Wonderful Beta, as ever, by the luminous, Theresa Green. My humble thanks.

Evensong 16

Gimli followed the faint glow shed by his elven friend as Aragorn’s company marched through the forest of Fangorn into the musty cold of the smallest hours of the night – moving with a purpose, at last, after a crowded day of planning, preparation and futile attempts to rest; letting the animal pleasure of movement suppress his mind’s forebodings.

Gimli deliberately did not think of the cave-troll in the van of the force, used by Aragorn and Radagast as a lodestone. He would not think of the tidal pull that he felt in his own breast, a tug that was urging him in the same direction. He would tramp through the drifting moonlit mists of this blackest of woods and not think of trees with eyes, or of malice harboured towards an axe-wielder.

Gimli’s preoccupation broke as Legolas began to sing, some eldritch martial ballad in his own tongue. Invisible in the tangle of trees ahead and above Aragorn took up the song, the mingled voices of elf and man made a counterpoint to the tramp and crackle of the infantry flanking them, all moving forward and up to the stone fields of Methedras.

To the rear Gimli could feel rather than hear Treebeard’s humming accompaniment to the tune.

The opal mists and twisted trunks became enchanted rather than menacing under the shelter of the song and Gimli allowed the iron control he imposed over his emotions ease a little, let his foolish heart lift to the beat of the march.

The ground rose inexorably under his boots. Gimli soldiered on, grateful, as he was on an hourly and daily basis, for the reprieve he had been granted in his health. Hardly winded he reached the stated rendezvous, a moon-washed, starlit alp above the tree line on the knee of Methedras.

Gimli joined the throng of soldiers gathering on the rocky platform, all being efficiently mustered by their sergeants into defensive positions. Aragorn and Radagast were deep in conversation; Gimli wormed his way forward to the crest of the ridge and cast his own professional eye over the silver-lit rock-face that was their goal.

Gimli’s compulsion pulled him, reeled him in like a hooked fish and pointed him at a jumble of boulders to the left of the face, a garden of stone that could have sheltered an army. Indeed as he watched he realised the stones swarmed with dark shapes and the wind that twisted out of the valley carried the yipping, screeching calls of orcs. 

The pull strengthened and it was a wrench to step back, turn and walk to join Aragorn and Legolas as they watched the activity further down the valley, a grassy finger of Rohan that led up to this peak.

Horns sang sweetly on the breeze and Gimli could see squads of Rohirrim riding up the coomb herding orcs into blind-ends to be slaughtered. Other soldiers abandoned their horses and climbed the cliff walls, running the rock ledges to catch the leaderless creatures, wiping them out without mercy. The orcs scattered, re-formed into bands, but succumbed to the assault like ants before boiling water.

“Healfred made good time then.” Aragorn nodded to the low voiced communication of one of his captains and waved assent to Dervoron posted to his right. He turned to Legolas who had appeared at his side.

“Shall we aid them in clearing this nest of vipers?” The king laid a hand on his sword hilt. “Where shall we start?

Legolas turned to Gimli with an eyebrow lifted in question.

Gimli pointed – into the boulders.

“There.” He looked over to the cave-troll who was straining at the end of the chain controlled now by Treebeard. “Stone-Water knows.”

The noise of the beleaguered orcs sounded suddenly louder. The riders were driving a band up the face towards Aragorn’s position.

“Nock” Dervoron’s archers obeyed, “Fire!” the thrum of arrows filled the air, “Second rank. Fire!” and again.

The unearthly screeches changed. Legolas stalked over to the edge and peered into the shadow. Calm, he drew and loosed, twice. One final cry cut off mid-gurgle. The elf lowered his bow. Turned on his heel to return to Aragorn and Gimli’s side.

The air in the valley tightened, an inaudible pulse causing them all to clutch at their heads, their ears.

Legolas stiffened, his back arching.

Gimli, in motion before thought, caught the elf before he could topple from the cliff, snatching the slight weight into his arms even as Legolas folded.

The air settled, with somehow a new taste. The elf opened eyes that were all pupil and risked lowering his hands from his ears. He seemed dazed, looked right through Gimli and equally through the king who came to stoop over them both.

“Radagast!”  Aragorn twisted to spot the wizard, saw him climbing to his feet from a similar collapse, turned back to see Legolas recovering his scattered self, despite the tremor visible in the slim hand that reached for Gimli’s shoulder.

Gimli voiced their confusion. “What was that?”

Radagast tottered up, looking ancient and frail, leaning on his staff as if he needed the support.

“Sorcery. Something new has been given life.” The wizard’s voice cracked, he cleared his throat, “It is a like a beacon and it is drawing on the very fabric of our world.”

The wizard reached down a gnarled hand and rested it on Legolas’ head. The elf sighed after a moment and glanced up in gratitude at the wizard. With a final squeeze to Gimli’s shoulder the elf flowed to his feet – grace restored.

Gimli clambered back to his feet with less alacrity – turned and peered into the battlefield.

“The orcs are gone,” he announced gruffly.  He peered after the party of larger folk and then something caught his eye further along the edge. “The troll is free!” his voice sounded loud with alarm. 

Aragorn spun, and then watched helplessly as the cave troll lumbered with surprising speed across the scree slope, vanishing at last behind the boulders.

Gimli found his axe in his hands and ran forward as if to follow the beast, realised he was mostly responding to the call redoubled in his breast and yielded to both Aragorn and Legolas’ restraining hands.

“Look to Treebeard,” he muttered, embarrassed to be found acting so impulsively.

Aragorn allowed Legolas to take over Gimli and walked over to the Ent. Treebeard swayed gently to a breeze only he could hear, but did not rouse to either the king’s pleas or the wizard’s entreaties.

Shaking his head Aragorn left the wizard and walked over to consult with his captains. The soldiers had kept their positions; they looked tense but not shaken by the magic that Aragorn felt had plucked some cord in his soul.

“We will secure those boulders.” Aragorn raised his sword and pointed.

His command set the men into motion, and the soldiers formed up into squads and followed the now vanished cave troll across the face of the mountain and into the rocks.

Gathering up Legolas and Gimli with a nod, Aragorn and his bodyguard followed the main troop across the shifting scree and into the mottled shadows cast by the stones.

A series of cave mouths were secured, one after the other, abandoned now by the orcs and goblins that had swarmed out of them before. 

Gimli leaned into the nearest yawning mouth and listened. Echoing in the dark the calls of the enemy receded into the mountain, following the same pull that urged him to follow, as fast as his reluctant legs would carry him.

Gimli resisted, again, and turned back to the folk gathered behind him.

“What I seek is in there.” He shifted his axe in his hands and looked into the faces of his friends.

 Legolas did not flinch, even though the prospect of travelling underground must have dismayed him. Aragorn nodded, the rest of the men surrounding the king looked unhappy.

“We are here to support you, Gimli.” Aragorn moved a step or so closer, “And I am hungry to clean out this invasion of the peace we have hewn for our lands. It is too long since I have hunted orcs in such company.”

Aragorn clapped a hearty hand on Legolas’ shoulder and propelled the elf up to the cave mouth so that they flanked Gimli.

“Lead on, Elf-friend.” Legolas managed a smile for the dwarf, and Gimli returned it with a grin of his own, and then, eager, started forward; the relief of moving towards the source of his unease lending speed to feet that welcomed the comfort of stone.

00000

Valda awaked Narvi; the ring resonating in pulses that sickened Narvi to her stomach. The dwarf levered creaking bones into action, reached for her weapons, and then stumbled over to Celembrimbor’s pallet. It was empty; hardly a unique event, but the ring’s distress spiked fear into Narvi’s old heart. The air in the sleeping cavern hummed, a faint musical note that set Narvi’s teeth on edge. It was the horn; it must be the horn, that intricate construction sucked all the life out of the air, leaving a strange metallic taste in her mouth.

Narvi had no wish to get near the thing, let alone blow into it next dawn. A faint memory of her own will stirred under her beard, a little voice of rebellion that wondered at her master’s wisdom.

As if called into life by her thought, Celebrimbor was there, tall and ghostly pale in the cavern entrance. A sparkle ran down the edge of the unsheathed sword in his hand, as if the very air was charged.

“They come, Narvi. Listen.”

Narvi heard nothing, but when she rested her hand on the ancient stone of the mountain she could feel them, feel the tramp of countless feet, the stomping of trolls and goblins, heading towards their sanctuary. The horn, that wretched horn, activated now, it removed all doubt and called Melkor’s servants to action. Celebrimbor had called a sentient avalanche down on their heads.

Narvi placed the elf behind her, stalked to the one remaining entrance to their sanctuary, listened to the now clear cries and commotion heading their way. She turned back and glanced at the shining elf, spared a thought for the years she had dedicated to enabling his vision.

Finally she sighed, turned her back on the dark passage and stomped up to confront him.

“Do we still wait for dawn?”

Celebrimbor stooped to look her in the eye – Narvi reached up and rested Valda on his wound; sent him healing in a reflex that was the habit of an age. She shuddered, a chill running down her back as she realised that this was perhaps the last time she would do so, realised that even her own breaths would now be numbered.

Celebrimbor took her healing; his eyes drifting closed, and then nodded in answer to her question.

“Dawn is spilling over the rim of the world even now, old friend.”

“It is time to seal us in, then. You have no doubts, elf?”

The elf did not answer, simply squeezed her shoulder and then drifted off towards the workroom; the sword in his hand still glinting with sparks.

Narvi walked a few steps down the last open passage. Where it contracted to fit her size she reached in and up, and then pulled on the cleverly counterbalanced lever.

The scrape of stone on stone resounded a little deeper into the labyrinth – Narvi listened to her mechanism working and only breathed out when there was a final thud.

The sound of the orcs, skittering, scratching, yelping cut off; Narvi rested her hand on the tunnel wall to feel what they were doing.

Digging, they were digging.

A grim smile touched Narvi’s lips; she had a very personal experience of just how hard the granite was in this mountain. They would need the digging skills of a cave-troll to interrupt them now.

Feeling nostalgic, the ancient dwarf twisted the ring around on her finger to bring the blue stone uppermost – breathed deeply of the stone-scented air that had been the companion of her exile, and then walked back to join Celebrimbor in the scintillating, breathless space that contained the horn. She left her axe propped against the wall of the passage; its sharp edge could not serve them now. The strength of her arm had secured them thus far, now it was down to the purity of her heart and the skills of the greatest craft master ever born of the elves. In the chamber the faintest wash of grey was dimming the dance of stars she could see through the open front of the cavern.

Doom. Doom. The room reverberated with sound of mining, loud and close by.

Celebrimbor took up a position near the mouthpiece. Narvi, resigned now and calm, watched the sky lighten.

“Come.” Celebrimbor held out his hand and indicated the mouthpiece. “It is time.”

Stone dust filtered down from the roof, filling the air.

Narvi stood in front of the gold and mithril artifact.

Doom.

Narvi glanced at the cavern wall to her left; a crack snaked across the surface She looked at Celebrimbor’s calm face – wondered fleetingly who was going to win the race.

The crack widened, Narvi placed her mouth on the instrument and breathed in, the first ray of the sun pierced the rock-dust and shone golden on the elf’s face.

“Now, my friend!”

Celebrimbor started to sing and Narvi gave her breath to the horn.

TBC