Yuletime Journeys: Our Annual Essay Contest.

[Lindariel]

Hee, Iolanthe! And it has 5 more days to go before arriving at its destination -- IF it arrives at all!! However, when I think back on the condition of some packages I've received through the U.S. mail, the Elvellon's package will have NOTHING on some of them. One arrived with the remains of a box and its contents enclosed in a plastic bag because the box had somehow been ripped to shreds during delivery. And those packages certainly didn't have to survive the kinds of conditions this package endures.

With any luck, the story will be completed in a total of 10 installments. I'm hoping to write and post TWO days worth in one go later today, just as I started off this whole to-do by posting two days at once. There's some excitement and action ahead, and I have a feeling once I get started writing, it will be VERY hard to stop!

[Lindariel]

A friend of mine posted the following wonderful idea on Facebook:

"Pay It Forward for Creative People: I promise to send something handmade/an original story to the first 5 people who leave a comment to this update. They must in turn, promise to post this and send something they made to the first 5 posters on their status. It must be your original creation, and it must be sent to your 5 people sometime in 2011."

I think this is a FABULOUS idea! My friend paints beautiful landscapes and abstracts, as well as making silk tapestries, pillows, etc. Needless to say, I responded immediately (I have wanted one of her pieces for a LONG time!) and have posted this to my status on Facebook. Just imagine this movement slowly propagating across this social network and hopefully inspiring others to dip into their creative inner lives and share their talents with others -- very much like our Yule Creative Writing Contest!

If you participate in an on-line social network like Facebook, perhaps you'd like to start a similar "Pay It Forward for Creative People" within your network of friends and colleagues. To quote my friend's life philosophy:

"Create Beauty and fill the world with LOVE!"

[Lindariel]

Here's the 7th installment. Not the double I expected, but I believe the NEXT one will be. I hadn't counted on Halmir being so unexpectedly introspective. Much action to come in the 8th one, have no fear!


While the small cave provided Halmir and Morodil with shelter from the storm, desperately needed warmth from the fire, and a welcome opportunity to rest and eat a hot meal, Halmir nonetheless spent a practically sleepless night. The small fire needed frequent tending, as did the ventilation shaft for the smoke, which he diligently cleared of snow with a long, stripped tree branch every hour or so. If he fell asleep, it wouldn’t take long for both Ranger and horse to suffocate if the shaft became blocked. Throughout the long night, every time he poked and twisted the tree branch up and through the shaft as the wind howled and the snow fell in drifts, Halmir thought of Bregor spending a similarly sleepless night all alone in the cavern under Amon Sûl. He didn’t envy Bregor’s hourly task, which involved climbing up and down the rough stair to the watch tower in order to clear the ventilation shaft.

After checking Morodil and rubbing the horse’s tired legs yet again, Halmir stretched out on his bedroll with a sigh. Spring, and the fresh new recruits it would bring, could not possibly come soon enough! They were stretched too thin – much, much too thin! The horrible lung illness ten years ago, with its wasting fevers and dark terrible dreams, had decimated the already dwindling population of the Angle. His heart clenched in anguish as he recalled the nights he and his mother had spent by his wife and son’s bedsides as they struggled to breathe and fought against nameless terrors in their dreams. Just as it had seemed that Idrelle and Hal were well on their way to recovery, his mother had suddenly collapsed with the same illness, and in her sleepless, weakened state from hovering for days over her loved ones’ sick beds, she had quickly succumbed and died within the space of two days.

The disease had killed indiscriminately, claiming old and young, men and women, without mercy. Those who survived or had been spared were worn to the bone with weariness from tending to sick family members and neighbors. Lord Elrond, his sons, and as many of the Rivendell healers as could be spared took up residence in the Angle for nearly two months, desperately fighting the fever. When at last the wretched sickness had passed, it was rare to find a house anywhere in the Angle that wasn’t draped in black, mourning the loss of at least one family member.

In the ensuing years, every birth had been greeted with extra joy, every death with an underlying fear that the people of the Dunedain would dwindle so drastically that any hope of restoring the North Kingdom would be completely lost. Their valiant, determined women had banded together – some to care for the children so that the others could join the young boys in tending the fields and gardens and animals – making it possible for every able-bodied man not committed to a key craft to train as a Ranger. Indeed, there had been some bold women, including his dear, gentle Idrelle, who had insisted upon improving their skills with bow and sword so they could take up patrol duty within the Angle, thereby releasing more men for the farther flung and more dangerous patrols in the wild. Warriors from Imladris, including the sons of Elrond, had often joined the Dunedain patrols, especially to help swell their numbers to fight incursions of orcs and wolves from the Misty Mountains, as well as the trolls that crept in from the Ettenmoors and the Trollshaws.

Were it not for that cursed sickness, old veterans like Bregor would have been granted a decent retirement from the endless patrols to continue serving their people honorably within the Angle by training the young recruits and guarding their homesteads. Wounded men would not feel obliged to return to duty before they were fully healed. Their young men would be allowed a few more years to train and season their skills, instead of joining the patrols at the tender age of twenty. Yes, their numbers had gradually increased over the past decade, and things were not so dire anymore, but they were still too few, too few.

When the bleary dawn finally arrived and the storm at last subsided, Halmir dug his way out of the cave to find a frozen landscape buried under another foot of snow, but at least the heavy storm clouds were dispersing. After considering his options, the Ranger decided the best course would be to take advantage of the clearing weather and continue on with his journey. It would be a slow, weary journey leading Morodil across the Lone-lands to the next hidden Ranger outpost, but the store of wood he’d been able to gather before the storm would not see him through another day and night in the cave, and as cold as it was, his traveling conditions would not improve over the course of another day.

After fortifying both himself and Morodil with a hot breakfast, Halmir carefully smothered his fire, preserving as much of the hard-earned wood as possible for the next Ranger who might shelter within the hidden outpost. He packed his dried clothes and other belongings quickly, carefully securing the hobbit’s besmirched package in his pack, and then saddled and tacked Morodil as comfortably as possible and led him out into the snow-covered day. After restoring the stone cairn and covering the entrance to the cave with brush, the pair resumed their journey across the Lone-lands, cutting off a broad curve of the Great East Road and staying out of sight as much as possible.

The next several hours passed in a blur of bitter cold, blinding whiteness, and the tiring, monotonous effort of putting one foot securely in front of the other through snow that sometimes drifted well above the top of Halmir’s boots. He set a slow, steady pace and ate his lunch while walking, pausing only long enough to feed Morodil, knowing that the continuous activity was necessary to keep his blood moving and prevent frostbite.

By early afternoon, both man and horse were completely exhausted, and the Ranger was eagerly scanning the hills ahead for the landmarks leading to the next hidden outpost. As he crested yet another hill, Halmir at last spied a stand of trees in the distance and picked out as direct a route as possible, murmuring soft encouragements to his tired mount. In the middle of the small patch of woods was another ramshackle cabin, long abandoned by its owners as the people of the Northland dwindled and retreated into isolated enclaves like Bree and the settlements of the Angle. The undisturbed Ranger token wedged beneath the front door proclaimed its continued secrecy, as the weary pair stumbled gratefully inside to escape the bitter wind that had arisen during the afternoon.

Trusting the blowing snow to cover their tracks, Halmir set about relieving Morodil of his burdens, and then sank in relief by the fireplace to build a roaring fire from the well-stocked woodbin in the corner. To say that Halmir’s preparations for the evening were perfunctory would be an understatement. As always, he lavished the best of care on his faithful and trusted companion, seeing to Morodil’s every need with the greatest gentleness. But beyond that, Halmir’s efforts extended only so far as to change into dry clothes, hang up the wet ones to dry, spread out his bedroll by the fire, and prepare the simplest possible stew for dinner.

In his weariness, Halmir barely registered the greasy smear he left on the hobbit’s package as he rummaged about in his pack for an extra pair of thick, dry socks for his numb feet. “No harm done,” he grunted, as he made a token swipe at the smear with a wet cloth, and then settled by the fire to eat his dinner and collapse into a hard-earned and well-deserved slumber.

And that’s how the package got its eighth stain on the 27th of Foreyule.

[Iolanthe]

I felt chilly just reading this. I really admire your attention to detail, Lindarial, it really pulls you into the story and it's characters. Brrrr.

[Lindariel]

Thanks so much, Iolanthe. I'm glad you're enjoying all the details. I don't plan them in advance, but I'm the person in my little family who tends to handle all the details, so as I'm writing, the logistics of how something could logically be accomplished are always battering at my brain. It can be tricky to balance bringing in enough detail to make a story credible, but not so much that it bogs down the pace of the tale.

What always comes as a surprise for me are the ways in which the inner lives of the characters will assert themselves during the process of composition. Halmir's bout of introspection came as a complete surprise, but it also tied back so nicely to why Bregor One-Eye would still be out on solitary patrols at his age and after his injury.

The plague of lung illness Halmir recalls does not appear in Tolkien's Appendices, but he does note that Sauron and the Witch King used plagues and illnesses as a weapons against the Dunedain in order to wipe out the line of Kings in the North Kingdom. In fact, I have read several wonderful stories in which the sons of Elrond use the existence of such a plague to cover the disappearance of Gilraen and her son after the death of Arathorn, letting a rumor circulate that they had died and keeping only a very few of the Dunedain in the plan for their exile to Imladris in order to preserve the line of Elendil.

[serinde]

i can't believe how eagerly i am waiting for the next installment!!

and you are right, lindariel. I did use Fonstad's Atlas of Middle-Earth ~~ such a treasure!

[Iolanthe]

What always comes as a surprise for me are the ways in which the inner lives of the characters will assert themselves during the process of composition.

That's the way of creative writing - it clearly happened to Tolkien and I've experienced it in the modest amount of writing that I've done. Characters really do take on a life of their own and it's something that really fascinates me!

I remember reading about the plagues now - it's a detail that I'd forgotten from the appendices.

[Lindariel]

Thanks Iolanthe. Creative writing is, in itself, a journey. No matter how much planning and plotting you may do, once you start writing, at least for me, it's just like Bilbo's description of the Road that begins right at your front door:

Frodo: He [Bilbo] used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Sorry for the pause in the story. Real life brought me a BIG freelance writing assignment this week. But I have conquered the beast, at least for now, and hope to get back to my story this evening.

[Lindariel]

Here's the 8th installment and the promised action sequence:


Late the next morning, Halmir woke to the somewhat gentle ministrations of his horse, as the hungry animal whuffled about his face, nudged his shoulder, and grunted in his ear. Turning a bleary eye to the insistent creature, Halmir groaned, “All right, all right! I’m awake! I’m awake!” He patted Morodil gently on the nose and murmured fondly, “Wretched beast!” as he stretched and rolled out of his bedding to build up the fire and see to their respective morning meals.

It was another blindingly bright, bitterly cold day, and they still had a good long stretch of the Lone-lands to traverse on foot before reaching the next Ranger outpost at the Last Bridge over the River Hoarwell, or Mitheithel, as the elves called it. After that, if the weather held and they encountered no dangers on the Road, Halmir knew they should be able to make the rest of the trip to Rivendell in two more days of hard riding. He packed quickly, smothered the fire, and restored the Ranger token under the door, before striking off on foot once again, leading Morodil across the barren, rolling hills of the Lone-lands toward the intersection of the Great East Road with the River Hoarwell and the Last Bridge leading into the Angle.

Much like the day before, it was a difficult, plodding trip, wading through drifts of knee-high snow and following the curves of the hills to stay out of sight of the Road as much as possible. Since they had gotten a late start, Halmir ate his lunch while walking and paused only to give Morodil some food and water and a bit of rest later in the afternoon, as the undulations of the hills grew less steep, indicating that they were approaching the Hoarwell.

As Halmir was stowing away his waterskin and Morodil’s nosebag, his skin pricked at the sudden howling of an alpha-wolf, followed by the baying response of a large hunting pack. He leapt to Morodil’s back and saw the pack closing in behind him. In the weary monotony of their trek across the endless white hills, Halmir had failed to notice that they were being stalked!

The Ranger urged Morodil to his best effort, despite the heavy snow, knowing that if they remained in their current position, they would be too easily boxed in by the pack. The valiant horse cleared the last of the remaining hills and thundered down onto the broad stretch of meadow leading up to the Road and the Bridge over the Hoarwell.

Looking back, Halmir knew they would be overtaken before they could reach the Bridge, so he selected the best spot to make his stand and turned Morodil to face the pack, quickly loosening his sword Dagoril, stringing his short bow and releasing arrow after arrow upon the closing pack. Several of the large animals fell to his deadly aim, need bringing out the best in his admittedly less than perfect archery skills.

Soon, however, the pack had closed, and he shouldered the bow in favor of his beloved sword and dagger and Morodil’s flashing hooves. “Dagoril!” shouted the Ranger, as he and his sturdy mount engaged with the snarling pack, Morodil quickly teaching the wolves to respect his powerful front legs, while the Ranger defended the horse’s flanks with the long reach of his sword.

They fought valiantly, and soon the carcasses of a number of wolves bloodied the brilliant white snow. But as Halmir’s sword arm began to tire and Morodil was occupied with keeping several wolves at bay, the large alpha took a running leap and knocked Halmir from his saddle as he was pulling his sword free from the body of a pack mate. With an enraged bellow, Morodil turned to knock the alpha away from Halmir and take a protective stance over his rider’s body. Halmir rolled up to his knees, desperately trying to regain his breath after the hard collision with the ground.

With a great howl, the alpha urged his pack to engage the two winded combatants, now that the man had lost the advantage of height from the horses’ back, and soon both horse and man were beset with opponents from every side. “Dagoril!” Halmir shouted again, as he struck down two wolves to his right, but the great alpha managed to close in and drag him down by his left leg. With a shriek of pain as the wolf’s teeth tore through boot, trouser leg, and muscle, Halmir wielded his dagger with his left hand and managed to slash the great wolf’s throat, but another wolf swiftly closed to take his place.

Wildly swinging both sword and dagger to try to keep the wolf at bay, Halmir could feel himself weakening and becoming dizzy from the pain, the loss of blood, and the cold, when he heard a strong baritone voice calling, “Eärendil! Eärendil!” Suddenly an arrow sliced through the air, bringing down the wolf threatening Halmir, and another two arrows claimed the two wolves detaining Morodil, who quickly took his protective place above his wounded master. Thundering hooves announced the arrival of two dark-haired elves, who swiftly and brutally engaged the remaining wolves, fighting them with a fierce and feral grace, their swords flashing blurs of ice-cold steel.

In short order, the remaining wolves gave up the hunt, their prey now protected by the two otherworldly creatures with their bright, fell eyes and deadly swords, as well as two sleek warhorses with their crushing hooves. As the wolves slunk off into the night with mournful howls for their dead alpha and the loss of their intended prey, one of the elves made to spur his horse after the retreating pack, but the other stayed him by grabbing the reins and shouting, “No more, Elrohir! No more! It is DONE!” When Elrohir tried to jerk the reins free, the other elf slapped him smartly across the face and shouted again, “Stop NOW, gwador! NOW! The Ranger needs our help!”

Elrohir turned a crazed face and raised his fist as if to strike the other elf, but the battle-rage quickly melted from his visage as he recognized his own mirror image. “’Dan?” he panted hoarsely, as though just regaining the capacity to speak after losing himself in his berserker madness.

“Yes, gwador,” responded the other twin gently, “It is Elladan. The wolves are gone. The fight is over. Now we must see to the Ranger’s wounds.”

“Elladan? Elrohir?” called Halmir weakly, “By the Valar, am I glad to see you!”

The twin sons of Elrond quickly dismounted, and Elladan brought his pack over to where the wounded Ranger lay beneath Morodil’s protective stance. Elrohir crooned softly to the quivering horse, “Sinlaid, belegron! Im Elrohir Peredhel. Guren linna a chened le, Morodil.” (“Greetings, mighty one! I am Elrohir Half-Elven. My heart sings to see you, Morodil.”) Gradually, the animal relaxed enough to allow Elrohir to lead him away so that Elladan could tend to Halmir’s wounded leg.

“You are lucky, my friend,” said Elladan. “Your boot saved you the loss of your leg from the ankle down. But this is a nasty bite and hardly the place to try to treat it. Let me bind it up to stop the bleeding, and let’s get you to the outpost at Last Bridge as quickly as may be.”

“How came you to be here?” asked Halmir, adding quickly, “Not that I would wish you elsewhere, or I would surely be dead by now!”

Elladan snorted grimly, “We helped the Ranger patrol chase that pack out of the Angle just yesterday and have been following them across the Lone-lands to make sure they don’t return.”

Halmir started, “The Angle? Was anyone hurt?”

“Nay!” Elladan assured him, as he gave the wound a quick cleaning with water and wrapped the bloody bite with a pressure bandage. “The patrol set up an alarm right away when the pack was spotted, and we came as soon as we got word of the danger. The women and children of the Angle are safe. Do you think you can ride to camp?”

With Elladan’s help, Halmir gingerly sat up and tested his equilibrium. After a moment, he nodded, “I can do what I must, but a rest and a hot meal will be welcome.”

The twins quickly restored all of the gear and weapons to their places and then assisted Halmir up onto Morodil’s back. The horse whiffled his concern to his rider, and Halmir reached down to embrace the faithful and courageous animal. “Well done, my brave friend,” he murmured into Morodil’s ear, “You have saved my life yet again.”

The two elves mounted their steeds, drew up along either side of the tired pair, and the small mounted company slowly made their way across the meadow and up the final slope to rejoin the Great East Road and take the final turn down toward the Last Bridge. Just on the other side of the bridge, the twins dismounted, and Elrohir took charge of Elladan’s horse, while his brother led Morodil off the Road to the left and down a faint path that wound into the thick forested hills.

After about a mile, they came upon another well hidden cave with an undisturbed marker cairn, and quickly disappeared inside. Elrohir took charge of all three horses, while Elladan spread out a bedroll and helped Halmir to limp over and lie down. The elf quickly kindled a fire, set a pot of water to boil, and then rummaged through his pack for his healer’s kit to tend to the Ranger’s injury. A frown soon marred the elf’s handsome face, and he turned to Halmir to ask, “Have you any healer’s herbs, especially athelas, in your bags? My supply has been nearly used up tending to the sick and injured in the Angle over the past few weeks.”

Halmir nodded and pointed to his pack. “It should be in there somewhere.”

Elladan retrieved the pack and rummaged through it, setting aside the hobbit’s rather bedraggled package, and drawing out the leather herb pouch with a sigh of relief. Then he noticed that he had left a bloody smear on the package from tending Halmir’s wound. “My apologies, Halmir,” he murmured, “but it appears I have gotten some blood on this package.”

The Ranger smiled, “Well, you’ll notice that it already bears its fair share of stains and scuffs and even a burn. No harm done. As a matter of fact, I am supposed to deliver that package to the small Master residing in Lord Elrond’s home.”

“Ah, I see!” exclaimed Elladan. “Well, let me clean and treat and bind up this nasty wolf bite properly so you can fulfill your duty!”

And that’s how the package got its ninth stain on the 28th of Foreyule.

[Lindariel]

FYI -- For those of you who read and enjoyed my "little" Lindariel stories in my "Visions from the Hall of Fire" thread under Members' Art, Prose and Poetry, yes, this is the same Elladan and Elrohir I had envisioned for her tale. Here you see just a bit of the psychological damage Elrohir has sustained as a result of what happened to his mother, and you see Elladan in his role as his brother's "keeper," bringing Elrohir out of the berserker-like battle madness that he becomes lost in during a fight. Elrohir doesn't always recognize his brother right away, as he does here, and Elladan sometimes has to deal with a few bumps and bruises before he can bring Elrohir to his senses. Fortunately, this time they were only fighting a pack of wolves. It's always worse when they're going after orcs . . . MUCH worse.

[Merry]

I remember that dynamic from your previous work, Lindariel. Great episode! I love the elvish speech to the horse!

[Lindariel]

Glad you liked it, Merry! Elrohir's soothing greeting to Morodil is something I painstakingly put together from a variety of sources on Sindarin Elvish when I needed him to befriend and gentle a strange horse in the Group Story over at WRoR. Do you remember when Viney brought the Narocco horse Bresiniath to the gates of Thranduil's fortress in Mirkwood to become the riding companion of the Royal Bard Lachlindor? This was the greeting Elrohir used with Bresiniath.

[Lindariel]

Here at last is the promised two-parter as my 9th installment:


When Halmir woke the next morning, Elladan was busy by the fire preparing a hot breakfast, but Elrohir was nowhere to be seen. The elder twin noticed Halmir glancing about the cave and commented softly, “He has been gone all night, off dealing with the battle-lust in his blood. It was too short a fight for him, and he would have disturbed your sleep, prowling about the cave all night with his nerves on edge. I sent him out to practice his forms in a nearby clearing and let the cold quench the fire in his veins. His stomach will bring him to his senses, if the cold doesn’t.”

Halmir sighed and nodded. Elrohir was by far the most impressive warrior of the Third Age, and the Dunedain were forever grateful to have him as a comrade on their patrols. But Elrohir’s battle frenzy was fearsome to behold, and no one but Elladan or his father dared to approach him when he was lost in that feral state. “I’m so sorry to have been responsible for setting him off.”

“Nonsense!” Elladan retorted, approaching Halmir’s pallet with a bowl of porridge, his healer’s bag, and a water skin. “The wolves were responsible, not you.”

“I don’t know how I missed seeing them,” Halmir groaned, as Elladan began unwinding the bandages around his wounded ankle.

“I do,” Elladan replied. “You were practically snow-blind and weary from toiling over the hills and through the drifts. Plus, they approached you from downwind, so Morodil never caught their scent. That big alpha was a very, very crafty leader. The pack will be broken without him, while the younger males battle for supremacy. You and Morodil did very well to have killed him and taken out so many others before being overwhelmed.”

Halmir winced as the healer probed his wound, which was somewhat puffy and red, but not nearly as swollen or inflamed as either the elf or the Ranger had expected. He placed his bowl of porridge aside and laid himself down carefully, trying to let the pain just wash over him as Elladan finished cleaning the wound and applying a thick salve to the ragged bite.

“I’m very encouraged,” Elladan marveled, as he wrapped the ankle in a fresh dressing and bandage. “I was worried about fever and an infection. Animal bites are the worst! But you are not overly warm to the touch, and the wound is tender, but not inflamed. If you can manage to travel today, I would prefer to do so and get you to Imladris and my father as quickly as possible, before any illness sets in and it becomes impossible for you to ride.”

“That is welcome news,” said a deep baritone voice from the other side of the cavern, as Elrohir shrugged off his cape and weapons and dug through his pack for some dry clothes. He was soaking wet from the snow and his night-long exertions, but as he approached the fire to warm up and change, both Halmir and Elladan could see that the formidable warrior had calmed considerably. He peeked into the cookpot by the fire and murmured, “Oh good, you made porridge. I’m starved!”

Elladan laughed lightly and said, “Get yourself into dry clothes, gwador, and I’ll fix a bowl for you after I put my healer’s bag and these herbs away.”

The elder twin lifted the hobbit’s package out of Halmir’s bag to stow away the pouch of healing herbs he had borrowed, and then grinned at the Ranger apologetically, “It looks like I’ve smeared salve on your package, Halmir.”

The Ranger chuckled, “It’s a good thing Master Elvellon wrapped it so well! No harm done. I’m sure one more stain at this point will hardly matter.”

And that’s how the package got its tenth stain on the 29th of Foreyule.

While Elrohir changed into dry clothes and devoured two bowls of porridge, Elladan packed up all of their gear and helped Halmir ready himself for travel. Soon, the twins lifted the Ranger onto Morodil’s back, and Elladan led the horse and his rider out of the cave, Elrohir following with the other two horses. After quickly reconstructing the stone cairn and covering the entrance of the cave, the twins led the horses further down the trail and back onto the Road several miles beyond the Last Bridge, where they mounted their horses and were swiftly on their way down the Great East Road.

After a hard day’s ride with only a few brief stops to allow Elladan to check Halmir’s wound and condition and Elrohir to tend the horses, they rejoiced to hear in the distance the loud rushing sound of the Bruinen as the sun was setting. “We have made good time,” said Elrohir, “and this is a good place to stop for the night.”

Once again, Elladan led Morodil off the Road and into the surrounding forest, and Elrohir followed with the two elven horses. They took shelter in a tall stand of beeches, and the twins swiftly erected a small tent in such a way as to provide a roof for themselves and the Ranger, as well as a windbreak for the horses. Elladan settled the Ranger as comfortably as possible within the tent and began preparing supper, while Elrohir unburdened the horses, rubbed them down, and covered them with warm blankets.

“It’s going to be a cold night,” said Elrohir, as he joined his brother and the Ranger in the small tent for some hot tea and stew, “but at least the sky is clear in all directions. We should reach Imladris by sundown tomorrow.”

The elves and the man huddled together within the tent for warmth, as the horses did similarly outside, and they passed a cold but uneventful night.

*****

When Elladan awoke early the next morning, he immediately checked to see how Halmir had fared overnight. The Ranger was a bit warmer than he’d like to the touch, and the wound remained puffy and sore, but the man was still lucid, able to eat a warm breakfast without experiencing any nausea, and could sit upright without dizziness.

“We should make for Imladris as quickly as possible,” he informed both the man and his brother. “Your fever is mild, but I want to get you out of the cold and into my father’s care before sunset.”

The twins efficiently broke camp and packed up their gear, Elrohir attending to the horses, while Elladan helped Halmir prepare for the last leg of their journey. After lifting the man onto Morodil’s back, Elladan swathed Halmir in his cloak and several blankets to help protect the feverish man from the biting cold. They quickly led the horses back onto the Road and set off, riding three abreast with Halmir in the middle so the twins could help shield him from the wind with their bodies and monitor his condition.

For Halmir, the final day of travel was a long, grey nightmare, filled with pain and the constant battle against his growing fatigue. His body ached in every joint, and his foot and ankle throbbed and burned. To maintain his focus on remaining upright and in the saddle, he softly recited to himself over and over the line of the Numenorean Kings from Elros Tar-Minyatur to Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, the Kings of Gondor from Elendil and Anárion to Eärnur, “the Foolish,” he added under his breath, the Stewards of Gondor from Húrin the Faithful to Mardil the Steadfast to the present, and the Kings and Chieftains of Arnor from Elendil and Isildur to Arvedui Last-king to Aranarth to the present.

From the saddle, Elladan kept a close watch on the feverish man, slowing the horses from time to time to give him frequent sips of water and small bits of apple or bread to keep his stomach calm. Elrohir kept a constant watch on the Road and on the horses, selecting good places to pause for them to rest and drink and for Elladan to attend to Halmir’s now swollen ankle.

They passed through the Fords of the Bruinen by mid-afternoon and soon encountered the first of the Rivendell scouts, sending one swiftly ahead to alert Lord Elrond about the Ranger’s condition. As the twilight shadows gathered, they finally began their descent down the long twisting path, across the narrow bridge, and arrived at last in the courtyard of Imladris, where the great elf-lord and his healers were waiting with a stretcher and extra blankets. The exhausted man slid bonelessly from the saddle and was quickly carried into the infirmary with Lord Elrond and his sons following immediately behind, providing their father with all the details about Halmir’s injury and the treatment Elladan had been able to provide during their journey.

As the other healers settled Halmir on an examination table and began removing his travel-stained garments and washing the dirt and sweat from his pale skin, the Master of Imladris immediately removed the bandages from the swollen ankle, while Elladan anxiously watched. “Cover him quickly,” Elrond commanded the healers, as he observed the shivering man and carefully probed the infected bite, “and bring me a bowl of steaming water, athelas, and a flask of miruvor.”

He then turned to his eldest son with an encouraging smile and said proudly, “You did very well under difficult conditions, my son.” Elladan sighed with relief and then assisted his father with instilling the athelas leaves in the steaming water, releasing the fresh sharp fragrance of lavender and pine in the room and easing somewhat the weariness of the twins and the wounded man.

Halmir moaned softly as the elf-lord began washing the infected wound with the athelas-infused water and murmured, “My foot, my Lord. Will you be able to save it?”

Elrond looked up sharply at the feverish Ranger, surprised to find him still lucid, and replied with a reassuring smile, “Most certainly, Halmir. The fact that you are still conscious at all speaks to the strength of your constitution. The ankle is badly inflamed, but there are no long red streaks radiating from the wound. It is good that you were strong enough to ride and get here so quickly. We should be able to reduce the swelling and inflammation significantly by tomorrow morning. With rest and good food, I anticipate that you should make a full recovery within a few weeks time.”

With this good news, the Ranger relaxed back into his pillows with a shivering sigh of relief. “Here,” said Lord Elrond, “let me give you some miruvor. It will help to warm you and restore your strength.”

As the master healer prepared a draught of miruvor for the man, Halmir tugged on Elladan’s sleeve and said, “Before I forget, please give Lord Elrond the package for the small Master.”

Elladan quickly rummaged through Halmir’s pack, drawing out the hobbit’s package and handing it to his father. In the process, Elladan bumped the elf-lord’s elbow as he turned to administer the draught of miruvor to his patient, and a splash of the restorative dripped onto the much abused package. “Ooops!” cried Elladan, as he dabbed at the package with a sponge.

“A rare moment of clumsiness for you, my son,” laughed Elrond gently, as he held the cup of miruvor to Halmir’s lips.

“I can only plead weariness and concern for my patient, Ada,” replied the chagrined elf. “Oh well, no harm done,” he shrugged as he finally placed the package into Elrond’s hands.

And that’s how the package got its eleventh stain on the 30th of Foreyule.

“What is this?” asked Elrond as he examined the besmirched package.

Halmir smiled, “It is a Yule gift for the small Master from the Elvellon of the Shire. Bregor son of Brandir received it from the Elvellon's hands in the village of Bree, and I received it from Bregor at Amon Sûl.”

The Lord of Imladris smiled broadly at this news and replied, “Well, he will no doubt be asleep by now, but I shall see to it that he receives this gift at breakfast tomorrow morning. You may consider your duty to have been discharged, Halmir son of Haldan. Rest in peace now, and let your body recover from its ordeal.”

[Merry]

Okay, not exactly a haiku, but pretty simple scheme nonetheless:


The Sword Re-forged
Sets out for war:
Snow in quiet
With no fanfare.

His head bowed low,
His mind at peace:
The day had come,
Long-awaited,

But not foreseen.

Long he had dreamed
Of this great day:
Last Alliance
Made new! himself

Leading armies
And 'Elendil!'
And making right
What had gone wrong:

But not this day.

A fool's hope, yes,
As wizard said.
His life's purpose:
He bows his head.

He bows his head,

Begs the Valar:
Guide all our steps,
Make our hearts strong,
And keep her safe.

May I return.
If I do not,
May Gondor live,
Live! Noble, free!

and no Ring's thrall.

Aid me, Eru,
Iluvatar,
To walk in faith,
To pass the test,

To do Thy will.

The pony stomps
The frozen ground.
Lord Elrond speaks
Words of blessing.

His eyes are raised.
He stands and looks
Into the East:
To do Thy will.

He takes a step.

[Lindariel]

Yay, Merry! How lovely! A poem about the mental journey that has to be taken before the physical journey can begin with that first step. Just wonderful!

I am working on the 10th and FINAL installment of my story right now. Will post it later this afternoon! Whew!