Nan Amlug East was a long vale that bordered on the foothills of Angmar. A land of rolling hills and thick forested groves, it was home to many a warg pack and herds of aurochs. But there were other inhabitants too, one of whom had given the area its name.
Yrill was riding point, though she strayed not far in front of her companions. There was sudden, lumbering movement on the Angmar side of the Vale. She bid them all halt, and took up her bow.
“We have reached the Valley of the Dragons,” Culufinnel said as he reached for his sword.
“How large are they?” asked Estarfin, taking up his spear. His thoughts journeyed to the First Age, and the terrible Dragons that had assaulted the Elven lands, but were no more. Then his thoughts flew to that time when he travelled North to Erebor with Danel and climbed over the bleached bones of Smaug lying in the riverbed. For an instant he almost smiled as another memory came, unbidden, of he and Danel preparing to fight a Dragon north of Erebor to gain gems she wished to work with from a Dwarven smith. They had approached confidently, yet both knew what a Dragon could do, even a smaller one. And Estarfin reached it first, raised his sword to strike, and it had fallen down dead. He had not even so much as breathed on it.
“What is this?” Danel had said with amusement. “You are so grown in might that your enemies die at the sight of you?”
“It was old,” he had replied. “Its heart may have stopped.”
She had laughed a little, glad that it had not come to a fight. Then she had joined him in making certain it was no ruse, and its head now adorned his hall in Numenstaya.
But he remembered her laughter…
“They are worms, Lord Estarfin, and even some Drakes, but no Dragons. This place is in truth named ‘Valley of the Serpents.’ Yrill's voice made him snap back to the here-and-now. He scolded himself briefly. There was no time for indulging in memories and losing focus, not if he wanted to hear her sweet laughter again.
“There!” Yrill pointed at two slow moving Drakes exiting the trees and slithering away, for they were wingless.
Captain Culufinnel looked almost disappointed, and resheathed his sword reluctantly as they continued along the valley.
“There are three paths from here to Angmar. We have passed the first, a mile back, but there was no sign of the passage of horses, and the ground was dry and dusty. Had any travelled that way recently, tracks would be visible. We near the second. The third is a short ride further. That takes us to a broader Vale, and the best entrance through the Mountains, the Ram Duath,” explained Yrill.
“And the second?” asked Culufinnel.
“Just here,” Yrill pointed to the ravine, and there, in front of it, stood one of the largest Drakes she had ever seen.
Without any warning Culufinnel drew his sword again and suddenly charged. Though over twice the height and girth of his horse, the creature proved nimble of foot, turning its head and neck so that the Captain swung at empty air, while lashing at him with its snaky tail with a deep hissing sound. He ducked, and the tail missed him by a hair’s breadth. Then he leaped from his horse Cloud-born, and lifting his shield high approached the drake on foot, banging hilt on metal to keep its attention fixed on him. “I hope you were right when you said these beasts are flightless and without fiery breath,” he shouted.
“Can you see any wings?” Yrill called back as she nocked an arrow. She remained seated for a moment, moving her mare, Tallagar, to a position some distance behind Culufinnel, and took aim. The Drake may not be a fire-breather, but those jagged teeth in his huge maw could easily tear off a horse’s head or rip open its belly with its long wicked scimitar-like claws. Then the drake saw the elven scout, and lunged forward before she could loose the arrow, knocking Culufinnel off his feet. Angered at the unexpected toppling the Captain quickly regained his footing, and hoisting up his bright spear roared out a challenge before hurling it at the creature’s scaly leg. It bit deep, and the drake screamed out in pain and fury, his own challenge to this insignificant elf who had dared strike him, and coiled itself back to strike.
Then Captain Culufinnel darted this way and that, swift as lightning, and the drake’s jaws snapped at the empty air. Yrill launched a volley of arrows: some pierced the beast’s thick hide, but alas! some rebounded. She aimed for its baleful yellowy eyes or for its gaping mouth, but it was not an easy target. Estarfin strode forward, and slashing back and forth with his spear drove the drake back. Then it lunged out its coiled tail and knocked Yrill from her horse; she was momentarily stunned, and only saved from being bitten in half when the spear sticking out from the drake’s leg caught on a boulder, causing it to stumble. But the drake’s anger and hunger still outweighed any perceptible pain, and quickly gathered its coils around Estarfin to crush him, looking every bit like a giant serpent at that moment. The Captain raced forward and dragged Yrill to safety, then dashed back to help Estarfin.
Rising to her feet, Yrill felt a sharp pain in her side. She did not think anything was broken, and guessed that she would have an almighty bruise on her side. She hurried as fast as she could to her mare, who was unharmed, and told her to run away and wait for her signal to return. Then Yrill took up her bow and started shooting at the drake again. One of the arrows lodged deep into an eye while Estarfin and the Captain slashed and smashed at the thing. Finally Estarfin, swinging and twisting his spear around was able to plunge it deep into a fleshy area of the creature’s throat, and Culufinnel hacked at it with his sword so that the drake’s head rolled away in the dust. The body of the drake sank down in defeat. It twitched a few times, then lay still.
Estarfin sank to the ground, covered by the drake’s black ichor, but as Yrill suspected, none of his blood was spilt, as he looked at the others, and seeing that they, too, were unharmed, raised a hand and said, “Well done!”
“Well done yourself,” Culufinnel replied.
And Yrill smiled to see the neri speak so to each other. ‘Folk who work well together stand far more chance of success than those who do not,’ she reminded herself. She revised her opinion of Estarfin to a far more favourable one from that time on. Having heard so many inspiring tales of him from Danel, she had been a touch surprised when she actually met him to find how stubborn and difficult he could appear. How self-righteous? But as they journeyed she saw more of the warrior she had been told of. Stubborn, yes, and violent at need. He was hopeless with directions. But he was clever and strong, he watched and listened and learned, and acted from long experience, and an inner fire. He was a true Noldo. “Well done Captain Culufinel and Lord Estarfin!” she said.
They moved to check on their horses almost immediately. These had acted according to their field training, and out of love for their riders; all had acted nobly, and would have run deeper into the fray at need. Though shaken, they began to calm as soon as they saw their riders were unhurt.
“That beast was not one of the worms of old I have read about, that is for certain,” said Culufinnel as he took up his waterskin and poured water into his palm for Cloud-Born to drink. “But it was still a formidable foe.”
“No, indeed. The drakes of old were terrible to behold.” Estarfin knew he was the only one of the three to have seen one of Morgoth’s elder worms. Few still walked east of the Sea who had those memories.
“There were many orcs at the time of the Battle of Eregion, but no Dragons. Though I read about them, and some of my tutors spoke of them in detail, they are creatures of the Old World, and are better off remaining there, buried under the water.” Yrill finished checking her mare’s legs. She had a few light scratches from brambles, but no worse.
“Steady Cloud-Born…steady!” said Culufinnel, patting his mount on the side. His sorrel horse was a little more skittish than the other two horses.
Estarfin halted, noticing a trickle of blood flowing from Norlomës side. “She has but a small wound from the fray. We must allow a short rest before we ride again.”
Yrill hurried over to look at Norlomë’s wound, though her movement was nor as free as earlier, given her injury.
“Do either of you have something for this hurt?” Estarfin asked.
“One moment,” Yrill ran back to Tallagar, rummaged through a saddlebag and returned with a small clay jar.
“If you rinse the wound with water, Lord Estarfin, I will apply some of this honey and calendula ointment that is made for the stables. I ride so far from civilised lands that I always carry some with me. The cut should be bandaged, tight enough, but not too tightly.”
Estarfin nodded, reaching into his saddle bags to pull out a bundle of old cloth strips. He rested them on the saddle while he removed his gauntlets and poured fresh water over the gash.
Yrill unscrewed the lid of the ointment jar and handed it to him. “It is sweet-smelling, so watch out for insects, but it should close the wound in about two days.”
Culufinnel turned to look for a moment at the bleeding hulk of the drake’s corpse. “This is not a place to linger; soon carrion-scavengers will come to feast,” he said to them.
“We will be moving on soon, Captain,” Yrill assured him, but saw how he kept looking back towards the woods as the light faded. “Make sure no claw fragment broke off in the wound, Lord Estarfin.” She watched closely as Estarfin carefully rubbed in the ointment. He spoke again in Quenya, as he always did to his horse, There is nothing to fear, the pain will fade swiftly. You did well. It was obvious that the gentle tone of his voice soothed Norlomë. She nickered softly in reply.
He tossed the jar back to Yrill. “My thanks.”
The Captain continued to view the sun’s rays, low across the valley, setting all aflame with golden light, portent of even longer nights ahead as the solstice approached.
“We can use this ointment on ourselves at need, though it stings quite a bit.” Yrill walked with a bit of a limp back to Tallagar. She hesitated.“We are being watched,” she whispered, reaching swiftly for her bow. The others had their swords and spears ready in an instant. But Yrill took the shot.
“Now we are not being watched.” She moved over to a nearby copse of close growing birch trees, and moved something with her boot.
“What is it?” said Culufinnel.
“A scout, a Man. One of the brigands, for he wears Breeland clothes rather than the gear of any local tribe.” Yrill sighed. “He should not have gotten so close.” She walked over to her mare again, and mounted.
“No, he should not have,” Estarfin agreed solemnly.
Captain Culufinnel, “Where are you going, Yrill? No foolhardy scouting mission of your own, I hope?”
She shook her head, altering her position in the saddle to be more comfortable. “I need to check a short distance into the ravine, for signs the Men passed this way.”
“What about the Drakes?”
“I shall be most observant,” she replied to Culufinnel. “There has been one near miss, there shall not be another this night.” And off she rode.
Estarfin frowned, but understood the need for her action. He looked in his saddlebags for some food, but found nothing. Then he sat close by checking the blade of his spear.
“We must refill our waterskins before we enter Angmar,” said Culufinnel.
“The water is tainted, as much of it is in the Greenwood?”
“Yes, it is poisoned,” the Captain replied. “A foul air lies over much of it, so ‘tis said. My brother spoke of it, at times.” Culufinnel fell silent, considering his own thoughts on a land he had personally never visited, but which he knew nothing good of.
Estarfin lay down his spear, and reached under his armour to take out the lock of red hair and look at it again.
Then Yrill was back. She slid off her mare’s back and looked at the neri. She threw a rosy looking apple to Culufinnel. “No riders passed that way, but there were a few old apple trees growing still. The Men have taken the path through the Gate and the Ram Duath.”
She walked slowly towards Estarfin, holding out an apple to him. He did not seem to notice nor break his gaze from the red hair he held in his hand. Yrill lowered her head in sorrow. She understood to a large extent, Danel was her friend and mentor. But that was certainly not the same as a betrothed.
“Lord Estarfin,” the huntress spoke softly, “would you care for an apple or two? I also have some cheese if you would like? Not the best, but it is from Duillond, so far from the worst.”
Estarfin hastily hid the hair away. Yrill wished she had not disturbed him. “She was unharmed, you know. Fiery of mood because of her cut hair.”
“Of course,” the old Noldo replied, the faraway look in his eyes gone.
“Shall I keep the apples and cheese for you later?”
He nodded. “Thank you.” He pulled out a whetstone and began working on the blade of his spear.
Returning to her saddle bags again, Yrill removed a square object wrapped in dried leaves. She unwrapped it and cut it into several pieces, then took it over to offer to Captain Culufinnel. He set his heavy shield against a rock beside him and ate in silence.
“I suspect all our supplies run low. I will hunt rabbits at dawn. There will be naught we can eat of certain safety once we cross the border, and anything larger here will take too long to prepare.” Yrill confirmed. “I still have some Lembas left, but we will need enough food for Danel and Parnard when we find them.”
“I wonder why he went to Angmar?” said Culufinnel.
Estarfin and Yrill both turned their attention to the Captain.
“Alone, too. No one should go there willingly; it is a desecrated place.” Culufinnel sighed. “Sometimes my brother would decide to set out, seeking to draw a map of a place.” He took a crunching bite from his apple.
Yrill shook her head, but sat on the brown grass and nibbled cheese as she listened.
“We would tell him, ‘Do not do this’, but he would never listen. It was a habit of his.”
“Parnard follows his own path,” said Estarfin in a tone of respect.
Yrill nodded agreement from what little she knew. “Your brother is a unique and kindly Elf,” she said, as Culufinnel tossed away his apple core. “And by no means is he a coward.”
They were each silent for a few moments, pondering what lay ahead.
“There is no daylight in Angmar,” Culufinnel eventually said. “So Parnard once told me.”
“And the stars?” Estarfin asked, after taking a final sip from his water skin.
“Everything is covered by a weird, dismal light.” Culufinnel shook his head. “Of the stars and the firmament he said nothing: one does not go to Angmar for stargazing.”
Estarfin looked unhappy at the thought.
“We shall carry the memory of Elbereth in our hearts,” Yrill added, noting his expression. “She is ever our light.”
