Chapter 17 - Holes and pit-falls

The darkness was all consuming. Even Mirkwood at night could not match the blackness of the mines. Legolas tried to walk as close as he could to the bright sword Aragorn held. Only Gimli and Frodo were between him and the flickering blue sign of hope. It was strange that their only hope should spring from their greatest fear.

Although a few of the others may have thought otherwise, Legolas would have preferred the constant threat of the Orcs than walk without light. In fact without light it would have proved an impossibility to make the journey for the path under their feet was scattered with holes and pit-falls that would have surely cause their deaths.

When they came to a crack running horizontally across their path, larger than any they had seen, Pippin simply refused to jump. Legolas could well understand this for although he knew he could easily make the distance, the sound of water, churning and tumbling below made even his legs weaken. They devised a strategy for the larger hazards, which involved Legolas and Faramir, who walked at the end of the party, throwing each Hobbit over the gaps into the safe arms of Aragorn and Gimli. This speeded up their journey for the Hobbits trusted their taller companions implicitly and it saved the trouble of building up enough courage to jump themselves.

Legolas walked in silence, as did most of the others. A growing terror was creeping upon the Elf's mind and although he tried hard not to show it, memories of their last encounter in the dark plagued his thoughts. His breath was short and uneven and he thought perhaps he had cracked a rib when he was thrown against the cliff. The air in the mines was cool and although it was thick, it did not seem foul. Legolas felt the air touch his wet clothes and for once he felt cold. Though the weather hardly ever affected him, as on Caradhras he had only felt a slight chill, it was the soaking shirt pulling on his shoulder that made him cold and uncomfortable.

His shoulder was proving to be more of a burden than he had anticipated. The burning feeling was constant and it prevented his mind from wandering off into other thoughts. He knew Aragorn would not take offence at what he had said before, his friend would realise he was only concerned for the safety of the company. He wanted to be of what use he could be although Legolas trusted Gimli, Aragorn and Faramir to keep them safe. In fact he was surprised that his preconceptions of the later had proved so unfounded.

Legolas had at first presumed Faramir to be like other men of the land, proud and with no thought for how their actions affected nature, but as they had spent more time together Legolas perceived Faramir to be similar to Aragorn. In fact the air about each of them was so reminiscent of the other that some would have mistaken them as brothers. Looking closer one could see Aragorn was the one whose eyes held the power and grace of the Kings of old but because of Faramir's similarity to his friend, Legolas couldn't help beginning to respect him. And his eye was as keen as Aragorn's with a bow, fine archery never failed to impress the Prince of Mirkwood who had been using a bow for longer than he could remember. A sharp stinging pain in his shoulder brought him out of his contemplations and back to the journey at hand. He was suddenly aware of a soft voice and listening harder he realised it was Frodo, muttering words mortal ears could not catch.

"So many passages and stairs. How could Aragorn possibly know the way? Nothing but darkness and the sound of our feet." The voice was small and afraid, and Legolas' heart went out to the ill-fated Hobbit at once. He would have said something of comfort but he did not trust himself to speak. There was a lump in his throat that had been growing ever since they entered the mines.

"That's Gimli," Frodo said to himself, and Legolas also heard the Dwarf's heavy boots thudding on the stone. "Aragorn and Faramir."

Frodo began to speak again and then Legolas heard him draw a sharp breath. "But who's that?" the Hobbit whispered. "Bare feet? Pattering alone. But not Hobbit feet…" Legolas listened hard and thought for a moment he had heard what the Hobbit claimed. "Oh, I must be imagining it," Frodo told himself and Legolas decided he must have been right. After all, what could be following them so closely without giving themselves away. Surely not an Orc, Legolas would have heard them long ago. Though, he thought, the Orc under Saruman's orders they had met in the tunnels possessed greater intelligence than Legolas would have credited to any of their mutated breed.

Perhaps they knew we would come and are lying in wait. What if this is all just a trap? Legolas shook his head, shaking the grim thoughts from his mind. The company was coming to a halt and it seemed as though Aragorn had decided to stay for some time.

From where the company stopped they could see the entrance of three passages leading ahead into darkness. They were in a kind of antechamber where the stones under their feet had been worn away with great use. Legolas eagerly laid down his supplies. His shoulder had been strained by the weight and he was glad for the chance to rest. With a great effort, he pushed the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind and went to speak to Aragorn.

"Are we where we should be?" Legolas asked, coming up silently behind him. He was surprised to see Aragorn start because usually Aragorn would not be caught of guard by anyone.

"Legolas," he breathed, "I did not know you were behind me."

"You are losing your touch, my friend," Legolas smiled, seeing Aragorn was a little on edge, he hoped to make him forget his trouble a while. "Surprised by an Elf? Next I will hear that Gimli has been climbing trees!"

Aragorn managed a week smile. "How are you fairing?" he asked the Elf and Legolas purposely avoided the question.

"I truly do not know how you find the right way in this cursed darkness," he said lightly, meaning it as a compliment. Aragorn's face remained grave and Legolas grew worried.

"I believe we are going in the right direction now but I truly have no memory of this place." Aragorn's voice was little more than a whisper and the man's eyes strayed to the three passages. Legolas knew Aragorn needed to share his burden with somebody and he was glad he held the Ranger's trust, but he wished Aragorn had told anyone but himself. It was enough in itself to cope with the darkness but knowing they were as good as lost made everything so much worse. The Elf begrudged Aragorn nothing for his confidence in him but he truly wished he had remained ignorant.

Legolas' eyes strayed to the side where Gimli and the Hobbits seemed to be exploring the entrance to a side chamber that he had not noticed. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to see further into the cave. Frodo hand held a glowing Sting and from its light Legolas saw with sudden horror what was inside. His eyes widened as he realised Gimli's poor sight had not picked up what his own keen eyes had seen. Gimli wandered through the entrance, examining the stone work on the walls, with no idea of the danger he was in.

"Gimli! Daro!" [Stop!]

---

Faramir was a few steps behind the Dwarf when he heard Legolas' cry. Although he did not understand the meaning he knew it was a warning. He had come to take the Elf's instincts as law so he rushed forwards towards the retreating Dwarf. Gimli either had not heard the Elf or had chosen to ignore him for he walked forwards without so much as a turn of his head.

"Gimli!" Faramir shouted, realising he would not reach the Dwarf before he had passed some steps into the chamber.

Faramir flung himself forwards towards the Dwarf's flailing arm as Gimli's yell echoed around the enclosed space. Faramir felt the touch of Gimli forearm and gripped it tightly before Gimli's weight dragged him down.

In the centre of the chamber was a well, immeasurably deep, perhaps used by the guard who protected the three passages. Faramir's head and shoulders disappeared into the hole as he struggled to keep a grip of Gimli's arm. Small rocks and pebbles scattered from underneath his sliding body and crumbled into the pit. Faramir listened with dread but never heard them hit the bottom.

He clenched his jaw, determined that the heavy Dwarf would not be cast after the stones. Gimli's weight must have been partly due to his heavy chain mail as well as the axe that was most likely still in his belt. Faramir called out with difficulty for Aragorn as he felt himself slowly sliding further into the hole. Already his upper body was stretched down as far as he could reach. His hand was slippery and his hold on Gimli's arm was failing.

He heard a rush behind him and out of the corner of his eye, saw Aragorn fling himself down beside him and reach for Gimli's other hand.

"Aragorn, I cannot hold him!" Faramir gasped, as Aragorn tried to catch onto Gimli's other hand that he was waving around in the darkness.

Although it was pitch black, Gimli could obviously understand what was happening as each time Faramir's body slipped further, he was lowered down. "Let go, Faramir!" the Dwarf bellowed, knowing that at least one of them would be saved if he just let go now.

"Give me your hand, Gimli!" Aragorn yelled. "I cannot see!"

With desperation closing in on him, Faramir heard a scuffle behind him before two slim, strong hands came down on his own.

"I have you Gimli," Legolas' voice said in his ear and to his right he heard Aragorn's sigh of relief as he managed to catch a hold of Gimli's other arm.

With all three lying on their stomachs and reaching down into the black pit Faramir became aware of how foolish they must look. Aragorn counted and on three, they all heaved the massive bulk of a Dwarf back to safety.

Everyone lay on the floor breathing heavily for a moment until to Faramir's surprise, Legolas began to laugh. Aragorn quickly joined in and Faramir looked around for the object of their amusement. His eyes came to rest on Gimli.

He shook his head in disbelief, "do you mean to tell me, Gimli son of Gloin, that you were willing to drag us both to our deaths because you were not willing to part with your axe?"

Gimli looked confusedly down at the axe clutched in his hand, "this axe has been with me as long as I can remember," he said, growing red and flushed.

Faramir burst out laughing. The look on his friend's face clearly said that Gimli had not even noticed he had been holding his weapon. No wonder Aragorn found it hard to catch his hand.

Faramir lay still for a moment, listening to the heavy breathing of his companions and the quiet whispers of Merry and Pippin, who, now that the danger had passed, were no doubt thinking of happier things. Faramir knew their conversation would be running along the lines of the company's food supplies, and the amount of good a pipe and some Old Toby could be to a foot-sore Hobbit so far from home.

His ears suddenly picked up another sound, echoing in the dark.

---

Tom-tap tom-tap.

A horrible shiver ran up his spine and Gimli jumped to his feet and went quickly to the well to listen. The others followed him cautiously, all hoping their ears had deceived them.

"That was the sound of a hammer, or I've never heard one," Gimli said, staring down into the dark hole that had nearly swallowed him a moment before.

Faramir looked to Aragorn and saw the man's face was darker than he had ever seen it.

Tom-tap tom-tap

Faramir was alone in the dark. Where the others were he did not know, to him there was only the sound of the hammer. Faramir narrowed his eyes in the darkness, searching for the illusive sound that seemed first to come from in front, then behind and then both! With each clash of the invisible hammer, he felt an echo of cold and fear rush through his body.

A shimmering shape suddenly emerged in the silent darkness before him. Faramir squinted in an effort to make out what it was. He breathed in sharply as he recognised the shape for what it was.

"Gimli?" he called, unsure whether his eyes were deceiving him. But although the stout figure did not turn to the sound of his voice or make any movement indicating he had heard, Faramir wasn't sure whether it was the Dwarf who stood before him.

Gimli was busy using his axe to chip away at some stones just out of Faramir's sight. The Dwarf raised his axe over and over again as the axe fell with a crash onto the rocks. He recognised Gimli's helm and dark reddish hair protruding from beneath it, he saw it was indeed Gimli's axe that struck the stone.

"Gimli? Gimli!" Why did the Dwarf not respond to his calls? Was the darkness of the mines so terrible that it could cut off sound as well as sight?

Faramir moved forwards, determined to take his friend by the shoulders and get a plain answer. He moved to the side so as the approach the Dwarf without fear of being impaled by the swinging end of Gimli's axe. But as he moved, it was as though Gimli moved too, turning away from him. Faramir moved faster but to no avail, it was as though the Dwarf before him had no face! He stopped dead, his heart hammering in his chest and fear racing through him. He listened with dread to the falling of the axe, noticing at once that the sound had changed. The high-pitched clash of metal on rock had dulled and seemed now to Faramir like distant drums. The noise grew louder and soon he had to press his hands over his ears to block out the terrible drumming.

Drums in the Deep

In panic Faramir reached out and grabbed the Dwarf's shoulder. A blinding light filled his mind and images flashed before him in a whirl of colour and turmoil.

Two slender boats, filled with bags and belongings, rushing swiftly towards a great waterfall. The white spray hiding them from view.

A being hooded in a brown cloak stood before a tower black as night. Metallic wheels and dark machines surrounding the base as creatures, twisted and mutilated prowled the boundaries.

A King. Crowned and robed in fine coloured clothes of green. Great anger was in the ancient face and in his eyes a lust for revenge or retribution. In his hands lay two objects. One, a golden book, adorned with silver writing and Elvish ruins, the other, a thick black arrow stained with dark blood.

His own father, Denethor, sitting on his throne with the great horn, Boromir's horn lying upon his lap. Broken…