In An Age Before – Part 328
It had taken Helluin half of the remaining night to convince the wolf to remain in the woods whilst she returned to Celenhár 'neath the stealth that she had learnt from Beinvír long ago. The entire time, the Noldo had been fearful of what mayhem the Misteth Miog had already wrought for Hareth with its straying. When she finally vanished, before his eyes and in mid-sentence whilst speaking with him, the grey wolf had conceded her point and admitted he that could not move so unmarked even with his full hunting craft.
We both fear for her, Helluin had told him after reappearing, and if worst comes to worst, I shall render that annoying creature thrall and make him forget he is 'aught more than a flea trolley.
I just wish he would go back whence he came and trouble us no more, said the wolf in reply.
Helluin had nodded in agreement and then taken her leave of him and the Green Elves, but she had spent much of her time returning to town wondering just whence the Straying Cat had come. If he had indeed been Tevildo upon a time, what had he been up to since the First Age? Where could he have gone to remain unmarked through all those years? No tale Helluin had ever heard told 'aught of him after the first rising of the moon and sun. Indeed, his entire existence had been 'naught but a rumor amongst the Noldor, even in Beleriand. She reckoned that all their knowledge of the Prince of Cats had come from some refugee Doriathrim when they had joined the survivors of Gondolin at the Mouths of Sirion, for they had not learnt of him from the Sindar of Vinyamar those long centuries aforetime.
Despite rumor and hearsay, Tevildo had never appeared to any of her people as far as she knew, and none still living in Middle Earth could know more save perhaps some of the older Sindar. Celegorm and Huan were long gone, Thingol and Melian too, and no one in Valinor had spoken of him. She resolved to ask of Celeborn next time they met, but Thranduil she would not upset with even the mention of her name. Círdan might appreciate her tale, once it found its end, for he was old enough to remember and had dwelt upon the Mortal Shores during the Age of the Trees. Finally, she shrugged and abandoned the mystery, for the tent camp lay ahead and beyond it, Hareth's house.
Amongst the tents, people stood in groups, drinking and jesting. Some had converged in rowdy circles 'round tipsy musicians caterwauling off tune to the catcalls and heckling of their patrons. From within some of the tents came the giggles, grunts, and whimpers of couples engaged in more private revels. The Noldo passed them by, leaving none the wiser. 'Twas the easiest infiltration in which she had ever partaken.
Helluin came to Hareth's home and entered it in silence, slipping from shadow to shadow. She stood in the hall outside the kitchen where a group had brought one of their comrades, injured on a dare when he had tried to ride a pony whilst standing upright on its back. They relived the accident with laughter and boasting as the healer set his broken arm. The Noldo could see the woman's aggravation as she lashed his limb to a board, but rather than recommend rest or that they cease their celebrating for the night, she merely shooed them out the kitchen door. Then she groaned in exasperation and collapsed into a chair facing away from Helluin whence she could stare into the hearth. 'Twas 'nigh the dawn of 15 Narquelië.
Now ere she could approach the healer with her warnings, a small shadow crept from behind the wood box, warily checking the room for the loud mortals, but finding them gone and Hareth alone in her chair, sauntered over and leant against her ankles. The healer's head tilted down and she patted her lap in the universal invitation of people to cats. The little black cat leapt up, circled 'round and kneaded her thigh with padded paws, then curled up, purring as Hareth stroked its fur.
"'Tis quiet again now, kitty," she said, and the cat made a small whirring sound of contentment.
Though Helluin was immediately suspicious at the timing of its appearance, this cat seemed to be no more than a cat and had 'naught in common with the Misteth Miog.
"I blame thee not for seeking surcease here from the madness in town this night, kitty," Hareth mused as she stroked its fur. After a moment, she said, "It seems silly to call thee 'kitty'. True as it might be, I deem it undignified. I should give thee a proper name to use 'twixt us."
She commenced to thinking and the Noldo watched, wondering what she might come up with. The cat nodded as if agreeing with the healer and looked up into her face as if trying to divine her thought as any cat owner would attest that their cats are sometimes wont to do.
After a short time spent ruminating over names, Hareth said, "I shall call thee Harnolthion, Southern Dreamer, though I know not why."
At that declaration, the cat mewed in approval and Helluin's eyes started from her head. The cat then stood in Hareth's lap, set his forepaws on her shoulder, and nuzzled her cheek in thanks. His eyes met Helluin's as the Noldo stood in the shadowed hallway, mouth agape in shock.
Next, she shall provide me with some milk, and not through a funnel, the cat declared.
In shock, Helluin recalled that in late Narbeleth of 1636, she and Beinvír had come to the hamlet then called Tickburrow in the Green Hill Country of Sûza at the desperate request of Isengrub son of Weaselbob, whose family lay sickly with the Great Plague. During their time there, Beinvír had marked the effect of the blue-green bread mold on the putrescence in the Perian's kitchen sink. Her observation eventually led to the very same cure that Helluin and Ivorwen had deployed in Forndun. For their first test of the Penian Silim, the two ellith had dosed a stray cat, a sickly little mouser at death's door named Harnolthion, and they had administered the first dose using a funnel. After two doses he had recovered, the first creature to be cured of the plague. 'Twas more than strange that this cat had claimed that same name.
Stranger still, that earlier Harnolthion had told them that, in the lore of my kindred, an ancestor fled a palace far to the south, a long, long time ago. In T.A. 870, Helluin and Beinvír had come to Gondor during the reign of King Tarannon Falastur. In Osgiliath, they had met his queen, the peculiar Lady Berúthiel and her cats, one white, and at that time, eleven black. Following a disastrous dinner during which Helluin had tried to exorcise the spirit that possessed the conniving white cat, the fey queen had banished the two ellith, but they had been joined in their exile by two of the black cats with whom they had conspired to expose the white cat. That brother and sister had followed them all the way back to Eriador. One of these, it seemed, had been Harnolthion's ancestor. Somehow, the Noldo had intersected with Tevildo for over two millennia and she had kenned none of it aforetime. 'Twas as astonishing as 'twas horrifying.
Helluin was shaken from her reminiscing when she heard Hareth ask, "How about a nice, warm, saucer of milk, hmmm, Harnolthion? Wouldst thou like that?" The cat mewed in thanks. It had been his 'suggestion' in the first place, after all.
The healer lifted Harnolthion from her lap and set him on the floor. She then walked out of sight, going from the kitchen into her pantry whence the clink of pottery followed as Hareth selected a saucer. The cat walked over to the hallway where Helluin waited.
As thou can see, I shall draw no suspicion to our friend Hareth, the cat silently said after meeting Helluin's eyes. 'Twas reassuring, but the Noldo still had her doubts.
So thou intend to remain in Celenhár, appearing as a housecat?
Aye, for a while, he said, a short while in the greater scheme of things. As I claimed aforetime, I like witches. They make good company, and I wager the times shall be interesting.
To this, Helluin nodded in agreement, for much of import was pending, the wedding of Dírhael and Ivorwen within the coming year not the least. Still, she had about a million questions.
How knew thee of Harnolthion and Sûza in the time of the Great Plague?
For a moment, the cat wavered, literally and visually, seeming to expand before Helluin's eyes as the hint of orange tabby stripes marked his coat. Harnolthion/Tevildo even floated fractionally above the floor for a heartbeat ere solidifying and recovering his mundane appearance as a small, black mouser.
We are each of us stranger and strangers are we not? And yet, perhaps not so much as thou thought. I have been and am a wearer of guises as art thou, O daughter, sister, lover, mother, subject, ruler, warrior, protector, Kinslayer, and committer of atrocities. We have known each other long and I would offer thee advice at whiles, for the times grow interesting again. I cannot resist watching more closely.
So thou dwelt in Tickburrow for a time?
Tuckborough, that is what they call it now, he said, nodding to himself.
Helluin recalled seeing a sign there in T.A. 1975, "Village of Tuckburrow", and wondering if 'twas misspelled. That had been in the time of Weaselgrub son of Ingolbob, the great-great-great-grandson of Weaselgrub. She remembered the Perian and his flock of cats.
Whyfor wouldst thou leave that comfortable and cheesy land? she asked. The Halflings were well known as the purveyors of fine cheeses, rich milk, and thick cream.
I had been there long. Let us be honest and admit that little truly changes there. The novelty of comfort had worn thin. Besides, cats are 'naught if not curious, he replied, and for a moment, his grin was unnaturally wide.
Hast thou a guess as to how long thou intend to abide hither? Helluin asked. With his ability to assume varied fána, perhaps the Misteth Miog could maintain his anonymity for a fortnight or even a month whilst leaving the townsfolk none the wiser.
I should think a century and a half shall be quite sufficient to exhaust my fascination with this sleepy town, the cat said. Thereafter, I wager things shall become far more lively.
Helluin was about to protest, for a century and a half would far exceed Hareth's span and the cat could not be seen to outlive her. Yet ere she could speak, the footfalls of the healer creaking on the floorboards announced her return from the pantry.
Ahhh, my pre-breakfast is served, the cat said, and licked his chops in anticipation. Pray be not strange or a stranger, Helluin. We should speak from time to time. Ere the Noldo could say 'aught in reply, he turned away and sauntered back to meet Hareth, his tails upright as a flagpole.
Hareth set the saucer down beside the hearth and said, "Come, Harnolthion. Have some nice, warm milk," but she had marked the cat staring into the hallway where Helluin stood, cloaked in shadows. "What dost thou see?" she asked, looking thither and marking 'naught. Such was the stealth of the Laiquendi.
"Ahhh well," she finally said, for what cat owner has not been confounded by something unseen to which a cat paid heed? "Cats mark what Men cannot and who amongst my kind can know the worlds beyond our kenning. 'Tis well that some can."
She could not help recalling Helluin's talks with the wolves in Forndun and wondering at the voices of creatures that she would never hear.
After rubbing against the healer's shins whilst walking to the saucer, Harnolthion turned back a moment and caught Helluin's eyes. He said, The wondrous wisdom of witches, eh? Trouble thyself not. We shall be fine. And then he turned his attention to lapping up the milk as Hareth resumed her chair by the fire. For all practical purposes, the Noldo had been dismissed.
And what could I tell Hareth? she thought as she withdrew from the healer's house. I wager there is no warning I could give that she would accept. Am I to appear mad as I claim that her cat is something 'tis clearly not? For now, I suppose I am forced to let be, but I shall keep watch. Harnolthion is not just a cat, and this 'not just a cat' is still Tevildo.
Though Helluin was gravely dissatisfied with the situation, it seemed the cat posed no immediate threat. The newly rechristened 'Harnolthion' had claimed to be intent on maintaining his presence incognito, and as time passed, his earnest in this was borne out. Neither Hareth, nor the folk of Celenhár had any inkling that the little black cat was 'aught more than he seemed, a mouser that had managed to ingratiate himself with their healer in a manner customary to cats since the Elder Days. They found no complaint with the situation and indeed, as 'he was only a cat', they eventually came to pay him no heed. The wolf remained skeptical and suspicious, but 'naught came of that either. He restrained himself admirably lest he draw attention to Hareth by being seen pursuing her cat…like a common hound.
Now after the betrothal celebration, Celenhár returned to normal. The tent camp disappeared as the visitors returned to their homes. The Rangers maintained their patrols and the farmers hunkered down for the winter. T.A. 2882 passed and T.A. 2883 began. Although the celebration of Mettarë and Yestarë, the Winter Solstice, was perhaps not so fine as in Imladris, 'twas boisterous and filled with joy for the start of the new year.
Spring came and the planting season began. Crops sprouted, livestock was born, and the world exploded with life after its winter rest. The rivers flowed with snowmelt. Through the cold months, the wolf had hunted, hare and ptarmigan mostly, and every two or three days he brought meat to the she-wolf and her pups. As they had agreed, he left it at the spot where they had first met, and with a 'woof', announced that game awaited.
The Green Elves marked this and as they lacked for 'naught, aided him from time to time. The black wolf accepted the meat with thanks, and if she marked that some of the game had died by arrows rather than teeth, she said 'naught of it. The pups were healthy and fed, and that was the most important thing to her. Yet for them as well as the land, spring brought changes, just as profound and yet just as well known.
By Tuilérë, the Spring Equinox, the pups had grown enough to make a few clumsy kills on their own. She offered them praise and what tips she could, yet most of her knowledge of small game hunting had been learnt since coming to the woods. Of the prey animals in the lands beyond the trees, she knew little.
With the month of Víressë, the now juvenile wolves were eating more than the black wolf could hunt in the woods and the meat the grey hunter brought became their salvation. 'Twas in desperation then that she acted on necessity and when he next brought meat, she came swiftly after hearing him 'woof'. They spoke again, for the first time since they had met in the night of 14 Narquelië last.
Greetings, grey hunter, and many thanks for the meat, she said. 'Twas greatly appreciated this past cold season.
It hath been my pleasure and little hardship these last months, he replied, I hope thy pups are well.
They are and they have grown strong, she said. The end of their first year draws 'nigh and they have made a few small kills here in the woods.
That is good. Thou hast taught them well and they have learnt the skills to survive.
She regarded him a moment with uncertainty. Asking aid, and particularly aid in the hunt, was not in the nature of wolves if they were not members of the same pack. Packs had rules and they took care of their own. Yet neither she nor he had a pack anymore and her sister's pups, the last offspring of her alpha, needed to learn how to hunt as part of a pack.
Unlike her, their coats were grey. They were acceptable. Once they knew what a wolf should know, perhaps they could find new packs that would adopt them. Being the offspring of an alpha and his mate was not uncommon, yet perhaps one day they could ascend to those positions. She reckoned they would have the size. Already their paws were larger than her own and they were not yet a year old. Fully grown, they would be formidable.
But they would not only need to learn how to bring down large game; they would need to know how, when, and where to deploy their pack's assets. They would need to know how to create and enforce a hierarchy. Some of these things she knew, but so would he and unlike her, he had participated in pack hunts and had watched his alpha lead them.
I would have them do more than survive, she said. I would have them accepted into packs of their own and perhaps one day even lead them.
He understood her desires, for his own younger brother and sister had done just so, and though they would probably never lead their new pack, they had found their proper places as wolves in a new hunting range.
I have taught them what I can, she continued, but as I was not part of my pack's hunting party, I cannot teach them all they will need to know. 'Tis not our way to seek aid from those not of our own pack, yet I have no pack…they have no pack.
The grey hunter weighed what was being asked of him. Having been without a pack now for over a year and a half, the latter third of his life, 'twas not so hard for him to conceive of as 'twas for her. Some of what she asked he could teach, but not all.
I can teach them how to hunt small game beyond the woods, he said. That may be a good start. With thine aid, I can teach them how to hunt as a pack of four, and perhaps we can bring down fawns, ewes, and doe goats. We have not the numbers to hunt boar or bachelor herds of bucks or rams safely.
The black wolf paid careful heed, for in a couple thoughts he had demonstrated knowledge of what they could realistically expect. Though the hunting of small game was not the goal she sought for the young to learn, t'would be a practical start that would increase their survival chances. There was wisdom in that too. When he spoke again, she gave him her full attention.
There are some things I cannot properly teach them, he admitted. But perhaps those things they shall learn in their own time. An alpha and his mate are not born to their roles; they are the patriarch and matriarch of the pack. An unrelated male and female breed and establish a family. Of these, some leave and some strangers are adopted. After several years and litters, they have the numbers to hold a range and are a pack. When the original leaders can no longer lead, the next most prominent pair begins breeding and become the new lead pair.
If they had been raised in thy pack, thy pups would likely have left to start their own families or stayed and remained subservient to their parents. Being from the latest litter born, either of them succeeding their parents would have been doubtful. He gave the impression of a shrug.
The she-wolf took all this in and thought back on her pack. Not been driven off after her sister met her mate had seemed a blessing, yet the new breeding couple had needed her aid to mind their pups whilst they hunted in those first years. When she ignored the color of her coat that had rendered her position subservient, she recalled that a few of the older offspring had actually been driven hence ere they could pose any challenge to their parents' authority. Others had left voluntarily in hope of finding mates and starting their own families. The rest had accepted submissive roles aiding their parents and remained in the pack.
Very well, she said. We shall teach them all we can and I shall aid thee in that labor. Thou hast my thanks, grey hunter.
Now whether by fate or by destiny, or by the hand of the Valar, four wolves joined forces. By virtue of their ages and their roles as providers and teachers, the grey hunter and the black wolf held dominance over the juveniles. In addition, the adults were unrelated by blood and owed no allegiance to any pack. None claimed the lands so close to Celenhár and therein they had yet another advantage. The grey hunter was known and accepted by the Men and Elves and kenned how to retain their approval. Many a new pack had started with less.
So it began, and in days to come, their descendants would provide a small but critical advantage to some Rangers hard pressed by their foes. But that tale shall not to be told here, for it came to pass in the reign of the young Lord Arathorn.
The months of spring graded into summer. The young wolves learnt the skills of hunting small game in open land. Even the black wolf reveled in snatching sleeping ducks from the banks of the river Idethol, her coat's color allowing her to disappear at night. Soon, it seemed, the days began to shorten, the crops to ripen, and autumn came.
The eagerly awaited wedding of Ivorwen and Dírhael was set for Yáviérë, and if their betrothal the previous year had provided the folk of the Angle with a cause for celebration, it paled before the festivities planned for their nuptials. Though the date was technically a fortnight shy of a year in Celenhár, not a single complaint was heard. Besides, the couple told any who asked that they had first plighted their troth at the harvest festival in Imladris on Yáviérë last.
During the final week of the month of Yavannië, a tent settlement rose again outside of Celenhár. It stretched from Hareth's house at the edge of town, halfway to the tree line of the woods, a full two furlongs east, and from the graveyard in the south for two furlongs north. Though no sure count of the revelers was ever made, none remained sober enough to dispute such best guesses as claimed they numbered seven hundreds.
The more formal aspects of the wedding were presided over by the bride's family, Lord Gilbarad and Lady Lainiel III. On behalf of the betrothed couple, they welcomed Chieftain Argonui and his son and heir Lord Arador who were uncle and cousin respectively to the groom. With them came Chieftain Argonui's younger brother Barahir and his wife Aldamire, Dírhael's father and mother.
Amongst the esteemed guests were more distant relations. A party had come from the Hidden Valley that included four principals. Riding to Celenhár were the Lord Elrond, his sons Elladan and Elrohir, and his daughter, the Lady Arwen. They arrived in the morn of 30 Yavannië, the day before the ceremony, accompanied by an escort of a dozen knights of Imladris. Unmarked, even by the son of Eärendil, was the invisible escort of Laiquendi archers, still honoring the pledge of their king after sixty-four centuries.
"All my people honor ye, sons of Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Lúthien, daughter of Elu Thingol and Melian the Blessed. Long did your ancestors in Doriath hold back the evil. Lúthien the Fair and Beren son of Barahir lived amongst us on Tol Galen and we were honored by their presence. Ye have our service at need in memory of them," Dálindir son of Denethor had told the young Elrond and Elros 'nigh the river Ascar in F.A. 538 as the Host of Maedhros and Maglor had returned through Ossiriand from the Third Kinslaying at the Mouths of Sirion.
To the surprise and utter joy of the Dúnedain and their hosts, the Elves had brought a young pupil with them so that he could again greet his kin. Ten-year-old Arathorn gleefully met his father Arador and his grandfather Argonui. He then shared a broad smile and a wink with Dírhael and Ivorwen whom he had missed during the past year after they had left Rivendell.
Now whilst the lords and ladies of Eriador retired to the town hall for a private, family celebration of their own, the townsfolk outside continued with their revels. Those who had witnessed the arrival of Elrond's party had stared in amazement, but even the appearance of the knights in their polished armor and finery had only held their attention for a short span. Although they would be recalled and become the subject of tales for years to come, the people deemed that the present held more pressing necessities. So, tankards and mugs were filled and raised in toasts, songs were sung, instruments played, and laughter joined the music and dancing throughout that day and night.
Indeed, 30 Yavannië was the sixth night of a celebration that had grown louder and more boisterous each day with the arrival of additional people from all corners of the Angle. Many of these had been forced to leave the road long ere approaching the track leading into the town. So the tent settlement had grown as visitors turned down the narrow, rutted lane 'twixt the nearest cultivated fields and the graveyard, hoping to find space for their wagons and carts.
By the time of the ceremony in the early afternoon on Yáviérë, T.A. 2883, a statistically relevant fraction of the attendees were insensate from ethanol poisoning. The Rangers detailed with keeping the peace laid them out in stables, taverns, and the common rooms of inns, there to remain out of sight and less likely to be trampled by the wobbling and weaving drunks still sober enough to remain within twenty degrees of vertical. They were also thereby removed from the path of the wedding procession so as not to be run over by the newlyweds' carriage.
In the town hall, the betrothed couple traded their silver rings for gold bands of marriage and spoke their vows of everlasting love and faithfulness before Chieftain Argonui and Lady Lainiel who presided over the ceremony jointly. The couple's mutual respect and devotion shone on their faces, radiant on this happiest of days. Like many parents, Lainiel and Gilbarad shed tears of joy as they watched their little girl take the hand of the Man she loved and committed to sharing their lives together.
During the reception afterwards, many words of hope and congratulations were offered by the families and well-wishers. Many toasts for good fortune and continuing bliss were offered. The bride and groom joined in for traditional first dance, and then fed each other slices of wedding cake and sips of sweet, sparkling wine.
"'Tis by far the mushiest thing I have seen," said young Aranarth, "and yet I begrudge them not. I find myself very happy for them. Am I growing old?" he asked Helluin with a worried expression.
"Certainly, my lord, older with every passing day," she replied with a grin, "yet I should not worry yet for the worst effects of the condition, unless thou find thyself desperately consumed with winning the affections of some comely maiden?"
The ten-year-old heir's heir grimaced and stuck his tongue out, but then smiled and admitted that, "The cake is some of the best I have ever had." After a moment for further thought, he added, "Pray repeat not my words to Uncle Elrond, Helluin? I would not defame his kitchen which is also very fine."
"I shall not speak a word," she promised. The cake had been very sweet with both honey and maple sugar and she left her place to weave 'twixt the crowd to the table where she managed to palm a couple more pieces of cake, unmarked even by those she nodded to and greeted at the dessert table.
Arathorn watched it all with widening eyes, amazed that none saw her sleight of hand even as they spoke together. She returned straightaway and handed him a second slice that they both knew he was not supposed to have.
"Perhaps thou should look away whilst taking bites, and then pretend to speak with me whilst thou chew," she told him, offering him a subtle wink. She was surprised to find him remarkably subtle at such simple misdirection, applying posture, head movements, and hand gestures to sell the performance. We shall make a Laiquende of thee yet, my lord, she thought.
From across the room she marked the figure of Hareth entering the hall and desperately searching the throng. She waved the healer over and greeted her.
"I am glad that thou could come, my friend. Allow me to introduce thee to Lord Elrond and his children," Helluin said.
"And I am glad thou hast returned from the woods. So, thou knows Lord Elrond Half-elven and his children?" Hareth asked as if by reflex, then after a moment's thought corrected herself saying, "Of course thou dost. Thy people are so few ye must all know each other."
"Oh, I have known Elrond since he was a wee lad," Helluin said with a twinkle in her eye, "he and his twin brother." At the blank look on Hareth's face, she added, "Elros…Tar-Minyatur, the first King of Númenor?"
The healer was still stuttering when Helluin brought her over and introduced her to Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen. Hareth greeted them with awkward curtsies and a few overawed words.
"Twin sons and a younger daughter run in their family," Helluin explained as the healer squinted at Elladan and Elrohir, trying to tell them apart. "I believe it came from their maternal line after the Half-elven strain was introduced." She was recalling the lore of Eluréd, Elurín, and Elwing, Elrond's naneth. They too had been the offspring of a Peredhel and a full-blooded Elf.
Elrond had asked after her healing craft, trying to set her at ease, and they had managed to speak for a while. They chuckled together over her trials with the celebrating throng in Celenhár and commiserated together over the outbreak of plague, just as would any two healers.
Afterwards, Hareth remarked to Helluin that, "He seemed so normal. I still cannot tell his sons apart though, but Arwen is a lovely maiden…ahhh, to be young again."
"Indeed so," Helluin agreed wistfully. "She is barely over twenty-six centuries of age."
A week aforetime, when the first carts had arrived at the town, Helluin had taken the grey hunter aside in Hareth's yard and explained what was to happen.
Greetings, grey hunter, I have ill tidings for thee regarding the near future.
Greetings, bright one. Hath this 'aught to do with this growing gathering of farmers?
Indeed so, and for the next seven dawns it shall only grow worse. Recall thou the unruly gathering in this season a year past? After a moment for thought, he grimaced and nodded 'aye'.
T'will be much akin yet even worse as more shall come, they shall stay longer, and they shall remain no more sensible than aforetime, Helluin told him. I cannot advise thee to remain 'nigh the town. Indeed, I intend to flee it myself.
The wolf had eyed the wagons entering the field and the tents being erected beside Hareth's yard. A few score people had already gathered and were tapping a barrel of beer in the back of a wagon as someone began sawing at a hapless stringed instrument.
My thanks for thy warning, bright one, he said. I take my leave lest I begin howling to drown out that din. 'Tis time for us to go on a longer hunt for bigger game anyway.
Fair hunting then, grey hunter, she had said as he turned away and began trotting towards the woods four furlongs to the east.
Helluin had only taken time to visit briefly with Hareth before fleeing to the woods herself. She found the healer in her kitchen presiding over a larger cauldron of the foul-smelling hangover remedy. Harnolthion was cringing at the smell as he lay on the sill of a partly open window, trying to enjoy the warmth of a shaft of sunlight.
"Well, I see thou art preparing for the party, Hareth," the Noldo said.
"Aye," she groaned, "and I bethought the plague the worst I would see as a healer."
"Take heart, my friend. Once they wed, thou shalt have a reprieve 'til they celebrate the birth of their children."
"I shall live in fear of that day," she said, but chuckled.
"I wager that once again, the quantity of thy cure shall be insufficient for the crowd," Helluin observed.
"Thou art likely correct, Helluin, but 'tis the only revenge I can take."
They shared a laugh at that.
"I am as prepared as I can be, I wager," Hareth said more seriously. She indicated a stack of splints, rolls of linen bandages, pots of various ointments, and a firkin of vinegar for cleansing wounds. She shrugged and added, "One can never be sure with crowds. We have seen them descend into mobs, have we not? At least 'tis not yet the season for pertussis, grippe, croup, and colds."
Helluin nodded in agreement. Being an Elf, she was subject to none of them, yet knew the suffering they brought to mortals. Each winter, some passed whilst restricted by cold weather to overcrowded homes wherein diseases were passed 'round like plates at a family's board.
"At least this season shall not last as long as winter," the Noldo said. "I take my leave of the town to avoid these festivities but shall return for the ceremony. I wish thee well."
"Chicken," Hareth chided as vehemently as she could, "I would beg thee to take me along were I not oath-bound to relieve suffering. Whither shalt thou go? The Old Inn?"
"I go to visit with friends in the woods," Helluin told her, straight-faced, marking the look of surprise on the healer's face.
"For six days?" She had not enjoyed their flight cross-country from Forndun.
"Would that I could remain longer," she said. "Upon a time, I spent centuries marching through a great forest, but that was long ago."
"Uh-huh," said Hareth, rolling her eyes in clear disbelief. "Have fun then and perhaps I shall see thee for the wedding."
"I hope thou can come. I reckon that Lord Elrond may visit to witness the joining of his far-cousin. So much rests now on her possible offspring."
Sobered, Hareth nodded. "I shall come if I may be spared an hour from this din." She waved a hand vaguely towards the growing discord in the field beyond her yard.
On her way to the door, the Noldo met Harnolthion's eyes and asked, Shalt thou be staying then?
Aye, she needs sane company and what are a few days? At worst, they shall cost me one of my many lives. I know 'tis not the Great Forest of your Westering March, but, have fun nonetheless.
Helluin offered the cat a subtle nod and took her leave. On her way to Hareth's gate, she met the first injured party to visit the healer. It looked like a farmer's hand had been crushed by the falling tailgate of his wagon. She shook her head and walked east at a goodly pace.
The wedding had been all that everyone had expected, and when 'twas done, Celenhár settled back into its sleepy but watchful ways. Elrond's party returned to Imladris. Chieftain Argonui and Lord Arador returned north to the settlement in Lad Ivrin and the long, slow war in Eriador. Rangers returned to their patrols, walking vigilant, grim, and unthanked 'twixt their outposts scattered through the old realm of Arnor.
Amongst the Dúnedain and the Rhudaurim of the Angle, there was great anticipation. All awaited the birth of Dírhael and Ivorwen's children, praying that in their lifetimes, they would see a king returned. But the years passed one by one and the 2880s gave way to the 2890s. Gilbarad and Lainiel grew old, hoping to meet their grandchildren ere they passed from Arda.
To the south in Gondor, T.A. 2885 saw an invasion of Ithilien by the Haradrim. Ten thousands of the Southrons had surged across the River Poros and Gondor's army had been hard pressed to contain them. King Folcwine of Rohan had answered the Red Arrow and sent aid to Steward Túrin II, honoring the Oath of Eorl.
To Aldburg in the Folde had come the king's order to ride. 'Neath the command of the twin princes Folcred and Fastred who jointly held the office of Third Marshal, the éoreds of the East Emnet, which nominally included the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, charged east down the Great West Road into Anórien to join the forces mustering in Minas Tirith. Five thousand spears rode to the steward's relief, eager for battle, fame, and glory. From the White City they crossed the Pelennor and then through the ruins of Osgiliath to nervously advanced south past Imlad Morgul to join the Rangers and local troops fighting in Ithilien.
Through the late spring and summer, the battles seesawed as the lines shifted back and forth. Though the Rohirrim and the Gondorim were still outnumbered, the Eorlingas were more heavily armed and armored than the Southron cavalry. Both the Riders and their horses were physically larger than their southern foes. So too were the cavalry and infantry of Gondor, always more than a match man to man with the Haradrim. At every engagement, the dead and wounded were greater on the enemy side and attrition eventually took its toll. Finally, as that summer waned, the Southrons were driven out with great loss. No more than one in six limped home and Gondor had the victory, but at a dreadful cost.
The princes Fastred and Folcred had fallen in battle, leaving their young brother Fengel as the surviving Heir of Eorl. Gondor had lost its brilliant Bregedhir¹ Huor son of Galdor, of whose ancestor Húrin 'twas said that he had come to Gondor's service from the North long ago. 'Twixt the allies, over three and a half thousand warriors lay dead in the Moon Land and many lamented in the White City and the Eastfold. ¹(Bregedhir, Assault Commander = breged(suddenness, violence/assault) + -hír(lord/commander) Sindarin.)
The ranking captain of the Riders returned to his king escorting a wagon laden with over a ton of gold coins, five times the weight of the two princes in their armor, and a sealed parchment.
Folcwine King, no league of friendship or oath of allegiance has cost a nation or a father more. I pray thee accept this poor weregild for the loss of love and service of thy valiant sons whose absence shall be a blow to Gondor in days to come, and a sorrow to thy heart from this day hence. ~Humbly, Túrin son of Thorondir, Steward of the King.
The feast for the victory celebration in Edoras had been a somber affair. Folcwine and Fengel had both stared grimly into their cups of mead that night, wondering how such a calamity had come to pass. Folcwine King also had mixed feelings. His sons had died in battle, honoring the oath of their sires on behalf of friends, and no warrior could ask for a more heroic fate. Theirs was certainly more fitting end than his own father's death. Folca King had died in 1864, gored by a pig in the Firien Wood.
Now tidings of these things came eventually to Eriador, but the Rangers had more pressing concerns. Counselors and old wives, (some accorded the status of witches), agreed that the days were growing darker. The weather had waxed increasingly harsh, Orcs continued to threaten the uplands of the Ettenmoors and the Cold Fells, and more disturbingly, Troll sign had been found of late. Though the creatures themselves had yet to be seen, some livestock had vanished in the night, some bonfires had been seen on high slopes, and some tracks had been reported by scouts. It all boded ill and the chieftain and his captains were suspicious of what might betide. And atop all this, the seeming barrenness of the Lady of the First House was a constant source of consternation.
The couple was still childless when the century ended. T.A. 2900 began in the midst of a cold winter with repeated snowfalls in the lowlands, and it seemed to those old enough to remember that the winters now were more severe than in their youths.
By then, seventeen years had passed since Ivorwen and Dírhael had wed. Lord Gilbarad was then six score and six, Lady Lainiel III was five score and four, Dírhael was three score and thirteen, and Ivorwen was two score and nine. The time for starting a family was running short.
In Lad Ivren, Chieftain Argonui counted seven score and three years, his heir Lord Arador an even four score, and young Lord Arathorn, who had left Imladris and rejoined his folk six years past, a score and seven. Dírhael's parents, Lord Barahir and Lady Aldamire were six score and eighteen and six score and seven years respectively.
"Our parents grow old, and in their twilight years, ever more anxious to meet their grandchild, my love," Dírhael said to Ivorwen after another sweet night of lovemaking. Even after seventeen years of marriage, the mention of that constant concern could not wipe the satisfied smile from her face.
"As I have said aforetime, a daughter shall be born to us, but no king shall come of our union," she said. "Of our daughter's children, I cannot say, for I have not yet seen beyond her."
"Still, we ourselves grow no younger," Dírhael said.
"Fear not, my love, for I was born in my naneth's fifty-fifth year. We have time yet, I reckon."
Dírhael regarded her with visible uncertainty, but Ivorwen only laughed.
"'Naught happens save by the Will of the One. We can but accept His wisdom and do 'aught we can. I wager our chances shall be increased with further attempts," she grinned coquettishly and batted her lashes at him. Dírhael laughed aloud and wrapped his arms 'round her.
"Further attempts, thou say? That at least we can manage and may the One be entertained by our efforts." He blew out the candle on the nightstand and they made another vigorous attempt that lasted far longer than was required simply for procreation.
'Twas with many more attempts that the next seven years passed without a child being born to the Lady of the First House. Yet Ivorwen knew what she had foreseen and Dírhael believed in her Sight. Even so, they were both surprised when she conceived in the late winter of 2906-7, and as spring opened and the lands of the Angle grew fertile again, she felt new life quicken within her womb. Ivorwen was then two score and sixteen years of age, one year older than her mother had been when she had given birth. It seemed that the Dúnedain strain first gifted to her house with the joining of Prince Artamir to Lady Brennil and reinforced in her parents' marriage had extended not only her lifespan, but the span of her fertility as well.
So 'twas that through the year 2907, everyone in Celenhár held their breaths, waiting and hoping for the restoration of the kingship of Eriador's Middle Men. By then though, those closest to the couple knew that 'twas for a daughter that they waited; they had been listening to the words of Ivorwen's vision for fourteen years.
Spring passed to summer and summer to fall as the town waited in anticipation. Innkeepers stockpiled drink and food for the expected celebration and farmers hoped the babe would not be born 'til after the harvest. In this case, the will of Eru provided the farmers of the Angle with their wish. Lord Dírhael and Lady Ivorwen's long awaited daughter was born on 18 Narquelië, T.A. 2907, coincidentally, (or not), exactly a score and six years to the day after the couple had returned from Forndun.
Gilbarad and Lainiel gave thanks that they had lived to see their granddaughter. Ivorwen's father was then six score and thirteen years of age. Her mother was five score and eleven, and had lived a decade and a year beyond her mother Morwen's span. Despite the difference of twenty-two years in their ages, they both appeared elderly according to their lineages and the blood in their veins.
From Lad Ivren came the chieftain's heir Arador and his son, Arathorn. Chieftain Argonui did not make the trip, being then an even hundred and fifty years of age and beginning to feel his years. Though still the titular head of the House of Isildur, he had reached an age where he was willing to delegate the official representation of his line at such social occasions, passing on the responsibilities to those who would rule those subjects after him.
Besides, he told his son and grandson, "Someone must remain to order the fight." But the truth was that he had begun the process of detachment from his role as leader and was making peace with his conscience before the One in preparation for giving up his life.
In choosing a name, the new parents had looked to a line from the prophecy of Iarwain Ben-adar; Her distant daughter shall bear them Hope. Dírhael and Ivorwen had agreed that their daughter's name would be Estelil¹, but on the night of her christening before the assembled guests and family, her mother looked down at the babe she held. Her shock of raven hair glistened, wet with the water of Ulmo that represented the lifeblood of Arda, and the reflections of starlight glimmered there like the bejeweled hairnets that some Dúnadaneth wore. After falling silent and still for many heartbeats, the new mother changed her mind. ¹(Estelil, Hope = estel(hope) + -il(fem. n. suff.) Sindarin)
"My daughter's name shall be Gilraen¹," she declared. ¹(Gilraen, Adorned with Netted Stars Sindarin)
Not even her husband dared gainsay the Seer, for that gift was believed a mortal parallel to the perception of Manwë and Varda. Of the King and Queen of the Valar, 'twas said that, "When Manwë…ascends his throne, if Varda is beside him, he sees further than all other eyes…and if Manwë is with her, Varda hears more clearly than all other ears…¹." Foresight was a gift from the Gods, its source beyond mortal senses, to be denied only at great peril. The girl child's name was Gilraen. ¹(The Silmarillion, Valaquenta, pgs. 16-17.)
As if displaying His approval of her choice, a great horned owl came out of the night on silent wings and perched on Ivorwen's shoulder, claws that could rend a hare leaving not a mark on her bare skin. The great raptor leant over and looked into the child's eyes, and the babe giggled and reached out to it, but the owl only hooted softly and then took flight, disappearing whence it had come. The company was shocked to silence and none more so than Ivorwen and Dírhael.
To the gathered mortals, the apparition had been miraculous, but to Helluin, standing at the rear of the crowd, 'twas as a command from the West. The Noldo had come over the mountains a century past to protect Lainiel III. For Gilraen, she would stand against even Sauron himself, and she would destroy anything in her path.
To Be Continued