'Uprising Flower'
(The account of Amlarad's birth, as is told in the fashion of a dramatic, and therefore perhaps fictional, narrative.)
Three clunks, loud and distinct. Such was the sound that met the ears of Meril of Evendim. She was a stern woman in bearing, showing a measure of wisdom and grace that befit her people, yet she was fair to look upon: her hair was dark and long, and her eyes were grey, though they were shot with green in the fullness of day; and in her face there was both youth and wisdom that could not be guessed by the reckoning of years, save the lines of care that now told of her joy and sadness. She was a simple weaver amongst the hidden people of the North, and so she was counted one of the Dúnedain that now are hidden in the wild.
Three clunks followed. Meril opened her eyes and met the sight of a small cart; she lay flat inside it and looked out towards the bleak haze of a morning fog. About her was strewn ragged cloth and linen, and she was wrapped in a warm blanket that covered her stomach, which was rounded in shape: a child waiting to be brought into the wide world. Three more clunks followed, and the cart jolted in rhythm. Meril sat up and remembered her pain, and she gasped low.
'Lay down and rest,' came a voice out of sight, calm but firm; 'we have a day's march yet ere we reach the borders of Deadmen's Dike.' A gentle hand came upon her shoulder. Slowly the mist from her weary eyes gave way, and she beheld the image of a careworn traveler, walking astride the cart, who looked down upon her with worry. He was clad in rusty green and brown, and where she was fair in face his was hard-worn and tired. Grey smote his dark and tied hair, and ripe were his features, scorned with many years of hardship; and he shared her eyes, though in his sat grave wisdom and no youth: a scoundrel of the road he would have seemed, by all accounts, but for his broad height and proud bearing that lay beneath his travel-stained clothes.
'Rest now,' he spoke again, this time in a tongue more musical to the ears, 'he shall not wait any longer if we should delay.' 'Or she', said Meril, in like language, and she took his hand, and her gaunt features were made fair by the flicker of a smile.
Meril then peered about her surroundings with a frown. The vague shapes of brown hills and tussocks unfurled before her, but she could not see far; a thick blanket of fog lay about the land, and it slumbered beneath a pale-gleaming sun that could not pierce the veil. In front of her was the winding road from which the cart had come, and she saw that the thick fog swallowed the track into nothing, no sooner had it given way. Many lines of trees rose and fell either side of the road, looming like shadows too vague to take shape in the gloom; she did not know this country, what little she could see.
'Deadmen's Dike, you say?', said Meril. 'That is a name of shadow, remembered even now on the shores of my people; is this then the North Downs?' The tall figure gazed ahead with a stern look, and he did not speak straight away; his hand lay idle upon the hilt of his sword, and it moved in motion with his long strides. At length he answered: 'Do you remember the tales of Arthedain that once I spoke of, Meril? Deep in the valley of the Downs lies the fallen capital of the North: Fornost Erain it was once called; now it is named Deadmen's Dike, and a terrible memory lies stained over its fields. You are right to fear it.'
Meril lifted herself carefully, and she turned her head northwards. She did not see much, for her eyes fell upon the back of another man who blocked her view, slouched and forward-facing: he was seated at the fore of the cart, and was dressed in common garb that looked too small for his portly girth. He turned round and looked at her: beady eyes peered out from beneath bushy eyebrows, and his laboured brow was crowned with a mop of sandy unkempt hair.
'Good morning m'lady!' he said, in a rustic tone. 'Or rather: I would say good morning, if it were so, and we could see it, rightly speaking. A sorry road this is.' Meril did not answer. He then squinted and turned back, and he looked to the travel-stained man who had now drifted near. In a hushed voice he spoke: 'Well, she is awake at last. See here! I don't like this, mister Amlarad. We're too open on this road for my liking, and this fog presses against you more than is natural, if you ask me; I'm scarcely armed to repel anything from out of the gloom, and I can barely see the road until it's jumped at me. And what about those thieves and the like? You know there's been talk of such folk up in these hills!' He shot at Amlarad doubtfully. 'I don't suppose even a Ranger could do much against such weather and foe.' The tall man ignored him, and he glanced briefly at the passing haze of trees which glided by. 'You just keep a weather-eye upon the road, Ned', said Amlarad; 'and I shall ensure nothing on two legs or four comes near this cart; so great is my treasure that we carry through this land in need.' Ned did not seem too convinced, but he said no more. Amlarad drew his muddy cloak about him and fell back to the side.
* * *
Morning waned into afternoon and the fog finally gave way to the climbing sun. A somber country was revealed before them: vast plains and barren hills stood defiant beneath the open sky, and far to the north the Downs rose into dim mountain peaks; to the west climbing woodland blocked all sight of the world, and about their boughs the tattered ribbons of fog held out against the searching fingers of the sun; and to the east the hills grew tall and impassable, fracturing the skyline.
Three clunks broke the heavy silence, answered only by the cry of birds wheeling distantly above the hills, or migrating in flocks. The change of seasons was slow to reach this land, for there were few trees whose leaves browned and withered; there were many tall firs and pines; and to the north the mountains kept at bay the bitter cold that wound down from out of the Frozen Wastes. Dark clouds gathered around these summits, and the wind beat against the bulwark in a futile battle for the Downs; but here in the south of the land the pale sun reigned.
Soon the cart came to a halt, and Ned had turned from the road beneath a ring of tall trees. 'What is it?' said Amlarad, striding up with a frown. 'Why have we stopped?' Ned jumped down, stiff-legged, and bent-backed. 'I must rest!' he protested. 'My legs have not moved for nigh on five hours.' Amlarad bent over Meril with concern: she had drifted again in to an uneasy sleep. 'An hour we shall take, but no more!' he said. 'She is in labour. Hardy is the race of the North, for though she has said no word of complaint her face tells of her pain.'
* * *
An hour they took with meager rations prepared. Ned ached and moaned, and he ate his waybread in silence. Amlarad was swift to eat, but he took little. He now stood and looked north, and it seemed to Ned that he was no longer a mere vagabond of the road, as he had supposed, but a silent sentinel now bent upon his longbow: a statue of by-gone days, brought to life by some cheat or spell, and made to go forth robed in worn clothing. From whose hand was cut and shaped the image of this man, Ned did not know. At length he broke the silence:
'You know, I've been wondering,' he began. 'ever since we left the Trestlespan, I've not been able to put my finger on something; for though it takes me a while to see through a brick wall, as we say back in Bree, the grass I do eventually see on the other side! And it seems plain to me you are not who you dress like, begging your pardon mister Amlarad.' He looked at the Ranger warily: he merely stirred as if listening to the wilderness, his head turning this way and that; but he made no answer. Undeterred Ned pressed the matter: 'Well anyway. What is more plain to me is the fact this Meril lady of ours is your spouse. I didn't pry with many questions when we left but, doubtless, it is clear how you are with her: 'so great is my treasure that we carry through this land' you said: she is also carrying your child.'
Ned cocked an eye at Amlarad with a knowing look. The tall man looked back at him for a moment. 'Well, Ned Thistleway,' he said in a humouring tone. 'The shrewdness of Bree-folk is not lost on you.' Ned nodded triumphantly, missing the tone in his voice. 'I told you! I've a nose for these things. O and another thing,' he went on: 'I didn't rightly understand your speech before either. Though if I were to stab in the dark, if you take my meaning, I should think it was all together elvish. Begging your pardon if I speak too boldly mister Amlarad, but folk do say you Rangers are a queer lot - and I can't say as I disagree!'
'If Rangers are queer, then you should be counted well amongst our number,' answered Amlarad. Ned scowled for a moment. 'You don't deny it then?' he asked. 'You are one of these Rangers?' But Amlarad fell silent once more, and he listened to the wilderness: his ears caught a faint call of an unknown creature upon the wind. 'O-ho! Your silence is as good as a yes,' continued Ned. 'It doesn't matter much to me what you are, but the worth of your coin. Your pay best be good for this you know, like you promised. Five silvers! for speed and passage up the Greenway, you said. And ----,' but at that moment Ned was silenced by Amlarad who suddenly put his hand over his mouth.
Another cry had pierced the air, distant and similar to the last. It silenced Ned without the need of restraint, for it was a fell voice, cold and full of malice; and even Amlarad himself hardened his eyes with sudden fear. 'What was that?' whispered Ned. The Ranger bent his eyes to the west, and the trees stood silent, wreathed in mist: he could not yet see any foe. 'Something that has no business being so far south,' answered Amlarad. And then without warning an arrow whistled over head, but it flew wide of them and smote the lane a few feet away. Ned startled, and Meril stirred; but already Amlarad had bent his longbow, and answered in return. Though Ned could see no assailant in the trees, the Ranger had hit his mark, for a shrill cry followed, and then there was silence.
'We have lingered longer than was wise, and I no longer trust these hills. The danger has not passed- we must go!' cried Amlarad. But in that moment the hills rang up again, this time with many fell voices, some near, some far. Ned's heart froze and his courage failed him. Whatever could make such noises he had never heard, nor did he wish to find out. Meril gasped and clutched at her stomach, and she battled against fear and pain. Ned cowered with his eyes shut, and he heard the trample of many footsteps coming near from over the trees, and with them the horrid voices came now close and evil to the ears. Suddenly bows twanged, iron clashed, and the noise of battle rent the air. 'This is my end' thought Ned, and he did not dare to look.
How much time had passed, he did not know. But there he cowered in misery, until the sounds of battle were over. Ominous footsteps followed, and suddenly a harsh grip took his shoulder. Ned quailed, and expecting a final blow he began to sob. But neither the touch of steel or fire came. Instead Amlarad's voice roused him to his senses. 'On your feet, Breelander! You are yet needed.' Ned looked up, blinking. He beheld the way-worn face of the Ranger peering down at him, with his sword unsheathed: he was flushed, yet unscathed; but upon his blade and clothing there were many black specks, as if some foul liquid had scorched them. From whence they came Ned did not need to ask, for he looked round and gasped.
All about the lane there lay many bodies, black and hideous. Some had cloven shields and helms of evil-make, and others were without limb; a black pool stained the mud, and oozed from the fallen: these were not men. Neither grass or weed would grow upon this lane again for many seasons. Ned covered his mouth and wretched. Amlarad was striding round, and bending low he retrieved arrows and inspected the dead. In that hour the Breelander understood the folklore of the Rangers.
Meril gasped again, for she was fully awake but unharmed. More voices sounded from the underwood, but they were far away now and shrill. Ned found his wits, and hastily he leaped up onto the cart and slashed the reins. The Ranger held back for a moment, and he looked gravely upon the battleground. 'Alas! Loathe am I to leave the evil here and let it stain the green. I shall return with fire.' And he looked to the sky, as if making a pledge. Then he turned from the carrion site and he followed after the cart with loping strides.
* * *
For half an hour the daylight sunk as afternoon crept into dusk and still the horse was pushed to its limits. From afar the fell shrieks of the orcs carried on the wind; doubtless their leaders had punished them for their failure, or some fued had broken out as to where the blame lay. Ever did three clunks pass, in quick succession. Ned glanced at the wheel of the cart, " I've been meaning to fix that." He said looking sheepishly at the now grim man. Giving him a keen knowing stare Amlarad remarked, "I wonder how this horse and cart came into your hands, Ned; for it seems to me you care little for the steed you bully and show poor skill in navigation." Ned looked sharply at Amlarad, his bushy eyebrows quivering slightly. " What are you implying? I am no thief! The cheek of it! You: a Ranger; a vagabond of the wild! Your lot are naught but scoundrels and ne'er do wells in my book and that's flat! You should be thankful that I am helping the pair of you, it's all out of the kindness of my heart." Ned's pitying look did not convince Amlarad, though he said and did no more save for the wry smile that he wore upon his leathered face.
Ned slashed the reins harder and the horse reered its poor neck and galloped with all strength as could be mustered; the crooked wheel clunked three times. Slowly Amlarad turned his gaze from the south and looked upon Meril, and she was awake now and in terrible pain. The labour had started and little comfort did she take in knowing the orcs were behind. With what skill he had Amlarad tried to ease her pain. " Drink this Meril, for it is' the water of your home, and that of Nenuial." He handed her the waterskin from which she took eager draughts.
The last rays of the sun vanished to the west, its lingering light piercing the broken canopies of trees beside the road, and though intimidating they seemed in the failing light, to Amlarad's eyes they haboured no enemy. Presently the road began to rise steadily, the clunks of the wheel ever more prominent; and the mild wind had changed its course. A cold and biting wind drifted down from the mountains to the north and at last the edges of the trees vanished unto a folorn wilderness of houseless hills. Ned turned his eyes ahead. "Nightfall, and if my reckoning is aright: yonder lies Deadman's Dike. What a meal we shall be if the wolves pick up our scent. " As he spoke a chilling howl from afar echoed ahead, answered slowly by other nameless creatures distant and remote. Amlarad stood up in the cart and cast his long-sight northwards; though the common rider could not see in the gloom, the eyes of the tall Man were not deceived. There near at hand lay the fields of Fornost, and an unnatural fog lay about its bounds and the forms of withered trees could be discerned. If elven eyes looked upon this land they would see from afar the ruins of Norbury nestled to the north. In days of old the last King of Arthedain and its people were besieged by the forces of Angmar; a killing stroke to end the Númenórean line in the north. At last the city's defences were thrown down and its people slaughtered or scattered; King Arvedui fled and ultimately perished in the cold wastes to the north. So ended the line of kings in Arnor and its minor realms, so the tales say.
Drawing his gaze to the northeast, Amlarad looked upon a large mound with a circular, roofless, and broken ruin. "Let us be quick and take refuge in Amon Raith." Ned peered in the same direction, unable to discern anything but rolling hills. " You will have to be my eyes on this for I can see naught in this gloom. Yet it doesn't seem to be hindering you, I note. " His voice trailed off with mutterings of "queer folk, Rangers" and other less than savoury words.
As the cart made its way up the road, more and more the agony of Meril echoed before them, and answering howls grew nearer and louder; and ever watchful, Amlarad peered into the darkness with his bow string taut. At last Ned could see the dominating hill of Amon Raith. Gloomy, he thought it was, and imagined it to be a place a Ranger would enjoy, so grim and mysterious as they seemed. Amlarad leapt off the cart and strode up the hill, stopping short at the ruin. Soon the rider and the cart caught up only to find him stooped low, examining the ground; his fingers exploring the folorn terrain methodically. Presently he held his hand up as a signal to halt. " Wolves have been here, and recently." He prowled around the ground searching for signs; to his eyes the passing of large wolves still lay fresh upon the earth. The Barghests of Norbury were of legend among the distant folk of Bree, yet to Amlarad he knew all too well that still they existed and stalked the ruins of Arthedain. Ned jumped down and looked in dismay at the surroundings. "We can't set up camp here, surely? What protection will this ruin offer us? It won't just be the north wind biting us if we linger for too long, mark my words!" he said, eyeing the eery fields below. "I mark them but we can no longer hide." answered the tall Man. " The orcs on the moors behind will surely have sent scouts in bitter vengeance, and the wolves will doubtless be drawn to us." He looked back at Meril in the cart with concern, her cries of pain splitting the air. After a pause he spoke in resolve, "Make a fire, as big as you can, on the southern side of this ruin. We can shield ourselves from the wind and the bite it will surely offer." Ned looked at him incredulously. "But a fire will attract all the foul creatures of this land right to us!" The tall Man gave him a keen stare and his protests were silenced. "Do it." said Amlarad. "You forget there are other eyes that watch these lands, so abandoned as they seem; and she needs warmth. I shall return shortly." He strode toward the cart and spoke few words of comfort to Meril before pressing on to the edge of the ruin out of sight.
Ned, grumbling and shivering, set up camp with what few peices of wood as he could gather from the dwindling supplies. Drawing the cart close by he lay Meril next to the now meager fire, upright and wrapped in his cloak. "Never again!" He grumbled. "Never again will I leave the safety of solid walls! Five silvers he offered me, five! And what good has that gone and done? Orcs, wolves and less than savoury company, aye! That's all it's done! " He sat down with a thump and shivered in the cold, his complaints rife and endless. Meril was still lost in her unease of pain and slumber, and she appeared not to listen. " And where is he thinking of taking you anyway? There ain't no settlement here for leagues upon leagues, and yonder it's farmland and homesteads. I daresay as a Ranger he thinks you can raise a child in the wild? Ha!" Ned snorted.
A loud and menacing howl carried on the wind, perilously close it seemed, and Ned drew his sword into the dark with worry. To his horror he saw two glistening eyes full of malice reflected in the fire light. Suddenly an arrow whistled followed by a yelp of pain and the large beast crumpled. From behind, the striding figure of Amlarad was revealed in the fire light. "The Barghests are on the move, stoke the fire!" He said. Picking up a faggot of wood he soon had a brazen torch fending off the fingers of the night; and the Ranger patrolled in a ring around the cart, casting his vigilant eyes this way and that.
Then several things happened at once: Meril cried with renewed pain as her labour peaked; from afar the sound of Orcish jeers and taunts could be heard drifting up from the south; and as a cruel shadow another wolf had leapt upon them. Its hulking form and terrible eyes were aflame, and it challenged the Ranger of the north, yet he defied it. "Back foul beast! You stalk the ruins of Arthedain at your peril!" cried Amlarad. The wolf reared its head and pounced, and with skill and agility the tall Man side-stepped, bearing down upon it all his strength with a stroke from the torch. Momentarily blinded, the wolf staggered as yet another leapt from the shadows.
Yet out from the darkness several bow strings sung and arrows peirced the oncoming wolves. A sword stroke from nowhere glimmered in the firelight and cleaved upon the beasts, and arrows sent the rest fleeing; and two hooded men came dashing through hewing down their enemies; bloodied sword, bow and spear in hand. "You seem in need of aid, brother!" one said as the rush of battle was etched upon his dour face. He looked upon Amlarad gravely. "We saw the fire and deemed it orc mischief!" said the other who had now thrown back his hood. Amlarad hailed them both with a weary sigh. Although Ned did not understand either of their speech he thought he caught their names; Mincham and Dirnaith. "No indeed. Seldom do any pass up the Greenway but it is a rare fortune that three wanderers should meet!" Said Amlarad, now embracing Dirnaith. "But come! More wolves approach and worse still: the orc scouts may have heard this skirmish! I fear swords will not repel them. Make them fear the fire!"
Grabbing another faggot he handed one to each of his companions; Ned huddled next to Meril and held his notched blade limply in his hand. He looked now upon the towering Men, each clad in similar garb to Amlarad, as far as the light would show; and yet the nearest with his hood cast aside was revealed to bear a helmet of skillful make and looked taller and loftier than the others; and together they waved their torches threateningly, the light of which tore through the veil of night.
Every now and again another wolf would dare to challenge, and again they were repelled by the fire; and again they returned. The dour-handed Men let fly many arrows, and most hit their mark, and soon the camp was littered with the fallen wolves; but still they prowled near, roused and driven by the desperate hunger of the cold wastes. The moon climbed over the hills and cast its light upon the surroundings. Though the darkness still lay heavy there now could be seen the numerous hulking Barghests, receding and slinking back into the fields. And yet, as with the final hammer of their doom, the tall men beheld the sight of orcs, leaping over stone and rock to the south. "Alas this is an evil day!" said Amlarad and he threw down his bow and drew his sword with torch in hand. Without hesitation he leapt towards them and the skirmish ensued.
Some of the orcs fired wildly at the sprinting Man of the North, and others fled in terror, but most of them jeered and jabbed with their swords in taunt and readied themselves. Mincham leapt after him in hot pursuit whilst Dirnaith remained; casting back his cloak he unsheathed a longsword of fine make, and it rang and shimmered in the face of the enemy. The clash of steel and iron rent the air, followed by shrill cries and distant howls. Fearlessly Amlarad launched himself from one Orc to the other.
Then at last he beheld the figure of a much larger Orc, yet more Man like in its stature, adorned with the crude markings of its own wicked clan. Clearly he was their Chief, born from the nameless pits and caverns of the distant mountains, where all spawn of this ilk reside; and soon with the clash of sword and spear they dueled ferociously; and Mincham entered the fray striking relentlessly to his kinsman's aid. The Orc chief jeered and taunted and his strikes came crashing down upon them, and each time they evaded him. So too did several Orcs dart in and out of the fight, only to be slain with skill by the Men of the North as they danced around in combat.
With a fell voice the Orc chief shouted, " Kill the others! Stamp out the fire and let the wolves have at them! " And realising the danger Amlarad fled back; Mincham held now the Chief's attention with well aimed strikes. Amlarad overtook and slew many of the enemy until at last he returned to the camp. Arrows were scattered along the ground and Dirnaith was locked in combat with two bandy-legged scouts; and worse still Meril's shrill voice was sent high up in pain, " Amlarad! Amlarad! It's happening!" she cried. With a shout of dismay Amlarad assailed the remaining foes, his child about to be brought into this world in the wake of a skirmish. Sword strokes rose and fell against the enemies until at last the camp was cleared and Dirnaith took to the remainder of the knife work; but the hulking Orc chief now came into view followed in pursuit by a limping Mincham. The wolves, sensing their advantage, stalked closer and waited.
In that evil hour, the Orc leapt at Amlarad who tumbled down with him out of sight. Dirnaith and Mincham, in sheer horror, cast down their torches and jumped down the hill after them; and Meril still laboured on, grabbing Ned as he stood there rooted by shock. He bent down, full of fear and anguish, and found clumsy words of comfort as the noise of battle filled the air from below. " I've never helped bring a child into this world! What am I to do?" he looked around widly as if the answer would reveal itself, and he scrubbed his hair in a false hope to rouse his common sense.
Sword stroke and spear thrust were exchanged between the dour-handed Men and the Orc chief as they fought around the edges of the dike; the north wind was biting hard against them and the foul musk of the wolves prowling in malicious patience heightened their urgency. In that moment Amlarad sidestepped a heavy blow and countered with a slice to the neck; and his stroke hit the mark in a desperate effort. The Orc Chief was slain and the wolves howled in anguish and defeat, turning on their hind legs and fleeing from sight. With a final look to the fields the tall Men leapt back up the hill and to the cart, kneeling beside Meril and Ned. Amlarad's careworn face was covered in black blood and a grave look was etched upon it. "Alas the shadow has passed but the danger has not! Meril, find your strength!" She held his hand tightly and laboured on, and the cries of defeat echoed around the fields.
The moon had now climbed over the sky and the night was old; and at last the Sickle high in the sky bestowed its warning to the quelled enemy. It seemed like hours that had passed as they tended to Meril. Feeling ignored Ned noticed Amlarad and Dirnaith sitting together talking in hushed, foreign voices, and he resolved to bow his head in vain hope of sleep. Amlarad's hands now ached at the memory of the skirmish. At length he rose up and took over from Mincham. For a while he knelt beside Meril offering words of comfort and encouragement as the time ebbed away.
Weariness washed over the company, seeping into the very tumbled stone as the wind quietened. At last, after one final test of Meril's strength, the cries of a newborn baby was given to the air. Overjoyed, Amlarad grabbed from Mincham his removed helm and placed his child within. The night sky grew pale in the east and south as a grey light cast itself upon the misty mountains many leagues afar. Ned and the dour-handed Men moved closer, their faces softened in mild joy as the baby fought hard to take its first breath in the cold morning. Eyes wide with wonder, Amlarad looked down into his son's face and he spoke in the fair tongue, "I name you Amloth, my son; an uprising flower when least expected, and a true flower upon the crest of my helm you shall be!" And Dirnaith peered over Amlarad's shoulder and beheld the rising dawn, and spoke: "Born after your namesake, Amlarad: An Uprising Day. I foresee he will walk with your name ere long he reaches his prime; yet for now, Amloth he shall be so named." And Amlarad handed the helm-cradle to Meril who, for the first time, smiled with unwearied joy.'
