Part 27 – By the Grace of the Avardin
A warm breeze floated in from the east. Day had broken and sunlight was pouring in from the mountains. The sky was turning a brilliant red from a dark indigo as dawn progressed into morning. Dew had collected on the grass the night before but was quickly going away from the warm wind. It was a day that felt very much like a typical Wold day.
Two days had passed since the slaves had returned to Avardin. Many were still being fed, malnourished from their ordeal of slavery and the journey home from Isengard. The slaves that were able to finally get back on their feet thanked Theomin for opening up their only obstruction from getting home. Because there were so many, throughout the two days, Theomin gave a gracious, “You are welcome,” to many Dunlandings. Not only for Avardin, but there were some from Galtrev and Dunbog, two places Theomin had never visited. Some thanked Theomin as they left for their own villages. Some stayed behind because they were too warn down to travel any further than Avardin.
Theomin was soon to travel too. His last few hours with the people of Avardin were a quiet one, with the occasional, “thank you.” He at a small meal of moist, warm bread, fresh and delicious. The birds chirping were a welcome sign in such a beautiful local. Soon, Theomin made sure his pack on his horse was packed and full, containing his father’s outfit, Keymel’s gloves, the blanket with the seven stars, and those letters and shoulder dress of Amandwyn, the woman who found him in the Gondorian tower long ago. In the other pack were remedies Eva aided Theomin in producing.
The day before he decided to leave, Eva, the one who cared for Theomin, instructed him in the knowledge of many cures. The one that Theomin was particularly interested in was the way to purge poison from a wound, which killed Keymel and almost killed Theomin. Eva was the most skilled of all the Dunlandings, save those older, wiser, and more patient than she. Never-the-less, she was a very skilled healer and Theomin was very thankful.
As he remembered Eva, he wondered where she was. He looked up at the nearby hill. She was there, looking out on the lands of the Avardin. Theomin climbed the small hill to meet her at the top. She did not look away from the view as she spoke, “I suppose today is as good a time as any to leave.” Theomin just nodded. He had hoped Eva would keep Theomin’s secret with her. The night of the party, Theomin explained everything about his journey to Eriador and that he was raised in Rohan. She showed no ill feeling toward him. The anger in which many Dunlandings had toward Rohan did not seem to rub off on her. “I am sad to see you leave, Theomin, but I know why you must leave.”
“I will always remember the help the people of Dunland showed me.” He looked down and then out at the countryside. “It is not at all the stories we hear in Rohan.”
“And the stories of Rohan are not true if the rest are like you, Theomin of the Wold.” She looked at Theomin with kind eyes. “This village will always welcome you.”
“I wish I could say the same of Rohan. Maybe in time they will.” There was a short pause and Theomin finally spoke up, “When I looked outside for the first time, I looked upon that great tower in the distance. I have wanted to ask you about that tower.”
Eva looked in the direction of the tower, “That is Flam-cadlus. It is nothing more than a tower built by the Numinorians and is now the beacon for all travelers of were Galtrev is, our main traiding post. It has been picked and plundered by bandits for many years. There is not but ruins there.”
Theomin nodded. He was hoping on much more. “I guess this is goodbye, then.
The two gave each other a kind hug, embracing for a few moments. Eva let go, “Okay, Theomin, you must leave before the hour grows too late. Farewell.”
“Farewell, Eva.” With that, he left, limping away from Eva. The wound on his leg was still keeping him from walking normally, but it felt much better than the day before. He thought back on that night in the Culling Pit. How fearful he was. How uncertain he was that he would ever see the next day. But soon he found himself amongst many people of Avardin, waiting by the stables Bragga was kept.
Both men and women, young and old patted Theomin on the shoulder and a loud roar of “Fornost, 
Fornost, Fornost!” Theomin chuckled at the name as he approached Bragga, but gave a nod of respect to those who cared for him, cursed him, and then honored him.
As Theomin started to mount Bragga, Arvel gave him a push up on his horse. Arvel and Theomin became good friends over the past two days. The brother of Eva was very apologetic because it was him who informed the Brenin of Theomin’s actions. The act of which almost sent Theomin to his death. So Arvel became Theomin’s shadow for the past couple of days, serving him food and drink and even allowing him to sleep in his own bed. “May the Huntsman always protect you, Fornost.”
Theomin patted Arvel on the shoulder. “You have been a loyal friend, Arvel. I will miss you.”
“You have done my village a great service, Fornost,” the Brenin loudly proclaimed. “May this village be your home if you ever venture south again.”
“I will always remember you, Brenin. You, your family, and your village.” The whole group of Dunlandings parted to make way for Theomin and his horse. Theomin started toward the path, making for the fork in the road past Avardin. As he continued north he looked up at the nearby hill as Eva gave a final wave down to Theomin. Theomin gave a final wave back to Eva and then progressed up the hill north from Avardin.
The garb given by the people of the Avardin was said to give him safe passage through the land of the Dunlandings. It was a traditional garb, warn by those who needed healing, therefore its status was close to that of a sacred cloth. Its hide was said to come from the white stag of Enedwaith, though none of the Avardin knew if that was true. It was supposedly acquired by the Stag Clan and traded in Galtrev. The Avardin traded many goods for such a garb and now Theomin had it, traveling north along the road, up the winding slope past animals grazing in the fresh green grasses of the Starkmoors.
Soon, the path continued aside the great tower of Flam-cadlus as it sat perched on the side of the hill with its towering Numinorian spire rising up to the heavens. The walls that sat alongside the tower were decaying reminders of the once great Numinorians that had, at one time, inhabited the hill lands. Other towers, not much different than the three at the Culling Pit, were erected on distant hills, most likely the site of the trading post.
Eventually trees started showing up. Many trees of many kinds grew alongside the road as it continued on up north. A stone fence soon lined the path but for only a short way while the path broke off to the right. “Keep straight” said Arvel when while telling Theomin of the path north. “If you find poles with flying cloth on them, you are headed in the right direction.” To the right was a path leading to some type of village. To the left was a slope leading down to a pond where a family of boars lived.
The path started to gain in elevation and wind blew with more force than in the valley he was riding. Poles stuck in the ground bearing cloth were seen dotted along the path. “These must be the poles Arvel mentioned,” Theomin whispered to himself.” The wind blew the cloth more steadily and harder the higher he climbed and soon, the trees that were his constant companion for some of the way, started to disappear as he reached the edge of the place in which he dreaded.
The place was a mystery to the Avardin as none would dare venture into it. “There is an ill air of evil in that place,” Arvel’s voice continued to ring in Theomin’s ear as he looked at the menacing gray stone walls that almost formed a fortress’s battlements. A gray mist hung hauntingly in the air of the place, as if a warning to all travelers who ventured into such a place that it is better left untouched. That was the path leading north and soon Theomin was upon the brink of the haunting Bonevales.
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