THE OTHER RING

Larz Yerian

Author’s Note:

I thought of this a year or so ago, after reading the appendices of the Lord of the Rings. In the appendices, this story takes up only a page and a half, but says so much. Yet, as I thought, it really did not say enough. I thought about the Lossoth and figured that they were simply a means to keep the ring from going down with Arvedui. Obviously, I had seen the movies and had become captivated with the ring that Aragorn wore. So I did a lot of research on this ring and found out all about Barahir and Beren from the Silmarilion. Their stories are very nearly my favorite Tolkien tales. This is a bit of an expansion on Arvedui’s tale. The beginning is simply a reiteration of the page and a half in Appendix A of LOTR.

Prologue

Arvedui. That is a seldom remembered name. It is remembered only by those who care about history, by those who care to remember, and to pass the tales on. Only the Eldar and the Dunedain remember to pass the knowledge on. The Eldar remember because they were there, the Dunedain, because he was their ancestor.

Before Arvedui was born, Malbeth the seer knew what he was to become. His name means “last-king.”

When Arvedui became the king of Arthedain, he laid claimed also to the throne of Gondor. He had two reasons to claim that title. One was that he was indeed a descendant of Isildur and the other was that he was married to King Ondoher’s only child. But, though the present king, Earmil, rejected his claim, he promised aid in time of need.

In the winter of 1973, of the Third Age, Arvedui asked for that aid. The Witch-King of Angmar was attacking Arthedain, and Arvedui’s forces could not hold them. However, before the Gondorian fleet could arrive, Arthedain was overrun. Fornost was captured, and Arvedui sent his sons and the people away to Lindon. He himself stayed in the North Downs to await the arrival of Gondor. He intended to hold out until the last. When he and his guard could no longer hold, they fled north, and were saved only by the swiftness of their horses.

Arvedui and his men hid in the Dwarf mines of northern Ered Luin until they could no longer sustain themselves. Hunger drove Arvedui to the Lossoth.

The Lossoth were the people dwelling in Forochel. The name means “snow-people,” for that is indeed what they were. Forochel is far north and bitter cold. The cold was long ago imposed by Morgoth, and the Lossoth were the sole inhabitants of this barren waste. They were a very poor people, descendants of the Forodwaith, who lived in the same area before the cold. The Lossoth used bones to run upon the ice and pulled carts without wheels over the snow. For the most part they lived on the Cape of Forochel, because there they were inaccessible to any enemies, but they also dwelt at the foot of the Mountains.

This is the history of the tale. Here now is the tale as it is told by the Dunedain.

Hryd, the Chief of the Lossoth, was in a foul temper. Not only had one of his best bone skates broken, but the dreadful Witch-King of Angmar was on the move, apparently in pursuit of some Southern king. Hryd paced his small snow hut, cursing under his breath. His wife looked nervously at him from her place by the hearth. Hryd grunted and pulled on his mittens. He stomped into the cold air and strode quickly up the hard-packed snow path.

“Lossoth!” He cried. “Up! We go to the South-King!” He quickly harnessed his seven-dog team to his sled as his warriors responded to his call and followed suit.

A messenger of the Southern King had arrived that morning begging Hryd to help them. Hryd had sent him away fiercely, for he feared the wrath of the Witch-King. He had uneasily paced his hut for hours, torn between fear of his worst enemy and compassion for the pitiful Southerners.

Hryd remembered the tragic day when he was young. He had been sitting on a bank of the Icy Lake, adjusting his skates, while his father glided across the ice. Out of the copse on the other side of the lake, soldiers from Angmar appeared. They demanded of Hryd’s father that the Lossoth join Angmar or face terrible death. The Chief had not complied with the wishes of Angmar, and the Witch-king himself appeared and caused the lake-ice to thaw and crack. After the Chief had sunk under the sundered ice, the Witch-King caused it to become solid once more. Hryd had observed this in horror, hidden behind the bank of snow he had previously been sitting on. Once the soldiers and the Witch-King departed, Hryd ran to the place where his father had slipped into the water. Under the clear ice, Hryd could see his face, upturned in his last attempt to regain the surface. Hryd warned the Lossoth and they had fled the region.

Hryd, in a rage, but with a set mind, urged his dogs and warriors onward, following the path of the messenger. A last they came upon a miserable camp the edge of the Bay. Hryd halted his company in front of the obvious leader. He was tall and dark, and wielded a long steel blade. He held himself firmly upright, though he was thin, and obviously weary. Hryd dismounted the sled and greeted the King, eyeing the blade warily. He had never seen such a weapon before. His bone knife was no comparison.

“Hail Hryd, Chieftain of the Lossoth of Forochel.” The king greeted him with a bow. Hryd searched his memory of his earlier conversation with the messenger.

“And you are Arvedui, King of the Dunedain of” he paused, “Arthedain. You have caused the Witch-King to pursue you into our lands. You have hidden long, and are without provisions, so you seek my help.” Arvedui nodded eagerly, and opened his mouth to speak, but Hryd continued. “What will we gain but death if we aid the fugitives of our most feared enemy?”

Arvedui glanced about. “We have fine jewels that are worn about necks and wrists.” He sent a man to fetch some such things, and showed the glittering objects to the Chief.

“These are of no use in this land.” Hryd said. He again looked nervously at the cold steel at the king’s side. “However, we will give you what food we can spare, and build good shelters to keep you from the cold wind.” Arvedui knelt and kissed his boots.

“We are much indebted, mighty Hryd.” He stood, smiling in relief. “Show us what we must do to help.”

Hryd just turned his back on the Southern King and spoke to his men in their own language. They began to gather the supplies from their sleds. After erecting many small huts covered in furs, they unloaded the dried meat and lichen and placed some in each hut. By nightfall the Dunedain had shelter and food as well as warm fires.

King Arvedui lay in his hut, wrapped in a thick fur cloak. He sadly thought of his sons, driven from Fornost by the king of Angmar. Little hope for his people remained. He was exiled in the snowy wastes, as all of the horses had perished from hunger and cold, and also to feed the starving men. He touched the palatiri thoughtfully, not daring to search their depths for he feared the answers.

For many weeks the men of Arthedain stayed in the snow huts by the sea and lived off the generosity of the Snow-men, keeping fires alight for warmth. The two leaders shared tales of their people and began to greatly enjoy one another’s company.

One morning of the fifth week, Hryd awoke to see a great wooden sled upon the sea, nearing the ice shelf. The water beast stopped, and movement could be seen upon it. Hryd dashed to the king’s hut and flung the door aside.

“What is this devilry upon the sea?” He demanded. Arvedui rubbed his eyes, and after listening to the description, leapt from his bed and out the doorway. Four tall, fair Mariner Elves strode across the ice toward the camp. Arvedui and Hryd waited anxiously for them to arrive.

The lead Elf beamed. “We have found you at last! My King.” The four bowed. “Cirdan heard of your plight from your son, and sent us in search of you.”

“My Lords,” Arvedui smiled and bowed in return, then, overcome with joy, embraced the lead Elf. He turned to catch Hryd’s fierce glare. “Pardon me, Chief.” He explained that the Elves were friends of his kingdom, and they had come in their ship to take him and his men home.

Hryd nodded thoughtfully. “We will take you to the water beast in our sliding carts.” He said. He directed his men to help the Southerners load their things into the sleds. He himself transported Arvedui. As they drew near the ship Hryd halted the dogs and glanced fearfully into the north. He tapped the king’s shoulder.

“Do not mount this sea-monster!” He cried. “Let the sea-men bring food and supplies here that you may wait until the thaw. The power of the Witch-King wanes in the summer, but now, his power is strong. I fear for you upon the water. There is danger in the wind.”

Arvedui smiled. “Thank you, friend, for your concern, but this is what my men and I need. We are not made for the cold climes.” He took off his ring and placed it in Hryd’s palm. “This is a thing of worth beyond your reckoning. It holds no power. I know you have no use of it, but if ever you are in need, my people will ransom it with anything you desire.” He clasped the Chieftain by the arms, then turned and climbed aboard the ship where his men waited.

Hryd and the Lossoth made their way back to shore as the ship unfurled its sail and drifted into the Bay. The breeze quickly became a forceful wind laden with blinding snow. The ship was soon lost from sight of the shore. The Lossoth strained their eyes to determine its fate, but to no avail.

When the weather cleared the next day, Hryd found that the ship had been driven against the ice shelf, and ice floes from the Bay had crushed its wooden sides. The ship had gone under, leaving only the tattered sail and bits of broken spars upon the ice.

Hryd cursed the power of the Witch-King and cursed the man who thought he knew enough not to heed the Lossoth. He studied the ring which was gifted to him. It seemed wrought of pure silver, thickly twisted into the shapes of two entwining serpents. The eyes of the serpents gleamed with green gems, and they were crowned with golden flowers.

Epilogue

Hryd treasured the ring and kept it safe. He knew there would be a time when the Dunedain would reclaim it from him. They did not return in his lifetime, and he passed the ring to his son before he died, telling him the story.

It was late during the rule of Hryd’s son that the Dunedain came from the South and traded many useful things for the ring. The Lossoth were given much food and provisions, as well as weapons that could kill from afar and others that could cut very well. In this way, the Lossoth were satisfied, and the Dunedain regained the ring of the House of Isildur.

This is part of the history of this one ring. Of course it is not the One Ring, but the ring given to Barahir by Finrod Felegund of Nargothrond as a token of his pledge of aid. But that is another story. The Dunedain remember the history of this ring, as it is closely tied with their own.

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