Summary: (I'm aware this has taken a lot longer to write than I thought and the plot has twisted and turned, so, in case this is helpful, summary follows.
Background:
1409: Arthedain's king, Arveleg, fought Angmar with his ally, the Prince of Cardolan. In my verse, Arveleg had promised the contentious Palantír to Cardolan as a gesture of faith, and of course, it would have aided communication between them. However it was never delivered. Angmar routed both armies, killing both King and Prince, and set the Barrow Wights in the ancient tumuli of Cardolan to prevent the Dunédain from resettling the land, but also to guard the ghosts of the Princes and Kings who lay there interred and prevent their rising to fight against Angmar in the Final Battle, the Dagor Dagoreth. When the Nazgûl set off for The Shire to search for The Ring, Tolkien says that Angmar paused in the Downs to raise the Barrow Wights again.
Story so far:
Merry went missing and Sam sent a message to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli who were on their way to help find him. In the meantime, Merry turns up unharmed, having been rescued from a Barrow Wight by a strange Elf, Vanwë (who we also know is Maglor).
There have been sightings of strange riders in black cloaks and on black horses (reminding everyone of the Nazgûl) seen near Bree and there have been bonfires on the Downs. Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Sam along with Dods and Iberic, cousins of Merry, are going to find out what has been happening and armed with their knives, taken from the barrow pre-FOTR, they embark on a journey to Bree, where they meet Baranor, a Ranger.
Baranor has been on a mission with Elrohir, bidden by Aragorn to find the lost Stone of Amon Sul. This is the subject of an old prophesy by Malbeth (who also prophesied the Return of Aragorn and the Army of the Dead) who said that only when the Stone was restored and promises kept, could Arnor be restored. Elrohir kept the Stone secret from Baranor, although Baranor guessed that Elrohir had managed to bring it out of the secret chamber before it collapsed and took it when Elrohir was sleeping. Elrohir caught up with Baranor in Bree and Baranor returned the Palantir but only on condition that Elrohir helps the hobbits.
On the Downs, Legolas is taken by the Barrow wights and pulled into the Great Barrow that is at the centre of the complex. The Wights have a morgûl blade and are about to kill him when they are distracted a call to battle by other Wights. This is triggered by two things: the sudden presence of the Mergyll-Dagnir close by, and by the approach of a Power that they perceive as a threat. Legolas experiences a surge of energy and power and rolls away while the Wights are distracted. He is helped by the ghost of the Last Prince of Cardolan.
Aragorn and Gimli have bumped into Maglor/Vanwë who has agreed to help them find Legolas, and Elrohir and Pippin, who have become separated from the main Hobbit group, have met up with them. Maglor realises what the knives are (the Mergyll-Dagnir, a sort of morgûl blade of the Good, and which can disrupt the 'magic'/ physics of the bad guys like the Barrow Wights. They are fated to be used in the Dagor Dagoreth against Morgoth and will be weapons against Angmar and the Nazgûl- so important!) He concludes that the reason the Wights attacked Merry and Sam, and stalked them through Brandybuck Hall, is to try to get these knives back. He has Merry's. And Pippin has his own.
Frodo has given his blade to Merry because he has Sting, and Sam has his own. The Hobbit party have been attacked by the Barrow Wights but they quickly withdrew seeing that the hobbits are using these blades. They don't need to waste themselves; they've got options!
And here they are!
Dagor Dagoreth- the Last Battle at the End of Days in Tolkien's canon.
CHAPTER 21: The bones beneath the earth
A breeze ruffled through Frodo's hair and his pony's mane as the mist cleared slowly and he could see now that the gully they had been following, believing it was taking them to the Road, had been spiralling inwards, and they were as far from the Road as they could be and with no sign anywhere of Dods and Iberic, or Pippin and Elrohir. Instead, they were on a long plateau that rose above the Downs, and stretched for many miles, undulating like the swells of waves. Up here, it looked far, far over Arnor and Frodo felt the heaviness of its history, the battles that had been fought here, the bones that lay under this thin turf. And then, remembering Elrohir's words about the power of the Barrow Wights to animate the bones of the dead, he looked down at the grass in horrible anticipation. But there was only tall grass and wildflowers bobbing about in the breeze, and far away, a buzzard circled lazily over the moor.
The fog had cleared and with it, the fear that had gripped him, and he looked away to the East. In the far distance, rose Amon Sûl and then beyond his sight and far in the distance, were the Misty Mountains. To the North, he could see more distant hills and he thought that might well be the North Downs. Westwards lay the Old Forest and far beyond, the Tower Hills rose and then to the Sea. To the South, the land undulated in hills and downs as far as he could see and then dissolved into the milky distance. That way was Tharbad, and Rohan, Gondor.
On another day, he might glory in such a view. But there was no sign or Dods or Iberic, or of Pippin and Elrohir. He sighed, wondering if they had even come this way and were not on the other hillside after all.
Frodo stopped and dismounted at the foot of two tall grey stones that marked the end of the gully, and which loomed high, about twenty feet tall and six feet wide, like a doorway. They were marked and patterned with strange spirals and curlicues by the ancient tribes of Men who had dwelt here once, long, long ago. There were seven tall stones marching away to his right, and seven to his left, forming a wide stone circle that enclosed a great grass-covered tumulus. The entrance to this was marked by two more megaliths and a long white kerbstone carved with the same spirals that marked the sentinel stones. Beyond, there were more high raised tumuli, each surrounded by a similar henge.
Merry and Sam were searching the ground for signs that Dods and Iberic had come this way and were talking to each other softly. Baranor had dismounted and was leaving another sign for Elrohir that they had passed this way. It was the third he had left.
'This must be the Iaun-Gynd, the Sanctuary,' Baranor said at last, straightening up and shading his blue eyes with his hand against the lowering sun. He gazed around the circles of standing stones and tumuli in wonder. 'I have never been up here, and the Rangers stopped coming to the Downs at all after the Nazgul crossed Sarn Ford.' He glanced sideways at Frodo and Frodo knew that he was thinking that the reason the Nazgul had passed this way, was to search for the Ring.
Frodo frowned. 'The Sanctuary is a strange name to give somewhere haunted by evil demons.'
'It was not always so,' Baranor answered softly. 'It is where my people, the Dunédain of Cardolan buried our great leaders, that they might rest until they are called to the Dagor Dagorath, the last battle at the End of Days.' There was a sad bitterness on Baranor's handsome face now. 'During the Angmar Wars, my folk took refuge here, as they had in times past. We stood with Arthedain against their enemies, but they did not keep their faith with us. We were betrayed by the king, Arveleg, whom we called the Faithless. When Angmar took Amon Sûl, the Men of Arthedain fled to Fornost, leaving Cardolan to stand alone against the might of Angmar's army. It is said that it was here that the last Prince took his stand and he and every one of his men was slaughtered.'
He gazed towards the tumulus and Frodo wondered briefly if Baranor saw Aragorn as Elendil's heir or Arveleg, the faithless King who had betrayed them.
'Their bodies were left to rot, unburied and unshriven. No one came from Fornost to help the refugees. No one came to bury their bones and Angmar was allowed to raze every fort that Cardolan had built to guard against him. And once he had wreaked destruction on the people and land, he raised the Barrow Wights to ensure that Cardolan could never rise again.'
A haunted place indeed, thought Frodo, but full of tragedy too and he felt a sudden kinship for those unburied Men of Cardolan who had fought against Angmar and Sauron as had he. Frodo thought again about what was beneath this close cropped turf; the bones of Cardolan. And of Angmar's army too.
'Some of them must have escaped,' he observed mildly. 'For you are here.' He smiled kindly.
Baranor smiled back. 'Yes. There are daft children's tales that are too like that of Idril of Gondolin to be true. A golden-haired princess, and the Last Prince who loved her and who stood against Angmar and was slain so that she might escape with some women and children.' He laughed gently and rubbed a hand over his tousled blond hair. 'It hardly matters how, for the blood of Arthedain, Cardolan and even Rhudaur now is so mixed.'
'I can't see any sign of Dods,' said Merry, returning. 'Or Iberic. They must have gone up the other side and onto that tumulus.' He nodded to the other side of the gully towards the opposite hill. Then he exhaled slowly. 'Look,' he said softly, and pointed to one of the tumuli away towards their right. 'There. Look at the entrance. That stone looks like it's been blasted open.'
Frodo followed where Merry indicated. Near the barrow were long stones that must have been standing until recently but now lay toppled to one side as if they had been blasted, and the entrance to the tomb was open, like a mouth, leading into a dark throat. The ground in front of it was blackened and charred. Frodo felt the hair on the back of his neck and scalp stiffening like a dog's hackles. Suddenly he felt a fool for having stood here so casually, chatting to Baranor when they should have been more alert. Just because the fog had dissipated did not mean the danger had gone.
'A bonfire,' Merry said with wide eyes.
A sensation that the huge megaliths beside which they had gathered were waiting, watching, crept along Frodo's scalp, down his spine and he almost expected eyes to open up in the tops and shuddered; that was too like the Barrow Wights.
Quite suddenly there was a sharp pain in his chest, like the Witchking had reached out from the Dark and plunged his spiked and mailed fist into Frodo's chest and wrung his old wound. He saw, as it was happening now before his eyes, the advent of the Nazgul as Baranor had reminded him….
… black shadows, the capes of the Nazgul rose like a flock of ghostly crows, like ink in water. The hoofs of their steeds charged over the short turf of the Downs and the Witchking yanked and pulled his great black horse around cruelly. He stood up in his stirrups and raised his arms so his black cloak flowed around him and into the darkness like terrible wings of darkness, and beneath there were the shadows, little skulls of chittering beasts, pinching fingers, biting teeth. He sent luminous lightning into the air, silently striking on the great stones rolled in front of the tumuli. The stones cracked open and the lightning, green and luminous reached into the barrows where the sun or moon never could, summoning the Umaiar, pulling them from their Age-long slumber.
He charged them again with their task, woke them again to the Doom, the great battle that would be ahead. Opening his mailed fist, he showed them the peril they faced; the Mergyll-Dagnir, deep in the buried treasure hordes of the Dunédain, weapons that would cut the chords of their Great Music, Undo that which the Dark God had done.
He commanded them, pressing down upon their Will; you will seek out these blades, these are the Bane of Morgoth. Destroy them.
The Úmaiar swayed resentfully, their own Song sought to twist around his; who are you, they hissed, to command Us?
And he showed them, battered them down so they submitted, reminded them of whom they served.
The Nazgûl were strong. Rings-Wraiths. The Úmaiar had forgotten their Master. He subdued them.
The Nazgûl circled, their black robes floating in the night, pulling in the wayward spirits, ploughing up the soil with the great hooves of their beasts to reveal the bones beneath of their servants and slaves. Their horses threw up their heads and snorted. Angmar threw out the lightning again and the Nazgûl rode away on the storm that rolled and thundered, and rolled and spat over the Barrow Downs for days and nights.
Frodo staggered and would have fallen had not Baranor reached out and caught him. For a moment, Frodo saw the Witchking of Angmar again, the bones of the skull beneath that ancient helm, empty sockets that still somehow watched him, the teeth bared in a skull's grimace, and then, that plunging knife.
'Frodo!' Sam cried and rushed over to take Frodo from Baranor and hold him upright. Merry hurried over just behind Sam and looked worriedly at Frodo.
'It's all right,' Frodo said, his hand on that old wound and rubbing it. 'It was just…just a moment. I… I saw something… it was a memory almost of Angmar raising the Barrow Wights,' he said incautiously.
'I am sorry!' Baranor was mortified. 'It is my fault for telling you stories about this place.' He looked down in shame and Sam glared at him.
'What stories?'
'No, Sam.' Frodo held up his hand, appeasing. 'Please. It was not Baranor's fault. I just… sometimes I…' But how could he tell them about the images that afflicted him, the nightmares that haunted him and left him exhausted?
'Angmar is gone,' Merry said definitely. 'And all the others were sucked into the vortex at the Morannon. Pippin said. And Gimli.' But his eyes were a little too round to completely convince either Frodo or Sam. No one said anything about Khamûl, who had survived the Morannon because the Ring had been left on the mountainside to be discovered by Bearos. No one said that Angmar had been in the Mirror and fed off Legolas's blood during his captivity in the Tombs of the Kings.
'That old rust bucket, Angmar!' Sam said angrily. 'He got you good and proper.' He shook his head bitterly. 'It's never really left you. Of course you can sense where he's been and the wickedness he's done.' He fussed over Frodo, but it was a comfort, and he glared at Baranor who shook his head at himself and rubbed a hand over his beard as if he could rub out the last few minutes.
Frodo glanced at Sam apologetically. 'Don't blame Baranor. I was just…'
'Don't you worry about that,' Sam interrupted but he was not angry now, just concerned. 'I'm here and Bill's here and Merry.' He paused and added a little grudgingly, 'And Baranor. Pippin is going to be here any minute now with Elrohir, and Dods and Iberic must be up over there.' He indicated the other hillside. 'I expect they'll hear us and any minute now they'll be waving at us. Then we're all going home.'
Just then, Merry gave a cry. 'There they are! Ponies.' He pointed. Not towards the opposite hillside as Sam had thought but behind them, through the stones towards the Sanctuary. Two ponies appeared, turning skittishly, their reins trailing, as if they wanted to run but were tethered in place.
'They must have just got off. They must be over there!' Merry raised his hand to cup his mouth and shouted, 'Dods! Iberic!'
But Frodo suddenly felt a chill creep over his neck. He held out a hand to Merry to stop him from calling. 'Baranor,' he called quietly.
Baranor looked at him. 'Yes,' the Man said. "I feel it too.'
'Feel what?' Merry asked, and he had dropped his voice now and looked anxiously at Frodo.
'I really don't like this,' Baranor said quietly. 'Those ponies are upset and yet they do not run.' He drew his sword. 'I will try and get closer,' he said. 'Stay here unless I call or until I return. If I sound my horn, it will be to tell you that you must flee.' He looked at Frodo emphatically. 'I will need you to find Elrohir and tell him what has happened. Do you understand?'
'We're not leaving you here alone,' Frodo began.
But Sam interrupted. 'We won't be,' he said. 'We'll be finding Elrohir.' He nodded at Baranor. 'Don't worry. We will find him and bring him here. Then we will all come to help you.'
'Draw those daggers of yours and keep them about you,' Baranor said, mounting his dun horse again. 'The Barrow Wights didn't like them. I think that is what drove them off earlier.'
'If that's the case, then what about you?' Merry asked in horror. 'Here, take mine. At least you have some chance then.' He thrust out his dagger and Baranor hesitated for only a moment and then took it. 'I cannot leave you unarmed. Take this.' He gave his own dagger to Merry. It was plain but the hilt was elegant, almost feminine, and set with green stones that glowed eerily, and river pearls. 'It was my mother's,' Baranor said in explanation. 'Stay together,' he cautioned and with that, he urged his horse forwards and he cantered off winding his way between the tall, silent stones of the Iaun-Gynd.
Merry slid Baranor's knife into his belt, and Sam and Frodo stood silently, anxiously watching Baranor weave his way between the tall stones. They seemed to loom over him as he passed, as if they stared and followed his passage. Frodo felt unease prickle along his fingers and he glanced at Merry and then Sam.
Sam was fidgeting with the hilt of his long knife and Merry was biting his lip. 'I don't like the way those stones are sort of leaning towards each other. They look like they could turn into Barrow wights at any moment.' Sam frowned.
'This just doesn't feel right, Frodo,' Merry said at last. He shook his head. 'Why haven't Dods or Iberic shown themselves?'
They were silent for a moment and then Merry and Frodo spoke at the same time.
'I think we should go and look…'
'Let's just go and see if….'
'Baranor told us to stay here and to leave if he sounded his horn,' Sam said firmly.
Frodo looked at his friend's open, honest face and read his concern. 'I am perfectly well, Sam,' he said reassuringly. 'This is not the Quest and I do not have It anymore.' He spread his hands as if to prove it though he did not need to.
But Sam was unconvinced. 'It doesn't matter.'
'Merry slew the Witchking of Angmar,' Frodo said mildly. 'With one of these blades.' He cocked his head and regarded Sam benignly. 'In many ways, we are perhaps even better armed than Elrohir or Baranor.'
Sam grunted. 'It was that Elf what drove the Barrow Wight off both Merry and me. Not us. With respect,' he said, unhappy to be contradicting Frodo but with the responsibility he still felt with all things where Frodo was concerned. 'And Baranor told us to go and find Elrohir We gave our word.'
'Well, perhaps we could just go as far as those big stones,' Merry suggested in a conciliatory tone. 'We can leave the ponies here and if we hear Baranor's horn we can quickly come back.'
At last Sam shook his head for he too was worried about their friends, and it was hard to leave. 'All right. We will just go to the first stone and have a look. But if we hear that horn, we all leave immediately. Agreed?' He looked hard at each of them.
They left the ponies grazing outside the stone circle and followed in Baranor's wake as stealthily and silently as only hobbits can.
Suddenly, Sam grasped Frodo's arm. 'Look!' he whispered harshly and raised his arm to point away to their left, towards one of the tumuli within this Sanctuary. It was less than a quarter of a mile away.
A bonfire flared and raged at the mouth of the tomb. Red flames roared up into the sky, black cinders flew up and they saw in the hellish glow, the silhouette of two tall figures, black cloaks like ink in water, flowing around them.
'Do you think…?' Merry began but Frodo cried out in alarm.
Something was happening. Around them, the earth seemed to be bubbling. Small mounds appeared like pock marks about them.
Bony fingers scrabbled and poked their way out of the soil and a heavy, misshapen hand suddenly punched its way clear of the earth.
Not a Man's hand but something heavier, thicker. And not fleshy, but merely the bones but they groped their way about and Merry cried out in horror as the arm followed, and then the top of a skull broke through the earth, its eyeless sockets emerged first and then its horrid grin. The skull was heavy jawed and the teeth, sharp, fanged. The skull turned towards Merry as if it could see him and another arm appeared and the skeleton struggled upwards, hauling itself from the soil like a birth. It was taller than the hobbits by far, man-size. But this was no man. Its rib cage was wider, more barrelled and its bones thicker. On its chest, it wore a rusted cuirass and rotted leather flapped about its hips like tattered skin. Frodo could hardly breathe; these were the bones of an Orc.
All around them, the bones of Angmar's long dead army were hauling themselves from the earth, and as they rose up on their haunches, they grabbed at rusty blades from the grass, and gradually, they turned their grinning skulls and eyeless sockets towards the Hobbits, one by one.
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