In An Age Before – Part 318

Having arrived in the center of the hamlet at dusk on 2 Narwain of 2791, the fields were deserted, and though this midwinter was far less severe than the Long Winter when Helluin had last been in Rohan, none of Eadric's folk were to be seen outdoors. Yet lights graced the windows of homes and smoke curled from chimneys as families warmed themselves and enjoyed their evening meals. It seemed that the people had done well in the decades since the war.

The count of buildings had obviously risen. Helluin surveyed the hamlet but realized that she had no idea which home Eadric called his own, or if he even still lived. Thirty-two years had come and gone since she had last stood in his field and introduced him to Second Marshal Eadmundr. At least all seemed at peace. She sighed and dismounted, turning to the Mórheleth.

"My thanks, Dúrochil. Swift and tireless thou art and ne'er aforetime have I ridden so far so fast," she said aloud. The black mare shook out her mane and met Helluin's eyes.

We are still a league south of the walls of Angrenost and Methedras lies some leagues beyond, Ælf Helluin. Shall we continue on, or shalt thou tarry?

I should warn these folks that Orcs may flee hither and to be ware. I can continue after afoot.

Then I shall wish thee victory in thy vengeance. This is a fine land…good for horses and Men too. I shall hope no Orcs plague it with their evil. Fare well 'til next we meet.

Fare well to thee and safe travels, Dúrochil. Again, thou hast my thanks. Helluin offered the black mare a bow in parting and received a dip of her head in return. Then the Mórheleth turned east, sniffed the air, and took her leave. Soon, the sound of her hooves had faded in the distance.

The Noldo cast a glance 'round the hamlet. Each house was individual in its construction but none was grander than the rest. It seemed that, as on her farm, they had no lords and all were commoners here.

When no inspiration came to her, the Noldo doffed her cloak in hope of not being mistaken of one of Sauron's Nine and let flare her Light, illuminating those buildings that faced her as if day had returned. Predictably, this drew attention and soon, people began to peek from their windows and stare out from doors cracked open. Their whispers of witchcraft came to her ears, but she moved not and their curiosity grew. Finally, some few Men took up their arms and came from their homes to investigate. Seeing them, Helluin reduced the glare of her ril 'til she remained but scantly illuminated.

"I pray ye, does Eadric son of Ogden or any of those once returned from Aldburg during the war yet dwell hither?" she called out. Then for a while, the Men looked to her and muttered to each other 'til finally one bid them stay and came forward alone.

"My fæder yet tills his fields, aye, but who art thou an' whyfor dost thou seek him?"

"I am Helluin, an Ælf from the farm of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. He was known to me upon a time. I introduced him to Eadmundr, the Second Marshal and Lord of Helm's Deep in the spring of 2759 after the war."

The Man nodded and after a moment for consideration said, "I'm Borden son o' Eadric an' I've heard tell o' thee. Pray wait a moment an' I'll ask my sire if he'll greet thee."

After receiving a nod from Helluin, Borden strode back to the house whence he had come and closed the door. The Noldo marked the faces of two children peering out through a window at her and she waved to them. The elder, a daughter of perhaps five years, nervously waved back. When a few minutes had passed and the other Men had begun to shiver in the cold, the door reopened and Borden came forth with an older Man. He still stood straight, but now his hair bore grey at the crown and temples. And yet, he was familiar to her and her to him.

"Helluin, my ol' friend," he called out as he came 'nigh, "'Tis a wonder to see thee again."

"Eadric, it gladdens my heart to find thee well," she said and they clasped forearms in greeting.

Borden came up beside his father and said, "Thou recognize her fæder? 'Tis truly she?"

The once lieutenant turned and told his son, "Aye, an' she's not changed a whit that I can see. 'Nigh a score an' twelve have passed since I last bid her farewell an' she's not aged a day."

"I bring thee tidings and a warning, my friend," Helluin said, and both Men hearkened, serious now. "In autumn last, a king of the Dwarves was murdered by Orcs at Moria. His folk have learnt of it, and if I know 'aught of their kind, they shall seek to avenge him. They shall slay any Orc they find and drive those who flee before them. I reckon some may try to escape their wrath, and some of these may pass 'nigh to escape the mountains."

"Orcs? Here?" Borden asked in horrified disbelief. He was too young to have faced them aforetime.

"Aye, it may come to that, though I cannot say for sure or when," Helluin said. "I go now to Methedras as I did in the time of thine eald fæder and eald módor, Borden, to slay any I find. When Methedras is emptied, I shall continue north to Moria."

"But is that not tempting fate, Helluin?" the younger Man asked. Yet the Noldo shook her head 'nay'. She had invaded Methedras twice aforetime and left it deserted.

"I cannot stay the Dwarves from their vengeance for they count their losses dear and too heated now is their blood, but I would spare ye if I can. I pray ye be ware and kill any that may come."

"Though I've ne'er met any Dwarves, I blame them not if these Orcs slew their king," Eadric said. "So, thou shalt go alone again into their strongholds as thou did aforetime. Is there 'aught we can do to aid thee?" Though she appreciated his offer, Helluin again shook her head 'nay'.

"Safeguard thy families and thy homes, my friend," Helluin said. "Forewarned is forearmed."

Eadric and his son nodded to her in grim agreement.

"We shall draw lots and post watches," Eadric said. "Alas that we have no walls."

"I wager stout hearts shall be more defense than walls, my friends. These are your lands and ye know them best. If the time allows, perhaps some training in an empty barn during the winter might also be of value," Helluin suggested. She saw the Men nod 'aye' to her suggestion and marked the grim set of their jaws as plans for the future began to occupy their minds.

"I wish thee safe an' well in battle, Helluin. I'm sorry the days have led to this," Eadric said.

"As am I, my friend. Pray spread the word. I go north."

She clasped forearms with Eadric and Borden in parting and then donned her black cloak and set off up the road towards Isengard. The gathered farmers watched her go. Soon, she was lost to their sight as the dark of night swallowed her up.

If I could not aid the Dwarves against Smaug, at least I may be able to aid these Men against the results of their wrath, the Noldo thought as she walked away. Thrór should still be King 'neath the Mountain. Then she stopped mid-stride as a horrible thought came to her. Did he bear his Ring, the last of the Seven, to Moria?


After taking her leave of Eadric and Borden's hamlet, Helluin made her way north to the precincts of Angrenost, yet when she came to the gate in the outer wall, she turned away and sought for the path into the highlands that wound up the western ridge. 'Twas the same trail she had followed on her first visit in 2713 whilst backtracking the party of Yrch who had assailed the farmers.

A second reason Helluin had for avoiding Isengard that night. Even ere she had reached the outer wall, which was also the north bound of Rohan, she had sensed the watchfulness in the tower. Orthanc was occupied now and its tenant was farsighted. The dark Noldo had no desire to be o'erseen, stayed, or questioned by the White Wizard for to indulge his curiosity.

Five leagues and a mile Helluin ascended in stealth from the road during the following day ere she came upon the lowest entrance to the Yrch warrens within Methedras. Amidst the boulders outside a dark door, she found a place of concealment where she could keep watch for the remainder of the day.

Despite the foul odor welling up from 'neath the ground and the litter of bones and scraps strewn 'round the door, Helluin saw 'naught of the occupants, but then she had not expected to find them venturing forth 'neath the sun. With nightfall of 3 Narwain, she invaded the mountain.

Helluin had last entered Methedras in 2713 and had taken her leave of it in 2725 after slaying Mikbork-sum, the last Orch. She knew not for how long it had remained deserted, but after an absence of three score and six years, she found it densely populated again.

Whereas Helluin had come aforetime in stealth, seeking to worst the Yrch and spread fear, now she came intent on slaughter. From years past, she knew the locations of the lairs and halls wherein her foes lurked; the map of their warren was clear in her memory. No longer did she haunt the tunnels in silence, seeking to ambush traveling parties. No longer did she act to diminish companies through attrition ere slaying the survivors and writing her slogans upon the walls in their blood. Now she boldly strode into chambers and confronted the occupants straightaway.

The Noldo soon discerned that there were some advantages to this approach. By appearing suddenly, a single warrior in black armor bearing a black sword and a Ring blade, the Yrch were slow and confused in their reactions. Some deemed her an easy foe to vanquish. Some mistook her black-cloaked form for a Nazgûl and cowered in fear. And some few recognized her weapons and fled the Ghâshgûl outright.

Without comment, Helluin would wade into their midst, slashing, lunging, and sending the Sarchram to flight 'cross their caverns to constrain them from retreat into further tunnels. As the Yrch either converged to meet her or cowered back, she chose the path that would bring them one after another within range of Anguirél's black steel.

'Twas ne'er any real contest. She had too many centuries of combat experience, and by her nature, she was too swift and assured to be daunted. Even their numbers availed them not, for there was always an available riposte, always a moment of vulnerability, and always a gap in their defense to be exploited. The Noldo hewed them unmercifully. One after another, her enemies fell, and this was but the exoteric martial art, the skills her foes understood but could not match. Yet Helluin had other weapons at her command.

Upon other occasions, Helluin would appear at a chamber entrance and flare with Light. Her tactic served to disorient the Yrch, but also to draw their attention. When she dimmed her ril and darkness again held sway, e'ery eye was upon her, and there by her will they were constrained. Enthralled thus, she usurped their control o'er their own bodies. Unable to flee, unable to offer combat, unable to draw a weapon, unable even to voice a curse, each felt their mind invaded and then a mercifully brief moment of pain as something precious within was crushed. They fell dead without a mark on them, leaving no clue as to how they died.

For centuries, Helluin had cultivated a growing understanding of the use of Ósanwe as a weapon. The ability to communicate mind to mind was inherent in all sentient beings, but more highly developed in those who are by nature unincarnate. These include foremost the Ainur. For those who are incarnate, the opening of the mind is easiest amongst the Elves for whom all manners of communication are highly developed. Language, song, and writing are esteemed by the Elves, and for those who became the Amanyar, those capacities became even more enhanced. The application of power through song is well documented in the First Age when the Noldor were most numerous on the Mortal Shores and where Songs of Power figure in many tales of the Elder Days.

'Tis also said that a mind may be closed to Ósanwe, either through ignorance or by an act of will. The Second Children are, by nature of being more closely bound to their hröar, less open and less attuned to such modes of communication. Helluin had found very few able to initiate the higher levels of contact and with most, she obtained their prior permission for the reception of her memories. Indeed, only a relative few of the most powerful amongst mortal Men were able to apply their will to share thoughts 'cross distances, even when using such potent focusing aids as the Palantíri.

Yet the closing of the mind to reject contact through an act of will implied free will, and not all incarnates could claim such. Amongst his most heinous acts as blasphemer and degrader, Melkor, furious at not being able to force his contacts on Elves or reluctant Men, bred his Uruks with profoundly diminished free will. Trained with fear, they were slaves to him, but also slaves to their own predispositions. They could act on their own initiative, but only within circumscribed avenues such as the exercise of cruelty, malice, self-service, and survival. They could resist well 'nigh 'naught thrust upon them by their masters, being easily cowed, daunted, and by nature, compliant to their authority.

By the same deficiencies bred into them in their first ruination, Morgoth and Sauron could command their Yrch without question, and Helluin could hold them thrall and destroy them. They had no longer any way to close their minds or resist a contact. With the vast disparity in personal will power 'twixt her and them, they were doomed.

When she had had occasion to treat thus with Men, 'twas usually that they had no inkling of what was happening and realized their peril only too late. And it may be said of some Men who had long worshipped the Gods of Darkness and Fire that they too had been conditioned¹. ¹(It should be noted that not of all the preceding information regarding Ósanwe is strictly canon compliant.)

So the count of the slain grew as the weeks and months passed. As on her first visit, she began at the bottom of the mountain and worked her way up, level by level, warren by warren, tribe by tribe, whilst in the back of her mind, counting the bodies and keeping a running tally. And at times she would ask the last one alive a single question, and ever she received the same reply.

"Whence came thee?"

"Pafundbûrz!¹"¹(Pafundbûrz, Black Chasm (aka Moria) = pafund(chasm) + bûrz(black) Orkish)

After half a year, when there had been no variation in response, she ceased bothering to ask.

They are all come from Moria, and whether deployed, deserted, or dismissed, they are by rights vassals of Azog. I wonder if this 'King of Moria' commands the allegiance of Kâpul Ulot, Gundabad, or Dol Guldur as well and if he serves the Dark Lord. Well, first, I shall reduce his legions and then I shall ask of 'his majesty'. And he shall answer me…he shall have no choice.

When Helluin had come to Methedras in 1973, she had spent but a season to slaughter every foe within. She had been seeking clues to Beinvír's disappearance whilst promoting terror of the Ghâshgûl, but the Yrch had been relatively few then, not even a couple thousands all told. Their numbers had still been recovering after the Great Plague and Angmar's failed invasion of Arthedain in 1851, whilst many more had been conscripted by the Witch King for his pending assault on Fornost. When she had returned in 2713, she had found a burgeoning population and had spent a dozen years to clear the mountain of its thirty-seven hundred occupants.

Sixty-six years had passed since then and Helluin had still expected the Yrch to be few after her last visit. Yet upon invading the first cavern, she had found the inhabitants plentiful and the population recovered far beyond their 2713 numbers. The Noldo was loath to spend another dozen years exterminating them. There was, after all, an entire mountain range waiting to the north.

'Twas with heightened urgency that Helluin prosecuted her campaign. Halls, tunnels, and caves she emptied at a frenzied pace. Neither on the disposal of the corpses nor on the writing of slogans in blood on walls did she spend her time. After a year, she could claim the lowest, most extensive two levels of Methedras cleared. At two thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-six, she placed her tally of the slain and the o'erpowering stench of a charnel house drifted up to the next level. She paid it no heed, so single-minded had she become.

By the summer of 2793, she had emptied all but the two uppermost levels that housed the smallest count of dens and the lowest populations of enemies. Five thousand, nine hundred, and forty-nine slain in two and one-half years, she had tallied. The five lower levels within Methedras lay strewn with corpses. The smell of corruption had become her constant companion and she barely marked it any longer. The scent of death preceded her and for the first time, the Yrch cowered at that familiar reek.

There was no way that she could know that in the outside world, the Gonnhirrim had united 'neath King Thráin II and would soon begin their war of revenge. For 'nigh three years after Thrór's murder they had mustered their host, and as the third year ended, they went to war. From the north, beginning with their ancient mansion 'neath Mt. Gundabad, they embattled and killed every Orc they could find. Twenty-two and a half thousands they slew there and at first, the rumor of their coming galvanized the Yrch. These banded together to meet their hereditary enemies, but having destroyed one of the largest warrens, the smaller caves and dens could not stand.

Most of the battles were fought deep 'neath the ground and the seasons stayed not the sacks and slaughters. The weathers of the world could not cool the raging fire in the hearts of the Dwarves, and in a host numbering 'nigh a hundred thousand, each fought like two as their battle-axes and war-hammers whistled through the dark. Cries of "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!¹" and "Idrifî izdnu sullu!²" rang down passages far from the sun. And ever the sons of Durin and their allied houses sought for Azog. Had she known, Helluin would have been immensely proud of them. ¹(Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!, Axes of the Dwarves! The axes of the Dwarves are upon you! Khuzdul) ²(Idrifî izdnu sullu!, Kill them all! = idrifî(kill, imp. pl.) + izdnu(them, masc. pl. pron.) + sullu(all, everything) Neo-Khuzdul)

In the early autumn of 2794, Helluin watched the last fifty-seven Yrch drop dead in silence in the uppermost den of Methedras and counted her labor there done. Three and one-half years, seven thousand, four hundred and seventy-nine slain, she thought. Now for a bath and then on to the next. Having found well 'nigh all their lairs aforetime, she knew just where to look.

Yet ere she could continue north, one practical consideration demanded the expense of her time. Helluin had no soap. With a groan, she set to work, for none of the saponin-bearing plants she knew, soapwort, clematis, horse chestnut, or bracken grew in the highlands. She was forced to render the belly fat of a lately slain Orch into lard by boiling it in water, then combining it with a leachate of ashes from her fire. The resulting lye soap was serviceable, if a bit disgusting to think about.

Alas, the Noldo found that the reek of decomposition had so thoroughly permeated the fabric of her cloak that it resisted all of her efforts to clean it. Despite spending most of an afternoon bathing and laundering, the stench remained with the persistence of a humiliating memory. She wound up leaving the befouled garment behind amidst the same boulders where she had once built Mikbork-sum's pyre.

During the following five years, Helluin made her way north through the Hithaeglir, emptying every Yrch lair and slaying every Uruk she found. In those years, no few fled north to Moria, seeking safety in numbers and bearing tidings of the return of the Ghâshgûl. There they found others who had fled south bearing tidings of the Dwarvish host slaughtering their folk with no less deadly results. These Yrch from the south and north bolstered Azog's numbers and he felt confident that his own host would be victorious, for when battle came, he would command the superior numbers and hold the high ground. Forewarned is forearmed, he probably thought.

Two hundred and forty miles as the Eagle flies lay 'twixt Methedras and Moria, but on winding mountain paths with many a detour, the Noldo's trail of slaughter encompassed half again that distance, one hundred and twenty leagues.

Most of the dens she had found aforetime when she had made her way south intent on learning 'aught she could of Beinvír's disappearance. Now, almost a thousand years later, she found well 'nigh all of those lairs repopulated as well as some more recently delved whose locations she added to her mental map. Lord Elrond would relish such a map, and perhaps when I am done, I shall proffer what I have learnt for the enrichment of his library, she thought as she stood on the threshold of a warren in which only the dead now lay.

Mid-Girithron of 2799 found Helluin walking the familiar trail above the Golden Wood of Lothlórien along the east face of the Misty Mountains. Cold blew the wind from the snow-capped peaks and flakes of white dusted the rocks. Gazing down on the canopy of mellyrn trees where the fugitive sparkle of Nimrodel's waters glinted by moonlight 'twixt their leaves brought her a sense of peace. The Noldo was two score miles south of Nanduhirion and she knew of no other warrens of Yrch so near to Moria.

Nine years, eighteen thousand, two hundred, and sixty-one slain, she made her tally, and now not a single Orch lives south of Moria. Ahhh, Khazad-dûm! How I recall thee in the long days of yore. Would that simply emptying thee of the Glamhoth could restore thy prior splendor. Alas, t'would seem such shall never be again. Azog, first thou shalt answer my questions, and then thou shalt die.

She paced onward up the trail through the night, tracing the bays and promontories as the path wound its way north towards the Dimrill Dale. O'erhead, clouds gathered and the moon and stars were obscured. Just ere dawn, a familiar voice came to her, disembodied and bearing urgent tidings.

Haste, Helluin! Eighty-four thousands bearing axes and a fulminating wrath come to assail Moria! There they shall be met by Azog commanding one hundred and twenty thousand Yrch, Wargs, and Warg riders.

Artanis! What of King Thráin?

He leads a host of several houses to avenge his father. They have scourged the mountains from the north. On the old road, another host from the Emyn Angren approaches. Our march wardens have met with them and now strengthen our border against any foes that would flee towards Anduin.

Then Moria stands alone, for no Orch lives to the south. Artanis, canst thou See the Seventh?

Aye, Helluin. It abides with Thráin.

Thank the Valar!

Then she was racing up the path towards Nanduhirion as fast as the conditions would allow. It still took her 'til 'nigh noon to round the last turn in the path so that she gazed down into the Dimrill Dale, yet for the past couple miles, the sounds of battle had come faint to her ears. Borne 'cross that distance, the clash of weapons and the war cries of Dwarves and Yrch broke the morn's stillness. 'Neath the gloomy overcast, Azanulbizar was awash with fighting.

Helluin saw that the battle went poorly for the Dwarvish host. Outnumbered, their charge uphill had been met and driven back with much slaughter. 'Twixt the East Gate and Kheled-zâram, the ground was littered with bodies of Yrch and Dwarves. The Noldo saw that whatever battle order had existed at the start had broken down so that now, combatants fought singly or in small groups as the lines of engagement shifted to and fro. In the melee, one company of a few dozen Dwarves held together, but pace by pace they were driven back from the open ground and into a small wood not far from the Mirror Mere, yet once there, they held their position and it seemed the Yrch were satisfied to have forced them from the battleground.

Even at first glance, the Noldo marked that the casualties had been grievous. Her best guess was that of the eighty-four thousand in Thráin's host, thirty thousand were already slain. Of the Yrch of Moria, perhaps a slightly greater count had fallen. 'Twas clear to see that attrition would decide the day, for now fifty-four thousand Dwarves faced 'nigh ninety thousand of the enemy.

Helluin descended the path into Nanduhirion and if any marked her coming, being but a single warrior, she was ignored. At the foot of the path, she drew Anguirél and the Sarchram and burst into a blazing ril of Light. Then many eyes were turned towards her and she heard cries both of "Ghâshgûl!" and of "Bazgûnsulûkhu!" rising from many throats.

The Dwarves took heart from her presence and assailed their foes with renewed vigor, whilst the lieutenants of Moria commanded their companies to slay her. Offered the best opportunity they would ever get to destroy one of their most fearsome foes, sixteen hundred Uruks and Warg riders broke off from the battle to charge her.

If thou call me friend and ally, then look away! Helluin sent those words silently into the minds of all who stared at her. Without understanding, but to honor an ancient friendship, the Dwarves turned their attention back to their foes. The charging Yrch and Warg riders focused their malice on their prey. They were crossing the ground to the foot of the path with all their speed.

The foremost Warg riders came within eight fathoms ere they tumbled in the grass. Then, in a swiftly expanding wave, those behind them fell, dead ere they struck the ground. Nineteen thousand, eight hundred, and sixty-one, Helluin thought ere she began searching for new foes.

Then from downhill came a great shout, and the cry, "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" rang out over the sounds of battle. The host from the Emyn Angren charged onto the field to relieve their lord's cousin King Thráin and now, the counts of both sides came to parity. The commander from the Iron Hills led his fighters to war, fresh and unfought, and they drove into the Orkish host with great slaughter. The Yrch seemed unable to resist their rage, and as they advanced, they screamed for Azog, chanting his name with venomous hatred as it were a curse bitter upon their tongues.

Helluin watched their progress, slaying only those who came against her. With their battle-axes, mattocks, and war-hammers, the warriors of the new host cut their way to the East Gate. There on the threshold, their leader taunted Azog and called him forth to battle.

Afterwards, Helluin would learn that the host from the Emyn Angren had been commanded by Náin son of Grór. She had met Prince Grór in Erebor, when Thrór's youngest brother had joined them in council. The brothers had felt the sorrow of loss and desired vengeance upon the Dragons for the deaths of their father, King Dáin, and their middle brother Prince Frór. During the first autumn of her stay 'neath the mountain, King Thrór had sent his brother to the Emyn Angren as titular lord, a position he had graduated to in fact with his majority. On the day of the Battle of Nanduhirion, Grór still held the lordship of the Iron Hills and would 'til 2805.

Náin she had never met. Grór had been only twenty-three when she had arrived at Erebor in the spring of 2589 and his son had been born in 2665, decades after Helluin had returned to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Yet on hearing the account of his death, she came to esteem him, for into the maw of Moria, he had shouted in challenge, "Azog! Come forth from this stony womb and hide not within! Or is the play in the valley to rough?¹" ¹(Quote paraphrased from LotR, Appendix A, III 'Durin's Folk', pg. 1049.)

Forth came Azog from the East Gate, for he could not appear weak before his vassals and his own pride constrained him. He was the King of Moria and an oath he had sworn to the Voice of Fire. So he came to meet his foe at the head of a company of bodyguards.

Azog stood Man high, over a head and a half taller than Náin. Lanky he was, yet wiry and strong, agile and quick. He looks like a scarecrow with a great pumpkin for a head, Helluin had thought upon seeing him from a distance, and I should like a glance at his skull and skeleton should they ever be cleaned and articulated for a cabinet of curiosities. She marked that his bodyguards were of the same physical type, as if bred together from the same curdled seed.

Indeed, Azog was deformed, even for an Orch. Perhaps he had been hydrocephalic, and that would have gone far in explaining the iron plates riveted upon his pate as if to hold his skull bones together. Yet from whatever reason came his aberrant appearance, he was cunning, cruel, and well versed in personal combat. He loomed over Náin, then gloated over him and offered derision.

"What? Another beggar at my doorstep? I shall brand thee too, little rat! ¹" ¹(Quote paraphrased from LotR, Appendix A, III 'Durin's Folk', pg. 1049.)

With that, the two principals fought as Náin's closest comrades engaged Azog's bodyguard.

Now whereas Náin had spent over an hour in the heat of battle just to win through to the door, Azog was fresh and unfought. Rather than bearing sorrow for the loss of a murdered king and the resentment of his humiliating treatment, Azog had enjoyed every moment spent slaying and mutilating Thrór and belittling Nár. With feints, bobbing, weaving, ducking, dodging, and sidestepping, the Orch allowed the Dwarf to spend his strength swinging his mattock in increasingly wild strokes as his frustration and rage grew. To encourage the further loss of Náin's composure, Azog spat on him, laughed at him, offered him an endless string of insults, and would have urinated on him had he gained the opportunity.

Enraged by the dishonorable and demeaning duel, Náin swung his mattock in a mighty stroke that would have broken Azog's spine, but the Orc spun away. The Prince of the Iron Hills had put his remaining strength into the attack, but 'twas for 'naught. Azog continued his spin and struck, kicking both of Náin's legs out from 'neath him. He struck the ground hard, face first, the haft of his mattock splintering against the rocks. Stunned, he probably never saw the Orc's vicious stroke that broke his neck.

Though Náin had worn a gorget of plate and mail that turned the Orc's sword, the sheer force of the blow crushed his cervical vertebrae. Azog was obliged to make a second cutting stroke to hew off his head. Then he reached down, wound his fist in the Dwarf's hair, and raised his prize. Azog looked Náin in his death-dimmed eyes and spat in his face, ere laughter erupted from his lips. He held the head up to display his victory, but his cry of celebration died on his lips.

About him, his guard lay slain and the surviving Dwarves looked well 'nigh feral. Further off in the valley, he marked that the battle had become a disaster. Ordered companies of Dwarves were running amok, slaughtering his Uruks and Wargs as they ran, their moral broken and their courage fled.

Even a dinky could see that the rout had begun. Orcs were fleeing down the old road into the further vale, whilst off to the west 'nigh the foot of the path leading south, one too tall to be a Dwarf spun and twisted, slaying with ease the dozens that surrounded her as they tried to escape the battlefield. Then a blast of Light exploded from her figure, blinding the Uruks and leaving them dazed before her merciless black sword. He shook his head in amazement and then bolted up the steps towards the East Gate.

"Oi! Where do you think you're going, cave filth?" a harsh voice cried out all too close behind as the clatter of iron-shod boots beat a tattoo on the steps. "You can't run and you can't hide!"

He had nearly made the door when pain exploded in Azog's ankles, and looking down as he fell, he saw that the pursuing Dwarf had hewn his feet from his legs. His body crashed onto the steps and then a grip like a smith's tong grasped his ankle and dragged him back to the base of the stair. He rolled onto his back and swiped at his attacker with his sword, but 'twas stripped from his hand with a sweep of a red-bladed labrys.

The Dwarf slammed the eye of the axe head down on his chest and Azog felt his sternum crack. The Dwarf graced him with a feral grin every bit as cruel as any Orch. A swift kick in the ribs with his steel-soled boot brought blood welling from Azog's lips as he choked and coughed. Then the Dwarf held out his hand and one of his companions set something in it.

"Would that I could brand you," he said, "maybe later. Alas, by then you shan't feel it. For now, I return something for you to choke on."

Then Azog saw in his short, thick hand the very same small purse of coins he had flung at Nár all those years afore and in spite of himself, he cackled. The Dwarf grabbed his jaw, crushing his teeth from the sides to force his mouth open, and into it, he stuffed the purse, deep to the back of his tongue where he could not spit it out. And choke on it he did 'til his eyes rolled up in his head. Just ere all his sight became black, the swift stroke of the red axe hewed his neck.

Now perhaps because he already stood 'nigh and the battle was won, or perhaps because he was young and thought no better of it, (for Dáin was then but thirty-two years of age), he gave in to the compulsion to gaze into the realm of Moria. Upon later reflection during his long life, he realized that the First Hall could have been filled with Yrch, with archers craving to shoot some Dwarf who revealed himself upon the Threshold, but at the time, that thought never crossed his mind. And so he strode up the stairs to the East Gate, whether courageous as some deemed him after, or fey as he later deemed himself, and stared into the halls of the most ancient father of his people. Just what he saw, he revealed to none, but gave urgent warning to any that asked.

The first to do so was none other than Thráin son of Thrór, the reigning King of the Longbeards. Though blinded in one eye and lamed of one foot by his battle wounds, he craved 'naught more than to take possession of Moria and restore its glory, so hard won with the blood of his people. When Dáin returned from the gate, his face grey with horror, Thráin was already waiting with the leaders of his allies' hosts.

"Good! We have the victory. Khazad-dûm is ours!" Thráin crowed the light of avarice in his one good eye. 'Twas understandable considering all that he and his kin had lost in Erebor, or perhaps 'twas his father's Ring.

But the related lords of the House of Durin stood before the king and said, "Durin's heir you may be, but even with one eye you should see clearer. This war we fought for vengeance and vengeance we have taken. But it is not sweet. If this is victory, then our hands are too small to hold it."

Even a quick glance 'cross the field revealed that the count of their people's warriors was halved. The battle was won, but the outcome had been so costly that in their hearts sorrow outweighed joy and they could not help but count this campaign's losses added atop the losses at Erebor. The crown of stars that those who looked had seen adorning their brows in the Mirrormere seemed a taunt.

Then the lords of the Broadbeams and the Firebeards of the Ered Luin, and the Ironfists and the Blacklocks of Rhûn said, "Khazad-dûm was not our fathers' realm. What is it to us if not a hope of treasure? But now if we must go without the rewards and the weregilds that are owed to us, the sooner we return to our own lands the better pleased we shall be." Then they wandered off to attend their own hosts, for their losses in the battle had been grievous and their houses were diminished.

Finally, Thráin turned to Dáin, and though he was now his grandfather's heir, he was still barely deemed an adult.

"Surely my own kin shall not desert me?" he asked.

"Nay," Dáin said. "You are the father of our people and they have bled for you, and they shall again. But we shall not enter Khazad-dûm. You shall not enter Khazad-dûm. Only I have looked through the shadow of the Gate. Beyond the shadow it waits for you still: Durin's Bane. The world must change and some other power than ours must come before Durin's Folk walk again in Durin's Halls.¹" ¹(The previous dialog is quoted mostly verbatim from LotR, Appendix A, III 'Durin's Folk', pgs. 1049-1050.)

Thráin accepted Dáin's counsel that day, but he cast a speculative glance to the west where the Bazgûnsulûkhu stood o'er a mountain of corpses cleaning her sword. Dáin and the warriors of the Ered Angren busied themselves setting Azog's head on a stake before the steps to the East Gate. Then like all the others, they tended their wounded and honored their dead.

Helluin was satisfied to have denied the fleeing Yrch passage south on the mountain path, but she had seen many fleeing east down the old Dwarf Road towards Anduin. Perhaps they would stay south of Nimrodel and make for the rough lands and the Field of Celebrant. There they might pass Fangorn Forest and enter the East Emnet of Rohan. If so, then they would have to be hunted down by Fréaláf's éoreds. But their first threat was to the Golden Wood and 'twas there, to aid Haldir and the other march wardens, that she intended to go.

As she was preparing to take her leave, a party of Dwarves approached. She knew them not, but recognized one as the warrior who had slain Azog…ere she had enjoyed the opportunity to question him. With a sigh at the delay, she awaited their arrival.

Now the Dwarves came on and they began to pass amidst the slain. Soon enough, warriors that they were, they marked that many of the dead Orcs bled not and bore no wounds. They rolled some over with their booted feet, making a battlefield examination, and a rising tide of muttered comments came to the Noldo's ears. Finally, they arrived before her and she marked how young Azog's killer was. As one, they bowed deeply to her and she returned their greeting.

"Well met, hardy warriors," she said in Khuzdul. "With great heart and prowess ye have won the day. I celebrate your victory."

After they paused a few moments in surprise, one greeted her, also in Khuzdul.

"Well met, O Bazgûnsulûkhu. I am Dáin son of Náin son of my lord Prince Grór of the Iron Hills. Alas, my sire fell to Azog ere he was slain in turn."

Now 'twas Helluin who paused a moment in surprise, and knowing the young Khazad now for royalty, she repeated her bow, but somewhat deeper.

"'Tis my honor to greet thee, Prince Dáin. My sorrow for the loss of thy father and thy great-uncle. I regret that this day's victory and the avenging of King Thrór upon yonder cretin are made bitter by so much loss of life," Helluin said, shaking her head. With a sigh, she continued, "I knew thy grandfather briefly ere he took up the lordship of the Iron Hills. 'Twas in Erebor, long ago. How fares he?"

"He counts eleven score and sixteen winters now. He is likely a bit slower and a bit fatter than when you last met, but he has still a full head of hair and beard…and his appetite," Dáin said with a grin that Helluin matched.

"Pray offer him my greetings when thou return home," she requested and he nodded 'aye'.

After marking the prompting looks from some his companions, Dáin asked, "Many of these Orcs died of no wounds we could see. How were they slain? Is it a skill we too might learn?"

Helluin thought that whilst she could explain killing by invasion of the mind, the notion that the Nogothrim, even more closely bound to their hröar than Men and even more set in their modes of thought, might acquire such a skill of the fëa left Helluin doubtful. And yet, she had learnt long ago from Durin VI that he had shared counsel with Beinvír through Ósanwe, so at least reception was possible.

"'Tis believed that all those who can count themselves apart from all others may communicate spirit to spirit. For those that are embodied, the eyes serve as a gateway to the spirit and so 'tis through the glance that two or more may speak in silence 'twixt themselves.

To kill without leaving a wound, I must first capture the other's glance and then bind their mind against withdrawal. That is probably the most difficult part, for those with a will may close their minds. I have found that those of weak will or bereft of choice may be constrained thus. Then 'tis but a matter of finding that spark of life that animates all the living and snuffing it out."

Dáin marked that whilst the Noldo sounded reasonable and wholly believable, 'twas the most terrifying thing he had ever heard. To invade the heart and mind of another through their eyes, to make them thrall, and then to extinguish the hearth fire of their life was as fell a sorcery as 'aught he had heard told of the Dark Lord in Mordor.

"I think I shall continue to trust in my arms and my axe," he said. 'Round him, the other warriors nodded in agreement and most were now shy of looking her in the eyes. She suppressed a grin at that.

Nodding to them as if in agreement, Helluin said, "It took me thousands of years to understand and learn to use this method, but an axe is deadly so long as an arm has strength to wield it." To this, the other Dwarves nodded as if with relief.

Dáin swept Azanulbizar with a quick glance and said, "Here we must part for now, O Bazgûnsulûkhu. We have many fallen to attend and for the life of me, I know not how we can inter them all. To build proper tombs shall take decades for so many." He groaned at the prospect, then shrugged and added, "We are an army, not masons and quarriers."

To this problem, Helluin had no solution she felt the Nogothrim would accept. Their tradition of burial practices was strong and Dwarves were 'naught if not traditional.

"I bid ye be safe on your road and I wish ye prosperity in the years to come," she said instead. "I marked many fleeing the battle down yonder road." Here she canted her head downhill towards Lothlórien. "Those I shall pursue that they bring no mischief to other lands. All of their kind in the mountains to the south are already dead."

"That is good tidings, Bazgûnsulûkhu! On our way to Azanulbizar, we slew every Orc we could find in the mountains to the north," Dáin told her. "Perhaps we shall have peace now for a time. I wish you safe travels 'til next we meet." They traded bows and then they parted.

So much has come to pass since dawn and yet 'tis but late-afternoon, Helluin thought as she made her way east down the Dwarf Road. By evening, she had reached the outlying trees of Lothlórien and had begun to see the corpses of Orcs, shot dead.

At the bridge o'er the Nimrodel, the trail of the fleeing Orcs crossed the water, left the road, and broke through the undergrowth heading south, away from the Golden Wood. Helluin tracked them and their spoor was easy to follow. As if they were in no hurry, they had managed to trample an impressive number of plants and create a swath of destruction through the woods. All along that way she came 'cross the occasional body, shot down in flight, and she nodded in approval.

When she came 'nigh the place where Nimrodel's flet had once stood, she found Haldir and a company of march wardens. They had perceived each other's presence at about the same time. By then, the last light of the winter sun was dying fast beyond the Hithaeglir and the shadows had grown deep 'neath the trees.

"Mae govannen, meldir Haldir," Helluin said as they met and bowed to each other in greeting.

"Mae govannen, meldis Helluin," he replied, then casting a glance to the trail of destruction, said, "three hundreds fled the wood and we deem they make for the Field of Celebrant and the Ford of the Limlight. We shall pursue them no further."

'Twas obvious that his company of four dozens could have done no more against so many than to harry their passage. By her count, they had managed to shoot down two score and twelve along the way. Yet she had to wonder why the Galadhrim were so few. Galadriel had claimed that morn that the border was reinforced.

As if he were party to her thoughts, the march warden said, "Those we followed were the smaller fraction of a large company that remained on the road heading north. Perhaps they had no captain and decided their own way? My brothers led the rest of us for to shadow them from the eaves of the wood. I know not if battle has been joined."

Helluin nodded to him, knowing Haldir would worry for his brothers. Yet Orophin and Rúmil were seasoned, experienced warriors and they were tasked with guarding the border, not slaughtering any and all they saw.

"Perhaps those that went north seek to come to the valley behind Fanuidhol and so make their way north?" Helluin conjectured. "They would then be behind the Gonnhirrim who are delayed attending their dead and wounded. They may make good their escape."

"They may, but they are not my concern," Haldir said, "My orders are specific." To this, the Noldo could again only nod in understanding. He was a soldier, after all.

"I shall continue in their wake and do such damage as I can," Helluin said, looking at the Orc trail leading south. "In Nanduhirion, the Gonnhirrim have the victory, but at great cost. I reckon they have lost fifty thousands. Of the Orcs, well 'nigh all their host of one hundred and twenty thousand have perished, including Azog, the self-proclaimed King of Moria."

"Incredible…" Haldir muttered, unsure of whether to be happy at the destruction of the Glamhoth or sorrowful for the losses of the Dwarves.

"I deem they shall burn the Yrch, but what they shall decide for their own fallen, I know not. Expect smoke."

"That charnel field shall soon draw every vulture, crow, dog, wolf, and rat in the Hithaeglir, if only to lick the split blood from the stones," he groaned, shaking his head in disgust.

"Those may already be well occupied," Helluin said. "On their way to Azanulbizar, the Nogothrim scourged the north at every lair and warren they could find. On my way, I did the same from Methedras to Moria."

"Thine are the best tidings I have heard in an Age, Helluin," Haldir said. Then, echoing Dáin, he added, "Perhaps we shall have peace now for a time."

"Perhaps, Haldir. I cannot tarry. Pray give my regards to thy lord and lady, meldir nín. I go to discomfit those who flee."

"Pray be safe upon thy road 'til next we meet, meldis nín," the march warden said in parting.

They traded bows and then Helluin disappeared into the dark woods, easily following the trail of the fleeing Yrch. Ahead, she could hear none of the expected cursing and trampling as they beat their way through the undergrowth. Deeming they had a sizable lead, Helluin hastened her pursuit to a swift jog. Would that I had a horse and a bow, she thought as she passed the last of the trees and contemplated the largely open, rolling lands south of Celebrant, but she had left both behind in anticipation of fighting in tunnels and caves.

Upon reaching the crest of the tallest hill she could find, Helluin cast a careful glance to the south. A league ahead, dark figures raced through the night, and by their swift but ungraceful gait, she knew them for Yrch. I shall have ye in no time, though I deem ye are fewer than three hundreds, she thought as she launched herself downslope and sped after the Orc company.

Now though ungainly, the Yrch moved quickly for fear hastened their steps. They were aided by the dark of a cloudy night that obscured the moon and stars. Though Helluin was fleeter afoot, still it took her 'nigh a score miles to come within a mile of her enemies.

As she rounded the foot of another hill, a party of ten Orcs charged at her from out of the dark. Helluin was forced to stay her run and turn to fight, and though they were no real threat and she expected to slay them all, t'would take time whilst her intended prey increased their lead. The Noldo was spitting mad with irritation as she drew Anguirél and sent the Sarchram to flight.

Yet these Yrch, though no better at their swordplay than any others she had faced, seemed to have a different strategy. If she slew three, five more came against her from the surrounding darkness and so she was compelled to engage them with greater violence and vigor. She had slain ten when the rest broke off and fled in all directions making pursuit a waste of effort. Helluin was forced to remain on guard 'til their footsteps died away to silence.

They were as many as three dozens, she thought as she finally took up the chase again. Whyfor would they disengage so suddenly? It makes no sense.

Her doubts were answered after a furlong when a dozen Yrch came charging at her from all directions and again instigated a fight. This time, Helluin managed to slay only eight ere the rest swiftly retreated again, leaving her seething mad as she turned in a circle to guard against any reaapproach.

Six more times the Yrch ambushed her and she made only a half-mile that hour. Fifty bodies she added to her tally, but when she climbed a hill and again searched for her prey, they were well o'er a league ahead. She shook her head in aggravation.

They sacrificed themselves to aid the rest in their escape. That is rare teamwork from their kind. It tells of one amongst them who has gained the position of leader and visits sufficient fear upon them that they did his bidding even at the cost of their own miserable lives.

In the end, four days passed and 'twas only as they fought in the twisted lands of the Wold that she managed to account for three hundreds. During the last two days, the Yrch had charged her, only to scatter and flee when she faced them. Helluin had been forced to chase them down a few at a time and never had she wished so much for a bow and a quiver of arrows.

Twenty thousand, eight hundred, and sixty-four, she counted to herself. At least I have managed to spare the Rohirrim any incursion of Orcs. And so Helluin turned her steps back north towards the North Undeep and a long march home. Perhaps we shall have peace now for a time.


"My lord, my lady, we followed a company of five hundred Yrch fleeing north on the Dwarf Road 'til they took a path up a ravine ascending Fanuidhol. Thereafter they disappeared o'er a col and we reckon they made for the valley that runs 'twixt Cloudyhead and Redhorn," Orophin reported on the second day after Helluin had taken up the chase of the three hundred.

"So they have escaped," Celeborn said, "and we can only hope that the Gonnhirrim returning home shall come upon them."

"The Khazâd are heartbroken and of necessity have decided to burn their fallen on pyres," Galadriel said. "They shall not pursue any not standing before their faces and the Yrch shall not make that mistake again for some time."

"But whither can they go?" Haldir asked. "Helluin slew all those to the south and the Dwarves slew all those to the north."

"As the Dwarves return to homes in the north, east, or the west, the Orcs shall go south where they are not expected," the lady reasoned. "They shall find their lairs filled with corpses and shall not stop 'til they are past Methedras. I should be very surprised if they go not to the Ered Nimrais."

The three brothers stood shaking their heads in regret at that, as if they had expected all the Yrch to be slain in a day, whereas they had existed for centuries well 'nigh right next door.

"Allow the Nogothrim to fell any tree in Nanduhirion that they need for their pyres save the mellyrn," Galadriel said, and then Lord Celeborn dismissed the march wardens.


"Move, you maggots! Do ye wish the Dwarves to find us?" the Orc commander ordered his flagging company as they trotted uphill in the valley behind Fanuidhol. "They could be here any minute."

Five hundred-odd Orcs were making their escape, huffing and puffing and well 'nigh exhausted. The path they followed would join the Caradhras Pass well above Kheled-zâram. Indeed, that junction was 'nigh the places where Helluin and Red had met the Eagle Meneldor, and later the confused swan Idnatzio.

They came out onto the pass at last and stood heaving for breath. Then they looked down into Nanduhirion. 'Neath the spume from the falls that made up the Dimrill Stair lay the Mirrormere and the sward filled with bonfires where the Dwarves burnt the bodies of their fallen foes.

Seeing this, a tide of muttered comments filled the air and one Orc, perhaps stupider than the rest whined, "They're burning us!"

The commander cuffed him hard, driving him to his knees, and then bent down face to face with the kneeling soldier and said, "Shut up an' be thankful the smoke keeps us from their sight or I'll gut ya and toss you down to join 'em."

The commander looked 'round at his other troops, daring any of them to say 'aught. Predictably, they remained silent.

"Sergeant, keep yur slag in line or it'll be yur hide too," he spat at one of his officers.

"They'll hold their tongues or I'll cut 'em out, Bolg," the sergeant promised, barely above a whisper. Somewhere down below they were burning his commander's father, or at least his body, for his head still leered from a stake just outside the door of their lost home. 'Twas enough to set anyone in a bad mood.

"I hope ya like runnin' boys, cuz we're goin' all the way to the southern mountains," Bolg son of Azog said, and he reveled in the submissive nods of agreement. Moria's lost, Azog's dead, and good riddance. It's all gonna get better from here on out, he thought, and for a while, t'would seem that he was correct.

To Be Continued


Tibblets: Thanks for your review of Chapter 317. I appreciate it. I had fun writing the Poe inspired parts, though I had to dispense with a few non-ME references. 'Plutonian', 'Seraphim', 'Pallas', 'Gilead', and any mention of 'Lenore' had to go.