Mordomin > August 20th, 2022, 03:07 PM
hour_25mikehodel > August 20th, 2022, 04:08 PM
(August 20th, 2022, 03:07 PM)Mordomin Wrote: On a late spring evening in the year 2510 of the Third Age, Mordomin Blackhand descended from the Redhorn Pass over the Misty Mountains, across the empty lands of Hollin, and in due course came to the Ford of Bruinen.
Unlike many of his previous arrivals, he was upright, unwounded, and clad in the green and gold of the folk of Lothlorien rather than his usual black. His expression could never be mistaken for ‘jovial’, yet absent was his accustomed scowl. The only thing that marked him as anything other than an ordinary traveller from the Golden Wood were his black gloves, and even these were mostly hidden beneath the long green sleeves of his woodland garments.
As he crossed the ford, he noted that he was not greeted by the usual, barely-veiled insults of the Elves who always laughed in the trees about the river. If there were any Elves in the trees above the Ford this day, they were unmoving and silent.
“How often have I, crossing this water, wished for this very silence,” Mordomin said aloud to his doubts. “Yet now that I have it, it misgives me.”
Yet rode he confidently across the stream, and up the farther shore and then to the road into the enchanted refuge that was Imladris. Here he had dwelt for many a long year. Here, if anywhere in Middle-earth, was home for Mordomin.
And yet, Mordomin knew, even as he dismounted from his horse and turned it over to the Master of the Stables of Imladris, the Valley was not really his home. It was his home in Exile. An Exile that would last for as long as his curse endured. And this home suffered him; it did not love or welcome him. It endured him by the Will of the Master of the Valley.
But his fate seemed somehow less oppressive in the Valley of Imladris.
Mordomin walked from the stables to the door of the Last Homely House and was let within.
As always, there was a fire burning brightly in the hearth of the Great Hall, and the merriment in that room seemed not to acknowledge the entry of a tall, dour Elf Lord. It never did. His escorts hastened him through and into a private room for the Master of the Valley.
Therein sat Elrond, Master of Rivendell. To his right stood Glorfindel, mighty of the Eldar of the First Age returned. There was also Erestor, chief advisor to Elrond, and close of kin.
“How shall I greet thee, Lord Mordomin?” Elrond said.
“As you ever have,” Mordomin said.
“First, you shall ask me where I have been, and I shall tell you that you are impertinent.
“Then you shall ask me why I have returned, and I shall point out, not for the first time, that I have a house above this valley, and that I have lived there above for nearly as long as you have below.
“And then you will ask me to tell you how long I intend to stay, and I will answer that I do not intend to leave, but that I expect that I shall at some point.”
Then Glorfindel stood forth and said to Elrond, “I do not believe that Lord Mordomin knows of the grief that lies between you.”
Elrond said, “Is this so?”
Mordomin said, “What talk is this?”
Elrond said, “My wife, Celebrían, took the road to the Havens. When the birds began to return from the South, the flowers to open and the trees to show new leaves, she departed across the Sea.”
Mordomin stiffened. “I give her joy of it. For some, the Road to the West is closed,” he said.
Glorfindel said, “Master Elrond, I do not believe that Lord Mordomin knows why you hold him in account for the departure of your wife.”
Mordomin cried, “Indeed I do not! Was it not I that healed her of the poisons that the goblins had used to torment her? Without my aid, she would have died upon the mountainside, the valor of your sons in vain.”
Elrond said, “So say you. But Celebrían, who is my wife, spoke to me before her departure. And she told me that she could not bear the return of the Black Hand.
“When news came to us from Lothlorien that you had set forth to come here, she determined to flee.
“And thus we are parted. She left on the first day of Spring. Sundered are we until met again in the West.
“What say you to that, Lord Mordomin Blackhand?”
Mordomin said, “Why do you ask me, Master Elrond? You know that I was in this very Valley when Celebrían was taken; you sent your sons to her succor without calling upon me. I only rode upon their trail at my own choice, and out of fear for the safety of my kinswoman.
“Do you now accuse me of conspiring with goblins to seize and poison your wife?”
Elrond said, “I make no accusations. But I wonder why did she shudder at the mention of ‘the Black Hand’? Why did she depart this refuge in haste at the rumor of your approach?”
Then Mordomin was wrathful.
Mordomin said, “Why has anyone, across the Ages of the World, ever feared the approach of the Elf known as ‘the Black Hand’? For am I not the most dreadful thing an Elf might ever see, save only the Dark One upon his Dark Throne?
“I say to thee, Elrond son of Eärendil, that any who approaches me with a light heart is a fool! For my Hand is Death, to foe and friend alike! I have wrought sorrow and death from the Mouths of Sirion to the Mines of Moria, for all to see! You, above of all the Elves of Middle-earth, know this well.”
And as Mordomin spoke he rose up to his full height and loomed tall and menacing, and lo! behind him a great shadow could be seen, and that shadow caused to dim the very lamps of the room, and even the light of the Sun, coming from windows high above, was blotted out. The sounds from without were muted. Joy and laughter fled as if they had never been.
Erestor drew back and threw his hands before his face, but Glorfindel stood fast and unmoved.
Then Elrond rose up from his chair and raised up his hand, and from his hand came a brilliant light.
And Elrond cried, “Mordomin, mighty are you among the Eldar, and terrible is the curse upon you. But I am the Master of this Valley!”
Then the towering shadow that Mordomin had become was driven forth, and the light of the room became as before. Darkness fled.
For a moment Mordomin looked astonished, but then he bowed to Elrond.
Elrond sat back down and lowered his hand. The light of his hand faded. His face remained stern.
Mordomin said, “So are you. And you are wroth with me unjustly. I shall leave your Valley, Master Elrond, and trouble it no more.”
And Mordomin turned and passed out of the House of Elrond. All fell back before his wrath as he made his way forth, and few saw where he went thereafter.
But Mordomin, leaving the House, climbed the path from the Valley to his home upon the cliffs, Taurn Daerebor. There he sat and thought long upon the things that he had seen and heard.
When he had thought upon these things long enough, he put aside the raiment of Lothlorien and wore instead his favored black garb. And he took up once more his sword, Vórimáca, the Durance-blade, and left the Valley of Rivendell by hidden ways known only to him.
To hunt for Rácinamir and slay, if he were so fated, the Black Hand.
Continue to Valley of Sorrow - Part Two
Mordomin > August 20th, 2022, 09:17 PM