Journey From Darkness

Title: Journey From Darkness 7/10

Author: Mayetra

Disclaimer: All things Tolkien belong to his estate; I only borrow them on occasion and always return them in good working order. I write fan fiction solely for my own enjoyment and do not claim any copyright or ownership of his works nor do I have intent to make financial gain. All original concepts and characters are from my own twisted plot bunnies and remain my property.


*~*

Chapter Seven: Damnation

The ships entered the vast bay amid great chunks of floating ice. They had arrived before the bay had frozen over, but they would be landlocked before the month grew old.

Faile stood on the port side of the ship, near the bow, a long, wooden pole in her hands. She leaned over the side and used the pole to push a chuck of ice away from the ship. She had been there for the last hour, since the alarm bells sounded.

“Land Ho!” The cry came from the crow’s-nest much to the relief of the passengers and crew.

Faile watched as they sailed towards the rocky coast. Great cliffs of rock and snow rose up out of the water and the ships headed towards them. She kept waiting for the crews to pull in the sails and slow the ships down, but no such order came. The cliffs came closer and closer. Faile could hear the waves breaking and crashing against the rocky sides.

The wind seemed to pick up and the icy, salty spray assaulted Faile’s unprotected skin. It seemed to howl along the cliff’s edge, filling the air with a wail of foreboding.

She rushed up the ladder to the quarterdeck, where Círden stood at the helm. Glorfindel, Elrond, and Gil-galad stood near him.

“Turn the ship!” Faile screamed.

“Easy, Child. The ship is in no danger,” Círden replied.

Faile was frantic. “We are going to hit the cliffs, the ships will be smashed to bits! We will drown!”

Her voice carried on the wind and there was a stirring among the passengers huddled on the main deck. They looked wildly from the cliff back towards the quarterdeck. One of the ship’s officers began to reassure the crowd.

Glorfindel strode forward and grabbed Faile by the arms. “Stop it, Faile! You are going to cause a panic. We are in no danger. Watch!” He pointed to another crewman on the quarterdeck, who was holding an ornate golden horn.

The crewman lifted the horn to his lips and blew a series of notes. There was a rumbling and then the cliff wall split to reveal a great cavern beyond. The ship sailed effortless between the retreating walls and into the underground tunnel.

Sailors swarmed the rigging, pulling in the sails and the ship began to slow its speed. Finally, the ship rocked gently on the small waves in a vast, underground lagoon. Around them the rest of the flotilla conjugated, as if waiting for something.

The ceiling of the great cavern was covered with a strange growth that glowed a luminous green. The strange light made the entire scene surreal to Faile.

“What now?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Now we wait for the Forodwaith* to tow us to the harbor,” Círden answered.

As if on cue, Faile heard the sounds of wood slapping water and the low chant of strange voices. She looked out over the bow and saw dark shapes gliding on the water towards them. The shapes came into view and she saw that they were actually large boats. The boats were long and wide, from holes in the hull long, wooden oars extended, dozens from each side. The oars dipped into the water and then rose up, only to return again. Faile realized that the oars were actually keeping time with the strange chanting.

The boats began to divide into groups of three and rowed up to the bows of several ships, including I’manadh*. They turned with a grace that belied their bulky size. They stopped and raised their oars. A shout rang out and several ropes attached to the forecastle were thrown to the awaiting ships. After securing them to the sterns, the chanting began anew. The oars slipped beneath the water and the boats moved forward. There was a subtle shudder through the deck beneath Faile’s feet. Then the ship slowly began to move forward.

An hour later, Círdan’s ship was moored to one of many great docks located at the end of the large lagoon. Faile was one of the first to disembark the ship, following Glorfindel. Around her, she could see dark skinned men swarming the docks, helping the Elven sailors to secure their ships. Gil-galad, Círden and Elrond soon joined Glorfindel and her.

Círden lead them through a large tunnel that opened into a second cavern. This cavern was open to the weather and Faile shivered as a blast of icy air hit her. Snow swirled about the mouth of the cavern and piled into small drifts.

A small party of men entered the cavern and approached their group. Faile was fascinated by their appearance. She had never before seen one of their race up close. She was shocked to see that they looked rather old and frail.

The headman embraced Círden warmly and the two conversed for several moments in a language that Faile did not understand. Círden turned and motioned to each member of their small group, introducing them to the Humans.

They were then lead out into the snowy weather and down a path shoveled in the snow. They soon arrived at the Human’s encampment. The next several hours were spent in what Faile assumed was a war council. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but it appeared that Glorfindel was acting as her liaison. She sat back on a pile of furs and watched the flame of a nearby lantern flicker and dance.

When the meeting was finally over, Glorfindel and Gil-galad had finally managed to secure a guide to lead them to the foothills, beyond that the Chief of the Forodwaith refused to provide a guide.

Glorfindel turned to where Faile had been sitting and found that she was lost in reverie. He smiled to himself before gently picking her up and carrying her to a communal tent that had been provided to them as a temporary headquarters, while they unloaded their ships and assembled their army.

*~*
The wind howled and wailed as the army continued its trek east. It seemed as if the weather was conspiring to keep them from their destination. Faile looked back at the flanks and columns of the Elven army, it was an impressive sight. The thought of how it might look to her people crossed her mind.

“Glorfindel,” she yelled above the cry of the wind, blinking rapidly as snowflakes clung to her lashes.

“What is it, Pen’tithen*?” He called back, bending down so he could hear her better.

“We cannot approach Mar Mordollo* in such a manner.”

t? Wt? Why not?” Glorfindel asked, puzzled.

“My people will attack first and ask questions later.”

Many fluent curses slipped past his lips before he turned to her again. “What do you suggest?”

Faile thought for a moment. “We need to send a smaller scouting party ahead. I will have to go with them to lead them through the valley.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “If you go ahead with the scouting party, who will lead the army through the valley?”

“I can send out a hunting pack to meet you and lead you through safely. It is the only way. If you march into the valley, many of your warriors will fall to the arrow before I can stop my people from attacking.” Faile stared hard at Glorfindel, willing him to see her not as an inexperienced child, but a warrior who was battle tested.

Glorfindel knew she was right. He ran ahead to Gil-galad and explained the situation. The king called a halt and they began to prepare a scouting party.

It was decided that Elrond, Glorfindel and a group of twenty guards would accompany Faile into the valley.

“Have a care, my Lord,” Faile said to the king. “Evil makes its home here and is not always seen until you are deep in its clutches.”

“I will, my Lady,” Gil-galad answered. “May Elbereth’s stars guide you until we meet again.”

Faile nodded and raised her hand in salute. She turned and began to run across the tundra, followed by the scouting party. The Human scout had drawn a crude map and given it to her, she only hoped that she would arrive to help her people in time.

*~*

They stood on the edge of the valley, looking down on the bogs and marshes covering it. Faile turned and stared hard at the group.

“You walk where I walk. You keep your mouths shut and your ears and eyes open. This valley is filled with peril. There are sands that will swallow you, beasts that will tear the flesh from your bones, and plants that can poison.”

Glorfindel watched as Faile transformed before his eyes. Gone was the young waif who had graced the library of Imladris, and in her place stood a warrior, feral and dangerous. He understood now why so young an Elf had been put in charge of a hunting pack. She had a strength and aura about her that inspired one to follow. She was a natural leader.

Faile turned and began the descent into the valley. She led them slowly and carefully through a narrow footpath that threaded its way between to bogs. The stench was horrible and Faile’s nose crinkled at the assault to her nasal passages.

They continued to weave their way through the valley, Faile pointing out various dangers as they went. Once, a guard strayed to close to the edge and slipped into a patch of quicksand. There was a moment of panic, but Faile soon regained control of the situation and they pulled the Elf clear.

Finally, they reached a line of trees before a great barren field. There were patches of small, twisted bushes sporadically scattered across it, but the rest was hard packed dirt. In the distance, not more than fifty feet, the great gated walls of Mar Mordollo rose before them. Beyond it, the mountain continued to rise skyward, though they could not see its peak.

Faile dropped to a crouch and motioned the others to join her. They followed suit and watched her intently. Faile threw back her head and a low howl issued forth.

The party of Elves shivered at the sound, for it was the call of the Warg. They watched as the gates parted and a small pack of Warg issued forth. Each had a rider on their back and the pack of five loped across the field. They stopped about twenty feet from the tree line and dismounted. The Elves with Faile could see that the battlements were now filled with archers, their bows notched with arrows.

“Wait here. If anything should happen, I will see that you are at least granted safe conduct to the edge of the valley.” Faile ignored the look on Glorfindel’s face. “Return to your homes and forget us, for we are truly forsaken.”

“What –”, Glorfindel never got to voice his question to Faile, for she had leapt up and walked out into the field. He started to go after her, but was restrained by Elrond and several guards.

“Trust that she knows what must be done and do not interfere,” Elrond hissed.

It was with great reluctance that Glorfindel stayed with the group.

The lead rider strode forward to meet Faile. They stood not five feet apart and eyed each other.

“Are you a ghost?” the large male Elf asked in a hushed tone.

“Nay, Roitar, your eyes do not deceive you. It is I, Faile.”

There were murmurs from the small group of Warg riders behind Roitar.

“We thought you were dead, Faile. I see that you have gone to the Calaquendi*. Your armor speaks volumes.” Roitar eyed her armor, which matched his own, save for the embossing. “You are not worthy to lead,” he announced finally. “I am the Cabor* pack Alpha.”

Faile sneered. “Only by right of blood, Roitar.”

Roitar nodded. “It is your right to challenge. What are your terms?”

“The ones I travel with are to be given safe passage to the edge of the valley, should I fall.”

Roitar slapped his chest with his fist, a sign of agreement.

Faile returned the gesture.

Then without a word, both of them stripped to their cotton under padding. Their weapons, boots, and armor was seide.ide. They each pulled their dagger from their possessions and then faced each other.

“The right to rule is mine by blood,” Faile yelled loudly, so that even the archers on the wall could hear her declaration.

“The one who rules must be strong, not weak. I challenge your right to rule. I call for your blood!”

“First blood shall be mine, Roitar.”

The ceremonial words completed, the two combatants began to circle each other.

Glorfindel realized that they were actually going to fight to the death. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For an Elf to slay another Elf was forbidden, it was such a Kinslaying that caused the Ban of the Noldor from the Blessed Realm.

The two Elves began a deadly dance, knives flashing in the dim twilight. Roitar was quick, but Faile was quicker. With a speed that surprised Glorfindel, she ducked a knife swing and stepped in to slice Roitar across the chest. The mithril blade cut through the thick pad like butter and the gray material soon blossomed bright red. The two Elves parted.

Roitarked ked down and grinned broadly. He tossed his knife to the side and opened his arms in welcome. “Ai, Faile, it seems you are still quicker with the knife.”

“That I am, Cousin.” She allowed Roitarsweesweep her into his embrace before they parted and quickly dressed.

Glorfindel felt relief flood him as he realized that he was wrong about their fighting to the death. He should have known better, their circumstances were dire enough that they would not weaken themselves by such drastic contests of leadership.

Things moved quickly after that. Faileioneioned for her companions to enter the field and introductions were made all around. Then the entire group headed for the safety of Mar Mordollo.

Glorfindel was somewhat prepared for the dismal surroundings that greeted him, but Elrond and the others were truly shocked.

They created quite a stir among the Moriquendi* with their bright armor and weapons. Glorfindel, especially, with his bright golden hair, since the scouting party were mostly Noldor and all of them possessed dark hair. Glorfindel had the only blue eyes amid a sea of brown and gray ones.

There was little time for gawking, however, as Faile asked a question that effectively silenced the assemblage.

“Where is my Sire?”

Roitar shook his head sadly. “Edhelech fell in a raid not long after you disappeared. Titton leads us now.”

Faile schooled her features, hiding her emotions. “Titton is a good man.”

“I am glad you approve.”

Faile turned and acknowledge the speaker. “My Lord, I have returned with an army to help with the defense of Mar Mordollo.”

Glorfindel, Elrond and the others could only stare in shock at the Elf how approached them. He was a good head taller than Glorfindel, who was tall even for a Noldo.

“Your Sire would have beat you with in an inch of your life, were he still here to see this.” Titton allowed his eyes to sweep over Faile.

Glorfindel took a step forward and laid a hand on Faile’s lderlder. He could care less if it made her appear weak in the eyes of her people. She could scream at him for it later, but right now he wanted this Elf-lord to understand that Faile belonged to him.

Titton smiled. “Lucky thing I am not he. I often prayed to the gods that you had gone for on such an endeavor. Well done, Faile.” He sent Glorfindel and amused looked. “Your mate seems a little overprotective of you. Has he managed to tame you then?”

Faile snorted. “It pleases him to think that he has.” She made no move to shrug off his hand.

Glorfindel kept his mouth shut, he knew that Faile’s comment was more to save face than anything.

Their discussion was cut short by the loud clanking of a bell. All around them organized chaos erupted. The gathered mass began to rush towards the great doors. “Wh “What is it?” Elrond asked as they followed the crowd.

“The Saurihos* are attacking,” came Faile’s curt reply.

They followed her and Titton up onto the battlements. It seemed that Angmar* had unleashed its full fury on Mar Mordollo. The Orc army disappeared beyond the tree line, though movement could be seen. The sound of metal biting into wood reached them and they knew that the Orcs were cutting down the trees, enlarging the battlefield. There were thousands of Orcs amid the trees before them. Faile and her companions had only just entered the valley ahead of them, had they been any later and they would have been nothing more than corpses used to feed the hosts of Angmar’s army.

Faile paled. “Never have I seen the like!”

Titton seconded her comment. “I have walked these battlements for well over a thousand years, yet my eyes have never seen such a mass of Saurihos. We are truly damned.”

End Chapter Seven
Forodwaith – North – People (Sindarin) Race of Men that lived in the Northern portions of Middle Earth
I’manadh – The Fortune (Sindarin)
Pen’tithen – Little One (Sindarin)
Mar Mordollo – Home out of Shadow (Quenya)
Calaquendi – Light Elves: Name given to the Elves that saw the Light of the Two Trees (Quenya)
cabor – frog (Sindarin)
Moriquendi – Dark Elves: Name given to the Elves that never saw the Light of the Two Trees (Quenya)
Saurihos – Foul Folk (Quenya)
Angmar – Iron Home (Sindarin) Witch-kingdom on both sides of the northern Misty Mountains. Ruled by
the Lord of the Nazgûl who was known as the Witch-king of Angmar.