LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #3

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Three

The Red Book

A

s Rose caught sight of the soft, green outline of the Tower Hills ahead she felt her spirits lift.  Today’s reaction to arriving home was vastly different to how she usually felt after a day of freedom in Hobbiton. In the past, a weight would settle upon her as she crossed the border into Westmarch; a heaviness that steadily increased during the last part of the journey home. It was not that she disliked her life in the Tower Hills; it was that she sometimes felt extraneous to her parents’ life. She did not adore the fields and the vegetable growing as they did. Rowan and Ruby Fairbairn had not left Westmarch in years – and neither of them could have cared less if they never saw beyond the lush fields and rolling hills of their home ever again.

Rose was different. She had an adventurous and enquiring spirit – only last night’s encounter with Salrean had unnerved her. For the first time in years, she rode up the incline to her parents’ hobbit hole with eagerness and a sense of relief. She was glad to be home.

It was nearing noon. Her mother was baking bread when Rose entered the kitchen, and had recently put in the first batch of bread to bake. The aroma wafted through the Fairbairns’ spacious hobbit hole, making Rose’s mouth water.

“You’re back early,” Ruby greeted her daughter with a warm smile, wiping her floury hands on her apron. “We didn’t expect you back until after lunch. How were the fireworks?”

“Beautiful,” Rose placed the pouch containing her takings from yesterday’s market on the sideboard. “You and papa would have enjoyed the spectacle.”

Ruby shrugged before turning back to where she had been shaping mounds of dough into loaves. “Tell me of it then.”

Rose launched into a detailed description of the festivities, the actors, the food and drink and – of course – the fireworks. Naturally, she left out the part where a ranger of the north paid her and Peri a visit and frightened the wits out of them. Peri might not have appeared scared but she had sensed his anger was to cover up his fear. Even now, Salrean’s words echoed like the fading chimes of a bell in her head.

The Shire must fall.

Morwyn’s servant will take it from you.

Rose shook her head, in an attempt to clear it. But still, Salrean’s words niggled at her, destroying her peace.

“Are you well Rose?” Ruby had turned from preparing the loaves, her gaze resting on her daughter’s face. “Look very pale for a bright summer’s day.”

Rose shook her head. “I’m just a little tired, ‘tis all ma. I might go and rest for a bit before I help papa with his afternoon chores.”

“Off you go then,” Ruby waved Rose away. “I’ll put a bit of lunch aside. You’ll be hungry when you wake up.”

Inside her bedroom, Rose opened her window slightly to let a breeze in, and sank down on her bed. Like all hobbits, she had no shoes to kick off. Unlike her mother, who worked day-in and out in a smock-like house dress, Rose dressed in breeches, shirt and waist coat, like a male hobbit. She had drawn a few comments, mostly disapproving, when she had begun dressing this way, but these days her family and friends accepted that it was merely ‘Rose’s way’ and let her be. The interior of Rose’s bedroom reflected her non-conformist character. She had plastered old maps of Middle Earth across the walls. Some of the maps she had drawn herself, copied from her father’s Red Book. Next to her bed were piles of leather bound books, full of stories of adventure, magic and romance – most of which had been passed down from Bilbo Baggins himself. The only feminine touch in the bedroom were flowers, both dried and fresh, in pots and hanging in bunches from the walls and ceiling. Rose loved flowers, especially her namesake – roses.

Rose lay on her bed, her hands clasped behind her head, and mulled over the events of the previous night. She was still undecided what to do. It was not a case of deciding whether to take the Red Book and meet Salrean the following night – for she had already decided against that – but whether to share what had happened with her parents. She immediately discounted saying anything to her mother; Ruby Fairbairn would merely discount the whole tale as nonsense. Yet, Rose’s father, Rowan Fairbairn, was deeper-thinking than his wife. He would not be so quick to dismiss Salrean’s warning. Should she tell him?

Rose did not want to worry her father; he was an affable hobbit with a straight-forward manner that made him easy to like. He treasured the Red Book that had been passed down to him from Samwise Gamgee, and would often spend evenings poring over its stories. He would be concerned to hear that someone was after his precious family heirloom.

After wrestling with the dilemma for a while, Rose decided not to tell him. She did not want to cause her father unnecessary worry when the whole story was probably a tall tale anyway. Rose drifted off to sleep to the smell of wafting rose scent from the garden beyond her bedroom window, and the bleating of sheep in the distance.

***

It was mid-afternoon by the time Rose struggled from her bed. She had overslept and her head felt as if it were filled with wool. She stretched languorously before making her way through to the kitchen. Her mother had gone outside to help Rowan with the afternoon chores; she had left Rose a large cheese and pickled onion sandwich on the kitchen table, covered by a tea-towel to keep flies off. Rose sat down and started to eat her late lunch, which she washed down with some elderflower cordial. Eventually, as the fog of sleep receded, Rose allowed her thoughts to drift back to last night’s encounter. She did not think that Salrean meant her any harm – but all the same, Rose decided to put the whole business behind her and pretend they had never met. She was sure that Peri was taking the same approach. Salrean was wrong. The nasty goings-on in the world of men had nothing to do with hobbits.

It was warm and breezy when Rose stepped outside and wandered down the fields to where her parents were weeding an onion bed.

“There you are Rose!” her mother called out. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep the day away!”

“I hear that last night’s fireworks were a success,” her father boomed, straightening up and wiping sweat off his brow. “It appears one young hobbit didn’t get any sleep!”

“I didn’t get to sleep until late,” Rose admitted, “although it didn’t help that my bed was a hard piece of wood.”

Ruby Fairbairn snorted at this. “It won’t do you any harm sleeping in the cart occasionally. The Green Dragon may be comfortable but their rooms are far too expensive!”

Rose shrugged, not wanting to launch into the same hackneyed debate with her mother, and took her place next to her father. She weeded the onion bed with efficient dexterity – born from years of practice. Her parents had brought her out to the fields to help them as soon as she was able to walk.

Despite the breeze, which caused billowing clouds to scud across the sky, it was a warm afternoon. The sun beat down on Rose’s back and after a short while she could feel her clothing sticking to her skin. Once the onions were weeded, the Fairbairns moved across to the potato bed and began harvesting a patch. They worked solidly until the light turned a deep gold and the shadows grew long. Eventually, they trudged single file back up the hill to their hobbit hole. Above, ribbons of pink and mauve laced the sky.

As the last of the daylight faded, Rose helped her mother prepare dinner while her father rested on a stool on the front step with his pipe. She could hear him greet passers-by and share news with his neighbours. This was his favourite time of day.

A short while later, a great spread of food lay upon the kitchen table: fresh bread, quiche, baked ham, fresh salad from the garden and boiled potatoes, washed down with the apple cider that Ruby Fairbairn was renowned for locally.

“You’re quiet this eve Rose,” Rowan Fairbairn, a squat, stout hobbit with bushy grey eyebrows and a kind, weathered face, regarded his daughter across the table. “I think you overdid it last night.”

“If I did, it was Peri’s fault,” Rose responded, helping herself to a slice of bacon, egg and leek quiche. “He kept plying me with ale.”

Her father’s gaze grew dark at this. “Pericles Took is a layabout. I don’t know why you insist on spending time with him – he’s a bad influence.”

Rose resisted rolling her eyes. If her mother was always going on about money, then her father’s disapproval of her friendship with Peri was another well-worn topic in their household.

“He’s not that bad papa,” Rose responded, wondering why she always felt compelled to defend Peri when they often did not even get on. “He means well.”

Rowan’s frown darkened. “He’s spoilt. He should be behind the bar every night at the Green Dragon helping his parents, instead he does what he wants when he wants.”

“Leave the lad alone Rowan,” Ruby interrupted. “You were young once.”

“Aye, and I worked then too,” Rowan growled.

“Don’t worry papa,” Rose soothed, placing her hand over his work-worn one. “I have a strong mind of my own. Peri and I argue too much for him to ever have a chance to influence me.”

Rowan’s expression softened, as it always did eventually. “That’s my daughter. He’s no match for you.”

Rose grinned in response. “I think Peri realised that a while ago.”

Once the Fairbairns had finished dinner, they cleared up the kitchen together before Ruby Fairbairn sank down into her rocking chair near the kitchen window and her husband went to his study. It was their usual routine. For an hour or two, Ruby would put her feet up on a settle and do some knitting – she was currently making a throw for the threadbare armchair in the lounge – while Rowan spent some time poring over the Red Book, maps and history books in his study.

Leaving them to it, Rose went to her room. It was now dark outside, so Rose shut her bedroom window to prevent moths from flying in and lit the lantern next to her bed. Like her father, she liked to read in the evening. She was currently half-way through a book of old Elvish tales. She had never seen an elf, for the last had left Middle Earth and sailed west over a century earlier, but she enjoyed reading about their wisdom, beauty and strength. Propped up against her pillow, Rose opened her book where she had left off the night before and began to read.

She was in the midst of a tale about an Elvish warrior who had fallen in love with a daughter of a king of men, when a thud, followed by a strangled cry caused her to start.

The noise had come from her father’s study next door.

Rose snapped the book shut, leapt off her bed and rushed from the room. She flung open the door to her father’s study and froze.

A caped form crouched over her father’s prone body on the floor. When the intruder straightened up, Rose saw he grasped a dagger in his right hand. Blood dripped from the blade. At that moment, the intruder’s hood fell back and Rose saw she was staring into the face of a man – a terrifying one. He was tall and whip-thin; with a sharp-featured face and chilling, pale blue eyes. His skin was milk-white and pock-marked. As Rose watched, he slid the dagger into his robes.

“Get out!” Rose screamed. “What have you done to my father?”

The intruder smiled coldly and stepped back from Rowan Fairbairn. Rose’s father remained, unmoving, face-down on the floor. Behind the intruder, the Red Book sat upon a stand. It was open near the beginning, as Rowan had been re-reading the tale of how Bilbo Baggins found the one ring of power. In one deft movement, the intruder swiped the book, pinning it under his arm, before he moved swiftly towards the open window behind him.

Rose had only moments to act.

She rushed to where Sting, the sword both Bilbo and Frodo had carried on their adventures, hung, and ripped it off the wall. Then she rushed at the intruder and swung the sword at him. He ducked easily and, with terrifying swiftness, lashed out at her with his free arm. His fist caught Rose on the side of her head. She flew back against the wall, still grasping Sting. Her head ringing, she struggled to her feet. Rose caught one last glimpse of flapping black robes as the intruder dove through the window. Then he was gone.

Rose fell to her knees and crawled across to where Rowan Fairbairn lay. Why did he lie so still?

“Papa?”

She rolled him over and gasped to see the blood that was pooling under him. The intruder had stabbed him in the chest.

“Papa no!” Tears blinded Rose. She reached to feel for his pulse but, although his skin was still warm, she could feel nothing.

“Rowan!”

Ruby Fairbairn burst into the study. She halted abruptly when she saw her husband lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with their daughter bent over him.

“Rose, what has happened?” Ruby’s voice was shrill, rising to a scream. “What’s wrong with your father?”

“I heard a noise,” Rose choked the words out, “and I found a stranger in here – a cloaked man – he stabbed papa and took the Red Book. I tried to stop him but… he…” Rose faltered as the tears came. “Papa’s dead!”

Ruby sank to her knees beside her husband, her face ashen. “He can’t be dead,” she whispered. “He can’t!” With shaking hands, Ruby Fairbairn reached out and touched her husband’s neck. Then she brought her face close to his to check his breathing.

“Rowan please, wake up.”

Nothing but silence followed her plea.

Rowan Fairbairn was lost, and no force in this world could bring him back.

End of Part #3

Be back for Part #4 on 2 August!

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #2

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Two

Salrean’s Tale

“

Angmar?” Rose suppressed a shudder at the name. “Any tale that begins there will not be a cheerful one.”

Salrean’s face grew grave. “‘Tis a story I wish I had never heard – for it has haunted me ever since. Still, you had better listen carefully, for it carries a warning for you both.”

Rose remained silent; she wished Salrean would just tell the tale instead of keeping them in suspense with her cryptic words.

“The Witch-king of Angmar once ruled the domain to the far north of these lands,” Salrean began. “No one knows his real name, for he lost it when he became the servant of Sauron. While you will likely have heard the tale of the Witch-King, and how he rose to become the leader of the Ring Wraiths, you most probably are unaware that he had a sister.”

Salrean paused here, as if gathering her thoughts, before resuming her tale.

“Morwyn of Angmar was a powerful witch who lived nearly three thousand years ago at Carn Dûm, in the bleak wasteland to the north. For many years, she was advisor to her brother but as her power grew, the Witch-king became wary of her. Sauron also saw her as a threat to his own power. Eventually, no longer able to take the risk, the Witch-king enlisted the Dark Lord’s help and entombed his sister deep in the Mountains of Angmar in a chamber of ice; in a deathlike sleep.”

Rose glanced across at Peri and saw that he was looking far from impressed by Salrean’s tale so far.

“That’s all very interesting,” he piped up, “and I’m as fond of a bit of history as the next hobbit, but this has nothing do to with us.”

“I agree,” Rose added. “What has this to do with hobbits?”

Salrean sighed, her intense gaze sweeping over them both. “I’m afraid it has everything to do with hobbits Rose. I apologise if I’m boring you Pericles – we shall reach the crux of the matter soon enough. May I continue?”

Rose nodded warily, while Peri shrugged as if he could not have cared less either way.

“Three thousand years have passed since Morwyn’s entombment,” Salrean continued patiently, “and since the world has long forgotten about the Witch-king and his kin, Morwyn may have remained imprisoned forever – had the Goblin King not freed her. Have either of you heard of Targkok the Goblin King?”

Both Rose and Peri shook their heads. Salrean’s mouth compressed in disapproval at their ignorance.

“‘It has always been the weakness of hobbits,” she said with a frown in her voice. “Your stubborn refusal to acknowledge the world beyond the Shire will be your downfall.”

Both hobbits remained silent after her stinging words, although Rose felt a stab of irritation at this woman’s tone. Neither of them had asked to hear her tale and she did not appreciate the superiority in Salrean’s voice. It was long past bed-time and this woman was keeping them up.

“Targkok now rules Moria,” Salrean continued. “It has been a long while since the dwarves ruled the mines. For many years, Moria has been a hive; a breeding ground for a massive goblin army that grows year by year. Targkok wanted to bring his goblin army out of the mountains, and to extend his kingdom to the west. Upon exploring the forgotten corners of Moria, the king discovered an ancient scroll hidden deep in the mines. It told Morwyn’s story and of her resting place. When Targkok discovered that a sorceress slept in a cold tomb deep in the Mountains of Angmar, he travelled there himself. It took him nearly two years, but he eventually found Morwyn and woke her from her long sleep, so that they could join forces.”

Peri folded his arms across his chest. “If you spend much longer getting to the point it’ll be morning.”

“A little more patience Pericles,” Salrean snapped, “I’m getting to the part that concerns you.”

Peri frowned at this but held his tongue, allowing Salrean to continue.

“Morwyn was awoken nearly three summers ago, and since then she has rebuilt her brother's fortress at Carn Dûm. She now resides there and has been amassing an army of her own from the tribes of hillmen who inhabit the wastelands of Angmar. Targkok aids her. His goblin army has taken Rivendell, for there are no longer any elves left to defend it, and he has sent an army of five-thousand to Carn Dûm in support of Morwyn.”

“How did you learn all this?” Rose asked, feeling her first jolt of discomfort at Salrean’s tale. The idea of a huge army of hillmen and goblins amassing in the north was alarming to say the least.

“My people dwell in Farnost, close enough to Angmar to notice that the wastelands have suddenly come to life. I am a ranger, and was sent with a small party to scout the territory north of our home. We saw the army of hillmen and goblins, and witnessed the walls of Carn Dûm being rebuilt – but it was only when we captured a goblin deserter that we learnt the tale I have just told you. In the border lands, we captured Azil, a goblin who had accompanied Targkok on his quest into the Mountains of Angmar. We tracked him for two days before we caught him in a ravine. He had climbed a tree and we had to cut it down to capture him.

Azil was a pitiful creature who had deserted Targkok on the journey to Carn Dûm. He was so seized with terror after meeting Morwyn that he fled. When we met him, he was a babbling wreck who lived a scavenger's existence in the Black Woods. Despite his terrorised state, he took some convincing. In the end we had to beat him, but eventually he told us some of what he knew.”

Despite that even the mention of goblins made Rose’s skin crawl, she felt a stab of pity for Azil; he must have been truly terrified to have run like that. Salrean’s casual mention of beating the goblin in order to get him to talk made her suddenly nervous of the ranger. “What did you do with him afterwards?” she asked warily.

“We decided to take him back to Farnost with us for further questioning,” Salrean replied, “but Azil chewed through his bonds one night and escaped. ‘Twas a pity for there was much more we could have learnt from him. Before he escaped, Azil did provide us with worrying news,” Salrean's voice lowered then, as if she believed that the night had ears. “He told us that although Targkok merely wishes to extend his kingdom beyond Moria, Morwyn has greater ambitions. She was alarmed to discover that hobbits – namely a Baggins, a Gamgee, a Brandybuck and a Took – had played a key role in Sauron's downfall. She also learned that it was a woman and a hobbit who struck the Witch-king down on the Pelennor Fields. She has decided that if she wants to extend her influence south, the hobbits must be taken care of. The Shire must fall.”

A chill silence followed Salrean’s words before she continued.

“The rest of what Azil babbled seemed complete nonsense – except for one thing. He kept mentioning a red book; a history book written by Bilbo and Frodo Baggins. Targkok is obsessed about it; he is convinced that it contains great ‘secrets’. Morwyn is also convinced that hobbits possess powers beyond men, elves or dwarves. She wants that book, for she believes it will give her the edge over Sauron’s foes. All she knows is that it dwells somewhere in the Shire, in the home of one of the descendants of the Fellowship. She has despatched one of her minions to retrieve it. He travels here as we speak.”

Salrean’s voice trailed off here, her gaze riveted upon Rose and Peri as they exchanged nervous glances.

“They want the Red Book?” Peri tore his gaze away from Rose’s and attempted a flippant smile. “It holds no secrets that we know of. As you said, it is merely a history written by Bilbo and Frodo – of the finding of the one ring of power and of the fall of Sauron.”

Salrean nodded, her expression hooded.

“Who has it?”

Again, Rose and Peri exchanged wary glances.

“Come, I mean you no harm,” Salrean urged, “I have travelled without rest to find you before Morwyn’s servant does. Once he reaches the Shire it will not take him long to track down the book. I need to know who keeps it.”

A further silence stretched between them before Rose finally responded.

“The Red Book is in my father’s keeping.”

“Rose!” Peri snapped. “You shouldn’t have told her that!”

Rose shrugged. “As you said, the book contains no secrets. It’s certainly not worth getting hurt over. The only real value it has is sentimental. I’m a descendant of Samwise the Great.”

“My father told me that as far as he knew it told nothing more than Bilbo and Frodo’s adventures,” Salrean admitted, “yet Morwyn’s act has made him doubt his own belief. That is why he has sent me.”

“You want the book! That’s why you’re here!” Peri burst out. “You didn’t come here to warn us about an impending attack on the Shire. You came to take the Red Book for your father!”

“I did come to warn you,” Salrean shot back. “The threat is very real. Once Morwyn has the book, she will send her armies down, through our lands, till they reach the Shire. Believe me, the book is safer in my father’s hands than Morwyn’s. If it does indeed contain secrets then my father should be able to unlock them. He is wise among my people and has the gift of foresight.”

“I’m not giving you my father’s book,” Rose replied, feeling her own anger rise. Peri was right after all.

“If you don’t, Morwyn’s servant will take it from you,” Salrean responded, her calm manner returning. “I am not here to force you to do anything, but ignoring my warning is dangerous, both for you and your family if the book stays in your home.”

“And what do you suggest I do?” It was Rose’s turn to cross her arms across her chest.

“Meet me here in two nights – you too Pericles. Make sure to bring the book with you. I want you both to travel with me back to Farnost. Join us on a quest to destroy the Witch of Angmar.”

“What?” Peri’s usually good-natured face was hard, his eyes narrow slits. Rose could see that he was struggling to control his temper. “Is it not enough that you come here and tell us some preposterous tale about sorceresses, goblins and warmongering, but we also have to leave our homes and our families and travel with you – a complete stranger – into the wild?”

“I know how it sounds,” Salrean replied, “but I...”

“Exactly. In my opinion, you’re cracked!”

“Peri...” Rose put out a hand and rested it on his shoulder but he shook her off.

“I hope you haven't believed a word Rose. I told you that the race of men is nothing like Shire folk. They are sly, subtle and manipulative.”

Rose’s gaze flicked from her friend to Salrean before she eventually made up her mind.

“I have to agree with Peri,” she told the ranger. “We don't know you – we have no reason to trust you. I won’t be bringing you the book in two days, and we won’t be going anywhere with you.”

She had expected Salrean to become angry at that, but the woman just gave an enigmatic smile.  

“You are both clever, and you do well not to trust easily. Yet, I’m not asking you to do this for yourselves, but for your families. For the Shire.”

Salrean got to her feet and jumped lightly down from the wagon.

“I will wait for you both here, under these trees, two nights from now. Morwyn’s servant is still a few days behind me, we should have enough time.” Salrean turned back to the hobbits, her face grave. “For the present, return home, make your excuses to your parents and pack a bag each for your journey north. Besides the Red Book, don't bring too much else for we will be travelling light and fast. In the meantime, I suggest you keep our conversation to yourselves – ‘tis better not to alarm folk just yet.”

Salrean wrapped her cloak tightly around her and stepped back into the shadows. “I bid you both goodnight.”

“What if we say no to joining you?” Peri shouted after her. “We don't have to do as you bid. We don't have to go anywhere with you if we don't wish to!”

A soft laugh followed Peri's words.

“No you don't Pericles Took – but if you care anything for the lives of your families and your people you will.”

With that, Salrean melted back into the night like a wraith.

Rose sat still for a few moments, trying to make sense of it all. Despite the mild night, she felt shivery.

“How dare she!” Peri leapt up and scrambled off the cart. “I don’t need to do her bidding to prove I care for my family. And as for her tale of the Witch-king of Angmar’s sister – absurd!”

“You're right Peri,” Rose replied, her gaze still fixed on the spot where Salrean had disappeared. “Such a story belongs in my father's Red Book, not in our lives.”

“Surely you don't believe her?” Peri turned to Rose. The darkness hid his expression but his voice was incredulous.

Rose shook her head. “Of course I don't – ‘twas a frightening tale all the same though.”

Peri snorted in response. “Frightening? Only if you're soft-headed! Those with good hobbit sense know foolery when they see it! If I were you Rose, I’d head straight home and hide your father’s book. Forget about some witch’s servant coming for it – it’s Salrean you should be looking out for!”

With that, Peri Took stormed off down the hill towards the Green Dragon Inn. Rose watched him go. Her mind was churning and her stomach tense.

She wanted to whole-heartedly agree with Peri – but she had pretended to see things his way merely to appease him. Truthfully, Salrean’s tale had unnerved her. The thought of a stranger breaking into her family’s home made her feel faint and breathless. Imagining an army of men and goblins stampeding through the Shire, murdering, burning and destroying, made tears sting her eyes. Suddenly, her dreams of adventure and excitement seemed childish.

Rose wished she had never come to Hobbiton today for the market. She wished she had never stayed for the fireworks.

End of Part #2

Tune in for Part #3 on 19 July!