At the beginning of September in the year 2509 of the Third Age, Celebrían the Lady of Imladris set out from her home by the river Bruinen to cross the Misty Mountains and come to the Golden Wood of Lothlorien, there to spend the winter in the realm of her mother, the Lady Galadriel. At her going her husband, Elrond, the Master of Rivendell, felt a strange misgiving for which he could discover no reason. The road had long been safe, and the journey was one that Celebrían had made many times since she and Elrond had wed. The weather was fair and the sun bright when Celebrían went forth; the lands between Imladris and Lothlorien were bare but held little peril, and her destination was perhaps in these days the most safe place for an Elf to dwell east of the Sea. Elrond watched her depart with her seven companions and put aside his fears.
Barely a month later, the fears of Master Elrond came home to roost.
At twilight, a single Elf came walking up to the Ford of Bruinen. He was tall and dark of hair and lean of limb. He had a heavy pack upon his back that was much-weathered, and a walking staff in his hand. On the hand that gripped the staff was a silver ring set with a dark red gem. He said, when asked his business at the water’s edge, that he was travelling west over the mountains on his way to Lindon, and sought to rest from his journey at the Last Homely House whose name was known even to the elves far to the east. He was welcomed and bade to cross the water and take himself to the house of Master Elrond. This he with gladness did.
When he was seated in the Great Hall of the house, and provided with food and drink, and a place before the fire (for the nights had begun to grow cold in the valley as the year waned), the traveller began to be asked polite questions about himself and his journey.
His name, he said, was Rácinamir, and he had journeyed from a woodland kingdom of Elves far to the east beyond the sea of Rhûn; none of his listeners had ever travelled so far, but knowing smiles greeted his talk of a stop along the way at Dorwinion, and of its many gardens and vineyards. Indeed, at this talk bottles of Dorwinion wine appeared as if by magic from the cellars of Master Elrond and made the rounds as more Elves from the Valley came in from the night and joined those surrounding the newcomer.
One Elf asked him, “And how are the roads to the east? Are they safe for travellers such as yourself?”
“They are safe for the most part,” Rácinamir said. “There were some brigands on the road east of Rhûn, and the Men of those lands do not love Elves overmuch, I would say; great-grandsons of those who fought on the wrong side in the Great War. But none could be bothered with a lone traveller on foot, one clearly without wealth enough to stir the avarice in their hearts.
“I was surprised and saddened, though, to find goblins in the passes of the Mountains of Mist. I had supposed them to have been cleared out at the time of the War when the armies of the Last Alliance crossed over on the road to Dagorlad. But we in the east have also heard of the fall of Hadhodrond, that is now called Moria. It seems that with the passing of the Dwarves the goblins may have returned to their old haunts and old ways.”
A tall Elf, fair of face and golden of hair, pressed forward through the group at these last words.
“We have heard naught but rumors of goblins returning to these mountains,” the tall Elf said. “Master Elrond should hear of this news.”
“He has heard, Glorfindel,” said another tall Elf who had appeared at the other’s side. Tall as Glorfindel was he, but with hair raven-dark, upon which was set a circlet of silver. Elrond had slipped into the hall unseen, not wishing to intrude with ceremony; he wished to greet the traveller whose arrival had been reported to him. Now he gazed down upon the traveller with grey eyes bright and keen; and though his face seemed kindly and welcoming, yet in it some that knew him could see a shadow of concern.
The hall grew quiet. Singing ceased, and musical instruments were set aside. All listened.
Elrond said, “Pray tell me, traveller, did you come over Caradhras by way of the Redhorn Pass?”
Rácinamir said that he had.
“And what signs of goblins did you see there?” Elrond asked.
“None that are well for the unwary traveller, my Lord,” Rácinamir said. “Alas! I saw more than signs. I saw a party of Elves travelling, as it seemed, from the west across the same pass which I was also crossing. It was night, and the Elves were bearing lamps and singing and seemed unconcerned by the night, though it was a starless sky and full of storm-clouds. I looked forward to greeting them and asking for news.
“All at once, the air was filled with arrows, rising up out of the darkness below the road. Goblin cries followed. The lanterns faltered and went out. I rushed forward to aid them if I could, though I bore only a knife and my stick. But by the time I arrived it was over. The bodies of seven Elves lay dead upon the trail.”
Elrond looked up. “Seven, you said? Not eight?”
Rácinamir looked surprised. “No, Master Elrond. Of course, I could not linger in such a deadly place, but before I fled I counted carefully the fallen. There were seven.”
“Describe them,” Elrond said.
“The goblins? I could not see them well for the darkness,” Rácinamir said.
But Elrond said, “No, not the goblins. The Elves. Describe them.”
When Rácinamir had done so, Glorfindel said, “There can be little doubt that they were the companions of Celebrían.”
“But not Celebrían herself, it seems,” Elrond said. Glorfindel shook his head.
“Who is this ‘Celebrían’ of whom you speak?” Rácinamir asked.
“My wife,” answered Elrond shortly. Turning away, Elrond said, “Summon my sons to me. Come, Master Rácinamir! I must speak with you further.”
Rácinamir then followed Master Elrond from the Hall. Glorfindel instructed two Elves as to where the sons of Elrond were to be found, and then followed him and their guest.
The sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, soon arrived, and Rácinamir repeated his tale of the attack on the mountain. A map was produced that showed the Redhorn Gate, and Rácinamir pointed to the place where the ambush had taken place.
Then the sons of Elrond would not wait, but hastened from the House down to the stables. With them came many from the Hall who had heard the tale of the Traveller, and among these were some who, upon the arrival of the sons of Elrond, had gone hastily to arm themselves. So it was that, as Elladan and Elrohir sped to the Ford under a starry and moonlit sky, and rode away south in great haste, a score of Elf-warriors of the Valley followed behind.
The following morning, as Elrond and Glorfindel sat in the Masters Chambers of the Last Homely House, discussing the need for a muster and a punitive strike against the goblins (Glorfindel for, Elrond reluctant), and Elf came to the door and knocked.
Admitted to their presence, the Elf said, “Master Elrond, Lord Mordomin is here. He seeks to speak with you.”
Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged looks of puzzlement and concern.
Glorfindel said, “This cannot be a ‘chance meeting’.” Elrond shook his head.
Then Elrond turned to the Elf who stood waiting and said, “Let him enter.”
The Elf hesitated. “Master Elrond,” he said, “he has a sword.”
Elrond laughed; the first time that he had done so since he had spoken with Rácinamir the previous night.
“Then let him enter
quickly,” said the Master of Rivendell, “before he thinks to use his sword upon those who keep him waiting!”
The Elf departed in haste, nearly forgetting to bow ‘ere he fled the chamber.
Lord Mordomin was an Elf who had come to Middle-earth from the West with the Host of the Noldor in their valiant but ill-fated attempt to wrest the Jewels of Féanor from the Great Enemy. In those days, he had not yet taken the name ‘Mordomin’. In the course of the events of those Days, he had been captured by Sauron, and upon him had been laid a great curse. Within his right arm Sauron placed a portion of his own native power, with the intent of controlling the Elf-lord. This evil sorcery did cause his arm to become black from fingertips to elbow, and thus did this Elf-Lord come to be called ‘Mordomin’, that is ‘Black Hand’ in an elven dialect lost in Middle-earth, for the folk who once spoke it are no more.
The tower of Sauron was thrown down and its captives set free by Lúthien, in a tale elsewhere told, before the full power of the spell of Sauron upon Mordomin could be wrought. Mordomin thereafter wandered alone for many years, slowly recovering from his torment and grief, yet remaining ever after with a powerful Curse.
For many years the influence of his Curse was little to be seen upon Mordomin; and he avoided the presence of Sauron in those times when he walked abroad, as Sauron did much in the Second Age ‘ere he settled in the land of Mordor. In this Mordomin was aided by Gil-galad and Cirdan, who refused to treat with Sauron, whilst Mordomin dwelt for the most part in Lindon under the protection of the High King.
But when Sauron put the One Ring upon his finger, he
did then control Mordomin, and much evil was done by that Elf in the service of the Dark Lord in the Dark Days at the end of the Second Age.
When at last the Lord of the Rings was overthrown by the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and his Great Ring taken from him, Mordomin, being freed of the domination of Sauron, became a mighty force in support of the causes of the Wise. But the Ring had not been destroyed, as should have been, and the curse of Mordomin abided, though for many long years it slept (even as did Sauron himself).
In 2509 of the Third Age, in a time of fall, Mordomin looked out from his home on the border of the valley of Imladris and was deeply troubled. A foreboding had come upon him in the night, one that seemed to threaten those close to him with great peril. The threat, it seemed to him, came from the Misty Mountains that loomed to the east of his home on the edge of Imladris. Mordomin decided to descend into the valley to consult with its Master, Elrond Half-elven.
He took a long sword in a belted sheath from the great chest that stood against the inner wall of the central room of his house. This was Vórimáca, the Durance-blade, wrought for Mordomin by the Dwarves of Moria long ago. Its mate, Ascatondo, Stone-breaker, was a heavier, single-edged weapon that Mordomin reserved for troll-hunting; he left that one where it lay in the chest. He girded the sword-belt about his waist and swept up a hooded black cloak from a chair that stood beside the central table in the room, flinging the cloak across his shoulders. Last he seized from the table a large key from where it lay and thrust it into a fold in his cloak. He then left Taurn Daerebor, his house upon the hill. The black iron door closed behind him with a small snap. Mordomin smiled slightly at the sound. He walked on.
At the House of Elrond, Mordomin was swiftly brought into the presence of its Master, escorted by Erestor, his chief counsellor. A study in contrasts, they: Mordomin, tall with long white hair but dressed all in black and with gloves upon his hands; whereas Erestor was less tall, with black hair and brightly-colored clothing, his hands adorned with bright rings. Elrond was in a room aside from the Great Hall; with him was Glorfindel, his Marshall of Arms. Briefly Mordomin spoke his disquiet to Elrond, and saw concern darken the faces of all who heard his words.
When Mordomin had spoken, Elrond said, “Word came to us last night that a party of Elves that was travelling over the Mountains to Lothlorien has been waylaid by goblins upon the Redhorn Pass. I have sent my sons to aid them.”
“Goblins?” Mordomin frowned. “They have been growing more numerous in the mountains of late, it is said. But Elves and goblins have warred for thousands of years. That the battle has been renewed once again does not seem likely to be the cause of my uneasiness.
“Tell me, who was in this party, that it might be a concern of mine?”
Elrond then said, “My wife Celebrían. She was travelling east to spend the winter in the Golden Wood.”
“Celebrían!” Mordomin cried, “This must be the source of my foreboding!”
“If so, it was strangely late in coming,” Erestor said. “She was taken over a fortnight ago.”
Mordomin said, “It may be so, yet I must go to her aid at once.”
Elrond said, “A company of our people went with my sons last night with that purpose; all that could be gathered in haste.”
Mordomin said grimly, “Except me.”
Erestor said, “We do not like to trouble you about such small matters, Lord Mordomin. Or should I say, rather, that you have made it clear that you do not wish to be troubled about them.”
Mordomin glared at Erestor. “The capture by goblins of Celebrían is no small matter to me, Master Erestor, I do assure you,” he said.
Elrond then said, “I have felt for some time that a stroke by an unseen Enemy was about to fall. Your words have strengthened this feeling to a conviction, Lord Mordomin.
“My sons, and those who accompany them, can manage a band of goblins well enough. But if there is more to this matter than that, if there is another power that has set these things into motion…”
“Then your sons may be expected, and be walking into a trap prepared for them,” Glorfindel finished.
“But who is this ‘unseen enemy’?” Erestor said. “The Dark Lord is fallen, and the Witch-king is gone from the north.”
“Do not be too sure of that!” Mordomin said. “And though Sauron is fallen, as you say, yet he is not powerless. Do I not know it well! If this is a trap, as is the surmise of Glorfindel, then it is just the sort that Sauron would devise. And he loves not those who live in this refuge.”
“Indeed he does not!” Elrond agreed, looking thoughtfully at Mordomin.
After a moment, Elrond said, “Perhaps our unseen enemy would not be expecting your arrival in addition to that of my sons, Lord Mordomin.”
“Or perhaps Lord Mordomin is the true object of the trap,” Erestor said. Mordomin smote the hilt of his sword with his hand.
“Let it be so!” Mordomin cried.
Mordomin left swiftly then from the House of Elrond and took for himself a mount at the stable; nearly all had been taken the night before, but Master Elrond had given word that one should be held aside for Lord Mordomin. Mordomin frowned at that news, but quickly shook his head and dismissed it. He then rode at speed to the Ford of Bruinen. Crossing there, he was soon headed south and east on trails known to few other than the folk of Imladris.
Day and night Mordomin rode, to the utmost strength of his horse, resting only at greatest need. He came swiftly to the land called Hollin; once it had been called Eregion, the land of Holly, home of the Elven Jewel-smiths. The land had been much changed by war and time since last he had dwelt there; no one, Man or Elf, dwelt there now. But Mordomin still knew the way across it. He avoided the ruined city at its center, for the way through was too broken and tumbled to pass by horse. Once having passed by the ruin, he sought the high road to the south that ran from Hollin all the way to the western door of Moria.
From Hollin Mordomin came at last to the lower slopes of the mountains. Here the road over the pass, though unmaintained, was still plain to the traveller. This road across the mountains had existed long before the Elven way to Hadhodrond had been built. Long ago, the Elves of Eregion had used it to visit the Elves of Lórinand, the Greenwood and far Dorwinion, and to trade with the Dwarves of Moria before the hewing of its western passages. Further to the south Mordomin could see the course of the Sirannon, the Gate-stream, along which the Elven-way on which he was riding continued on to the West Door of Moria. Mordomin had travelled that road more than once in the days when the traffic between the Elves of Eregion and the Dwarves was at its height. But Eregion had fallen a long age past, and Moria had been dark and abandoned for over five hundred years, and the once-mighty High Road was now broken and overgrown. Mordomin thought that he could still find the Doors of Durin through the wilderness if he had a mind to, but that was not his present purpose. He rode on.
As Mordomin set his horse at last upon the trail up the mountain, a drop of rain struck his cheek. It was icy cold upon his skin. He looked up and saw that clouds had gathered in the mountain-tops, coming down out of the north and wreathing the peaks above, and they were darkening as they came.
“Have I ever climbed this pass without enduring rain, or sleet and snow?” Mordomin wondered aloud. As if in answer, a thick droplet struck upon the top of his head. Mordomin sighed and pulled up his hood.
The trail wound about as it rose ever higher up the side of Caradhras. As the road rose, so the hope of Mordomin sank, for it seemed to him that, if the sons of Elrond who had gone before him had succeeded in rescuing their mother from the goblins, he would have met them returning ‘ere now. The rain increased as he ascended, further darkening his mood.
“Perhaps they went on to Lothlorien, rather than returning to Imladris,” Mordomin mused to himself as the rain smote upon his hood. But he could not make his heart believe it.
The rain had become a steady downpour, to which had been added a distant rumbling which promised worse to come. The rainfall had lessened for a while that night while they had rested, sheltered by a small overhang. But when, after that brief respite, Mordomin mounted his horse once more and they proceeded upward, the tempo of the rain gradually increased once again. Now the water was gathering into rivulets upon the rockface, running down onto the trail upon which his horse trod. The weight of the rain in its mane seemed to draw down the head of the mount of Mordomin, adding to its weariness.
Abruptly his horse came to a halt. Mordomin slid at once from his place upon its back, concerned that, in his need, he had driven the animal beyond its strength. But he soon saw that, though indeed the beast was cold, wet, and worn, it was not this that had caused it to stop. Its head was bent low to the path now, sniffing at the sheen of water that came down the path from higher up. Mordomin knelt beside the neck of his steed and removed the glove from his left hand. He ran his bare hand through the water, then scooped a little into his palm and raised it to his face. He smelled the water closely, then poured it back onto the stone.
“Elf blood,” Mordomin said to his horse.
continue to
The Succor of Celebrían
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The Mordomin Gateway