(Originally posted 6/23/17)
It seems difficult to believe that I am now writing from the dim, candlelit confines of a small dwarven hovel deep in the Misty Mountains, when only a few days ago, I awoke in a balmy, sun-filled valley of endless, elven beauty. Things are happening so quickly now, I can scarcely get my thoughts to keep up with it all. Is this the nature of those who trek the world? Constant changes of scenery, weather, danger, food, beds? I suppose it must be. I am not complaining about my situation. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite so alive and “in the moment” as I do now!
As before, I will not detail every moment of every day, only the things that stand out to me!
Our departure from the valley of Rivendell was bittersweet. I was eager to find our next adventure, to see the fabled snowy peaks, and most of all, to see my dear Baldmar’s homeland near the Great River (though we are still a long way off!). But oh, what a sublime and peaceful time we had there. Conrob and I walked endlessly over bridge and path and glade, exploring and wondering and marveling. I know Cesistya was especially grieved to depart. Her eyes were calm, but she could not hide the somber light behind them. I stood beside her as we neared the gates that would take us east, and she looked back down into the valley one last time. I laid my hand on her shoulder, and she set her hand over mine, and said she hoped I had enjoyed our time there. I assured her that it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.
Having to leave our horses behind was a hard blow, though we knew it from the start of our journey. The mountains are steep and treacherous, and in order to pass unseen and unheard, Baldmar advised us to leave them safely in the hands of the elves. I have never been separated from Jack. Someday, I shall have to write the story of how he came into my life, but since that day, he has always been at my side. I feel a terrible emptiness without him, though his safety is paramount, and much more important than my feelings.
The path leading east from Rivendell rose immediately and steadily upwards. We climbed and climbed, and climbed some more, until our lungs burned and our legs ached. At least, mine did! I may be a sturdy horsewoman, but I am no mountain climber! Baldmar walked ahead of us at a distance, scouting the way, and he never seemed so much as out of breath, let alone tired. Ces was very quiet, though that is her nature. Even Conrob and I had little to say, but I think we were saving all of our air to keep breathing and not collapse! The path eventually became less steep, and turned to the south. The trees became evergreens, and I was reminded of the rocky hills in the higher plains of the Mark. We felt the air growing steadily cooler, and soon we glimpsed the first of the white-capped peaks in the distance. There are no such mountains in Rohan, and I’ve only ever seen snow rarely there, though I saw plenty of it around Bree last winter! The sight of the Misty Mountains was awe-inspiring, and not just for their great, imposing beauty. Ces murmured something softly about the dwarves, and I thought of Belodin and his people, and their ancestors.
It was a good thing we had all changed into our winter clothing (save for Baldmar, of course), for the snow came soon enough. A light dusting at first, coating the trees and stones beneath our feet, and then a thicker blanket upon the ground. We climbed upward still, though the land sloped gently for some time, and a delicate quiet fell, broken only by the wind and the sound of our boots crunching in the white powder. Conrob pointed out that Ces was not only barefoot, but leaving no footprints. In fact, her feet did not sink into the snow at all! She seemed very casual about the whole affair, and I could do nothing but wonder and marvel at her and her kind.
At length we came to a wide-open place, a snowy plateau that stretched on for what seemed miles. Baldmar informed us that it was the source of the river Bruinen, the waters that flow down into Rivendell. At the very northern end, up against the mountains, we could see towers, and some sort of fortress that he called Helegrod. Another ancient dwarven construction, it seems. Baldmar spoke of a rumored shadow that calls it home, and as we continued across the wide plain of snow, we began to hear distant sounds, howls and strange cries that unnerved me deeply.
The next leg of our journey took us back up into the mountaintops, a place Baldmar called the High Pass. And high it was! Another wearying climb along a narrow shelf that hugged the mountainside, with a steep drop just feet away, though the view was nothing short of fantastic. We tried to keep our spirits and energy up with jokes about how fit we would all be after so much walking and climbing, but as we neared the highest part of the path, a storm blew in, and a fierce wind whipped the snow about in blinding clouds. The path turned into a cleft of the mountain, and as we crept through snow-laden trees and around boulders, the eerie howls took up again, all around us. Baldmar halted, and told us to stay close behind him. I was shivering from both cold and fear, and I drew my sword. Beside me, Conrob pulled out his pickaxe. Ces drew her hood low, and in her elven cloak, she was all but invisible against the snowy mountainside.
And then everything seemed to explode at once. Baldmar saw or smelled or heard something that I could not, and he let out a roar like nothing I’ve ever heard, louder than any animal. He tore the clothes from his body and curled over as if in pain, but as I looked, his skin seemed to change color, darkening, and his muscular form seemed to throb and swell, growing larger as he bent down on all fours. At the same time, a horde of dark shadows appeared in the whirling snow ahead of us, and I heard the growling and snarling of voices that struck dread into my heart. It was the Black Speech, something I’ve only heard a very few times in my life, thank Béma, but once heard, you do not forget its sound. A pack of orcs was charging, and Baldmar bellowed his rage as he plunged headfirst into them; no longer a man, but the form of his ancestors, a sight I can still scarcely believe that I witnessed with my own eyes.
Conrob lunged in front of me, and though I was ready to do whatever I must, the orcs never got past the mountain of teeth and claws standing in our path. They came in several waves, and I heard the horrid snapping of bones and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground all around us. When silence fell again at last, I was afraid to look up, knowing what I would see. Heavy steps approached, and the familiar deep voice asked if we were all right. I lifted my eyes to see Baldmar, shirtless, steam rising from his flesh as the snow hit and instantly melted. He was covered in cuts and gashes. The ground was strewn with the hideous, foul corpses, dark splashes of blood, scattered weapons. Baldmar bade us to run.
So run, we did. He led us onward into the blinding snow, so thick that I couldn’t tell if were running in a forest or over an open field. All my attention was on the hulking figure leading the way, and to never lose sight of Conrob or Cesistya. We ran until my lungs begged for mercy, but the fear of more goblins spurred us onward, until at last a dark form rose up before us, tall and angular. The wind was suddenly broken by thick stone walls, and we passed into the dwarven stronghold of Hrimbarg, shaken, weary, our clothes crusted with frost. Our guide led us past the dwarf guards, who peered suspiciously at our strange party, but who seemed to know Baldmar and allowed him entrance. Up a long flight of stone steps, across a wide platform, and then, finally, a door was opened, and firelight beckoned from within.
I don’t believe I’ve ever been so thankful to see a blazing hearth in all my life. A cozy set of rooms for us to rest within. The ceiling was low, the room long, and all four of us looked most out of place, but I think we were too relieved and weary to care much. Baldmar set to work tending to his wounds, and refused any aid from either myself or Cesistya. I’d never seen him in any state of undress before. Suffice it to say, it was a sight to behold.
Conrob and I ventured outside this morning, once the blizzard had departed, and simply gazed about, our arms round each other, talking in our easy, quiet way. There is a stark, hard beauty to this land, but I can say for certain that the snowy mountains do not beckon to me at all! I much prefer the open, grassy plains of home, or the quaint old forests of Bree.
