Resettling the Lost Kingdom

[Belin]

Wolf was prepared to leap into the fray that he had expected the Hillmen to start, causing as much confusion as possible by rushing in where nobody expected him and helping to rescue as many as he could before he (and most of the others, no doubt) was cut down. All the work he'd done in the past had been focused on the art of surviving, of escaping the death that was always hovering around them, but suddenly the death that was offered to him now seemed almost appealing. To give some of his people, few as they may have been, an opportunity to continue the village by arriving as thunderstorms arrived, sudden and life-giving and unexpected, preventing a greater death. Truly, this was a death for a wolf.

But he did not realize he was thinking such thoughts until they had died. Kestrel had killed them, and Cleft, and whoever it was among the murmurers that was so loudly praising the priest's gifts as an orator.

Wolf thought he had been numb before, but he could no longer feel even his own heartbeat. They were lost to him. Their words were those of enemies. They had abandoned themselves, their village. They had abandoned him. Wolf could hear murmurs of agreement and indecision, much more so, it seemed to his jealous ears, than of dissent. Were these truly his people?

They were lost to him, they could not be rescued, they had refused rescue. They had chosen to be prisoners. Wolf was too late. He had always been too late.

And so he went stumbling backwards for several steps before he turned, running from the settlement with his vision strangely blurred. He did not know where he was going, but the settlement was no longer any place in which he could consent to die. There was no victory to be found there.

He was outside of it now, still stumbling gracelessly over rocks and tufts of grass, and then over something that made him stop and stare. Bear. Wolf's brother lay dead on the ground, arranged in a straight line and appearing far more composed than he ever had in life. Wolf stared at him in blank incomprehension. Here was a real death, after all these others. After the first moment of shock, Wolf knew exactly what had happened. His brother had not known of the change in the villagers... or else he had fought it.

"Fool," thought Wolf, automatically, but suddenly he checked himself. Perhaps it was indeed foolish to attack hopelessly, only for the sake of people who could not be saved. But at least Bear had understood that there was no wise or prudent response to these events. For Wolf the strategist, such a realization was actually painful, and had not brought such an obvious answer. Could he not have prevented this weakness of his people? Had he somehow failed them, just as they had failed him? He stared around blankly, but the hills could not answer such questions. The hills were all that was left to him now, those hills whose own freedom would probably be short-lived.

Cleft had explained to him long ago why bits of hair, lost fingers, even severed limbs in the rare event that any existed were often carried quickly to the grove across the hills. For reasons Wolf could not remember, the grove was a special place, and blood left there nourished the gods, makng them stronger, making everyone stronger. It was to these woods that Wolf fled now, and it was one of those trees, a large, spreading oak whose shade he had always admired, against which he rested his back to stare at the quiet trees around him. His failure to derive much pleasure from this did not surprise him, but it did strengthen his resolve. He raised his spear and drove it through his body until he heard it hit the wood behind him. As his blood seeped into the tree, he was incongrously glad that the spear kept him from falling to the ground.

Through the pain and the impending darkness, Wolf saw, quite clearly, a vision of a bird of prey flashing golden against the sky, and he was filled with a certain vague wonder, though he did not remember why. Not enough time to understand. But what does it mean? he thought quietly, the moment before he died.

[Kryssal]

Tane and Alearindu returned to the main gathering to find discussion still rampant, but not in the direction that Tane had thought. It seemed that many of the hillmen were starting to join the settlers. One had just stepped up to join the ten or so that were already by Borgand. Several in the captured hillmen group cried out "Knife!" and two more immediately went to join.

Looking at the faces of the others, there were some that would join and some still debating, but there were a few that would never join the settlers. Alearindu looked over at Tane.

"What are you thinking?"

Tane looked at her and smiled. "That we'll all be able to work through this."

Alearindu smiled back up at him.

Tane looked back at the gathering. All those who seemed to want to join had moved to Borgand's side and the leader of the settler's had raised his hand for silence.

[The X Phial]

The group by his side was nearly half the population of the hillman village when Borgand raised his hand. It was clear there would be no more volunteers and those left in the middle of the courtyard were glaring at those next to the stairs with a smoldering anger. He cleared his throat to speak and felt the eyes of all upon him.

"Our new settlers honour us with their presence. It's clear we have much to learn from each other. I won't pretend to understand everything that's happened in the last day, but these people are under my protection now. They will work with us and learn our ways, and I hope they will teach us what they know of these lands and the people in it. I know there are other villages than this one represented here, but it's a start."

He focused on the hillman who had refused the offer. "As for the rest of you, all I ask of you is that you sign a treaty with us. We will leave you alone, and you will not attack us, nor join with others who do."

The older man who had nodded at Borgand stepped forward and looked at him now.

"They are leaderless. There is no chief among them to sign your treaty, even if they were willing."

Borgand frowned. "Then what do you suggest?"

"They will give their word, and they won't break it. We don't know your signing. For us, to say something is enough. It's not fancy, but it's our way." Then he stepped back and Borgand was left with the impression that he had just been spoken to as one would address a child. He shrugged it off and turned back to the remaining hillmen.

"Will you give your word or will you be driven from these lands?"

One by one, they stepped forward and gave their word...not to Borgand, but to the man the others had called Knife, who stood now next to the woman Kestrel. He buried his annoyance. If it suited them to give their word to this Knife, he would accept it. It was probably more likely to be binding that way anyway, he mused. The other settlers weren't pleased, but he stilled their protests at the slight with another wave of his hand.

When the oaths were done, the hillmen left, and none moved to follow them. Borgand looked at his newest charges...he had no idea what to do with them. He looked at the old man and then at the man named Knife.

"Find a place within the walls for yourselves. You can stay as a group or you can mingle with the others. I speak for all when I say no one will harm you. We are rebuilding the structures damaged yesterday and salvaging what we can of the building materials. Once you are settled you can join us in this activity."

He nodded at them and then addressed his own people.

"Back to work. We have a lot to do before the women and children return."

He caught Tane's eye and gave him the ghost of a smile before throwing himself back into creating order out of chaos.





~~~~TWO WEEKS LATER~~~~




By the time the women and children had returned to the settlement the rubble had been cleared and the public hall restarted. All over the settlement there had been tears of joys and sadness as loved ones were reunited..or discovered they would never meet again in this world. There had been so many questions, and too few answers.

Borgand looked at Illith as she stirred her cauldron and thanked the West that she had returned to him safely a little over a week before. Behind her, Bregand was playing a game of hide and seek with two small dark children. Flint and Rain were faster than he was, but he had a keen eye for finding them as they hid. Kestrel sat removed from the others, watching her children play but refusing the acknowledge either Borgand or Illith. There was still a lot of work to do.

The hillmen..or former hillmen..had created their own small community within the walls of the settlement, prefering to make huts rather than taking the tents offered by Borgand and his people. There had been some stir when news arrived of the death of a wolf..but whether this was an animal or a man seemed a little unclear. Even when asked directly, the hillmen would slide their eyes to the sides and answer simply "Wolf."

They prefered to keep to themselves, mostly. Hardly a direct word had been spoken between them and Borgand didn't know how long the uneasy silence would last. For now, he could but hope they would weather the storm. There were notable exceptions to the silence. Flint and Bregand had found each other at the lake 3 days ago and had insisted on playing together since. The other surprise had been the old man, who Bregand had learned was named Cleft. He had made it a point to visit Collothion and the two had exchanged stories and remedies, quickly falling into an argument over the best use for the herb starwort.

Suddenly, the sound of a shout broke Borgand's reverie. He stood as quickly as his one leg would allow and hurried to the wall after nodding to Illith. At his side were Calumdril's hunting knives. He had found he couldn't part with a small reminder of his friend, now properly entombed and mourned. He wondered what the Ithilien would have thought of his solution.

Borgand approached the walls and waited for a report. The dwarves, of all people, had raised the alarm. He looked to Barzun.

"What is it? What's happened?"

The dwarf smiled...a sight that shocked Borgand..and then quickly fell back into his gruff demeanor.

"Look for yourself, human." he said, as he pointed to the horizon and then wandered away, muttering about men and their need to be babied.

The ex soldier followed the dwarf's signal and saw a string of heavily laden carts approaching, just becoming visible as they crested the hill. He broke into a grin. Even from here it was clear what this must be. The stone for the city had arrived. With this shipment, he knew that there would be no turning back. For good or bad, Arnor would once again be the home of the Dunedain.

From this point on, Gondorian, Rohirrim, or Hillmen though they had been, they were the new Arnorians. It wouldn't be the same Arnor as the past, but they would make it their own. Together.

[Bêthberry]

* * * * * * To Elvenhome * * * * * *