Sterday, 8th of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
The High Moor, Somewhere in the Trollshaws
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| A mysterious encampment |
In reality, of course, we were setting out for Dunland, a remote and harsh land somewhere well south of the Doors to Moria. My knowledge of that region was as sparse as its population -- from what I could gather according to my companions -- and I'm still not entirely sure whether its inhabitants are to be trusted. Still, our arrival there is some weeks off, so there's no point in worrying about such things now.
The air was damp and stuffy as we climbed up, up, up the winding pathway which led out of the Valley. The grey, overcast skies delayed the onset of the day's heat, but the humidity had us all sweating and blowing long before we reached the Gates of Imladris and passed onto the High Moor. At that point (this would have been roughly ten in the morning, more or less), we suddenly saw breaks in the clouds, and before long the Sun was shining through with her full force. The combination of wet air and hot Sun with no wind had me in a misery for hours, and I think the others felt it too, for we managed fewer than twenty miles the remainder of the day, including more rests than usual. Some of these were deliberate, I later realized, as Gaelira was eager to protect the health of Lagodir, who was still newly recovered from his previous travails.
We ended up settling down for the night rather earlier than usual: it was probably little more than the fifth hour from noon when we began seeking a cool place to rest, and once we had located a suitable copse of fir-trees we wasted no time in bringing the day's efforts to a close. I ended up making us a campfire in spite of the heat because the insects have been merciless: they are after the salt in our perspiration, and the smoke helps to keep them away. No one has spoken much all day.
Sunday, 9th of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Near the Ford of Bruinen, Somewhere in the Trollshaws
Yesterday's clouds burned away in the early morning to leave the sky high, dry, and hotter than before. We did our best to travel under the boughs of whatever trees we could find, but even still the day was long and uncomfortable. If you've ever found yourself in a similar situation, you know that speaking is never high on your list of things to do; it's hard to concentrate on anything besides your burning skin, dripping forehead, and leaden feet.
We reached the Ford of Bruinen about the third hour after noon, and the crossing was the highlight of the day. The water was clear and cool as we splashed merrily through, reinvigorating our tired limbs. On the far bank, the trees grew much more densely, and we were able to relax in their pleasant shade. The time came to move on, but none of us had any desire to go further that day, so we delayed, delayed, and delayed our departure some more until it became obvious our Company was going no further before dawn. Instead, we settled down to a cheerful fire and a hearty meal of beef and carrot stew (served up by P. Pemberton!), of which no one turned down seconds.
Our bellies filled, we lazed about the campfire and waited for night to close in. Gaelira kept insisting we would need to march twice as long tomorrow to make up for the time we had lost today, and we all somberly agreed to do so, but of course none of us really meant it. To change the subject, I started chatting about all the strange and wonderful creatures we had seen on our journeys together -- Bleakwind and Brullug, the Bone Man, the Chetwood Warg, and others. Then Lagodir told us of the marvellous fauna one could find in his homeland, far away to the South. Drodie would hint at incredible beings which inhabit the deep places of the world, and soon we all realized that Middle-earth was fair teeming with amazing things in every crack and crevice. We also began to think at how magnificent were the ordinary, everyday animals of our own mundane lives, only they ceased to seem so through familiarity. Of these, horses appeared to capture everyone's fancy the strongest, and not (I think) only because we all wish we owned some after two days' walking in the hot Sun!
"Oh, how I love horses," said Nephyn wistfully, "Always have. They seem like such noble beasts."
"That's because they are, in truth," said Lagodir. "The Men of Gondor, at least those who do not travel far from home, see little of animals as they have never been kept in our lands in great number -- aside from oxen and the like. But I have been to Rohan, land of the Horse-lords, and there I have seen creatures of such majesty that I find it scarcely fitting to call them horses and not some grander name. Some of them I would swear can think as sharply as you or I; you can see it in their glance."
"What a wonder!" said Nephyn, truly enthralled. "How I wish I could meet one! Do you think our travels might ever take us to Rohan?"
"It is possible, I suppose," answered Lagodir. "Every step we take southward leads us nearer to the wolds of the Mark where Theoden rules in peace and contentment. When our adventures have run their course, I plan to return there in quiet retirement."
"A little young for that aren't you?" Nephyn scoffed. "You don't look a day over thirty to me -- hardly more than three or four years my senior, I would say."
"I have seen my share of seasons," Lagodir replied with a grin. "This year began my eight and fiftieth upon this Middle-earth."
"What!?" Nephyn and I cried together. "How?"
"The blood of Numenor runs nearly true in my veins as it has in all the House of Turma before me," Lagodir replied. "Such was the will of the Valar when they gifted Numenor to my people and Elros, their first king, in ages long past. Did you not say your mentor, the one we met at the Prancing Pony named Saeradan, was a descendant of the North Kingdom? How old is he?"
"Why, he's --" Nephyn began to answer, then blinked. "You know, I don't think I ever asked him. He was always a grey-haired Man so long as I knew him -- I just never thought about it, I suppose."
"I expect he is a good deal older than you might take him for," said Lagodir. "The first king of Numenor lived to be five hundred years old and that lineage lives still in this world, though much has changed since those days."
"In any case you're remarkably well-preserved for someone your age," said Nephyn. "I must be little more than a child in your eyes."
"No more than I would think Padryc a child," answered Lagodir.
"That's appreciated," said Nephyn, "Though he is older than me, aren't you, Pad?"
"By about ten years, yes," I nodded and pointed to my chest. "Thirty-seven, or will be next month, anyway. Still, I only just 'came of age' (as we say in the Shire) a mere four years ago."
"Ah, yes -- I once heard about this from some Staddle-hobbits, I think," said Nephyn with a bright gleam in her eye. "You hobbits have a peculiar stage you call the tweens, do you not?"
"The irresponsible twenties, yes," I chuckled. "You can't trust any tween to not be up to mischief, really."
"Yourself included?" she asked me. "I'd wager you were a rascally youth!"
"Oh, not me!" I said with a laugh. "Not much of a handful at all, really, aside from giving my old dad a bit of trouble around the farm. There's not much mischief one can get up to when one's life revolves around the growing and selling of pipe-weed."
"That sounds like the perfect place to get into some mischief, if you ask me," smiled Nephyn. "What about your friends?"
"Well, there was this one hobbit I used to tease something awful, if I'm honest," I admitted. "Me and pretty much everyone else too, really."
"Padryc!" the huntress said reproachfully, "I would have never though you to be the bullying sort."
"Ah, well, I feel bad about it now, of course," I said, "Though it was the kind of thing we all did. And he was a very disagreeable sort of chap too."
"That doesn't make it right," she said. "What was his name?"
"Lotho," I replied. "Sackville-Baggins, but we all used to call him 'Pimple' due to his... unfortunate complexion."
"Hmph! I'm disappointed in you, Pad," she said, though her voice was light and playful. "I know what it's like to be put off due to appearances; if I am ever blessed with children, they will be taught to never make fun of others for things beyond their control."
"Well, things have a way of working themselves out, you know," I sighed. "You see, it was Lotho's dad Otho what bought out my dad's farm when that whole situation with the will wasn't properly handled. And then Lotho got it all through inheritance when Otho passed on five years back, so I got my comeuppance, one might say. It just goes to show you: don't make fun of others because... well, you just never know."
"Sound advice. I'd regale you with stories about my own social challenges, but if I did we'd likely all be sitting here til there was snow piled up around our chins. Drodie!" she called to the Dwarf as he took a pull on his ale-skin. "Did anyone ever make fun of you as a --"
BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!
"Never mind," Nephyn said as she rolled her eyes and cleared the air in front of her with her hand. "I suppose Gaelira's childhood was so long ago she couldn't be expected to remember much. What about you Lagodir? You look like you would have been a tall and sturdy youth -- I'd wager you never had to deal with such things."
"Not like what you describe, no," he said grimly, "But I had troubles of a different sort: my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a traitor to Gondor. He revealed a secret entrance beneath Minas Ithil to the servants of the Nameless One, and it became Minas Morgul."
"That's awful!" I cried. "Did your ancestor have a choice in the matter?"
"Yes, by all accounts," Lagodir replied. "At least, by what few accounts there were -- tens of thousands died when that city fell. Which is not the sort of thing your countrymen tend to forget, not even after more than nine hundred and fifty years have passed."
I suppose I don't have to tell you the conversation rather dried up after that. Gaelira had kept silent during our discussion and remained standing with her staff, staring out into the gathering dark. Night descended and we all slowly drifted off to sleep.
Monday, 10th of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Tal Bruinen, Somewhere in the Trollshaws
Another hot, long, boring day of marching. Today wasn't as bad, though, since we have been following the banks of the Bruinen, so every now and then we get to dunk our heads into the river to cool off. Judging from experience, it should be few more days yet before we pass into Eregion. It's Drodie's turn to cook tonight, which is always an... enlightening experience.
Sterday, 15th of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Somewhere in the Land of Eregion
It's been five days since my last entry and a full week since we left Rivendell. There really is nothing significant to report -- the land looks just as empty and sprawling as it did the last time we travelled through it, only now the summer weather has definitely arrived. We spent last night in some old ruins near an overlook. Elven, they seemed to me, but clearly abandoned long ago. Tonight we are camping in a thicket of holly-trees and Gaelira has ordered that we light no fire, so supper will have to be a cold one. I have no idea why she's worrying -- there's nothing going on around us for miles.
Highday, 21st of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Somewhere in the Land of Eregion
We've been walking south for another six days now and I am bored out of my mind. Unlike last time when we were headed for Moria, this time we are trying to take a more south-westerly track. Well, going this way, the holly-trees quickly end and there's nothing but flat, empty plains almost as far as the eye can see. Gaelira has asked that we keep our speech to a minimum, and today even I can feel how quiet it is here. It is a bit unsettling, actually.
It is now dusk. We just reached the Sirannon, but we are still too far to the east. Tomorrow we will have to travel west along the road and I'm told we should reach the Elves of Mirobel around noon. I wonder if we will have time to stop and visit Luean's grave?
Sterday, 22nd of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Echad Mirobel, Somewhere in the Land of Eregion
We made good time: by my reckoning it was about half-past eleven when we strode into the ruins of Mirobel above the Sirannon's dry river-bed. The Elves' leader Maegamiel (who remembered us fondly from our previous visit) welcomed us with a smile, but we soon learned he and his people were disturbed by something going on near their settlement. He escorted us up a flight of crumbling stairs into a ruined tower, then pointed to the south.
"Is that a tent?" I asked as I peered out from under my hand. "I'd swear it wasn't there the last time we came this way."
"It was not," said Gaelira gravely. "Maegamiel, what kind are they that encroach upon you?"
"The pavilion was pitched during the night," Maegamiel replied. "They appear to be Men to our eyes, though we have not the skill, maybe, to tell one kind of mortal from another. Moreover, they are many and my people are very few. We were in council among ourselves when you arrived this morning; I was hoping you might help us decide what should be done?"
We agreed to lend our assistance, so Maegamiel began telling us everything he knew so far about the strange interlopers. During the conversation, however, two of his people returned from scouting the camp and reported their grim findings.
"They are Men," the scouts told us, "But they are dour-faced, swarthy brutes the like of which we have never seen before. They show no love for the growing things about them; they cut far more living wood than they could possibly need, even for as many as they are."
"But what are they doing?" Gaelira asked. "What brings them so close to your home?"
"We have not been able to discover their business," came the response, "But they are not hunters, for we see no trace of bow or shaft anywhere among all their equipment. There is one curious thing: encircling the camp are tanning racks, and they are laid many hides, drying in the Sun."
"Tanners?" Lagodir asked, confused. "Since when do tradesmen live, travel, or work anywhere near this place?"
"Not since the fall of Moria, an age ago," said Maegamiel with a frown. "There is something evil afoot in this, I doubt it not. Still, they have done us no insult or injury, and I would not risk battle when my own people are so few in number. What shall we do?"
"Let us try them in this manner," said Gaelira. "Have your folk hidden in the rocks and trees nearby, for in their keen eyes and true arrows we shall have the advantage (Nephyn and Padryc, too, will be among you). Meanwhile, Lagodir, Drodie, and I will go down and present ourselves peacefully to the camp. You shall judge how to deal with them from their reception of us."
"So be it," said Maegamiel. "But pray they have no crossbows among them, or other means of doing you harm from a distance."
We took some time to arrange our meager forces as Gaelira directed. Nephyn and I were positioned with Maegamiel atop a rocky outcropping where we were all but invisible behind a large boulder. Looking around, I could see some of Mirobel's folk stationed in various spots with their longbows at the ready. When all was prepared, Gaelira, Drodie, and Lagodir strode boldly out through the grass and within a stone's throw of the strange camp. It was far enough distant that I could not make out the words spoken, but I saw Lagodir raise his hand, palm outward, in sign of peace. Almost immediately, at least two dozen rough-looking figures emerged from inside the tent, all of them bearing a weapon of some sort. The tallest among them, who seemed to be the leader, gave a cry and his fellows rushed toward my companions, their weapons held high!
At once I heard a great whoosh as a dozen Elf-bows twanged. Half of the attackers instantly collapsed while the remaining ruffians stood there, dumbfounded. My friends charged their attackers as a shout went up from our forces and we all moved in. The battle was swift and deadly -- our enemies were utterly destroyed.
"Curious behaviour for a bunch of tanners, wouldn't you say?" laughed Drodie. "At least they showed some heart -- at first. May all of our victories not come so easily! I never even had the chance to shake the rust from my axe."
"These are half-orcs you have here, Maegamiel," said Gaelira as she turned over one of the fallen. "From what land the came I know not, but their business could not have been for our benefit."
"Whatever it was that brought them here, we might never know now," I said as I trotted up to the battlefield. "You lot did your job a bit too well there -- not a single one of them left alive to question!" We double-checked the damage to make sure, but I had spoken the truth. Even the leader, a great, brutish thug with a leering mouth full of large and rotting teeth, had been pierced through the neck by one of Nephyn's grey-feathered shafts. We decided to examine the camp and saw, as the scouts had told us, that the entire camp was indeed circled by tanning racks. On these were stretched the hides of...
"Wolves?" asked Nephyn as she cocked one eyebrow. "Are there wolves in this land? I don't recall seeing -- or hearing -- a single one either time we've travelled the length of Eregion."
"Then I trust you have not journeyed near Torech Andraug," said Maegamiel, "For that is a large wolf-den in Eregion. However, it lies far to the north and east of here and the beasts of that region are brown-furred whereas these hides are black as coal. I cannot say whence they might have come. Warg-packs sometimes roam these lands, but no one could possibly mistake these for Warg-pelts: they are much too small and lack the coarseness of their evil cousins."
"Indeed," said Lagodir. "Fortunately, your people are safe and our Company is used to seeing riddles such as this. Perhaps we will find answers as we continue our journey south."
"If you do, I hope you will find some way to inform me," said Maegamiel. "We are not accustomed to having armed neighbors with strange habits such as this. Whither do you sojourn, Gaelira?"
"To Dunland," the she-Elf answered, "To find answers to our own little riddles."
"I see," Maegamiel replied with a grin. "Then you are welcome to rest at Echad Mirobel in honour, for it was your assistance, and that of your friends, which may have spared my people much grief. Unless, of course, you wish to put more miles behind you before sundown?"
"No, I think our journey for today is done," said Gaelira. "I know our Company would like very much to visit the resting place of our friend Luean ere we depart."
"And in any case we should destroy this ramshackle tent," said Drodie. "It wouldn't do to leave it laying around in case this lot has friends that might come looking for them later."
Everyone agreed this was sound counsel, so we spent a few hours dismantling the half-orcs' camp. Although we went through every piece of debris there was, we never learned anything more about their purpose. And in all the wreckage no one found any sign of hunting gear: no bows, no arrows, nothing. I could tell this fact disturbed everyone a great deal, especially Gaelira, but I couldn't make head nor tails of it myself.
Finally, the work completed, we accompanied Maegamiel and his people back to their settlement. There we were treated to an excellent meal and singing under the stars. As the night deepened, the five of us made our way down to the library of Tham Mirdain. There, just beyond the ancient doors of that place, we stood in silent respect for Luean, our lost companion. No one spoke, but we all remembered him fondly, for he was a true friend and a happy soul. One by one, we each slowly turned away until it was only Nephyn and myself remaining, hand-in-hand. The stars overhead were burning brightly, and I thought about how Luean, like so many of his kind, loved them dearly. I found no words to say, but I gently squeezed Nephyn's hand and left her to begin returning to Mirobel. As I walked away, I heard the young Woman's whisper carried to my ears by the gentle night breeze.
"I'm sorry Luean," she said, "We haven't found your killers yet." I walked on.
"But we will."
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