Dark places
Valandil finished checking his horse's tack. He squatted at the grotto's entrance to check the ground before and below him. He knew he was overdue, but was not about to foolishly rush off. Checking the back trail he and Dournil had used earlier, nothing looked out of place. Everything appeared to be quiet. He knew better. His instincts screamed at him.
After watching a bit, need over rode caution. After dumping out the small measure of grain they carried in their saddlebags, he unsaddled Dournil's horse and cut the hobbles. Hopefully Dournil would be able to find it if he managed to return.
Valandil mounted his own horse and started down. He was making good progress when a party of Orcs came over a rise below and to his left. Up here he could not outrun them. They were pretty far off, yet. He didn't know if they had seen him. They would if he kept moving in the same direction. So, to the right he would wind up over in the mouth of the pass. Once on open ground, he would easily out run them. "Left it is, then." Valandil spoke out loud. Laying over his reins, his horse swung to the left and headed down.
He'd easily reached the leveler ground above the pass. Though he had been, and still was out of sight of the valley head, he thought he should be able to reach the meeting sight shortly. The hillside dropped too steeply where he was, forcing him to ride into the pass a little ways.
Finding a path down into the pass he cleared the hill and cut back towards the pass mouth. Noise came up to him, What a relief! Probably some of our company come to explore this passageway. Maybe people searching for Dournil and myself. A sudden hope flared in his heart. Dournil may have found a way back and joined up with the others. With this thought in mind he rode ahead with a tired, expectant smile. Rounding a sharp turn he stopped, the smile faded. Reality brought him down. In front of him, down the trail, was the largest group of Orcs he had ever seen. An army of Orcs. Slowly, he backed his horse out of sight. Then turned and started back the way he had come. In it again!
Dournil stirred and groaned. Using his arms to help lift and support himself, he slowly sat up. The world spun, causing his gorge to heave. Leaning against the cliff wall, he closed his eyes while the vertigo slowly subsided. He began to take stock of himself. His entire right side hurt. Using his left arm, he began to test limbs. I fell on purpose. He thought to himself. Trolls and Orcs were chasing me, and I jumped over the edge of the plateau. I must have landed on the ledge below, it looked like perhaps a rod or a little more. I'm extremely lucky to be alive.
Dournil was rapidly coming to his senses. He took stock of his situation. Going up was not possible, so sideways or down. Shakily he rose to his feet, and approached the side of the ledge. No way down here, crossing to the other side, a possibility showed itself.
About half a rod away a ledge, little more than a ridge of rock, stuck out from the wall, his eyes followed the ridge down and down, until it disappeared from sight. There was no way he could jump to it. Scanning upwards, a small series of holes became evident. Water leaked from them, a couple of them looked good enough for handholds. And they were in about the right place. Dournil walked about on the ledge, shaking his limbs and stretching to loosen up. He approached the side again, took a deep breath, and jumped for the holes. His hands struck high and slid down into the holes. Running assorts, he swung towards the small ridge. His foot found purchase. He used his arms to throw his upper body forward, in a bid to put his posture back in balance. It was just enough. He was standing on the seam of rock. He began a perilous descent. The next couple minutes brought him scared and gasping to the end of the shelf. There was a sheer wall ahead.
He looked down. Behind and below him, another shelf ran along the cliff face, this one was shoulder width. It extended back along the wall, out of sight. With no time or place to rest, and becoming disoriented, he pushed ahead. He turned, putting his back to the wall. The wall belled out below him, swelling as it dropped over and towards the shelf. A breath and he was off. Relying on Elvish sure-footedness he ran, keeping his shoulder as close to the wall as possible. As he came to the crest of the bell, where further running was impossible, he jumped.
He landed with both feet on the jutting shelf. Momentum, carried from the speed of the run and jump, slapped him down on the shelf face first. He rolled head over heels and off the edge of the shelf. Elvish quickness and a penchant for the right move at the right time brought his hands to the edge as he rolled across his shoulders. He twisted enough to latch on as his body fell below the edge. Hanging, he looked down.
He now saw the floor of the pass had been rising as he had descended. The wall below canted outward enough to slide on instead of falling. With a twist that landed him on his backside, he slid about two rods length, and crashed onto the trail. Now I can hurt! His left shoulder, knees, back and hands as well as his head all throbbed, burned, and just plain hurt. "I canst believe nothing is seriously injured!"
Shaking his head at his luck he looked up in wonder at where he had been. It was along way up. The sky dizzied him with height. He sat up against the wall and looked both ways. The pass was clear in both directions. He pulled a Lembas cake from his wallet and began to gnaw it as he considered his next move.
It served to take his mind off his pains. The sun stood low over the peaks. I know there are Trolls and Orcs above me. There is at the least a patrol of Orcs ranging about the mouth of the pass. I know that I dare not try to circle back, and it would seem that forward is out. Mayhap I should circle North, around that peak so to come back to the camp from the northeast. That would be the safest way. I would need to go up over the crest of this section of the pass, then cut North on the other side. His decisionmade, he rose to his feet and began moving up the pass.
Valandil also chewed his way through a Lembas cake. Heading up the trail, he was at a loss to come up with a plan. I suppose I might try cutting North on the other side of this peak. That seems as good a plan as any! As he progressed up the trail it became steeper, and rougher. He wound his way through the fallen timbers with satisfaction. "Looks like someone must have pushed these off the top" He said as if it was a mystery. The timbers had made the pass more difficult to navigate. Laying helter-skelter, some cocked up against the walls while others lay crossed or parallel on the trail itself. Finally he dismounted and led his horse. As he progressed Valandil reasoned to himself. There'll be no quick retreat through here! Though I need to make time, dying is not really acceptable! I should scout ahead, then return for my horse if it seems clear. Valandil tied his horse and continued on foot.
The crest of the pass loomed ahead. His hair on the back of his neck rose. He slowed and crept forward. Senses alert he looked over the crest, below he could see the remains of a large Orc camp. He knew it was an Orc camp because there were still Orcs about! They were readying to march.
Valandil was not going to wait around. Slowly, to avoid detection, he withdrew. As he returned to his horse the dilemma posed itself as unsolvable. The only thing he could come up with was another trip down the pass. The hidden passage! If he could find it he might be able to hide. That meant losing his horse. It would be dark soon. The animal might be better off on it's own.
As he came lower in the pass he decided to loose the horse and continue on foot. Carefully he came down the pass. He dismounted, creeping forward again. Darkness was falling quickly in the bottom of the pass. Finally he thought he was close to the area of the open passage. Slipping the bit from his horses mouth and tying the reins as loose as possible, he left it free and resumed his approach.
The glow of a small fire showed itself ahead, as it cast a flickering light on the surrounding rock walls. At the last, Valandil eased around a rock and saw an Orc beside a small fire. Behind it was a boulder. This was the passage! Valandil knew it in his bones. Thinking fast Valandil bent and felt about until he came up with a palm sized stone. Retreating behind the rock, he fired it down pass as hard as he could. In the dark, quiet pass it made a racket as it bounced and rolled. The Orc jerked up, snarled, then crouched as it drew forth a primitive sword like weapon. The firelight ran like liquid along the blade momentarily as the Orc began to move silently out to the trail. It stopped and listened, then slunk down the pass out of sight.
Once again Valandil wasn't about to hesitate. After a moment to be sure the Orc was out of sight, he sprang forward. He rounded the boulder and saw a narrow opening. He was sure he could squeeze through. Returning to the fire he lifted several logs for torches and one from the fire, already burning. He started back towards the opening, then stopped. Returning to the wood pile he grabbed a similar sized log and laid it in the fire. He pushed the wood pile back together a bit and went back to the cave. At the boulder he tossed the extra logs through the crack as quietly as possible then started to squeeze through. Heavy steps and Orc mutterings became audible out on the trail. In a momentary fit of panic Valandil shoved himself through the crack and into the passage. Grabbing his pilfered "torches", he headed off down the passageway.
The passage was dank and dust covered the floor. It was also a little warmer than outside. For that, Valandil was grateful. Footprints going in both directions showed in the dust. He pushed on. Finally he came to an intersecting passage. The prints stopped a few feet in both directions. Valandil held his torch up to see if the air came stronger from one direction. He reckoned he had been moving east for a while then turned North.
"I do believe I shall keep to what works. Ahead!" The sound of his voice, any voice, bolstered his confidence. He pushed on North. After an immeasurable time he became so tired that he sat against the wall his torch was getting short. Carefully he laid it on the floor then laid the end of a fresh one on top. Leaning his head back and wrapping his cloak around himself he fell asleep.
Dournil came to fallen timbers in the trail. "A youngsters mess" he observed wirily. The grin faded as he pondered Valandil's fate. The boy is smart and fast, good at strategy and gifted in woodcraft. Able to adequately defend himself. He is alive! I know it! I can feel it! He picked his way through the timbers. Coming to the crest he looked over cautiously, an Orc camp lay below, though it did seem that most were absent. He drew back to regroup. Safely hidden among some rocks on the West side of the trail, he considered his options. There were none that he could see. Simply put, he must clear this camp. With a sigh, he looked up. Above him was a route he could climb. Wearily he began to ascend. The sun was half behind the surrounding peaks when he started his descent down the inside of the Northern face of a mountain. Back in the pass, out of sight, the darkness was much advanced. Up here the sun still lit the sky, but not for long. Dournil hurried to get as low as possible before the light faded entirely. By the time he was down, full eve had fallen.
Overhead shone the 'Sickle of the Valar', Valacirca, the seven stars of enduring warning to Melkor and his servants. On the horizon, 'The Red Swordsman' began to climb the sky. Isil had yet to make an appearance. Dournil thought to rest a bit before continuing. He found a small, protected grotto, wrapped up in his cloak and laid down to sleep.
Light in dark places
Valandil was using his last torch. This section of tunnel was ancient. Cobwebs spanned the passage in many places. The floor was undisturbed by footprints. The sound of dripping water led Valandil to a small trickle running down the wall. By torchlight he followed it until it ran under the wall. Thirsty, he kicked the wall in frustration. A hollow sound came back. Surprised, he stepped back a moment. Then kicked out hard. With a cracking sound a doorframe appeared in the wall. On one foot he hopped back and kicked again. With a splintering of stone, the slab gave away and fell in. The air that rushed out smelled sweet by comparison. Valandil stepped through the doorway. The sight that met his numbed senses was awesome.
A cavern spread out before him, rainbow colored rock lined what he could see. Multi-colored stalactites hung from the ceiling far above, the rest of the chamber was out of his torch's light. Turning, he saw an ancient torch set in a bracket set in the wall. It lit! Damping his stick, he lifted the torch from the bracket, replacing it with his. Now more of the cavern's magnificence could be seen. A freshet ran down the center. He knelt and lifted a palm full. It looked good so he tasted it. Bliss! Wonderful! Kneeling he drank his fill. Then he sat and ate Lembas. That taken care of, he was ready to explore.
Following the stream, he realized the cavern was grander, larger, than any hall. Torches in brackets hung from the walls every so often. He had lit a few; he guessed every third of a furlong. Ahead he saw light. Closer he recognized sunlight coming through some gap, high in the wall. Then he saw what lay in the light.
The floor rose at the cavern's end like a platform. Two stone bowls, huge, stood at the fore. Both held rich earth, and a small tree apiece. The smaller Golden, the larger, Silver.
He gaped, shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It could not be. Telperion, the silver and Laurelin, the gold. The 'Trees of Years,' that had brought light to the Valar before the making of the sun and moon.
It just was not possible, yet here they grew. They must be offshoots! Seedlings or saplings! And they are tended to by someone!
That much was obvious, now that he looked. The floor was clean and swept, and a vessel for water lay on the lower floor. This was a sacred place! Valandil felt a wild burst of emotion blow through his soul like a clean sea breeze. Tears sprang from his eyes as he fell to his knees, over come.
He lowered his head as if a supplicant at an altar, and clasped his hands together on his lap. "Iluvatar, The One, humble words nor High Speech canst express the gratitude of this discovery. I thank you for this gift, for the fair races of Mid-gard! The light of your children of Valar lives and grows yet in this world! So, then does hope and the pure things of light and love. All the goodness of the Valar, of which my Grandsire, Elendil, taught to his sons and family, still is shared with the races of Middle Earth. If ever there be future darkness, these then will grant light in the dark. Iluvatar, we thank you!
So saying this prayer, the slanting light fell full upon him and seemed to explode away, lighting more of the cavern. He seemed to glow, limned in Silver and Gold. Yet did he hang his head, for he felt unworthy of this gift. The wrongs and misdeeds of his life seemed laid out bare on the cavern floor before him. But Lo! The Two blossomed forth; unfurling their leaves and pushing blossoms open in the light. A pure, fresh breeze blew through the cavern lifting two blossoms and gently bearing them to Valandil. Watching in awe and wonder at their approach, Valandil opened wide his hands to receive the gift. The blossoms landed on his open hands like twin kisses. One blossom each of silver and gold.
Even as he knelt, hands open, vision slightly blurred with tears, the blossoms pulled in, rounding and hardening until two seeds lay upon his palms. He felt his sins and misdeeds washed away, as well as his loss and pain. In that moment a King was born! From that day forward, a light like that of the Seven Stars was born in his soul, never dimmed, shinning forth from his eyes and manner. Carried down through his sons and finally fading away generations later, only to be born again in the dark times to come. In one who would bring the High Kingship to Middle Earth once again.
Yet, there in the shadows, a watcher stood taking in all that occurred. Still full of awe and wonder, Valandil pulled from his wallet, a leaf wrapping from a Lembas cake. Carefully bundling the seeds, he secreted them inside his tunic. After a while Valandil stood and bowed to honor the Two and saw a chamber in the wall behind, from which the light came. Valandil crossed to the chamber and there beheld a dais. Held by a flowering vine, which wound about, rested a sheathed sword. Valandil laid his hand upon the pommel and sheath and sword came easily to his hand.
Drawing forth the blade, it shone darkly for it was black, and Dwarvish runes were carved upon it. And Valandil, not knowing the old tongue of the Dwarves read this one time: Forged by Telchar, from the sky comes Thilnar, the blade that rings, Baruk Khazâd. For this was a blade forged of sky metal, black, perhaps a brother to Gurthang, Iron of Death, borne by Turin. And the Smith! He who made Narsil, blade of his Grandsire, Elendil!
Intuitively, Valandil recognized the instructions written in runes, and he stepped to the doorway of the chamber. Sword in right hand, he struck the doorway with the flat. A ringing of clean steel, high pitched and lasting issued forth. Stepping into the cavern, he raised the sword over his head, shouting in a great voice; "Baruk Khazad"! Thilnar blazed white, banishing all shadows, revealing all. Lighting the cavern beyond sight, and settling to a bright white glow. Thus stood Valandil, son of Isildur, only surviving direct descendent of Elendil. Thus stood Valandil, feeling the call of battle and deeds both great and high. Thus stood a young King!
Dournil traveled by moonlight. At a run he worked his way North. Passing ghostlike out of the inner valley and using the bottoms of valleys and ghylls to pass the highest ground. As the 'Swordsman' reached his apogee and began his descent, Dournil started to traverse steeply rising ground. With the 'Sickle of the Valar' long below the horizon, and the Swordsman halfway down the star-studded vault of the sky, he crossed a saddle between high peaks, on top of the snow in the manner of light-footed Elves. The rise of 'Vasa' found him at the top of the last peak. Below him 'The Heart of Fire' slowly revealed the land of Northern Arnor. Dournil perched on a rock to study, with Elven sight, the panorama below him. First the farthest horizon and then progressed, advancing towards his feet. A dark mass moved slowly to his front, slightly right. He could barely make out, at this distance, dark moving figures. Too many for the two companies of Elves and men. Orcs! An army moving towards the "Coldfells". Dournil now searched this army's back trail but could find no sign of his companion's army. No problem, He would find them.
By the light of Vasa
Valandil's passion faded, as it did, so too, the light of the sword. He lowered it to his side and turned to focus on what light had revealed. With a voice full of gentleness, still full of wonder, he spoke. "Come forth and be known." Valandil realized that he still held Thilnar. Unsheathed, this might be a cause of concern to a benign being. From the shadows on his left stepped forth a being, tall as a tree, smooth skinned and dark grey. Of a race as old as the 'Years of the Trees', mistakenly called 'Stone Giants'. Known later in the third age as 'Entwives'. Speaking with the higher pitched voice of a woman she addressed Valandil.
"Hooomm! Ho! Hooomm! I am the called Watcher in the speech of your people. 'The Two' have waited long for your coming. Now our time here is over. Soon 'The Two,' accompanied by we wives of Ents, shall pass into the East. Your time here, also, is over. Return to the passage and continue in the direction you were going, for your destiny lies at the end."
Forsaking the myriad of questions boiling in his mind, Valandil bowed, as to recognize the wisdom of a respected Elder. He shoved the sheathed sword into his belt, and departed down the cavern.
Elrond lay under the same bush as he had the day before. He watched the riderless horse in the valley below. He had been watching for some time. Behind him far out of sight, the army of Men and Elves moved North. Ahead of them a scouting party shadowed the Orc army.
Under the other side of the bush, Huthorin grunted as he tried to get comfortable. Out in the valley, the horse stopped to graze again. Elrond had waited long enough. Nodding to Huthorin, he rose, settled his gear, and took off down the valley, towards the pass. The horse threw his head up and nickered as he went by.
At the pass, Elrond started looking for signs of Valandil. The first section showed nothing but Orc sign. Farther up he saw signs of Valandil's wondering horse. Nearing the passage, Elrond caught a foul scent. Orc! At the entrance, he saw the remains of the small fire. The scattered refuse told him who had built it.
Looking at the entrance to the passage, he was sure Valandil was inside. Stopping only long enough to kindle a torch he squeezed in. Valandil's prints topped all the others. Seeing Valandil's footprints gave him a feeling of urgency. Feeling some great destiny lay ahead, Elrond was suddenly in a hurry.