[This story is only known to those whom Forogil Breadwick told about it. It is not found in any books or diaries]
Forogil had been travelling through Eregion for longer than he could remember. The plethora of elven ruins had provided him with endless source of fascination and even as they faded, their splendour had kept his mind busy with awe. But still, his wanderlust kept him moving. With the Misty Mountains to his east, he had nowhere to go but south, towards Emyn Naer. And so, he went until he came upon the river Ulundín. The elves spoke of it before. And Forogil knew that beyond its waters lies Enedwaith, as the elves spoke of it also, as well as of the Dunlendings that called it home.
It was late afternoon and the sun was setting behind the distant hills. The cold water of the river felt good on Forogil’s tired body and he was glad to rid himself of the dust he’d been collecting on the road. His moment of relaxation was short lived however, disturbed by his horse’s nervous snorts.
"Spooked by a water snake again" he said to himself. “What is it now, you silly animal?” he said with a grin, turning towards his horse. He noticed its eyes were peering into the woods across the river, rather than on its surface. His gaze followed the steed’s, scouting the bank for what might’ve spooked it. His heart jumped when he noticed three men standing among the trees, just watching him. They were too far to make out much, but their hunting spears were unmistakable. Dunlendings, Forogil realized. He started backing out of the river, retreating towards his belongings, keeping his eyes on the trio of hunters and fighting to keep his composure. For but a moment he turned around, grabbed his sword and scabbard, hoping his message would be clear. But when he turned his gaze back across the river, the three wild men were already gone. No sight of them.
Forogil gathered his belongings with haste and retreated some distance north into Eregion where he found a safe place to make camp in. Though young and inexperienced, he was no fool and knew not to make fire when being hunted by men, as he was convinced was the case. He sat watch until the last of sun’s rays disappeared and deep night beset the land. Only then did the young hunter finally enter a restless sleep. It was a cold night.
Over the following three days, Forogil scouted the southern shores of Ulundín, watching for any signs of Dunlendings. Though he could swear he was seeing movement between the trees, he couldn’t tell whether it was wild men or wild animals. On the third day, he stumbled upon a fellow traveller, camped along the road. The man invited Forogil to sit with him, which the hunter who hasn’t spoken to anyone in days gladly accepted. The traveller was old, but strong and well armoured; judging by the marks on his armour, also an experienced fighter. As it turned out, he was traveling back north from Enedwaith. Forogil immediately showered him with questions about his travels there. His curiosity about the place was becoming hard to contain.
“Enedwaith is a place of wild men that will skin you alive the moment you show weakness. They live in clans and war often among themselves, burning down what they can and killing with little mercy. At night, the land fills with spirits of old, disturbing sights and howls of wolves so big, you would be but a dessert for them. I fear not the land, but a young lad like yourself?” Though the traveller's laughter insulted Forogil’s pride, he kept his composure.
“Why waste time and risk health travelling such land, then?” he asked with a bitter undertone.
The traveler leaned forward. “The hunting, lad. Elk like no other, goats with fur black as night and deer of the tastiest venison.” he responded, gesturing towards a pile of hides and other animal goods that laid next to his horse. And he wasn’t lying. The furs were full of arrow holes and damaged by careless skinning – the traveller was obviously not a particularly good hunter – but by sight alone Forogil could tell these were extraordinarily beautiful animals. Goat furs, dense and black and elk pelts white as snow, its uniform colour disturbed only by spots of dried blood. Such unique furs would be quite sought after at the Bree market.
The two men talked for a while longer, but as the evening crept ever closer, Forogil thanked the traveller for the company and left to find a safe place to spend the night. He had come to a decision. On the morrow, he will cross Ulundín at last.
Early sun shone upon Forogil’s unshaved face as he crossed the river. He stopped his horse on the southern bank and took a deep breath. Enedwaith. It would be wise to try and blend with his surroundings better, so he raised his green hood. He clicked his mouth and his steed began to walk on once more. He journeyed south down the barely visible road, walking past the ruined remains of Echad Dagoras – last of the elven wonders he’d see for many a day.
His travels through Enedwaith were proving peaceful so far, but it did not take long before he met his first group of wild men. As he crossed a small hill, he noticed a grouping of goats right of the road. Though the animals saw him approaching, they did not show signs of fear. And domesticated goats could only mean one thing. Before he could react to his realisation, he heard alarmed voices up a hill to his left. Spears in hand, three figures stood there on the high ground above him. Two older men with long, greying beards and a young woman. They were dirty and covered in tribal paints, but they stood with dignity that made an impression upon Forogil. He slowed his horse and sighed deeply. “Time to show bravery.” he said to himself and lowered his hood. He didn’t want to appear threatening as he turned his head towards the group and raised his hand in greeting. The two men remained stoic, but the woman took two steps forward, smiled and waved at the young hunter excitedly. Before he could react, one of the elder goat herders grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her back behind them, beginning to scold her. Her eyes met Forogil’s once more and they exchanged a sad smile before he had lost sight of the group. Such a small interaction but these people; they were nothing like the old traveller described. A father protecting his daughter from outlanders, goat herders telling stories to make time go by faster and that smile of hers. They were people like any you’d find working the countryside around Bree – if a little dirtier. Just people.
Perhaps even good people.
Forogil was feeling more comfortable travelling in Enedwaith now. He continued his journey, making his way through a small gorge before the small dirt path he had been travelling for hours finally emerged into a stone path. It must’ve been hundreds of years old and in a considerable state of disrepair, but it was a welcome sight for the young hunter. Road such as this has to lead somewhere important. His gaze turned upwards and he stopped in awe. On top of a cliff above him stood the ruins of Amon Mîn. He knew he just had to go see it, but first, he needed something to eat. He had been travelling for a long time and the journey had taken a toll on him, so he decided he’d head a bit further south and find a good place to hunt. Along the way he met a group of five Dunlending hunters. Once more he lowered his hood and raised his hand in greeting, though he received naught but distrusting looks. He didn’t mind one bit. He was just glad he wasn’t being skinned alive. He chuckled at the thought.
“You wait here now, girl.” said Forogil to his horse as he was tying it up to a tree. “I’ll be back in but a few moments.” The horse responded with a brief snort. The hunter gave it a pat and turned his attention towards the woods behind him. Though he no longer feared the wild men as much, stories of large wolves had him on edge. But wolves were not the reason he decided to hunt here. Forogil stopped and quieted his breath. Everything but the wind fell silent for a moment. Then he heard it again; the call of a deer. Ideal dinner. He headed on foot towards the source, bow in hand, climbing up a small crest and peering down it slope on the other side. There he saw his prey. But it was a deer like no other; its fur seemed to glisten in the sun, the markings on it were perfectly symmetrical and his antlers wouldn’t look out of place on the walls of a king’s palace. The young hunter closed the distance with a few silent and careful steps. He drew his bow, held his breath for a moment and as he exhaled, let loose.
The arrow hit the deer right in the spine. With a thump, the animal collapsed on the ground, dead. Forogil let out an excited “Ha!” and swiftly ran towards the fresh kill. He knew how to handle a bow, but this shot, he was sure even an elf could be proud of. Inspecting the dead animal, he confirmed his suspicions that this was no ordinary deer. This kill would be a waste to just eat. He would trade it. He threw the carcass over his shoulder and made his way back towards his horse.
His steed wasn’t particularly excited about having a dead deer loaded on its back, but it had little choice. The young hunter pondered on his options. Going north, back to Eregion, would be too long a journey and both him and his horse were tired. It was getting quite late into the afternoon and so, Forogil had decided to head south, down the road of the old kings. Sooner or later, it had to lead somewhere.
As he was crossing an old bridge bridge, he saw stacks of smoke rising from a hill a mile or so away. A Dunlending settlement. He was sure he could trade the carcass for gems or trinkets he could carry back north without trouble; perhaps even a warm dinner. As he approached the gates, he noticed two warriors standing guard. One of them stepped forward and readied his spear.
“Stand! Why do you come here, duvodiad?” he asked with a strong accent.
Forogil halted his horse and dismounted. “I am Breadwick of Bree-land and I come to trade”, he explained. The guard, still distrusting of the newcomer, leaned to see the carcass on the back of the horse better. Before he could say anything, the other guard grabbed his shoulder and spoke to him in Dunlendish. They both turned their gaze on the young hunter for a moment before the first guard nodded and without a word, entered the wooden gate.
“You wait!” said the remaining guard and clenched his spear.
After a few minutes, the guard returned and nodded. “You come.” he said. Forogil let out a sigh of relief and grabbed the reins of his horse, setting out to enter the settlement. The tip of a guard’s spear stopped him in his tracks.
“No weapon!”
Forogil was not happy about this development, but at this point he felt he had little choice. He handed the guard his sword and bow, leaving himself armed only with his skinning knife he had hidden in his gambeson. He entered the settlement, horse in hand, and walked its length until he came to a small square. Along the way, he felt the gaze of the whole village upon him. They don’t get to see outsiders very often, he rationalized. Just curious. To his surprise, instead of a mere trader, he had found himself standing face to face with the village chief and several members of his guard. A curious way to welcome newcomers, he thought to himself. He halted several meters before the group.
“Hail, noble chief! I am honoured by such welcome.” Said Forogil as courteously as he was able. The chief’s expression remained unchanged. “I come to your village with a trade offer that doesn’t come by just any day!” he continued while loosening the ropes holding the carcass on his horse. He removed the dead deer and laid him on the ground in front of the chief.
“Behold, your highness. The fairest deer you could hope to find!” He began to notice more warriors appearing around the square. “The perfect antlers worthy of a man of your status!” he continued, realising that during this whole time, the chief or his party didn’t lay their eyes on the carcass once. They were watching him intently. The chief was exchanging words with his guard in Dunlandish.
“And the pelt? Oh the pelt will keep your favourite wife warm all winter!” Are the wild men even polygamous? Too late to back out now, he thought to himself. “And the meat, so.. so succulent!”
Forogil stuttered as he began to lose what was left of his confidence. Something was terribly wrong. The warriors were slowly closing towards him. He began to back away towards his horse, looking around himself with panicked eyes.
“Carchar duvodiad!” the chief yelled out and pointed at Forogil.
No time to think. In two long steps, he closed the distance between him and his horse, swiftly mounted it and bolted down the street towards the gate. He turned his head to look behind and noticed about a dozen armed guards chasing after him.
He turned his gaze back to the road in front of him too late. When he noticed the large Dunlending warrior, two-handed sword at the ready, there was nothing he could do.
It all happened in a blur. Swing of a blade, cracking of bones. And the most terrible sound he had ever heard from a horse.
As his steed collapsed beneath him, its front legs shattered, Forogil flew over it, head first. Then he landed. He felt sharp pain and hot blood pouring down his forehead. Everything was hazy. He laid there, slowly losing consciousness and listening to voices he could not understand. Naught but one word; Isengard.
Then all went dark.
[This story is continued by Forogil's Captivity in Enedwaith]
