Imagine the Great River as if you were one of the mighty eagles that perch above it, high among the Misty Mountains’ peaks.
It’s a deep, dark winter night. From the clouded sky, the moonlight seeps only faintly. But the black ribbon of Anduin sticks out from the white of the snow. It winds down the valley between the mountains and the forest.
But from time to time, the cold, windy darkness yields to dots of light – quivering yet warm. These are the homesteads of the Northmen, as the Gondorians call them. Settlers in this yet-untamed land.
The Circle of Light
If you were to sit among them in one of their dim longhouses where whole communities spend long winter nights, you’d see little beyond the orange-glowing hearth. Shapes more than faces – of people living close by, repairing clothes and tools, carving wood, leather, and bone, tending to children or animals. For the livestock would also be there, plenty even. To keep warmth inside and to keep the beasts safe from wolves – or worse.
For if you, then, heard footsteps crushing the snow outside – or a loud knocking on the door – you would feel the air thickening in a heartbeat. “Are these brigands? Raiders from a dishonored family? Someone brought by a vengeance for a feud lost in time?”
“Or maybe those are madmen, driven by the ghosts lurking in the dark places of the Wild?” “Orcs,” dare you think, “Surrounding the cottage as a shadow of death that strikes at midnight?”
Or could it be just a lost traveler? Exhausted soul on the edge of freezing. The sacred law of hospitality must be kept. No one is to be refused the warmth of the hearth. Those capable take up their arms then – and head to the door.
Sometimes, it would be just that – a lost one or a wanderer. A restless spirit that comes and goes – a merchant, an outcast in exile, or a traveling scald. What tales do they bring? What tidings from the Vales of the Great River?
Well, there were plenty of tales being told at that time. Tales of honor and betrayal, sacrifice and jealousy. Songs of battle and lays of lament. And strange legends of the elven-kin, ghosts, and wondrous treasures.
The Light and the Darkness Outside
Let me recount what I had witnessed in my time. But that’s another night. First, I wanted you to hear a verse of a song-smith way more skilled than myself. May it serve you as a warning – and an inspiration to stand up against the Shadow, should you face it. Because we all do, in one way or another. And may our voices and lights never cease.
A light starts
―J.R.R. Tolkien, Beowulf: the Monster and the Critics
lixte se leoma ofer landa fela
the light shines over many lands
and there is a sound of music;
But the outer darkness and its hostile offspring
lay ever in wait
for the torches to fail
and the voices to cease.
Grendel is maddened by the sound of harps.
