Gandalf visits the Eotheod

In the far future, they would be known as the Rohirrim.  But today, in T.A 2063, Gandalf the Grey had pressing business with the Chieftan of the Eotheod, who knew not the pivotal role his descendants in Rohan would play in the destiny of the Ring.

Gandalf started his journey up the valley of the Langwell well before dawn.  It was a path well-traveled, the earth tamped firm by hoof and wagon.  The early spring grass was a damp, lush shadow on either side encroaching on the track. Off to his left, the river rushed, its swirling ribbons of early spring melt muffled under a blanket of river fog that had crept up in the night.

Ahead to the west the setting half moon cast its pale glow upon the heavy blanket of snow that draped the Misty Mountains and their foothills.   To the east the sky was just beginning to fade from black to gray.

A few points of light began to emerge in the murk, the lamps of the farmers and stable hands getting an early start to the day.  A trickle of smoke emerged from the chimney of a sturdy log dwelling, dimly visible, rising slowly above the mist into the sky, caught in the fading moonlight.  A lone dog barked its warning, sensing a stranger at the edge of its territory. 

He smiled knowingly to himself, soon to be visible to the settlers set back in their homesteads off the river trail.  The pennants would go up and the entire valley would know of the stranger in their midst.  A detachment of cavalry would come thundering down to greet him along with the first rays of the rising sun.

He would have stood out in any event once the sun was up.  Tall, his height was exaggerated even more by the pointed blue hat.  A heavy long grey cloak reached below the tops of his large black boots.  The white scarf complimented his beard, the color of snow with a few weaves of grey, reaching nearly to his waist.  Tangled bushy grey and white eyebrows billowed out from his face.  Oh no, not the usual traveler one saw in these parts, local folk mostly, perhaps a trader come up the river to bargain for horses.

Long strides took him up the trail past more homesteads, his figure distinct enough now to begin gathering stares from those starting their chores as the light in the east grew.  Cocks began to crow their announcement of the pending dawn.

He paused for a moment, right hand gripped about a long wooden staff, admiring nature’s canvas.  Above, faint rose now tinged grey tendrils of cloud just beginning to stream eastward over the western mountains.  The once indistinct vista before him was beginning to take shape.  Rich, flat, river bottom land gently rising into a hazy distance of rolling hills.  More misty murk, then foothills and ridges rising in shadow to snowcapped heights now pink with anticipation of the sun’s arrival.

At the next homestead he watched strong grey horses entering the fields, strapped to plows manned by a farmer and their sons, turning the earth for the season’s first planting.  Their breath was steam, rising slowly in small clouds.  Country bells round their necks gave off a dull clank as the first of the cows ambled out to pasture.

It had been almost 30 years since he had walked this path, then less firm and certain, the settlers sparse, but still hardy and determined.  The dawn then had been memorable enough to remind him to time this visit for another performance.  But there was business to be done today of a particular sort.  Already he could feel the first vibrations, horses hooves trembling the ground, distracting his eyes and mind from the scenery of the past  into the ever uncertainty of the present.

Moments later he watched the patrol emerge over a fold in the land, four horsemen riding with the confidence of youth and a familiar landscape.  The visitor stood quietly, his right hand absently checking the shape that filled much of the worn baggy leather pouch that hung by a long strap over his shoulder.

The four began to break ranks, the leader still riding ahead purposely, the two at his side swinging out to the right and left, the man in the rear swinging wider still.  It was a well tested maneuver.

Their horses were gray-white, large, strong, with the easy endurance of thoroughbreds. The riders wore short leather tunics over elbow length woolen shirts.  Long broadswords hung from their belts.  Sharp, sturdy lances were tucked in angled leather sheaths slung in back of their saddles.  They were young with hair long and golden, the lead rider with braids, the others with flowing manes that billowed over their shoulders.

The rear rider completed his wide swing…he had another horse in tether behind him.  They had quickly and efficiently surrounded him. 

The leader cantered forward on his steed, eyeing him narrowly.  His companions, lesser in rank, glanced at each other, suppressing smirks.  They had only celebrated his promotion the night before, deliberately refilling his tankard long past the point of prudence.  Now the their newly minted leader was suffering from a crushing hangover and none to pleased to be torn out of slumber just to deal with an old man, no matter how strangely garbed.

“Are you lost, grandfather?” the troop leader inquired tiredly.

“No, I am grateful for your concern but have been this way before and know the way, ” the tall figure in the pointy blue hat replied courteously, bowing slightly. 

There was a muffled chuckle in the ranks, quickly silenced by a stern glance from the captain.

“And your business this day” the captain inquired with a trace of impatience.

“To visit an old friend.” the old man replied, as if idly reminiscing.

They were beginning to attract an audience.  The plowing had stopped momentarily in a nearby field.  A stoutly built farmer was leaning on the rail of his fence, not unhappy for a reason to pause in his labors for some rare entertainment.  Between his legs, a flaxen haired toddler, peered wide-eyed.

“Does this friend have a name?” the captain persisted.

His ice blue eyes now simply reflected a desire to send this old man firmly on his way.  There would be the customary ride on a stallion to the Anduin, then an ample provision of traveler’s cakes and a full leather ale pouch. The old man would make his way south where the next patrol station, which would have the pleasure of assisting him further.  Meanwhile, the captain would gallop back to his patrol station and resume the work of fighting off the effects of last night’s over long relationship with the potent local wine.

“He does indeed and I come bearing a gift that he will find most interesting, since his father was first to possess it.” The old man replied authoritatively

“Show us this gift” the captain said,

“A moment sir…” the old man fumbled with the clasp to the pouch.  The junior lancers could now barely contain their laughter despite the baleful stares of their captain, hopelessly outdueled in conversation by this strange visitor.

“Ah here it is!” he said triumphantly, his hand obviously clutching something

Their eyes widened as he drew the object out of the pouch.  A dawn of recognition at the long, gently curved white shape with a sharp edge like the blade of an ivory knife.  The size of a man’s wrist at the top where a hole had been bored through, it measured just over a foot long as it tapered to a needle point capped with silver.  The men exchanged meaningful looks.  The captain’s face hardened, his right hand resting near the hilt of his broadsword.

“I have traded words with you long enough, old one.  Scatha’s teeth do not just turn up as a gift from an old man.  You can make your explanations to Breor himself.  Do us the courtesy of mounting yonder steed.”

The object was returned to the pouch.  Under the now stern eyes of the guard, he mounted the light gray stallion with a curious agility, bent forward a moment to whisper into its ear then settled back into the saddle.  The leader signaled with his hand and the group fell into formation, one on either side of the intruder, one covering the rear, the entire group heading off quickly to the station to send a message up the valley.

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The early morning signal from the pennants had been brought to him by an aide as he was standing by the rail, a steaming bowl of oatmeal in his hands.  An intruder had been intercepted, one important enough to be brought to meet with him directly.  Two hours later an advance rider arrived with the details.

Gandalf! Breor smiled to himself as he stood under what was now afternoon sun on the overlook, facing east where the road emerged from the dark woods. It had been nearly 30 years since he’d last seen him, under circumstances less favorable than today.

Then he was barely past 20, his father, Fram, the charismatic dragonslayer just recently dead, ambushed by dwarves incensed at his possession of the riches from the hoard of Scatha they claimed as their own.  He had sealed his doom by contemptuously sending them but one prize, a necklace of dragon’s teeth.

There had been those who were ready to step in as Chieftan of the Eotheod.  That had been quieted in part by the rage of his mother who had shamed them with their ambition.  It had been sealed by the bag of severed dwarves heads Breor had laid at the feet of the captains of the guard, including Fram’s younger brother.  None had ever challenged him since that day.

Not long after that, Gandalf had arrived at Framsburg, the principal residence of the chieftans.  Gandalf had told him of the outside world, had encouraged him to embrace his mother’s efforts to teach him the literacy of the Common Speech.  He had also spent a number of days in the fields, showing Breor and the best of his farmers some tricks with seeds, planting and nourishing, that in later years produced bountiful harvests that in turn allowed the Eotheod to grow, expand, and prosper.

And now he was back. 

Breor could feel a growing impatience, awaiting Gandalf’s arrival, gripping the rail, still built like a bear with huge sloping shoulders, a thickly muscled torso and legs like trees.  The hair of his youth, golden with russet streaks, now had rivers of gray that wove into the braids that went halfway down his back. 

Below and to his right there was the meadow, patchy with snow, turning to slush in the early spring sun.  At the far end of the clearing a heavy flagstone road emerged from the dark evergreen forest.  He caught a glimmer of movement, four riders surrounding a fifth, white bearded, gray caped man in a blue, pointed hat. 

Breor turned away, walking back through the tall open doors into the great room of  the chieftan’s residence.  He alerted the small household staff to be ready for a guest, then walked through the open living area to a paved courtyard shared by the residence and the larger Council Hall to his right.  The patrol had arrived with their guest. 

“Rhulff, I see you come bearing a visitor” Breor greeted the group as he strode across the courtyard

“A visitor sir, with a gift you should see for yourself” Rhulff replied hesitantly.  Breor exchanged a glance with Gandalf.

“Avail yourself and your men with my hospitality young captain.  I thank you for your alertness and your prompt arrival”  Breor gave a summary salute.  Gandalf dismounted.  The patrol led the horses away to the stables behind the Council Hall.

“You have done well for yourself, Breor” Gandalf said with a fatherly smile, grasping Breor’s meaty hand.

“With thanks to you old friend and your teachings” Breor embraced him in a bear hug.

“Easy…easy, my friend, you are no less strong than I remember and I am just an old man, travel worn, and grateful for a night’s rest”

“No less old than I remember” Breor retorted. “You if anyone seem to ride the years unchanged”

“A blessing and a curse I can assure you” Gandalf replied.  “I have news to discuss with you and a gift that you may find of interest’

Before Breor could reply there was a bellow from the far side of the Council Hall.  Standing in the courtyard between the residence and the Hall they spied a pig, running for its life, squealing with fear, shooting from the small livestock pens well behind the Hall, across the paved entry road into the slush covered meadow. 

Just on its heels raced a huge figure of a man, broad shouldered, solidly built, dressed in a woolen tunic and leather riding trousers, braided golden hair flying behind him.  He roared again, accelerating like a large cat homing in on a hapless field mouse.  A leap and he tackled the helpless animal, rolling over and over in the snow, churning up the mud underneath.

“Hah! And you’re mine again little one!” He stood up dripping mud and slush, the piglet hoisted high over his head, squealing with fear.  Clutching the creature to his shoulder he sprinted up to the courtyard where Breor and Gandalf stood.

“Look father! Just ten feet of lead before I started! Tomorrow I will try this one and its brother at the same time!”

Slush and mud pooled at his feet.  A small clump of earth slid off the side of his head onto his shoulders.  The piglet struggled with what passed for a mournful look.  Breor cleared his throat.

“My eldest son Hagar” he said quietly, through gritted teeth.

Gandalf peered appraisingly at the young behemoth from under his bushy brows.

“Well he certainly has the speed and size of his forbears” Gandalf offered

“And less good sense than the poor animal he has at his shoulder.  Hagar, please us by returning the livestock to safety and joining us at the residence…without the mud and snow.”

Hagar looked temporarily crestfallen, then shrugged and walked obediently away, the squirming piglet tucked under his arm.

Breor sighed. “He runs like the wind, has the strength of an ox, the quickness of a cat, can wield a sword in a blinding blur, and has an uncommon skill with language and writing.  Yet I cannot trust him to be responsible with anything more than getting up in the morning.  And some day he may be chieftan…” Breor shook his head.

“I seem to remember another young chieftan a little rough around the edges. By the looks of things he seems to have turned out just fine ” Gandalf smiled, admiring the residence and Council Hall.

“Perhaps you are right and his turn will come as well.  Let us hope it is soon” Breor sighed.  “Come, you have been traveling for hours and I understand you have a gift” Breor gestured towards the open entrance to the residence.

Like the Council Hall it was solidly built, with finished stone walls, using a marbled gray and white mineral indigenous to the spur of the mountain it stood upon, supporting a massive high ceiling of polished oaken beams.  Gorgeous tapestries, scenes of mountains, fields, and most importantly horses, graced the walls and hung from the ceiling. 

In the rear of the great room a fire roared in a huge hearth, warming a long dining table able to seat 20.   Further on, the room opened out to a balcony that wrapped around the residence’s eastern and northern facing sides, offering spectacular views.

“A magnificent choice of location, Breor”

“And a practical one as well.  When my grandfather built our first rough hall it was at the very edge of the forest.  Now…Breor pointed to the east to a tiny dot amidst fields and farms,  it is surrounded by leagues of cultivation and pasture.  The last thirty years we have expanded far up the Langwell and west of the Anduin into the hills.”

Breor then pointed west where a rising mist and a low, rumbling roar marked the Falls of the Langwell, where it emerged from its high mountain sources cutting a steep gorge between two outstretched arms of the Misty Mountains.

“Above the falls are the high meadows.  We use them for summer grazing but also have stores of grain and other necessities.  If need be, we can evacuate the lowlands and sustain ourselves for months up there.  The Falls road through the gorge is the only access and we have ways of rendering it useless to those who might pursue us.”

“You sound as if you are expecting an invasion”

“No.  Things have been quiet, but we are prepared to defend what we have worked hard to build.  From here I can see all the lands of the Eotheod and communicate by pennants amongst our cavalry stations to organize a response or prepare the uplands for defense. I knew of your arrival minutes after you mounted your horse, just as I would any trading party, traveling artisans, or less savory types.”

“So much for my surprise visit”

A member of the house staff quietly placed a platter of bread, meat, and cheese on a small table near the edge of the balcony, accompanied by two tankards of ale.  Breor nodded that they were not to be disturbed further.  They sat admiring the view to the east, rolling farmlands, the glimmer of the Anduin, and, far off, the dark line of the forest, Mirkwood, blurring in a faint haze towards the eastern horizon.  Above and to the southeast a hawk was spiraling up on a distant column of air.

“You have come all this way to bring me a gift, I am told” Breor smiled knowingly

“No surprises at all it would seem” Gandalf feigned disappointment, reaching into his pouch and placing the artifact on the table.

Though he’d known what it was hours ago, the sight of it still caught his breath.  There were several more, even larger, mounted in the Council Hall, but this was one that his father Fram had strung in a necklace and given to the dwarves those many years ago.

“And how did you come by this” Breor inquired, gingerly inspecting the dragon’s tooth

“I am recently traveled from Erebor, on the far side of Mirkwood.  Thorin I rules the kingdom under the mountain.  Let us say that he and his people owe me a small debt from the days of your grandfather’s time when they fled for their lives from Moria.”

“I knew not that you were a friend of the dwarves” Breor replied coolly

“I know well the feelings of the Eotheod for Durin’s folk, Breor.  They have a weakness for precious things that has often them astray.  I did not come to argue their case for it is their burden to bear.”

“Yet you have come with a purpose beyond the generosity of your gift.  No one, even a wizard, crosses Mirkwood lightly these days” Breor said perceptively

“So you to have seen the changes even this far north?”

“In my father’s youth men still hunted game there.  Birds still nested and flowers grew in the gaps where the old trees had fallen.  Now the game is long gone, the sound of birds is but a memory there and strange molds glow softly in the dark.  There is word of darker things, giant spiders, snakes rustling in the leaves.  We stay on our side of the Anduin.”

“Wise that you do.  An evil spreads from the south and much that has occurred in Mirkwood and beyond since the days of your grandfather’s youth may have their source in that evil.”

“The return of the Witch King? There are a few old grandfathers still amongst us who helped to clear this land of what we thought the last of his rabble”  

“No, he remains in Mordor, where he has already done enough deviltry” Gandalf sighed

“Even this far north we have heard of Earnil’s fate” Breor commented soberly

“No, these are not good times for the kingdoms of men.  Gondor is strong, but with Earnil’s certain death, the line of Isildur has ended there.  In the north the line continues, but the kingdom is no more.”

“Now you know why we prepare our defenses.  No king will come to our aid if we are besieged. So what is this evil, if not the Witch King, and what is to be done” Breor stared hard at Gandalf.

“I fear it is one to whom even the Witch King does homage, one we thought defeated and gone two thousand years past.  As to what is to be done….” Gandalf’s eyes took on a hard glitter beneath his bushy brows.

There was the sound of a door closing in the back of the residence behind them.  Breor turned irritably, the house staff having clear instructions not to disturb them.  A tall figure stood in front of the fireplace in a posture of attack.

“Taste this blade foul serpent” a youthful voice bellowed with bravado.

Breor sighed “Hagar has returned”

They turned.  A tall figure stood in a posture of mock sword combat in the rear of the great room, silhouetted by the fire in the huge hearth.  The outline of a shield could be seen on his left forearm. 

“Have at thee orcs!” Hagar challenged.  He tossed the sword from hand to hand, then pretended to strike with lightning quick parries and thrusts.  A quick leap and he was on the long dining table, pretending to battle foes on either side, the long sword darting in a blur, the shield deftly screening his movements.

“The black blade sings for you, troll” he shouted, springing off the table, cutting the air with a wide arc, as if separating a warted head from a trogdolytic body.  Hagar then backed away from the table toward the residence exit, pretending a fighting retreat against massing hordes.  A few more displays of blade speed and fighting agility and he was out on the balcony, slightly breathless.

“Hagar, foe slayer, at your service!” he bowed to his father and Gandalf, then straightened, the long black sword held upright in his powerful grip.  Though Breor glared at his son as if to rebuke him for the interruption, Gandalf seemed preoccupied with the blade he still held at attention.

“And now it is my turn to ask how you came by such a thing”  Gandalf leaned forward and ran a long finger over the ebony surface of the blade.

“With this sword Fram slew the dragon!” Hagar responded enthusiastically. 

“That must be quite a tale” Gandalf replied, motioning Hagar closer, “May I see it?”, he held his hands out.

Hagar glanced at Breor who nodded affirmatively.  With a trace of reluctance he laid the sword in Gandalf’s outstretched hands.

Gandalf placed it on the table in front of him and bent over, examining the hilt which was inscribed with traceries of ancient runes.  The blade was metallic and heavy, but pitch black in color with slight nicks and notches from unnamed battles in the past.  The surface was dull, as if it had needed, but never received a final polish to take the last vestiges of roughness from its forging.  The edge was keen, however.

“Fram was exploring the high meadows above the Langwell gorge.  I was just two summers old at the time.  A large cave at the headwall of the mountains at the upper end of the meadows caught his attention.  Inside he found the dragon, Scatha, in a deep slumber amidst a hoard of jewels, gold, and plunder.  As he told us later, he’d stooped to pick up a bauble at the entrance to the cave and the dragon awoke.”

Breor was interrupted in the story by Hagar.

“And the dragon shot a blast of fire his way!” Hagar said excitedly

“But Fram managed to lunge behind a boulder just inside the cave entrance” Breor regained control of the narrative.  “Behind the boulder were a few scattered jewels and an old scabbard with a hilt protruding…from the blade you see in front of you.  The dragon laughed at him, mockingly ‘Come out little thing that I may see you before I roast you’.

“Fram stood before the dragon, hand on hilt, unafraid” Hagar added

“So he told, my son.  The dragon taunted him ‘A sword you carry? No steel can pierce my hide, even my belly which some think soft.  Come little one, I like your bravery…take a cut so you may die with honor’.  Fram stepped up, intending to make his last stroke his best, withdrew the blade from the scabbard and took a wild cut at the beast looming over him.”

“I think Scatha scarce expected the result” Gandalf smiled

“No indeed” Breor continued, “For the blade cut him through like a knife through butter.  The beast roared in agony, dark dragon blood spewing from the gaping wound.  Fram fled out the cave as the beast thrashed in its death throes.  In moments it was still, a surprised look in its golden eyes.”

“No less surprised than Fram, I suspect.” Gandalf replied.  “This is no ordinary blade and its path to Scatha’s hoard would be a tale unto itself.  This is Anquirel, sister blade to Anglachel, that Turin used to slay Glaurung, father of dragons, in the ancient days when the race of men was young!”

Breor and Hagar, eyes widening, looked at the sword with new respect.  Hagar moved forward to hold it anew when there was a sudden blur of shadow, a rush of wind , and the beating of powerful wings.  They all turned to see a large golden hawk, settling on the stone balcony rail not three paces away, its proud head held high. 

It focused on Gandalf and uttered a piercing cry.  Breor and Hagar exchanged glances.  Hagar made move towards the winged hunter.

“Hold a moment” Gandalf commanded, standing from the table and slowly walking towards the hawk.  He fished out a small snack from his shoulder pouch and held it out to the bird, which snapped it from his fingers. 

“See his right talon.  The silver band”  Gandalf  knelt in front of the bird, occupied with its snack.  His head even with the rail, he gently removed a shiny metal band from the hawk’s right talon.  The bird gave out a cry and leapt up wings beating, and soared away southeastward into the afternoon sky.

Gandalf returned to the table with the band, nimble fingers extracting a tightly folded paper with cryptic markings.  Gandalf perused it in silence for a moment.

“There is to be a council, a meeting of the Wise.  The power in Mirkwood grows too strong, as I had suspected.  I need to visit with one of my order in Rhosgobel some days journey to the south on the west side of the Anduin, then I must be on to Rivendell in less than a fortnight.”

“We will see that you have provisions and an escort of our best cavalry’ Breor insisted

“I am grateful for your support my friend” Gandalf replied grasping Breor’s meaty hand in his own. “But it is best to travel light for this errand.  Perhaps I could spare the services of this expert swordsman in front of us with his deadly blade…we may have need of it if my suspicions are on mark.”

Both Breor and Hagar were momentarily speechless for different reasons.  Breor stunned that Gandalf would recruit what he viewed as his talented, though feckless son for what lay ahead.  Hagar, for a rare moment without his usual vocal bravado, suddenly aware that events might allow him a glimmer of opportunity for adventure out from under the boundaries of his father’s realm.

“Very well then, it is agreed” Gandalf stood up before either of them could respond, “There is still light enough for us to reach the Anduin before sunset if we can avail ourselves of a pair of your fine steeds, Breor”

“Uh…yes of course” Breor still slightly bewildered at the speed of events, signaled to one of the house staff.  Hagar dashed off to gather his belongings.

Breor turned to Gandalf. “Are you sure…?”

“Am I sure that I want Hagar to accompany me?”

“Well..yes..you’ve seen him…in action” Breor smiled ruefully

“Indeed, and I expect he will be much like his father at the same age, woefully inexperienced but full of talent, waiting an opportunity, unaware of what the future holds for him.” Gandalf gripped Breor’s shoulders “Fear not, he will do well old friend”

Two white horses clopped into the courtyard between the residence and the council hall, led by members of the chieftain’s guard.  Fully saddled and provisioned, they were large, muscular steeds, fresh for the journey.  Moments later Hagar arrived, Anquirel strapped to his side, armored in a curious breastplate, along with armlets, shield, greaves, long gloves and high boots, all made from some dull gray-gold hide, almost scaly in nature

Breor came forward and hugged his huge son, then stepped back apace, putting a stern look on his face.

“Well…you seem the proper warrior.  See that you behave like one…and mind what Gandalf tells you” 

Breor then turned to the wizard, his expression softening slightly.  Hagar moved away busying himself with his horse.

“You mean to do more than a journey to the Carrock and back. 

“It may come to that…”

“Hagar is ill suited enough for the company of a Lord of the Elves, much less a swordsman on such a quest that you hint at.  For all his faults I would begrudge any harm come to him should he be put at risks he lacks the skills to master.”

“He will be returned to you safe and sound, Breor, though a little toughened up in mind and body.  There is great strength in your people that will be needed in years yet to come.  I will not put that future at risk.  Trust me in this old friend.”

“Very well.”  Breor clasped the wizard’s hand, signaling his acceptance.  “You need be on your way then’

Gandalf nodded in assent, then strode over and mounted the steed they had readied for him.  Breor stood before the two of them, the wizard inscrutable, Hagar impatient and flushed with excitement.

“May the sun shine on your path, the long grass keep your horses hale and full”

With a waive they ambled off, led by two scouts, down the path away from the courtyard in front of the hall.  In a few moments they had rounded a bend in the trail behind a stand of evergreens and were lost from view.  Breor would track their progress for the next day or so with his scouts and the pennants from the valley.  Then it would be up to fate.