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The Mountains

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The wind blew strong outside the caves where Mírian lay trying to sleep. The howling sirens of its bluster through the hills and valleys kept her from dozing long, and in the dead of the night she lay awake in the dark. At that length the noise outside started to die down, allowing her to finally drift off. But suddenly she heard a rustling noise nearby, sounds of clicks and clinks of wood and metal, shuffle and rustling of clothes and shoes. Her eyes shot back open, and she heard the pat of shoes on the cave floor receding into the distance. Mírian sat up and dressed, and off she went in following.

Outside a figure hard to discern was already at a distance, growing smaller as it wove through the trees at that dark hour. Mírian pulled her cloak around her - it was approaching the coldest hour of the night, and still early spring in these northern parts. She had to start at a fast pace to catch up, but eventually came within closer range, and was now wading into the deep grasses of the low hills beyond the lake that descended down to the rolling plains of Hithlum. Finally the figure ahead slowed its pace, and crept slowly and stealthily from tree to tree. Mírian could see what her mark was heading for. She veered off course and made her way up a nearby hillside until she found a spot close enough to keep a watchful eye on things.

Behind the mountains to the east the night sky was just beginning to lighten. From the cover of a large boulder Mírian brought forth a small wooden bow she had carried under her cloak. Slowly she crept around the side of the boulder, placing a pile of arrows by her knee. She took one up and strung it, holding it taught.

Mírian had no heart for hunting, for she loved the creatures of the forest, trying rather to befriend them to the amusement of her family. They likened her to her kinsman Beren, and her ancestor Bëor the Old, who was rumored to have such a way with animals that he could have speech with them and refused to eat their flesh. The crafters even fashioned shoes and water containers for her without the use of skins. But she joined the hunting lessons anyway, so as to learn tracking and stalking and moving in stealth. Now she remembered her lessons, and watched.

*.*.*

Dawn was approaching when young Tuor at last found the enemy camp he had overheard his people discussing. It was small, they said, and they planned only to keep an eye on it for now, to gauge where they were headed or what they were up to. His foster folk managed their defenses well enough at need, but would not charge forth and retake Hithlum for his people and for their own lands of old. 'But I am my father's son,' he thought to himself, "I will avenge him and the people of Hador!'

The young warrior took a moment to gather himself, pulling his fair ax from its sheath. Then suddenly he sprang to challenge his enemies. "Begone foul vermin of Morgoth," he cried, pointing his weapon at them, "if you would not feel my wrath by the sting of my blade!"

The three sprang up, fumbling to pull their own blades. But at fourteen Tuor was quite accomplished in his weapons training, and he came at them bold and confident, and two he slew quickly. The third was quicker and jumped out of the way, and pulling his whip snagged the attacker by the neck. But thinking fast the Tuor swung his blade, aiming to cut his restraint. But his enemy caught his swing, and clenched his wrist so fierce the boy dropped his ax with a yelp. The fair white handle received a great stomp of his enemy's foot and split in two.

"Now, then!" said his captor in the common speech of those parts with a rough, gravelly voice. "What to do with this mean little squirrel?"

Realizing he could either make some money selling his captive to the Easterlings or win favor by handing him over to the Big Boss, he fished out a rope, wrapping his captive's hands tight behind him. The orc then pulled out a large black dagger. "You'll pay for that," he said, pointing the blade at his slain comrades lying on the ground. "But let's see here, should I just kill you now? Or tickle you with this first?" Tuor's heart sank as he realized the scale of his dilemma; he was caught, with no help coming.

He soon discovered the camp was not as small as the overheard conversation led him to believe. Two more Orcs approached the fire from where they had been out in the field, and flew into a rage. "I say we kill him!" cried one as he came up from behind and shoved the boy to his knees with a foot to the back.

"Oy!" the first replied, "he's my prisoner and I say we tickle him first! Make 'im suffer for that. But he's a brat of those yellow haired Men, with an elf weapon. High up among his kin I bet he is. I reckon the Big Boss rewards us handsome if we hand this one over. We could run his stick legs all the way to the Fortress - wouldn't that give us a fun time!"

There was a chuckle at this, and the first newcomer stopped to consider the idea. "Oh bugger the Boss; just kill 'im!" cried the other. He came up, pulling out a short broad sword and raised it up to prepare a swing.

Then suddenly the sword fell, and he dropped to his knees, falling over in a heap. His comrades looked and saw an arrow in him, right through the ribs. They looked up in a fright, and were dashing for cover as more arrows flew, two missing a mark and one piercing a leg.

Tuor saw the arrows and looked up at the dark hillside nearby from where they seemed to fly, realizing he was not alone. Fear gripped him, but not for himself, for by the varied success with which the arrows found a target, he had an idea of who might be helping him. But seeing his chance he grabbed the sword that fell and ran it through an Orc that was coming at him. Now emboldened again, Tuor turned on the last one plucking the arrow from his leg, and dashed toward him. But then another one sprang up out of the grass from the shadows beyond the fire, with a great iron-tipped spear pointed at him.

"Drop it, little worm," the new one growled, "or you'll feel the bite of this."

Tuor hoped the hidden archer might come to his aid again. He heard rustling and footsteps behind him, but saw more enemies appear. One seized him and took the sword. Still no more arrows flew. They were again discussing what to do with him when two more appeared with another prisoner in tow. The young warrior looked up, and his heart fell.

This prisoner was pushed over to the first and bound in like manner. One captor tossed a small bow into the fire. And there the two prisoners now sat on their knees, bound and gagged, as their captors debating whether to kill them straight out, torture them and then kill them, sell them to the Easterlings as slaves, or drive them north for the pleasure of their master.

Daylight began to peak from behind the mountain tops, and the Orcs knew they had to move on to get some distance from whoever might come looking for their prisoners. One started putting out the fire while the others began packing up gear. Suddenly the two prisoners heard a thunk and a crack, and looking up saw that the captor assigned to watching them now had a long, sturdy arrow through his chest, direct through his heart. Then each of the remaining captors went down, so fast it was as if they all had been struck at once. Now the two prisoners sat there, alone in the quiet for several long moments, afraid of making any further moves. At last from the shadows emerged a tall elf, who came up and stood before them. He looked upon them silently for a moment, then knelt down to untie their bonds.

"Well!" he said at last, "I hope you have a good explanation for all of this."

Both prisoners sat up on their knees and opened their mouths to speak up and defend themselves, but he raised up a hand.

"Save it," he replied. "Save it for your foster father. Now come along, it is time to face your judgment."

Off they were trotted, walking in silence as they backtracked the miles they had traveled through the tall grasses of the lowlands and past the piles of boulders and small cliff sides through the patches of mountain woods. Back they went along the fair lake now dappled in the cool gray colors of early morning, disturbed by faint splashes and soft waves as the fish were stirring to catch their breakfast. They climbed into the hidden upper reaches of the hill valleys, above the trickling spring creek that spilled toward the lake until at last in early afternoon they reached the caves they called home, where their rescuer brought them before their foster father. Mírian was already ashamed over their foolishness, while Tuor looked to be managing a struggle in his mind over gratitude for the rescue and anger with himself for needing it.

"Now," said Annael patiently, "what were you two thinking?"

He looked back and forth between the young mortals. His gaze went to Mírian and at last she replied, "I was worried for him," she said hesitantly, nodding toward her brother. It was mostly true, the small rest of the truth being that she simply wanted to join his adventuring.

Annael's gaze went to Tuor, but the young man could or would not answer. At last the elf sighed and continued. "There is a reason our sentinels and soldiers have survived many encounters with Orcs over the years. Not only have they achieved their full stature both in size and training, but they work in teams, and look out for each other.

"This the second time you have risked your lives for such mischief. The first time was a softer target, other Men, whose warriors and hunters happened to be away, and all you did was rob them of weapons and valuables - stolen from your kindred though they may have been, and escaped unseen. This time you were fortunate, barely, that the watch marked you leaving and arrived in time."

"My children," he went on, "there are tasks of great import that lay in your future. So you, my daughter, please alert us to such fears as you might have for your brother, that you both may survive to do those things. And fear not, my son! There will be many chances in your future to avenge the sires of your house. But, not just yet."

*.*.*

"They may need to be separated," Lothaelin said to Annael. There were few women left in his group, but such as there were had helped with raising the twins. "They are likely to get each other killed, or worse. Or the young lady will get herself killed in his following."

"Yes, I think you are right," replied Annael. "Those Orcs were a small band for their usual number, but there were more than we realized. If any had a glimpse of the children or of us, it would be a bad turn for all. In the end thus it may be well that the children attacked them in their foolhardiness, that news will not now reach their master on the existence and whereabouts Huor's children."

"Most are reluctant to leave yet," he continued, "holding hope like Tuor for a deliverance of our lands of old. But there are a few among us anxious to send the rest of their families to refuge in the south, where we sent many of our kin long ago. It may serve well for those desiring it to depart sooner than later, and Rían's daughter at least should go with them."

"Yes," answered Lothaelin, "for the road is rumored to be passable of late. And so I too shall go, and my nearest kin with me."

"Very well," he said. "But Tuor is a young man to come of age soon, and would certainly refuse or at least take it as great injury to retreat with the women and children. Also, my heart tells me he should tarry yet a while. Therefore Rían's son will stay here with me and those who remain."

The children were then informed that the elves would be leaving in two parties, one during the coming warm season and the other later on. Cúdolin the great archer volunteered to accompany the first group, both for pity and worry over the daughter of Rían but also because he had kin beyond the mountains whom he desired to go see.

Tuor was saddened, but agreed it best his sister flee soon while she may. But Miren wept. "Why must we be separated? I am as learned in defenses as you, must I go? Come with us if you worry so for me," she protested. She tried to persuade the elves, arguing that they may as well all leave together now, but Annael refused, telling her what he had told her foster mother. Tuor's heart went to his sister in her grief, and he tried to comfort her.

"Do not fear, sister!" he said to her. "The rest of us shall depart soon enough, and by the time the warm season wanes in a year, not more than two, we shall all be safe in Nan-Tethran together. Annael sees great things in our future."

Mírian shook her head. "Nay, brother," she replied. "Our foster father's foretelling may indeed come to pass one day. But I also have a foresight on me. If we will be reunited it will not be for a very long time, and not until after we have both endured much hardship and suffering."

Tuor was troubled by her words, but wondered how this could be, since the danger was low and enemies encountered were easily overcome. So he was inclined to trust in the optimism of his foster folk. Finally on a day in high summer when the green of the trees was full grown and daylight was well past its peak already, the twins parted with love and sorrow, and the first group prepared to set out.