»And the ray of light blinded the soldiers, that fought on the side of Maltök the Beast of
the Easterlings, so strongly that they fled in their fright and blind of terror they trampled
down the own troops.
The allied army, that was made of Northmen and Dwarves, took up new hope as they
saw that Béma was with them, and they stormed with Bard II and Thorin III Stonehelm
against the formerly so powerful war-lord. They drove through the enemy lines like scythes
of the reaper into a field of corn, and amidst of their throng fought a shape of shimmering
light, that wore the insignia of Béma upon the helmet and shield.
Many days endured the battle, but without a break did the soldiers of the allied army
assault the troops of Maltök that fell thousandfold.
But also the allied army had to note terrible loses, for Béma could not be on every side of
the battle at the same time. The blood of the killed turned the battlefield into a stinking
morass, in which the rancorous enemies sank in knee-deep, but no side showed mercy.
Maltök understood that Sauron's spirit had been defeated and could not protect him from
the powers of the Ese and that he would loose this fight. And so he took a handful of his
war-lords and a handful of vassals to fight his way down to the Long-Lake where he would seek
to steal the boats and flee.
But Bard II was a cunning strategist, he had thrown a watchful eye on the boats of Maltök
and followed the beast until the middle of the lake, where he destroyed the conveyance with
his catapults.
Maltök, the Beast sank, pierced by ten spears and ten arrows unto the ground of the deep
Long-Lake and with him sank the worst of his companions.«
Almanac of Adventures, written by Frøydis Dreikedottír
XXI. Volume, page 1053
Rhovanion, somewhere at the eastern borders of Wilderland, Year 10 of the Fourth Age
Frøydis came into the Hall, in which the Elf Farodin had once welcomed her, which felt to her as if it would lie several years back. But she had realized upon entering the library that this was of course impossible, because she was not truly so old to look back on a long life. Nevertheless the hall appeared changed. All the cupboards and the books were still there, the crystals on the walls still radiated their soft illumination. Only Farodin was nowhere to be seen. In an alcove between the walls of the shelves, where the Elf had once held Nothung in safe custody, Frøydis found now book, writing utensils and even a small knife. But the dust upon it showed to her that no one had been here since a long time.
An upset vial of ink fell especially into the eye of the tall grown young woman with the silvery blond hair that was adorned with a braid in the fashion as princess Vidumavi had worn them. The ink had been spilled over the entire table and was already dried into the wood. Everything here appeared as if Farodin would have only taken the most necessary and left the rest where it stood. Maybe the Elf was forced to flee?
Frøydis went over to the twenty-third shelf and climbed the ladder. Her reinforced jerkin hindered her not. Smooth, the cloth followed her every motion. As she reached the sought for shelf, the feeling returned that she had felt when she arrived here to the first time. She had wandered on the traces of Turið, her ancestor like she was most familiar to her, just like she had known her face to face.
She took her book and began to descend again. While she climbed down rung for rung, she thought about the latest occurrences. The new attacks of the Easterlings, twelves years after King Elessar had assumed the throne, unnerved her. Could their dark designs reach even here into the hidden library? So far obviously not, but their attacks against the last sanctums of the Elves, be they ruin or not, had still left some damage here.
Once again did Frøydis let her gaze stride through the hall. It was unfortunate that neither Farodin nor Thulivee were here. Who would appoint those eager to learn now the way? Maybe Thulivee could be found in another part of the library. If there was no one left who could give reference to the books and their content, then this enormous library was almost useless to any visitor.
Frøydis left the hall and thought, where she should start her search for one of the Elfstones. Ranulf, one of her companions had praised her intuition and asked her to seek for clues on her own, while he would seek counsel with the guardians of knowledge.
Frøydis stepped into one of the rooms and laid Turið's book on a table. In the rhombus shaped panels of the shelves lay scrolls. She reached for just any and opened it. She had hardly read the first line, there she had to sigh. It was an essay about the weaving of rope.
She went over to another shelf and took another scroll. In the text was described a man who had defended with his brother a passage in an ancient land to allow a king to flee. Details about their names and origin were not listed. But Frøydis deemed herself on the right track. Every culture possessed their own perception about the beginning of the world. These were the stories in which she might find a hidden clue.
She sought for hours and did not find a single trace. In one chronicle stood that the Elven-Queen had decided to not keep her Elfstone forever. There it stood: »O would the Eldar not have left, we could have made our own gates!« Everything what she read, indicated that the Queen had possessed the only Elfstone and then given it away.
»You will never find it like so«, a familiar voice said. »For your time runs out ...«
Frøydis turned around. Within the door-frame stood a shape in a black mantle; the cowl covered the forehead. »Master Farodin!«, Frøydis called.
»Yes, it is I. And I am disappointed that you try to find knowledge in the elven way.«
Frøydis placed the scroll in which she had read back into the shelf. »Is it so remarkable that one who admires the Elves tries to act like them? But you are right. I should remember that I am but a child of Man and shorten my search.«
»I did not mean it in that way. But you should know that the end of this place draws nigh.«
In disbelief did Frøydis stare at the guardian of knowledge. So great she had not felt danger until now. »Will Man destroy what is left of your people without knowing what they do?«
»It is not to me to say what the men of the east know and with what intend they act. I can only say that little is left until this library will be lost. And what sense would there be to ward knowledge, if one is caged here and no one ever finds this place again?«
»None«, Frøydis said quietly.
»That at least you will have some of its wisdom that lies in this place's hoard, I will help you.« Farodin smiled forthcoming.
»Have you spoken already to Ranulf?«
»No, Thulivee and the other guardians are with him. I want to speak only with you.« Farodin looked to the table. »You have found Turið's book as I see.«
»I wanted to read in it again«, Frøydis said and her words sounded like an apology.
»You do well to wish so. And you may keep it.«
»What? I thought ...«
»The knowledge of this library will pale, even though the others may not see that as clear as I do. But when this place perishes then shall at least a bit of its lore be rescued from its halls. Furthermore are these books without use to me and the others. I have read them and now they are a part of me.«
»Why do you not leave the library and raise another somewhere else?«, Frøydis asked and thought of Gondor, where the guardians of knowledge would surely have been welcomed with open arms.
»We have sworn not to leave these halls ere all knowledge that we have gathered is within us. Until of late we thought that this would never happen and that this hall would forever remain a bubbling spring of wisdom. But the spring has dried out, for nothing new has come to us. And as it is such, there may come the day on which we carry all the treasures of this library within us. Then we may leave. But sadly we are too slow. Only one of us, who have taken up in hardship can read yet faster than we. Should we hence acquire all the written word in this library, ere the end comes, we will leave it and turn our gaze to the West.«
»How long will that take?«
»Certainly hundreds of years ... By the Valar! Hundreds of years! That would be a time over which we would have laughed in earlier times. But I fear the men of east could come soon and undo everything.«
Frøydis could understand the guardians. If an oath had them bound, then they had to acknowledge the risk that there was the chance of cutting every connection to the world outside and to remain forever more, surrounded by the deep walls. But maybe it was better to break the oath to at least save a part of the invaluable knowledge. Surely no one would begrudge them for it.
»Let us walk a bit«, Farodin said and walked out the narrow corridor.
Frøydis took Turið's book and followed the guardian. »Can you help me to find out more about the Elfstones?«
Farodin laughed quietly. »In your question lies already an immense presumption, namely that there could be more Elfstones than just the one that last queen of the Ñoldor had possessed.«
»Is it so?«
Farodin nodded beneath his hood. »It could be so, but no one knows where they are, except for the one that King Elessar holds. And I know even as little, where I would find one.«
Frøydis was disappointed. She had expected more from Farodin. Should really of all the books that he had read, none tell of how one could find an Elfstone?
»Now, do not let your head hang, young Dragon-Daughter! I can maybe not tell you where to find a stone, but I can explain to you, to what it may be good for. So listen well! If you would possess such a stone from the making of Enerdhil, then you would be able to open doors in the world that would bring you to places unknown to you before. You would create pathways in your fate where before was none. And it would greatly empower you as well. An Elfstone in the wrong hands is a great malady.«
»So I would be able to undo almost any barrier?«
»Certainly.«
That was the answer for which Frøydis had hoped. She would not use such a stone for anything else but to find the places of the world that were thought forgotten and lost by others.
They left the corridor and took a stairway upwards. The guardian of knowledge spoke on. »Who wishes to use the potential within an Elfstone must be learned in the elvish arts. And the more one would try to achieve with it, the greater would become the challenge to command the powers.«
»But such a powerful stone got to be easy to find! Its powers should radiate above anything else« Frøydis threw in.
»You are mistaken. The potential of the stone is hardly noticeable. Certainly you would feel it, if I would hold it here next to you in my hands, but you would hold it despite its greatness for something trivial.«
»What would it look like?«
Farodin remained silent and led him into a small room that was leading away from the stairs. Here the crystals on the walls were shining in a cool green. Massive cabinets stood at the walls and reached up to the ceiling. The guardian of knowledge opened one and produced a large tome and brought it upon the bookrack in the middle of the room. The boards were connected with two clasps that Farodin opened now. »In this book there will be a drawing of an Elfstone. It is not one of Enerdhil's or Celebrimbor's making and its bearer surely has followed his kin long ago into the West.« The cowl slipped before his eyes. With a quick movement of his hand he threw it back entirely and Frøydis was amazed like every time to see the leaf-shaped ears poking out from beneath the silver hair. That the old Elf showed himself like so came unexpected for her. Farodin seemed not to notice her astonishment, but opened well-aimed the correct page.
The picture of the stone took in the entire side of the tome. It was dark-grey and appeared smooth. A star with eight rays and eight spikes was carved into it. The drawing seemed rather plain and not at all made by a master. But it was enough to gain a suitable impression.
Frøydis pointed at the star. »What has that for a meaning?«, she asked.
Farodin's finger roamed along its form. »That is a symbol of great craftsmanship and zeal. But next to it lies also strong determination and blindness. Following in its wake is magnificence and destruction.« He tapped the last two spikes. »And in the end we have love and the despair that grew from it.«
Frøydis appeared perplexed. »I cannot quite understand it.«
»What can't you understand?«
»What you words would mean. And how a symbol could have so many different meanings unified in itself.«
»Do not let yourself be confused, Frøydis. It is said that every Elfstone is unique, and the Ñoldor marveled on them. Every stone stood for the understanding of an certain aspect of this world.«
»To whom did this stone belong last?«
»The answer will be quite ironic to you, for no Elf kept it ere it vanished. It was part of the hoard of a dragon called Cheliach. We do not know much about him, except that he buried himself deep into the earth and probably died long ago.«
Frøydis was satisfied. That was the beginning for which she had yearned. »I thank you for showing me this drawing.«
Farodin closed the tome. »You will find this book here, if you wish to show it to your companions. I will leave it on the table. But first you should seek out someone who knows you and your kin and who would like to see you again.«
»Who would that be?«, Frøydis asked surprised.
Master Farodin smirked. »I cannot tell you the name. I have promised that.« He pointed to the stairs. »Follow the steps upwards. In a small hall you will find him.« The grey eyes of the Elf shimmering in the shine of the crystals.
With slight hesitation did Frøydis leave the room. On her way up, she breathed in and out. It was to her as if the guardian of knowledge would have thrown a spell over her, so greatly had his eyes enraptured her. What might be the story of this Elf? She dared not, to ask him for it. And there was something else after all that was occupying her mind. Who might be waiting up there for her?
As Frøydis reached the end of the stairs, she followed a broad corridor, from which branched off several small halls. They were empty; no books or shelves were to be found here. It seemed like the knowledge of the library had not yet grown so far. And as it was sounding through Farodin's words, it never would. The more it surprised Frøydis to see books in a pathway, left and right piled up the wall.
A quiet voice echoed through the corridor. Frøydis followed it, peered through the gap in the door and could hardly believe what she saw there: In a bare, circle-round hall sat a dwarf on a throne of books and just took a tome from a cleanly arranged pile to his left, threw a look inside and hurled it then unto a stack of his right. She knew him. The dwarf had white hair and also wore white garments, that let him appear a lot more sublime than to the last time that the young woman had met him at the Erebor.
Just after Frøydis had entered, the dwarf raised the head and inspected her. »Ah, you it is, Dragon-Daughter«, he said as if they had seen one another only days ago. »You have grown last time I met you and your mother.« Quickly he raised a small heap of books and pointed on it. »Take a seat!«
Frøydis had barely sat down, there the dwarf asked: »Has my advice led you on the right path then?«
»Yes, Regún and I wish to thank you for it. It was invaluable to me.« Frøydis told him of her companions and her hope to find answers to their quest here in this library.
»As I see do you wield Nothung now.« Regún indicated the sword that hung on Frøydis' back.
»Mother has left it to me. She insisted that I would take it and wield it on my travels. Although I never became such a warrior as her.«
»You are quite like her. Maybe more profound and not so quick to slay a man. The offspring of the dragon is obviously more canny than her mother.« Regún reached out with his dry looking hands to her. »Say, Frøydis, may I hold it again?«
The young woman complied and gave the weapon into the hands of its creator. The dwarf's eyes grew wide as he beheld the blade that he had forged. »Ah, it just looks like to the day I gave it to Skjalddís. Still sharp. Unbroken. And it still has that fierce glimmer of her spirit about it.« A bit reluctant he returned Nothung to Frøydis. »I say, keep it save and to your line, Dragon-Daughter. I am sure, in time this blade's legacy will grow and become as marveled upon as the lost crown of the Easterling king, that bears a flaming green-fire gem. Make sure to also go by the road of the Lonely Mountain.«
»I will do that. Although I must first clarify my next path with my companions and they might object that a stride to Erebor will cost us dear time.«
»I have heard, yes. You are looking for an Elfstone.«
»Do you know something about them?«
»But of course, I do. But everything that I can lay bare before you in my great wisdom I have done already.«
»What do you mean?«
»Just what I said«, he replied with a large grin. »From me you will learn nothing new.«
What could the dwarf have meant with that, that he had told her everything about the Elfstones already? Nothing he had said! Not today and not in any earlier meeting. There was never the talk about the Elfstones.
»Just continue to think about it. I will read in the meanwhile.« Dwarf Regún took a book, that he had begun and seemed to flip the pages slowly. But Frøydis noticed how quick the eyes of the dwarf moved from one side to the other. He did not just turn page for page, he was reading. He had told Frøydis in the past of the fallen star and how he was saved by her mother. How he grew older and decided to wander again. And now he had just spoken of Nothung and that Easterling's king's crown. But there was never the talk of one of the Elfstones. Or was there? »The green-fire gem!«, she said to herself.
The dwarf placed his book aside. »You have a remarkable apprehension, certainly greater than the dragon's who bore you, Frøydis.«
»You mean the green-fire gem that is set into lost the crown of the Easterling King. Is it an Elfstone? I cannot quite believe that. You are telling the truth are you?«
Old dwarf Regún smiled impish. »Have I ever been lying to you? You might have found it earlier, but you were still a child when the Easterlings came down to war on Dale and were finally driven back.«
»No, you never have been lying to me. You even told me now where I should start my search for the crown. You pointed me to the Erebor because that was the place where the Easterling king was slain and his crown lost! How could I repay you, Master Regún.«
The dwarf wagged his hand. »Now, now, young Frøydis. To the Erebor it is far from here. And then you must still find it. It may be destroyed or lost to the earth, but another hint I will give you in exchange for a story. So little new things have reached me in this place.« Regún chute closer to her. Some of the books shifted and were gliding down the pile on which he sat. »Tell me something of your mother.«
Frøydis complied with a smile. She owed the dwarf much and also master Farodin. It was only right if she repaid such a kind favor now with a story. After all, her foster-father Alfknutr had taught her the weaving of words. She would speak of something that was after Regún's mind. »I will spin you a tale, Master Regún. One of which my mother told me herself and I will use her words in my weaving to enshrine the memory of that particular adventure.«
»It occurred one time, that my mother was striding off to the Misty Mountains with eleven companions, under the shepherding of the man who would become my foster-father, to acquire the legendary Beorning mead, which is, as you surely know, the finest of all of Middle-Earth and who would taste it only once upon his tongue would forsake all other mead; of men, elves and dwarves alike. Many a hardship they met on their way and foes they battled for it was the years that the shadows had gathered in the east. But my mother had strong companions and friends to her side: Hofding Tyrgrim and his mother's-brother's-son Torgrun, Therwen Swordmaiden and the legendary Moon Fox to just name a few.
At their coming, the first thing that the fiends that sought to hold them heard was the sound of deep clashing bellows and the trees that creaked in the calm before the storm; ere then the companions alongside my mother, the Brundreki, the Fire-Drake from the north of the Wilderlands came down upon them and claimed what was theirs.
This tale shall also speak of a man of Rohan, a skillful bowman and a dwarf whom you might know, for Threarn is of your kin from the Lonely Mountain. Along the northmen, there was also a grim man of wisdom and a guard from the village of Jótunvall. Even a wandering beauty of Gondor had joined the quest.
And of these comrades, I will speak now.«
