In An Age Before – Part 313

In the coomb 'twixt the arms of Thrihyrne, the surviving Corsairs, (and a handful of starved Dunlendings), spent the day bemoaning the loss of their captain. Who would lead them now? How would they come from this killing field to the safety of their ships? And if they should be so fortunate as to somehow reach the vessels lying berthed in the Isen, who would order the remaining mariners into a functioning crew? They had not a map amongst them to help them find their way, they had not navigated these lands, and none of them had commanded a crew.

They stared into the distance where stood the dike and beyond it, the fortress, grey and grim. Behind these rose the mountain, but one of a range stretching east, whilst o'erhead, dark heavy clouds threatened further snow. Men shook their heads in despair, for none of these were foes they could fight. In their helpless rage and terror, the Corsairs turned on the few remaining Dunlendings, berating and cursing them, and demanding of them when the winter would fail.

Of course, the Men of Dunland had no answers for them. This winter was unlike any they had known aforetime, both longer and more severe, and like the Men of Umbar, all they wanted to do was go home. Rohan would still be available to assault and raid next year, or the year after…

"What of this winter?" a Corsair carpenter's mate demanded. "What of the black ghost? Are all these lands so accursed?"

"Ne'er been like this," a farmer whined, "an' we kno' nothin' 'bout no ghosts."

"Why did none tell us of the daemon king we face?" an able sailor asked.

"Bethought 'im aged an' weak," a bewildered herder conscripted from the foothills of Methedras said, shaking his head. "Lord Wulf told us he's so."

A chorus of enraged Southrons cried out, "Wulf the moron!" and "Wulf the liar!" Unsteady on their feet from hunger, the Dunlendings cringed back. "Keelhaul Lord Wulf!"

"What of your commanders, Gebeor and Heardsælig? What do they know?" a cook asked.

"They don' talk to us no more," the herder said, "they don' come 'round here no more."

"They lef' us t'die here," a hunter from the lowlands west of the mouth of the river Adorn said in despair. "We been abandonated."

At that, the herder fell to his knees, tears starting from his eyes, and he whimpered, "I die…I die…I die…" The farmer wrung his hands and the hunter stood helplessly shaking his head.

They were so pitiful that the Corsairs ignored them thereafter. They drew away and took counsel together, trying to decide their course. They were still debating as the sun began to sink.


With midnight, 25 Nínui opened and Helm blew the mightiest blast yet on his horn. That it shivered not was a wonder, for the note resounded like thunder off the sheer walls of Thrihyrne and boomed from the Deeping Coomb. The king had learnt that the greatest sound came from standing upon the high inner curtain wall and facing the mountain rather than facing out into the valley.

Beyond the dike, the surviving Corsairs and Dunlendings recoiled in fear, knowing what that winding presaged, for they had learnt that slaughter would follow. Ne'er aforetime had it boded 'aught but ill, and after the deaths of their officers the night just past, they felt the impulse to flee and cursed themselves for not having done so during the hours of daylight.

Now they came from their shelters, shivering in the darkness whilst clutching their rations and their weapons, skittish as cats on a barn roof in a lightning storm. They stared towards the fortress but could see 'naught on the ground past the dike beyond which the jagged mountain frowned down upon them, threatening and black against the o'ercast sky.

They had begun to shy away ere they realized it. Some subconscious animal instinct for self-preservation drove their feet slowly backward, one halting step at a time. Unknowingly, their withdrawal had already begun. Softly, the first flakes of snow fluttered down to sting their cheeks with cold, but it could not compare with the chill they felt in their blood.

Swiftly the snowfall mounted, swirled by the renewed winds that drove it to and fro. Soon the dike disappeared in a haze and the mountain was but a shadow, barely to be marked. The curse of winter presaged anew what worse might betide and Men trembled, more from fear than from cold. The wind grew to a low whistle and the driven snow felt like beads of ice.

Before them, from the whirling white and the enshrouding dark a figure slowly resolved. It paced forward, fearlessly it seemed, an apparition appearing out of the snow. Tall and stocky, taller than any of the Corsairs now cringing at its approach, behamed in white fur, its head bearing the pointed ears of a daemon above a face twisted in rage. Empty fists half again the size of any Southron's were clenched at its sides, as deadly in their fearful minds as flanged maces of tempered steel.

The accursed king of the native horsemen drew 'nigh, for it could be no other. The Southrons began backing away a bit faster as their fear grew. Even those petrified aforetime found their feet and shied from his coming. The king advanced straight towards them and their resolve crumbled further. Now some fled outright, crying out as they disappeared into the storm.

The walking horror before them paid no heed to those that fled, instead facing those that remained, and each Man of Umbar felt his desire to take their lives and eat their flesh. In this, their minds had projected their own behavior onto him.

He opened and flexed his hands, then reclenched his fists, and 'twas as if those who watched could feel their bones crack 'neath his grasp. Despite the horrified fascination that clutched at their hearts, most hastened their retreat to match his advance. A few still backing away too slow he came abreast of, and with a blindingly fast lunging punch, snapped a Man's head back and dropped him in the snow. There he lay still, not even twitching.

Then those who had lagged beside this latest victim shrieked in terror and fled, slipping and sliding, directionless, and not daring to look back. Soon their cries and the sounds of their feet were lost in the wind. 'Twas with their attention wholly focused on the advancing king that they failed to mark the sudden approach of the ghost.

Black against night's blackness, a blur of movement swept o'er a tall drift close on their right. From the corners of their eyes, they saw it too late. No natural creature could move so fast on loose snow, and it seemed this wraith's feet barely touched the ground, as if it had no weight.

The dwimor¹ charged in amongst them and with sweeps of its arms 'nigh too fast to follow, dropped Men as if with a scythe. It passed straight through their ranks and disappeared into the night whilst Men were still falling where it had passed. Some looked after it in horror and when they looked back to their fallen, there were no footprints. 'Twas not a living thing! Yet the deaths it had wrought, those were real. ¹(dwimor, ghost Old English)

In their moments of distraction, Helm King had come 'nigh. He snatched a Corsair up by his hair and pummeled his face so that blood sprayed ere he flung the body down. Then their horror and fear was grown intolerable and the Southrons fled into the storm, crying out of daemons and ghosts, sorcery and the accursed land of Rohan. Ere long, they had vanished from the coomb.

Helluin returned to the king's side and they traded a glance that ended in shared laughter.

"This night's Berserking went well, I should say," the Noldo finally offered after recovering from their mirth.

"Aye, my friend. Ne'er can I recall enjoying a battle so," Helm said. "In the morn, hunters and wood cutters shall go forth and soon, the welfare of my people shall be remedied. Thou hast my thanks." He stroked the fur of the Werewolf pelt in appreciation.

Helluin nodded to the king, for she had enjoyed herself as well.

"Berserking was thine inspiration first, my lord. Shall we not return to the fortress though? T'would ease thy daughter's worries foremost."

"Aye, she hath suffered much doubt and been greatly troubled of late. Let us go and relieve her," Helm said, and they turned back towards the dike and Súthburg.


After Helm and Helluin returned to the fortress, for once several hours ere dawn, the Rohirrim rejoiced at their tidings of the rout of their enemies. Heorte in particular was elated that her father had remained safe and no longer needed to sally forth in the dead of night. She deemed his Berserking an affliction of the past, for now the state of his people would not be so dire as to force his hand to such extremes. Hild too was joyful for the renewed safety of her brother, whilst Eadmundr busied himself with preparing the companies of hunters and woodcutters to depart at first light.

These went forth at dawn on 25 Nínui, six dozens all told, and having encountered no enemies within the coomb, made their way unopposed to the highlands east and west. There they set their camps and built their shelters. Though it took them another day 'til they could begin providing game, the carcasses that fell from the heights of Thrihyrne thereafter were most welcome.

Firewood too was tossed downslope into the Deeping Coomb and there behind the Deeping Wall, logs and branches struck the frozen ground. These were hauled a safe distance away, split, and stacked against the rampart, replenishing the woodpile built the past autumn. Then the keep was heated again and the Glittering Caves had wood for cook fires and warmth.

Now though the rations won by the hunters staved off starvation, with so many mouths there was no abundance. The meat served to maintain lives, but 'twas not sufficient to recover the weight lost by each refugee from the Westfold. They remained gaunt and weakened by their ordeal, yet still all were thankful to have even a morsel in their bellies and many who would have perished in the following weeks instead survived.

Ere the companies of hunters and woodcutters left Súthburg, the Second Marshal and the king had addressed them in the great hall.

"Ye go forth now to be the salvation of our people," Eadmundr said, "and all shall sing your praises in days to come. Ye shall earn renown equal to any warrior that conquers in battle for the lives ye save are of equal value. Now your enemy is no Man, but the weather itself, and yet, ye shall o'ercome this foe too."

The hunters armed with bow, spear, sword, and axe stamped their feet and cheered his words. At the very least, they would have a chance to hunt rather than wait for starvation to rob them of any possibility of doing worthy deeds, for deedless they had been through the winter. Then Helm King spoke too and they all knew what he had achieved to gift them this chance.

"Sons of Eorl, though ye be hunters and woodcutters now, ye have the hearts of warriors and face the elements as ye have faced our foemen in days of yore," he said. "Yet rather than conquering in a day's battle, in truth, I know not how long your duty shall last. None can know how long this winter shall linger, already longer and harsher than any told of in the lore of our sires.

I bid ye support each other and take no unnecessary chances, for now ye are our hope. I must also tell ye that when spring comes, the enemy shall likely renew their attack, cutting ye off on the heights whilst they assail the fortress. Should that come to pass, your duty shall be yet more vital that our people may withstand the siege.

We part now for a time, but already ye have earnt a place in my heart. Go with my blessing and esteem, brave Riders of the Eorlingas. May Béma protect and watch o'er ye and may spring come soon."

Then the Men cheered and raised their arms o'erhead, shaking spear and bow, high of heart and bursting with spirit. Their king had driven off the enemy well 'nigh single-handed, and in those moments no few believed he could drive off the winter as well. Their hearts were bursting with pride.

When they had marched from the hall, Heorte came to her father and said, "Perhaps they shall find him. Perhaps we can recover his body that he may lie at rest in a proper barrow."

Helm nodded to his daughter for the hope of discovering the fate of his younger son at last was dear to his heart. Yet there was still much to come ere he could properly honor Prince Háma and there were still many sorrows to endure. That morn, as the hunters took their leave, a soldier came from the caves to report that another two dozen had been lost to starvation in the night.

"T'would seem thy gambit has shown profit," the princess said to Helluin when they met after that morn's travesty of a breakfast. "I only pray my father's madness has passed."

"Say rather that thy father's inspiration has borne fruit," the Noldo replied. "For weeks the fear he set in the enemy's heart grew greater with each night 'til finally it set them to rout. His campaign is won."

"Thou art as mad as he was, me thinks, for thou favored his Berserking and coddle his madness still," Heorte accused, narrowing her eyes.

"If thou see it so then aye, I ken his actions and find them meet," Helluin said. "None other herein did 'aught to dismiss the enemy whilst thy father alone did all he could.

In an Age before, I spent years striking terror into the hearts of my enemies and treated them far, far worse. To this day, the Orcs of the Misty Mountains deem the lands of Eregion accursed though four thousand five hundred years have passed. I wager the Dunlendings shall long fear the name of Helm." She did not mention the epithet she had acquired in those days from Sauron and his Glamhoth, the 'Butcher of Bruinen'. Nor did Helluin confess that her compulsive frenzy of mutilation and dismemberment had well 'nigh caused her beloved to Fade from the horrors she had unleashed.

Undaunted, Heorte said, "What is deemed meet for an Ælf may not be deemed so for a Man. We live in civilized times now, not the depths of barbarism. Pray encourage my father no more."

The princess took her leave with Agrona following whilst Helluin thought, Thy peoples' cabins of logs and woolen garments, their unwritten lore and crude weapons hardly attest to civilized times. Ost-in-Edhil and Khazad-dûm were far from barbarous. Finally, she shook her head at the irony and exited the council chamber. The reek of thousands of unwashed mortals constrained there for months did little to persuade her of how civilized the present times were.

Of the fate of the Corsairs that fled Súthburg, no lore of Rohan or Gondor tells. Perhaps they regrouped with daylight and took their way west to the Fords of Isen. Perhaps they crossed and followed the riverbanks south 'til they came at last back to their ships. Or perhaps the wolves that howled in the night caught the stragglers one after another, tore their bellies, and had them for feasting. Perhaps they froze or starved in despair along the way. All that can be said of them for certain is that when spring came, they were no longer a force in the Westfold.


A week passed but the winter showed no sign of retreat as the month of Gwaeron opened, yet now the folk of Súthburg had food and wood sufficient for their survival howsoe'er long the chill remained. With the coomb cleared of foes and 'naught to be done about those lurking in the lands beyond, Helluin deemed there was little else she could accomplish in the Westfold. Her thought turned to Fréaláf and those in Dunharrow for she still believed Wulf held Edoras with thousands of Dunlendings and Corsairs at his command. The Riders there fit for battle numbered barely six hundreds. When war resumed in the spring, they would need her aid.

After assuring herself that the hunting parties and the woodcutters in the highlands above the fortress were delivering sufficient quantities of food and wood for survival, she spoke with Helm and prepared to take her leave. 'Twas the morn of 15 Gwaeron.

"My lord, t'would seem all here goes as well as can be hoped," she said, and the king nodded in agreement. The situation had grown tolerable and none had perished from freezing or starvation in the past fortnight. "I feel my aid shall be more valuable at Edoras. Lord Fréaláf commands not even six éoreds and we reckon Wulf holds the city with thousands of foemen."

"I wager thy notion good and thank thee for aiding my nephew," Helm said, then cleared his throat and spat forth a gobbet of phlegm. "I reckon he shall need thy prowess more than we, Werewolf's Bane. Now we may endure here 'til the season turns and for that I thank thee too. Pray be safe on thy road, my friend. I look to hear thy tale one day."

The Noldo dipped her head to the king, but marked the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, a hint of glassiness in his eyes, and the flush of his cheeks.

"Art thou well, my lord?" she asked, knowing the vulnerability of mortals. "Thou seem…"

"'Tis but a trifle of the season, no more," he said, waving away her concern, "and 'naught that a full meal, a mug of ale, and bit more sleep shant cure. I shall soon be well."

She nodded, accepting his words, for Helm had proven robust in all respects aforetime.

"May we meet in better times, my lord," Helluin said, then bowed and took her leave. She would ne'er see him again.

By mid-afternoon, the Noldo had come four leagues to the strange home of the widow Godlic. All appeared unchanged, but ere she could call out a greeting, a flurry of hoof beats and a trampling of underbrush announced the arrival of the mule. Mul was beating a hasty path down from higher ground along a trail only he could see 'til he pulled up short before Helluin and met her eyes. A subtle cloud of steam rose from his coat and twin jets of vapor blew from his nostrils as he caught his breath. Ahhh, thou art just in time, he silently gasped.

In time for what, Mul, what cause for haste, pray tell? Night comes. Dost not thy footing suffer on such icy slopes?

Perhaps, save that I have made sure to descend faster than I could fall, he said reasonably. Helluin controlled the rolling of her eyes, curious to hear his rede. Then, after a further moment of struggling to control his breathing, he ejaculated, She is here! She is here! She is here!

The Noldo scanned the growing gloom but marked none 'nigh.

Whom? she asked, Whom is here? as she marked the mule frantically stepping in place, much like an excitable puppy at mealtime.

The ghost! The ghost! She is here! She is here! She is here!

Whither? I see none, Helluin said after taking a more careful look 'round the widow's yard.

Not here here! Mul said in exasperation, casting a glance upslope, There here!

Ahhh, the Noldo said, understanding his meaning at last, pray show me then?

The mule vigorously nodded 'aye' and immediately charged upslope with Helluin running hard to keep pace. She marked the slippage of his hooves and reckoned that had he been on flat, dry ground, he would have been making a good dozen leagues an hour. She pushed to stay abreast.

They followed a trail, or at least the hoof prints from his descent, which climbed in an increasingly steep incline through the trees and soon Helluin was huffing and puffing to match him. More legs, I need more legs to keep such a pace, she thought.

A mile passed and then a second, and just ere she was about to call out to Mul to slacken his haste, he reached a small clearing and ceased his charge at last. The Noldo put her hands on her knees and leant forward gasping to catch her breath.

'Neath the westering sun and scudding clouds, the clearing was lit as if with swaying Elf lamps, a wavering bluish light that made the snow glint and glow. The shadows of the trees ringed the open ground with broken darkness, but there 'cross the space, pacing and wringing its hands, was a translucent figure in courtly robes of a bygone fashion. Dark-haired and grey-eyed she was, and upon closer inspection, ravishingly beautiful. She was also familiar. Helluin sighed.

This ghost, she is familiar to thee? Mul asked after watching her reaction.

Aye, with my beloved, I met her first in Lórinand in the year 1002.

That is a long time ago now, the mule observed. Think thou that she shall recall thee?

I know not save by asking, Helluin said, and with that, she began walking towards the ghost.

Now whether the ghost saw her not or was too preoccupied by whate'er festered in her mind, she paid the Noldo no heed 'til she stood right before her and waved a hand in her face to draw her attention. Then she reacted, much as she e'er had aforetime, with the privileged and self-consumed mien of a spoilt princess.

Oh, 'tis a warrior. Who art thou? she silently demanded in Silvan with a chilly lack of recognition.

I am Helluin Maeg-móremenel, my Lady Nimrodel. Helluin marked that hearing her own name brought no sign of recognition from the lady either. Know thou that for long thy disappearance hath been regarded as a mystery and many felt dismay that thou came ne'er to Edhellond?

Edhellond? Edhellond, thou says? the lady asked, seemingly at a loss to recall any important aspect associated with that name. Whyfor should I have come thither? She sighed and admitted, I am vexed for my memory is befuddled of late. I cannot place that name.

'Tis a port in Belfalas on the southern coast, Helluin said, and Nimrodel hearkened. Aforetime thou wast bound thither, to take ship into the West with thy beloved, King Amroth.

Amroth…Amroth, whyfor doth that name not ring familiar? she asked herself. He was a king thou says? But finally she shrugged and dismissed the query. I seek my errant handmaiden and it seems I have done so for long but I cannot recall clearly…pray tell, what was thy name? It seemed she remembered not even the name of her beloved, let alone Helluin's.

I am Helluin, my lady. Perhaps thou recall my companion, Lady Beinvír? We met thee upon a time in Lórinand. Ye shared tea in thy garden.

Lady Beinvír…Lady Beinvír, she repeated, seemingly mulling o'er the syllables. Tea…I seem to have misplaced my teapot. Perhaps I sent my handmaiden to fetch it?

Perhaps, my lady. Was thy handmaiden named Mithrellas?

The lady stopped and cocked her head as she struggled to remember that name, yet finally she drew a blank once again and shook her head 'nay', saying, Perhaps 'twas, but that name too is unfamiliar.

Helluin sighed. It seemed that the lady she had known was long gone, leaving behind a fëa confused and lost, lingering on the Mortal Shores bereft of past or purpose. The semi-Faded elleth that had once been Nimrodel could not even place those who had been closest to her, nor did she recall 'aught of her life save some random fragments of little importance.

When the lady turned away to look about as if seeking for her long absent handmaiden, the Noldo swept a hand out to touch her and saw it pass through her back without resistance. Helluin deemed her hröa vestigial, manifested by the inertia of long habit alone and 'naught else. 'Twas sad and the Noldo reckoned that this meeting too would soon be lost from her memory.

Dost thou recall that thou once had a sister, Inthuiril? Helluin asked with little hope.

My little sister? Nimrodel asked as if in wonder. That was long ago in the Great Forest.

Aye, thou left her in the Greenwood long ago, Helluin agreed in amazement that she had remembered something from her prior life.

Our home had darkened and I could not stay, the ghost said sadly, but what came after? My leave-taking seems but a day past.

My lady, seventeen hundred cycles of the season have come and gone since those days.

Then it seemed Nimrodel stood in shock, silent, as if the time lost meant something to her, or perhaps the simple count of years was a surprise.

A gleeful time I must have had then, for 'tis said the days pass swifter when spent in mirth, she said, and a smile shaped her lips. Alas, I can remember none of it. But what of my sister? Knowst thou 'aught of Inthuiril's deeds?

Indeed so, my lady, Helluin replied, still surprised that 'twas Nimrodel's oldest memories that she had retained. Upon a time, I met her and delivered her from the Sorcerer after she had been made captive in Dol Guldur. 'Twas the same story she and Beinvír had told at their first meeting with her in T.A. 1002.

A look of horror crossed Nimrodel's face and she gasped, but finally recovered. Thou delivered her, thou says? She survived that most perilous place?

Aye, she did, and returned to the Woodland Realm to the great relief of her king.

King Thranduil, Nimrodel said and smiled, he was a noble lord, but his realm was troubled and the forest beset by evil. I could not stay. Still, I hope he hath survived and rules there still.

He doth indeed, my lady, and a just king he is, Helluin said and watched Nimrodel nod in agreement. There is more, my lady. Following Inthuiril's return, his heart was turned to her and hers to him. They courted and after five centuries were wed in 1551. I attended the celebration and great was the joy of the Woodland Realm on that day. Inthuiril became Queen of the Woodland Realm.

Oh my! Nimrodel exclaimed, and pure joy lit her face. My gwathel tithen¹ a queen! ¹(gwathel tithen, little sister = gwathel(sister) + tithen(little) The adjective follows the noun and agrees in number. Sindarin)

She actually hopped up and down clapping her hands. All the doubts she had once expressed about the marriage were seemingly forgotten. Helluin nodded in confirmation and smiled. After a while, Nimrodel calmed and still beaming, enquired of the couple's life thereafter.

Say on, I pray thee. What came after? Have they children?

They have a son, Prince Legolas, born in 1854. I met him in 2063. He is earnest in his love of the realm and his people, Helluin said, recalling the young heir. Indeed, he was so earnest that he suffered himself to beg training at arms with me, she thought, but withheld that comment.

A happy family they must be then. Now I almost wish that I had stayed.

They were for a time, Helluin said with trepidation for her tidings were dark, but catastrophe befell them. Yrch from Gundabad assailed the Greenwood in 1889, and being still a march warden as well as queen, Inthuiril led part of the host against them. She fell in battle and the sorrow of her people and the king was deep. In 2020, some I met still sought to avenge her.

Then a look of sorrow as intense as her prior joy shaped the elleth's features and ghostly tears coursed down her cheeks. It took a while, but eventually she calmed and said, My poor gwathel, she passed untimely yet she did what she hoped to, roaming the forest and defending it from evil. She was a wild one, but I am glad she found love and family. I feel sorrow for Thranduil and more for Legolas. My nephew was but a child when his naneth¹ was taken. ¹(naneth, mother Sindarin Note that barely any words in the Silvan tongue are known from canon.)

Take heart and keep hope, my lady, for I am sure the Valar welcomed thy sister to the Halls of Mandos in the Blessed West, and thither one day thou shalt meet her again, Helluin said. Like all thy people, thou shalt hear the call of the Sea beckoning thee west one day.

To this, Nimrodel nodded in acceptance.

At sundry times, I hear strange voices whispering enticements in my ear, she said. "Come home. Come to Valinor," they say, and I would, but still I search for my handmaiden. She shook her head as if faced with an unsolvable quandary. I know not truly if those voices are of my imagination or some other source. I have paid them little heed.

Her words were a shock to Helluin. It seemed there was much Nimrodel had forgotten and yet, the Valar were merciful. And, Helluin realized, the knowledge of them would have been amongst Nimrodel's oldest memories.

Lady Nimrodel, I reckon thy handmaiden was Mithrellas whom the lore of Gondor tells was found wandering in the wood of Dor-en-Ernil by Imrazôr Dúnadan, Helluin said, for so she claimed to he who found her. In time, they were wed, and of their union came a son, Galador, and a daughter, Gilmith. Through them, a strain of Silvan blood came into the House of Dol Amroth. Yet I deem Mithrellas was diminished from birthing and though 'tis said that she fled her family, I reckon she Faded and long ago passed into the West.

That could well be, for I know none who would abandon their family by choice, Nimrodel said, and Helluin nodded in agreement. Family and children were dear beyond measure to all the Edhil. 'Twas no mean irony that in fleeing the Greenwood, Nimrodel had done just that. Helluin too had left her birth family behind in Aman.

My lady, I wager thy search for thy handmaiden shall ne'er bear fruit this side of the Sea, for she whom thou seek is long gone from the Hither Shores. And there is more, my lady.

Lore also tells that thou wast lost in these mountains on thy journey to Edhellond to take ship with thy betrothed, King Amroth of Lórinand. At her words, Nimrodel gasped and her eyes widened in shock. Aye, my lady, like thy sister, thou too wast to wed a king.

Truly? Yet why can I not recall him, he who held my heart? she asked. 'Tis sad if he lingers still, awaiting me.

Nay, my lady, he doth not, for his fate is well known. He waited on thee aboard ship 'til a storm drove his vessel out to sea. Yet he would not that ye be sundered, and so he leapt into the waves. Alas, the sea took him and he too passed into the West. I wager he awaits thee thither still for he was a noble lord when I knew him, Helluin told her. And he was besotted with thee as is a puppy with his mistress, she thought, though she gave no voice to that impression.

Then Nimrodel wept afresh and through her sorrow said, All those I knew have left these shores whilst I wandered, long and futile, amidst these mountains. Why now can I recall so little? What ill fate has befallen me?

Helluin sighed, for the lady's sorrow was real and besides, how does one tell another who is unaware that they have Faded? Finally, she could think of 'naught else save to tell the truth as plainly as might be.

My lady, I deem thou art Faded, or at least partly so, Helluin said, and to my eyes, thou art spectral. At the lady's look of disbelief, she reached toward her and said, Pray grasp my hand.

Nimrodel reached out and tried to take Helluin's hand, but her own passed through the Noldo's flesh and armor as it were less than a vapor. Thrice she tried and failed each time. Then she gasped, (silently), and covered her mouth with her hands in shock.

My lady, we have taken counsel in silence, mind to mind, for not a sound has passed 'twixt us. I wager that, preoccupied with thy search for Mithrellas and thy teapot, the world has slipped through thy hands 'til thou art no longer truly a part of it, and so thy memories of it too hath passed away. My lady, I deem there is 'naught for thee any longer upon these Mortal Shores.

Then I am truly lost, e'er to pass as a ghost through these mountains 'til I vanish wholly and fore'er, she wailed, (silently). Then she collapsed on the ground in despair and was wracked with bitter sobs. For long, she was inconsolable.

Helluin stood o'er her waiting. 'Twas not as if she could offer comfort with a touch and the impact of her words would have shocked anyone with their revelations. A glance back o'er her shoulder revealed Mul craning his neck to the side to see the fallen ghost. Of course, he had not been party to 'aught that had been said and the whole encounter was likely a mystery to him. When he raised a brow in question, the Noldo just shrugged and then turned back to observe the Nando's condition. Helluin saw that she remained stricken and weeping on the ground.

Now after an hour had passed thus, the Noldo realized that, having spent o'er seven centuries fruitlessly seeking for her missing handmaiden and teapot, Nimrodel was likely inclined to spend another few centuries enveloped in her despair ere she forgot its cause too. With that in mind, Helluin determined to prompt her upright to contemplate her next opportunities, for though immortal, she was disinclined to endure the boredom of hundreds of years silently watching Nimrodel's despondency.

My lady, I bid thee look to the future and thy reunion with those now lost to thee.

The lady ceased her weeping at once and looked up, regarding the Noldo with an expression of hope. Belatedly, Helluin recalled her predisposition to abruptly amended emotional states, as if they were merely machinations employed for social effect. Nearly fell for that one, again, she thought.

In the Blessed West, there is healing and e'erlasting life, and thither go the fëar of those who have left Ennorath through sailing, Fading, or death. In Aman, I wager thy memory shall be restored and thou shalt recall all that has come to pass and all those thou knew. Thou hear voices urging thee hence, thou said?

Aye, I have heard them oft and for long. I have paid them little heed aforetime.

Yet they bid thee hence, Helluin said, and thither in Valinor, thou shalt find succor and surcease of thy suffering. 'Tis the home of all our people when they finish their sojourns in these Mortal Lands.

So said my naneth as I learnt my lessons and my letters, she said. It all sounded so promising, but so unreal. I knew none who had seen it, nor any that returned. So I put it from my mind with much other lore of fantastical places and things that bore not upon me day to day.

To this, Helluin nodded in understanding. Her people were Moriquendi and had ne'er seen Aman. In all the Woodland Realm, only a few Sindar who had come from Doriath had known any who had dwelt in the Blessed Realm. She recalled Thranduil's words to Beinvír that the Green Elf had shared with her long ago. (see chapter 113 of this story)

"Her adar is Nandor, her naneth Sindar, and her maternal grandsire came with my household out of Eregion. Alas, he was lost in battle upon Gorgoroth in the company of my father." Those words were equally true of Nimrodel as they had been of Inthuiril. Perhaps their maternal grandfather had dwelt with Thranduil and Oropher in Doriath 'neath the rule of Thingol and Melian, or had learnt of Aman from lore shared later. In Eglador with Tor Elwë Ϸindikollo and Tóril Melyanna…of him came her gold coins of Doriath! Or, perhaps he had met the Noldor of Ost-in-Edhil when he dwelt in Eregion.

Nimrodel, I dwelt in Aman and returned to the Mortal Shores with my people, the Noldor, Helluin said. My old friend Glorfindel perished in Gondolin. He was healed and returned from Aman. Thy lore is true. I pray thee hearken to those voices when next thou hear them.

Nimrodel slowly nodded in agreement to Helluin's plea. If she did not forget their entire exchange, she would heed the voices when next she heard them. Alas, the time was uncertain.

I know not when next I shall hear those voices, the lady said. It could be soon, or it might be many days.

Fear not, my lady. 'Tis written that the Valar watch o'er Arda and Eru's Children. From Manwë and Varda, 'naught is hid of sight or sound. Speak their names and beseech their aid. Thou shalt be heard, thy plight seen, and their mercy shall be upon thee. I wager that already, they have sought thee.

Then Nimrodel turned to face the west, (entirely unnecessary in Helluin's opinion, but a noble gesture nonetheless), and she knelt and called out (silently), to the Lords of the West, naming them each in their turn and beseeching their favor. With head bowed, she remained, and then she started and looked up and a wide smile graced her lips.

I hear the voices, she declared, elated, and they bid me home!

Helluin matched her smile, though she wondered how the lady's journey to the west would be accomplished, for they were far from any haven of the Eldar. Yet she need not have questioned the ways of the Gods, for where there is Will, a way shall be found.

Now snow began to fall again, and it came in a torrent, thicker than any storm Helluin had seen aforetime, even on the Helcaraxë. But what was more astonishing than the fact of the snowfall was that it fell only on Nimrodel as if a personal cloud all her own had settled above her head. Strangely, the fallen snow clove to her form and gave it the solidity it had lacked aforetime.

Dost thou feel the chill? The Noldo asked, but the lady shook her head 'nay'.

I feel…warm, she uttered in utter amazement.

Soon, she was enveloped in snow and her figure could no longer be clearly marked, for the details of body and limb, hair and face, were obscured. A low note reverberated in the ground and through the air as it were the call of some great horn far, far off. It shook the trees and snow sifted from barren branches, and this too clove to the Lady Nimrodel. It continued 'til only a heap of snow lay upon the ground, devoid of any features, and then the snowfall ceased yet the deep rumbling remained.

As Helluin and Mul watched with bated breath and feet planted motionless, a ray of sunlight, bright as summer's noon shone down upon the pile of snow. As in spring, the snow began to melt, but far more swiftly than at any natural change of the seasons, and it affected only the heap that had covered Nimrodel. Soon, steam rose and water drained onto the ground, and the melt progressed yet faster still. Now a cloud of vapor formed and hung in the air, and in it, vaguely hinted, was a great face, helmed, with eyes bright and amused, the ghost of a grin shaping his lips.

At this apparition, Mul lost his water and his bowels emptied in a rush, but Helluin fell to her knees and bowed her head. The horn continued to wind, and the cloud of steam grew turbulent and began to rise, cyclonic, into the sky. There it joined itself to the broken o'ercast, and when after a few more moments the pile of snow was gone and the twister of steam had joined the clouds, the horn trailed off to silence and the Noldo dared raise her head. Nimrodel had vanished.

The face persisted, familiar, for a heartbeat longer and it seemed to be chuckling. Then it dissolved into the air and was gone. The fading light of 15 Gwaeron resumed as if 'naught had come to pass whilst sundown drew 'nigh.

And what are snow and steam? Helluin asked herself, answering the question immediately.

"My Lord Ulmo…"

There was 'naught more to be seen and the ghost story had found its end. Helluin turned and beckoned Mul as she headed back downhill. The mule nodded to her and fell in step at her side. Soon enough they reached the dell and the widow Godlic's home.

As I said, t'would seem thou arrived just in time, Mul said. I bid thee goodnight.

Good night, Mul. Thou hast my thanks.

Shortly later, seated in the witch's kitchen with Godlic and Lofain, the Noldo partook of a cup of tea. The widow's granddaughter had brought the pot to table and set it upon a trivet to save herself from going back and forth to the hearth to refill their cups. Helluin eyed it closely, truly examining it for the first time. 'Twas very old and finally, she resolved to enquire of it.

"Dame Godlic, whence came thy teapot? I deem it many years of age and 'tis vaguely familiar," the Noldo said.

The witch produced a knowing chuckle as she had been wont on a couple occasions past and said, "Thine observation is keen, Ælf Helluin. My grandmother found it in the forest long ago. I reckon 'tis quite antique by now."

"Found it in the forest?" Helluin repeated in surprise. "By its design and decoration I should swear 'twas of Dwarf make. Know thou 'aught else concerning it or of thy grandmother's finding of it?"

"Nay, I do not," Godlic said, shaking her head. "My eald módor¹ called it a gift of the Gods. Of course, she claimed the same of any valuable find, whether herb, root, or nut." ¹(eald módor, grandmother (lit. 'old mother') Old English)

"I see," said Helluin, reaching forth and taking up the pot. She raised it for to see its underside. Centered within the foot-ring she saw a maker's mark carven there upon a time by the potter. In the once wet clay were inscribed in the Angerthas Khazad-dûm, runes spelling 'GBLGThL', "Great Fortress", Gabilgathol, Belegost in Sindarin, whence came the potters to Durin's Halls. "I see," Helluin said again as she set the pot back down.

How long, I wonder, did Mithrellas seek for this teapot, knowing not that 'twas eventually found by Godlic's grandmother amidst the forest. Did the maidservant spend long years in her search, unwilling to return to her mistress empty-handed, 'til finally she was found by Imrazôr and began a new life?

Nimrodel ne'er found it but sought for it still. She sought for them both for so long and with such single-minded purpose that she Faded. How sad, stupid teapot. I would wager gold coins of Doriath that 'tis the same as Haldir bartered Elvish rope for on the lady's behalf in 1431. Huh.


"Ulmo is the Lord of the Waters. Moreover, he does not like to walk upon the land, and will seldom clothe himself in a body after the manner of his peers. Nonetheless, Ulmo loves both Elves and Men, and never abandoned them, not even when they lay under the wrath of the Valar. At times he will come unseen to the shores of Middle-earth, or pass far inland up firths from the sea, and there make music on his great horns, the Ulumúri that are wrought of white shell… But mostly Ulmo speaks to those who dwell in Middle–earth with voices that are heard only as the music of water. For all seas, lakes, rivers, fountains, and springs are in his government; so the Elves say that the spirit of Ulmo runs in all the veins of the world. Thus news comes to Ulmo, even in the deeps, of all the needs and griefs of Arda, which otherwise would be hidden from Manwë.¹" ¹(Excerpt quoted from The Silmarillion, Valaquenta, pg. 17)


To Be Continued