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The Journey Home  by Fiondil

7: Along Lake Nenuial

Maglor estimated they had about twenty-five or thirty miles before they reached Annúminas.

“Or where it once stood,” he amended. “I doubt if anything of it exists now, but the main citadel stood on an escarpment overlooking the lake and that will be hard to miss. The land between the hills and the lake opens up and it was heavily cultivated with orchards and grain fields. Elendil even had the hills terraced on the north side and many of the residences of the nobles were built along them. The cut through the hills to the south began directly behind the citadel itself.”

“Where did the common people live?” Rían asked.

“Oh, their homes were scattered about the hills and along the lake shore,” Maglor answered. “Though, in truth, I barely saw any of the place. We did not linger once we learned that Arvedui was not there. Indeed, when we arrived, the city was nearly empty, for the king had sent most of the populace west for safety. It was never repopulated after the war and fell into ruin until after the Ring War and then Elessar rebuilt it.”

They were silent for a time as they continued walking. Maglor eyed the hills to their left. They were barren of trees, which saddened him. Now they were mostly covered with lichen and moss and a few hardy shrubs that had somehow survived the brutal conditions this far north. He thought perhaps the glaciers were retreating and they were entering a warm period, but he could not be sure. Even if they were, it would be years, if not centuries, before there was any noticeable difference in the temperatures and he did not think the land would allow for trees until much later. Perhaps Mortals migrating northward would bring seedlings with them to plant. He had seen it done in earlier times: nomadic tribes planting beneficial trees near their temporary camps, taking seeds with them so that eventually such trees were populated in parts of the world where they normally would never be found. And, of course, some seeds, being airborne, would perhaps find root in non-native soil, pioneering the area on their own.

They stopped around noon to rest and Maglor estimated they had come nearly halfway. Denethor thought it might be wise to spend the rest of the day there. “I do not like the idea of reaching Annúminas just as the sun is setting,” he confided to Maglor and Damrod as the three of them wandered along the shore while waiting for the fish stew that was being put together. “I do not know why, for we have not encountered any life larger than deer, but my heart warns me that it would be better to approach Annúminas in full daylight.”

Both Maglor and Damrod frowned. “Do you sense any danger, Maglor?” Damrod asked.

Maglor shook his head. “No, but that does not mean that Denethor’s concerns are not valid. You are our leader, for all that you insist that I do the leading, and I have no objections to staying here through the night and continuing again in the morning. It’s pleasant here along the lake and I’m in no particular hurry to get to anywhere.”

The other two chuckled at that and Denethor thanked him. Maglor gave him a surprised look. “Why do you thank me? Were you seeking my permission? I meant what I said, Denethor. You and only you are our leader and I will abide by your decisions just as the others will unless we honestly believe your decision is not beneficial. If you feel uneasy in your mind about coming to Annúminas in the dark, then do not look to me for approval. Follow your own instincts. That the rest of us do not so feel as you do is neither here nor there. The Belain chose you to lead these people, and me, and I think you need to trust yourself more.”

“Yet, you outrank us all…” Denethor started to protest but Maglor waved a hand in dismissal.

“I gave up all of that a long time ago, my friend. I am just another Elf, nothing more, nothing less and nothing else. What titles were mine have no relevance in the here and now. The Belain did not choose me to be the leader of the Harthadrim, and rightly so. Now, enough. I can smell the stew and I am hungry. Let us go and tell the others what you have decided will be our course.”

Denethor sighed and Damrod grinned while Maglor simply walked purposefully back to the camp, accepting a bowl of the stew from Finduilas with a smile.

The others, when Denethor told them of his decision as they were all enjoying the stew, were somewhat dubious and not a few questioned him as to his decision.

“I can only tell you that my heart warns me against going on until the morning,” Denethor said in answer to their questions. “I cannot explain it any better than that.”

“Nor should you have to,” Maglor spoke up sharply and many there gave him surprised looks. “The interesting thing about being the leader is that you don’t actually have to explain anything.” He gave them a wry smile. “Used to drive me crazy when my daeradar or even when my adar made certain pronouncements and refused to explain why, stating it was not mine to understand, only to obey. When I finally took command of my own forces in Beleriand, I realized that sometimes there was no explanation that could be given for any decision I made because I was acting purely on instinct. Something within me warned me against a particular action, or even inspired me toward an action I had not considered, and I had no ready answer as to why. If Denethor, who is our leader, feels we should remain here for the rest of the day, then I, for one, will not gainsay him.”

He gave them all a significant look before returning to his stew, patently ignoring everyone around him. There were some uneasy murmurings among the others and then Gilgaran, who happened to be sitting next to Maglor, stood up and went over to the pot. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll have seconds,” he said as he began ladling the stew into his bowl and several people chuckled at that. When he resumed his seat, Maglor gave him a wink and the ellon blushed.

Thus, they spent the rest of the day in idle pursuits. Maglor wandered away from the camp to walk along the shore, softly singing to himself, remembering other shores and other times. He stopped at one point and sat on a spur of rock that jutted out into the lake, which at its widest point was about twenty miles. On the far side, the Emyn Uial rose into the northwest, their slopes steep and forbidding, and he was glad that they had been able to avoid traversing them. As he gazed across the waters, he began his litany, deciding it was a good place to enact it without others around him.

Even as he was calling up a name and a face, he wondered if he would ever get through the list before they reached Valinor, if they ever did. He felt a fleeting sense of despair that he would not but then pushed it aside. It did not matter if he completed the list, only that he make the effort, and in truth, he suspected that for most of the people on his list it was not necessary to ask for forgiveness, that his offenses against them were solely in his own mind. Yet, it was best to err on the side of generosity and believe that he needed their forgiveness and let the Belain worry about the rest.

He had gotten through several people on his list before Saelmir came looking for him. By now the sun had set behind the hills and the stars were peeping out, though their light was being occluded by clouds piling up on the horizon. Maglor suspected that they might get snow or perhaps rain by morning.

“Maglor,” Saelmir said softly, standing at the base of the rock fall, looking up, “supper is on. Will you come and eat?”

Maglor surreptitiously wiped away the tears that had flowed freely, glad that the encroaching darkness hid them from Saelmir’s sight, and nodded, thanking the ellon, but he did not immediately join him, remaining where he was as he gazed across the dark waters.

“Well, come when you’re ready,” Saelmir said after a moment or two and he moved off to join the others.

Maglor resisted his own sigh and after several minutes, climbed down from his perch and went back to the camp. No one said anything, though one or two gave him quiet greetings, which he returned. Denethor silently handed him a bowl and he sat beside him and ate, though in truth he had no appetite. One of the ellith began quietly singing and a few others joined her. Other songs were sung as the night deepened, but Maglor remained silent, content to listen for a time. Eventually, though, he felt weary and he decided he needed to be alone again. Shrugging his bear cloak closer around him as he stood, quietly excusing himself, he trudged back to the rock fall and spent the rest of the night huddled against it, falling into a restless sleep filled with dark dreams in which, for some reason, his brother Maedhros figured prominently.

****

By dawn the predicted snowfall came. Maglor muttered a curse as he stumbled back to the camp, pulling his bear cloak more firmly around him, returning in time to hear more than one person wishing they had just stayed in the south where it was nice and warm. He grinned humorlessly at that and added that if he had known the Belain meant for him to return to the Blessed Realm he would’ve just stayed in the south as well and hired a boat to take him there.

“But then, if you had done that, you wouldn’t have had the pleasure of our company,” Denethor retorted with a grin.

Maglor’s response was both succinct and very rude, which set them all laughing so that they broke camp and set off in a better frame of mind in spite of the snow.

At first, their pace was slow, for the snow fell heavily and they could not see that far, but as the day progressed the snow ceased to fall and the clouds began to shred, revealing a cerulean sky. The sun remained stubbornly behind the clouds, though, showing herself fitfully throughout the morning. It was nearly noon before conditions improved enough for them to move at a faster pace. Denethor would not let them linger for too long when they stopped to rest, stating that he wanted to reach Annúminas while Anor was still high in the sky. No one actually complained but more than one person gave him a look of concern which he ignored.

About an hour or so later, Maglor pointed to his left. “Look.”

They all stopped to do just that and saw the first signs that once people had actually lived here, for there was evidence that the hills had been cut back and terraced, and though they were heavily eroded, it was clear that no force of nature had carved out those straight rows or had leveled the hilltops where the houses of nobles had once stood. They also saw the land between the lake and the hills was wider here and Maglor told them that at its widest there was perhaps a half a mile separating the lake from the hills.

“I understand that Dwarves helped with cutting back the hills so that there would be space for orchards, grain fields and homes along the shore,” Maglor said.

“It must have been a monumental engineering feat,” Haldir said in awe.

Maglor simply nodded. “This is the outer edge of the city. The citadel is only a few miles away as I recall.”

So they went on but as they continued, now following the curve of the hills and leaving the shore, Maglor began to feel uneasy and lifted his head to sniff the air. There was some scent, faint and elusive, that reminded him of something long ago, but he couldn’t quite place it and that increased his unease. The further they went the more evidence they saw that this land had once been inhabited. Now, here or there, they came upon the ruins of retaining walls along the terraces and several tumbled stones that might have once been the walls of some noble’s residence. There might not be more than a handful of stones left standing but it was clear that they had been shaped by the hands of Men (or perhaps Dwarves) and carefully placed so that no mortar was needed to cement them. Only the ravages of time and the encroaching ice had destroyed them, yet not completely, not yet.

“What is the matter?” Denethor asked Maglor in a whisper when he noticed the ellon frowning. “Do you sense anything?”

“More like smell,” Maglor replied just as softly. “It is a familiar scent, yet I am not sure…”

Before he could analyze his feelings, he was pulling his sword free of its scabbard, which surprised them all. Without even looking behind him, he began issuing orders, quite forgetting that Denethor was their leader. “Damrod, you and Voronwë scout ahead with me. I’ll take the second terrace, Damrod take the first and Voronwë follow us along the shore. The rest of you, bow and arrows at the ready and swords out. Stay close together and move away from the hills so you have a good view of them.”

Then he was climbing the lowest terrace and after a moment’s hesitation, Damrod followed while Voronwë loped ahead. Denethor drew his own sword out and began leading everyone back toward the lake until they were perhaps a quarter of a mile away from the hills and could see Damrod and Maglor moving along the terraces.

“I thought you were our leader,” Ragnor said to Denethor, giving a huff of disgust.

Denethor gave the ellon a thin smile. “Well, do you want to go remind Maglor of that?”

Ragnor shook his head, even as he tested the string of his bow and reached for an arrow. “Do you take me to be a fool?” he asked rhetorically.

Denethor chuckled, but even as he was issuing his own orders, there was a yell that had come from no elven throat and suddenly dark figures came boiling down the hills where they had hidden at the top behind tumbled rocks. Denethor looked to see Maglor leaping down to the first terrace, yelling and gesturing. Damrod was already back on the strand and running toward them, while Voronwë was also running back. Maglor waited for the ellon to catch up before they continued on together.

“Yrch!” they heard Damrod scream as he raced toward them.

“Form a circle with ellith in the center,” Denethor cried as he pulled off the haversack he’d been carrying and dropped it along with his cloak. Others were doing the same with their own burdens.

“Archers at the ready,” Denethor ordered and several ellith as well as ellyn began nocking their first arrows. “Wait for my signal.”

By now Damrod was with them but Maglor and Voronwë were still running and the front line of Orcs was right behind. Denethor thought there must be close to fifty of the creatures, perhaps more.

“Shoot! Shoot!” they heard Maglor scream but Denethor raised a hand.

“Wait for it,” he said calmly, though he was feeling anything but calm, yet, this scenario was nothing new for him or the others. He well remembered the innumerable battles he had fought in ages past against Orcs and other foul creatures of the Dark.

Maglor and Voronwë were now only a few hundred yards away. “Shoot, damn you! What are you waiting for?” Maglor screamed.

“Maglor, Voronwë, drop!” Denethor yelled back. “Archers fire at will.”

Denethor wasn’t sure if the two ellyn would actually obey him, but he had no choice but to order the archers to fire, for the Orcs were closing in and soon arrows would be useless and it would be sword work instead. But, even as the archers were loosing their first arrows, Maglor grabbed Voronwë and pulled him to the ground, the two of them tumbling forward, neatly avoiding the Orcs that fell to the arrows.

There were horrid, gurgling screams and the advancing Orcs hesitated at the sight of their fallen comrades. That gave Maglor and Voronwë time to reach the rest of the group, joining in the circle around the ellith, the archers already loosing their third round of arrows. Several more Orcs fell and that seemed to spur them into action, for instead of retreating, they screamed defiance and advanced.

“Megil!” Maglor yelled, drawing out his own sword. “Maethathanc!”

With battle cries of their own, the Elves advanced, rushing the enemy, most of them carrying crude clubs and spears with others wielding bone knives. A few of the spears had been thrown but they never reached the Elves and now they were practically useless against the swords that flashed with unerring accuracy, cutting off limbs and heads. Yet, in spite of their superior weapons, the Elves did not escape unscathed. Here or there one of the Orcs managed to get inside someone’s sword reach to bring them down, though the Orcs were quickly dispatched by others.

The ellith had remained with the baggage, their bows at the ready in case any of the Orcs managed to elude the swords. A few tried to circumvent the fighting to come at the ellith from the left, but they were quickly cut down with arrows.

And then the last Orc was tumbling to the ground at Maglor’s feet and Denethor began issuing orders to determine if anyone was injured. Damrod was sporting a wicked gash on his shoulder and a couple of others were also suffering from gashes. Saelmir’s right leg was broken where an Orc had managed to bash him with a club. The rest of the fighters had scrapes and bruises but otherwise were unharmed.

Denethor quickly ordered the ellith to head for the lake away from the carnage. “Get fires going,” he said, “and see to the wounded. Sador, Neldorion, help Saelmir.” Then he joined Maglor who was busy examining the dead.

“They were too eager,” Maglor commented. “If they had waited, we might not have had sufficient warning.”

“Then we can thank the Belain for small favors,” Denethor responded.

“These are no ordinary Orcs,” Maglor pointed out. “They did not shun the day.”

“Uruks?” Ragnor asked as he joined them.

“No. Not Uruks, at least not entirely,” Maglor replied. “Look.” He turned over one of the corpses and the other two gasped.

“That’s no Orc!” Ragnor exclaimed in disgust. “That’s… that’s a Man!”

Or so it seemed at first glance. Denethor knelt to take a closer look. The creature’s features were more regular than those of Orcs, yet it did not look anything like the Men from the south, being shorter and more barrel-chested. Its forehead sloped back and the skull appeared somewhat larger than those of Elves. There was a prominent brow ridge and its facial features seemed flatter with hardly any chin. And, unlike any Orc he had ever known, this one sported a scrape of beard. He glanced around at the other bodies nearby and realized that nearly all the creatures were bearded.

He looked at Maglor. “A new breed of Orc, like the Uruk?”

“You mean a blending of Orc and Man?” Maglor retorted shaking his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps. We need to get to Annúminas and see. This many creatures means there must be a sizeable colony living in these hills.”

Denethor and Ragnor grimaced at that thought.

“If that is so, then we may have a problem getting through,” Ragnor opined. “If this was just a small hunting party….”

He left that thought dangling before them. “Annúminas is not far,” Maglor said after a moment. He glanced at the sky. “I can easily scout the area and return with a report before sunset. I don’t think we should go any further until we know for sure what we are facing. With luck, all that remains of the colony are women and children and perhaps oldsters who can no longer join in the hunt.”

“Even if that is true, what do we do about them?” Ragnor asked.

“Avoid them if possible,” Denethor answered, standing up. “I am tempted to have these bodies burned, but the smoke will alert whoever may still skulk these hills. This was too large of a group to be a normal hunting party. They must have had scouts who saw us coming and raised the alarm.”

“So I think as well,” Maglor said. He stared about him. “There is precious little in the way to defend ourselves against another concerted attack,” he said. “You are correct that we should leave the bodies where they lie. By my counsel, I suggest we get everyone up to the top of the hill. It will be harder for any more of these creatures to come to us unawares, and, we would have to climb anyway to reach the citadel.”

Denethor nodded. “I agree. Take Ragnor with you when you scout. We’ll make our way to that hill there.” He pointed to one of the nearby hills on which there appeared to be part of a structure still standing. It was, in fact, the very hill from which the creatures had attacked.

Maglor nodded and then he and Ragnor were loping off while Denethor went back to the camp to see how things were there. “As soon as the wounded are seen to, we will move,” he said and told them about what had been decided. Sador and Neldorion agreed to help Saelmir, his leg neatly splinted with slats of wood that had been brought from the south for that very purpose, for there was no knowing what kinds of danger they would face and injuries, including broken bones, were inevitable. The others were able to make the climb on their own. Gilgaran and Voronwë went first to scout the area and discovered that there were breaks along the terraces that allowed one to reach the various terraces easily, so their climb was less arduous than they had anticipated.

When they reached their destination they could see that what remained of the structure consisted of one long wall that faced the lake and part of another wall on the east side. Stones of various sizes and shapes were tumbled all around. On the south side the hill sloped down into a narrow gully that ran east and west and separated them from the range of the hills that fell toward the moors bordering the Shire. These hills were lower than the one they were on. To the east and west the hills formed a ridge with shallow slopes and Gilgaran opined that there must have been bridges or walkways spanning the space between hilltops.

The ellith set about putting a meal together but Denethor refused to let any fire be built, fearing that from this height, the smoke would be more readily seen from a distance, so they ate their meal cold. No one complained. Once he had eaten and had seen to everyone else’s comfort, Denethor settled himself on a slab of stone from where he could see the gully to his left and the terraces to his right and waited for Maglor and Ragnor to return, wondering what they might have found in the ruins of Annúminas.

****

Yrch!: Orcs!

Megil!: Swords!

Maethathanc! ‘Attack!’, literally, ‘Let us fight’.





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