Nan Dungortheb. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

 

 

   

   Once he had found the Road, Faron put his head down and galloped as though he sought to take flight like a bird, his desperate pace such that Aredhel bent low across his neck, head bowed, to save her eyes from the fierce wind and the tearing branches.

   She turned briefly to look back, hoping that the others had escaped, but she could do nothing with Faron, who paid no heed to the elf clinging to his back, all his thought bent on fleeing the dreadful spiders, spawn of Ungoliant the Fell. The Road ran straight, overhung by the dark trees, yet the light was wrong for such a grim tunnel, for on her right hand lay Neldoreth, the land of Thingol, and of Melian the Maia. From between the fair trees of Doriath a mist came, yet not the fume of the Shadow, for it glowed, as though a pale sun rose in the south. And when at last Faron ran himself to exhaustion, she dismounted and led him into the light. There was no path, and though she walked slowly, wary of the guards who had turned them away, no sign or trace of any other elf appeared, even to her. 

   After a time, the light grew, and her heart soared, believing that at last Melian had taken pity on her and allowed her entry where before only the children of Finarfin had been permitted. She hurried forwards, but was crushed to realise that she had been misled, the Road was once more before her feet. For the first time in her life, she had missed her path. She stopped then and turned to the south, gazing in wonder at the mist. It glowed, it shone equally in all directions, a gentle, inviting light, so different to the black horror across the Road. But she knew that it was futile to attempt to enter there; they had been turned away, they were not welcome, and she had no wish to provoke hostility and find enemies on either hand as she crossed the dread valley.

 

   Faron needed considerable care, she had not known that he had been bitten. Aredhel cleaned the wound, but it was slight, and when she put her face to it she could find no scent of venom. She knew that this had spared her life, for none could escape the spiders on foot. She sighed and looked about her, but there was nothing to see, only the endless trees, black dark to the north, and glowing faintly in the south. There were few webs so deep, for few travellers could pass the countless spiders at the borders of the cursed land, and the air was barely touched by the stench.

  She wondered again about the lost expedition of Tarias, who had undertaken, at no command save his own, to clear the valley of spiders. All but those reckless ones who had gone with him had urged him to avoid the foul enchantment of the dark valley, worse than webs for entangling the unwary. But he had laughed, fresh from his glory at Dagor Aglareb, saying that they were mere beasts, and he had ridden away singing, never to return.

   Aredhel sighed, and frowned; she alone could do nothing against such foes, and the road south was forbidden her. She must ride on, down that strangest of tunnels, to Celegorm and Curufin. 

   

   Wiith that thought, her mind cleared; what would Celegorm say of these creatures ? He would listen, he would watch, he would think. The lessons she had learned in the ride of Oromë came back to her, and she smiled, and turned once more to Faron. His eyes still showed white at the edges, she sang some phrases of the Meditation, and slowly his breathing eased. She stroked the long grey nose, and Faron sighed and blinked, still whisking his tail. But his eyes showed calm at last, and he stood still, and finally moved his head under her hand, and she smiled.

   'Poor old Faron, what have you done to deserve this ? To deserve me ? In my reckless, heedless folly I have led us into the worst... into one of the worst traps in all Arda ! Yea, the Enemy himself feared this foe !  But her lair cannot be near, she must dwell north, or west, I feel, and it may be that we have passed the worst. Poor Faron. But here, you shall drink.'

   She filled his nosebag with water, then looked thoughtfully at the packs on his back. They had come prepared, there was much water, though she had little food but lembas, their supplies were with the others. She smiled, it had been long since last she ate lembas, and at least this time she was not freezing cold.

   Aredhel laughed, the counsel of Celegorm would have availed them naught on the ice, for there was nothing alive there to understand, only the indifferent ice, and the endless wind. But the thought of him grew within her, and with sick dread she knew what she must do. She grimaced, she who had faced fell beasts of many kinds, and slain without qualm. But these noisome spiders, and their webs... It was as though the web was a part of the spider, as though her foes were each giants, but elusive giants, crouched among the trees. For a dizzying, terrifying moment, she saw the webs as parts of a whole, with the monstrous Ungoliant at their centre, sensitive to every tremor, directing her fell brood to kill and kill and kill...

   But she knew beastlore, better than most, and spiders were not ants, they would not form an army, but each alone would seek to devour her, and poor Faron. 

   Beastlore, she thought; first avoid detection.

 

   She ate some lembas thoughtfully and refilled the nosebag with oats. Faron blew happily through his nostrils and settled to his supper, as Aredhel moved carefully, examining the ground, the trees and the few tracks on the Road. A little way into the darkness she found what she had sought; the remains of a spider, slain not by another spider, but by a blade, a great blade, strongly wielded, which had split the shell of the wretched creature. The kill was fresh, though clouds of flies rose about it as she drew near. The stench was foul, the beast lay on its back, its dark blood staining the earth. Aredhel sighed, and set her hands to the creature, and wrenched apart the shell. Shaking her head, and with clenched teeth, she pulled forth the offal within its broken head, ignoring the maggots that poured wriggling to the ground, casting aside the slimy flesh, until she came to the greenish sacs of venom. She smiled grimly and cut the sac, which the maggots had wisely avoided, free from its bed. 

 

   Faron reared as she approached, but she stood still, and sang softly to him until his  mutterings subsided. He looked sideways at her, trusting her, but twitching with fear. 

   'Poor old Faron, this prey is not to your taste ? Nor to mine, old thing, nor to mine. Yet this is the Road we must take, there is no other. We must do this thing, you and I, or we shall perish each alone. Come now, you do not quail at ordure ! This scent will serve as a mask for us, for these creatures of darkness use senses other than sight, scent above all.'

  She dipped a hand into the venom, grimacing at the stench, and smeared the slime across the shoulder of Faron, who leapt straight up into the air and bolted. Yet his tired limbs brought him soon to a standstill, and his fear brought him, head down, back to her. She shook her own head, and smeared the venom on his flank, her stomach heaving at the stench. And when the horse did not know his own scent, she looked sadly down at her white robes and then snorted at herself and smeared the filth across her chest, and in her hair...

 

  She thought as she worked; spiders were not blind, what would they make of a white, six legged spider ? For they would not see her legs, against the sides of Faron. She needed more limbs. She looked at the carrion, and knew what she must do. Drawing her long knife, she picked her way past the rotting offal, where the maggots desperately struggled to bury themselves, fearing birds that were not coming; for none would enter this dark valley, and few ventured close enough to the edge of Doriath to be heard at all. The silence was a solid thing, like resin set between the trees. 

 

  It was a grim task, hacking the forelimbs from the loathesome creature, or what was left of it. Each limb was longer than she was tall; she laughed, a little fey from the fume of the venom, and thought of how her mother would react, could she see her. The serene Anairë, never a hair out of place, had been appalled by Aredhel, constantly covered in mud and twigs, her hair disarrayed, her gown torn. The white robes had been a challenge, and the baffled Aredhel had sought advice from Curumo the Wise. He had told her to learn the arts of movement, then she might live as recklessly as she pleased and yet avoid the disapproval of her mother. 

  And indeed, the lessons had been interesting, and useful, and she had won the praise of Oromë himself, which remained the most joyful memory of her life. And the white robes had become a badge of pride for her, by which she was known; though few would know her thus, envenomed and fouled. 

 

   Faron skittered sideways as she drew near bearing the bristling limbs of the spider, but she made their special sound and he snorted crossly. But Aredhel laughed 'Ha ! You may well snort, my friend, but I must wear these... these things... upon my back, to baffle our foes. Valar guide me ! I hope this absurd venture succeeds ! Still, rashness in despair shows the way fair ! We shall leave this place soon, I know it ! For we are mighty, we Noldor, and we were not daunted by the ice. Mere crawling beasts will not deter me !'

   Faron stamped his hoof and pawed the ground. She grinned, she had chosen him for his spirit, and though he had fled, the bite of that spider would have had Fingolfin himself running, she felt sure. 

 

  The limbs of the dead spider were dreadful to handle, the bristles sharp and stinging, the slashed ends leached stinking slime. But she wrapped the lower parts in her spare cloak and her blanket, and strapped them awkwardly across her back, until they hung forwards over her head. She shook herself, and the limbs waved pleasingly, but did not loosen. She smiled slyly, her fey notion might even succeed... 

 

  But Faron would not let her near, his eyes whitened again, the limbs of the spider reawakened his terror, and for a moment she thought he would bolt, and leave her... But reluctantly he let her draw near, tossing his head and sidling away, then standing still, trembling with dread. She sang softly awhile, and his eyes closed, his shoulders drooped, and for a moment he dozed. While he slept, Aredhel lifted the spider's limbs into the air, then carefully slid astride the dreaming horse. She settled the limbs into position, one on either side of Faron's head, but the joints and shaping of the limbs held them up and out; it was eerily convincing. Aredhel found that she was making an effort not to look back at the spider she felt sure was behind her. She sniffed, then grimaced as her throat gagged at the fumes of the venom, then gently she woke the horse. Faron saw the limbs of the spider, one on each side of his head, and bolted in raw terror, head flat, eyes staring, thinking her gone, and a spider on his back.

   Fortunately she had set him on the Road, facing east, and he ran and ran, terror drove him, he ate the leagues like fresh grass until weariness overcame him and he staggered to a halt and stood gasping, head down, still shivering with dread. Aredhel, her own limbs trembling from the wild ride, their second in one day, reached for her flask and swallowed a draught of miruvor. She looked at Faron and shook her head, angry with herself for leading the poor beast into such horror. He was valiant, but his valour had reached its end, the terror was beyond even so mighty a steed, and for once her song did not calm him.

 

  She frowned, and thought of all she knew of beasts, but as she looked helplessly around at the darkness to the north, and the light to the south, a thought came to her; that the girdle of Melian was set against elves and orcs, not harmless beasts. She led the sweating horse from the road, and into the sweet-scented mist that shone between the trees. 

   It was like entering a pleasant dream after a nightmare; flowers bloomed, pale white amidst the pale green, in foaming mounds, and far away the faint music of birdsong, or a distant flute, could be heard. Faron sighed, a long, shuddering sigh, and to the delight of Aredhel, the horse deigned to stoop and tear off a mouthful of fresh grass. She laughed and patted his flank, and stood while he ate, picking his way through the flowers as delicately as her own mother, choosing only the greenest grass. She wandered a little herself, resting her mind, remembering the woods of Valinor, so much richer, brighter, louder, so full of vigorous life... Once...

   In a sheltered spot beneath an aged oak she found athelas, and stooped with a smile; this would soothe the beast, and make a heartening addition to her next meal. Faron took the bunch of fresh leaves eagerly, and sighed again, a slower, more patient sigh. Aredhel grinned, they had both become used to the dead limbs, jiggling in the air around her head like the bones of a bat. She ate some lembas and looked up at the branches, but the mist was everywhere, there was no sight of the sky.

 

   They rested long; the mist dimmed about them, but did not darken, and Aredhel watched as Faron slept, listening to the comforting gurgle of his stomach, the sound of a horse at peace. The air of Neldoreth was wholesome and fresh, Aredhel let her mind drift, back to her youth, to reckless rides with the sons of Fëanor, the wild explorers, who had travelled farther in Valinor than any others, and to whom all paid heed when they spoke. She had longed to travel with them, even to Avathar in the far south, but her mother had simply forbidden it, allowing her only on the briefest of expeditions. Aredhel awoke then, and laughed, wishing her mother were there to see where she had found herself. Faron was eating happily, she drank some water, then filled his nosebag and he lapped thirstily. 

 

  But the very instant that she mounted him, he bolted in terror again, and beneath the dreaming trees she had forgotten to point him east. Faron ran wildly through the woods, the limbs of the spider lashing about them as though the beast were convulsing in its death throes. Aredhel grimaced and bent low to keep them free of the tangling twigs, and the horse pounded on, ignoring all but his own fear. Yet before she had fully caught her breath, they were back on the Road, galloping east, Faron stretching his limbs as though he had never run before, and she laughed, silently thanking the power of the Maia who had guided them back to their lost path. 

 

 

  In three days they reached Iant Iaur, and the poisoned waters of the nameless stream that oozed beneath the stone arches, fetid vapours rising a little way from the dark waters before sinking into themselves and pooling in the vale, as though there were two streams beneath the bridge, one of fouled water and one of poisonous fumes. Aredhel urged Faron on, but he needed no persuasion, and they hastened into the silent valley, and the woods thinned on her left, and the darkness lifted a little, and they rode at a canter.

 

   Aredhel kept her bow in hand, but no spiders came, and no webs blocked the Road, foiled, it may be, by the power of the Maia. And they rode unchallenged, the length of Nan Dungortheb, until they reached the Arossiach, where on the far bank a line of elves in the colours of Celegorm pointed their bows at the approaching Aredhel. She looked at her new limbs and laughed, then sang the song of Welcome. The elves lowered their bows, and one rode forwards across the stony ford.

   'Stars shine upon you, my lady, we were baffled by your disguise, but I see that we must congratulate your woodcraft ! You have passed the Vale of Dread Death, few have done so and lived, yet you seem unscathed. Is all well with you ? Do you carry the trophies of a fallen foe ?'

   'Mae govannen ! I am Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, I seek my cousin Celegorm whose colours you bear.'

   'Forgive me, my lady, your disguise is too complete, I did not know you ! Alas, lord Celegorm and his brother lord Curufin are from home, they rode to Thargelion, we do not expect them soon. But they would have us offer you welcome, and all the comfort of Himlad.' He smiled 'And a bath ?' 

  Aredhel laughed 'By the stars, I long to scrape this filth from my robes, and poor old Faron will never let me near him again ! But I do not grudge the journey, for I have longed for the freedom of the open plains, and the wild woods !'

   The elf gaped 'The Hidden City ! You are come from the Hidden City ! In my astonishment at your' he gestured to the spider limbs 'your disguise, I had forgotten that you have been lost for so long. Is all well there ? Do you come fleeing the Enemy ? Are there grim tidings ?'

   Aredhel laughed 'All is well, in Gondolin, as we call it, but I fear for my companions, who rode thence at my side, and were lost to me when the spiders attacked. My poor Faron was bitten, almost at once, and bolted, and I perforce made my own way hither.'

   'Alone ? You braved Nan Dungortheb alone ? Have you no fear ? I would not lead a legion through that place !'

   Aredhel smiled 'I was afraid, indeed, but I must needs remain strong for my horse, else neither of us would stand before you. But may I dismount ? I would cleanse him in Aros, by your leave.'

   The elf almost threw himself from his horse, and was swiftly at her side, holding up a hand to her as though she were an infant. She laughed again and leaped to the ground, but the spider limbs shook wildly, and one of then cuffed the head of the startled elf. He held up his hands to help with the unwieldy burden, and made a sound of disgust as the coarse bristles touched his hands. Aredhel unfastened the straps she had bound them with, and threw them thankfully to the ground.

   'No spiders troubled us, once we were past the main attack. But...' she faltered, thinking of those she had left behind 'One day I must return, or the thought will haunt me ever, that three brave elves lost their lives to gratify my restless whim.'

   But the elf was silent, gazing west into the deepening shadow 'You would fight for the freedom of others, would you not, my lady ?'

   'Of course ! What do you take me for ?'

   'One who is now free, my lady. Welcome to the wide world, where our only borders are those of the Enemy, and the girdle of the Maia. But we do not grudge Elwë his little forest, we who have Beleriand to roam ! Come, ride now with us, and tell us your tale, and we shall sing of your valour until every last spawn of Ungoliant is slain !' His voice became somber 'And we shall mourn your lost companions, who, if they did not themselves escape, died with honour, defending your freedom !' 

   Aredhel was silent, they turned to the west, and stood, thinking of the lost, all the lost, and mourning the doom of the Noldor.