Beta and encouragement by Theresa Green, thank you.RC

Evensong 17

 They hunted the caves of Methedras in damp cold that felt left over from the making of the world and dark so deep that it had personality. Finally, as the torchbearers caught up with them, an orange glow lit the way painting grotesque shadows on the walls; orcs became innocent rocks, rocks became the enemy.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?"  Legolas' voice sounded accusing. The elf drew a bead on a group of fleeing orcs and downed two with a single arrow.

Gimli flashed him a grin full of teeth.

Deep underground, his choices simple, his foe in front of him his friend behind him; it was close to dwarf heaven.

Turning back to his work Gimli cleared the way ahead, knocking the spitting, clawing orc that sprang out at him into the chasm on his left with a sweep of his axe. Jumping forward he hooked another out of the same nook and sent it screeching to follow its fellow. The dwarf peered casually down into the rushing dark, and then beckoned the troop led by Aragorn that trod on the elf's heels.

"This way. I can hear some more of them along here."

Legolas muttered, "Do you have to sound so pleased?"

Ignoring the elf's bad humour Gimli walked on and turned a corner flanked by three of the king's soldiers, all bowmen. Legolas glanced back and tried to make out Aragorn's expression but his face was in the shadow cast by the torchbearer behind him.  The king moved up a couple of steps.

"He does seem to know where he is going."

Legolas shrugged, unappeased.

Aragorn followed the elf into the wider corridor, his bodyguard and the rest of the troop following closely. The orange glow of the torches they carried warmed the cavern; the green glow of Radagast's staff marked the rearguard. The sound of the orcs was diminishing, ebbing away as the bulk of the beasts fled before their well-armed party, the effect more noticeable as the sound of water running beside the ledge faded. Legolas and the king covered each other around the corner, only to find Gimli with his foot on another orc, prizing his axe out of its skull.

"They keep running away. It is hardly any challenge." He sounded disappointed.

The king risked meeting the elf's eye.

The rest of the soldiers spread out, securing the cavern, peering into the several openings that led from it.

"We can stop here a moment then, Gimli." Aragorn looked around the dusty cave. "We could all do with a rest. It must be nearly dawn, think you, Legolas?"

The elf nodded and turned, yearning, towards the east, as if he could will the mountain above transparent so that the lightening sky could be seen.

"Anor will soon breast the lip of the world, outside, where such commonplaces are celebrated."

The king squatted, un-slinging his water bottle.

Gimli ignored the setting of sentries and the settling of the men and stalked around the cave, peering at the carvings on the walls.

"What has happened to your stamina, Aragorn? I remember when you could nearly keep up with...”

"Yes? Oh unwearied dwarf, keep up with..?"

"These carvings are odd." Gimli's voice lost its bantering tone and sounded surprised instead. Turning his attention to the wall and looking carefully at it. "This area here," he ran his finger along at his own waist height, "the stone feels polished, see. Radagast, bring that shining stick of yours here." The wizard moved closer to the dwarf and trailed him by a couple of steps as he intently examined the rock face.

The dwarf followed the smoothed carvings along the side of the cave, rounded a small bulge of rock, and then vanished.

The elf started to his feet and stepped towards the wizard.  Radagast raised his staff as if by illuminating the cave further he could see where the dwarf had gone.

"Gimli!" Aragorn's voice was sharp, alarmed.

Gimli popped out of the wall looking surprised. "What?"

Radagast examined the seeming stone, staring at it with eyes that suddenly looked as sharp as diamonds, "It is a glamour, but masterly. I would not have picked it."

Gimli stepped fully out of the illusion and peered back. "It is a passage. Can you not see?"

Radagast suddenly found Gimli even more interesting than the illusion. "It looks as a wall to most eyes, master dwarf."

Gimli waved his arm into the wall again. "It is a passage."

"Hmm," the wizard peered at the dwarf for a moment. "You are full of surprises, Gimli, Gloin's son."

Then, as the words left his mouth, the world came apart at seams that had never before seemed obvious.

A note sounded. A perfect note, a true note.

Rising in volume the note swelled until it filled not only the air of the world but its substance. All of Middle-earth resonated to its perfect pitch; the song of Arda harmonised, and then absorbed the rightness of the music. Still the note grew until everything that lived was sundered, stretched on the rack of the music, ravelled or unravelled depending on its nature.

00000

Narvi blew, breathed and blew further. The horn seemed to suck everything into its convoluted self; all life, all love, all the years she had given service. Celebrimbor's voice soared over the effect, knitting magic together and amplifying the strength of her breath until faintly a sound began to form.

It was perfection, and Narvi found tears rolling down her cheeks even as she gave more to the horn, gave her heart, her breath, the endurance that had carried her through centuries alone. Celebrimbor shaded his eyes from the gold glow that kindled, and then haloed the horn-blower, swallowing the ancient dwarf until she shone like the sun that framed her.

Still Narvi blew.

The volume grew, swelled more, and became visceral and then almost inaudible.

So vast was the sound, so wrapped in magic, that it rode the wings of Celebrimbor's magic and reached the Walls of the World, and then tugged the substance of the barrier straight, rippled the surface of adamant and cut the thread with which Morgoth sustained his twisted creation.

Like a parted hawser the thread whipped away, and the howl that filled the Timeless Void echoed.

There was a pause as creation held its collective breath, and then the black knot that bound the feä of all orcs to their master unravelled, and those lost souls so long enslaved fled, rejoicing, back to the bosom of Ilúvatar, to be cherished in his light until the end of Arda. The husks of their subjugation were reduced in an eye-blink to mindless beasts, and all the Valar rejoiced at the end of an evil that had endured since the days of Utumno.

Still Celebrimbor sang, gathering himself to finish the work, but behind him the wall that had cracked even as Narvi had prepared to blow the horn, now fell away and the last female cave troll, Granite-Glinting, stepped into the space occupied by the sound of the world being re-shaped.

Anor, framed like an eye in the cavern opening, pierced the troll with fear, but the great wrenching in her spirit that was the re-ordering of creation scared her more urgently.

Granite-Glinting stepped forward and found the source of her terror, the singing elf in front of her. She swung her club, swatting the two-leg, crushing him like a wayward fly. The troll turned from the suddenly silent body and put her back to the sun; she peered at the tangle of pipes that adorned the walls of the workroom, swayed in indecision for a second, and then swung her great club up again.

"Mother!" Stone-Water-Worn-Smooth, stepped up to the opening Granite-Glinting had made just in time to see her swing at the vibrating pipes. "Mother, No!"

Even mithril is vulnerable to the power of a cave-troll. The pipes dented, and the magic, no longer contained by Celebrimbor's song, danced free.

In the great weave that was Middle-earth, threads straightened, or stretched and creation changed. River spirits, Were-folk and other fey creatures turned a corner and faded from the knowledge of the world, giants and rock-trolls yawned, stretched and lay on the ground to become one with the earth. The last dragon in the mountains screamed his defiance and, turning his shoulder, flew into a new reality, chased by all the wargs birthed in the fourth age. A flying Wight swooped on bat-wings over haunted graves collecting the shades of the unquiet dead; screeching she dragged them to another plane. Spider-kind diminished and became part of the unforgiving dark from whence they came; and deep in the desert of Far Harad the Were-Worm reared its toothed maw from the sand one last time before diving under the baking surface never to be seen again.  Plants became quiescent and spoke no longer to men or elves; even the great eagles lost the desire for speech. The hearts of elves and their kin were wrung; the shifting of the world's rules making homely magic difficult and great magery unlikely until Arda ended.

In Celebrimbor's workshop Stone-Water watched his mother harden into inanimate stone before his eyes as magic drained from the world through the conduit of her club.

"No!"

Stone-Water's anguish translated into movement and he rampaged around the workroom, breaking, tearing, tugging at the construction until he finally stopped the mighty sound and the horn lay in devastation about his feet. In the silence that followed all Stone-Water could hear was the ping of Narvi's ring, Valda, hitting the stone flags on the floor, falling from the dust of her suddenly terminated existence. Anor rose far enough to clear the cave opening and the troll looked dully at where Narvi’s incandescent presence had been. Nothing remained except some light grey dust that shifted, even as he watched, in the breeze blowing in the open mouth of the cavern.

The black thread of Morgoth's will, loosed by the music but unable now to be bound as the great elven-smith Celebrimbor had planned, drifted down to land unevenly over the lands of Arda. The sea became crueller; the forest more dark, compassion was removed from the wind. Mountains that had lost their voices sharpened their avalanches and rivers that were no longer bound by spirits nosed at their banks. Lastly, in the hearts of elves and men, the lies that Morgoth sowed grew a blighted crop of dark fruit, illnesses previously unknown took root in the innocent and discontent festered anew; although the Elves, in an act of grace, were granted, along with the pain, an even clearer call to the home that waited for them in Valinor.

00000

Gimli picked himself up from the ground and gradually became aware of the sound of muffled grief, a hiccupping sobbing that pulled him from the place he had been and moved him mindlessly to the side of his immortal friend. None other stirred in the silent cavern; even the sound of the underground river had faded into the background. Gimli glanced around. Bodies like so many logs lay prostrate on the cave floor. He would deal with that later - Legolas was his concern. The still-burning torches lit his friend's huddled form.

"Legolas?” Gimli laid a warm hand on the shaking shoulder. Legolas sat propped against the cave wall, his head on his bent knees, his arms hugging his legs, his face obscured by the pale curtain of his hair. "Why do you grieve?"

The elf lifted his head and looked at the kindly dwarf with a face stark with tragedy. "Ai, Gimli, it was destroyed before it was complete."

Water welled again dulling the brightness of the elf’s eyes. The archer dropped his head back to rest against the cave wall. "For just such a little space, Gimli," tears ran unchecked down the smooth cheeks to drip off the hinge of his jaw, "I was witness to his song, part of the greatest magic ever attempted by my kind.”

Gimli eased himself down to sit against the wall beside his long-legged friend and leaned against him, keeping his hand on the hitching shoulder beside him. Several retorts occurred to him, none of them very useful at the moment as they all started with 'Fool of an elf'. Sympathy seemed more in order but Gimli was shaken to his own core by the magic that had rushed through them. Legolas fought for control and Gimli waited him out.

"Elbereth, what was that?" Aragorn's voice, although it sounded gravely and cracked, was a welcome diversion from waiting for the elf.

"It came from up that corridor I was looking into," Gimli supplied helpfully.

Aragorn climbed shakily to his feet and then stooped over the still form of the wizard. Satisfied he stood again and cast a sharp glance in Legolas' direction, the elf turned his head to the side and let his hair fall to obscure his features. The King shifted his gaze onto the dwarf who looked as guilelessly at him as he could.

Groans and some curses sounded as the rest of the men started to come to.

Aragorn walked over and then knelt in front of the elf and the dwarf.

"Legolas?" His voice was soft, "Are you well, my friend?"

The elf turned his head to see his friend, pushed the hair back from his face with both hands and tucked the loose ends behind his ears. He looked at the king blankly for a space and then spoke, his voice distant. "It is as if I am suddenly deaf, suddenly blind. I was present for a making, and now I am…” The elf paused, seemed to cast around for a word, sighed and finished, “less."  He wiped the heels of his hands over his face and looked into his palms as if to read the future in the dampness left by his tears. "I am well enough, Estel."

The king placed a sympathetic hand on the bent knee in front of him, and then used the elf's knee as a prop to climb to his own feet again. "Would you look to Radagast then, Legolas? He has yet to stir."

Legolas nodded curtly and started to clamber to his own feet, Gimli's strong hand on his forearm detained him.

"This is not over yet. I am still called." Gimli glanced over to the passage he had been exploring before the note had sounded. "We need to go yonder."

The elf's eyebrows rose in surprise, but after a beat, he patted the dwarf's hand and continued to get up.

"Let Aragorn know. I will follow where you guide.” He walked over to the prostrate wizard and stooped to place a hand on his back. “The world has changed, Gimli.” Legolas sat back on his heels and looked seriously at the dwarf, “And I have a need to see what went on at the end of that corridor myself.”

TBC

Rose Sared