The Family Line Part 49 – To Field or Fortress

Part 49 – To Field or Fortress

The gravesite of Bree was just as ominous as ever. The walls that surrouned the graves were larger than Theomin had remembered. They towered hundreds of feet, trapping Theomin in all around. As Theomin looked down, he could see blood on the ground. It seemed to be dripping from somewhere on his face. As he looked back up, there was Gerald. His scowel that he permenantly had was just as menacing as last he looked upon it.

Gerald pulled back his arm. His hand made a fist and swung it forward. Theomin tried to block his fist but could not. His arms were bound behind him and so he just stood there. He waited for the punch, which took so long he started to wonder if it was ever going to come. Eventually he looked back toward Gerald whose fist was just about to make contact. It hit Theomin’s face. He did not feel the impact but he felt as if he was falling to the ground. He hit the ground softly and then Gerald kicked him softly in the shoulder rapidly. He kicked Theomin again softly. Finally, a third sudden impact woke Theomin from that aweful dream. “It was just a dream,” Theomin said with all releaf in his breath.

It was still nighttime. The darkened room was quiet and still. From the window, the ethereal silver-blue light of the moon poured into the room where Theomin and Eleswith were. Though it was very early the next day, Feredir had not yet returned. In dim moonlight, Theomin could see Eleswith next to him. She had awoken Theomin and periodically looked out the window.

“What is it Eleswith?” Theomin asked in a most groggy tone.

“Feredir is not here,” she said, panic was in her voice.

Theomin sighed with displeasure, “You woke me because he is not here?”

“I don’t think he’s been here all night,” she said.

“Are you sure of that?”

She thought for a few moments. “I’m not completely sure but I think I would know if he returned or not.” Theomin turned to try and sleep more but Eleswith had to continue, “I don’t trust him.”

Theomin had to sit back up, “Why do you not trust him?”

She thought for a few moments but came up with nothing. As soon as Theomin started to move back to sleep she answered, “He’s too eager to help.”

“And we should be grateful for that. It is not every day we find people who would be willing to help us as eagerly as he is.”

“I trust not in people who offer aid so forwardly with nothing in return.”

“There are some good people out there who will offer aid without want or need,” Theomin said as he started to be annoyed by Eleswith’s mistrust.

“I have yet to meet one,” Eleswith said.

“And what of those men you were with in the Lone Lands. Were they not trustful? What about Thanncen or Saeradan? Did you not trust in their help?”

“I just think you’re too trusting of people, that is all” she blurted out.

“You think I am too trusting of people? And what about that man who attempted to kill us and then jailed us so he could torture us for his own sport and eventually kill us?” he argued. Eleswith was silent. “I may be guessing but perhaps you are not the best judge of character.”

“I think if my character judgement is better than anybodys. I believe I am doing right by not trusting Feredir and his odd need to help.”

“The elf knew Thanncen. If Thanncen was his friend, then he is mine as well.”

Eleswith sat with her back against the wall. She looked visibly upset with the conversation but could not express it. All she said was, “Just try not to trust too much in people. The are not all what you think.”

Theomin thought of saying, “Like I should not trust you?” but he decided to just let it go. It was perfect timing too because at that moment Feredir came up the stairs and entered the room. There, Theomin was on the floor and Eleswith sat up with her back against the wall.

“We should make for the farms early,” the elf said.

“Where were you?” Eleswith urged Feredir to answer.

“I was out making sure no one, neither orcs nor Bree men, came close to this house,” he said passively. “I see you have no trust in me. Like I told you last night, Eleswith, I am not your enemy.” He looked at Theomin and asked, “Are you prepared to leave?” Theomin nodded. “Good,” he said as he pulled out some loaves of bread and some dried beef. “It may not be much but it should be enough to satisfy your stomachs for our journey today. I was also able to find some water bladders that I filled up. They are resting next to your horse, which I brought up to the door.”

Theomin shot Eleswith a glance showing her that he was right about him. She just gave a scowel to him and slightly shook her head as if she still did not trust him. “Will it be a long road today?” Theomin asked.

“It will be most long, yes. I believe it will take full the day,” said the elf. “With that, we should depart.” The three exited the house. Eleswith half expected to see Gerald or the guards of Bree standing outside the door waiting to capture them again. They were not. Only Bragga was standing there with full water bladders next to her, sitting on a ledge. “I took the liberty of feeding her. She was quite hungry so I found some carrots from the same old market where I found your food. She quite liked them.”

“Good,” Theomin nodded, further proving his point that Feredir was a good person.

The two horses departed the house and only moments later were facing the great expance of the Trestlespan before them. The beautiful bridge was still in pristine condition. The wood looked as though it had been cut perfectly to fit each space. Any repairs to the bridge was done very well as the people of Trestlebridge took great care of keeping the bridge as strong and lasting as possible. The dark brown wooden beams were strong while the light wooden paneling on the sides gave a more decorative feel to it. Thin but tall windows were cut out on the sides about five feet tall by one foot across. The wooden slats on the floor made no creeking sounds as the passed over, a sign of strength and stability. Every now and then torches were attached to the left and right walls. They were lit to ease their passing of the Trestlespan, possibly by Feredir.

“This bridge,” Feredir started, “was the life blood of the town of Trestlebridge. If it fell, the town would have died. They had to keep the bridge as new as possible, adding in new boards all the time and repairing even the smallest crack with the greatest of care. They were almost obsessed with the bridge. Every action they took was to preserve the Trestlespan so as to not lose it.”

It took a while to reach the other side of the bridge but when they did, Theomin gave out a great sigh of releaf. They were officially leaving Bree behind and were in the North Downs. Though the scenery was not much different than Bree, the feeling in the air was different. There was a sort of calm tension in the air. Much more than in Bree. He felt the feeling before, back in Rohan. It was the strangest feeling but it could have been because this land was where Fornost lies and he felt not tension but anticipation.

The hills to the west rose up greatly and very high. The eastern hills were sloped gently and had patches of trees. The trees themselves were tall with branches hanging high up on the trunks and not lower like some other trees. Pines they were but a different breed of pine. The trees did not give off the sweet odor like those in Rohan and the Trollshaws. Despite not having the sweet odor, the ride seemed like a pleasant one, passing rabbits and an occasional boar on the road north as the sun rose up in the silvery blue, cloud dotted sky. The warmth of the sun felt very nice after so many days in the cold of the jail cell. Theomin wanted to take advantage of the warmth of the sun and raised his face to meet it.

It felt almost surreal what he felt in the freedom of the sun. The Bree prison put freedom in a new perspective for Theomin as he never knew what freedom was until it was taken from him. He wanted to smell every grass and gaze at every animal on the road. He wanted to look about him in wonder of how beautiful nature really was. He gave a smile as the feeling of freedom finally consumed him and he felt at peace.

Soon hills rose up ahead of them and beyond the hills a gray shadowy place sat in the distance. There was a sign post at a crossroads. Two signs on the post pointed back the way they came. The two signs read “Trestlebridge” and “Breeland.” Another pointed east and read, “Kingsfell,” of which the elf mentioned the night before. The north pointing sign read, “Fornost.”

“There it is,” Theomin said as his heart raced in anticipation as he gazed at the sign with a smile, “Fornost.”

Eleswith hopped off the horse, “I’m so sorry. The back of your saddle is not comfortable in the least.”

“You are not meaning to go there, are you?” Feredir asked Theomin, starting to crush his elation.

“Of course I am. My map had a mark next to Fornost,” Theomin answered.

“Fornost is not but a dead ruined wasteland. You will find not but death there,” warned the elf.

“I agree, Theomin,” Eleswith chimed in as she stretched her back. Theomin looked back at her with surprise that she was agreeing with Feredir. “I told you Fornost was dead. Even I now that,” she said.

Theomin looked down in confusion. “The whole time I was expecting the farms to be just outside of Fornost. They are not?”

“I am afraid not, Theomin,” the elf said. “Fornost is not but a dead fortress, far removed from the days of her glory. She has been defended and then taken by the enemy. She was then regained by men and then retaken by the enemy again. It sits in centuries of death and only those who are very brave, or truly stupid, pass into her gates. Most of them never come return. There they remain for all time, stuck in that place of death. Even in the Fields of Fornost will you find aparitions of soldiers long dead. They haunt the field looking for any who is foolhearted enough to pass,” he paused as if to drive in the point to Theomin, “go there if you intend on ending your journey early. I will not chance death with you.”

Theomin looked north at the Fields of Fornost. Since he found that map he was thinking about approaching the gates of Fornost and finding his family inside. It had long been a dream of his on his daily journey to finally reach the stronghold of Fornost. Now it was not meant to be. The visions he had of reaching Fornost were now gone, just a whisp of a memory. But the hope of finding his family was not lost, and that meant more to him than reaching a dead fortress. He finally sighed and said, “Lead us to the Kingsfell.”

With slight reluctance, Eleswith hopped back on and they then turned east on the up the sloping road, passing the occasional ruin on the side of the road. Here and there Theomin could see northward. The gate of the fortress could be seen in the distance. It looked great and beautiful. Greater than he had imagined. Though it was a great sight to behold, the arch and the ruined great wall was also visible. Its turrets, which stood tall once had fallen. It was then that he found how much distruction lied there in the field and in the fortress. It was then that he decided it was a fool’s errand to even approach the Fortress. He then turned his gaze away from the north and piered at what was coming in the east.

At the summet of the hill there were a few farms off the sides of the road. They did not look lived in for some time, “Are these the farms?” Theomin asked.

“No, these are not the farms I am referring to. These farms used to be worked on but with the expance of the orcs many months ago, no man has wanted to occupy them. They just sit abandoned but with the hope of, one day, someone brave enough may come by and work the fields again. I see that not coming for some time.”

As they continued through the dead farms, in the distance to the east, was an expance of land Theomin did not think he would see again since he left Rohan. A great wide open region of green grass layed before them around distant hills. The sun shone beautifully on the valley, giving it a gleaming beauty he had not seen in a long time. “This, my friends,” said Feredir, “is the Kingsfell.”

It was as kingly as much as it was beautiful; unmatched in any of the lands he had traveled through in Eriador. Theomin had the feeling of home in him, as if he was meant to be in this valley of the Kingsfell. Off in the distance he saw a windmill spinning in the calm Kingsfell breeze and emotion took Theomin at the wonder of the valley and the feeling of home. So much so that tears came to his eyes which he had to quickly wipe away, hoping the elf did not see the tear. He gave a quick breath and said in half a voice, “home.”

“So you know this place,” said the elf.

“I do not know this place. It just reminds me,” Theomin paused, looking at the whole expance of the land, “it just looks like home to me.”

“This is good then,” said the elf. “Now where to begin your search?” He looked at the farm, “How about we start at Gatson’s farm.”

They trotted toward the farm of Gatson’s where the windmill spun and the fields were bare. There he was, standing outside his home, looking at the windmill but as soon as he saw visitors approaching he fashioned a bow and arrow. Quicky, Feredir had to say, “Mae govannen, Gatson,” in a friendly tone.

“Ah Feredir, a friendly face,” the jolly man said putting down his bow and arrow. He was perhaps middle aged but the look of his years was greatly increased as with the hard work he had put in at the farm. His gray hair was short and trimmed. The one defining feature of him did not sit well with Theomin. He had a familiar handlebar mustache, much like the mayor of Bree. And he did not look much different from him. It made Theomin uneasy, “I thought you were in Trestlebridge.”

Eleswith jumped off Bragga. She was clearly in distress with the state of discomfort the single saddle was giving her, “I need my own horse,” she said to herself.

“I was there. Nobody else was there, though,” Feredir said. “Still having troubles with the orcs, are you?”

“Aye,” Gatson said. “Those blasted things have been nothing but a nuisance now for months on end. I can’t grow anything with the chance of those blasted orcs mucking up my yield. Any help you or your friends could offer would be much appreciated.”

“I am sorry, am helping these two. This one here,” he pointed to Theomin, “is looking for his family.”

“Ah, a lost sheep, aye?” the farmer jested.

“Not exactly. He has quite the story that we could tell at another time. Right now we were wondering if you could bare some light on his matter,” said Feredir.

“I’ll see what I can do.” With that, Theomin removed his blue blanket with the single silver seven sided star adorning it. “Ah,” he said, “hmm,” he continued but stopped for a while. “Well,” he finally spoke up, “in the ruins about this land you can see this star adorning the walls very similar to this star,” he said while piering on it a little longer,” but as far as I know, I have not seen the like of this blanket.”

Theomin sunk in his saddle. “Is there anywhere else we can check?” he asked with a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Well,” the farmer started, “just north of here there is a town of dwarves called Othrikar. They can live for quite a long time and might have an idea of where that blanket of yours comes from. Perhaps you can try there.”

“If we must,” grunted Feredir, not sounding too pleased.

As soon as Eleswith climbed back onto Bragga, they departed the farm and headed east along the path until it parted in two ways. One way headed south, “That way is to my kin at the library of Tham Giliath. There my journey will eventually lie at the end of this day. I shall, however, help you a little more before I depart.” They took the northward path which headed up into some hills. The slopes of the hills were gentle enough for the horses to make it up with little effort while the path was well warn, showing signs of continuous use. To the north east there was a curious beacon atop a hill. It reminded Theomin of the beacons he learned of ages ago that were to be lit if either Gondor or Rohan needed aid. The sad state of the beacon on the lonely hill to the east saddened him that the land he was in was once great and fair.

They finally entered the town of Othikar. Theomin and Eleswith dismounted from Bragga and stabled her in the nearby stables. The look on Eleswith’s face was a look of exhausted glee that she was no longer sharing the horse.

The dwarf town of Othrikar bore all light gray stone with simetrical sharp edges. Nothing round adorned any of the architecture, as if the dwarves had no like of curves. It was a nice town, though, full of many buildings built into the hill face and tall standing structures that did not look like they had aged one day. “Ah,” a dwarf said as they reached the main courtyard of the town, “an elf has graced us with his presents this day,” the dwarf jested. “I am Dori, at your service and your fff…” he was about to say something until he cut himself off, “…and your friends. And what is an elf, a man, and a woman doing here in Othrikar?”

“Dori?” both Eleswith and Feredir said at the same time. Feredir continued, “You cannot be the very same Dori of Thorin’s Company who traveled to the Lonely Mountain so many years ago?”

“One and the same, master elf. And what is your name?” asked Dori.

“We met once before, though I am sure it was under much different circumstances. I am Feredir, a former soldier of Lord Thranduil of Mirkwood.”

“Well, bless my axe,” the dwarf said excitedly, “I hated your stinking arrogant guts, if you don’t mind me saying,” Dori said in a hateful yet respectful way. “And why have you returned do old Dori? To give an apology that has been long since coming?”

By then, both Theomin and Eleswith were interested in the exchange of Dori and Feredir, “Well,” the elf started, obviously discomforted by the exchange, “not quite, master dwarf. We can discuss our unfortunate meeting another time, if you do not mind.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Dori said with a slight air of disappointment, “I have waited for more than sixty years for some kind of apology to come from you elves. I suppose I can wait just a little longer. What can I do for you?”

“My friend here,” the elf started, “is looking for his family. He bares this cloth he claimes he has possessed for many years which he thinks might lead him to his family.” Theomin gave the cloth to Dori who inspected it thouroughly. “Hmm,” the dwarf said. “This is an ancient symble of the Numenoriens here in Eriador, if I am not mistaken. But they have all but left this land. The only remnant of their kind is the Dunedain Rangers,” the dwarf threw the cloth back to Theomin, who again, was clearly disappointed. “Find a ranger. One can help for sure. Now if you don’t mind, I am taking to my bed. Come the morning, I have an early start to visit Dwalen in the Blue Mountains.”

“Thank you,” Theomin said as Dori departed.

From the distance, the dwarf could be heard, “I’ll be expecting that apology upon my return.”

The elf looked at Theomin with disappointment. “I am sorry I cannot be of more use to you. I know of a place where there are Dunadian Rangers but they will not welcome guests just like that. You will have to earn their trust.” They started outside the town of Othrikar and Feredir stopped. “Perhaps I may convince them you are no stranger. Then they will let you into their compound. It may be a longshot but it might work. Many of them have left south so they may be even more weary of new travelers.”

“We shall stay here,” said Theomin, now starting to become frustrated for the hunt he did not intend on.

Feredir left south along the road. The brilliant blue day sky was turned to red evening light as the sun began to sink into the western horizon. They waited patiently by the entrance of Othrikar for what felt like hours. Eleswith just sat there throwing rocks down the hill while Theomin gazed upon the beacon. There was something about that beacon that Theomin felt needed to be investigated. Finally, Fereidir arrived back at the entrance of Othrikar.

“Ahh, it’s about time,” Eleswith said impatiently. “Will they let us in or not?”

“I am sorry, Theomin. They will not. No new people will be let in without concent from one of the council of four. Unfortunatly none of them are around for us to ask. Dori is gone sleeping and will depart early tomorrow. Nellie Boskins is gone for the forseeable future with her people west of Trestlebridge. And Gildor Inglorion has gone to Erad Luin to ask for aid with the defences of the North Downs. And Halbarad, the ranger, has gone south with his kin. I am sorry to say that these are now the strict rules they have layed down in the absence of the rest of their company. They wish to risk no compromise to their hidden settlement. Tis the last hidden hope for the men of the North Downs and they wish to keep it that way. I wish I can be of more service to you but I need to return to Meluinen.”

“Can we follow?” Theomin urged.

“It is a long road south. There are dangers that may even be too treacherous for me. You heard Gatson’s concern with the orc threat. Tis best you stay here in Othrikar. If they will not let you stay in their town you can lie on the safety of the hills just west of the town.”

“Will you return tomorrow?” Theomin asked.

“I will and we can then pick up the trail.” Feredir placed his hand on Theomin’s shoulder, “I will not abandon your quest, you have my word.” Feredir promised. With that he turned and left.

Theomin stood there as he watched Feredir gallop off south down the winding hill. He looked at Eleswith, who had a scowel about her. “What is it?”

“I don’t believe he would just leave us abandoned here,” she said shaking her head.

“He has his reasons. He told us where we could stay for the night, did he not?” Theomin asked, saddened by the elf’s departure but trying to stay his advocate.

“I understand why we should not travel south with him. I don’t feel safe with either the dwarves or the elves, but at least we could stay with the only guide who knows this land.”

“I for one am glad he left us here,” Theomin said as he looked at the beacon. He started to wander toward the beacon, “There is just something about that beacon.”

“It’s treacherous out here, Theomin. Best we return to Othrikar and try again tomorrow,” said Eleswith.

“I need to know,” said Theomin. He started toward the beacon but Eleswith pulled on his jacket, “Don’t be a fool, Theomin. It’s getting dark soon and the elf said the night belongs to the orcs.”

“I thought you did not trust the elf,” Theomin teased Eleswith.

“I’m warming up to him,” she replied quickly.

“I just want to see this beacon and that is all. Look,” he pointed to the beacon, “It will take but a few minutes to reach the beacon. After, we will return to this dwarf place.”

Eleswith grunted with hesitancy, “Okay, but I am coming with you,” she said, a trace of fear in her voice, “But it’s your fault if we get eaten.”

It took them not too long to reach the beacon. It was just a simple beacon with a broken roof and two simple stairs leading up the west and north flanks to a pyre that was ready to be set aflame. Three pillars held up the roof with the fourth pillar broken and part of the roof missing either by the decay of time or by force. Vines had grow on it for a long while, showing its long age.

“Here it is,” said Eleswith, “can we go back now?”

Theomin staired at the beacon. He knew it had some significance to his quest to find his family. He searched the base of the beacon but found nothing. He looked at the ceiling of the beacon but found nothing significant. He looked at the stairs, climbed to the top to look at the roof, over turned rocks; he did all that he could to find clues but came up with none. He was unsure of what he was searching for but there had to be something with the beacon. Afer a long time of searching and exhausted he finally quit. He huffed in frustration and kicked a rock down the hill which injured his toe. He screamed in frustration while Eleswith watched calmly.

“Satisfied?” she mocked.

It was then, as he sat nursing his foot that he noticed a small cottage at the base of the hill. It was nothing significant to look at but it might have been the clue he was looking for.

“I am going to look at that cottage down there,” Theomin told Eleswith. “Are you coming?”

“It’s late,” she said, “we’ve…” she started but Theomin already started to decend down the hill, “okay,” she finally said.

Soon, they were at the foot of the hill, looking at the cottage. Theomin stared at the cottage as if he was in a dream. His eyes were transfixed on the front of the cottage because it was the very same cottage he had many dreams. The very dreams that reminded him of being back with a loving family. Back home.

“What is it?” Eleswith asked.

In an amaciated tone, half in wonder and half confused, Theomin spouted, “I know this place.” His mouth dropped as he looked at the front of the little cottage. “I remember being carried away from this place in the dead of night but I remember no more.”

“Eleswith?” a voice came from behind them.

Stunned, both Theomin and Eleswith turned around to see a well dressed man staring at them from the southern path that lead from the small cottage. Both were shocked that he was the same man who was part of Eleswith’s group back in the Lone Lands. She replied back with disbelief, “Sergee?”

Special thanks to Leandir of Rangers of the West on the Gladden server, again, for being a fan and also playing the part of Feredir. I really appreciate your help!