Chapter 09: Friends, Old and New

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Rumors had been circulating for days.  Maedhros had led a host out to feign negotiations with Morgoth's lieutenant, Sauron.  But no one had heard anything from that host since its departure.  All of the Noldor had friends and comrades that were a part of that expedition and lack of any news began to worry them.  Many simply gave them up for dead, regretting their decision to leave Valinor.

But there were two Sindar among the host that refused to give up hope that Telemire was lost.  Almost without a word, and with no debate, the Taurensil and Shaelina resolved to find their friend.  As the encampment quieted down for the evening, the Companions set out into the unknown once again.

The journey took but a couple of days.  Tracking an army is not terribly difficult for one of the Eldar, even an army of their own kind.  Although careful of avoiding detection by a roving band of orcs, there was no sign of any enemy patrols.  This was comforting to the Companions, but this comfort was soon dashed as they crested a hill and witnessed the battlefield below.

Corpses littered the plain below.  The Companions could almost walk across the breadth of the field without ever planting a foot on the soil.  Thousands of Noldor were left where they had fallen, each surrounded by dozens of the enemy.  Many of the Eldar bodies had been stripped of their armor and weapons and left to rot with their adversaries. 

Taurensil and Shaelina began to carefully search for Telemire as the made their way across the valley, being careful not to tread upon their brethren.  For hours they searched, finding other Noldor they had either befriended or had known in passing.  The entire scene was heart wrenching, and it was all Shaelina could do to keep her emotions in check, preparing herself for that inevitable, gruesome discovery.

Taurensil made the first of several of such discoveries.  Where most of the Noldor had died in small groups of two or three, he found a dozen lying together, all of them burned horribly.  He then noticed an obvious path that cut across what had been the Noldor ranks.  All of those that lay along this swath bore the horrendous scars of burnt flesh.  Taurensil knew immediately what had happened.  Maedhros and his host had been ambushed but were holding the orc tide back, inflicting terrible losses, but the arrival of a fire demon had turned the battle against him.

Shaelina noticed the path of the fire demon as well.  Out of morbid curiosity and an overwhelming feeling of dread, she and Taurensil followed the path.  It was not long before they came upon a body that was nearly ripped apart and badly burned by fire demon's blade.  There was no way to surely know, but they guessed it to be Turenanga, for he appeared to be of similar stature and equipped as a captain of the Household Guard.

Then, only a couple of steps away, there was a low growl.  Shaelina and Taurensil look up to see a massive hound bearing its teeth and growling menacingly, warning them to back away.  And behind the hound lay Telemire.

Slowly, Shaelina reached into her haversack and pulled out a piece of dried venison in an attempt to distract the hound long enough for Taurensil to get to Telemire.  She threw the meat at the dog's feet, but he would not budge and stood his ground defiantly.  Shaelina gave Taurensil a questioning look, but only received an unknowing shrug in return.

She reached into her haversack to try again, but was stopped by a gruff voice speaking perfect Sindar.

"He won't budge, lass.  He has appointed himself the protector of that particular lad.  Besides, I already fed him."

The voice startled Shaelina.  She looked beyond where Telemire lie, to a small rise in the ground.  Standing on top of the rise was a race she had not seen for many years, a Naugrim, one of the "stunted people."

"I am called Curucam•, smith of Belegost," he announced.  He scratched his bearded chin, then pointed to Shaelina, "Are you gonna eat that?"  Shaelina looked down and realized she was still holding a piece of venison.  "That beast ate the last of my rations and I'm a bit famished."

Taurensil looked at the Naugrim with amazement.  He had heard of these people.  Their metal works were considered among the best in Beleriand, Cirdan had many such items in his own armories, but he had never laid eyes upon one until this moment.  Shaelina, however, had spent many years with her kin in Ossiriand, and had traded with another band of Naugrim from Nogrod. 

As she eyed Curucam, even she was amazed by his appearance.  All of the Naugrim were broadly built, but this one in particular seemed especially wide of girth.  She wondered how it was possible for him to even walk, let alone journey this far from his mountain home.  She stared in awkward silence as Curucam pulled at his thick, black beard, licking his lips in anticipation. 

Shaelina shook herself out of her stupor.  "Of course," she stammered.  She tossed the venison to the Naugrim.  "You are welcome to what meager portions I have, Master Curucam."

Deciding to try one last time, Shaelina began to drop her traveling gear and laying it by her feet.  She slowly knelt down and extended her hand to the hound, singing a soft lullaby her mother had taught her.  Taurensil and Curucam stared in awe as the hound responded to Shaelina.  With a soft whimper, it lied down beside Telemire, putting its massive head between its forepaws.

Shaelina moved closer, being careful not to alarm the hound again.  Gently, she placed her hand between the dog's ears and stroked its head and neck, still singing the sweet lullaby.  As if by enchantment, the vicious dog had become a puppy again, rolling over onto his back, letting Shaelina to scratch his belly.

Curcam was completely amazed by Shaelina's song, so much so that he had not noticed that he had simply gawked at her with his mouth gaping open and his eyes as wide as a cavern.  He had never heard such a beautiful melody in all his life, even among other Sindar. 

Taurensil had moved closer to Telemire while Shaelina serenaded the hound.  He was sure that there was no life left in his friend, but to his astonishment, Telemire still lived.  His breath was shallow and strained, but he was still alive.

With the hound calmed, Shaelina turned her attention to Telemire.  He had been grievously wounded by a fire demon's blade.  The flame cauterized the wound, preventing too much blood loss.  But his pulse was weak and there was no telling how much longer he could hold on.  It was a miracle that he had survived as long as he had, but the fire of Aman still burned bright within his soul, refusing to let him go. 
Shaelina tended to his wounds as best as she could, but she knew that he had to be taken back to the Noldor encampment as soon as possible.

"I knew you would come for me."  The voice had startled Shaelina.  She had not noticed that Telemire had opened his eyes.  She gave him a soft, reassuring look, but he could read the concern on her face.  Telemire closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness again.

While she cared for Telemire, Taurensil and Curucam began to search the battlefield, looking for something to make a stretcher.  They managed to find two unbroken spear shafts that would suffice.  Removing his cloak, Taurensil wrapped the shafts into the edges of his cloak and lashed two ends of the spears with a scrap of leather and rigged a harness for the hound out of pieces of rope. 

Telemire was gently placed on the travois, and the Companions headed back to Lake Mithrim.  It was not an easy journey.  Every little bump caused Telemire severe pain.  Shaelina tried to make him as comfortable as possible and trying to keep him from slipping completely away. 

During this arduous trek, it was Shaelina's turn to be amazed.  Though Curucam seemed to be overly abundant about his belt, his form hid a powerful being.  Throughout the trip, Curucam's great strength made Telemire's journey more comfortable than it otherwise would have been.  The stout dwarf never seemed to tire and he and the hound bore most of the weight of the travois.

Along the journey, the Companions learned of how Curucam came to be this far west.  They learned that he had been part of a trade convoy en route to Doriath.  Their caravan had been ambushed by a roving band of orcs while they rested.  He had not been present at the camp during the attack, having gone ahead to scout a route for the next day.  When he returned, most of his comrades had been slain but some taken captive.  Seeking to free his friends and exact retribution, Curucam began tracking the surviving raiders until they had rejoined their main army.  The same army that had ambushed Maedhros. 

He had spent several days scouring the battlefield searching for any sign of his missing friends.  This is when he had found Telemire and his self-appointed guardian.  He had no idea why the dog had taken a liking to Telemire, but it would not let him near the Noldor.  It was only when, out of a need to survive, the hound left to go hunting that he able to approach the elf.  He confessed that he did not know well the healing arts, but he tried as best as he was able to preserve Telemire's life.  His intention was to take Telemire to the nearest elvish haven, not wanting his family to suffer the same fate as those of his lost companions. 

Though the journey was long, and the work backbreaking, it was largely uneventful.  There were no roving bands of orcs to avoid.  It seemed as if the Enemy had completely retreated back into his mountain fortress.  It was not until the trio began to cross over the Ered Wethrin that something seemed to be wrong.

There was no attack.  No loud clashing of sword against sword, but rather a feeling of dread seemed to surround them.  It was a feeling of dread, of pure evil and malice.  And it seemed to watching them from the shadows.  Shaelina sensed it first.  It was not a feeling of power, like the fire demons, but it was still a powerful menace, more sinister in its design rather than brute strength.

Shaelina looked at Taurensil.  She knew he sensed it too.  With a mutual and silent understanding, the pace was quickened.  Both wanted to be clear of the mountains with all possible haste.  Curucam noticed that something must be wrong, though he did not know what.  All seemed to be normal to him, but he knew elves well enough to trust their instincts.  He tightened his grip on the lines of the travois and put his bulk into the makeshift harness.

The trio forced their way through the mountains without rest.  Although there was no immediate danger, there was always a threat.  Even when they had reached the Noldor encampment, they still could not shake that vile feeling from the mountains.