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Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 337
🕑 Added 2025-11-23 16:15:36 +0000 UTCChapter 337: Life’s Long Sigh
Under Levi’s gentle urging, Bain did not hesitate long. Soon after, he stepped down from his post as High Governor of Rhovanion and Dale and retired to a quiet life.
His place was taken by Brand, who had already won his own share of merit and esteem.
At his investiture, Brand drew the Dragonflame sword that had come down to him from his father, Bain, and laid it before him.
Then he spoke his oath:
“In the name of the High Leader of the Free Cities, leader of the Men of the North, the Lord of the North, Levi, I swear that I shall govern this land with all my strength, until I am no longer able, or until the High Leader and the people judge me unfit for this charge.”
The oath was made, and the Lord confirmed it.
From that day on, every regional High Governor would swear their own oath on taking office.
In turn, a new family was formally founded.
It took Bard as its forebear and his name as its own. Folks called them the Steward’s House, or the House of Bard.
This line carried the blood of old Dale. One mark of that blood was the gift of understanding the speech of thrushes.
Even Dwarves who had tamed thrushes could not match it. If they wished to know what the birds said, they had to ask the talking ravens to interpret.
That was the whole of the peculiarity of the old Dale bloodline.
A little unusual, but not much.
Still, it could not be called useless.
Bain made a little show over Brand’s act. He only nodded once, calm and matter-of-fact.
Brand had grown to be a man who could bear the weight of a house’s future and manage such a wide realm’s affairs.
As his oath said, he would tend that land with all his heart, until his strength failed, or his virtue fell short of his place.
Yet…
Looking at the family, Levi could not help but marvel.
In the eyes of other races, Men were fickle, for they changed too quickly from one generation to the next.
Yet in this line, from Bard to Brand, all three generations had been fine men, in war and in peace.
It was rare enough to see three such in a row.
And it was easy to picture how, in such a home, with so many elders to teach by word and deed, little Bard would be hard-pressed to grow crooked.
Time slipped by.
From the day Brand took up his charge, it was plain to see that Levi came to Dale more often.
Perhaps thinking himself under some kind of test, Brand made sure that every matter was handled so well no fault could be found.
In truth, Levi meant no such thing.
He simply wished to see Bain more. To see more of that junior of his own generation.
To see more of the one who would always reach the night before him.
“I too must meet my own night first, Uncle.”
Life.
One night, Levi came again to that familiar little house.
Bain sat on the step by the door.
The old man could not help lifting his head to the tangled sky of stars, to the brightest among them, the Star of High Hope.
After a long look, he turned and went back inside. He glanced at Levi, then at the empty chair opposite Levi that no one had touched for a long time.
That was all he wished to do before reaching the end.
From then on, there were two empty chairs in that house.
And always empty.
Brand was often wrapped up in business.
He had no notion what was special about the place, what drew his grandfather and father away from their great hall so often to this little room, to sit close and drink tea.
He had only heard stories—that when the palace at the summit of Dale still lay broken and unrepaired, his grandfather Bard had lived here, and his father too for a time.
Perhaps for the sake of those memories, they had loved to come back.
But that remembrance had only lasted one generation. By Brand’s time, it was faint.
Still, if ever Brand were seized by a whim one day to see the old house, he might find a slightly lonely figure sitting in the chair by the window, quietly pouring his own tea.
Opposite him and to the side would be two empty chairs.
In 3007, Bain passed away.
Memories of the old friend lay still in Levi’s mind, settling into quiet depths. In his own way, he honoured them all and would go on honouring them, never letting them fade.
At times he could not help thinking of Elrond.
When that Elf-lord watched one friend after another, and then their children and grandchildren, all those for whom he had given his utmost, pass away, did he feel the same?
Levi shook his head and let out a long breath.
In the empty house, the sound seemed very loud.
The next year, the great figure that had always sat brooding on the rock above Karl-town vanished as well. The hard, smooth stone felt strangely bare.
Beorn was gone too.
At the townsfolk’s choosing, his son Grimbeorn—also a skin-changer—took up the post of chief of Karl-town and became the new head of Beorn’s people.
Levi knew the lad fairly well. He had been there at the feast Beorn held to celebrate his birth.
He had even held him in his arms.
That would not be possible now. In Beorn’s line, the direct heirs were all very tall. Each one was like a small giant.
Beorn himself had been over seven feet in his human form, and taller still as a bear.
His son was not quite so great, but still stood a good head taller than most Men.
It was easy to foresee that as the blood of the house thinned over long generations, those numbers would fall. The power of their skin-changers would fade.
Perhaps, far in the future, the line would lose the gift of taking beast-shape altogether and become a simple race of Men—taller and stronger than most, perhaps, but no more.
…
“We have found some solid leads.”
In 3008, Gandalf came again through Roadside Keep and shared his news.
For some years, there had been no real progress in the hunt for Gollum. In the meantime, Levi had shown him the ancient evils stirring on the snowfields north of Angmar. Gandalf had pushed the search for Gollum further down his list.
A few years before, after only telling Aragorn to keep his ears open for any word, he had turned his full attention to the creatures of the Northern Waste.
Plainly, this time he had not come for that.
“What leads?” Levi asked.
“Gollum has been haunting the borders of Mordor of late. He goes in, then comes out again, then goes back in carrying something,” Gandalf said.
“It is very strange. But at least it proves he is still free. He has not been caught by anyone, nor fallen into the Enemy’s hands.”
“Even so, he walks the edge of peril. Wandering day after day about Mordor, he is bound to come to grief.”
“Given that, we mean to reopen the hunt.”
At that, Levi shot him a look.
Spoken that way, as if Gollum would be safe anywhere but near Mordor.
One way or another, the poor creature was caught in the snare.
But there was no comparing the snares. To be taken by Mordor and to be taken by the rangers were very different fates. The latter would not torment him. They would lock him up, feed him, and bring him out now and then for questioning.
“I know a thing or two about Gollum as well,” Levi said after a moment’s thought.
“I will come.”
