Return to the North [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Beleg's Legacy

Now - Rivendell

“I feel much better,” insisted Fëalas as Glorfindel checked in on her a few days later. “May I please get up?”

Glorfindel smiled and offered her his hand. Very excited, she took it and stood, her white dress like garment falling to her ankles as she did so. With her brilliant red hair cascading down her back, though tangled, she truly looked better than she had in a month.

“Your clothes are over in that trunk,” gestured the elf lord. “I will wait outside while you change. From there we will go see the others.”

Fëalas nodded. The first thing she did when Glorfindel left the room was brush her hair. Now much less tangled, it was less of a mess. Putting down the brush, she rummaged through her clothing and slipped into a set of her ranger garb. Now she felt better.

As she left the room, Glorfindel nodded and told her to follow. “There's one thing we must do before we see to the others. For in vaults of Rivendell, many artifacts remain. And one of these I think will do you well.”

With her curiosity perked, she followed him through Imladris. Eventually they came to a large door. Producing a key, Glorfindel unlocked the door and swung it slowly open. It was surprisingly well lit for a room with only a skylight for lighting. Fëalas looked around eagerly. Glorfindel left her side and retrieved something from a long but skinny chest.

“Long ago, this arrow was carried by Beleg Cúthalion, master of archery. It went by the name of Dailir, and was Beleg’s favorite arrow. Broken upon his death, Mablung recovered it and had it mended into the silver arrow we now have here.” Glorfindel paused he turned to show her the silver dipped arrow he held. “Pilinel, we call it now. The Silver Arrow.”

Fëalas looked at it in hallowed amazement. She took several steps forward, reaching out to touch it. Glorfindel handed it to her.

“Keep it, Fëalas. Use it wisely.” He gave her a soft smile. “You have in your heart great kindness. Use this when kindness fails.”

She nodded and placed it in a quiver that Glorfindel handed her, a quiver of elven arrows. They took the artifact back to her room and placed it with her clothes.

“Whatever happened to Beleg's bow?” Fëalas asked as they walked from her room to find the others. “If we have the arrow, where's the bow?”

“Belthronding, his great black yew bow, was buried alongside him. I suppose it is under the waves now.” Glorfindel shrugged lightly before egging her onward. “Come. I am sure they are eager to see you.”

Indeed they were. When Aderthon caught sight of his sister, he dropped his sword mid spar with Elfwine and ran over to her. With a heartfelt embrace, he squeezed her close. Círeth was next. And then to her surprise, Elboron.

“Glad you are doing better,” he smiled.

She blushed inexplicably. “Thank you.”

Eldarion hugged her next, glad she was alright. When everyone’s congratulations had been said, they turned to Glorfindel.

“When should we leave?” sighed Eldarion. “I don't suppose you will come with us?”

“Nay, not yet,” Glorfindel said with a head shake. “It is not yet time for me to head north.”

“Not yet?” asked a confused Círeth. “Is there something you haven't told us?”

They were silent to see what he would say. The elf lord shook his head earnestly. The slight breeze blew through the trees in the courtyard like music behind his words.

“It is not yet time. I feel that time may be soon, but you must trust me.” Glorfindel smiled. “As for your departure. I can say only this: each day my sight north diminishes. I know not what it means, but I can sense less light.”

“We shall leave tomorrow,” Eldarion said with a sigh after several moments of intense silence. “We need to move North.”

“I suggest going by way of the Shire,” said Glorfindel. “Head West and then North, first on the East-West Road.”

“It is a pity we cannot enter the Shire,” Finduilas frowned. “It would be a nice place to visit I should think.”

The children of Gondor at least had grown up with tales of halflings and green hills. None had been to the Shire, for Aragorn forbade it by law. No big person was allowed entry into the hobbits’ land.

“I have never been,” admitted Glorfindel. “But I have known several hobbits in my life. They are a marvelous people.”

Now - Annuminas

Bergil, Captain of the Northern Dunédain rangers, called together all his informants late that night in the inner sanctuary of the main Dunédain building of Annuminas. Bergil, son of the late guard of Prince Faramir, Beregond, was captain of the Northern Dunédain. At 47 years of age, he had spent many years up in the North.

Bergil sighed as he listened to the reports of his top scouts. “How many are we talking?”

“Roughly four thousand Angmarin soldiers, sir. And a good seven thousand goblins is our best guess.” The fair haired young man frowned. “And we can’t get in touch with the South any time soon without a Palantír.”

Bergil sighed and nodded. “I know, Celeblas. It is my hope that King Elessar is sending someone North. For that is our only hope.”

“We need more than someone,” a man groaned quite loudly. “We need an army!”

“The Valar will help us,” Bergil assured him. “Trust in the gods.”

“Lord Aragorn will send help,” said an old woman sitting at the table. She must've been almost seventy years old.

“Lady Althea,” Celeblas sighed. “Do you really think the messenger even got to Gondor?”

“Why shouldn't he have?” Althea protested vocally. “He's of the Dunédain! The son of a true ranger, a son of a ranger from before the rule of King Elessar. A pure blood!”

“So you've said,” Bergil nodded. “And I tend to agree.”

That shut the others up from complaining. Althea and Bergil were the two most respected members of the Northern Dunédain. If they wanted peace in the council, there would be peace.

“Until then, I want to double the scouts north and south. We need to make sure the Shire is protected from this menace.” Bergil sighed. “Celeblas, organize the south wardens. I'll organize the north.”