Barad Lomin

by halavana

A novel set in Middle Earth, 1325 Third Age. A young woman's attempt to escape an unwanted marriage has unexpected consequences. Been toying with this since 1996. Time to see if anyone else thinks it worth a read. Reviews welcome.

14. Endings and Beginnings

Barad Lomin
by Laura White, aka halavana
Chapter XIV

Endings and Beginnings

The return was much slower than the leaving. The knights' horses were weary from the long gallop, Brogan and Morfindel still felt their injuries sorely and Argus, Starfoot and Keren simply enjoyed the leisurely pace. The year was turning from late autumn to early winter, which in Cardolan was a very pleasant time. The travelers stopped only for meals and short rests, moving like the migrating birds and beasts of the changing season. Along the way Keren was hailed by farm families asking for news, but mainly wanting a closer look at an elf lord dressed in shiny mithril and a minstrel who sang at the slightest hint of a request. Happenings were so scarce that any amusement was welcome. Starfoot regretted that he had no harp or viol, but his singing drew an audience with or without accompaniment. The songs also brought invitations to meals. Had Keren not insisted upon adding their provisions, Argus complained, they could have made them last a week. Brogan was fussed over constantly as soon as Argus told the story of his broken nose.

As their homeward journey progressed, Morfindel showed less and less discomfort, and Brogan became downcast. "Do elves heal quickly, or am I a weakling?" he asked as they rode along. "For still my nose throbs, and my head aches. Yet you, my lord, seem to be in no discomfort at all."

Argus would have responded with a joke but Morfindel spoke first.

"Elves heal quickly. Fear not. You are no weakling," said the elf lord and urged Weithlo into a quick single-foot. Something ahead troubled him and he was in no temper for jests. They drew near to the area surrounding Barad Lomin, Millbank and Fieldbrook where there were many isolated homesteads. "Elendal, know you this farm?"

"It is the home of the grandparents of one of my students from my days as a music teacher," responded Starfoot, Nimthalion at a canter matching Weithlo's single-foot.

"Every homestead we have met so far has been lively with activity. Yet this one is not."

"That is strange, for this time of day they were always busy when I visited them."

Morfindel touched his heels to Weithlo's sides and the horse broke into a leaping gallop. The farm was yet about three miles away but such was the swiftness of the elven horse that he covered the ground, swift as the wind, and was at the door when the knights were only half way there. When Starfoot arrived he entered and came upon the elf lord putting long bones into a large wooden chest, bare handed with a grim, sorrowful countenance.

"My lord..."

Morfindel signaled Starfoot to be silent as he searched the house, picking up smaller bits of bone and gently placing them inside the chest.

"My lord," ventured Starfoot. "Perhaps you should put on your gloves? This was done days ago and..."

"None here can harm me, except to break my heart, and that they have already done."

"How will we know who they were?"

"It matters not. They died together. We will bury them together. Other farmers and their families who live as isolated as these may have suffered the same fate. We should find them," said the elf lord as he closed the chest.

Quietly, Starfoot went out. When the knights and Keren rode up, they noted the elves' grim expressions and said nothing. Starfoot searched the farm buildings, came out with a shovel and began to dig in a place away from the house. Presently Morfindel came out carrying the wooden chest. He also went in search of a shovel and joined Starfoot in digging.

"Perhaps one of us should do that," offered Brogan.

"Many generations of men may have passed but, through my daughter, these are my descendants," explained the elf lord. "Few in Barad Lomin are not, though perhaps her likeness has diminished in most." He paused, looking pensively at the chest. "Had I ventured forth but a single day earlier, perhaps these might still live. Thank you for your offer of assistance, but I will bury my own." He commenced to dig again and did not cease until the job was done.

Keren rode forward and hitched her pack horse to a post without dismounting. "Will you come with me, Starfoot?" she asked. "I have many friends who married into farm families."

Starfoot consented, handed Brogan his shovel and rode away with her. Argus waited until they had finished the grave, then helped lower the chest and replace the soil. When the deed was done, they rode together in search of other farms, hoping not to find another like this.

They visited twenty three homesteads where the farmers and families spoke of hideous faces seen in the shadows at night, and distant noises like screams but were too afraid to investigate. All happened on one night. When informed that the goblins were no more, they took courage and many of the more stout hearted joined Keren, the elves and knights to find friends and relations for whom they feared.

Keren spoke not at all, but wept silently as she gathered bones from the vineyard house of Old Vines. It was very short work, for very little remained. When they came to the home of one of her former suitors, Starfoot would not permit her to enter, instead sending her to find the knights and Morfindel. When she returned with them, they also refused her admittance, telling her to find a large piece of cloth they might use as a shroud. Somewhat grudgingly, she complied. A large tarp she found in a barn and brought it to the door.

"I am no infant you must protect from..." she began.

With a shout, Argus and Brogan blocked her view so she did not discover the full extent of the carnage, but the brief glimpse was enough to make her submit to being shut out. Garan, her former suitor, was a large man and very strong who made a valiant defense of his home, killing two goblins. But Garan also was slain. The house interior reminded Keren of the aftermath of a sheep cote ravaged by wolves.

The elves and knights brought out their shrouded burden and buried him. Keren pointed out the victims' connection with Millerson, as relatives of supposed friends or known enemies and suggested they look for others like them. They told her to return to Barad Lomin, but she refused no matter how they rebuffed her. Rather, she lead them to several homesteads where the inhabitants were frightened but untouched. A few were like the first house, with broken doors and nothing but bones inside. In total, five of the most isolated were found so.

When all were accounted for, either living or dead, and all was done for them that could be, many farmers saddled their swiftest horses and rode into Barad Lomin. The elves, Knights and Keren made their way to the ravine where the goblins still lay as they had fallen.

"Perhaps we should burn them," suggested Argus. "Though I like not the thought of the stench."

"We will not burn them," said Morfindel. "Take them to their cave, to the large chamber there." He pointed to the tunnel where he had lain in wait but days before.

They scoured the area, dragging goblin bodies to the cave or dropping them over the side from the top of the ravine for another to drag. Twelve they found and were glad to walk away from the tunnels, for goblin stench is bad in life, but in death it is unbearable.

"Well, that's done. What now?" asked Brogan with a grimace.
Morfindel ordered them to the top of the ravine. He followed and walked to a place across from the goblin's former lair. Sitting on the ground, he closed his eyes and began to sing. The tune was low and mournful and the words were harsh sounding even in the voice of an elf. Brogan, Argus and Keren looked on with confusion. Late into the night he sang, until a breeze from the west whispered past and a tremor shook the ground. The rumbling grew until the earth began to shake in earnest and only Morfindel remained unmoved.

"My lord, perhaps we should step away from the edge..." began Brogan, but said no more, for the caves across the way began to collapse, the ground sinking inward, sealing the tunnels and burying the goblins. Both knights reached to steady Keren and gaped in stunned silence at the completeness of the cave in. The goblins had tunneled extensively and new branches of the ravine opened as their work collapsed.

"How did he do that?" Argus asked Starfoot.

"If I knew that, I also would be an elf lord and no mere minstrel."

Morfindel peered at them through narrow eyes, as if seeing from a great distance. "I but made a request. The power I called upon chose to grant it. I did nothing."

The knights pondered this. What power did he call upon, they wondered, that could, or would respond with such an answer. And what language was it that Morfindel used? They questioned Starfoot but even he did not know, or would not say.

"My lord," asked Argus, tentatively, on one knee next to the elf. "Pardon my presumption, but who are you, really? How old are you?"

"Only Morfindel," responded the elf lord in a tired voice. "Third son of Caranthir, fourth son of Feanor, First son of Finwe. Old enough to have seen the Two Trees of Valinor, though but a child. Old enough to have held a Silmaril after my grandfather made it, and to tremble at the rash oath sworn when the Silmarils were stolen. With my grandfather's people I went into exile and lived in Thargelion until it was overrun. Among the great elven smiths was I counted in Eregion, though my cousin Celebrimbor surpassed us all. Old enough to have met the enemy we do not name face to face, and to have fled in terror. Old enough to have grown weary of being called 'my lord.' Old enough." Morfindel breathed deeply and stood, looking about as though he missed something, then listening as the bells of Barad Lomin began to chime, but not the hour. His countenance brightened for it was Lurisa's favorite tune. "Let us away from this place," he said and called Weithlo. They galloped toward Barad Lomin without a backward glance.

"Never will I understand elves," murmured Argus, and Brogan nodded agreement as they mounted their own horses.

"It matters not," said Starfoot, who also recognized the tune and laughed merrily. "Some of us hardly understand ourselves." And he followed Morfindel, singing as he went.

Soon only Keren remained. She mounted her horse as well, but rode to the farm where they first discovered the goblins' ravages. Her pack horse was still hitched to the post. It whinnied at her as she came near, and snorted. She loosened the pack horse's lead rope and turned toward Barad Lomin, but wavered. Then she wheeled her horse and set out in another direction.

The messengers to Tharbad had galloped away within an hour of Morfindel's departure. They returned earlier than expected, bringing with them three men of Tharbad met half way, searching for Seamster's son who was very late arriving. His wife and her family grew concerned. Somber was the mood in Barad Lomin at the news. No trace of man or horse were found, and all thought by this time, none ever would. As if this were not enough, small groups of farmers rode into town, reporting that the knights and elves had returned, but too late to save them from sorrow. They told what they had seen and heard. Though none doubted their word, not having not seen with their own eyes, the townspeople could not fathom that their loved one were taken from them so cruelly. Upon learning of the goblins' horrible deeds, Seamster doubted not that his son was also dead, loss piled upon loss.

Lurisa and the other elves were silent as the magistrate recorded names and dates in the town register. Slowly she turned away and strolled to the tower, climbing up the stairs and looking out over the land. Dusk had turned to night and still messengers came from Millbank and Fieldbrook and others were sent to Duinbar asking that knights be sent. With the keen eyes of an elf, she saw them. Suddenly a breeze picked up and within it was a still, quiet voice saying "I hear you." Not long after, she felt the tower sway as the ground shook. Cries rose from the town and her daughter ran to the base of the tower, calling for her mother to come down. Lurisa refused. The little wisp of a voice she heard before in response to a prayer of Morfindel, long ago in another age. She felt no fear, but waited. The rumbling and trembling subsided and all was quiet. In all this, the bells had made not a sound. She turned to address them.

"Come friends, let us call our lord home," she said and began to sing. It was a song in the elvish language calling wanderers home.

Welcome home, oh wayfarer dear
Come sit by the fire and rest your feet here.
All toil and sorrow leave far behind
Our table is spread, come join us and dine.

Welcome home, welcome home
Long await we the sound
Welcome home, welcome home
Your footsteps resound

Welcome home, beloved warrior and friend
Cast off quiver and bow at battles end.
Mail shirt and sword, shining and bright
Guard naught but our hearth all through the night.

Welcome home, welcome home
Turn from sadness to cheer
Welcome home, welcome home
Oh wayfarer dear.

Many verses she sang until finally near daybreak, far in the distance she spied a gray shimmering shadow, moving swiftly forward. The sun broke from the horizon and with arms outstretched, she said "welcome home, beloved," turned and raced down the circling tower steps to meet him.

The dawn announced itself by casting a rose glow over the land. The tower appeared as a seven layered forrest in autumn, its outer columns carved in the shapes of tree trunks and the chapiters forming leafy boughs. Wind and rain had eroded much of the finer carvings on top, and mortal hands rubbed a smooth band around the trunk of each tree-colmun, but what remained still left the elf lord in wonder at what he had made so long ago, the likes of which he could never make again. The tower was a wedding present for his son-in-law and he had labored many years designing and constructing it, forging its bells and teaching them to chime and ring. In the center was a cistern to catch rain water, a tower within a tower, a stairway at each of the four points of the compass circled to the top. Often the cistern was left empty, which caused the bells to echo and gave the tower its name - the echoing tower. How his daughter's husband had laughed in disbelief when Morfindel said it was his wedding gift to them. How delighted the man had been to hear the sweet tones of those bells. For many years Morfindel's daughter and her husband made their home here. The Ringing Well had been their house. Being set at the crest of a high hill, the tower gave a marvelous view of the Baranduin river valley and often his daughter ran to the top to watch for her husband's ship. Morfindel kept his eyes on the top tier where now stood a lady in green with outstretched arms. When she turned to descend from the tower, Morfindel touched his heels to Weithlo's sides. The horse galloped as though flying, so smoothly that his rider would not have known he was moving except for the wind in his hair.

Lurisa waved her children and their companions away as she ran to meet Morfindel, for she would have words with him alone. They met in a field outside of Barad Lomin. He slid from his horse and hit the ground running, but slowed to a walk when he saw his hood in her hand. His eyes met hers and he offered his hands. In one she placed his cowl. The other she took and held tightly. Placing her other palm flat against his chest where the troll struck him, she said with gentle remonstrance, "beloved, when next you ride into peril, take me with you."

"I could not, for if you are not safe..."

"If you are not safe, then I am not safe, no matter where I may be. When we leave this Middle Earth, we sail together, or we die together. I will not remain without you. Rather I will be like Keren and ride after you whether you will or not. You taught me the skill of archery. Let me join your rearward."

He took her in his arms and held her close. "Only in direst need. May it never come to that."

About this time Starfoot rode up, followed closely by Argus and Brogan. Lurisa looked behind them and asked, "where is Keren?" The knights turned around and gazed in the direction from which they had just come.

"She was right behind us," said Brogan, growing concerned.

Lurisa and Morfindel stood silent, listening, and sighed almost in unison.

"Perhaps I should go find her,"said the knight. "It's not safe for her..."

"She is safer than ever in her life and you are injured. Come and let us tend to you," said Lurisa.

Brogan waved her off. "My lady, I mean no disrespect, but my nose will heal of itself. There may yet be..."

"There are no goblins here now," said the lady.

"How know you this?" asked Brogan.

Showing a ring on her hand, she said, "This guard ring was given to me by my beloved many years ago, made from the same metal as his sword. Were there goblins near, I would know, for the ring's glow would reveal them. Keren is mourning her friends. She will return when she is done."

"All the same," said Brogan and, wheeling his horse, rode away.

Keren left her horses to roam as they would, and stood with folded arms in front of the door to Old Vines' house. Her emotions were in turmoil, anger and grief battling to be the first let out. She went inside, shut and bolted the door, then paused. The bolt was unbroken. Four houses, the door had been smashed in, but not this one. She wondered why, but thought of the trusting old man, and his forgetfulness, and needed little to imagine the scene, Millerson claiming goblins pursued him. Old Vines opens the door and lets in...

Keren screamed, the scene she created working as a catalyst for rage to emerge, cursing Millerson and all goblins, and the agents from Rhudaur who put him in debt, and the stupid people of Barad Lomin for turning aside from accusing him for so many years, and herself for running when she could have married him and seen to it he never awoke on their nuptial first morn. She took charcoal from the hearth and drew Millerson's outline on the door and threw coals at it, but was not satisfied and went out to her horse, retrieved her father's bow and quiver. Four quivers of arrows she shot into the door, until it was pitted and chipped. When she went to pull them out again and have another go, a small object in the corner caught her eye. It was a bracelet made of wooden beads belonging to Reina, Keren's friend and the wife of Old Vines grandson. Long before Reina married the Vines boy, they made these bracelets for each other. Keren kept Reina's in a box, fearing to lose it. Reina always wore the one Keren made for her.

Keren threw down the arrows pulled from the door and picked up the bracelet. Gripping the beads in a hand, she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut but it was not use. Fury gave way to grief. She sat cross-legged on the floor and wept.

Thus Brogan found her sometime later, still weeping. The sound nearly broke his heart and he wiped tears from his own eyes before opening the door. Keren looked up at him as though caught in some unseemly act, rose from the floor and turned away from him.

"Go away, Brogan. I don't want to be seen just now."

"Neither did I want to be seen with a broken nose. I will not go away and leave you to grieve alone. I also knew your friend, and many others of the slain. If we're to be married, we must learn to share such burdens." He stepped forward and put a gentle hand on her arm. She turned to him and buried her face in his chest, allowing herself to be comforted by his embrace. They stood a long while, even after Keren's tears ceased.

"Come away from this place of sorrow," said Brogan. "And not just this house. From Barad Lomin and Cardolan. I will speak to your father, if perhaps he will let us move the wedding day nearer. Come with me to my home on the shore of Lake Evendim."

Keren looked up at him. "At this moment, with or without my father's consent, I would go with you. Many who would have taken part in our wedding here are dead. I will feel their absence, no matter how long we wait. If you truly wish this, then let's be off."

Brogan took her face in his hands and kissed her. Together they went out, mounted their horses and rode to Keren's home.

Argus looked after Brogan as he rode away, thinking to follow but guessing his friend wanted to be alone with Keren, stayed behind. He turned to Lurisa. "What news, my lady?"

They walked toward Barad Lomin and Lurisa told them all that had passed in their absence, of the messengers from Tharbad and how the townspeople gathered to mourn their lost loved ones. No household was untouched by loss. Some were angry and, knowing not where to place blame, turned on the elves but were quickly shouted down by others who said it was the elves who chased the threat away. Jack Frost had behaved well in defense of his father, answering calmly so as not to add to the pain of the bereaved. Much talk of Millerson there was and many of his deeds came to light. All had been cheated by him, or threatened, in some manner. Thistledown and Safronela liked not to be so much in the public eye and returned to the Woodman farm to wait there.

Presently they came to the Ringing Well. Argus entered first and was loudly greeted by the tavern keeper.

"Hail, knight! What news?"

"Most is now as we would have it, but Millerson escaped," he began and continued telling the whole tale. When he came to the part about finding only bones at a homestead, others stated that already they heard of that and wished not to hear it again. Mr. Black, the town smith, noted the sword and dagger which flashed blue in the presence of goblins and wished he had the skill to produce such a weapon.

"Once they were common," said Morfindel, "but most were destroyed in the battle we call Unnumbered Tears. They have become scarce, but such as I have..." Here he took his dagger from its sheath and with a flip of the wrist sent its point an inch deep into a high support beam. He spoke a few words in the elvish tongue and it flashed brightly, then dimmed slowly until it appeared as nothing but a fair dagger. "Should goblins return, perhaps you may have some extra warning."

No one spoke for some time but gaped at the tavern's newest ornament until Barber offered pints all around as the bells chimed the midday. Not long after, a knight came to the door of the tavern and asked to speak with the magistrate. He left his table and went out, wondering who this might be. Then he looked the knight in the face and laughed.

"Woodman! Have you returned to the Prince's service?"

"At my age?" said Woodman. "But how else should I dress on my daughter's wedding day?"

"Your daughter?" began the magistrate, looking about at the ones who followed Woodman. There was Brogan in his knightly robe and Keren dressed in a lovely blue gown. Two elf maidens attended her. The man listened as Woodman explained how Keren and Brogan wanted to marry quietly now and move to his home in the north. The magistrate scoffed, "quietly, say you? Nonsense! With all the sorrow and grief we as a town have suffered of late, I say you will not go quietly!" He then called to his assistant and sent him to bring the town register. Other runners were sent to gather as many as would come. Tables were moved about and the wedding couple drawn inside. Mrs. Green and many other of the womenfolk scurried about bringing food and setting in on the tables. When all was prepared and the people gathered the magistrate called them to order.

"Highly irregular is it to celebrate a marriage on a day we have lost so much. But they have lost no less than any other among us. Dear friends and relations have they laid to rest, doing work which should have been done by others many years hence, not all in one day. We will temper our grief with a moment of joy, and our joy with a moment of grief. Let the bride and groom step forward."

Brogan took Keren by the hand and together they approached the magistrate, who opened the town register and wrote in it. He handed the quill to Brogan, who wrote his name and passed it to Keren who did likewise.

"And now for the two oldest living relations to sign as witnesses," said the magistrate,looking at Woodman and Argus. They looked at each other and turned to Morfindel and Lurisa.

"It's our custom for the family patriarch to sign the register giving consent to the marriage," said Woodman, handing the quill to the elf lord. "Keren tells me you are our patriarch."

A murmur of surprise ran through the room at this. Morfindel would have refused, but Woodman said "please, we would be honored." To hear the normally gruff Old Woodman so fair spoken set the room to murmuring again. The elf looked long into Woodmen's eyes, then bowed and wrote his name in elven script, as did Lurisa also. Then all turned to face the west. Morfindel stood behind bride and groom and placed his hands on top of Brogan and Keren's head, speaking the marriage blessing in the elven tongue.

The wedding feast was subdued with no loud laughter or raucous merry making, but plenty of food provided by the womenfolk. Starfoot sang many songs with his former students and Mr. Brown, the teacher. Stories were told and many wanted to hear the history of Barad Lomin anew from one who built it so long ago. Lurisa knew who descended from whom and explained the intricate connections the people of Barad Lomin had with her daughter. Many were shocked to discover even Millerson could trace his line to her.

Afternoon became evening and the elves made ready to depart. Keren, Brogan and Argus would ride with them and said their farewells to friends and family. The company stopped at the Woodman farm where Keren gathered such things as she wanted. Lurisa gave her guard ring to Morwen, saying "perhaps you may have need of it one day." As the elves rode away with his daughter Woodman sighed and put his arms around the shoulders of two of his sons.

"Not many years hence, I think I may follow them," he said.

"Do you think we'll ever see elves in Barad Lomin again?" asked Morwen.

"Perhaps," said a voice behind them. It was Mr. Ereg, or rather Starfoot disguised again. "In fact, I doubt it not."

"Holly Starfoot, let's have none of your disguises here," said Morwen with a wry laugh.

Millerson stalked into Angmar's chamber removing his sword belt as he went. It was an heirloom from many generations past and he was loath to part with it, which added to his anger. Old as it was, it never lost its edge, able to cut straight to the bone. And even more than this, the goblins were afraid of it and would not touch it. In a single night, saying he would be their butcher, he had set them upon five houses, those who knew too much and those he hated most. With every step, Millerson recalled the face of a victim. Old Vines and a grandson with his snipe of a wife. The grandson knew too much and talked too freely. Two of Keren Woodman's former suitors and their families. He meant to get the others the next night, but that would have to wait. A young couple who tended Barber's family home, and had six visitors Millerson wanted gone before they told what they knew of his doings. And Seamster's old parents with three of their grandchildren, including the little bratty one who pouted when her music box did not play the tune she wanted. Those elves and knights coming along and ruining it all meant his vengeance may have to wait a long while, but he would have it, he swore. No matter what.

The chamber was dim and appeared empty except for a single chair set upon a raised stone platform, where sat a black, formless shadow. As Millerson drew closer, the shadow took the form of a very tall man, hunched forward with a sword across his knees. Robed completely in black, the figure did not move or acknowledge Millerson's presence.

The appearance of the master was no surprise. Millerson had been forewarned first by his goblins and later by the men who guided him. When he had drawn nearer, the Witch King raised his head, eyes like burning coals glowed from deep beneath the hood. Millerson stopped. He knew what to expect, but still the sight of this "boss" made his anger chill into fear. He steeled himself and walked forward until he stood at the base of the platform. There he cast his sword at the black robed feet, took a step backward and waited. When the Witch King said nothing, Millerson said, "I know the price of failure. Do what you will, but I ask that you have done with it."

The Witch King directed his hood toward Millerson a long moment. Without a word the black robed figure turned to an attendant, who stepped from the shadows. The Witch King pointed to the sword at his feet and opened his hand. The lackey stooped to retrieve the weapon and gave it into the hand of his master, who inspected it closely as though he were quite nearsighted. Presently a hissing sound emanated from beneath the hood, as if someone were trying to laugh but had forgotten how. The Witch King stood and held Millerson's sword high over head, gripping his own sword in his other hand, still hissing. When the specter stepped down from the platform, Millerson's knees began to tremble but he clenched his teeth and fists and made himself be still. Slowly the black robed figure came closer. Standing but a yard from Millerson, he extended the sword hilt toward Millerson. "You have not failed," he whispered and waited for the man to accept the returned weapon. "This was but a trial and a stroke against the elves which in time will drive them from Middle Earth forever. Do you think we can not send a host of thirty thousand as easily as thirty-seven? What did you expect to accomplish?"

"To destroy Barad Lomin."

"In time, perhaps. That is our wish also. But you have yet much to learn which we can teach. Serve us faithfully, and you may have your chance."

"Would that I live so long."

"Have no fear. You will get your chance. Take this ring." The gauntleted hand reached forward holding a ring, the stone of which blazed like an eye of fire.

"Wear it for a little while, for it will enable you to know our thoughts, mine and my own master's. Soon you will no longer need it and may return it to us."

"You honor me," said Millerson as he accepted the ring.

"We share the same hatred, and you bring us a priceless gift which we return to you for use in our service. Welcome to our host."