12: The White Towers

The way up proved steep and all four Elves were panting by the time they reached the top. Maglor took several minutes to calm his breathing, taking advantage of the view. He could see quite far. To the east the Far Downs rose like a blue smudge against the horizon, while closer he saw carrion birds feasting on the carcasses of the cat-like creatures. Looking north and south he saw only the hills which blocked his view of the land in those directions. Westward was much the same except the hill slopes were lower and there was a glimpse of flat land beyond. But it was the three towers that caught his attention the most. He headed for the nearest one, which stood to the south.

“Sador, you’re with me,” he said. “Ragnor and Voronwë can check the other tower. We’ll save the third one for last.”

The southern tower stood roofless, much like the northern tower, but it was less ruined looking. Maglor circled it, looking for an entrance and found it on the western side. It was a gaping hole where a door had once been and standing at the threshold he detected a fetid smell coming from within. The light was rapidly fading and it was difficult to see what might be inside. Drawing his sword, he entered the tower, standing just inside and to the right of the entrance, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. He noted with approval Sador doing the same as he moved to the left of the entrance, his own sword drawn.

“Something lives here,” Sador said.

“Or did,” Maglor rejoined. “The smell is not very fresh, nor do I sense anything here but us. Go left and I will meet you on the other side where the stairs are.” Without waiting to see if Sador complied, he made his cautious way to the right. The fetid smell was worse the further in from the entrance he went but there was no sign of any creature. He felt something crunch under his feet and bending down, saw that it was a skull, but of what creature, he could not say. Walking on he encountered other dried bones scattered about. Apparently, whatever had once inhabited the tower had feasted. He had to wonder where it might have gone.

He came to where the stairs climbed in a spiral and was tempted to climb them but even as Sador reached him, the doorway darkened.

“The other tower is empty, though there is some evidence that something once lived there,” Ragnor said. “Find anything?”

“Just some old bones,” Maglor replied as he crossed the floor with Sador following. Ragnor stepped aside to let them out and Maglor took a deep, cleansing breath. “Let’s take a look at the last tower while there is still enough light.”

“We should have waited to bring a torch,” Voronwë said as he joined them.

Maglor just shrugged, not having anything to say about that. The third and tallest tower was more complete with much of its roof still intact. As with the other towers, the entrance faced west. The sun was now nearly down at the horizon and its light filtered into the tower, for again there was no door, the wood having rotted away. Maglor stepped inside and moved to his right to allow the others entrance. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was as empty as the other towers but there was no fetid smell that indicated the presence of an animal. Indeed, there was a wholesome feel to the place which had been missing from the other tower.

“This tower seems… untouched,” Voronwë said somewhat hesitantly, as if unsure of what he was attempting to say.

Maglor nodded. “The stones remember their builders,” he said, running a hand over the wall.

“The other towers were inhabited by creatures at some time in the past, and based on the smell, not that long ago, but there is no hint that any creature came into this tower,” Sador observed. “I wonder why?”

The others shrugged, having no answer. “Let’s go,” Maglor said. “We’ll explore more fully tomorrow.”

They left the tower and made their way cautiously down the steep slope of the hill to the camp, letting the others know that the towers were empty. Even so, Denethor decided that sentries would be posted all around rather than just to the east. Maglor silently approved that decision. He had drawn the first watch and took the western-most post. The night proved quiet and after two hours he was relieved by one of the ellith, for they all took turns at sentry-go, even Denethor.

Morning dawned bright and clear and once all had broken their fast, Denethor organized them into three groups. One would check out the towers more thoroughly while another would go hunting for game. The last group was to maintain the camp. “We’ll give everyone a chance to explore the towers later,” he told them. “I’m sure we all want to climb to the top of the third tower.”

Denethor led the way up the hill with Maglor at his side. With them came Damrod, his wife Eirien, Voronwë, and Gwilwileth, along with a few others. Denethor directed them to spread out and explore the other two towers as thoroughly as possible for clues as to what creatures might have lived here while he and Maglor checked out the third tower. They had brought torches this time and when Maglor entered the third tower he was glad for them, for the light that filtered from above was not sufficient to see by.

“I do not understand why this tower remains so intact while the other two are completely ruined,” he remarked as he and Denethor made their way up the winding stairs.

“I have no idea,” Denethor replied. “It is indeed a mystery. One we are unlikely to solve.”

“I should have had you check out the other towers first so you could feel the difference. There is a wholesomeness to the air in this tower that does not exist in the others, or at least in the one I explored. Why was this tower avoided by the creatures?”

“Again, I have no answer for you, my friend,” Denethor said. “Perhaps, if we ever do make it to the Blessed Realm, you could ask one of the Belain.”

Maglor chuckled at that and then fell silent. The stairs wound upward but did not reach all the way to the top. There was evidence that once there had been a wooden floor, possibly with a trap door, for they could see the metal struts to which the beams, long since decayed, had been attached. Maglor sighed in frustration as he swept his torch about.

“There appears to be no way to reach the top,” he said to Denethor.

“There is a ledge of stone that juts out all around,” the other pointed out. “Can you climb to it?”

Maglor grunted and handed him his torch. The ledge was about a foot-and-a-half wide and perhaps a third of that thick and the stairs were underneath it, so he would have to reach up blindly to find purchase. He faced the wall and gingerly stepped to the edge of the wide step, painfully aware of the long drop behind him as he reached up to the ledge. The trick would be to pull himself up high enough to be able to swing around and sit on it.

“Steady,” Denethor cautioned him, placing a hand on his lower back. “If you do not think you can do this, then don’t. It’s not worth your life.”

“Make up your mind, Denethor,” Maglor said between gritted teeth, then, taking a deep breath, pushed himself up until he was above the ledge. In one swift movement, he turned his body around and sat, leaning back against the wall and grabbing the edge to steady himself. When his heart had slowed along with his breathing, he looked down at an anxious Denethor and smiled.

“How fare you?” the Sinda asked.

“Well enough,” Maglor replied, then he looked about. There was plenty of light to see by for arches of stone formed embrasures open to the elements, though he suspected they had once been covered with glass. There was still a roof of stone, though some few were missing, leaving gaps. “We could tie some hithlain here,” he said, pointing to one of the arches, “then people could pull themselves up. The ledge is just wide enough to walk on if one takes extreme care.”

Denethor grunted in agreement. “Stay where you are while I go get some,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of moving,” Maglor assured him.

“Do you want one of the torches?”

Maglor shook his head. “I’m fine.”

So, while Denethor made his way back down the stairs Maglor took the time to examine the area where he was sitting more closely and saw that the stones were fitted so perfectly to one another that no mortar had been necessary. He nodded in approval. He carefully climbed to his feet, wrapping an arm around the nearest arch. He looked out and gasped in surprise.

He was facing southwest and what had once been the Gulf of Lune spread out before him some forty or so miles distant. With the coming of the ice, the sea level had dropped and the River Lhûn flowed into a narrow channel with much of the Gulf now dry land. He only knew where the original coast had once been by the fact that the land on either side of the Gulf sloped into a valley. Far to the northwest rose the northern spur of the Ered Luin.

Looking directly south, he saw the southern spur of the mountains, their most northern flank perhaps seventy or so miles away as the craban flew. They were not as tall or as sheer as the Misty Mountains for their peaks appeared to be eroded. What interested him the most was the Gulf and he returned his attention to it. Leaning out and looking northwestward, he tried to remember the geography and realized that he must be staring at the ruins of Mithlond, for he thought he saw jumbles of heaped up stones in random piles, but all around the land was flat. Looking down the Gulf he tried to see how far the Sea had receded, but highlands blocked his view. He suspected that the new coast was well past the straits which had once marked the entrance to the Gulf.

He shivered at that thought for some reason, but his ruminations were interrupted by Denethor returning with those who had been exploring the other towers.

“Here is the hithlain,” Denethor said as he reached the top step and held up the rope. Maglor carefully knelt to receive it.

“What does the view look like?” Damrod asked curiously.

“You’ll see momentarily,” Maglor replied. He quickly knotted the rope around the arch, testing to make sure it was secure. Then he began wrapping the rope to form knots down its length to make it easier for people to climb. “When you get up here move to your right,” he advised Denethor. “I recommend that no more than three people come up here at a time. You can walk all the way around before climbing back down. Just don’t knock anyone off the stairs while doing so.”

There were snorts of disbelief that any of them would be that clumsy even as Denethor climbed up, followed by Damrod and then Eirien. Maglor remained where he was, determined to be the last one down even as he had been the first one up. The three Elves gasped in amazement at what they saw.

“You can see for miles,” Eirien exclaimed. “I do not think I have ever been so high before.” Denethor and Damrod nodded in agreement.

Maglor kept his expression neutral, remembering climbing the Mindon Eldaliéva in Tirion when he was young and that lofty tower had been perhaps a third taller than this one. Denethor was arching his neck, trying to look southward, and Maglor suggested he move all the way around to get a better view, which he did, now coming around to stand on Maglor’s left.

“If we come down this way to the plains below rather than continue to skirt the Emyn Beraid, we’ll make better time in reaching the mountains,” Denethor observed, pointing toward the Ered Luin. “We can also send scouts to Mithlond easily enough.”

Maglor nodded, but Eirien spoke up. “Why do we need to go to the mountains?  Why not continue to the coast?”

“Winter is almost nigh,” Denethor replied. “None of us have experienced winter in these northern climes. We came north at the beginning of spring and the weather has been relatively mild all through the summer. I don’t wish to take any chances.”

“That means we will be idle for several months,” Eirien protested. “I would much rather continue on.”

“Continue how?” Maglor asked. “Do you think a ship is waiting for us at Mithlond to take us to Dor Rodyn? You can see that the Gulf as a gulf no longer exists. There is no wood to build a ship, assuming the Seas are not frozen. I do not know how we will find the Straight Road, but we may well have to abide in these lands for some time while the ice recedes, the Sea unfreezes and the land is seeded with trees, for I do not see how we can continue on otherwise.”

“A way will be found,” Denethor said, sounding confident. “I cannot believe that the Belain would inspire us to search for the Straight Road without providing us with a means of finding it. But you are correct that they may simply have arranged for us to get this far so that we would be in a position to build our own ship. “

“Do you suppose that there could be other tree nurseries scattered about?” Voronwë asked from where he was standing on the stairs waiting for his turn to climb up. “Perhaps there is another such valley as we found somewhere in the mountains and we can utilize the wood there for building a ship.”

“Do any of you know how to build one?” Maglor asked with a faint smile. “I will admit that I never learned the craft myself.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment and then they all sighed at the realization that none of them were knowledgeable about shipbuilding.

“So I thought,” Maglor said. “Well, I agree with Denethor. The Belain were instrumental in inspiring all of you to come here in search of the Straight Road.”

“We came in search of you,” Damrod said. “We came to rescue you from yourself.”

“I deem I was merely the excuse the Belain needed to get you lot off your lazy behinds and moving,” Maglor retorted with a disdainful sniff.

“Too bad you couldn’t see fit to try to die near a port where we could have gotten a ship,” Damrod rejoined with a wicked grin. “It would’ve saved us no end of trouble.”

“Sorry,” Maglor said, and meaning it, realizing that he might well be the cause of all their deaths in this mad venture.

Damrod’s expression became more sober. “Do not apologize. You are not responsible for our fates. We all had the opportunity to refuse joining Denethor and many did not. They, I deem, are the unfortunate ones, not us. If anything, we should be thanking you for being the excuse we needed to get off our lazy backsides.” Here he flashed him an impish grin and Maglor smiled back.

“Well, you’ve all had plenty of time to look about,” Voronwë said somewhat peevishly. “It’s our turn now.”

There was a great deal of playful bantering between them as Damrod and Eirien climbed down, though Denethor remained beside Maglor. Eventually, everyone in their group had a chance to get a view of the surroundings.

“We’ll give everyone else a chance to get a view later,” Denethor said as they began descending the stairs. “Right now, I think we should move the camp up here. We can use this tower for shelter and if we clear out the other two towers they will serve in a pinch.”

“Do you plan to send scouts to Mithlond in the meantime?” Maglor asked.

“Are you volunteering?” Denethor retorted.

“No. I am merely asking. How long do you plan for us to stay here?”

Denethor shrugged. “That depends on whether our hunters found any game and what we find at Mithlond.”

“And we will need to learn if there is anywhere better than here to hole up for the winter if need be,” Damrod said from further down the stairs. “It seems to me that if there is enough game in this area, we could do a lot worse than stay here for the winter. These towers will give us shelter. In fact, we could use the stones from the northern tower to fortify the southern one. It is less open to the elements and we won’t all have to huddle inside the western tower.”

“There are many factors to take into account before we determine our course,” Denethor said. “Let us gather everyone up here and hold a council and make some decisions.”

The others agreed and they were soon down in the valley helping to break camp. The hunters had returned in the meantime with a prize. “I do not know how they live in this wasteland,” one of the hunters exclaimed, “but there’s an entire herd of them. We discovered them in a valley about an hour’s walk from here.”

Maglor stared down at the dead goats in wonder. How anything survived in this frozen hell was beyond him, and yet, the evidence was before him and certainly the creatures inhabiting the ruins of Annúminas were proof that not only was there life here in the north but that it thrived after a fashion. It was the one sure sign that the ice was finally receding. It might take many years, centuries even, before the glaciers were entirely gone, but eventually the land would be ice free and fertile once again. That thought brought him great comfort for some reason.

“It seems the Belain are looking after us,” Aerin said with no little satisfaction and there were nods all around.

Beside the goats, the hunters returned with some tubers which they had discovered were growing in the valley as well. “We could certainly stock up on our supplies,” another hunter said.

“Do you think we could survive the winter here?” Denethor asked and the hunters gave one another shrugs.

“Perhaps,” one of them said. “We only found the one valley but there might be others. It would take us time to search all these hills.”

Denethor nodded. “Well, let us move the camp up by the towers and while we are feasting on these goats we will have a council and make some decisions.”

No one argued with that and the rest of the day was spent in setting up the new camp, cleaning out the two ruined towers so they could be used and roasting the goats. People took turns climbing the west tower to gaze out, most of them looking thoughtful as they came back down.

****

Hithlain: Elvish rope.

Craban: Crow-like bird, the plural is crebain.

Mindon Eldaliéva: (Quenya) The tower of Ingwë in the city of Tirion.