Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Agannalo]

The flow of curses and threats that Hyarion was about to utter in reply froze on his lips when he noticed that the magic blade that Agannalo now rose skywards started to glow with its own light. The pale greenish glow intensified and the candles in the room dimmed. Soon the room was full of pulsing evil light that somehow drained the things around of all color – everything now appeared a mixture of stark whites and velvety blacks with gray shades in between. Agannalo’s face seemed white as bone, with dark shadows around the sunken eyes, much like a grinning skull. Hyarion’s skin crawled.

Then Agannalo turned the blade downwards, holding it above the chalice with Elina’s blood. As if drawn by a magnet, the surface of the red viscous liquid stirred and curved, following the circular motion of the blade. Stirring the liquid with the knife, but never touching the surface, Agannalo started to chant the spell. Its words, in the High Tongue of ancient Mordor, were comprehensible to the learned Southron who listened open-mouthed, striving to memorize every word.

Pardahûn-zan ronku-ob ghaashug, muzûrz ghaamp-ob,
Burzum-zan ukû -- gothûrzûk, levûk --
Gaakh matum skaat nar akral-u grish-ob za!
Gaakh ash amirz akr grish pash slaiug ukû,
Durbûrz ukû, agh gothûrzukû!
Bugd-izgu Lat, Ai Melkor, Goth-ob Pardahûnûk!

In Westron that meant

In the name of the power of the hot, burning depths of the earth,
By the everlasting darkness - all powerful, all encompassing -
May death not come to the drinker of this blood.
Let the one who drinks the blood be forever living,
Forever strong and forever powerful.
We beseech thee, O Melkor, Master of all Power!

“It seems that Silmadan’s tale about the wizard was true, after all.” Hyarion thought, much impressed. “It is impossible that the knave could invent such a spell himself, especially considering that it is composed in the Sacred language. The powers of the blade became unlocked. The spell clearly works!”

At the invocation of the Dark God’s name, the blade’s glow became unbearably bright. Hyarion averted his eyes in awe and looked back only when the glow gradually vanished. Agannalo stood looking down at the now smooth surface of the blood.

“And so be it!” he smiled at Hyarion. “Let the one who drinks the blood be forever living. But that will be I, not you.”

With that he lifted the chalice and took one long swallow.

For a moment Hyarion was speechless. He struggled to his feet and walked on unsteady feet to his treacherous accomplice. With a placid smile on his blood-smeared lips Agannalo proffered him the now empty vial. Hyarion looked down at the last drops of Elina’s blood obtained with such pains. It seemed to him that these drops grew to fill all his vision. He saw red.

With a wordless animal growl, ready to tear the accursed strawhead to pieces with his bare hands, Hyarion rushed forward...

And stopped dead. Silmadan, who just a moment ago stood facing him, had disappeared. Hyarion looked wildly around. The room was well lit, but the weird strawhead was nowhere to be seen. Then the Southron thought he heard a low chuckle. Yes, he was not mistaken. The quiet laugher was coming seemingly from all sides at once – or was it only in his own mind? The volume of the sound grew, and soon Hyarion’s head resonated with the horrible diabolical laugher. He clutched his head and sank to the floor, feeling more frightened than ever in his life.

At this moment beyond the drawn curtains and locked shutters, in the backyard of the inn, an old rooster flew to the top of the fence, tossed his red crest and started his morning chant. The clear sound cut through the shadowy nets of wizardry like a knife through butter. The laugher abruptly stopped and Hyarion slowly regained his wits. He told himself “I am an officer of Angmarian Army, His Majesty’s Lieutenant, I will not cower on the floor like a beaten slave.” Dwimmercraft or not, he had to find the prisoner.

“Guards, to me! The prisoner has escaped!” he cried, forgetting that he had locked the door on the inside. The soldiers hearing the urgency in the Lieutenant’s call, made short work of the door and rushed in. “Search the room”, Hyarion ordered. He himself went to check the windows. All were duly locked.

For some time the guards occupied themselves looking under the tables and behind the sofas. The area around the bed had been searched most thoroughly, as the men enjoyed the occasion to gawk at the half-naked unconscious Elins, before Hyarion had remembered to cover the girl.

Suddenly they heard frantic cries from the court and the sound of galloping hooves. Hyarion, knowing already in his heart what to expect went out to investigate.

“So, the strawhead has stolen his horse, didn’t he?” he asked a soldier with a measure of resignation.

“It is much worse, my Lord”, the soldier replied. “All the horses bolted as if Njamo himself was after them. Broken their stalls and bolted away, they did. Not a single one left. We are stranded”.

______________________________________
LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE BLACK SPEECH SPELL

Power-innameof depthsof burninghot earthof,
Darkness-bythe eternal -- powerfulall, surroundingall --
May death come not drinkerto bloodof this!
May one who drink blood beabletobe living eternal,
Strong eternal, and powerful eternal!
Call-we You, O Melkor, Master-of Powerall!

Written by Gordis, the Spell by Angmar.

[Caelen]

Eryndil's house in Cameth Brin, afternoon of Nov. 7

"And here's your room!" said Hendegil graciously, ushering Caelen into the nicest of the available guest rooms in the house. Hendegil was thoroughly enjoying playing "mistress of the house" with her brother's home.

The servants had already brought the baggage into the room and were working on unpacking. A maidservant had opened up the bag containing Callon's clothing and was holding up a man's shirt with a quizzical expression on her face.

"That bag has my brother's clothing in it," explained Caelen hastily, trying not to laugh at the maid's expression. "I guess you can just hang it off to one side of the wardrobe. I don't want it to sit in a bag until spring, or it will get musty."

"Yes, miss," answered the maid, nodding her head and continuing with the unpacking.

"And now I'll show you over the rest of the house," said Hendegil, again assuming the air of an experienced hostess, and glad that they had the house to themselves - Eryndil and her father were out getting their baggage wagon, her mother and the rest of the family were out shopping at the market (except for Vilyandur who was probably still sleeping), Hendegil didn't remember what they had said, just that they were going to be back shortly before dinner, along with everyone else.

It was a nice house, and Caelen looked with pleasure into the various rooms. It had all been so sudden - it was a little unreal. Just a few hours ago had been that awful interview with Thillas, and knowing that the other servants were talking behind her back and saying all sorts of terrible lies about her, and then Hendegil had come like a breath of fresh air and whisked her away from all of that. And now she was in this pleasant house, with a friend whom she loved dearly even though she had only known her a short while. It seemed just too good to be true! Now if only Eryndil wouldn't lecture her very often, things would be perfect!

They continued their tour through the house and finally came to another door, which Hendegil opened with a cheery "And this is Eryndil's room - isn't it nice? Large and airy, and a very nice view!" Caelen hesitated just a second - perhaps they shouldn't go in ... but then her curiosity got the better of her. And Hendegil had said that Eryndil and his father would be gone all day. And it wasn't like she was going into his room on her own - Hendegil wanted to show her the room, along with the rest of the house.

They walked over to the window (Caelen surreptitously letting her fingertips graze over the furniture as she went) and gazed out.

"Yes, it's very nice," said Caelen, and turned back to look over the rest of the room, which was far more interesting to her. It was a nice-sized room, and Eryndil kept it reasonably clean - Caelen blushed as she thought of her own messy tendencies.

Suddenly Caelen remembered some things in her baggage that she preferred to not have the maids handle.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I need to run back to my room for a moment - I have some things that I'd rather unpack myself ... "

"Oh, ok - I'll meet you back in the drawing room, then; all right?"

"All right," answered Caelen, and she turned around and walked rapidly towards the door.

[Eryndil]

November 7, 1347 – mid-morning – on the King’s Road from Cameth Brin to Tanoth Brin

As he walked down the switchbacks and steep inclines, Eryndil’s mind turned over the discussion from last night’s meeting. The King had actually met with them, which was rare – and the meeting had gone rather late. Each detail of the day’s earlier Council Meeting was gone over time after time, but most often, the talk had come back to Broggha.

Lastorion and Rondaran had commended the King on his wisdom – for he should certainly be rid either of the Orcs at Dol Hithaer or else of Broggha, or at the least, Broggha’s reputation would be diminished. Naurlith had mostly been silent. Only Eryndil had suggested that Broggha might be up to something. When pressed, he couldn’t come up with a plausible theory – even he dismissed after brief consideration whether Broggha might be in league with the Orcs (although it was not without precedent – for King Valandur of old Arnor was slain in an engagement in this very land, against a force of Hillmen supplemented by Orcs, and even a Troll or two – but that was 700 years ago!).

At last they had ended, and with Eryndil’s request to accompany his father to Tanoth Brin the next day, the King had told them all he would next summon them the day after Broggha left town. Lastorion had shown interest at Eryndil’s request, and after told him that he wouldn’t mind a visit to the lower city himself, if he might accompany them. He had met Eryndil and Camglas at the gate to the inner city this morning, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, while they also dropped Hendegil off to go visit her friend at the palace. So the three men walked along, passing now the Loud Waterfall and the camp of the Hillmen, leading two horses to pull the wagon back up.

On they came to the bridge over the Tanoth River and through the open gates into Tanoth Brin proper. Eryndil had only come down here twice since his arrival in town, but some from the upper city never ventured down at all. They passed along Market Street and stopped at the Market Street Inn, where they hitched their horses and went in. Eryndil had never been inside the place before. It was larger and more prosperous than most of the other establishments around – kept a good reputation too. It was nicely located, just off the Tanoth Brin Market itself, on the main thoroughfare.

Lastorion engaged Eryndil in small talk while Camglas settled up with the innkeeper for the repair of his wagon. But about this time, a tall, older looking fellow in a grey cloak came from the back of the place and shuffled past them to take a seat by the fire. Camglas had watched him closely as he walked past. Eryndil made way for the man to pass between himself and Lastorion, when he noticed Lastorion’s face.

Lastorion looked as if he had seen a ghost!

His father’s voice took Eryndil’s attention away from his companion, “That man smelled of the forge. Is he the smith who wrighted my wheel?”

“Aye, the very same,” answered the innkeeper.

“Well, here’s your asking price for the fix,” replied Camglas, reaching under his cloak and drawing out a couple silver coins from the bag at his waist. “A bit high, by my reckoning, but “this is the city”, they say!”

“Don’t you even want to see it first?” asked the innkeeper.

“Not necessary – I trust you. Besides, if it isn’t fixed right, I’ll know right where to come, won’t I? Just have someone ready to lead my son here around to where he can hitch it up, awright?”

Eryndil turned back to Lastorion, who had recovered himself, but now had a look of remiss on his face, “Eryndil my friend, I cannot believe that I had forgotten this, but I had already arranged to meet with another friend at the palace before noon. I may be late as it is, but I should certainly be getting right back.”

“Well, wouldn’t you want to ride with me in the wagon?” asked Eryndil.

“Oh – certainly not. Wouldn’t want to trouble you. Besides… the time it would take to hitch it up, and the rate a wagon would have to go up that hill. No… I’d best just be leaving.” But Eryndil noticed that Lastorion gave a quick, furtive glance over toward the old man seated by the fire. Then Lastorion turned abruptly and was gone.

“What’s eating your friend?” asked Camglas, just coming up behind Eryndil’s shoulder.

“Oh – I guess he had some place to be…”

“Well, never mind that. Look, when the innkeeper sends his boy, take the horses around back, hitch them up to the wagon, and take it on back home – to your home that is. I just mean to have a drink or two with yon blacksmith… to sort of treat him for fixing up my wagon. I’ll be back presently. Get along now.”

“But father – can you get back alright?” Eryndil wasn’t thinking just of him finding the place – but wondered if the King’s Road might be unfriendly toward an older Thane traveling alone.

“I’ll be alright son – and I’ll be home long afore dark. You just get the wagon up there. Be careful how you handle those curves…” and then his father’s wry smile returned and he winked, “but keep your eyes off the serving girls around here as you go – alright now?”

Eryndil was puzzled, but watched as his father turned and made his way to the old blacksmith and began to engage him in conversation, taking a seat beside him just as the stable boy came to bring Eryndil around back.

- - - - - - -

November 7, 1347 – afternoon – Eryndil’s home

Eryndil wished his father had not been so quick to reward the smith. The wheel barely held together on the trip back up the hill, and that with the wagon unloaded! There was no sign of Lastorion, so he must have made it quicker after all. But Eryndil even had to stop and support the back left corner around a few turns, while the horses pulled the wagon forward. His cloak was too bulky for that work and got in the way, so he had to take it off, despite the cold winds. And now – his tunic was torn – probably ruined.

He dropped the wagon off with his own servants at the coachhouse out back, telling them to mind the bad wheel and strode quickly toward his house, his cloak back on over the tattered remnants of the tunic. He passed the maid, who informed him that the cook was in the kitchen below, and that the housekeeper had taken his mother and the others to the market – the Cameth Brin Market, that would be, thought Eryndil to himself. Declining the maid’s offer to take his cloak – but asking her to prepare him a hot bath, he made his way to the stairs, feeling exhausted.

Up the empty stairs he went, pausing briefly at about every other landing. When he reached the Second Floor, he paused for a bit longer, looking down the deserted halls. He removed his cloak and hung it on a peg. Half of what remained of his tunic went with it, so he shed the rest in frustration. That was his favorite tunic! Well, he’d get another from his room, then go see about that bath.

He walked on down the hall to his room. Odd - the door was open - they were usually kept closed once the weather started to get cold. His mind on the doings of the morning and the strange behavior of his friend Lastorion, he walked into his room.

[Caelen]

Eryndil's house in Cameth Brin, afternoon of Nov. 7


Caelen turned around and walked quickly towards the door, and straight into the chest of a shirtless Eryndil, who was walking briskly into his room.

"Oh!" cried Caelen, startled, grabbing at Eryndil and trying not to fall, and then suddenly pulling her arms back in horror and embarassment as she realized she was touching his bare chest.

"OH!" exclaimed Caelen, mortified, as Eryndil grabbed her and pulled her to him, trying to keep her (and himself) from falling. Legs and arms tangled in rather interesting and embarassing ways ...

"Ooooohhhhh!" breathed Caelen slowly as she regained her balance and Eryndil released her, and she was able to see Eryndil's nicely-muscled upper body at close range.

"OH!" exclaimed Caelen in embarassment, blushing furiously as she realized he must have seen her staring at him. She stamped her foot in anger and addressed the grinning Eryndil with flashing eyes. "You STARTLED me! What are you DOING coming in here like that?!"

"And YOU startled ME!" replied Eryndil. "And as this is MY room, I was just coming up to get a new tunic - the one I was wearing suffered an unfortunate accident on my way home. I didn't expect to see you ... two ... here," he added, finally realizing that Hendegil was there also.

"Hendegil was just showing me around the house, and she wanted to show me your room, too," said Caelen defensively, biting her lip nervously in that mannerism that was now very familiar (and starting to become very appealing) to Eryndil. "She told me the view was ... was ... very nice ..." she added, her voice trailing off and her eyes dropping down to admire his muscular frame again, almost against her will.

"I hope you like it," said Eryndil slyly, torn between the desire to laugh and a more intense desire that was starting to spread throughout his body. There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like suppressed giggles coming from Hendegil's part of the room, and Caelen looked up again, flustered.

"It's nice, but I've seen better!" she said, her chin raised high and her eyes studiously avoiding looking below his eyes.

"And so have I," thought Eryndil, glancing down for a moment at Caelen's bodice, which was still missing the button. He looked back up at her, his eyes twinkling, thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture of the one who had been making him feel so flustered himself lately. Perhaps Caelen read his thought in his eyes, for she suddenly felt an urgent desire to get away from him as quickly as possible. She remembered her errand and gratefully seized upon it as an excuse to leave

"I have to go to my room - that's why I was rushing out - I have to talk to the maid about some unpacking!" she said, trying to figure out how to get past him in the doorway without touching him, as he didn't seem to be moving out of the way.

"Your room?" he inquired, puzzled.

"Oh ... talk to your sister about it!" she cried, trying again to edge past him but seeing that there wasn't enough room. Finally, in desperation, she stomped her foot again, shouted out "MOVE!", slapped his arm as she would slap an unruly horse, and heedless of everything else, pushed past him and ran off down the hall.

"I believe she thinks I'm a horse!" said Eryndil incredulously to his sister, who joined him at the doorway as he watched Caelen gallop down the hall.

Hendegil smiled, and then turned back to look at her brother, who was watching Caelen as she disappeared down the stairs. Her smile grew broader.

"You'll need to wash up before dinner, brother - I'll have some water sent up. Hot ... or cold?" And with a laugh, she ran off down the hall.

[Alagos and Tyaron]

Nov 8, in Gimilbeth's entourage, on the road to Amon Sul


Alagos, walking next to Callon on the driver's seat of the wagon, was watching him with a concerned expression on his face. Callon's wound had been treated and bandaged well, but it was deep, and it clearly bothered the young man.

"Sure you don't want me to drive, Callon?" The handsome face of the elf, which usually wore such a light-hearted expression, showed the concern he felt.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," answered Callon. "Horses make me feel better, anyway."

Tyaron, sitting on the wagon bench on Callon's other side, smiled briefly, then went back to fine-whetting his dagger, examining it carefully for any remaining damage from the battle.

"What you could do, though, is speak some more in your language. I always liked studying languages, and having the chance to hear the language of Gondolin from a native speaker ..." Callon shook his head in amazement, still not quite used to the idea that these men were as old as all that.

"Certainly! It is always a pleasure to speak in our mother tongue, and a pleasure to come across someone who appreciates it!" Alagos cleared his throat in an exaggerated gesture, and then began to speak slowly, grandly, in a solemn but melodic tone, and with graceful hand gestures.

Callon listened for awhile, enjoying the sounds of the language and listening for similarities and differences to the languages he knew, then asked respectfully, "What is that you're saying? Is it some song of a long-ago love, or the re-telling of a famous battle?"

"No - he's questioning my manhood in the most explicit terms possible," said Tyaron with a grin for Callon and a glare for Alagos.

Callon broke out laughing. "I can see you two are old friends indeed!" he said, as Alagos said something else in Gondolic to Tyaron and ran off merrily to see if the dwarves had anything amusing going on.

"We are indeed," answered Tyaron, smiling. "We have to be, or we would have killed each other long ago!"

Callon smiled, enjoying himself despite the pain. It was so wonderful to be in the company of men, and warriors at that. He didn't have to see his sister's face and be reminded of his failure to protect her. Caelen ...

Tyaron, quick-sighted, saw the change in Callon's expression.

"What saddens you, Callon elf-friend? he asked quietly.

"My sister ... "

Tyaron waited patiently, and eventually Callon sighed and spoke again.

"Do you ... or did you ever have a sister?" he asked Tyaron.

"No," answered Tyaron. "But Alagos did ... "

The two men were silent for a while.

"Do you blame yourself for what happened?" asked Tyaron quietly after a while.

Callon didn't answer.

"You tried to get her to flee, but it was her choice to ride back to you. And after that, six against one - and you injured - are odds that no man - at least in this age - could prevail against," said Tyaron firmly. "And from what I understand, staying home was definitely dangerous. I think you made the right choice among difficult options."

Tyaron sighed, then added solemnly, "To live is to risk danger ... and there are worse things that could have happened ... "

"You must have seen many grievous things over the years," said Callon quietly.

"Yes - many, many tragic things ... and many beautiful things. And the beautiful things are the greater truths." Tyaron paused, and then chanted quietly:

"Though all to ruin fell the world
and were dissolved and backward hurled
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making good, for this -
the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea -
that Luthien for a time should be."

Callon nodded. "I see what you're saying."

"And your sister still has you," said Tyaron. "I wish you were not away for so long ... but perhaps it is for the best ... perhaps another might come alongside her now that she is alone ..."

Callon looked quickly over at Tyaron, and then back to the road.

There was silence again for awhile.

"What happened to Alagos' sister?" asked Callon.

"We don't know," answered Tyaron quietly. "We ... we assumed she had died in the city at first, but no one knew for sure. There was so much confusion and grief, and so much need among the refugees - illness and death, and bitter cold - we couldn't leave to try to find out more for many years - our help was needed so desperately. And then one day, a refugee came, speaking of someone who sounded like her, and so we left ..."

Tyaron looked off into the distance and sighed. "It was like chasing a phantom, though. But whenever we would give up, we would always hear something that would eventually make us start searching again. And then more wars, and more rebuilding ..."

He looked at Callon and smiled. "And so I guess we just got into the habit of wandering. Wandering, and discovering the beauty in the world, and fighting against the evil that would destroy it."

"And you're still looking." It wasn't a question.

And Tyaron didn't need to answer.

[Eryndil]

November 7, 1347, early evening – Eryndil’s home in Cameth Brin

“Now what in Middle-earth could be keeping your father?” asked Rildorien, pacing back-and-forth across the floor of the Great Hall.

Eryndil made no answer. He had already told his mother all he could tell her. His father was headstrong and independent, but it wasn’t like him to be out THIS long, and alone in a strange place. Eryndil knew what he must do.

“Mother, I’ll take some men and go find him. You and everyone else, go ahead and sit down to dinner. Don’t hold it any longer.” Then, catching Narwaith’s eye, he called out to him, “Narwaith, you will come with me. Pick five other men, make sure Norumar is one of them, and let’s bring two of our Tanoth Brin boys. Round them up as quick as you can, then arm yourselves and meet me back here. Soromo – send someone up for my cloak and sword!”

Activity sprang to life all about them, one servant running upstairs, the others bringing forth dinner. Narwaith went first to the basement guard station, then back through to the guard-room in front and quickly had the necessary men assembled and the rest reapportioned to follow suit. Eryndil was strapping on his sword, his cloak held ready for when he finished, but his mother had not ceased speaking to him since the last word of command had died from his lips.

“No Eryndil, how could we eat without you? And your father? But shouldn’t Vilyandur come? He could help you. Besides – it’s his father too! But why so many men,… and your sword? Do you think there will be trouble? Oh but do be careful…”

“Mother,” and Eryndil paused to collect himself before continuing, holding up a hand to signal the servant with his cloak to wait. “Trouble is what I plan to avoid – and I’ll avoid it best by being ready for it. Now,” and he signaled for the cloak, which was immediately draped over his shoulders and clasped at his breast, “please stand aside and let us pass. See – I am all ready and the men are assembled. The sooner we leave, the sooner I’ll have your husband… my father, back here to you, and all the rest of us.”

But just as Eryndil turned to leave, there was a commotion at the front of the house. Before any sense could be made of the confusion, Camglas himself came through the outer vestibule, where he had engaged the guards, and burst into the house proper. With him were two other men, one tall, cloaked in grey, the other not so tall, and cloaked in brown. Camglas’ spirits were high, and his voice was loud and boisterous, but his guests were subdued.

“Ah Eryndil, my son… there you are! I have found a right good blacksmith for you, and another good man besides. As your father, I took it upon myself to hire them for you – took them right away from that ole innkeeper at Market Street, I did!”

Eryndil stood with his mouth agape. He wasn’t sure what stunned him more; his father’s timely appearance, or the sudden announcement about his new employees. By the time his father had finished ranging the hall, greeting everyone upon his return, reacting joyfully to the news of Caelen’s new living situation and placating Rildorien through some of her harsher redresses, the excitement had all died down, the men-at-arms had faded back to their posts to return their arms and dinner was set. Eryndil found just the moment he needed to take Camglas aside as the men and other servants returned to take their places at the lower tables.

“Father,” he asked, “what is this? I have no need for a blacksmith.”

“Oh, trust me on this one,” answered his father with full assurance, “this one is a true prince of a man!”

“But father, he isn’t even much of a blacksmith. Why, the wheel he was supposed to fix…”

Camglas’ face looked more sober at once and he looked steadily into the eyes of his son and lowered his voice so that no others could hear, “Yes, he told me it was his first wheel. But son, trust me that this is the right thing to do… to bring these men into your household. For a short time at least.” Then he paused and added, “You have my solemn word upon it.” And then, after beginning to turn he said further, “Oh – and no need to make any mention of it. Certainly not to any neighbors or any in the palace grounds up yonder.”

Camglas then turned toward his appointed place at the table leaving Eryndil behind to wonder who ELSE might invite someone or other to live with them, here in his house. The place was like a village already. He saw that Hendegil and Caelen were talking among themselves and looking up at him – how their eyes sparkled. But Eryndil wasn’t sure what he felt any longer. Certainly very confused – and as if things all about him were starting to take on a life of their own.

[Caelen]

Evening of Nov 8 at Eryndil's house in Cameth Brin

As she looked over the dinner on the table, Rildorien's brow was deeply furrowed. She was very worried - but not about the dinner, or even the strange way that her husband had unexpectedly brought home those new servants the night before. Well, she was worried a little about that, though the excitement around it had died down in the past day. But that worry was dwarfed by another one.

She thought back to when Caelen had shown up in the riding outfit just a few days ago. Her heart had gone out to the poor, young thing - orphaned and alone - and she had tried her best to help her. And then Caelen had burst into tears, and Rildorien had seen Eryndil's face - he had always hated when women cried, and would do anything he could to help. Then Eryndil had carried Caelen upstairs, and didn't just leave - he was attentive - very attentive - and had to finally be shooed away.

Rildorien was very glad when Caelen had gone home.

And now Caelen's home was Eryndil's home, too, thanks to Hendegil's precipitous invitation to her to come live with them.

It's one thing to comfort a poor, unfortunate orphan girl in need, but another to have this poor, unfortunate orphan girl be of marriageable age and extremely good-looking (Rildorien couldn't deny it) and have her established in your home until spring with an unmarried son who appeared to be showing signs of interest in her ... a man who was very strong but also very tender-hearted and hated to see women cry ... a man whose heart could be played upon and won by a scheming adventuress ... a man who would then be stuck for life with an unsuitable wife when he could have married so much better ...

Well... it was actually Eryndil's home, she conceded to herself... but that only made it worse!

Although Rildorien was a very kind-hearted woman, still, she was a mother - and a mother whose older son's marriage had brought her sorrow, and whose next son seemed unlikely to marry at all, or marry worse. Rildorien had always had a special place in her heart for her youngest son, and she thought that Eryndil should aim a little higher than a young lady who was little more than a stablegirl. She would have to nip this in the bud. Eryndil would thank her for this later ...

Rildorien prepared for battle.

Her eyes quickly scanned the room as she assessed the field - Hendegil was on Caelen's side, and her husband seemed to be leaning that way, too, but she thought she would probably have allies in her other son and daughter. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but she had better start tonight, before things got too entrenched.

As they all sat down to dinner, Caelen gave a little sigh and a pensive smile.

"Penny for your thoughts, Caelen," said Camglas with an encouraging look as he passed the potatoes.

"Oh, nothing much - it's just that it's so good to see a family together like this. It made me think of my family and all the wonderful times we had together. I'm trying to remember those good times instead of remembering the loss."

"The little schemer!" thought Rildorien angrily. "She knows how to play on the hearts of good men! I will NOT let my son be caught by her!"

"That is wise," answered Camglas. "Although both are true, the good things are the more important truth."

Caelen smiled radiantly at Camglas. "Thank you - I like how you put that. I shall always remember it!"

Rildorien looked at the smiling faces of her husband and youngest son and tried to quell her rising panic. She cast about to find some way of putting Caelen in a more negative light while not seeming to do so. She can't have been educated very well - that was it! Although Eryndil's skills in the wild wouldn't have led one to believe that he was a very cultured man, he was, both by inclination and instruction. She cast about for a way to bring up the subject, but Hendegil unexpectedly gave her the opening she needed.

"Oh Father, we'll have to read some poetry after dinner - I was looking through the boxes you brought from home and found some of our favorite books!"

Turning to Caelen, she asked, "Do you like poetry, Caelen?"

Rildorien started to say something, but Gildurien, who disliked Caelen for reasons of her own, beat her to it.

With a light little laugh, Gildurien casually remarked, "Oh, Hendegil, growing up with all those horses, she probably didn't get many chances to read!" Turning to Caelen, she inquired sweetly, "Did your mother teach you, dear?"

Caelen bit her lip and took a deep breath, then she pushed back her chair sharply, stood up, and declaimed in a clear, strong voice:

"There standing lone,
while endless fortresses of stone
engulfed the thin, clear ringing keen
of silver horn on baldric green,
his hopeless challenge dauntless cried
Fingolfin there: 'Come, open wide,
dark king, your ghastly brazen doors!
Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors!
Come forth, O monstrous craven lord,
and fight with thine own hand and sword,
thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls,
thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls,
thou foe of Gods and elvish race!
I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!' "

She sat down, and then added quietly, "Or would you like it in Sindarin?"

Gildurien, shaken but not beaten, fought back. "But that's not the end of the story, is it? I believe the noble elven king met his doom there - and a rather unpleasant one at that."

"But that's not the end of the story, either," answered Caelen. "It hasn't been written yet. And even if it were the end, still, as your father said, the good things are the greater truth."

There was quiet for a moment, for Gildurien didn't want to speak against her father, and then Caelen's voice came again, softly and musically, through the quiet in the room:

"Though all to ruin fell the world
and were dissolved and backward hurled
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making good, for this -
the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea -
that Luthien for a time should be."

Again, there was silence. Rildorien glanced at Eryndil and was alarmed at the expression on his face. He was smitten - absolutely smitten with this girl!

"Well, Hendegil, I don't think we need our books to enjoy poetry tonight, do we?" said Camglas, with a warm smile at Caelen.

"That was beautiful, Caelen," said Eryndil earnestly. "Would you favor us with some more after dinner?"

"A little, if you would like," she answered shyly. "But I would like to hear from everyone else, too."

As they finished dinner and moved into the drawing room, Hendegil pulled Caelen aside and took her hands. "Well done, Caelen! That showed Gildurien! She can be a little snobbish sometimes!"

Caelen gave her a shaky smile. "I hope I didn't make her too angry at me!"

"Oh, don't worry about her!" replied Hendegil. "She always seems to be angry nowdays! But seriously, Caelen, do you know Sindarin?"

"Well, just a little," answered Caelen. "My parents loved to study, and spoke with the elves that would pass by on occasion whenever they could." She leaned in closer and whispered, "But I was devoutly hoping that she wouldn't take me up on my offer, because I don't really remember more than a line or two of that bit in Sindarin!"

Hendegil laughed, and the two girls walked hand-in-hand into the drawing room to join the others.

[Lieutenant Hyarion]

Lieutenant Hyarion's rooms, King's Arms Inn, Kingdom of Angmar, morning of November 8, 1347

Held down by Hyarion, the physician's assistant, the innkeeper's wife and Mudoleth, one of the chambermaids, Elina awoke to screaming agony which was mercifully cut short when the girl fainted. Blanching, the innkeeper's wife closed her eyes and coughed sharply, attempting to calm the uneasiness in her stomach. The chambermaid, pale, her face drawn and pinched, bit her lower lip, only relaxing her grip on the girl when she saw that she had fainted.

"Lieutenant Hyarion, I have done my best," explained the physician, Pizdur Abzu, a grim-faced, dark-bearded man, as he closed off the ends of the severed blood vessels and tied them with silk thread. "She lost a great deal of blood." He turned to his assistant, a gloomy-faced young man in his late twenties. "Infection - we must be on our guard for that, Corporal. Now apply the healing salve and bind the wound."

"Aye, physician," his assistant mumbled as he opened a glass vial and began smearing an unpleasant smelling brown salve on the wound.

The physician rose to his feet, put his hand on the small of his arched back and groaned. "This damned weather is killing my bones," he grumbled.

"Come, Captain, share a glass of wine with me," Hyarion motioned to the small table with its accompanying two benches.

"So she tried to kill herself?" the doctor asked as he inhaled the fragrance of the goblet of Dorwinion wine.

"Aye, unfortunately," Hyarion nodded.

"What can you expect, Lieutenant? A young girl like that taken away from her people and all she had known. She does not half understand Common! I am surprised at you this time for buying this ignorant peasant girl. Do you not have enough women back at the fortress to satisfy your appetites without taking yet another?"

"Only two wives and three concubines," Hyarion shrugged. "You of all people should know that is a modest number in Harad. Why did I buy her? I had an itch for the girl; it is that simple."

"You always have an itch, Lieutenant! You brought at least five slave girls with you when you came from the South. Who knows how many more you have added since then? I suppose they do not count." Abzu swallowed the mouthful of pungent wine. "Now this girl... why did she try to kill herself? Were you that rough on her the first time, eh?" he chortled lewdly. "Perhaps I should have examined her..." He leaned forward across the table, his eyes gleaming.

"You rogue! I know what you really mean! No one touches my women in that way except for my eunuchs and me! What do you think I am, some barbarian swine? I was not the one who hurt her!"

The physician raised an eyebrow. "Then who did?"

"The prisoner who escaped last night!" Hyarion's eyes flashed in anger. "I thought he might have valuable information that he had not yet divulged. Attempting to gain his confidence, I had him brought to my room, ordered him unshackled from his chains, and allowed him to eat the scraps from my supper. I thought the dog would be grateful, but instead in a mad fit of rage, he overpowered me, rendering me unconscious with a blow to the back of my head. Then he rushed into the room with Elina, tied her to the bed, and had his way with her! When I returned to consciousness, I staggered into the room to find that the rogue had escaped. I later learned from the guards that the prisoner next went to the stables, took his mount and freed the rest of the beasts!"

The entire tale was a fabrication, of course, devised by Hyarion in the interval since Silmadan had fled. The girl had never been raped and was still a virgin in fact, but the story provided a plausible reason for Elina's attempted "suicide" and the prisoner's escape. The physician would believe what Hyarion told him, though.

The physician shook his head gravely. "A terrible thing!"

"Aye, indeed it was," Hyarion said sadly. "By the time I had arrived in the room, the girl had taken a dagger and sliced her wrist open. She was bleeding like a butchered ox! When I realized the situation, I sent one of the guards to fetch you, and you know the rest of the story." Hyarion looked searchingly into the doctor's eyes. "Do you think the poor maiden will be all right?" His black eyes filled with sorrow and regret, he drummed his fingertips nervously upon the table.

"My lord, the girl is very weak. She has lost quite a good deal of blood, and she needs rest and care. Then there is always the risk of infection, but if she has not worsened within three days, there is a good chance she will survive. I strongly advise you against moving her, though. She should stay here under the care and supervision of the innkeeper's wife or some other responsible person."

"I cannot do that!" Hyarion bristled. "I must be in Carn-dum as soon as possible! I have an appointment with His Majesty and he will not be kept waiting! Do not fear for the girl, though. She will ride in comfort. I have one of my men out now searching for a team of horses and a sleigh that I can rent. Then as soon as the cavalry horses are found, the cavalcade will be moving out!"

"Even with a sleigh, you still might kill her," Pizdur Abzu's voice was stern with warning.

"Then I must take that chance!"

The physician regarded him coldly for a few moments. "My lord lieutenant, just remember that allowing her to go on this journey is against my advice. Now if you no longer need my services, I must be going, but I shall return tonight. If the girl develops a fever, send for me immediately. Good day." Downing the remainder of his wine, the physician stood up. With a sign to his assistant, the two men bowed to the lieutenant and backed their way to the door and departed.

[Elina]

Lieutenant Hyarion's rooms, King's Arms Inn, Kingdom of Angmar, morning of November 8, 1347

Awakening from her faint, Elina looked up into the kind plump face of the innkeeper's wife. Her head ached; the light streaming in through the window burnt her eyes like sun reflecting off snow. She closed her eyes tightly to ward away the blinding light. The taste of stale wine made her troubled stomach churn even more, and she wondered why she could no longer feel her right arm.

"You poor dear," the motherly-looking woman murmured as she sponged dried blood off the girl's body with a warm cloth. The soothing warmth of the towel was blotted over her chest, down her stomach, and then to her thighs. Though her vision was blurred as though a mist lay between her and the innkeeper's wife, Elina could see that the woman's face was strained with worry as she cleansed her gently as a mother would a tiny baby.

"Oh, you poor dear, how terrifying it must have been for you when that cruel brute attacked you," the innkeeper's wife murmured sympathetically.

Elina did not recall anything like that happening, and wondered what the woman was talking about. What she could remember was a dinner of overcooked, tasteless beef accompanied by malodorous onions, fiery turnips and sulfuric cabbage, and then a desert of oat cakes and apples. Whilst they ate, the handsome officer plied her with many sweet words, promising her marriage. Then after the dinner, he turned his honeyed lips to kissing her own... his tongue lathed down her neck, stopping at the hollow of her throat as his hands explored her body. She had felt strange, as though she were floating on the clouds, and the floor was no longer made of wood, but somewhere between a liquid and a solid.

Vaguely she remembered Hyarion sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her into his bedroom. He had slowly taken off her blue dress, kissing her face, her lips, her cheeks, her throat, awakening feelings in her which she had never known before. His breath had tasted so pleasant, tinged with refreshing mint, sweeter than that which grew wild. Soon she was left in only the snowy white chemise. She wondered why she did not feel at all uncomfortable at the lack of clothing, but somehow it did not seem to matter.

Her vision darkening, she fell forward, down into balmy clouds of euphoric desire and opiated rapture. He caught her as she started to slump to the floor. She felt so very warm and cozy and blissfully happy, and sleepy, yes, very sleepy... When the hazy mists of languid somnolence had parted, she found herself looking up into the canopy of a large bed, each of her limbs tied to one of the posts with silken cords... scarlet, she remembered idly.

"My dear," he had whispered as he leaned over her, "you must understand that the wedding customs are different in my land. The... er... priest... will be here soon to perform the ceremony, and then you will be my... wife."

Though she did not know it at the time, that was a falsehood, for she would be nothing more than another of his slave maids. Perhaps if she managed to satisfy him, someday he would free her and make her another one of his concubines. Since she was a poor orphan from a far land and had seen little of the world, in her innocence, she wanted to trust him.

The innkeeper's wife pushed a lock of raven black hair from Elina's forehead and peered down into her face. "Now we need to get a gown on you and change this stained bedding." Turning to the chambermaid, she told her, "Mudoleth, help me with this, please... and be careful of her wrist."

The two women soon had Elina dressed in a clean white nightgown, an old one of the innkeeper's wife and at least two sizes too big for her. The sheets were changed and fresh ones smelling of lavender were spread over the bed.

The door opened and Hyarion strode into the room, and taking in the scene, a smile spread over his full lips.

"Does she not look lovely, my lord?" the innkeeper's wife beamed as she fluffed up the pillow behind Elina's back.

"Like a blushing bride," he winked at her. "Now you women may leave us, and thank you for all your help."

"My lord, we were glad we could be of use. If you should need anything, just ring the bell. We hope you have a pleasant afternoon and best wishes for your life together." The two women blushed, curtsied and then left.

When Elina saw the gleam in Hyarion's eyes as he approached the bed, a goblet of wine in his hand, she felt a sudden pang of intuitive dread. "My wrist... Please... do not..." she whimpered as she put her good hand out to push him away.

"Drink this, my dear, and everything will be fine," he murmured huskily.

[Agannalo]

On the road to Carn-Dum, November 8, 1347.

Agannalo negotiated another steep climb among jutted, broken red rocks and stopped his lathered horse. On the left the sun was setting, blood-red amidst the dark clouds. It had been snowing all day long, but now, towards the evening, the cold northern wind blew the heavy clouds away, so right ahead Agannalo was able to see the looming line of the mountains of Angmar outlined against the darkening sky. Straining his eyes, the nazgul followed the mountain chain to its west end and there he discerned a darker shadow, too regular in shape to be part of the mountainside - the fortress of Carn-Dum, his destination. Agannalo looked back surveying the winding road he had traveled all the way from the now distant Angsuul. The town of Angoul he had passed last night now seemed a black dot on the nearest bank of the gleaming frozen river.

The ride through Angoul was the most difficult part of his journey. First Agannalo thought to give the town a wide berth, but he hadn’t reckoned with the realities of the northern winter. The snow in the fields proved to be too deep for the horse, so the beaten road remained the only possible way. He was indeed lucky that Angoul was not a fortress, but just a small merchant town with only a wooden fence around. At night, the gates of Angoul were naturally locked, so he had to knock on the gates first with his fists, then with the hilt of the Morgul dagger to attract the gatekeeper’s attention. When, after much cursing, the sleepy gatekeeper finally emerged from his lodge and opened the gate, he was much surprised to see only a lone saddled buckskin horse facing him. Suddenly the horse neighed, rolled its wild bloodshot eyes, and rushed forward. The gatekeeper landed on his backside near the road, narrowly avoiding the flying hooves. He shook for hours afterwards and no amount of booze could warm his blood.

Another gatekeeper -of the West gate - only had to report that the gate suddenly opened all by itself to let out a riderless pale horse. He was much puzzled and not a little bit frightened, but decided not to investigate the matter. Some mysteries were better left unsolved…

Agannalo smirked at the memory, then laughed outright remembering Hyarion and the girl… Pity he had so little time with her. When washed and perfumed, she proved to be a dainty little thing, an exotic fruit ripe for plucking. And her blood had tasted so good…

Agannalo sighed and spurred the trembling horse again. By now, the buckskin was quite exhausted and hungry, but the nazgul cared little for the gelding. He urged him on relentlessly, striving to reach Carn-Dum before the nightfall. He doubted he would be able to enter easily into THAT place after the gate was shut.

And indeed, Agannalo was the last person to enter before the drawbridge was raised and the heavy iron gates of Angmar’s capital clanged shut. Agannalo had caught up with a long procession of laden wagons that were bringing supplies to Carn-Dum, so he managed to avoid questions at the city gate. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky at the fortress, though.

“I hope I won’t meet another Hyarion eager to put a King’s nephew in chains” he thought.

Bathed in moonlight, the fortress stood on the mountain shoulder, its many battlements looming over the city. The high tower perched on the rock seemed to float in the twilight sky, graceful and weightless. To Agannalo’s eyes it seemed faintly luminous, beckoning to all his senses, like a light of a harbor warms the heart of a returning mariner. Feeling homesick and weary of travels, Agannalo ardently hoped that the King would welcome him, would permit him to stay – at least for some time, a few centuries maybe…

He rode to the Gates and announced to the bewildered guards. “My name is Silmadan. I am come to see my uncle, His Majesty the King of Angmar.”