In An Age Before – Part 317
Chapter One hundred seventy-six
En Auth i-Nogothrim a i-Nglamhoth¹ – The Third Age of the Sun
Now Helluin returned to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý in mid-Nórui of T.A. 2759 with a litany of tidings. She had taken her time on the road, (and had indeed been somewhat uncertain of what she would find), save that the farm would be much more crowded than e'er aforetime. This certainly proved true, yet the only words the refugees from the Eastfold had cared to hear were those announcing that they could return home.
A huge, spontaneous celebration broke out and lasted all that day and the next, by which time the people then needed another two days to recover from their copious consumption of beer and ale ere they could even begin to load their belongings onto their wagons and carts. In all, it took a week after Helluin's arrival 'til a caravan of people, horses, and livestock began their migration home to Rohan.
There had been twelve hundred-odd souls that came north from Aldburg and Edoras. O'er the course of their fifteen months in residence, 'nigh four dozens had been born, for what else would mortals do whilst stressed and yet safe, comfortable, and well fed? The fourteen Tatyar had soon come to believe they were in the midst an unending rutting season of two-legged livestock.
"Ne'er have I seen so much gratuitous copulation, or such vigorous fornication as has been hosted here of late, Helluin," Vorsaira told her during the 'festival of inebriation'.
"I wager with thy coming and the proffering of such welcome tidings, many are now on their second breeding cycle," Nieninque added. The Noldo had cocked a brow at their rather gleeful veracity.
"We have buried so many afterbirths in the far pasture that I pray the field shall not entice stray Yrch from 'cross Anduin," said Sivimaseldo, somehow maintaining straight face. "But such are their traditions and they have made themselves at home." He then heaved a theatrical sigh.
"So fecund have they proven that I fear the hens have become jealous," Lirulin added.
"The chickens have become jealous?" Helluin asked in alarm. "Pray say 'tis not so."
In reply, the Lark simply shrugged and the Noldo groaned.
"There have been notably fewer eggs to eat and far more chicks than aforetime," Lirulin said.
"Oh, that is fine," Helluin replied with obvious relief, "so long as they are happy. They are as Udûn awing when agitated or disappointed."
They watched lines of Rohirrim staggering in a drunken dance, as happy as the Noldo hoped the chickens were, whilst accompanied by an impromptu band of pipers, fiddlers, and drummers. From the lines, pairs spun, exchanged partners, and eventually formed and cantered 'round in a large circle. A few stumbled or tripped their partners, but picked themselves up to the laughter of kith and kin and continued in good humor with their stuttering steps.
"They call it a reel," a smirking Erinítaite told Helluin. "I cannot imagine why."
Helluin stifled her possible comments. The celebrating Rohirrim seemed no more ludicrous to her than the Eldar of Tirion had been with what she deemed their comically formal dance styles and stuffy social protocols. During her first thousand years in Aman, Helluin had spent most of her time wandering the lands alone or conversing with the kelvar, Maiar, and Valar whilst the culture of the Amanyar developed and her people became increasingly self-absorbed.
Worse to her was that the growing count of Elves who had been born in the Blessed Realm and knew 'naught else were wholly obsessed with what she reckoned to be the artificial concerns of social status. More and more of them, especially the young, dwelt on their nobility, an accident of birth that had meant little in the early centuries when even Finwë had not been above bouncing common-born children on his lap as they all camped together 'neath the stars. There had been respect and love for their lords and ladies, but never strife, jealousy, or challenge due to the lack of segregation 'twixt classes. Those evils had only arisen later in the Blessed Realm.
Such beautiful eyes thou hast, young Helcëluinë, her first lord had said as she sat beside him on a log after they had sung another duet to give her parents some time alone together. One day I too shall have a beautiful child…perhaps a son. I simply needs find a wife. He had chuckled at that. With youthful optimism and naiveté, 12-year-old Helluin had replied.
I know thou shalt, 'Uncle' Finwë. She and thy son shall be special, special, special! Fore'er!
The child had been absolutely correct…and horribly wrong. Helluin shook herself back to the present and looked 'round the farm at the new buildings and the expanded gardens and fields.
"They have been productive these past months?" she asked Ngandáro who had appeared beside her with Arinya.
"Aye, they have plied their trades, farming, herding, and crafting conscientiously," he said, nodding in approval.
"They have done well despite not knowing of their homes or the war," Arinya added. "Indeed, I reckon they have worked so hard simply to forget. A year and a season seems long to them."
"They have but so many years and so many seasons and none can know how many," Helluin said, distracted as she watched the dance. "I hope they return safely home."
The two Tatyar nodded in agreement. By the third week of Nórui, the refugees were gone. With them went Captain Ælfwine and two dozen Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý to offer their fealty to the new king on behalf of the farm. They were away two months, but returned in time for the harvest, reporting the realm recovering from the war.
Thereafter, the years progressed as they are e'er wont to do. In T.A. 2763, Steward Beren of Gondor passed from Ennorath and was succeeded by his son and heir Beregond. Beregond had been a great captain by land and sea ere taking up the white rod of the stewards. His leadership had been instrumental in the defeat of the Corsairs in 2758-9.
"The Men of Mundburg acclaim him the greatest warrior-steward since Cirion's sire Boromir," Captain Ælfwine reported after attending another meeting of the king's council in Meduseld.
"Boromir who drove the Yrch from Ithilien and defended Osgiliath during the Morgul Wars?" Helluin asked. The captain nodded 'aye'. "And died at age seventy-nine of a Morgul-wound," she recalled.
"That too."
"I shall hope that Steward Beregond enjoys a better fate," Helluin said. Only time would tell.
"Oh and there have been some changes in Rohan," Captain Ælfwine added with a smile. "What had been growing in common usage has become official. Súthburg is now 'Helm's Deep' with 'Helm's Dike', whilst the keep is called the "Hornburg', and Helm's epithet 'Hammerhand' has been appended to his name in the annals as they are sung in Meduseld."
A handful more years passed in peace, but in the seventh, dark tidings came to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Old friends whom Helluin had aided aforetime against just such a threat had been assailed anew and the result was grim. It began in the dead of a rather boring night when the Noldo heard a tapping on her cabin door. At first, she dismissed it as the harmless rapping of a branch upon a post or lintel, animated by a night breeze. 'Twas T.A. 2770.
'Tis the wind, and nothing more, she thought dismissively.
Yet shortly later, the tapping came again and Helluin bid the one seeking admittance to enter.
"Ngandáro? Arinya? Ælfwine? Truly thy forgiveness I implore, but the truth is I was reading and so faintly came thy tapping, rapping on my cabin door, that I scarce was sure I heard thee. Now I pray thee enter with thy tidings or thy lore."
When no one did, Helluin shook her head in annoyance, returning to a record of the farm's harvests. Again, she heard the tapping and irritated, she stood and crossed the cabin to the door. This she opened wide, but found none waiting upon the threshold.
Darkness there, and nothing more, she chaffed to herself in aggravation as she stood searching the night. There was no one and nothing there, and, she noted, not even the branches of the enchanted apple trees were close enough to cause the tapping, night breeze or no. Finally, she shut the door, then turned and retreated to her chair.
After resuming her focus on the rather dull accounts of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý's crops, the tapping resumed, somewhat louder and more insistent this time, as if t'were a taunt. With a groan, Helluin stood and paced o'er to a window beside the hearth that pierced the wall just shy of the entrance to the pantry.
Truth be told, the Noldo expected 'naught but a nocturnal insect attracted by the lamplight, for no one could crawl through the small space encompassed by the window's framing, and yet, once there, she flung open the shutters.
Then with many a desperate flap and flutter, in there flew a disheveled Raven, a refugee from the hill 'nigh Erebor. Not a moment stopped nor stayed he, (narrowly missing her face as she recoiled from his flailing wings), whilst he struggled to maintain his flight 'cross the cabin's floor. The bird barely managed to perch atop a coat peg on the wall beside her door. Then he sat with bugging eyes and heaving breast, trying to regain his breath.
Helluin marked that the Raven was of great age, his plumage shabby and poorly served by what must have been an epic flight. He worked hard to preen and smooth his feathers back into place. The Noldo regarded him with pity and moved to fill a cup with water and a dish with meat scraps and gruel. What a ghastly grim and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore, she thought, and then looked him in the eyes and asked, Pray tell me what thy lordly name is, O émigré from Erebor.
Quoth the Raven, Umnanu Thrór². ²(Umnanu Thrór, Messenger of Thrór = umnan(messenger) + u(of) + Thrór Neo-Khuzdul)
Having answered her query, the creature then went beak first into the cup and the dish, taking food and drink with ravenous gusto. Helluin watched in silence, biding her time, for if this Raven was truly a messenger from King Thrór, he would have a rede to say once he had regained his strength. In the meantime, she recalled the then young king who had conferred upon her the epithet Bazgûna Sulûkhu, more oft contracted to Bazgûnsulûkhu, in 2595.
The clatter of the cup crashing onto the floor drew the Noldo's attention. It seemed that in pursuing the last drops of water, the Raven had beaked the cup o'er the edge of the table. It gave her a look of chagrin, and then drew itself up with the most serious mien it could muster.
I pray that though the fare be poor, thou hast recovered a measure of thy strength, O Umnanu Thrór, the Noldo silently told the Raven eye to eye. He bobbed his head 'aye'. Then, messenger that thou art, I would hear thy rede, for many are the miles and long 'twixt the Lonely Mountain and Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Again, the Raven bobbed his head 'aye', yet rather than offer words of urgency; he spoke a poem, thankfully in silence, for the singing voices of Ravens are not melodic.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.
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The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
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For ancient king and elvish lord,
There many a gleaming golden hoard,
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught,
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
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On silver necklaces they strung,
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung,
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire,
They meshed the light of moon and sun.
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The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.
xxxxxx
The bells were ringing in the dale,
And men looked up with faces pale,
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire,
Laid low their towers and houses frail.
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The mountain smoked beneath the moon,
The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom,
They fled their hall to dying fall,
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
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Silent stand their halls now, deathly still,
Emptied of all he did not kill,
Houseless wander the king and prince,
Of gold and gems, Smaug hoards his fill.
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The trees like torches blazed so bright,
Whilst dwarves and men were slain in flight,
Now all the northland quails in dread,
Another home they lost that night.²
The House of Durin is dispossessed yet again, O Bazgûnsulûkhu who knew Khazad-dûm and the kings of old. My Lord Thrór asks, Whyfor came not the Fëanicse to battle Smaug? Now the Arkenstone is lost amidst the Dragon's treasury. The Raven fell silent and regarded Helluin from one eye and then the other. For her part, the Noldo was shocked to silence.
It took her some time to digest all that the messenger had said. The very same Urulókë that the Fëanicse had defeated o'er a sheep in 2595 had grown bold. A hundred and seventy-five years had passed whilst the temptation of the Lonely Mountain's burgeoning treasure had become irresistible, and so Smaug had sown destruction in Erebor and Dale. And after driving out the Nogothrim, he had occupied their mansions and in their halls, gathered their treasure into a golden bed whereupon he would sleep to increase the richness of his bejeweled armor. With the vast wealth of King Thrór, it might be some years ere Smaug had arranged it to his liking.
Of the Fëanicse, Helluin could only recall what the creature itself had claimed. I am the Uruš Iniðil and the Fëanicse, quencher of Dragons. I am the manifestation of balance 'twixt bright frost and intemperate flame. In the war to come, I shall close the north against the Withered Heath. My enemies of old linger there, the last of those defeated in the Great War. Yet for now, I return with thee to Erebor. And in Erebor it had come to pass that within the Arkenstone, I shall abide 'til the resumption of the long war and herein shall my spirit be housed to wait upon the time. One further clue to her purpose the creature had revealed.
I am a soldier with a mission, the Fëanicse had claimed, and as a soldier, she would not betray her position for lesser cause. The coming of Smaug was not the opening of a war with Sauron. 'Twas the exercise of opportunistic greed for personal gain rather than part of a greater campaign on the orders of a greater master. The Uruš Iniðil had ne'er claimed to be a defender of Erebor and her mission had ne'er included safeguarding treasure. Indeed, with the Arkenstone now part of a Dragon's hoard, the Fëanicse could not be safer or her existence better camouflaged.
Sorrow for King Thrór and the sons of Durin, Helluin said to the Raven. The Fëanicse comes from the time of the War of Wrath long ago and waits to continue that great battle against the Shadow. She believes, as I believe, that one day, Sauron will arise and call the Dragons of the Withered Heath to his cause. Only on that day, shall the Fëanicse reveal herself and join the fight.
But could not Smaug's attack be the first act in a great jeopardy fomented by the Abhorred? the Raven asked.
T'would seem that the Fëanicse does not believe it so, Helluin said, and I have my doubts. In Mordor, the Barad-dûr is not rebuilt, his many allies have not mustered in the Back Land, and his Ring remains unfound. Nay, though Sauron may revel in Smaug's attack on Erebor, he yet bides his time and works foremost to undo the South Kingdom of Men.
To this, the Raven bobbed his head in reluctant agreement. Alas then for the House of Durin, bereft of realm and royalty and doomed to wander 'til some fate unseen lays the Dragon low.
Pray tell me all thou can of this Dragon, Smaug, Helluin asked Umnanu Thrór.
The ancient Raven then provided an account of the coming of the Urulókë and the horror of his attack. He spoke of how the wind of his wings was as a great storm blasting 'cross the flatlands to crash like a flood tide against the slopes of the Lonely Mountain.
Seventy-five fathoms his body's length, half tail, and a hundred fathoms his wingspan, Umnanu Thrór said, armored in scales ruddy as copper by firelight, he was. Encrusted in gold and jewels was his underbelly. Claws the size of horse carts tipped each toe, and his eyes gleamed cold as gems and cruel with malice.
The wyrm perched atop the Lonely Mountain and announced himself with a great gout of flame that erupted high into the sky. Then he launched himself and took wing. With his fire, he burnt the wooded slopes of Erebor and consumed the flatlands in a conflagration the likes of which none had imagined aforetime. The stream that runs before the mountain's gate exploded into a roiling bank of fog and steam, and out of it glided the Dragon, an airborne specter of horror.
Smaug laid the city of Dale to ruin on his first approach, washing its walls and rooves with fire despite the gallant defense of Lord Girion's Men. Their arrows were for 'naught and their alarm bells tolled on in the fire-wind after, as for a funeral. The people fled, o'erborne by their terror, after seeing that none could withstand the Dragon's onslaught. Slain, all slain were the warriors of Girion's house, though in days after, we learnt that his wife and children had escaped down the River Running.
After crushing all his foes, the Dragon crept through the ruined gates of Erebor, the Raven continued. Inside Thrór's halls, he routed or slew any who remained, ate their bodies, and then he rested.
On Raven Hill we had retreated to a bathing puddle, and there splashed and flung up the waters to drench ourselves and relieve the heat. Despair fluttered amongst us and yet we rejoiced when Thrór and his heir Prince Thráin II came down from the heights, desperate but unscathed. The king's grandson Thorin II survived as well, having been afield on errantry during the attack.
Now the king and his people wander, hopeless and homeless, whilst in their mansions, Smaug gloats o'er the treasure he stole. And his eyes have all the seeming of a devil's that is dreaming. And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor. And Thrór's heart from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, shall be lifted, ne'ermore!³
Umnanu Thrór fell silent, shaking his head in sorrow. Helluin remained silent in thought for a time as well.
Seventy-five fathoms in body length and a wingspan of a hundred fathoms, Helluin thought, four hundred fifty feet long, with wings six hundred feet across…far, far bigger than he was in 2595 when he quickened the Fëanicse with his fire. How did he get so much bigger in one hundred seventy-five years?
"Newly hatched dragons are about the size of a lynx or hound, weighing a couple stone. They will eat meat 'til gorged, as much as they can get, and are totally indiscriminate about their diet. The more they are fed, the faster they grow," Helluin remembered Aiwendil saying. "After a couple decades, dragons begin to develop wings if they are to have them. Around that same age, they begin to spit fire if they are to become firedrakes. By that time, they would be somewhat larger than the largest draft horse."
In 2595, Smaug had been roughly twice the size of the Fëanicse. At that time, the 'most wonderful bird' had stood about eight feet tall with a wingspan of thirty-six feet and a weight of one hundred forty pounds. Unlike the Dragon, a part of the bird's wingspan had been the length of its primary flight feathers, not actual skin and bone. So a best guess might have assigned Smaug a length of sixteen to twenty feet and a wingspan of perhaps sixty, with a weight of three hundred pounds. And having acquired full use of both his wings and his fire-breathing, he had surely been many decades old by then. What had he been eating since?
Prey animals had not been abundant on the Withered Heath and any wholesale predation on Men or Dwarves would have quickly become known. "They will eat meat 'til gorged, as much as they can get, and are totally indiscriminate about their diet." In light of what Aiwendil had claimed, Helluin realized that there was only one viable source of so much meat. Smaug had almost certainly begun hunting and cannibalizing other Dragons!
That he had gone from a prior wingspan to body length ratio of three to one to his current ratio of four to three could be explained by the increase in wing area rather than simple wingspan. Six-hundred-foot wings were sufficient to allow a four-hundred-and-fifty-foot-long Dragon to fly, especially if half his body length was tail.
Helluin nodded to herself, understanding more about Smaug's tale since she had last seen him. Could he be opposed or slain? Aye, anyone could, but would that be the best outcome when he was already doomed? When Sauron opened his war, when it really mattered, the Fëanicse would destroy him. In the meantime, the Arkenstone was safe, she was safely hidden within it, and he had likely already done so much damage as he could in Erebor and Dale. Now, having won his great hoard, he would be loath to leave it even for a day.
Alas for King Thrór and his heirs. He would certainly not share Helluin's reasoning, or easily accept her conclusions. For the second time in an Age, his line had been driven from a home they had labored long to establish, and had been robbed of wealth they had labored long to win. For the Nogothrim, the losses of Khazad-dûm and Erebor represented a repudiation of their way of life, of their very nature, and to lose those mansions by violence to foes they could not vanquish would enflame their warrior hearts 'til those injustices were redressed.
Though long-lived for mortals, they had not the lifespans to embrace the longer view of enduring the current wrong in hope of prevailing on some future day when Sauron would come against all free peoples with war. They had not the years, nor was it in their nature, to resist the resentment and craving for revenge that such ill treatment deserved. Helluin wondered if her decision not to act against Smaug would jeopardize their friendship and the thousands of years that she had been a trusted ally of the House of Durin.
Umnanu Thrór took his leave the following morn, intent on delivering Helluin's reply to Thrór. He disappeared, beating north with strong strokes of his wings. Then for a while, no more did Helluin learn of the Dwarves.
In the year 2771, Ælfwine retired as commander of the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, having served as captain for a score and ten years. The son of Æfæst was then three score and six years of age, and though still fell, favored the promotion of his son to his post. At the age of thirty-six, Mearcweard⁴ son of Ælfwine had already trained as a Rider for a score and two years. ⁴(Mearcweard, Guardian of the Border Lands Old English)
"Well, Helluin, I feel the time has come," he said one night after a farm council had adjourned. "I have seen war and peace and fought many battles…for a mortal." They had shared a chuckle at that. "I think that when war comes again, a younger captain should lead our Riders."
"Thy son has been thy lieutenant for six years and the Men love him," she said, having expected this turn for a while. "And he hath thee to offer him counsel should he need it."
"Aye, and I favor him for captain," Ælfwine said. "I have trained him to lead, just as my father trained me."
"I cannot foresee any opposing him. Thy line has led the Riders since 2478 when thy foresire Eadmundr, the once stone wright of Helrunahlæw, begged training as a warrior of the Éothéod."
"I shall call a muster and make the announcement in the morn," he said and Helluin nodded in agreement.
"I thank thee for thy years of service to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý and two kings of the Eorlingas, my friend."
"Three kings," he corrected. He had already been a Rider for eighteen years when Helm had succeeded his father Gram King to the throne in 2741.
In 2784, two of the Noldor of Imladris rode into Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. They were the finest equipped knights the Men and Tatyar had e'er seen. They watched as Helluin came from her cabin having sensed their approach, and then they saw her bow to them as a commoner to lords. A tide of whispers rose as spectators speculated on their presence.
Dark haired and pale skinned they were, and bright eyed as if the light of stars was captured in their glance. Shapely bows of pale wood they bore and quivers of white arrows. Jewels of green, blue, and red were set on the pommels of their swords whilst gold and gems were inlaid 'round the throats of their scabbards. Upon their polished shields were scribed runes of power, and their tall helms bore filigrees of mithril and gold. Hauberks of bright mail showed 'neath black surcoats, with matching greaves and bracers of darkened leather. Upon the escutcheons of their horses' chanfrons and on the silver-grey cloaks o'er their shoulders were worked in enamel or embroidery the black diamond lozenge bearing a white, six-pointed star within a circle of blue, Gil-Estel, the heraldry of the House of Eärendil, for these were his grandsons.
"My Lords Elladan and Elrohir, Anor shines in blessing upon our meeting," Helluin said. "Pray be welcome to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý."
The two dismounted with unnatural grace, their boots raising neither sound nor dust upon landing. They stood equally straight and tall. Then they bowed, smiles shaping their lips.
"Suilaid vín, Helluin," and "Mae govannen, Helluin," they said, their voices as identical in tone as their faces were in shape and expression. "Our adar sends his greetings and best wishes."
"I pray your father and sister are well," she said and received nods 'aye' in confirmation. "How pass the days in Imladris?"
"As they e'er have for the most part," Elrohir said.
"We maintain our vigilance on the High Pass, and with the Rangers, the Coldfells as well. Some parties of Yrch we have slain, a few more each year, and the occasional mountain troll," Elladan said.
"Of late, we have even met a few of the Nogothrim. And we shelter and educate our guests from the North Kingdom," Elrohir added.
"For which cause we have come to share tidings, meldis nín," Elladan finished. He cast a swift glance at the people gathered 'round them and then raised a brow to Helluin in question.
"Pray join me in my cabin, mellyn nín, and allow me to offer ye some refreshment after your ride," she said, reckoning their tidings were not for all ears. To this, they nodded 'aye' in agreement and followed her from the increasingly crowded yard.
"I know not how close thou hold the lore of the Heirs of Isildur, Helluin, but we would rather err on the side of prudence in this," Elrohir said.
"The folk of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý have little knowledge and less concern with doings in the west. Of the mortals, I reckon but a few recall 'aught of the North Kingdom. Of the Elves, that lore is probably even less known for they came from the east and their people have ne'er had dealings in Eriador. Still, I agree," Helluin said. "Those who know 'naught should learn 'naught if it hath no bearing upon them. Ignorance is akin to bliss, 'tis said."
The twins nodded in agreement. Here at least, the intention of Aranarth for Arthedain to disappear had held. The three of them would aid their old friend by maintaining the ignorance of the people east of the Hithaeglir.
"This spring past, Chieftain Arassuil gave up his life at the age of seven score and sixteen," Elladan said.
"And his son Arathorn succeeded him as the twelveth chieftain," Elrohir added.
"He counts four score and eleven years and hath a young son Argonui to follow him, currently a score and seven years of age," Elladan finished.
Helluin nodded, accepting their tidings. She did not know Arathorn. She had not known Arassuil, or his father Arahad II. Indeed, it had been long since she had last met one of the chieftains. Still, it seemed that the continuity of the House of Isildur was likely for another two generations.
"I shall hope he leads his people for many long years," she said.
"As do we, meldis nín," Elrohir said.
After a pause to consider what had already been said, Helluin asked, "Pray speak to me of these Dwarves ye have recently seen."
"Late in the year 2770, a small party of craftsmen came o'er the High Pass," Elladan began.
"Very hardy for mortals they were, to chance the crossing in the dead of winter just ere Mettarë," Elrohir said.
"Grim was their plight when they staggered down the east wall where our patrol found them. They were given food and shelter through the winter and continued on south into Eregion in spring," Elladan said. "They made for Dunland to join others who had gone south by way of Caradhras, or the Gap of Rohan, despite disfavoring that way. To this day, they count not the sons of Fram as friends."
"Nay, they would not," Helluin mused, for the disputed hoard of Scatha and Fram's death still lay 'twixt those peoples.
"Adar spent long in council with them and offered them raiment and rations to continue their journey," Elrohir said. "They were loath to accept charity even in their time of privation, so he asked them to accept all we gave as fee for their aid in forging wagon fittings, farm implements, and others sundries for our Dúnedain friends. This they readily agreed to."
"Though they were little impressed with our forge," Elladan recalled with a chuckle.
"Poor ores and poorer coal," Elrohir said, affecting the deep voice of a complaining Dwarf muttering to himself through his beard. "They did brilliant work though, even on the most mundane pieces, and eventually suggested some improvements."
"Came they from Erebor?" Helluin asked, lest the twins become sidetracked in their recollections.
"Aye, they did, and a dark tale they told," Elladan said. "'Twas grievous to see the fear that still clung to them as they spoke of it, those stouthearted and resilient wrights."
"Yet none of us save Lord Glorfindel and those from Gondolin have faced Dragon fire or survived such an attack, and so we could but offer our sympathies…respectfully," said Elrohir.
Helluin nodded to this for she had offered even less comfort after the Raven's appearance.
"Met ye the Lord Aiwendil on your ride south?" she asked.
"Nay, we did not," Elladan said with a questioning expression. "Our tidings were for thee, Helluin. Whyfor would we stop at Rhosgobel?"
Helluin simply nodded, but declined to elaborate. Indeed, some lore was not for all ears.
The twins took their leave the following morn, intending to cross Anduin and ride south to visit their grandparents ere returning north to the High Pass and Imladris. Thereafter, six more years passed with little of remark.
'Twas just past Yestarë on another midnight dark and dreary when Helluin was startled from some records she was reviewing by the sudden appearance of Princess Artanis as she walked straight through her cabin door. She choked and whipped 'round to face the apparition ere relaxing. 'Twas the very start of T.A. 2791.
The Lady of the Golden Wood was obviously an astral projection, for she faced the dark Noldo with her upper body appearing above the tabletop and her legs and lower torso 'neath it.
"Helluin…" she began, but the Noldo stopped her ere she could continue further.
"Ere we begin, Artanis, I pray thee take a couple steps to thy side. Thine appearance, bisected thus by my furnishings, I find viscerally upsetting," Helluin said. "I know not why."
The lady took a careful look at the circumstances of her presence, cackled at her inadvertent superimposition, and then stepped aside so that she faced Helluin whilst standing wholly visible in the free space before the hearth.
"I thank thee," the Noldo said, dipping her head in appreciation of the princess' indulgence. "'Tis good to see thee, meldis nín. I pray thee, say on."
"For my part, I apologize for my unbidden appearance, Helluin. Alas, I could not knock."
"Trouble thyself not, my dear friend. I am sure it could happen to anyone." That assertion, of course, was absurd, yet they both accepted it without further comment.
"I bear tidings of ill-fate borne by some thou knew well upon a time," Galadriel said. "Thine old friend King Thrór has been murdered."
Helluin's eyes widened in shock and she sputtered, "How?", "Who?", "Where?", "When?"
"Decapitated by the Orch Azog in Nanduhirion during Ivanneth last," Galadriel said.
"But…whyfor was he in Nanduhirion?" Helluin said, incredulous. "Whyfor would he venture so close 'nigh Moria?"
The lady sighed and said, "In the night, a great outpouring of grief I felt as I stood in Caras Galadhon, so strong as to leave me reeling and nauseous, and I projected my senses, seeking its source. 'Nigh the East Gate of Moria I found a single Dwarf named Nár, huddled despondent in sorrow and tearfully clutching a small purse of coins. At the gate, a company of Yrch hacked at something on the ground. By probing this Nár's mind, I learnt that 'twas the body of his king. I learnt much else besides."
Then Helluin sat silent, shaking her head in sorrow. The young king she had known in 2595 had met a tragic end, but still she wondered, why had he gone to Moria? This, Galadriel clearly perceived.
"From Nár's mind I learnt that Thrór had been gravely wounded in spirit by the loss of Erebor. As the years passed in deprivation and profitless toil, his rage turned to sorrow and finally to despair. Towards the end, his judgment failed and he was given to fantasies. He convinced himself that 'twas possible to recover Moria with all its wealth. He dissembled of his destination and against the counsel of his family and advisors, went forth with only Nár at his side.
Perhaps in his madness he was granted safe conduct to Nanduhirion and the East Gate. They came o'er the Redhorn Pass and down the Dimrill Stair. There in Azanulbizar lay placid Kheled-zâram and he saw Durin's crown grace his own reflection, (as do all who look thither). Taking it for a sign and seeing none to oppose him, Thrór felt confident that his hopes would come true. He entered. Nár remained outside. Several days passed and Nár dared hope, but then there came harsh cries and the braying of a horn. A body was flung from the east gate, out onto the steps, and even from a distance, Nár could see that it had been ill-treated.
Wary, Nár came 'nigh the body, but the Yrch taunted him from within the gate, and he saw they had hewn Thrór's neck. Upon his brow was branded a name, AZOG, the Orch chieftain who claimed to be master of Moria.
Then Azog reviled Thrór as a thief and a beggar, and he belittled Nár who was to serve him as messenger. When Nár tried to recover Thrór's head, he was refused and instead a small purse of coins was thrown at him to be his fee. Then the Yrch came forth and he was forced to flee. The Yrch hacked Thrór's body beyond recognition. By the woe that burst from Nár, I found him, and so learnt Thrór's fate. Since then, he hath returned to Dunland and reported these doings to Thráin II, and now their people seethe for revenge."
Fifty leagues southwest in Caras Galadhon 'cross Anduin, Galadriel's eyelids snapped shut by reflex at the blast of Light that came with Helluin's wrath. Flames of blue battle fire blazed from her eyes. In Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, flaring beams blending silver and gold blazed from the windows of Helluin's cabin, casting noon-bright highlights on the walls of the surrounding buildings.
"I thank thee for thy tidings, meldis ifant nín," Helluin told the astral projection, her voice cold as any Nazgûl's. "It starts again in the south."
Shortly later, she strode from her cabin girt with her weapons and draped in a tattered black cloak. In the yard 'neath the apple trees, she whistled three notes, the call of Oromë's horn.
If there had been any doubts in her mind of their nature, they were put to rest when the same Mórheleth⁴ she had met in Cerveth of 2509 appeared several minutes later. Two hundred and eighty-two years had passed since she had ridden to save Celebrían. To the black mare, Helluin bowed. ⁴(Mórheleth, Black Coat = mór(black) + heleth(coat of fur) Sindarin)
Well met, Dúrochil. Dire is my need of haste. There is vengeance to take.
So be it, Ælf Helluin. Whither then?
Methedras.
Helluin mounted and Dúrochil exploded down the trail beside the river, bound for the north south track and the North Undeep. By dawn, they had passed the mouth of Celebrant on Anduin, fifty leagues. By the next dawn, the Entwade drew 'nigh, five hundred and forty miles from the farm. In the West Emnet that afternoon, a company of Rohirrim tried to give chase. The contest was not even close. As the sun sank to dusk the second day, Helluin saw the hamlet where Eadric's people farmed the land south of Angrenost. Seven hundred and forty miles had gone 'neath the Mórheleth's hooves in forty-two hours.
It had fallen to the astral projection of the Lady Artanis to inform Captain Mearcweard that the mistress of the farm rode alone to Methedras, to begin emptying the Hithaeglir of Yrch. The Man had barely contained his anxiety in the situation for 'twas simply too strange.
"Methedras? Know thou when she shall return?" he asked, trying to keep his wits about him as a cow walked straight through the phantasm of the Elvish princess.
"Nay, I know not for sure, good captain, save that aforetime when she slew all the Yrch in the southern half of the Misty Mountains, she spent a hundred and twenty-four years at it ere she was recalled to Imladris."
The Man nodded, barely able to conceive of two full lifetimes at war without a pause…alone in dens of Yrch.
"Fear not, Captain Mearcweard," Galadriel said brightly. "She slew sixteen thousands then and is even more fell now. Perhaps thou shalt yet see her again."
He gaped at her. "Sixteen thousands…?" But the Lady of the Golden Wood grew faint and then vanished before his eyes.
¹(En Auth i-Nogothrim a i-Nglamhoth, The War of the Dwarves and the Orcs = en(the, sing.) + auth(war) + in(the, pl.) + Nogothrim(Dwarf-folk) + a(and) + in(the, pl.) + Glamhoth(Din Horde aka Orc-kind) Sindarin)
²(Most verses are from "Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold", lyrics by JRR Tolkien, from "The Hobbit", Chapter I, "An Unexpected Party", pgs. 14-16. Performed by Thorin Oakenshield and company in Bag End in the movie "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey". The final two verses were composed by this author.)
³(Obviously, some of the rhyming prose in this chapter was purloined from Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven", without permission or intention of profiteering.)
To Be Continued
Artalicous: Glad to see that you're back reading, my friend. As always, thanks for your reviews. They're greatly appreciated.
Chapter 310: The animals Helluin interacts with are often a source of comic relief because the Elves, Men, Dwarves, etc. are often grim. The horses, mule, wolves, cats, dogs, chickens, cows, and birds tend to be simple, straightforward, and emote without dissembling. What you read is pretty much how they are IMHO. If at times their reasoning seems a bit bizarre, I try to make their thinking logical from their point of view.
Helluin and Heorte traveling to Súthburg is to balance the story with canon. Fréaláf is said to have taken refuge in Dunharrow after the fall of Edoras, and that made no sense to me. Why was he at Edoras? He was the son and heir of Helm's sister and her husband. Because of the lack of canon details, I made Hild's unnamed husband, (Eadmundr), Second Marshal and Lord of Súthburg. He defended the Westfold for his king, Helm. So, Fréaláf should have been in Súthburg with his father and mother, while canon says that Helm's heir, Prince Haleth, died defending Edoras. As it seemed logical to me that the prince also be Third Marshal, and therefore Lord of Aldburg, he had reason to be in Edoras, (entrusted with the defense of the capital while Helm rode west to aid his brother-in-law Eadmundr), along with his unnamed sister, (Heorte in this story).
Once I had Fréaláf in Dunharrow, (so that he could retake Edoras and kill Wulf as canon says), and had killed off Haleth and Háma, (as canon specified), I was left with Heorte wanting to go west to try to save her father from his (perceived) madness. With her went her Shieldmaiden Agrona, and Helluin who also wanted to aid Helm, but not by stopping him. She favored his tactics and went to aid him as an ally in battle.
Chapter 311: You have no idea how much I have to read back through previous chapters to maintain continuity of action or to find details and dialog for Helluin's memories. The longer the story goes on, the more careful I have to be.
Chapter 316: You have my sincere thanks for your praise. Believe me, it is very encouraging. As this story finally moves towards completion, it's good to know that some readers are engaged and enjoying Helluin's journey, especially when they are also writers. And, while I know that I've made good strides in improving my craft, it's nice to hear it from someone else once in a while.
I intended Eadmundr as a conscientious supporting character. Being as he is never named in canon, his actions cannot be so great as to demand a place in history. The Second Marshal is dedicated to his king and country, yet he is saddled with having been defeated at the Fords of Isen when Wulf first attacked. Also, he has seen both of Helm's sons fall in the war, and where Helm had three children, he has only one.
In this adventure in Rohan, Helluin is also more of a supporting character than the star, aiding Helm, Eadmundr, Haleth, Fréaláf, and Eadric as much with counsel as with her battle prowess. She also becomes involved in a couple side-dramas that have nothing to do with the war. At the end of the chapter, we see how her intentions are going to unravel in the future since we know the canon events to come.
After chapter 317, (and maybe 318), I'll be going into time periods for which I already have chapters at least partially written. These will be tangent to the events we know best, being those that JRRT elaborated on most thoroughly in 'The Hobbit' and 'The Lord of the Rings'. I have no intention of Helluin becoming a 10th walker or a factor in the Fellowship. Canon history does not change, but there is plenty of wide-open space for her to be very active. There are also some vague aspects of canon to be explored. Stay tuned!
