay with their bare fists, and later, timbers wrapped in straw. 'Tis rumored that he can break a barrel with one punch. Eadmundr wed Hild, the king's sister, and now serves him as Marshal of the West Emnet."
Two years later, Egalmoth, the eighteenth Ruling Steward of Gondor, was succeeded by his son, Beren. T.A. 2743 saw Edoras and Minas Tirith with new lords. Despite this, the policies of both nations changed not a whit with regard to the Fords of Isen and the farmers settled just south of Angrenost. Gondor ignored them whilst Rohan prosecuted only the raiders. That situation continued unchanged for another fifteen years.
Helm sought aid from the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý in 2744 and 2753. In both of those years, Captain Ælfwine led the full garrison south in answer to summonses from Prince Haleth, the Third Marshal. It seemed that some incursions by Easterlings coming o'er the South Undeeps had begun. The messengers from Rohan and Captain Ælfwine's company crossed Anduin by way of the North Undeeps, surprising their foes by attacking from the Wold whilst the Éored of Aldburg rode against them from the south. 'Twixt the hammer and the anvil, the Men of the East were slain to the last each time. Perhaps 'twas because none escaped bearing tidings back to their homelands that they repeated the same failed assaults. The captain lost six Riders in 2744 and eight more in 2753, and all these were buried in the same fields wherein their predecessors from the Battle of the Field of Celebrant had been lain to rest.
"Prince Haleth is a mighty warrior, and that is no surprise for he takes after his father," Captain Ælfwine had told Helluin upon his return to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý in 2744. "Single-handedly he felled the Easterling captain and four others, taking them whilst afoot with his sword and this after running through another with his spear from horseback."
"'Tis good to know that Rohan is defended by so fell a Third Marshal," the Noldo replied. "I trust thou and thy company acquitted yourselves in typically heroic fashion?" She and the captain traded grins.
"We slew our count twice o'er and earnt commendation from the prince, aye," said Ælfwine, "but more importantly, we lost six of eighty whilst Haleth's éored lost two shy of a score from six score Riders. By the warcraft of our teachers we preserved our lives with the bow."
"What count claimed thine enemies?"
"Eighteen score were the Easterlings, Helluin, and all now lie slain on the downs south of the Wold. 'Twixt ours and Haleth's, we numbered ten score."
Two hundred Riders had o'ercome three hundred sixty Men of Darkness in a bloody day of fighting. Helluin nodded in appreciation. The current generation from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý had learnt their lessons well. In 2753, the story was much the same, though the numbers were somewhat higher. Again, by their bowcraft, the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý suffered fewer casualties than their counterparts from the Eastfold, but the Easterlings were destroyed.
"Again we have defended Rohan and again the enemy is destroyed," Captain Ælfwine reported upon his return in 2753. "We lost eight this time, may they find peace in the houses of their fathers."
Helluin nodded and bowed her head to honor the fallen. The captain gave an account of the battle.
"We were outnumbered two to one, but Prince Haleth's éored rode down on them from the south and slew fifty in their opening charge. Once they were through the press and clear, we split our columns and rode past their flanks from the north, shooting as we went. We wheeled and returned north, again shooting into their flanks. Some scattered and were shot or speared, but the main force held together.
Our columns reformed and attacked from the east, shooting into their flank whilst the prince charged them from the west and clove deep into their formation. Thereafter, the Third Marshal and his Riders dismounted and engaged the Easterlings afoot. We continued shooting 'til the combat was too close to separate friend from foe, and then we joined our brothers with sword, shield, and axe. By then the count of foemen was better than halved and it became a contest of courage and prowess at arms. After three hours, the Eorlingas had the day."
"'Twas during that engagement afoot that our eight were lost," Helluin said, not really a question for she could easily imagine the vast increase in danger once dismounted. Ælfwine nodded 'aye'.
"Afoot fell Thorpe, young Durward, Marden, Hollis son of Ravenger, Wayland, Adgar, Penley, and Osbert, noble Riders all," he said, shaking his head in sorrow. "I dread informing Durward's mum most, he being her only child."
Helluin nodded, recalling the young Rider, so proud to be off on his first campaign.
"He was joyous to ride out in service to his king," she said, reviewing her memory of the company's leave-taking, "and he still two years shy of a score years of age."
"Aye, our minimum for formal duty as a warrior now," Ælfwine said.
"I could speak with Edda on thy behalf, if thou would have it so, captain," she said.
"Nay, Helluin, though I thank thee for thine offer. I am captain and he rode in my company. I shall convey this tiding of woe to his mother as my duty requires," he said.
"The glory and the sorrow, eh, my friend?"
"Aye, Helluin, for good and ill, I stand before our warriors on behalf of Helm King."
They sat together a while in silence o'er their mugs of ale at the table in the cabin, but when an ember popped in the hearth, Helluin drew herself from her thoughts and asked, "Heard thou 'aught of the incursions in the West Emnet?" To her question, Captain Ælfwine nodded 'aye'.
"For years now, Prince Haleth hath propounded to his father that Lord Freca must be brought to heel. He hath ne'er believed the raiders in the west act only on their own behalf, for o'er the years they are united in purpose and provenance. He is not alone in his suspicions."
The Noldo raised a brow in question and Ælfwine said, "Helm's old friend Eadmundr, the husband of his sister Hild and his Second Marshal at Súthburg¹ also distrusts Freca." ¹(Súthburg, South Fortress, the Rohirrim's name for the Númenórean-built fortress of Aglarond, later called the Hornburg.)
"Think thou that Helm King shall act?"
"I know not, though 'tis said that he chaffs e'er more at the crimes done against his people in the Westfold. Freca claims kinship with the royal house and t'would be well within the king's purview to call him to account for foes coming from his holdings and to order their suppression."
"One may hope, I suppose," the Noldo said, though she was less than optimistic.
Now despite Helluin's expectations, in Arda things come to pass in their own time. The very next year, that being T.A. 2754, Helm King called Lord Freca to Edoras to join the council in the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Gathered there with the king were Prince Haleth the Third Marshal, Eadmundr the Second Marshal, Prince Háma, the king's second son, and many other lords of Rohan. There too was Princess Heorte, the king's daughter, who had grown into a great beauty and was then age twenty-three.
To the council finally came Lord Freca, (as he had not come aforetime), and with him his son Wulf, born in 2724, and three score retainers of his house. Though he had heeded the king's summons this time, Freca had come for his own purpose. Deeming the 'invitation' fortuitously timed, he craved to increase his influence in Rohan and Helm had provided him the opportunity. In years past, he had rebuffed such summonses with excuses including his need to defend his holdings against foes from Dunland, being the buffer fief that his lands were. Lacking the troops to enforce his call for attendance, King Helm had not pursued him.
By 2754, it had been many decades since Helm and Freca had met, and they had ne'er been friends. The king was 63, standing two-rangar, leaner than in his youth, but still wiry and fell. His golden hair and beard were long and going white, but his eye was sharp and his patience short. Freca was 62, a fathom tall, and from the increasingly easy life amidst plunder and conquest, had gained some five stone to his youthful weight of twelve and a half. His cheeks were full, his face ruddy, and his fleshy lips given to a cruel twist of petulance. It had been long since any in his lands had challenged him and he was used to getting his way.
Lord Freca's party made no friends as they rode east along the ancient Great West Road. They had come from their lands 'twixt Adorn and Isen 'round the western foothills of Thrihyrne that stood at the end of the northwestern spur of the White Mountains that formed the southern highlands of the Gap of Rohan. When they passed Súthburg they encamped a mile beyond its gates and deigned not to pay their respects to the Lord of the Westfold. The Rohirrim of the West Emnet watched them pass and remarked amongst themselves that they had the dark look of Dunland more than the Mark.
When Freca's entourage arrived at Edoras, they set their camp before the gates rather than entering the stockade. This suited the king just fine for they were by far the largest party of visitors in attendance and appeared more like a war band than an embassy. Having brought a wagon filled with victuals, Freca's people mingled little with the residents of the city and their few dealings were ruled by the haughtiness of the visitors. All this the king's Riders and Prince Haleth in particular, marked with growing resentment.
'Twas easy enough to see that no good could come of this meeting and all waited on what strife would betide. The council convened in the hall of Meduseld on the morn following Freca's arrival and the proceeding was short-lived. Freca and his son Wulf stood before the council, and whilst Freca eyed the king with calculation, Wulf eyed Princess Heorte with lust. Ere King Helm could even broach the topic of the raiders in the Westfold, Lord Freca spoke.
"My lord, before we debate o'er troubles in the west, there are greater matters in Rohan to address, for are there not also foes coming from the east? We might spend hours on such when the answer to both is clear. Strengthen the leadership and slay the enemy," Freca declared.
Brows were raised and an angry muttering rose from the council, for it seemed that Freca had implied that the royal house was weak, a reflection on the king and his heir, and any threat in the west was no more than that in the east. Indignation grew whilst the king sat silent upon his throne and Freca smirked. When Helm said 'naught, Freca continued.
"'Tis obvious that fear of Eorl's house no longer holds enemies at bay, and whilst I know of no strength that Rohan has sent east 'cross the great river; I have subdued many west of Isen. Fear of my name keeps a great count of foemen cowed in Dunland."
"And what wisdom does the Lord Freca propose?" Helm asked, only curious to hear the plots of this challenger given voice, whilst wondering, Should I exile him with mockery or take his head for sedition?
"By the joining of the strength of the House of Eorl with the fear my foes have learnt from my hand shall our enemies be worsted in days to come. Let us join our noble houses for the good of Rohan. My son and heir Wulf is a warrior trained to take my place one day, and he is single, a perfect match for thy daughter, Princess Heorte who is alas, unbetrothed and advancing in age. Give my son the office of Second Marshal one day and he shall subjugate Dunland."
The pure audacity of Freca's proposition silenced the council and all eyes stared at him, his dark, greasy hair tumbling o'er his corpulent features, and the leering eyes of his son Wulf that had scarcely left the figure of the princess. No one in that hall felt 'aught but wrath at the notion.
"A fine triumph t'would be for the Dunlendings, to take in marriage what they cannot win in battle," Helm said mildly. "To win thus the Hall of Meduseld and lay low the House of Eorl without raising a sword would be a shame no less than punish-whipping a colt."
"Lest thou forget, I am a lord of Rohan, not of Dunland," Freca said, drawing himself up proudly and barely containing his rage, "and better than thy son in the east have I thwarted the threat in the west. With my sword and my will I have done this!"
But Helm was unimpressed and he looked Freca up and down and a smile curled his lips.
"Thou hast grown big since last we met, Freca, but 'tis mostly fat, I wager.¹"
Then those gathered in the hall laughed and all were mirthful save Freca, and Wulf who gnashed his teeth in rage. All pretense of respect was shed and Freca reviled the king for his aged appearance saying, "Old kings that refuse a proffered staff may fall on their knees.¹"
This outburst Helm waved away with a chuckle and said, "Come! The marriage of thy son is a trifle. Let Helm and Freca deal with it later. Be still now. The king and his council have matters of moment to consider.¹"
The council then turned to affairs of state as Freca and Wulf sat seething in silence through it all. Two hours passed thus save that during a short break, the king gave instruction to his brother-in-law who took his leave, and then the talks resumed. Now when all the official business was done and the council adjourned, Helm came to Freca to continue their discussion in private. He laid a hand on the Dunlending's shoulder and gave it a squeeze that made the heavier man gasp.
"The king permits no brawls in his house," said Helm, "but men are freer to speak outside.¹"
With the same iron grip, he directed Freca out the doors of Meduseld, then down the stairs and through the city with Wulf trailing behind. They came to the gates and these were opened by soldiers of the king so that they could pass out onto the road leading from the city. There the members of Freca's company began to gather, but the king waved them away.
"Be off! We need no hearers. We are going to speak of a privy matter alone. Go and talk to my men.¹"
The clip-clop of hoof beats drew their attention and they saw Eadmundr and his éored from Súthburg riding through the gates, six score to their three, mounted and girded for battle. They could do 'naught but draw back to their camp and Wulf with them, leaving Helm and Freca alone.
"Now, Dunlending, thou hast only Helm to deal with, alone and unarmed. But thou hast said much aforetime and 'tis my turn to speak. Freca, thy folly has grown with thy belly. Thou spake of a staff? If Helm dislikes a crooked staff that is thrust upon him, he breaks it. So!¹"
The king gave no hint of his intent, but after a lifetime of training, his fist was like iron. He smote Freca such a blow on his temple that it laid the heavier man out on the ground, and when he struggled to regain his footing, he wobbled and staggered away. He ne'er recovered from that strike. Helm briefly shook out his hand and then raised his voice to the Dunlending camp.
"With your lord and his heir, and all their near kin, I name ye foes of the crown. Show not thy faces again in Rohan lest further judgments fall upon ye."
The Lord of the Eorlingas turned to his Second Marshal and ordered, "See them past Súthburg on thy ride home, old friend. They are now no more welcome in the Mark than the raiders."
Eadmundr chuckled and dipped his head to his brother-in-law. "As thou say, my king, no foot shall they set in the Westfold after."
The Dunlendings were swift to pack and swift to depart. Their lord they loaded in their wagon for he was too unsteady ride. Eadmundr and his éored escorted them back down the Great West Road all the way to Súthburg and sent them on their way from there. By then, Freca had fallen into a coma. On that road, somewhere ere rounding Thrihyrne, he died.
¹(This incident between Freca and King Helm at Edoras and the included dialog is paraphrased from the account given in LotR, Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers, II The House of Eorl, pgs. 1040-1.)
To Be Continued