Strange Fates by PerpetuaLilium

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Interlude in the Brown Lands

This chapter was written in a hurry, edited in a separate hurry, and is being posted from Tomisato, Japan, a day before I fly home to the United States.

No Mattógo this time, except for the translation of 'Brown Lands'--'Casshocu no Tshíci', Kasshoku no Chiiki, the same as last chapter. This is somewhat more modern Japanese than I would have preferred but it was more euphonious than other options.

The second and third myths that Sogdash mentions are forms of the Japanese Izanagi and Izanami myth and a version of the Tengriist creation myth, respectively, modified as best I could to fit Middle-Earth in the broad sense.

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They were in the Brown Lands, a welter of mud from the melt-off at the end of winter and scattered copses broken off from the greater mass of Taur-en-Ndaedelos. Síreth was getting tired easily lately, these last four days of travel having been particularly hard, without much to eat or drink other than the store of miruvor and lembas. She was surprised by how much she and Eregriel had come to expect at the least the chance of having other food available, the meat that the Men caught or the berries and roots that they prepared.

‘Good morning,’ she said to Eregriel, sitting down next to her on a large, flat, well-worn rock a little away from the Men for the first meal of the day.

‘Good morning,’ said Eregriel, who was looking up into a miserable-looking tree. ‘Do you think there is any means by which we might get some food from any of these trees…?’

‘The lembas is obviously far better,’ said Síreth, tearing into her piece. ‘Eat half of it now and we won’t have to stop again until mid-afternoon.’

‘I have become a little weary of it, I aver,’ Eregriel said.

This was disturbing to Síreth. Though she herself didn’t particularly care for having nothing else to eat, she would not call herself ‘weary’ of the lembas. Even for somebody like Eregriel, who loved to cook so much and could be expected to be more difficult to please, it should be the case that lembas would suffice not only to sustain but to delectate. That was what it was for.

‘Are you feeling well?’ Síreth asked, putting her arm around Eregriel’s shoulders, nibbling at the lembas that she held in her other hand. ‘I can tell the last few days have been difficult. Sogdash and his horse, even, are starting to tire.’

‘I am concerned,’ said Eregriel, her face long, ‘since we are tiring with him. I feel that crossing these lands may somehow be sapping something from us, the strength that we get from the country that is our own.’

‘You think so?’ Síreth was unsure that that was possible but the terrible quietness of even such trees as there were around her was worrisome to her. She leaned over, her head on Eregriel’s shoulder, moon-silver hair falling amidst wine-dark. Eregriel’s thin red lips parted and she made a sound of affirmation as she nodded. The sky above was cool and, while blue enough, had to it something of the sick lustre of a fish’s dead or dying eye.

‘We are bound more strongly to Eä than they are, for all that,’ Eregriel said. From past a sad copse a little to her left Síreth could hear the men talking and laughing. They, at least, were nothing short of delighted to have the lembas and miruvor. ‘I, at least, have longaday taken it much for granted that there are certain things we get from our ties to the land that the Lady and the Lord protect that elsewhere are beyond our ken.’ She pulled her knees up against our chest. ‘I worry of tiring, sickening, fading.’

Síreth understood now. ‘You have always held that within you, that fear,’ she said, taking Eregriel’s hands in hers. ‘Ever since that time with the dead deer up along Nimrodel.’

‘When was the last time you heard of somebody leaving Lórien and feeling like this as they passed?’

‘When was the last time you heard of somebody going out from Lórien in the first place?’ asked Síreth. Eregriel thought for a minute and then nodded. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Eregriel morosely.

Síreth waved off to the right. ‘Those Men over there will sicken and die as a matter of course and go beyond Eä to the Timeless Halls, won’t they?’

‘Of course,’ said Eregriel with a tone of irrevocable faith, inconsolable because it itself purported to be a consolation. ‘It is transmitted to us.’

And so,’ said Síreth, ‘might it not be possible that among the many other differences that sunder us, we who had never sat a horse in our lives before this past fortnight might not, even though we are of the Elder Kindred, be able to control them or ride on them for long without becoming confused and tired? Certainly we should not have as much skill with them as do Men such as Sogdash or Hlocpath who, to hear them tell it, grew up on horseback.’ Eregriel turned to her with a slight nod. ‘See.’ Síreth stood up and motioned for Eregriel to stand with her. They ate the rest of their morning’s rations of lembas and took swigs from the skin of miruvor that Eregriel held at her belt. ‘Better?’

‘Yes,’ said Eregriel. ‘I feel better.’

‘I know we set out imagining that the lembas would make us easy,’ said Síreth, ‘and it worries me, too, that it does not, at least not as much as we had expected, but I think there may be reasons for that other than something about its efficacy as such.’ She was feeling better now herself, and was less inclined to treat Eregriel’s upset over the lembas or over the travel or whatever it was as something out of the ordinary considering the situation. It had taken four days for Eregriel to learn to fully steady herself on her mare and a little longer for Síreth. The only one left for Síreth had turned out to be slightly taller at the haunches than what Hlocpath, an aging Man with nut-brown skin and hair who was the logistical leader of the expedition as Sogdash was its diplomatic figurehead, said would have suited her best. The parts of the journey that the lembas was supposed to ease, come to think of it, did not extend to the simple fact that they were passing through the Brown Lands, Casshocu no Tshíci, whose very existence as such was among the darkest, gloomiest, and most criminal of the Dark Lord’s old depredations. That was always going to be unpleasant no matter what they had to eat and drink. The idea of the lembas and the miruvor was to make it less unpleasant than it would have been otherwise.

‘Do you want to find Sogdash?’ Eregriel asked.

‘I would like that,’ said Síreth. ‘He and you promised to tell each other stories, did you not?’

Eregriel nodded. It was good. She was even smiling a little, which did Síreth’s heart good also. Under the ambiguous sky they clasped their hands tightly and set off towards the middle of the camp. ‘They also say the Men are gathering the snowmelt and the most liquid parts of the mud,’ said Síreth, ‘and distilling it by boiling so we can have something to drink other than the miruvor, to conserve it. We’ll be into the prairies east of Taur-en-Ndaedelos in a few days if all goes well, and then there should be proper streams once more.’

*

This seemed to further gladden Eregriel, and when they came to the camp they found that the Men, of whom there were in all about a dozen, had indeed managed to glean a good amount of fairly clean water from the fire and array of clay pots that they had set up. They found Sogdash and sat drinking with him. At first they alternated swigs of water and miruvor. Then the water alone, when it turned out to be off good quality and Hlocpath said that it should be possible to get more in the same way over the next few days because they would be passing through a steeply sloping area through which more snow should be melting off into the blighted plains.

‘I will be glad to get into the Emperor’s dominions,’ Eregriel said.

‘Technically,’ Sogdash reminded her, ‘this is already in the Emperor’s dominions. Remember that His Imperial Majesty lays claim to everything east of the Great River and south of the boughs of the Forest, until you reach the northern bounds of Gondor and of the Land of Shadow.’

‘The Emperor may lay claim,’ Síreth observed, ‘but he hardly exercises the claim other than by sending you. I think what Eregriel means is that she would fain reach somewhere where we may be greeted, be seen by other living things.’

‘Yes,’ said Eregriel, ‘and be treated with respect and fed and sheltered by other than the vicissitudes of melting snow from faraway parts of the forest and the strangled excuses for oaks that can find purchase here.’

Sogdash nodded. ‘I wish that too,’ he said, ‘at least to find pasturage for the horses. The oats that we have for them are very dry, may have a rot somewhere in them, and may sicken them if this keeps up much longer.’ He sighed and stretched his arms. ‘But,’ he said, ‘we do have it on good word from our trip westward and the maps on which I sketched out our paths with your Lord that we should very soon be entering better lands.’ Síreth thought this sentence, spoken in Westron, sounded fairly clumsy for its length, but it far outstripped even her Mattógo, to say nothing of her Tunsuga, so she could not really talk about it.

‘You said you were going to tell us a story,’ Eregriel said flatly.

Sogdash nodded again and laid his chin in his hand. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did. Would you like to hear the story of the great camphor tree that grew where the Capital now is?’

‘If you would like to tell it, then by all means,’ said Eregriel.

Clearing his throat, Sogdash began. ‘A camphor tree is a great tree with pale bark, white flowers, and stiff leaves that have a perfume when crushed,’ he said. ‘A very long time ago, perhaps one, perhaps two thousand years—after the Last Alliance, certainly, and before the Enemy’s hold on our homelands found itself temporarily restored—there was one that grew where the Capital now is, on the south-eastern shore of the Sea.’ By which he meant, of course, Síreth reminded herself, the Sea of Rhûn. The idea of ‘the Sea’, unspecified and in common speech,  not referring to that which sundered the Hither Shore from the strand of Eldamar was one that she and Eregriel would certainly have a hard time getting used to. ‘The Sea’ in Sogdash’s use was simply a large lake without an outlet, at heart she thought a prosaic-seeming thing for all that it was a remnant of formerly-great Helcar and surely impressive in its own right. ‘This particular camphor tree,’ Sogdash said, ‘was large, even for a camphor tree, having a trunk at least five fathoms around and one hundred and eight boughs, it is said. There were spirits that lived in this tree, and when the ancestor of the Imperial House, who had opposed the Dark Lord when he had held sway over those lands, was walking by the shoreline he heard them calling to him.’

‘Ainur?’ asked Eregriel, who had been becoming it seemed more and more preoccupied with the possibility that some of the Singers other than the Istari might remain East of the Sea (that Sundered, not of Rhûn).

‘What were they saying?’ asked Síreth.

‘I do not know if they were what you would call Ainur or not,’ said Sogdash. ‘The story does not say. It does say that the ancestor thought at first that they were Elves, but they proved not to be.’

‘He thought they were Evair, one imagines,’ said Eregriel. ‘Like the inhabitants of Dorwinion, or some of the subjects of Thranduil.’

‘One imagines,’ said Sogdash, whom this distinction did not appear to especially interest. ‘The spirits told the ancestor of the Imperial House to depart from that place and return in four years, four months, and four days, according to the reckoning of the time. If the camphor tree still stood, he was to erect a shrine to the spirit.’ This was, in the first instance, for at least a few moments, worrying to Síreth. The last time any country within the ambit of her or Lothlórien’s knowledge had built a large shrine or temple in its capital had gone very badly. She understood enough about the culture of Nacatscuni to know that they had no such compunctions; in the case of the Men of the East rather than of the West the Dark Lord had overthrown their shrines long ago, and attempted to expunge from their minds whatever real or imagined beings they had taken to worshipping in order to have something other than Morgoth Bauglir. ‘If the camphor tree had fallen he was to build the capital of a kingdom there. When he returned, the camphor tree had sickened and died but its husk still stood upright. The ancestor of the Imperial House was confused, but the spirits returned and told him that it had thus given him possession of the land, and would return into the West whence it had come.’ And there was a point of contact and reference…!

‘Was he already a lord?’ asked Eregriel.

‘No. He was as yet only a smallholding farmer. It was a great burden for him to have to remove to that land. Yet they say he was descended from the Creating Spirits.’ Now that was interesting. ‘Personally, I do not think that it matters whether or not he was, since a Man is a Man, be he Eastern or Western or high or low of birth. Where I live a Man attains rank through either actively working to retain his boss uncle’s pasturage or making the effort to gain his own, but these are the sorts of distinctions that are important to the people in the Capital.’

‘They are important to us, too,’ said Síreth, feeling somehow a little silly about it, and also not being quite sure what ‘boss uncle’ meant.

‘There is,’ said Sogdash, ‘another legend that tells of how the Originating Spirit created male and female Creating Spirits to people the world with Men, after the Elves had awoken and gone west. They were the ancestors of Men but were not Men themselves. They were asked to make Men, and land for Men to live in. To this end the Originating Spirit gave them a jewelled spear, which they used to churn the waters of the Encircling Ocean until the country that in Sindarin is called Hildorién was formed along the verge of the Great Lands. Then on Hildorién they made Men. They gave birth to Men and spirits, but giving birth to a powerful spirit of fire the female Creating Spirit died. The male Creating Spirit followed her back to the Halls of the Dead, but she would not come with him, because she had eaten the food there. She tried to keep him there, but he escaped. Then the Originating Spirit said that for every ten Men who were caused to join her in the underworld, fifteen would be born to console her partner in the world of the living.’

At this point Síreth was becoming quite confused, although Eregriel still seemed very interested indeed. Síreth felt a little ripple of thought moving outwards from some undefined point and came to understand that she and Eregriel were both thinking of what one might expect, Míriel and, though not so much, Lúthien. It was with some effort possible to imagine Þerindë as a ‘Creating Spirit’ in a sense, and she had of course given birth to a fire spirit and died not to return—at least not then. Yet at the same time there was a world of apparent difference between all that and what Sogdash seemed actually to be talking about. She had a hard time seeing how there could be any relationship at all between that story and this, but even so…

Síreth imagined Eregriel, who had very strong feelings about this history, was getting agitated along with her interest.

‘That is the way the people of Nacatscuni proper tell it,’ said Sogdash. ‘Those of us who live on the northern plains know and confide that the Originating Spirit created the Eternal Blue Sky, which the people of Nacatscuni proper call Matasaburó—this is Manwë, if I am not mistaken.’ At this idea it seemed Eregriel was becoming more uncomfortable. ‘Eternal Blue Sky created many other gods, who made the lands and seas to save one of their number who wished to fly higher than Eternal Blue Sky but instead for his arrogance fell down towards the depths. But he was not grateful for alighting on the lands and seas, and, depending upon whom you ask, he may at that point have become, or may not have become, the Great Enemy.’

‘Can we continue this later?’ asked Eregriel softly. Her skin was blanched and her face was thin. Síreth was not particularly fond of what Sogdash was saying either, but she thought that if she was going to be an ambassador to these people, if they were going to be ambassadors to these people, it would do good to at least listen. She was about to tell Eregriel so when Eregriel said ‘It’s just that I would like to tell a story myself, relating to something you said earlier, about the Imperial House’s descent from spirits.’

‘Very well! Please do!’ Sogdash sat back and took a drink of water from the bowl that they had been passing around and which had for a few minutes now lain unused. They were almost to a point of having to fill it again.

Eregriel opened her beautiful mouth to tell the story of Melian and Thingol, of Lúthien—touching, but only touching, on Leithian, saving this for another day as she had made Sogdash save the rest of the Ainulindalë of his folk—and of Doriath’s rise and glory and fall. It was a distinctly shortened version of the story, mentioning only briefly the relation to it of the Lady and the Lord. Sogdash listened with interest until the end, when he asked two questions.

‘Why did Dior not…?’

‘Because the Silmaril had captivated him, he had only just then got it from Lúthien and Beren, and with what the Sons of Fëanor had done by then, it was unreasonable that they should have had what they wanted so easily,’ said Eregriel.

‘I see,’ said Sogdash. ‘I do know people who would have done the same. All the same it was a shame that they killed him.’

‘Very much of the Elder Days was a shame,’ said Eregriel, ‘and very little of it had any better options at hand, really, which was a still greater shame.’

Sogdash nodded solemnly and then said ‘I have another question.’

‘Yes?’

‘She left to ‘muse on her sorrows’? Melian, I mean, the Maia. ‘Muse on her sorrows’? Why would one do that?’

‘Because she was heartbroken.’

‘Yes, that much is obvious, but could she not have mused on her sorrows within the kingdom that she was protecting? Was there anything preventing her from leaving up her Girdle even if she did have to go?’

‘I am not sure that that would have been possible,’ said Eregriel sharply. ‘People have been debating the choices of the King and Queen of Doriath for six thousand years and they are no closer than ever to coming to conclusions on who did what wrong or whether there was any way to avoid it. Even people who lived also then like Nellas or the Lady and the Lord have different beliefs about it. Did Nellas not tell you any of this story?’

‘Nellas told me that Doriath existed and then fell,’ said Sogdash. ‘She did not tell me how.’

Síreth saw an obvious problem here, which had been a problem for most of their lives, which was Eregriel’s stiff-necked insistence on giving a fair shake and an understanding cast to both their own personal and cultural ancestors in Doriath and the Fëanorians who had destroyed it. Sogdash seemed very critical of both, and over the next few minutes of talk did not let go of his belief that Melian had erred in leaving Doriath after it fell, that she had broken some trust with her people in a way that he found almost as hard to forgive as Síreth was sure he would find Thingol’s treatment of his daughter when Eregriel got to telling him about that in greater detail. Finally Síreth spoke with a view to ending this.

‘Should we not speak more diplomatically?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think that it helps anything for us to be critical of each other’s stories.’

‘I do, actually,’ said Sogdash, but he sounded cheerful rather than angry. ‘This is a friendly personal talk, a debate between two bards, not a diplomatic parley. There will be more than enough time for that sort of thing when we reach the Capital. Besides.’ He spread his arm wide to indicate the blasted land, the mud and the stunted trees. ‘What else is there to do in a place like this but to talk with each other and to bemoan the fate that this world assigns some of the people and places in it?’

‘Bemoaning may not make it any better,’ said Eregriel in agreement, ‘but at least it helps us know what we ourselves have to stand on.’

Síreth was glad that she was feeling better about things.

‘Perhaps the Music of the Ainur might fit the stories that you were telling better, Sogdash,’ said Eregriel. At this time a cry went up and people started milling around, moving things back over to where the horses were. ‘But I think that we’re picking up the tents now, and moving out for the day. Shall I tell you as we ride, perhaps?’

Sogdash nodded. ‘I would enjoy that. I would like to offer a word of advice.’ He stood up and put his hands on his hips for a moment, then bent down and started picking up the implements they had been using for eating and drinking. ‘When you get to the Capital, do keep telling these stories. Make it clear that you want to learn about the lives and beliefs of the people there. Only,’ he said, glancing down to where they still had their hands intertwined, ‘do not make it too clear what it is that you want to get from your broadened understanding. I know that you are looking for new mirrors and new ways to understand what you yourselves believe—or know—for all I know you could as Elves have certain knowledge that we have not, as has been often claimed—but others might not know the same. They might think that you are trying to use their world as an excuse to do things that you do not know how to do within your own. Try not to give them any reason to keep thinking that, but try as hard as you can to keep up the sort of understanding we are building here. Stretch it out still further, if you can. The more open you are the more others will be open with you, within reason.’

He reached down to help them to their feet, but they stood up on their own and Eregriel gave him a little bow of appreciation, greeting, parting, continuation. Síreth smiled at him and he back at them. Then they all went out to do their part in packing up for the day’s ride eastward.