LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #8

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Eight

Dark Portents

                                                                                                                        

B

arandur looked down at the runes on his palm; nine smooth, engraved river stones that could tell him of the future.

Rose watched the seer curiously, and not without a large measure of suspicion. Hobbits, being practical and straight-forward folk, did not use runes, or visit seers. Their approach to the future was pragmatic. What would come, would come – that was what her parents had taught her – what was the point of going looking for it?

Rose glanced across at Peri and saw the scepticism on his face. In contrast, Salrean leant forward intently, her features tense with expectation. Ignoring them all, Barandur closed his eyes, murmured something under his breath and cast the runes across the top of the table before him.

The stones rattled and clicked as they scattered; some landing on their front, some on their backs, and some on their sides. Barandur’s face creased in a forbidding frown as he leant forward and studied the runes.

Despite that Rose shared Peri’s disbelief, she found herself holding her breath all the same.

Barandur studied the runes for long moments before he eventually straightened up. His gaze swept over each of his three visitors, resting briefly on each face as he measured, scrutinised and deliberated. Then, he shook his head.

“What do you see?” Salrean’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “Anything that could aid us?”

Barandur’s gaze fastened on the young female ranger and Rose saw, for the first time, a hint of tenderness and real concern there.

“If the runes are to be believed – which they are – then ‘tis folly to continue on this path. I suggest you end your journey at Farnost. Let the hobbits see your city and then send them home. Only darkness awaits you in Angmar.”

Silence followed Barandur’s proclamation – a heavy, chilling hush.

Rose slowly let out the breath she had been holding and glanced over at Salrean. Rather than appearing cowed by Barandur’s words, she was frowning, visibly irritated.

“I didn’t come here for vague words that mean nothing,” Salrean snapped. “I want the kind that can help us – like the secret way into Carn Dûm you’ve just told us about. Darkness of what sort exactly? I am aware that travelling to Angmar, retrieving the Red Book and slaying Morwyn won’t be easy. However, I plan to enlist help from my father’s rangers. We will not travel unprotected.”

Barandur shook his head, unmoved by her scorn.

“The runes say that only four of you shall enter Carn Dûm. Two shall enter via the front door and two by the back.”

Salrean’s frown deepened at that. “What else do they tell you?”

Barandur smiled thinly. “You are indeed your father’s daughter. Stubborn to a fault – and foolhardy.”

It was obvious to Rose that he had not meant his observation as a compliment.

When Salrean did not respond, Barandur glanced back at the runes, as if checking that he had read them correctly.

“The Red Book,” he spoke cautiously, weighing each word, “does indeed contain a secret… although ‘tis not what Morwyn, or your father, hope for. Nothing is what it seems. The book holds the key; history that has passed into myth; and things that should never have been forgotten, that have been – even by those who have kept the stories safe and listened to them at the fireside,”

Barandur’s gaze shifted to Rose then. She wilted under its intensity.

“In the end Rose Fairbairn of the Shire – ‘tis you who will play the greatest part in what is to come.”

***

Rose awoke to the sound of Barandur moving about the darkened room. Groggily, she sat up and glanced over at where Peri was already stirring. Even in the dim light, Rose could see that Peri’s face was rumpled with sleep, his eyes barely open. Nearby, Barandur was heating an iron griddle over the fire, while Salrean stood at a clay wash basin, splashing water over her face.

Getting to her feet, Rose stretched stiffly. They had bedded down on the floor on sacking, near one of the hearths, but the cold flagstones were little better than sleeping rough on the ground. Despite that she had been exhausted, Rose had slept fitfully – her thoughts dark and fearful.

She did not want the responsibility for the success of this quest on her shoulders. She wanted only to find her father’s killer and impale him on Sting’s blade, before bringing the Red Book home to the Tower Hills, where it belonged. She was only one female hobbit, and certainly not capable of stopping the Witch of Angmar, or the wars of goblins and men.

For the first time since the journey had begun, Rose truly regretted leaving the Shire. She was not made for adventures such as these.

Despite the fires burning in the hearths at opposite ends of the stone chamber, it was bone-chillingly cold inside. Barandur had rolled up the window’s leather covering, revealing a grey windy morning beyond. Rose sat on a crate, hunched in her cloak, brooding; her mood only improving when Barandur placed a string of sausages on the grill.

As the aroma of frying sausage filtered through the tower chamber, Rose slowly felt her thoughts drift from worries of what lay ahead, to her rumbling stomach. Like most hobbits, she found it difficult to dwell on her problems when anticipating a delicious meal. When Barandur started cracking eggs onto the griddle, Rose found her attention entirely focused on breakfast. Likewise, Peri had perked up. He gratefully received a mug of hot broth from Barandur, his gaze searching the seer’s rugged face.

“How do you survive here?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

Barandur gave a grim smile before turning back to tend his frying eggs.

“A man with my skills can always make a living. The wealthier folk of Annúminas pay well to know what the runes say about their past, present and future.”

“But you didn’t charge Salrean anything.”

Barandur glanced back at Peri over his shoulder, and gave him a quelling look. “I’ve known Salrean since she was a babe. It would be like asking payment from family.”

“You are like an uncle to me,” Salrean admitted with a smile as she took a seat next to the fire. “A cantankerous one nonetheless.”

Barandur grunted before flipping the sausages and eggs onto wooden dishes.

“Better that than honeyed words used to hide foul thoughts and deeds,” he replied. “There are far too many folk like that in the world already. Why do you think I keep myself apart?”

With that the seer handed them their breakfasts and let his guests eat.

Later, Barandur accompanied Salrean, Rose and Peri as far as the outskirts of old Annúminas. The wind gusted across Lake Nenuial, rippling its dark surface, and drops of rain splattered against the dusty cobblestones. They made their way east, through a tangle of ruins, overgrown with shrubbery and encrusted with lichen.

Finally, the ruins drew back and the party reached the edge of dense woodland.

“Do you remember the path that leads east?” Barandur asked Salrean, pointing to a gap in the trees. “If you take it, it will save you at least a day’s journey.”

Salrean nodded wordlessly before smiling.

“Yes, I know it well.”

She turned to Barandur then, and he took her hands, squeezing them gently. His face then softened, making him appear at least a decade younger. Rose could see the affection in his gaze, though he tried to hide it.

“Good Salrean. I sometimes forget you know these lands almost as well as I do.”

“Better, I’d say.” Salrean replied, her voice teasing.

“Take care girl,” Barandur’s face grew serious. “The runes do not lie. I saw darkness and death. You are taking the hobbits to a place you may never return from. But remember, if you do travel to Angmar, the Red Book holds the key.”

“My father also believes the Red Book has the answer,” Salrean replied.

Her comment was a mistake, for at the mention of Rendur of Farnost, any softness vanished from Barandur’s face.

“Rendur, like Morwyn, seeks a way to dominate and rule, but they are both wrong in believing that the Red Book holds such secrets. It is a history written by hobbits that recounts the tale of how the One Ring of Power was found, kept safe and then destroyed by the most unlikely of individuals,” Barandur then turned to where Rose and Peri stood. “Hobbits,” he managed a tight smile, although his anger still simmered. “Once again, you are playing a part in the history of this world.”

“Nothing like Bilbo or Frodo did though,” Peri piped up, brushing his shaggy hair from his eyes as he tilted his chin to meet Barandur’s gaze. “This time our part is much smaller. In many ways, Rose and I are just bystanders.”

Barandur shook his head at this. “Hobbits will never be bystanders Pericles Took – you least of all.”

His gaze then swivelled to Rose. Despite herself, she cringed under his intensity. After last night, she wished only to be left alone.

Yet, Barandur had no such intentions. “You heard what I told you Rose. Of what is to come, one thing is certain – much will depend on you.”

“I don’t understand,” Rose blurted. “I didn’t come on this journey to do great deeds. I don’t think I’m capable of them. I’m doing this for my father – for my family.”

Barandur listened, his dark gaze unreadable.

“You’re capable of much more than you think,” he said quietly, “and there is much more than you realise at stake. Morwyn poses a great danger to Middle Earth, and she must be stopped,” the seer glanced at Salrean then, his dark gaze glittering. “Yet, it is folly to walk in to her den unprepared. The runes speak clearly. Darkness awaits you all in Carn Dûm.”

“I tire of hearing you repeat the same phrases,” Salrean cut in angrily, surprising them all with her vehemence. “If you have no further wisdom to impart, we must be away.”

The three companions set off east, along the narrow path through the forest. Barandur’s words hung heavily upon them all, but upon Rose the heaviest. Her shoulders felt bent over with the weight of it. Overhead, the spattering of rain drops increased to a steady drizzle, carried in by gusts of wind that caused the trees to creak and groan. It was the kind of weather that set one’s nerves on edge; the kind that makes you jump at the slightest noise in the undergrowth and causes you to constantly glance over your shoulder.

They had been travelling for just under an hour when Rose ran to catch Salrean up. The ranger strode ahead, her body tense with purpose. She had not spoken to Rose and Peri after she had snapped at Barandur. Rose decided it was high time she did.

“Salrean,” Rose panted, reaching the ranger’s side and jogging to keep up with her long stride. “Slow down a moment, I need to speak to you.”

Salrean glanced down at Rose, her face momentarily distracted, as if she had been lost in her thoughts. It was unlike the ranger Rose had observed on their journey from Hobbiton to Annúminas, who was always sharp and alert. For the first time, Rose had caught Salrean unawares – and caught a glimpse of the troubled woman beneath the cool façade.

Then, the mask snapped back into place and Salrean composed her features.

“Of course Rose, what is it?”

“Barandur’s warnings. Are you sure they haven’t made you rethink your plans? I mean, about our journey north?”

Salrean’s dark gaze held Rose’s for a few moments before the ranger shook her head.

“No, it hasn’t,” she replied firmly. “I cannot force you and Peri to travel with me. You can both turn back at any stage and I will not think any less of you.”

Rose was silent for a moment, as she continued to jog at Salrean’s side. “I might have done so before,” she admitted, “if the road became too dangerous and I lost all hope of finding my father’s killer, but I cannot now.”

Salrean’s gaze narrowed. “Why not? I wouldn’t be surprised after Barandur’s scaremongering, if you and Peri decided to return home…”

“Have you forgotten what Barandur said?” Rose replied, forcing more bravery in to her voice than she actually felt. “If I am to play an important part in what is to come – the way is not behind me, but ahead.”

End of Part #8

Be back for Part #9 on 11 October!

Author Quote - Wisdom and Courage

I thought it time for a (short) break from the fan fiction. Don't worry, my fellow epic fantasy nuts, there will be more on its way soon!

Here's a quote from my latest epic fantasy novel - Journey of Shadows. A few words of wisdom from Nevis of Foresthill when her companion, Seth Falkyn despairs of what the future holds.

Enjoy!
Sam

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #7

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Seven

The Ruins of Annúminas

R

ose’s first glimpse of Annúminas was of a cluster of stone towers, rising from above the treetops, with the shadowy slopes of Emyn Uial behind them. Despite that it was a somewhat forbidding sight, Rose let out a deep sigh of relief at the realisation that they had reached Annúminas at last.

Not for the first time since the goblin attack, Rose glimpsed down at Sting and eased the blade slightly out of its scabbard. All was still well – the sword had not glowed blue in over two days. It had warned them of an approaching band of goblins the morning following the attack, allowing Salrean to lead them on a detour so that they skirted danger completely – three goblins they might be able to manage, but not a group of them. They had a narrow escape.

“Who are we actually seeing in Annúminas?” Rose quickened her stride, and was forced to run in order to draw level and keep pace with Salrean. “You said he is an old friend. How can he help us?”

“Barandur grew up with my father,” Salrean replied briskly, her dark gaze scanning the trees as they walked. Even this close to Annúminas, the ranger did not relax her guard. “They both share the gift of ‘far-sight’, although Barandur’s abilities appeared to intensify with age, whereas my father’s did not. He was my father’s most trusted ranger for many years, but when I was a girl they quarrelled and my father banished him from Farnost. He is known all over the Lost Realm as a wise-man, a teller of truth. I have visited him a few times, although my father would be furious if he knew.”

“What did they quarrel over?” Peri asked, speaking for the first time in hours.

Salrean shrugged, her face becoming pensive. “I know not – although from what my father has told me of Barandur over the years, I would say he was threatened by his friend’s abilities. In Farnost, my father is revered for his skills as a seer, and he did not like having a rival.”

Rose thought that Salrean’s father sounded a formidable, if inflexible, man. She was not looking forward to meeting him. Thinking of Salrean’s father made her think of her own, and a stab of grief pierced her through the chest.

I’ll make this right papa, she thought, clenching her fist by her sides, I don’t know where I’m going, or if I’m right to trust this ranger – but I won’t fail you again.

They entered Annúminas through a perimeter of scattered wattle and daub houses, where the poorest folk lived. Here, they attracted many stares, some of which made Rose uncomfortable. Salrean strode ahead, oblivious of the gazes following her, while the two hobbits ran to keep up with her. Further ahead, the dwellings grew larger. Many were half-timbered, and the further they travelled towards the centre of Annúminas, the more of the local grey stone featured.

The buildings drew upwards, until Rose had to crane her head to see the sky. The streets changed from mud and gravel to cobblestones, and instead of home-spun shifts, the people here wore fine clothes and leather boots. Rose was overwhelmed. She much preferred the green hills of Hobbiton, with its patchwork of fields and wide sky. Glancing across at Peri, Rose saw that he too was unnerved by the sheer size of this city of men.

“It makes you feel so small,” he whispered, his eyes wide. “I will never look upon Hobbiton, or Bree, in the same way again.”

Eventually, they entered a wide cobbled square with a great, half-timbered hall at one end.

“That is where the Lord of Annúminas resides,” Salrean told the hobbits. “The great Lord Gildur. My father tried to arrange a marriage between us, years ago now, before he realised that I had planned to become a ranger. When I refused, relations were strained for many years between Gildur and my father. I think it best if we don’t pay him a visit.”

Rose glanced up at Salrean’s face and saw that the ranger wore a whimsical half-smile. Salrean was an enigma. She rarely revealed details about herself, but on the rare occasions she did, her revelations always surprised Rose.

“Where does this Barandur live then?” Peri puffed alongside Salrean, his short legs pumping to keep pace with her.

“On the other side of the city Master Took,” Salrean glanced down at Peri. “In the ruins of the ancient city – all that remains of the Tower of the West.”

They walked through the ruins of old Annúminas, amongst crumbled stone buildings encrusted with lichen and moss. Here, Rose could see the glittering waters of Lake Nenuial and the ruined docks that once stretched along its shores.

“I have read little of the history of the place,” she said to Salrean. “When was old Annúminas abandoned?”

“Following the death of the last High King of Arnor, many years ago,” Salrean replied. “It once housed one of the three seeing stones of the North Kingdom but after the city fell into ruin, its palantir was removed and taken to Farnost. After my city was destroyed by Angmar, the palantir was lost.”

Rose knew of the palantir, the ancient seeing stones. She had heard that one was kept deep in the vaults in Minas Tirith, but had no idea where the others had gone.

“Why didn’t they rebuild the old city, instead of creating a new one?” Peri asked, ignoring the mention of the lost seeing stone.

“Superstition,” Salrean led them along and ancient cobbled street with high, crumbling walls either-side. Ahead, a battered stone tower missing its top rose against the pale sky. “The people here preferred to start afresh.”

Rose could understand that. The ruined city had an eerie, melancholy air. A cold wind blew in from Lake Nenuial and whistled down the streets. Rose felt an itching between her shoulder blades, as if someone was watching her. She wondered if spirits of the dead roamed the ruins at night in a place such as this.

Ahead, a man, dressed in a frayed grey cloak, came out of the crumbling tower to meet them. He had long, black hair; a beard, streaked with grey; and penetrating dark eyes and a sharp-featured face.

“Salrean,” he greeted the ranger coolly, although his gaze riveted upon her two companions. “I saw you approaching. Why have you brought halflings with you?”

“Greetings Barandur,” Salrean replied, unperturbed by his abrupt welcome. “Apologies for disturbing your peace but I, and my companions are about to embark on a journey to the far north and we need your counsel.”

“To Angmar?” Barandur turned to Salrean, his brow darkening. “You would take two hobbits into Morwyn’s domain?”

Salrean nodded, her face still expressionless.  “Not without good reason.”

Barandur’s frown deepened before he stepped back and motioned to the open door behind him.

“Well, you’d all better come in then. I will cook us some supper and you can tell me what foolery you are about to embark upon.”

***

It was damp and cold inside the lower levels of the ruined tower, despite the fire that roared in the hearth. Barandur lived in one large room that smelt of damp, wood-smoke and mutton stew. An iron pot, containing their evening meal, simmered over glowing embers in a second hearth on the other side of the chamber.

Rose sat on an upturned wooden crate, her cloak wrapped tightly about her, and wondered what possessed a man to live in such a cold, lonely place. Looking at the severe lines that carved Barandur’s face as he ladled the mutton stew into earthen bowls, she guessed that he had chosen the ruins of Annúminas for a reason. He exuded bitterness and, despite the fact that Salrean had spoken warmly of him, did not appear pleased to see her.

They ate their stew, which was surprisingly good. Salrean recounted their story; from her discovery that Morwyn sought the Red Book, to its theft from the Tower Hills and the murder of Rose’s father. Barandur listened in silence, his intense gaze riveted upon Salrean. However, when she finished her tale, his features twisted in scorn.

“This journey you plan to take is madness,” he tossed the remains of his stew on the fire and leant back in his chair. “The Red Book has been taken – let her have it. There’s nothing in it of value, apart from old stories of those who are long dead.”

“But my father believes that…”

“You father is a fool,” Barandur snapped. “If he thinks the book is valuable then let him go fetch it. He wouldn’t dare raise an army against the Witch of Angmar – he knows he has not the men to withstand her and the goblin king’s forces. Yet, he would send you and these hobbits into her lair. You’re his only child but he would willingly sacrifice you for vain ambition.”

For the first time, anger flashed across Salrean’s features.

“I go willingly. He does not send me anywhere I do not wish to go!”

“You go to please him,” Barandur’s tone softened then. “When will you realise that he is unpleasable?”

The man’s gaze swivelled round to Rose and Peri then, and Rose shrank under his penetrating stare.

“Looking for the man who killed your father will be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Would your father want you to risk your life to bring back a family heirloom?”

“I will remember his killer’s face till the end of my days,” Rose replied coldly. “Thin, bloodless and pock-marked with eyes the colour of blue ice. I will find him.”

“You are a brave young thing,” Barandur shook his head and Rose saw a trace of mockery there that made anger curl up within her. She did not enjoy being patronised. “But ‘twill not save you when you come face-to-face with the Witch-king’s fell sister.”

“Barandur,” Salrean interrupted, her voice sharp. “We came here, not to get your blessing but for your advice. Will you use the runes to aid us?”

Barandur tore his gaze from Rose and focused on Salrean once more.

“You’re far more like your mother than your father,” he rumbled, “except for when you want something. Then you remind me of Rendur.”

Salrean gave a tight smile at that and shrugged. “Will you help us?”

The man sighed and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I can use the runes, if that’s what you want – but I warn you that they don’t often give you the answer you seek. More often than not they give me riddles that you must untangle yourselves.”

“I understand,” Salrean put her empty bowl aside and leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

Barandur stood up and walked over to a shelf at the far end of the room, retrieving a small leather pouch from it. He returned to the fireside and pulled up a low table between them. Then, he gently tossed the pouch in the centre of his palm, as if feeling the weight of the runes. His visitors looked on, waiting for him to empty the runes onto the table.

Instead, Barandur paused, his gaze snaring Salrean’s.

“I visited Carn Dûm, years ago now – when I was young and seeking adventure. It was abandoned then; crumbling towers surrounded by ruined walls on the desolate slopes of Mount Gundabad. I explored the ruins from top to bottom; at that time even the orcs had forsaken it – and I found a secret way in.”

“You did?” Salrean bolted upright, her eyes gleaming. “Can you tell us of it?”

“I thought that would interest you,” Barandur’s mouth curved into a grim smile. “To the west of the towers of Carn Dûm, there is a collection of jagged rocks that climb the mountainside. Make your way into the centre of them, and under a sharp rock, darker than all the others, you will find a tunnel. It will take you deep under Carn Dûm into the dungeons; from there you can make your way up into the fortress itself.”

Salrean nodded before glancing across at Rose and Peri. “Will you both remember that?”

The hobbits nodded.

“It sounds easy enough,” Peri ventured.

Barandur laughed, showing his teeth. “It might do, but ‘tis not. Unpleasant things dwell under Carn Dûm. I was lucky to emerge from the tunnels alive – and I’d wager you will be too. All the same, ‘tis safer than walking in through the front door.”

“What unpleasant things?” Peri had gone white.

“Wights, from the time of the Witch-king himself,” Barandur replied, the wry humour fading from his rugged face. “They are Carn Dûm’s protectors and do not welcome visitors.”

Silence fell in the room then, and despite the roaring fire at her back, Rose shivered.

Barandur, his sharp gaze missing nothing, undid the leather pouch and poured the runes out onto his large palm. He clasped his fingers around them, preparing to cast the stones on the table before him.

“Now, shall we see what the runes have to say about your endeavour?” he looked straight at Rose. “Foul or fair? What lies before you in the Realm of Angmar?”

End of Part #7

Be back for Part #8 on 27 September!