Chronicles of Celegal-Chapter 3 is up!

[Celegal]

This is a story I have been working on for a little while. It started as a simple narrative assignment for an English class. I hope you enjoy it!

[Celegal]

Chapter One!

I finished my glass of cider, sat back and sighed. Grabbing a loaf of bread, I walked outside of the small house where I lived. It was but a few miles to the torn in the valley below, but I needed water and tranquility. I knew where to find both. I was a soldier under King Thengel then, but he did not require us to live in the barracks. I much preferred my house high in the mountains anyway. I lived on a peak of the Ered Nimrais, in a clearing where I could look down onto my kinsmen below. It was in the Westfold, between Helm’s Deep and Edoras. It was the year 2980 of the Third Age, and things were now growing in the shadows.
Climbing to an outcrop above my dwelling, I looked around in every direction. Somehow my eyesight seemed brighter, perhaps from breathing the mountain air. To the south lay the farthest reaches of the realm of Gondor, and there dwelt a few farmers. Small ridges ran down to the crystal sea beyond. At the end of one was the great city of Dol Amroth, which was founded by elves and was where ny forefathers were from. I am Celegal, which in elvish means “shining silver”. My grandfather had moved the family from there to the Rohirric city of Dunharrow, a city high in the mountains, the other side of Edoras from here. My father had been a soldier of the Mark, and so, being the next in line, I enlisted also. The King had almost instantly made me a scout, but under the supervision of a good leader, Gamling.
To the west was a great jumble of mountains, and great, barren plains beyond that. After the great mass of peaks, though, it turned to the south-west, and continued down to the coast, where it formed a peninsula called Andrast. Very few people lived there, and only those who knew how to survive on their own. In between the Ered Nimrais and the Misty Mountains, which were to the northwest, was the Gap of Isen, and at the foot of the Misty Mountains was a fortress called Orthanc by some, Isengard, by others, and Angrenost by a few. There was a great courtyard full of trees, and in the middle was a jet-black tower. It was built many years past by the Gondorians, but now was occupied by the wizard Saruman. He was one of the Istari, an order of wise men who were sent across the sea by the Valar long ago. Smoke now rose from that place, and we Rohirrim had been keeping an eye on him for a while now. His elvish name was Curunir, which meant “cunning skill”. He deemed himself very wise and so far had not done anything that would turn us against him. He had been there almost thirty years now, but had been a good steward of the place, and had respected the nearby forest of Fangorn, we thought.
Looking to the northwest, I saw the lofty Misty Mountains. Snow lay on the peaks of Caradhras, of Zirakzigil, and of Celebdil, the three mountains of Moria. Underneath them was once a great dwarven city, and beautiful to see, and they were great allies of the elves of Lorien.But then the dwarves awoke a secret evil in the depths, and it killed many dwarves and many elves, and the friendship of the elves and the dwarves did not last. Now goblins occupied the enormous halls of Khazad-Dum, and no one went there anymore.
To the north were the seemingly endless plains of Rohan, covered in billowing grass. I had spent many days on those plains, roaming the fields alone. After that were the dark, mysterious, beautiful woods of Lorien, where Galadriel and Celeborn ruled. The elven duo were ancient, but looked younger than the youngest grand-sires in our country. Though they mainly kept to themselves, they were our strong allies and had on more than one occasion helped us out.
Further north were swamps, forests, and the land of the Beornings. Here dwelt the descendants of the shapeshifter Beorn. All of these lands ran along the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, which formed the backbone of Middle-earth.
Eastward was the capital of Rohan, Edoras. I went there nearly everyday for training, as I was part of the Kings army. It sat on a hill, and on the very top was the Golden Hall, Meduseld. It was a majestic, rectangular place with banners, carvings, and suits of armor everywhere. I had only been in once, to deliver a message from Theoden, the Kings son. He had just arrived from Gondor, where he had spent his childhood. This city was in front of the Ered Nimrais. After that, the mountains kept going on a southeasterly route, going to Dunharrow, my home before long. It was a small city set into a mountain and was the start of the beacons of Gondor. The beacons followed the mountains until they came to the end of them, where the great city of Minas Tirith was situated. It was the capital of Gondor, and was where Ecthelion, the steward of Gondor lived. He also had a son, Denethor, who was strong, tall, and valiant. The White City, as it was called, was on the other side of the Anduin from Minas Morgul, the Tower of Sorcery. It was a place filled with great evil, and the reason Gondor had stewards, not kings. The last one rode toward the black place and was never seen again, and since he was childless, Gondor had to resort to stewards. It was written, though, that one day a new King would come from the North, a Dunedain and of the line of Isildur. But for now, they had to guard the rest of the realm from attack. Of old there had been three cities around the river: Minas Ithil, Tower of the Moon, on the east, Minas Anor, Tower of the Sun, on the west and Osgiliath, the pride of Gondor. which sat on both sides of the Anduin. But after Minas Ithil had been captured by the Dark Lord Sauron, Minas Anor was renamed Minas Tirith, and the population of Osgiliath slowly withered. To the east of Minas Morgul was the realm of Mordor, the stronghold of Sauron. It was guarded on the north, west, and south by steep, dark mountains. The plain of Gorgoroth was contained inside these. It was a desolate, flat, rocky, and black area of land. In the southern part was the great lake of Nurn. There was where Sauron’s slaves tended crops for his army of maggots. The land of Mordor as a whole was a dark mysterious, withered land.
But the White City, Minas Tirith, was an interesting place. It was set into a mountain, and was crowned with a great pinnacle at the top. It had seven stories, each of which was closer to the mountain. On the seventh story was the King’s Hall and a great courtyard. In the courtyard was a White Tree, which had been brought from Númenor by Isildur and his sons, the first rulers of Gondor. The tree stood there, bare and cold.
Looking to the south-east, I found it an uninteresting yet inhospitable land. It was covered in deserts, and there dwelt the swarthy men of the Kingdoms of Khand and Harad. Near the coast was a city. It was Umbar, the Ancient Numenorean Haven. It was infested with Black Numenoreans, filth of the worst sort. Originally they were men of the proud realm of Numenor, tall and strong. But after becoming corrupted by Sauron they had filled Umbar with their rank, black, filth. Now the only ones of that descent were the Kings of Gondor, who now were in exile, and the Dunedain, rangers of the North.
I took in a sharp breath of mountain air. Somehow, they felt like my home. Though my forefathers dwelt by the sea, I felt a strange inclination to the lofty heights. After gathering water and a little bit of wood ,I sat down on a rock in front of my abode. Presently I heard a low rumble. It slowly grew louder. I rose to my feet. After a little bit I could hear hoofs, getting faster. In a little while a horseman rode out of the clearing.
He seemed to be about twenty-five, with brownish hair to the end of his neck. He carried a sword over his shoulder, and a sling by his side. He was wearing a mail-shirt under a cloak of green, and was riding a swift black horse. I rose in greeting.
“Hail, messenger from Thengel,” I said, for that was what he was. ”What news do you bear from the King?”
“Hail, noble warrior of the Mark,” he said. “I bring you a beacon from the King, to but a few his soldiers.”
By now I had figured that either a few of us had done something wrong, we were to be promoted, or we were going on some sort of quest. I took the scroll from the rider’s out held hands. It read:

Thengel, King of Rohan, wishes to see you at a council in
Meduseld. Come as soon as possible. Lateness will not be
tolerated. You will be of an elite vanguard of soldiers
that will be guarding the King on the way to Rivendell.
More details will be explained at the council.

“Tell your master, the King, that I would be honored to be in his presence at the council.”
“I will inform his majesty of your comment, sire.”
A few hours later, I gathered some meat, a few loaves of bread, a flagon or two of ale, and started down the hill towards Edoras. As I rode down the hill through the red maple leaves, I wondered why the King had summoned me. Another thing that bothered my mind was the mention of Rivendell. Rivendell, the city of the elves, was a beautiful place. It was in a vale, with a river running through it. The one time I had been there, It always seemed like fall, even though it was spring. There were majestic halls, marvelous architecture, and kingly heirlooms that made one’s blood run chill at the sight. Dwelling there was the elf-lord Elrond, his sons Elladan and Elrohir, his daughter Arwen, and all of their immortal kin. It was said that there was a great store of weapons in that city, and it was well known that the place was heavily guarded. Even the very weapons of the elves were majestic, with writing carved into them, jewels set into the hilts, and engravings so complex and intricate that it made the mind reel. It gladdened my heart to be possibly going there.
Eventually I reached the bottom of the hill, and rode onto the plains of Rohan. I could have cut across the side of the range and come down later, but I knew of a small inn along the way that I could not have reached through the hills. It was called The Lucky Fortune Inn, and it was tended by some friends of mine, a dwarf named Borin, a woman named Mellaloreum, and a man named Erinhue. It was a friendly place, with travelers from halflings to elves. Since it was getting late, clouds were gathering, and Edoras was still about 20 miles ahead, I decided to stay there for the night. Stabling my horse in the barn, I headed in as delicious smells greeted me. Opening the wooden door, I looked around. In the corner, a hobbit and a man were chatting near an female elf who was eating some fruit quietly. Over at the bar sat a dwarf and a man. The dwarf was smoking, while the man was drinking a mug of ale. The man I noticed. He was a stranger from the North called Thorongil, who fought for King Thengel. He was a loner but strong and a good fighter.
Behind the bar was Erinhue, and his face lit up as he noticed me.
“Celegal! So good to see you again, my friend. Where have you been? You haven’t visited in a while, and I thought that you had gone off on some errand for the King.’
“No, good sir. In fact, I am on errand for His Majesty right now. I stopped in here for the night. I was hoping for some good food and room.”
“That will be fine, lad. All I need are two silver pieces and for you to sign this paper and we will have a room for you.”
Handing the man the money, I signed the paper and sat down for some bread and meat. After I had finished the delicious beef and some cider, I recieved my key and headed for my room. It was upstairs, a little towards the back, and had a small fireplace. The fire was a welcome thing on a brisk autumn night, and soon I had it roaring. Grabbing a whetstone, I started sharpening my sword. It was nothing special, my grandfather’s and shaped like any other sword. Its crosstree was silver, with small points at the end. In the middle was a single green gem, which shone softly. The handle was black, with white paint spiraling down it. It was nothing grand, but it fitted my hands perfectly and felt light, though durable.
After the blade had been sharpened to my liking, I washed my face and laid down in the bed. The beds were made of oak, with a mattress that was comfortable enough, though lumpy. I had too much on my mind to worry about that, however. What would we be doing in Rivendell? Was the King going on a visit to Elrond? Was it a council of war? Was the King to be taking refuge there? I did not believe it was the last one, for two reasons. First, the King was old, but not that old. He was still able to fight, and still had some of his old glory. Second, he would have made sure that his people were safe before he had taken hiding. And, since, he had an heir, his son Theoden, he need not worry about being killed childless. If it was a council of war, then who was threatening us and why? I knew of no enemies to us. Sauron had been quiet lately, and had not attacked Gondor that I knew of . Saruman was rather weak, and had not anyone to fight for him. If it was in the north, why should it bother us? Anyway, I had a feeling these questions would be answered the next day.
When I woke up the next morning and sat up in my bed, I noticed a note that had been slid under my door. Walking over to it, I studied it closely. It was a piece of a scroll, with a hastily written note. It read:

Celegal,
Thorongil, a fellow customer, wishes to accompany you on your ride. He will meet you at the stables after your breakfast.
-Borin

I looked out the window. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. I figured I would eat a little in an hour and then meet with Thorongil. After eating some bread with honey and milk, I headed fro the stables. As I left with my horse, I saw Thorongil standing by a nearby tree. He smiled and mounted his horse. We rode west, towards the distant figure of Edoras. For a while we talked about small things. The weather, trees, mountains, and things of that sort. After a while, though he asked me a question that led to many thoughts on my part.
“What is your horses name?” he asked.
“His name is Felarof.”
“That is a fine name. Named after the horse of Eorl, I expect?”
I nodded and asked, “How did you know? I always thought you were from the north. “
He chuckled. “In Rivendell we are taught of many things.”
“Rivendell? You are from that glorious city?”
He did not answer.
The rest of the way was more quiet but peaceful. We saw farms, horses, horsemen, and we kept on the path which led from Helm’s Deep to Edoras, with mountains on one side and endless plains on the other.

[Celegal]

Chapter Two!

After a while we rounded a small ridge and could see Edoras in all of its glory. It sat on top of a hill in front of the Ered Nimrais. Looming up in front of the sky, it was green and had a bit of snow on it from the first snow of the fall. We entered the gate, and rode up the hill through the rows of houses. Men were in their shops, or serving for the King in his army. The womenfolk were cooking or drying clothes. Dogs and children ran through the streets, laughing and playing. I smiled and kept on up the hill, towards Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Rohan. The doorward stopped us, and asked us to hand over our weapons, to be returned as soon as we left. I handed him my bow and sword. Reluctantly, Thorongil did the same, but not before warning the guard, Haleth: “Do not let anyone besides the two of us to lay a hand on them.” THe guard nodded in wonder.
We entered the King’s throne room, full of majestic banners signifying leaders before our time. Brego and Eorl, Folca and Beor, all of their majestic pictures looked down on us. The King was old, but strong. He was a kindly man, and loved nature and all of its marvels. Though he was old in years, he could wield a sword well. He smiled as we entered.
“Celegal! Thorongil! How are you? Welcome to Edoras! I hope that your stay here goes well, and I will meet you in the Hall of Banquets at noon. Now, how did your travels to this grand place go?”
We related our travels to him, and he listened closely. When we were done, we left to find some food. That was when Thorongil and I parted ways. Eventually I headed for my room at a noble’s house near the palace. That night I laid on a much more comfortable bed than the one in the Lucky Fortune, but it didn’t feel like home.
Morning came quickly. I dressed and washed my face, nervous to be at a council with so many important men. I donned full armor, with a breastplate of green and gauntlets of steel. The armor was suprisingly easy to move around in, and was not as heavy as I expected. After I had slung my sword over the right shoulder and wrapped myself in a cloak, I walked through Meduseld’s majestic arches and breathed in the scent of freshly cut hay and wheat. The brisk walk uphill towards the Golden Hall was a bit chilly, so I wrapped my coat tighter. Closed doors and the same warden awaited me at the front of the palace, and I went through the same procedure. I had arrived right on time, for the food was about to be served. The dining was excellent, with every imaginable food in front of my eyes. When everyone had eaten their fill, the Council began. It was a more of a briefing than anything else. The man talking was the leader of my company, Gamling. He was young and strong, able to lead an eored of scouts.
“You are going to be guarding the King on a trip to Rivendell. He will be attending a council of war there. The utmost secrecy, loyalty, and endurance will be required. Your reward will be a promotion of one or more ranks in the King’s service, and extra pay for the duration of your service.”
I looked around. There were about 500 horsemen in the room, including my company of scouts, which numbered about 30, around 100 archers on horseback, and the rest were armed with spears or swords. They were mostly lead by Theoden, the son of the King, but some were led by Eotrand, who had a son that I was acquainted with, Elfhelm.
Gamling continued. ”The journey will be difficult and long. Perhaps it will even be dangerous. But the very reason you have been chosen for this trip is because you are courageous and hardy, noble men of Rohan.” This seemed to put in the men a sense of courage. “We will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

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I woke just before dawn the next morning and got dressed. It was a bit chilly, one of the first signs of fall, which would be here in about a week. I walked out of the room I was staying in and headed to the stables. They were warm and filled with the smells of hay and oats. The groomsmen kept the place neat, I noticed. Mounting Felarof, I looked around for the rest of the riders. They were gathered in a square about halfway down the hill from were I was. Just about everyone was ready, so our commanders ordered us to form up. The regular riders were up front, with the King in the middle. The archers were just behind them, and our company of scouts was last. We were spread out in ranks of 10 deep, so that we formed a long line. This would be good for any wandering orcs that we met, for we could quickly surround them and enclose them in a circle. After that it would be easy as a quick jab and our job would be done. We made our way east and a bit north over the wide, grassy plains of Rohan. The scenery was unchanging, with mountains on one side and seemingly endless plains on the other. By this way we passed the Lucky Fortune, and eventually my home, though it was not visible through the trees that grew on the hill. That night we camped at Dunharrow, under a steep mountain. The men were merry, and they sang and drunk. I chuckled. They would pay for their drunkenness in the morning. And indeed they did, for the next morning men sleepily drooped in their saddles. I had spent the night, however, walking through a few of the mountain paths that I remembered from my childhood. The next night we camped in a little vale, surrounded by enormous cliffs. We were about 10 leagues or so from Isengard, and I was glad a little to be one step closer to Rivendell, for once we had passed the Gap of Rohan, as the narrow gap between the Misty Mountains and the Ered Nimrais was known, we would only have to head north until we reached the elven haven. As I walked back to my tent, I heard a debate from the King’s tent. Though I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, I couldn’t help but listen. The conversation was between Thengel, his son Theoden, and a Marshal of the Mark, Iltyran.

Iltyran: I beg thee, Sire, do not seek shelter from Saruman. He is a wizard, and they are queer folk.
Thengel: He has not done us wrong so far, Iltyran. I do not think that he shall harm us in any way.
Iltyran: But, Sire, when he hears of the King of Rohan, along with his son and finest men, will his heart not think of malice? He will either be exceedingly kind or trap us, a risk I do not wish to take.
Thengel: What do you think about this, my son?
Theoden: I do not think that Saruman is pure good, or that he is pure evil. I believe that we must camp by the river Isen, and keep as far away as possible from Orthanc. There is something I don’t trust about Saruman.
Iltyran:Think of it, my lord. He has possesion of one of the Palantiri of old! Therefore, he is either friend or foe, for there are only two that he can talk with: the Steward of Gondor or the Dark Lord himself.

A cold wind blew through the branches of the overhanging oaks and pines.

Thengel: You are right, Iltyran. I will follow your advice this time. We will keep as close to the southern side of the Gap of Rohan as we are allowed. We may just hope that night does not fall on us while we are in the middle of it.
Theoden:Then, my father, we must rise early tomorrow and make haste to the Isen river. Once we are west and a little north of Isengard we will rest. We must not trust Saruman. He is too powerful to make any kind of treaty with.
Iltyran:There have already been reports of orc-like things ravaging the countryside and robbing the people of the far Westfold.
Thengel:I have made my decision. Send word throughout the camp. We start before dawn.

Theoden’s servants rushed out of the tent. I stood up as close to the tent as I could, to avoid being seen. Thoughts rushed through my head as I ambled back to my tent. Iltyran was obviously suspicious of Saruman, and on a good pretense, it seemed. But Thengel was not so sure for some reason. But at any rate, I believed it was wise to avoid Orthanc, for I had strange stories concerning him during my stay at Imladris. He had alienated himself from the rest of the Wizards, or Istari. On one occasion he had gone into the far west with two other wizards. Only he had returned. What happened on that journey is a mystery, for Curunir, as he is also called, has not spoken of it to anyone. I supposed I should not worry myself with the King’s problems. The tent was cold that night.
The next morning we woke about an hour or two before dawn and started getting ready. We even managed to depart from camp right at dawn, but not before cleaning it, for we did not wish to be tracked by anyone. Quickly we went towards the Gap of Rohan, going over plains that were growing a bit more rocky. Few people lived here, partly from the rocky ground, which was not good for crops, and partly from the ravaging bands of orcs that came down from the Misty Mountains. But, according to Iltyran, that was not the only place they were from. Eventually the rocky ground grew into small hills, but perhaps that was because we were keeping as close to the Ered Nimrais as possible. By four hours after noon we reached the Gap. When we were there, the King told us to gallop as fast as we could to the west, but staying together, trying not to break apart or lose anyone. We did so, and everyone seemed to keep close together, until we reached the banks of the Isen. Once we had crossed the river, we decided to set up camp for the night. It was not an easy night, for all around us we heard wolves. We all took turns on guard, and there were a few of us at a time, for the wolves sounded like many.
When we awoke the next morning, we found that several of our companions were missing. No one from my company, but about 20 others had disappeared from their tents. Their tentmates said that they had stepped out for a little walk and had never returned. What to do was undoubtedly a big question on the King’s mind. If we kept going, we furthered the chance of our friends being in danger, but if we stayed behind we could be caught in a trap or be set upon by our enemies. In the end, Thengel decided to leave about five scouts, including me, behind to search for them. After 5 days, or at the first sight of enemies, we were to report back to the King as quickly as possible. We started up the river on the west side, and figured to stay with it until we got into some hills. On the third day, after going up a hill a few hundred feet, we saw a trail of blood flowing into a small vale. We hurried down the vale and saw a man, sorely wounded. There was blood coming from his side, and he appeared to be a Rider, for we saw the remains of a horse in some bushes. We rushed over to him. He was gasping for breath and was on death’s doorstep. I and another rider bandged his wound, one man gave him some water, and the other two set up camp, for we could not leave tonight. The man tried to speak, but one of kinsmen hushed him, saying, “Silence, friend. Relax and do not worry yourself, for things will be all right soon.”
The next day, after he had slept for a good length of time, he related his story to us: “I am named Aravaeth, and I was in the company of archers. I had gone out for a stroll along the river when I was hit in the back of the head by something hard. When I woke up, I was being dragged northward, but where I didn’t know. The orcs had not frisked me well, and there were only three, so I grabbed a knife that was in my cloak and stabbed the neck of the one that was carrying me. The others whirled around and rushed at me with their swords drawn. The swords were of a curious kind, with flat long blades that were as black as night. The orcs themselves were strange also. They were strong, tall and covered in black armor. THey were not little hunched over things like the orcs of the Misty Mountains. I killed the second one with a quick thrust, but the last one was a challenge. He created the wound in my side that you kind folk are treating. After he did that, I kicked him onto the ground and stabbed him. I dragged their bodies over behind that tree. I have been here, eating the last of the food from my haversack, waiting for an ally to come along.”
“Do you know what has happened to the others?” one of my fellow scouts asked.
“There were others?”
“Yes,” I said, “almost a score more of others disappered from their tents the same night you did. We haven’t seen them since. Do you have any idea what happened to them?”
“Well, when the vermin were talking, I picked up a bit of their conversation. I guess they thought I was still knocked out. They said:

Orc 1:Where are the others?
Orc 2:We were going to meet them at the pass.
Orc 3:We had better get there soon. I’m getting tired of carrying this rat on my back.
Orc 2:Stop your moaning, idiot! We’ll get there soon.
Orc 1:Why don’t we have a bit of fun with him before we get there, eh?
Orc 2:The orders were to keep him alive so the man in charge can “question” him.
Orc 3:We can say we lost him. That the horse-filth came and rescued him.
Orc 2:Shut up, scumbag! I’m in charge here!

“They probably would have killed each other then, if I hadn’t slashed the throat of the one that was holding me.”
“Any idea of who their ringleader was?” one of my companions asked.
“No, they didn’t say anything about that.”
We spent another night there, and after further discussion came to the conclusion that the other orcs had taken care of our companions. We decided to head back to the King, though. Leaving the camp, we headed northward along the west side of the Misty Mountains until we came to the farthest reaches of Dunland. From there we turned westward, for the Dundlendings do not take kindly to the Rohirrim. On the second day after reaching the Dunland border, and the fifth day after leaving the find of Aravaeth, we reached the King.
He greeted us, saying: “What news of the soldiers? Where there any to be found?” My horse, where the still wounded Aravaeth sat, was hidden from his view.
“Yes, my lord,” my compaion in the front of our group said, ” only one, but we have returned him to you. He is a bit wounded, but we will take care of that in Rivendell. “
“I am glad that you have found one, but my heart still grieves at the score of others that were lost mysteriously.” The King hung his head in silence as he walked back to the royal tent.
We rode through rocky and somewhat barren land, what was once the rich nation of Cardolan. We passed few people here, only outcasts of Dunland, living in small huts with little money or food to speak of. They regarded us with caution, and kept as far away as possible. They called us foul names, for they considered Rohan to be their own, and that the steward of Gondor had betrayed them when he gave us the land after we helped him in battle. But, we treated them with kindness nonetheless, and were careful to keep our camps away from their settlements. We did not go a night without a stolen pan or a pilfered saddlebag, though, and we rode through that country in haste, eager to get away from the foul Dunlendings. The country became a bit more hilly now, as we rounded the northern curve of the edge of Dunland and neared the Misty Mountains, which we could see to the left. I remember one day in particular fondness. We had come over a hill, and were famished from the low supply of food. We looked down on a forest straddling a brook that came down from a cliff. When we came to the stream, we found berries in plenty, game everywhere, and the water as clear as crystal. You can imagine that we slept soundly that night. On the start of the second week after coming to the southern border of Dunland, we reached the river Glanduin. It was a small and slow river, but the water was sweet and we quenched our thirst. We had no need of meat, for we had slung the remains of the stags over our horses and still had plenty to eat. The choice of where to go was a mystery at this point. We could go east, and come that way to swamps that ran into Bruinen, or the Loudwater. Bruinen ran up into the very heart of Rivendell. Some, including me, suggested that we go north, avoiding the swamps, but coming to Bruinen further upstream. Still others wanted to skirt the edges of the Misty Mountains and come directly north to Rivendell. In the end, though, we decided to follow the plan which I had reasoned was wise from the start. First, we would be near the river, unlike the third plan, and second, we would not have to go through the mysterious swamps, which were sure to be festered with midges, and which strange stories were told about. The next day we set off on our journey, going into Eregion, an esoteric, rocky, and barren place that was once the rich Elven-kingdom of Hollin. I felt a sense of adventure as we rode through the hills and across knolls. Our archers even killed a company of about 10 orcs that had wandered down from the mountains. There was excitement in the camp as we neared Rivendell. A week after crossing the Glanduin we could even see the very vale where it lay. The day after that we found ourselves entering the city of Imladris.

[Celegal]

Yeah, here's a new chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter tres!

The sun was shining above the stream as we rode into the vale where Rivendell, or Imladris was located. It cast playful glimmers that danced around in the water, which was flowing down towards the empty plains of ancient Rhudaur after coming down a glistening waterfall, filled with foam that looked as soft as a feather pillow, with a headboard of cliffs and the sheets of crystal clear water. Fish swam about in the waters below, fat ones waiting to be caught by the Elves and put on plates for an evening meal. The vale was set out this way: We came in through a small gap between the red rocks that curved up to form a high circle around the city of Imladris, or Rivendell as it was known in Westron. Imladris was its Elvish name. Canyons were cut into the rock wall in various places. Near the northeastern curve was the aforementioned stream, gradually getting bigger from melted snows until it became the also aforementioned waterfall, which flowed down and swelled the river Bruinen, but not before the fish were harvested from it by the Elvish fishers. After the gap in the rocks, we rode along the eastern side of the stream until we crossed it about 300 yards ahead. The stream went upstream for about 2 miles before it came to the waterfall. After crossing the river, the gate was about 50 yards away, and it was a fine example of Elven architechture. Intricate designs slowly seemed to fall down the gate as you looked at it, pictures of gardens and wars and fair maidens, all intertwined together in a shade of silver-blue. Growing on them were a few ivies, but the gardeners obviously kept them well-tended to where they did not strangle the gate, but merely crowned it with a patch of green. The gate-wardens checked us and wished us safe journey through Rivendell. Merry elves greeted us inside, reveling around a meadow that was on either side of the path as we entered the city. They were singing ancient lays of Beren and Luthien, of Gil-Galad and of Gondolin. They wre not strong and loud like the march-tunes we sometimes sang while riding, but were clear and soft, like a small stream flowing down a hill but with bits of sadness, where the stream seemed to come to a pool at which it sat still. They invited us in to the grand halls, and we obeyed willingly. After Elrond was told of our arrival, we were led to our quarters and our horses were stabled and fed. Then we sat down to a grand feast. The food there was spectacular. The hall was warm and the walls were adorned with war-helmets and jeweled swords. There were fresh loaves which you could smother in honey, and flagons of ale to go along with it. There was lamb, fresh cheese, venison, and and quail brought down by young archers in training. We washed it down with wine made of the best grapes in the elven vineyards. The fair-haired poets played their lyres and sung of the great deeds of the elven-kings of old. We were treated well by the elves, and they kept on urging us to eat more, though we would not mind if we returned to our wondrous quarters. Since we had arrived at dusk, and since night grew quickly in the fall, we decided to wait until the following morning to start the council. I was not to attend as a consular of Rohan, I learned, only a guard of Thengel. My unit leader, Gamling, was to attend as a emissary, as were Thengel, Theoden, and Iltyran. The quarters were splendid. I was left to a room of my own, but that was fine with me. When I walked in, I found the room to be spacious but snug. There was a blazing fire to my left, and a bed directly in front of me. To the right was a small sofa with a blanket laid over it, and a desk in the corner to my right and forward. Over the door was a sword, and a shield set over the bed. The shield was blue, with a white star emblazoned in the middle. The sword was not unlike my own, but with carvings in the very blade, and it had a darker colored handle. I climbed into bed after taking off my rider’s clothes and putting on something much more comfortable that the elves had set out. Apparently they had been expecting us. The bed was soft, but I did not drown in it. My eyes closed almost as soon as my head hit the warm pillow.

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The next day was busy for me. We had decided to continue with the council, as everyone invited had arrived. The Gondorians were there, we, the Rohirrim, of course, were there. A few rangers were there, and Elrond and his sons attended, for elves are wise folks, and, after all, he was the host. Other elves from Lothlorien and Mirkwood were there. Dwarves from the Iron Hills and from the Ered Luin were in attendance. I began to realize that this was more important than I first thought. We met just outside the western edge of the city, near another gap in the rocks where the vale led into fields where the elves tended thier crops. The gap was in sight, about 50 yards away. I, as mentioned before, was not an emissary, but merely a guard. The elven coordinators had evidently chosen privacy over safety, for there were rumors of wargs sneaking into the vale and they had been spotted in the fields. The council was soon underway.

Ecthelion (Steward of Gondor): I have come here to request aid and guidance in dealings in the far west of our country. As you know, the Ered Nimrais forms a crescent over the Kingdom of Gondor. The western edge comes down from the Gap of Rohan. On the western side of it are a few short hills until they slope down to the sea. The eastern side of it falls down into hills and then into my land of Gondor.

Here Elrond stirred a little.

Ecthelion: The Ered Nimrais keeps on going until it forms a little finger and a peninsula in the sea. It falls down into hills there and a coast. The coast then turns eastward towards Dol Amroth.

The Prince of Dol Amroth, Adrahil, was also there.

Adrahil: For the past few months, there have been men, wild-haired and out of their wits, coming in to Dol Amroth and screaming. They say such things as, ‘Help us! The Valar save us all! We will all die soon! Angdor comes to smite and demolish!’ We have taken the men in, but as soon as we try to interrogate them, their eyes glaze over and they do not respond, only stare forward. Many mysteriously die a few days later. The same thing has happened in Pinnath Gelin, to a much higher extent. Pinnath Gelin is in the hills to the east of the western arm of the Ered Nimrais. The men there have gone raving mad, wandering around town, damaging shops, performing lewd acts in public, and commiting suicide in strange ways. There have been at least 3 reports of murders there.
Ecthelion: Calenar, lord of Pinnath Gelin, has requested backup from troops to avoid crime in that city and engineers to build a wall around it. However, many of my troops are in Ithilien defending the citizens there. I am at a loss of what to do.
Elrond: From whence do these men come?
Adrahil: We have studied their clothes and identified a few of them. They were poor farmers who lived to the southwest of Pinnath Gelin and to the east of Dol Amroth. Good men, though, and hard-working. At any rate, the land they lived in is called Andrast, and that is why, I assume, Ecthelion mentioned it earlier. It is that small peninsula and the land surrounding the western side of the westerly arm of the Ered Nimrais. It is very lightly populated, and we have noticed that many of the people living there have moved further inward to Gondor.
Elrond: I move that we send scouts to Andrast. They will scout the region between the River Isen and the end of the Ered Nimrais.
Iltyran: I second the motion.
Fundin (a dwarf): I third it.
Elrond: Very well. Thengel, your company of scouts is to join a company of Gondorian scouts.

I found I was to leave the next day. After the council, I strolled back to my room, taking time to let the wonderful smells sink in. They were not of hay, or horses, like in my home, but of flowers, of fruits, and of paradise. I was certain that the Elves took a little piece of Valinor with them wherever they went. It was sad, that such a people of wonder and brilliance, could be filled with such sadness. The face of the Elves (as a collective group) is like the face of a weary traveller, wearing a sad smile that somewhat veiled the grief they felt. It was sad when anyone good died, but for Elves it was even more sad, for, though men are in the process of finding themselves for a long time, Elves have found themselves and are doomed to a life among children, an eternal life where they know much more than others, and weep at how others can be so foolish at times. Somehow, though, it seemed like their duty was like a father’s, to guide and to punish, and to be the first one to weep in sad times, and the first one to smile in good times. The minds of the Elves puzzled me, though. What kept them here in Middle-Earth? To guide us children, in hopes of a better day in which they can leave? Why did they not head back to Valinor, to talk with the Valar and the Elves’ kinsmen.
At any rate, I walked through the forest back towards my quarters, to read a little bit until the evening meal. As I was rounding an edge, I heard soft noises coming from the woods to my right. I walked silently towards the sound, over the lawn which stood between the path and the woods. I peeked into the forest to see there, before me in a small grove, two figures. They looked to be a she-elf and a man. With a little focusing, I could make out Thorongil and Arwen, Elrond’s beautiful daughter. They were sitting on a chair, Thorongil holding Arwen in his arms. The scene was both lovely and sad at the same time, for Arwen was softly sobbing, and Thorongil was trying to comfort her with whispered Elvish.
She eventually ceased her crying, and said to Thorongil, ” must you once again go off to war and leave me here?”
“I must help the Rohirrim. You know that. Every day I am gone I will be praying to the Valar that I may come back to see your face once again.”
“You need not worry about me.” she answered. “I will stay here, in anguish, waiting for you to return that I might be with you for the rest of our lives.”
“That is just it, my lady. If you pursue a life with me here in Middle-Earth, you will forfeit your life that has been promised to you.”
Arwen thought a little bit, then answered, “ I would rather be with you for a man’s lifetime than with any immortal man for the rest of eternity.”
“Do not worry about me.” he said softly. “The thought of seeing you again will warm me more than any medicine.”
The dinner bell rang. I decided to leave these two alone, but seeing Thorongil with Arwen was interesting. Then it came to me. On the way to Edoras, Thorongil had said that he had been in Rivendell. It was clear as the nose on my face! During his time here, Thorongil had obviously gotten to know Arwen. It was still a bit strange, though. An elf princess and a Rohirrim soldier from the North? But soon, my thoughts were interrupted as I ran into someone and fell backwards. I looked up and saw an elf-maiden, also sitting on the ground, who looked rather bewildered. Apparently I had knocked her books out of her hand when I ran into her, for books lay on the lawn next to her. I instantly apologized. “I’m so sorry, milady. What can I do to make it up to you?” I was already scooping up her books. She shyly said, “Thank you, kind sir. I don’t need anything.” She took the books and slowly smiled. “Allow me to introduce myself, madam.” I said quickly. “ I am Celegal, a scout of King Thengel, and I have been brought here for the council.”
The girl answered, “And I am Manwathiel, and my father is the weapons instructor here. He trains all of the young soldiers. Very nice to meet you, Mister Celegal. Would you like to eat with me at the evening meal?”
I managed to sputter, ”I would enjoy that more than anything, milady. “
She was beautiful, to say the least. Her flaxen, golden hair shimmered in the sunlight and contrasted with her light grey eyes. Her voice sounded as clear and sweet as a mountain stream. She walked slowly and quietly, but with an air of confidence. She mostly talked while I plodded behind her and stammering. Eventually we made it to the hall, and I was glad to have some food to clear my nerves. The food was good, but being with her made all the more sweet. She laughed and smiled as we talked. In her I did not see as much of the sadness that the other elves had. The evening grew late, however, and I grew tired.
“Milady, it has been a pleasure spending this evening. However, I am to go on the scouting party tomorrow, so I must have rest.
Her face grew sad, but she answered, “When you come back from the trip, will I see you again?” I managed to say, “I surely hope so.”
I walked back to my quarters slowly, estatic but sad. That had been one of the best evenings of my life! What could make me fall for an elf maiden, though? Needless to say, I could not wait to get back from the trip. Back in the quarters I read some old tales about Beren and Thingol and many other people who lived in Beleriand, and of Elendil and Elros. Sometimes I wished I lived back in those times. Then again, sometimes I didn’t. They seemed to be very sad, with the elves slaying each other as the shadow of Morgoth loomed over them. For now, I was happy being a soldier in the Rohirrim cavalry.

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The next morning I woke and washed my face. The water was sweet and cool, and it seemed to bring life to my parched brow. The breakfast was honey over lembas with bacon and the juice of Elrond’s best orchards. Manwathiel was not there, so my meal was lonely and quiet. The other soldiers had not gotten up yet, just my company and a company of Gondorian scouts under a man named Silduin. He was proud and strong, sometimes letting his pride get in the way of his common sense. Before the sun rose, when the vale was still dark, we left. A few who had gotten up early waved good bye to us, wishing us well and to keep safe. The elves gave us extra lembas and clothes before we left. The clothes were strangely light, but warm and manuverable. We left the city with our heads held high, looking proud and brave, but, at least for my part, I was feeling sad and hoping I would return. I had found love of a sort, and it had held me fast, begging me not to leave, but I could not disobey my King. Before us to the south lay danger and mystery, waiting to ensnare us and keep us from the ones we held dear.

Authors note: I believe this is probably the worst chapter I have done so far, I was just trying to get this whole Rivendell council thing over with. The deal with Manwathiel was not made to imitate the Beren/Luthien or Aragorn/Arwen relationships in any way, this is just the way things worked out. Plus, I was having trouble finding stuff to fill the gap. I know the council was rather lame, I’ll come up with something better on the return to Imladris. Just bear with me and the story will get better. Thanks.