North of the Undying Lands by Queen Elizardbeth

Chapter 2: Lies, Haflings, and Stones

Dawn came with a harsh chill flowing over the domed hill and down into the chasm. The sun peeked over the land, sending blazing reds and golds across the eastern horizon. Dew coated the grass, and birds could be heard in the distant trees.

Merrigold awoke to the sound of her brother moving across the hill's crest. Given by his haggard footfalls, she guessed that he had kept the watch the entire night. Not a shock, considering the events that happened to them yesterday and only some hours before dawn, but she wished that he would for once let her wait until the sun had made it fully into the sky before forcing her on whatever trek was in store today.

The brunette archer rose with a groan, stretching out her stiff arms. Clearly, her youthful exclamations about the wonders of grass were oblivious to how poorly it made a bed. Coming to her feet, Merrigold pulled her bow and quiver over her shoulder and began to pack up her blankets, seeing that all of her brother's possessions were already stowed upon the fat horse.

Her eyes wandered over to their elven guest, who was already seated upon her horse and was brushing her long, thick hair. She watched Tiunelu with curiosity, admiring the golden locks that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. The hair seemed to posses within itself its own light, and she noticed now that among the gold silver and platinum were also woven. Merrigold waited to see if she would behave as she had the night before, but, rather than staring down at the Dúnedain with continued disdain, Merrigold noticed that the elf was watching her brother with interest, making note of his staff and the burns on his neck.

Soon enough, the elf felt eyes upon her, and she glanced at the scarlet-clad woman. Looking as if Merrigold was an undesirable blemish on the landscape, the elf said haughtily, "Can I help you?"

"Oh!" Merrigold smiled as warmly as she could, whereas her insides felt as cold as Lammoth, "It's nothing. I've just never seen an elf before, let alone spoken with one!" She laughed to herself, a melodious sound which sang as sweet as a bird's call, but at this Tiunelu only sniffed.

"Count thy blessings, for I shall only accompany you until we reach the shores of Belegaer."

Merrigold rolled her eyes at the elf's statement. She had to admit that she would be lying if she said she wished their guest would stay with them beyond the Icebay, but they were only a few days away from their destination. Surely she would be somewhat tolerable until then.

As Merrigold turned her back on Tiunelu, she heard her scoff, "What kind of a bow is that?"

Merrigold jumped slightly at the elf's comment, and, turning back to her guest, slowly pulled the bow off her back and turned it over in her hands. The bow was made not of yew wood, like many others in that area, but of hollow steel. It was a family heirloom on her mother's side, passed from mother to daughter since it was first forged in Númenor near the dawn of the Second Age. Never had it rusted or cracked, but in her heart Merrigold was sure that this bow had a part in the cruel conquering of Middle-Earth under Ar-Pharazôn. It was a miracle it was not swept into the sea with the rest of the Isle.

The young woman smiled weakly at the elf, fearing the comments she was expecting. "It was my mother's bow," she said, "Made in Númenor long ago. It's been in the family a long time. We're not sure who made it, all we know is that when we left to settle in Middle-Earth, we took it with us."

Tiunelu looked quizzically at the maiden, a pitying smile playing on her lips. "And why does your mother no longer wield it? Did she find the pleasures of youth weakening in her age?"

Both Dúnedain froze at this comment, and, slowly, Merrigold lifted her head to face the elf, her eyes filled with loathing. "My mother died ten years ago," she hissed, "A foul breeze came from the East, and it struck several members of our clan. My mother lived longer than most, but that just lengthened her torment."

Tiunelu went pale as Marigold's eyes filled with tears at the memories. Soon she felt her brother's arms wrap around her in comfort, and she quietly sobbed into his shoulder. After a time that was far longer than appropriate, the elf found her voice again.

"I'm…I'm so sorr-"

"Save us the speech," Valacirca growled, not turning to face her as he helped his still-crying sister onto Waddles, "We do not need your pity. We shall take you to the coast, and you shall depart from us there."

With that, the wizard mounted the horse and grasped the reigns, moving the hefty beast towards the north-west. Tiunelu, still shocked by the man's words, took a moment to realize they were departing, and urged her horse forward to stay close to her guides.

For the first few hours of the journey, not a word was exchanged between the trio. Merrigold eventually nodded off in the saddle, leaning back to rest on her brother. Valacirca constantly scanned the land for other travelers, be them friend or foe, as they traveled across the moors and into a small forest. No sound was heard beside the occasional scuttle of a small animal or flapping of sparrow's wings. Sunlight streamed through the elm leaves, and the air was fresh and crisp. However, that silence was soon broken by an increased pace in the trotting of their companion's horse, and Valacirca saw the elf at his side.

"I…want to apologize for what I said this morning," Tiunelu was hesitant with her words, fearing the wizard's reaction, "I was callous and proud, and I hope I can receive thy pardon."

Valacirca sighed, partially wishing that this conversation could have been put off. May as well get it over with, we are stuck with her. His brown eyes met the elf's blue, and his mouth twisted into a frown.

"Why do constantly look down on us?" He asked, expecting a pathetic excuse for an answer, "You have shown us no kindness since we have met, even after we saved your life and agreed to allow you to accompany us."

The Noldo raised her head in indignation and glared at the wizard, brushing her golden tangles out of her face. "When one reaches an age as great as my own," she hissed, "One learns which peoples are most cruel and fearful. You Edain are second only to the Dwarves in cowardice, and are first to betray others." Her teeth clenched together as memories of ages past came to her, and her blue eyes burnt like coals. "Thou claim to be children of Númenor? Then thou would know how thy kind allowed Sauron to slay Celebrimbor and many others whilst thou rested upon thy blessed isle! Thy kin allowed him to come and be a welcomed guest, and gave him leave to burn in sacrifice to the Dark One many of my own kin and Elf-Friends! If it were not for the Edain's treachery in Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Beleriand would not rest beneath the sea and many would have lived to see victory! Bliss would have returned to Arda if it were not for the wickedness of man!"

Valacirca sat in his saddle, taken-aback by her words. What she said was quite true. Men were not known for their wisdom, and many times they allowed themselves to enter the service of the Enemy out of fear or ambition. Númenor would have lasted far longer and been great had not the lords allowed Sauron's flattery to sway them, and the Dark One would have fallen much sooner had not the House of Uldor attacked Maedros' flank from behind.

But Valacirca knew how to retort her. Now this is an argument from which she cannot escape, he thought, and a cruel smile formed on his face.

"You speak to me of treachery, Noldo?" he chuckled, preparing for his triumph. "You say that my kind is deceitful and ready to betray while you hail from the nation of Fëanor?"

The elf blinked and looked at him with bewilderment, all anger replaced with utter confusion. Her eyes darted from the trees back to the wizard, and she stared at him as if he was mad.

"Fëanor did nothing that would associate him with betrayal," she said slowly, beginning to doubt her companion's sanity, "He obeyed the orders of the Valar to pursue Morgoth and the Silmarils, and he and his brother served as messengers of Manwë, sent to aid Middle-Earth from the Shadow. I am aware of the wickedness of Fëanor's sons, but the High Lord's first heir committed no crime. And so, the Noldor are great."

Valacirca's jaw dropped at this, unable to fathom what she had said. There was no lie in her tone nor resting in her eye, but all she had said were greater deceptions than that of Annatar! Somehow, for Erü knows how long, she had lived for nigh seven-thousand years without hearing of Fëanor's crimes. Soon, Valacirca's voice returned, and he asked the elf, "From whom did you hear this? And how long ago was this?"

Tiunelu rolled her eyes, and replied, "My father told me long ago in Nagothrond, and Lady Galadriel assured me in Menegroth. She spoke not of Fëanor, but she did tell me of the many deeds of Fingolfin. My father spoke most highly of Fëanor, and of his many creations in Valinor."

Valacirca continued to stare at her in disbelief. Both her own father and Lady Galadriel had lied to her about the history and rebellion of the Noldor. He could not believe that someone could live for so long and constantly be surrounded by deceivers. Granted, he thought, she likely would not believe anyone who told her otherwise… He allowed himself to slip into his own council and, deciding that it would be wisest to avoid any more major discord, chose not to correct the elf.

"Well, I cannot deny the wrongdoings of the Edain," Valacirca said, "But you have said nothing of Beren, Tuor, his son Eärendil, nor the House of Armandil. Many of those men have aided the Eldar and fought with them against the Shadow."

"That may be true, but do you yourself not speak of them as the exceptions?" Tiunelu smirked at this, and Valacirca sighed.

"Very well," he grumbled, "I cannot beat you in this argument. But I have told you that I am under the blessing of Varda. I would never dream of harming or betraying anyone, so please don't treat me or my sister as if we have blood on our hands."

The Noldo's opened slightly, and, after a moment, she said, "Fine then. I shall make better judgement of you two as we journey."

"How thoughtful," Valacirca muttered, continuing through the forest in the noon light.

Eventually, a break was seen in the trees, and the wizard and elf found themselves upon a great ridge, and the path led down the cliffside and into the wide ravine. They followed the path into the lush gorge, but, as Valacirca began to head down the trail, he felt a firm hand on his arm. He turned, and saw Tiunelu grasping him with a delicate hand, a look of warning on her face. "Can't you hear them?" she whispered.

"Hear what?"

"Listen."

Valacirca was quiet for several moments, but then he heard it. The distant pounding of feet, as if many people were running towards them at a great speed. "Merrigold," he whispered to his sleeping sister, "Merrigold, wake up."

"Huh?" she muttered groggily, rubbing her eyes, "Circa…what's going on?"

"Silence!" Tiunelu hissed. "Herald of Varda, get thy steed off the road!"

Valacirca leapt from Waddles and guided him off the trail and behind the large thicket where the elf had hidden. He helped his sister off, and the two drew their weapons, preparing for whoever was coming near them. Soon enough, they were glad they had hidden, for they heard the rattling of mail and clangs of armor, and they knew that this was no party of mere pilgrims.

"Halt!"

They heard the party stop just on the other side of the thicket, the commanding voice strangely high. A mixture of murmurs and chuckles could be heard through the leaves, as well as what sounded like the low growls of hounds. Slow, heavy footfalls approached them, and the thicket was hewn by a great sword, and the trio found themselves facing five black arrows.

Valacirca quickly scanned the party. They were a group of roughly twenty men stood before them, and none looked like bearers of kindness. Their faces were twisted and scarred, and all wore expressions of suspicion and wicked glee. The hair of some was matted and twisted into braids, held together with what looked like the bones of small animals, while other's had singular rows of short hair on their heads, dyed to look like blood. They were armed with axes and crude swords, and their bows were bent and black. Great black dogs snarled as they twisted around their masters' feet, their bloody gums anchoring yellow teeth. In front stood a man nearly nine feet in height, his appearance a silhouette in the sunlight.

The great man stepped forward, and they heard from him the high voice, "Lower the bows, boys. It looks like we have company!"

A round of malicious laughs escaped the group, and the man's head scanned each member of the trio, and soon rested of Merrigold. For a long time, he was silent, until a very faint, "My my…" escaped his lips. The man stepped out of the direct sunlight, and the two Dúnedain and elf were met with the most bizarre image they had ever seen.

The man that stood before them was terrifying in appearance. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, and he bore many tattoos that marked him a warrior. In his hand rested a great sword, not crude, like his companions, but smooth and sharp. He was very tall, at least seven feet, and his wild hair and beard were a fire-y red. But most distinctive of all were his eyes. No pupils or irises were among the misty white orbs, but by the way he glared at them, he was most certainly not blind. However, even as fascinating as his eyes were, the three were more surprised to the person who held onto his back.

What looked like a child stood on a sort-of mount that rested on the warrior's back, explaining why their silhouette appeared looked like a single giant man. He was pale, small, and his pure white hair was elaborately styled. He wore a baby-blue waist coat and trousers, and he also bore a darker blue jacket. His shirt was black, and a dark green cravat was tied around his neck. In the center of the knot rested a turquoise gem, shining in it's own light.

"Ghost Eyes," The child-like man tapped the huge man on the shoulder, "Would ya' please let me down? Ah would like a word with our guests."

"Sure thing, Gideon."

The warrior knelt down and allowed the small man to hop from his shoulders and stand before the Dúnedain and elf. On the ground, the man stood only three feet tall, and no shoes were worn over his large, hairy feet. A dagger hung at his side, though proportionally, Valacirca suspected, it sized him perfectly as a sword. Despite his height and baby fat, the wizard could tell that the person before him was no child: his eyes had a faint malice within them, and his sword had scratches of recent use.

"Gideon Gleeful of the Southfarthing at your service!" he stooped into a low bow, "Ah most certainly hope Ah didn't startle y'all too much with the arrows!" He chortled some and stood back to his mediocre full height, "You can never be too careful in these parts!"

Valacirca offered Gideon his hand, "Valacirca, Son of Denelem, at yours," he did not hide the hesitation in his voice. Gideon may be acting pleasant to them now, but his men didn't look like the type to take orders from such a gentle person. "My sister, Merrigold," the woman waved slightly to Gideon at her introduction, "And Tiunelu of the Noldor." The elf nodded her head at this and said, "Greetings."

"Well my stars!" Gideon said, staring at Merrigold in awe, "You are more beautiful than the Shire roses in bloom!" He stepped forward and kissed her hand for a very long time, and he eventually looked up at her, saying, "It's quite the pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Merrigold."

Merrigold's face turned bright pink, and an uncomfortable smile formed on her lips. "And a pleasure to make yours!" she said, trying to hide her unease "I hope you don't mind me asking, but…what are you?"

Gideon chuckled some, and patted her hand, "Not a problem at all, mah lady! That gets asked a lot out here! Ah am a Hobbit of the Shire! One of the sturdy little folk of the South! Some of mah kin have recently been the guests of Elrond in Rivendell! Perhaps y'all have heard of them?"

Merrigold shook her head apologetically and Valacirca said, "'Fraid not,", but Tiunelu gasped.

"I have heard of thy kind!" she exclaimed, "Some of thy kin attended a great council that was held near six years ago by Master Elrond! And one of thy kind was great in the reclaiming of Erebor!"

"Well Ah say!" Gideon turned to the elf with a joyful expression, "It appears mah kind is better known in these parts then Ah thought! Now where are y'all from? I'm guessin' your from either Rivendell or the Havens, am a right Miss Elf? But such a lovely flower can't possibly be from such a harsh land!"

He turned back to Merrigold with this, a dreamy smile across his face, but Valacirca cut in. "We come from South of here, and we are traveling to the Icebay in the North."

"The Icebay! Well y'all certainly aren't taking the easy way! We ran into a group of thieves just two days back, and they certainly were't the friendliest types. But we sent 'em back runnin', didn't we boys!"

The men behind him shouted enthusiastically at this, some banging their weapons on their spiked helms. Gideon turned back to the three with an apologetic smile, his dimples turning red with a slight blush. "Sorry if mah lot are a bit jumpy. The have a lot of energy that needs burnin'! Speaking of which," his face turned serious as he looked at Valacirca, his green eyes lacking any amusement, "You wouldn't know the fastest way to the downs near Fornost, would ya', boy? Also called 'Deadman's Pike'?"

Valacirca frowned slightly at being called "boy", but the seven-to-one ratio kept him from making any comment. "You're best bet his going the way we just came," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the trail behind him, "We've been heading north, so that's south. I'm not sure if it's the fastest…but it's certainly in the right direction. But what would you want from the downs?"

The Hobbit gave him a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. "Ah'm afraid that ain't any of your business, boy," he said, his voice as sweet as poisoned honey, "We've been lookin' for somethin' for a while now, and after our last two stops were dead ends, that's our next place. Ghost eyes!"

Gideon snapped his fingers, and the huge red-haired man lifted him back onto his shoulders. Gideon pulled a white handkerchief out of his jacket's inner pocket, and handed it down to Merrigold. "Keep this for me will ya'?" he whispered, "And don't forget widdle ol' me." He winked at her as he stood up on his harness, and looked back to his men. "Well?!" he shouted at them, "What are y'all waitin' for? Let's get movin'!" The warriors shouted out, and they stormed up the trail South, their feet shaking the ground.

The trio sighed in relief as they stepped onto the trail, watching the dust settle as Gideon's band left. Merrigold held out the handkerchief gingerly, as if it were recently sneezed on. "Well that was unpleasant," Valacirca muttered, pulling Waddles out of the thicket, "I for one hope our paths never cross again. And what on earth is a hobbit?" Tiunelu groaned as she pressed a finger to her temple, guiding her own ivory steed onto the trail.

"They are a race of people that live far south of here. They rarely venture beyond their own borders, and have never, until within the past century, taken part in the affairs of other peoples." Her eyes narrowed as she looked toward where the creature in question had departed. "But I greatly wonder what he could want from the downs near Fornost."

Valacirca shrugged. "Don't look at me. All I know is that there are rumors that those downs are haunted. Something about an old sorcerer-king putting in ghosts to guard his treasure or something. All children's nonsense," he said as the elf raised her eyebrows, "Just legends to let the graves be."

"Hm," the elf pursed her lips, "But there still was a foul air about him. I agree with you that it would be best if we did not him meet again."

"At least he barely spoke to you two!" Merrigold huffed, still looking at the cloth in disgust, "He was really creepy to me!" She shuddered at the memory of him kissing her hand, and she stuffed the handkerchief in one of Waddle's saddlebags. "I'm definitely not grieving passing him by next time."

"Well, the more distance between him and us the better," Valacirca said, helping his sister into the saddle. He offered his had to Tiunelu, but she waved him aside and mounted her horse with ease. "Shall we continue?"

The horses began to trot down the trail, proceeding with their northbound journey.

They stopped not long after nightfall on the other side of the gorge. They had seen many fresh carvings on the trees that they had past, likely put there by Gideon and his men. None seemed particularly interesting, "Skull-head smells," and "Nose-thorn was here," being fine examples of the majority, but there was one that Valacirca could not get out of his head. The carving was of a triangle, with a dragon-like eye in the center. The pupil was a narrow slit, and it made him feel nauseous. He questioned Tiunelu if it was the symbol of Sauron, but she quickly pointed out that his Eye was circular, and he had nothing to do with triangles. The symbol was several feet of the ground, so it likely was put there by Gideon himself. This thought did not bring him sleep.

Valacirca sat near the dying embers, the smoke trailing into the starlight skies above. His pipe brought him some comfort, but he needed to start rationing his pipe-weed. There were no places in the wild where he could refile his stock. His thoughts continued to drift towards the downs at Deadman's Pike, concerned about what Gideon would want from there. He tried to think of what could be of great worth in those graves, but not though aided him.

The Ring? That was destroyed. The Dragon-Helm of Haldor? No, that was long lost. The Silmarils? Definitely not. He chuckled to himself at his own foolishness and looked to the skies, easily spotting the twinkle of the Silmaril that rested there. Eventually, he remembered his grandfather handing himself something before they fled, and he turned to Waddle's saddlebag. Slowly, he pulled out the final gift from Cenelem.

It was heavy and wrapped in an old sackcloth, but through the fabric it felt quite smooth. He gingerly removed the coverings, and stared in wonder at the stone. It was a perfect sphere; no bump, crack, or scratch was upon it. It was polished to perfection, and it fit well in his hand. Navy blues and indigos swirled by their own accord within it, and Valacirca could almost see the shining of light in the center, that which was not a reflection of the stars.

*crack*

Valacirca jumped and hastily wrapped the stone in the cloth, reaching for his staff. He looked at the two sleeping near him to see if they had broken the twig that caused his alarm. His sister was sprawled out near his feet, snoring gently, and her hair was tangled around her face. Tiunelu slept on the other side of the fire, laying on her back with her face at ease. A cold sweat overtook the wizard, and he reached down to wake his sister.

"Merrigold!" he hissed, "Merrigol-"

He heard a shout and a hand clapped over his mouth, and he felt the cold edge of a sword press against his throat. Three figures, two average size and one small, leapt upon his companions, weapons glinting in the fading light. The elf screamed as an axe was pressed against her neck, and Merrigold cried, "Hey!" as her bow was yanked from her grasp.

Valacirca's eyes darted around as he tried to make out their attackers' appearances, and he felt a warm breath near his ear.

"Y'know, kid," a gruff, husky voice chuckled in his ear, "For a wizard, you make a really bad watchdog."

Review Replies!

Batwizard15:

The one-shot will not be take place for several more chapters. I'll probably re-write it to make it more consistent with the rest of the story, but it probably won't come about until around chapter 8. I do agree with you that, it being the fourth age, men have been given dominion over Middle-Earth, and the Elves are slowly leaving. However, this takes place maybe only five years after the fall of Sauron, so Aragorn, though he proclaimed dominion over much of Middle-Earth, is still trying to actually maintain his power. Mordor, though fallen, still needs much cleansing lest any other servant of the Enemy try to use any remaining power or weapons of Sauron there, so the North is not high on Aragorn's priorities list. You are correct in that the Elves are leaving, that's why Pacifica and another character will be the only elves featured in the story besides those seen at the end. In regards to the supernatural history of Gravity Falls, I going to have the "old horrors" making a second appearance (ie. the Werewolf), and pretty much this entire story takes place in the north off of the maps, where much of Morgoth's monsters are rumored to still live, so I'll probably have most of the "Gravity Falls monsters" be creatures of Morgoth. And in regard to Varda, the Valar did help in LOTR with Faramir and Boromir's dreams and they gave life back to Olorin. The relationship between Varda and Valacirca is near identical to the relationship with Tuor and Ulmo: gifts of power and guidance. The Valar are aware of Ciphâton, but, unlike Sauron, his plan is far more threatening and he has almost all the means to make it so. This story sort-of marks the end of all of Morgoth's servants in Middle-Earth (besides the sleeping balrogs), so in doing so it eases the burden of conquering evil from men, and gives the elves reassurance that they are leaving Middle-Earth in good hands. Thank you for the ask!

Thank you for Reading!