Ascending the Pass of Whitcleft in the Misty Mountains, Third Age 2462
Two years after the end of the Watchful Peace
Day 3, Morning
The morning fog skulked below the highest peaks of the Hithaeglir1, covering the mountainside with curling tendrils of white that seemed to push inward into it's jagged clefts and crevices. There, within the misty gloom of the morning haze, on the seldom-walked path of Whitcleft, a cold light glimmered faintly, scarce visible to anyone save the keenest eyes. It was accompanied by a breathy, melodious singing, barely indistinguishable from the chilled winds that blew above the fog.
Mi moth gwilwileth ortha,
A sîr lhûg ‘ond awartha.
Sui guil, sui guil....
"Sister, do you not find it ironic? That is a song meant to be sung on hot summer days."
There were three of them.
The one that had spoken, a tanned Elf-maiden with braided dark hair and dark blue eyes, was stood close to a figure who looked like her near mirror-image: The only difference that mortal eyes could make was the choice of clothing, for the first Elf-maiden wore a light leather hauberk the colour of pale navy, a two-handed blade resting in a scabbard behind her back. The second Elf-maiden was clad in a leather doublet dyed a creamy off-white, a quiver of arrows fastened onto a brown leather belt looped around her waist. The third Elf-maiden, with short, silvery hair and pale grey eyes, followed in their footsteps wearing chainmail forged out of Elf-steel, protected underneath by a warm, padded gambeson, wielding a spear with a shield upon her back. They were all draped in snow-white cloaks, held together at the neck by a small, leaf-shaped brooch.
The Elf in the doublet let a hearty smile show on her face as she turned her head to face her sister, "Certainly, Díllothel. Does it not remind you of the warm summer days we spent by the waters of Imladris, talking about trivialities such as the passage of other Edhil2 and who the better haggler was when trading at the market?"
The elleth3 named Díllothel frowned slightly, "Focus your mind on the task at hand, Hallothel. We are not yet come to the highest peaks of the Hithaeglir. Lord Brenedir bade us to seek out any signs of goblin activity in the mountains."
The silver-haired elleth spoke up, "Don't be so stiff, Díllothel. I am sure Lord Brenedir would have enjoyed such irony."
Lord Brenedir was one of the Elves who was in charge of a contigent of scouts, under the command of Lord Elrond Halfelven. Under him, Díllothel, Hallothel and Himmaethel took up the art of warfare and subterfuge, learning how to blend in with the environment and swiftly traverse the terrain. They had often been assigned to work with one another, and as three friends who had known each other since childhood, the three women had forged a close bond over the years.
"I am merely exercising caution, Himmaethel." Díllothel replied, "We are coming up a pass known to be treacherous."
Himmaethel fell silent and merely shrugged at her, glancing around herself with a sharp gaze, evidently seeking out threats. Díllothel turned her head back to see that her sister had taken the lead in the company, walking on top of the powder-fine snow with a light step. She was holding a small, white gemstone in her hand, the likes of which glimmered faintly in the fog, providing them all with a comforting point of orientation in the gloomy haze. It's light seemed to pulsate with each step that Hallothel took, but Díllothel knew that it would flare up just a little brighter whenever her twin fed it snippets of song:
Or ael heledir dortha,
Di ‘olf dhannen lim dartha.
Sui guil, sui guil...
She watched as her own breath rose up like smoke in front of her. It almost felt as if the air had gotten a bit chillier in response to Hallothel's singing. Díllothel glanced back at Himmaethel, beckoning the other elleth closer.
"Do you think we will find any sign of them, Himmaethel?"
"'Tis hard to say, Díllothel." Himmaethel replied, eyes turned over to the singing Hallothel, "They speak of rumours in the east that a shadow has fallen once more over Eryn Galen4. Evils are stirring, and I do not like it."
Díllothel nodded, impassive. Two years ago, the first whispers of a shadow in Mirkwood spread throughout Imladris. The three Elf-women had seen an increased amount of deployment in the wilderness since then, and they soon found themselves being whisked away to far places to search for any indications of growing evil. The current mission, the mission to Hithaeglir, was going to be their most daunting yet, and as they were all freshly into their four hundredth year of life (by the count of mortal men, at least), they had placed high expectations on themselves to do well. Hallothel, for the most part, appeared to be the only one who took the entire mission in stride, but Díllothel knew her sister better than that. She estimated that they would be gone for at least two weeks.
"Her singing is a comfort, however." Himmaethel added with a slight smile, "It does bring me away from this dreary place and into a happier time, like whenever we used to go and try to catch fish in the streams as children."
Díllothel thought back to the time Himmaethel, whom she had only known as Sídhirien back then, had fallen into the stream by accident, and had to swiftly be fished out by a reproachful Sídheldes. The memory of the silver-haired girl crying and sopping wet brought out a small smile in her, "I remember that as well. You were quite soaked when we fished you out of the stream."
"Oh, so you are allowed to reminiscence, but I must remain vigilant? How utterly hypocritical of you, sister." Hallothel chirped from the front.
"I am not the one that is holding that gem and guiding us up the Whitcleft." Díllothel replied, rolling her eyes. She hastened her pace to join Hallothel up at the front again, leaving Himmaethel to guard the rear once more, "Do you see anything up ahead?"
"Nothing but the outlines of trees, but I wager that the fog will be gone soon, it is already starting to thin out."
Díllothel squinted into the distance. Yes, it did seem like the fog was thinning out. She looked up skywards and noted that the icy blue haze had gradually become a thin sheet tinged with a light yellowish colour, indicating that they were close to breaking the surface of the fog. Soon, they would be at an altitude where denser, heavier clouds scarcely lingered, and the thought of warm sunlight bearing down upon their backs comforted her. Yet, even as they finally passed the threshold a moment later, to the delight of both Hallothel and Himmaethel, Díllothel felt as if a chill persisted in the air, following the three ellith up into the peaks.
Mi ‘aladh melethyr erthar,
Nu Ithil ‘ael aderthar.
Sui guil, sui guil...
Footnotes
1 Hithaeglir - Sindarin name for the Misty Mountains
2 Edhil - "Marcher", generic Sindar term for an Elf
3 Elleth (pl. Ellith) - A female elf
4 Eryn Galen - former name for Mirkwood. The forest was known as Greenwood the Great before the arrival of Sauron around T.A. 1050.
The poem and it's translation can be found at realelvish.net.
Critique and feedback is welcome.
