A Tale of Beleriand

[Arveleg]

Most of the company was silent as the caravan moved on once more. The low rumbling of the laboring wheels was a soothing comfort to Caldárus after the incessant babbling of a very loud elf in the rearguard.

Caldárus had originally gone back to his post near the end of the line before the party got moving again, and it seemed that many of the other mercenaries had the same idea. There now seemed to be more in the rear than there were up ahead from his perspective, and the arrival of a group of elves did not help matters.

One elf in particular was boasting to the rest about how important their job was, telling them that they must be "quiet as the very stones" if they were to protect the wagons. As it turned out, the proud elf was not too good at taking his own advice, and Caldárus was not about to listen to him for the entire journey.

Now nearer the front of the line, he walked along in peace, scanning the surrounding area. It was a nice night indeed, but he would have welcomed the cover of a steady rainfall, as an unsettling feeling was growing in his heart. He knew this feeling well, but still could not put his finger on it.

The company traveled along in much the same manner for a great while; slow, steady and quiet. With an occasional conversation breaking out from the guards in front of him. Caldárus had seen them before their departure while he was waiting by the wagons. They had seemingly also moved up from the back of the line at that time, and were soon joined by an elf on a white horse. Two of them he recognized as the man and the dwarf that had passed him by not too long ago while he sat in deep thought. There was another elf as well, this one walking on foot. Caldárus had caught the glance of this elf a few times as they traveled along, but for what reason he knew not.

Presently, the elf fell back from the others of his company, and joined Caldárus a short distance back.

"Hello stranger!" He said as he came up. "I do not believe we have met. I am Tarendur son of Taerwë, and who might you be?" It seemed to Caldárus that the elf said this with much effort.

"Caldárus Arscúveth" he replied with a nod of greeting.

"Forgive me," said the elf, "but I could not help but notice the troubled look you have worn on your face since we set off. I have been feeling something strange in the air for a while now, and was wondering if you might be feeling the same thing."

"Indeed," Caldárus said slowly, looking at the elf with a new respect, "but I too am in the dark as to the cause of it."

"You elves and your mysterious feelings!" said a low grumbling voice. "You will have them all running back home before the night is through!"

They looked ahead to see that the dwarf was falling back to join them; his companion soon following. Tarendur laughed merrily. "I knew not that dwarves had such keen ears, but never mind that," he said, still laughing. "Let me introduce you to one of our fellow travelers."

With that, Tarendur introduced each one of them in turn, and they exchanged greetings as they walked along. When Tarendur had finished, he sighed as if with exhaustion. Barret and Follnor laughed at the comical distress of their companion. "No more introductions!" said Tarendur with a smile. "That's the last time!"

"Ah, for now at least." Follnor said with a smile. "He will soon be doing it again, just you watch," he added, with a quick wink, which was interesting, and almost comical to see coming from his stormy grey eyes.

His new company amused Caldárus. They were quite friendly, and he felt a trust there that was unusual. He never trusted anyone, and he did not know these folk at all, but he somehow felt at ease in their company.

"What say you about joining us up ahead Caldárus Arscúveth?" asked Tarendur politely as the laughter died down. "It looks as though the line needs to be spread out a bit more anyhow, and we could use more men up front."

Caldárus nodded. "Indeed," he said. "Perhaps I could be of better use up there."

With that, they moved up ahead as the wagons slowly labored on unceasingly in the night.

[Eowyn Elfsheen]

***

Glóredhel had spent the rest of the time alone, tending the horses and sharpening her daggers by the river, and occasionally throwing them at a nearby dead tree. Before long, she saw that the hour was growing late, so she headed back to the wagons. She was happy that they were fully repaired and she was glad to see that Barret and Follnor had helped Tarendur. She could not also help but notice some of their new company, which included a man of Brethil and an elf with the most beautiful horse she has ever seen. He also carried a fine-looking harp. She slid behind a tree and listened to the elf’s charming voice in this hour of peril. He did not seem to have the same arrogance as the brash Noldor Iridon. She did not have much faith for his future deeds for the company, since the Noldor gave her a bad feeling she could not tell in words.

She was also pleased to see how Tarendur had bonded the company of her father’s wagons, and how the elf was polite to the servants of her household.

Glóredhel had seen so many strange things occur lately that she did not even find this very much unusual anymore.

As she approached the wagons, she saw they were to depart and went gather her horses and make haste join the company. She did not have much time to talk to anyone but her father and she went to find him.

Finally, she saw him near the middle, his eyes carrying many burdens. She told him she was going to get some rest while the wagons moved through the night. She was very tired from the last few days.

Gethred only nodded gravely.

“Call me if you need me, Father, no matter how small the importance is. Good night,” she said to him with a look of growing fear in her eyes.

Glóredhel knew this night she would get little rest. She touched the hilts of her newly sharpened daggers and walked back towards their wagon to relax before their departure.

[~Barahir]

***

Barret, Tarendur, Follnor, Daedhel, and Caldárus walked along with the wagons, falling back to a spot farther back in the column of wagons. Looking behind them and behind the rest of the company (even the rearguard of Iridon and his “war band”) Tarendur spotted a woman riding a horse with several other horses following her lead. Barret noted her presence as well.

"I wonder if that is the lady Glóredhel," he thought to himself. Barret trotted on just ahead of him, taking a drink from his canteen. Tarendur looked back again. "It must surely be her," he thought, "for who else could it be?" With that he turned his gaze forward again, rejoining the others in conversation.

"So where did you say you were from, again, master Dwarf?" asked Caldárus.

"I am Barret, son of Balan. I hail from Nogrod, and I have been traveling with my good friend Follnor for only ten years, though I have known him for much longer. Is there anything else you would know?"

"I think that will suffice," replied Caldárus, with a smile.

"And what of yourself?" said Barret. "You did not elude much as to your background."

Laughing, Caldárus said, "Well, honestly, I don't like to say much about myself. I came from the forest of Brethil, but I've not lived there for many moons. As you have probably guessed, Caldárus is not my true name, and is but one of many that I carry. However, I am afraid I cannot reveal any more to you."

"We understand," said Follnor. "I myself don't usually say much either. Though, as long as we are exchanging tales of our pasts, I might as well give you mine, in brief."

"Tell away," said Caldárus, who was in fact just about to ask Follnor about the very thing.

"From the noble House of Bëor I come," said Follnor. "In my mid twenties, though, I left my kinsmen, and hunted in the wilds with several of my dearest companions. After their deaths, I continued to journey - alone. I stayed with elves. I stayed with dwarves. I made friends, and I made enemies. One of them, I believe is here among those of Iridon Staredal's ilk. One or two elves I met on my journeys harbored a queer dislike for me, for some reason, and I believe I recognized one with Iridon, not that that matters. As for the friends I made, I at least have Barret Horn, my sturdy companion, whom I met in the wilds along with some twenty other dwarves."

"Your life is one full of fascination," said Daedhel. "I cannot say that I have met another man who befriends elves, dwarves, and men alike."

"He is just so alluring!" joked Barret, and everyone laughed.

"Well, I'll leave you four to discuss your doings," said Follnor.

"And where might you be going?" asked Tarendur.

"I go to scout ahead," Follnor said. "I wish to talk with the guide. Beregor is his name, I believe. I would like to know what to expect ahead, as I am a bit unfamiliar with this area."

"Then I shall come with you," said Barret.

"Nay, I go alone, friend," said Follnor. "You shall enjoy this new company. Fear not, I shall return shortly." With that he quickened his pace a bit, and headed off to the front of the wagons.

"I wonder why he wished to be alone," Caldárus said. Barret shrugged. "One sometimes grows weary of company," said he. "Even good company."

[Bregor]

The other four companions continued to walk at an easy pace, staying in the area of the column with the fewest mercenaries, which was around the middle of the caravan. As they moved along a chill breeze blew past them, from over the Ered Wethrin. Tarendur drew his heavy cloak close about himself.

"Well, Tarendur," said Barret, "will you be sharing anything of interest with us, tonight?"

"I haven't much to say," Responded the elf. "I'm not much of a storyteller."

"Ah, but I am, said Daedhel. “If you don't mind, I could tell you tales of the past, or sing you a ballad of days long gone," said the youthful elf. "Is there anything in particular that you would like to hear?"

"Whatever you will," Barret said. "I could listen to just about anything right now. It is a long road, and I would much rather spend it talking with...friends."

"Indeed?" laughed Daedhel. "Well I am honored that I am worthy enough to be called your friend!" he said with a warm smile.

"Well, actually I was referring to Caldárus," said Barret. They all laughed again.

"Then if you are really interested, I could tell you of the Years of the Trees. Though I have never seen their light, I know many stories of them. Or I could speak of Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar. There are many tales to keep you on your feet," Daedhel said.

"I would like to hear of Yavanna and Aulë, if you are willing," said Caldárus.

"Then you shall hear of them," said Daedhel.

With that, Daedhel began to tell Caldárus, Tarendur and Barret of Yavanna, who is called the “Giver of Fruits.” When he began to speak of Aulë the Smith, and of the making of the dwarves, Barret was quick to interject and add various comments, correct Daedhel’s mistakes, for the Tale of the Creation of the Dwarves was well known to him. They carried on with many old stories throughout much of the night. All the while the Mountains of Shadow loomed closer on the left and the right, and the breeze became only more chill.

[~Barahir]

Meanwhile, Follnor was now moving up alongside the caravan, and he had nearly come upon the lead wagon. Ahead he could see more men and a few elves. There was also the swarthy-looking Easterling. Once again, Follnor found himself being glared at by two slanted eyes. Quickly passing them by, he came to the front of the party. Heir was there, at the lead, sitting in the front of the slow-moving cart. He looked tired from the night’s journey, and from many other similar journeys. "Hello, Follnor Laurent," he said.

"Greetings, Heir," said Follnor in return. "How goes your night? You look weary."

"Indeed I am," said Heir. "You see through me. Does something trouble you?"

"Nothing at the present. I seek the guide, though, for I wish to have some knowledge of the terrain ahead. I know nothing aside from the fact that it is mountainous," said Follnor.

"Then you will need to walk further, still," said Heir. He is scouting up further ahead, and is presently beyond my sight. He should be coming back to the rest of the company in an hour or two, but I suppose you would rather speak with him now than much later, since it will be dawn by that time. Do I assume correctly?"

"You do," said Follnor. "Thank you, then, Heir. I shall be returning in an hour or so. Farewell."

Now Follnor had to stride a bit more quickly, for he wished to find Beregor soon. As he walked along quickly he saw the clouds in the sky moving quickly also. The wind was apparently in a hurry tonight as well, for he felt the cold coming from over the Mountains of Shadow, just as the others behind were probably feeling as well. By now Daedhel had already begun telling his traveling companions about the great King Finwë of the Noldor, enthralling Tarendur, Caldárus, and Barret with his vivid storytelling.

After about a quarter of an hour, the wagons were almost out of sight. Not more than 100 paces away, Follnor saw a man. Quickening his step once again, he soon caught up to him. Turning around, the man said: "Greetings! Do you come from the caravan with Heir?"

"I do," said Follnor.

"Then you are quite a distance from the rest of the mercenaries," he said. "What brings you to me?"

"I wish to receive some idea as to what we may expect on our road. I am not very familiar with these parts," said Follnor, "and therefore, I do not know much else except for the general ruggedness of the area, being these the Ered Wethrin."

The man laughed. "Then you have come to the right person," he said. "I am Beregor, and I come from the House of Bëor, the First House of the Edain. I believe you talked to me earlier, before we resumed our journey. You are Follnor Laurent, are you not?"

"I am," said Follnor. For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Follnor seemed to be in deep thought. "Beregor was your name, you said?"

"Truly. Why do you ask? Is something wrong?"

There was a pause again. Then Follnor spoke.

"Indeed. You say you are from the House of Bëor. Your name is Beregor." Follnor sighed heavily. "Would you happen to have known a man named Baldor?"

"Of course I know him," said Beregor. "He is my brother. But why do you speak of him as of the past?"

"Alas," said Follnor, "he was my greatest friend. But he has perished."

"How? When?" exclaimed Beregor.

"He and I and three of our other companions hunted together for many years. When I was but 51 years of age, we decided to steal upon a guarded encampment of orcs. All the more I can say is that the orcs got the better of us, and slew all save me."

"How did you escape, and no others?" inquired Beregor, now quite overwhelmed by the news of his brother's untimely death.

"When we came upon the enemy camp we were spotted. Our other three companions were quickly taken by the orcs, and only Baldor and myself were able to flee back to the trees," said Follnor. "However, it was in these trees that orc archers lay in wait for us. Although we were successful in killing all of them, your brother paid for it with his life, I with just my horse."

They were no longer walking now, but standing on the dusty road. Beregor had his head bowed and his right hand was at his chest. Follnor put his arm around Beregor, and they embraced. It was obviously a very sorrowful time for Beregor having so unexpectedly learned of his brother's death.

"Thank you, Follnor Laurent, for telling me of this," said Beregor. "I just cannot believe that I had not heard of Baldor's death before now. How long has it been since his passing?"

"It is nigh upon 23 years now since he was buried just east of Amon Ereb."

"So long ago. And so far away," said Beregor. "How ever did you come so far? And how old did you say you were?"

"I have lived for 74 years, as of the last Hrívë," said Follnor. "I went east after my companions died, and there I met Barret Horn, whom I have brought with me. Although we did travel through these mountains, it was much farther to the west where we did so, and it is also very different traveling with a large company than by oneself or with a lone companion. Along the way to the Falas we came upon the Sindar, as was expected. After leaving Brithombar we traveled up through the northern way past the river Nenning. We went far east of Vinyamar and past the Marshes of Nevrast and then back west and up to Dor-lómin. When we encountered Heir, we immediately reversed direction, and are now taking the South Road. That is also why I wanted to know the terrain ahead, for Barret and I took a less traveled way, farther to the west, and just north of the marshes."

"I see," said Beregor. Well, all that I can tell you is somewhat like what you most likely experienced in coming north. However, as you said, it is quite different with a large company. All that I can say is this: expect the going to be slow. Expect stops to occur less often than one would like, but more often than is good, when traveling through these lands."

"Thank you, then, Beregor," said Follnor.

"Nay, I thank you," responded Beregor. "You have put to light something of which I have been in the dark for more than twenty years. You have my friendship, and you have my trust."

At that, Follnor said farewell, and headed back to his companions. He had been gone for at least half an hour, and it would be another quarter of an hour yet before he would be back. The night was calm, presently, and the moon shown bright, even though it had already begun to wane. Still, though, it was cold, and Follnor pulled his cloak around himself. The wind picked up again, and now he felt the bitter cold wind coming down from the Ered Wethrin, biting his face. It would be a long walk, with the wind against him, he knew.

[Bregor]

The wind continued to pick up. It was not so violent as it was chilling. Winter was coming sooner than was anticipated. This would not be good for the caravan, especially in the mountainous area. They would make for easy prey, if they did not keep a sharp sword and a sharper eye. Looking into the night sky Barret Horn caught a glimpse of a fluttering snow flake. There were more in the air, too. He could see them in the light of the moon against the dark mountains.

Tarendur was also looking upward. It seemed that he was troubled by this early snow fall, though light and short it may be. "I hope that we do not end up in a storm," said Tarendur. Barret looked uneasily toward the elf. "We are already vulnerable enough as it is," continued Tarendur, "and we need not an icy gift from the Valar to hinder us more."

Daedhel and Caldárus smiled at Tarendur's choice of words. Barret kept trudging forward, not in the mood for jokes at the moment. Since Daedhel had finished with his story-telling, he had grown weary. Neither he nor Follnor had eaten in several days, and Barret was beginning to feel tired. He took a drink from his large canteen. The water was cool and refreshing, and though no substitute for a hearty meal, still enough to keep him on his legs.

"Notice you a shadow ahead, Tarendur?" asked Caldárus. "I fear I do not have the sight of the elves, and perhaps I am deceived by the night, for methinks there is a man coming our way."

"Your eyes do not lie, Caldárus, for I too see the shape of a man," said Tarendur. "Also, farther behind him is another. Both are headed toward us."

Barret looked up and strained his eyes. "I see nothing ahead but the light snow and the mountains in the light of this moon," said he. "But it is getting colder out here."

"Truly," said Daedhel, sofltly plucking his lyre. "Do not fear, though. I do not think that they are foes. In fact, I believe that the closer one is our friend Follnor Laurent."

"Indeed?" said Barret. "I wonder how long it is until we know for certain, though. One can never be too careful in the such a place as this."

As if taking heed to the words of the Dwarf, the other three seemed to grow more watchful. The figure was growing still closer, and even Barret was now able to see him.

"That is most certainly our companion Follnor," said Tarendur. "I wonder who it is that comes behind him, though. Both look travel-worn, and as though our pause in the glade did not help alot as for their constitution."

The man raised his hand toward Barret and the others. "Good evening, my friends," he said. "It is I, Follnor Laurent."

[~Barahir]

"So you've come back, finally," said Barret. "I was growing impatient!"

"Oh really?" laughed Follnor. "Well, I had matters on my mind which needed to be addressed."

"Shall I presume, then that it was our guide that you were off with," asked Daedhel, "and that it is he who followeth you?"

"You guess on the mark, Daedhel," replied Follnor, "though I knew not his change in mind to fall back to the wagons, or else I would have accompanied him. If you knew not already, his name is Beregor. His brother I knew, who was slain - Baldor. A most valiant friend."

"Ah, then we shall have chance to meet with him as well, then?" asked Caldárus.

"If it is he who comes behind me, then there is small chance that you won't."

With that, Follnor once again turned around, and walked along with his companions on their southward journey from Hithlum, though not away from danger, still.

The night was wearing on, and soon morning would come. Follnor was just wondering how much longer they would be traveling ere they stopped for the coming of day, when suddenly the lead wagon began to slow down. The others following it did the same, as they were going downhill, and didn't want to go too fast.

When they reached the bottom of the slope, they found themselves in a fairly large valley, with cover of trees. It was clear that they were indeed stopping here, since it was probably just an hour before dawn. Follnor gave a sigh of relief, and sat down to have a smoke and contemplate some more before going to sleep. Beregor walked by, just then, but he said he was going to sleep elsewhere, and was going to need to be awake early, to help plan the next night's coarse. Tarendur had had enough thinking over the past few days and went right to sleep, as did Daedhel and Barret. However, Caldárus sat over next to Follnor to talk for awhile. Caldárus pulled out his own pipe - a fine wooden one, with an intricate design weaving all about the woodwork.

"Do you need some pipe weed?" asked Follnor.

"Nay, I have my own," said Caldárus. "I merely wished that we should have some time to think and to talk."

The two men sat against the enormous wheel of the nearby wagon, talking about past experiences, and of the great heroes of their time. Eventually they slowed, and conversation all over the camp died down and fires were extinguished, till even the low murmur of the last few stragglers ceased, and all that could be heard was the sound of slumber, and that of birds and beasts wakening.

[Eowyn Elfsheen]

***

The Lady Glóredhel awoke from a nightmare from within the wagon to the sound of cold gusty wind and several people talking, whom she guessed were probably Tarendur and those whom he had befriended. She sat up, yawned and looked outside. The caravan had come to a stop, and now there were small snowflakes falling on the ground. She knew it was time to take the horses out.

"Good Morning," said Glóredhel coldy, as if in a dream still, to her father.

"Good Morning! You have become distant from the other travellers as of late. May I ask what is bothering you?"

"A had a dream... it was not good, but I saw a war-band of Noldorin Elves attacking our camp. It frightened me, but I realized that it was just a dream. As for my keeping distance from the other travellers, all I can say is that I really feel a bit unusual around such company. If there is a chance of me helping you on this quest, I will any way I can," she said sweetly, and nodded, leading the horses to the stream they had been following. Yet again, she sharped her knives and practiced while the horses fed, and drank, and grew strong. She was proud of her great steeds.

She thought that perhaps later that night she would be more sociable amongst her wagon since she had not been for some time. She wanted to see more about the Elves amongst the "mercenaries." She had heard Elvish songs whilst she slept, or so she thought, and the songs were pleasant ones to hear.

[~Barahir]

It seemed, however, that any of the elves she would have liked to talk with were either busy or did not wish for any company at the moment. This prevailed until she heard someone singing a ballad nearby one of the wagons. When she came around the other side, she saw that, to her surprise, it was actually Follnor Laurent whom she heard singing. Around him sat another man, and two elves.

As she approached, Follnor stopped singing and came to her.

"My lady," he said, "how are you, this fine morning?"

"I am," said Glóredhel, pausing, "I am alright." There was another pause, as Tarendur, who was one of the two elves sitting nearby, peered around Follnor to see her. "But you did not need to stop your singing."

"I was nearing the end, anyway," said Follnor. "And the end is not the fairest part in the case of this song. It is no matter," he said, taking her over to the others. "Now, what is it you need?"

[Bregor]

"I would rather speak to you in private, if your friends would not mind," she said.

Follnor looked back toward his companions, thinking. "Is it urgent?" he asked.

"I will just say that it is something which I would rather talk about sooner than later."

"Then I will go," said Follnor.

Returning to Daedhel the harp which he had borrowed, he slung his greatsword Randirvilya upon his back, and did likewise to his longbow. Glóredhel and Follnor then headed toward the outskirts of the morning camp.

***

Barret Horn had not been with Follnor and his companions, as he had gone off to see if there were actually any others of his kind in present in the company. It just so happened that there were two other dwarves in the group. Barret strode up toward them.

"Greetings," he said. " I do not believe we have met; I am Barret Horn of Tumunzahar, and am at your service."

"Brór of Gabilgathol, son of Blór at your service," said the first dwarf. "And Frór, son of Blór at your service," said the other.

After their greetings, the dwarves began talking about various mining techniques, and troubles with orcs, and about precious stones and the like, and were well occupied in conversation long after, walking randomly around the camp, in the chill morning.

***

[Eowyn Elfsheen]

Moments ago, Glóredhel had been walking along the wagons out of curiosity, when she heard singing in the distance, and it carried all dissonant the sounds of war and peace within as far as she could feel anyway, though fair it was.

As she approached the direction of the singing, she saw Follnor Laurent and two Elves and a Man. She told Follnor that she needed to speak with him alone, as she did not know the rest of the company well.

Follnor and Glóredhel walked to where she tended the horses to talk in private. Once she was sure that nobody else was around, she opened up to him.

"I have been needing to tell this more urgently to someone with whom I feel trust for the safety of my people; we are in danger," Glóredhel cried.

"All of us are in danger right now," said Follner, though quite alarmed.
"But tell me what you know, and I will be sure to help you and your people as I best as I can."

"I had a terrible dream," said Glóredhel. "There was that Elf - the Noldor, who had a very haughty behavior. Should my dream come to pass, he will be the one to begin harassing the caravan, or at least initiate it by tomorrow."

Follnor stirred uneasily, obviously concerned by this foreboding information.

"I was raised by a wise Elf woman who taught me much, and I can feel something will happen. Please take up some warning for the others by midday, but do not let fear take the people! I must go seek my father again to warn him, as the feeling has been ever growing in my heart of battle. Beware, also, of the Easterling."

Follnor spoke slowly "That is much you speak, Glóredhel. I will take it to heart and let my companions know to watch well today, and even more earnestly tonight."

"Thank you. Now I must warn my father," said Glóredhel, bowing and taking her leave.

By the time Glóredhel had almost reached her father, Follnor was already speaking with his companions on the matter. She decided to let him help, and went back to the horses, taking her blades, and made ready, should anything come to pass, the like of which her vision had foretold.

[~Barahir]

"The lady Glóredhel hath told me of an ill omen," said Follnor to Tarendur, upon his return to the eastern watch of the wagons.

"What is this omen you speak of, friend?" replied Tarendur. Caldárus and Daedhel also drew up, now intrigued.

"When Glóredhel called me away to speak in private, I already knew something was amiss - for she seems not one to socialize with others regularly," Follnor began.

The words had hardly fallen from his lips as Iridon Staredal himself strode up with his well armed band. Follnor and his companions turned toward them.

He had a guard on either side of him, Iridon. Each had a dark red cloak which fell about himself, consuming all but their bright breastplates, with each, a set of perfectly conforming shoulder plates, fitting atop the cloak. Upon the breastplate ran a leather strap, leading to a gold-traced scabbard, in which was each a long sword, inlaid at it's hilt with a dark stone. Upon their backs, a quiver with many arrows, and opposite, a long bow, well crafted and long in the making. In the right hand of the two foremost guards, was a two-edged halberd.

Iridon was in like garb, save that his cloak was blue, and he wore a bright helm of steel. Stepping forward to Tarendur, he removed his helm, letting fall his fierce red hair in the morning sun. Tarendur stared into the cold eyes of the Elf whom he had at first thought not to be so arrogant. Growing impatient, Caldárus spoke, saying: "What do you wish, ye son of Feanor, that you come to us, this chill morning? Or have you just come to show thy strength in arms?"

Iridon laughed at Caldárus. "Be silent, fool!" he said. "If I am correct, then you needn't concern yourself in the matters of which I am about to speak."

"Come, then Caldárus," said Daedhel, "for if it concerneth not you, then it concerneth not me either." Caldárus and Daedhel then picked up their belongings and headed away from what they figured was just a confrontation waiting to happen.

"Now then, good Iridon, what is it you want?" said Follnor to the haughty Elf.

"Well, Follnor Laurent," said Iridon, "are you sure you want to know?"

"You are the one who approached me, not I you."

Iridon smiled at this remark. He turned to face his small company, and at the raise of his hand, four guards moved aside, revealing three Dwarves in chains. Turning again to face Follnor, he said, "Know you these? For they were found snooping around my night's camp just moments ago, so I had them taken prisoner and bound."

"An hi raen palan úim, Feanorion," said Tarendur coldly.

Iridon was silent. Then he spoke: "What you say I already know. I care not, and I presume it not. I came only to return to you the stunted folk which have invaded the privacy of my camp!"

At this, the three Dwarves were thrown forward to Follnor and Tarendur.

"I assume they belong to you, atan."

Iridon returned helm to head. Facing his band again, he gave a call, and away they marched, back toward the edge of the nearby forested area.

"Are you alright, Barret?" asked Follnor, for Barret was of course one of those whom Iridon had taken.

"Yes, yes, I'm quite fine," he said. "Forgive me, but will you be so kind as to get these accursed cuffs off of my friends and I?"

"As a matter of fact, I've been wondering who they are, Barret," said Follnor, as he searched for something to remove their bindings. "Care to introduce them to us?"

"They are the brothers Brór and Frór, of Gabilgathol."

"And we are in your debt for aiding us, against the cruel Elf," said Brór, quickly adding, "not to say that you are cruel, sir..."

"Tarendur."

"Tarendur," said Brór. "A thousand apologies."

"None are necessary," he said.

Noticing a hammer among some of his possessions, Tarendur picked it up and gave it to Follnor.

'Clang!' Went the hammer, as it hit upon Barret's cuff, snapping it.

"Much better," he said. "Here, let me finish off my Brór and Frór's bindings while you gather Daedhel and Caldárus."

"Thank you," said Follnor, leaving. Tarendur stayed behind.

Follnor headed south, which was more or less the head of the caravan, hoping to find Daedhel and Caldárus again, in order to tell them all together of Glóredhel's prophetic dream. He strode along the path, looking up at the gathering clouds not far ahead. It did not seem as though it was often used, though, for it was choked, in places with ditches and shrubs, which made it difficult for passage of a large company to pass through quickly. "I hope the road becomes easier further ahead," thought Follnor to himself, "for the sake of these people."

It was clear that the company was almost ready to depart again for the day, so haste was needed in the confusion and disarray of preparation, if he was to have time to warn his friends. Hurriedly, he moved through the ranks of mercenaries and hired guards. At last he spotted Daedhel, and made for him.

"So here you are, Daedhel," said Follnor, catching his breath. "Iridon has left, so you may come back now."

"He has left the caravan?" asked Daedhel.

"Nay, but he has taken his throng of followers and returned to his little camp, apparently to prepare to move out again. However, before leaving us, he handed over Barret and two other Dwarves whom he had taken prisoner."

"Why were they in his hands to begin with?" inquired Caldárus.

"Apparently they had been too close to his camp for his liking, so he bound them and then came brought them to us," said Follnor. "I believe he wants us to take it as a warning of some sort."

"What do you mean?" asked Caldárus.

"I explain just what I mean when we have returned to Barret and Tarendur. Come, the caravan will be moving again soon, and I don't think that we'll have another good opportunity to discuss matters as such for some time after."

Daedhel and Caldárus picked up their things, once again, and followed Follnor back to where the others were, up north. They did not see the Easterling on their way, which was both gladdening and concerning to Follnor, for although he did not like being in his company, it bothered him that he might be up to something.

Tarendur and Barret were waiting next to one of the wagons when Follnor, Caldárus, and Daedhel made it back. Caldárus slung down his pack upon the ground. Tarendur laughed.

"So you couldn't even stay long enough to hear out the little princeling?" he said.

"He insulted me!" exclaimed Caldárus.

"Ah, but I believe you insulted him first," said Tarendur.

"Which does not seem to be too difficult," Daedhel interjected.

They all laughed. "Alas, though, that seems all too true," said Follnor, sadly. "Such is the fate of the offspring of Feanor."

There seemed to be a sort of silent agreement between them, since nobody spoke for awhile, until Follnor broke the silence again.

"Now that we are gathered again I may now present to you the news which I first set out to tell," he said. "Just earlier, Glóredhel called me aside from you, in order to talk privately, as I'm sure you remember. In our meeting she told me of an ill omen she had foreseen. In her dream, Iridon attacks the caravan, or at least provokes attack, at nightfall. Now Iridon seems to be confirming this, not only by his nature, but by his capture of our Dwarf friends. I believe," continued Follnor, "that he wishes us to take that as a warning - that he does not want us to be in his way when the time comes."

"Then that is indeed ill news, Follnor Laurent," said Caldárus. "You make many assumptions... but I for one think that they are well based; you may be right."

"I also believe that in Iridon Staredal is much pride and wrath, and that the traitorous blood has not left the line from which he came," said Tarendur.

"And what say you, Daedhel?" asked Follnor.

"I am no fighter," he said, "but I cannot stand aside as someone of his kind takes advantage of others. I must do something. But my skills are in song and lore, not axe and war."

"Well said, indeed," said Follnor. "But fear not, for you shall find your place."

Daedhel nodded. The clamor of people rushing around reached it's climax. Looking south, toward the head of the wagons, Tarendur could see Heir at the foremost of the wagons. They were ready to depart.

"It seems as though we are leaving, now," Tarednur said.

"Alright, then," said Follnor, "let us make ready, quickly."

They had just finished gathering the last of their packages, parcels, weapons and other gear as the groan of the large wheels resumed. Follnor Laurent threw some of his things upon a nearby wagon, as did Caldárus, Barret, and Tarendur; Daedhel had so few belongings that he could simply carry them in a small pack at his side, with his harp, his only weapon, a simple knife.

Follnor stretched out his arms and groaned.

"A long day this shall be, I fear," he said. "Remember to keep a sharp watch today, should Iridon prove traitorous - or anyone else, for that matter."

Once again there was a silent agreement between them.

Overhead, the clouds were dark and heavy, but in the east the sun had just peaked through to tease them with a fleeting warmth which was quickly whisked away by a cold gust of wind from the luminous mountains of Ered Wethrin, which now surrounded them on their right and left, and ahead and behind. The cold peaks seemed to stand glaring down upon the travelers. This was not a terribly welcome feeling for most of the company.

"Whither went your friends, Barret Horn?" asked Caldárus.

"Brór and Frór went to the front guard again," said Barret, "for they wished to speak with Heir, I believe."

"Do you suppose we'll see them again?" asked Caldárus.

"I'm almost certain that we shall," replied Barret.

Hours later, Follnor was looking to the west. The sun was no longer visible, now, as the clouds had completely masked it. Looking hard, he caught sight of snow flakes coming down, further off, and to the north, at the edge of the Mountains of Shadow. There were a few small outcroppings of trees in the east, and the remnants of old camps could be seen every once in awhile. Otherwise, the area was quite desolate, and devoid of any other life but that of the slowly moving caravan of survivors fleeing Dor-Lomin. They were with only four wagons, but it was enough to make the passage slow and painstaking, especially with three horses for each wagon, and a few, also, to spare. A couple of the hired guards even had horses of their own. Somebody had to take care of them. "Glóredhel," he thought to himself. "Perhaps I should talk to her father, 'Heir,' and see what he thinks about Iridon Staredal, and Glóredhel's vision. Although it doesn't seem to me that he would betray us, I should still seek the leader's advice."

"I'm going to speak with Heir," said Follnor. "Shalt any of you come with me? I would like to discuss Glóredhel's dream with him."

Nobody said a word. "Then I shall go alone," Follnor said.

Just as he started off, though, the caravan also began to move again, as the sun was gone behind the horizon. Quickening his pace, he left his companions behind, passing the wagons slowly, as some people looked at him oddly. Still there was no sign of the Easterling. "He must be here, though," thought Follnor, "for he was to be paid. And there is no reason why would he just leave in this wilderness where there is nothing - nowhere for him to go." Coming upon the lead wagon, he slowed down to the speed of the horses' trot. He caught sight of one of the servants he had seen the previous day, when they were mending one of the wagons. The servant was sitting on the side of the foremost wagon, and noticed Follnor at once.

"Greetings, Follnor Laurent!" said he. "Are you wishing to speak with my lord?"

"I am," said Follnor.

"Then I shall speak to him on your behalf, and you shall know whether you may meet with him or not. He has been busy, this morning, planning the coarse of today's journey, with our guide, Beregor."

The servant hopped off of the cart and went further up front and disappeared into a covered section of the head wagon. Moments later he returned, saying: "Heir will see you now, sir."

"Thank you very much," replied Follnor. "But first, I do not think I have your name."

"I am called Ranor," he said.

"Thank you, then, Ranor," said Follnor, as he headed into the covered part of the wagon, where Heir was waiting for him.

[~Barahir]

Inside the tent-like atmosphere, Follnor could see Heir talking with several other people. A couple of seconds later, the people said "thank you" and left Heir. Follnor then strode up to Heir - he could feel the wagon moving under him even as he walked.

Heir turned around. "Greetings, Follnor Laurent. Ranor tells me you wish to speak."

"That is why I am here," said Follnor. "Earlier today, your daughter Glóredhel brought to me a bit of dis-concerning news, which I wanted to discuss with you. She told me that she had had a vision of an attack on the caravan. Apparently, Iridon may also be one of the attackers, according to her dream. She thinks that the attack will come soon. Perhaps by nightfall. What say you?"

"She told me of this, as well, and I do confess that it is quite possible, and even likely that a large group traveling through the mountains could be waylaid, and spotted as easy gain by our enemies." Heir responded. "However, I don't want any of this to come to the people. They do not need to be panicked over what may or may not be nothing. There's no need to tell them, unless we have further proof of attack. Just keep a sharp eye, and know your friends as well as you know yourself."

"Thank you," said Follnor, as he turned and left the bumpy cart to head back to the others.

***

It was now just past dusk, and they moved still without any sign of danger. The clouds in the sky completely enveloped the mountain peaks, and to the south it was gray and resounding thunder could be heard bouncing off the cliff faces. All hoped that they would not have to encounter the storm ahead, for it could be quite dangerous to be caught in the mountains in a snow storm. There was not much falling at the moment, but it had picked up a little more than the last day.

Suddenly the incline became much steeper, and so the caravan had to turn to the east to the main road,in order to continue. The road at first seemed much easier and smoother. However, as they progressed, it proved to be just as difficult as it had before, although it was not nearly as steep. Soon, though, they would need to turn back south, and get back off the main road, since they did not wish to be seen. This would be up to Beregor. their guide, who still tirelessly walked ahead of the party.

After several more hours, they were able to turn back south again, and get back to a less traveled road. Now that the sun had set, it was much darker than before, and more difficult to see. However, no matter how many troubles night travel had, it was the only way the caravan could safely move through the mountains without being seen. Bumping along, the caravan proceeded to carefully head down the well-trodden path.

The moon was beginning to show through the clouds when at last the caravan got back to the more narrow and less-traveled part of the South Road out of Hithlum. Another week and perhaps they would be through the Ered Wethrin. However, at the present, they still needed to press on, since they were not yet to safety. Many guards were seen looking to the stars, for they seemed to be brighter, that night.

[Aragil]

***

It was a cold night; one that would nearly chill your bones. Thinad gazed up, and saw the stars shining down upon him. He turned his head to the south, and saw the veil that had been moving ever northward. He suddenly felt strange, then he looked around. He was standing on the left tower in the newly constructed Gate of Steel, last defence of the Hidden City of Gonodolin.

"Are you alright Lord Thinad?" whispered one of Thinads fellow guards. Thinad shook himself for a moment.

"..Yes....Yes, I'm alright. Return to your post," replied Thinad briskly.

Thinad thought back for a moment. Three months ago, one of the bloodiest battles ever fought. If it had not been for Ulfang and his sons, The Noldor and Edain would have been victorious. The more Thinad thought of it, the more it reminded him, that men were easily corrupted by the malice of Morgoth.

He pondered for a moment, what would have happened, had they not interfered. He imagined Fingon, Maedhros, and Turgon, all under one banner, victorious, standing atop a ruined Angband, and for once, the sun was unveiled, and the Noldor reclaimed the remaining two Silmarils. He shook himself again. No, it was not like that. Fingon laid dead, under his banner. And the armies of the Noldor were defeated, and forced to retreat.

He turned, and saw Lord Ecthelion behind him. It was time for the exchange of watching shifts. Now Thinad would have his free time, to do as he wished, until he would be positioned back ontop of one of the gates. He slowly moved, so Lord Ecthelion could take his position, then began the walk down the staircase.

[Aragil]

Thinad slowly made his way down the guard tower, making little noise, so he would not startle the guards above him. He opened the door that lead to the inside of the Orfalch Echor, with three different keys, one made of steel, the next made of silver, and the next made of gold. The door opened, and he turned and shut it behind him, making sure that all the locks were locked.

Then he turned, and looked north, to the city, itself. It was beautiful in the moonlight, even more beautiful than it already was in daylight. He gave a slight nod, then continued down the path that the guards used to go to the city. He made his way to the gate, from where he shouted, "Aiya Turgon! Aiya Ondolindë!" The Noldor gave a quick look over the gate, and saw that it was indeed one of their own, Thinad. They quickly opened the gate, and allowed him in.

Thinad bowed shortly to the guards, and asked them where the house of the Golden flower were, since they were not in their alotted space. The guards pointed up to the courtyard. It seemed that there was some sort of celebration going on. Then it hit him: it was Mettarë, the last day of the year. The guards had been on constant duty since the fifth battle, so they had not been invited to the celebrations and parties. Thinad grew curious, so he decided to go up to the part and see what was going on.

He climbed the stairs, and made way for the Kings gate. He approached it, and the gate's guards opened it for him, where his senses met beautful music, and sweet smelling incense. He gave a quick smile, and went off to join the party.

Thinad walked around, somewhat nervously, greeting citizens of the fair city. He graciously took a glass of wine from a server, and continued to circle the main court, occasionally sipping from the slender glass. Suddenly, movement began to cease, so Thinad followed suit. He looked at the high stage, where the thrones of the seven lords of Gondolin sat. The figure in the center had stood up, and raised his glass to the large crowd, and now began a deep voiced speech.

"My kin, fate hath given us Noldor, yet another whisp of luck in these dark times. Our fair city still stands, and Morgoth yet not claimed Arda as his own. Yet he hath inflicted pain upon us, such as the passing of my father, and of my brother. Yet the hope remains, as it falls upon me, to rise above and declare myself as king, not only of this city, but to all Exiled Noldor, as ourselves, who are in dire need."

With that he lifted his glass high and sang, "Hail Gondolin! Fairest of citadels in Beleriand, long have we stood against the sleepless malice of the north. Ere we fall, and all hope diminish, let us celebrate our stand against it." The crowd all nodded and cheered after their lord had finished his speech.

Thinad had guessed it was his lord Turgon from the beginning. He was of that royal house, as well, but not as close as Turgon, to lordship. Thinad finished his glass of wine, and he delivered it to the server, who was at that time collecting them.

Then, someone came from behind him and placed their hand upon Thinads shoulder. He quickly turned, hand on his sword hilt, only to realise that it was Lord Duilin of the Swallow. He quickly apologised and bowed to him. Duilin, however, was humble, as he did the same to Thinad.

"Thinad, my apologies for startling you, but Lord Turgon calls for a conference, and you are one of the requested attendees." Thinad gave a strange look, then said, "Inform Lord Turgon that I shall arrive in a moment or so. I must first attend to a few matters, though, ere I do so."

"I shall," said Duilin. "Farewell."

[Aragil]

As Duilin left, Thinad turned around, and gazed towards the southern staircase. He saw two guards there, and from the look of it, they were both kinsmen of Egalmoth, who was the head of the House of the Heavenly Arch. Thinad himself was of the house of king Turgon, although he was related to him, he was too far off to be considered his heir. Thinad then walked over to the staircase and gave the guards a quick nod before he started down.

As most dwellers of Gondolin were aware, the Southern staircase from the Kings Court leads to the Alley of Roses, which arches to the west with two collumns of roses on either side. Thinad noted the beauty of the roses in the late moonlight. Thinad turned east, on a road which would take him through the lower market in Gondolin. This was also the way to his home. Thinad prefered to live near the battlements, so that when he awoke early in the morning, he could walk to them and witness the sun shining over the Echoriath.

Thinad disreguarded the merchants who were trying to sell him random items. By now, he realised he was weary from being in his armor all day, which made him only that much eager to go home. Finally, he made his way past the market, close to the eastern wall. He saw his home, and quickly went inside. He immediately unstrapped his breastplate and body armor, and took off his helmet. Next came off his shin guards and his fore-arm plates. He neatly set up his armor on a rack in a compartment, and went up stairs to change into his ceremonial dress.

When he came back down, he was in his light blue cerimonial garb, and quickly ran out the door, back on his way to the court. This time, he came the opposite way, coming from the greater market in the east of Gondolin, up through the pass that led to the Arch of Ingwe, and up the northern staircase. He atlast came to the court of the king again, where the celebration was over, and the serfs were cleaning up. He walked up to the Tower of Turgon, where the council would be held.

He came up to the door to the tower and it was opened for him. Greeting Thinad was Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower.

"Welcome Thinad, the council awaits your presence." Thinad gave Glorfindel a quick nod, saying, "Thank you, milord." Glorfindel sidestepped, and pointed him in the direction of the table where the council would be held.

As Thinad made his way over to the long table, he noted that all of the nobles and important guards were present. He felt happy, in a way, to have been culled to this group, yet somewhat shy as well. He made his way to the right side of the table, somewhere in the center, and sat next to Arael, who was one of Thinads closest friends. He also was a guard in the Seven gates. He worked in the shift prior to Thinads own, but on the Gate of Gold rather that the Gate of Steel. Arael wore a white garb with a light blue cape, and a chestnut belt.

"Ah, Thinad my friend, how went thy guard duty?" he said.

Thinad turned his head, and looked at Glorfindel, who had just taken his seat in one of the thrones at the head of the table. He turned his attention back to Arael and said, "Uneventful, as always. Yet I fear something stirs in the North."

Arael gave a look of curiousity and replied, "You do not think Morgoth has actually discovered Gondolin, do you?"

"No, its not that, it is just that witnessing the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and the Fall of Fingon makes me realise that the other Noldoli Kingdoms are not fairing as well as we here in Gondolin." Thinad made sure to whisper when he uttered the words Nirnaeth Arnoediad, however.

Arael gave a quick nod before hearing a horn, which was blown by Lord Galdor to signal the start of the council. At that moment, everyone in the room bowed, as Turgon entered the room. Turgon bowed his head, and they all took their seats.

"Gondolindrim! We stand at a time of change. With both my father and brother dead, I have announced my Lordship of the Noldor, since my nephew Ereinion is not yet of age. We have many a matter to discuss this night, so lend me your hearts, and your minds, and your tounges."

With that opening, Turgon sat in his throne, and everyone shouted "Hail Turgon!". Turgon then raised his hand and spake, "For the first matter, we shall need new solutions to the ever growing threat of the spies of Morgoth."

Galdor then said, "I propose that we lower the light around the Seven gates, making the Echoriath look less inhabited."

Glorfindel nodded and concured, as did most of the council. Yet Maeglin stood in defiance and said, "Then how would we people of the Mole navigate the deep mines in the north? This cannot be done without heavy casualty to my folk."

To this many of the other lords reluctantly agreed, if only because Maeglin was in high favor of the King. Then Voronwe stood and spoke.

"We should increase the guard in the Orfalch Echor, and increase the length of the Guard shifts," he said.

Turgon gave a look of curiousity and said, "Currently we have our main force guarding the Seven gates, and there is no captain in the Orfalch Echor. Who will lead them?" Then the elf named Elemmakil stood and said "I will lead them, and take a partial host from the Gate of the Wood with me, if that is Lord Turgons desire."

Maeglin was about to defy Elemmakil, but Turgon spoke before he could, and said, "Yes, that is an idea worthy of this council. I concur."

The council continued this way for about an hour, and many of the issues were solved in a way that pleased all, save Maeglin. Then Turgon came at last to the issue that was the most troubling to him.

"My Lords, there is one final matter we must discuss in this council before we part ways for now. In my sleep my dreams have not been sound, and I predict they are a warning of sorts. In them, I see a river, leading into a bay. The water is troubled, and there is a dark cloud to the north." Turgon paused for a moment, and continued. "I fear this is a warning from Ulmo. So I have decided to send out mariners to seek forgiveness of the Valar, are there any who would brave this task?"

Thinad looked across the table as Voronwe stood, along with a few others. Turgon continued, "In addition, I say we should send heralds to our fellow Noldoli, and bid them that Gondolin stands, and hope is still kindled." Thinad gave a strange glance over to Arael, and then he stood and said "I will go, milord."

Then everyone in the council gave look to Thinad, and Thinad felt a hint of embarrassment at all the nobles of Gondolin staring at him.

However, Turgon nodded his head and replied, "So be it. You, Thinad, shall go forth unto Dor-Lomin and give council to the Eldar and Atani there." With that Thind gave a bow to Turgon and sat.

Thus the council concluded, and the nobles departed for their homes, for it was late in the night, and only lamps lit the city. Thinad walked down the stairs, and to the Road of Pomps, which was the fastest way to his home.

The proceeding day in Gondolin was a very busy one. Many were going to set out from the fair city, and there was much new construction. The Guards shifts now overlapped each other, so that the guard would be twice in size if there was an attack, at any time. Thinad for one was glad he was leaving, since his shift would run late in the night with the new changes.

Thinad was to set out for Dor-Lomin that day, with twenty elves of the Fountain alongside him. He packed everything he would need, and brought two days extra supply of food, should they run into trouble of some sort. Thinad bid farewell to his mother, with grief, and to his sister. As he set off from the western gate of Gondolin, he gave one last look to the city, before he passed underground.

[~Barahir]

***

The night was just beginning for those traveling through the Ered Wethrin, out of Hithlum, and it remained cold. Snowflakes gathered upon the shoulders and helms and cloaks of the party, and upon Barret's light brown beard. He shook his head and the flakes scattered. Follnor looked down at him.

"Getting colder, isn't it?" Follnor said.

"Yes. Not much to my liking, but... where you go I shall follow," he said.

With that, they returned their gaze to the road ahead. However, it was beginning to become rather difficult to distinguish where the road was, given the coverage by the snow.

"I am glad that we have a guide who knows what he is doing," said Tarendur, "or else we might become lost in these mountains."

"Indeed," said Daedhel, as if in distant thought. Caldárus was silent for the moment, also in thought. It, in fact, seemed to be this way for many of the others in the caravan. Most of the guards marched along silently, looking ever forward, to the south, or else their eyes strayed upward to the bright stars of the dark night. Above this, there was nothing else to be seen in the mountains through which they now almost somberly traveled.

The going was slow, since there were women and children in the party, and much baggage, also. Although they had still not run into any trouble with orcs, or outlaws, the sense of vulnerability was ever present.

[~Barahir]

They continued to march unceasingly throughout the rest of the night, until morning came, and they were forced to seek cover, once again. It had stopped snowing a few hours before dawn, so it had been slightly easier to move along for the last part of the night's journy, thankfully, and the guide, Beregor was able to find a suitable location for their stop, as people settled down to get some rest, and tend to their various needs.

The next night, the company continued to move on through the mountains with little trouble. In fact, they would be nearing the end of the mountain range in less than a week. However, fear still gnawed at them. Fear of those who might be pursuing them from Hithlum. Also, there are many perils in the sparsely wooded Ered Wethrin. At any moment the company could find itself under attack from outlaws in the woods, throughout the mountains - or even from traitors within.

This would be Follnor's sixth night in the company of Heir. Follnor mused on this as he walked along, thinking of what he would have been doing, or where he would be right now, had he just continued to walk right past Heir, nearly a week before. "I could be halfway to... anywhere else, by now," he thought to himself. Follnor sighed. "I don't mind this company too much, though," he thought, as he turned to look to the sky.

It was cloudy that night. The moon seemed to be covered by a veil. This made it slightly more difficult to see the path before them on the winding mountain road. It also made them less likely to be attacked, though, without illumination, which was a comforting thing to think upon.

Caldárus looked tired. Follnor could see it in his eyes, and how he walked, not taking as much care as usual, and sometimes stumbling on loose rocks. "Are you well, Caldárus?" asked Follnor. "You look as though you did not sleep well yestermorn." Caldárus seemed to nod, for a moment, but he suddenly shook himself.

"What did you say, friend?" he asked.

"I asked if you were well, for you do not look as though you slept well yestermorn," said Follnor.

"Ah, indeed I did not," Caldárus responded. "I have been plagued, recently with visions of my past. They pervert my dreams to nightmares, and constantly keep me from rest."

Follnor was now concerned. "When did this begin to happen?" he asked.

"Only just after I joined up with Heir's company," said Caldárus, "but it is not the first time I have been haunted by my past. Neither shall it be the last."

"Is there then anything I can do to help you?" said Follnor, looking deep into Caldárus' green eyes. For a moment the two were locked in gaze, but Caldárus broke free, and said, "No, I'm afraid that I am alone to struggle with my dark past. Thank you, though, for your interest in helping me, Follnor."

Follnor was able to see much in Caldárus that he had not before. He felt bad for Caldárus, having seen some of his life, by reading it through his eyes. "The eyes can tell the story just as well as the mouth," was a phrase Follnor was known to say. And duely so.

[~Arathorn III]

The company continued to move through the mountains for six more days, but did not seem to get any closer to coming through. Truthfully, they were very close to the end, but there was no sign to show it.

Beregor slowly trudged though the new-fallen snow. His legs were aching, protesting the constant pace that had carried him so far. But he was tough, subconsciously dismissing the pain. There was hope ahead. In a few days, the troupe should reach the end of the main mountain range. Even now the veteran guide was seeking the final path, a path that would bring them out of these accursed hills.

After another night of slow moving, the company came to a halt, as dawn approached.

***

Meanwhile, Thinad and his party were well into the Ered Wethrin, themselves.

"How much further are the mountains, Celara?" shouted Thinad over the wide plain on the west of the River Sirion.

"Only a few leagues remain sir," replied Celara We should be there by tommorow."

Thinad's face was pale, it was colder here than he expected. He was constantly on watch for any signs of an orc ambush, or anything worse.

Thinad continued to walk, with the twenty under his command within running distance. He was suspicious. Stopping for a moment, he turned back to the others. "We set up camp here," he commanded.

Ten minutes later, the sun had peaked the horizon, and the camp was complete. Thinad was weary of his travels and quickly fell asleep. The guards would take turns being the sentries.

***

At the same time, Gethred's caravan was moving once again through the mountains. Beregor was ahead of the others, as usual. He looked back. Far behind rumbled the wagons, half-imagined shadows moving through the still air, squeaking incessantly. A horse whinnied softly. A score of torches illuminated the outriders - spectres of light dancing playfully on the edge of sight.

Follnor’s news had shaken Beregor. Often had he thought of his brother during these long nights. Baldor had only been new come to manhood last time they had spoken. They had been great friends as youths. Baldor was always the brash fighter, skilled with a longsword, and never afraid to fight against men twice his age. As brothers they had trained often in the cedar forest surrounding their home. How Beregor wished those days were eternal.

He snapped out of his thoughts. A small grove of withered trees nestled between the cliff faces. Fortunately they did not appear so thick as to impede the passage of the wagons. A hundred paces brought the guide beneath the boles of the ancient firs. The diffused moonlight was dim beneath their outstretched limbs, the rocks perilous underfoot.

A few minutes’ walk into the gloom revealed something quite unexpected. At first glance it appeared a whole mountain had caved into the pass. A second closer look revealed a truth no kinder. A rockslide had swept down the side of the northern cliff, demolishing everything in its path. Trees lay strewn about, buried and crushed beneath the rubble. The magnitude of the slide could only be guessed. It was not recent, that much was certain. Mosses and shoots of wild bracken dotted the debris, yet failed to hide this simple fact: there was no way through.

Perhaps a lithe person could scramble over the rocks and earth that choked the pass, but a wagon would surely never traverse the way. Nor could it be cleared. Not in a year could the defile be cleansed.

Beregor began the trek back to the oncoming wagons, thoughts racing through his head. Trapped! With no way out save the way we came. Cursing their luck, he jogged through the snow.

Heir would not be happy.

[Dracarys]

It was a few hours after midnight when Gethred began to nod off. He shifted quickly in his seat at the front of the second wagon and quickly glanced around. The sky had begun to cloud over yet again, blotting out the stars and the night sky with dark gray. It had only been a fleeting moment when the bright moon had shone upon the train of wagons traveling steadily through the primeval mountain forest before it was again shrouded in shadow. The night was still and calm with only a slight breeze rustling in the treetops.

Gethred almost felt a false sense of security, despite the fact that the company he led was traversing a perilous terrain with many possible dangers. In a short period of time, they had passed by the towering pines and massive oaks of a steep lower slope and begun to venture downward toward a low valley nestled between two rising peaks.

All seemed to be running smoothly for the band fleeing Dor-Lomin. In the five days they had been in the treacherous Ered Wethrin, harm had not yet befallen them. Perhaps this many mercenaries had been unnecessary, Gethred thought, just before sleep sought to overcome him. He could not but help thinking that the worst of the journey was over, and that they were almost halfway out of the mountains already without so much as a scratch. Gethred knew that the constant worrying was taking a toll on him. Most nights he did not get any sleep at all, and during the day, an anxious unease crept into him while his company rested, so that sleep was almost impossible.

But now, this night, on this worn path, everything seemed so calm and serene. Here, the daunting mountain spires were snow-covered and beautiful all around. The cares and worries of the dangerous flight were departing, and the pressure seemed at this moment insignificant. The burden on Gethred, the terrible thought that all these people’s lives depended on him seemed temporarily lift, giving way to peaceful thoughts for the future. When the fleeing was over, they would be with their kin, the men of Brethil, and for the time being away from the lengthening shadow.

Gethred would have respite from the horrors he had faced and seen. Perhaps he could even spend more time with his daughter. There had not been much time for her in the months since the Nirnaeth. He recalled a memory that felt thousands of years old, of when he had been teaching Gloredhel to ride. Gethred smiled as he remembered that Tathras had been upset because he had been too young to learn. Gloredhel had always loved horses, and that was the happiest he had ever seen her…

With a smile on his face, for the first night in many, Gethred son of Gundor drifted off and fell asleep.