The Worlds of Christopher Walker

THE WILD POUNDING of Aragunk’s heart did nothing to drown out the terrified screams echoing through the Dagor keep. He crouched on the high walkway and peered down into the bowl-shaped courtyard. Bound hand and foot by thick cords to the iron altar, Beonna lay shrieking and struggling to the last shreds of her strength. There stood Lord Angor by her head, holding the fiery Silmaril aloft in the icy rain. The sorcerer gazed skyward at the dark swirling clouds with her arrows still lodged in his neck and chest.

The grim throat-chant of Dagor acolytes mingled with Beonna’s cries, rising to Aragunk like noxious tar-smoke in the clammy air. He counted five of these acolytes surrounding the altar with the Dark Sorcerer. Their hooded black robes displayed blood-red embroidery twisted into the occult symbols of the Dagor’s ancient tongue. Now they erected a tripod over the altar, formed of engraved silver struts, joined at the top by a single iron ring. Angor placed the burning Silmaril into this ring, setting it between Beonna and the spinning pall of leaden clouds above. His ruined left hand curled like burnt paper against his chest as the profane chanting of his acolytes redoubled in strength. 

This was going to be hard enough, thought Aragunk, but standing between him and the altar stood a squad of a dozen Dagor soldiers, too. These kept guard around the platform while their master completed the dark rites that would bring Morgoth back into the world of men. 

Aragunk’s heart was a careening stampede of horses now. He had longed for this moment his entire life: a moment to prove his worth in the face of extreme peril against hopeless odds. These were the legendary exploits his glorious ancestors had accomplished: destroy the villain, save the world, and rescue the fair maiden all in one swoop! The songs of his fathers handed down through the ages had proclaimed fell deeds like these! Where had the songs fled? Why could he only hear the galloping fear in his heart now?

Beonna’s frenzied protests from the altar yanked Aragunk back. “Monster! You will fail your evil master and his exile will stretch on forever!”

Aragunk swatted all thoughts from his mind. The time to act had come! He rose, creeping low along the walkway to one of the fallen Dagorim archers. He took the dead man’s bow and slung his quiver over his back. Nocking an arrow, Aragunk squinted with his weak eyes, trying to focus on Angor. His hand shook, and he cursed under his breath for being so afraid.

“Hey, you!” someone shouted from the walkway behind him. “What are you doing there?” Aragunk glanced back at a group of soldiers running his way. Cursing his bad luck, Aragunk sped up his plan. He had only one shot to kill Angor now. “Villain!” he called out to Angor, “meet your doom!” He let fly the arrow, but his feeble eyes betrayed him. His aim traveled wide, and the arrow missed Angor, zipping across the altar instead and striking one of the hooded acolytes in the stomach. “Rat spit!” Aragunk snarled.

The rushing soldiers on the walkway drew close now, forcing him to take off running the other way. “Bring the infidel to me!” Lord Angor bellowed up to his guards.

“Aragunk? Is that you?” Beonna cried out from the altar, casting her gaze around to find him.

“Beonna! I’m coming to rescue you!”

“No! Don’t worry about me! Stop them!”

But Aragunk didn’t have time to answer. Four more Dagorim soldiers came running from the other direction now, trying to cut him off from the stairs to the courtyard. He turned back. But the soldiers closing from behind were almost upon him now. Only one way remained. He slapped a hand on the low railing of the walkway and leaped over the edge onto the steep, curving wall below. His boots caught the slick stone, and he skidded and rolled down the side of the bowl-shaped courtyard until he came tumbling to the bottom in a groaning heap.

“Seize him! Seize him!” an acolyte screamed from the altar. The elite guards around the altar came running now. Aragunk forced himself to his feet, drew an arrow and fired it into the oncoming soldiers. One of them fell with a shriek, an arrow lodged in his thigh. “Ha!” Aragunk readied and fired his last shot. This arrow struck the lead soldier in the shoulder, but he neither fell nor slackened his pace.

Aragunk flung the bow at them and took off running along the wall, hoping to outrun the guards and gain the altar. His sword rang out as he yanked it from its scabbard. “Get him! Cut him off!” the pursuing soldiers shouted.

An arrow whistled from the walkway above and clattered past his feet. Aragunk’s legs pumped with fear and rage as he sprinted, faster than he had ever run, bearing now towards the altar. But the Dagor soldiers had the angle on him, and he realized he couldn’t get around them all. With a sudden stop, he turned back and caught the closest soldier by surprise. With a heavy swing of his sword, he struck this one in the crook of his neck and dropped him in a shrieking heap. Another arrow hissed past his head as he sidestepped the flying tackle of a leaping guard. He dodged yet another soldier but then had to deflect the swinging axe of still another. They had him surrounded like a pack of wolves now. Three Dagors seized him together and tackled him to the ground in a snarling, cursing pile of angry men.

“Get off me, jackals!” Aragunk’s voice echoed through the wide courtyard. “I command you—in the name of Aragorn of Gondor—let me go!” He kicked and struggled to get up and keep fighting, but in vain. The Dagor soldiers clubbed and beat him under a hail of foot and fist until his sword went clattering away across the pavement and Aragunk struggled no more.

“Bring the infidel here!” the voice of Lord Angor thundered. The guards bound his hands and dragged him to his feet. They hauled him before the altar and threw him to the wet stone on his face.

“Never over the ages has the name of that cursed land been spoken here,” said Angor. “Who is this young fool who calls on the false king of that doomed realm?”

Aragunk lifted his bleeding face off the wet pavement. His thoughts spun woozy and disjointed from the savage beating. Gauntleted hands heaved him to his knees. “Lord Angor bids you speak!” A guard cuffed him across the mouth. “Answer, whelp!”

Aragunk gathered his wits from the stinging pain and lifted his bleary eyes to Angor. The Lord of the Dagorim towered from the altar above him like a stone column. Daggoth Dûl quivered in his right hand while his ruined left curled against his chest-plate. Aragunk could see Beonna’s terrified face peeking out over the altar at him. He nodded to her and spoke. “I am Aragunk, brother of the righteous King Elessar of Gondor! And in his name, I will slay you where you stand, villain!” A boot caught Aragunk in the side of the head at those bold words, sending him sprawling across the pavement with a heavy groan. The laughter of the assembled Dagorim rang in his ears as he struggled to hold on to his fading sense.

“Truly, fortune stands with us on this Day of Reckoning,” spoke Angor. “Destiny has sent our Master ambassadors from both the Northern and Southern Kingdoms of men to pay tribute in blood to the renewal of his reign. By her blood, this haughty princess of the North will inaugurate his triumphant return. And you, foolish young brother of the false southern king, by yours you will consecrate this world as the everlasting throne of the Many-Horned One!” With the echo of his words still rumbling through the keep, Lord Angor returned to the rites.

“You will fail!” Beonna shrieked. “Your evil master was overthrown ages ago! We will defeat him again!”

“And you, foolish girl who lie here in defeat, do you remember what I said to you when you sacrificed your friend to save yourself? I taught you then that we are not so different from each other. Now, like me, you too will be found worthy to suffer for his glory. Let Dagor Dagorath, the war to cleanse the world, begin!”

At once, an unwholesome, otherworldly chant exhaled from his throat like smoke, a black language profaning the very air around them. The four remaining acolytes took up this chant as Angor mounted the altar with Daggoth Dûl in his iron grip. The jagged pike rang, poised in his right hand to sacrifice Beonna’s life when the fated time fell. A bitter, troubled wind swirled through the courtyard, growing stronger and swifter. The dark skies churned in a wide, swirling mass that grew larger with each passing moment. And the light of the Silmaril, held fast in the tripod above Beonna, shone like a beacon against the evil rising all around.

Aragunk struggled to his knees again, gathering himself for one last desperate effort. He yearned for his sword, lying so close across the pavement, blocked from his reach by the surrounding soldiers. “For Númenor!” he cried and lunged upwards with what strength he had left in his battered body. He knocked one soldier aside with his shoulder and got to the first step of the altar before they grabbed him and slammed him back-first to the pavement. He gasped and retched for air and curled onto his side. His head spun and throbbed to the sound of their dark chanting, thrumming in and out of his hearing.

“He comes!” shouted a soldier standing over him. “The Lord Melkor comes!” They pointed up at the sky, through the gusting winds, to the growing wheel of blackness. And all could see that something stirred in that sable disk: a form, massive, dark, and uncanny speeding earthward from a place impossibly far away from this world.

Aragunk moaned from his soul at the sight. He knew then that he had lost his chance to stop Angor. “I failed you, my fathers,” he said through bitter tears. “Forgive me. I stood alone against evil, and I failed to destroy it as you did!” All was lost. He felt his consciousness slipping away, along with his hope.

Through the streaming tears of his despair, his eye caught a tiny flash of green light. The pearl fell from his collar and dangled across his chest on its silver chain. The light of it pulsed pale green, growing brighter by the second. His weary eyes drank its soft glow. But what could it mean? As Aragunk wondered at it, a voice, powerful and clear, rang out from the far side of the courtyard, piercing through the blowing gale.

“In the name of the All-Father, Eru Illúvatar, Holy Lord of all that is sacred and true, I condemn this profane rite!” Aragunk whipped his head around to the wide gate across the courtyard. There he beheld a flashing mantle of light surrounding the enraged form of Gandalf the White! The white wizard stood with arms outstretched in the wind, staff raised high. Fury crackled from his eyes like lightning. “And you, Angor, cursed servant of the all-wicked Morgoth Bauglir, I consign to your just destruction!” With a lunge forwards, a bolt of clearest light shot from Gandalf’s white staff and struck Angor where he stood poised to sacrifice Beonna. The Dark Sorcerer pitched off the iron altar in a howling, crashing heap to the pavement beyond.

“Ha ha!” Aragunk cried out, life surging back into his sinews at the sight. “Gandalf is here!”

One of the robed acolytes pointed to the guards. “Kill him! Destroy the wizard!” The fanatic soldiers rushed the gate, axes and spears at the ready, howling a fearsome battle-cry. But from behind Gandalf, Captain Yorlov and the crew of the Freedom Hawk came surging into the courtyard, flush with the rage of battle.

“Fight, men!” bellowed the captain. “Fight for the Hawk! Fight for your freedom!” And they charged the Dagor soldiers as one, with fury singing through their bared teeth. Sword met axe and armor as the sides joined battle in the raging wind. And Gandalf fought with them, fell Glamdring ringing above the fray as he battled his way through to the altar. 

Filling with renewed courage, Aragunk sprang to his feet. Though his hands were still bound, he seized his sword from the pavement and made to enter the fight. “Aragunk!” The familiar voice of his friend rang out as he came running around the fracas.

“Lumpolas!” he shouted for joy. “Quick! Cut my bonds so I can finish these Dagor dogs while there are still some standing!”

Lumpolas sliced the cord binding Aragunk’s wrists with his long kitchen knife. “There! But we don’t have time to fight those soldiers! We have to rescue Beonna!” He pointed to the altar. A hooded acolyte had already mounted it with a silver knife to finish the sacrifice.

“Aragunk!” Gandalf called out from the battle, still struggling to break through the fray. “Stop them!”

In two flying bounds, Aragunk ascended the platform with Lumpolas following. With two swings, he cut down a pair of acolytes defending the altar. Another fell by his sword with a shriek while Lumpolas hurled his kitchen knife into the acolyte poised to slay Beonna with his silver blade. The hooded Dagor shrieked as the knife stuck between his ribs. But he didn’t go down, determined to complete the rite. With a howl of dark fury, the wounded acolyte raised the silver knife again to sacrifice Beonna. Whoosh! Aragunk swung his sword and caught the acolyte in the throat, sending him crashing to the pavement.

“Bee, we’re here!” said Lumpolas, leaping to her side. “We’re here for you!”

“Quick, cut me free!” Beonna cried, her eyes flashing.

“Don’t worry, Mousy,” said Aragunk with a broad smile, shaking but exulting. “Gandalf and the crew are here with us. We’ve won!”

“We still have to get the Silmaril away from here!” she said. “Hurry!”

“Right!” Lumpolas whipped out his paring knife to cut her bonds. “But how come you didn’t just turn into a mouse to get loose?”

“Something is stopping me from changing! This altar must be full of some evil magic.” 

The white wizard came breaking through the frenzied battle behind them. “Lumpolas! Aragunk!” shouted Gandalf before they could free her. “Run! Get away from there!” Beonna screamed as they glimpsed a huge dark form rising from behind the altar. CRACK! Before the two friends could move, Angor swatted them away with one mighty swing of Daggoth Dûl. They went flying through the whipping wind and crashed together far across the pavement, half-alive.

Another scream from Beonna brought Lumpolas back from the brink of unconsciousness. He lifted his heavy head to see Angor raising his jagged pike above her to complete the Rite of Raggorn. But Gandalf had already leapt onto the platform to destroy Angor with another bolt from his staff. This time, though, the Dark Sorcerer was ready with Daggoth Dûl, and met the white wizard’s attack with a burst of his own evil power. A thunderclap exploded above the altar when the two blasts met. The violence of it sent everyone in the courtyard crashing to the ground with their ears ringing. Gandalf and Angor, too, tumbled off opposite sides of the platform. But both recovered themselves at once and rose to rejoin in battle.

Lumpolas shook his unmoving friend. “Aragunk! Are you hurt?” He grimaced at the sight of blood flowing over his forehead. “Aragunk!”

The young ranger stirred and opened his eyes in a daze. “What? What’s happening?”

“Oh, nothing… just the end of the world! Can you stand? We still have to save—”

But another thunderclap drowned his words as the wizard’s and the sorcerer’s power clashed in the air, smashing over them like a towering wave in the sea. When it passed, Lumpolas groaned and dragged himself up again. “Aragunk! Wake up! We have to save Beonna! Aragunk!” But this time his shakes and shouts couldn’t revive his friend.

Lumpolas moaned in despair. With his own head spinning, he cast his eyes back across the courtyard. Captain Yorlov and the crew were picking themselves up off the ground along with the Dagorim soldiers to continue their fight. But more Dagor soldiers came charging into the courtyard now to reinforce the altar guards. No help would come from there. Lumpolas turned his gaze back to the dueling enchanters, trying to judge if he could get to the altar to free Beonna by himself without getting killed. Lord Angor loomed, terrifying in his dark power as he hunted for an opening to destroy Gandalf. Even with a withered hand, he could more than match the white wizard. Each pursued the other around the platform, hurling bolts and blasts at one another, each trying to gain the altar by any means possible.

“Nope!” Lumpolas shook his head and dug into his bag instead. He brought out his little jar of snake-spice and rubbed the last red pinch on his friend’s cracked lips. “Ohhh, you’re going to hate me for this, dear friend, but there’s no other way!” At once, Aragunk’s face turned bright scarlet and his eyes sprang open. He shot up with a scream that echoed across the courtyard. “What did you do to me?” he howled, scouring his lips with his soggy sleeves, trying to wipe the burning agony away.

“I’m sorry! I had no choice! We still have to rescue Beonna! Look! Gandalf is keeping Angor occupied. We can get up there and cut her free!”

Aragunk blinked his watering eyes as realization dawned on his scarlet face. “Let’s go!” He leaped up, forgetting his pain.

“Wait! Your sword!” said Lumpolas, retrieving it from the ground. “Now listen, Gunk, I have a plan. We can sneak up to the altar without drawing their attention while they—”

“No time for plans, Lump! Let’s go!” Aragunk went barreling off towards the altar, heedless of the danger. Lumpolas, on the other hand, was very heedful of the danger presented by the battle of Gandalf and Angor. But he wasn’t about to let his friend run into the fray alone and get himself killed. He hurried after him, getting his paring knife ready. But to his horror, Aragunk ran not towards the altar where Beonna lay bound, but veered instead straight toward Angor, making to attack the Dark Sorcerer with nothing but his sword! “Wait! Where are you going?”

But the Lord of the Dagorim, consumed with killing the white wizard, didn’t mark the young ranger’s charge. Aragunk fell upon the Dark Sorcerer, hacking away at him with abandon. “Aragunk, you fool, stop!” thundered Gandalf. But Aragunk’s berserk attack forced Angor to turn and deal with him. Blocking his onslaught with Daggoth Dûl, he clubbed the young warrior to the ground with his injured arm and raised up to kill him with the bewitched pike. But Gandalf, seeing his opening, cried out and let fly a ball of clear flame from his staff. In an explosion of white light, Lord Angor crashed to the pavement beyond like a massive boulder falling from a high cliffside.

Meanwhile, Lumpolas, too, seized the opportunity that Aragunk’s reckless attack had opened and scurried up the altar. “It’s me, Bee! Here’s our chance!” He sawed through her leather bonds. “Aragunk just distracted Angor so we can get you out of here!”

“You mean he almost just got himself killed!”

“That’s what he’s best at, isn’t it?”

“Hurry, Lump, the Door of Night is opening! I can see it!”

In a breath, Lumpolas severed the last of her bonds. “There, let’s go!”

“Not without the Silmaril!” She jumped up to retrieve the glowing jewel from the tripod.

“No!” Gandalf cried out below them. “Beonna, get away from there!” But she ignored his warning. While reaching for the Silmaril, a sharp burning flashed across her cheek as a silver blade flew past. Her gaze dropped to the wet pavement from where Angor had hurled the knife. A single drop of blood slid over her cheek and hung in the air for a breath before falling to the altar.

At once, as the blood-drop struck the black iron, the wind lashing the courtyard ceased and a thunderous silence struck everyone’s ears. The rippling light from the Silmaril above changed, dropping from clear white to a deep crimson that cast a heavy pall around them. The very air changed—becoming colder, less nourishing. Even the stones of the keep themselves quaked at the approach of some awful thing. Captain Yorlov, his crew, and their Dagorim opponents stopped their fighting and gazed upwards in dread. Something like black fire flowed out from the disk of darkness now. It yawned wider, pushing even the memory of light far from sight and mind, stretching from horizon to horizon as though it meant to consume the entire world in one swallow. Only the angry light of the wounded Silmaril illumined the surrounding courtyard now with its blood-red glow.

Lumpolas and Beonna both crouched together in fear. “No!” she said. “We can’t have lost, not like this!”

Lumpolas took her hand. “It’s not your fault, Bee. You… you did everything you could. We all did.” But his voice wobbled and he couldn’t stop himself from trembling.

Aragunk climbed to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief. Millen and Captain Yorlov came near and none of the Dagorim soldiers hindered them, for dread and foreboding had overcome even them. “What do we do, Master Gandalf?” asked the Captain. “What do we do to stop this?” Every eye turned to the white wizard. 

Then, from where he lay, the rasping sounds of Angor’s rising laughter oozed through the ominous silence. “Woe! Woe! Woe be to you, infidels! Look up. Mark your doom approaching! You have lost. You have failed! Let your despair sing out to welcome the Dark One. May your cries of woe gladden his ears! Let all the world wail in fear—” But, with one ringing swing of Glamdring, Gandalf silenced him and unburdened Angor’s neck of his evil head.

“Now,” he said, turning to Yorlov, Millen, and Aragunk, “the three of you, with me!” He led them up to the altar platform. Coming to Beonna and Lumpolas where they crouched, he lifted them up. “Come away from there, you two. Stand behind me.”

“But what can we do, Master Gandalf?” Beonna asked with tears streaming down her cheeks. “The Door of Night stands open! How can we stop the Evil One from returning now?”

“The Door is indeed opened,” answered Gandalf. “But the distances Morgoth must still traverse are immense. And we are not without allies.”

As one, the five pearls depending from the necks of Aragunk, Lumpolas, Yorlov, Millen, and Gandalf flashed bright green. “No, you are not alone,” the voice of Empress Una sounded in their ears. “The world stands with you. All our hopes gather behind you.”

“Our lady is with us!” cried Aragunk.

“And not her only,” said Gandalf. The locket at Beonna’s breast opened and the silvery light of Telperion flowed out from the jewel within, casting away the heavy darkness. Beonna pointed to the altar. “Look!” There on the iron table, as if asleep, now lay the deathless boy, Inolduay, with hands crossed over his breast.

Gandalf spread his arms, enfolding his companions. “Take heart, my friends; there is a power here older than our foe. Come, it is time to awaken the sleeper of light.” He directed them around Inolduay’s sleeping form, taking the hands of Beonna at his left and Aragunk’s at his right. The rest joined their hands in a ring around the sleeping elf. The Eyes of Ulmo blazed, pushing away the darkness surrounding them. Their green radiance mingled with the silver light of Beonna’s jewel and the white effulgence emanating from Gandalf. Each gazed at the sleeping young elf and wondered at his peace, at the living light rising from his skin. Their faces lit with awe and the first glimmers of hope.

The moment their circle closed, music came swelling like a distant tide in their ears. The voice of the mer-empress, summoning the boy to awake with a song of the sea:

Softly slumber stars and moon
O’er wave and cove, sea’s drifting tune.
But rise, my soul, shed sleep and rise!
Lest light of morning fades low and dies.

Sleep not, my Heart, while heaven swells black
‘Til peace is dawned and night turned back.
Seeks darkness to reign, our hopes forestall,
Awake! Arise! Pray rise, heed our call!

Rouse thyself sleeper, for anon hither speeds 
The Father of malice and all bitter deeds,
The Death of dreams, the Master of lies,
Tyrant of torments, cruel wails and cries.

Arise, Sweet Sleeper, take up your sword!
Be bold! Defend us from savagery’s Lord.
Take shield! Don helm! Our hopes fly with thee,
‘Til all may rest easy, unfettered, and free.

The Song of Una ended, but the music of it did not depart, remaining a comforting presence in the air, as if she herself embraced them all.

Lumpolas glanced over at Gandalf. The wizard intoned something so softly that even his elven ears couldn’t make it out. But he took hope in Gandalf’s calm as he concentrated all his powers on the deathless boy.

Beonna squeezed Lumpolas’s hand when Inolduay stirred. The sleeping elf’s breathing grew deeper and more rapid, and the silver light from his skin grew still brighter. Beonna’s tears streamed forth when the young elf woke at last from his ancient sleep. His bright silvery eyes reflected the crimson blaze from the wounded Silmaril above, and his fair brows arched in wonder.

“Welcome, fair sleeper,” said Gandalf, bowing his head. “Welcome to the troubled land of waking woe. You are most welcome among us!”

Inolduay rose from the altar like a winter moon climbing from a troubled sea and beheld the six companions. A smile shone forth on his fair face, and then he spoke. 

“My friends—for I consider each of you my true friends now—you have labored and suffered much to bring me here to this dread place. I thank you from my soul. For this hour have I yearned across the ages. An age and another age have passed since I made a vow to be revenged on Morgoth for his treachery. Many long years have I slept, held in keeping for this moment. The time is now fulfilled, dear companions.”

His eyes lighted on Beonna and his countenance grew solemn as he regarded her weeping face. He reached out and caught one of her tears on his finger and held her gaze, gentle and sad. “I take your friendship and your love and I hold them in my heart, Beonna. These will be my weapons and my defenses, for I go to battle against the enemy of these precious jewels. These will be my only succor from now until the end of the ages.”

Inolduay took her tear and affixed it to his forehead where the jewel had once rested. Then he cast his eyes skyward into the consuming blackness churning above. He stood up on the altar beneath the Silmaril, glowering red in the tripod. The radiance swirling around the platform gathered itself then. It embraced and covered him until the light itself appeared like armor shining on his arms and legs, crowning his fair brow with a high wingèd helm. A sword of pure light appeared in his hand. A mantle of glory and strength shone upon his shoulders. They all gazed upon the risen warrior in awe.

“Farewell my friends,” Inolduay spoke in a ringing voice, “remember in your songs this day when the evil one was turned back!”

Beonna, through spilling tears, tried to reach out to him. But no distinction remained between him and the light any longer. The brightness swelled and grew blinding. Then the light where the shining warrior had stood began flowing upwards, deep into the heart of the blood-red Silmaril, filling it with his luminous presence. Its ruddy fire flared from red back to brightest, purest white.

“He’s doing it!” cried Lumpolas. “He’s changing it back!” But before anyone could answer him, a bolt of silver lightning exploded upwards from the healed Silmaril, straight into the center of the black disk in the sky. In the flash, they beheld Morgoth, the outline of him like the immense shadow of a horned dragon, pierced to the heart by the lightning bolt. A world-shattering wail of agony erupted from above that shook the ridge beneath them. The iron altar cracked in twain at the thunderclap and everyone around it fell backwards to the pavement. A howling wind whipped over them and the sky itself twisted in pain.

“He’s fighting him!” yelled Aragunk over the gale, pointing from the ground. They beheld a towering warrior in the Door of Everlasting Night now, battling the gigantic black dragon as it spouted dark fire and wrath against the warrior’s bright shield. Their clash mounted in fury, terrifying to behold as Inolduay lashed the dragon over and over with his shining sword. But the spinning portal was already shrinking, waning ever smaller and more distant. The terrible fight departed further and further away with each breath. At last, the Door of Everlasting Night closed again, vanishing from their sight.

The punishing wind fell still. The sky filled with high, thinning clouds and the first hints of sunshine were already breaking through. Gandalf climbed to his feet after a long moment of stunned silence. He picked his way through the rubble to the broken altar and plucked up the radiant Silmaril, now restored to its former brilliant luster. The rest stood and gazed about them in wonderment. The walls of the Dagor keep were thrown down, the black turrets toppled, and the pavement of the courtyard shattered into a thousand pieces around them.

“What happened, Master Gandalf?” asked Millen, his cheeks smeared with mingled dust and tears. “Where did he go?” 

Gandalf raised his eyes to the sky whence Inolduay had flown to war. “Inolduay has gone to the realm of Eternal Night; gone to everlasting battle with the Dark One.”

“What do you mean everlasting battle, Master Gandalf?” asked Captain Yorlov, his face filling with shock. “You can’t mean he’s trapped in there with that monster… forever?”

Gandalf fixed his gaze on him. “He has saved us at a heavy price,” he said. “Inolduay the Innocent has chosen eternal warfare that we and all who dwell here in Middle-earth might have peace.”

Lumpolas shuddered and held his head. “Eternal warfare? Forever fighting that thing?”

Beonna covered her mouth and wept in heaving waves as she gazed into the clearing skies. Aragunk came near and put an arm around her shoulder. “He saved us!” he cried, looking up with her. “Is there nothing we can do, Master Gandalf, to save him from so cruel a fate?” 

“To open the Door again,” said the wizard, “would unleash their terrible battle on Middle-earth at great destruction to this world. Nothing, I fear, would survive it. That day of reckoning will come for the world, but far hence, and it is not ours to choose the time.” Gandalf lowered his gaze to them. “Blessed Inolduay has given us a wondrous gift, my friends, the gift of life and freedom. Let not your hearts be heavy! I, for one, will never stop praising his name in song and thanking him for his miraculous deed!” One by one, they pulled their weary eyes from the heavens and beheld the wizard’s bright face. And none of them could help but draw courage from the shining joy they found there.

Then, the sounds of horns and heavy bells came dancing in the air from far distant. 

“What is that?” Millen wondered.

“Come, dear ones, we are not alone here in our thanksgiving,” said Gandalf, shepherding them toward the broken wall of the keep. He led them up onto an enormous cracked stone overlooking the bay. And there, gazing down at the harbor, a joyous sight greeted them.

The entire Oarni army splashed and thrashed through the water, exulting in victory. Huge whales spouted high into the sky. Oarni warriors and leaping dolphins breached the waves and flew through the air together. Tremendous splashing plumes and cascades of water shimmered like gold in the growing sunlight. The clamor of great drums, cheers, and the shouts of victorious elation rose from the bay with jubilant blasts from horns and the merry peals of bells. “Ha ha!” shouted Millen, snatching Gandalf’s sleeve and leaping up and down. “Look at them all! Ha ha!”

Aragunk seized Beonna and Lumpolas both in an overpowering bearhug. “We did it! We won, my dearest friends! Oh, the songs they’ll sing about us and this day!”

“Stop!” gasped Beonna, “you’re crushing my wrist!”

“And my back!” grunted Lumpolas.

Aragunk laughed and let them go. “Sorry! I’m so happy. I don’t know what to do with myself!” So he turned and snatched Millen and threw him high into the air and caught him as the boy squealed in delight. Then Gandalf stepped to the edge of the stone and held the radiant Silmaril high for the Oarni host to behold. A deafening, thunderous cheer went up with more horn blasts from the bay. The rest of the Freedom Hawk’s crew joined the companions, and the celebration was on.

Cookie grabbed Lumpolas and laughed and spun him around. “You did it, Swampy, you did it!” 

Lumpolas clasped the lanky cook by the arms. “We did it, Greasy! We all did!” Captain Yorlov began dancing a merry hornpipe while Culum stamped and played his flute.

The revelry and joyous celebration grew and grew for all of them… all except Beonna. She slipped down off the stone and stood apart, gazing back at the broken altar and up to the sky. She sighed and wrapped her hands around the locket and let her tears fall freely again.

“He’s not gone, my dear. Not really,” came Gandalf’s gentle voice from behind her. “He and the light of the hallowed tree are one, now and forever. As long as the light of that jewel shines, he is still with us.” 

Beonna nodded but couldn’t stop her tears. “I know. I know it in my thoughts, but in my heart I can’t feel his presence anymore. If I could have gone with him, I would have fought with him to the end of time!”

“But you did, Beonna, you did go with him. From your cheek, Inolduay lifted a single tear. He took it into the Realm of Everlasting Night so that you would always be with him. His courage can never fail because of your love for him, Beonna. But with you, he left this jewel, a tear of Telperion, so that you would remember him. Cherish that and keep him in your heart always, my dear, as he will you.” Beonna gazed at Gandalf for a moment with sorrow writ heavy on her brow. She threw herself into his embrace and wept until she had no tears left to cry. And Gandalf held her until calm covered her and then clasped her by the shoulders. “Now, brave young lady, you have something to return to its rightful caretakers.” He let her go and brought forth the Silmaril from his sleeve. The wondrous light of it glistened on her tear-stained cheeks. She nodded and took the Silmaril in her hands, holding it near to her heart. Then Gandalf summoned the reveling crew. And with Beonna bearing the sacred jewel before them, he led them out of the shattered courtyard down to the shore with much singing and celebrating.

When they arrived on the rocky beach, they found Empress Una awaiting them out on the water, surrounded by a coterie of mounted Oarni generals. She sat resplendent in her majesty with her long graceful tail draped over the back of a black and white orca whale. The Freedom Hawk’s crew stopped their singing and stared in hushed awe at the regal beauty of the mer-empress, with her glimmering armor and glowing eyes.

Gandalf turned to Captain Yorlov and pointed to a longboat moored nearby. “Captain, if you will do the honors.”

“Aye, that I will.” The captain gathered Aragunk, Lumpolas, and Millen, bearers of the Eyes of Ulmo, into the boat to man the oars. And putting Beonna and Gandalf in the bow, he pushed out from the shore. Lumpolas smiled at the dance of emotions on Aragunk’s face as they approached the mer-empress: caught somewhere between tears, singing joy, and overwhelming terror and he wondered which would come out the victor.

Coming to a stop before her, Beonna bowed and gazed up into the empress’s eyes. “Please, your majesty, if it pleases you to forgive me for the part I played in the unlawful theft of what rightfully belongs to your wise care, then I, lowly Beonna of the Northern Realms, humbly offer this back into your keeping.” She lowered her gaze and held the Silmaril out to the Queen with both hands.

Una placed a webbed hand atop the proffered jewel. And when she spoke, her voice rang out like music from the pearls around the companion’s necks. “These hands, Beonna of the Northlands, are not the hands of the guilty, but of the blessed. For though they stole the hallowed jewel from our temple, they were not your own. And now that they are your own again, these hands bring it willingly back to us.” A wild cheer erupted from the waves as Una took the Silmaril from Beonna and raised it up to her army.

Then, turning back to the longboat, the mer-empress regarded the five pearl-bearers. “Bearers of the Eyes of Ulmo, in fighting the enemies of our realm, you have proved your innocence beyond all doubt. Where once you foundered in the storm of our displeasure, now know the friendship and love of Oune.” She fixed Captain Yorlov with her glowing gaze. “Brave captain of this sea-faring band, you have toiled long and battled many enemies in the waves, and many have been your sorrows and your losses. But go forth now without fear of attack. As long as you bear the pearl, call my name and you will always have the aid of our swift wrath.”

Yorlov bowed his head low. “My thanks, and the thanks of my entire crew to your highness. And you can depend on our friendship and our swords, too. That I promise you.”

The mer-empress nodded and turned to Millen. “For you, man-minnow, we offer the healing of wounds and the expulsion of their evil.” Millen’s eyes shot wide with wonder as the light from his pearl grew brighter and wrapped around him. At once, the bog-bat bite at his neck changed from black to purple before fading away completely. Gandalf took Millen by the shoulders and looked his neck over. “She has drawn out the poison at last, young man. You are free and whole again!”

Millen yipped for joy and spun to the mer-empress. “Thank you, your highness! And if it pleases your majesty, you’re the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen on land or sea in my whole life!”

A roar of laughter swept through the ranks of her armies, sending Millen darting behind Captain Yorlov. Una smiled at him and nodded as he peeked out at her with flushed cheeks. The laughter died away and then she turned her gaze to Lumpolas. “Brackish water has long separated our peoples and little love has crossed the broad seas between us. But now let the hand of friendship be extended to you, son of elf-kind.” She waved her scepter over the waters and at once, Chancellor Loam, looking much humbled, rose from the waves on a porpoise next to the longboat. He bore a wide basket in his arms, heavy with fresh fish, shellfish, shell-pots of caviar, and sea-vegetables of every kind. “We offer you the bounty of the sea for a victory feast. Your love of food and for the preparing of food is known to us, son of Thranduil. Thus, when you find yourself near the seas, call upon us and the bounty of our wide waters will be yours.”

“Thank you, your majesty! And thank you for being with us and for helping us in our darkest hour. May our peoples find it in their hearts to mend our long broken bonds.” Lumpolas received the proffered basket with a wink at the sneering chancellor, but then he almost fell flat on his face at its immense weight. He just recovered himself and then bowed to the mer-empress.

Una nodded and turned her gaze to Aragunk. “Bravery has worn many names and lived in the hearts of many warriors across the ages, brother of Elessar the King. But few have shown your utter lack of concern for your own well-being in the face of deepest danger. Know then, friend of the Oarni, that your courage will live on in the songs of my people for all time. Your place among the great heroes of Oune is assured.” A tremendous cry rang out from the Oarni army and spears and tridents flashed in the evening sun.

Aragunk’s face reflected so many emotions all at once that Lumpolas thought he would have to use every one of his fingers and toes to count them. “Your majesty,” said Aragunk, dropping to a knee. “I am but your humble servant and I consider that I have only done my duty to you and to the honor of my fathers. But if courage be so lauded among your people, then may I be so brave as to request but one more boon from your Highness.”

“Speak,” chimed Una’s voice, “and it will be yours.”

“Then may I have the honor to kiss your majesty’s hand and to take with me the right to fight in your name and defend your honor wheresoever I dwell?” Stunned silence fell over the waters. For a moment, the mer-empress’s face showed nothing, until at last with a great luminous smile that made Aragunk’s knees buckle, she extended her graceful hand. He took it, kissed and then pressed her hand to his forehead before returning to his knee. A resounding cry of appreciation broke out from the sea and the shore at the boldness of the young ranger. Lumpolas slipped Aragunk a look of impressed approval as he rose to his feet with a grin. Captain Yorlov clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got more cheek than a school of puffer-fish, lad. Well played!”

Beonna smiled at Aragunk, but a part of her still held back from the joy all around. Seeing it, Una turned to her. “Those guilty ones are destroyed with their evil stronghold. Their remnants are even now being hunted by my armies as they try to escape in their little boats. But your hands, Beonna, are the hands of friendship to all the Oarni people, for you have restored our honor. Now, it is the wish of my people to bestow a boon upon these hands for their faithfulness. Ask, friend of Oune, and it will be granted.”

Beonna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If it please your majesty, I left my father’s house to find a thing long lost. I seek the Glacenstar, heart of the Northern Realms, the treasure of my people as the Silmaril is of yours. With it, I would restore the kingdom of my fathers and right the wrongs that the Banished One inflicted on us long ago. Please, O Queen, if your far-sighted eyes see where it lies hidden, if you can but point the way for me, I would consider your boon fulfilled.”

The empress smiled. “But the thing you seek requires neither far-sight nor long quest to find.” She reached out and touched the locket at Beonna’s breast. It came open of its own and the light of the jewel shone around them. “The treasure of Norngalad, your Glacenstar, lies here, daughter of Beorn, where it has been hanging from your neck, where it belongs and where it will always remain.” Beonna’s eyes opened wide and a smile of joy sprang to her lips as the truth of it sank in. “Know this, Beonna, friend of Oune: I have foreseen that the fallen kingdom of your fathers will rise again in the North, and that you will be the mother of a great nation, full of justice and wondrous deeds to rival among men even fair Gondor. Rejoice, for Oune and Norngalad will be fast allies, united in love for the good and the protection of the righteous. Let this day be the beginning of a long friendship between our peoples, O noble daughter of Beorn the blessed!”

The Oarni host erupted in a roar as the mer-empress smiled like a full moon shining high in a starry sky. Then Una brought Beonna over to her orca. At once, they sped off around the bay with the Silmaril and the Jewel of Inolduay, the Glacenstar, gleaming for all to see. Thunderous cheers followed them from the waves and from the shoreline, and the victory celebration was on again.

After a joyous lap among the Oarni hosts, the mer-empress brought Beonna back to the longboat where, smiling and laughing now, she rejoined her merry friends.

“Hip hip, hooray!” shouted Lumpolas, and the crew answered in kind.

“Hail Princess Beonna!” Millen cried, and they all cheered. Captain Yorlov rowed them back to the shore where they resumed their festivities beneath the beached Freedom Hawk with bonfires and dancing and singing.

Cookie came bounding up to Lumpolas as soon as his feet hit the rocky bank. “Swampy, let me help you with that!” He lifted the heavy basket of sea-foods from his arms. “We’ve got a huge victory feast to get ready for everybody!”

“Let’s get cooking, my friend!” Lumpolas said and laughed. “Let’s go find the storerooms in this broken keep and see what they have left.”

“The Hawk still has plenty of fine foods laid in too!” And they hurried off, carrying the basket between them to prepare a splendid celebration feast for all.

As the dancing and singing stretched into the late evening, Gandalf went apart from the party to enjoy a pipe. He came upon Captain Yorlov busy inspecting the shattered bow of the Freedom Hawk where it had run aground. “How bad is the damage, Captain? Will she sail again?”

Yorlov patted the hull and nodded. “Aye, she will, Master Gandalf, she will. We’ll strip down every one of these cursed Dagor galleys if we have to for the timbers to get her afloat again. I just hope the return trip will be less adventuresome. After everything she’s been through, she could use a good overhauling in a friendly port.”

Gandalf finished packing his pipe and lit it with his finger. “I happen to know a port, Captain, away in the Gulf of Lune north-westward—the Grey Havens, home of the greatest shipwrights in the world. The Freedom Hawk would sail from there better than new and faster than any three-master in the southern seas.”

“The Elf’s port? A lovely dream, Master Wizard, but we wouldn’t get within ten miles of it before they’d sink my poor boat.”

“Oh, I think in this case they would make an exception, my old friend. In fact, I’m sure of it.” Gandalf’s eyes twinkled through the smoke rising from the bowl of his long pipe. “They are expecting us, Captain—well, expecting me at any rate. I have a boat to catch there and friends to meet.”

“Another adventure so soon, Master Gandalf? And where, may I ask, will you be off to with these waiting friends?”

“Oh, very far away I’m afraid, Captain, far into the West. But that will be an adventure that never ends—the Great Adventure to which all other adventures are merely preludes and prologues.”

“Then will it be goodbye for us, friend Gandalf? It sounds as though we will never see one another again when you leave into the West on this Great Adventure.”

Gandalf clasped Yorlov by his shoulders and smiled. “Perhaps, my friend. Who can say? Perhaps we will see each other again. That adventure calls out to all who have a taste for it and the courage to seek it! And you, dear Captain, are among the bravest men I have ever known. But first, it appears another adventure has arrived. Lumpolas and Cookie have returned with a fearsome feast that will require all our remaining bravery to vanquish!” With a laugh, the two adventurers returned to the celebration dinner arm in arm and acquitted themselves honorably.

After serving out the sumptuous feast he and Cookie had thrown together, Lumpolas wiped his hands and sought his friend. He found Aragunk standing amidst the crew near a huge roaring bonfire on the shore, both hands full with a thick crab-leg and a flagon of ale. The sailors cheered and clapped as old Culum played the concertina and crooned a lively shanty about the crew’s glorious victory. Beonna danced merrily around the fire with Millen. “Well, look at you, Aragunk” said Lumpolas, “you got everything you ever wanted: a glorious adventure and a song that tells it to all the world. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy!”

Aragunk embraced him heartily and raised his flagon. “My dearest friend! Truly, none of it would mean anything if you weren’t here to share it with me. Let us toast our good fortunes and our fast friendship!” 

“Aye! And also Inolduay the blessed!” said Lumpolas, raising his.

“And to the Empress Una and the Oarni hosts!” shouted Aragunk, raising his cup to the bay where the armies of Oune still celebrated and sang amidst their strange lights.

“Aye to that!” They banged their flagons together and drained them in one gulp.

Culum’s shanty came to an end and Beonna and Millen bowed to one another amidst the cheers. She made her way through the merry crew over to Lumpolas and Aragunk by the bonfire. “I’ve been looking for you two!” She gave them each a laughing hug. Aragunk looked like he might die from happiness. But when she hugged Lumpolas, he gave a great heaving sob. “Oh, no!” she asked, clasping him by the shoulders and laughing at the pitiful sight of him. “What in the world could possibly be wrong with you now, dearest Lumpolas?”

“Well, you’re not going to be our Beonna anymore are you?” he sniffled, wiping his tears with his filthy sleeve. “You’re going to be the high and mighty Princess Beonna of the Northern Kingdom now, surrounded by lords and courtiers and knights and armies.”

Aragunk, sticking his nose up in the air and puffing his chest out, slapped him hard on the back. “That’s right, Lump! We’ll have to invade with an army and lay siege to her grand frozen castle just to have a cup of tea with the great Ice Queen Beonna now. She’ll never have time to spend with a couple of lowly commoners like us anymore.”

Beonna rolled her eyes at them. “Oh shut up, you two! I promise that if you don’t come visit my realm often, I will certainly send my armies south to lay siege to Minas Tirith and the Woodland Realm to drag you both forcibly back to my tea-table!” Then the three of them laughed and embraced again amidst the raucous celebration, promising that they would ever be friends and aid one another in whatever troubles might befall them after returning home.

THE END