[Child of the 7th Age]

The moon shone round and bright, and stars filled all the heavens on that mysterious night when the hobbits gathered with their captors to make the long march to the highlands. Most of the Orcs had departed for the battlefield early that afternoon. The guards who were left paraded in the front and rear of the column and paid little heed to the prisoners as long as they continued walking south.

There was a strange sense of expectency as the hobbits made their way along the icy track. Once more, just as the evening when Maura and Nitir spoke, the moonlight splashed off the ground with a thousand glittering lights. It was a night of cold and hardship, of struggling upward on slopes that were slick and steep. Yet, it was also a night of hope, and a time for belief. For everyone in that line, from the smallest to the oldest could mysteriously sense that freedom lay ahead.

Maura walked beside Child, their arms linked as they chatted and laughed. It was almost as if the whole torment of the prison camp had not happened, and tomorrow would never come. Rose and Lindo marched in tandem, keeping the Snowhobbits in line between them. Child knew that several of these boys had been orphaned by the war and the camps. But she had a strange sense that they would not lack for a father. Child looked over towards the lucky young hobbit who had decided to stay with his own people. She had a feeling he would love these orphaned lads, and make them a new home.

Now and again, when the ground was more level, someone would pick up a tune and others quickly responded. These were usually silly ditties that had to do with planting crops or drinking ale or even how a hobbit managed to outwit a troll. When they came to the rough places on the path, they would stop singing and help each other push on.

On that long trek, there were plenty of hobbit bruises and aching bodies and gashes. There were broken arms and shoulders and twisted ankles. But there was not a single hobbit who did not make it through. The only loss of life was a few Orcs who had gone ahead to check the path and tumbled into snow covered crevices. It was almost as if a strange veil of protection had been lowered down upon the hobbits' heads.

Ancalimon had elected to walk rather than riding in the pony cart. He strode along with staff in hand. Sometimes a black and white bird perched on his shoulder, leaning down to whisper secrets into his ear. He occasionally threw his head back and laughed. Child peered over and wondered what in the world Bird was saying to elicit such a jocular response.

The trek continued, hour after hour, with the path leading ever on. Noses and ears were nipped with the cold, but very few complained. The children were wrapped in warm blankets and coats to fight off the chill of the night. One time, they stopped for a short break, and Ancalimon dredged up a packet of food from his old cart. Everyone was given a piece of a strange bread called Lembas which seemed to warm them to the bottom of their toes.

Child could feel in her head the instant they pierced through Morgoth's curtain of time to come out in the real world. She had looked at Maura, and he had nodded his head acknowledging this return from the realm of the Orcs to true Arda. She had turned to him and grinned. It was another small triumph, like the hobbits' flowers or the songs.

Now and then, as they trudged through the highlands, Maura pointed to tiny signs and indicators of the one-time presence of Beren in these mountains. He told her stories how the hobbits, his own father among them, had supported Barahir in his outlaw's fight against Morgoth, and how some had even joined the lonely Beren in his resistence. He related tales of Finrod and his family, and how the hobbits had been known as true Elf-friends.

Finally, when everyone thought they could march no further, they came to the top of what appeared to be the highest peak. The Orcs grunted a command, and the entire party halted. The hobbits looked about. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, and all of Beleriand seemed to be spread out at their feet. The hobbits thought they were alone in a distant world, since there were many things they did not see or understand. Yet all about them, as they waited on that mountaintop, the forces of the Valar surged towards the north to break the power of Angband. For the balrogs and Orc legions and even the great winged dragons would fall before that assault. And the lonely banner of Earendil, triumphant against Ancaligon, would fly free in the heavens of Middle-earth for all to see and marvel.

[ August 21, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]