Perilous Journeys. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part III

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Cameth Brin palace. Morning of November 1st
Written by Serenoli
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Hurgon woke up with a pounding headache. This was hardly unusual, given the number of nights he dragged himself to bed drunk. Usually, though, he did not wake up with happy memories of the night before... but last night had been quite spectacular. He seemed to remember bonfires, and much dancing, and a young friend of his (whose name he could never remember) had acquired a small box of fireworks. The gathering storm clouds, and the howling wind had not bothered the crowd... it seemed instead to add an extra edge of excitement to the night. Hurgon thought had never met so many pretty women, or made so many new friends, or won so many drinking contests in one night.

A pity he was going away - with Gimilbeth the unspeakable horror ... who had said in a curt tone to him the night before that she intended to start sharp at sunrise... which, judging by the faintest of orange lights on the horizon, seemed quite imminent.

He groaned for a few minutes, until he felt better. Then, taking a deep breath, he jumped out of bed, and began to pack. What did people take on a journey? Well, the painting. He rolled the newly-begun painting of Tarniel tenderly, and after tying it, slung it on his back. A box of paints and brushes, which he collected haphazardly. He could hardly lug his easel cross-country, which was, to say the least, inconvenient, but how she expected him to paint while he was riding along on horseback was also a mystery to him, and if he could accomplish that, no doubt he could get used to there being no easel.

The sun was only half-way up. Time to bundle some clothes, thus, and hide the little bottle of red wine, there. After digging in a drawer, he found himself an old amulet, inscribed with a rune of protection. He hoped it would be enough to ward off any evil spirits he met on the road, or hopefully enough to give Gimilbeth a headache.

He was ready! And when he skidded down to the front Gate of the Palace, he was, surprisingly, there in time to see Gimilbeth descending the stairs. She was, he noticed, looking younger and happier than ever. Certain this could mean nothing good, he waited deferentially until she should find something about him to criticize. To his utter surprise, she said, "Good morning!" as if she really was responsible for the morning, and took no further notice of him.

"Well, well, that amulet's working all right. Protecting right from the start, that’s for sure. Gave her the opposite of a headache, but if it works, I'm all for it!" he said to himself. Massaging his own head, he followed her down the steps where the horses were waiting, together with the guard that would accompany them most of the way. Wrapped in a heavy fur against the cold air of the dawn, Tarnendur waited, too, to give his farewell to his daughter.

"Fortune smiles on you, it seems. I had thought to ask you to wait a while, for there was surely a storm brewing last night. However, the day has dawned as clear as I could wish. May your errand be as favored throughout."

Gimilbeth smiled. "Fortune... is as we make for ourselves."

Tarnendur took this as a sign that she was determined to succeed, and found little more to say. They parted in silence, and Hurgon was already wishing he was back in his warm bed.

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Cameth Brin, November 1, 1347.
Written by Rian and Gordis
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The morning dawned bright, with a merry sun playing upon the rooftops and turning the Old Tower from dull gray to shimmering silver. A crowd of on-lookers gathered in the court to say their farewells, or to gawk at the Princess's departure. At the head of the enormous party of more than a hundred fighting men, Gimilbeth, astride her prancing bay stallion, cut a striking figure in her rich fur cloak and a small matching hat upon her thick, raven-black, unbound hair.

The Princess had always enjoyed traveling, and in her youth she used to move around a lot, from Osgiliath to Minas Tirith, sometimes to Ithilien, and quite often, at least once a year, she took a ship to Umbar, to spend winter months with her grand-parents. Now, she understood what a strain it had been to stay for twenty years in Cameth Brin, as in a besieged castle. Finally, she was on the road again!

She felt beautiful and strong this morning, despite the fact that she had got almost no sleep last night. Instead, the Holy Darkness had granted her waking visions; marvelous visions, to say the truth... Gimilbeth's cheeks blushed at the memory, and her eyes sparkled. It had been many decades ago when she had dreams like that, vague and erotic, making her heart race as if she were young again...

Gimilbeth smiled happily and surveyed the court. One hundred and twenty mounted Dunedain guards in a column three abreast were waiting for her signal. There were three wagons, drawn by small, sturdy local horses. One was full of trunks with Gimilbeth's clothes and other personal belongings - she never believed in traveling light - while another had been turned into a painter's study meant for Hurgon. Gimilbeth noticed how the bewildered painter, despite his weak protests, was firmly ushered in by one of the pages. The third wagon contained a coffin with the hapless Nauremir inside. The rich carvings of the coffin lid and sides concealed numerous holes, allowing the sleeping man to breathe.

"I really hope he won't wake up before we reach Brochenridge," Gimilbeth grinned to herself. Then she turned to Merendil, the Captain of the King's guards and the head of Gimilbeth's escort. "The weather is fine this morning, isn't it, Captain? It seems the stars smile on our journey."

"Perhaps." The old warrior's scarred face looked as grim as ever; he seemed to be the only men present totally resilient to Gimilbeth's charms. The Captain frowned, surveying the long train. Three wagons! What a folly! They would slow the party down... With a put-upon sigh, he lifted his hand and, at Gimilbeth's nod, gave the signal for departure.

Gimilbeth and Merendil hardly rode a few paces when they found their way blocked by a herd of fine horses led by three travel-worn hillmen, obviously horse-traders. The guards were trying to stop them and clear the way for the departing company. In a following confusion, one of the Hillmen stepped forward and announced "I am looking for the Captain of the Guards! I have a crime to report."

"Speak up, man," replied Captain Merendil. "I have no time to lose."

The ragged man looked bewildered at being addressed by a mounted knight in full battle armor. He squinted up at Merendil and Gimilbeth, then looked around in wonder. Was it truly the Witch of Cameth Brin before him? And the tall old man in furs, there on the Palace steps, was it the King himself? Forced to speak in front of the full court, he suddenly felt at a loss for words. Then, gathering his wits, he announced, his shrill nervous voice carrying far and wide:

"An Elf, sir... A pointy-eared golden-haired Elf, Glorfindel from Rivendell he calls himself, he killed a young maid at the Three Goats Inn, South of Penmorva. He took the lass to his bed and then slit her throat and got away with it!"

At this incredible news, Gimilbeth's eyes narrowed and the corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly. She turned and looked back toward the Palace steps searching for a particular person. There she was... Arinya, Tarniel's Elven tutor, looking every bit as shocked as Gimilbeth hoped she would be. Wasn't Glorfindel one of her friends... maybe even a relative? That served the arrogant Elf right - for years of nosing around and eavesdropping!

Startled out of her musings about the recent goings-on in the palace, Arinya's eyes opened wide in shock and disbelief. The credulity of the man, to believe that tale about one of the Eldar! But no, he was a Hillman - she could see that as the crowd shifted and she had a clearer view, although she should have realized that before by his voice - and his ignorance of the ways of her people was to be expected. But that didn't make it a pleasant situation; she realized with surprise and alarm that many in the crowd were whispering and pointing her way.

She felt the people standing next to her shrinking back slightly, as if from something distasteful, and was not long in finding the reason. Gimilbeth's piercing eyes were fixed on her with a curious expression of glee and malice in their depths. Arinya recoiled slightly from the intensity of the look, and then, recovering, said loudly in her clear, ringing voice:

"Of course, one of Your Highness' lineage knows well that such a story is not to be believed of the Eldar - that is not our way."

Gimilbeth paid Arinya's words no heed. Throwing a gold coin to the horse-trader, she urged her horse forward with a smirk. The wagons and the mounted knights followed. The journey to Amon Sul was finally started.


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Cameth Brin, November 1, 1347.
Written by Rian and Gordis
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Tarnendur stood bewildered, listening to the weird accusation. He couldn't believe his ears. The gall of the Hillman to accuse the legendary Elf-Lord of such a base, ugly crime! Had the world grown mad? However, the truth of the Elf's words brought the King out of his stupor.

"Of course!" Tarnendur roared. "There is no Man here who believes such a stupid tale!" He advanced menacingly toward the now pale and cringing horse-trader and hissed, trembling from anger. "You, baseborn rascal, how dare you utter poisonous lies before the face of your King? You must be a fool to think anyone would listen to you! Beware, lest you end your worthless life in the deepest dungeon of this tower! What proof do you have? It had better be good!"

The frightened Hillman fumbled blindly in his leather bag, his fearful eyes riveted to Tarnendur's red face. Diverse objects spilled to the ground: flint and tinder, a couple of silver coins, a horse-shoe, some dirty clothes... Finally the man produced a wondrously ornate dagger in a sheath of silver and gold. The thing of beauty looked incongruous in his meaty brown hands with their dirty, bitten nails.

"This is the very same knife, my Lord King, as slit the poor lass's throat. Begging your pardon, Sir, I spoke truth and no lies. The knife is still covered with dried blood as no man dared to touch such an evil thing as this. There are some magic Elven runes on the blade."

Tarnendur took the proffered dagger. It was clearly Elven work, but fairer than he had ever seen in all his life. The King had only heard tales of such blades - work of the Noldor - that were said to gleam with blue light of their own when the foul creatures of Morgoth were near. With difficulty, as dried blood stuck the blade to the sheath, the King pulled the gleaming blade out and stared in wonder at the intricate golden flowers running along the sharp silvery blade. "Silver? Mithril?" he thought, dismayed. If it were the latter, the value of the dagger had to be breathtaking. Add to this the fineness of the craft and the rarity of such things...

Then another thought struck him. There was something in the old tales about the Golden Flower. He couldn't remember what it was exactly. Something associated with Gondolin of old... Frowning, he turned to the pale Elf at his side who, eyes wide, was also intently scrutinizing the dagger. She was a right person to ask.

"Lady Arinya, what do you think of this blade?"

Arinya drew in a deep breath, unsure of what to say. Her hand had unconsciously started to reach out towards the dagger, but she stopped short, unwilling to touch a blade said to have done such a deed. Her fingertips hovered just above the beautiful tracery of golden flowers.

"I think," she said softly, "that the days are dark indeed, when a fair name and a wondrous blade are coupled with rumors of foul deeds..."

"Elves!" thought Tarnendur with a sigh. "They never give a straight answer!" He shifted moodily; he didn't need anyone else to tell him what he already knew. The days were dark, and getting darker.

Arinya drew her hand back and continued in her normal voice, "Although it is wondrous to think, the blade looks to be of Gondolin, and the golden flower is indeed the sign of Glorfindel of the Golden Hair, although as Your Majesty knows well," and here Arinya bowed gracefully, grateful for the King's anger at the base accusation, "never would he do such a deed - if it is even true that he walks again in Middle Earth, as some have said."

As the faces of the Elves from Gondolin that she had recently spoken with flashed through her head, she concluded hastily, "Many fair things from that city were lost forever, yet some escaped - and have new owners. Your Majesty will not find the doer of the deed among the Eldar."


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Cameth Brin, November 1, 1347
Written by Elfhild
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Tarniel was in an extremely good mood that morning. At last the evil witch was leaving... well, at least for a while. She watched with eager anticipation as Gimilbeth and her entourage made ready to embark for Amon Sul. "Good riddance," she thought spitefully, "and may you never return!" She looked up at the bright sun shining in the sky. It was an unseasonably fair day; perhaps nature itself was breathing a sigh of relief?

This journey had twofold benefits; one being the absence of Gimilbeth and the other being the safety of Nauremir. The brash young man had really gotten himself in a lot of trouble, and it had taken everyone a lot of trouble to get him out of it. Tarniel gnawed her lower lip. She hoped that the ruse would be successful. She also hoped she could trust Gimilbeth to see Nauremir to safety. The whole plan depended upon the witch, and Tarniel prayed that the sorceress would act honorably and not attempt anything untoward. Undoubtedly, Gimilbeth would want some pay for her efforts, something to aid her schemes. Owing a debt to a witch was as dangerous as having a hungry wolf prowling about, and Tarniel wondered what compensation Gimilbeth would ask. But that was the future. In the meantime...

As she watched Gimilbeth's progress across the fortress court to the Gate, Tarniel barely tried to conceal the big smile which was upon her face. No one liked the witch anyway; why should she make a pretense of sorrow? Instead, she thought with delight about the future. Now that her half-sister was away, she would have the undivided attention of her father. She and Odaragariel would be the second and third most powerful females in the kingdom, under the queen. These possibilities excited her. Maybe the witch would decide to travel to the South, or maybe even move back to Umbar. Tarniel could only hope.

She frowned; Gimilbeth and her party had come to a halt. There was some commotion ahead. Was something amiss concerning Nauremir? No, it was something about an elf... and a murder? Scowling, Tarniel moved closer so she could hear more clearly. She espied Arinya, her tutor, among the crowd. The elf woman looked horrified as she heard the proclamation that Glorfindel – THE Glorfindel - had murdered a girl at the Three Goats Inn. Dismayed by these unpleasant tidings, Tarniel wondered how it would affect the kingdom. They already had enemies enough in the hillmen, without having to worry about the elves. But this was most puzzling. Glorfindel was a hero of lore, and murdering a girl at a tavern was hardly a crime that such a valiant elf would commit. To think of such a thing was absurd, and even disrespectful! This whole unfortunate affair stank of hillmen, Tarniel thought angrily.

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Cameth Brin fortress court. Morning of November 1, 1347.
Written by Rian
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Arinya watched Gimilbeth's entourage ride off into the distance. The people next to her lost sight of it long before she did, and moved away from her uneasily while she was still gazing after it. The king denounced the rumors and seemed to support the elves, but change was in the air, and the people felt it.

"Best to stick to one's own kind," said a woman to her daughter, nodding towards Arinya darkly and pulling her daughter away protectively. "I don't want you talking to her anymore!"

"But mama, the lady is so pretty and kind, and always says the most interesting things!"

"And that's how they catch their victims, most likely!" said the mother ominously.

Arinya came out of her reverie just in time to see the young girl being pulled away by her mother. She looked around - she was quite alone now. Little knots of people were gathered together, heads bend in close and talking quickly and quietly, while others had just left to go about their business.

She sighed with frustration - all she had wanted, when she came here, was to learn more about the Second-Born. She had always loved books, so tutoring seemed to be a good idea, and she had come to love her pupil, and to love teaching. Surely a tutor could teach in peace, and wouldn't have to get involved in politics! But here she was, right in the middle of what looked to be a very volatile uprising.

Bears and Hillmen, she thought wryly, remembering the disasterous party. I suppose you can teach them some tricks, but you can't take the animal out of them.

As Arinya turned to go, she saw Caelen approaching her, and smiled. "So young and earnest," thought Arinya. "I like her ..."

"Oh, Arinya, I just wanted to tell you that there are others besides the king who think the Hillman's words are ... are vile and false!" The girl had started the sentence rather quietly, but finished it angrily and breathing hard.

Arinya was intrigued - and grateful. "Thank you, Caelen," she said graciously, bowing her head. "But I think we're in the minority here ... now," she ended with a grimace as a particularly loud Hillman crossed in front of them, belching and spitting.

"Are you busy now? May I come and read again?" Caelen asked hopefully.

"Certainly! I enjoy your company very much! But you need to leave some time for your husband, too, you know!" Arinya said rather loudly, for the benefit of those around them.

"Oh - well, he's going on the first part of the journey, so I'll be free for a week or so," finished Caelen, still uncomfortable with the whole marriage and pregnancy intrigue, but grateful to Arinya for her help.

"He is? But you just got here! I'm a bit surprised at that," said Arinya, puzzled why a newcomer would be preferred over men that had been there longer.

Caelen shrugged her shoulders - she didn't see anything unusual in her brother being preferred over others. "He's just really good with horses - I guess the stablemaster saw that."

"Well, then, I'm free right now - shall we go?"

Caelen looked up eagerly and nodded, and they headed off to Arinya's chambers.