The Family Line Part 13 – What Lies Below

 

The Family Line Part 13 – What Lies Below

Theomin started down south along the path that led out of the quarry. Through the morning he continued south, hugging the Misty Mountains, following the winding path, making sure he was not heading out into the open plains of the Stonedeans.

He looked to the east. The long covered bridge of Brockbridge was visible from afar. It spanned the entirety of a deep gorge of which was carved through the hillside by a river. The town of Brockbridge was just a small hamlet next to the bridge. It was built on the southern side of the bridge, possibly marking the southern territory of the Stonedeans.

As he stopped his horse, he wondered what will happen to that family he tried to send away. Whether they would stay in that town of Woodhurst or whether they would take his advice and go to Brockbridge. The little girl looked so scared. Like his sister when she was sure there were orcs in the tall grasses of the Wold. They were only wild boar but her wide eyes told the terror she must have felt. And her eyes were very much like the little girls eyes were back in Woodhurst. Theomin’s heart was breaking just thinking of her and of the family.

Perhaps he should return to Woodhurst and insist more fervently that they should leave. He bit his lip in deep contemplation. He looked ahead at the road. His thoughts told him to continue going. He finally decided the best course of action for himself was to press on and allow the parents of the family to decide what was best for them. So, Theomin continued on south toward Gapholt.

The path took him through a small forest of trees. It was not a thick forest but being from the Wold, it was more trees than he had seen. Soon he came upon a second quarry, passing it and continued up along the path to Gapholt.

By midafternoon he approached the small town of Gapholt. A river flowed past the stretch of the town, where it was crossed by a single small bridge joining the west side to the east. The people in Gapholt were much friendlier than Woodhurst. Most of them nodded toward Theomin with a smile. The guards were less enthusiastic with his presence.

“Ho, staying or passing through, traveler?” He asked with papers in his gloved hand.

Theomin stopped and addressed the guard. “Passing through. Do you happen to know how to reach Marton from here?”

He pointed south, “Just follow this path south and down the hill.” Theomin, thanked him but the guard stopped him. “But you will not find much but ash there.”

“What do you mean?”

“The town was razed not long ago by enemies of Rohan.” The guard looked down sadly. “I am unsure if anyone survived.”

Theomin’s heart sank. The sad memory of Langhold was still fresh in his heart. He thought of the Langhold refugees and how they escaped. He quickly and with as much determination as he could muster started his horse for flight. “I will find survivors.”

He took off to the razed town of Marton. It took him not long before he passed the town. As he approached an overlook past Gapholt he could see already black smoke billowing up from the land below. The site he saw he was not prepared to see. His mouth dropped in awe of the sight that laid before him. He slowed his horse and slid off with no thought to anything but what he was looking at. The only thing he could do was look at the sheer horror of what had befallen Marton.

He stood there at the overlook for much of the afternoon, tears welling up on his eyes but not none broke free of his eyes. The Westfold received much of the wrath of the white wizard. The white wizard who was a friend of men of Rohan. The only way he could express the sorrow in his heart was to say, with quiet grief:

 

I’ve never seen fare Meduseld

Upon the hill of Edoras

Nor have I seen paths of dead

In fear, and darkness, and in dread.

 

 

 

Nor have I been to Great Cliving

Upon the grasses green

Or seen the rushing Snowbourn River

Flow past house of king.

 

 

 

But I have seen great Argonath

Of steadfast glory holds.

And I have forded the Entwash River.

Loss of Fangorn’s hold.

 

 

 

 

And I have seen the might and bravery

The Rohan people keep

With sword and shield and horse of glory

For them I have to weep.

 

 

 

Great towns of wood and great thatched rooftops

Of colors brown and gold

Of tall mead halls and white rock fountains.

Cindered now and cold.

 

 

 

 

I shed a tear for all the years

That Rohan was so great

For emboldened foes burn and murder

With sword and fire and hate.

 

I cry for land I call my home

Now what’s sowed must reap

I cry until my tears run dry

And finally plunge sleep.