The Spirit of the Mountain by Elrond's Library

The Children

He came to my mountain and looked to the North with pain and fury and sorrow in his heart. He looked East, at the plains, South, to the rivers, and West, back the way he had come. And he stayed.

I came to him in his dreams, and he begged my leave to build a fortress on my mountain, tall and strong, to better face the Darkness that had held him captive. I asked if he would invite destruction to my mountain, and while he could not promise peace everlasting, he promised song, and strength, the will to drive back the Dark. He seemed so lost, alone and desperate. I held his scarred cheek and bid him and the rest of his folk welcome. 

He named me then, Lady Himring, the Ever-Cold, and smiled. 

We built his fortress together. His people toiled, long and hard, to build the edifice of safety. 

In the night, I sang strength and patience into every stone, every brick, every metal nail and wooden board. The scarred-one’s kin sang with me, sometimes, his voice weaving feelings of love, protection, and relief. He found his guilt easing, bit by bit, as he promised never to abandon his kin again. 

I showed them how to find the caves I had built, and they carved them out further and laid stores of food to outlast the winters and then some. I showed them my greatest delight, and they turned my source of heated water into a place of peace and relaxation, of warmth from the bitter cold which he had named me for. 

I wrapped them all in what little warmth I had, and we were content, together, at the top of my mountain. 

The scarred-one stayed, but the others of his kin flitted in and out as need drove them. Some, the fiery twins, the silver hunter, and the weaver, rarely came, but the smith and his son stayed for a time, and the singer came every winter with new songs and a smile. I knew every one of the Children on my mountain, by their Music if not their name, and they knew me. 

I greeted the blue-and-silver prince when he came to visit with delight, for he eased the scarred-one’s heart and mind in a way that even I could not. He spent many a winter night cursing the cold, and if I Sang to keep the worst of the wind away in those winters, who would accuse me of favoritism? Surely not the scarred-one, who wrapped himself around the blue-and-silver prince and whispered declarations of love and devotion in his ears.

I held the scarred-one in his dreams when the prince left for the West. His heart mourned, and I yearned to comfort him. He never shook me off.

The years passed. Winters came and went and came again. 

The fire and smoke and putrid breath of dragons came from the north in a rush. The singer retreated to me, the Music of his heart discordant. Anger, frustration, fear. But we held strong, and they retook the pass even as the dragon razed the lands claimed by the singer and the weaver. Spring came, and the pressure eased, and I retreated into the heart of the mountain to rest. 

The scarred-one sought me out, then, years later. He explained he was leaving, taking his people east, to meet with the blue-and-silver prince and push the Dark back for good. He would try to return when he could. A small group of the Children would remain, to keep the fortress safe. To keep me company. I thanked him for his consideration, and swore to him then, in Eru’s name, that I would not allow Himring to fall to the Darkness, or anything beside, if he did not return. He smiled, and shook his head, and whispered that surely I knew better than to swear Oaths. 

He left. 

He did not return. 

Orcs and men came, and the Children I had known and loved were slaughtered as they fought to defend me. I tried, Oath-bound, to keep them out, but they did not fear us now that the scarred-one was nowhere to be found. They came, and they plundered. I kept them from the scarred-one’s tower. I did not allow them to destroy the one place he had found happiness.

They knew no peace within my walls. Their dreams were dark and angry. They fought and killed each other, and eventually they too, left. 

The stars whispered of a fire in the West that would not go out. The winds whispered tales of war and valor. The earth shuddered as the dragons stomped, and were slain, crushing other mountains under their bulk. The waters whispered of blood, and the Children, and the fell deeds of the scarred-one and the singer. I wept to hear them. How far they had fallen, my Children, from the heights we had raised together. 

The First Enemy was chained again. The land was a ruin. 

Ulmo came to me then, in the underground baths I had shown my Children in the early days. They had delighted in them, and Ulmo did as well. He told me the tales of the war in the West. The Oath my scarred-one and singer had taken could never be fulfilled, for only the singer yet lived, and he was too broken by it to seek the third. He told me the land was doomed, that my siblings would be swallowed by his waters in due course. 

I told him of my own Oath, that I could not allow the waters to take me and my mountain. 

And so I became an island, in due time, my Children’s fortress standing proudly above the waves.