The North shore vanished behind the curtains of marsh plants. Dusk casted its last orange rays when the old willows finished burning at the pier. The swans swam steadily over several miles, followed obediently by a thoughtful wizard and a yawning Hobbit, jolting among the packages loaded on the pony. The three dark figures, driven by an ancestral memory, found their way between impassable depths, muddy sands, extensive reed and cattail marshes, interspersed with a few layers of naphtha. The Hobbit did not feel above a package itself, both physical and mental fatigue accumulated in recent days isolated him from the outside world. Fatigue had anesthetized any pain: he was neither cold, nor - almost - hungry, and perceived the lapping of his companions very remotely.
They walked into the plant and water maze until they could hardly distinguish the black swans who continued their journey, imperturbable. Hungry insects harassed travelers and the pony. The small group had progressed for two hours in the general direction of the northeast when the three swans stopped. Hesitant, confused, craning their necks and snapping their beak, the birds returned a few feet back as three undecided or drunk elders on their way home. Gandalf approached, intrigued. The water depth was knee-high. The pony shivered, half awoke the dazed Hobbit and moved nearer the wizard. The black swans behaviour extending, he became worried. The dark water seemed oily around his boots. A sudden whiff of spoiled meat and naphtha grabbed them by the throat. The wizard would venture to do some light when Elbereth1 came to his aid by revealing for a moment the almost complete disk of the waxing moon. The small channel through which they had progressed was lined either side by a wall of dense reeds. Before them a large pond stretched its calm and foul waters. Gandalf pretended to move eastward across the pond. The three swans came immediately and cut him off, extending their great wings and standing in the manner of a goose seeking to protect its goslings. He retreated to the South edge of the channel, lined with reeds. The swans came by, peacefully this time. He repeated the command:
-« Edro Annon Gelydh ».
The swans lowered their necks with respect and sadness. Then along with each other, they graciously took flight on the marsh arm by which they had driven the travelers. Gandalf said aloud:
- «I wonder what could have possibly inhibited them this way. Yet we are at the end of the marsh, their mission was almost accomplished. The memory of the Elves of old does not protect us any more... We are heading for dark times. I will have to revive the memory of bright and beautiful things. »
He shook the Hobbit a little and realized his near-comatose state. After a few rather terse words of encouragement, he explained that the marshes end was near. All they had to do was going around the pool before them to reach a drier ground and find a place to spend the night. The wizard grabbed the pony's rein with his left hand, raised his staff in the right and commanded:
« Callaurë siluva »2
The end of his staff slowly radiated a soft, warm glow. With the golden rays mingled moonlight nets and flicker of distant stars. Gandalf raised his staff that shone increasingly and led the pony. Quickly the water depth decreased. The wizard pushed the reeds aside with his staff and progressed slowly as they skirted the pond. They had covered about halfway when a marsh arm appeared before them. The pony stopped dead, covered with sweat, rolling frightened eyes and every limb trembling. Gandalf had, to compel Gilles to move forward, to seize the reins near the jaw and guide it while humming small elvish lullabies. The pony consented to follow. Gandalf engaged in the channel and was surprised by the significant depth - after a few steps, he had water at mid-thigh. His lifted staff projected on the viscous surface, the silhouette of the Hobbit perched on a pony. They reached the bottom of the water arm, Gandalf struggling with the mud up to his waist. The pony was again overwhelmed by scare, this time by large algae among which he walked. Gandalf sang again a soothing elvish tune. The group began to move towards the opposite bank, when Gerry mumbled between his teeth:
« Something is breathing in the pond… »
Indeed some bubbling appeared where the water arm joined the pond. An unbearable stench assailed them. They stopped, overwhelmed with horror. The pony was shaking like a leaf again, paralyzed and unable to respond to the strong pull of Gandalf. Suddenly an arm rushed out of the stinking effervescence and fell on Gerry's head. It was not a human or even troll arm. It was a living vine, strong as a centenarian root but as agile as a snake. It grabbed the Hobbit by the neck and pulled him into the water with an irresistible force. The pony rushed forward, terrified. Gandalf, not seeking to restrain the animal, took his staff in his left hand, drew his sword and rushed to rescue the Hobbit, who struggled like a rabbit just caught by a weasel. He was about to strike down the vine but changed his mind since the melee was so confused.
Gandalf dropped his staff that illuminated the water below and reached into the bubbling. He managed to grab a Hobbit's foot and pulled it out of the water. Gerry's reversed and convulsed face was desperately trying to inspire. Gandalf could finally blow the monster, side-cutting with his blade. The vine, half cut, stiffened while releasing the Hobbit. Putrid and luminescent flesh fell out of the cut. The bubbling, retreating, became greenish and glowing. The injured vine disappeared there but suffocating fumes forced Gandalf to flee quickly. He picked up his staff and climbed the bank, with a panting Hobbit under his arm. A glance back showed him that the monster had retreated to the middle of the pond. Gandalf gasping followed the trail the poor Gilles had left. As announced by the wizard, they quickly reached a drier ground.
- «You have nothing broken, have you? », asked Gandalf.
- « My neck burns terribly. But I can already breathe better… »
The Hobbit's glottis and jugular were torn and covered with disgusting pimples. Gandalf could do nothing about it right now except rid the wounds of the viscous and pungent substance that covered them.
- « You have not lost anything? », inquired the wizard sheathing his sword and cleaning his staff.
-« I do not think so», said Gerry, dabbling under his armpit. The gesture was not lost for Gandalf, who had asked the question on purpose. He added:
- « Yes, I see you still have your purse. »
The prostrate Hobbit, lying on his back, far from these subtleties, only applied to breathe. Gandalf undressed him, wrung his clothes and put them back on him. He resisted the temptation to explore the purse pocket where Gerry kept his pipeweed. He added slyly, "Your pipeweed should be all wet," but the halfling did not react.
Gandalf cast a look of pity on the Hobbit, both for his wounds and the weight of his assumed burden. The wizard picked the little body up in his arms and set off again, muttering: « Hopefully we'll never see such a horror! » Indeed many years would pass before he would meet it again.
X-X-X
Gandalf progressed a few minutes, following the pony's trail without difficulty. Nevertheless after an hour of walking, the path left the muddy and reedy soil to get lost among shorter grasses and bushes. However, the loose ground kept a readable track of the pony's passage. Obviously the mount was still scared when it had been there: the horseshoe prints showed a frenzied gallop amid the bushes. Gandalf was concerned about the Hobbit, whose fever seemed to increase. Despite Gerry's need for rest and care, the wizard went on, hoping to find the pony. The terrain became more rugged as the moon reappeared from time to time. The fresh wind would have started to dry them if both had not been covered with a layer of sticky and stinking mud. When at last mosquitoes became scarcer, the wizard gave up finding the fugitive animal, although he had retracted their provisions, their equipment and spare clothes. He found a sheltered hollow and gently placed the Hobbit in a sandy trough. The wizard gathered dead branches and some fragrant twigs and lit a fire with his staff. He let the Hobbit rest by the fire to warm up.
Gandalf had kept his pipe and pipeweed on him in his waterproof purse. Thoughtfully he filled his pipe and sat down not far from the hearth. He was to share several serious issues with the rangers when he would manage to find them, starting with the horror of the marsh that had just attacked Gerry. The old wizard remembered a creature encountered in the first age of the world. That memory came from a hidden part of himself, deeply repressed in the unconscious depths of his current form. A nymph, powerful mother of life and death of the Beleriand marshes, had once caught him in her nets of poison and seduction. The spirit of the primordial waters had felt, for the first time, a strange affinity with the form Gandalf assumed then.
He taught the fierce mermaid the gray Elves language, to capture the essence of things and beings and to turn it into words. Dazzled by this rise out of her world of silt, currents and eels, the wyvern was persuaded to release him. Usually she would devour her lovers after the act of life. Gandalf, who had another name then, meant to bring the spirit of the old world to the wisdom of the immortal lands. But the seduction of boundless free spaces overcame the sterile and confined abode, bathed in the golden light of the Immortals. He did not know what happened to her. Back to wilderness, had she created some monstrous offspring across the Blue Mountains?
His mind came back in our age of the world:
-« Is this horror of the marshes an offspring of wyverns? What dark force has nourished and brought her so far? Why did she attack the Hobbit? Would not this rather be the monster inhabiting Hobbit legends, the Fastitocalon, from the valleys of the Anduin river? Or is the Hobbit's burden, the cause of this attack? He does not seem the target only to black rangers, but also to this horror from the shadows. What evil burden may he bear? »
The next day the halfling felt nauseous but he could breathe without difficulty. Curiously he did not feel the malnourished Hobbit hunger. Gandalf, relieved, shared with him some cordial and a wafer of waybread. He found clean water and washed the Hobbit's neck wounds, which had swollen but seemed less purulent than the day before. Then Gerry and Gandalf resumed their search for the pony. Unfortunately the trail was hard to follow on this ground that increasingly looked like the moors of North Farthing of the Shire. They lost it a few times and found it by retracing their steps, noting that the pony had gradually turned south. Then the hills became less and less wild, sometimes even with a lawn decorated with juniper and holly. Gandalf explained that the region, once known as Eregion, was also known as Hollin, due to the large number of these trees that grew there. The High Elves had lived there for a blessed time.
But the track eventually dried up. After several failures, it had become all too clear that they had lost track of the animal. Gerry tried a few whistles, without success. Then they saw a dense grove of trees on top of a large hill. Holly seemed planted in a circle, spreading their dark, glossy foliage to form almost perfect balls. Attracted by the symmetry of the place, the Hobbit led Gandalf and climbed the hill. Once at the top, they noticed that the air, which moments earlier was carrying some hints of marsh smells, now seemed to them softer, with a healthy and relaxing flavor. The sky, that all morning long, was covered with an opaque and threatening roof, now dissolved it to filter the pale rays of a distant sun, as shining in the early ages of the world. Gerry's view from there was like the gaze of a gyrfalcon ascending the heavens when the sky was new. Gandalf watched the Hobbit with amusement and curiosity.
- « We are on Amon Wenrin, the Hill of remembering. Elves who inhabited this land long ago, had planted these evergreens to revive the memory of their happy days. They say that things look like in your early youth, with the candor and innocence of an awakening mind. I wish I could go there whenever worries and chains of life prevent me from fairly appreciating hassle or grace.
- I wonder how far reaches your own memory back ?
-I remember many things from the Elder Times. But I had to forget a lot to relearn the laws of this world, so not to transgress any.
- Do you always speak with riddles?
- Some puzzles, tamed and embellished by their inevitable, slow and patient work of appropriation, are sometimes better than bare and hard truth. But as for yourself, have you told me everything I need to know to guide you on the adventurous road of courage?
- These last days, you have taught me the beginnings of humility. I'm a Hobbit, with simple and mundane ambitions. All I am looking for is happiness.
- There is neither happiness without freedom, nor freedom without courage.3
- It is perhaps brave of me to keep my secrets.
- It is true that sooner or later the price of secrecy as well as confession must be paid. You're probably right. Steadfastness requires courage, whether it proceeds from blindness or intransigence. But consider that in both cases, you might not be alone to bear the consequences. »
From that moment, the wizard ceased his attempts to circumvent the Hobbit about his burden. He continued:
- « But you have not answered my question. What are you feeling right now?
- Well, I feel better, my injury does not hurt any more. But I am ravenous! »
Gandalf loughed :
- « This is proof that your young Hobbit functions are stimulated by the place. But I was not talking about immediate sensations. What comes to your mind when you let it float in your past? »
Gerry took a deep breath and sat down on the grass, letting his gaze glide to the green hills, South of the promontory. Their slopes led to a river, barely discernible in the distance, but Gerry's thought blithely crossed the distance, fishing in a like river from his buried memory, an episode from his childhood. He saw himself lying in the shade of an alder, his feet in basil plants. The heat of a summer afternoon and a long run after a dirty trick, had led him to the banks of a tributary of Baranduin. A thick green roof retained a nice freshness to the valley where he had fallen asleep.
Through his half-closed eyes, he saw a little girl cross the river with graceful petty leaps, like a spring dragonfly gliding above a pure stream. She raised her diaphanous dress, held at shoulders by thin silver chains, exposing her small barely wet feet. Her handsome face, framed by long silver hair, already mingled the seriousness of Elven folk with childhood glee. Her wise and worried brow bent over Gerry's. With her index, she stroked the lips of the small Hobbit, who muttered a fairy rhyme of the Shire. She rose quickly, her enchanting smile splashing the whole valley with droplets of joy. The little Elf recrossed the river with her swift elegant jumps. On the opposite bank, a majestic Elven lady, Gerry could distinguish only when she moved, welcomed her child who softly told her, hardly containing her excitement:
-« Perianeg gar senneg, Emel ! »4
The grim woman smiled to her daughter, looked up at the Hobbit and extended her hand to him protectively. Gerry closed his eyes and buried the memory of what seemed a dream, deep into his heart.
- « Come back, Master Took! Do not fall asleep in the maze of your memories... You are not as ignorant as you imagined! »
The deep voice of the wizard hauled Gerry back to the surface of present time after the Hobbit had caught his memory in the depths of his unconscious mind.
- « I saw Elves!
- Say rather that Elves have seen you! They travel through the woods of the Shire in fine weather. It's not that they are particularly interested in your little person, as they move away from Middle-Earth and its sorrows. But they have many ways of knowledge that you do not suspect. Birds report to them the deeds of the mortals. And trees hear many news along, yet they remember mainly what concerns them. Winds themselves can tell stories... But the young Took's mischiefs are somewhat monitored, as you can imagine. So you knew deep inside yourself that you sometimes share your lands with other folk, older than yours, in the heart of your beloved Shire?
- My people have long wandered in the past. Our stories depict the memory of a hard world, full of mysteries. Nowadays Elves, creatures of the woods and dark things dwell far away. We came to doubt their reality, if ever we did not invent them completely. But we still sing about the hills goblins and the wood Elves: it is always good policy to have the spirits believe they are feared,5 even if we only count on ourselves to mind our business.
- When you come back, you will be fully informed as to the Elves, and perhaps, I fear, about some less respectable creatures that roam mountains and wilderness. But I see it is dangerous for a mortal to delve into the depth and intense reality of elvish memories. Come now. This place reminded me of a few side roads of this beautiful country. I think we have a chance to find your good Gilles. He probably went, like any good horse, to the former stables of the queen. »
They went down the hill to the Southeast. Along the slope, the sky turned gray, but the Hobbit's heart would now be more attentive to the wonderful stories that awoke a distant echo. His shooting pains in the neck and stomach cramps gradually resumed. Gandalf occupied his mind by telling him the exploits of Elves of old, while walking along the ruins that suggested them.
Turning a holly, they emerged into the remains of a large building. The crumbled blue marble walls formed acute angles that were piled overlooking a stream, swift and deep. An impeller flow and remnants of small stone channels showed that it was an old workshop.
- « My dear Hobbit, your furry feet trample one of the high places of the arts in Middle Earth. Between these walls, the high-elven blacksmiths forged some of their finest works.
- What did they forge?
- All kinds of beautiful objects: ornaments, weapons, tools, construction parts... The science and art they displayed bore to the highest, the techniques domesticating metal and stone. Sharpness, lightness, elasticity, strength and many other qualities of nearby ores, were discovered, explored and mastered, right here!
- Did Elven craftsmen surpass the works of the Dwarven smiths?
- In this blessed period, before the war came and the doors of Moria were shut, the Noldor and the people of Dùrin supplemented each other wonderfully and shared their secrets. But these Elves possessed, above all, the gift of imbedding the subtlety of their thought and depth of their lore, into the works of their hands.
- Do you mean they forged learned objects?
- Don't be ridiculous! Let's just say they imbued their most beautiful works, with much of their will, their passion and also their need to transmit and share. Creativity and desire to discover was an integral part of the life force of the High Elves. An Elven ring, for example, perfected the skills of his guardian and increased his power to bear beauty to the world. This kind of ring was a gift from its creator, who conceded a part of his understanding of the world to share it. Thus such a ring comforted its bearer in his ability to protect, teach, reinforce. That's why they were called rings of power. Of course, its power grew in accord with the guardian's skills, and the risks, in proportion with its use.
- Why that?
- Any power is a responsibility that bears both opportunity and risk. It seems to me that the greatest of these is the temptation to impose one's will by force, even for the sake of good. »
Among all the wonderful works of the Elven blacksmiths he could illustrate, the wizard had chosen the rings of power. The coincidence struck Gerry. Did he read in the Hobbit's mind on Amon Wenrin? More likely, Gandalf had guessed the nature of his treasure, and had brought him here on purpose, to teach him the perils and the responsibility it entailed. He watched the wizard stealthily, but could read no trace of deception in his remarks or his attitude.
Father Hornblower's ring was probably an artifact of knowledge and power. Gerry had noticed that the quality of his own smoke rings had greatly increased in recent times. Now that he thought about it, he also found out that the instruction recently given in the art of smoking the pipe-weed, had proved fast and wonderfully adapted to his pupil, besides the fun he had experienced from that. Unusual thoughts that his conversations with old Gandalf had caused, also proved that a mutation was at work. A broader view had begun to shape in his awakening mind. And most of all, the risks he had recently endured proved that many kinds of power tended to his ring… This item may indeed be a ring of power! Gerry checked it was safe at the bottom of his snuffbag.
The travelers had followed a small paved road with multicolored stones that wound South between ruins overgrown with clematis and some great hollies. After a dreamy silence, Gerry decided to keep his thoughts to himself and changed the subject:
- « Do you think we could find some of these objects, buried here in the ruins?
- Do not think you would come across a magic ring under your feet. This won't happen.6 Very few were forged. But you could indeed, armed with luck and persistence, uncover forgotten warehouse and find a good blade or some good quality tool. The country was hard-won by the black enemy. Fighting mowed the flower of Noldo people and their wonders are everywhere. This is what sometimes brings in the tribes of Dunland, despite their hatred and fear of the Elves.
- What would they be afraid of? You said to me that these lands are deserted, didn't you?
- This is right, but a land long remembers the Noldor who dwelt on its slopes, worked its soil and fashioned its lanscape with love and cunning. So do not be surprised, after dark, to see pale echoes of their former presence.
- Ghosts?
- Stop your nonsense! Simple reminiscences evoked by stones and trees to venerate the memory of the people who beautified this country long ago. They have nothing to do with the deceptions of the shadow…»
Gerry silenced his ambitions to investigate about ghosts. Gandalf had got into a story of Eregion while the small paved road passed under ivy-covered arches. Gerry first saw the Elven survivors gather after the wars of the first age. Gil-galad founded his Elven kingdom in Lindon while proud Celebrimbor led the tribe of Fëanor in Hollin. In this land, neighbor and friend of the mighty Dwarven kingdom of Khazâd-dum, blossomed the confederation of the Elven blacksmiths. Then came Lord Annatar, great among the powerful, who taught the smiths. Their thirst for knowledge was great; their will to unravel the mysteries and tame the world of minerals led them to open their minds. Then they were caught in the traitor's nets and deceived. With the knowledge he had stolen from them, Annatar forged in secret the ring of power to rule them all, and turned into his true nature: Sauron the Dark Lord. With his instrument of domination, he invaded the lands of the West. Hollin was devastated and the halls of the blacksmiths destroyed. The Dwarves of Khazâd-dum closed their gate and brought no help. Thus was revived enmity between Elves and Dwarves once again. Elves resisted with all their might, but they would have been defeated without the alliance with the Men of Westernesse who deployed their power from the heaven of Tharbad. Sauron was humbled and taken captive in Numenor.
X-X-X
Gerry had stopped pretending he listened, since he understood that these events preceded by many centuries the history of the kingdoms of the Dúnedain. Venturing into the maze of lawns and groves, Gandalf found the remains of an old garden. Two lanes crossed under a double arch of thin stone lace, colonized by beautiful roses. Cultivated squares had become dense tangles of plants of all kinds, but the wizard had no difficulty in locating and digging up some vegetables which they shared raw. Gandalf sacrificed his handkerchief to make a plaster of medicinal leaves and treat the Hobbit's neck.
After an hour's rest, they resumed their southbound journey, until Gerry gave a warning: a band of many Men was discussing not far below. The wizard and the Hobbit concealed themselves in the bushes and watched large troops camping in a valley.
The men were working around a bonfire, the youngest fashioning a meal for the whole clan. Well built, growing dark braids and mustache, most wore trousers cut from the same red and beige plaid fabric. The elders, who wore a same woven plaid at their shoulder, argued bitterly, sat on broken columns of white marble. Their athletic appearance and weaponry revealed a lifestyle of hunters.
A middle-aged fellow, of medium height but with wide shoulders and a leader bearing, grabbed a hose and ceremoniously poured an amber liquid in a bronze cup. He said a few ritual words, approached the hearth and shed a few drops. Then he did the same, sprinkling the myrtle bushes nearby. Finally he drank from the cup and passed it around. The older warriors took turns drinking, some jostling to have a sip before their rivals.
No mount was visible, except Gerry's pony, hindered, apart near a stream. Bill bucked and fought vigorously. A young man tried to subdue the brave pony, and was mocked by a wide circle of elders, who nevertheless remained at safe distance. Obviously the pony had not yet been discharged of its burden, for its resistance was fierce. The equestrian culture of these tartan-wearing mountaineers seemed almost nil.
- « They are part of a clan from Dunland, near the southern roots of the Misty Mountains, blew Gandalf. I know their leader, the old Sarlaigh: proud and greedy, with little courage but some caution. We have a chance to get your mount back at night. But let us somewhat get closer at first. »
The wizard stared long and made sure that no clansman was on duty nearby. With so many warriors around, the chief probably did not consider it necessary to establish a guard. Gandalf and the Hobbit walked stealthily among junipers and small oaks, to the edge of the stream, less than half a furlong away from the pony. Suddenly, urgent calls were heard among the warriors gathered near the fire. Gerry and Gandalf recognized the steps of prancing horses. Riders had arrived among the clansmen. Furious barkings were heard, and then threatening yells. Some swords were drawn from scabbards. Clansmen left the vicinity of the creek to gather around the hearth, unsheathing their weapons too. But soon the voice of the leader dominated the yells that grew louder and threatened to escalate into battle. The screams subsided but the tension remained palpable between the two groups. The travelers could not see the newcomers, but they did not need to consult each other to acknowledge they should fear the worst: their pursuers had caught them up.
Dunlendings reputation was not that of highly reliable allies, but their numbers made them dangerous. The situation of our travelers, although they had not yet been spotted, was desperate. Gandalf did not hesitate long. He felt they could not escape without at least one mount. Going for broke, he ordered the Hobbit to recover the pony, and approached the melee to hear the argument, hiding in the bushes.
The dark rangers' leader: -« Room! Give room! Let your chief step forward! »
Menacing dogs or wolves growls supported these attempts at intimidation.
The dunlending chief: -« Who comes to my camp with weapons in hand?
Clamor of many wrathful dunlending voices: - Respect for King Sarlaigh! »
At these words of defiance, the last warriors who were still busy, gathered around the hearth to support their kin. Spears were already brandished, and shields at shoulder.
A loud and strong voice answered, calm but carrying a dark threat:
The dark rangers' leader: - « Who is feasting and lounging, while the Master ordered the hunt?
Some dunlending voice objecting: - Foreigners must claim their name first!
Some taunting dunlending voice: - Dismount, slave of your master, for you to meet our King! ».
The anonymous dunlending had heavily emphasized the insult "slave" and the rejection of the "master", whoever he was. The ranger with loud voice had to regain the initiative, neither losing face, nor defying the dunlendings.
The dark rangers leader: - « I stay on my horse because it is just an extension of my power, as well as I am an extension of the Master's. I am the Master's Voice. Hail to the chief Sarlaigh! I request him to honor our agreement.
The dunlending chief: - My clan has fulfilled our part of the agreement!
The dark rangers' leader: - Where are the prisoners?
The dunlending chief: - We captured their baggage!
Some anonymous dark ranger, with taunting tone: Collecting luggage is women's chore! »
The captain turned furious to his minions. A disapproving murmur ran through the clan. But the dunlending chief continued:
The dunlending chief: - « My clan has no interest in capturing these useless vagrants. Only their property is helpful to us.
Some anonymous dunlending voice, in a loathed tone: - We do not devour our enemies. We are not allies to these cursed wolves. »
The Master's Voice gave a masterful effort to control himself:
-« These prisoners have a great value! The Master offers a silver talent7 for their capture, dead or alive, on condition they be delivered without being stripped in any way! »
Such an amount lit lust in the heart of the dunlending chief, but his cowardice made him suspicious:
The dunlending chief: -« Are they powerful ghosts, for as high a corpse remains price?
Some of the dark rangers, anonymous and taunting : Only our children are afraid of ghosts! »
The Master's Voice, exasperated by his sidekick's mocking initiatives, drew his sword while turning his mount in anger. A concert of exasperated disapprovals ran through the audience. The dark ranger's leader, unable to identify his detractor among his own troops, who watched each other with amazement, faced Sarlaigh again:
The dark leader: - The child has a market value and must be delivered alive. The Gray Wanderer is dangerous and should be killed. This is undoubtedly a powerful ghost, so I'll look into him personally. Just surround him and let us deal with him! »
The underlying disdain about the clan war abilities triggered an outcry:
- « We are the warriors of clan Ardelaigh! We do not fear anyone or anything in our hills! We do not share the reward!, shouted some strong-arms alongside their chief.
The dark leader: - The life price is fully vested to the clan if you find the fugitives!
Some anonymous and alarmed dunlending voice: Wolves surround us! »
Indeed, the beasts had hidden under shadows and had adopted the natural arc hunting disposition of the pack around the tribe. Some spears flew and several wolves were engaged. The dunlending poisoned blades would leave no chance for these monsters, if they were just ordinary wolves ...
The black rangers could not let their trackers being mauled without reacting. Then everything went on very quickly. Age-old fears took precedence over diplomacy, insults rang out from both sides when the first wounded collapsed under swords blows:
-« Slaves! Wolfheads! Step back to the death abyss!
- Unleash our trackers, you band of degenerates! Down the dispossessed!
- Down the landless! You will not be lords on our lands! »
Soon the melee was general. The dark rangers had to regroup to face very excited clansmen. Several men were killed or seriously injured on both sides. Blood bringing vengeance, no one had the power, nor soon the will, to stop the killing. The outnumbered rangers were forced to retreat, leaving more than half of them and the whole pack of their wolves, dead or heavily wonded. But the clan paid the highest price. Immediately after the hasty retreat of the dark marauders, the clansmen finished off the wounded and stripped them. Then an argument broke out between chief Sarlaigh, who was wounded and weakened, and his nephew, a well-built guy whose followers had stayed away from the fights. Obviously the missed opportunity of an alliance had displeased the challenger.
For long minutes, Gandalf had listened, mingling very rarely in the conversation, with small witful touches, and a counterfeit ventriloquist voice. Well pleased with such a turn of events, the wizard withdrew and joined the Hobbit.
For his part, Gerry had sneaked with the discretion of a hunting ferret. While clamor rose and shrank before the bellowing authoritarian voice, he joined the stream and ran to the pony. Gilles' dunlending tormentor had joined his comrades near the fireplace, and the way was clear. The poney, immediately and easily detached, let his beloved master lead him. After a few steps downstream, at the muddy edge of the brook, the Hobbit had merged deeper into the stream and walked back upstream. Thus, he hoped pursuers would try first to track him southward. Gandalf, returning on the sly, followed him in the stream, laughing about their enemies' discord.
X-X-X
The flight was swift and driven by a lively hope. Gandalf allowed a few short breaks to feed the small group. They lacked some provisions that the pony had probably dropped in its frantic race. But the wizard insisted on continuing their flight until nightfall. Then they settled in the ruins of an old house. They had water and the opportunity to make a fire that could not be seen from away. They had the joy of a full toilet and Gandalf replaced Gerry's bandages. The pony even awarded an independent catering with great armfuls of grasses. The two companions indulged in a real treat. The Hobbit enjoyed the wizard's gastronomic efforts and served himself three times.
They settled comfortably and filled their pipes. Gandalf tasted the simple and relaxing quietness of this evening ceremony; Gerry lived it as a luxury after the privations and injuries he had suffered. Again he had to ackowledge the great diligence and talent of his pupil, who was soon to produce smoke rings with as much mastery as him. He thought again about the power of his ring and ventured to explore, along with the wizard, new heights in the art of smoking. Later in the evening, they happily challenged each other with strings of circles, rings that shaped in chains, and many other similar difficulties. After a final walkdown, Gandalf went to bed. Both slept the sleep of the righteous.
The next day, the two companions resumed their journey in gentle weather, heading North and blurring their trail as much as possible. No rumor of pursuit was heard. They pushed on to a valley Gandalf knew and took cover like the previous night, between the slaughtered walls of an old house.
In the early morning, the holly woods around their ruined refuge rustled with the sweet noise of birds. A ray of bright light struck the stone wall above Gandalf. He awoke with a start, driven by a bad feeling. After an effort, he identified what had drawn him out of limbo: the chirping had stopped. The wizard blamed his late awakening: the Hobbit had already got up, and was probably raiding their dearly saved reserves. Intrigued, Gandalf called his companion. After a few seconds, a small voice, unusually hesitant, replied from beyond the building:
-« I am right here, Gandalf! »
The wizard, now worried, grabbed his staff and his sword and strode out into the light. He discovered with horror the Hobbit at the mercy of his enemies. Gerry, torso naked, was kneeling in front of a stone basin, his hands tied behind his back. A tall man pulled his head back and held a knife against his throat.
Three archers arranged in semi-circle bandaged their weapons in the direction of the wizard.
The " Master's Voice" of the dark rangers leader sounded, calm and confident, not far behind the archers:
« You had me hurry, Grey Wanderer! »
The wizard made a quick overview. To his right and left, many clansmen were standing guard, ready to pounce on him. He heard a rustle behind him. The nephew of Chief Ardelaigh threatened him with his hunting spear, flanked by his two elite warriors. Gandalf was surrounded. Any attempt, perilous even for him, would certainly result in a horrific death for the young Hobbit. He reminded the letter of the Thain, urging him to take care of his son and bring him back safe...
- « Drop your sword! Otherwise your pupil will promptly visit the halls of Mandos! ... If you still believe in this nonsense! »
Gandalf felt the head of a spear in his back. There was obviously no way to surrender. Who knows which crimes would these robbers commit once the wizard was disarmed? He slowly walked across the lawn, with a furious look. They ordered him again to get rid of his weapons. Then Gandalf leaned on his staff with an air of miserable defeat, and threw his sword to the ground. The weapon joined Gerry's neatly folded clothes at the feet of Master's Voice, who said triumphantly:
- « That was very clever, old Gray Beard, to pit us against each other. But you poked your nose too far this time, Master Ferret. »
A man dressed in dark leather and green clothes stepped forward to hinder the wizard with silver chains.
-« Here's a souvenir of fallen Eregion… »
Gandalf would have to play all out, risking the life of his protege and relying on luck. But our wizard did not have the opportunity to deploy his genius and the chief of the dark rangers did not finish his sentence. A lightning ripped the air as he was projected a pole8 away. The man holding Gerry under the threat of his blade slowly fell down the side, his head completely charred. Men jumped from who knows where, dressed in a blue and green tartan. The archers let loose a volley at them and retreated hastily. The attackers, numerous and led with talent, quickly made a clean sweep.
Then a man strode forward, dressed in a rich pristine white robe. His tall stature and his bearing revealed a great lord. His deep eyes showed foresight, his gray hair lore, his noble brow determination, and his salt and pepper beard, a wisdom of many ages. With a gesture of great authority with his white staff, he sent the warriors who flanked him, to the pursuit of the fugitives. He approached Gandalf and extended his hand toward the gray wizard. Gandalf knew him, knelt to the ground and bowed respectfully:
- « Sarouman…
- Rise, my friend. », said the newcomer after a few moments, with a serious and reassuring voice. With an elegant and gracious gesture, he got Gandalf up. The latter rushed to the Hobbit who laid unconscious nearby. He revived him and made sure he was not suffering from any injuries. But Gandalf's lack of deference antagonized the great Saruman, who yet had just masterfully overcome especially difficult circumstances:
- « Your compassion honors our order, Mithrandir, but don't you have anything more useful to do than nursing a disobedient little boy? Are you sure to choose your priorities with sufficient discernment? ».
The voice was that of a prominent strategist trying to elevate the debate to a Board of young promising but turbulent captains.
The Hobbit, shaken by a nervous shivering, stood huddled on the grass, unable to move or cover up. Gandalf, upset by the state of his companion, sought his belongings, rose and dressed the halfling, wasted by travel in wilderness. Gerry, like a sick child, did not resist. Saruman approached, vaguely impatient:
-« Your companion needs the sleep of oblivion. Let me handle this! ». The tone of the healer in the fullness of his art; left no alternative. Gandalf parted with gratitude and hope.
- « Look into my eyes, my young friend. Fear dissolves into sleep! », the white wizard enunciated with a bass voice, gently authoritative and reassuring. Then he ran his hand through the brown curls of the Hobbit who relaxed, laid down and fell immediately asleep.
- « He will keep no memory of this episode. You'll have to tell him when and if you feel it necessary, but I advise you to be wary. »
Gandalf bore the Hobbit in the building and covered him with a blanket. Disturbed and worried, he joined Saruman to take advice on the latest events. The two wizards went away to converse.
- «I would like to reveal some disturbing events ... » the gray wizard began softly.
- «When Gandalf appears, the storm is not far! You stand often at the heart of the tempest. I am listening to you, my friend. » The smooth voice of a general addressed with confidence to a long trusted aide-de-camp.
- « Eriador is no longer guarded. The rangers of Arnor evacuated the lands, South of the Great East Road. I was unable to meet any of them, from Sarn ford up to Thalion and the South Downs. After that my messages went unanswered.
- The absence and silence are a concern, I agree. But I have long forbidden myself to rely on a single ally. There is nothing to expect from the scattered remnants of the Dúnedain of Arnor, I'm afraid. Their lineage failed a long time ago...
- However, they are reliable, and that is much nowadays.
- They will not serve the enemy of their own accord, I grant you this. But of what use is a force that vanishes when entrusted with a mission? Have you any news?
- Their messages on the roads are cleared. I am waiting for news from the North that are slow to come... I fear winged spies assist their enemies, and that our movements are better known than we thought.
- My dear Gandalf, your route is written in letters of fire. For those who can see signs, you left a blazing trail, perfectly obvious from your halt in Thalion. So how wonder your movements are known? » The mocking tone was blended by no hint of kindness. Gandalf passed on:
- « I may explain their absence, only because of a major offensive. Men, numerous, well-equipped, provided with gold, do spy in Thalion. They terrorize the weak and buy the others, I bet. My friends assured me that those I met had been through Tharbad. But beyond Gwathlo, there is no force able to maintain such troops. Where do they come from?
- I spotted this group for several months. They obviously come from the east, where they are trained physically and morally. Their allegiance seems flawless... Their captain, in particular, who calls himself "The Master's voice" is particularly stubborn. I suspect some black magic.
- We have been pursued on many miles. The captain promised a silver talent for our capture.
- A silver talent! The reputation you boast of cannot serve our cause, Gandalf. » The voice had lost its smooth tone, animated only by annoyance and a touch of jealousy.
- « They were to execute us. Their violence is blatently obvious. »
- « I do not think your young friend has any interest, either for you or for your attackers. You are always at the heart of the storm because you provoke it. » The harsh voice was that of an angry father but righteous, sorry to have to rule.
- « I would like to find out where they come from.
- I know where they come from, Saruman interrupted. And I shall take care to avert this threat, as you certainly have noticed. When I am done with them, their corporation will have been expelled from Eriador. You do not seem to understand that a power is about to rise, Mithrandir. » The tone of Grand Commander of the army admitted no reply. «A power struggle has just begun; we have to keep control of the western regions at all costs, otherwise we shall fall. This war is now my business. »
The white wizard led Gandalf to the ruins, leaving his conclusions pending for a moment. Then he turned to his subordinate and he meant sternly:
- « The wake of your vivid demonstrations is followed as a trail of fire in the night. You wrote "Here Gandalf plays his flamboyant magic" in flashes, discernible from whole Eriador. Your vow of humility vanishes in the pipe-weed smoke... Or is it desire and need to shine? I would strongly advise you to moderate your enthusiasm and to apply your skills to steadfastness and efficiency. Otherwise your charge would be removed... »
Before the pale face and tight lips of the gray wizard, Saruman took a more conciliatory tone, as with a student who needed being reprimanded, but very much liked:
- « Believe me, I regret it. You attract too much attention to yourself. I urge you, in the future, to show more circumspection. Promise me not to deploy the fullness of your power only when necessary, without witnesses. But everyone should be expected to act according to his abilities... This fight is mine now. Help your Dùnedain friends to recover their strength, if they can. Against dark rangers, I shall unleash the vengeful fury of the Dunlendings. It was time to break the web before the spider completes the weaving. »
The clan that had pledged allegiance to Saruman had proved extremely efficient. Within seconds, the Ardelaigh clansmen had been controlled and constrained. Only the "Master's Voice" and one of his associates had managed to escape with their horses. The captured men were now held kneeling and bound to each other in front of a lying marble column. Their weary and resigned heads hanged on their chest. They seemed they had no illusions about the mercy of their captors. With a triumphant grin, the leader of the gang in blue and green tartan stepped under the cheers of his warriors. Suddenly brandishing his great battle axe, he beheaded the few survivors one by one, without further ado.
Gandalf rushed but was retained:
-« No, Mithrandir. This folk makes war his own way. What right do you have to judge them, you who have not been driven out of your ancestral lands? Besides, you are indebted to them by the law of blood: without them where would you be at that moment to cry your young friend? For this is a war without mercy, whose stake is the balance of power in the North and freedom of every people to shape its own destiny. Indeed I tell you: I may not, no more than you, leave a witness behind us… »
Gandalf bowed, sick at heart. His superior had called him to order in many respects.
The bodies were entitled to burial in the way of Dunland, but without the honors deserved to ancestors. The corpses were piled in a rocky fault. The collapsed entrance will keep the secret of these dead for eternity, unless vengeance spreads its ugly tragedy to future generations.
Once alone, Gandalf sent a final thought to these uprooted men. Their leader had admitted a dangerous and unholy alliance, but bitterness had driven them and they did not deserve such a dishonorable death.
1 Elbereth is Manwë's spouse, Queen of the stars and tutelar power of the Elves.
2 Let shine the lightest of lights!
3 Pericles
4 The baby Hobbit is having a nap, Mummy!
5 Inspired by Jean Giono, Naissance de l'Odyssée.
6 Now our dear reader migth better understand Gandalf's disbelief when another Hobbit would claim, a century later, a ring had popped out of the dark under the Misty Mountains. And yet…
7 A talent is a unit of weigh, volume and money. As a volume, it is a cubic foot.
8 A pole is a distance unit (11/2 yards).