For @Ercassie , Merry Christmas! Many actions and some character dislodge were from your first Ospiel post of this series.
(To be moved into AOA when the time comes)
Hatholdir Nârroval
Ered Wethrin
- Eleven years after the Fall of Gondolin
and Valion Mordagnir's capture - circa 521 FA
Narn Cûminya, Tale of the First Bow
- Chapter Two -
"Then the warriors of the Mole being more numerous than those few of the Wing,
and loyal to their lord, came at Tuor and there were great blows, but no man
might stand before the wrath of Tuor, and they were smitten and
driven to fly into what dark holes they might, or flung from the walls."
- Tolkien, from The Book of Lost Tales II: The Fall of Gondolin
"Their kind was reviled in the wake of Prince Maeglin’s treachery but Ospiel was entirely
unaware of the fate of Gondolin and they were thus considered her saviours....
Hatholdir had taken up the sword Anguirel from the charred body of his Prince,
and led all those that he could find to a place of seclusion where they
might recover strength. They also had recovered several lonely rogues and renegades,
of both Eldar and Edain, who were wandering the fraught realm of Beleriand
in need of support. Ospiel was glad to learn from Hatholdir
that Erfaron had survived the Nirnaeth Arnoediad..."
- from Ospiel's Biography Submission
"The remnant of the Eldar of Hithlum were taken to the mines in the north
and laboured there as thralls, save some that eluded him and escaped into the wilds and the mountains."
- Tolkien, from The Silmarillion: Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad
"I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away,
and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick."
- Ezekiel 34:16, KJV
"And no wonder, for Satan himself
masquerades as an angel of light."
- 2 Corinthians 11:14 NIV
Hatholdir came to the foothills where hidden Mole pathways ascended from the river vale. Hatholdir's people devised the narrow dirt routes which led ultimately to their caverns within Mithrim's southern mountains. They had encamped between Sirion and the nameless stream flowing near Malduin for a week. Hatholdir tirelessly patrolled the Pass of Sirion with his Mole companies to seek out and destroy anything or anyone who threatened their alpine colony whether it be Minion, Easterling, or Elf of the Wing. It had been eleven years since the foundation of the Mole sanctuary but Hatholdir was adamant and no one defied him on this. He sent Galudess, one of the few Mole women, ahead with a scouting team before they dared to venture on.
Night had fallen and Hatholdir was eager to be gone, knowing Orcs enjoyed their evil delights in the evening dark. It was as he feared, receiving the report of Galudess within the hour. There an was an Orc troop coming down with a prisoner, an elven woman who had a broken bow; Galudess, whose heart was softer than most, promised Hatholdir when he pressed her that the bound elleth was no one she recognized from Gondolin. Hatholdir, desperate for allies, decided they would save her. The Moles following Galudessuntil they heard it, the voice of an Orc. "You can drop that toad sticker now she-elf. It won't help you." Hatholdir saw a comely elleth, an archer with pale skin and sable hair. She was tormented by the studded Orc-ropes. Part of him didn't want to care, to move on and go home to his woman, but the other half which always won out thirsted for vengeance and...acceptance.
"She's just an lowly archer," Asgar snarled in contempt. He withered beneath Hatholdir's virulent gaze.
"She is a
slayer, that alone matters," Hatholdir rebuked him. "We must exist. We cannot afford to drive strangers away, expecially those with a soldier's experience. Our lives depend on friendship. We take anyone in, Old Moles and New Moles, Elf or Man. Your girl dwells with us. I care; if I didn't, I would have let her starve or die or be captured or...worse."
Asgar, his face flushed in embarrassment, said nothing but nodded duitifully.
Grey meaty fingers grasped her throat from behind and drove the elleth's face first against the grassy knoll. When they started prying her supple fingers from her shattered bow Hatholdir could not allow the Moles to stand idle. Since they had the advantage of surprise, he ordered them to spring from the shadows. They surged past their king, leaping out of the riverine woods. The Moles charged the hillock with axe and sword while Hatholdir remained behind, one hand resting on Anguirel's pommel. Every attack was a killing blow. Moles were efficient, brutal annihilators. When the Orcs laid dead, literally hacked to pieces, Hatholdir strode toward the elleth with a lopsided grin of amusement; he was sure that his Moles impressed her. He coolly regarded the work of his patrol with a fervent pride.
"Nine Orcfilth dead," boasted bold Asgar, panting. He spat blood on the ground derisively along with a single tooth but he didn't mourn its loss; Hatholdir assured him its void would give him a rakish air. "We took
this of them ..." remarked Asgar, looking repulsed by the elleth who was rising up. So daunted by her cold stare, Asgar stepped back and Thalbor - his nearest neighbor - guffawed.
"Four were already robbed of their lives when we arrived," Galudess admitted, honestly, for consideration; no doubt wanting the archer to be welcomed into the fold and shot Asgar a baleful stare; she desired more female company than Meluiwen, Idrasaith, and Gwenbril. Galudess unravelled the bonds about the elleth with Herontortha. Asgar and Thalbor were regarding her ruined bow with wonder and contempt. The Moles used two-bladed axes and swords primarily; there were no archers among them. Many of their following deemed archery a coward's means of fighting. Hatholdir didn't share this view; as long as the enemy fell and did not rise again, he didn't care what weapon his warriors used. He only decided with Maeglin what their arsenal would be, officially, to set the Moles apart from any other House in Gondolin; the lot of them followed the standard, bearing axes, but few others favored the sword as Maeglin had. Hatholdir continued silently gazing at the elleth in admiration, a soft smile playing on his lips. She kept a tenacious grip on her bow despite the disapproving looks of Asgar and Thalbor, the youngest Moles.
"You wear the garb of Fingon," Herontortha informed her. He was one of Hatholdir's beloved friends although their personalities laid at far ends of the spectrum. Hatholdir believed the ends justified the means and would sink to the lowest depth of depravity to accomplish his goals. Herontortha was analytical and cautious; he was snooty and self-righteous but had a good heart although he often resorted to immoral decisions, pressured by Hatholdir's silvertongue. The knowledge she was an outsider relieved the company. She wasn't a Mole-hunter of the Wing House.
The slender elleth with the mane of straight ebony hair and an austere appearance was named Ospiel. The High King charged her to defend the realm when he rode off to the disaster that was the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. She told the Moles what they knew already; they had fought on that battlefield where Fingon was slaughtered.
"So who are you that came here unlooked for and with such timely intervention ?"
The Moles proclaimed their origin and declared Hatholdir as their heir & leader. He stifled a chuckle, observing Ospiel's bewildered expression, but a mounting euphoria radiated through him. The Moles could bend the truth or tell any lie and she'd believe them. Hatholdir thrived on moments like this. She was like a ewe, seperated from her herd in the wilderness. The prey of wolves.
She belongs to me now.
"King," said tall and haughty Herontortha with clear emphasis. "Successor of Maeglin, who was nephew to late Fingon, son of his sister the late Lady Aredhel."
Hatholdir experienced a swelling elation, noticing Ospiel's widening silver eyes. Some of his best victims were unaware and necessitous.
I have her in the palm of my hand. There is no escape.
Hatholdir hardly suppressed the urge to launch his head back, cackling. Ospiel believed the Gondolindrim never left their hidden home. The wave of incredulity passing over the Moles was almost tangible but Hatholdir hadn't felt this triumphant since he stood over Rog's burnt corpse and Penlod's eviscerated cadaver in the ruins of Gondolin.
"Gondolin is now no more, no more than our late king Turgon," Galudess grimly announced, causing Ospiel to step back in utter disbelief, her black grief shared by the Moles whose despair registered evidently on their sorrowful reddened faces.
"The royal line of Fingolfin is spent," Thalbor clarified, slicing the air with the knife of his moleskin glove.
"The King's daughter, Idril, stolen by a gluttonous mortal!" scoffed Asgar.
Hatholdir smirked. He had no qualms rewriting his city's history and twisting the minds of young Moles; even now Hatholdir forced Asgar's scholarly lover - Gwenbril, student of loremistress Aimira Mordagnir - to instruct Mole children on
his view of the world.
"We are all that has survived the wreckage of our ruin," Herontortha explained, spreading his long spindly arms to encompass all the Moles present.
Ospiel asked if they heard of what became of Doriath. The Moles shook their heads, not to indicate that they didn't know but that their acquired knowledge was not good.
"When the Dwarves murdered King Thingol, Queen Melian fled oversea which destabilized its protective Girdle," said Galudess in abject bitterness. She was half Sindarin. "The Feanorians stormed the forests of the kingdom and destroyed it in their battle to wrest the Silmaril from Dior, Thingol's heir. He was slain. Many of the brothers met their end in that terrible match, Celegorm and Curufin and Caranthir. Only Maedhros and Maglor and the twins - Amrod and Amras - are still alive. These things we know only from travellers we encounter who have lived beyond the walls of Echoriath."
Hatholdir's sly smile faltered when Ospiel claimed she only had her bow. Her resolute demeanor moved him profoundly.
When she threatened the Moles, Hatholdir's humor returned. Most others were generous with their laughter, especially Asgar and Thalbor who laughed the loudest. Moles were vicious and their cruelty had become fouller in hiding. Idrasaith, one of his most loyal lieutenants, would soon unveil to their Easterling interlopers and Wing persuers the most heinous, terrifying malevolence of her vile imagination...
"Would you be comforted any," Herontortha said in a gentle voice, vanquishing the small space between them, with his hands raised to placate Ospiel, "to learn that at least one other Elf, draped in the tatters of Hithlum's uniform, came to embrace our own before this day? Not all who followed your High King shared his fate..."
Hatholdir saw the elleth visibly relax, saying she would come with them to meet their king.
"You look upon him now, Ospiel of Hithlum!" said Hatholdir, smiling at her charmingly. The Moles, including Herontortha, parted way for him to approach the vagabond. "What they say is true, I am Maeglin's heir and master of the Moles." He made himself look somber, circling Ospiel like a curious shark with moleskin gloves laced behind his back as he spoke. "There's much you don't know. Allow me to educate you." The little white lies came easily. "The army of Gondolin was at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad to succour the Union of Maedhros. We retreated to our city and with us came a High Elf named Erfaron - known also as
Sarnirion - looking for his betrothed, Fëapoldië...only to find her married to another Elf, a Sinda of Nevrast called Laegon. Erfaron and I became close friends and joined the House of the Mole; he is not with us though, deciding to protect Fëapoldië's daughter, Nariel, on their journey south."
Hatholdir didn't reveal the location of the Havens of Sirion, not just because he wanted to encourage Ospiel with one tantalizing bit of information at a time but since Erfaron's present whereabouts made him upset as did his stubbornness to watch over Nariel. He swallowed a lump in his throat, missing his comrade, but continued speaking a few moments later when he collected himself.
"The spies of Morgoth discovered our city's location and destroyed Gondolin. Before its fall there were Houses which each subject was divided into; the Moles were one of many. The Swan Wing, led by Tuor the Usurper, accused the Moles of treachery; he encouraged everyone to believe we plotted with the Enemy and that Maeglin - the mighty Prince - wanted to have his first cousin, Idril, for himself. Tuor ordered the Wing to attack the Moles when we came, desperately, to Idril's house to provide her an escort out of the inferno. Maeglin wanted the finest warriors of the city to ensure the protection of the Princess and her son, Earendil. The Swan Wing had tricked,believing we would abduct her for the pleasure of Maeglin."
Hatholdir came to a stop following one more revolution around Ospiel and heaved a heavy sigh, choking back a real sob to add credence to his gross falsehood. He permitted his genuine heartbreak over the loss of Moles to make him look more convincing to Ospiel. The band of warriors sided with Hatholdir, of course, and Galudess started weeping. Hatholdir opened his strong arms for Galudess to run into. He kissed the young woman's forehead, rolled his palm over her long ebony hair, and caressed her back as she convulsed in his embrace in front of Ospiel. Yes...his smoothly-spoken lies and the emotional turmoil of Galudess would surely impress Ospiel. He kissed her wet face and rubbed her arms to console Galudess, hoping his gentleness would sway Ospiel to accept him more readily. Appearing strong yet tender, a savior who cares, was key to winning anyone he needed in his camp. "Moles were thrown to their death," Hatholdir told Ospiel with Galudess still crying against the muscled haven of his chest.
"Galudess herself was hurled from the walls...by her own husband who was sworn to the Wing. She survived and chose to follow me when Maeglin was murdered. I rallied every Mole over the years and have made a home for them in the Mithrim caverns of Ered Wethrin." Hatholdir eased himself gingerly from Galudess' clutching hold. He looked into her scalding green eyes; he lovingly wiped the stinging tears away, asking her if she was in a better place. She said nothing but that was fine; her reverent gaze spoke volumes. He was and would always be the hero the Moles needed. "We are more numerous than the Wings but they are relentless, constantly trying to stalk us down to kill us all. Galudess had to execute her own husband who would have ended her life."
She broke down again, dropping to her knees to wail in her hands; Hatholdir motioned for Asgar and Thalbor to calm her down. They were aggressive but at times, those two Moles wore their hearts on their sleves.
He resumed pacing around Ospiel. This time, he gave her nothing but the truth.
"We have welcomed many wanderers into our caves. There has been a portion of the Hithlum Eldar who have escaped mines and thralldom of Angband; some have eluded the minions and have concealed themselves in the wilds of Beleriand...or in these vast mountains. We have welcomed all we have been able to rescue from the Easterlings and Orcs; they have become new Moles as have countless straying Elves and Edain evading the Enemy. Smiths and miners and warriors are preferred among us but we accept everyone like healers because we cannot survive on the trades we know, you understand." Hatholdir paused again, gesturing at the Vales of Magor in the distance, the southern slopes of Ered Wethrin nestled beneath the mountains of Dor-lomin and the riverland of Teiglin. "We have friends, the mortals of a Third House settlement. We barter for goods like medicine and food and clothes. I know we look travel-worn but we're actually well-to-do, better than most; we've only been scouting for days and was on our way to our subterranean mansions when Galudess found you."
Hatholdir drew closer to Ospiel with a grave countenance. A wind out of the West rustled the leaves of the elms grown rife and great across the mountain ridges above the grassy knoll. Hatholdir brazenly took solemn possession of her riven weapon. Ospiel and Hatholdir were illuminated in the streaming moonbeams breaking through clouds scudding amid the starsewn heavens. The Moles now encircled them in a ring of fellowship. Their carnelian-bright accouterments caught the lustrous gleam of the luminous sphere, glimmering more vividly.
"Give me your bow, Ospiel of Hithlum," Hatholdir commanded her. His velvety compelling voice was pleasant-sounding as was the whisper of the swaying trees. He didn't mean the bow itself but her allegiance which was just as precious. "You don't have to be afraid anymore," Hatholdir assured her, gliding a thumb over Ospiel's cheek. "I have found a family in the Moles. I want you to find a family in us. I want you to find freedom from fear. If you run, you will
chase not
flee. This time, it's your foes who will have something to fear. Come away with us and I will give you shelter. The Moles will heal your wounds and we will be your light in the darkness, I swear by Iluvátar's name." The company was startled; vowing by the god of Arda was considered the most sacred and serious kind of oath among the Elves. "If you need to collect any belongings from a refuge of your own your, lead us there. If there are others with you, let me speak to them; they are welcome in our secure haven if they respect our rules."