From the Houseless Hills by StarSpray

From the Houseless Hills

Read From the Houseless Hills

'Peace and freedom, do you say? The North would have known them little but for us. Fear would have destroyed them. But when dark things come from the houseless hills, or creep from sunless woods, they fly from us. What roads would any dare to tread, what safety would there be in quiet lands, or in the homes of simple men at night, if the Dúnedain were asleep, or were all gone into the grave?' - Aragorn, at the Council of Elrond

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TA 3008
Late Summer

It was quiet and tense as the sun rose over the hills in the east, and the little party broke camp. The eastern sky was deep red with the sunrise, which had Limmiel's cousin Avorn muttering about omens. In the distance the hills of the Ettenmoors loomed, a rusty red-brown color like old blood. Orcs had been gathering there, and there were rumors of trolls also coming down from the hills. So there were several small parties of Dúnedain making their way north, spread out so hopefully no fell creatures could slip past. A party from Imladris was also expected to join them, led by Lords Elladan and Elrohir.

Limmiel sat cross-legged beside the remnants of their fire, counting her arrows in her quiver. Her heart was drumming a steady rhythm against her ribs, and she glanced up several times at Lord Aragorn where he stood in quiet conversation with Lord Halbarad. "Stop twitching," Avorn said to her. "You're making me nervous." Limmiel almost stuck her tongue out at him, and she would have if Halbarad and Aragorn weren't right there. "Are you more worried about going to Carn Dûm or about traveling with Lord Aragorn?" Avorn asked, lowering his voice and speaking almost gently. There was usually nothing particularly gentle about Avorn, a tall lean man with rugged features and a scar running down his face that partially puckered his top lip into a near-permanent sneer.

"Well, until you mentioned it I hadn't really thought about Carn Dûm at all," said Limmiel. Carn Dûm had always been a far distant and ancient terror, a dark shadow on the most distant horizon. But with the influx of orcs into the north out of the Misty Mountains and perhaps from even farther away, there were rumors that the Enemy wanted to retake Carn Dûm and begin rebuilding the old kingdom of Angmar. The most fearful whispers said that the Witch-king himself was coming to take it back. Lord Halbarad scoffed at that, but there was the chance that something was creeping back into the north and so Lord Aragorn had decided to take a look while the rest of them dealt with the orcs and trolls gathering around the Ettenmoors. And to that end he had chosen a single companion to go with him, and that companion was Limmiel. She was one of the fastest runners among the Dúnedain scouts, and she was an excellent shot, though she was one of the youngest on this mission at not quite thirty.

"Limmiel," Aragorn said finally, glancing at her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, my lord!" She jumped to her feet. Avorn rose also, patting her on the shoulder before she moved to join Aragorn and Halbarad.

"There is a party of orcs to the northeast," said Aragorn as she joined them. "We will loop around to the west before striking north again."

They left the camp as Halbarad began calling everyone in to explain his own plans regarding the orcs. It promised to be a bright and warm day. Aragorn spoke very little, and Limmiel often broke away from him to scout ahead or to the sides. If there was an orc party not far away, they might also have sent out scouts. Those scouts would be holed up somewhere during the daylight, but that would not stop them from trying something if they thought they would have the advantage against a party of two. She saw none, and they made good time, moving away from the hills in the east and through thick woodlands. There were still birds and beasts flitting about, and the occasional bright stream glittering in between the trees while the dappled sunshine danced on the ground when the breeze had the trees swaying and rustling to one another like whispers. Limmiel loved the woods in summer; there were always new and interesting things to see, and the deep cool green shade more than made up for the bright heat of the sun. She snared a rabbit on her last foray into the trees by herself before they stopped to camp, and was rewarded with a smile from Lord Aragorn when she returned.

Limmiel was not quite certain what to make of Lord Aragorn. He had spent very little of his life with the Dúnedain in Eriador—first he had been raised in secret in Rivendell, and then he had gone off to Rohan and Gondor and who knew where else, and was only lately returned to them in the north. No one had ever said anything against him, and Lady Ivorwen's words when Lord Arathorn had wed Lady Gilraen were well known also, although Limmiel did not pretend to understand them. As for Aragorn himself—he was often described as grim, and usually that seemed an accurate descriptor, but Limmiel had seen him the day before they had left the Angle for this journey she'd spotted him playing pretend with a group of children, who had all apparently been playing the part of Ecthelion while Aragorn was the balrog, even with appropriate roaring and growling noises, and it had all ended with him on the ground with six children piled on top of him, all of them laughing uproariously.

As they set up their little camp in a little hollow at the base of a hill, beneath a mossy overhang and shielded on the east and west by tall thick fir trees, Limmiel asked, "What do you hope to find at Carn Dûm?"

"Hope?" Aragorn's smile was wry as he quickly and expertly skinned the rabbit, while Limmiel coaxed a small pile of tinder to flame. "I hope to find nothing but ruins. I expect to find orcs or perhaps a few Men—though I would be surprised if they were more than scouts. There is no reason for the Enemy to be in a hurry to rebuild Angmar; as far as he is concerned, Isildur's line was broken years ago and the Dúnedain of Arnor pose no threat."

Limmiel carefully added a few bigger sticks to her little fire. The Enemy was not wholly wrong, she thought, but did not say. They were very few and each year it was growing harder to defend themselves and the Shire and Bree against the evil things creeping into Eriador from the east. "Why bother with it at all, then?" she asked finally.

"It will not hurt his cause, certainly," said Aragorn with a shrug. "Perhaps he does plan to send the Witch-king himself back to the north—but not yet. He would be more useful closer to Mordor. Perhaps in Dol Guldur, but even then…"

Once the fire had been burning for a while and there were plenty of good hot coals, they roasted the rabbit and at it with a bit of way bread, before settling down to rest. They took turns watching in the night. When it was Limmiel's she sat with her back to the embers, waiting and listening. There were few night-sounds, which was troubling. She did not know if it was because they were nearing the old lands of Angmar, or if there was something else stalking through the trees. But if there was something else out there, it did not come near them.

The following days passed in much the same way. As they went north the woodland wildlife grew quieter and fewer, and the trees also started to thin out. The wind was in the north and there was a chilled edge to it, though it was still summertime. Aragorn bade Limmiel stay closer to him and not to stray far afield scouting or hunting. She obeyed and watched with interest as he slowed his pace, stopping often to read signs on the ground or in the bushes or trees. Sometimes he explained to her what he was looking for, or what he had found and how to see it. Mostly he said nothing, which Limmiel supposed meant he had found nothing worth noting.

Limmiel herself was the one who discovered the troll hoard. It was long abandoned, everything covered in dirt and dust and cobwebs. There were a few scattered bones, but they were too broken to tell if they had belonged to an animal or a person, and the hole had a musty, old smell, rather than the rank smell of death one found in occupied holes. She sifted through the broken bits of old plunder, not really expecting to find anything—until her fingers closed around the blade of a dagger. It was long and slender, still in a leather sheath although the metalwork had been torn away long ago. When she drew it the edges were sharp as ever, and the blade and hilt were etched with runes that warmed more swiftly than metal was wont under her hand. In the darkness of the troll hole the dagger glinted red, as though it were awakened at her touch.

"This was made in Arnor of old, in Cardolan or Arthedain," said Aragorn when she showed it to him. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. "It was made for the war against Angmar."

"How did it find its way to a troll's hoard?" Limmiel asked. "It seems a strange place to find such a weapon."

To her surprise, Aragorn laughed—sudden and bright, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. "Not so strange as all that," he said. "Not here, anyway. Finding, say, swords from Gondolin in a troll hole just a few days from Rivendell—that would be strange."

Limmiel blinked. "Has someone found swords from Gondolin in a troll hole near Rivendell?"

Aragorn grinned as he handed the knife back to her. "Ask Gandalf where he got his sword, when next you see him. In the meantime, keep this close. It is a good weapon to have in these parts."

Finally the trees ended altogether, and they came to the top of a bluff overlooking a wide expanse of moorland. It was easy to imagine it a blackened and withered heath, living things all killed or fled before the power of the Witch-king. In the far distance was a dark shape and beyond it the hazy outline of mountains, the most northern branch of the Misty Mountains as they curved westward. "Carn Dûm," Aragorn murmured. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, a thoughtful frown on his face as he studied the lands before them, and the ruined city in the distance. The wind picked up as they stood there, catching their hair and cutting through Limmiel's cloak, and bringing with it the smell of rain. It was a desolate view; there was not even a bird to be seen. In the north dark clouds were gathering with the rain promised by the wind.

They went more slowly through the open lands, neither of them sleeping much in the night, and going more quickly by day, especially at high noon when the sun was brightest and the shadows fewest. It almost seemed as though they need not have bothered with such caution—nothing moved around them by day or by night, except for the grass rippling in the wind. Limmiel would rather have had to contend with something—anything, even orcs or wraiths—than this eerie, deathly stillness.

The clouds rolled in long before they reached the ruins, and seemed to be settling there to stay. The wind kept up, but though rain seemed constantly imminent it did not fall. They reached the outer walls of Carn Dûm, now crumbling piles of dark stone, at noon—but with the heavy clouds it was no brighter than evening. The lack of sunlight gave everything a flat look, making it difficult to judge distances, and also at times to tell what exactly it was they were looking at. Aragorn drew his sword, and Limmiel took out her bow.
After several hours of searching along the outer walls, heading around the eastern side, Aragorn said in a low voice, "I do not think any living thing has come here since Angmar fell, except for us." He used one foot to roll a rusting helm over in the dirt. There was still a skull inside; Limmiel shuddered and backed away.

She had barely taken two steps when a chill ran up her spine, an almost physical feeling of someone's fingers brushing over her bones. Limmiel did not scream, but she whirled around, raising her bow—but there was nothing there. Only a bit of mist that faded away with her movement. She almost lowered her bow again in relief, before it occurred to her that there had been no mist before. "My Lord Aragorn," she whispered hoarsely, and immediately felt his presence at her back, solid and warm and a great comfort after the cold thing that had brushed up against her before.

"Have you ever been to the Barrow Downs, near the Old Forest?" Aragorn asked as they stood there, watching the growing shadows around them.

"No. But I've heard tales."

"This is the place where those tales began." Aragorn slashed at the air, his sword flashing in what little light there was, and Limmiel heard something like a scream in the far distance.

"What do we do?" she asked.

Aragorn did not answer, because shapes appeared suddenly around them, skeletal and at first not seeming quite solid—but when they moved in, hissing words in an ugly tongue that Limmiel did not understand, they proved to be very real. Limmiel shattered a skull with an arrow before they got too close, and then she dropped her bow and drew her hunting knife and the dagger she'd found in the troll hoard, which flashed red as fire in her hand. Aragorn charged with a cry and she followed suit, screaming just for the sake of drowning out the wailing voices all around them, which seemed to be trying to form a chant of some sort.

The fight was short but fierce, and when they were done they stood surrounded by scattered bones, bleached white and dry and lifeless. The mist did not fade away so much as flee, rushing back up into the center of the city as though it were being blown by a strong wind, except that there was not even the whisper of a breeze. There was a hissing sound all around them that cut off abruptly. Aragorn sheathed his sword, expression grim. "I think we have learned what we came for," he said. "Let's go."

Once they were away from the ruins Limmiel said, "Are the spirits there not still a threat?"

"Not to us, not now," Aragorn replied, with a glance over his shoulder. "They are I think like the barrow wights—they'll ensnare anyone foolish enough to come to them unprepared, but they will not leave this place." Limmiel shuddered, remembering the icy feel of ghostly fingers on her spine. "Perhaps someday someone will come to cleanse this place and rid it of all memory of Angmar, but that is not our task today. The rumors of Angmar's rising again are only that, and we can focus our attention to the east and south." He grinned at Limmiel, suddenly. "Let us return that way, where we can be of some use."

They sped south, moving more quickly this time and hardly stopping to rest at all until they left the open moorlands surrounding Carn Dûm. Limmiel breathed a sigh of relief once they returned to the forested hills, and with every bird she saw or stream they crossed she felt an easing in her chest, as a tension and fear left her that she had not even realized was building until it was fading. It was even more of a relief to come upon the first small party of orcs fleeing from the skirmishes farther south and west with Halbarad and the other Dúnedain. They shrieked and scattered when the first fell to one of Limmiel's arrows, and she and Aragorn swiftly hunted the rest down so that none would return to their mountain hideaways. There were other such small, ragged parties the farther south they went, until they met with Halbarad and Elladan and Elrohir leading a large party of Dúnedain and Elves from Rivendell north and east.

"Well met, Estel!" called either Elladan or Elrohir as Aragorn and Limmiel stepped out of the trees. "What did you find in the north?"

"Ghosts and broken stones," said Aragorn. "And a few scattered orcs fleeing from you."

"We routed them thoroughly," said Halbarad, grimly pleased. "They will not be coming back into Eriador for some years, at least."

Avorn found Limmiel as the large party caught up with them and camp was set. "How was your adventure in the north, cousin?" he asked.

She shivered. "I would not like to go there again," she said. "And I do not understand why Lord Aragorn took me with him. He could have made the journey by himself just as easily."

Avorn glanced over at Aragorn, where he stood in conference with Halbarad and a few others. "From all I hear, nearly all his journeys have been by himself," he said. "Perhaps he did not want to travel alone to such a bleak place. And as for why he chose you—going on foot, you're one of very few who could keep up with him! Anyway, what is this? I've not seen this dagger before."

It was a large and merry party that made its way back toward the Breelands, splitting up above the North Downs as those who dwelt near Lake Evendim turned for home, and those who lived farther south in the Angle or near the Shire continued on. Upon reaching home Limmiel found herself very popular among the children as soon as the news got out that she had gone all the way to Carn Dûm with Lord Aragorn—excellent fodder for ghost stories. Aragorn was similarly popular, though the children were slightly more hesitant to follow him about demanding stories the way they could with Limmiel—though he had the bigger store of tales, both ghostly and otherwise.

And then in the spring Gandalf arrived for a very brief visit, during which he asked everyone about a creature both like and unlike a hobbit, called Gollum, that might be trying to make its way to the Shire. He did not think the creature was in Eriador, but he asked them all to keep an eye out, and to capture it if they could, rather than killing it. And then he and Aragorn were gone, off to seek for Gollum east of the Misty Mountains. Limmiel did not think she had ever heard of a Chieftain—or a king, for that matter—who was so widely traveled, or who spent so little time in his own kingdom. She wondered if it were a sign of great change to come, though whether it was a good change or ill, who could say? Still, if there were anyone who could bring about the rise of Arnor again into a proper kingdom and not just a scattering of isolated settlements and roaming bands, who could cleanse the north of all remnants of Angmar even up to the ruins of Carn Dûm, she thought it would be Lord Aragorn.