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Middle-earth

Spring of year 123, Fourth Age

Maglor

The morning dawns like so many others in the ever-repeating pattern of days and seasons. I watch the sunrise from the entrance of the cave, the solitary mountain refuge I have inhabited... for years, surely? Or maybe for decades? For ages? I no longer know. A strange fog is clouding my mind lately, and there are days when I have difficulty remembering even my own name.

But what difference does it make if I remember or not? I am content here. Sometimes, I do not leave my hideout for days. Sometimes, I wander about in the mountains, sustaining myself on what I find in the wild. Sometimes, I climb the nearest summit and sit there, disregarding the scorching Sun and biting wind. I vaguely recall making a few longer journeys... where?... why? The memory is lost, but likely nothing of significance, for always I return here. This place is safe and secret; what else does one need?

The pines lining the edge of the ravine sway and sigh in the wind. It blows from the West today and carries a strange scent, frightening and compelling at the same time. A sudden desire to run and hide fights with a yearning to follow it, to find its source. But why should I do it? Why should I want to do it?

The breeze clears away the clouds from the sky and from my mind. I gasp and lean against the rock.

The Sea draws me again.

First, I fight against it. I do not want to leave. The journey will bring only renewed grief and regret, like all those previous times I now remember. But the pull is too compelling. It grows stronger by hour, takes over all my senses, robs me of any resemblance of peace. I pace in circles on the sandy floor of the cavern, hoping that fatigue will force me to stop. But it does not. I have no strength to resist the call. At last, I leave everything behind and hasten westward without weapons, without food, without rest, carried by the remnant of some fire that still burns in me.

The road is long; miles follow miles. I go by the straightest path, often wading over streams and forcing through woodlands, and soon my clothing is tattered. People step aside when I pass through their villages, they usher their children inside and regard me with open suspicion. My looks must be wild: likely, they take me for a madman. Maybe they are not mistaken. I laugh at the thought – an eerie, rasping sound, rendered by a voice that has been silent for years. Angry words and curses fly towards me. Sometimes, stones. But I keep going, by day and by night. Sunlight dazzles my eyes, rain drenches my rags, on clear nights stars shimmer coldly in the ink-black sky above my head. I keep going.

I am close. The gap in the mountain range must mark the bay that joins the Great Sea.  One more day, maybe two, and I shall stand on the shore again. The waves will crash against cliffs, or fade sighing in the sand; I do not know by which path the longing will take me this time. Soon, very soon I will be there, and then… What then? I do not know. I only know I must reach the Sea.

Weariness dims my senses, and I stumble upon the host of ragged men unawares. They jump to their feet as I stagger out of the trees in a clearing among their tents.

“Have you come to spy on us?”

Slowly they surround me: cruel faces, threatening postures. There is Darkness in them, and my strength is no match for their number, almost two dozen, not in my weary state. Cold shiver is creeping up my spine. I step back, furiously shaking my head.

“Are you mute, stranger?”

I nod in consent, again and again. Yes, I am mute, my voice long drowned in grief! I mean you no harm, I came not to spy, let me go, please, let me go!

The men laugh.

“Let this beggar go,” says one of them. “He looks half-crazed, and ‘tis ill luck to lay hands on those deprived of their wits. Besides, what can we take from him?”

His companion’s eyes glint. “This! Beggars and madmen have no need of shining trinkets.”

In a blink of an eye he has seized my wrist and pulled the ring from my finger. He holds it up in the air. Gold glitters in the sunlight.

“Passage paid, stranger,” he sneers. “Be on your way.” Roughly he shoves me towards the edge of the clearing.

Their disdainful laughter roaring in my ears, I make a few steps. But then, something snaps in me. It is as if this ring was the last thread tying me to whatever was left of my sanity. A beastly growl builds in my chest. Fury lends me strength, and I turn back and spring at the one who has dared to take from me my last treasure. My hands close around his throat. A swift movement, a crack, and the man goes limp. I pry the ring from his fingers and stagger back from the motionless body.

It must have happened within a space of few heartbeats. The others who have regarded us in stunned silence, stir.

“He… he killed Arn! He broke his neck! Go, get him!”

There is no escape. I brace myself for pain as the men throw me on the ground. A wooden club shatters my wrist, a heavy boot collides with my chest, the crack of breaking bones loud and sickening despite their yells. Conscious thoughts dissolving in the red mist of agony, I still clench in my fist the ring my wife set on my finger ages ago under the golden light of fair Laurelin. It will stay with me until the end.

A winding, clear horn call echoes in the distance. Earth trembles with hoof beats.

“In the name of the King!”

The blows cease.

“Soldiers! King’s soldiers upon us!”

I barely hold to my senses. An attempt to look fails for my eyes are swollen shut, but faint hope flickers somewhere in my anguish-clouded mind. Perhaps I can escape. I crawl away from the clamour of battle. Pain is shredding me to pieces. My left arm hangs limp and useless. Each breath sets fire to my chest. But the Sea is still calling. It will quench the fire and take away the pain. One more step—

Ground gives way beneath me.