Indilzar and the Lay of Hirluin

Crossing of Poros, N. Bank

The cool and dry South Road cuts into the tall grass of South Ithilien to the north, and leads to a ford across the River Poros to the south. Another small dirt lane heads off to the northwest towards distant Gondor.

The Poros is wide and looks shallow enough for easy passage--though in midstream you see the remains of several wagons which disrupt the flow of the river. The ruins of what was once a great bridge lays tumbled on the banks and in the riverbed, and the remains of the bridge\'s foundation still sits intact on both the north and south banks. Across the river you can see, nestled in among the thin low scrub trees, are many tents and pavillions of the Narakshi tribe.

The murky sky is overcast and dreary. The late afternoon winter air is cool and dry around you.

Contents:

Morwenn

Gondorian Encampment

Obvious exits:

South, North, and NorthWest

Thingalad stands at the shore of the river looking south this dreary afternoon. The scout looks better than he did last night after returning from his foray, but all the same, his face is dark as a mood is upon him this day.

Against the river, Morwen seems to lose inches from her size and appears smaller than she is. \"Thingalad?\" she asks tentatively from behind and to his left. \"Is everything well?\"

Thingalad looks over at Morwen, startled out of his revelry. \"You have not heard the ill news that our general has fallen? I slept last night not knowing it until this morning...\" He shakes his head sadly.

\"I have been... do you mean Lord Phazganun?\" Morwen\'s brow furrows, as if she is recalling something only half-heard. \"I did hear, but it did not quite stick in my brain we were so busy...\"

It is a lame explanation, and she lets it die naturally. \"What will happen now?\" she asks, her expression sad and a little afraid.

\"Militarily speaking, the command will likely fall to Gurtir or Bor...\" Thingalad shrugs and then adds, \"I am only a scout, but I have a certain skill with verse. I am considering a lay in honor of the ganeral and his final battle.\"

\"A fine tribute that would be,\" Morwen says, but she seems distracted. \"To Gurtir or to Bor? Do you mean the Bragollach from Dol Amroth?\"

Thingalad nods slowly. \"If I had my choice, I would choose the Black Knight. Even I have heard of him and he has been a great war captain in the past... Last night his counsel was wise and would serve us well in the future in this endeavor.\"

\"Yes, all of Gondor has heard of him,\" Morwen agrees thoughtfully. \"But will he stay? He has been long away, and his house in disarray while he wandered. Perhaps Bor would challenge him for such an honor.\"

Thingalad laughs without humor and shakes his head. \"My lady, tell me of your work. I grow tired of war and politics and it would ease my heart if you would share with me your chores.\"

\"What would you know?\" Bemused by the change in topic, Morwen thinks for a moment, her eyes on the water flowing past. \"Most often I am engaged in small things. I wash soiled bandages, or keep water boiling and carry it into the pavilion. But when we are busiest, I help to keep wounds from bleeding too heavily, or I clean them so that they might be stitched and bandaged. I help grind herbs and fetch preparations for the healers.\"

She grows quiet then, and looks at her hands. \"When I have no duties, I most often sit with men in pain, who simply long to hear a soft voice. I tell them stories from my books, or write letters for them to their loved ones in Gondor. I... a man died once while I held his hand, and I pretended to be his mother, for so he thought me to be. I think it pleased him...\"

Thingalad nods slowly at each point, especially the last as Morwen recounts the last moments of the soldier. \"That was kind of you to do. I hope that if I were in such a bad place that there would be one there to sooth my hurts as well with kind words and a gentle touch.\"

With blushing cheeks, Morwen smiles a little. \"If I could, I would not let any man die alone,\" she says. \"I would not let you die alone, I swear it, not if I were near enough.\"

Thingalad smiles a little as well and touches the lady\'s hand briefly as he stands beside her.

\"Careful,\" she chides teasingly. \"Someone may report such boldness to my father.\"

Thingalad looks properly chided as he nods and steps away, leaving a good three feet betweem himself and Morwen. \"You looked unsteady and I thought you needed help staying upright.\" He winks.

\"Yes, of course.\" Morwen lifts her face and looks out over the river again. \"It must have been something once, this place. When there was peace.\"

\"The riparian zones would have been quite lush I expect as well as any other areas that were properly irrigated.\" Thingalad looks out across the landscape, imagining what would be needed. \"Those stones over there... Maybe remains of an aquaduct constructed by our Numenorean forebearers... And these gullies leading to the river... Perhaps irrigation canals long unused and eroded away.\"

\"I wish I could have seen it. I wish I had known Gondor as it was, not as it is now with all my father\'s wispy dreams of its greatness.\" For the first time, there is bitterness in the way she speaks of Phallanath.

Thingalad looks at Morwen and shakes his head. \"Do not be bitter, my lady. It does not suit you. Remember as well the tales of our ancestors. Gondor as it was and Numenor before it in their glories were great and mighty, but decadent as well.\" The scout shrugs.

She sighs, and smiles at Thingalad. \"It is hard to feel optimistic when faced with such a battle as looms before us, all to try and hold on to what little is left to us,\" Morwen says, passing a hand over her eyes. \"It feels so futile from inside the healers\' tents.\"

\"To that I have no answer.\" Thingalad sucks in some air and then lets out his breath as he looks out again in silence.

\"Don\'t you?\" Morwen sounds almost angry as she looks at the man beside her. \"You are one who will go forth to face death, and you have no answer at all? What will be in your heart when you march out there against the Haradrim?\"

Thingalad looks over at Morwen again with a grim look on his face. \"You misunderstand. I cannot cure your feelings of futility with mere words, but I do not think our efforts here are futile. The husband of your namesake was captured and all his men slaughtered, thus allowing their homes to be overrun and their women and kinfolk to be enslaved. Some would call their deaths a futile gesture, but the Dunedain remember and call Hurin \'the Steadfast\' as they honor his memory. Can we do no less than follow his example?\"

\"No, of course not,\" she concedes, sighing again and seeming to deflate somehow. \"I just want to feel there is a reason. All the songs and the verses--like the one you will compose--make it seem as if war is glorious and honorable. And it is, I know, but not as they make it out. It is bloody and horrible and full of pain.\"

\"It will not be glorious and honorable. It will be tragic and bloody, just as he fell.\" Thingalad nods with serious intent.

A gentle cadence upsets the sands by the river: from the west approaches a horseman, donned in the Swan\'s heraldry. At length, his steed\'s trot carries him aside the gathered twain there halting, he bows his head without word.

Some kindness marks the features beneath his helm.--Suddenly, even, the bends of a grin.

\"Good.\" There is a strange ferocity in Morwen\'s voice--a tint of Phallanath, some might say. \"It should be true, not made romantic and ridiculous.\" Her eyes gleam momentarily with some inner fire, and then she is looking up at Arathis on his steed and bending her head.

Thingalad bends his head as well to the horseman and calls out, \"Good day to you, my lord.\"

\"Hail, friends!\"

The call falls readily from the Lord Isilrim, twined by the same gladness alight upon his visage. Yet, considering the gaze of the Lady, his own comes to soon narrow, drifting askance to the river.

He allows a moment of silence, broken then by the buds of a chuckle: \"By Osse, may you two soon know these waters without doubt.\"

\"It would be sweet to,\" Morwen says in agreement, shading her eyes with her hand as she looks up. \"And without much loss of our own lives. Valar take the Haradrim!\" Again, that ferocity, strangely not alien to her feminine features.

\"I know the water well, my lord.\" Thingalad nods and recounts, \"But the other day, the Black Knight and I swam through the deeper parts of the river and scouted for signs of the Lord Prince Elphir\'s army amid the remains of the battle.\"

From the encampment comes two figures -- knights in fact. They both wear the tokens of the House Bragollach. One is clearly older and to those who know Indilzar Elros Bragollach would not say that age has slowed his movements or removed the deadly gleam from his eyes: A youthful gleam of war.

Yet atop his destrier, the Knight forsakes its reins, employing a hand in a calm raise towards Morwenn. \"Good Lady of Gondor,\" he offers first in reply, \"Our battle is not our own. To the Valar we are sworn the Windlord\'s avians heed us, and we shall observe our duty.

\"But nay, covet none life before the Valar\'s ends. For it is service to oneself that darkens the heart of a Southron.\"

A nod then to the Scout: \"Aye. Any word of the Prince? He has been too long removed.\" The sentence ends in regard to the approaching twain again, a gladness marks the Isilrim.

\"I have reason enough to revile the Southrons and wish them ill,\" Morwen says with an unrepentant shrug. She seems about to say something more when she spies the approaching men. But it is not at them she looks indeed, she looks around and beyond them, for something--or someone?--else.

And the younger, the Knight-Captain Bor, whose steps lead him to the very banks of the Poros as he peers across it on sharpened eye. He looks to Indilzar.

\"It was ever meant to be here that we would submit ourselves to the judgements of the Valar. Here is a river, a source of life, and it is here that we shall affirm its function or paint it red with our blood,\" he says to the other.

Thingalad falls silence, though he gives the newcomers a nod. Glancing over at Morwen as the talk shifts to the will of the Valar, he listens, but says nothing of his own thoughts.

Indilzar laughs and says, \"My dear knight-captain. That is a worthy turn of phrase. Almost worthy of a Girithlin. Of course I mean that in the kindest way.\"

He pauses and looks toward Arathis, \"That knight on yonder steed,\" says Indilzar to Bor. \"He must be akin to Sirion the Younger of Dol Amroth -- for he has his face like a mirrored image. I have not seen him before.\"

With an air of disappointment, Morwen looks toward Bor. \"The Valar have not taken active interest in our affairs since Numenor sank beneath the waves. How can we now do their will if we have had no indication of it at all?\"

\"Nay, Kinsman: let us be the judgment of the Valar. It is not ours to affirm such works, but to carry our Oaths in their service. Alas, should Ulmo call upon the blood of Men, we shall hear of it our deliverance.

\"Lady, that you sit upon the northern banks of the Poros, in company to the Men of Gondor sworn to Them, is indication enough.\"

So speaks the Lord Isilrim his words spaced yet by an alloy of cheer and governance.

\"May I present Arathis Lord Isilrim,\" says Bor to Indilzar, gesturing towards the mounted Knight. \"Your eyes do not deceive you.\"

Thingalad leans close to the lady with whom he was conversing before and mentions a point in a low voice, \"East meets west...\"

Then does the Knight-Captain turn back to Morwen and his eyes catch her every move, and the moves of those who surround her. He says nothing.

Instead, he turns back to gaze across the Poros.

\"Ah,\" says Indilzar. \"I see. The Lord Isilrim. I would speak with him for my great great grandsire was Geletros Incano Isilrim and I have always had good relations with that folk.\"

He approaches Arathis.

\"And never the twain shall meet?\" Morwen asks Thingalad, a trifle sadly as she catches the Knight-Captain\'s gaze and holds it until he has shifted it past her. \"Lord Indilzar,\" she says suddenly. \"You do not have Huan with you today?\"

\"Ah Morwen,\" says Indilzar. \"You have but to call him and if he wants to, he will come. He has uncanny hearing, even in this noisome place.\"

\"Scout, you speak among brothers. The stealth of your Grove is unneeded.\" The comment rides flatly, in volume well above a whisper.

Then, in fluid heed of his name, Arathis departs the saddle of his destrier. The same movement pivots him in regard of Indilzar. Bowing his helmed head, he speaks: \"Hail, Swansman! Are you then the Black Knight the camp speaks of?\"

\"So I am called at times,\" says Indilzar. He crosses his arms over his chest and inclines his head, \"but I am perhaps known better as Indilzar, son of Indilkhor of the House Bragollach and was Knight Marshall when you had just entered the squirehood. I must say you have grown strong -- like your father and how I remember him on the Walls of Umbar during the Second Haradraic War.\"

Thingalad looks close at Indilzar, ignoring comments about brotherhood and groves as he asks further, \"The second war was in what year, my lord? I heard tales of such wars in my boyhood from errand riders. I lived alone with my mother and heard little of such things until I was sent to be fostered by my uncle.\"

A smile flashes over Morwen\'s face, one that passes over Bor and lights her eyes to brilliance. \"Huaaaaa-aaaaannnn!\" she calls, a musical little sing-song that is not so loud as to carry to unwanted ears over the river.\"

Indilzar ponders this question for a moment, \"It would have been in the year 3005. Sirion the Younger was there. He was a young knight and we were squires together. His father, Sirion the Elder, was my Knight when I was a squire, though later ills befell him and I was transferred to Lord Aranthor.\"

Indilzar laughs, \"Sirion, he also was quite a poet you know. He wrote at least two lays that I know of -- one was on the Siege of Pelargir and the other on one of Harad Wars. Bloated pieces you know, but they were good enough for a fighting man. He was always of a mind that a good knight was one who did not just know the way of the sword, but also the arts of peace. I of course had other opinions.\"

The Lord Isilrim bows again in heed of the Black Knight.

\"Your words are kind, Lord Indilzar.\" What kindness bent his visage flattens at the talk of his father, giving way to his stone wont his hand removes to the pommel of his line\'s blade. Thus he remains silent for some moments, gaze floating in consideration of the West.

After Indilzar is done, he speaks: \"By Ulmo, perchance we shall see those walls again.\"

Thingalad looks intrigued by the remembrances of Indilzar and he listens raptly, nodding at the details of wars and battles he has heard of and read about, but rarely learned about through firsthand accounts.

Whither the Knight-Captain hears the speech that passes around him is unclear, for his eyes are wholly to the south. Then, at once, he turns.

\"Indilzar, join me when you can. I go to make preparations.\"

\"I swore an oath many years ago,\" says Indilzar. \"To raze Umbar to the ground and rake its earth with salt so that nothing will grow there again.\" He suddenly laughs and says, \"Of course, I still have to work on that.\"

\"As you decide Knight-Captain,\" says Indilzar. \"My sword will be sharpened for the affair.\"

\"The Sons of our Late Marshall are bound by the same Oath,\" answers Arathis, gaze affixed upon the Black Knight.

\"I should be about my duties,\" Morwen says regretfully, looking away from the knights and focusing on Thingalad. \"Be well, won\'t you? And give Huan a pat for me if he turns up. He is a most remarkable dog.\" She makes all three a curtsy and takes her leave, striding back for the pavilion of the healers with her proud head held high.

Thingalad bows to Morwen. \"Good evening to you, my lady. I will do so.\"

\"Then our purposes are one Arathis son of Sirion,\" replies Indilzar.

\"Yet,\" says Indilzar. \"I do not think we have the strength to complete our purpose. Not yet. We first must extricate Elphir and then remove ourselves from this dessert land. Thence, we could take other counsels in Gondor.\"

Thingalad nods at this counsel, though as a a scout, he has nothing to add.

A crisp nod is given to Indilzar, issued in the burden of silence. Indeed, for some moments, it would seem as if the Lord Isilrim had steeled, the somber temper of stone claiming him. All that moves is his hand, revolving upon the ancient pommel of Inalatandil.

When his tongue answers, it is wry: \"Forgive me, Lord Indilzar I must ride. I shall find you soon again, if you permit me such honor.\"

With this, and a nod to both Knight and Scout, the Lord Isilrim makes to depart.

\"Farewell Scion of Solitar,\" says Indilzar with an upraised hand. \"May no evil find thee.\"

Indilzar turns to Thingalad, \"All of this speech has gotten me reminiscent I suppose. I almost feel like reciting some poetry -- I must be getting old!\"

Thingalad smiles. \"My bits of verse are mere doggerel that I share now and then over the campfire. I cannot say anyone appreciates it besides myself.\"

Arathis passes the guards, and enters the encampment.

\"Very well,\" says Indilzar. \"Tell me what type of verse you have written?\"

Thingalad looks slightly flushed at having to describe it. \"It rhymes. It\'s usually a few lines in a stanza. I usually use a scheme that is AABB or AAB depending on what inspires me.\"

Indilzar asks, \"What are some of you subjects?\"

\"The other day at the parlay, I came up with a short little parody of the scene with our people in their armor and helms facing off with the Southrons, though I was not able to finish the rhyme. It was only a couple of stanzas. Before that, I came up with a short piece about the tribulations of our healers on the trail.\"

\"How delightful for the healers,\" says Indilzar. \"They scarcely get credit for what they do. Did you read any of it to them?\"

\"They were received with general merriment, yes.\" Thingalad nods slowly as he phrases that a certain way and then adds, \"Aside from that effort, I have nothing else of any length. Our battles with the Haradrim I hope to memorialize with something of substance.\"

\"I think I could recite to you,\" says Indilzar. \"One of two pieces. The first is non-rhyming verse concerning the Siege of Pelargir some years ago. The other, is about the Quest to free Hirluin from the Southrons.\"

Thingalad smiles. \"I would be well pleased to hear anything you have to offer, my lord.\"

Indilzar says, \"Then I shall recite the Lay of Hirluin, for it is more near to me now with Elphir in trouble. Also... I like it better.\"

Thingalad nods and looks receptive as he folds his hands and listens.

Of the Capture of Hirluin the Fair

The purple banners in breeze flew
Over white towers manned by few
In lonely Pelargir by the sea,
Now held under deadly siege.
By foes of the west dire and black
And greatly was their wont to sack
that mighty city on river quay,
Pelargir mighty might have fallen that day,
t\'were it not for the deeds of some,
Who at Angbor\'s behest did come:
Angiest proud, Hurin dauntless,
Sirion Marshall with blue crest.
Yet chief of these that held the day
was Hirluin the Fair as sunlit ray
might be to those manly handful,
who saw hope in the Fair until,
Darkness came on watery wings
and the steel glittering meshed with rings
\'gainst iron sword of Umbar making
came to Pelargir in hopes creating
chaos of their enemies in the North
seeking that they may come not forth
\'gain to open war and Gondor\'s
folk sold enslaved who not would swore
to the Shadow of whom they did serve,
in worship hateful and with ferve.
In the melee dire by the quay,
Came Hirluin to that doomed fray,
where the blood ran thick as the smoke
of Orodruin, whose clouds choke
Mount Doom: the hopes of the West
will fall yet and though the Fair be best.
Yet he be on those white walls bound
by countless cruel hands which sound
proud beastly horns for all to hear
Hirluin was caught, and all felt fear
that doom was nigh as the banners of Fire,
came foreboding fate most Dire.
To be be taken to the burning south,
Far away from Anduin\'s mouth
to Umbar town of Corsair home,
far away from the rich loam
of Pinath Gelin of which from
Hirluin\'s the Fair\'s might did come.
Yet in torment did he languish
in dungeons deep not to finish
his moveless fate in fair Gondor,
among green Gelin\'s trees hoar.
Of the Council of Imrahil and the Number of the Company
Yet still o\'er Pelargir flag flies
Of Tree amid the sunlit skies.
Yet that tale is in other lore told,
Of the deeds of great Gondor bold
And cast back the Mordor yoke,
that sought to trample and choke
that fair land nigh the Anduin
And battle that there in grim din
Claiming many brave lives ere all
was to tell. Such was the fall
of Mordor\'s dark and dreary host
When they fell few and manly most.
Yet now know in those after days,
When the sunlit and moonlit rays,
Returned to merry Anduin,
Came the news in the joyful din
of poor hapless Hirluin\'s fate.
Caught in a snare of the black hate
of Umbar town in shackles beheld
no longer to roam on the fair field
no more. Now that prince that noble
blood, no taint or stain or sable
thought be in that fair frame. Call
Council in fair Belfalas of fall
of Hirluin in Pelargir
to contrive rescue without fear
of that dauntless man. Such plan
was wrought in the Swan Knightly Clan
to go by stealth and secret skill
in disguise, but not bound to kill
rather to rescue by stealthy
wit, Hirluin the man mighty.
Such now we number those of the quest.
Selected by Imrahil was his best
for in that Prince was no nobler man
thought where the true blood elven
still courses through the strong veins
in fair Dol Amroth. Where none fains
battle and honor or quest perilous
seeking that which is most glorious
to defend that noble blood and Tree
in that land nigh mouths of the Sea.
Leader of this quest was of Kin
known as Lord Sema Isilrim
Sirion by name, of hand shorn
whilst wandering in lands forlorn.
His title was Marshall of Thanes
of the Noble Swans of many names.
Yea a Girthilin was too to go,
Amarthion the fierce, the foe
of all who brood in dark light
He who sought relief from night
of his Lord of Old, Thorondor
a mighty man, thane of Gondor.
Next in name was Hirluin\'s kin,
Erindil valiant lord, Pinnath Gelin
was his home. Young and valiant,
the fullness of manhood and salient,
For love\'s sake travel did go he
So that his uncle may be free.
Next in number was Ravenwyr,
No friend to foe, no stranger to fear.
Yet by fickle fate: a strange hand,
picked him to join this noble band.
Sent by Hurin, Ward of the Keys,
he went to Amroth by the Sea.
Away in the east from Ithilien,
came Celebhir the Grey, valiant of men,
knowledgeble in the hunt and chase,
they are like none other race
An almost Elf-folk in the forest,
is Celebhir Silverfoot at the test.
And then was Khanor of the elite,
Trained not for war but for effete
learning and skills, southern ways,
of their evils along their quays,
Sent was he by Hurin too,
On mission known by rare few.
Two Knights too were on this quest,
Of the Thanes, swift, the best
and hand picked for peril in the waste,
For the journey was sure with haste
Landros of Linhir was the first,
Findraff Fell-hand who foes had cursed.
Of the Camfaroth and the Sea Journey
The ship was set, the waters blue,
The men of heart, all were true
Who sailed on that sure ship to the south,
Far away from Anduin\'s mouth
Would \'The Hand that Pursues\' speed,
Away from mirth, away from mead,
of fair northlands beneath the sun,
Camfaroth was disguised as one
of the merchant ships that sailed
alone in those watery ways never failed
its mission. In storm or shadow
never sunk never hindered in row
brought them across those wide bare bays
Away from magic, away from fays
to the mortalest mortal realm
in the world. Where black is the helm,
and crooked the swords, of dark Umbar,
Where death is quick and never far.
Came they then disguised in garment,
Of merchants of the firmament.
Outcasts of Gondor were they to be,
unjustly cast to their lot in the sea.
Of Umbar and Namir
And so on a soft silken day
when the washing waves lapped the quay
of Umbar, Camfaroth swift came
As one to look as if the same
A merchant folk with fine, fair goods
From afar, from nether wild woods.
And as they shewed those wares away
softly searching for a secret way
to the Fire Tower where resides,
Hirluin in languish. There hides
torment and despair. Man on man
what willful and worse a sin can
be contrived? Yet even ere search
could be sent. And to elm, and birch
could they return.
Namir came, Lord
was he tall and grim and untoward
to those of mighty Northern race
those who with Dunland besieged that place
not long reckoning of the Southrons
was that. Even sinister Sauron\'s
land was not so much as hated
as was Gondor, in Umbar fated
to be bitter foes till the last day.
So quoth Namir to Sirion:
\"Ho there One-Hand! Where be ye from?
Light is thine skin and eyes are fair
as if from the Norlands who would dare
face us in war. Speak now be sure,
and tell us all thou know and more.\"

Indilzar pauses and says with a shudder, \"Namir...\"

And Sirion with a contrived smile,

forced a swift and full denile,
\"From Norlands we come that is certain
but we are outcasts among those men
forever victims of injustice that be
forced now to sail on the silent sea.\"
Namir then smiled and said he,
\"Bravely thou art to sail the sea.
What are thy names? To one and all.
Eight I see here perhaps too tall
to be sons of traders from afar,
or even outcasts of Gondor.

Thingalad listens with great attention to the unfolding tale in verse.

Sirion then said in voice lilting,

\"I am Vorn captain of sailing
ship. Outcast I am with Eran
and Amar from Pelargir\'s clan
This is Ravenwyr my first mate
who sudden chance has brought by fate
to Umbar before. Here is Makhar
merchant of fine goods from afar
and Luken the Simple sturdy boy
who is with the women never coy.
And here is Lanny and Finny,
From the north in forgotten city
are they, now turned to the soft sea
to forget woes to he and he.\"
And Lord Namir laughed long and long:
\"Tell me oh captain by all the song
of Numenor what do you bring?
Perhaps bright and magical rings?
Or slaves from the north lost in war
Come now by fate to poor Umbar
where they will weep forever
to see the cold lands again never.\"
And Sirion spoke in plain voice grim:
\"Cloth from north of Rohirrim
bring we, to sell to thine proud folk,
and those that lay under thy yoke.
The darkling skinned Haradrim.
They are said to be even more grim,
than my mate here if that may be,
even that I can scarcely believe.\"
To which Lord Namir replied,
\"Fine and fine but first simple tithe
of thine cargo will be to me
given so thee from raiders that be
lurking in the shadows free.
and sell thy wares and not cower
may\'st come even to mine tower
and see their all of mine power
perhaps some cloth then may need I
to wear on such beach by and by.\"
To this Sirion swiftly agreed
and soon enough they were freed
to wander that black-hearted town
where ne\'er a person is without frown
in misery abject. This indeed
they could see. An evil, the seed
of Sauron\'s lies long ago
ere the world was bent or laid low
Numenor.
Yet even in these thoughts,
There at quays end stood man who wrought
Sorrow unto Umbar. He was tall
and perfect of face. Once at his call
was men mighty, they were clad in green
and their swords of steel were a-sheen.
Such was Pinnath Gelin\'s prince
yet languishing in Umbar since
the sorrowful Siege of Pelargir.
Now those of Camfaroth saw him here
Hirluin the fair, of lordship shorn,
shackled with chains and forlorn
watching the distant sun sorrowed
waning in the west. Now furrowed
his brow as he sat by the shore
Unknown to him who from the core
of Gondor\'s finest men came
in disguise wearing foreign hame.
Yet now the party knew new hope
for he lived in a state few may cope
such as a caged bird in confines
narrow. Yet he lived and such times
may come to free him yet
though he be enmeshed in the net
of Namir the Cruel. Now plans were laid
for rescue and daring but fate had made
other plans for Prince Hirluin
Lord mighty of Pinnath Gelin.
Of the Freedom of Hirluin
In Umbar in the days of dawn
when Numenor yet was sworn
to goodness and wholsome air,
and Meneltarma yet was fair.
The city was wholsome and free.
Yet now black fills the sea
and the maidens weep
as the black land sweeps
about the world in a din of evil.
Yet even in these later days until
the ending of time strange deeds
may be done by foes who heed
the strength of Glorious Gondor.
For what more than fear for
Hirluin\'s kingdom could have mended fate
from Namir, cruel lord, in that town of hate.
Who secretly knew that party by sights
as none other than the dauntless knights
of Dol Amroth. Quaked he in cringing fear
at the sight, and also he shed a tear
knowing what hurt and vengeance may be done
to his people in that lost land neath the sun.
So it was Sirion came to the tower
of Flame. And saw there the frail power
of Namir\'s hand. A darkling deal was struck
not by gallant deed but by the luck
cast by the die of fate. Greed and gold
it was that unyieldy sword. Not bold
or gallant deeds of doughty mighty men.
Through fearful forest thick or ancient fen.
A price was set on Hirluin\'s head,
that he be taken for treasure and lead
away from dark and dusky Umbar town
to return to his regal, royal crown.
So fickle Umbar would sell a man
for the gold rather than quake in their land
of fear of the might of Gondor aroused
not to be dimmed in dark unlight, not doused
but full aflame in eager ardor,
to be squashed and ended but never.
(To this Ravenwyr gave wisely counsel,
\"It would be better than a bitter loss
to pay this petty tithe and away toss
blandful and useless daring deeds
that may end us all once and forever,
give then that courage and not sever
our chance to escape in full glory
to have Hirluin is our victory.)
So the deal was struck and the exchange made
Greedful gold for man met, and plan was laid
to leave that dark city Umbar swifly,
yet bitter betrayal is more oftenly
occur there than honored loyalty
and the trust and fragile fealty
was snapped like sticks. The folk of Umbar
roused were they as if in a December
storm. Blackful, baleful and thick they came
and soon the party of merchant hame
were chased in the sea by wicked corsairs,
come now quick from their evil lurking lairs.
Of the Destruction of the Camfaroth and the Overland Escape
Ah the sunny sea, the sound that saves,
the sound to which the soul calmly claves,
the sound that calls one to the shored shells,
resounding clear as many fair bells.
Now the party with the Fair in tow
sought to escape swiftly without row
from Umbar city by the swift sea,
yet this escape was not fated to be.
For the corsairs came as a black storm
to catch to kill sound they the harsh horns
of the kill, of the hunt of dark death.
And so unto the reefs they droveth
the Hand that Pursues fell into the deep
never to sail again until the sleep
upon kings ends to scour Arda of foe
forever from fairy to east unto
the singing is done of the last song.
To those quiet shores, those long and long
beaches of sand, dry and hot were they
high was the sun upon that doomed day,
when they emerged as wizzened wet rats
yet all still lived though not quite as fat
perhaps as those few mighty might be
had they stayed by Amroth nigh the sea.
Stranded in desert they were in gloom
as if trapped within a dusty tomb.
Truly t\'were it not for Celebhir,
Ranger excell, and dark Ravenwyr,
who in tongue enlisted the desert folk
to their side. Who would shake the hated yoke
of their urbane, fell and cruel masters.
So thence they did give heed and mustered
strength enough to show Celebhir the path
that crossed the desert as a bloody swath.
And though the lonely leagues be long and long
and the hopeless hunt be hot, not in song
or merry mirth would they ever be
until they reached Anduin nigh the sea.
In days ere man yet walked proudly the mould
and elven kinlings were young and bold,
a fierce monster, a rare race, a black breed,
that still lingers as if a soulless seed,
of strange beasts baleful in the wild waste.
Yet even in the party\'s swift haste,
they came upon one of these creatures wild
Roaming the desert as a child
forlorn. Mighty Mumakil it is called,
and indeed it was mammoth and tall.
Its tusks were sharp and ivory white,
it shoulders were three mighty men of height
and its mouth dripped in blushing fierce foam
seeking the death of those from the loam.
Lo! The great deed that day was done aright
Erindil Telpekhor, Prince of Might
faced down that monstrous baleful beast
not would any Gondor-man be a feast
for its mouth. But rather be a carpet
on which to trample. It was parapet
when the sword of Erindil in dismay
swept clean that fated, that doomed day
and down came he with bitter sharp stroke,
the party and all that folk laid it waste,
but Erindil was the chief one of hate
of that dire creature. Tossed as a bale
of new sown hay. That hardy and hale
warrior\'s strength did eb as his blood
seeped from his body like a flash flood.
Hear! Yet t\'were it not so to avail
for the beast\'s own heart did falter and fail.
And so with renewed, resown, heartfelt hope
they left, not to be mirthless and mope
by those washed, withered, and wasted ways
and at last they found the sure, swift, true path
with Erindil bearing a proudly swath
of Mumakil scars. At length the Last
bridge they came to the final task
and in open arms gladly met Anduin.
Ah Anduin, Anduin what be thy ways?
Ye who have been since the dawn of days.
What secrets ye keep, what desires ye hold,
of poor peasantry and mighty man bold?
So they crossed with caution and kissed the white
ground gladly of that righteous realm of might,
Gondor. Gondor land of the stern stone.
Gondor, whose swinging swords were hone
as sharp bitter knives, as tough as bone
Is that mighty land of Tree and Stone.

You say, \"Poor Erindil..\"

Listen! And there in fair feast at long last

was the party commended for their task
and upraised were they with honor rare
for to them went the medal of Murazor
and to Ravenwyr honor from afar
for to him went promotion \'mongst other things
and love of Lynnthia the fair maid
who then gladly blissful plans were laid
Of their long and lawful love to eachother.
And Erindil, ah Erindil the valiant,
from that hardy hale house most salient
Telpekhor. To thee calls the knighthood
yet to Celebhir, promised brotherhood
of Sirion to he and to Ravenwyr
and all else who now gathered here to hear.
And the people sang in honor and praise
to their valiant deeds gallant. Upraised
were they in that fair land by the sea,
awaiting a new quest and to be free
to show honor and love to proud Gondor,
always uphold these few from afar.
Epilogue
Gondor, Gondor nigh the sea,
what proud land art thee!
Bastion of strength, herald grim,
thee that fights to the last din.
For freedom from foes of the west,
to challenge to honor to show the best
of the western world. Come now and hear
the sea? What paths will bring thee
to such gladness and goodness and happy days
to see the king return and with it praise
of the Folk who fought until the last,
the proud folk who took the task.
Of Gondor, weep ye not for here
are heroes. Shed not a lament or tear.
--Fini--

Indilzar ends, \"It is as I said. A bombastic piece and hard to follow. Still, I remember most of it. I wish I could recall the tale of the Dragon Helm or the Sword Quest -- those pieces though were written by Feagrim of Pelargir and I know not if they were put to print.\"

Evening has turned into full night as Indilzar finishes and Thingalad nods slowly at the conclusion of the tale. \"Bombastic, but still most impressive. I am in awe that such a tale could be put into verse.\"

\"Then one day you should hear the verse of the Children of Hurin, or the Lay of Leithien that concerns Beren and Luthien,\" says Indilzar. \"Yet only the Elves can sing them rightly.\"

Thingalad frowns and nods. \"Someday perhaps, though it is unlikely. In my home, we often heard tales of the white witch and her tricks in the golden forests north of Rohan...\"

Indilzar smiles and says, \"Aye, but she is no witch, for I have been in that land and have seen the Lady with my own eyes.\"

Thingalad looks upon Indilzar with new respect. \"You escaped her snares and webs? Incredible... But are you the same? You said before you had mellowed, but did not mention you were Elven-wise.\"

\"I am an Elf-Friend of the Noldor,\" says Indilzar. \"Thrice I have been among the elves. First, was when my company passed north seeking the Dragon-Helm of Dor-Lomin. Second, when I was sent to the north by Imrahil to find the shards of the sword of Anarion. The last I will not speak of...\"

\"Nobody enters the Elvenlands and remains the same,\" says Indilzar. \"Not even the hot-heart of the Bragollach.\"

Thingalad steps back, respect mixing with fear in his eyes. \"These are things beyond my understanding.\"

\"Aye,\" says Indilzar. \"It is easy to fear the unknown. Especially when such things are beyond the ken of daily life. For we look at our wars, and our marches, and our meals and even our songs as the Life of Men and we see these things as unchangeable facts of the world. Yet there is a world beyond that world and seas beyond the sea. Whether we live or die in these battles to come is just one note of a great song that was played in days so long ago, they cannot be numbered in years.\"

\"Do not fear such things,\" says Indilzar, \"for I say to you look at your world as it is, and maybe others will call that magic or perilous. Perhaps even the Elves would say that of you -- that you are magical and filled with peril, or perhaps they would say that we men are beyond their understanding -- which is probably true enough.\"

Thingalad nods slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the words of Indilzar Elf-friend of the Bragollach.

FADE OUT