Homecoming

For a long moment, he kneels there upon the shore, digging his fingers into the sand of the land that will become his home.  The West.  The sea called him.  A different song than the music of the wind in the trees, than the clang and hiss and spark of the forge, of the shouts of battle and the laughter of the kin-home.  It had been long in coming.  There was work to be done.  Words flash through his mind, from long, long ago.  He closed his eyes and the face appears again before his mind’s eye.  Once, Thannor had said that love bid him stay as surely as it bid him go.  And he had stayed, for a time, doing what work he could, however small.  A word.  A shield.  Until his long vigil was over and he could lay his sword and shield down.  Until he could rest, sure that the land he had loved so was in good hands.

For a moment, all he can hear is the hiss of the tide and the call of sea-birds.  He is here.  He is here at last.  Now there will be no more sorrow, nor pain, but joy everlasting.  He will be with kin, with friends, with…  And yet, he does not rise.  Not yet.  Some part of him wonders, wonders if he is worthy.  Worthy to be here, to see….  One hand clutches the thin chain he still wears about his neck, a lifetime ago, and the still-bright silver rings forever intertwined.  And he remembers.  Remembers the songs he sang as he drew the wire, shaped the rings.  Songs of hope, of joy, of love everlasting as the rings. That was a lifetime ago.  Slowly, he takes a breath and lets his hand fall to his side.  He squares his shoulders.  He is here now.

His keen ears catch a faint sound.  Footsteps in the sand.  Just one person, a light step…. He glances up, blue eyes narrowed.  And all he can do is stare for a long, long moment. He longs to run to her, to call her name.  But he cannot speak.  He is trembling.  It is her.  It is a lifetime since he saw her face, since he heard her voice, but it is burned into his memory.  She is not as he saw her last—no, she is whole and hale and so fair that his heart aches.  The sunlight turns her hair to gold.  He can scarcely hear the waves over the pounding of his own heart.  She smiles, her face alight, and he swears it is as if he has given her his heart all over again.

A name he has not heard in a lifetime leaves her lips.  And the spell is broken.  They run across the sand—she flings her arms about his neck, he cups her cheek with one hand, pulls her close and holds her as if he will never let go.

(Hi, guys.  So, this came about because I really wanted to write Thannor again, and...Well, this is what I came up with it.  Hope y’all like it.)

A Bitter Melody: The Tale of Ragnböurg, Part I

 The daughters of the house of Beorn, born along the Anduin under the long shadows of the Mirkwood eaves, have never been called fair for their thick skin and wiry hair; which more often then not hangs at great lengths about their shoulders; frayed at the hems and knotted as it will. But it is well known that all Beorn's daughter are strong, lively, and fierce, even as the blood that flows in their veins.

My story is not one that may be related without some quiet remorse, but it is one I can justify to relate in that I have no real regret. Trial and error was the doom from the beginning, and bountiful mistakes were made. But I know more about life now than I once did, and I won't blame myself for stumbling on a highway none can tread without falling.

 My tale began when I took a blade I crafted long ago and cut the long threads that had been the comfort of my shoulders since childhood. 
I was a woman of twenty years, the only daughter of my father Gudbrand, the son of Hallbjörn, the son of Hildreth who was a daughter of Beorn the Great Chief. And from this lineage of nobility I descended, to become a wayfarer in the lands of men....

 ****** 

In my youth I dwelt in the mountains overlooking the Vale of the River Anduin. I grew with my brother under the roof of our father, and learned the essential skills that profited our people's way of living. I learned to plant roots and harvest herbs, to craft and mend clothes, and to cure wounds and diseases - which were greatly common in some months and seasons. My brother, Bodvir, learned his first love for the ways of a healer there as we tended to the wild beasts that lived as our neighbors and friends. We reaped the crafts of the bees and the flocks and herds who imparted kindly to sustain us, and we were happy to be unwise in those days.

Beorn's Hall by J.R.R. Tolkien

 I recall many fond memories had in the months of Tribal Gathering, when our father Gudbrand would take we two children down the mountain to visit our cousin's kindred at Chief Grimbeorn's Lodge. The smoke that filled the great hall and the smells of the feast hung so thickly in the air that every emotion contrary to mirth and gaiety were crowded out of the heart and soul of everyone who entered therein. There was a warmth brought about and a feeling that set our hearts at ease when the sounds of laughter and the voices of family made merry and cheerful together.

     Children gallivanted under tables and around the legs of adults from one end of the hall to the other. They went unhindered by their matured peers who, knowing of their safety, were content to let the restless roam. Even the grave-faced chiefs and elders were at peace with the noise, content to ignore or else conceal their own hidden delight at the boisterous amusement of the young.

      I was seated by my brother and many of our cousins near our matrons and patrons on one such day, as we spoke in uplifted and hearty tones. Those who had been my playmates in the activities of youth were now my companions: men of bold-brow and dauntless chin among deep-eyed women whose cheeks were beautifully browned by their vigorous work under the Vale's noonday sun. All of us had grown to have a place among the adults of the tribe, but we still felt too full of life and apt to become bored when the conversation took a turn toward the future that we did not spend our time long in ripened company. They who knew and took greater interest in the topic were happy to discuss matters of union and posterity with every hint that we, ourselves, were some subject of conversation. But we would find ourselves idle among them, and therefore had often turned an invested interest in the mirth of the children and the serious mutterings of the elders.

      It was at this time of quiet interest that I overheard a word imparted between the greater chiefs concerning lands westward, and I felt to pardon myself from my cousins and slip out of the hall unnoticed. I stepped out into the twilight of that night, and I remember that the evening was warm with the smell of the woodland trees coming in over the hedge. The bee families where bringing in the last of their daily harvest and the air was beginning to grow quiet in the absence of their lively thrum... Stars had already appeared in the eastern sky and all around me the world darkened at a quickening pace. Thus, it was not long before I was traveling through the black of night under the mighty trees of the Vale. The night-song of the creeping creatures and the sparse pools of moonlight were as my only company, though I went on for miles to climb the Great Carrock and there tarried for a season.

****** 

The cold winds were fierce in the high crags that winter, nonetheless our ancestors came from these mountains and instilled in us their resilient blood. While the anger of the giants shook the peaks and snow cascaded from the skies, the children of Beorn endured. Many feet made our covering a thick blackness of ice and snow, yet with the rising of the sun we broke free onto the white plains and resumed our journey west.

I was in company with seven others sent as emissaries to the lands of men. We passed over the Misty Mountains together into the hill country of the west. We were then obliged to bid farewell to each other and take our path in many threading roads. I will never forget the day of our parting when I looked on the brave faces of my cousins for the last time.

******

Ragnböurg: A Decision to Help Rescue, the Might to Save.  

. 

******

White Hands and Red Cheeks

"Lynsyrien, I don't want you to go..." Maeflower whispered weakly, holding fast to the elven maid's long white fingers.  
"What shall I do?" The latter replied, smiling softly as she swept the hair from the former's fevered brow. "Shall I send them off into unknown lands without aid?"
Tears rolled down Maeflower's hot red cheeks.  "No," said she, with a broken sob. "But I don't want to be alone again."
"Gentle spirit," The elven maid whispered. "He will come to watch over you."
Then she leaned down and pressed her cold lips to the hobbit's forehead and whispered quieter still, "You need only say my name..."

The Book of Riddles: An Explanation

It has come to my attention that at or near the beginning of the events which led the companies of the Mallorn Children into the depths of Khazad-Dum, a curious book was found and translated by our friend, Raechal Middlebrooks of Rohan.

Although the book contained helpful hints at the time that the fellowships were engaged in their quest, the whole translation of the book was unnecessary to bring about the success of the fellowships in Moria. The following is an explanation of the book and all that it contained, presented in the same order as it appears in the original manuscript.

The opening paragraph of the manuscript is intended to emphasize the significance of the book itself and foreshadow the events that the fellowships would encounter. It warns, "leave no stone unturned in your quest for knowledge," for only the prepared are unafraid when danger arises.

The starlings are the members of this kinship and a number of other individuals who participated in the overthrowal of evil beneath Moria and throughout the lands of Bree, the Shire, and elsewhere. The second paragraph calls the unsung heroes of Middle Earth to gather for battle against the foe, and states the purpose of the manuscript as a book of instruction.

Paragraph three describes the events which heralded the power mounting beneath the earth, and how nature became silent preceding the evils which crept up from Moria to terrify the land.

Paragraph four continues the description of events, making more particular note of the influence darkness has on the souls of men. Many in the kinship and those outside it were beset with trials prior to their rallying against the foe, trials which either strengthened their resolve or turned them against the light.

The Feather-friend and Time-breakers mentioned in the fifth paragraph refer to our friends, Vax, Naumran, and Tyrral, who came at a needful hour to aid in our quest against the enemy. The Petals four compose the True Shield; four guardians namely, Thannor, Ardonali, Lallinvorn, and Skalithor. The Player, we can safely assume is Gladwine, who came into our lives with his friends at that time. The Riddler, who discovered this manuscript is Raechal Middlebrooks. The Spear-Master(*s) and the others mentioned here refer to friends the fellowships met on the way, respectively:
 Unora and Silverfeather, Dekota, Aedeyn, and others who crossed paths with the aforementioned at that time.
(*The exclusion of the 's' was a mistranslation. Some of these titles refer to multiple people, and here, both Unora and Silverfeather are called "Spear-Master".)

Paragraph **six gives instruction as to where each piece of the manuscript was to be found. Those who know the name of trees are those who named them in the first place, namely the elves. The "wonder-lacking and dust-keeping" refers to the sleepy and unadventerous inhabitants of Breeland. The last is a curious reference to an animal upon which the fate of the second part of the book seems to be thrown at random, which we have since learned brought the pages to the library in Tuckborough.
 **This paragraph was repeated on each section of the divided manuscript, however the repetition was considered unimportant and thus omitted by the translator. 

Paragraph seven correctly refers to our friend, Fahlion, who played an important role in a number of events preceding the downfall of our enemy. While referring specifically to him, however, it was also intended as a word of instruction regarding the attitude of the fellowships throughout their quests in the lands of Evendim, the Misty Mountains, and on into Moria. The "three-faces" mentioned in this paragraph also refers to the Goblin Champion defeated prior to overthrowal of the evil in Moria.

More reference is given as to our allies within the kinship in paragraph eight: The animals; our friends of the house of Beorn; our friend Mosaine from the south; the hobbits, Maeflower, Lilliway, etc; and the elves who delayed their passage into the Far West to aide us, Elirae, Keltrion, Faervaren, and Fendalwyn, etc.

Paragraph nine references allies of Middle Earth who belong to other kinships; namely that of Jhonan Maynard and Premton Heatherly, who fought the battles in Breeland while our fellowships were held up in the Misty Mountains.

Paragraph ten tells of the nearly fateful victory won against the Rune-Hunter in the fortress of Helegrod, where our friends were saved by Naumran and Vax and carried from the heights back to Rivendell. The name of our enemy is at last given here, as our attention turned to Moria.

Paragraph Eleven: This paragraph speaks of the Captain of the Dead, and the significant role the Rohirrim and Angmarim have yet to play, who united will bring his downfall and save Galigar from the fate that consumed him long ago.

Paragraph twelve refers to those who preceded us into darkness, namely Farmona and Genaveve. It also recalls information brought to me by Elirae, ere the first events of this tale began; referencing those fated Eldar who were sent by Master Elrond into the shadows and fell prey to the persuasion of our enemy. 

 
The third part of the manuscript refers exclusively to prominent individuals on whom the success of the fellowships in Moria largely depended, and foretells future events that will shortly unfold. A portion of this third part was lost by the translator during one of the many misadventures that were encountered during the books translation. As these things will be revealed in due course of time to those with whom it concerns, there is no need for the explanation to be given here, therefore the explanation heretofore provided is both sufficient and concluded.


Written for the archives of the Book-Keeper in the House of the Mellryn by
~Skalithor MountainZephyr.

Ilerra, Hero of Gondor

Ilerra's father’s father’s father hailed from the southern lands.  He came to Gondor an enemy, yet his heart overruled his temper and ultimately he set his great might upon defending the lands. In honor of his great bravery for Gondor, he was offered position as Captain of the Stewards of Gondor, yet once more his heart overruled.  Many men, women, and children had come from the southern lands. Some had joined the enemy, yet others were much like he and desired to live peacefully and freely.  Instead, he requested a small piece of land to govern these peoples so they may have a future, and in exchange offered their arms to battle should the need ever arise.

Many great leaders followed from the first, and Ilerra’s father was no different. He was Halerr, governor of his people just as his great-grandfather.  In his youth he had dreamed of glory in the heart of Gondor, to take up the offer his great-grandfather once denied.  Yet when his brother was crippled in battle, and no other could lead, he took his great-grandfather’s calling upon him.  The dreams of glory died.  Soon he dreamed only of prosperity and peace.  Many years passed and Halerr was content, though grey speckled his beard and aches plagued his joints.

One day a strange woman stumbled into the village. She was badly injured, and her eyes wild.  She was beautiful like the beasts of the forest — her eyes the color of new leaf, her hair thick, wild and dark on her shoulders like the brambles in the woods, and her skin pale like the moon.  The village tended to the injured woman kindly, in spite of the threat she might pose.  When her fever broke, Halerr visited her to see what had caused such unease among his people… and was instantly struck by her beauty, her strength, and her fire.  She introduced herself as Sable.

Their romance progressed as slowly and mysteriously  as the turning of the seasons. Sable stayed in the village until she was well, then made plans to set off again.  Halerr asked her to stay longer, until the harvest was over at least as the plentiful crop required extra hands, and she agreed. The harvest ended. He asked her to stay until the winter solstice celebration in honor of her work, and she agreed.  Then spring came, summer, and fall again. The seasons once more repeated, and the woman remained, though her excuses for doing so had become thinly veiled. She made strict plans to leave the day she had arrived in the village two years ago. But Halerr offered her a single lily and his heart.  Her excuses ran short; she agreed to stay.

Shortly thereafter they were wed, and for a time deeply happy.  Within the year they had a child, a baby daughter, and it seemed his father’s father’s father’s legacy would continue… yet with the birth of their daughter, Sable grew more distant.  She looked to the forest where she hadn’t before, she grew colder, somber, and older of spirit.  On Ilerra’s third birthday she left, leaving the girl with only the memory of her leaving and the stories her father would tell of her after.

Ilerra grew to be a rebellious child and desired nothing more than to leave the valley.  Halerr taught her every corner of their valley so she might grow to love it, but the fire in her heart could not be tamed. Just as he had, she dreamed of battle and adventure, and no words could deter her from it.  On frequent occasion she fled his watch, and Halerr was forced to send his best men to fetch the girl before she fell into harm. Age somewhat tempered her heart, though it was still a wild thing that yearned yet for more.

Shortly after she turned 16, darkness found the innocent valley.  Rumor told of the orcs, wolves, and otherwise that now lurked their forest — though many struggled to believe it.  Ilerra never let the rumor rule her and continued to walk along the forest as she had as a girl.  Some nights she stole her father’s battle axe from the mantle for some sense of security as she crawled in all those dangerous, unseen corners of the woods.  One night such danger did befall her — a hideous orc appeared, advancing menacingly.  Yet rather than fleeing, she took the axe in hand, prepared for battle.

She was untrained and undisciplined.  By the first strike of the axe, too heavy in her tiny trembling palms, it was clear this would not be a fight she would win. Yet, she did not flee; stubbornness forced her to take down this evil that would harm her beloved home, even at the cost of her own life. It was by happenstance a stranger came upon her at this desperate hour, and slayed the orc before it managed to do the same to her.  He brought the injured girl to the village. At first Halerr thought the stranger had caused her this harm, yet once his story was confirmed, he was instantly welcomed to the village as a hero.

This stranger stayed many nights, soon days, then weeks, and subsequently months.  The girl continued to run off into trouble, and the stranger could not in good consciousness allow her to be hurt.  When it became clear he would not always be there to defend her, he trained her to wield her father’s axe she so frequently stole - in spite of her father's wishes she never learn the arts of battle.  In those few years she grew talented with the weapon, though never once told her father where she spent her many days.

As Ilerra grew stronger with age, Halerr bowed before it. Halerr had his daughter late in life and knew their time together would be short.  The time had come to set his affairs into order. One night over dinner, he removed the battle axe from its position on the mantle and pushed the handle into her palms.  ‘Take it,’ he said, ‘If you insist on wielding it, then do so with a blade freely given.  It will be more dependable than a stolen weapon’. He named another successor in the event of his death, liberating his daughter from any obligation of leading their people.

As the valley became overran with dark forces, Gondor requested all able-bodied forces to defend the capital.  Those that left knew that the valley would be overrun once they left; and so the entire village moved alongside the fighters. That was the last Ilerra ever saw her birthplace, as well as her father.  The man died shortly before the town’s departure, his heart too weary to leave his beloved valley behind.  She buried him amongst the flowers so she would always know where to find him.  She and her protector fought for Gondor, and their bravery made a mark in the hearts of the freed peoples.

Returning to the Book of Riddles

~Raechal Middlebrooks

The following is a collection of riddles translated from the book I acquired all those many months ago in Bree Town, Tuckborough, and Rivendell respectively. The writer is known by one name, which, having never been brought up again in any other conversation or word of history, must be assumed to be a false name, and the title "Dawn-Bringer".

Notes:
* I am certain that the third paragraph speaks of the changes and disturbances in the land that consequently led my friends, Unora, Gladwine and I to the Shire.

** When I stumbled upon this manuscript in the library in Bree-Town, it was this fifth paragraph that somehow caught my attention. I felt some queer connection to it, as if the author had written about myself... but I, of course, realize that such a notion was silly of me to believe.

*** The sixth paragraph contains an error, I believe the correct translation to be "are" rather than "were" ; in context, "Those who are watching will know the trick."

**** I was seeking some modern application of the seventh paragraph when Gladwine received a broken nose, and Unora was nearly run over by a horse. I had some foolish idea that this paragraph was foretelling of the redemption of a madman we met on the road.

***** There is mention of one, "Malgamorie," in the tenth paragraph. Even though the whole manuscript seems to be referring to a number of individuals, this is the only name specifically noted in the text.

****** The final paragraph of the manuscript, I have no doubt, speaks of an allegiance between the races of the world. The friends of the mountain, are of course dwarves; I believe "eave" to mean the trees, in which case the elves are mentioned here; Of the fountain, I have wondered a great deal, but I have at last concluded that this refers to the water maids, of whom there are many Gondorian tales; and lastly, there exists only one race that makes friends with bees - the people descended from that monstrous figure of legend, "Beorn." 
Try as I might, I can't elude the feeling that the entire third piece of the manuscript refers to the kinship with whom I have lately been acquainted... If this Book of Riddles has any modern application at all, where else in the world might one find such a diverse cast of characters?

Echoes from the Mountains

"Either we've clawed and battled our ways through thick and thin, or else we've stood at the wayside, not knowing what's going to happen.
Each one of us has had to come to terms with some weakness or another...
And we've found fault in others, though sometimes this reflection has been misplaced.
We've had to tolerate people who are our complete opposites.

Yet here we are.
We're still alive.
We're still able to smile.
We are more adaptable, more understanding than we ever thought possible of ourselves, or of others.
And while I'm not saying that anything in life will be easy - nay indeed - this new journey into the Misty Mountains will bring with it a new set of challenges, fears, weaknesses...
We will always be better for what is given to us!

I have no doubt in my mind, that no matter what is to happen, we are victors!
Some of us are away from our homes, some of us speak languages unfamiliar to others - but we are the Children of Justice, and it is my greatest honor to lead the second fellowship into the Misty Mountains.
Thank you all, for lending me your hope, your strength, your kindness. I would not be here if not for you."

~Tarvhos Bartholomaus, January 17th