With Gormr dead, and Fírndall gone, the remaining Dourhands in Thorin's Hall fled. The Longbeards, who for years had lived in fear of their Dourhand masters, rejoiced at this new dawn for their home. For those few who knew the full story of what had transpired in Skorgrím's Tomb, however, things were less joyful. The Elves were provided lodgings within the Hall and town, and helped Dwalin and his folk to repair the damage the Dourhands had wreaked upon the Vale. It was gruelling work - all over the western slopes, factories had been erected, and the quarries had left huge scars on the landscape, which could not be rectified. It was the Dwarves' job to take the machines down or modify them to produce fewer pollutants. Luckily, with the altar in Rockbelly Pit destroyed, the poison soon passed from the river, but the sick wildlife could not be cured, and it was Lathron's sad duty to lead a cull of the maddened beasts. With every death, his hatred for Ivar and the Dourhands only grew. The Goblins and barghests, he found, had disappeared without trace.
Thorin's statues were replaced throughout the Hall, raising the morale of the Dwarves further, and the repairs proceeded at record pace.
The final task was to clear the Silver Deep. Dwarves and Elves alike entered the mine, purging it of the abominable cave claws. When the other Elves saw the fallen towers of Edhelion, there was great mourning. Talagan's remains were removed with reverence, and all attended his funeral. Lathron wept openly as they laid his bones in a boat and sent it downriver. From there, it would flow into the River Lhûn and out past Mithlond - the Grey Havens.
By spring all the work was finished, and the thawing snow brought a flood of new life to the Vale. The aurochs and deer returned in herds, followed by bears and lynxes. Fish swam in the river, and eagles and ravens soared overhead. By unanimous vote, Dwalin was instated as Lord of the Hall. Lathron was pleased with the decision - he had come to respect the old Dwarf as a noble, if rough, character, and a fierce ally. It looked as if Thorin's Hall was set to enter a new age of prosperity. He took the opportunity to explore and enjoy the Dwarves' constructions. He had never seen such complex architecture, and on such a massive scale, as that in Thorin's Hall, and spent many a day simply wandering the seemingly endless rooms and caverns. He decided, however, that such a life was ultimately not for him; he felt a need to move around, and be at one with the wild, that he simply could not satisfy in the Dwarves' halls.
In late March, Dorongúr Whitethorn was deemed fully healed by the Elven medics. His thoughts were lucid, although he was much more introverted than Lathron remembered, and he had lost three fingers, two on his left hand an to frostbite. He came to find Lathron as soon as he was let out, and the two embraced warmly.
"I never properly thanked you for saving my life," Dorongúr told Lathron. "If it weren't for you, I would have lost much more than my fingers. I heard about your actions in Skorgrím's Tomb as well. As one who knew Talagan best, you can trust me when I say that he would be proud of you."
"Thank you," Lathron replied. "That means a lot to me."
Dorongúr coughed awkwardly. "I would also like to apologise for how I treated you all those years ago. I thought of you as but a child, and could not see the man you would grow to be. Talagan could see that, and I was wrong to ignore him. Do you forgive me?"
"Of course." Lathron clapped his hand to Dorongúr's shoulder. "I stopped worrying about that a long time ago."
"That is good," Dorongúr smiled, relief plain on his features. "For years I have worried that you might have held a grudge against me."
"My grudges are for servants of the Enemy only," Lathron replied.
"As it should be. I am leaving for Duillond tomorrow," Dorongúr continued. "It is high time I took the affairs of my people in hand once again. Before then, I would walk with you in the Vale. I have missed the sights and sounds of nature in my illness. Will you share them with me?"
Lathron was happy to oblige. He showed Dorongúr around the Vale, and they climbed together to Edhelion and the height above, where Lathron had made his promise all those years ago. The view was just as beautiful as he remembered. He stood there as the sun set, simply taking in the view. It was some time before he noticed that Dorongúr was weeping openly.
"So much has been lost," the old Elf mourned, "that once was proud and fair." Somehow Lathron knew that he didn't mean Edhelion. Dorongúr's eyes were fixed on the sky beyond the mountains, imagining lands lost to the depths of time.
"But there is still hope," Lathron consoled him, laying his hand on Dorongúr's. "There is life still, and beauty."
"Yes, but for how much longer?" Dorongúr replied sorrowfully. Such a response seemed unusually despairing, but Lathron did not comment. He, too, had experienced similar moments of despair, and knew that Dorongúr needed time to come to terms again with his losses.
"I told you once that I have a son," Dorongúr said finally. Lathron agreed.
"I am afraid I was not entirely truthful with you. While that may have been true once, it is no longer; he died many long years ago.
"I had guessed as much," Lathron admitted. "You only spoke once of him, and never mentioned his name. Lately, your grief seems to have been too strong to relate only to Talagan."
"His name was Dorollos," Dorongúr sighed. "My wife's name was Beltgûr. Dorollos was a hundred and fifty three when he died - far too young for a member of the Eldar to depart from this world, although I know there have been many younger. Long ago, we lived in the southern Ered Luin, along with our people. One day, Dwarves beset us. I never knew which family, although thinking back now I believe I can guess. I was away at the time, hunting with two of my friends. Dorollos led the defence of the village. When my companions and I returned, all was destroyed. The corpses of all - Elf and Dwarf alike, were strewn throughout the ruins and surrounding area. It was a terrible sight, and one I shall carry with me forever."
Lathron put his arm around the older Elf's shoulders. "You and me both, old friend."
Dorongúr smiled. "I am glad you are old enough to discuss these things with now. Talagan was the only one who really understood my grief, and when he died, I felt so alone. These past few hundred years have been a blur."
At Dorongúr's pitiful tale, rage kindled inside Lathron. "All these misfortunes that beset us, they stem from the forces of Evil. Skorgrím, Ivar, they are only pawns, aren't they?"
Dorongúr nodded. "Aye. The ones who rule them are more powerful by far. They are only heralds of darker things to come."
Lathron stood, but this time he looked defiantly east. "Then I promise you this Dorongúr," he said, his voice loud and clear, "you and the dark powers in their dark lands: that I will not rest until they and their lords are dead or banished from Middle Earth. This I swear, by my bow and my swords, upon my heart, by my duty to my friends and family, as a hunter and one of the Eldar. May the Valar in the Undying lands beyond the sea hold me to my oath, and judge me should I fail in this task."
There was a barely perceptible rumble in the earth. Dorongúr looked alarmed. "That is no idle oath," he warned. "And one that should not have been made lightly and in anger. Have you not heard the tale of Fëanor the accursed?"
"I have, and remember it well. Nevertheless, my oath was true, and not made out of spite and rashness." Lathron told Dorongúr of his dream the night of Skorgrím's return. As his tale unfolded, Dorongúr's eyes grew wide.
"A vision from the Lady of the Golden Wood," he breathed, when Lathron had finished. "You are indeed fortunate."
"You believe that what I saw was true, then?"
"Undoubtedly. Her words to you were wise, and not to be taken lightly. I am less worried, now, of this oath you have taken. The Valar have a great plan for you, it is plain to see. Take heart from this, but beware - you have the power within you to shape the future of Middle Earth. Use it wisely."
The next day, Dorongûr and his companions set off south for Duillond. The remaining Elves were subdued at this halving of their number, and it was decided that the return journey to Rivendell would begin the very next day. Lathron, however, did not feel ready to travel back to Rivendell just yet. Long ago, the Elves of Duillond had spoken to him of the beauty of the harbours along the River Lhûn, and he had promised himself that he would see them. Then, circumstances had driven him out of the Ered Luin. Now, he felt ready to make good on his promise to himself. He told Elladan and Elrohir of his plans to stay.
"I had thought you might," Elladan confessed. "I have seen it in your eyes these past days - you may have bad memories of these lands, but you miss them too. I think it would do you good to see more of them, and leave your homeland bearing joyful memories instead of sad."
Elrohir took Lathron aside after Elladan had left to oversee the packing. "This is not your only reason for remaining is it?" he asked.
"No, it is not." Lathron confessed.
"The thought of Skorgrím and Fírndall weighs heavy on you still, I see," Elrohir scowled. "Very well. It is good, I suppose, that you will be here in case anything goes amiss. A word of warning though - do not let your thirst for revenge drive you. Fëanor and his sons wished for revenge, and it consumed them. The Dourhands themselves seek vengeance for past deeds against them. Do not let your own revenge become you."
Lathron was silent for a moment, then said, "Thank you, Elrohir, for all that you have done. Ever since I arrived at Imladris, you and Elladan have been there for me, and I realise I've never thanked you properly." He broke off awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. "I confess, up until now, I hadn't thought of anyone as being my 'friend', but now, if you'll permit me, I would like to say that you and Elladan are my friends, and the truest I could ever ask for."
Elrohir laughed, a clear, ringing laugh that made Lathron smile despite himself. "If I'll permit you? Lathron, of course I'll 'permit you'. Of course we're friends, and there's no need to thank us either - being there for each other is what friends do!" He clapped a hand to Lathron's shoulder, his eyes at once both merry and sad. "I am sorry that this is where we part ways, but we will see each other again soon - never fear, and I am certain you will make more friends on your travels. "Pul-i Valar nin tirith, feredir".
"A nin," Lathron replied. "Na lû e-govaned vîn."
Lathron left at first light, before the rest of the camp had stirred. He packed his tent quickly, and shouldered his backpack and quiver. The day was clear and crisp, but the last cold fingers of winter were relinquishing their grip on the Vale of Thrain. The buds on the trees were green and the flowers awakening. A few hardy bees bumbled among them. Once again, the Vale was a place of beauty, and Lathron was surprised to find himself sad to leave it again.
A deep, croaking caw and a swish of wings heralded the arrival of a raven. It landed in a tree ahead of him and cawed again, fixing him with a beady eye. Then it spread its wings and soared off, before landing in a tree slightly further south.
Lathron remembered the raven that had appeared on a similar day almost two hundred years ago. "You want me to follow you, do you?" He asked bemusedly. "Very well, lead on."
Unbidden, a song came to him, almost as if it had been spoken aloud to him. He'd never had an aptitude for music or poetry, but there it was, as plain as day:
'I mên bad-ui hae a hae,
Ar-aegas, imlad, gond a cel,
An dŷr brûn a dŷr sain,
Ai, ha pul-nin tog-ias ha thel.'
'The road goes ever on and on,
Past mountain, valley, rock and rill,
To places old and places new,
Oh, let it take me where it will.'
Glossary
Pul-i Valar nin tirith, feredir: May the Valar watch over you, hunter.
A nin: And you
Na lû e-govaned vîn: Until next we meet.
So, enjoy it? As I said last time, that's it for now. Never fear, it's continuing, I just won't update until after the Hobbit comes out and I've written a load more sections. So excited! Catapult wearing trolls for the win! (I'm assuming you've seen the trailer by now, of course. If not, then go watch it, coz that scene looks awesome.) Actually, that's probably about as long as my normal updates. Nevermind.
Anyways, I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. Please review and let me know what you think (a special thanks to Geththelithen27 for reviewing) and stay cool! Love logging on and seeing all you guys' views on my traffic stats.
You may have noticed that I am now putting Sindarin translations in a glossary at the end, rather than repeating them after the speech, to help story flow. It's also neater, and we can't have messy stories, now can we? Please note any (infrequent) Quenya will stay untranslated, as this will be for story purposes and therefore designed not to be misunderstood (unless you look it up, which I encourage); Lathron is still an uncultured swine. Also some Sindarin (e.g. Lath's mother's final words) will be left untranslated, simply because my mad mind likes it that way. On the subject of Sindarin, how'd you like my little song? Can you tell where it comes from? The verse is written by moi of course, and if I may say so myself managing to get it in Sindarin and rhyme was no mean feat. What's that? Of course my hats still fit, why do you ask?
Oh, and I just realised, seeing as it's getting to that time of year, the festival from the first chapter is a real Elvish one (by which I mean made by Tolkien), so happy early Turuhalmë everybody. Sit by the tale-fire, sing some ancient lays and watch out for pesky Dwarves after the mulled wine. And the mince pies. I'm told they love the mince pies. I also realised that Turuhalmë has probably been and gone during Lathron's time in Thorin's Hall, so let's say that Lath's a bit of a Scrooge Mc Raven and doesn't celebrate it anymore, but if he did, his favourite festive song would be Let it Go (don't let them in, don't let them see, be the emotionally traumatised badass you always have to be). Ha. It's in your head now. Good luck getting that out.
Oh, dear. I'd better stop writing now.
Stay cool.
Simon out.
Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarity to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental.
Seriously though, don't sue me.