Beta’d by Theresa Green, coherence is hers, and mistakes mine. Thank you for reading. RS

Evensong 15

Gimli muttered darkly into his beard as he trailed after Aragorn and his party, not reassured by Healfred’s assurances.

“Chains. Pah, the orcs had chains. Didn’t stop the beast from escaping.”

Gimli skirted a grass-studded puddle that reflected the fleeing clouds. The rain had stopped and was at least not adding to his misery. He glanced up. Aragorn’s long-legged party was almost out of sight amongst the tents of the Rohirrim. Gimli’s feet stopped without any instruction from his brain.

Gimli examined the bent blades of water-sodden grass. The earth smelled clean, the breeze was brisk, the sun trying to break through.

This would never do. He turned and looked back at the illusory safety promised by Aragorn’s camp. The trees of Fangorn loomed over the huddled encampment.  Shafts of sunlight lit the foliage leaving most in shadow. The forest looked neutral this day, neither welcoming nor repelling Gimli’s eye. The dwarf sighed, turned again and stomped off down the path Aragorn had taken.

Legolas fell in beside him as he passed the barrier of the first tents.

“Not a word, elf.” Gimli growled.

Legolas turned his head away, a detail on the tent they were passing suddenly fascinating.

Gimli found himself fighting his own rueful smile.

“Have you seen it then?” he asked, a little further down the path.

Legolas looked at him, his face expressionless. “Yes, it is well confined and seems fearful of the sun. It is not being aggressive.”

“Has it spoken?”

“Not while I was there.”

Conversation lapsed until they finally caught up with the King’s party. Radagast was standing somewhat apart so that he could see into a crudely constructed shelter cobbled together from several tents.

Gimli nodded to Aragorn and then walked out and around further so that he too could see. A long shudder took him as he made out the massive lumpen shape of the cave troll. All he could see was its back; the thing had a tattered jute sack draped over its head, further hiding its eyes from the light. Sturdy black chains that looked as if they had been stripped from the ox-carts looped around the grey torso, metal pegs secured the chains to the earth. The troll strained against them in its efforts to stay shaded and the only sound for an instant was the clinking of the links as the beast shuffled itself even further away from the audience.

Legolas, as ever silently at his side now stepped forward to flank the wizard. Gimli wondered if his shielding Gimli’s view of the troll was calculated and in the same breath knew it was.

“Has it said anything?” Legolas asked Radagast.

The wizard looked at the elf, then fleetingly back at Gimli who had moved sideways a few more paces. The dwarf had unsheathed his axe and was leaning on its glittering head, looking both intent and thoughtful.

“It said it was not here to fight us, and then settled thus,” the wizard pointed with his staff.

Legolas stepped a pace or two closer, ignoring Gimli’s sharp intake of breath.

“Troll.” His musical voice cut through the general hum of conversation. Aragorn walked nearer, interested to see if the beast reacted to the eldar.

“Why have you left your mountain home?”

For a moment the beast did not respond, then the small head turned slightly towards the elf, a massive hand lifted the edge of the coarse sack. Gimli spotted the red glint of a shaded eye.

Trust an elf, they would talk to anything, they talked to trees, rocks were not so large a stretch. Gimli swallowed his discomfort and tried to force his feet to carry him closer

“Called.” A voice as deep as a well ground out of the troll, “Mother not want to go but must when grey-faces come. Told me to, stay, hide. But then I called too. “ The troll pulled the sack over its face again and turned away, “Had to follow Mother anyway. She last.”

“Last what?” Gimli had walked forward and now stood beside the elf. Radagast raised his staff and a green radiance covered the elf and the dwarf as they stepped even closer, within the possible reach of the troll; the guard had already politely but firmly restrained the king.

The troll lifted the sack again and turned with a clinking of chains. Gimli lifted his axe and Rohirric guards, bowmen all, raised nocked arrows to cover the beast. The troll peered out into the day, sniffing and trying to locate the voice that had spoken.

“Mossy Rock?” it sounded astounded.

Gimli stumbled back a pace, two. Stared at the troll, and then with a visible effort stepped up once again to Legolas’ side.

“Stone-Water-Worn-Smooth.” The dwarf stepped forward again, axe ready but well in reach of the cave-troll’s arms. “The last what? You owe me, child.”

“My mother. She last she-troll. Granite-Glinting. No mother, no more cave-troll. Ever.” The troll strained forward to the limit of the chains and then sat back down. It dropped its sack-clad head. “You help me, Mossy-Rock. I help you. We find Mother, squash grey face, and then go back home. Not bother two legs ever.” He peered up from under his massive brow and looked at Legolas. “Been very good. No two leg pets, no pets at all. Not bother any two legs on mountain in dark. Been good.” Stone-Water-Worn –Smooth looked hopefully at the elf, saw no softness in the face that opposed him and pulled the sack over his eyes again. Chains rattling it shifted around again to put most of its body in the deepest shade.

Legolas’ hand hooked into the back of Gimli’s jacket and stalled his instinctive, sympathetic step forward. Gimli turned to glare and met Legolas’ will of adamant.

“It is still a creature of the dark, a child of Morgoth. Trust it not, Gimli.”

Gimli held Legolas’ eye for a moment, and then shook his head and stepped away. He started off towards Aragorn’s party. Legolas shared a wry look with Radagast and then set off after him. The wizard stayed just where he was, observing the troll.

00000

 The sun lit the dispersed clouds red and gold as the Rohirrim and the soldiers of Gondor finished honouring their dead.

“I feel as if this day has spanned an age.” Gimli commented quietly to Legolas as they followed Aragorn back to the camp. The elf bowed his head as they passed the third cairn piled over the fallen, and then caught his companion’s eye.

“Indeed, and now we go to council. Necessity makes a hard master of Aragorn.”

“He is harder on himself,” the dwarf watched as the King left the burial ground and headed purposefully towards the tent that was set aside for the injured. “A scant half hour have we before we meet to pool our knowledge but still he rests not.”

The friends took the chance to change out of their more ceremonial garb then made their way to Aragorn’s pavilion, expecting some wait before the king would catch them up. They were surprised when Aragorn himself greeted them.

“Sarthor threw me out,” Aragorn replied to Legolas’ raised eyebrow.

The King indicated the table of food set out for the visitors and waited for them to fill their plates before leading them to the prepared venue. With a swish and a rustle Treebeard strode up to the grassy space in front of the king’s tent and started exchanging greetings with the king.

Aragorn’s servants had placed his camp chair on a small platform and Aragorn sat, looking at least as regal as he did in his throne room. He accepted a pewter goblet from proffered tray and sipped as Treebeard continued his opening remarks looking attentively at the Ent. Legolas and Gimli made short work of their dinners and then Treebeard finally came to the end of his greetings.

“…And my thanks also to Legolas of the Nine Walkers, Prince of Ithilien, son of Thranduil. Your help last night deserves a much longer tale but I must be hasty here, Aragorn, or we will be into the next sun round. Forgive my manners.”

Aragorn smiled and inclined his head and the tall being shuffled backwards a little to complete the circle.

Healfred and Dervoron sat on benches on the opposite side of the warming central brazier, Legolas and Gimli occupied benches near the King, and the wizard sat in another camp chair beside the Ent.

“Legolas, Gimli.” Aragorn turned to his friends. “ Tell us of what you know of this evil. Gimli, perhaps you could share your vision, Legolas your knowledge of what is happening to the magic of Middle-earth. Healfred, please share with us your troop numbers and the details of the orders given to you from your liege, King Elfwine. We needs must plan to control and exterminate this sudden plague of evil beasts that threaten both our realms and Treebeard’s forest. Radagast, your wisdom is sorely needed, as you, like my elven friend, must have insights into the strain on the magic of our land. Treebeard we need your ancient wisdom. We need a plan my friends and allies, lest the darkness like to that we vanquished a lifetime of men ago, creeps back to defile all we hold dear.”

00000

High in the caverns of Methedras, Celebrimbor and Narvi huddled in the workroom, hearing the foul screeches and calls of the orc host echoing through the labyrinth.

So far Narvi’s defences had done their job. None of the foul creatures had found their hideaway. Narvi had triggered several deadfalls and sealed them from all but one tricky passage.

Still the evil pressed against her.

Valda tingled as prepared traps accessed her magic. Narvi felt her spirit lift for each vibration, each distant scream, felt her spirit sink as she looked at the elf.

He was engraving some last rune on the very mouthpiece of the work. He would not hurry and pretended deafness as she urged him to flee with her.

Narvi saw a torch guttering and leapt to replace it before he would notice the dying of the light.

He would not be hurried or distracted so Narvi paced for the two of them, trying not to think beyond the evening, to the craft-master’s triumph. He would work his magic now the work was finished. He planned to do it the very cusp of the next dawn.

How had this day arrived?

Narvi took the spent torch to the small pile of stores she had accumulated.

How could this be the end of their great service? 

She re-packed the charred end of the torch with straw she had gathered summers past, oiled it with pitch collected from trees she had nurtured from pine-cones.

They had endured for an age, longer than any she had heard of except the high ones in Celebrimbor’s tales.

Dwarves endured, she knew this. She proved this. She would last as long as she was needed. Celebrimbor endured as long as Valda willed his healing.

Was the need now ended, with the coming of the next dawn?

Narvi found herself in the long habit of living. Her mind shied from any other state. His state was more ambiguous. What was he feeling?

Narvi placed the renewed torch alongside the half dozen others in the pile.

The silvery sound of a tool hitting the stone floor pulled her from her reverie. Celebrimbor straightened, stood impossibly tall in the flickering light, ran his eyes over the whole wonderful construction.

“Elbereth, it is done.”

Narvi felt the small hairs on her arms stand up as the convoluted and coiled metal thrummed with something that resembled life. Valda pulsed on her finger and the thing pulsed back at the ring. Eager.

Somewhere in the mountain the cacophony of orc screams and troll bellows cut off, silenced by the new power awakened.

Narvi swallowed. Celebrimbor looked alien in that moment, remote and cold, a god surveying his handiwork and not displeased. He turned to look out of the cave – stars wheeled in their stately dance, marking the night, the hour.

The silence from the enemy pressed on Narvi.

“Could I not practise, master? It is a vast instrument, what if I cannot wind it?”

Celebrimbor turned his silver gaze away from the heavens and looked at her. “Doubts? From you, my rock?”

Narvi looked down, “An end to all the evil in the world, master. How if I fail?”

The elf was suddenly standing in front of her. He rested a weightless hand on her hair. Far away in the caverns an orc screeched, answered by another, nearer. Narvi felt the faintest of tremors shake his arm.

“You will blow the breath of Middle-earth into this instrument at the time I have appointed, and by your pure heart and the grace of my gifts the Valar will hear the note that has been missing from the chord of life. Missing since Melkor interweaved matters of his own imagining into Ilúvatar’s song.” Celebrimbor stooped then and met Narvi’s eye, reached to smooth her furrowed brow. He continued, “ Dread will fall on all unnatural life, orcs, trolls, goblins, all the evil and debased beasts that call the fallen one, lord. No more will they have access to his influence because the note will mend the rift in the Walls of the World. That little flaw that he picks at and enlarges and whispers through, drawing all the weak and wicked under his influence. The beasts he quickened will die without issue, and the world will be safe from them, and the rest of creation will live evermore, as Ilúvatar intended.”

Narvi looked into his silver eyes, and thought of the burden of years they had spanned together. Her a child of a lesser god, and he, noble and arrogant, of the first born, defying death by his own craftsmanship to complete this massive work. His creation, the ring Valda, thrummed on her finger and she reached up and touched the blue glow to his cheek.

“As you say, master, it will be so, and I, poor as I am, will be equal to the task.”

The elf stood again, left his hand resting on her shoulder. Narvi lifted it off and held it. “Come, let us rest until dawn. Let us have some peace before the end.” She tugged on his hand and he followed this time, meekly, allowing her care.

TBC

Rose