From Library of the Randirim

Well, Alditha says, What I have transcribed here is only a little part of a longer poem, but it is most definitely an incomplete work. More will, of course, be forthcoming in time... just as soon as I can remember it all.

“Oft have I heard the hallowed call
Of distant lands, the dim places
Where mingle the lights of mysterious stars
And strange sights await, songs unheard.”
Thus spoke the wanderer, walker on the earth
From home far-faring, following none.
Where none dare now to venture nigh
He fearless steps, shadow-daunting,
Light darkness-dividing, night-defeating.
“For long did I listen, longing ever
The far-distant barrens myself to behold,
Where men once dwelt, ere darkness took them,
The lonely places, long-abandoned.
Such have I seen, their splendor past,
Yet they hold on my heart, as heaven-sent.
Though silence-stilled, their songs remain,
And voices dreadful, deep with sorrow
Linger, longing for light long-darkened.
Fell they fly through frosty airs
Where once reigned warmth, women danced,
Tales were told, travelers rested.
And I among them, asking ever,
What doom did find them, death awaiting,
And to what fearful fate they fell.
Their secrets, alas, unsung remain,
Their olden glory, golden treasures,
Dwindled to dust, long down-fallen.”
Now the wise know well the weariness of the solitary
And even the earth-treader remembers apace
Homestead and hearth-fire, comforts of the hall.
Returned from ranging, rests his head
Where gifts are given, tales of greatness,
And lively voices voyages recount.
Yet the rambling ruins he ever remembers
In mind he is mournful, no merriment finds him
For knows he now that night must fall,
How fleeting are friends and finery mortal,
How precious are lives, how perilous fate,
And when doom descends, death-knells fade,
No remnant remains. Relentless time
Flows on and turns ages, trees wither,
Songs dwindle to whispers wanly echoing.
World-weary, another wanderer may hear.

Now comes the walker, cold-encumbered
Wending his way, westward-making.
‘Neath helm of night, nearer drawing
To hearth and hall. Hearkening now,
He hears the sound of several voices
And light breaks lustrous from the loathsome dark.
Music of minstrels merrily beckons,
And soon he forsakes the fireless night
For welcome companionship, came to the hall.
Now many have heard of Healdend, lord,
Hafoc’s son, whose seat it was.
In youth he was doughty, now dignified in age,
In wisdom mindful. A good man that was!
The wanderer he welcomed, warming his hands
And bade him sit by him, bestowing gifts
Of cloak and cover, the cold to fend.
Then asked the earth-walker, as evening grew long,
Of the rock-piled ruin that rested near-by.
“That place of men, once-mighty it seems,
Yet derelict now, long-dismayed.
What woe befell it, war or other?
The fate of your fathers I fain would know.”
Then answered Healdend, Hafoc’s son
Sorrowful he spoke, silence-breaking.
“’Tis a terrible tale I tremble to recount,
Yet I dare not deny you, dark though it be.
Know then that my kin, kingly-descended
Once dwelt there in days long-disappeared.
Learn then the perils of pride unweening,
Of love mis-laid, of lore unheeded.”
Thus spoke the lord, his long tale beginning.

“Long it is now, lives of my fathers,
Since sorrow befell that stronghold of men.
But in past-times it prospered, in plenty joyful.
Learned men lived there, laughter rebounded
In days of yore, years long-forgotten.
Folcwine Freawining, fearsome in battle,
Its lord and liege. Loved well was he,
A fair man and faithful, famous in song.
Yet days of darkness drew near apace.
Men of the wilderness, wrathful and savage
Became ever-boldened, yet at bay remained.
In this time of trouble, terrors stirring,
A guest to the hall unheralded came –
A man of great might, measured in battle
And word of his deeds declaimed in halls.
To the seat of Folcwine, Freawine’s son,
He arrived alone, ever-seeking
New foes to fight, fears to vanquish.
Welcomed he was, when entered he there,
With gifts of gold, generous presents
From Folcwine Free-giver, friend of men.
Then spoke the lord, “Long I still
To know your name, who are newly-arrived.
Who graces my hall, girt as a soldier,
In hero’s raiment, roughly worn?”
The stranger gave answer, swiftly replied:
“Readwulf am I, Raegenhere’s son,
From distant lands, drawn but seldom.
Northwards I came, never-faltering
Since kith and kin were killed in battle
And I was exile, endless wandering
To be my fate. Forward marching,
I met with monsters, many slew.
Now seek I ever slaughter-fields,
The dark to vanquish, vile things send
To that black abyss, where born they were.
Fear-gripped I found, not far-off from here,
The lands of a lord, lost to a beast –
A wrath-full wolf, wondrous in size
Yet sly in stealth, a stealer of cattle
And murderer of men, many-slaying.
Then waxed the weeping of women grief-laden
And reached my ear, ringing woeful
The sighs of sorrow. Yet strength I had,
Their fields I freed, felled the beast,
It’s body I brought, boldly hastened
To the hall of the lord, long-troubled in mind
But now delivered by death of the beast.
Now I hear the halls where here I am guest
Are set upon by the savage, and slaughter is nigh
So traveled I have, my tale to recount
With spear and shield, succor to bring.”
Now wondered the lord at the wayfarer’s strength,
Simply he spoke, standing before him.
“If truth you tell, truly you are welcome,
For my kin are those men, who with might you defended.”
Then the lord leapt up, lieges to summon,
The hero to herald, halls to open.
For Readwulf the wayfarer, Wealtheow’s son,
A place was prepared, plenty was given:
A home in the hall and heapèd treasure.
And the Wolf was worthy: wild-men he slew,
Their numbers to naught were nearly dwindled.
Songs were sung, his skill and might
Struck fear in their foes, fire-like blazing.
When a year had went, wheat now ripening,
The lord summoned the hero, his strength to reward.
“As kin you are, from kingly stock
You surely stem, seeming noble.
Then let me not lose you, light of my people,
But remain in riches, range not from my hall
But Son would I name you, savior you are
To me and mine.” The mighty one answered,
“It honours me well, in your hall to dwell,
Then Father I call you, fealty and love
To you I swear, son may I be.”
Now Folcwine Free-giver had fathered a son
Long ere this time, thirty years past
Frithwine named, never there was
A man more ready for matchless deeds:
His blade he bore in battles many
With skill surpassing, seldom bested.
Modwaru his mother was, matron wise,
Her life was lost, his light forth-bringing.
Her lord still suffered, sorrowing ever,
Yet he faltered naught in fatherly wise,
And taught his son truly, trained him well
For life and lordship, lacking never.
Now with woe did he the wayfarer meet,
His brother to be, best of men.
Thus he spoke with his father, his sorrow to air:
"For long did you love me, lending ever
Your wisdom in all ways, weathering all.
Yet now this newcomer, nightly dines
At your right hand, richly adorned,
A stranger seated there, your son to be,
And I disgraced, your own dear kin."
Reply he gave, ring-giver Folcwine:
“Fear not, my son, second to none
In my heart are you foremost, fain would I
Again see you joyful, no jealousy breeding.”
Thus his mind was made lighter, yet moons still passed
And Readwulf was ever richer in praise
More wrathful in war, worthier of song.
He grew fearful again, fleeting he knew
Was the life of his lord, loathsome he thought it,
That the seat of his sire the stranger might take,
For the thanes esteemed him, thought him well
Suited to govern, steadfast his hand.
Now nightfall was near, nigh Folcwine came
Death drawing close. Departing then
His spirit scaped, from body sundered,
Freedom to find in his forefathers’ halls.
Shadow crept closer: Call went out,
The retainers chose Raedwulf for ruler and liege:
No small glory they gave. Grateful was he,
The rightfully chosen, challenged by none.
But Frithwine argued, anger-blinded,
And it was not proper, for the people had spoken.
Full in fury he cursed his father,
The thanes and the stranger. Sought he then
Revenge to wreak, ran wild his thoughts
As a man half-crazed, hostile to all.
To appease his anger, Raedwulf approached him,
Hand outstretched, healing to render.
“Be not so wrathful, for willing am I
To forget these curses, for come they surely
From passing grief for our proud lord.
Look now: No lesser are you,
No honour taken, high you remain
Equals we are, even as brothers,
And shall be ever. I will swear it even,
If it will soften your spirit. Speak your will.”
What madness he had, I might not say,
But that day was marked, doom was near,
For Frithwine scorned him, spat on his hand
So graciously offered. Great was the outrage
Of the hall-retainers, hateful to all then
Was Folcwine’s son, who fellowship scorned
And loyalty forswore. Loud they clamored,
Pronounced him exile, ended his bonds
To lord and land, life in wandering
Would be the fate of Frithwine Folcwining.
I know not what he suffered, severed from the hall,
But I have heard that the hill-men found him,
And made him a leader, mighty among them.
Full many winters he weathered and strove
An army to assemble, towns to assault
And halls to despoil. Drunken was he
On power and pride, and purposed he then
Readwulf to challenge, revenge to unleash,
His hall to destroy and darken forever,
The folk to slay, the stranger’s followers.