Chapter 6 – Part 1
Chapter 5 – Part 4 Chapter 5 – Part 3
Chapter 5 – Part 2 Chapter 5 – Part 1
Chapter 4 – Part 2 Chapter 4 – Part 1
Chapter 3 – Part 2 Chapter 3 – Part 1
Chapter 2 – Part 3 Chapter 2 – Part 2
Chapter 2 – Part 1 Chapter 1
by Silent Draco
Chapter 6, Part 2 – Questions of Heritage
“Young Ones, this is a convoluted and wonderful tale,” the Elf spoke, in a far-away tone. “My friend, long, long years has it been since we last matched with an enemy.” His words echoed from deep places in time, and far away. “Young Ones, I apologize for concealing my nature. Truly a star shines on the time of our meeting; I am Ecthelion, and was the Captain of the White Tower, the citadel of Turgon, King of Gondolin. Orcrist was the great sword made to my needs, and with the sword I had the smiths craft a long dagger. I would at times fight with sword and dagger, but in tight quarters, the dagger was quite a welcome companion. Alas that I had never thought to name him, for the great deeds he performed! Came our last challenge …”
His eyes darkened and his voice tightened. “It was that fateful day, when the traitor revealed the secret ways over the hills, and The Great Enemy’s Orcs invaded. Trolls, and the Balrogs mounted on Dragons, assailed our walls. It was Gothmog,” he spoke slowly, as if recalling a nightmare. “They had breached the walls and the Citadel; Glorfindel and I amassed the last of our companies to fend off the onslaught. Five I slew, but then Gothmog itself strode forward. We gave wound for wound, but I was sorely wounded, and weakened at last. With my last strength, I hewed his neck with Orcrist, while driving my dagger deep, seeking to rend its heart. He gave me my death-blow as I ripped apart his foul head and heart. All went to fire and dark, and my spirit fled over dim and nebulous paths. The poets and bards made much to say, but my heart still feels the sorrows and pain of that day. I can speak no more.”
After bowing his head and weeping, Echthelion continued. “At length my sight cleared, and hearing returned. I felt very light, and weak as a newborn lamb. Two figures in white helped me to rise, and clothed me in a gray robe. I was in … here, and conducted to the Healers at Lorien. My body was recovering, but my mind and spirit recalled the fires and horrors. A request came one day, for a Lord to return to Hither Shore on errantry. Glorfindel had slain one and had recovered; my spirit and sinews were slower to recover, from six, and from my failure to protect the White Tree.. Yea, that was a scion of Telperion, Eldest of Trees.” Sam looked with wide eyes and asked with a squeak, “Lord Ecthelion, by six, you mean … Balrogs? But Mr. Gandalf …” He nodded gravely; then kissing the blade again and gravely thanking his old companion, he laid Sting gently upon the table. “Yes. Orcs innumerable fell before us, but the Worms and the Balrogs were our great foes. Alas, Lord Ulmo’s counsel was recalled bitterly that day; he warned us to not trust in secrets and walls, but our pride blinded us.”
The hobbits shifted uneasily in their seats; they felt they should stand and bow before this Hero of the First Age. He waved them to be still; “Young Ones, we all have faced great horrors at hands-reach with the same blade, and survived at great cost to our spirits. Be at ease, my fellow warriors. Master Samwise, would you be able to recount the rest of your tale to me?” Sam spoke of his journey, and added the odd whispers. Ecthelion halted Sam, and asked him to speak more of the whispers and the dreams. Sam rambled on, but Ecthelion sat dourly and appeared lost in memory.
Finally stirring, he concluded: “Gorthaur. That was always his way, to coax and seduce, and drain life and joy from all about him. Often he appeared in the hame of a great vampire. Samwise, your tale fills me with unease; some fragment of your Enemy found you, tried to possess you, and was slowly consuming your life. But fear not,” he continued as Sam shuddered, “Lady Este, all praise and honor to Her, is the greatest of healers in all Arda. You are now safe. But in Middle-Earth, beyond my beloved and foundered Beleriand, mortal Men may face great peril. They will need advice of this, and your heirs may need more.” Frodo added, soberly, “Gandalf said that while he did not need hobbits as workers, he would want them as slaves, to ruin them, for he would not bear thought of a free people not under his rule.” Sam thought things out, saying “Aye, an’ he’ll need a clear reminder, won’t he, Mr. Frodo? With Your Lordship’s permission, perhaps the Great Ones will let me send Sting back to young Frodo? Now I worry for him an’ the rest.”
Echthelion pondered a long moment, frowning in concentration. Sam wondered if he had insulted the Hero, but a slow assent came. “Aye. The blade should return, to defend and protect your people. Long Ages had passed, and my thought was that my blades were despoiled and debauched, drowned beyond reach. I asked the smiths to forge replacements for me. In your vestibule hangs … Shadow Breaker, it renders best in your tongue. Not all foes are as overt as an Orc party. And you remind me, Young Ones, that a humble dagger may undertake heroic blows; I am corrected!” Bilbo and Frodo blinked hard, in confusion, as the Elf gave a deep laugh. “Bilbo, you rightly Named the blade after a heroic battle, with a savage foe of greater size. But who is the rightful bearer, now?” he asked.
The hobbits thought of their experiences, and considered how to answer. Bilbo recounted that Sting had come to him as spoils from the vanquished trolls. “When I made my nephew Frodo my heir, he would come into Bag End, all my property, papers, goodwill, and so forth. Ah, the Sackville-Bagginses were so discomfited! In Rivendell I bequeathed mail and blade into Frodo’s hands, finishing my bequests; he needed them for a desperate journey. Frodo, I imagine you designated Sam as your heir, and did the same? We were quite short of capable heirs in the family, after all.” Frodo nodded, noting that it was unusual for the Deputy-Mayor to preside and sign the documents; at the time Frodo was Mayor and could not approve his own request, that not being quite proper. Sam finished the thoughts, “… and Mr. Frodo, my hand was never so tired as having to sign all them places and letters, an’ all them copies, an’ then waitin’ on ink to dry and seals to set. Well, at the time it was a lot, but then they kept making me Mayor; six terms it was, sir, and a powerful lot o’ the same, all them years!” Ecthelion could not contain a small bubble of laughter. “Ah, the rightful custody, care and use among the Free Peoples is thus established. I am content to relinquish any claim, and foster my old companion to the line of this notable and heroic Pheriain, Samwise the Gardener.”
The tall Elf rose, saying “Now I must take my leave. I thank you for your gifts of time and memory. One other request I now make. Would you accompany me to the Lore-Smiths on High-Day, for a Naming? Show them the plaque I gave you, and that will suffice to pass you within. Among the Eldar, Naming a weapon conveys certain attributes of the namer, and my new dagger merits this; I expect one day to wield both again in the service of the Valar, and He who is beyond Arda. In addition, Master Samwise, we can have the Loremaster seal Sting with his name, in your tongue, Quenyan, and Sindarin. The Dunedain will look with greater respect on a Pheriain wielding, say, Swift and Dire Hornet.” Sam bowed deeply, impressed with the Elvish description, and accepted.
To be continued…