[piosenniel]

Osse's post - Carthor & the King


Carthor hunched into something nearing a crawl as he walked up the slanting entrance and peeled open the hide door of the snow-house. Outside, he was greeted by a clear blue sapphire sky, the eastern tinges of which still glowing with the soft pink haze of dawn. Around him, the Lossoth camp was ablaze with activity. Smoke rose from the chimney holes of every ice-house, men carried long wooden poles, and others carried racks of the large, broad silver fish, the same fish Carthor’s belly was full of. The sound of yelled orders and padding feet turned Carthor’s head. Over the rise of an ice drift, appeared the oddest cart. It was wheel-less, and glided across the surface of the white ground on long wooden skids. Its great length was piled entirely with baskets of fish and seaweed.

Draped triumphantly across the front was the great carcase of a male Elk, its great pronged head lolling with the rhythms of the cart. It was not the cart itself that amazed and startled the old Dunedain however, rather it was the way by which it was propelled. Attached in great leather harness, were what appeared to be five grey wolves. Carthor was amazed, for the only men he had known to ally themselves with wolves were under the Witch King’s banner. As the great sled skidded through the centre of the camp however and came to a halt some way from where Carthor stood, he saw that they were in fact not wolves, but mighty dogs, with thick grey and white coats and shining eyes. Their masters, who had ridden on the back of the cart, dismounted, and after congratulating their unlikely steeds on a job well done, began unloading the cart.

“An amazing, if rustic, folk.” Said a quiet voice beside Carthor’s ear.

Inside, Carthor jumped in surprise, as he thought himself alone outside the ice-house, his exterior however, stayed composed in its relaxed stance.

Carthor looked into the speaker’s face. “Aye my lord, amazing they are. One would scarcely believe tales of a folk who dwell in houses made of ice and ride on carts without wheels pulled by wolf-dogs.”

King Arvedui chuckled. “Your words are true Captain, these are strange times indeed that have caused us to seek shelter from such folk.”

Carthor merely nodded. They were indeed strange times. The two men stood silently for a while, each loath to break the gentle silence of the morning.

“Lord Carthor, your deeds and council have been ever hardy these past weeks, as has your loyalty. But my friend, I would have you complete one final task for me, as the Captain of my Guard.” King Arvedui paused, but as Carthor didn’t speak or interrupt, he pressed on.

“Our numbers have halved my friend, I know this. But our sanctuary here must only be short-lived, and though I don’t agree with the Ice-Chief in his superstitions, I see that the Witch King’s arm is indeed long. I do not doubt that he can reach us, even here.”

“Our entire journey north was to find the Lossoth and gain their aid, and this we have done. But these people cannot harbour us from the grasping fingers of the Witch King. We must look to the sea Carthor, for in the sea lies our only hope; if Cirdan has had news of our plight, as I trust he has, he will soon send grey ships northward in search of us.

We must look to the sea Carthor, but we must ensure that the sea can look to us! Make a beacon fire Carthor, and have your men tend it night and day, never letting it be extinguished. We must ensure our own rescue.”

Without waiting for a response, the King turned on his heel and disappeared back inside the ice-hut with the slap of hide hitting ice.