Chapter Twenty-seven

Men and Dwarves – Part Two –

   Eventually Darin walked over to eye the marred figure on the ground. He wiped his beard, and when Daevan looked up to him, he said grudgingly,

   “He looks half-dead to me. I say, he's of no use to us any longer”

   “No use?” Daevan felt like spitting into the old and wrinkled face of Strider's ally. “He took the beating for you! He did not betray you like you did with him!”

   “Betray!” Darin's beard trembled with rage, and his fellows came over, likewise upset. Axes were loosened in the belts, and Daevan thought they would attack him, ally or no. “We saved him!”

   “I brought him here,” Daevan rebuked with hardly restraint anger. He was ready to take out his sword if the need occurred.

   “It was our diversion that made this rescue possible!”

   “And how would you have saved him? By dragging him here?”

   “Nevertheless, we did not betray him!” Furin cut in. He raised his hands to signal his fellows to step back. “But he was injured and now...”

   “He brought you to the chamber. Was that not the hiding place of your treasure? Or did you lose it again?” Now the Dwarves grumbled into their long beards, and their feet shuffled over the stony ground. Not one of them held Daevan's interrogative stare, and the young man raised his eyebrows in astonishment. His mouth twitched. “You say you found it and it was lost again?”

   Furin grimaced with regret.

   “We had it, aye, but it is heavy, and we were under attack. We had to hide it!”

   Daevan shrugged.

   “Then get it now. You said you barred the way, so the beasts can't get to it.”

   Dini shook his head, and his voice rose in volume as he spoke.

   “There are far more goblins in this mine, you fool! We barred one way, aye, but there are others! And far more of those beasts! They were deployed through the mine searching for you and that little creature!”

   “Hush!” Darin said, and Dini fell silent at once. Silence broken only by their own breathing surrounded them. After a while the Dwarves calmed down again, and the old Dwarf said quietly, “There are far more dangers ahead of us than you, young lad, might think of.”

   Daevan became rigid and faced the Dwarf-leader with a piercing glare.

   “Do not try and tell me of the dangers, Master Dwarf. I did not leave his side! I know of those monsters and their cruelty!”

   Furin lifted his right hand to soothe Thorongil's young companion.

   “We do know of your bravery, and I admit that none of us had thought Thorongil to be unable to escape by himself.” He waited until Daevan gave him a curt nod. The other Dwarves complied grudgingly. “Our mission has not changed though. What we came for is still not safe.” Furin looked at the unconscious frame of Thorongil beside Daevan, exchanged glances with his companions and then – after a few rapid words in their tongue – said decisively, “You have to carry out his task.”

   Daevan arched his eyebrows, but – stowing away his anger – asked in a smooth and polite way:

   “What was the agreement Strider made with you? And what was your part in it? Was it not to help catch this thing that's hiding here somewhere?”

   Lini and Dini exchanged glances of regret with the others. They had not known that this Man had so much knowledge of the proper ways of dealing with Dwarves.

   Reluctantly Darin admitted:    “Aye, for his help we agreed on helping him catch this beast. But he did not fulfil his part!”

   “Could it be that he was hindered by a horde of Orcs marauding through this place? And that he was caught because he supported you, helped you escape from your secret chamber? With your treasure?”

   “What do you know about…?” Dini exclaimed, but Lini hushed him.

   “Be quiet! They might hear us even here.”

   Daevan nodded to himself.

   “I heard the Men talk about it.” He swallowed, and when grief won him over, he lowered his head. “I heard them press Strider for the answers. They still think you only came to gather your wealth.”

   “It is nothing the Men or Orcs would want,” Furin said quietly. “It is but one piece, which is… dear to us.”

   With that he turned and left Daevan behind to find rest.

-o-o-o-o-

   The young fisherman had hardly closed his eyes when sleep took him. He rested beside Strider, hoping he would wake if any danger occurred. But he was not woken by clamour or a threat from the Dwarves. Yet, it was Lini standing nearby when Daevan drowsily opened his eyes.

   “They had secured you as if you were the treasure.” Lini stooped to eye his ally closer. “Yet… wounded as you are, you will not be the one helping us any longer. The young one has to do it.”

   Daevan was wide awake suddenly, realising that Lini was talking to Strider. He turned to find his companion conscious, but bathed in sweat. The wanderer shivered miserably, and with fading strength he clutched Daevan's wrist.

   “My pouch… Get the…” He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering the Sindarin name, which the fisherman did not understand.

   “I know,” Daevan replied and rummaged through the contents of Strider's pack to find a slim pouch made of fine light-brown leather. He took two leaves out of it and crumbled them into a cup of water. Carefully he lifted Strider's head to help him drink.

   “He won't make it far,” Lini said - not for the first time - shaking his head. “He's but a shadow now.”

   “Don’t say that,” Daevan objected, putting down the cup to wrap the wounded warrior into his cloak. Strider still shivered badly. “He risked much to grant you a safe retreat. You owe him your help!”

   Lini growled in his tongue. Presently he turned to his fellows, and they sat together to discuss their options, now that the strong man had been defeated by more than Orcs.

   Daevan did not heed them. Strider's consciousness faded away. Daevan prayed to the gods to keep him alive since he did not know how serious the wounds were. Strider trembled one last time, then lay still. Daevan hesitated to use the herbs he had been told about, but the wounds inflicted by the evil creatures needed treatment. He could not delay that until Strider could aid him. Since the Dwarves were unwilling to even talk to him, let alone help him with more than water, it fell upon Daevan to take care of the gashes and bloody weals. He flinched. Back at the village, they had Bradolla to take care of the sick and wounded. Suddenly Daevan wished for someone to tell him what to do. Yet he was alone, and the decisions were his own. Exhaling and hoping he would not worsen the man's condition, Daevan assembled the pouches on the ground beside him and tried to remember which herbs were suitable to use. He scratched his head. The wanderer had collected many a leaf during their long journey, and most of them had a distinct smell and appearance. Three sorts of leaves looked almost the same - small, dark green with lighter green in its centre - and though he remembered almost every word Strider had said about the use of them, now he was at a loss. Nevertheless a decision had to be made. Daevan smelled the contents of each pouch. He even closed his eyes and tried to relate Strider's words to that smell.

   “What have you got there?” Lini asked in his rolling accent. Daevan was startled. “Saved his belongings, did you not?”

   “I did.”

   “What's this?” He turned up his nose. “Smells strange to say the least.”

   “These are herbs he uses for healing.”

   Lini's bearded face brightened to a grin.

   “And you don't know how to use them.”

   “I do.” Daevan decided to take the first pouch he held in his hand. Pretending knowledge he asked the Dwarf, “Is it possible to heat water in here?”

   “It is indeed.” Lini rose to his full height (half of Daevan's impressive stature). “This is a hideout of the Dwarves of old, lad. Don't be mistaken! We could sustain ourselves here for…”

   “But you have no water supply here as I understand it.”

   The Dwarf's beard trembled with sudden anger.

   “Don't mock us, stranger! You are here by the lenience of Thorongil and…”

   “Whom you abandon, now that he might be no longer of use for you!” Daevan interrupted heatedly, not caring for the moment that Strider had taught him to never anger a Dwarf for they were quick with their axes.

   “Be quiet!” Furin hissed, stepping closer. Seeing the worry in the young man's eyes his voice grew soft. “We will not abandon him, Daevan. We know the meaning of a vow. Yet…”

   “You'd leave him here if the decision was for you! Now tell me where to heat water so that I can tend to his wounds!”

   “Aye. Come.”

   Furin scrutinized the young man as he filled water in a pot to heat over a small fire. Just by his looks he would have considered Daevan to be no more than a tall boy. Compared to the age Dwarves could reach, he was but a lad, but his demeanour had been impressive, mature even. The old Dwarf realised that the two Men were bound by a bond of friendship, and that through all the dangers the young one had not left the older one alone. It was a fact Furin respected.

   Daevan did not heed Furin's stare. He thought about their escape. Even though one way was barred, the Orcs would find another tunnel to search for their enemies. And it would not take them long to swarm all of the habitable parts of Moria again.

-o-o-o-o-

   “How can I be of help?” Daevan asked when he wound the last piece of cloth around Strider's upper arm. The gash had looked badly inflamed, and he hoped to clean it with the herbs. He still felt worn out and exhausted, but knew that time was pressing.

   Furin, standing aside and watching, cocked his head. The Great Warrior had not stirred for the time his young friend had treated his wounds, and he knew Thorongil might not even be able to flee with them. But that had to be thought of later.

   “Lini mistook you for an Orc. That might prove useful.”

   “How?”

   “You will venture to a cleft where we stowed…” He hesitated and grumbled some words into his grey beard.

   “If you do not tell me about your treasure, Master Dwarf, I will not find it.”

   Furin exchanged glances with Darin. The old Dwarf looked as if he would bite on stone any minute.

   “I cannot give you more proof of my loyalty,” Daevan added and tried ineffectively to wipe away the dried blood from his hands. “I cannot become a Dwarf to make you trust me.”

   “Aye, you cannot.” Furin breathed through deeply. “We hid the Hammer of Aulé in that cleft.” Daevan looked as if he failed to understand the importance of the revelation. “It is an heirloom of the Dwarves of old, lad. There is no equal to it.”

   “Aye. Is it…” He looked from Darin to Furin. “Is it big?”

   Darin let go of his breath; it sounded like the howling of a wounded wolf. Of his words Daevan only understood that he was considered ignorant.

   Furin sighed deeply.

   “Aye, my young friend, it is indeed a great and impressive tool. That hammer was once used by Aulé in the old days, before the world was marred and poisoned by Evil. It was then that the great Aulé went to the mountains and made Durin, the first of all Dwarves, and his first companions. He wanted to create a people who would like stone and all that could be carved and hewn as much as did he.” Furin sighed again. “Ilúvathar, the father of all that lives, became aware of his doings, and He said that no one but He was allowed to create beings. Aulé was about to slay the first Dwarves, but they asked for mercy. Thus Ilúvathar in His greatness realised the Dwarves had already become beings with their own minds. He ordered Aulé to spare the Dwarves.” Furin eyed the young fisherman and was astonished to find him absorbing the lore. Less gravely he concluded, “So it came to pass that the hammer, which Aulé would have used to slay his creations, was put to better use. It was always an heirloom of the Dwarves, and will ever be.”

   Daevan returned from the story to the present. He could vividly imagine a tall man swinging a hammer as mighty as himself. He bowed courteously to Furin and thanked him for sharing the ancient story with him. Furin returned the gesture, content to find the lad polite and using his wits.

   “So you will take me to that cleft?”

   “We were attacked when we went through the passage. It is watched by the enemy.” Furin flinched. “The ledge can be seen from a path beneath. Many arrows followed us when we escaped.” He sighed seeing Daevan's sceptical expression. “You will pass by the guards unnoticed. In the darkness they will take you to be an Orc.”

   “And once I get to that cleft, what do I need?”

   “A rope. You have a rope, do you not?” Daevan nodded; he had seen it in Strider's pack. “Very well. This is settled. We will set out as soon as possible.”

   “But we will come back here,” Daevan urged.

   “Aye, we will,” said the Dwarf already walking toward his companions. “We leave Thorongil behind here in safety.”

   Daevan was about to object when the wanderer grabbed his arm. Immediately he turned to him.

   “Arrows and a bow,” Strider whispered, and grimaced at Daevan's frown. “My bow is lost, but there's only the Bridge of…”

   “The Bridge of Khazad-dûm, aye,” Daevan nodded.

   “We must cross it to get out.” Strider strained to raise his head. “So we need a bow and arrows to…”

   “To kill the guards at the gate, aye.” Daevan exhaled. His task had become more difficult now. He did not wish to meet his enemies in a fight again. Now it had become necessary. “What is it?” he asked when Strider unwrapped the makeshift bandage around his upper arm. He grimaced with pain. “Don't take it off.”

   “What did you use?” the wanderer asked, looking at the crumbled wet leaves. Daevan showed him the pouch, and Strider shook his head, murmuring a rebuke.

   “Hey, most of what I did was right!” the young man cut in.

   “I am grateful for that!” Strider showed Daevan the proper pouch with the herbs and let his head sink back wearily, closing his eyes.

   Daevan looked at the marred features of his companion, while he moistened two leaves and wrapped them around Strider's arm.

   “I'm sorry, Strider, I failed you. And not only with my lack of knowledge of botany.”

   “Failed me?” Strider rasped, squinting at him. “Nay, you did not. You stayed when you could have left. You even came to my rescue.”

   “It was the Dwarves' doing. And…” Daevan hesitated and lowered his gaze. “You pushed me out of harm's way. You thought me to be incapable of standing by your side and fighting to the end.”

   “No, my young friend, no,” the warrior replied, trying to convey sincerity with his look. He held Daevan's forearm. “I consider you very brave. But I knew when that fight started we would both get captured or killed. I wanted you to find a safer passage.”

   “You mean….”

   Strider managed a very weary smile.

   “You exceeded all expectations, Daevan. Your grand-father and your friends will be proud of you. You brought honour to your family.” Strider closed his eyes, and when his arm went limp, Daevan made out his last words before he slept. “If I bring honour to mine I have yet to prove.”

   Daevan frowned, and while his eyes rested on the relaxing face of his companion he thought about his words. Had he really brought honour to his family? He still was no fighter. He was a fisherman thrown into an adventure he had not foreseen. He had had no idea of how many foes and how much cruelty they would meet along the way. But still… if he had known, would he have turned away to leave Strider alone with the task of hunting Gollum?

-o-o-o-o-