13: Mithlond

The discussion as to what to do next went on for several days while they settled in. Everyone had an opinion with most wishing to stay where they were. The southern tower was cleared of all debris and stone from the northern tower, which was in a more ruinous state than the others, was used to shore up the southern tower and fill in the chinks, making it more weather-proof. They were even able to construct a roof by converting a few of their tents into a single large tarp, the ellith sewing the individual tents together. The tarp was stretched across and held down with stones with a hole in the center to allow the smoke of their fire to rise. It wasn’t perfect, but it would keep most of the snow off them.

“You would think we’ve decided to move in permanently,” Denethor commented to Maglor and Damrod somewhat sourly as they watched the roof being constructed.

“We might as well, at least through the winter, Denethor,” Damrod retorted. “We have ready-made shelter, the hunters have discovered more valleys with goats and deer and there’s even a water source, though admittedly I would prefer it to be closer than it is, but you can’t have everything.”

The water source was a spring situated about a half mile south of the Towers gushing out of the ground and rushing through the hills to the west. It was an inconvenient location, for they had to climb along a ridge that was fairly steep in places before they reached the spring. Someone had suggested constructing a stone trough that would connect the spring to their camp, thus diverting the flow of water, but such an engineering feat would take time to implement and if they chose not to remain by the towers for the winter there would be no point, so for now they made a twice daily trip to fill up their water bottles, everyone taking turns with that onerous task.

“Whatever decision we make needs to be made soon,” Maglor pointed out. “Winter is upon us and we must either move on soon or resign ourselves to remaining here through the next several months.” He cast them a wry grin. “I hate to say this, but I think I will be heartily sick of goat before spring.”

The other two laughed in agreement. “I still would like to send scouts to Mithlond and perhaps to the mountains before the weather makes travel impossible,” Denethor stated.

“The mountains can wait, I think,” Maglor said with a frown. “As Damrod has pointed out, we could do much worse than what we have here. If we can bring the water source closer to us it would make things even better. But I agree that we should check out Mithlond sooner rather than later. We might find it a better place to hole up for the winter.”

“And ruin all the ellith’s hard work in making the towers so nice and cozy?” Damrod said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Perish the thought!”

They laughed at that. “We’ll hold a council tonight and decide who will go to Mithlond,” Denethor said when they had calmed down.

A large fire pit had been constructed between the three Towers where the meals were cooked and where everyone gathered, though those who desired it would be retiring to the towers later to sleep. As they ate, they discussed their options. Most agreed that they preferred to remain where they were for the winter, unless a better place could be found. Sador pointed out that they would need to bring the water closer to them if at all possible before it got too cold and Denethor assigned him and a few others to design a way to do just that.

“We are fairly close to Mithlond,” he added. “I would like for some of us to check it out and find out how far down the gulf we must go before we reach the Sea.”

“How many should go?” Haldir asked.

“No more than four,” Denethor answered. “We need everyone else here to secure the camp. Those who have already been assigned to hunt should continue doing so.”

There were a few groans from Haldir and his brother and one or two others, all of them considered youngsters by Elvish standards, and it was obvious that they had thought to volunteer to join the scouting party. Maglor grinned in sympathy.

“You are doing more than hunting,” he said to them. “You are also mapping this area for us, scouting for threats that are hidden and have not yet revealed themselves to us. While we have encountered no predators that is not to say they do not exist. You are our first line of defense. Your knowledge of these hills and what lives here is crucial in keeping us safe.”

The young hunters had more thoughtful looks on their faces. Both Ragnor and Denethor gave Maglor approving looks. In the end, Maglor, Ragnor, Voronwë and an ellon named Celepharn, were sent out as scouts. Celepharn had once been a marchwarden of Doriath and then later Lothlórien and had lived in Lindon for several centuries before following Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel east.

“Though I spent most of my time on patrol through the Ered Luin,” he admitted.

“Which is more than the rest of us can say,” Voronwë said with a grin. “I spent my time in Lindon making and selling hats.”

“Hats?” more than one person asked in disbelief.

“Of course,” Voronwë said with a sniff. “Everyone needs a hat or a hood. You don’t think they just grow on trees, do you?” They all chuckled.

“So how did you end up in Imladris?” someone asked.

“Well, when Gil-galad issued a call to arms when Eregion was threatened by Sauron, I naturally put aside my needles and took up my sword once again. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Well, at any rate, you should leave tomorrow at first light,” Denethor said. The four scouts nodded and with that decided the rest of the evening was devoted to singing and storytelling.

****

The next morning dawned fair and the scouts were deep into the hills heading west before the sun was completely above the horizon. They estimated that it would take them most of the first day to reach the plains that separated the Emyn Beraid from Mithlond and then it would take them another day to reach the Havens. They wended their way through narrow valleys and clambered up steep rises, their route going more north than west, following the line of hills. For most of the morning the western tower was visible to them whenever they looked back, rising like a slim finger of white in the distance. Then, they came to a fold of the hills that fell to the northwest and the tower was lost to their sight as they traveled down into the plain below.

Maglor shaded his eyes against the sunglare as he surveyed the land before him. The ruins of Mithlond now lay southwest of them and perhaps no more than ten leagues. They could easily reach it sometime the next day. And though it was early yet, they decided to make camp, moving back into the hills where they were more protected from the wind now coming off the snowfields before them. As they sat around the fire munching on goat meat, they discussed their plans for scouting.

“I think only two of us need to check out Mithlond itself,” Maglor said, “while the other two head down the gulf and see how far the Sea has receded.”

“If it has receded beyond the straits, it would take us over a week just to get that far,” Celepharn protested. “The Gulf of Lhûn is a good ninety leagues in length if it’s an inch.”

“I do not think you need go all the way down,” Maglor replied, “just to the headland that marks the eastern edge of Harlond.”

“That’s still nearly halfway down the gulf, though,” Celepharn retorted. “Is it really that important to know how far the Sea has receded? It has receded and what was once under water is now dry land and the Sea will just be that much further west than before. So what? We cannot cross it, for we have no ship, and last time I looked no one has yet figured out how to walk on it unless it’s frozen solid.”

The others chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right,” Maglor allowed. “Why don’t we withhold judgment until we get there?”

The others agreed and once they had determined the order of their watches, they settled down for the night. Maglor took the third watch and spent the time pacing the camp in a slow circle just beyond the firelight, quietly going through the ritual of his litany of apology. It had been some time, actually, since he had done it. In the valley of the trees, he had not bothered after a day or two, for there was a wholesomeness in the air of that valley and he had felt a lifting of his spirit that had made his ritual seem unnecessary. But once beyond that valley, his spirit had grown heavy once again and the attack of the cat-like creatures had reminded him that he could well die long before they ever reached the Blessed Realm. And so, tonight he had decided to resume his ritual.

“Maglor.”

He started at the soft sound of his name and turned to see Celepharn, a concerned look on his face. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks and hastily brushed them away, hoping the other had not seen them.

“Art thou well?” Celepharn asked, speaking somewhat formally, as some of them still tended to do with him even now. “Thou shouldst have wakened me an hour ago.”

Maglor stared at the ellon somewhat stupidly, trying to understand what he was saying, then, looked about and realized that the sky was lighter than it should have been, the stars already fading. How long had he stood there, lost in memory? What kind of guard was he that he never even heard the ellon’s approach? He wiped at his face again, feeling suddenly defeated.

“Maglor, what ails thee, mellon nîn?” Celepharn asked softly, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder.

“I am sorry,” he said in a whisper, not looking at the other. “I guess I….” But he had no words to explain and he simply stood there staring at the ground while the sky brightened around them. Somewhere far to the east the sun was rising though it would be another hour or so before she breached the hills and flooded the western plains with her light.

“Who is Herion?” Celepharn asked suddenly. Maglor stared at him blankly. “Thou wert speaking his name when I came upon thee,” the ellon went on to explain. “Thou wert speaking as if he were standing before thee, and thou wert asking him for thy forgiveness. Was he a friend?”

Maglor shook his head. “Friend? No. he was no friend of mine, though I think he would have liked to have been, but I….” He sighed, not sure how to explain. “He died a long time ago. It matters little now.”

“I think it matters much, to you, at least,” Celepharn retorted gently. “Would you like to speak of it?”

Maglor raised an eyebrow. It was the first time the ellon had ever addressed him familiarly. The sincerity of his expression told him that Celepharn was not seeking to relieve his own curiosity at Maglor’s expense, but truly wished to help him. Slowly, hesitantly, almost feeling ashamed of his admission, he explained the ritual and what it meant to him. Celepharn never moved or attempted to interrupt. His expression remained impassive, yet his eyes were warm with sympathy and there was no sense of judgment in them.

“A worthy endeavor,” he said when Maglor ceased to speak. “The Woman who taught you this ritual was indeed wise. I might begin my own such ritual. The Belain know I’ve insulted enough people in my day to warrant asking them for forgiveness, though it comes too late for them.”

“She said it was never too late,” Maglor told him, feeling suddenly lighter in spirit, as if some burden had been lifted from him. “Even for Mortals who have gone beyond the Circles of Arda, it is never too late to ask them for forgiveness.”

“But why would you seek forgiveness from any Mortal?” Celepharn asked in genuine surprise.

Maglor did not blame him for his attitude for it was one he had encountered among many of the Firstborn and knew that it wasn’t so much dislike as it was indifference which tempered their feelings toward the Secondborn. “I was told that I should not be… um… selective in whom I asked for forgiveness. I have wronged Mortals no less than I have wronged Elves and in truth, I find asking them for forgiveness harder than I find asking it from my own people. Herion was one of the Ruling Stewards of Gondor. He was a good Man, well loved by his people. He was also somewhat naïve. I took advantage of that naiveté when I happened to meet him in Pelargir where he was consulting with the captains of his navy.”

“What did you do?” Celepharn asked.

Maglor gave him a thin smile. “And now you are merely being prurient.”

Celepharn blushed and began stammering an apology. Maglor raised a hand to still him. “Suffice to say that whatever I did, I regret having done it. Herion deserved better from me. If you would engage in this ritual for yourself, you must be brutally honest and not seek to hide behind such thoughts as ‘that person was merely a Mortal and so their forgiveness does not matter’. Do you understand what I say, Celepharn?”

For a moment they locked gazes and then Celepharn slowly nodded. “That is well,” Maglor said with a satisfied nod. Then he gave him a grin. “Now, your watch is almost over,” and Celepharn snorted in wry amusement, “so why don’t we make breakfast for our two sleepyheads?”

“You make breakfast,” Celepharn said, “I’m going to go relieve myself and then I’ll stand guard for what remains of the night.” With that, he headed away from the camp, disappearing around some boulders. Maglor chuckled and went to build up the fire.

An hour later, they were on their way again.

****

They reached the outskirts of the Havens an hour or so after noon. The land had begun as a series of gentle swells that eventually flattened the closer they came to what had once been the Gulf of Lune. Mithlond had been built where the River Lhûn had widened and deepened enough for ships to sail. Further north the river narrowed and became too shallow, though smaller boats could continue upriver for another fifty miles or so. A bridge had once spanned the river between the two sections of the city with the western part overlooking the eastern, for the land rose toward the Ered Luin which acted as a backdrop to the city. It was on the western shore that Gil-galad had built his palace on the highest precipice which was visible from almost anywhere in the city.

Surprisingly, much of the city was still intact, a monument to the skills of the Noldorin masons who had imbued the stones with spells of endurance against the elements. Yet, even the ancient magic was no barrier to the crushing force of the ice and what buildings and towers still stood were in an even more ruinous state than the towers of the Emyn Beraid. Gazing about them, the Elves had no doubt that, given time, no trace of this city would remain unless someone came and rebuilt, which, Maglor reflected, was not likely to happen.

“Spread out, but stay within sight of one another,” Maglor ordered as the Elves warily entered the city, for there was no telling if any of the ruins were inhabited by wild animals or man-like creatures, such as those inhabiting Annúminas. Yet they encountered no evidence that the ruins had ever housed anything but the detritus of the ages.

Eventually they made their way to what had been the wharf district. All that remained of the bridge spanning the river were piles of stone on the floor of the Gulf which was now mostly dry land except where the Lhún flowed in, forming a series of channels where the water ran sluggishly toward the distant Sea. Maglor stared across the gulf at the precipice on which Gil-galad’s palace stood. In spite of its ruinous state, it was still an imposing edifice with a single tower rising above the city.

“If we can climb that tower, we might get a better view of the Gulf,” he said, pointing.

“Let’s go then,” Celepharn said and without waiting for the others, made his way down to the floor of the gulf. After a second or two, the others followed.

“Be careful!” Maglor admonished the younger ellon ranging ahead. “The ground appears to be marshy and there may be quagmires hidden under the snow.”

Even as he spoke, Celepharn, who had almost reached the river, took a step and sank nearly to his knees. He stood there staring down with a rather surprised look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe that he, an Elf, had done something so mortalish. The others actually snickered at his predicament. He ignored them as he attempted to extricate himself, but found himself sinking a little further.

“Quicksand!” he exclaimed.

“Don’t move!” Ragnor shouted as the other three ellyn stopped where they were, their merriment turning instantly to concern.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t even breathe,” Celepharn retorted, sounding more disgusted than afraid.

“Voronwë, see how far this quicksand extends so we know where we can continue across,” Maglor ordered. Voronwë nodded and pulled out his sword and began thrusting it into the ground as he walked carefully downriver. Ragnor, meanwhile, was tossing one end of some rope to Celepharn who caught it neatly and quickly tied it around him. Maglor helped him to pull the ellon out of the quagmire.

“Ugh! I’m filthy!” Celepharn exclaimed as he undid the rope and pulled off his boots to empty them before putting them back on again and standing.

“And you stink,” Maglor said with a smile. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just my pride is damaged along with my boots. Voronwë! Is there a way across?” Celepharn shouted.

The three of them looked to where the Noldo was several yards further downriver. “We can cross here,” he shouted back, pointing with his sword. “I’ll go across and check to see where we can safely walk.”

Maglor nodded his acceptance of the ellon’s suggestion and the three of them made their way down to where Voronwë was crossing with Celepharn muttering imprecations with every squelching step he made. Maglor and Ragnor exchanged amused grins which the other ellon did not see. The river at this point was not deep, coming only to Maglor’s waist. For Ragnor and Celepharn, being somewhat shorter, the water came a little higher. All four of them stood on the other bank wringing out their clothes which were stiffening in the cold.

“We need to keep moving,” Maglor said. “As soon as we reach the tower we’ll make camp and get into drier clothes.”

No one argued with him and, as quickly as they could, they continued across with Voronwë in the lead, checking the ground beneath them. By now the sun was sinking westward and a cold wind was rising, making them even more uncomfortable than they already were, but an hour saw them standing at the base of the tower. Ragnor found the doorway and quickly checked the interior, finding it empty. Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting around a fire, their wet clothes exchanged for dry, putting together their dinner.