Perilous Journeys. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part III

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On the Great Road south of Brochenridge, morning of November 4, 1347
Written by Rian and Serenoli
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"Oh, come on - stop worrying about tactics and defensible positions. Let's meet these dwarves - it will be fun! What does it matter if we die, anyway? We've wandered in this world long enough, that's for sure! "

Tyaron had to smile at his friend's comment. He was right - as elves from the ancient city of Gondolin, destroyed long ago by the malice of Morgoth, they were among the oldest inhabitants of Middle Earth. They had seen many things in their long years, and had set out from Rivendell several months ago to see more ... and to bring back tidings of what they had seen.

Tyaron was the more reflective of the two; Alagos was more "hasty", as the Ents would say. Alagos tended to irritate Ents, as he would be up and on his feet with an idea to follow while the Ent was still at the beginning of a (long!) sentence, while Tyaron would sit for days at a time listening to their thoughts, the sun and the stars wheeling overhead as time flowed by.

And Alagos the impatient had gotten the itch to see new things again, so they were off. They had been best friends since childhood, and that, as well as the pleasure of being with someone who knew your birth-language and the place you grew up, in a world where these things were just far-off memories if they were even remembered at all, was the reason they still liked to travel together.

Tyaron lay back with his hands behind his head and started to sing softly in the ancient language of the city of Gondolin that few in Middle Earth now knew. An onlooker, hearing the unknown words sung in the mysterious and beautiful language, would have guessed that it was a solemn song, perhaps about some long-ago sorrow or love, but it was in fact a comic song that Alagos had composed, while a young child in Gondolin, about dwarves and their oddities.

Alagos smiled; he had won. He extended a hand to Tyaron, pulling him up off of the ground, and they walked onto the road in front of the company of dwarves, their hands extended in front of them in a gesture of peace; Tyaron with a solemn, alert expression in his bright eyes, and Alagos unable to keep a smile off his elven-fair face.

***

Gere could not stop from gasping - it was so sudden, so uncanny the way the elves suddenly appeared before them; it was frightening... much the way her nightmares had run in the past few days.

There were two of them; their hands were before them, gesturing the dwarves to stop... or was it a gesture of peace? One of them smiled, however, and Gere took heart from that. Hroim came forward, and spoke for them. Suspicion was etched across every dwarf-face but his; the memory of the last stranger they had encountered fresh in their minds, many hands felt for the axe resting comfortably at the waist. Gere herself drew little comfort from the cold steel but she fingered it all the same, ready to pick it up if necessary.

"Greetings, strangers," said Hroim in his deep voice, "I see you come in peace. I am Hroim, leader of this tribe, and I speak for them."

This was more or less a friendly greeting by Hroim, so the other dwarves let their hands slide to their sides. If he was going to be friendly, they would emulate him. The smiling elf said, "I am Alagos and this is my friend, Tyaron. We come from Rivendell... that is to say, that was our last home. For months now, we have been wanderers and travellers."

"So have we." Hroim had travelled much in his youth, and had seen much more of the world than many others in their tribe, which explains, perhaps, why he was so much readier to be friendly with them. He did not feel the same cold from these two that he had felt from the other elf. Their was a brightness about their eyes, a sincerity about their smiles, and they professed to have been at Rivendell. They may have heard much news of the world in that place, or during their travels. He called for a halt, and invited the elves to partake of dinner with them, which they graciously accepted. There was some small grumbling - his son, Truin, in particular, did not look pleased, but they did not complain.

Gere watched them eating from a safe distance, hardly hungry herself. The serious-looking elf - Tyaron, that was his name - he and Hroim were deep in some tale or other. Where was the smiling elf, Alagos? He must have gotten up when she hadn't been looking. She got up from the log she was seated on, and nearly fell back again when she saw Alagos standing beside her.

"Forgive me, did I startle you?"

"No." She looked straight at him, to show she was not afraid of him. Hmmm... he did not look so frightening close up.

"I have been observing you for some time, but I thought you knew I was here, too."

She did not reply to this. She had just remembered that she had to speak in a gruff voice around him, even though there was the beard on her chin - after all, the beard was nowhere near as fine as what most dwarves had, but the fact was, no one was willing to sacrifice quite so much of their own beards to give her a convincingly fake one. Still, as long as she spoke gruffly, and looked threatening, it ought to work.

"May I ask you something? I do not even know your name, so it is probably rude of me to ask such a question, but I have lived many, many years and I have never yet had the oppurtunity to ask it."

"Ask away, lad," she said in as deep a voice as she could manage.

"Is that a real beard? I mean, I am not insulting it, it is a very fine beard indeed. But do dwarf-women really have beards?"

Gere blushed. Why did these elves have such a penchant for penetrating her disguise? She really needed a better one, it was just not good enough.

"You ask grave secrets of me. I can only answer if you make me a promise."

His lips twitched, but he kept his composure.

"You can not tell anyone you... well, that you found out I am a woman. I do not know how it is amongst elves, but if the others think my disguise is insufficient, they may ask me to stay in a wagon the entire journey."

"You have my promise, lady. But... you answered my question in asking my promise. For you are a woman, are you not? And that beard is not yours, as you owned it to be a disguise."

"Oh. I suppose I did. But then, I only answered your first question. Maybe some of us have beards.... or maybe they don't. Maybe I am too young to have grown one yet. You have promised not to divulge what you found out on your own - but I don't know if I should tell you any more."

He was quiet for a few minutes. Then he asked, "Why are so many of them afraid of us? Or so distrustful? Your chief talks heartily enough, but I have seen so many unfriendly glances and mutters that I do not know what to impute it to - besides the old causes, that is, but this seems far beyond that."

"I cannot help being both fearful and distrustful myself. You are only the second elf I have met, and the first we met was ... so unlike you. He looked the same - I mean, he had golden hair and blue eyes, not like you - but he was just as tall and slender, and the thin, chiselled features. A beautiful harp slung on his back. But... there was something else about him. Something that called to mind rot and death. And you are full of life. There is that difference between you and him. And yet, when I see you, suddenly - I see him in you, and I forget all the differences and fear is near at hand." Her voice was almost a whisper. Suddenly she realised to whom she was spilling her thoughts. "I have said too much, and maybe it makes little sense to you. It is the answer you seek, however."

Alagos looked thoughtful. "But it is an answer that raises ten more questions!" he finally responded, laughing, as Tyaron came up and bowed respectfully to Gere.

"I advise you to escape while you can, for each of the additional ten questions will raise ten MORE questions!" he said to Gere in a solemn voice, but with a smile ("he CAN smile!" thought Gere). Alagos was right, thought Tyaron; this was interesting ...

Gere decided to take Tyaron's advice; a little elf went a long way for her, and she wanted to get back to her friends. She gave a polite nod of her head to the elves, which they returned, and went off to find Truin.

"I have news, brother," said Tyaron, reverting back to their native tongue so as not to be overheard.

"So do I! Strange news," said Alagos thoughtfully, his eyes following Gere as she disappeared into the crowd.

"Hroim has told me ..." began Tyaron, but he was interrupted by the arrival of two dwarves leading small ponies.

"Here are your mounts," they said gruffly, their eyes trying to take in everything about the elves without appearing too curious.

Alagos turned around and covered his face with both hands as he feigned a violent coughing fit, trying to stifle the wild burst of laughter that had leapt up inside of him at the vision of Tyaron riding a dwarven pony. Tyaron stepped in front of Alagos and took the ponies, thanking the bearers graciously.

"I thought elves weren't supposed to get sick," said the dwarf to his friend as they walked back to Hroim. The other dwarf merely shrugged his shoulders; he had no idea why their leader had agreed to let the elves join their company, but that wasn't his concern. Right now, he was deciding how to redistribute the baggage that had been taken off of the two ponies that had been given to the elves.

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Brochenridge, morning of November 4, 1347
Written by Valandil
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As Gimilbeth and her party began to make their way on down the road to the south and west, Merendil led his troops back north, the way they had come the day before. If they went straight on to Cameth Brin, they’d easily cover in two days what had taken three escorting the wagons.

But Merendil knew they wouldn’t go straight there, and wondered how long it would be before he saw Cameth Brin again. Hopefully before the deep snow and bitter cold came to the land. But he was a soldier of the King, and of the realm of Rhudaur, and there was the matter of the Orcs along the road to deal with.

He didn’t know how many there were, or what their purpose. At least 20, he thought, and maybe even 50 – most likely looking for some farmhouses to raid before returning to the mountains. Although Gimilbeth would surely be safe from their reach, he thought it prudent to have sent the extra twenty men along with her. And the Count of Brochenridge had sent another twenty with him, on learning of the likelihood of Orc rovers about. It was best this way, thought Merendil. If the men from Brochenridge went with Gimilbeth, he wasn’t sure if Gwindor would command their respect – and they might be inclined to return to Brochenrdige from the Last Bridge – or even a day or a half-day out from their homes. But the men from Cameth Brin would stay with them, and Merendil felt he could handle the twenty with no trouble. And their leader, Barund, seemed like a good man - and Ormendur had called him his top scout.

It was good that Ormendur had agreed to send the men. But Merendil thought he could have taken the matter a bit more seriously. He had seemed so pre-occupied. Could it have been the loss of Nauremir? The man had other grandsons, and as a man of war, surely understood the times and the nature of life and death. Nonetheless, these extra twenty men brought his company back to a full 100. Whatever the size of the Orc band, he didn’t want to merely defeat it – he wanted to annihilate it! And the more men he had, the less risk to all. If the Orcs were few enough, or undisciplined enough, he might pull it off without losing a single man of his own! He had seen it done, years back, but hadn't pulled it off while in his own command. Two men to each Orc was a pretty safe way to pull off an extermination. And with 100, he could probably do that - or else have enough to split his forces two or three ways if the need called for it.

The six hounds would also be a great help. Unless the Orcs had Wargs with them, thought Merendil, checking himself. But no – and he could comfort himself with this thought, Wargs would have surely made some noise at nighttime, and stirred up the alarm all across the countryside.

So off they rode, 100 strong, all mounted, with the hounds at their horses’ heels. If all went well, they would reach the site of the hanging with plenty of daylight left to find whatever traces of the Orcs they could. If the Orcs were still around… he might be back in Cameth Brin by tomorrow night after all!

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On the road between Cameth Brin and Brochenridge, late afternoon of November 4, 1347
Written by Valandil
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“Captain Merendil!” called Barund from the top of the ridge. “You need to see this.”

Merendil took a last look over the remnants of the recent hanging; the cut rope, the marks of a heavy object being dragged over the ground, in the woods just off the road the grisly scene with what little was left of the hung thief, and not surprisingly, a few Orc bodies close by. They had done part of his work for him, he thought with a satisfied smile. Then he turned and headed up the ridge to join Barund.

When at last he reached the top, Merendil let out a low whistle. He was more fighter than tracker, but even he could read the unmistakable signs that Orcs had been there.

“Barund – good work! I thought the smell must have come from about this general direction, though the breeze was shifting a bit that day.”

“Yes, Captain,” replied Barund, trying to conceal the frustration of having been sent to look in a wrong-enough general direction twice before making this find on the third try.

“So…” continued Merendil. “Looks like more than twenty anyhow. What do you make of it, Barund? Fifty? Sixty?”

“At least a hundred, sir. More likely two or three times that.”

“Really now!” Merendil was honestly surprised. “Were they here for very long?”

“Less ‘n a day, I’d guess,” answered Barund, “about two to three days ago.”

“But they’re clearly all gone now,” said Merendil, his mind going back and forth between thoughts of having had so many Orcs over his shoulder two days back, and trying to keep his attention on where to go from here. “I suppose they all scattered from here, then, going different directions to disperse?”

“No, sir – that is to say, you may have observed that there’s clearly signs of movement about, but it appears just scouts coming and going, and keeping the perimeter, and the one excursion down to the stand of trees down there…” began Barund, “But after that, they clearly left this place all together, sudden-like – off west and a bit south.” And Barund extended his arm in a path that crossed the road a little south below them and on up the wooded hills beyond. “Straight as an arrow sir, sure as daylight.”

“Two days ago?”

“Yessir – two days ago.”

“Really…” and then a sudden realization struck Merendil. This was no accident - or if it was, it was a double-accident. An Orc band assembled right at this spot while his escort passed below two days’ since – and then making straight for some point that would cut them off further along. It seemed inconceivable – but he suddenly feared that his charge, the King’s eldest daughter, was in great danger.

After a few seconds to take it all in and order his thoughts, Merendil began bellowing orders. “Everyone down to the road! Assemble, men of Rhudaur! Barund, get your men down there! Sergeants, assemble the guard of Cameth Brin!”

The plans were quickly made. Merendil dictated a short note to King Tarnendur about the presence of an Orc band on the roadside, their probable attack on Gimilbeth beyond Brochenridge, and his own intended pursuit. Once finished, the man who took down the words mounted his horse and rode north as hard as he could, leading a spare horse behind. As the messenger sped away, Merendil thought, “Oh – I should have given him as well the note from the young wagoner to his wife – but it’s too late now. Anyway – better to get to his rescue than to notify his wife he’ll be away.”

Once more a sudden thought struck him. How was it that the commotion in the caravan started just as they passed the Orcs? That wagon driver seemed like such a trustworthy sort, too…

There was time to sort all that out later though, he thought as he swung himself into his saddle. Barund was starting up the other ridge, on foot, with his 20 men, and 30 of Merendil’s. That left two horses for each man still on the road. That was good – the moon was waxing toward full, so they could travel most of the night, if they and the horses held out. And Barund could follow the trail for long as well.

Still… Merendil knew there was little hope to catch up before Gimilbeth’s entourage ran into trouble – if trouble there was going to be. And in his heart, Merendil felt that trouble was coming.