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

Visitors of a Certain Kind

It was bright and early the next morning when the entire company stirred and went to the tavern area. The five who had stayed up with the hobbits the previous night now told their fellows what had gone down. Elfwine and Edeva were especially eager to see Merry. Edeva remembered him, but the hobbit had never met Elfwine.

They found only two patrons sitting in the tavern: Merry and Pippin. The early daylight streaming through the windows was pleasant, especially compared to what the usually smoke filled inn was like at night. The hobbits smiled and waved them over.

"Master Holbytla," Edeva bowed deeply, referring to Merry as he was known in Rohan. "May I present my brother, Prince Elfwine."

"Lady Edeva! Prince Elfwine!" Merry stood to bow. "It is my honor!"

After the rest of the introductions were made, they sat around a set of tables and talked for a few minutes. That was until three figures, cloaked in greens and browns, stepped into the tavern. They traded few words with old Butterbur before walking straight towards the group.

"We were supposed to meet two here, not eleven," came a gruff voice from beneath a cloak hood. "Yet I am not unhappy at this turn of events. My prince!"

The leader bowed and threw back his hood to reveal a weathered middle aged man with dark hair and blue eyes, face wrinkled with experience and age.

"Lord Bergil!" Eldarion said with a grin. "Too long has it been since we've last shook hands!"

Bergil nodded. "Indeed, indeed, my prince. But alas, when we asked Lord Aragorn to send aid, we had hoped for more of an... army..."

"We were sent before aid was asked for," explained Aderthon. "We have been on the road for two and a half months now."

"Indeed?" Bergil nodded. "Then the King may yet send more aid."

"Lord Bergil," Pippin smiled, interrupting the small exchange. "A pleasure."

"Master Thain," Bergil said with a bow. "Master of Buckland. Thank you for meeting us here. We bear grave news indeed. News that I fear we shall all need to hear."

Bergil and his two companions sat down among the company. Slowly they began their tale. They explained how nearly four months ago, Tinneth had returned with a blood lust. She had targeted smaller Dunédain parties on patrols, slaughtering them. A month later, the attacks had stopped without explanation. At least until a formal declaration of war had been issued a month ago. Borne upon the foot of a raven, undoubtedly an enchanted one, the declaration had come from one titled "The Red Hand."

Now skirmishes were common north of Annuminas around Lake Evendim. Angmarin soldiers, goblin grunts, and warg packs roamed the northern borders.

"We do not have enough rangers to protect the entire North," Bergil sighed and turned directly to the hobbits. "That is why we come to you today, lords. We cannot promise complete protection in this trying days."

Pippin nodded thoughtfully. "I will be sure to increase the Bounders around the Shire. We hobbits can help protect ourselves."

"We may also be able to provide food and support of that kind to you," Merry proposed. "Buckland will help for sure!"

"We have remained too long in the shadows," Pippin confirmed. "The Shire must be able to help itself!"

The company spoke long about various happenings in the North. According to the Dunédain, anyone north of Evendim had been moved to the south for their protection.

"As it turns out, the Lossoth of Forochel are being inadvertent allies," Bergil told them. "They protect the Bay of Forochel from Angmar. For indeed if the stories are true, they hate Angmar as much as we do."

"Perhaps in the future they could become more permanent allies." Eldarion nodded thoughtfully.

By now, other patrons had begun to trickle into the inn. Merry and Pippin had to bid farewell to return to their positions in the Shire as Master of Buckland and Thain respectively. It was good timing, however, as by now the Rangers were ready to head North again.

"Let us see if we can't find enough horses for you around Bree," Bergil murmured.

They spent the day scouring Bree, Archet, and Combe for steeds. In the end they had seven for the nine riders. Fëalas rode with Elboron while Elfwine doubled with Barahir. It worked out well.

"Shall we head out, then," Bergil asked them respectfully. "I at least am ready to reach the North again."

And so they set out on horseback. Twelve days it took to reach Annuminas. The road was easy enough, but the sheer distance contributed to the time. But the time they reached the city, three months from Gondor had gone by.

The city was beyond what any of them had imagined. Huge grey stones made up the buildings, and banners of the Reunited Kingdom and Arnor flew and fluttered in the winter wind. A light snow was on the ground, adding to the haunting look of Annuminas as it drove everyone indoors.

"Welcome to Annuminas," Bergil said with a small smile.

The company was more than a little glad to finally have reached their destination. In the distance, down a large sloping hill from the main building of Annuminas, they caught sight of Lake Evendim. Beyond that, ruined towers and fortresses dotted the forested landscape. Pine trees towered above the ground in every direction.

"Impressive." Círeth nodded quickly. "Most impressive."

The frozen grass crunched under the boots of the company. Small faces of children peeped out of windows and doors to watch the soldiers go by. An adult or two would catch sight of them and some even recognized Eldarion, or even more rarely, Aderthon.

"Morion!" Bergil shouted to a young man who was chuckling with a blushing girl across the way. "Quit flirting with Aewon's daughter and help get these horses in the stables."

Morion sighed and bid farewell to the girl before running up to them. As they dismounted, he led the horses into a large stable.

"And this goat?" He asked Bergil.

Bergil shrugged. "Put it with the horses."

From there, the company was led inside a large hall. A huge fire was roaring on the far end and the walk to it was pleasant. They were glad to be here at last, having returned to the North at last.